#and Wolfwood who doesn’t question things at first but still comforts him in his own way and lets him know he’s there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shingansoul · 1 year

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Comfortable (Trigun fic)

Summary:

Vashwood week day 6: " Just because I won’t be here tomorrow doesn’t mean I’m not here now. Can you acknowledge that I lived? That we lived?”

The ways Vash looked at Wolfwood were unlike anything else the undertaker had been privy to in his life up until now. And with it, the emotions they gave him were equally hard to define and face, but the least Vash could do in exchange was to take in the man before him and not the corpse he was waiting to leave behind.

@vashwoodweek

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The way Vash would look at Wolfwood when he thought the other wasn't looking tended to settle into one of three distinct expressions. Because he would try to sneak those glances or stare long and hard when he thought he wasn't being noticed, his own expression was left usually unguarded compared to when actually being spoken to. Wolfwood had made a point of memorizing them all, piecing together as he could the emotions usually left so safeguarded away behind the fake smile and tinted glasses.

There was the not as common but fierce one, a stern and frustrated thing that often gave him grit teeth and the sharpening of eyes. You could visibly see the blonde’s hackles raise and it was usually accompanied by a quick approach full of intent and some kind of fight. It was often a reactionary or even petulant look he would shoot almost exclusively Wolfwood, at least of their little group. It was the one he tried to hide least, it was pointed and full of something so close to real anger that Wolfwood often wished he saw it more, despite himself. Vash should get pissed off, for himself preferably but in general just the same was good too. Wolfwood was already tired in just their short time together from the plastered on entirely servicing persona. He knew there was something inhuman beneath that red jacket and behind blue eyes beyond compare, and he wouldn't be fooled. He wasn't the only wolf amongst sheep it seemed.

In contrast, the most oft one found creeping his face was something Wolfwood was nowhere near brave enough to put a name to. It held such warmth, such blinding fondness that it felt like Wolfwood would certainly catch fire under its intensity like the sun. It was a look that softened all of Vash’s already baby soft features and even if a smile didn't accompany it, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the way his cheekbones pushed up, you could always tell. Affection like that, capturing someone's deep intense gaze like this was something Wolfwood was so terribly unaccustomed to. Even with Miss Melanie who in even his darkest days he never doubted the love of, it was nothing like this. Maybe only Livio with his golden hued and double lidded eyes, always seeming tired yet seeking out the older boy with a fervor unmatched could come close and even then….this was something else.

Vash latched onto him and let himself be guided along by the end of the first day they had met, an outright disconcerting amount of trust in a world like theirs. But Wolfwood saw that it wasn't trust, not at first, and at times not even still. He never gave himself away even as he let himself fall asleep without worry in the backseat beside him, even as he was comfortable enough to seek him out for his melancholic moments when the mask threatened to fall and Wolfwood had the shred of grace not to mention it. Was it for comfort? But what comfort could someone like him give with his bloodied hands, sharp tongue, and acrid heart acting without its own will? All the same, it was always Wolfwood the man sought out whether to ask him the most obtuse of questions to distract himself, to fluster on purpose to give himself something to smile about, the one he would sleep beside at night and lay his tired body against when they crammed into the single bed of a shitty inn they had booked for the night.

Vash had a vulnerable heart, but he was never open with giving anything of himself; he offered his most precious and fragile parts to the world to destroy and scar over and over, but anything of real substance was kept tightly to his chest. Maybe the reason was because of that very way of life that he learned not to give anything else. So why was Wolfwood, sharp teeth and cynicism on his breath the one he clung to?

It was that very thought that had come to mind once more as they made camp one night in their travels, out in the sands between towns, but thankfully despite the cool night air the winds didn't whip at sand to make it hard to settle down. The reporters had taken up the back and shotgun seats of the car for the night not wanting to bother with setting up a fire and the sleeping packs after a long day of driving which left Vash and Wolfwood to either camp out on the sand below or hike up to the roof. The choice was an easy one, and so Wolfwood found himself on lookout shift with Vash in and out of dozing in his lap. Wolfwood laid back with his legs propped up and knees bent, which Vash had taken as an opportunity and was quick to curl on his side next to the undertaker and with only a bit of hesitation he had taken to placing his head against the other's stomach. Wolfwood, with his head propped up against the railing had a view almost directly looking down at his charge’s face anytime he glanced down. He had thought he felt the other’s breath even out so with a cigarette to idly chew on more than taste and smoke between his teeth, he let himself boredly keep an eye out to the moons above and the stars dotting the sky around them.

