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medeafive · 3 years

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no because your thing about nat having a side character death is so painfully true. so much so that everyone who isn’t a natasha stan, just forgets that she died to save the universe the same way tony did. and the fact that yelena was clearly the one to get her a gravestone (because it said sister, no one else knew about her family except them, and it’s under the trees like her mother’s was) meant that not a single avenger gave more than those few tears at the lake for her. at best(hopefully), we might get a little honouring for her at the barton household in the hawkeye series that’s it. steve shed two whole tears, bruce was solemn that he couldn’t bring her back, tony didn’t even fucking realise he was her family, and thor who didn’t have much of a relationship with her anyways, got a little angry. that’s it. and everyone that was currently snapped at the time gave us NOTHING. sam didn’t mention her once, which was honestly awful considering they were friends, and anthony loves natasha’s character. wanda, who nat genuinely cared for so much and worried about so much during their nomad days, had two words to say to clint about it. not to mention we even had t’challa acknowledge tony’s death despite barely knowing him/not liking him, even though he was actually friends with nat before and after she helped steve in CW, to the point where he let her stay in wakanda while she was a fugitive once they made up. and technically bucky doesn’t count because they barely touched on their shared history (but like also she still saved him multiple times, and would have interacted with him in wakanda after he came out of cyro), but we got nothing from him too.

natasha’s relationships with people (besides clint, and occasionally steve and bruce) often felt so one sided because she loved them all so much and they rarely batted an eye at her, and the way they treated her in endgame just solidified that. natasha worked her ass off to take care of each and every one of them, keep the team together, especially after civil war, and was honestly the glue of the mcu, and yet nothing.

anyways thanks to clint and yelena for being the only bitches to love her as much as she deserved.

All of that is true and you should say it!!!

I just think we shouldn't put it too much on the characters, if that makes sense. Like, Natasha's death in-universe wasn't Clint's fault (which is why we can't really get excited about Yelena going after him, he really really tried to save her) but narratively, it is - she had to die so he could live. I know it's hard to distinguish but for me, it's really the narrative and the structure of the movie that didn't give the characters more place to mourn. Like you said, casual viewers just forget Natasha died, probably already by the end of the movie, and that's because they didn't give her death the same impact as Tony's. Her death literally mattered less than his and that's just telling the audience that she mattered less than him. I think the characters come across as not caring enough to us but to the writers, it was the appropriate amount of mourning she deserved based on how important they thought she was, and that's not a lot.

This also shows in the movies and shows after Endgame. TFATWS didn't mention her even once even though she would have fit in at several points - neither her sacrifice nor the SHIELD data dump nor her role in Civil War, not any brainwashing parallels to Bucky, Sam literally says "Steve and I were on the run for years" without mentioning Nat was with them, Sharon didn't mention her once, she wasn't even in Bucky's victims book even though he tried to kill her three times. And the TFATWS story works totally fine without her because they didn't feel the need to address it any way. Meanwhile, Spiderman Homecoming is about Tony's death to an almost absurd amount, and that's because Tony's death is important(tm) and they expect it to matter to us and that's why they feel like they have to talk about the consequences even in future movies (see also that quote from the Eternals trailer about who leads the Avengers now that Tony and Steve are gone- they mattered. Nat didn't). Imagine if Tony or Steve or Thor would have died somewhere in the middle of Endgame - that wouldn't have worked, right? They wouldn't have dared get rid of them like that. But for Nat, it's okay because the implicit understanding is that she's just a side character and so she can die like a side character, too.

That's just my interpretation, of course- if your interpretation is that the other characters didn't care about her as much as she did about them, that's perfectly valid and angsty and good! I just feel like they're constantly telling us (through the narrative and the characters behaviour) that Natasha and her death shouldn't matter all that much.

I wasn't really upset that Nat died - characters die all the time, hell, Loki "died" in the first Thor movie and look where he is now - I'm mad because her death wasn't made to matter and they seem to think that's the appropriate weight the end of her arc should get. They could bring her back anytime if they wanted to. They just expect us to be okay with what she got and honestly, it seems like a lot of people are.

#more rambling #it makes me so mad when people throw Tony's and Nat's death together #you absolutely can't compare #natasha romanoff #black widow #anti endgame #this is not just anti endgame this is anti all the movies that solidified nat as a side hero #including everything that came after endgame #meta

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timegirl · 3 years

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Cats Don't Have Nine Lives - Moceit Appreciation Week 2021

Characters: Patton, Janus

Relationship: Platonic or Romantic

Prompts: Aftermath (day 2), Animal (day 4)

Word Count: 2073

Trigger Warnings: This whole fic surrounds a death of a pet and the mourning of the owner. It is sad. Contains a light description of a declining medical condition of a pet. Please don't read if you're sensitive to these topics. Patton tries to blame himself. Food is mentioned briefly.

Summary: Patton suffers a loss and Janus comforts him.

@moceit-appreciation-week @moceit

This is not like my regular works. It is sad and depressing, and is based on my own life. More details on ao3. Please mind the warnings and the tags, stay safe.

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“Hey, Jan? I was just at the vet... it’s.... over....”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry... Are you going home now?”

sniffle “Yeah...”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Okay...”

Janus used the spare key he had to Patton’s apartment. “Patton, darling?” He called and closed the door behind him. He heard soft sobs greeting him from the living room. “Oh, baby...” He hurried to the living room and found his friend curled up on the sofa, clutching a small baby blue blanket to his chest. His face was puffed and red, and tears were streaming down his cheeks non stop.

“Patton, honey...” Janus clicked his tongue and quickly sat beside Patton, opening his arms for the other to snuggle in his embrace. The moment he was sat Patton clung to his torso and sobbed hard and loud, burying his face in Janus' chest and wetting his shirt with tears. Janus frowned, his brows furrowing in concern, and started rubbing slow circles on Patton back.

“I’m so sorry...” He whispered. “Shhhhhh.....” Janus started rocking gently back and forth, trying to sooth Patton’s ache.

They sat like that for a few minutes, holding each other. Janus took the opportunity to look around at the apartment. It was a really saddening look. Everywhere you looked there were cat themed objects. Never mind the cat stickers decorating the walls and the little kitty sculptures on the shelves, everything in this house screamed that there’s a feline resident in there.

