#The torn feelings. The anguish in each direction

[specialagentartemis]

Did Penelope talk to Odysseus about it? When Odysseus was told that Helen had been abducted by a Trojan prince and all the kings of Greece were being summoned to go to war against Troy and bring her back, Odysseus didn’t think that was any of his concern and didn’t want to go, but what did Penelope think? Helen is her cousin. Penelope was raised alongside her like a sister. Did Penelope think of her beloved cousin kidnapped and taken to foreign lands? Was she afraid for her? Did she encourage her husband to go, to give the war his all, to rescue Helen and bring her home, because Helen is her family? Not for Menelaus’s sake, or even for Helen’s, but for hers. For Penelope. For Odysseus’s love for her, for him to go and join the rescue attempt for her cousin.

#Depends of if Penelope thinks Helen was kidnapped or if Helen was unhappy with Menelaus and ran off with a hot younger man #But. I think if Penelope approached Odysseus like this. He might be a little more willing to go to war #What DID Penelope think about this. Sending her husband off to war. But in service of rescuing her kidnapped cousin #The torn feelings. The anguish in each direction #The hope that it would be over soon and they both would be back soon #tagamemnon #Greek mythology #this is only tangentially #The Iliad #Will real classics fans get mad at me tagging it that #perpetual perpetual ladies night

[plasticferal]

keeping score | matt & chris sturniolo.

prologue: 'they say love is the sixth sense that destroys all other five senses’

authors notes: 1.9k, explicit language, reader discretion is advised. welcome to my first series, please enjoy the ride.

they both want you. the only way matt and chris can agree to settle who wins is through competition, one where you’re the prize. your own heart is torn between the two brothers. the thing is though, love doesn’t keep score.

they have two very different experiences to offer. two sides of the same coin. a coin you refuse you flip and settle on.

matt is the first to catch your eye in any room. he makes you nervous. butterflies, stuttering, awkward laughs, stuttering over your words. all of it. you like him. you’re unsure if he feels the same toward you.

however, you also like chris. the compliments he showers you in, the subtle flirting, the way he softens his tone around you, how giving he is, the way he’s so shamelessly himself. the list goes on. he’s different. 

it’s a weird triangle of intrigue and unrequited feelings that lingers and is never acknowledged.

you’re already convinced it’ll never happen. with either of them. you’d be putting too much at risk considering how deeply you value your friendship before anything else. the fear of falling in love, and losing them both. 

which might just be your karma for being into both brothers. 

they occupy the living room. you’re upstairs, using nick’s bed to take a nap while he showers, and he takes long showers. he’s always given you a safe space in the house, to make it feel like home. 

you love to annoy chris and matt by stealing their clothes, blankets, soft drinks out of the fridge, tagging along to every late night drive and fast food pick up. 

they share everything with you, but you designate yourself in nicks’s room as to not stir up any terrible, rash decisions on your accord.

being fast asleep and tangled up in crisp, cold, silk sheets, it’s a deep sleep. completely escaping into your dreams.

you’re left unaware of the chaos that’s about to ensue in the living room between the two brothers who occupy your mind. chaos is the score in which reality is written upon.

“you like y/n, right?” matt asks chris. 

you’ve had a strange feeling for a while now that matt is trying to set you up with his brother. which, as flattering as it is, it’s bittersweet. 

matt is sinking lazily into the lounge while scrolling through his phone, on the furthest left. chris is on the furthest right with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. 

they’re in direct view of each other on the L shaped couch. not in a literal sense, just in proximity. neither brother is actually looking up from a screen of some kind.

“what?” chris snaps his head toward matt, diverting from the television for a moment. 

“just answer the question.” matt huffs.

“of course i like y/n. she’s the closest person in our life besides like, nick” chris shrugs, going to look back at the screen again. 

matt groans in disappointment at his response. 

“you know i don’t mean it like that.” matt sits up slightly, readjusting his position and posture.

“god here we go again.” chris runs a hand down his face, fearing his brother's next words. 

“how do you really feel about her?” matt pries. 

unusual for him. out of character even, chris is usually the one who needs to know everything all the time, and is never afraid to ask the hard hitting questions, as annoying as it may be. but not with this topic of conversation.

the difference is, chris does it because he’s genuinely curious. matt asks questions for his own selfish reason, to chris’s oblivion. 

chris needs reassurance that he’s making the right decision in not pursuing you. matt needs to know if or when he’s going to have to compete. little does he know that time is nearing. 

“man, i don’t know. i just- i like her. can’t we leave it at that?” chris’s tone is anguished. 

“you’re avoiding the question-”

“i answered your question!” chris cuts matt off before he can fully form his sentence, and matt’s jaw tightens. 