After maybe half an hour and itching for something to do in the awkward position, he considered the blonde pressed atop him. His flesh hand had grabbed weakly at his pants, his fingers hanging half-in-half out of his pocket while his prosthetic was tucked under him. It couldn't have been comfortable, but he presumed it was probably some small attempt at not making Wolfwood uncomfortable with taking its weight or sharp edges himself. The undertaker huffed a chiding sigh from between his teeth, and with a small shake of his head he leaned into brazenness and reached down to start loosely scratching his blunt nails against the shaved part of Vash’s hair. It had a nice texture against his skin and it was enough movement to keep his finger joints from getting stiff. And so they stayed there like that, content in the moment to just soak this in and not think about tomorrow until the suns were up and responsibilities were shouting in their ears.

Wolfwood found himself nodding off after a while, his cigarette long since burnt to the cartridge and cooled and his eyes getting a bit of that sting tiredness brought. He reached up with his free hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, a groan on his lips without much thought. When his vision was clear again he was greeted with baby blues staring back at him, an indecipherable look on their owner’s face. Vash’s expression was a bit neutral, seeming to study Wolfwood’s face with an intensity as if he were seeing him for the first time. Or rather, perhaps for the last time going by the growing somber tone his attention seemed to bring on. Here was the third look he had noticed, and it was the one he hated the most; Vash looked at him the way a mourner looked at a corpse in a casket, taking in the last vestiges of the person before him despite how he was warm and breathing against him this very moment. Wolfwood grit his teeth, irritation setting in and a reprimand or indignant comment on his lips, heat rising in his chest as his thoughts rolled around in ways he wished they wouldn't.

‘Does he think so little of me? That I'll just keel over? How can he look at me like that when i'm the one leading him to a death sentence? I'm not dead yet, I won't die here on this stupid journey, not before I get back and nobody will take that from me.’

But the more he looked into searching sad eyes and almost crestfallen expression at this point, the more he felt his impulse to bark and bite abate into something kinder. Wolfwood let himself take a deep breath, Vash’s expression shifting to one of more aware interest as he felt more than watched as Wolfwood gave an equally dramatic exhale. He dragged his fingers against blonde and brown hair forward to rest the back of his knuckles against the soft warm skin of Vash’s cheek.

“Wolfwood?” His voice was soft and unsure, like he was scared to speak as if that would be what chased off the undertaker.

“Quit mournin’ me when I'm still right in front of you.”

The blonde would have likely balked in shock if he wasn't held captive, practically cradled now between a hand and still raised legs against Wolfwood’s abdomen. He looked gutted, to be blunt, like something had just taken everything out of him all at once. He floundered a bit, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to come up with anything he could say in face of the other’s words. Before he could land on anything however, Wolfwood pressed on.

“People like us aren't built to last out here like this, y'know. Whether it be some stupid draw of the cards or our choices throwing us right into a hole in the ground the result is the same.” He paused, lightly pressing his knuckles a bit more firmly against the other’s face, both asking for attention and to cement the place of contact. “But just because I won’t be here tomorrow doesn’t mean I’m not here now.”

He grabbed the hand gripping his clothes and he guided it up to press against his sternum, his hand overtop to hold it in place in case Vash tried to pull away.

“You feel that? Can you feel that I'm alive right now? I can feel the warmth of your skin and feel your breaths against me, I can feel that you’re alive right now too…Can you acknowledge that I lived? That we lived?”