A brown cat bed with a monkey plushie sitting in its corner.

Three carton boxes in different sizes were lined up opened against the wall.

A carton board on the floor beneath a blue bench that was much too small for a human. The board was covered in claw marks and teared a bit in the edges.

Toys were scattered everywhere on the floor. Mice, spikey balls, balls with little bells inside. There was one cat wand on the floor near the cat bed, a stick with a brown furry string and several colorful feathers tied to the end.

A blue cat tree was standing next to the sofa, a plaid blanket cushioned the lowest platform.

The armchair was covered in absurd amounts of cat fur, as if to say this was her spot, no one else's.

Janus lifted his gaze upwards. The walls weren't spared either. On two different walls there were blue cushioned shelves designed as stairs, going from the floor to a level above Janus' head as he stood in his full height, and Patton was shorter than him. On one step of the stairs sat a small tiger plushie.

As Patton's sobs slowly quieted down, the silence between the two was disturbed only by a small water fountain in the corner of the room, trickling steadily.

Patton didn’t want to let go of Janus. He felt like someone pulled the rug from under his feet, and Janus' firm hands were his only lifeline. He smelled nice, too, as much as Patton was able to smell with a stuffy nose from all the crying. Like the comfort and nostalgia of opening an old book with yellowing pages, with just a hint of cologne. He was warm, and it felt comforting to be held by him, like a comfort blanket. Patton was no longer crying, just inhaling Janus' scent softly to ground himself. Janus' fingers caressed the back of his head and Patton leaned into the touch.

Eventually Janus broke the silence.

"She's had a good life." He whispered into Patton's hair, and Patton felt the vibrations rumble in his chest.

Patton sighed heavily. "Yeah..." he mumbled. Sniffling once, he pulled himself away and wiped the remaining tears off his cheeks, the ones that weren't coating Janus' shirt. He looked down at the blanket he was holding.

"That's hers, right?" Janus asked.

"Yeah," said Patton, "I used it to get her into the cage, you know how she gets," he chuckled humorlessly. Janus gave him a sad smile. "She was also... wrapped in it when... when the vet... you know..."

"Yeah..." Janus rubbed his hand on Patton's arm comfortingly.

"You know, she's had a kidney failure two years ago, and the vet said that we're only prolonging the inevitable. Eventually it'll happen again and it'll be the end," Patton busied his hand with the hem of the blanket, "but I thought it'll be at least... five years, you know? Not two. Not that it wouldn't have been hard either way, but, still... It's just... so abrupt," he frowned, the tears threatening to overflow again.

"Well," Janus hesitated, "at least now you won't need the antihistamines anymore, right?" he tried for humor, and Patton's lips broke into a genuine smile and he laughed weakly through his nose.

"Right..." His smile slowly turned into a solemn expression and he sighed. "What if..." he bit his lower lip, "what if I could've stopped it?"

"Patton, no. It is not your fault."

"No, I know... The vet said it would've happened anyway... But what if I wasn't perceptive enough? Maybe if I'd noticed something's wrong sooner they could've saved her..." Tears began to accumulate in Patton's eyes.

"Sweetie, listen to me." Janus took both of Patton's hands in his and looked straight into his eyes. "It is not your fault. You were an amazing owner. You loved her so much and gave her everything she could've ever dreamed of."

"But I-"

"Shh shh shh, no buts," Janus used his thumb to gently wipe a stray tear off Patton's cheek, beneath his glasses. "I've known you since before you adopted her. I've seen how you took care of her with everything you have. Spending nights treating her when she was sick, doing everything in your power every day to make her take the medicine you knew she hated but made her feel better, staying awake late to pet her just because she didn't want to go to sleep and you couldn't bare to say no to her. Darling, trust me when I say, she was the luckiest cat in the world to have you as her owner."

Patton started sobbing again, furiously wiping his tears with his fingers, dirtying his wet glasses even more. Janus clicked his tongue. "Come here," he said as he pulled Patton to his embrace once again, placing a kiss on the crown of his head. "It's ok to grieve," he whispered, rocking them back and forth, "but don't beat yourself up about things out of your control." Patton sniffed, nodding weakly. Janus waited a bit before saying, "Let's bring you some water, ok honey?" Patton nodded again and pulled back. "I'll be right back." Janus said and petted Patton's cheek gently. He stood up and walked to the kitchen to get Patton a glass of water.

In the kitchen, Janus noticed a bowl of dry cat food in the corner. He debated getting rid of it and sparing Patton the pain, but decided against it. He'll ask Patton if he needs help with it, but he might want to do it himself to get some closure.

Janus returned to the living room with a glass of water in his hand. Patton looked up at him as he approached and small smile spread on his face. Janus' chest filled with warmth. He'll do anything for this man, he just wants him to be happy.

"Thank you," Patton said and reached his hand to grab the glass.

"You're welcome, honey," Janus replied as he took his place on the sofa.

They were silent for a moment as Patton drank. "You know," he said, lowering the glass to his lap and holding it with both hands. "I keep thinking about how naïve I was when I adopted her."

"Naïve? How so?"

"I thought it was funny, giving a cat a number as a name. You know, Nine, as in nine lives?" Janus looked at Patton, concern apparent on his forehead. Patton was looking down to his glass in his lap. "Of course there were other reasons too. It was September 2009 when I got her. The ninth month of the ninth year of the milenium. It was so fitting! Of course I couldn't give up the opportunity to give her a name that's a play on words!" Janus frowned and rubbed Patton's knee. "But cats don't really have nine lives, do they? Not even a cat named Nine..." He sighed.

Janus looked at him in silence. It was good that Patton was talking. Janus has spent years trying to make Patton to open up to him. He was always hiding behind jokes and a huge smile. He needed a safe platform to be able to unload everything weighing down on his chest. Janus was always happy to provide him that safe space, and the fact that Patton trusted him enough by now to open up to him was a bit overwhelming, in a good way. But it wasn't about Janus right now, it's about Patton and his pain. Janus knew Patton so well by now, that he didn't need to check to know that if he stayed silent, Patton would open up even more and unload more of his negative feelings, and Janus would be there for him when he does.

