she was made to be a queen just like her mother and he was made to love her

what's a fire and how does it - what's the word? - burn

so i have this disney playlist i listen to usually when i’m driving and i was blasting poor unfortunate souls this morning and i was thinking

what if ariel didn’t sign the scroll?

because she’s about to, okay, and she looks at the paper. the parchment made of seaweed, the ones that’s specially treated to survive underwater. and she thinks of her cave of treasures, her books that remain perfectly preserved underwater. “no thank you,” she says slowly, becoming keenly aware of air of this place, of the not-people she’d seen who hadn’t been able to pay the price for sea witch’s bargain. “i – no. thank you. but no.”

ursula tries to convince her otherwise, but ariel runs. she goes back to her cave, destroyed as it was by her father’s anger, and thinks.

she’s the daughter of triton. her books never got wet, though she lives in the ocean. she feels a pull inside her, to the land, to somewhere else, but what if – what if –

what if she doesn’t need the sea witch or her father to perform magic for her? what if she has her own?

ursula had wanted her voice because that’s how she performed her magic. singing in this cave had given it powers and protection, and when she saved her prince from the sea – she sang then too, to keep him safe, to guide him back to life and away from death.

so she has magic. she only needs to figure out how to use it.

so that’s what ariel does now. she’s quiet and keeps to herself, and her father and sisters think that it’s because she’s upset with her father, that she’s busy licking her wounds. she’s moved on from that. she has no trident, and is uninterested with fueling her magic with the souls of the damned like ursula has. so she needs to figure something else out.

she does what she’s not supposed to do, and goes where she’s not supposed to go, slipping past the guards and patrols to the one place in the sea that is forbidden to all of them.

the crevice in the earth where what remains of her grandmother lives.

ariel goes to amphitrite, and the sea goddess is so much bigger than ariel, the size of great whale as she curls at the bottom of the sea floor, too old and too tired to do anything more than sleep. “granddaughter,” the great being croaks, opening an eye as blue and as unfathomable as the sea, “you look like me.”

“they say i look like my mother,” she says, and to herself adds: that’s why father can barely stand to look at me.

“you have more of me in you than your mother,” she says, and she shifts and pulls her mass of red hair over her shoulder. “more of me in you than your father does, even.”

“i have magic,” she says, pulling her bravery to the fore as she swims closer to her grandmother, “i want you to teach me how to use it.” amphitrite pushes herself up, and it’s the first time she’s moved in a millennia, and ariel notices for the first time that her grandmother isn’t a mermaid – she has legs.

she has legs.

“you have power,” amphitrite corrects fiercely, “and i will teach you to wield it.”

and so she does. ariel spends her nights by her grandmother, learning to harness the power of the sea that runs in her veins, and sleeps her days away while her sisters and flounder and sebastian grow more and more concerned, but she refuses to tell them why. she refuses to be stopped.

but her heart still aches. she fell in love with her prince, and she wants him still. so she swims to the edge, goes to the beach where his castle resides in the dead of night when her lessons with her grandmother are complete, and sings

. she’s careful not to let any magic leak through, only her voice. she does not want to enchant him. she wants him to love her as she is. so she sings, her voice clear and powerful and cutting through the air. she hopes he can hear it.

then one day a figure walks to the beach, and it’s him, her prince. “hello?” he calls out, “are you out there? are you – please, it was you that saved me, wasn’t it? won’t you come out and let me see you?”

so she does, waves her tail at him until he catches sight of her and takes hesitant, disbelieving steps closer.

“you’re a mermaid,” he says, eyes wide, “i thought i saw – but it couldn’t be.”

“i am, and it can,” she says, heart beating wildly in her chest. he’s just as handsome as she remembered, and she wants him just as much. “my name is ariel.”

“ariel,” he repeats, and pulls off his boots and goes wading into the water, watching her to see if she flinches away from him. she doesn’t, and his strides grow bolder. “my name is eric.”

“eric,” she whispers, and when he’s close enough he touches her, trailing fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder and tangling them in her hair.

when he kisses her, she feels powerful enough to undo the world.

so there’s that now, spending her nights with her grandmother and her prince, and she knows how to make her own legs now, could walk onto land and be made a queen among the two legged men.

but she’s a princess here first, and before she can do that she needs to take care of something.

ursula.

the rotten sea witch with her rotten sea magic won’t be allowed to torment her people any longer.

she tells her grandmother, and amphitrite smiles and says, “an excellent decision, child. i’ve enjoyed our time together, but i think it’s time for me to sleep once more. i’ve taught you everything i can.”

and tears prick ariel’s eyes, but she holds them back. she knew that it couldn’t be forever, that her grandmother can’t die but no longer desires to live and this is the in-between.

“you’ll be an amazing queen,” amphitrite murmurs, and closes her eyes for a millennia more.

this isn’t something to be done in the dead of night, although it would be easier to do it then.

she will make a spectacle of it, she will remind the sea that her people are not to be trifled with.

once upon a time they feared a blue eyed, red haired sea queen with the power to destroy them all. it’s time for them to do so again.

so she drives ursula to the center of the city. her sisters cower and people hide, and her father comes rushing forward to save her.

“you’ve committed great crimes against my people,” she says, not flinching as lightning gathers in the sea witch’s hands, “so now shall a great crime be committed against you.”

“foolish girl,” the sea witch snarls.

triton is yelling. he won’t get there in time.

he doesn’t have to.

she doesn’t need to sing anymore. instead she lifts her hands and pulls ursula apart without ever touching her, not only renders flesh from bone but also sets free the souls she’s been hoarding, reverses the magic done to those who’d fallen into the sea witch’s trap.

they all stare at her, her people, her father, and her sisters. she looks to triton and says, “i’m not a little girl anymore.”

he opens his mouth, closes it again, then says, “i can see that.”

all at once everyone’s perceptions are turned sideways about their youngest princess. she commands a power that even her father doesn’t have access to, she’s not depressed and dreamy – she’s powerful young woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

so she does what she wanted to do, she gives herself legs and steps onto the sand and launches herself into eric’s arms. she becomes his bride, and the rumors run rampant of what she is, of where she came from, but they can’t prove anything and so they rule.

they live long, happy lives. ariel is his consort, his advisor, his wife, his tactician, and his best friend. all those years reading drowned books have certainly paid off. she ages herself along with her husband, bears his children and then teaches them they ways of her – their – people.

her husband dies, and she disappears, like the stories of selkie women that everyone whispers around her. their children give their father a sea burial, and vow to see him again one day. what they know and none of their subjects do is this – their father’s body isn’t in that casket.

she returns to her ocean, her legs form into her glittering green tail, and she goes home. she uses her terribly powerful magic, and brings her husband with her. she went from princess ariel of the sea to queen ariel of the land, and now she’s back again.

she’s not quite a teenager, but neither is she the old woman she pretended to be on land. she’s returned her and her husband to the prime of their life, and as she gained legs to be with him, he now gives his up to be with her.

eric becomes a merman, and a prince by virtue of being ariel’s husband.

she returns to her family and her world without missing a beat, and they all welcome her as if she never left, treat her husband with kindness and respect.

because they all know.

it doesn’t matter that she’s the youngest. when, far in the future, triton’s reign ends –

ariel’s reign will begin.

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

anonymous asked:

Maybe some time you could talk about Susan and what it would be like if she didn't desert Narnia

How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan?

What if, instead of sending a stag to lead them astray, the Pevensies had been given time to end their first rule– to have finished their reports, their negotiations and treaties, that letter in the bureau Lucy was half-done penning to Mrs. Beaver to thank her for the fruitcake and to ask about her grandchildren. 

They had lived there more than a decade then, grown from children to kings and queens, to brave young adults with responsibility heavy on their shoulders. They had lived through storms and wars, peace and joy, lost friends to battle and old age and distance. They had made a home. What if they had been given time to say good-bye? 

What if we didn’t tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn’t have again. 

There is nothing wrong with Lucy loving Narnia all her life, refusing an adulthood she didn’t want for a braver, brighter one she built herself. But there is also nothing wrong with Susan trying to find something new to fall in love with, something that might love her back. 

You can build things in lipsticks and nylons, if you don’t mind getting a few runs in them. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty, especially when pretty is the only power left to you. 

Let’s talk about being the last one left. No, really, think about it. You get a call in the middle of the night, in the little flat you can just barely afford, and you are told there has been an accident. 

Think about it, that moment– you scramble over everyone you know, everyone you love, and try to figure out where they all are that night. There are things rushing in your gut, your fingertips, your lungs, your ears– there are words in your ears as the tinny, sympathetic voice starts to tell you: it is everyone. 

They were on a train. Something went wrong. They probably died instantly. A rushing sound. A bright light. (You try to imagine it, for years. You try not to think about it. You imagine it, for years–a rushing sound, a bright light.)

Your little sister, who you always felt the most responsible for, who you never understood, really– Your big brother, who disapproved of your choices but loved you with a steadiness you could never regret leaning into– Your little brother, a smug and arrogant ass except for the days when he drowned in self doubt– Ed was going to go far and you knew it, were waiting for it, were shoring up your defenses and your eye rolls for the days when he’d think he ruled the world–

Your mother is gone. Your father, with his stuffy cigar smell and big hands and the way he got distracted telling stories– he is gone. Your cousin Eustace, who suddenly lost that stick in his ass one summer. That friend of his, Jill, who you’d never actually quite met. Gone. A rushing sound. A bright light. 

Go on. Walk through this with me. You can’t sleep all night long, because you still can’t understand it, still can’t quite breathe in a world where you are the last Pevensie. You finally fade sometime between midnight and dawn and when you wake up you don’t remember for half a second. You think ugh and you think sunshine why and then you remember that you are an orphan, an only child. You remember there probably isn’t anyone else to handle the funeral arrangements. 

Get up. Make tea. Forget to eat breakfast and feel nauseous and empty all day. Call the people who need to be called. Your work, to ask for the time off. The mortuary, to ask about closed caskets. Distant relations. Friends. Edmund’s girlfriend and Peter’s boss. You listen to Lucy’s friends weep hysterics into the phone while you stare out the kitchen window and drink your fourth cup of tea. You call Professor Diggory, out at the old house with the wardrobe that started it all, and it rings and rings. You don’t find out for three days that he died in the train crash too. When you do, you stare at the newspaper article. You think of course

You are twenty one years old. You have ruled a kingdom, fought and won and prevented wars, survived exile and school and your first day as a working woman. Nothing has ever felt worse than this. You have a necklace in your dresser you meant to give your mother, because she loves rubies and this glass is painted a nice ruby red and it is all you can afford on your tiny wages. 

Excuse me, a correction: she loved rubies. She is dead. You never wear the necklace. You cry yourself to sleep for weeks. The first night you don’t cry, the first morning you wake up rested, you feel guilty. You wonder if that will live in the pit of your stomach all your life and you don’t know. The years reach out in front of you, miles and eons of loss. You are on the very shore of this grief and you do not know how you will survive feeling like this for the rest of your life. But you will survive it. 

Get up. Make tea. Make yourself eat breakfast. Make plans with a school friend to do lunch. Go to work and try to bury yourself in the busyness of it. Remember that you’d promised to lend Peter a hand with some task or other, but you don’t even remember what it was– Collapse. Hide in the bathroom until you’re breathing again. Redo your makeup and leave work the moment your shift is over. Drop your nylons and your sweater and your heels in the apartment hallway. Fall into bed and pull the covers over your head. 

Get up. Make tea. Eat. Don’t think about them for weeks. Don’t feel guilty when you remember. Feel proud. Spend an indulgent weekend in your pajamas, reading Lucy’s favorite novel and making Ed’s favorite cookies and remembering the way your mother smelled and how it always made you feel safe. Love them and miss them and mourn them. Keep breathing. Cry, but wash your face after in cool water. Wake in the morning to birdsong and spend three hours making breakfast just the way you like it. 

Imagine the next birthday, the next Christmas, the next time you hit one of those days that herald the passage of time, that tell you how much you’ve grown and how much they haven’t. 

Lucy, Peter, and Edmund will be at the same height for the rest of your life. Lucy will always be seventeen for the second time. You see, you think you know, when you lose them, what the dagger in you feels like. But it grows with you, that ache. You grow with it, too, learn how to live with that at your side but it grows, that ache, finds new ways to twist– 

At the first friend’s wedding you go to, you cry because it’s lovely, those two smiling and promising and holding hands– but you also cry because you wonder what Lucy would have looked like in white, joyous and smiling and promising the rest of her life to a boy who deserved her. 

Go on. You tell me if Susan deserted a world or if a whole life deserted her. You tell me who was left behind. 

So yes, let’s talk about it– what if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan? What if lipstick and nylons were things worn and not markers of worth? 

What if we had a story that told little girls they could grow up to be anything they wanted– all of Lucy’s glory and light, Susan’s pretty face and parties, the way Jill could move so quiet and quick through the trees? 

Because you know, some of those little girls? They were the little mothers, too old for their age, who worried and wondered, who couldn’t believe like Lucy or charge like Jill. Susan was reasonable, was hesitant and beautiful and gentle, was pretty and silly and growing up, and for it she was lost. She was left. And when Susan was left, so were they. 