Vash bit his lip to try to keep it from quivering, his legs to the side tightening up to pull in further in the already curled position in the small space. Wolfwood waited, his dark eyes refusing to break contact until he got what he was looking for. Vash remained wordless, his eyes quickly glazing over with tears and he inhaled sharp, a sniffle following as he tried to choke down the sound bubbling in his throat. Wolfwood kept waiting, pressing the other further by now firmly holding his cheek, rough fingers cupping the edge of his jaw. That was enough to break the last of his resolve it seemed as Vash let a soft sob burst past his lip and he almost scrambled to lurch upwards into an unsteady sit. The undertaker let a lazy smile reach his lips and he leaned forward just to pull the blonde down into his chest atop him, his face pushed maybe a bit too roughly into him but the blonde didn't complain. Instead it seemed he tried to push himself even further against the warm tanned skin in front of him.

“Please….Don't die….”

“I don’t plan on it, blondie. Not anytime soon anyways, I have things I need to finish before I can do that. ‘Sides, who else can keep your skinny ass alive even when you throw yourself into open fire, ah?”

He was answered with a wordless mewl, an aborted attempt at a response he guessed and he felt Vash shake against him. He loosely draped a hand against his back, fingers idley sliding up and down against the notches of his spine through his coat as he could find them through the thick fabric.

“Say it, would’ja?”

“Wolfwood…”

“I want to hear you say it. I don’t care if you don't believe it, I want you to say it. Then you have to try, you wouldn’t let me down would ya needle-noggin?”

Vash hummed weakly, shaking his head no a few times but Wolfwood once more just sat and waited, his touch never wavering.

“I….I am alive, I have lived. I’m still.. I'm still here..,” He paused to sniffle wetly and ended up rubbing what was most definitely snot against Wolfwood's shirt. “You…you’re alive…You’re….you’re right-”

“Right here, spikey. And at least until JuLai, I'm not going anywhere you aren't coming with me either.”

Vash nodded once, more a jerk of the head really, and he let himself fall the bit of distance left between them as he now laid against Wolfwood rather than sat being pressed into him. Wolfwood chuckled softly, pulling the edge of the other’s red jacket out to at least cover his chest and stomach as well. If he was a mattress then the other could be a blanket. It wasn't the most comfortable he had ever been on really any level, but…it certainly wasn't the worst.

#trigun #vashwoodweek #vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #fanfiction

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crowlore · 1 year

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lucian’s comfort character compilation (i will be cheating)

i have been instructed by @huginsmemory to “List Five Comfort Characters And Tag Five People”. helpfully, i was already recently provided with a handy list of characters perceived to be Mine™, seen here:

what can i say. i have a brand to maintain and apparently it’s deeply mentally ill characters that spark needless discourse on twitter. i own this. i will be cheating by pairing characters together per listing. order doesn’t particularly reflect anything. i don’t typically tag specific people for these things so consider this post an open invitation to anyone reading to overshare about your favs. GO FORTH

nicholas d. wolfwood. my fucking god. to lead with him feels the most transparent i can stand to be. what is there to even say. he has everything. he's the foil. he's the love interest. he's introduced with one foot in the grave and the other in the church. he's a hitman. he's a priest. he's a bodyguard. kids and single mothers love him. he's an orphan. he's a chain smoker. he shoots first asks questions never. he's screaming and covered in his own blood and hunting you down with a concussion and temporary blindness. he was drowning in foot deep water with seven broken ribs three minutes ago but he's fine now. as a man who once fractured his spine on a rock because of a comical tightrope walking incident and was walking it off two hours later, i relate. something something i could fix him but whatever is wrong with him is way more interesting

minato arisato and ryoji mochizuki (do not separate). uhhhhh persona 3 remake when? please? the earliest installments of this series may have been a bit before my time (not that i even got to play 3 when it was fresh since i didn’t really get a lot of freedom with video games until 2012) so i understand my bias but p3 is still my favorite main series entry to date. and you get TWO depressed moon themed bitches for the price of one with this game? one of them is death. the other becomes an interstellar gateway. i’m a sucker for characters who know each other for a tiny fraction of the larger story but instantly connect like they’ve been waiting lifetimes to meet again. characters whose presence in the narrative is brief but infinitely impactful. one is literally made from the other. what can i say.