Surely enough, after a few moments of silence, Patton let out a breathy laugh, devoid of humor. "I keep thinking she's gonna come out from around the corner like everything's normal... You'd think dying is a one time thing. She died, that's it. It happened. Now we're after it. But it's not..." Patton emptied his glass and placed it on the table. "It's still happening. She didn't just die... She's dead. And she keeps being dead, all the time, over and over again. Every time I look to the hallway and expect her to walk out with her tail wiggling high, she's dead again. Every time I think of her... She's dead. Again. She's really... not coming back... She's staying dead." Patton played with the sleeve of the hoodie that was always tied around his shoulders. "Look at me," he chuckled, "I'm even wearing a cat hoodie. I'm pathetic..." He sighed.

"Patton honey," Janus wrapped his arms over Patton's shoulders and pulled him to rest against his chest, maneuvering himself to a more comfortable position, leaning back on the sofa. "You're not pathetic. Ok?" He stroked Patton's hair with his hand. "Those things take time. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you it'll all be gone one day and you won't feel anything. That's never going to happen." Patton pouted in response. "But it won't be as painful. It won't be an open wound anymore. It will scar." Patton's eyes widened and he looked up to Janus, letting his eyes rest on the scar tissue on the man's left cheek. "A scar is... a reminder of what once was. It's unpleasant to look at, and it's scruffy to touch, and remembering what left the scar is... painful, to say the least." Patton's brows furrowed in a frown. Janus smiled warmly at him. "But it doesn't hurt by itself anymore. You can live your life and not even remember it's there most of the time. At first it hurts and itches and every move you make has to be calculated because the wound is bleeding and everything hurts. But with a scar you don't have to do that anymore. You're going to be ok." Patton sighed and rested his cheek on Janus' chest. "And you know, I thought about what you said." Patton raised his eyebrows and hummed in question. "You weren't naïve. You were being funny, and witty, and wonderful, like you always are." Patton's cheeks warmed in a blush. "I know it might take a while, but I can already see you in a few months with your two new kitties, Seven and Five." Patton giggled and Janus smiled, kissing his hair.

It wasn't perfect. In fact, it was extremely painful, and the grieving process has just begun. But maybe Janus was right. It had a nice ring to it, Seven and Five. Nine's little siblings. Of course, she'll never know them, but it's nice imagining how his first cat's name becomes a legacy in all of his future cats. Patton sighed. It's not going to be easy. But with Janus by his side, maybe, just maybe, he can do it. He will be ok.

#moceitappreciationweek #moceitweek2021 #janus sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #moceit #fanfic #tw death of a pet #tw death of a loved one #tw grieving #tw food mention #tw self blame #mine

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reddogcollar · 3 years

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Gretchen

And a distinct, helpless feeling.

First/Prev/Next

Gretchen rode into Brackenholme, a couple days ahead of schedule. She'd managed to free herself of her duties in Hedgemoor early, and decided to travel ahead of the real heat.

In a half circle behind her, were the Harriers. A fraction of them, at least.

Most of the Harriers who'd fought for her during the war had returned to the lives they'd had before, farmers and blacksmiths, and the like. Nearly none of them wanted to pursue the life of a soldier after being thrust into it.

The name stuck, though.

Of those few who'd remained, Trent was among them. He'd insisted on coming along to Brackenholme.

They both knew he'd be better spent in Hedgemoor, and that he'd be expected to stay. And traveling with him, even with companions, felt daunting, after everything.

Though, it'd be cruel of her to deny him the chance to see his brother after so long, and downright insulting to insinuate he wouldn't be able to make the trip because of his condition.

Despite said condition, he'd seemed to fair well.

Everyone pretended not to notice his obvious discomfort, getting off his horse as they arrived in Brackenholme. She paid special attention to her cane, needlessly inspecting it of any damage that may have happened on the ride.

If was well made, and entirely too sturdy to sustain any notable damage. She scrutinized it thoroughly though, until Trent came up beside her.

It was probably hard on his knees, if she had to guess, which he'd commented on before.

The war and everything Lucas and his Wyldwolves, may they all rot, did to him had put tremendous strain on his joints. It frustrated her to no end that everything that could be done for him already had been.

His health was as good as it was going to get.

Putting the matter aside, as there truly wasn't anything she could do, especially now, she handed off her horse to one of the Harriers and walked to one of the lifts, as quickly as she could without dropping her cane and breaking into a run.

Trent followed, not bothering to try and squash down his obvious excitement. It was clear to anyone who looked at him he was there for a visit, and barely considered himself to be on duty.

She stepped into one of the Great Oaks lifts, Trent just a step behind her, and ran her hand through her hair as it lurched upwards. She knew there was no reason to, but she felt apprehensive.

As if the letters she'd received had been false, and there were strangers waiting at the top to tell her her loved ones were already dead.

After everything, it was hard to believe they'd survived.

She sighed, gripping her hair in a fist and putting most of her weight on her cane, and got a reassuring look from Trent. Before he could say anything, the lift came to a stop and she had to straighten and smooth out her hair before stepping out.

Forcing herself to keep to a brisk walk, she went through the halls with Trent beside her, just a half step behind, nodding at those she passed until she entered the main hall, where all the apprehension dissipated instantly.

There was Drew, looking troubled and staring out a window. Farther back in the room, Bergan stood talking with an advisor about something she could not hear.

Lady Rainer was elsewhere.

They came up behind Drew and Gretchen tapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts and causing him to flinch and turn around.

A grin split his face the second he laid eyes on them.

"Gretchen, Trent!" He briefly hugged each of them in turn, "You're here ahead of schedule, aren't you?"

"After freeing myself up, I could think of no reason to delay." She smiled, "Staying in Brackenholme has always been quite relaxing. How've you been?"

"Troubled, truth be told." He said, dropping his smile and glancing out the window, as if he were about to be lost in thought again, before waving it away, "But lets not worry about such things for now, its great to see you two. How've you been?"

She nodded, respecting his privacy no matter how she'd like to pry. It troubled her to think a friend of hers was suffering and there was, yet again, nothing she could do.