The little girls who worried louder than they loved, who were nervous about climbing trees and who would never run after the mirage of a lion, who looked at the pretty women in the grocery store and wondered if they would grow up pretty too– some of them looked at their little clever doubting hands, after they read Peter and Eustace and Jill scoffing at Susan’s vanities, and they wondered what they were worth. 

Imagine a Narnia that believed in all of them. Imagine a Narnia that believed in adult women, lipsticked or not. Imagine Susan teaching Jill how to string a bow, arms straining. Imagine her brushing blush on Lucy’s cheeks, the first time Lu went out walking with a boy she was considering falling in love with. Imagine that when the last door to Narnia was shut, there was not a sister left behind. 

{PART 19} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Not knowing whether to stay and fight, or run and protect you; Jungkook gets thrown into a world of fear and panic. Meanwhile, Yoongi and Serrena battle for victory in the silent game of war they play;

“How dreadful…to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules.”

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time) 

{Part 1} // {Part 18} {Part 19} {Part 20}

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The Dead Ladies Club

“Ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them.”

The Dead Ladies Club is a term I invented** circa 2012 to describe the pantheon of undeveloped female characters in ASOIAF from the generation or so before the story began

It is a term that carries with it inherent criticisms of ASOIAF, which this post will address, in an essay in nine parts. The first, second, and third parts of this essay define the term in detail. Subsequent sections examine how these women were written and why this aspect of ASOIAF merits criticism, exploring the pervasiveness of the dead mothers trope in fiction, the excessive use of sexual violence in writing these women, and the differences in GRRM’s portrayals of male sacrifice versus female sacrifice in the narrative. 

To conclude, I assert that the manner in which these women were written undermines GRRM’s thesis, and ASOIAF – a series I consider to be one of the greatest works of modern fantasy – is poorer because of it. 

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they call her maid maleen

for the first few trembling years of her life, she is a princess. she is the daughter to the king, born of his beloved wife and of her visage. her dark eyes have the appearance of a smoky quarts and her mother carefully twists her mass of black hair into a hundred small braids down her back. she is a beautiful, quiet child, and for a while all is well. they call her princess maleen.

then her mother dies. it seems as if the king is determined to bury his love for his daughter along with his queen. he moves her to a different wing of the castle, and refuses to see her. her tutors are let go, and the nobles’ children are no longer allowed to play with her. only the maids look after her now.

the king remarries. the new queen gives birth to a son, and maleen is forgotten completely, banished from a home she still resides in and a life she can now only watch unfold.

the maids take care of her, braid her hair and kiss the blisters on her fingers, teach her to scrub at porcelain and polish silver, to clean a fireplace and mop polished marble floors.

they call her maid maleen.

~

the king has a son by his new wife, and then a daughter. they are pale and fair-haired like their mother, with only their dark eyes to show they are the king’s children. but they inherit none of their parents’ beauty, have faces that don’t look quite right and bodies that get stuck between gangly and chubby and never settle into one or the other. princess gisella and prince jan are privately regarded as unfortunate products of a lovely union.

maid maleen spends long hours working, and has neither the time nor funds for creams to soften her skin or oils to care for her hair, has never used face powder or lip color.

maid maleen is twenty three years old, and the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

her braids are wrapped carefully atop her head, but when she lets them loose they hang past her hips. her dark skin is made even darker thanks to long hours working in the palace garden, and her eyes have never lost that same curious light. she walks straight and strong, years of hard labor giving her muscles and definition to her body that she never would have had as a princess. boys and girls give her long, considering looks and flirtatious smiles, and nobles have to double-take when she passes them by.

no one speaks of it anymore. but maid maleen looks ever more like her beautiful late mother, has the same eyes as her father, and dressing in ill-fitting cast offs and running her ragged can’t hide the truth.

maid maleen is the king’s daughter.

she has accepted her life as a maid in the palace she was one day set to inherit, and tries to see it as a gift. she sleeps with who she likes, may marry whichever of the charming boys from the city who’s smile she likes best. in the maids who raised her she has more mothers than she has fingers, and perhaps she longs for the days when she was a small princess, when she was the apple of her parents’ eye, when the whole of their nation was to be hers to inherit.

but then the blacksmith’s daughter lets her hands linger a little too long on her wrists, and maleen knows that she won’t be sleeping alone tonight. there are some things that worth more to her than a throne she was born to. she doesn’t miss the little girl she used to be.

until.

tensions have always run high between their kingdom and the neighboring one – too many squabbles over borders, over trade agreements, over patrols, over anything and everything the kings can find a reason to be upset about, it seems like. so when prince wolfgang is sent over, the whole palace is abuzz. the prince seems determined to inherit a peaceful land, and is coming over to talk with the king to do it.

maleen does not care for princes. nor for nobles of any rank, in fact. she remembers how they turned on her, she sees the small acts of pettiness and cruelty they thoughtlessly inflict on their servants, and she wants nothing to do with it. commoners may not be as educated as nobles, may not have as many objects to call their own, but maleen finds she prefers their company to that of lords. she’s uninterested in this prince, which is perhaps why she’s the one that gets sent to his rooms. her moms can trust that she at least won’t fawn over him.

“sir wolfgang,” she murmurs, pushing open his door and giving a low curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his mud covered boots. “is there anything you require?”

silence. she can only stay bent in a curtsey so long before she loses patience. she’s almost given up on him, is about to cut her losses and call it a night when he says, hesitant, “queen sabine?”

her mother’s name is punch to her gut, and her head snaps up at the sound of it, the rolling fire of her temper bubbling just below her skin. “i am maid maleen,” she snaps, then tacks on “your highness,” after a moment’s consideration.

his cloak is half unbuttoned as he stares at her with a slack mouth. she supposes he would not look unhandsome if he were not currently doing his best to imitate a frog. he appears to be only a handful of years older than she is, and if she were not furious she would be impressed that he remembers her mother well enough to see sabine in her.

“maleen,” he repeats, and for a moment she wonders if he will recognize her as well, but he only says, “my apologies. if you would help me with my cloak, i would be much obliged.”

she’s instantly suspicious. she’s met nice nobles before, ones that were considerate and remembered her name and thanked her when she brought them wine. but she’s never met a nice prince before – they’re always of the worst sort. “yes, your highness,” she says, and the cloak is soaked through and clinging, it’s no wonder he’s struggling with it. once she’s gotten it off she hangs it to dry, then goes back to him. she slaps away his numb, struggling fingers and undoes the rest of the buckles and loops of his overly complicated clothing. she’s gotten down him down to an undershirt and pants when his hands grab hers. she blinks and looks up. he has freckles dusting across his nose.

“this is inappropriate,” he says, but honestly she’s stripped a lot of nobles, it wasn’t weird until he took her hands and looked at her like no one’s ever looked at her before.

“yes, your highness,” she agrees, and takes a step back. she places his clothes in front of a fire, curtsies, and leaves. she can feel the weight of his gaze on her all the way back to her room.

wolfgang continues his diplomatic agenda, having long meetings with the royal family. after, maleen goes and tends to him, setting out his food and taking care of his clothes, straightening up any mess that he’s made. at first he’s quiet, and he just watches her, but he quickly discovers that maleen has opinions and thoughts and isn’t afraid to share them. soon they’re debating the finer points of trade routes and arguing the effectiveness of a sliding tax scale, and maleen comes to cherish the evenings she spends with the prince, likes the way he speaks to her and looks at her, likes the shape of his smile.

weeks in she enters his room, dinner steaming in her hands and eager to continue their conversation about state funded orphanages versus a state funded foster system. he’s pacing and tense, shoulder stiff. “wolfgang,” she sets down the food and wipes her hands on her apron, “is something wrong?”

“is it true?” he asks, and he’s not looking at her. he’s always looked at her before.

“is what true?” she flinches away from his coldness, is already preparing to retreat and hide and beg someone else to watch over him.

he turns to her, and she’s baffled by the mixture of hope and anger on his face. “are you the king’s daughter? are you princess maleen?”

she takes a step back, “i am maid maleen.”

“please,” he follows her as she steps away from him, and her back hits the wall. he stops when he’s almost close enough to touch. “my father sent me here with the goal to seal our new treaty with a marriage. he expects me to marry princess gisella. but if you are the daughter of the king – then he will allow me to marry you instead!”

“who says i want to marry you?” she retorts, but he gets on bended knee and she freezes.

he holds a hand for her own, and against every bit of logic, she gives it to him. “maleen, i’ve never felt this way about anyone. i was willing enough to enter a loveless marriage before i knew what true love is, but now i do, and i can’t go back. marry me.”

she wants to. she thinks she loves him. she hadn’t been planning to fall in love with anyone. “i am the king’s daughter,” she tells him, “but i am no princess. i haven’t been a princess in a long time.”

he brings her hand to his mouth so he can kiss each one of her knuckles, “then we’ll have to change that.”

~

wolfgang goes to the king to make his case, to return maleen to her birthright and allow her to marry him.

it goes even worse than maleen had feared.

her father is furious. he’s so angry at the audacity of this request that prince wolfgang is thrown from the kingdom. so incensed is he, that guards drag maleen from her bed in the middle of the night and throw her into a tower. the door closes shut behind them, and she bangs on it and screams but no one comes for her.

there are no windows, and only one door with a sliding metal grate in the bottom. she’s high in the tower, she thinks, from the number of steps she’d been forced to climb, but she stands on a dirt floor. the room contains only the bare minimum needed for survival, and nothing more.

once a week food is slid through the slot in the door. she has to be careful, because if she eats it too fast they will not provide more, she will just starve. days turn to weeks turn to months, and she despairs of ever being let out of this tower. months turn to years, and she gives up hope entirely of leaving this tower. she considers refusing to eat, killing herself slowly through starvation, because death is preferable to life locked in this tower.

one night there’s a scuffle, and shouting, and for the first time since she was shoved inside the door opens. there’s a guard standing there, and princess gisella tentatively steps inside. “maid ma – i mean, maleen?”

maleen stares. this is the first time she’s seen another person in years, and suddenly for all the screaming she’d done she can’t find her voice. gisella takes another cautious step forward, “maleen, please – we don’t have much time.” she holds out her hand, “come with me.”

gisella is sixteen now. although she’ll never be a great beauty, she’s grown into many of the features that she was once mocked for. “where?” she asks, but takes gisella’s hand and lets her lead them down the twisting staircase. anyplace is better than the tower.

“i’m to be married in a week’s time to prince wolfgang.” maleen feels a sharp pain go through her chest. had wolfgang forgotten her? their farce of a romance was such a quick, shallow thing. she was a fool to fall for it in the first place. “i’m not going to show up. you are.”

she stares, “what?”

“wolfgang started a war over father locking you in the tower,” she explains, “but eventually it got to a point where neither could justify it, so our father and wolfgang’s decided our union would mean peace between our countries, as intended. but i don’t want to marry prince wolfgang, and he does not want to marry me.”

“i don’t understand,” she hadn’t paid much attention to the girl when they were in the palace together, and she’s regretting that now.

they finally reach the end of the tower. it’s the first time she’s breathed fresh air in years. she tries not to get distracted by it, and instead focuses on the carriage to her left, and the pure black mare laden like a pack mule on her right. “i’m leaving,” gisella says, “i don’t want to be wolfgang’s bride because i want to be klaus’s,” the guard smiles, and he must be klaus, the princess is rejecting a prince to run away with a commoner. “there’s a map and everything you need in the saddlebags. the wedding dress is waiting for you at the castle. no one will know you’re not me until wolfgang unveils you, and by then it will be too late. he will marry you, and i will be gone.”

“why are you doing this?” she asks.

gisella shrugs, “you’re my sister, and father is an idiot. i want you to be happy, and i want wolfgang to be happy, and i want to be happy too. this way we all get what we want. our brother will be waiting for you in wolfgang’s castle. he’ll help you.”

maleen is speechless. gisella grabs her in a quick hug – the only one they’ve ever shared – and then goes to the carriage with klaus trailing behind her. “i’ll see you again, princess maleen!”

she doesn’t have time for tears. she gets on the mare, and rides for the palace of the neighboring land.

~

she makes it just in time. she sneaks into the castle the night before the wedding, ducking around servants until she find her way to jan’s door. she knocks, tentative, wondering if this was a mistake and all one elaborate trap. but the door opens and his face slackens in relief, “finally!” he pulls her inside, and sits her down. there’s lukewarm water waiting for her so she can clean herself, and jan stands with his back to her the whole time, outlining the wedding and how it will go so she knows what to expect the next day. “father isn’t here,” he assures her, “he didn’t want to leave the kingdom, so i’m here in his stead.”

“won’t you miss your sister?” maleen finishes washing and wraps herself in a soft blanket.

“when i am king, gisella will return,” he says confidently, “she will come home and bring klaus, and you will rule here with wolfgang, and all will be well. our countries shall be great allies when it is me and wolfgang on the throne.”

he’s only a year older than gisella, just seventeen, and maleen feels oddly old next to them, feels old next to these children who know what they want and take it and don’t let anything stand in their way.