“fine, whatever.” matt waves his hands in the air with defeat before diverting back to his phone, leaving chris to linger on his words.

“i’m never gonna make a move. i know how you feel about her, too.” chris huffs, as though he’s annoyed at the response he’s had to give.

“what’d you mean?” matt gives chris a glare, like he’s daring his next words.

“you know exactly what i fuckin’ mean” chris scoffs, shifting in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling the sleeves of his gray hoodie past his knuckles.

matt takes a loud inhale through his nose and exhales through his mouth 

“we can’t just keep pretending that we both don’t want her.” matt drops his phone onto his stomach face down, being slightly slumped. 

“i’ve been fine pretending” chris throws the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to hide his eyes more from matt, a natural reaction to not enjoying the grilling. 

“well if you don’t make a move, i will.” matt’s tone is serious.

“you wouldn’t.” chris deadpans, a sincere tone of disbelief seeping from his lip that he’s now biting the corner of.

“you’ve been saying you’re gonna make a move forever and haven’t done shit."

he knows it’s not nice, but there’s something about the lack of passion from chris despite the obvious crush just makes matt's skin crawl. if someone is going like you and not do anything about it, matt is more than willing to shoot his shot, give you what you deserve. 

“that’s not fair” chris twists his face, glaring at his brother. 

"i think it’s more than fair play at this point, kid.” matt scoffs.

if looks could kill, matt would be dead.

all those times you’ve perceived matt bringing up chris to entice you have just been a ploy to gauge how both of you feel. he knows it’s manipulative, but no harm, no foul.

the worst part is, chris isn’t actually even sure he wants a relationship. he’s infatuated by you, undoubtedly. matt on the other hand would marry you with a paper ring. 

they’re both scared of their own feelings, and the intentions that might come along with them. they don’t ever want to hurt you, but their carnal desire is misleading their moral compass.

“alright then,” chris starts, matt’s words hitting a nerve for him. he slaps his hands onto his thighs and sits up in his spot. 

“how do we settle this? who gets her?” chris continues, staring at his brother intently now.

“i don’t think we get to make that decision.” matt shakes his head, bringing his hand to his mouth as he begins to bite his nails, which muffles his words.

“you’re right, we don’t. but we’re gonna have to compete for it to even be an option.”

“compete” matt repeats chris’s words with a sour huff, a slight arrogance in the sense that he doesn’t view his brother as a threat. 

not when it comes to you, and there might be a small part of that statement that’s correct. you have a sweet spot for matt, which fires up chris even more. he is conscious that he’s the underdog, as much as you try to show an even amount of attention to the both of them.

“what’s wrong? you scared you’ll lose?” chris taunts. 

“that’s the least of my worries.” matt scoffs, his mind traveling down every possible path this terrible idea could go down. 

“fine, then you won’t be afraid of a little competition.” chris says nonchalantly, pushing back with the same energy matt’s been giving, turning the tables.

“what’s your plan here? we just tally up the moments we get with her until someone wins? to boost our own egos?” matt speaks with his hands.

“i do love to have my ego stroked” chris grins to himself, the thought of you crossing his mind as the words leave his mouth. his train of thought tends to wonder easily.

“seriously, chris, how do we plan on settling this?” matt rubs his hands together, like the action you do when you’re trying to stay warm. 

“i think there’s only one answer to that.” chris responds, in a “duh” tone, without explicitly sharing what’s on his mind.

their sixth sense of being able to unpack each other's minds sparks like an electrical fault in the moment. of course, neither of them hate the thought of getting you in bed. they just hate the thought of you being unaware. 

somehow it’s more challenging than falling in love, or securing a relationship. betting to sleep with you is actually the hardest challenge of them all, let alone covering all the bases in order to attain it. 

the intimacy, the intensity of it all. it just seems so unattainable. it requires them, and you, to be completely and utterly vulnerable. 

“that seems kind of, objectifying.” matt shifts his demeanour, ironic considering he sparked the conversation. 

“it wouldn’t be a competition without a challenge.” chris acknowledges, and unfortunately for the both of them, he’s right. 

“this sounds so fucked up” matt says, running his hand through his scruffy hair.

“first brother to five points takes all. all of her.” chris speaks, confidently setting up the challenge. 

essentially their plan is to see who can get the closest to you, and let the other brother suffer in watching it happen. which occurs points. loser has to back off of you completely. unless someone gets to you first, in which case all their hard work flies out the window. they won’t be making it easy for each other.

“points won’t matter when i get her into bed first.” matt’s smug, knowing it’ll make chris go insane. 