"I'm glad to see you too. I've honestly been feeling better than I have since before everything. Things are finally starting to feel solid again."

It was Drew's turn to nod. He was no stranger to the instability of war, either.

"And you, Trent?" He asked, turning to his brother, "How's Hedgemoor treating you?"

The brothers talked, briefly comparing their living arrangements to what they'd had on the Cold Coast before growing solemn and changing the subject, while she noticed Bergan coming over.

Not wanting Drew and Trent to be interrupted, they'd had very little time to talk face to face, even after the war, she met him halfway.

"Gretchen, my dear!" He pulled her into a bear hug, aptly enough, "Tell me, how've you and Hedgemoor faired since your last letter?"

"Thing's seem to be getting better by the day, Uncle. After Krupha's occupation in Hedgemoor, I feared none of the people would truly be able to rest until they'd all been replaced by a new generation. As for me, I've no troubles that I could burden you with." She smiled at him.

Of course, she had troubles, but that didn't mean she had the need to burden anyone with them but herself.

He nodded, leaving one of his hands on her shoulder.

"I'm glad to know you're finally coming to peace, as well as your city. What of Redmire?" He asked, as most developments had been so recent she hadn't had time to write of them.

"Redmire is being governed by a cousin of Count Fripp's, Brenn rest his soul, now that the bulk of his work in Bray is taken care of. Everyone who'd been displaced has returned, and you can barely tell what happened there. I only need to take care of one city now."

It'd felt like her duty, Hector being her cousin and the only remaining boar. He probably wouldn't want to be a Baron even if he could, anyways.

"Though, of course, that's also not a permanent arrangement. Its merely a favor on behalf of his departed cousin. Between the two of us, though, we'll have to find a suitable replacement before the stress of running two cities becomes too much for him as well." She explained, even now feeling guilty for putting what should be her duty onto an old man.

More so, it pained her that it was her duty in the first place, and not her cousin's to take care of. While being a Baron may not be his ideal, it'd mean he wasn't imprisoned, at least.

"No more of this political talk, though," She rushed on, quickly changing the subject, "How are you, Uncle?"

"I'm afraid how I am would be deeply intertwined with political talk, no matter what," He chuckled, "But I suppose I'm as fine as I can be. Busy, with this new celebration, that may well become annual, but its good to have a change of pace every now and again, eh?"

"And how goes all this preparation?"

"As smoothly as it could. Though I suppose that's helped by there being no strict guideline as to how things should go yet." His smile was barely visible through his beard.

She wasn't sure he'd ever been without it.

"If there's anything I could assist with, you know I will." She offered, then after his thanks, excused herself and left the Great Oak entirely.

She understood the concept behind celebrating their victory, and how it may boost the citizens morale, but she couldn't separate the concept from pointless slaughter.

Everyday that passed brought them nearer to when the war was won, and it made her feel ill. The reason she'd come to Brackenholme wasn't to celebrate, but to surround herself with as many people as possible, fearing what come when she was alone.

The Cats of Bast left an undeniable mark on all in Lyssia, not least on her.

She walked to clear her head, having no designation in mind, simply focusing on the rhythm of her footsteps and cane on cobble paths.

The celebration would mean remembering Whitley's death, sacrificing herself to save Trent, Cape Gala, and Lucas, in all his wretchedness.

To think she'd once looked forward to being married to him...

She walked that bit faster, focusing on the rhythm and nothing else until she found herself at the Garrison Tree.

Looking for anything to break her from her reverie, she went up to see Hector. It'd be nice to finally speak with him, with such scant replies he'd had to any letters she'd sent.

She was stopped dead by the guard stationed outside his room, though.

"I apologize, my lady, but I'm under orders to not let anyone see the Boarlord. He's been classified a danger to himself and others." He explained, tipping his head in a sign of respect.

She glared, finding that to be the most absurd thing she'd ever heard. What was more absurd, was that the orders would have had to have come from Drew.

"If he's a danger to himself, does locking him up alone really make sense?" She argued, crossing her arms and refusing to go back down.

"It does if he's a danger to others."

"Have you SEEN that boy?! There's no way he's a danger!" She said, quickly losing her patience with the guard, though she knew he was just following his orders.

"Tell that to Queen Amelie!" The guard exclaimed, becoming invested in the argument. It became clear he held some sort of resentment toward Hector.

Gretchen rolled her eyes, scoffing.

"She practically fell on his knife, it hardly counts as an example!"

"He raised a city of the dead! Where your cousin died, might I add!" The guard waved one of his hands about, gesturing as he spoke and nearly knocking against the door he stood in front of.

"It was Lucas who killed Whitley, and you'd do well to remember that!" She practically shouted at him, standing up straighter and becoming red in the face with anger. She wouldn't have Lucas's misdeeds attributed to her cousin.

"Besides, Hector was possessed the entire time. He can't be blamed for Icegarden." She added, regaining her composure to the best of her ability.

"He tricked the White Bears out of their city and took it over with the Ugri!"

"Well he didn't kill anyone to do it! He's hardly dangerous, and especially not to me, of all people." She said, to no avail.

The guard wouldn't budge, which was a comfort to a small part of her. At least if no one was allowed in, he'd be safe in there.

But loneliness clearly didn't agree with him, and he hardly needed to be protected from her.

She argued with the guard until her legs grew sore, and she started leaning on her cane more noticeably.

The guard sighed, standing up straighter and putting on a passive look.

"You're not seeing him and that's final, my lady. Those are my orders and I will not go back on them. You'd do well to go enjoy the rest of your day, instead of spending it arguing with me."

She bit the inside of her cheek, glaring at the guard. It was clear he wouldn't be swayed by any amount of arguing, and she didn't fancy trying to bribe him.

Furious, she left the Garrison Tree in search of Drew.

She found him just as he was coming off one of Great Oak's lifts, catching him unawares and grabbing him by the wrist.

"We need to talk, Wolf."

He looked surprised, not only by her tone but what she'd called him. Though it was leagues above "mutt", she'd reserved titles such as that for strangers.

She pulled him aside, where people were less likely to be disturbed by the impending argument, before going off on him.

