summary - Cregan is forced to choose between his wife and his child
cw- death, blood, very sensitive topic ahead
Cregan paced outside of the birthing chambers, as he had for hours now. As tradition stated, the Lord was not to be by his Lady's side. Like his father Rickon Stark, Cregan had remained steadfast in his ruling of the North and its ancient traditions. The one time he had broken tradition in his four-year rule had been the night of his wedding, when he refused the bedding ceremony to keep his wife's dignity.
However, his resolve waivered greatly with every scream from his dear wife.
When her water broke on their morning walk through the Godswood, a routine they had developed since their first moon of marriage. His wife had insisted she could do it alone, as every woman in her own family had. They had both thought it to be over fast, just as her own mother had experienced with all of her children. A mere few hours for each, and they were out, healthy as horses.
Neither had expected the difficulty nor time her own birthing experience would be. It was approaching dawn, and no word had been given about the head breaching.
Finally, when it had gotten too much for her, Cregan's wife yelled out for him. Grateful for the excuse to break the tradition, Cregan stormed into the room like a man on fire. Immediately he went to his wife's side, allowing her to clutch onto his hand and arm to steady herself.
Maester Lyson and the midwife, an older lady that had seen many births of Winterfell and its surrounding towns, protesting his entrance immediately.
"My Lord, you must stay outside—" Lyson started before being sent an icy cold glare from Cregan, shutting the old man immediately up.
"Cregan..." His wife hoarsely called out, squeezing his hand as he held it in his. Her head leaned to his shoulder immediately, though the warmth was great and she felt like overheating, she still found a small comfort in his touch.
She was a mess of sweat and tears, skin glossed from the sheen of both. Her thin shift to conceal her modesty was drenched, sticking to her skin in a way that looked most uncomfortable. But, in front of a man, she was unable to remove the annoying fabric to cool off. Even though said man was gazing directly at her most intimate parts for hours as he waited for signs of the babe.
On one side of the bed were two of her handmaidens, who fussed over their Lady with glossy and concerned eyes. At the end of the bed sat the midwife and maester, with sweat dripped from each of their brows and concern lacing their expressions.
"What is the progress?" He asked them, gritting his teeth at their helpless glances.
"The babe has not yet breached, my Lord." The Maester replied, shifting to sit up straighter.
"Still? What is the matter?" Cregan asked, soothing his wife's hair out of her face as she yelled out in pain again.
The maester and midwife shared a glance that Cregan could not appreciate. Maester Lyson stood, beckoning his Lord to the door. "If I may speak with you a moment, privately."
His wife looked up at him, tightening his grip on his forearm and shaking her head, as if she knew something he did not. "Please, don't leave Cregan." She pleaded, though barely could conceal another groan of pain.
He kissed her forehead sweetly, rubbing a thumb over the apple of her cheek. "Just one moment, I promise." He told her, following the maester anxiously outside.
Maester Lyson wrung his hands, "Lord Stark, there has been a complication that we recently found."
Cregan knitted his brows together, sternly nodding for the Maester to continue.
"We thought the opening was simply taking a while to grow, so we waited. By now, it has been at proper size for hours."
"And what does that mean?" The Lord shifted on his feet.
"The babe is stuck in the canal somewhere, sideways instead of facing forward like he should." Lyson told him.
Cregan paled, swallowing harshly. "Can...Can he be moved?"
He recalled his own mother's birth complications with his younger brother, Breton, and how the maester was able to turn him within the womb to properly face head-first instead of sideways. It was painful for his mother, he knew from sitting outside anxiously with his father and hearing the sounds from the birthing room, but it was successful in the end.
The Maester avoided his intense stare, instead finding the floor more suitable to look at. "We could, my Lord. But, it would take a long time. By then, the babe might have suffocated."
"There is no other way?" He demanded.
"There is one, my Lord Stark." Lyson said, though did not look glad at his own revelation.
"Go on." Cregan said, irritated at the hesitance of the old man.
"We could cut the belly open, to retrieve the babe before he suffocates in the womb."
Cregan sucked in a sharp breath at the words spoken delicately to him.
A forced choice.
Between his firstborn child and his beloved wife.
Both were irreplaceable in his eyes. Both were the very beings he lived and breathed for—the ones he swore to protect before his own House and the entirety of the North. He would choose them over his duty to the North as its' warden, something his ancestors would turn their noses up at hearing.
But, it was true as the compass pointed North. Cregan would have to make a choice.
"If I must choose..." Cregan swallowed harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching a fist at his side. "I would choose my wife." He said, though his voice shook for perhaps the first time in many years.
Lyson looked sympathetic as he nodded, but Cregan interrupted before he could speak again.
"She will get a choice, too. I can not force that from her, nor take away her autonomy." He said firmly. Cregan lifted a hand in a 'stay' gesture, entering the hazy room once more.
"Everyone out." He demanded, watching the women in the room hesitate before slipping past Cregan to wait right outside of the door.
"What's wrong, Cregan? No one is telling me anything." His wife grit out, taking his offered hand once more instead of the splintering wood of the bed.
He took a long moment to look over his wife. A glossed over look laid heavy in his stormy eyes, admiring her even in the disgruntled state she was in.
"My love," He started, kissing her paled knuckles gently.
She looked up at him, a sudden distraught look in her eye as if she knew exactly what he would say. "No." She shook her head rapidly before he could. "I can't, Cregan, please!" She pleaded, panting after as another wave of pain hit her hard. Through a whimpering groan of agony, she sobbed into the crook of his neck.
"Can't what, sweet girl?" He asked in a soft mutter, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. She had to make the final choice. He could not force something so cruel upon her. If she wanted the babe to live on in her place, it would be something he had to accept.
Even if it meant living without her.
He desperately, selfishly perhaps, wished that she would choose herself.
"I don't want to die." She sniffled and breathed rapidly, almost panicking herself into hyperventilation.
Cregan 'shushed' her quickly, smoothing down her messed hair in an attempt to calm her from working herself up even further. "You won't. You won't." He said firmly, holding her sideways to his chest.
"Cregan," she whispered again. "I can't do it." She shook her head, hot tears wetting his tunic. "I know what they do. I've heard the tales. Our own Queen—cut open on her bed by her husband. Please, Cregan, don't make them cut me."
Cregan felt his stomach drop at the words from his wife. She thought he would do that to her? Against her wishes, just hold her down and order the babe to be cut from her stomach, though the pain would be excruciating?
"That won't happen, my heart." He kissed her temple, glancing anxiously to the chamber's door. "But, the babe will not be likely survive if we turn it." He told her slowly.
"He will!" She insisted through a muffled sob. "I know he will. It will just take more time. I need more time."
Cregan found himself lost for words. He couldn't decieve her about her own child. She had been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms at the news of her pregnancy many moons ago. That first day, she immediately sent ravens to all of her closest friends and family about the good news. She got to work on making blankets and clothes, embroidering hankerchiefs with potential names, even setting up the Great Keep's nursery early for preparation.
All her hard work, all her tears of joy and discomfort, her fears of not being a good mother, would all be for naught in her eyes. Every morning when she woke and every evening before she slept she would silently whisper a prayer to whatever Gods were listening: hoping for a babe that might grow to be just like their father. The life she had cherished for so long would not live to see the day's light.
Cregan would delusion himself, too, if the situation was not in front of his eyes so clearly.
The Gods must have turned their backs on the Starks this time. Even after hearing Cregan's dutiful prayers every morning at the Weirwood tree in the Godswood, praying for his wife and future child's good health and happiness, both requests were denied.
When he had been praying daily for the health and happiness of his House for every year prior to his marriage, that request was fulfilled kindly. Why were they shunning him now? Now, in the most important event of his life?
He summoned the awaiting crowd of people back into the room. They could wait no longer, lest both lives be put more at risk.
Maester Lyson looked up at Cregan from the end of the bed, brows raised impossibly high and indenting the deep creases on his forehead even more.
"Save her." Was all he could mutter.
They immediately moved to work.
The two maids dropped down to grasp at her arm from the other side of the bed, causing his wife to jerk from his shoulder in a panic. "What are they doing?" She asked, looking between the four people in the room and then Cregan.
"They have to turn the babe." He said, shifting to hold her hand and hold her arm subtly towards the mattress. "It will hurt, but it will be swift. You will be okay, you are so strong." He focused on her directly, gently caressing the apple of her cheek and brushing tears from her skin.
She heaved raggedly, though tried to calm herself and closed her eyes tightly. "Okay, okay. It will be over soon." She whispered to herself in comfort.
Cregan nearly broke down himself, but hardened himself for her sake. "It will."
It had already been a full day of the pain. A full day of her just waiting for it all to be finished with and their babe to be in her arms. She didn't need any more, though she would have to deal with it for a while longer.
The pain would soon fade. It would only last minutes. Then, the recovery would start. No one could tell Lady Stark how long that might take. Weeks, moons, years.
The Maester, though weathered with age and grey, still carried skillful and strong hands from his days of experience. Placing them at the sides of her belly, he whispered a plea to the Gods before beginning to apply great pressure on either side in a subtle twisting motion.
Cregan winced as his wife let out a curdling cry. Her head lept forward, though she was quickly soothed down to Cregan's chest by his own hand. His other, still grasping her arm within his to steady her, shook.
After minutes of more tears, cries, and aching pain, the Maester had successfully pushed the babe to position. Panting, he sat back into his chair heavily and leaned forward again. "Push, my Lady." He urged gently.
Lady Stark took a moment to breathe carefully, grounding herself on the bed. She was beyond tired, mentally and physically. She felt as if a single push might bring her to an early grave, never to wake again. But, it had to be done. The worst was yet to be over.
The pushing part might have been the easiest for Lady Stark if she were not so exhausted and pained already. Unlike most other ladies' excruciatingly painful yet amused tales of their babe's giant heads providing a bump in the path on the birthing bed, Lady Stark's babe came quick. Though the hastiness of it did not lesson the pain of what felt like a giant pumpkin leaving her belly, it helped her to ease her own mind. The quicker the babe was out, the quicker it could breathe.
The room was dead silent after the babe was in the midwife's arms. Lady Stark laid back fully, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving up and down, face shining with exertion. It was over. She could meet her babe, and possibly even never go through that sharp blade of fear again in her lifetime, if it were a son.
"A boy, my Lord..." The Maester whispered out, barely audible though the room.
She opened her eyes, glancing up to Cregan, who held tears from falling from his eyes as he held eye contact with Lyson.
"A son." She gasped out, squeezing Cregan's hand as his head whipped down to look at her again. "You were right." She weakly smiled.
"I was, my love. You did so well. Rest, now." He commanded gently, kissing her knuckles with all the adoration in the realm. Lady Stark fell asleep quickly, allowing herself to rest after all this time. She entrusted the care of her newborn son to Lyson and Esmerelda, and Cregan of course, the three who's been loyally by her side the entire pregnancy.
🗡
Lady Stark was awakened by the soft 'click' of the chamber door. Her blinked herself awake, adjusting herself to sit more against the headboard. As she did, she winced at the feeling in her back and lower region. Taking a deep breath in, the Lady placed a soothing hand on her own stomach, a habit she gained for her time in pregnancy. Feeling the emptiness, she was reminded of the previous day.
Cregan silently planted himself at her side, looking to be in the same clothes he had been in since her labors started. Quite unlike him, she thought with amusement, their son must be keeping him busy.
"It's been nearly two days since you fell asleep. Gave us all quite a scare." He started, smiling weakly at his wife with those tired eyes of his.
Surprised, she raised a brow. "I must've been exhausted from the labors. Where's the babe, have you decided on a name yet?" She asked quickly, peering behind him as if the wet nurse might come in any second with her son in her arms.
He hummed. "Callan."
She smiled, huffing a small laugh. "That's the one I put on most of the babe's stuff." There were many that she planned, boy and girl names, but Callan had been a not-so-secret favorite of hers.
"I know, my dear."
Lady Stark frowned. "Is something wrong, husband?" She asked, wiping at a line under his eye. "You look worse for wear."
He took her hand, leaning into it and rubbing at her soft hand with his calloused one. "Rest up some more. I'll send someone in with your favorite." He said vaguely, standing from his seat and abruptly leaving the room. Lady Stark was left alone, feeling all but abandoned.
A million thoughts ran through her mind. Had her appearance changed after the birth? She'd been the one to comfort her friends whilst they cried about their husbands started favoring maidens after they provided heirs. She'd never feared the same for Cregan, he'd never gave any hinting towards such things. If anything, his hunger for her grew just as she did.
If not that, then what? Cregan was not a liar, and had never been. What he wouldn't lie about, he would simply stay quiet about. As a bowl of potato soup and soft rolls were brought into the chambers, Lady Stark found herself without an appetite even after three days of no sustenance. Weakly sitting herself fully up, she nearly cried at the feeling of pressure. Steadying herself and steeling her nerves, Lady Stark pushed through all the pain to leave the bed (that felt more like a prison by the minute) and stand to her felt. She hunched over like an old lady, clutching at her abdomen at the sharpness. It was a mistake to stand up without aid so soon, but she'd pay the consequences later. For now, she needed to see her son.