“so i take it that you’re up for the challenge?” chris ignores matt’s words with a prompt, because if he doesn’t disregard it, he’ll lash out. 

matt considers it. at least he acts like he does. he knows his answer. if he wants you, if either of them do, they have no choice but to compete. neither of them are sure if it’s love or lust, but they’re about to find out. 

they are certain of one thing though. they like everything about you. the way you look. the way you smell. the way you sound. they know exactly why they want you. it’s the first time ever someone has been able to grab the attention of both brothers. hence the severity of the agreement.

“when do we start keeping score?” matt responds, and that’s all the reassurance chris needs in his brothers answer. 

as if on command, you trudge down the stairs in a sleepy state. their eyes snap toward you simultaneously, and you blink repeatedly to make sure you’re seeing them right. 

you are their favorite part of every day, so it’s not out of the ordinary for them to acknowledge your entrance, but you can feel the intensity of their eyes on you with a different energy. 

with foggy vision still clearing as you rub your heavy, tired eyes, you let a small yawn escape. they both melt at the sight, despite you feeling like you’re in your least desirable state. 

you’re not even paying attention to their back and forth bickering. the sound of their voices muffling through your ears. whatever it is they’re saying, they’re not saying it loud enough for you to hear before you even make it down the stairs.

“now.” chris states, eyes snapping back at his brother as they both raise off the lounge.

all is fair in love and war.

tag list: @luverboychris @floofparker @fake-sturniolos @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @mattsneezing @mattslolita @breeloveschris @rootbeerworshiper @mattstattoo @mxqdii @tay-laaaaa @pettydollie @lacysturniolo @annamcdonalds67 @landrysflannel @goandcomebsck @sleepysturnss @call-me-ninaaa @lustfulslxt @txssvx

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader

[ultrone]

hello!! i was wondering if i could request a fic concerning older sister jackie (yellow jackets) and how younger sister reader would the react to her death and what come’s after!( aka snackie)

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒. . . 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇

includes. lottie comforting you + beef with shauna

wc. 3k

n/a. felt funny with that edit i made and put in the middle, hope it doesn’t ruin the sad and melancholic vibe of the story 🤣

Resounding footsteps and gasps echoed against the cabin walls, abruptly rousing you from your sleep. Weary-eyed, you scanned the room only to realize it was completely empty.

"Jackie! Wake up!" Shauna's panicked voice cried out from outside.

Confused, you tossed aside the blankets and rose to your feet. Your mind struggled to grasp the situation—the sudden awakening had left you disoriented. Yet, you sensed a weight on your chest, an unsettling feeling that something was wrong.

As Shauna's anguished cries echoed in your ears, you took cautious, deliberate steps, torn between wanting to know what was going on and the fear of what you might discover. Deep down, you already knew it from the very first scream, but you were reluctant to accept it.

Emerging into the blinding daylight, the snow's radiant glare made your drowsy eyes squint. A cluster of bodies obstructed your view of the unfolding scene. Gently nudging them aside, you made your way forward, blinking repeatedly to help your eyes adjust to the brightness. Finally able to see clearly, you abruptly halted.

"What's going on?" you asked, directing your gaze towards Tai and Shauna, who knelt before you. Tai held Shauna tightly, who sobbed uncontrollably as she clung to your sister's lifeless form.

As soon as they heard your voice, their heads snapped toward you.

"Y/n..." Shauna said, her voice filled with surprise. Her face was swollen from crying, marked by distress. Tai wore a horrified expression.

Turning their bodies away, they moved out of the obstructed view. And then it hit you. Shifting your gaze from Tai and Shauna's faces to Jackie's lifeless form in Shauna's arms, you saw her face clearly. It was pale, blue, and devoid of expression, covered in a blanket of snow.

"No..." you whispered, rushing towards her and kneeling beside Shauna. "Jackie! No!" you cried out, desperately shaking your sister's lifeless body while everyone watched, tears streaming down their faces. Nat, unable to bear the scene any longer, retreated into the cabin.

"She's gone, Y/n," Tai spoke softly, though her words reached your ears. Nevertheless, you ignored her, continuing to shake Jackie's body until you seized your movements and embraced her tightly, weeping.

"Y/n, I..." Shauna began, her breath steady enough to speak, placing a hand on your arm.

Aggressively pulling your arm away, you turned your head towards her, your angry, red eyes and furrowed eyebrows piercing through her. "Don't fucking touch me, Shauna! This is all your fault!" you blurted out, causing Shauna's expression to crumble.

"This is all everyone's fault!" you exclaimed, casting accusatory gazes at each person standing on the porch. Everyone stared back, shocked into silence.

They all remained silent the previous night when Jackie departed from the cabin. It was only you and Tai who spoke up during her confrontation with Shauna, trying to persuade her to stay inside. The rest simply observed, indifferent to the situation. You even went outside multiple times after dinner, attempting to reason with her, but she remained stubborn.