"What in the world could've gotten into you, Ferran, to not only let Hector be confined to a cell in the first place, but now for me to find you've ordered your soldiers not to let him be seen, calling him a danger that he hardly presents?!" She demanded, keeping her voice low.

If she were to shout at him, everyone outside would hear.

This only made his surprised look appear more dramatic, muddled by confusion and a small amount of offence.

"Gretchen, that order was made by Bergan, just a couple of days ago! There's nothing I can do about it, short of trying to convince him otherwise, which I've been trying to do whenever I get the chance." He explained, quick to redirect her anger.

"Why in Brenn's name would he do that?!" She huffed, twisting her cane and driving it into the dirt.

Drew hesitated, as if conflicted, before clasping his hands.

"It'd be best if Hector told you." He answered, refusing to answer in any useful way.

"Well I can't if I'm not allowed to see him."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at the Garrison tree, craning his head back to see the top.

"Well, I climbed the tree last night." He supplied, looking back at Gretchen.

She turned to look up at the Garrison tree, rubbing her thumb on the smooth wood of her cane.

She could go for periods of time without it, but it was never long before the pain became impossible to ignore. She'd done the injury no favors in Icegarden, and the strain had undone a good portion of the healing it'd gone through prior.

She didn't regret a thing.

"I don't think that'd work for me." She said finally, looking back at Drew. She may be able to walk a distance but she had no desire to test her limits climbing up and down a Great Oak.

"Yeah." He nodded, tapping the White Fist's pointer against its thumb.

The clicking was the only sound between them for a moment, before the White Fist crunched, Drew holding it in a fist with a smile on his face.

"I may be able to help you though, come." He walked off in the direction of the Garrison Tree, not waiting. He stopped at a bench alongside the cobble path, a short ways away from the Tree, and had her sit down and wait.

He went into the Garrison Tree, and she was to wait either for the guard or Drew to come out, depending on if he could be convincing.

A minute passed, then another, and another.

After the fifth, she saw the guard leaving the Garrison Tree, seeming pleased with himself.

She waited another ten minutes before no one was in sight, and got up, walking as if she had nowhere to be and was just enjoying a stroll, before darting into the Garrison Tree the moment she neared it.

Outside Hector's door stood Drew, standing guard.

She smiled, thankful for his help, and slipped into the cell.

Hector sat a table with a book in front of him, looking at her with an owlish expression, as if he hadn't expected her.

"Hello, cousin." She quickly closed the distance, briefly touching his shoulder in greeting instead of hugging him. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Gretchen! Hi!" He smiled awkwardly, slapping the book shut and pushing it away from him. "This is rather unexpected!"

"I apologize for that, but unexpected was the only way I'd get to see you, it seems." She sat down, and asked, "What happened with Bergan?"

He grew as stiff as the covers on his books, and looked uncomfortable.

"Nothing important, really." He said, obviously not wanting to talk about the subject.

"Hector, it absolutely is important! Why have I been barred from seeing you?" She asked, refusing to ignore what was happening. She couldn't do anything if she couldn't understand.

"You really needn't worry about me, I'm fine. I'll get by." He insisted, glancing around the room. After everything, it seemed he still had trouble with eye contact.

"Of course I need to worry about you! You're my cousin and now you're being isolated. What kind of family would I be if I did nothing?"

"You'd be much happier family if you simply didn't concern yourself with it! I've enough books to keep me entertained should I be isolated, it won't kill me." He insisted, wrapping his good arm around his chest in an imitation of crossing them.

"Books do not substitute for a conversation, and if you're smart you'd know isolation isn't good for you no matter how books you've got!" She said, thumping her cane against the floor for emphasis despite being seated.

"I want to help you, but I can't if I don't know the full extent of the problem." She said, losing her argumentative tone for a more concerned one.

Hector stayed quiet, looking solemn.

"I can't tell you." He said quietly, looking down at the table top.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I do!" He quickly looked up, before appearing ashamed of himself. "I simply fear you wouldn't trust me."

They both flinched when they heard Drew knock on the door, softly three times.

That was her cue to leave, lest they run into someone on the way out and get caught.

She sighed, standing.

"I'll be back, cousin. And I expect to find out what happened. I'll help you no matter what." She put her hand on his shoulder again, lingering there while he gave his short goodbye.

With no excuse to stay and risk getting caught, she pulled herself away.

She spent the rest of the evening in Bergan's hall, puzzling out Hector's situation and what she could do. There had to be something, she refused to helplessly stand by.

It was there she finally bumped into Lady Rainer.

"Hello, Gretchen," She greeted her, smiling warmly, "I'm sorry I missed you when I arrived."

"It's no trouble." Gretchen waved it away, lost in thought and only half listening.

"Is something on your mind?" Rainer frowned. "You seem distracted."

She was quiet for a moment, considering whether or not Rainer would be able to help her. The Duchess had always been more reasonable than her husband, surely this matter was no different.

"You know what Bergan is doing to Hector, yes?"

Rainer's expression dropped, becoming saddened as she nodded.

"Aye."

"And it's a horrible thing to do, to isolate him!"

"It is." She nodded again, "I've talked to him about it, but he has the final say when it comes to serious crime. And he can be as stubborn as a goat."

"Hector is barely a criminal." Gretchen straightened, prepared to get into another argument.

"Gretchen," Lady Rainer started slowly, taking time to pick her words carefully, "I care for him too but he did seize Icegarden, nearly starve out your uncle, and kill the queen. These things shouldn't be overlooked."

"He was sick in the head! He shouldn't be vilified for being ill!" Gretchen argued, refusing to see her cousin mistreated.

"Of course he shouldn't. But it doesn't excuse the harm he caused. He can be helped without us disregarding his mistakes, which would do more hard than good." She said, still taking time to choose her words.

Years of debating with Bergan had forced her to hone the skill of convincing people she was right.

Gretchen deflated, becoming tired and sullen instead of angry.

"I have very little family left, and I cannot lose him, neither to death or Bergan disallowing me from speaking to him." She said, her voice coming out flat.

"I know. I haven't stopped trying to make him be more reasonable, and I don't intent to." Lady Rainer assured her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

It made her feel that much less helpless.

"Thank you."