goro akechi. while we’re on persona. sorry, we have to get into my Problematic Fav. let me tell you. i’ve been in the fucking trenches. this character is easily 50% of the reason i don’t engage in persona fandom spaces (wrt 5 especially). i love crazy bitches. personally, i love and encourage his violent mania and psychotic tendencies. can’t help being a gemini. can’t help being a foil. he didn’t stop at biting the hand that feeds him; he wanted to chew the whole thing off the arm regardless of who else he had to sink his teeth into on the way. y’all are just still mad that part of that means he can be a pretty unlikable person. at least he was honest with his motivations when you caught him. i get him though. goro’s role in the third act of royal saved the game because you and i both know that new story content wasn’t any good otherwise. he’s there to be a BITCH and keep things REAL. shout out to goro akechi for helping me identify my own dissociative disorder. thanks king

uldren sov and crow. this is a different people, same character sort of situation. sometimes you die and come back with no memories and get to be the same person at heart but placed into a life of extremely altered circumstances and see where that takes you. now i’m aware these characters are kind of divisive in destiny circles (mostly for the wrong reasons). i’ll give it to the people who think he’s being pushed waaaaay too hard into the narrative spotlight in a lot of seasons; that’s totally fair. but he’s had a lot of super compelling arcs surrounding his trauma across two lifetimes. his grief really becomes him. i’m also sincerely just so weak to stories centered around siblings, especially ones dealing with the really harsh and ugly truths regarding emotional abuse in the family and the complexity of familial love.

dimitri alexandre blaiddyd and the blue lions. SORRY. CONTRACTUAL FIRE EMBLEM MENTION. fe16 is the reason i completely left the fire emblem fandom space, even though it’s been a toxic cesspool for the entire decade i’ve been in any way involved with it. dimitri’s another of my twitter assigned problematic favs (the fandom faction wars surrounding this game were insane) and the reason i’m not even on the platform anymore. i have miles wide weak spot for the blue lions’ found family dynamic and was instantly in love with the way these characters played off of each other in established relationships right from the start of the game. their route tells a very complete, grounded character driven story that hit all the right emotional story beats to make the ending really feel rewarding. it was often times uncomfortable, but it was done well in a way that didn’t shy away from a lot of the ugly parts of mental illness that allowed me to feel very seen. i think it held truest to the standard formula of the fire emblem story structure and did so very well, even if silver snow was written first as the intended canonical story route. still my favorite after four years. classic.

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sanjuno · 6 years

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That's ok! How about the MCU, or just the Avengers if the MCU is too broad. -Lark

(Oh shit, I have opinions about the MCU and the Avengers, my friend. So I apologize if this offends but not really.)

6/7 GoT Crossover Fix-Its: An Assemblage of Fire and Ice.

Anthony Edward Stark’s life was a battle from beginning to end. He fought the world, he fought people who claimed to be his friends, he fought honest enemies, and he fought every challenge life and the universe at large threw at him as he went. He fought the Ten Rings and became Iron Man, he fought public opinion and became a hero, he fought obstinance and fear and became a man who stood for accountability. He fought Thanos, and became the man known for mastering the Infinity Stones. When Tony Stark finally died in a blaze of glory more than 20 years after Iron Man first burned his way free of a cave in the desert, he left behind a legacy that would last for ages.

Eddard Stark is born bright red and squalling in the middle of a snowstorm where the sun shone through the clouds to birth lightning. The contradictions only continued as the boy grew, Ned Stark was a calm, thoughtful child but was occasionally taken by wild frenzies. One moment reading peacefully, or training seriously in arms, the next shouting at the top of his lungs and running off to the forge to make a new type of steel, or designing an aqueduct system that wouldn’t freeze. Rickon Stark took to sighing whenever Ned’s voice started to echo. Lyarra Stark laughed, and told her husband their second son had Ice in his veins and Fire in his heart.

Tony was actually rather pleased with this version of the Stark family. Sure, sometimes Brandon was a bit too much like Morgan for comfort, and sometimes Lyanna reminded Tony of himself during the worst moments during his rebellious teen phase, but the Starks were all loyal to one another and Tony had 200 years of people managing skills. Nudging Brandon to be a bit more responsible, to respect the women he took to bed, that wasn’t hard. Coaching Lyanna on how to protect her own interests, showing his little sister how to compromise for a result everyone could live with, that was simple enough. Tony was used to corralling teenage (and adult) superheroes, asking a few honourable nobles to think about things rationally wasn’t exceptionally difficult. Ben was the easy one. Mostly Tony just had to talk him down from the extreme choice, and the youngest was usually pretty reasonable about listening to a logical argument.