Lottie approached you slowly with a sympathetic look, trying to come closer to comfort you. But before she could, you got up and ran away. You ran deep into the woods, far from everyone else, from Jackie, from everything. You ran for what felt like an eternity until your tears were dry and your feet were sore.

Once your legs felt like jelly, you collapsed to your knees and unleashed the most piercing scream you had ever uttered. Your hands were clenched into fists as you slammed them against the cold snow beneath you, and tears streaked down your face as your scream reverberated in the air.

You just sat there, letting the tears flow and your sorrow seep away into the cold morning air. You had no idea what to do or where to go next. You wanted nothing more than for Jackie to come back, but you knew that was impossible.

You eventually stood up, the cold air biting your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You tried your best to ignore it, pushing on and trudging through the snow. You traveled in a daze; time seemed to pass without really passing at all. You kept walking, not having any real destination in mind.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard a small sound behind you. At first, you thought it may have been an animal, but then you heard it again. You stopped and slowly turned around, expecting some wild creature to be standing there—but instead, you saw Lottie standing a few feet away, her face illuminated by the rising sun.

Approaching you cautiously, she spoke softly, "I wanted to make sure you were okay." She avoided mentioning Jackie's name, aware that it would only trigger fresh tears. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around you in a comforting embrace and murmured, "Everything will be okay." You nodded quietly, letting her words sink in; of course, everything wouldn't be okay—yet, in that moment, it didn't matter. You clung tightly to her, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Lottie remained by your side, patiently and silently, until your sobs began to fade. As your tears ran dry and the pain gradually dulled with time, she slowly released you from the hug and looked into your eyes with an expression of understanding and compassion.

"It's going to be alright," she promised gently before wiping away the last few drops of tears from your face with her thumb. She held your gaze for a few more seconds before finally breaking away and taking a step back. "Come on," she said softly, gently grasping your hand and turning towards the direction of the cabin. "Let's go home."

Two months flew by in a blur. Each day followed a similar routine: waking up, doing chores, taking a stroll in the woods, having dinner, and heading straight to bed. During the initial weeks, you chose to keep your interactions limited to Tai and Lottie. Lottie was the first to offer consolation and genuinely apologize, and it did help ease your hurt a bit. As time went on and everyone began to express remorse for what had happened, you naturally started to rejoin the group, leaving behind your resentful and childish behavior.

However, you couldn't bring yourself to speak to Shauna. There were several reasons—perhaps it was because she reminded you so much of your sister, or because she was fucking Jeff, or maybe it was the fact that their fight led to Jackie's death. Of course, Shauna didn't intend for it to happen, but still... In these two months, you hadn't uttered a single word to her, and you didn't plan to anytime soon. Shauna did make attempts to approach you privately and talk, but you always found excuses to leave or occupy yourself. As the days passed, she realized that you were avoiding her. To spare you any discomfort, she stopped trying to reach out and decided to wait for you to initiate contact when you felt ready.

But as each day went by, you couldn't shake off the mounting guilt of avoiding Shauna. Sure, she messed up, but she and Jackie were inseparable, practically family. You knew she was suffering too, spending all her time locked up in that cramped shed with Jackie's lifeless body—something you couldn't bring yourself to do. Ever since that day, you hadn't mustered the courage to visit your sister. It was still too soon.

And at night, when all was quiet and dark, these thoughts crept into your mind as if they were alive. You would toss and turn in bed until the early hours of the morning, too exhausted to even think straight anymore. It was during one of those sleepless nights that you finally made up your mind to face it and have a talk with Shauna. You didn't want to make things awkward, though, so you chose to wait until late afternoon. The plan was to enter the shack and inform Shauna that dinner was ready or something along those lines. You still weren't sure what you would do once you were there, but that was the idea. With that in mind, you went to bed, already having made up your mind about what you were going to do.

The afternoon was drawing to a close, with the sun nearly disappearing below the horizon. Mari and Gen were nearly finished preparing dinner. It's time, you whispered to yourself. Rising from your place on the porch where you had been chatting with Misty and Nat for the past hour, you began to make your way toward the shed.

As you approached it, thoughts flooded your mind, a million things you wanted to say to Shauna. But the moment you stood directly in front of it, your mind went blank.

You took a deep breath and opened the shed door. Inside, you could barely make out Shauna's silhouette in the corner. She had her arms tightly wrapped around her legs as she gazed at your sister’s two-month-old corpse, deep in thought. But why was Jackie...?

“Shauna, what the fuck?” you exclaimed, horror etched across your face. Startled, her body trembled, as she hadn't even noticed you entering the shed. “What the fuck is this?” you demanded, raising your voice as you pointed toward Jackie.