#ajaonxlmlamkwxm this shouldn't have taken so long <3 #I simply. am unmedicated #but then I got fed up w having a wip aksnksnkx #and now I'm exhausted<3 #and nothing makes sense so this! may be senseless #goodnight for 100 years #wereworld

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unavenged-robin · 5 years

Text

There have to be rules to this, Damian had said with the utmost seriousness the night he’d made this particular offer to him for the first time, and Bruce had nodded with the same solemnity, barely holding back a smile.

He’d been so relieved, though. This is something he used to do with Jason and Cassandra - way, way back - but he never dared to suggest it to Dick or Tim, out of fear of crossing a painful line they both had drawn for him. And Damian… well, things with Damian have always been harder, more painful and complicated than they needed to be, so Bruce really had no clue how his youngest son would react to his proposal.

Still, it had felt so natural to ask. Not like a duty or a responsibility, but like a pleasant necessity. The bittersweet memories of his own childhood may have played a heavier part in this than Bruce is willing to admit to himself, but this isn’t about him, although there’s a selfish pleasure to it. He’d missed this.

The first rule is that I must be able to see it too, Damian had announced that first night.

Seems reasonable to me, Bruce had answered in all sincerity, since he already knew the explanation for that request. He knew that it was the boy’s way of saying I don't need you to do this for me, I can do it perfectly well on my own. I don't want you to think that I'm not capable of doing it.

He understood. But it hurt anyway.

The second rule is that it must be confined to its appropriate time and space, Damian had continued, counting on his fingers.

And what do you want them to be?, Bruce had asked even if there wasn’t a real question there. But Damian needed to feel in control, and Bruce wanted to give that to him. He was ready to accept whatever request his son would demand, and he was fairly convinced that Damian would come up with something absurd and unreasonable just to challenge him: Bruce would pass the test anyway.

But Damian hadn’t push him. Hadn’t made it difficult for them to find an agreement. In hindsight, that alone said something.

The third rule is that this is not an obligation, so there must be no expectations of when or if it will ever happen again, Damian had resumed then, and there had been something different in his voice, something that suggested to Bruce that those weren’t his own words, that he was just repeating something he'd heard. He felt like he had to pause.

Did Talia ever do this?, he had been compelled to ask.

Of course she did, Damian had answered with a puzzled expression. She was my mother.

Bruce hadn’t missed the past tense. He had actually played it in his mind for a long minute before archiving it for a future conversation.

I would like to do it as many times as you want, he’d concluded and Damian had smiled in his own unique not-really-smiling way. But Bruce was better now at catching the little things, the tiny cracks in Damian’s armor that Dick had seen first, and had enlarged enough for him to take care of the wound under it.

Then we are in agreement, Damian had beamed, extending his hand for Bruce to shake. He had done so with his best business face, then he’d rested the other hand on Damian's shoulder, squeezing gently. Damian had allowed him to.

Thinking about it now, it had been one of the weirdest discussion he’d ever had with one of his children, but it had led to tonight, to this.

This is the library, huge and silent in the winter night, illuminated only by the dancing light from the fireplace and the solitary beam of the lamp behind Bruce’s back, aimed directly at the pages of the book that he’s holding in his hands.

This is the ledge under the library’s larger window, where Bruce is sitting with his legs stretched out, Damian curled up next to him, his head resting on his father’s shoulder, sleepy gaze focussed on the story they are reading together.

This is the snow falling slowly on the other side of the glass, creating dancing figures that fade away as soon as they lay their eyes on them, short-lived daydreams piling up on the external sill in small white heaps that begin to melt against the warmth of the window.

This is Bruce reading in a soft voice, Damian dozing quietly against him but still trying to listen to the words, an old blanket draped over them, Titus and Ace resting at their feet, the paintings of the rest of their family looking down at them almost with kindness.

There had been other discussions about it. Which books to read, which ones to avoid, which genres they both liked and which ones they disliked. Even this spot under the large window is a new thing: at first they agreed to read together in an armchair or on one of the sofas, so that it would be easier to find a position where they both could read the book together. But Damian liked to watch the snowfall whiten their garden, and Bruce was fond of this particular niche since he was Damian’s age, so they’d spent the afternoon here, reading and watching the snow in a quiet bliss.

It wouldn't have happened if they both hadn’t been benched by Alfred after a long string of exhausting patrols, and Bruce feels a pinch of guilt for that.

Damian yawns and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He’s been nodding off for a while now, lulled by his father's voice and the warmth of the fireplace.

“Do you want to go to bed?”, Bruce asks softly, putting aside the book for a moment.

He feels Damian shake his head and turn a little to his side to borrow his face into Bruce’s neck.

“Want t’ know h’w it ends”, he mumbles, eyes already closing. “Keep reading to me?”

Bruce suspects it wasn’t intended to be a question, yet the uncertainty is tangible in his son's voice. But he’s surprised too: this is never happened before. Damian’s always insisted they should read together, and he’s never allowed Bruce to read to him.

That would be childish, he’d said once, with blatant disgust, and Bruce never insisted. He was already happy about their arrangement as it was, he didn’t want to push.

But there’s something that pulls at his heartstrings in this small concession on Damian’s part: he’s giving him the permission to treat him like a child, like his child. And, as weird as it sounds like, it’s probably one of the best achievement of his life that his children allow him to be their father.

He feels like a sentimental old fool, but he has to swallow a lump in his throat and clear his voice several time before he’s able to start reading again. Thankfully Damian doesn’t comment, maybe because he’s too sleepy to even mock him.

So Bruce reads, and he listens to Damian's regular breath, and he feels happy in a way that is both very new and very old at the same time.

“Damian?”, he says after a while, almost like a second thought, but before his son gives in for good to sleep.

“Mh?”, Damian hums back.

“I love you.”

It’s something he shouldn’t have to say and, at the same time, something he knows he doesn’t say enough.

Damian sighs happily then he makes the great effort to lift his head just enough to kiss him on the cheek, briefly, but without shame.

“Next time I could read to you in your bed”, Bruce proposes tentatively.

The little nod he gets back feels like the biggest win.