In one version of the song Lyarra Stark dies birthing her third son, in this world young Ned has been asking questions of the Maester, the herbalists, the midwives, and anyone else with an ounce of teaching in the healing arts how things work, why things work, and what do you do when it doesn’t work. So the healers of Winterfell have been pushed and prodded and challenged to raise themselves up and their skills reflect that. Lyarra will never have another child, but she lives. She is weak, and bedridden for moons, but she lives. So Rickon Stark’s ambitions are gentled, and his children’s happiness has a greater sway over his thoughts.

Tony is pleased and so, so grateful that his mother survived. The leading cause of death for women in pre-industrial societies is childbirth, and Tony was never the kind of doctor who could heal. Fix and augment, yes, but surgery and birth complications were out of his league. Thankfully he already knew what questions to ask in order to get the healers in Winterfell thinking and making improvements on their skills. All the women in the North would benefit, and eventually the new studies and knowledge would spread further than just the Northern Kingdom.

The Stark children are fostered out, of course. Still themselves but still slightly different. Ned and Robert make fast friends, but the Quiet Wolf is not the retiring second son he was in the first version of the song. When Mya Stone is born Ned shames Robert into taking proper responsibility. Robert’s daughter and the girl’s mother are dowered and set up to be able to live comfortably, and Robert is given a scathing lecture on consent and respect. “You don’t have to abstain,” Ned says, “but if a child results from it you need to step up and be their father.” So Robert, being Robert and thus allergic to responsibility, starts carrying a pouch of Moon Tea in his purse.

The Tourney at Harennhal happens, and Lyanna once again saves Howland Reed. Once again, the Knight of the Laughing Tree bids the unruly Squires to learn respect. Once again, the Mad King sees assassins everywhere and the Silver Prince comes across a young Lady in the Godswood. Only it’s different as well, because none of the Stark children are betrothed. Rickon Stark made the announcement when his Heir turned 16 that his sons would seek their own spouses for his approval when they came of age, and any who wished to court his daughter could submit their suit for approval when Lyanna’s own 16th age day came. So Lyanna is not desperate to escape an unwanted betrothal, and there is nothing gentling the public dishonour of Rhaegar’s attentions when he wins the joust. There is nothing romantic about a grown man betraying his wife for a girl not yet of age.

Tony wants to rage, wants to kill the Prince very, very badly when he sees how scared his little sister is. When the crown of blue roses lands in her lap, Lyanna Stark does what she’s always done when she doesn’t understand something. She turns to her middle brother and begs him to fix things. Tony knows exactly where this is going, if the Prince thinks he can bully his way through all the moral arguments saying his attention is unwanted. So Tony holds out his hand to Lyanna, and she brightens, putting the flower crown in his hands, and Tony promptly puts it on his own head. He meets the Prince’s eyes, and lets Rhaegar Targaryen see the Merchant of Death usually hidden behind the public persona of the Quiet Wolf. The Prince does not get to coerce Tony’s baby sister into any sort of relationship against her will.

Just as the Prince publicly shamed his wife, the girl he chose shames him in turn. Ellia and Aerys are, for the first time ever, amused by the same thing. Ned Stark wears the Crown of Love and Beauty for the rest of the Tourney. It gets him many, many dances from the Ladies in attendance during the feasts. Rhaegar, for all he was trying to quietly gather support to supplant his father, realizes somewhat belatedly that he just screwed himself out of support from Dorne and the North. The Northern camp closes ranks, especially around the women. From Lyanna Stark down to the common maids, none of the Northern women go anywhere without an escort.

Jaime Lannister still joins the Kingsguard, Cersei’s scheming fuelled by the proof that Rhaegar is loosing interest in his wife now that Elia is known to be barren. The younger son of a Dornish Lordship, Jaime Fowler, has blood from the Summer Islands and finds Ned Stark with the comment that he “must be made of Iron to mock the Prince this way.” And Tony replies with “it’s gold-titanium alloy, actually.” Rhodey just shakes his head, happy to have found his best friend again. Lysa Tully, who had overheard, tells them “I’ve caught you doing worse. Will this be all, Mr. Stark?” Pepper was just so very done with these shenanigans. The things Tony drags them into, honestly.