Every step felt like ten. She wabbled slightly each time, feeling as if she might tip over. The hearth and walls were her temporary crutches as she leaned against them, slowly but surely exiting the room to the Stark's family hall. Her and Cregan's chambers were just doors down, unused since she had been in the birthing room and he presumably hadn't slept.
Ahead, she found Cregan in the archway leading to the councilroom with Lyson in front of him. Neither spotted her as she leaned her full weight to the cobble wall. Lyson had a guilt-ridden look on his aged face, mostly avoiding his Lord's eyes as they spoke hushedly. She could barely make out the conversation.
"...will be fine, my Lord. As far as complicated births go, she is lucky."
"Lucky?" Cregan hissed, stepping forward. "Tell that to my wife's face. Nothing about this is fortunate, Lyson."
Lyson nodded solemnly, apologizing. "Of course, my Lord. I only meant that the Gods have blessed her with heath. She will be fine, and with some time, she will be healed enough to have another."
She almost groaned at the thought. Yes, it was her duty to provide at least an heir and perhaps a 'spare', though she hated the thought of people calling her second son a spare just because of birthing order. She would need a few years before she'd be ready for that again.
Cregan threw his arms up in frustration, running fingers through his hair. A sign of stress, one that she found he had recently been doing more since her pregnancy.
"We will not talk about her like that. Like her worth is just her womb."
"I do agree, Lord Stark. You know I do." Lyson said weakly. "But it's the people's expectation."
"My son is gone. The people can pretend to give their sympathies, but my wife cannot simply move on that swiftly. I cannot move on like that." Cregan insisted, almost sounding tearful despite present company. It was unlike him to cry, or even show any weakness at all. But Lyson had basically raised the boy since his parents passed.
Lady Stark felt that familiar pit in her stomach fall.
It had to be a lie, a falsehood from the Gods themselves. She had pushed through all the pain she was tasked with. She delivered her babe swiftly, leaving no time for him to suffocate like predicted. Callan was in the nursery.
Lady Stark turned as fast as she could, limping her way backward toward the Stark nursery. Whipping open the door, she was met with a stillness. The room was barren of any noise or life. Not even the trees outside of the window moved, not a leaf stirring. It was utterly lifeless. Moving towards the crib, Lady Stark leaned over the bassinet. The bundle of soft velvety pinks, blues, greens, and yellows lie perfectly still. Moving them, she found nothing but the sheet underneath. All kinds of names were sewn onto corners.
Aevery.
Rickon.
Aelise.
Benjamin.
Callan.
She clutched the grey-blue blanket to her chest, feeling it grow wet with her own tears. Falling to the floor, her knuckles paled at how hard she fisted the blanket.
She should have allowed it. She should have cut herself open to bring Callen out from her womb herself. She killed him. Selfishly, she picked her own menial life over that of her own son. The boy who never got to breathe a single breath outside of the womb. Never got to see the fresh powdery snow of Winterfell fall. Never felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Never got to live a day.
She was unaware of how much time had passed, if any at all, when she heard that soft and deep voice behind her. "Wife?"
She could not find a will to reply. Could not find anger at her husband for him keeping this from her, nor sorrow for her own failure. A stilling numbness surrounded her like a cocoon of protection.
"My heart." It came again, surrounding her. Arms wrapping around her from the front, encasing her further. Though she was silent, he continued to murmur. "I am so, so sorry. I wished to wait—until you recovered a bit."
Lady Stark did not yell. She did not scream or cry, nor pound her fists on his chest til he left her alone in her solitude. She sat there, lifelessly.
"Say something, please. Anything." He pleaded desperately, seperating them only to hold her face in his hands. She lifted her gaze, finding his sturdy grey eyes to be filled with wet tears. They, too, dampened the blanket.
"I miss him." She whispered. "But how can I, when I haven't even met him? When I killed him before he got his chance."
His gaze hardened, "do not ever speak such things. You did not kill our son. This is not your fault."
She stayed silent, nodding simply to please him. He sighed deeply, settling himself lamely next to her and leaning her head upon his shoulder.
"I miss him, too."
🗡
Wanted to do more with his in terms of length and fleshing out the characters but its been sitting in my drafts for so long I just needed to finish 😭
obviously this is written from the povs of the parents, post partem anything is super tough and emotional. it is in no way selfish to pick yourself or your wife over the baby. In fact, it is what I would do. the lady blaming herself for 'killing the babe' and being selfish for not killing herself to do it is purely in grief and not my real perspective on this type of thing.
series desc; Frank Castle is starting to be more than a neighbor who does you favors without being asked. He knows it; and it terrifies him as much as it thrills you. It's a strange 'friendship'. sometimes he's making you laugh your ribs thin, and other times you could cut the air with a knife. The biggest challenge is keeping him from backing away, while not risking ruining the only relationship you have in your apartment complex.
notes; slow burn, just-neighbors to friends to lovers! Frank is horrible at feelings, very manly (yes plz fix everything in my house and don’t let me pay you back), curtis hoyle makes an appearance, teeeennnsssioooon, rom com esque, banter, eventual smut
i'm on such a frank fix guys, bear with me i'm also kinda new to him haha
・۶ৎ adopting a dog together comes quickly after he establishes a life of ‘peace’. he's not quite ready for kids again—not until he trusts himself and the world a little more again. you two found the little guy on the side of the highway, dumped and abandoned. it takes a while for him to trust again, but he becomes frank's best friend once he finally decides you're good people. names him something simple and practical like max but falls into calling him your more silly name for the pooch like bubbles
・۶ৎ frank is scared to death half the time you're out of sight. he doesn't hover when you need space, but somehow he always has eyes on you
・۶ৎ after so many betrayals, he is guarded. keeps his heart under lock and key, but is hopeless when you prove that you're here to stay and put your trust in him, just as he does with you
・۶ৎ when you argue, he shuts it down with an immediate agreement and doesn't let it turn into anything serious. It may not be the right thing to do every time, but spousal arguments remind him of his past and every moment he failed to cherish before
“okay.” he runs the heels of his palms over his face, dragging the skin down with a long, deep breath. “i was wrong, i'm sorry. let's go to bed, sweetheart.”
“no, frank,” you throw your hands up, pacing the space in front of him. his knuckles were stained red with who-knows-who's blood, a few bruises scattering his own face as a reminder for his actions. “you're not even listening to me! you can't keep apologizing just to come back the next day and do it all over again.”
“i know. i know, i know.” he repeats like a broken record, taking your hands in his and kissing up them, dragging you down into his lap and pressing you close to his body, indulging in the feeling of you melting into him. “we'll talk about this in the morning, i missed you.”
the talks never come, and somehow you never finish those arguments
・۶ৎ you're basically as fragile as glass to frank—gentle touches and sweet caresses only preserved for his sweet girl and no one else
・۶ৎ he doesn't coddle, but he never gives you any reason to need it either when every little need is taken care of before it even becomes one
・۶ৎ if a situation arises where you are in danger, he will stop at nothing to save you, sacrifice anything and anyone, even himself
・۶ৎ you're the single most precious thing in his life, and he knows it and doesn't hide that fact at all
・۶ৎ traditional man, but tries not to be away from home as much as he used to be. simple construction jobs, easy to get in and out of with his only overtime being to afford gifts for you on special occasions. he leaves home at three am and returns no later than five just in time to be with you after work, cooking dinner with you or bringing takeout home for an easy night on the couch
・۶ৎ loves diners and diner hoping, trying to find as many as you both can in the city to enjoy but you never quite shake your tried and true favorite right down the block from your house. many mornings off are spent in a booth just cuddled up and overstaying your welcome over a few too many cups of coffee and breakfast, talking the hours away in low murmurs
・۶ৎ he memorizes everything about you. cycles, eating habits, your pet peeves, and every single accomplishment you hold close to your heart
・۶ৎ scratches your back at your request at first, then falls into the habit each night before bed, dragging dull nails up and down the planes of your back and lulling you to sleep. the first time you returned the favor, however, he audibly groaned and twitched his back out of your hands like a cat avoiding a pet. he relaxed after realizing what you were doing, and it was the fastest he'd passed out in his life
・۶ৎ stares. a lot. a lot a lot. whenever you notice him being too quiet, you can always glance over and find those big, deep brown puppy-dog eyes staring right into you
・۶ৎ shares your chores, no matter what job you work (if you work at all, which he always insists he can take care of you anytime you don't want to), doesn't fall into that ‘woman's work’ bullshit that his coworkers sneer about. he did his time in hell, household chores are a reprieve from any of that
・۶ৎ extremely physically affectionate. his nose is buried into your neck at any given time of idleness. his hand locks with yours or around your waist, thumbing your back pocket mindlessly as you walk. baths, showers, couches, the bed, everything you occupy frank has to be right there beside you
・۶ৎ calls you a by lot of nicknames. rarely your own name. baby. my lady. my woman. hon. pretty girl. frequents whichever one makes you smile the most
・۶ৎ plays with your hair, styles your hair if you want him to, anything just to touch you at all times because you ground him back to earth and out of his clouded head
・۶ৎ reads whatever book you suggest, even if its not his type. he's gone through dozens of romantic star-crossed lover-esque books ranging from soulmates to mortal enemies, finds himself enjoying them more than he anticipated. debriefs with you but rarely pipes in most of the time, soaking in the way you passionately rant about your favorite scene
・۶ৎ opens all your cans or bottles for you before handing them over. you never ask him to, but he loves seeing you smile afterward
・۶ৎ similarly, he fills your gas tank before it gets half empty and does all the maintenance on it, insists he wouldn't be a man fit for you if he can't do the barest of tasks like that
・۶ৎ tries, and i mean really tries, to keep you out of the loop for his dirty work and previous lifestyle. disappears off the grid for a few days during the early days of your relationship and doesn't even leave a note. you dig into him when he gets back, letting him know that if he ever pulled that shit ever again with you that would be the minute you left for good and found someone who'd communicate properly. he never did it again, true to his promise to you
・۶ৎ eaches you how to wield and use a gun, prays you never have to use that knowledge in your lifetime
・۶ৎ such a giver. he knows the stubble he grows drives you up the walls, so he lets it be even if its impractical at times. he doesn't even always do it for your sake—most of the time the feeling and look of you writhing under his firm grip on your stomach and hips when you're overstimulated is enough to get him off in his pants
・۶ৎ knows exactly how you feel about his nose, and teases you relentlessly for it, though it does make him feel awfully good to see you so bashful over it
“that feel good, hon'?” he asked in a knowing drawl, nudging his face deeper into you, crooked bridge hitting your clit in just the right way as his tongue dipped in and out
“i know, i know.” he cooed, feeling your hips grind up and down as he did, deriving your own pleasure from his face. “take what you need, baby. don't you stop.”
・۶ৎ presses his fingers against your pulse points during intimate moments or as he falls asleep. it calms him, a soothing rhythm that he can trust and follow
・۶ৎ his hands are so so so big. enormous. behemoth-like. they engulf body parts of yours, your wrists and hands, your face, your neck, your most sacred areas. he never once takes advantage of his strength over you, but you both indulge in your shared love over the size difference
・۶ৎ makes you suck his fingers to wet them before prepping you fully. after he finishes, he looks you in the eye and carefully sucks the remains of your juices and saliva right off himself
・۶ৎ loves facing you during sex, prefers any position where he can see every little microexpression and hear every gasp and moan clear as day
・۶ৎ he doesn't moan—but muffles groans into your shoulder or! pants like crazy, just breathy pleasured pants right into your ear as he tries to get words out and only occasionally succeeds
・۶ৎ when he's gone, he's gone. no turning back. pussydrunk so easily its not even funny
・۶ৎ if he could bury himself in your skin, he would without a doubt. always nuzzling his face into the space between your breasts at any given time, inhaling your scent and simply existing with you in the moment
・۶ৎ loves your tummy—whether it's carved flat or rounder; the skin there is so soft and tempting to him. falls asleep with his head pressed to it often, hands glued to your hips
・۶ৎ contrary to popular belief, he doesn't like to get physical in bed with you. slaps to the face, headlocks, pushing you into the bed, etc. is all stuff he doesn't enjoy and silently refuses to do while redirecting your attention
physical harm is saved exclusively for his enemies. to relate you in any way to them is breaking his own code and heart all at once, so a half-assed slap to the ass is all you'll get on a good day
・۶ৎ talks about you a lot. to david, to matt, to karen and curt. anyone he's close to or relatively close to, he's muttering about you because he's just always thinking about you
“she loves that dish…send me the recipe when you get a chance, would you?”
“she would look good in that dress. give me a minute, I'll be right back.” completely ditches his hangout to retrieve an item of interest, returning like nothing happened and meeting an incredulous look but a shrug
・۶ৎ he even learns to gather all the details from gossip-worthy situations just to give to you later, despite not really caring what someone's cousin's wife told her niece at their friend's wedding. but you would gasp at it, laughing soon after with a bright and cheeky grin, telling him you knew she would do something just that
・۶ৎ frank castle is a loverboy, through and through. nothing changes this, ever. insufferably in love with you and proud of it
what will happen when lord stark’s wife or maybe his son, reckon found a souvenir from his old lover?
𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤 | @hxtd
Cregan Stark x Targ reader
𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒 | @/hxtd
Cregan Stark x Targ reader
The Winter Sun | @misguidedasgardian
You became an orphan, niece to the King, you soon find yourself living in the Red Keep, and surrounded with more vipers than dragons. So he betrothed you to a recently widowed Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. And you found yourself more willing to be surrounded by wolves than by vipers. Because you were known as the little sunshine of the Red Keep, always shinning light in everything you touch, and the cold heart of Cregan Stark won’t be any different.
Pelts | @just-some-random-blogger
snow scales | @delulujuls
westeros is at the gates of war and to gain allies, king's landing sends one of its dragons to winterfell to marry the northern wolf and increase the chances of winning the war.
Northern Oaths | @idkyetxoxo
The fearless princess, captivated by the raw beauty of the North, faces a harrowing ordeal when abducted. Lord Cregan Stark, mesmerised by her charm and charisma, is driven by deep concern to rescue her, braving the dangers of the wild to save her.
Velaryon reader
Not Yet Blossomed | @cherryheairt
When Cregan visits the Boltons to oversee their livestock problem, he can't help but be enamored with Lord Bolton's meek wife. When he finds the truth of their relationship, he commits himself to saving her.
Cregan Stark x Bolton’s wife!reader
Hidden Truths | @/cherryheairt
Cregan comes home from war with a scandalous surprise, much to the horror of his wife. Though, it is not all that she expected when she heard of her husband's infidelity.
Strikes | @bluebellhairpin
Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you’re reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜰɪɴᴇ. | @cregansdingdong
the pack survives | @creganslover
Woman Like You | @/creganslover
beast of winterfell, | @/creganslover
Seasons of my love | @arabellasleopardcoat
As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?
His Second Wife, part 2, part 3 | @sluttysnowangel666
two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.
My Beloved Wife | @thebadboyfanclub
Cregan Stark x Targaryen wife | @captainamericasmotercycle
Snow and Flame | @shadowandlightt
Sent to treat with Lord Stark, the young Targaryen prince and princess receive devastating news and must return to Dragonstone, only the princess is sure she'll see the young Lord once more.
Cregan Stark X Velaryon!reader
Illness | @vampyrevogue
White dragon of the North | @wyvernest
Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.
Father of the realm | @misswynters
You are pregnant with a babygirl, or that’s what your husband keeps saying. He truly wishes it’s a girl.
princess of the north | @sl-ut
cregan has grown older and happier throughout his years as warden of the north with his beautiful new wife at his side. however, when he married into the royal family, he had not considered how frequently he would need to interact with his in-laws.
the warmth of winter | @/sl-ut
after a long and difficult labour, cregan is eager to spend some time with his wife and their newborn children, but for the warden of the north, duty cannot be put on hold in favour of love.
synopsis : a superdog grows attached to you and, soon, his owner does, too.
content warning : mention of pet death + grief , possibly ooc , she’s v apprehensive and aloof , [name] in place of y/n
title inspo ; sunlight by hozier
if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.
The first time she sees you is when she crashes near Lois Lane’s backyard. There’s a pool outside — she can hear Jimmy Olsen’s laughter and smell the chlorine drifting through the warm Metropolis air. Stumbling, Kara makes her way to the pool area and the laughter and the overwhelming joy she always tried to feel again.
Clark is there, a kiss the cook apron on as he mans the grill. He looks at the movement, then looks back as he realizes who just stumbled into the yard. He blinks, “Kara? Hey!”
The blonde pauses as she takes in the scene around her. It’s only Lois and Jimmy here, both lounging in the pool and chatting away with a drink in one hand. That’s fine — she knows them well enough not to worry. However, there was something missing.
“Where’s my dog?”
That’s when she sees the fluffed, white ear of Krypto standing to attention in a lounge chair. Except, he’s not alone. He’s spread out, lying sideways as someone soothes him with small, gentle pets. His tail thumps against the chair at the sound of her voice but he makes no effort to move.
You blink as a shadow settles over you, fingers in Krypto’s curls as you look up. Kara scowls down at you, confusion trying to overtake the hangover that’s building. “Hi, you must be Clark’s cousin. Care-uh, right?”
“Kara,” she corrects your pronunciation. She looks to where you’re petting Krypto ; watching how he melts into you completely and contently. “That’s my dog.”
You pause your motions, sitting up in the lounge chair with a whine in protest from the dog. “Sorry. I can move.”
“Why is he sleeping?”
The question catches you off guard. Every time you see Krypto, he falls asleep in your lap. Sometimes he’ll even lay there as you feed him treats by hand, always composed relaxed as he does so.
Clark walks up to his cousin with a grin you know is tensed. “He always sleeps with [name] around.”
[Name]. You were familiar to her. Clark spoke of you all the time — that fond, proud smile on his face as if he was talking about a younger sibling. The same smile he uses for Kara.
The blonde nods slowly before whistling. Krypto lets out a groan before slowly standing to attention and stretching. He stares at you, mouth seemingly pulled into a grin as he pants. You pat his head with a little smile before he turns to Kara.
My dog, she thinks to herself with a frown, is never polite or tired. It’s witchcraft — otherworldly. Kara says nothing as she looks at you one more time before taking off, Krypto trailing behind her.
The next time you see the kryptonian is embarrassing, actually. You’d hidden away in Clark’s apartment, only there to seek comfort from the white fluffball you adored.
With a crash, Kara is stumbling towards you once more. She pauses — you were not her cousin and she was not prepared to see you.
You’re sat on the floor, arms curled around Krypto as the dog sits in your lap. His eyes flutter until his head falls, chin on your shoulder as you squeeze him closer. Kara’s shoe scuffs the floor and causes you to jump, startled.
“Oh,” you sniff, “hello again.”
You’re crying. Kara cringes as she watches you wipe tears away, facing away from her as you do so. Krypto has melted into you once more, sagging against you completely as he begins to snore.
You clear your throat, preparing to unwind your arms from her dog before she stops you. “It’s fine.” Kara pauses before walking over and settling next to you on the floor. She watches as her dog’s ear twitches, acknowledging her before he settles again. “It’s weird. He’s so calm around you.”
“Clark calls me when he’s being hyper,” you say with a smile. Your fingers are absentmindedly twirling Krypto’s curls as you speak — Kara notices. “Sometimes he’ll play until he’s tired and sometimes he just curls up with me and sleeps. Clark says that’s not normal for him.”
“My dog,” Kara begins. She looks over at the slumped thing, amazed at the serenity he leaks. “Is not a sleeper. He chases and bites and barks.” She looks over you again, “are you magic?”
You let out a snort, startled by her assumption. You sniffle again with a shake of your head, smile still in place as you look to her. “Not in any sense. I think he just likes me.”
Krypto, Kara thinks, rarely just likes anyone. He’s still a hyperactive puppy, so a treat or toy from a stranger will catch his attention. This, though — he never actively seeks anyone out the way he does you.
The room grows quiet as Krypto twitches in his sleep — you smile at the movement and Kara continues to watch you. You let in a big breath, “my dog passed away.”
Kara watches you closer — the way your shoulders shake and eyes shine — in preparation for more tears. You swallow, “my dog died. When I moved to Metropolis, Krypto was buzzing through the street and just landed right in front of me. He was so sweet and gentle and he tilts his head at me whenever I speak to him. So I bother Clark a lot to see him.”
You brush over his head again, causing the dog to groan and stretch as he gets comfortable. Kara watches silently as her dog — her super powered, chaos causing dog — folds into your lap like a tiny baby. “He’s nothing like mine was, but he lets me know he’s here for me in that way that dogs do.”
She understands now. You lost your world metaphorically the way Kara lost hers literally. The blonde looks away from you, “Krypto’s good at saving people like that.”
“He really is!” You grin. Your elbow bumps Kara’s lightly as you adjust and a surge of heat soars through her. “He also really likes egg and cheese bagels, but they have to be in sandwich form. He’s so particular about it.”
Kara laughs at that, imagining her bumbling cousin trying to make bagels just so her dog wouldn’t throw a tantrum. She watches Krypto again and pets him as he lays on you, getting closer to you than she meant to. His tail wags at her touch and she has to look away from the smile you send her.
The last time is an accident. Kara had come to Earth after battling an enemy she couldn’t be bothered to learn the name of. They weren’t important or hard to beat, really — she’d just overexerted and needed to heal.
Coincidently, she spots you walking down Metropolis’ street before she collapses.
You panic before calling Clark, shoes scuffing against the pavement as you stop in front of Kara. She’s breathing, but slightly battered as she remains unconscious. Clark arrives quickly, forehead wrinkled with worry as he watches you tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and out of her face.
“Vitamin D deficiency,” he says slowly. Like it’s a secret — like he doesn’t want anyone to know. “She just needs to rest.”
“My place is close,” you reply. “I don’t mind watching over her — I know you’ve got work.”
It’s warm. Soft and warm and nice as she comes to. Kara lets out a small groan as her eyelids flutter open. She faces a large window, sunlight pouring in as the blanket around her is tugged higher over her shoulders.
You pop into view, frown where your smile usually is as you set a drink down on the bedside table. The sun shines behind you, illuminating you like she’d just found the correct answer to a question she didn’t ask. You hesitate before reaching out, the back of your hand meeting her forehead gently. “Good. You do feel warmer now.”
“[Name].”
“Hey,” you smile as you sit on the corner of the bed. Kara rises slowly, arms trembling slightly as she does so. You grab the cup you’d set down, “drink slowly.”
It’s fizzy and sweet, curling through a strawberry themed straw. Kara hums, “what is this?”
“A Shirley Temple.” You place the cup back down, wiping the condensation on your pants. “Figured you needed something a little sugary.”
Kara pauses, looking to her lap and flexing her fingers. She feels energized — buzzed. She realizes she’d never felt this healed before. Never felt this relaxed and in tune with her own body.
“What did you do to me?”
You frown again as you look her over. Your phone is on your lap from where you’d been updating Clark, the lockscreen showing a picture of Krypto she’d never seen. “I had Clark bring you to my house after you passed out. Then I tucked you in and waited until you woke up.”
The blonde grunts, hand curling into her messy hair — her three day migraine was gone. She eyes you slowly. You almost roll your eyes, “did you expect me to do something else?”
Kara felt so refreshed. Like she could go back to sleep, curled up in your sheets as she relaxed in your home. Maybe this is how Krypto always felt when he was around you — maybe that’s why he was always so calm.
“No.” The kryptonian looks out of the window at the sun — her life source. She then looks at you, shoulders less tense than before. “Not from you I don’t.”
——♥︎——
was this mediocre be honest ): anyways lol im sad <3
helpp I need to find a fic I just lost from exiting the tab—
Din djarin oneshot, reader was an x-wing flyer and it was like them first meeting and going into a relationship, after the series and before the movie I think
I don't know the author name, but the fic name started with Moon‐ And had three pictures as the header I can't find it anywhere in these tags
taking care of kara zor el under the green sun ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
you try to do your best
cw: comfort, pre relationship, reader has the biggest crush on kara
You lay her as gently as you can inside the cave, she whines and shivers as the veins in her face spread and darken. This is probably the worst situation you two could ever encounter, stranded on a planet where a few hours a day the sun becomes the thing that hurts Kara the most, alone and without supplies. All you can do is wait.
“Be careful,” you whisper, grabbing her waist and pulling her in a comfortable position.
“F-fuck… hurts,” Kara mutters, eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed.
You kneel close to her body, your hands trying to find a way to help her, but absolutely nothing works in this situation.
“Where does it hurt?” you try, leaning closer to her face. You hate yourself a little because she’s very very close now and you can’t help but enjoy your closeness.
“Everywhere,” she whines, trying to twist her body. Then, she says: “Neck.”
“The neck? Your neck hurts?” you check, your hands coming to the back of her head to find the cold sweaty skin.
You shift a little, careful not to jostle her too much and slowly guide her head until it rests right on your knees. Her blonde hair spills over your lap like strands of gold, even though it’s damp with sweat right now. Your fingers slide into it naturally, combing through the soft waves, then moving up to her forehead. You press lightly, rubbing small circles with your thumbs, hoping it eases some of the pressure building behind her eyes.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper, and she lets out a shaky breath.
The outside world is bright and deadly for her right now, Kara’s face is still twisted up, those dark veins crawling under her skin, but she leans into your touch anyway.
“Talk to me,” she whispers after a minute. “Please. Distract me… your voice.”
You suddenly become aware of many things: she’s so close, her head heavy and warm on your knees, trusting you like this while she’s hurting. For a second you wonder if this is the moment. You could just say it, spill everything about how your crush on her has been growing for months, how every smile she throws your way makes your chest feel too tight, how you’d do anything to keep her safe even on this stupid hostile planet. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, pushing to get out.
But no. Not now. She’s in pain, vulnerable, and the last thing you want is to make things weird when she needs comfort. You swallow it down, force a soft smile even though she can’t see it, and keep running your fingers over her forehead in steady strokes.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to bake cookies for the first time? I wanted to impress a girl at a party and it was a total disaster. I forgot the baking soda or something, I don’t even know. They came out hard enough to break a tooth.”