“we need to get your hair rebraided,” he says, “you should look perfect tomorrow. it’s your wedding day.”

she stares, aghast. “that will take all night!”

“i’ve brought help,” he says, and sends a servant down the hall. the servant returns with a half dozen of the maids who raised her, and who crowd forward and hug her and kiss her cheeks and say how much they’ve missed her. princess or not, bride or not, to them she will always be their little maid maleen.

~

it’s clear gisella picked her wedding dress with maleen in mind. it fits her for one thing, and is clinging and heavy, and it must have looked awful on gisella, but on her it’s perfect. her dress is accompanied by white silk gloves and a thick veil so that no one can see her, so that no one will know she’s not the daughter of the king they’re expecting to be there.

wolfgang is at the end of the aisle, looking like he’s going to an execution, and it takes more self control than maleen was anticipating not to go running to him. she turns to him, and he lifts her veil. he sees her and freezes, mouth sliding open. she winks at him, because they just need to keep it together until they’re married, he just has to keep his cool for a few minutes and they’ll have won it all. wolfgang closes his mouth and says nothing about how this is clearly not the bride he was supposed to marry. they turn so none of the guests can see them, and the priest gives maleen a confused look, but with a glare from wolfgang he continues on with the ceremony as if nothing is out of place.

“you may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, after what seems like an eternity.

wolfgang grabs her about the waist, dips her, and kisses her soundly on the mouth. her veil falls off and she can hear the horrified and shocked gasps of the guests, and under that jan’s laughter. when they break apart, foreheads still pressed together, she whispers, “hello, prince wolfgang.”

he kisses her again, quick and sweet, and does nothing at all to disguise the joy in his face. “hello, princess maleen.”

and they all lived happily ever after.


read more retold fairytales here

mum

Sirius Black had always traveled to King’s Cross with incredible joy in his heart knowing that he wouldn’t have to return to Grimmauld Place, 12 for several months and that he wouldn’t see his family for a very long time. This was the first time Sirius had trouble getting out of his bed on 1st of September. He didn’t know how to explain it but it felt like a hippogriff was sitting on his chest making it hard to breathe.

“Padfoot,” sighed James. “If you make me miss the train, I will steal all of Remus’ chocolate and blame it on you and he will believe me.”

“Idunwanowunintmmawf,” said Sirius into his pillow. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t want to run into my mother,” he replied sitting up realising he didn’t have the strength to deal with James Potter at the moment. 

“We will move quickly and we won’t see even a string of her hair,” smiled James. “That’s a promise, Pads.”

“But she will see us Prongs,” mumbled Sirius looking like a lost puppy. “That bitch has her ways, she always finds me and Regulus in the crowd.”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous and get out of the bed” ordered James in return as he attempted carrying his trunk down the stairs for a second. “MUUUUUM can I locomotor my trunk dooooownn?”

“NO,” said Euphemia sternly from downstairs. “You’ll carry it down James and so will Sirius.”

“But muuuum-”

“James, dear, you are sixteen years old,” explained his mum like she was talking to a small child to make sure he doesn’t set the house on fire. “Stop acting like you are four or that girl you like so much won’t even look your way let alone like you. Independent women like grown men, not needy children.”

Euphemia Potter had a way with her son, she knew where all of his buttons were and how to push them just right because James Potter and his trunk were downstairs the Muggle way in a minute after the pep talk she had given. 

The breakfast was calmer than usual with Fleamont being at work and Sirius acting like he is half dead. When they were completely ready to floo themselves to the train station, Euphemia put her hand softly on Sirius’ shoulder, a kind of touch he wasn’t still used to after almost two months.

“Sirius,” began Euphemia. “What’s wrong? You know you can talk to me.”

“I just really don’t want to run into my mother,” confessed Sirius. “I’m scared of what she might do to you.”

James shook his head in disbelief, he found it hard to understand the irrational fear Sirius had. He knew Walburga was one disturbed woman but he also knew his mother shouldn’t be underestimated.

“Walburga should be scared of running into me,” said Euphemia half jokingly but James knew what would happen if they were to run into that woman. “I can handle him dear.”

Sirius nodded as convincingly as he could before he grabbed floo powder from the porcelain bowl standing next to the marble fireplace.

“King’s Cross,” he said clearly and he was gone with the green flames in seconds.

It didn’t take long for James and his mum to come with the flames. They hurried towards the Platform 9 ¾ with their trolleys and James ran face first into the wall just to disappear into thin air and then Euphemia and Sirius ran to the other side of the wall as well. 

Hogwarts Express was standing with all it’s crimson glory waiting for the students to get in to take them to Hogwarts. The three of them walked hastily to where the Marauders’ compartment was. They stood in front of the door to say their goodbyes.

“Be good,” said Euphemia. “I don’t want any letters from Minerva this year James.”

“Mum, you know I can’t promise anything.”

“Where did I go wrong while raising you?” she asked curiously. “Don’t answer that.”

“Sirius, write to me whenever you feel like it,” she reminded. “I’ll be expecting you home for Christmas, alright?”

“Yes, mum,” said Sirius and choked on his words almost instantly as a warm smile formed on Euphemia’s lips and James’ eyes lit up like they were fairy lights.

“Tsk tsk, Sirius,” came Walburga’s cold voice behind them. “We shouldn’t call blood traitors who didn’t give birth to us ‘mum’.”

It seemed like Sirius had shrunk in size as Euphemia stepped in front of him protectively.

“Tsk tsk Walburga,” she repeated. “We shouldn’t eavesdrop on conversations that aren’t ours and give opinions that no one asked for. He can call me ‘mum’ whenever he wants to, seeing that his actual mother is not available at the moment.”

Walburga made an attempt to grab Sirius by the wrist but Euphemia was agile for her age and she was holding onto Sirius’ wrist like he would die if she let go.

“You won’t touch my son and I’m not talking about James.”

“I suggest you stay out of this Euphemia, this is none of your business.”

“Oh, you made it my business when this boy showed up in my living room, barely breathing,” shot back Euphemia with all the rage that had been building up in her. Sirius was hiding behind her, careful not to catch Walburga’s piercing eyes.

“You are exaggerating,” she replied. “Nothing wrong with a little tough love.”

“I know an Unforgivable Curse when I see one Walburga,” she hissed just loud enough for people around them to hear, Walburga was turning purple with anger. “If I could, I would take Regulus from you, too, before he ends up dead from your tough love.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

“The same way you dare torture your children Walburga,” she said without blinking. “Now let go of my wrist and stay away from my sons.”

Sirius was trembling behind Euphemia who was standing like she was the queen of the universe, she didn’t move until Walburga Black turned around and left. 

“I told you I could handle her,” she said with a reassuring smile and caressed Sirius’ cheek softly. Sirius noticed the marks on Euphemia’s wrist then, burn marks like the long boney fingers of his mother. “As long as you got me, she can never come close to you and know that there’s nothing wrong with you calling me mum. Anyone would be proud to have you as a son and I am, too.”

“I- I can heal that if y-you want m-mum,” said Sirius, his voice shaking with the weight he was feeling on his shoulders. “I’ve- I’ve gotten pretty g-good with h-healing charms.”

“No Sirius, I can fix it. You forget you are not allowed to practice magic outside of Hogwarts,” she reminded and laughed a little. “It’s funny that a woman of her age is unable to control her magic like a toddler.”

Sirius’ eyes were still fixed on Euphemia’s thin wrist, his eyes filling up with the anger and sadness he was feeling. He lifted his eyes just a little to give a guilty look to James and saw his best friend smiling warmly down at him, he didn’t hide his pity but he didn’t have to. James always found it rather unlucky that Sirius ended up in such a messy family and never lied about how he felt about that situation, his pity was because he cared.

“Mum’s a big girl mate,” he said like he knew Sirius was about to spiral down and he needed someone to say something, anything. “She can take care of herself.”

“He is right, love,” nodded Euphemia. “Now, off you go, we don’t want you to miss the train because of something as unimportant and miserable as Walburga.”

“Just call her a bitch, mum.”

“James Fleamont Potter,” began Euphemia as she jokingly flicked her son’s arm. “You kiss me with that mouth and you will stop saying that word, even though some people deserve it, or so help me Merlin I’ll ground you until the end of time.”

“Okay, okay,” surrendered James. “I’ll just call her a goblin.”

“That’s my boy,” she replied and the spark came back to Sirius’ grey eyes. Euphemia hugged both of them and gave them loud kisses before she pushed them towards the train. “Don’t forget to write to me when you get there.”

“Sure, mum,” said Sirius with a grin before he was dragged away by an over eager James.

Wish

A Bucky Barnes One Shot

Character Pairing: Prince!Bucky Barnes x Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 3,433

Warnings: None… just one giant fluff fest. 

A/N: This is my submission for @rotisserierogers Kumi’s Halloween Challenge! I know that Halloween is supposed to mean spooky… but I went whimsical instead! Prince!Bucky is so charming! 

Prompt: At midnight.

Masterlist

“He means well.”

Bucky turned at the sound of his mother’s voice. Leaning his hip against the balcony railing, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“He does not listen to me,” Bucky said quietly.

She nodded with a sad smile, “James, your father just wants all of his affairs in order before he passes.”

Bucky looked out over the palace grounds, “I don’t want an arranged marriage, mother.”

She raised her hand and cupped his cheek in her palm, “It is a way for your father to be certain the kingdom will be safe.” She lowered her hand to gesture out beyond the balcony, “Having you take the princess’s hand in marriage will secure allies and armies. Her father has agreed to share his land, so a merging of kingdoms is necessary.”

Bucky sighed and looked down at her, “I want love and happiness, is that too much to ask for?”

She chuckled softly, “My son, those things come in time.” She thought fondly for a minute, “I grew to love your father, even though I did not care for him in the beginning. But, my duty as his wife and Queen was and still is important. As is the same for you. You must do what the title of being the future King demands.”

“I did not ask for that title,” Bucky said with disdain. When he saw his mother wince, he immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry mother. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He reached up and pushed his fingers through his hair, dislodging the bun at the nape of his neck. “I don’t feel ready for all of this.”

Looping her arm through his, she spoke softly, “No one ever is, my sweet Prince.”

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The Price of Privilege - Part 1 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: Romance Fluff/Angst/ Future Smut - Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU

Characters: Kyungsoo X You

Description: Your time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.

A/N: I conducted a poll and Modern won over Historical so this story is a Royalty AU set in Modern times Starring Do Kyungsoo.

The Price of Privilege: Royalty AU - Angst/Fluff/Smut - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, Part 6


It came with the territory. You had been groomed for this for as long as you could remember. It happened to your three older sisters already and it had always been just a matter of time before it happened to you. Your younger cousins looked at you with wide, impressionable eyes that absorbed your mood and influence as you talked about it to them, just as your older sisters had talked about it to you.

You were lucky.

Everyone said so. Lucky for something so fortunate to happen to you.

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Song of Themyscira | One

Summary: As an Amazonian warrior, you’re invited to Man’s World by Diana Prince. Ares, angered by the situation, decides to send an army, led by his son, to disrupt the peace. Will James be able to follow through, or will the Amazonians keep the peace?

Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Amazon!Reader

Word Count: 972

Warnings: None (yet)

A/N: SURPRISE! As a welcome gift to my new wave of followers, I’ve decided to post the first chapter of SoT a week in advance :) I hope you all enjoy this (April beta’d and said it’s good so I’ll take her word for it) and please, let me know what you think!

Originally posted by rohgers

Keep reading

By Royal Decree (Part 1)

Summary: Betrothed to a man that does not like you in the least, you grit your teeth and take on the duties expected of you as a princess. (Royal AU; Prince!Bucky Barnes).

Word Count: 1,682

Warnings: None.

A/N: Wow! It’s back and improved! I’m re-writing the whole thing because it’s been more than a year since I wrote this fic and my writing has improved haha. Enjoy, guys! It’s different from the previous version, as in wording.


With the sun setting across the horizon and the wind blowing, feeling crisp and refreshing, you took deep breaths, calming down. Being outdoors always did that to you, even if most of your life had been spent in a palace. Had it been any other day, you would have been happy to contemplate the beautiful, vibrant colors that each unique sunset brought, but tonight was different. All you wanted to do was go back to your own palace, lock your door, crawl into your bed, and forget you had responsibilities and a role to play.

Fingers tapping absently on the stone balustrade, your gaze descended and fell on the walled gardens that stretched out behind the palace. There were couples peppered throughout, holding hands, walking close together as if they were sharing the most secretive things and no one else should know. Smiling despite yourself, you could almost taste the bittersweet feeling. It was well-known that you would never be in their shoes. You would never fall deeply for a person of your choosing. That wasn’t your destiny.

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First of all, to you, as someone who presumably does not ship KatsuDeku, I’d like to thank you for coming to my ask box with a calm and respectful question rather than wagging fingers and yelling about how the pairing is disgusting and anyone that ships it is filth; or saying things that people who hate Katsuki and Izuku paired together usually use as an example as to why Katsuki is a pretty terrible person and why they should never be together. So, before I answer your question, i really need to say thank you. 