When the Tourney ends, Ned Stark goes to take over Moat Cailin, which he has been granted permission to restore. Accompanying him is his betrothed, Lysa Tully, and a Dornishman who is rumoured to share their bed. The South (minus Dorne) is scandalized. The North, well used to the Quiet Wolf’s particularities, just shrugs and moves on.

Rhaegar Targaryen is a man obsessed by prophecy, and few realize that he is just as mad as his father. Rhaegar is mad in the quiet, subtle way men go mad when they are left alone for too long with only their own thoughts for company. Lyanna Stark amuses King Aerys, and when the Pact of Ice and Fire is brought up he sees it as a perfect way to torment Rhaegar for overstepping, slight Elia for not being a real Targaryen, and punish Lyanna for thinking that she can refuse a dragon. Aerys announces that Rhaegar will take a second wife that is capable of bearing children, and that he has selected Lyanna Stark for the role.

There is not a single Great House in Westros who are not being insulted by this move. Lyanna is terrified, because she had grown up expecting to be courted by her future husband and even then not until she was 16. Lyanna, in this version of the song, was supposed to have a say in her choice of husband. Her wolf blood is howling, wanting nothing more than to rip and tear and devour. Once again, it’s Ned who steps in to fix things. It’s Ned, drawing on Tony’s many years of experience who talks her down from running away. It’s Ned, aching over the sacrifice his sister is being asked to make, who reminds her that their people will suffer if Lyanna makes a choice that will lead to war. It’s Ned, standing alone with his sister in the Wolfwood, who speaks quietly about allies, and secret wars, and that Elia’s brother is the Red Viper. Aegon was all but guaranteed to be free of Targaryen madness, given that he was only half. 16 years was not so long to wait for vengeance.

A Second Hour of the Wolf was now Lyanna Stark’s goal. (Not Targaryen. Never Targaryen. She would only ever be a Stark in her heart.) The Stark siblings spend the night a seething Rickon sends his formally, frigidly polite acceptance of the betrothal to the Red Keep in the Godswood, praying to the Old Gods for a sign. (Tony still doesn’t like magic, but he’s old enough to know it exists. There’s no other explanation for how Extremis still lights up his skin in Arc Reactor blue when things get tough.) They leave the Godswood with a pack of Direwolves loping at their sides. A pack, because while Brandon, Lyanna, and Ben each have a single wolf, Ned has 7. Also they beg Ned to let his wife name their children because by the Old Gods, Ned is bad at choosing names for things.

Tony ignores them. He has his babies back. Dummy, You, and Butterfingers are as playful as ever. Jarvis is even more long-suffering, Friday is mischievous, Jocasta is sassy, and Ultron, his poor wayward son, is free of the corruption in his programming caused by the Sceptre. The warg thing is a bit of a surprise, because his siblings can all do it without the assistance of Extremis, but Tony rolls with it and teaches them what he knows about communicating mind to mind. Greensight is like a wireless connection, which took a while to figure out. Tony is so relived to be able to share his secrets with his siblings at last. For the first time, Tony lets his siblings watch him work in the forge, and their eyes are very wide as the blue-and-gold glow shines under his skin and sparks in the runes carved into the armour plate and blades he forges for each of them.

“Magic is terrifying,” Ned tells his siblings, “and I never wanted you to fear me. But you all have magic of your own, and you need to learn how to use it. If things are waking up, if the Targaryens want the North in truth instead of just in name, then we need to be ready.” So Ned shows them how to work the runes, how to connect to their wolves and to the other animals around them, how the send their Greensight through the trees. They only have a year, because Rickon was only able to negotiate a delay until Lyanna turned 16, hoping that the Mad King would change his mind in the interim. Unfortunately, the raven demanding Lyanna come to King’s Landing for her wedding to Rhaegar comes within a moon of her 16th nameday.