Kara makes a small sound that might be a laugh, or maybe just a pained huff, but her eyes stay closed. You take it as a good sign and keep going, your hands never stopping their gentle work through her hair and across her brow.
Your fingers trace down to her temples now, pressing softly, then back up into her hair. You can feel how tense she still is, the way her shoulders hitch every few seconds when another wave hits her. It kills you to see her like this. Kara is always the strong one and now she’s curled up depending on you.
“Did you know that butterflies taste with their feet? They have these little receptors on their feet that help them determine if a leaf is suitable for laying eggs or if a flower contains nectar.” You stumble a little on the words but recover fast, laughing awkwardly under your breath. “Isn’t that cool?”
She shifts her head a bit on your lap, pressing her cheek more firmly against your thigh. “Keep going,” she mumbles. “It helps. Your hands... feel nice.”
That simple praise makes your face heat up, but you don’t stop. You card your fingers through her hair again, slower this time, letting the strands slip between them. Outside the cave the sun is probably still raging, but here it’s just you and her, the dim light filtering in just enough to see the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks.
“Alright… Well, my favorite ice cream flavor has to be caramel… sometimes salted caramel depending on which ice cream shop does it. What about you? No, don’t answer yet, just rest. I’ll guess. Something classic, maybe vanilla. Nah, you’re more adventurous than that. Probably pistachio, because you’re cool like that.” You chuckle quietly, your thumb brushing over her forehead again, trying to smooth out the furrow there. “When we get back home, I’ll buy you a whole tub. We can eat it straight from the container while watching bad movies. The ones with terrible special effects and lines that make you groan out loud. I know you secretly love those too.”
Time stretches out like that, your voice filling the cave with silly stories and half-baked thoughts. You talk about the dumbest things while your hands keep moving, soothing through her hair, across her forehead, down to rub the back of her neck where she said it hurt worst. Every little sigh she lets out feels like a tiny victory.
Deep down the crush is still there, but for now this is enough. Being here for her, distracting her from the pain, feeling the weight of her head on your knees like it belongs there. You’ll confess one day, maybe when she’s not hurting and the sun isn’t trying to tear her apart. For now, you just keep talking, hoping your words wrap around her until the worst of it passes.
bonus:
kara: it's bubblegum
you: what?
kara: my favorite ice cream flavor is bubblegum
you *snorting loudly*: that's so lame kara my crush on you is over
kara: YOUR WHAT
a/n: i needed to write some comfort and this is all i have to offer
notes: finally a long one. its been stewing in my docs since MARCH 7TH guys. MARCH. bunch of notes at the end, love you 🩷
synopsis: the titans are forced into mandatory team bonding. secrets are unearthed, and the entire world is at stake
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” You whispered absentmindedly while tearing your room apart inch by inch. For nearly an hour now, you'd been searching for the necklace Damian got for you. Amidst your other sparse jewelry, which you rarely even got to wear due to missions and training, it was practically your prized possession. Usually you never even took it off, but training was the only consistent time it was set aside, safe and sound in the same few spots. There was no way you'd lose it, and definitely no chance any of your teammates would take it—that's simply not even a thought that crossed your mind.
You always put it either on your dresser or in the bathroom, but neither spots had a hint of the green shining stone and chain.
“We need to go like, yesterday.” Garfield said from your doorway, providing absolutely zero help in your search as he followed your form with his eyes.
“Maybe I would've been ready by now if someone did anything other than standing and staring—you wet rag.” You huffed, throwing a shirt behind you.
He dodged it swiftly, a cheeky grin hidden behind your line of sight You heard the distinct sound of his transformation, and then a squeak.
From the ground, probably as a mouse or a rat or whatever rodent he wanted to call himself this time, he laughed and scurried under your dresser and bed, shuffling around with a faint pitter patter of feet. “Don't see nothin’ under here. Wait…what's this?”
You blanched, pausing in your search. “Whatever you found, put it back.”
“Jeez,” he said, walking out into the open and staying in the little mousy form. “Touchy. I'll be waiting in the car, like everyone else.”
He strutted dramatically through your legs, passing Damian who was now the third one in your room just in one day. Watching the green rodent slide past him, he crossed his arms. “Lost something?” He guessed, managing to sideswipe away a stray blanket. “They're demanding we join them in that humiliating vehicle.”
“We will be,” you assured him. “As soon as I find this thing.”
“What are you looking for? I'd rather not go down there and squeeze into the middle.”
Hesitating, you contemplated your courses of action before telling him you had just lost his, presumably, very expensive gifted necklace.
“You know what.” You stood, stretching your sore back out from leaning over for so long. “I'll find it tonight when we get back.”
He shrugged without prying and led the way down to the elevator.
That morning, Kori had called a meeting and sat you down to explain her brilliant overnight plan. A so-called ‘team bonding experience’, as if that would fix Damian's nasty attitude towards them the first day of his stay. A place away from the Tower where everyone was cooped up and stiff, where you could go to a neutral ground and have some fun for once. She didn't explicitly mention that it was because of the tension Damian brought into the team, but it was known well enough.
So, that evening she told you to be ready for the local fair that was coming through town. You, unlike someone else, were actually looking forward to it before you panicked about the loss of your necklace. It would just have to wait til you returned with everyone else to resume the search.
Filing down to the carport, you and Damian slid into the car.
But how exactly does one fit a group of teenagers into one vehicle? That's right, a minivan. Courtesy of Titan funding itself and your mode of transportation on non-mission related adventures.
When you warned Damian about it that morning, mentally preparing him to not make a scene, he looked snobbishly appalled.
“You're all old enough to drive yourselves.” He said. “Why don't I have some cars sent here?”
You guffawed at his bougie thinking. “What's the fun in that? Driving six,” (seven minus Jon, who wasn't driving age), “different cars to one spot. Live a little, rich boy. Be eco-friendly, like the peasants.”
He looked genuinely stressed at the thought of so many people in one normal, totally not enhanced, car. You pitied him for only a moment as he mourned the loss of his personal driver and valet (Alfred).
She had even invested in many, many bumper stickers that she collected over her time as a minivan driver. She wore them proudly on the back of the car, showing off all the gifted and self-purchased ones no matter how corny the joke was. On the rear window even laid an entire stickfig family with all of you represented. It was a little humiliating at first to pile out of a Honda Odyssey with the rest of the group, who were all much too big to be riding in the back seats and hunching over to exit every time but complied anyway, but no one dared complain when Kori adored the car so much.
Sometimes, though, you wondered when and how she got her driver's license. It might be best to stay curious on that front.
Jaime took shotgun as usual because he always insisted that was the ‘eldest child’ privilege even though he was only a few months older than Raven. Shotgun meant aux, and Jaime was simply too picky about good music to allow anyone else on it.
The rest of them shuffled into the back row before you'd even got down there, making room for the two of you to fit in the middle row. They were probably fighting on how to not get squished with Damian potentially on one side of them, so they ended up in the very back which usually only Jon got. Youngest got last pick, of course. That one was a mutually decided rule that amused you, not that he minded much as he awkwardly squeezed his lanky limbs into the smallest row.
Conversation droned in front and behind you. The only silent portion of the car was the middle, where you and Damian sat with only the wired earbuds between you, filling one ear each as you half listened to the music from your playlist and half basked in the menial conversation of your friends. Behind you, the three of them talked about the best carnival game strategies and how to win the biggest prizes without being scammed. In front of you, the two of them gossiped about the newest oscar nominees, a recent fascination of Kori's and long-time interest of Jaime, or more specifically his mother who just told him all of the celebrity gossip and he simply updated Kori on what he knew.
You didn't have to look at the boy next to you to know that he was doing the same thing.
It must be a shared habit. Either built on situational awareness that vigilantes needed to get by or your own shared nosiness, it was a comforting point to know that he was always on your page subconsciously.
By the time you'd arrived at the fair, it was already buzzing with activity. The bright, blinking lights filled the night sky and drowned out the darkness entirely, twinkling in place of the stars just for one night.
When everyone exited, you lagged behind with, yet again, Damian.
“What the heck is that?” You blurted, watching him carry his sword out of the car with him. “Where did you hide that? When did you hide that?”
“Your trivial questions are not worth my time.” He refused to answer plainly, stubbornly moving to go past you before being stopped by your firm grip on his bicep. He turned to you, personally affronted by your sudden compliance with society.
“Then I won't ask any questions. Put the dang weapon away, we're going to play carney games.”
Defensively, he held the long sword behind his back as if you'd snatch it from his hands like a child's toy. At your incessant and annoying batting, he finally shooed you away from his personal space bubble and cleared his throat.
“It's San Francisco.” You stressed after ducking your head back into the car. Grumbling, he tucked his swords back under the passenger seat. “Not Gotham. It's basically like Iceland.” That was a blatant lie. San Francisco was no paradise when it came to safety, but when compared to Gotham anything could be considered the safer choice.
“What would you know about Iceland's safety and integrity? You've never left America.”
“I left America when we got kidnapped and your mom almost killed me.” You said severely, catching the little mocking eyeroll he gave behind the dim lighting.
“Doesn't count.”
“Does too.”
“Does not.”
“Okay, whatever,” you snatching his shirt, yanking him unsuccessfully from the middle seat to get him out of the car. “Now that your skewer is hidden, we need to actually catch up with the rest of them. Raven owes me cotton candy.”
“I like to be prepared.” He defended, scooting out of the seat on his own accord after your tugging did nothing but rustle his clothes. “I hope you know I will not be participating in this civilian nonsense. The games are childish, the rides are filthy, and the food isn't even edible. You shouldn't even be eating that stuff, I'm certain it'll kill you faster than any otherworldly threat could.”
The short walk you'd managed to take was interrupted by your own pause. He had to stop, too, nearly hitting his shoulder with yours if he were any less tactile.
“Damian.” You said, slowly looking up at his disgruntled expression. It shifted into something else, something strangely unfamiliar, and you continued. “You're going into the stupid carnival. You're going to have a stupid amount of fun playing childish games. You're going on every germy, rickety, probably-on-its-last-leg ride with me. And you're gonna eat the cotton candy.” Poking his chest once with a dramatic flair even Barry Allen might be jealous of, you were actually impressed with his moment of silence. “Not even Batman could stop me.”
Finally, after a fierce and unbowing staring contest, he rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Fine,” he said. “Only this time.”
Dragging him by the cuff of his finely folded sleeve, you weaved through the parking lot and to the entrance, where the rest had already bought their paper bracelet passes for entrance and rides.
Garfield smiled when you both approached, hoodie and long-billed hat pulled over his head to cover his green-tinted hair and some of his skin. It was still visible, of course, but could easily be mistaken for colored lighting. “Finally, I thought you two had run off together back to the batcave.”
Raven, to her credit, schooled her face not to purse up. Crowds already agitated her enough, so you were sure Damian's petty lateness had almost set her off. She muttered something under her breath, but Kori's louder voice overtook hers.
“I got two more wristbands for you both!” She beamed obliviously, handing the paper strips to you and turning back. “Come on, Jon almost stormed the walls to get to the fried bread stand.”
“Oh, hell yes.” You hissed, following them absentmindedly as you folded the paper around your wrist. The sooner you could get the mess of fried bread, powdered sugar, and artificial-syrup covered cherries in your system, the better you'd all be. “Wrap this for me, will you?” You lifted your wrist up to Damian's view, watching him eye it like a mystical contraption.
He fumbled with it for a minute, cursing when he couldn't get it unstuck from the sticky side.
“You gotta pull the tab.”
“I know,” he fussed, still unable to yank it off.
In the chaos, you both continued to walk, distractedly weaving through the crowds and still managing not to touch anyone in the struggle.
“You're not doing it right, I'll just ask Jon—”
“Do not ask him.” He said immediately, cutting you off. “I've got it.”
Eventually, he got the little tab off and (much too tightly) cuffed the band around your wrist with a satisfied vigor. He smirked, looking at you expectantly.
“I'm not praising you for putting a paper bracelet on successfully.” You said plainly, watching him scowl and turn away. In one swift motion, you yanked his wrist towards yourself and stuck the band on his bare wrist, pulling the tab and loosely clasping it together with a sharp nod.
“Whatever.” He grumbled, leaving you snickering in the food stand line.
“You guys can go start your rides and games.” Kori says, humming as she considers the line length. “It's gonna be a while.”
“You sure?” Jon asked, concerned about leaving her alone while you all went off to enjoy yourselves. He had already started swinging back and forth on his feet, antsy to move and do something, but he'd stay if it meant keeping her company.
She nodded, already pulling out her phone (definitely just calling Dick), “go have fun. I'll text when I have the plates.”
With the gates opened, the horses ran wild. Garfield and Raven immediately rushed off to the rides, the eager boy already convincing her that The Zipper was made to be ridden a hundred times and that no, he wouldn't throw up like last time.
Jon and Jaime went off to the games, leaving you and Damian to figure out what you wanted to do.
“I think the games are pretty empty.” You gestured towards the various options, preferring no lines compared to the very crowded and drawn out lines for the more exciting rides.
Trying to ignore Kori's very flirtatious conversation, you began walking away while you considered your options.