Without any more delay, let’s delve into this!

And please, just bare with me, I have a point to all this.

Their relationship was indeed abusive growing up, and anyone that can’t see it is either blind, or chooses to be blissfully ignorant. It was a textbook case of bullying, and first I want to say, that by “shipping” the two of them, that I in no way condone treating another human being like absolute dirt.

With that being said, Katsuki is a strange character. Too many see him as nothing but blind rage, anger, and (in my opinion) his most dangerous personality trait, pride. Izuku was a very young boy when Katsuki began bullying him, and our small green son said himself that once Katsuki had gotten his quirk he began to change.

I’m not excusing his behaviour, but Katsuki, as an impressionable child (as most are), with his drive and determination to be the best, was encouraged by absolutely everyone, and denied by no one. They didn’t just whisper that he was meant for greatness, they loudly exclaimed it, shouted it, and ingrained it into his head. He was told that he would be simply amazing because of his quirk, and then izuku, who didn’t have one, matched his fiery spirit all the way, despite HIM being the best.

A childs psyche is easily fucked with. This kid sat there with heavy expectations, and hopes and dreams on his shoulders. He was told he was amazing by everyone, so it must be true right? He treated Izuku badly all because he was quirkless, but no one stopped him from behaving in such a way, despite it being quite obvious as to what he was doing (Katsuki isn’t known for being quiet), so he couldn’t have been doing anything too bad right?

All that pressure, self doubt, fear of failure, insecurity, and self loathing when he couldn’t reach the top comes with those societal expectations and borderline demands. It all builds up inside and it’s been showing in the recent chapters. His treatment of Izuku… I don’t think Katsuki is as apathetic to Izuku’s suffering as he lets on. Katsuki’s anxiety about his own abilities was never Izuku’s fault, but he saw him as a hurdle to climb over, simply because he unknowingly regarded him as someone who was on par with him, quirk or no. Izuku always met him every step of the way in exuberance, dedication, perseverance despite not being as “amazing” as he is, and infuriatingly enough, beat him when it came to bravery.

If Izuku really was no more than a pebble to him, Katsuki wouldn’t have cared so much about building himself up in comparison, and would have simply dismissed him as another side character, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Izuku endured years of bullying, both emotional and physical mistreatment from Katsuki, yet this blindingly upbeat, and downright Heroic boy has this amazing gift to see the good there is in a person. He can read a person, and see their pain, and tries to obliterate it with his words. As an example, for Shouto, Izuku saw that he was suffering, and used the only power he had from the start to try and save him; the power of speech and his belief in peoples inner strength (or something equally as MC protag-ish). I think that’s what he’s been trying to do with Katsuki from the start. I personally believe that Katsuki perhaps knows that, and sees Izuku pointing out these things to him, or admiring them, as him dragging out and mocking what he sees as weakness in himself. Not that ‘being amazing’ is a weakness, but the fact that Izuku sees him, like his front of fury is so transparent that he could stick his hand through his chest, is like he’s being made out to be a fool. Heros are supposed to be strong, show no fear, and unquestionably courageous. Izuku has beat him in every respect as Katsuki sees it now, yet Izuku’s still there, praising him, and ‘making fun of him’. Katsuki has never needed any real encouragement, as he’s always been at the top. It was just expected respects and due praise to him. He probably has no idea what it means to have someone really believe in him. He was supposed to be the one to make it big, yet there’s “Deku”, crushing not just his dreams, but making the voices of everyone around him, and the whispers of the adults of his past louder and louder, reiterating that he is meant to be something.

SO, ENOUGH ABOUT KATSUKI—

I just had to explain where I was coming from to make my point here, forgive me.

So Katsuki, as fucked up, and down right foul as he can be, isn’t completely to blame for becoming what he is. Again, I’m not excusing him, but I’m saying that Izuku can see that. Izuku isn’t blind to it, at least not completely, because if I was that kid I woulda’ changed schools a long time ago, but this strong green bean has thought about it- said it to himself- and even said it to atsuki’s face (kind of) that he’s a fucking asshole. Izuku has even gone so far as to think about how he hates the guy.

I completely understand where you’re coming from anon.

I really, really do.

I was also bullied really bad by a few people, but two of them, who were incidentally two of the worst by a long shot, are now some very good friends to me. The only thing I can say about that is… people change. They just… grew up.

I’m not saying that everyone needs to go out there and confront their bullies, or people who harassed them, because not all people can make peace with who they were in the past, or perhaps never learned to function a different way, but it happens. You don’t need to gain any closure with a past tormentor, and you are allowed to live your life without sparing them another thought. That is 100000% a-okay. But so is forgiving people, and helping them down a better road to becoming a significantly kinder person. People are allowed to forgive as well as cast away, and this is something I have become very intimate with given my “family” situation. I completely understand that some just can not be forgiven, not ever… but in light of those who are undeserving, I’ve learned and become aware of who is forgivable. Katsuki wasn’t so bad as to not be forgiven and perhaps be given a chance.

We always forget that children can be so cruel. They can be kind, but they don’t even know who they are yet. They can’t make executive decisions concerning some basic life choices. We can’t expect them to understand what they’re doing wrong all the time. Hell, even as adults, humans are constantly learning and shaping themselves to their environment and the people around them.

One of my bullies, they were especially crude and mean to me because they “liked me”. Now they’ve admitted that it was not the way to approach things, and they’re deeply sorry for the ways they acted in high school. They made my life hell for the few months of grade eight all those years ago. I was on the rugby team with him as well, and he and his friends, who i had to play with, would be especially rough with me. It was fine, I thought. I was capable of handling it. We’ve talked about how the stigma and influence of his father and “friends” drove him to act in those ways. How the “boys will be boys” and “Boys pick on girls if they like them” thing was ingrained in his head. It was so influential and potent in his thought process that he thought that me fighting back only meant I liked him too- and drove him to do it even more.

The second of one of my worst bullies was a girl who also went along with the crowd, but now knows that she was a tyrannical queen bee. She had a lot of insecurities, as most bullies often do, and her mother was always on her about being a perfect woman, which now we’ve bonded over due to our similar circumstances. She knows what she did was wrong, and despises what she was in the past. We found eachother again when we volunteered as sort of ‘big sisters’ to teen girls, and did occasional groups with them as well. She knows she did a lot of bad, but hopes to make up for it now that she’s realized her grave mistakes. She’s since broken up with a lot of the “friends” who were just as toxic in high school, and surrounds herself with body-positive, loving people, and i couldn’t be happier to talk to her, and be friends with who she is today, and accept all her past faults and misconducts.

Now, i’m not trying to project my own circumstances here, because I definitely don’t want to see a few bullies I had in school, but I also broke one of their noses, and drop kicked another, so I feel like i got a bit of payback.

What I’m trying to say here,bottom line, with out all the gabbing, is that people can change. I’m not telling you, or talking down to you like I don’t think you know that, but I’m saying it as a generalization for my conclusion here (and for those who are very adamant that a bad person is permanently a douche canoe).

I don’t believe people are inherently bad. Although a person’s experiences and environment can shape the way they see the world, and how they put themselves forth in it, they can improve themselves. As adults, young adults, and perhaps growing teens who are beyond their years, we can look back and take into consideration that everyone’s issues are at play, and acknowledge that it isn’t always a black and white situation. No one is perfect, but we can strive for it as best as we can.

The majority of KatsuDeku shippers focus on Katsuki making amends, and growing past whatever beastly guise he buried “who he really is” under. I think I speak for most of the KatsuDeku shippers when I say we only want Izuku to get through to him, and for Katsuki to recognize himself, his wrongdoings, and fucking apologize. Most fics are all about redemption, or placed in a setting where it’s already happened. I mean, yes, there’s darker fics, every pairing has those, and it may just seem a little more intense given their past with each other, but really, with KatsuDeku…. I get the feeling a lot of us just really want that witty romcom pairing where they kind of piss each other off, but come together to save the world in the end kinda deal. If it was 2005 or something, we could be having this conversation about Naruto and Sasuke or something, who beat the ever loving shit out of each other, yet still had this deep rooted connected between them (that usually translated to each other through fists and screams, like jesus christ LOL).

Katsuki is also filled with passion and drive, and I think he’s more than a little above average on the attractive meter, so there are those fics where it’s purely them, realizing they can rock each other’s world…

BUT-

I think we all see Katsuki’s insecurity, and want Izuku to continue to try and ease it- but we also don’t want him to be walked all over. We know Katsuki is a nugget of dickcheese. But this kid has also been publicly humiliated in the sports festival, beaten at every aspect of who he is- or what he was suppose to be, taunted and berated by his teachers and peers (which has never been happened before), captured and made to feel helpless, denied of even getting a hero’s training license (so failing at the bare minimum of what he should be doing), and Izuku can understand those feelings more than anyone else i’m sure. Izuku is a fucking VIP in those departments, or at least he was in the past. Katsuki is experiencing what Izuku has gone through, though in different aspects and situations, and Izuku could probably relate on eleven personal levels.

Katsuki and Izuku have history, and share a lot more in common than either of them would like to admit. They arguably have one of the deepest and most complex relationships in the series, and there’s so much more to them than “the bully and the victim.” They share pain and experiences, and though Izuku’s was majorly inflicted by Katsuki, he’s a big enough person to work past that, and be there if Katsuki so happens to work past his own issues. Izuku’s a strong willed motherfucker, and he’s the only thing that Katsuki Bakugou has never truly broken. If Katsuki could see that, and how despite himself, he’s used Izuku as his strength and drive to keep going, they could be unstoppable side by side.

I’d like to see what they could possibly be if Katsuki can manage grow as a person, which he is slowly, but steadily accomplishing. We just want Katsuki to say he’s fucking sorry, and listen to Izuku instead of getting his programmed prejudices, persistent, and intrusive, selfish desires, his need to excel, and pride in the way.

Izuku is strong, and more than capable of taking care of himself now. He’s made it clear he’s done being bullied, and is more than happy to go head to head with Katsuki to be his equal, though it’s kind of clear Katsuki may have seen him as such from the beginning. Still, he’s always reaching out to Katsuki, trying to raise him up despite his aversion to receiving support, and his determination to be on his own- and be number one. That’s the kind of strength one can only muster if they really care about someone I think.

With all that being said, you also asked me why i saw this relationship as healthy. Their current relationship… is not exactly healthy, but more dysfunctional than anything. There isn’t anything “healthy” about their past relationship at all, but now, I think Izuku is capable of pulling his weight. Some good rivalry never hurt anyone in these sorts of animes. This is also fiction. What I see as alright in fictional relationships does not reflect what I think is alright for a real relationship. There needs to be a firm line between fictional relationships and real relationships. Some are easier to establish than others, and it varies in difficulty from person to person.

If I saw two people interacting as Izuku and Katsuki do now, while knowing about their strength and how they butt heads on fairly equal grounds, I probably wouldn’t interfere. People are allowed to fight. People are allowed to argue, but hey, they’re pretty much on equal fighting terms.

If I saw them interacting like they did in middle school, I would be on that so fast, their heads would spin.

Perhaps I’m a bit desensitized or jaded when it comes to subjects like these simply because I’ve experienced some pretty extreme forms of abuse… but when I think of KatsuDeku, I can only hope for the best. KatsuDeku is easy for me to establish as fictional, and even if it wasn’t, where both the boys are now, I think they can handle each other. Their relationship isn’t so abusive currently that red flags start to fly.

Ever heard of Killing Stalking? Red flags there for me personally. Now, that shit straight up (and I don’t use this word lightly because some people just over use it to the point of giving it no meaning and now it’s just a joke to me) triggered me, because before I knew it, I was crying all over myself and having a panic attack, and flash backs, and all that lovely stuff. But it’s fiction. I recognized it as such, and acknowledged that people are allowed to like it, and read it it, draw it, ship it, w/e they want, because chances are they’re aware that this isn’t how a regular couple should function. This isn’t me saying “It’s not bad enough abuse for me to dislike it, because look what it COULD BE” when it comes to our aspiring heros, it’s just…. Izuku isn’t some helpless little kid, and I very much want him to prove that. He’s not a victim anymore.

KatsuDeku isn’t the best of relationships right now, but it’s certainly not the worst, and has a lot of potential to grow and shape into something. Canonly; more than likely they’ll just become friends, because everything is very hetero-normative in japan, though there’s room for a lot more than friendship. They’ve exposed themselves on so many levels that I think they would be even closer because of their past. Concerning fan works; a shit ton of material to play off of here. A pretty interesting date or two lies in store there, lol.

I’m sorry if I didn’t correctly answer your question, or if I made no sense, or rambled, or left things out that were in my thoughts and didn’t quite make it into my… lengthy response here. If I ever came off rude up there, that was not my intention, and was just trying to explain!

Thank you for your question! My sympathies to your past bullying experience, and i’m glad you no longer have to deal with that ;A;

If i wasn’t clear on anything, or should clarify, don’t hesitate to ask!

Have a lovely day!