Feeling your stomach churn, you hurriedly rushed outside and vomited beside a cluster of bushes. The commotion and your sickly appearance caught everyone's attention. Shauna stood near the cabin door, her face on the verge of tears, while you retched beside her.

“What’s going on?” Lottie inquired, her face filled with concern as she approached you, followed closely by Nat, Tai, and Van. The others observed the unfolding situation from a few feet away.

"Did you know about this? Have you been encouraging her?" you angrily confronted the group, your disgust evident as you turned to face everyone, attempting to approach Shauna.

"What's going on?" Van intervened, gripping your shoulders to prevent you from getting closer.

"What's happening?" Nat repeated, bewildered by the unfolding situation.

“I knew it wasn’t okay, I knew you were up to something,” you declared, your voice laced with anger and pain, shifting your gaze from Shauna to the others. Van loosened their grip, allowing you to speak.

"What?" Tai questioned, seeking clarification.

“Go on, Shauna, tell them,” you said with a defiant tone. “Tell them what you’ve been up to with Jackie,” you stated, locking eyes with Shauna and gesturing towards the shed.

“Just… Talking,” Shauna stammered, her voice trembling and staring at you with shock.

“Talking?” you exclaimed in disbelief, turning to face everyone. “Shauna’s been braiding Jackie’s hair, she’s been doing her fucking makeup,” you began.

“Holy Christ,” Coach Ben exclaimed, his expression one of shock.

“And you’ve been posing her, right? Adjusting her limbs like some fucked up doll,” you accused Shauna. She appeared ashamed, avoiding eye contact and struggling to find the words; on the verge of tears.

“Is that normal, Lottie?” you shouted, turning towards her. “Is that healthy?”

“It’s okay,” Lottie said, attempting to reassure Shauna.

“It’s not fucking okay,” you retorted, taking an aggressive step closer to both Shauna and Lottie.

Lottie intercepted you and gently pushed you back. “She was her best friend, Y/n,” she reasoned. 

“And she was my fucking sister!” you yelled back. A heavy silence descended upon the scene, leaving everyone speechless.

Shauna stood there, shame cursing through her bones, trying the hardest not to cry; She looked like a little kid being scolded by her parents. You were hurt—how could she treat your sister's lifeless body that way? Disrespect her like that? It wasn't just about Jackie, but also about everyone who loved her. Yet, you couldn't help but feel sorry for Shauna. She must be really fucked up to do such things.

Lottie took a step back, sensing that you had regained some composure. Your gaze remained fixed on Shauna, whose trembling breaths made it nearly impossible for her to speak without breaking down.

"Shauna, this has to stop," you demanded, tears welling up in your eyes. “For your own good, and for the good of the baby,” you added, feeling a twinge of pity for her. But if you were honest with yourself, it was also for your own well-being. You needed to let go of Jackie, and knowing that her corpse was decaying in that shed only hindered your ability to move on.

"Like you..." Shauna began, looking defensively at you as she took a step closer. Then, she turned to address everyone else. "Or any of you know what's good for the baby."

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t this,” Tai chimed in, firmly supporting your position.

Silence hung in the air as Shauna glanced at Tai, her expression filled with pain and shock. Eventually, Tai spoke up once more.

“We’re getting rid of Jackie’s body,” Tai started, turning to address you and the rest of the group. “We’re getting rid of Jackie’s two-month-old corpse.” A tear rolled down your cheek, but you remained silent, knowing deep down that it needed to be done.

"No!" Shauna interjected.

"Yes!" both you and Tai exclaimed in unison.

Shauna looked to Lottie for support, but Lottie remained silent. She knew that Tai and you were right.

"We can't even bury her; the ground is frozen solid," Shauna argued, desperately hoping that burying your sister was an impossibility.

"We can cremate her," Tai declared. "Help me gather firewood," she commanded as she raised her voice, addressing everyone.

“Tai, no…” Shauna cried out, her voice filled with sorrow.

“Now! Move!” Tai said, “We have to do this before the sun sets. We’re doing what had to be done weeks ago, we need to get this done tonight.” She directed, and everyone began to listen, collecting the necessary materials to finally dispose of the body.

The frigid air and unfamiliar sounds outside stirred you from your sleep. Resisting the urge to open your eyes, you attempted to drift back into slumber, clutching onto Jackie's snug bomber jacket that enveloped your body, shielding you from the cold.

It had been a heartbreaking afternoon. You all gathered around Jackie's body, knowing that you couldn't keep her with you any longer. You and Shauna exchanged a few words in front of Jackie's motionless form before you lit a wooden stick alight. Everyone silently observed as the flames slowly snaked up her body, blessing her in their own way. When the fire had died down, everyone returned to the cabin.