Rickon and Lyarra Stark remain in the Northin subtle protest, but all their children go South. The smallfolk gathered along the streets in King’s Landing hoping to see the heathen wildling Princess from the savage North do not dare jeer. The Starks ride atop the backs of massive wolves, each one as large as a horse. Their armour gleams like ice in the light, and their fur mantels make them look natural among the wild beasts they command. The eyes of the welcoming party in the Red Keep are very wide, and Rhaegar looks like he’s regretting all his life choices.

Lyanna Stark’s smile is a snarl, teeth bared and sharp as blizzard winds. She all but ignores Rhaegar entirely and instead puts considerable effort into charming Elia. (Tony had long suspected that his sister preferred her own gender over men, and thankfully Elia was Dornish enough to be flattered by the attention. The fact that it irritated Rhaegar to see his wives seek out each other instead of him was just extra entertainment.)

Thanks to greensight and warging, the Starks all remain in close contact that no one else knows about. Benjen moves further North when he comes of age and takes over both Gifts with the intention of supporting the Watch. He doesn’t join them, because he feels the need to pass on the Stark Magic that’s in his blood and that requires a wife, but he still serves the Wall in his own best way. Brandon takes on his duties as the Heir to Winferfell, travelling around the North to meet all their Bannerman. Ned rebuilds Moat Cailin even grander than before, and moves on to restructuring the trade routes and methods in the North. Lyanna drives Rhaegar insane with passive aggressive undermining of his schemes. Luckily, Aerys is entertained by Lyanna enough to be distracted from his usual pastimes.

Following Ned’s advice, Lyanna goes to Rhaegar every night for a fortnight one week after her moonblood comes, and is pleased a moon later when the Maester tells her she’s pregnant. (”Treat him as he thinks to treat you.” Ned had said. “He thinks to make you a broodmare for his seed? Nay, instead let him be the stud you use to get your own children, sweet sister, and go to him only when you wish to make use of that service.”) Lyanna is quite pleased to be able to tell Rhaegar that he’s served his purpose for now and she has no more use for him until after the babe is weaned. So she’ll call for him again in about two years. (Elia loves her sister-wife, you have no godly idea how much Elia loves her sister-wife.)

Brandon Stark marries Ashara Dayne, and even if she’s not of the North the Bannerman are content with her having the Blood of the First Men in her veins. Benjen Stark manages to seduce a Wildling Chieftess into marriage on a trip North of the Wall and her tribe agrees to serve him in return for being allowed to settle South of the Wall. Ned Stark has a brood of children with his red-haired Tully wife, and if it takes a bit of magic to ensure that they all have Stark grey eyes and Summer darkened skin that’s no one’s business but their own. Lyanna has her first son in pace with Lysa’s first son and the realm celebrates the birth of the second dragon prince. Rhaegar gives his very, very Stark son a Targaryen name, and Lyanna promptly starts to call the boy Jon just to spite him. Aerys is not pleased that Jon is so very Northern, and goes back to burning people alive in his throne room.

Lyanna is appalled, notices that no one is going to do anything to stop what’s happening, and proceeds to consult with her brothers. Ned’s husband is sent to visit family in Dorne and stops in King’s Landing to visit Lyanna on his way back. No one notices the wicker basket among the many gifts Jaime Fowler brought for the Northern Princess. No one notices the Princess’ eyes go all-over white as she sits in her bedchambers, alone for but her infant son as a King Cobra slithers through the Keep to leave two more punctures among Aerys’ many scabs. No one notices the tradesman from the Northern Marshes on his way to Dorne collect a sealed wicker basket from a maidservant before setting out to see with the tide before sunrise.

Everyone notices when the King is found stone dead in his own bedchambers, having died during a fit in his sleep. Rhaegar is crowned King, Elia and Lyanna being crowned with him. Lyanna loves her wife, even she’d rather drop her husband down a well. Still, Elia is an Andal, and it’s the Blood of the First Men that gives the Stark their magic. Jon is taught the secrets of his birthright by his mother while they sit together in the Godswood, joined in time by Aemon and Visenya. When Jon is nearing 16, Lyanna’s wolf disappears for a few moons, only to return heavy with pups. The Starks living in the Red Keep all have direwolves now, and Rhaegar is oblivious to the fact that none of his children think of themselves as Targaryens. That’s what happens when you ignore your children in favour of self-fulfilling prophecies.