Duck Hunt was first in line, where Jon and Jaime also lined up as they watched a kid pathetically miss every single slowly crawling metal duck target. They kept their laughs contained, to their credit, as Jaime presented his all-admitting wristband to the gamekeeper and lined the fake shotgun to his shoulder.
In a flourish of pellets, he shot down every poorly painted duck that dragged across the line, knocking them down steadily as they passed in front of his gun. After the timer ended, Jaime rose with a casual stretch and waved his newly won wad of tickets like they were bands of money.
“You can call me ‘eagle eye'.” He said, fanning himself. Jon rolled his eyes and slowly clapped, allowing him the moment of soaking in the win before moving to the end of the stand to play in the next round. “I'd like to see you guys beat that score.”
Collectively, you and Damian cocked your heads at the display of skill. You had to admit, it was almost cool to feel him walk shoulder-to-shoulder with you without any needless prompting, joining you at the counter and surrounding Jaime's spot and leaving him trapped between the two of you as you lined the guns up.
“Let us show you sharpshooting, eagle eye.” You said, aiming the plastic toy right at the top ducks. He scoffed, straightening up and shaking his arms out, getting back into position with a smooth bend.
“We'll see about that.”
When the bell rang, the conveyor began its crawl. On the three levels, the ducks passed and fell just as quickly as you four shot them in the blink of an eye. You moved the gun after every pull of the trigger, moving on before you even ensured the first target was hit and swiftly completing each row with available ducks. The moment another popped back up, it was shot by either you or Damian, sometimes even tying for the kill shot and being undisputed as to who got the victory. The points rose on your gun with every bullseye to the ducks’ wings you landed, and soon enough the timer was going off again. Jaime scoffed loudly as he looked at his score. Glancing down, you nodded at the higher number showing on the blinking screen.
“You kept stealing.” He declared. “You shot down the ones in front of my section!”
“Maybe you just suck.” To your surprise, and amusement, Damian was the one to say exactly what you were thinking. Behind him, Jon whined at his own score, the lowest of the four, and set the gun back into its holder while accepting the tickets.
“Man, that's stressful.” He commented, throwing his hands behind his head to rest them there.
“You'll get ‘em next time, bud.” You clapped his shoulder, watching Garfield and Raven approaching from the ride area.
Jaime mumbled something about favoritism behind you, but you paid him no mind as you waved.
Garfield looked greener than usual, holding his stomach with a queasy expression. Raven, by his side, looked totally fine, if not a bit bored.
“Having fun?” You asked, looking to Raven for her not so secret quirk of the lips as she looked down at Garfield.
“Oh, yeah.” He blew air between his teeth, trying to contain the contents of his stomach. “Never better.”
“There's a strength test!” Jon's excited yell caught all of your attention to the next game, where you surrounded it in a large half-circle quickly. The kid still playing with the hefty rubber mallet missed the weight below a few times before finally landing a comically miserable hit that made the little metal dot rise up a mere two feet above the resting position.
The older man manning the game shook his head in sympathetic solidarity. “Sorry, kid. No prizes for anything below a bell ring.”
You hummed, plotting your strategy. You weren't the physical strongest of the team, and with the rigged weight game you were sure it was only actually rung a few times a day, if someone got lucky and the booth didn't want to draw suspicion. Plus, the embarrassment of not getting the bell rung in front of a team of teenage superheroes would probably send you into early retirement.
So, what were you to do?
Make someone do the heavy lifting for you, of course.
“Whoever gets me the giant armadillo gets five bucks right now.” You announced, crossing your arms over your chest.
Immediately, Damian scoffed. “Five dollars? The thing probably costs less than that to produce.”
But Jon perked up at the declaration, stepping up and rubbing his hands as if this game would be any sort of challenge to him. “Deal.” He said, picking up the mallet. The real challenge for him would be to actually underperform and not break the entire stand.
Everyone cheered on from behind as he lifted it over his shoulder, slightly hesitating and twisting the wooden handle in his palms as he measured his own strength.
Finally, Jon brought it down.
The tick moved up in a shiny flash, hitting the bell with a resounding ‘ring!’ that sounded more like music to your ears at the promise of a grand prize. True to his intentions, Jon did not break the bell nor the target clean off the stand, but the massive dent in the bottom of the bell that the attendee was now gaping up at with a hand on his hat was almost as bad.
Sheepishly, Jon set the mallet down on the dirt. “...Can I get the armadillo?”
With a heavy sigh, the man brought it down from the line and handed it off to Jon, who happily skipped over to you and handed it off.
“I actually didn't bring my wallet.” You said, taking it into your arms anyway with a cheeky smile. “But I'm good for it.”
“It's okay.” He said. “I don't need it, I just wanted to win it.”
He walked off again, the prideful puff to his chest never leaving as he joined Raven, Jaime, and Garfield on their walk back to Kori.
Damian stood where Jon was, strangely quiet.
“I could've easily won.”
Confused, you shook the armadillo's little stub hand in a point towards the bent bell at the top.
“It's too late, now.” You shrugged. “Can't unbend metal, Magneto.”
The group approached a funhouse, and just in front of it stood a row of bent and kooky mirrors that distorted everything as you walked by. You stopped in front of one in particular, laughing childishly at the sight of your head enlarging.
“Look, I'm you.” You pointed.
Damian unintentionally stopped behind you, staring at your mirror instead of his own and smirking at the way you appeared. “That looks more accurate to all that space your ego takes up.”
Ahead, the rest had stopped to laugh and admire their own images in the mirror. It quieted down with Jon nudged Raven, and they all discreetly turned to watch you. He made a move to slip by you, not even noticing his own distortion that focused particularly on the rear end.
“Fatass.” You mumbled behind your hand, watching him turn around with an appalled scowl.
“Who are you calling fatass, bighead?” He demanded, inching into your space.
"Bighead?!" You scoffed. "At least I'm not the one with the botched Dr. Miama Brazilian butt lift!"
"It doesn't even look like that," he insisted, pointing towards the mirror that definitely looked just like that.
"And my head doesn't even look that big—how could you even say that to me?"
“You started this!” He shouted in your face, pointing a finger straight at you that just begged to be bit.
“Yeah, and I'll sure as hell finish it, too!” You snapped your teeth at the finger, nearly catching skin if Jaime hadn't grabbed your arm from behind. Struggling and fighting against the tugs against your arms, you couldn't do much but watch him turn his nose up indignantly. He turned to walk away, proving his own self-righteous callousness to be too good for you, and you murmured some choice words from behind his back, watching him disappear into the fun house as if he hadn't just made fun of them less than an hour ago.
“You good?” Garfield asked with a cocked head, and you could only imagine a pair of ears sprouting out as he did. “I didn't think you guys would fight like that.”
Squinting, you pursed your lips as you contemplated between confessing that you didn't actually consider that a fight or telling him that you were actually really hurt and needed pity desperately.
When in doubt, always choose the most dramatic option, Dick would tell you.
You sighed dramatically, pulling your best ‘woe-is-me’ face while longingly staring at the funhouse. “I'm gonna go check on Kori.” You slid right past the question slyly. “You guys go into the funhouse without me. I'll meet you there with the food.” With that as your last message, you winked at Raven and wandered off to sneak a bite before anyone else.
Never would you ever admit that the funhouse horror section actually scared you shitless. This excuse was the best thing that could've happened to you all night. Plus, you were ready to devour whatever you could before you actually got hangry.
Kori was sitting at an empty picnic table when you found her, sniffing her pink hair out like a bloodhound. You waved, watching her put her phone up against a drink.
“I was just about to message you!” She smiled, digging through her purse for hand sanitizer that she spritzed on your hand generously before handing you a plate of cherry-topped fried bread. You dug in immediately, finding a seat right next to her instead of across so you could talk to Dick, too.
“Hey, kiddo.” He said with an easy wave. He was suited up for the evening, hours ahead of you in terms of time and already on patrol. He had a nasty looking bruise forming on his cheek, wiping sweat from his brow and smiling with all his pearly whites despite obviously having just been in a fight.
When the camera blurred and a ‘whoosh’ sounded through it, you shook your head. Spoke too soon. Of course he answered the phone during a fight, why wouldn't he?
“I thought we talked about texting and fighting.” You swallowed, rolling your eyes at his carelessness. “You grounded me for doing it last time.”
By grounding, you meant the equivalent of a slap on the wrist. You were banished to your room for an hour, and only called out because he festered on the couch in his own guilt and boredom for the entire hour. Either way, true punishment or not, you made a point to respect his decision and not do it again.
“I'm not…” A punch. “Texting.” He denied, thwipping through the air easily. You exchanged a look with Kori, who shrugged. “I'm calling.”
“Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.” You exaggerated, sending a text of your own to alert the rest that food was ready and getting cold.
“Anyway.” Kori transitioned smoothly, watching Dick handle business through the video as she spoke to you. “You having fun?”
“Loads.” You replied with a small smile. “Did some games. Haven't gotten to the rides just yet.”
She nodded sagely as if you'd just told her the secrets to the universe instead of the basic contents of your night.
“And…how's he doing?” She asked, attempting to sound casual.
“Not fighting with anyone.” That was about the best you could get—for now. “But not exactly making friends. I think they've got a long ways to go before anyone's buddy-buddy.”
“Oh, yes.” She perked up. Dick slid under a bridge, wrapping a large wire around his enemy and the crumbled concrete together, showing he was listening with a short hum. “Speaking of, you guys really do get along well, I thought Richard was simply exaggerating when he said you guys were ‘attached at the hip.’ It's almost like watching a rom-com.” She gushed with a romantic sigh.
“A what?” Dick sputtered, dropping his phone and cursing before picking it back up and wiping it on the front of his suit.
You had a similar reaction, practically choking on your food before asking, a little deranged; “Rom-com?!”
Kori looked between you two. “Yes?” The three of you shared a reflecting moment of confusion, waiting for her explanation while Dick took the time to hurriedly wrap up his fight. He revved up his bike, pulling into an alleyway as red and blue lights flashed across his tan face the moment police arrived to pick the criminal up.
He leaned forward on the handlebars, eyebrows clearly furrowed beneath his mask.
“Well–You two just banter and flow so nicely together. It reminds me so much of when Richard and I were just kids ourselves on the team, working together and sneaking off when no one was looking.”
“They're what?!”
Still ever innocently confused, Kori narrows her eyes at him through the screen, putting pieces together in her head. “Lucid and Robin are together, are they not? You told me so.”
“I said they're partners,” he stressed even more. “What are they doing in that tower? Are you in a secret relationship with him? Is he bothering you, do I need to come over there? I'll drive over there right now!”
“We aren't! Do not come here!” You defended yourself against Dick's question, his white-out eyes already as big as saucers and his hands running through his hair. In his distress, he looked an awful lot like Bruce, but maybe that was just the mask speaking.
Damian? And you? Together?
That wasn't even an option. It wasn't a concept born yet in the universe. He was your best friend, your partner and your teammate. The one who understood you and accepted you more than anyone else.
Romantic feelings were never in the picture. It was impossible.
Unless…
Kori flushes, clearing her throat. “I apologize, then. I misunderstood, it seems.”
Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, trying to clear the air at the same time before anyone made any hasty decisions to march straight down and split the team up again. “It's alright. We're…Close, I guess.”
“You're telling me.” Dick grumbled. “I should've watched that kid more when he came back from the mountains. Trouble written all over it.” He stretched his arms out, mostly talking to Kori at this point. You made a point of your own to ignore him, trying helplessly to ignore the warmth spreading to the tips of your ears as you listened to him rant to an avidly listening Starfire.
‘Get over here. Pronto. I can't be alone with them anymore.’ You sent another desperate message to Damian, anxiously awaiting the group's return with your leg bouncing rapidly up and down.
‘Trying.’ He sent back rather quickly, likely already on his phone and trying to look distracted. ‘Garfield broke a mirror. We're trying to dispute it with the owner.’
Smiling, you put the device away and continued eating, taking to people watching instead of Dick-and-Kori watching because the ladder never did you any favors. Distracting yourself from Kori's misplaced thoughts was all that could help you right now.
A couple walked by with no hurry in their steps. A toddler swung between them, tiny hands in theirs as they lifted and pulled while uprising giggles left all three of them.
An elderly pair, clearly worse for wear by their short, slow steps and hunched backs, took a seat at a nearby bench. Almost instinctively, they leaned on one another and sighed in a perfect harmonious contention.
Two teenagers, much faster than their predecessors, rushed by in a flurry. They both had a red hue to their pale, freckled faces as they avoided each other's eyes but still interlocked hands despite their nerves.
Sighing, you wrung your hands over the table and moved your eyes away from the crowd. It felt almost too convenient in timing and fate to see so much of a singular subject in the air. It almost taunted you. Or maybe you just never noticed before how frequently love surrounded you. What you couldn't quite decide is whether it was suffocating or freeing. Even imagining it made your head dizzy with confliction and uncertainty. Distracting; that's what it was. You had a goal to focus on today, and no frivolous well-intentioned words would ruin that.