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #Damian would complicate even bedtime stories #you know he would #this is so selfindulgent oh my god #i have this crave to give damian all the fluff in the world #what have i become #shari writes #my fic

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hoaryoldbitch · 7 years

Text

Unintended (4)

AO3

You can find the other parts by searching the tag #unintended on my page.

This chapter explores the further development of Jon and Sansa's relationship, so it has a bit of everything: Sam, Ghost, feelings!!! and some jealous!Sansa

Jon

"Gilly will be fine," Jon assures Sam. "She knew what she signed up for when she married you."

Sam nods. "She did, I just worry sometimes I'm asking too much of her."

He barks out a laugh. "I'm sure you'd know if she felt that way, Sam. I mean, Gilly's sweet, but..."

He tilts his head, giving his friend a knowing look. Sam grins back in agreement. "She loves you and she's happy for you, and so am I," he adds, raising his pint before finishing it.

He understands Sam's concerns about having his pregnant wife move from Oldtown to King's Landing now he's accepted the position at King's Landing University, but this is what Sam has always dreamed of. And it might be a bit selfish of him, but he's looking forward to having his friend close again. Lately there have been too many days when the only living creature he talked to was Ghost. He hopes that might change though, if he could spend more time with Sansa.

It's as if Sam is reading his thoughts. "So, how are things going with your lady friend?"

He arches an eyebrow. "My lady friend?"

"Your text was very vague," Sam shrugs. "You saw her on Sunday? How did it go?"

His face pulls into a frown. "Well, I think... At least, until... She asked me why I moved to King's Landing and I sort of just blurted out the truth. I don't know what I was thinking. That's definitely not something you tell a girl on a first date, right?"

Sam hesitates. "I guess honesty is good. How did she take it?"

He recalls the way Sansa's eyes teared up and how sincere her voice sounded. "She was sweet and she didn't give me that look. You know the one... But I don't think Sansa's actually able of not being kind? I don't know if that makes sense. She's- She's-"

Jon's eyes fall on his own hands, which are trying to emphasize words he cannot find. Sam is grinning, sipping his wine. "She hasn't had it easy. I think she was ill or something, but she's better now and she's- she's fucking gorgeous."

"What colour hair?"

"Red," he says and Sam's smile falters. Jon holds out his palms. "No! No, no, no! I know what you're thinking, but she's nothing like..."

His voice trails off as he takes in the skeptical look on Sam's face. Good thing I didn't tell him about that first day. Eventually his friend shrugs. "Fine, if you say so. Are you seeing her again?"

"I'm supposed to take her out Saturday afternoon. She told me to surprise her, but I have no idea what to do."

"You're overthinking this," Sam sighs, shaking his head. "If she fancies you, she'll be happy to be spending time with you. Keep it simple."

***

It's Friday and it looks like the weather's going to be lovely tomorrow. Jon decides to text Sansa.

- How's ur day going? Do u like dogs? :-)

She replies within two minutes.

- Fab! :D Yours? I love dogs? :p

Definitely better now, he thinks, before shaking his head, a grin on his face.

- Great! Just checking ;-) Pick u up around 2? Wear comfy shoes...

- Okay, I'm curious... Lol! See you tomorrow :D

Jon taps his fingers on the desk. He hopes Sansa's expectations aren't too high. He's planning to take her to Dragon Gate Park. There are flowers and a pond. There's a market square where all kinds of trinkets are sold and a dog meadow for Ghost. It's a Saturday in the middle of summer, so there will be foodtrucks and street musicians. He thinks she'll like it, but he can't be sure.

***

Jon's ten feet away from the door to Sansa's buiding when his phone buzzes.

- I'll be down in 5. Stay there if you want to avoid the inquisition.

His face twists, half-smirk, half-frown, but he decides to heed her advice. When she emerges from the double doors three minutes later in a lilac sundress, she looks around hesitantly, until her eyes find him, but they quickly settle on Ghost. "Ooooh," she coos, "who's this?"

"His name is Ghost," he tells her, "but I'm warning you, he's a stuck-up bastard. He'll probably ignore you for the first two hours."

She holds out a tentative hand so Ghost can sniff it and to Jon's surprise he does. He presses his muzzle into her hand and lets a grinning Sansa scratch his ear. She giggles when she glances up to see Jon's dumbfounded expression. "Traitor," he mutters, as Sansa loops her arm through his, making his heart stutter. "So, where are we going?"

He offers her a nervous half-smile. "You'll see," he promises and hesitates for a moment. "Who are the inquisition?"

"Oh, my brother and his girlfriend, who is also my best friend", she says, slightly shaking her head. She blinks at his questioning frown. "Trust me, I couldn't let you go in there completely unprepared. I was doing you a favour."

Sansa

Sansa gives Ghost one last firm rub to his upturned belly, before looking up to find Jon staring at her in awe. He shakes his head. "You have him wrapped around your little finger, don't you?"

She ducks her head, chin touching her shoulder, and bites her lip with a cheeky grin, catching herself before she can ask: 'You or the dog?' She closes her eyes and puts her palms flat against the grassy slope they've settled down on. She tilts her head back, enjoying the feeling of the sun's warmth and Jon's eyes on her. She has no idea where this confidence comes from, can't allow herself to believe it's all Jon's doing, but it probably is. It could be the way he looks at her when she's talking and how his smiles light up his solemn face.

Perhaps it's because he seems so determined to ensure she's having a great time, without giving her the impression he's just doing it because he wants to get under her skirt. It might be the fact that he doesn't talk down to her and never ridicules her opinions, even when his expression tells her he disagrees.

He was disappointed she 'forgot' to bring the bucket list. He quipped that she'd given him the perfect excuse to demand a third date, but she couldn't tell him imagining him reading some of the things on that list had embarassed her to the point where her face had resembled an overripe tomato.

She risks a sideway glance, discovering he's inched a little closer, his fingers playing with a daisy not too far from her knee, his eyes on the pond and the people around it. A sudden ghust of wind blows her hair into her face, momentarily blinding and almost gagging her. Spluttering and shaking her head she pushes herself up to pull the strands from her mouth and feels Jon's hand on her collarbone. Her arm moves up of its own accord and her palm makes contact with his cheek.