The scent of something delicious wafted into your nostrils, coaxing your eyes to open. Hunger gnawed at your stomach, and the aroma of freshly cooked meat filled the air, accompanied by peculiar chewing sounds from outside. Sitting upright, you realized that the cabin was empty, a bittersweet reminder of the morning Jackie passed away.

You tossed aside the sheets and rose from the bed, stepping outside while remnants of your deep slumber lingered, leaving you in a dazed state. The biting cold immediately pierced through your body as you exited the cabin, prompting you to hastily fasten your jacket and hug yourself tightly. In the distance, you noticed everyone gathered around a table, voraciously consuming their meal, you couldn't help but wonder if Nat and Travis had hunted something while you were asleep. Why hadn't anyone awakened you?

As you walked, your foot caught on something, causing you to stumble and nearly lose your balance. Thankfully, Coach Ben swiftly grasped your arm, preventing you from falling. He remained silent, wearing an expression of both shock and resignation, almost as if he felt remorseful. He gave your arm a reassuring rub before retreating back into the cabin, leaving you standing there, confused.

As you approached the group, your eyes caught something peculiar. Amidst Mari and Gen, there was a slight gap that allowed you to glimpse what lay on the table—a protruding arm. An arm? But it wasn't until you saw the full extent of it—the hand and the bracelet adorning the wrist—that realization struck. It was Jackie.

A loud gasp escaped your lips, causing you to take a stumbling step backward, preventing yourself from collapsing onto the ground. Your complexion drained of color, and a wave of dizziness washed over you. The sweetness of the situation faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of shock. Everyone paused, their actions frozen, their guilt overshadowed by an absence of remorse. No one dared to continue eating, fearing the consequences of their next bite. That is, until Lottie, with a reassuring nod, gestured for them to resume, directing them to carry on consuming. Simultaneously, she rose from her seat and made her way toward your trembling form.

You found yourself paralyzed, unable to move or think, as if you were a mere spectator trapped in someone else's body. Lottie finally reached your side, standing directly in front of you, her eyes filled with emotion. Slowly, she took hold of your hand, gripping it tightly, and you remained still, too afraid to make a single motion. "It's alright, Y/n," she whispered softly, a gentle smile on her face. “The wilderness wants us to… Jackie wants us to,” she said.

Her final words ignited a surge of anger within you, instantly breaking the spell you were in and causing you to sharply focus on her. "Say whatever you want about your wilderness bullshit, Lottie, but there's one thing I wanna make clear," you declared, gazing into her eyes while tightening your grip on her hand and pulling her closer. “Jackie would’ve never wanted this, and you know it.” You spit out, disappointment reflecting in your eyes. After a few more seconds of holding her gaze, you released her hand and strode back into the cabin, shutting the door behind you and closing all the windows tightly to block out the scent of your sister's charred flesh.

Returning to your bed, you crawled under the covers and laid back down, clutching Jackie's jacket tightly. With a pillow pressed against your ears, you squeezed your eyes shut, desperately hoping that this nightmarish reality was nothing more than a twisted dream.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x y/n #yellowjackets x you #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x y/n #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman x y/n #jackie taylor x y/n #jackie taylor x you

[carlsdarling]

Please, another part of Sunset Affairs with anguish, where the reader stops the affair with Carl because she loves him and doesn't want to be the lover anymore, but in the end, a sweet Carl who does love her, with some obscenity too. I can't live knowing that Carl doesn't love the reader. 😭🙏💞

Sunset Affairs Part II

Carl finally has to choose between Y/N and Enid because Y/N doesn't want to be just his side bitch anymore. Bit more of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral (female receiving)

Your affair with Carl had been continuing for about half a year now, and during the last few weeks your mood had been changing insidiously; had become worse, more and more often you caught yourself feeling sad and angry after one of Carl's flying visits - at first without being able to name a reason for it. At one point, you even cried hard and couldn't stop, so you sought out Denise and asked her for a sedative. "What's got you so upset, Y/N?" inquired Denise, eyeing you anxiously.

"I... I don't know," you sniffled, swallowing the Valium with a glass of water. "Maybe memories have unconsciously come flooding back, of my parents' deaths." But you suspected yourself that that wasn't the case, because the crying episode had only started after Carl had visited you once again, used you sexually in the usual, casual and somehow disinterested way, and then, without saying much, headed back home. To Enid. You had stared at the wool blanket on the couch, and at the soiled Kleenex Carl had quickly cleaned himself with after he had finished, and had abruptly burst into tears.

"It's not healthy to fight negative feelings with pills," Denise preached with a sigh. "It's better to work through them and resolve the situation."