Garfield came jogging over first, fist wrapped in medical tape and a stupid grin still on his face despite his cut up hand. “You won't believe what happened in the mirror maze…” He took a seat across from you, already regaling the entire event from the beginning. How he'd gotten a little too confident, running through the mirror maze and punching straight through a pane while trying to reach out to what he thought was Raven in front of him, who turned out to be down the hall and watching the whole thing go down. Apparently Jaime had laughed himself into a fit of coughs and Jon rushed out so fast he almost broke another mirror himself, searching for a carnival medic while the operator scolded Garfield for his damages.
Next to him, Raven rolled her eyes and bit into her powder-sugared treat. “He wanted us to pay for the mirror.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not. One threat of a lawsuit for his equipment hurting a kid and he was rushing us out of there and begging us not to file anything. Something about not wanting another incident to happen, but it's whatever.” She shrugged, already moving on while Jon leaned over to show her a video from his phone.
By the time everyone joined you, you already decided to commit to the bit of still fighting with your best friend. You harumped when Damian was in sight, turning your head and body away and angled towards Kori rather than anywhere near him. The tension was undeniably felt around the table as he sat right next to you cluelessly.
A few of them sat around the benches, but Jon and Garfield paused like you were a feral cat waiting to pounce.
“Dude…” Garfield whisper-shouted towards Damian, making a cutthroat gesture at his neck.
“You can sit next to us, Damian.” Jon offered quietly.
Yes, you thought triumphantly, if all your attempts to make them friends failed, a forced sense of brotherhood just might work.
Damian only barely looked up with an acutely raised brow. “I already sat here.”
Such a shame that the man sitting right next to you was such a socially oblivious dolt. You'd have to practically play two roles before he'd bother playing along with your silly whims. Luckily, not knowing when to quit was one of your best qualities.
Snorting, you noticed Damian picking at his plate like it offended him. “Too unhealthy for you, my liege?”
“It has ‘fried’ in the name and sugar poured all over it. If nothing else, this might take me out.”
“Maybe that'd do me a favor at this point.”
Everyone at the table went quiet, and you cursed yourself for a moment. Too far? Possibly. It was simply the first thing that came to mind as a retort.
If it was cruel, Damian didn't notice. He sniffed, forking his food over to your plate and not even acknowledging your words. “If you think it's so good, you can have it. I know you'd probably eat five in one sitting if no one stopped you.”
Kori raised a brow, glancing between you and him and wondering when she might need to step in.
“...Did he just call her fat?” Jon whispered to Jaime, who paled at the question and ran a hand through his mousy brown hair.
You tried not to laugh at the reaction, knowing that he's said a lot more heinous things in even worse situations. Standing up dramatically, you polished off your own food and handed Damian's portion to Garfield, who carefully took it with a suspicious glint to his eyes.
“I am going to the ferris wheel.” You declared, walking away from the table without a second thought. Either way, you were getting a few rides in before the night ended. Damian rose to his feet, having nothing else to do except occupy his own evening, but was stopped by a hand to the crook of his arm.
“Hey, man.” Garfield awkwardly started, not quite knowing how to talk to him. “Why don't you play with us?”
He looked down at the green-skinned boy, noticing the somewhat forced smile offered to him with little rhyme or reason. “Why?”
Jaime stood next, swinging an arm around the shorter boy's shoulder and paying little mind to how his shoulders tensed at the touch. “The more space between you and her, the better. Trust me.” He said, guiding him away from the ferris wheel while Raven went the opposite way towards where you rushed off to. “A little alone time never hurt anybody.”
Before he knew it, Damian was ushered off with the three Titans to various rides and games in an attempt to distract him and separate the two of you. Unknown to him, they were all trying their best to prevent a fight from breaking out that none of them were sure they could break apart.
On the top of the ferris wheel, paused for dramatic effect and for more passengers to enter and exit the carts, you and Raven overlooked the fair.
“You're going through a lot of trouble to get them to like him.”
“I don't think so.” You shrugged her words off, leaning over the bar to admire the pretty lights. “This is nothing compared to yesterday. Seeing everyone at ends is like torture. And I would know—y'know?”
Raven smiled slightly, shaking her head at your antics. “Well, you better hope this works. It's almost painful to watch you pretend to do anything.”
“Hey,” you scoffed. “I'm a great actor. You're just a mind-reader. Doesn't count if you see through me.”
She gave you a ‘really?’ look, and you caved into a laugh. “It doesn't exactly take a mind-reader to notice what you're up to.”
“Jon, Garf, and Jaime are perfectly clueless. That's all I needed. The goal is civil—maybe even friendly acquaintances if I don't get too ahead of myself.”
Raven concedes, leaning back into the swaying seat and looking at the stars. You follow, glancing at her pale side profile, illuminated further by the moonlight. “You've been on edge lately.” You said quietly. “And not because of Damian. Something's bothering you.”
“It's nothing that you would understand.” She says vaguely, and you kiss your teeth in slight frustration. You were close, close enough to consider yourselves sisters, yet she continues to close you out of her mind when it really matters.
Without a sensible thought running through your head, you asked; “it's your father, isn't it?”
Raven's dark eyelashes flit down to hide her eyes from sight. Her jaw tightens, then releases. “It's just dreams. Nothing more.”
“Dreams,” you asked tentatively. “Or premonitions? He can do the same things you can. Is he speaking to you? Does he know where you are?”
Her patience only stretched so far with your bombarding questions. “Leave it.” Her spit of your name nearly wounds you, but you force yourself to understand her hesitation and maybe even her fear, choosing not taking it personally because it simply wasn't.
“I will.” You agreed mutedly.
She rested her crossed wrists on the silver pole, jerking slightly with the cart that swayed at each stop on the descent. You jerked, too, moving with the sway instead of against it.
“Promise me that if you're in danger, any at all, you'd tell me?”
Raven turned her dark-eyed gaze to you, dimly lit from above the lights. For a moment, she looked conflicted. Her face pinched and tormented, more so than the past few days of what was turning into her usual irritation. You expected a sardonic joke to rip from her mouth, not taking your offer seriously when her threats were a lot different than your own—almost two different dimensions of contrast. While you had faced the Court of Owls and the al Ghuls, she had faced demons and planetary threats you couldn't even conjure an image of in your mind without seeing through hers first.
“I will.” She promised.
The small door opened at the bottom of the ferris wheel, and she abandoned the cabin before she could notice your outstretched pinky.
Dust kicked up around the fairgrounds as you weaved through the growing crowd. The later it got in the night, the more people who decided to turn up and join the activities. You spotted the group by a bright light-up dance stand, tugging Raven by the arm to guide her towards it. Standing near the back of a thick crowd, Kori, Jon, and Damian watched on with the rest and Jaime and Garfield faced off to a knock-off DDR game. Surrounding the boys, people cheered and whooped for whomever they wished to win, awed by their agility and reflexes. It was evenly matched for quite some time, until Jaime eventually couldn't keep up with his counterpart's swift moves and slumped backwards against the bar. From your position, you could barely hear the words of victory Garfield had chosen.
“Looks like we found something the bug can't do,” he chuckled good-naturedly before waving to the entire crowd upon his grand podium of two feet as if addressing his subjects. “Please, please, no autographs!” Jaime pouted as he made his way back.
“Free popcorn to anyone who can slay the beast.” He gestured behind his shoulder to the gloating Beastboy, who circled around the lifted area to greet his ‘fans’.
“I can do it.”
You snorted, watching Damian brush past Jaime's shoulder to challenge the master.
“You know how to dance?” Kori asked, green eyes wide.
He shrugged. “I'm a quick study.”
As he took his place, you leaned into Jon with a whisper. “Is it horrible of me to kinda hope he gets humbled?”
“Maybe.” He bites back a matching grin. “But they both have enough ego for us all, so I can't see either of them backing down.”
The group shifts to the side of the game, getting the closest view possible. Immediately, you notice how Damian's eyes study Garfield's shoes and posture before the game begins. When the music starts, his eyes dart back to the screen. In a subtle shift, he mimics the same stance and jumps light as a cat onto each of the symbols.
For a few levels, he struggles. The symbols always connect, but flash error signs above to signify imperfect landings.
Meh! So close! Not quite!
The words only fuel the fire further. In a flash, his feet almost become blurry as they progress so quickly. The matching screens rush past faster and faster until the entire crowd is holding their breath, wondering who would mess up first. They looked like one person split into two, hitting every single move at the exact same time.
You hold your breath too, not even noticing how Raven's attention gets spared onto something behind her. Her figure disappears into the night, and your eyes stay glued to the dance boards.
Eventually, it is Garfield that caves. Not intentionally, but forcefully. He tires faster, grabbing the bar behind him and stumbling just once. The one mistake was all it took to set him on a downhill slope, feet constantly slipping or sluggishly not being able to meet his marks.
The WINNER sign flashes across Damian's screen, and the crowd cheers for their new champion. Garfield heaves into his fist, coughing and catching his breath while the winner simply disembarks his vessel to bequeath himself to the peasants.
“Awesome, man. For your first time, too.” Jaime congratulates him, reaching for Garfield's hoodie to pull him down the stairs.
Kori clasps her hands. “Yes, very impressive.” She nods, then grimaces at Garfield's pale (?) face while you rub his back sympathetically. “You were great, too, Garfield.”
“Yeah, alright.” He pants, waving a dismissive hand to forget the humiliation.
“Finally some exercise, huh Damian?” You asked, noticing his chest rise and fall slightly faster than usual.
He doesn't blink. “I'd much rather get exercise in a different way.” He insists. “Through battle and training.”
“Careful what you wish for.” You tut. “You've got a habit of jinxing situations.”
He ignores you, and Jon finds a moment to congratulate the older boy himself.
“Was that really your first DDR game?” He asked as he met Damian's stride to retreat from the crowd. “That was so cool! You should teach me—”
Jon keeps talking, quite oblivious to the obvious annoyance radiating off Damian. You let them go, glad to see Jon finally approaching him in a moment where his guard was down and you might even call him approachable.
The five of you snap to attention at the loud sounds of explosions in the distance. Smoke fills the sky and red flashes cross it like lightning.
Raven comes flying into the dusty clearing between food and games stands just as people start screaming and running. She lifts her head, still conscious from whatever struck her to the ground but weary, already tired from a fight. Her dark purple cape concealed most of her body flowing around her and leaving whatever injuries she might have unseen.
“Raven!” You called, immediately moving to get to her.
Behind her, from the cover of darkness beyond the carnival and presumably where the explosions and Raven came from, flew out multiple red demon-looking creatures, four glowing eyes narrowed in on each of you.
“Titans, go!” Kori yells, and the pieces move to action.
Under everyone's clothes was—of course—their training uniforms or suits, traded out in the blink of an eye. The Blue Beetle settled over Jaime's entire body, encasing him in a protective layer as he rushed forward to escort civilians out with the aid of his extra limbs.
Garfield chose a lion to imitate, jumping past Jaime to meet a demon in mid-air and force it to the ground. Kori, hovering with green energy plasma surrounding her arms and legs, shoots forward in a similar manner through the air, shooting one away from Raven and drawing it away from the civilians. Jon does the same, engaging in an airborne fight with the winged creature to clear the floor.
Behind the Titans, you could see Damian run for the parking lot, the exact place you told him to leave his precious weapons behind.
You drew your staff out from your pocket, the concealed cylinder extending into a pole the same height as yourself, hitting one hovering directly over Raven in the torso and activating the electrical mechanisms at the same time.
Pulling her up, you held Raven up by her waist, supporting her as she caught her bearings. Her hood fell from her jet black hair, glaring at the lump on the floor that twitched more by the second, recovering for another attack.
“They're demonic emissaries.” She spat. “My father sent them.”
Kori landed in front of you two, a defensive stature against the rising demon. Symbols crawling up its wiry body hummed and glowed as it stood, settling back into a dark black against the smooth skin. “Your father?” She asked in confirmation, knowing how conservative Raven had always been with information regarding him.
When the demon struck, she met it with her own powerful force, green against red illuminating the air around you. The strike knocked her back to your feet, and you scrambled to pull her back from his next outstretch of lightning-fast beams. It spindled in the air like a spiderweb, dying out when it hit the dirt path and lost its power.
Raven blocked the next hit, forming a shield in front of the three of you, carefully studying her surroundings while it walked steadily closer, holding it’s beam against her shield consistently. Jaime struggled behind you, slowly stepping backwards to he back-to-back with you while the power from the demon was too great for his own shield to bear. She was swift to form a second shield, one hand outstretched on each side protectively. Garfield and Jon were quickly thrown your way next, and Raven circled the shield in a closed and impenetrable fortress.
With one move, you figured out quickly that those so-called emissaries were completely immune to your own powers. Maybe it was because they weren't human, or they simply were to single-minded to have complex thoughts and memories for you to manipulate.
“Damian's coming back soon.” You murmured, wondering just how much his aid will actually provide in a sticky situation like this. It was a severely bad match: A shape-shifter, mind-reader, swordsman, and a beetle against dark magic wielding demons. The only plausibly good power matches were Jon, Kori, and Raven, and they could only carry so much weight against an army if it came down to it.
From what it seemed like, against your shock, Jon's heat-vision, and Raven and Kori's physical power, they could not be brought down in any traditional way. They got right back up with a certain refractory time.
Smoke bombs exploded around the shield, covering the area in a grey haze as batarangs struck two creatures and a sword pierced straight through another's skull from behind. Damian, standing behind its fallen body and grimacing, looked only mildly annoyed at the inconvenience the separation brought him.