Queen in the North {Pt. 4}

Originally posted by snows-os

Requested: By some very lovely people, and myself, an actual piece of human garbage

Pairings: Robb Stark x Reader

Previously: {Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3}

Summary: Y/N was sent to live with The Stark family at a young age, and ever since then, she seemed to fit perfectly, maybe even more than she had ever noticed.

Warnings: Injured!Robb

Word Count: 1,858

A/N: Long time, no see. I don’t know how I let this sit on the backburner for so long, as it is certainly one of my favorite things to write. Now that Robb is absent from my Game of Thrones viewing, I have been coping with this, so I hope that you guys enjoy! Feedback is appreciated, as always!

Somehow, Robb had managed to disappear. You’d made plans yesterday to meet in the library before going out for a ride. Although you didn’t accompany them on hunts anymore, you did love racing through the woods with Robb and Grey Wind. Ever since Ned had brought the direwolves back for the children, you had wanted one of your own.

He had brought them back when they were less like wolves and behaved more like puppies, really. You had smiled and laughed along with your family, happy that such a small creature had brought them such joy. But, try as you might, you couldn’t hide your want from Robb.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, tugging lightly on a bit of rope that you had procured for Grey Wind to play with.

“I was just thinking that I would very much like a dog.” You sighed, stroking your hand over Grey Wind’s fur.

“How many times are we going to have this argument?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.” You laughed, burying your face into Grey Wind’s side.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

When you were younger, you had come to Winterfell convinced that their house sigil was a dog. Robb had taken immediate offense, but to his credit, he bit his tongue for as long as possible. He hid his anger for a long time, but after a few days, he felt that he was going to combust if he didn’t correct you. He danced around the subject for days, before gently sitting you down in the library with the big book of house sigils.

At the tender age of four, you had mistakenly read “Wolf” as “Oelf” and Robb had never let you live it down. He brought it up often enough that you knew that one little mistake as a child was not going away anytime soon.

“Oh, Arya!” you called, spotting her hurriedly making her way around the corner. When she didn’t stop, you quickened your pace, easily catching up with her. “Arya, have you seen Robb?”

Arya took your hand, and resumed her earlier pace, explaining between her shallow breaths. “I have been looking for you all morning!” She paused for a moment, meeting your eyes before casting her glance once again to her shoes, tapping quickly on the stone. “Robb is in the infirmary.”

“I was just in the library, wait- what do you mean that Robb is in the infirmary?” You felt your heart beat quickening in your chest. It was your job to get hurt, and it was his job to baby you until you got better, and then do it all over again.

“I mean that Robb was trying to help Bran with his bow work and something went wrong.” Arya took your hand and tried to lead you to the infirmary again, but you were rooted on the spot. Your mind was a blur, you could barely think straight. “Robb is hurt. Robb is hurt. Robb is hurt” ran through your mind, a rather uncomforting mantra that was only making matters worse. 

“Y/N, he’s asking for you,” Arya’s voice was calm, somehow drawing you back to the situation at hand. Robb was hurt, and he was asking for you. Arya took a tentative step toward the infirmary, wanting to make sure that you were with her. You met her eyes, nodded your head, and tried to get yourself together before you got to the Robb.

Arya threw open the door to the infirmary, and you felt yourself holding back a gasp. Arya had insisted that he was barely even hurt, that it practically a scrape, but Robb looked as if he was close to death.

“This is why it does you good to get hurt every once and awhile.” You took a seat on the bed by his side, twining your pinky with his. It was a simple act, something that the two of you had done since you were children, who didn’t want to be made fun of for holding hands. Now, it was something that felt like second nature, even if people smirked when they saw it. He gave you a look, one that you knew meant explain yourself before I wallop you over the head. “Well, Mr. Perfect never gets hurt and now a knick in the side makes you think that you are dying.”

You held your breath, waiting for a response. Jokes in times of crisis could go either way. Robb’s laughter filled the room, and you felt a weight lift off of your shoulders. It definitely wasn’t as serious as you thought that it was if he was willing to laugh at it.

You caught a glimpse of Abigayle over Robb’s head, rolling a bandage and chuckling to herself. At least she was taking your humor in stride. More than a few people had reprimanded you for your particularly unladylike jokes in times of trouble. But they always made your family laugh, and making them laugh was more important to you than being ladylike anyday.

“But you are okay?” You asked in a hushed voice. As much as it hurt you to admit it, he had scared you.

Robb tried to hold back a reaction, but despite himself his mouth quirked to the side in the annoying almost smile that he had developed when the two of you were younger. But you had been though enough with him to notice when he was holding something back.

You hadn’t missed the look that the nurse maid had given the two of you before pointedly laying down her linens and slipping out of the door, taking Arya with her. Robb tried to sit up, holding back a grimace that if you didn’t know him any better, you wouldn’t have been able to notice.

You reached forward to grab him, to help him sit up. But, before you could, his hands came to cradle your face, bringing your forehead to rest against his. If it was any other time, you would have told him to shove off, but after all of the excitement of the last few days, you needed a moment.

A moment to be alone with him, to just breathe, and accept that everything was going to be okay.

“I’m sorry that I worried you.” Robb said, his voice quiet and timid, afraid to break the silence that had taken over the room.

“You should be, it’s my job to worry you.” You said, attempting to muster a laugh. It didn’t sound like a joke, though. Your voice was shaking just the slightest bit, trying to hide the emotion behind it.

“How could I forget? It is your job to fall off of a horse and then immediately walk directly into a wall. The same wall that has been in the same spot for hundreds of years, might I add.” He laughed, a real laugh this time. A laugh that made him throw his head back and made his stomach hurt just a bit, because he really, truly meant it. And after a few moments, you couldn’t help but join him.

“Well, I don’t want to interupt, but I’ve heard that Bran has maimed my eldest.” Catelyn said, letting herself in. You were about to stand, in order to let her have your place at Robb’s side, but she lazily motioned for you to sit down, taking a spot by the fire instead.

“It was really nothing, mother.” Robb said, looping his pinky with yours again. “Bran’s bow work obviously needs a bit more work, but I am going to be good as new.”

You held in a chuckle. Bran needing more bow work was the biggest understatement that you had heard in your life. He would get there eventually, but you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time that someone ended up in the infirmary before he learned to shoot a target. Maybe Arya could help him. She was wonderful with a bow, and even though she was less patient than the boys. Then again, that might be what Bran needed if he was ever going to hit a target. You made a mental note before returning your focus to the situation at hand.

“I’m sure that you will be, after all, it seems that you have an excellent nursemaid with you.” You didn’t miss her glancing down at your hands resting on the bed. You stuck your tongue out at her.

She didn’t reprimand you, knowing that it would only encourage you further.

“Abigayle is wonderful.” you said, eyes shifting to the door that the gray-haired woman had left through a few minutes ago.

Catelyn’s eyebrows arched the slightest bit, and Robb was chuckling to himself.

“I have a feeling that my mother wasn’t talking about Abigayle.” His pinky tightened around yours, not too tightly, but enough to make you understand what he was trying to say.

They were talking about you.

“Well, I haven’t done anything.” You insisted, unsure what they were trying to say.

“We both know that Arya is going to have to drag you out of this room before you leave his side.” Catelyn laughed, standing up from her chair. “Which is why I know that I can take my leave to help Sansa and the girls with their needlepoint.” Catelyn placed a kiss on the top of Robb’s head, and then yours. “I will see you later, my loves. She said, pausing for just a moment in the doorway, before making her way out of the room.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You said, untangling your pinky from his before moving to get a strip of cloth to change Robb’s bandages. Abigayle had given him fresh ones a few hours ago, but with all of the moving around he was sure to need new ones. “I help everyone when they are hurt.”

The look on Robb’s face said that he wanted to say more, and you felt a wave of relief when it seemed that he was going to hold his tongue, for now at least.

You motioned for him to take off his shirt, allowing you a better look at the wound on his side. It was a shallow wound, but it ran the length of his ribcage, jagged and rough against his pale skin. Thankfully, it looked as if it would heal in a few days. Unfortunately, you were left to coddle Robb like a child until he was good as new.

He had a tendency to be clingy when he was hurt. You didn’t honestly know if it was because it truly made him feel better, or if he liked having an excuse to be around you, even more often than usual. Your head said that it was the first option, but it was getting harder as of late to ignore what your heart was saying.

Refocusing on the task at hand, you found that you had been right, and the bandages were nearly soaked through. You made quick work of them, not allowing your fingers to linger any more than was absolutely necessary.

You can read Part Five here!

Close to You (M)

You’re pulling our connections expecting me to let you go — but I won’t.

SUMMARY: You had met him when you were seven, but you fell in love with him when you were seventeen. He had been everything you’d hoped a loved one should be; until he left. Now that you’ve reached your twenty-first birthday, you’re thrown into a deal that your parents had made when you were just a kid — and that deal involved marrying the same man who had broken your heart so long ago.

GENRE/WARNINGS: Arranged Marriage!AU, Prince!Yuta — filled with angst, fluff, and smut aka my three favorite things.

WORDS: 24.1k.

A/N: I wrote this idea down in my notes and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since so I decided to bring it to life. I apologize for the excessively long length of this… Once I started writing it I couldn’t stop lmao. But I hope you enjoy it, lovebugs!!!

Keep reading

Summary: Sansa is sent as an emissary instead of Jon to meet with the Dragon Queen [Season 7 Spoilers - some of the dialogue is word for word from the script]

Dedicated to the lovely @qinaliel for the prompt!! 


“Then send an emissary!”

Jon paused, turned towards her and sighed. In the few short months since they’d been reunited, Sansa had come to learn his sigh’s and this one said that she had won. He was finally beginning to listen to her.

“Sansa,” he said slowly, coming to stand before her. They had been arguing in his solar for most of the afternoon. “Who will I send? You?”

Without hesitation, she nodded. “Yes.” She didn’t want to leave Winterfell, not after everything they’d done to get it back, but for Jon? For their home? She would face down Cersei if she had to. What was a Dragon Queen to that woman?

Immediately, Jon shook his head, stepping closer, until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “No. No. I will not send you. She is a queen, only a king can get through to her.”

“You are more needed here than I am,” Sansa said. She reached for his wrist, circling her fingers delicately around it. “Jon, let me do this for you. I know women like her. And I am not merely anybody you’re sending. I am the Lady of Winterfell. She will listen to me.”

He twisted his hand from her grasp only to retrieve it back in his own. “I can’t protect you in the south.”

“No one can protect me anywhere,” she reminded him. “I will have Brienne with me. And Podrick. I will not be alone.”

Jon furrowed his brows. They both knew there was sense in her words, but she could see the struggle, the conflict warring in his mind. He was so noble, always so honourable, and it made her heart ache for him, fear and love mingling like the warmth of her breath fogging in the cold winter air.

He turned away from her, dropping down in his chair. Jon rubbed his face. “How can I plan a war when all I’ll be doing is worrying about you?”

Sansa let out a soft breath, a half-hearted laugh, as she came to kneel before him. “If it is any comfort to you, at least I will be far away from Littlefinger.”

His head snapped up at that and a small rueful smile broke over his face. “You heard then?”

“There is not much that happens in Winterfell that I don’t hear, Jon Snow,” Sansa grinned. “Although if you must wring Littlefinger’s neck, try not to do it in full view of the guards. You know they like to talk.”

He laughed. “I appreciate your counsel, my lady.”

Sansa made to stand up, but this time, Jon wrapped his hand around her wrist, the hard callouses grazing over her soft skin. It made her heartbeat spike unbiddenly. “You will be careful, won’t you? You will go, say our peace and come home?”

“I don’t want to be away from Winterfell more than I need to,” Sansa answered him, keeping his gaze, so he knew the words she didn’t wish to say out loud, that it was him she didn’t want to part with most.

Jon nodded once and let go. “Get some sleep, Sansa.”

That night, she tossed and turned, dreams of Winterfell lit on fire, blazing orange and red against the blinding white of winter. She dreamed of dragons screeching overhead as her people screamed for mercy, for reprieve from this slaughter, and then, just as she could feel the flames licking her own skin, she heard the keening howl of a wolf, as big as a mountain.

Jon, she whispered, reaching for him. Jon

Sansa woke with a start, sweat matting her hair to her forehead. She was warm, so much warmer than she had been in the night, but when she turned, she found the reason for the heat. Ghost lifted his head, blinked at her, something like concern shining in his eyes. She carded her fingers through his fur and pressed a soft kiss to his head. “You came to save me, didn’t you, boy?” His tongue lolled out from his mouth and Sansa laughed. “My hero.”

It was the day she would leave Winterfell. Sansa never thought that she would have to again after winning it back from Ramsay, but soon when the winds burned like fire and the sun refused to shine, her people, her Jon, would have to pick up their swords and fight, and Sansa needed to ensure they survived the Long Night. If this Dragon Queen could be reasoned with, then she would go and speak to her. Never mind that a Targaryen could never be trusted; never mind that this woman had stolen into their lands with a foreign army and three dragons. Sansa could understand the necessity of her alliance – although the feeling of trepidation did not ease, not when she broke fast sitting beside Jon as he watched her carefully and not when she sat with her maids to pack her belongings.