She gasps as she takes in the splatch of red appearing on his stunned face. "There was a leaf in your... ," he attempts in an incredulous voice. "Jon!" she exclaims. "I'm so, so sorry! You- startled me! I-"

Jon is still staring at her in disbelief and Sansa is lost for words, so she does the most absurd thing she could do. She leans in and presses her lips to his. They are incredibly soft. She pulls back before he's had enough time to recover and respond. A cautious smile flashes across his face, before it shifts back to a confounded expression. He rubs his cheek. "Wow, err, Sansa. You- You're giving me an emotional whiplash."

She hides her face in her hands, peeking at him through her fingers. "I'm sorry, I- it's just..." Suck it up, San. You're going to have to tell him sooner or later. "I had a heart- I had a heart..."

She lets go of her face, taking in Jon's encouraging nods, but at the last moment she chickens out. "I had a heartwarming dream about you!"

He blinks. "A dream? Or a nightmare?"

She shakes her head. "No! No! You were very..."

"Scary?" he suggests. "No, um, sexy!"

His eyes widen and his throat bobs up and down. "You... had a sex dream about me?"

"No!" Well, yes, maybe. Her face must be as red as Jon's ears by now.

She decides to kiss him again, planting her hands on his shoulder, fisting the fabric of his blue shirt. He responds eagerly this time, moving his lips against hers and gently cupping her face in his hands. She parts her lips, flicking her tongue out to demand entry. Softly he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, before allowing her to lick into it, then mimicking her actions. He tastes of the beer and tortilla crisps he had earlier. Before releasing her, he nips at her lips, then covering them again with his own to soothe the sting.

They part, slightly panting, and Jon caresses her hair as her hands slide down and back up his chest. Ghost chooses that moment to nudge Sansa's shoulder, sending her crashing into Jon, toppling him over and tumbling on top of him. They laugh together when their noses bump.

Jon

Sansa amazes Jon with her quiet strength and relentless optimism. The way she wavers between boldness and shyness confuses him, but he's totally entranced by it. She knows exactly what she wants out of life; it's all on her list. He listens to her explaining how she's planning to get it and he's easily convinced she could take on the entire world without as much as breaking a nail. The very next moment however she glances up at him with those innocent blue eyes before laying her head on his shoulder and he's taken aback by the sweet vulnerability of her gesture.

Jon takes her bowling and she's horrible at it. When he points out she should keep her eyes on the little arrows on the lane instead of the pins and helps her adjust a weird, unnecessary flick of her wrist, she improves quickly though. After she throws her first strike, she jumps into his arms and presses a hard peck to his lips, blushing at her own elatedness.

Sansa takes him to an art gallery and treats him to a passionate lecture about the composition, technique and meaning of the paintings in the exposition. When she realizes she's lost him, she patiently explains it again. He grins and pulls her into his arms to kiss her temple.

***

Jon is leaving his office on a dreary Thursday afternoon and falters when he sees Val leaning against her car, hair in a high ponytail, white leather jacket hanging open and a smirk on her face. This can't be good. If she wanted to discuss a case she could have called or come during office hours. "Snow," she calls out, "care to go for a drink? There's something I'd like to talk about."

He fumbles for his keys, ignoring her while she's making her way over to him. When she's only inches away from him, too close, he pretends to be startled. "Oh, Val! I didn't see you there."

She huffs. "So, how about that drink?"

He grunts absentmindedtly. "Maybe some other time. I have to run now."

She starts talking about some case she's working on. Her sister Dalla reported the possible neglect last winter, when the twins came to school without a coat during the snow storms, but now it seems there's more to it. He's aware that's just a pretext though.

It has been almost a year, but they fucked a couple of times and that's probably what she's after again now. Jon ended it because every time left him feeling more empty afterwards. He simply stopped returning her calls, not even feeling guilty about it, because he knew it meant nothing to her. She's tried to renew their arrangement occasionally though and this is clearly another attempt.

He sighs, searching for a good excuse to get rid of her, not missing the way she keeps touching his arm. He opens his mouth to refuse her suggestion to discuss matters somewhere more comfortable, when he sees Sansa coming around the corner of the street. Fuck, he curses mentally as an uninvited image of Ygritte holding a pluck of brown hair in her hand and with blood under her fingernails flashes through his mind.

He shakes it off and turns his full body to Sansa, smiling and holding his arms open as he calls out her name. She steps into his embrace a bit stiffly, accepting a kiss on her cheek and nodding to Val. "Sansa, this is Inspector Mikaelson."

To his relief the two women are perfectly polite to one another as they exchange a few comments on subjects he fails to pay attention to, but there is an odd twinkle in Val's eyes and Sansa's smile may be a little too bright. After a couple of minutes, he clears his throat. "We should really go now, right San?"

Sansa nods and Val strides back to her car. Sansa disentangles herself from his arms as soon as she's out of sight and starts walking back in the direction she came from. Jon hurries after her. "I wasn't expecting you."

"That was obvious," she answers in a clipped voice. You should keep your fucking mouth shut, Snow. "I wanted to surprise you," she informs him. A couple of minutes pass in silence. She comes to a sudden stop and faces him, eyes squinted into blue slits. "Inspector Mikaelson?"

He blinks and nods. "Aye."

"Please, Jon," she objects, rolling her eyes, "a blind man could see she was all over you."

Honesty is good, Sam's voice echoes inside his head. "It was a long time ago. It meant nothing."

She crosses her arms over her chest, pouting. "It clearly meant something to her!"

He waits for her anger to explode, for her to start screeching or lunge herself at him, but it doesn't happen. She just presses her lips into a thin line, chin quivering. His shoulders relax and he lifts his hands to frame her face and kisses her. She pulls back in surprise. "What was that for?"

He grins at her. "You're adorable when you're jealous."

"I'm not jea-" she starts objecting, but he silences her with another kiss. He sighs and retreats to look her in the eyes. "I don't give a fuck what she wants, Sansa. She can bugger off and go and find it somewhere else. I only want you, sweet girl."

For a minute she refuses to meet his eyes, but then a watery smile graces her lips and she leans into his touch. He wraps his arms around her and holds her close.

#Jon x Sansa #jonsa fic #jon x sansa fanfiction #unintended

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