At least it gave him appropriate time to change into gear, no matter what earful you'd hear later.
“Please tell me they're undead.”
“Yes,” Raven released her shield. “But you can't stop them like that. They're like batteries.”
“So, we just keep hitting them til they're drained?” Jon asked, wiping a smear of dirt from his face as the three demons arose again.
She shrugged, “more or less, that would work.”
“Then let's run them down.” Kori instructed, rising into the air once more, followed by the other two flying Titans.
Hit after hit, blow after blow, takedown after takedown, the demons continued to rise and fall. There was no indication of the metaphorical battery draining, so you simply had to have faith in Raven's words and keep at it until victory.
Everyone engaged with one of two of their own enemies, Kori taking it upon herself to take the brunt of the force with quick and powerful moves that only an experienced Titan would be able to perform without tiring.
For being the newest member, Damian worked surprisingly well with the others. He didn't let an ego get in the way, and allowed others to perform ‘kill shots’ for him while moving straight on to the next opponent, and he didn't even make any snarky comments when picking up someone's slack.
He kicked a demon right into Jaime's blaster shell, letting the blue light fizzle and die out before jumping straight to the next one and out of Garfield's way, who had caused more property damage than all of you combined with his theatrics.
Up above, you noticed Kori being thrown straight into Raven, knocking them both around in the air before your own fight distracted you too much to see the rest. They could handle themselves, and they had proper backup to help in case they got overwhelmed. Your own fight was priority until the situation got dire.
After the fifth takedown, you were already beginning to grow annoyed. Your whip left your hand practically numb from the vibrations leftover after each shock you gave your opponent, but hand to hand left you constantly hit by their own magic, so it was your one option until you figured out some grand revelation in demon hunting.
It hissed upon its sixth time rising, sharp teeth bared and already moving to tackle you to the floor. You were quick to switch weapons, holding your staff against its throat to keep it's fangs away from your face as you struggled against its raw strength. Huffing, you glanced around for help. One was closer than the others, confined to the ground just as you were for the time being. He sliced a head clean off from his place atop its shoulders, landing gracefully after letting it slump to the floor.
“Damian!” You shouted between sharp breaths. The gravel beneath you dug harshly into your skin past the suit, sure to leave hundreds of tiny indents in the morning. “Spot me!” He was the closest option and now the least occupied unlike every other teammate who was still locked into a battle.
“Why don't you ask Jon to do it?” He asked with a certain snark in his tone.
“Are you kidding me—?”
The demon snarled ferociously, snapping its jaws at you before you locked your elbows again, losing focus at Damian's petty squabbling. “Just help me, dammit!” You yelled, trying your hardest to avoid losing an eye or nose. He made a noise of complaint, kicking dust up as he leapt onto the shoulders of the demon and strung the wire of his grapple around its neck, yanking it off of you entirely while choking it out.
You counted your lucky stars that he hadn't gone with the sword—you did not want to end the night covered in stinky, hot demon blood that might just have acidic properties.
“Someone said my name?” Jon popped up out of nowhere, perked up like a puppy at full attention and still hovering, ready to return to his fight before the one he was fighting got back up again. Without a word, you held a hand out, feeling yourself being yanked up to your feet with a small stumble for balance.
“Must've been the wind.” You muttered bitterly, seeing the demon's head slice off from the pressure of the wire and Damian land right in front of the two of you, a pinched look behind his masked eyes.
“Your service isn't needed here.” He said, brushing past the younger boy and jumping back into the fray. Jon looked at you, wondering if he should be offended or unbothered. You waved it off.
“Grandpa is just missing his post-patrol nap right now. Don't worry about him.”
Looking you up and down, Jon slowly nods after he finishes his scan. “Call for me if you do.” He shoots off into the air, referring to Damian's previous words instead of your own.
Shaking your limbs, you follow his lead and begin the sisyphean task all over again, catching one with your whip by the ankle and yanking it down to the floor, walking over it's back to slam the staff straight through its vulnerable neck. Wincing, you were just as fast to jump off.
Yep, it's hot. Burning hot, more like. No demon blood for you.
A large shadow overcast the moon, drawing your attention to a humongous black raven in the sky, consuming a demon whole and dissipating into a plume of smoke immediately after. Below the smoke, appeared Raven herself. You cocked your head, wondering if anyone else saw that. But everyone was too focused on their own business to dwell, and you brushed your awe off.
The demon didn't get back up again, instead dissolving into the air like it'd never been there in the first place. On the rubble of a broken down corn dog stand, Kori stood up on shaky feet and glanced around for a count, assuring everyone was counted for after her brief moment of unconsciousness while Raven defended her.
“Woo!” Garfield cheered, back in his normal form and completely nonplussed by the damage around him as he jogged down the aisle. “We kicked some serious ass. Yeah, baby!” He punches Jaime's still shielded shoulder, moving on to high-fiving Jon and attempting to get you trapped in a head-lock which you avoided with a kick to his shin, snickering at his yelp and watching him move on to Damian.
“Up top!” His hands sat high in the air, awaiting a response that would never come to fruition. “Hit me!” Lowering them a bit, he nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm, egging him on for the shared high-five.
Damian simply stared at him, unimpressed and still. He hummed, breaking eye contact to look towards the leader. Garfield groaned, left hanging and dropping his arms to his sides. He didn't pout for too long, drawn in by the sight of Raven in the center of the small semi-circle, floating down gracefully after surveying the area for lingering threats.
She avoided everyone's eyes, a torn look on her face, covered by her hood. A mixture of guilt, fear, and a forlorn sadness laid deep within her already turmoiled heart.
You kept yourself from comforting her. Kori, instead, stepped forward with a stern yet compassionate air. “Robin said I didn't know enough about you. I think he was right. You told me you didn't have a father.”
Raven was quick to respond, a bite to her voice. “What I said is that he's gone.”
“That's not the same as dead.” Damian countered.
“He's dead to me.” She turned her back to you all, cape billowing around her and shrouding her from view and vulnerability.
“Why's he trying to kill you?” Garfield asked, changing his tone from enthused to concerned in a heartbeat.
“He's not trying to kill me,” her shoulders moved shakily under her cape. “It's much worse.”
The air swirled harshly around you, a glowing purple aura surrounding the team and trapping them in a large circle, forming a wormhole-like black pit beneath you. You clenched your fists tight, moving closer to Damian next to you and bumping shoulders with him, ready to move if needed. He tensed, too, hand palming his sword at his belt and untrusting of teleportation magic. The terrain changed in an instant as black covered your vision, gone in an instant front the destroyed carnival to a dilapidated temple.
What was once cobblestone path, marble steps, and quartz pillars was now rubble and ash. The stars were clear and bright above, no signs of light pollution clouding the atmosphere on the planet.
“We're not in Kansas anymore.” Garfield commented with an impressed whistle, looking around in awe.
“This isn't any starfield I recognize.” Kori said. “Where are we?”
Raven turned around, eyes half-lidden and filled with memories. “Somewhere my father can't see us.”
“What happened here?” Jon asked tentatively, hovering carefully over the ground.
“There's so much. Where to begin?” She asked rhetorically, gaze lingering on a faraway place.
“I guess it starts with my mother. She was young, rebellious and gullible. Of course she wound up in a cult.” Her words were half scoffed, half saddened. “Anyway…They decided to do the classic Bride of Satan rite. And of course, she got picked as the ‘chosen one’. I doubt anyone truly expected it to work, but the ancient ceremony turned out to be the real thing. So mom, with her great powers of judgement—didn't hesitate to hook up with the first guy who emerged from the smoke.”
At the wording, you exchanged a look with Damian, cocking your head at the same time that he glanced at you.
Garfield had the same intrusive thoughts that you both did, interrupting her spiel with a gasp. “Woah, woah, woah, wait! So your mom did it with Satan?”
Raven didn't even blink. “His name is Trigon, but yes.”
“Garfield.” Kori's voice snapped you out of your own amusement, straightening up to attention. “That was inappropriate. Go on.”
“It gets weirder.” And you were truly more intrigued than ever. What could be weirder than boning Satan like it was a normal Tuesday?
“Mom fled the cult and was on the run with nowhere to go. But she got saved from these people from a different dimension. The people of Azarath: A realm of beauty, peace, and tranquility.” It was easy to imagine, with all the grand pillars and steps, distant temples and dead plants around, that this place used to be a paradise. “Needless to say, I did not fit in. I must have inherited my mom's terrible judgement because I thought if I could find out more about the monster who made me, I'd be able to make sense of myself. Poor mother, poor Azarath. I became its Trojan horse.”
The moon above was easily seen and would've been even without the bright sea of stars around it. It was much closer than Earth's moon, huge in size and split entirely into two parts, a clear aftermath of the wreckage that occurred on Azarath.
“He took me to his hellish universe. I could hardly bear the horrors I saw there.” Her voice quieted.
“Why did Trigon want you?” Kori asked, bringing a hand of comfort to her shoulder.
“He wanted Earth. He's a conqueror of worlds, but he needs a powerful conduit to open Earth to his control.”
“And you're half human.” Damian pointed out. “His way in.”
“My magic was stronger than he realized. Before he could use me to open that gate, I was able to trap him within a crystal. It should've held him. Perhaps if I had stayed there, it would have. But I wanted a home.” She admitted, guilt shaming her words.
“Why didn't you go back to Azarath?” Jaime asked, and you could've pummeled him for the obvious question.
“This is Azarath,” she said solemnly. “What's left of it.”
Eventually, Raven returned the Titans back to Earth and the tension of the night fizzled out. Raven remained quiet and contemplative, but Kori insisted that all matters would be dealt with the next day after everyone got their well-earned rest.
Snagging a delightfully unburnt bag of bright cotton candy from an abandoned stall, you mourned the chance to grab a giant corn dog while they were still hot—and not scattered all over the grass. This would simply have to satisfy you until the next carnival came into town—that one hopefully not being terrorized by interdimensional demons. Ripping it open, you folded a piece up and placed it in your mouth, feeling it melt on your tongue while the rest talked quietly about the events. Silently, you held a piece out to Damian.
He grimaced, staring at it like it offended him. After a few moments of contemplation, he took it with a sigh and ate it.
“I thought you guys were just fighting?” Jon asked with a twisted up expression of confusion. You handed another piece to Damian, fussing that he finished the whole thing and not throw it behind him when you weren't looking. He sluggishly obeyed, letting it sit on his tongue like toxic sludge, wincing when he swallowed.
“Nah.” You said behind the giant bite of sugary cotton candy. “If we were actually in a fight, it'd be a lot messier. We were just fucking with you guys.”
Raven, of course, was unsurprised. Even if she wasn't a mind-reader, you were sure she'd simply be able to know everything on her own good instinct.
“Really?” Jaime asked. “You almost bit his finger off.”
Damian shook his head at the mention but added nothing but a mumble under his breath.
“Last time we fought, I ended up with four stitches and he had a patch of hair missing.” At the memory, you couldn't help but cackle. “I won that one for sure. It was completely bald—like, shiny bald, for a month! Alfred was pissed.”
“Yes, because I had an event for school the next week. I wore that stupid beanie forever.” He sighed while you just laughed harder at his misery.
The Titans disappeared into the tower for their own routines, either decompressing and winding down after the night or processing information in the ways they were familiar with. Eventually, everyone had more or less gathered together to not dwell in their negative thoughts for too long.
It was a comforting, familiar routine that happened after rough missions or training, something that you thought of as regular but forgot about the newest member in the process. Briefly, you wondered how he'd fit into the dynamics, and what new ones would be made with him.
“Alright, folks. Time for admission is over, please take your leave at the nearest exit in a neat and orderly fashion.” Garfield turned the shower knob off, reaching from behind the darkened curtain to grab the neon green towel hanging nearby. Various grumbles filled the bathroom before everyone complied, putting away their own various tools in cabinets and drawers.
Four of you filed out of the bathroom, cleaning up after yourselves like you'd never been there in the first place. In the hallway, paused on his way back to his room, stood Damian.
“Did you guys all just stay in the bathroom while he showered?” He asked, a steaming cup of tea stagnate in his hands as he judgementally questioned the lot of you. “There's multiple bathrooms in this tower.”
Collectively, you all shrugged. “I was tweezing my brows.”
“I needed to shave.” Agreed Jaime.
“I was talking to Garfield.” Raven said. “What am I supposed to do, pause the conversation?”
“I just like being involved.” Jon said last, a glimmering aura around him.
“Exactly, sourpuss.” You teased Damian, who only looked more bemused as each person spoke. “Girlhood. You wouldn't get it.”
“There's literally only two girls in this room.” He sassed back, content on not changing his stance that the five of you were all weird.
“I think someone's jealous he wasn't invited.” Garfield, towel wrapped around his waist and toothbrush halfway in his mouth, added from the now open doorway. “Don't worry, bud, we'll make sure to barge in on your shower next time and keep you company.”
“For the love of all things good and bad in this world, do not do that.”