“I thought I would find you here.”

She didn’t turn, only wrapped her arms tighter around her body. He came up behind her. She could hear the crunching of his boots on the soft powdered ground.

“You don’t have to go.”

Sansa made a noise and he sighed in response.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he amended instead, his voice low, barely audible above the whistling wind. “Some days I think…” Jon paused and gave a soft chuckle. “I think, what if we had just run? Gone south and never looked back.”

“This is our home,” she murmured to him.

“Aye, and I will fight with my last breath for it,” he said firmly. “But maybe it keeps me sane to imagine what our lives would be like if we had run.”

Sansa turned then, eyes sweeping over his face. “And?”

“We would have a house,” Jon answered immediately. “Maybe by the sea.” He averted his gaze, staring up at the heart tree. “We’d be safe.”

She reached for his hand. “I’ll come home.”

“Promise me,” he said softly, squeezing her back.

“I promise, Jon.”

But promises were meant to be broken and Sansa would soon realise that the Dragon Queen would not be so easy to persuade.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains,” the woman spoke.

Sansa refrained from grimacing. She had met another once who liked to shout his titles at anyone who would listen and he had been a monster. She desperately hoped this Daenerys was different.

“This is Sansa Stark of House Stark, eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, blood of the First Men, Lady of Winterfell and Sister to the King in the North, Jon Snow,” Brienne immediately replied, standing tall and proud, Podrick a step behind her.

“Forgive me. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn the last King in the North was Torren Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the northmen. Torren Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. But do I have my facts wrong?” Daenerys asked, poison hidden in her polite words, but Sansa had lived with lions. A dragon did not scare her.

“No, your grace,” Sansa answered, keeping her tone equally as polite. “You are well-versed in your history, but mayhaps you have forgotten that House Targaryen was overthrown during Robert’s Rebellion when your brother kidnapped my aunt and your father had my uncle and grandfather burned alive.” She paused to let this sink in. “House Stark has not been loyal to a Targaryen in many years.”

Daenerys’ lips twitched as her brows furrowed infinitesimally. “My father was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father. Our two houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the kingdom’s ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Sansa Stark. Honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name your king Warden of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it.”

She couldn’t help think that peace was the farthest thing this woman wanted. A Targaryen’s house words were not ‘fire and blood’ for nothing, but she could hear Jon’s voice in her mind, reminding her of how important it was to ally with the Dragon Queen.

“I cannot judge you for your father’s crimes any more than you can hold me to my ancestor’s vows,” Sansa told her. “The North will not bend the knee, your grace.”

“Then why are you here?” Daenerys demanded, the politeness fading from her tone.

“Because we need each other,” she said easily. “To survive, House Stark and House Targaryen must form an alliance.”

The Dragon Queen turned, smirking at Tyrion. When Daenerys finally returned her gaze back onto Sansa, she caught her former husband’s apologetic glance. So it would seem even the Hand of the Queen was aware of her arrogance, but it was hardly surprising to Sansa. Those with power tended to believe they deserved it. The only king or queen Sansa had ever met who wished for less power was the one she had left behind, the one of whom she missed so achingly she would turn around right this moment and swim back to him if the survival of her people didn’t rest in her hands. With an inward sigh, Sansa steeled herself as the Dragon Queen spoke once more.

“Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?”

“I did.”

“And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?”

“Yes, your grace.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“But still, I need your help?” Daenerys asked, looking amused and patronising, but Sansa had learned to weather all manners of insult, those personal and evasive, and those from arrogant rulers.

“Yes,” Sansa answered simply. “My…” she paused for a fraction of a second, “king has seen unspeakable horrors beyond the Wall and there is an army marching towards us at this very moment. If we do not band together, there will not be a kingdom for anyone to rule.”

“And what is this army you speak of?”

She sighed. It was impossible to imagine the kind of army that Jon spoke so fearfully of and yet she knew his words to be true. It didn’t, however, make convincing Daenerys Stormborn any easier. “The Army of the Dead.” Sansa straightened her shoulders. “I know how it may sound, but my king is no liar. If he says they are coming then it is true.”

“I have no reason to believe in a man who wishes to oppose me –”

“Jon does not wish to oppose you,” Sansa interjected. “He does not wish to sit on the Iron Throne, not now, not ever. Your grace, you are not grasping the severity of the situation. Cersei is a formidable foe, but the Dead will kill us all if we don’t work together.”

Daenerys let out a scoff. “You will have me place my trust in a man I have never met?”

“Do you trust your Hand?” Sansa asked, looking to Tyrion. “Because he will tell you that neither Jon nor I have any reason to lie to you. Nothing good comes from a Stark leaving the North, but I am here because it is necessary.”

Tyrion sighed. “Your grace, I trust Lady Sansa and I trust Jon Snow. They are honourable people.”

There’s a long pause that fills the room, so tangible Sansa could feel it crowding her, pushing up against the cloak she still wore. Daenerys stood up and began to descend down the stairs, eyes unwaveringly locked onto Sansa’s, but she refused to be intimidated by a woman not much older than her.

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert’s assassins could find us. Robert was your father’s best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don’t remember all of their names. I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled,” she said, the emotions making her voice rise. It was the first time since they had arrived that Sansa saw something more than just pure arrogance. She saw defiance and strength, but if Daenerys thought she was the only woman to have ever been violated, she was mistaken. Cersei was defiant and she was strong, but she was as bad as the men who underestimated her, if not worse. Sansa won’t be swayed so easily by sad stories; she’s had her fair share.

“Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile?” The Dragon Queen paused, only a few feet away from Sansa now. “Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea. Any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.”

Brienne shifted behind her, but Sansa was not here to trade trauma for trauma. Her pain was her own and no one else’s, not even Jon knew the full extent of what she had gone through. She didn’t need to sink so low for this alliance, but she did need to get through to Daenerys somehow.

“The world is not a kind place for any woman,” Sansa said slowly, evenly, while observing the queen for a reaction. “For many men, we are no more than a womb for their seed to grow and that is if we’re lucky. But this war cares not if you are a man or a woman, Daenerys Stormborn. It will devour us all if we don’t act.”

“My lady,” Tyrion spoke up, his eyes were soft, kind and pleading. “I understand your brother may believe that he saw something beyond the Wall –”

“He did,” she reaffirmed.

“Yes, but you cannot expect us to halt hostilities and join him in fighting in the North,” he continued. “If Jon bends the knee, swears fealty to Daenerys, then we can defeat Cersei and take up arms together in your war.” Tyrion moved forward. “Sansa, you know what my sister is capable of. You know you will never be safe while she’s on the throne.”

“With respect, my lord,” Sansa said through gritted teeth. “I do not need reminding of what Cersei is capable of. As you said, I know far too well, but I also know when there is a far greater threat and that is the one in the North. You may believe me or you may not, but the Long Night is coming. Winter is here.”

“Then bend the knee,” Daenerys demanded once more. “Do it now and we can cease with this squabbling.”

“The North has suffered too long under southron rulers. We will not bend the knee,” she said confidently. “Jon will not bend the knee. The people have put their trust in his hands and he will lead them for as long as he can.”

“That’s fair. It’s also fair to point out that I’m the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring himself King of the northern most kingdom, House Stark is in open rebellion,” she concluded, eyes narrowed.

That night, she dreamed of fire, bright and orange, flickering up the walls of Winterfell as screams pierced through the air. She could feel the heat on her skin and she wanted it to stop. She tried to remove her cloak but the heat persisted. Sansa opened her mouth to scream, to beg for mercy, for anything that could stop the pain running through her, but her voice would not work.

The thundering flap of wings had Sansa peering up into the ashen sky. There amidst the clouds, she saw two of the most fearsome creatures circling her home. Fire rained from their mouths, turning stone walls to pebbles and people to nothing more than dust. When Sansa could feel the skin peeling away from her bones, she felt it, looming great and big over her, its shadow turning day into night. Sansa moved, whirling around to face it, and immediately, she was struck, jaw gaping open, as she stared into the grey eyes of a pure white dragon. It looked back, sentient like it knew her, and flapped its large wings. The gust of air cooled the fire away and soothed the pain running through her body.

Sansa dropped to the ground and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Just kill me,” she whispered. “Kill me.” It bent its neck towards her like it was bowing, eyes cast down. Confused, Sansa shouted at it, angry and hysterical, “what do you want from me!”

Before it could respond, Sansa woke with a start, her chest pounding loudly in her ears, and the overwhelming feeling that washed through her was that she missed Jon. It was not the first time since arriving at Dragonstone that she thought this, but now knowing that Daenerys was holding them prisoner on this godsforsaken island, she missed him all the more. The thought of never seeing him again made her ache down to her very bones. She had to find a way back to him; she refused to let that moment at the gate be their last moment together.

“I should be going,” Jon said, touching a hand to her cheek. “It is not too late to change your mind.”

Sansa leaned into his touch, uncaring that Brienne, Podrick and Ser Davos were only a few feet away. “We cannot have this argument again, Jon. You’re king. The people need you here.”

“You would do just as well leading them,” he countered, thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone. “I may be king, but you’re their lady. They love you. They trust you just as well as they trust me.”

“It’s better this way,” Sansa said with a small smile. “Smarter.”

Jon sighed. “I will not convince you otherwise, will I?”

“Have you ever?”

“No,” he said, chuckling softly. He kept his gaze on her, lingering, and drawing out the silence before he finally spoke again. “Be safe.” Without another word, Jon leaned forward to kiss her gently on the forehead, so familiar yet so different, as when he parted, he dropped his forehead to hers, allowing their breaths to swirl in between them. “I’ll miss you, Sansa.”

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She ran her hands up his chest to grip onto his furs. “I’ll miss you too.”

Sansa wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she stared out unseeingly towards the horizon. The wind blew gently, tossing her hair away from her face and neck, leaving a cool breeze to ease the heat of the south. The sound of footsteps announced his arrival.

“I came out here to brood over my failure to predict the Greyjoy attack, but I can hardly do that in the presence of my lady wife,” Tyrion said, that teasing lilt to his voice.

“I have been a prisoner many times, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said coolly. “I have been kept against my will at the hands of your family, forced to swear my loyalty to the people who murdered my father, brother and mother. I have been kept and sold by Littlefinger to the Boltons where I was imprisoned in my own home.” Her chest rose up and down rapidly. “But I will not be a prisoner to your queen. Jon is my king and I will make it home to him.”

“Lady Sansa, you are not a prisoner. You are free to roam the beaches and –”

“Do not trifle with me, my lord,” Sansa turned to look at him. “Or have you forgotten how long I spent under your sister’s tutelage?” She pursed her lips tightly. “Your queen does not believe me. It is fair. I hardly believed Jon when he first told me and every rational thought in my mind is saying to look to Cersei. She is our biggest threat, but you don’t know Jon the way I do. Not as he is now.” She returned her gaze to the sea, imagining the man in question and what he must be doing in this moment. “He is a great king, a greater man than you and I ever thought possible in these hellish times, and if he says the Dead are coming, I suggest you heed his warning and act accordingly.”

“My lady, it is not a question of belief,” Tyrion said. “Daenerys could have sailed for Westeros long ago but she didn’t. Instead she stayed where she was and saved many people from horrible fates, some of whom are on this island with us right now. While you’re our guest here you might consider asking them what they think of the Mad King’s daughter. She protects people from monsters, just as you do. That’s why she came here. And she’s not about to head north to fight an enemy she’s never seen on a word of a man she doesn’t know after a single meeting. That’s not a reasonable thing to ask.”

Sansa smiled, though it was derived of humour. “You will forgive me if my faith in rulers who believe themselves entitled to a throne is lacking, Lord Tyrion. But I appreciate your advice and will consider your counsel with great thought. May I suggest you listen to mine as well?”

Feeling all at once exhausted and weary of this conversation, Sansa moved past her former husband and went in search of a quill and parchment. If she could not see Jon, she could write him. He’d need to know that Sansa wouldn’t be coming home for awhile yet, and that as long as she was alive, she’d find a way, not just to return to him but to convince the Dragon Queen to help one way or another. He had tasked her with an important mission and Sansa would not fail him.

So This Is Love [1]

Cinderella!AU

Summary: Y/N is heavily mistreated in her household. Prince Peter has to find a bride to become the queen of the kingdom.

AN: So this came to me while I was watching the cinematic masterpiece that is Cinderella (2015) and i literally love it so much so I got inspired to write this and yes this will be a series!!!!!  Yay!!!!!! 

Peter Parker x Reader

// Masterlist //


Originally posted by tomhollanddaily

“May I have this dance?” His silky sweet voice rung in my ears. He offered his hand to me.

“You may.” I smiled at him. I gently took his larger hand and he immediately gripped it tight. He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. I blushed. He pulled me closer to him and held my waist. We danced to the sweet music around us. He guided me across the dancefloor while my gown swished around me.

The whole time we stared at each other, a certain glint in his eye. I rested my cheek against his shoulder, sighing in content. He placed a kiss to my temple and smiled widely. I could stay in this moment forever.