Admittedly, that was easier said than done. After all, after talking to Denise, you got to the point where you finally admitted to yourself that you had developed some feelings for Carl and that it hurt you that he didn't reciprocate them, that for him it was all about pleasure and that you were only good enough for him when Enid didn't feel like sleeping with him, which was often.

However, you had no idea how to "resolve" this situation, to use Denise's words. All that was certain was that your bitterness was growing. Every evening you spent alone in your house, you imagined Carl with Enid, looking at her the way he never looked at you, respecting her and not you, sharing with her all that he was withholding from you. Your frustration kept growing and you suddenly felt hurt, although there was really no reason for it: it had been clear between Carl and you from the beginning that it was just an affair with no deeper meaning, that he was getting from you what he wasn't getting from Enid, and that the fact that you were having sex didn't entitle you to anything. You had to take what Enid left, so to speak, and be happy with it. Carl had never made any secret of the fact that he belonged to Enid and that all he wanted from you was pleasure and stress relief.

Carl didn't show up at your house for a few days, which made you even angrier; you were very torn. On the one hand, you longed for his visit and closeness, but on the other, part of you just wanted to send Carl to hell. And Enid right along with him.

You wanted Carl to look you in the eyes when you slept with each other.

You wanted to cuddle with him afterwards.

You wanted to fall asleep and wake up together with him.

You wanted to share more with him than a quick fuck now and then.

You wanted to stop being his lightning rod.

You wanted to laugh and cry with him and share your life with him.

You wanted to be in Enid's place.

When Carl finally came to see you three days later, the whole thing escalated. You let him in, and as usual, he immediately pulled you to him, threw his hat on the floor, kissed you demandingly, and directed you into the living room - not even taking the time to go upstairs to your bedroom with you, as he so often did. As if you weren't worth it!

But you had sex with him, of course you did, and while he fucked you with his pants down at the back of his knees, not particularly sensitively, without taking off his flannel and shirt and without even really looking at you (his fleeting, disinterested glances to make sure you were coming and he could let himself go didn't count for you) you made a decision.

After Carl finished with a groan, he immediately got up, cleaned himself up, pulled up his pants and walked over to the refrigerator without a word. He rummaged around in it, picked out the cheese and started eating it standing, leaning back against the sink and looking bored. Now that was really the limit. Carl was just using you, even though he wasn't really interested in you, he shot his load into you because it was better than jerking off, and then he didn't care any more about you and now he ate your cheddar with the greatest of ease!

Only with difficulty you could suppress the tears. "Carl," you finally managed to say.

Confused, he looked at you as if you didn't deserve his attention. "What is it? I've had a rough day." His voice sounded annoyed.

"That's exactly what I mean," you replied, unable to keep your voice from breaking. "It's over. I can't do this anymore."

Carl furrowed his brows. "What do you mean? What can't you do anymore?" he asked irritably.

"This!" you replied, starting to sob and pointing accusingly at the couch as if it was the furniture's fault. "You come in here, you fuck me like I'm just a piece of meat, and then you fuck off back to Enid! But first you eat my fridge dry! You treat me like shit!" you screeched.

Carl looked at you as if you had gone crazy. "I thought everything was settled between us?" he asked, puzzled. "I never promised you anything, Y/N, it was clear that I was with Enid, that you and I were just about sex, and that..."

"Yes, and that's over now! I can't do this anymore, Carl! You don't even look at me when you have your dick inside me, probably thinking about Enid!" you sulked.

"Wait a minute, that's nonsense," Carl retorted angrily. "You almost always cum on me, don't you? You have had your fun." He eyed you with folded arms. "You've never complained, anyway."

"That's not the fucking issue! You're only making a point of that so I'll keep allowing you to rail me whenever you feel like it. But I can't anymore, Carl. I... I love you. I don't want to be your side bitch anymore. I want to be more for you. Or never see you here in my house again." Now it was out, and you looked down at the floor with a red face.

"I guess I'd better go, then," Carl muttered, embarrassed and overwhelmed. "Get your mind off it first, and then maybe we can..."

"No, we can't. Why don't you piss off to your Enid, who never wants to sleep with you, and be happy with her anyway, and with your right hand!" you yelled after him as he headed for the front door. "You can pleasure yourself from now on when you're horny and Enid clenches her legs again. I'm not letting you use me anymore, anyway." Carl wordlessly closed the door behind him, and you sank to the floor weeping, broken and humiliated.

                                                 ***

During the next few days, you stayed mostly in the house - no way were you going to run into Carl or Enid. You were mad at yourself, because Carl was actually right: there had been a clear agreement between the two of you, and he had simply stuck to it; and of course you had been willing to let him fuck you. After all, he was Carl Grimes. That you developed feelings for Carl had not been planned, nor was it Carl's fault, and you had no right to expect him to reciprocate those feelings and leave Enid for you.