While everyone filed out of the hall, Damian pulled you aside for a moment before you could escape to your room. His stare felt more intense than usual, serious and hard to read. Did he find out you lost the necklace? Was he pissed and thought you didn't take good care of the things he placed into your care? Your throat felt tighter, heart beating slightly faster every second that passed under his scrutiny.
“What's wrong with you?” He asked, and your heart fully dropped to your stomach.
“What do you mean?” A nervous laugh escaped you, and you swore a cold sweat formed on your brow line.
“You were quiet on the ride back.”
“We all were. Demons just attacked us and we found out Satan himself was gonna hunt us down for sport.”
“No,” he cleared his throat. “You were quiet. Even after something like that.”
“I was just thinking.” You admitted, softer and away from the lingering ears that might still be around. “About Raven. About Earth. About what we could possibly do against that.”
Damian leaned back, aware now of his hovering state. “We'll figure it out.”
“Right, sure.” You shrugged, still uneasy. The whole night had sucked, and you knew so much could change in the blink of an eye with a threat hanging over your heads like this.
He reached into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a long velvet case from its protective confines. “I had this cleaned for you.” He said, prying it open to reveal the very thing you'd torn your room and mind apart for all day. “I knew you never would, and I figured it was a good time to do it while I'm at the Tower with you.”
“Oh.” You gaped dumbly. Hovering over the brightly shining gem, you decided against it.
Again. Just like the very first time he gave it to you.
“Spoiled.” He ‘tsked’, but didn't complain as he spun his finger for you to turn around. Cheekily, you bit back a smile from his sight. Taking it out of the mold and wrapping it around your neck, he fixed it snug and the clip straight against your nape.
Breath glossed over the cool skin, warming it slightly. “You thought you lost it, didn't you?”
“What?” You snapped, turning around just as quickly. “Of course not!”
He laughed at your defense, shutting the case and pocketing it again. “I know you wouldn't. Even if you did, I can just get a new one.”
“It's not the same.” You insisted. “Like replacing a pair of old shoes after they wear or a dish when it cracks—the memories won't be the same with the new one.”
He considered your words for a minute, then nodded. “Then if you lose this one, or break it, we'll find something else to make new memories with.”
Satisfied, you agreed. “Thank you for cleaning it. I appreciate it.”
The conversation dimmed, and the stillness of the hall settled in your bones.
“You owe Kori a new car window, you know.” You cleared the tense air, adjusting the already perfectly symmetrical chain around your neck in an attempt to occupy your hands.
He sniffed in annoyance. “Some people are already on their way. I might as well replace the whole car while they're here, with the state it's in. It was tempting.”
“Be nice.” You cooed, guiding him by the arm on the slowest walk ever to your room. For some reason, the moment felt too short. You had a million conversations with him, thousands of moments, yet it didn't feel enough when it was over. Like a craving you could never quite satisfy, but never figure out exactly what you're wanting either so you could. “It's served us well. Kori will be happy to hear you fixed it for her.”
“I don't need brownie points. I'm simply fixing what I broke so I don't hear owe her anything later on.”
“So, what are your thoughts? Updated version, not first impressions.”
“On?” You both settled into your room, you sitting at the top of the bed and leaning against the headboard while he sat at the foot, already taking Robin into his cross-legged lap and stroking her face gently.
“The team.”
His mouth twitched into a frown. “They're a lot. Immature, rowdy, dangerous.”
“You mean, Raven, don't you?” You asked without a beat. “She may have withheld some information, but she didn't think it would put us in danger like this.”
He gave you an irritated look. “Withholding information about a demon warlord isn't a simple mistake. It's a lie that might get us all killed—all of Earth destroyed, just like Azarath.”
“It's not like you'd come in and tell everyone about the League up front, right? They're pretty dangerous, moving without warning and especially interested in you and Gotham.”
“That's not vital information that holds any value to the Titans. The League won't move so quick after the last time, and certainly not in California.”
True, as always. How infuriating. Maybe you were biased, and if you hadn't known Raven before knowing she led Triton to Earth you'd probably feel much differently. But you did know her, and you understand her loneliness and longing for family.
“That's fair,” you cave. “And the rest?”
“I won't be here long enough to care.”
Slumping back into your pillows, you groan. “C'mon, I worked my ass off all night to get you guys to be friends. That can't mean nothing.”
He raised a brow, “you sat on your ass and ate fried bread all night.”
“No one appreciates my craft.” You murmur, ignoring him.
“Went on rides. Left me in the mirror house with those idiots. Had Jon win you a stupid stuffed animal—”
“Oh, yeah.” Remembering the big armadillo that had gotten lost in the fight and destruction. You wondered if anyone grabbed it on their way out, giving it a second chance at life that wasn't on the dirt floor of an abandoned fair. “I never even got to name him.”
“It wouldn't suit your room decor, anyway.”
“You sound upset,” you smile, tugging your hand over your eyes as they get heavier. “Don't worry, I love them all equally. Even the less cute ones.”
He muttered something under his breath that you never caught. When you woke up, you were tucked in carefully in the soft comforter surrounded by Robin and Bitewing on either side, snoring away in your ears and basking in the morning sunlight. It was a pleasant, warm morning, and one you had a dreading suspicion that would be the last for a while.
the little bathroom scene was inspired by the batfam art by @/possumtion. i think its super cute, and wanted to recreate something like that with titans. i think the most elite friendships/siblinghood moments come from everyone doing their individual tasks in a shared comfortable space
also, i never mentioned this before but i feel like raven is the tall gf to garfield's short bf. garfield gives 5’3 with all the love in my heart
carnival stuffed animal winning is the cliche-est trick in the book and yet its a lost art these days
im crying they gave kori a legit magical girl transformation 😭 go check that out if you can find the clip, its so out of place compared to the others
why's human trigon and raven's mom lowk both baddies? some parts of this seem like a raven fanfic and it was funny to reread, but i really just want to showcase all the bonds throughout this series and not just budding romance
this took so long, guys. why did this take so long? i hope its better than i think it is. I love Lucid a lot haha
thank you for reading, and thank you for waiting. let me know any thoughts you have 🩷
Crossposted on Wattpad under same title and author name Isopop
Summary: Daenys, Rhaenyra's eldest daughter, has been labeled as a madwoman by the realm and Queen Alicent. Upon her mother's crown being stolen by Aegon ii, Daenys finds herself being sent to the North to treat with Lord Stark. She finds a lot more than she bargained for with Cregan Stark and his determined spirit.
Warnings: disordered eating, nudity, canon-typical violence, canon-typical misogyny (not from Cregan) and other HOTD related warnings.
Summary: After the Battle of the Gullet, you're left heartbroken. But a witch with a promise to fulfill one wish makes you believe that perhaps not all is lost.
Based on the One Wish Willow from the movie Obsession!
Even thinking it in that dark part of your mind made you feel as if you were betraying the mere memory of him.
He's dead.
Your bedchamber is cold. The vial of oil you'd run through his hair most nights laid on your vanity untouched. The dress that you wore that made his eyes widen was so far deep in your wardrobe that you didn't care to try to find it ever again.
Every Targaryen sigil you saw— the three headed dragon— made you think of the three arrows you were told found their way to his body. The red of the fabric's stitching made you think of his blood mixing into the water at the Gullet.
And you think often of how fearful he must have been.
You haven't left your room in days. The devastation had left you without energy or care.
"I'll speak to her," you tried to comfort your husband. You'd laid a hand on his chest, over that sigil you were willing to give your life for.
Your eyes met his, deep and knowing, and you had smiled.
He had smiled back, if only for a fleeting moment. You'd later recognize that as a smile of guilt.
And when the door shut behind you, you were unaware that Jace would order for it to be locked to keep both you and his mother, the two most important women to him, safe.
That's what he told himself at least. In all honestly, he didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes if he told you he was going into battle.
So instead, he rested his forehead upon the door for a moment before you could realize what was going on.
He was gone before Rhaenyra had began to bang on it frantically.
She had given up once she knew it was a pointless task.
But you, the poor girl whose husband was out fighting a battle with an unseasoned dragon, was going into hysterics.
You rattled the door and beat it with your fists. You screamed and cried. You even clawed at it until the pain became too much.
You were full of life with a heart so full of love.
You were numb now.
You were willing to give your life for this war, but you weren't willing to give his.
Your throat ached from crying so often. You didn't eat much. You didn't take care of yourself.
Baela had tried visiting to cheer you up, but you could not even look her in the eyes without thinking of him.
And Rhaenys felt too guilty to visit you at all.
The maester had tried everything he could to help you. He kept a small smile on to convince you everything was alright.
But he had diagnosed you with a broken heart. And for that, there was no cure.
The dreams started not long after that.
They started out sweet at first. His face, his eyes, his toothy grin when he would tease you. Then scenes of the two of you together, memories you had of him. Your wedding, your trips to the shoreline, sunbathing at Dragonstone, introducing you to Vermax.
Then they shifted.
The sweet dreams would shift to something horrid. He would be smiling at you perhaps, then his face would fall. Suddenly there's chaos. There's water. And blood. So much blood. And he's there with three arrows in his body. It ends with you swimming after his sinking body until you drown.
You knew Vermax did everything he could, but nothing will ever make you forgive every person and animal that let this happen.
And the dreams were beginning to make you go mad.
It made you do something horrid.
You knew of witches and spells that could do things no others could.
And after waking from another horrid dream of losing him, you decided to give in.
You didn't tell anyone of this but the handmaiden and guard that saw it done.
You couldn't take another day like this.
…
It took a few days, but a woman was soon discreetly brought to your room.
She was older, perhaps in her 40s. Her hair was beginning to grey and she looked wise. You trust her immediately.
You talked to her in ways you hadn't spoken to anyone since your Jace. You confided in her. You told her everything about your prince, your life, and how you wished to join him in death.
She cooed and comforted and listened until you were malleable in her hands.
"I've seen many women come to me with similar thoughts," she hummed. "But it does not good to die alongside them. Who remembers them when you're gone?"
You sniffle and frown. "There are plenty to remember him—"
"But not like you remember him." She grabbed her bag and began to dig through it. "What is your heart's greatest desire?"
"My…?" You had tried to avoid doing deep dives in your mind as of late. "I don't know."
"Think then," she huffed. "What do you want most in this world?"
"I suppose… I want Jace. I want him back so badly. I would do anything. I would kill to have him with me again."
She grinned widely— so widely, it looked unnatural. But she gave you no time to contemplate, for she pulled out a cloth and handed it to you.
You take it and realize it's wrapped around something.
And you unveil and mere stick.
"Before you scoff, this is a special thing here. It's been blessed, you see. It will grant one singular wish from the one who breaks it. It cannot be undone, so ensure it is what you want most."
You look at the stick this way and that. "But it's a stick."
"Believe what you want, but you will see." She tilts her head. "Did you not say you wanted to see your prince again?"
The mere thought, a hope, that you would see him again made your breath catch. "This would… bring him to me?"
She shrugged and stood, gathering her things. "As I said, a singular wish. Do it carefully."
You thank her over and over, making the growing hope in you obvious. She smiles and pats your cheek before leaving.
The moment she's gone, you sit on the bed and pull your legs up.
You pick up the stick carefully and look it over again. It looks like an ordinary stick. There's no special paint, no glow, nothing to indicate that she spoke any truth.
But your hope outweighs doubt.
"I wish my husband was alive."
Snap.
You don't feel a change in the air. No knocking at the door. The room is just as cold as before.
You feel like the broken stick in your hands is mocking you, and you throw it to the ground.
You flip the blankets up and cry yourself to sleep like you do most nights.
…
Jace coughs.
Everything burned inside. His lungs felt on fire and the water within them did nothing to extinguish it. He coughed up liters of water into the sand and still felt as if it'd done nothing.
He's covered in wet sand and soaked from head to foot. His hair clings to his forehead.
But the most obvious things that caught his attention were the three large arrows still stuck in his body.
He still struggled to move, but each bodily function was slowly coming back to him.
He'd have to pull these out if he even wanted to roll over, much less get up.
His mind was scattered and empty. He felt loss in his heart, but he wasn't sure why. Some part of him was dead, he was sure of that, but was unaware of what it was.
He looks out to the wreckage of ships still out in the waters. Much had washed up onto the shore. Wood and metal and bodies alike filled the beach and he was one of them.
It must have been a vicious battle.
But he only can think of one memory— one thing to cling to.
There was a day, on a beach much like this one, that he spent with someone.
He remembers a picnic. And laughter that was soft and bright. A white fabric that made his mouth water. And he remembered swimming.
Each flash of the memory becomes clearly as he goes on until he had a face to the person he's remembering.
"Jace!" The person laughed as he slung them over his shoulder and went into the water. "Jace! I'm only in my shift!" Her giggle was contagious.
And he fell into the water with her.
But when he resurfaced in this memory, he expected to see burning sails and dragons. Or feel the piercing in his back and neck.
Instead, he saw you.
Your face was clearer now, though some details were still a bit fuzzy. What color were your eyes? Is that the right shade of your hair?
You brushed that hair from your face and wiped the water from your eyes. And you smiled widely. It was so bright, Jace almost closed his eyes, then remembered it was a memory in his head and nothing he could truly see.
"Such a cruel monster to your wife!" You giggled so hard you clenched your stomach.