“Y/N,”

“Hmm?” I lifted my head from his shoulder.

“I love you.” My smile couldn’t get any wider.

“I love you too.”

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The Girl Made of Starlight

Originally posted by singingangel-p86

The Girl Made of Starlight

Beast!Adam x Reader

Prompt: What do you think of an imagine where the reader is Adam’s favorite character in a book, who he asks to see in the mirror at least once a day, slowly falling in love with her?

Note: Aaaaaaaah! <3 C U T E

Edit: I think I’m going to make this into a series? Someone please give me feedback? Thanks!

“It’s getting late, my little prince.” The kind queen chided her son as he sat upright in the bed. “I’m afraid it’s time for you to sleep now.”

“One more story! Please!” The young boy begged eagerly. After thinking for a long moment, the queen met the prince’s gaze. His eyes were sweet and blue, full on innocence. She sighed.

“All right, one more. And then, you must sleep. You have a big day ahead, you know.” Her smile was soft as she searched the small shelf in Adam’s room. What was there here that she hadn’t read to him yet? And then she found it.

It was an old book. One she hadn’t laid eyes on since she was at least a teenager. It had been a favorite of hers. The Girl Made of Starlight.

“Here’s one.” The queen sat down in the chair beside Adam’s bed. “I haven’t seen this book in a very long time.”

“Where was it?”

“Hiding, I suppose. Waiting for the right moment to make itself known. But nevertheless, the sooner we finish, the sooner you’ll be asleep.” She took a breath and opened the front cover. “Once, in the Kingdom of the Sun, there was a girl. To everyone around her, she appeared ordinary, boring and quaint. And as she grew up surrounded people who thought of her as nothing but standard, she began to believe that ordinary was all she ever was, all she could ever be. But that was not the case.”

“What was she?” Adam practically bounced with enthusiasm.

“Eager tonight, are we?” the queen smiled. “(Y/N) was truly more than just the daughter of the miller. She was a child of the stars.”

***

After reading a large portion of the book, the queen decided that it was getting far too late for her little prince to be awake given the events waiting for him the following day. So, despite his many, many protests, the queen placed a bookmark in her treasured favorite and put it on the shelf for another night.

But the queen never got to finish her story.

She soon fell to illness and became too sick to read. Soon after, she was gone. And as the kingdom grieved, the king became twisted. Her death was the end of him. And so was it the end of the Adam that was hopeful, the Adam that was kind.

Years later, when Adam had reached adulthood, came the curse that twisted him into an enormous, fearsome beast. The story of the star girl was long-forgotten. Adam spent years in isolation, wallowing in his misery. His selfishness had done this, his vanity. He had taken so much pride in his looks, in the beauty of the things he owned, and now that it was gone, he felt as though he had nothing.

As time passed, Adam ventured from his West Wing more and more. He didn’t want to gaze upon the cursed rose any more than he had to. It was only a reminder of his mistakes, of the grim deadline that hung over his head. The library became a refuge, a place where he could escape. The book the Enchantress had given him sat idle on his shelf, and instead, he found a home in literature. As he searched the shelf, something fell and hit the floor with a soft thud. He looked down, and there it was: The Girl Made of Starlight.

Adam slowly bent down and picked up the book with his massive paws. He brushed off the cover, and his blue eyes widened. Thoughts of his mother came rushing back to the surface. He was tempted to put the book back, to forget he had ever found it, but instead, he carried it over to the couch and began to read it.

Inside the pages of the book waited the story of (Y/N), the miller’s daughter, who was just about to discover she was not as normal as she had been raised to believe.

~Losing her mother had changed (Y/N). Every day, the glimmering star that hung around her neck only served as a reminder of the magnificent woman that had left her daughter behind. Her mother’s words were ingrained in her mind. With her last dying breaths, she had put the necklace around (Y/N)’s neck.

“Remember that there is light in everybody.” Her lips pulled into a frail smile as her husband and daughter sat beside her in tears. “And there is light in you. You don’t know it yet, but you will. No matter where you go, no matter how far you travel, I will always be with you.”

Iridessa squeezed (Y/N)’s hand as the life in her began to fade.

“You are a child of the stars. A beautiful girl with more power than you know.” She pressed a finger to the center of her chest and whispered a final goodbye as the life left her eyes. “I believe in you.”~

Adam took a deep breath and adjusted himself on the soft couch that sat beside the hearth. He had a feeling he would be there for a while.

***

Over the course of the week Adam had read the book at least twice a day, only taking brief breaks for meals and sleep. He was a man obsessed. He didn’t know why, but of all of the books in the library, this one had captured his attention better than anything he had ever read.

After finishing it for the tenth time, a strange idea occurred to him as he brushed past the enchanted rose that had doomed him to this fate, the wretched timer, an eternal reminder that his day was coming. Then, he would be stuck like this forever. Beside the rose sat the Enchantress’ mirror. The moment his eyes settled on it, he reached out for it.

He took a deep breath. This was stupid. This was a dumb idea. It would never work.

But what if?

“Show me…show me the girl made of starlight.”  

The surface of the mirror rippled, and then there she was, just as the book had described. Her hair had flooded with white, and her silver eyes shone like stars. Her cloak of the sky was wrapped around her shoulders, and the necklace her mother had given her hung around her neck.

She was running. From what, he didn’t know, but at the sight of her, after watching her and realizing she was real…or at least, she was real somewhere, he almost dropped the mirror. He took a long, labored breath. She was real. She was actually real. And she needed help.

***

Days passed. Adam tried not to watch her too often, but it was hard not to. She was real. She existed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone or something after her. She always seemed to be rushed. She had quick meals in little taverns, and took cautious sleeps at haphazard inns. She carried very little and showed her face to very few, most often keeping hidden in her large cloak of the sky.

With her, she kept very few things. Aside from her cloak and necklace, all she had with her was a map, a worn leather book of stories, and a pouch of coins. There was something about the book with her. Adam knew it was important to her, but he didn’t know why.

Perhaps it was why someone was chasing her.

Again, I kind of want to do a series on this, so feedback would be awesome. I love you guys <3 

Meant to Be (6)

Meant to Be Masterlist

Pairing: Prince!Bucky X Servant!Reader

Words: 1874

Warnings: Fluffffff

Summary: As the news of the King’s death spreads throughout the land, lords and ladies from the nearby countries swarm the castle to offer condolences to the queen and her son. As the prince mourns his father, he is met with the reality that he must now choose a wife and begin his reign.

A/N: Tag list is closed. Sorry. 

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Queen in the North {Pt. 2}

Originally posted by ladysarah94

Requested: By myself, because I am Trash™. Also some other absolutely lovely people.

Pairings: Robb Stark x Reader

Previously: {Part 1}

Summary: Y/N was sent to live with The Stark family at a young age, and ever since then, she seemed to fit perfectly, maybe even more than she had ever noticed.

Warnings: I just watched the episode so fluff to the max

Word Count: 2,433

A/N: I am so pleased to see how many of you like the first part to this, and I sincerely hope that the second part is even better! Special shoutout to @secretschuylersister for looking over this/encouraging me to actually post it. If you have any requests, please feel free to send them to my ask box!

It was nice of Sansa to say that she was almost done poking and prodding and adjusting your dress, even if you all knew that it was a lie. Sansa had and affinity for dressing you up, claiming that if she tried it with Arya, she would lose a finger. You couldn’t say that the idea was entirely off base.

The dress was lovely. It looked a bit delicate in comparison to the usual style that ladies favored in Winterfell.  It was somehow different and you’re the same as the dresses that you favored on an everyday basis. Although you had lived in Winterfell for most of your life, your mother and father had lived much farther south.

So, you tended to favor lighter dresses, made of silk and lace in a wide array of colors. Jon liked to tease you that you were the brightest thing to ever live in Winterfell. What you didn’t know is how much Robb silently agreed with him. The dress was white, with layers of gray peeking through towards the bottom. It was lovely, although you had no idea how Sansa had managed such a lovely effect in the short amount of time since she had asked you about making a dress.

“I may have been working on it for a little while before I asked if it was okay,” she said, picking it up off of the bed and motioning for you to change into it. “But I knew that you were going to say yes anyways.”

You laughed, she was right. You had a hard time telling people no, especially when they were doing something so nice for you. After all, the Starks were your family. And if they were willing to put the time in to help you, then there was no way that you were going to refuse. It did make your schedule feel a bit cramped at times, in between dagger lessons with Arya and the boys, knitting with Sansa and tea with Lady Stark, who was forever insisting that you call her Catelyn, there were never enough hours in the day, something you often fought about with Robb.

“Well then, put it on!” Sansa laughed, tossing you the dress and pulling out her needle and thread, claiming that there were a few alterations that needed to be made. Sansa worked in silence, adding a few stitches here and there. And somehow, when she was done, the dress looked even more spectacular. She had managed to somehow make it fit you like a glove at the top, yet have the perfect amount of sway and flow in the skirts.

“Thank you, Sansa,” you said, admiring the skirts in her mirror. If you hadn’t been so caught up in how nice it was for Sansa to make you this lovely dress, you might have noticed the smug look on her face as she admired you admiring her dress. And you might have noticed that you were wearing in the Stark family’s colors. “But I really think that I should go see if your mother needs help preparing-”

“I was downstairs with her all morning. While you were fretting over nothing, I was making sure that you didn’t have an excuse to run away.” She laughed, guiding you over to the chair that was set up in front of her mirror. “Now, you have to stay and let me do something with this.” She sighed, motioning to the braid that you wore every day. Sansa took your braid in her hands, making quick work of fanning it out across your shoulders, running a brush gently through the ends or your hair.

“I cannot understand why you never take the time to style your hair unless I force you to. You know that anyone would do anything for you.” Sansa rain her hands through your hair, twisting it one way and then another, attempting to choose a style for that evening.

“I would rather spend my time with other engagements. And I’m sure that every single person in this castle has at least five things that they need to be doing at any given time. And shockingly, none of them include helping me with my hair.” You laughed, raising an eyebrow at her in the mirror.

“And does one of those things include pretending that you aren’t in love with my brother? Or is that simply a given, considering it is something that you do every waking minute of every day?”

You felt yourself tense, your shoulders locking back into place and your teeth grinding against each other. Sansa, on the other hand, continued brushing your hair into place, humming a soft tune to herself. You wished that you had an appropriate comeback, but you were left to sit there, mouth agape, while Sansa fussed with your hair for longer than should have been possible.

You’d hoped that you would have a bit of time to yourself before the feast that evening, but Sansa had insisted that a bit of rouge had never hurt anyone. By the time that she decided you were ready, the both of you were late.

“A queen never arrives at her own party on time.” Sansa laughed as you hurried down the hall. You hated to be late, and it seemed that the only time you were more than a few seconds late to anything was when Sansa insisted on helping you get ready.

“Then it’s really too bad that I am not a queen.” you reminded her, withholding a glare.

She snorted at you in a very un Sansa-like way, simply brushing past you and breezing easily into the banquet. You, on the other hand, were not nearly as confident. You took a moment to steady yourself, a moment to catch your breath, before stepping into the banquet hall.

The noise and liveliness of the hall erupted around you, pulling you in. You glanced around, taking in the musicians and the dancers that took up most of the space in the large banquet hall. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were elated to see Robb standing with Jon and Theon near the edge of the dance floor.

You gathered up your expansive skirts, making your way along the edge of the room to the boys.

“Well don’t you just look dashing in the Stark colors?” Jon teased you, gesturing for you to do a twirl.

You landed a punch on his arm, not hard enough to actually hurt him, but firm enough to tell him to shut his big mouth, paired with an expression that told him you were going to pretend to be cross with him for a while. “If you must know, your lovely sister made me this gown, and as usual I had no say about the colors. But, I’m sure that it is just coincidence.” You attempted to sound sincere, even though you knew what Sansa was most likely thinking when she was picking out the material.

You pretended to listen to the boys ramble on about one thing or another, but your eyes were scanning the room in search of Arya. You knew that she was not particularly fond of feasts, so you always made a point to seek her out and reassure her, even if it was only for a few minutes. After few moments of searching, you spotted her, slumped into a chair, looking like she would much rather be anywhere else but here.

You felt Robb’s hand rest on the small of your back, attempting to draw your attention away from the very important matter at hand. “Y/N, do you want to-”

“Maybe in a minute, Robb,” you said, already making your way over to Arya, not even bothering to look back towards the sound of Jon’s booming laughter.

“Arya!” you laughed, taking her hands in your own and pulling her out of the chair. “Won’t you come and dance with me?”

“You know that I have been skipping my lessons,” she mumbled, refusing to meet your eyes. Somehow, she was in a worse mood than usual.

“I never said that we were going to make our way through the most boring waltz in existence.” You were already halfway to the band, who looked almost as morose as Arya, which wasn’t surprising when you thought about the music that they were being forced to play. “If this is to be the mood for the entire evening, we are all going to die of boredom.”