Benjen has slowly been converting the Wildlings to the aggressively peaceful coexistence the Northern Lords and the Hill Clans favour. Then comes the time he starts to hear of the dead walking again to kill the living, and the Wildlings are suddenly afire to accept Benjen and Vals terms. The Gifts are soon full up, and the Castles along the Wall are being repaired and manned by volunteers from among the Free Men, and several Tribes are being sent further South to various Hill Clans to be settled in, and yet more are taking over long abandoned settlements to build them back up. Benjen scrambles to keep up, to keep his siblings informed, and he’s so, so grateful that Brandon and Ned are there to help disperse in massive influx of people around the Northern Kingdom. Thankfully Ned’s trade structures have grown enough that there was a demand for workers, and there’s wealth and space enough to go around.

Benjen is set upon by a White Walker, and his skin glows blue-and-gold in his desperation to survive. Benjen burns the way his older brother once showed him, in Extremis, and he survives to pass the warning on. The Others are coming, and the dead are marching on the Wall.

The Starks prepare for a war against the Long Night.

/…/

Tyrion Lannister is born a dwarf, but thanks to new knowledge passed down from the North his mother survives the birth. He was a very intelligent child, but had the unfortunate tendency to pick fights he had no chance of winning over the smallest of slights. Joanna despaired of him ever learning his limits, and despite Tywin’s best efforts to temper Tyrion’s foolishness the boy inevitably ends up picking the wrong fight and dying for it. Steve Rogers is always born to a physical disadvantage in hopes that he will eventually learn to compromise. A dwarf body is stunted, but he was healthy and clear headed. He could make something of his life if only he tried. Steve Rogers still needed to learn to reign in his impulses and keep unwanted opinions to himself. Not every argument needed to be settled with fists.

Margary Tyrell was much like her grandmother, and was likely to be the new Queen of Thorns when Oleanna finally passed away. Natasha Romanova enjoyed the simplicity of a new life where she didn’t need to kill anyone for a living. Still, she kept a wary eye on the Starks. They were advancing at a rate that was familiar to her, and the last thing she wanted was to be on Tony’s bad side again.

Denys Arryn was the darling of the Vale, but what few people knew was that his preferred weapon was the bow. Despite being from a poor house, he remained humble and courteous to all. Clint Barton regret nothing as much as he regret leaving Laura and his children to fight Stark over a stupid piece of paper. This time around he was committed to staying with his wife and raising their kids without any stupid running off. Seeing the Stark with Tony’s too-sharp smirk running around the Ayrie for a few years only cemented that decision in his mind.

Stannis Baratheon was a humourless boy, too smart and too serious by half. Although his anger, when roused, was mighty enough to tear down stone walls. Robert learned not to upset his younger brother the day he tormented Proudwing, and Stannis beat his elder brother bloody for harming the bird. Bruce Banner was resigned to the legacy of warning people “you won’t like me when I’m angry.” But really, Ours Is The Fury was just a bit too on the nose for him to be amused by it.

/…/

Rhaegar Targaryen felt very foolish indeed as he stared at his little sister. “You what?”

“… I hatched the dragon eggs you got me for my nameday.” Daenerys looked a little sheepish. “Lyanna and Elia helped me figure out how.”

The Dragon has Three Heads. Rhaegar felt faint as he stared down at the three squalling hatchlings cradled in his baby sister’s arms. His wives were laughing at him, he knew they were. Dragon’s had no gender, a Prince who was Promised could just as easily be a Princess, and sometimes a dragon is just a dragon.

“By the way, husband.” Lyanna mentioned idly from where she stood with a snickering Elia. “My brother Benjen tells me the Night King is awake again. The North is getting ready for a Long Winter, and to fight back the Others. You might want to start preparing the rest of the Kingdoms for that.”

Stiffly, Rhaegar turned his head to stare at his Winter Queen. “… What.”

And so the Prophecy of Fire and Ice is proven true.

#Sanjuno's ficwork #Tony is a Stark #GoT reincarnation crossovers #MCU fanfic

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