You let go of Arya’s hands for a few moments to whisper your instructions to the band. They all seemed to perk up immediately, sitting up in their chairs, the light coming back into their eyes. The tune changed from the sullen one that you had grown accustomed to hearing, to one that was jubilant and full of life. Reclaiming Arya’s hands in your own, your spun her around, prancing around in ridiculous circles until a smile finally graced her lips, and then a small laugh bubbled through, and you knew that your work was done.

You gave her one last smile, twirling her in another circle before stumbling off of the dance floor. All of the spinning had made you a bit dizzy, and with all of the skirts that Sansa had swaddled you up in, you weren’t surprised that you had nearly tripped a few times before you had even made it away from the dancers.

Robb’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you away from the mass of bodies that had swarmed the dance floor. You would have been surprised, especially because you hadn’t thought that Robb was anywhere near you, but he had a habit of turning up when you needed someone.

“What was it that you wanted earlier?” You asked breathlessly, collapsing into the chair that he had guided you to.

“Do you remember when my mother was so angry at us for sneaking into these feasts that she made us attend all of those dreadful dancing lessons?” Robb asked, smiling at Arya dancing with Rickon among the masses.

“Of course I do,” you laughed, recalling the many afternoons you had spent with your slightly nasty dance master. “Your mother was so sure that we would never turn up to another ball again if we had to take those lessons, but you were at every single lesson.”

“Naturally, you were so excited, and there was no way that I was going to miss it when you tripped over your own two feet.”

“If I recall correctly, you were always responsible for catching me after I messed up a new step.” You lazily punched him in the shoulder, but the laughter died in your throat as Robb caught your fist and linked his hand with yours.

“And I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

It wasn’t the act of holding his hand in yours that caused your breathing to falter. You had been holding pinkies since you had met, so after that, what was a hand? It was the way that his eyes were staring into yours, unwavering. For the first time in a long time, you felt yourself blushing because of Robb Stark.

It wasn’t something that happened often, the two of you had grown up together, after all. Your mother had been best friends with Cat, and when they passed away, it was no question that you were going to stay with Ned and his family.

You had been quiet when you arrived at Winterfell for the first time. It had only been a day or two since your mother and father had moved on, taken from you suddenly by a terrible affliction. You were assured that your friends would all be waiting for you, but that wasn’t good enough. You wanted your parents.

And even though you constantly reminded Robb of that, he was there for you at every turn. Bringing you a flower he found near a spring, hoping to make you smile, or telling you a poorly thought out joke, just waiting for just a glimpse of the dimples he used to know so well. And as much as you wanted to give him a glimpse of your former self, you needed time. Somehow, even at such a young age, both of you understood. And you had remained solemn, until one afternoon, he heard a giggle echoing from her chambers.

Robb threw open the door to find you sifting through a drawer full of dried flowers, picking them up one by one and examining them. He marched into the room, demanding to know why you had been so sad before. You never had been able to give him an answer, simply handing him one of the flowers and telling him that you were sorry. You never had offered him an explanation for those first few weeks.

“Y/N?” Robb’s voice and both of his hands cupping yours somehow managing to effectively draw you back to reality. “Are you okay?” his voice was soft, almost as if he was afraid to scare you away. He should know better than that by now.

“I was thinking about when I first came to live with you, well everyone. And you worried yourself over making me feel welcome, and you were so confused when you found me with that drawer full of flowers.” You sounded dreamy, still thinking about the days when things felt easier.

“You never did tell me why you kept all of those flowers. Especially when they never made you smile in the first place.” He smiled down at your hands, where his thumb was stroking the back of your hand.

“Because I knew that they were going to make me happy eventually,” You met his eyes, hoping that he understood what you were trying to tell him. “And I was right, wasn’t I?” Robb looked like he was going to answer, but you were finished wasting time moping about when there was a party going on. “Let’s dance, Stark.”

And without another word, the two of you were out of your chairs and headed for the dance floor. The musicians had kept their promise, and the music was lively. You were pleased to see that Arya had dragged Sansa into a group of dancers, and it brought a smile to your face to see that everyone was happy, for the time being. It was rare to stumble upon a moment where someone wasn’t squabbling, and when you managed to find one, you most certainly weren’t going to take it for granted.

Read Part Three Here!

genius-prettyboy-momfriend-yoon  asked:

Favorite BNHA characters ( top 10 ) and why?

This question should be illegal. I’m only taking the students because that would be too hard I love Yoshitori and Aizawa too much and dhojdfkhfjds.

[WARNING MANGA SPOILERS!]

1. Kirishima Eijirou

Originally posted by sanuske-ramblings

Cinnamon roll. Deserves everything. I’m not gonna be great at explaining why I love him - or just everyone in this list - because it’s just this feeling of overwhelming love when you see a character you like fhjdkfsd.

He’s talented, strong in his determination and in his power, and his kindness doesn’t have limits. Sunshine.

Even though he has self-confidence issues, he’s always here to help people. He does realize he has flaws but is working on it the best he can. I admire the fact that he overcomes his fears but you can still clearly see the internal struggling. (This is a great character development we got here if you check his past.)

Also, Bakugou respects him. And if you gain Bakugou’s respect, you must REALLY have something because Bakugou’s not the easiest person to please. He didn’t even try to it just happened

Kirishima Eijirou is the best friend everyone would dream of.

2. Midoriya Izuku

Originally posted by anime-trash-for-life

He was my first favorite before Kirishima’s story came out

Who the heck is even this boy? How pure is he? How stupid was this reaction of his to save Bakugou in the very beginning when even the heroes - even All Might - didn’t move? Also, the fight against Todoroki? The boy BROKE HIS BONES, and SEVERAL TIMES for his friend to move on. That’s- I have no words.

Midoriya Izuku is the perfect next symbol of Peace: his selfness and need to help people wasn’t made by his quirk but by his soul and that’s what pleased most people, and his dream won’t be stopped no matter what. All Might chose well.

3. Uraraka Ochako

Originally posted by jyoshikausei

Look at her. She’s shivering and yet smiling and explicitely showing to her friends “I’m good, don’t worry.”

THIS GIRL ROCKS. She’s so clever. She’s talented. She fought against Katsuki Fucking Bakugou and could have won. I was in awe when I realised what was her plan all along during the fight. I’m still not over it.

And her motivation? No, not money, not really. Money is a mean to a goal. Her goal is to help her parents who she loves dearly and it’s one of the most adorable things. She wants to become her parents’ hero because they were the heroes of her childhood - look back when she was a kid how she admired their work and how frustrated she was not to be able to help.

I’m so excited about her she has so much potential.

4. Tamaki Amajiki

I honestly don’t know much about him - like everyone else I guess? But from what I’ve seen, this character is… different. I can’t really explain. Actually, all the characters are really different, the author is doing a great job for so many characters. 

I was surprised to hear about a group of three amazing future heroes, and see this guy, so shy, so awkward, with a real anxiety towards people - this is not comic relief to me. And this is important. Tamaki is going in front of a class, with two of his best friends/team-mates, and tries to stand up for what he believes in.

And since the last chapters I’m really worried about him I need new content pls help

5. Todoroki Shouto 

Very complexed character. His past makes who he is now. He is physically marked by the disfunctional family father he’s living with, and mentally too. You can’t make me believe seeing his mother in such a state, hurt him, and losing her for the rest of his childhood isn’t a great impact on his personality. You can’t tell me, having a “dad” who forbid you to play with your siblings to train for his own selfishness didn’t touch him.

This is a terrible past, and I realize how Todoroki actually easily confessed it to someone in his class - to Midoriya. But doing this is the first step of the development of his character which made me love him, oh so much.

I liked the grudge he’s holding against his father, and the fact that he still does, but put it apart in order to follow is own ideals, his own project. I was so proud of him when he chose to work with Endeavor because he figured it was the best for his powers.

This kid is so young but so mature already. He faced his father, and then came to see his mother on his own, to face her too. That’s amazingly brave.

And finally, in the scans for the “Bakugou Arc” Todoroki more and more cares about not just his own motivations, but also his classmates. LOOK AT HIS FACE WHEN THEY TAKE AWAY HIS FRIEND. You can definitely see it before tho, when he’s teaming up with Momo and listens to her after realizing he might have been too focused on himself and not on sharing ideas.

Originally posted by neotokyotre

Also did I tell you how incredible and badass his power is?

6. Kaminari Denki

Originally posted by petitt-mafia

Another precious boy. But who isn’t? Mine-who? Don’t know this guy.

Let’s just appreciate this pic of our Human Pikachu.

I don’t feel like he got a lot of moments yet, so I’m really excited about knowing more about him, but I liked him right from the beginning - I actually liked him more than Kirishima at first. He’s motivated to do his best, but knows his limits. Even though he still acts without thinking sometimes and that’s killing me xD

He rocks. That’s all I can say. In this arc, he nailed it, and-

He got his bff’s support, which is BIG. (Also, again, Bakugou). He improved a lot and I’m so proud of him.

Despite what a lot of people think, my son is clever. Just remember he’s a 15 yo guy and teens do mistakes and stupid things all the time. 

I remember reading somewhere he’s always showing his thumbs up to let everyone know he’s alright once he’s off. This is incridibly touching. I don’t know about you, but if even when his brain turns off, his last will or his subconscious is yelling at him to let everyone know he’s good and that they can go on, I think already a little part of his job, as a future hero, is completed.

You go, Denki.

7. Mirio Togata (also known as Tintin)

I didn’t know I would love him. I thought I would like him, but I didn’t know my heart would just go down and drown with the last chapters. I hate this manga sometimes.

He looks so nice. So at ease. All the time. He trained so hard, I understand Izuku’s expression in this panel. This guy is impressive and you don’t realize it right away but when you do- oh damn. I mean. He was supposed to be the next Hero of Peace.

D E T E R M I N A T I O N in everything he does, in his beliefs. I also believe - and I’m pretty sure - he’s helping Tamaki with his social issues and awkwardness.

*screams*

Listen to him he knows what he’s talking about everything’s okay *sobs*

8. Katsuki Bakugou

Alright what about Bakugou. I like his character. He’s unstable, and that makes my feelings also unstables. His agressivity is the reason why I’m a bit indicisive, but he does have great moments which explain why he’s in this top 10.

Originally posted by fymyheroacademia

Believe it or not, despite ALL OF HIS FLAWS, Bakugou is a human being. A shitty human being yes - I’m referring to the very first episodes (I can’t forgive him to, basically, tell Izuku to kill himself, ‘who cares’) - but still human. I LOVE his character development. He’s being forced to consider his classmates and - hey everyone knows that, this guy is pretty clever.

One of the many reasons I love Bakugou: his fight with Uraraka. She fought with everything she could give, and he NEVER once underestimated her. Here’s something I need to see more: don’t judge the oponent by the way they look, and please especially not if they happen to be a woman. The whole croud yelled at him for “torturing” and “hurting” a girl, but that’d be okay with a guy? C’mon. I’m proud of you, Bakugou.

He also notices more than he seems to, like in this panel, for Izuku’s power. ‘

I’m really glad we got this moment of pure angst - I’m sorry I hated it but it also made Bakugou so much more human? He’s a kid. A kid with issues. And he lived traumatising things. 

But he doesn’t talk about those events. Because he’s too proud. But in the end? He’s just holding those regrets, those feelings of guilt, and cries them out. He’s a mess and he is lost.

Plus great bonus: friendship. Bakugou never seemed to develop strong relationships before, his only one with someone of his age is with Deku and that’s not one of the healthiest. But then you get Kirishima. And later on, a bit Kaminari, and more. He’s trusting Kirishima with his life (cf. first panels in Kirishima’s examples), and cares about him. THAT IS IMPORTANT.

Let us see how GREAT Bakugou is going to become and let me grab some pop-corn before I die in the process because it’s not gonna happen with some angst

9. Ashido Mina

The Queen.

Actually I loved the Alien Queen, I’m sad she didn’t get to keep the name.

Originally posted by sabaishi-desu

I can’t really tell much. She’s extraordinary. 

I love her enthusiasm and ‘joie de vivre’. She’s giving the class a great atmosphere of friendship etc. And she kinda rocks her abilities. Also, pays attention to her classmates’ powers and takes advantage out of it (cf. Battle against the Laser French Guy).

Plus: she inspired Kirishima, somehow? HORN BUDDIES? Oh dang, I loved this so much. I want them to be partners as heroes now.

10. Yaoyorozu Momo

The Precious Princess.

Originally posted by izukus

I didn’t pay much attention to her at first but her power is really nice. She’s in charge of the class with Iida, and I’m proud of her.

She is always willing to help and contribute, but since she was admitted by recommendation, I guess this is why she started losing the confidence she started with - but she also compared herself to Todoroki which wasn’t a good idea, the guy has TWO abilities.

In this arc where she’s in team with Todoroki, I liked her more and more. Thanks to Aizawa the communication and exchanges get better and she gains more confidence after they win thanks to HER plan after Todoroki’s failed - that means a lot to her.

AND HERE IT’S DONE. I have so many things to say honestly I spent too many times on it already damn.

I can’t believe I didn’t put Tsuyu or Fumikage please end me. This list is absolutely unstable and could easily change how can I do a top seriously?

[PS: It’s almost 3am sorry for the bad English hrm]