But anyway, you couldn't continue the affair with Carl any longer because it was breaking you, you had to get over it and forget about him. Of course, that wasn't easy since you both lived in Alexandria and you couldn't stay hiding in the house forever. Possibly moving to Hilltop was an option; you would talk to Maggie, she knew both Gregory and Jesus pretty well. Then you would never have to endure the sight of Carl and Enid as a couple again.

You put your plan into action the very next day and went to Maggie and Glenn's house. Unfortunately, you encountered Carl, of all people, who was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee with Glenn, but you ignored him and his hello. "Can I talk to you in private?" you said to Maggie. Carl looked puzzled.

The conversation with Maggie revealed that she would help introduce you to Hilltop. Fortunately, she had been discreet enough not to ask why you wanted to go after you said it was private. As you were walking home, you suddenly heard rapid footsteps behind you. "Y/N, will you just wait a second," Carl gasped breathlessly, but you just kept walking. Still, he caught up to you effortlessly and grabbed your shoulder.

"Carl, leave me alone," you spat, "I told you I didn't want to see you anymore! That's so disrespectful of you again!"

He flinched, concerned. "Is it true you want to move away?"

"How do you know?" you asked defensively. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"Yes," he admitted straight out, looking at you faithfully with his one, oceanic eye. "But before you make that final decision...I wanted to talk to you again." Since you hadn't stopped and Carl had followed you, you had reached your house by now and you unlocked the door and allowed Carl to come inside with you, which you were already getting annoyed with yourself for again. After all, you had told him that you didn't want him around anymore, and now you were getting weak again?

You jammed your hands into your sides and scowled at Carl. "So, say what you have to say and then fuck off," you said unkindly.

"I like you too," Carl blurted out in surprise. "I didn't admit that to myself for a long time because... because I wanted the relationship with Enid to work out, but... I couldn't stop thinking about you. I didn't want to let the feelings happen though, so I acted like a jackass and acted like all I wanted from you was random sex, but that hasn't been true for a while now." You were speechless, just staring at Carl until he pulled something out of his pants pocket. It was a jewelry box, and he awkwardly handed it to you. "This... I had gotten it for Enid, but never gave it to her because it suddenly didn't feel right." He cleared his throat tensely. "I'm going to break up with her."

You flipped open the lid of the box. On black velvet lay two gold stud earrings with beautiful purple gemstones. "Carl, these... I don't know what to say," you murmured, overwhelmed by what had happened. "These are marvelous."

Carl approached you cautiously and hugged you more lovingly, unlike before, and he looked into your eyes before kissing you tenderly. "Shall we go upstairs?" he suggested. "I want to make love to you." The new wording didn't slip your mind - earlier, he'd only ever talked about fucking.

Upstairs, you slowly undressed each other, and for the first time you felt that Carl was actually aware of you. You lay down and stroked each other tenderly all over your bodies, kissing each other time and again. "I love you, Y/N," Carl whispered. "I'm so sorry I didn't realize it sooner." He spread your legs and started eating you out, this time taking his time, sliding his tongue deftly over your clit, faster and faster, until you came whimpering and soaking wet, only then he lay on top of you to gently penetrate you. He looked at you steadily as he thrust, and you could have drowned in the blue of his eye. You were squirming underneath him, stroking his lean, smooth back, moaning his name over and over. "Do you like it?" asked Carl breathlessly.

"Carl, yes, oh, I love you, oh Carl, pleeeaaaase," you gasped, kissing his shoulder. This is how you had craved it all along, yearned for this loving kind of intimacy with him. Carl sped up his poundings, paying close attention to your reactions. You came so hard you thought you were going to explode, and Carl brought you to orgasm two more times before allowing himself to cum with loud moans. "Do it inside, please," you begged, wrapping your legs around his hips. You just wanted everything from him, including his cum inside you. Carl squirted warmly inside you, filling your desperate pussy.

Tightly entwined, you then lay together, and Carl tucked the blanket around you, looking at you blissfully. "That's better?"

"Much better," you murmured wearily. "I can finally fall asleep with you."

"I'm yours, Y/N," Carl whispered, kissing you on the forehead. Finally, he was. Outside the window, the sunset was in full view.

--

Tags: @loveforcarl

(Send me a message if you want to be added to the tag list.)

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes #carl fanfiction #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes smut #carl grimes x you

[mountain-in-springtime]

lying eyes

pairing: jake x reader, josh x reader | word count: 1.2k | warnings: kissing (?), implications and mentions of nsfw, cheating/infidelity | my masterlist

summary: the reader is torn when she must choose between the two loves of her life

author's note: so this is way angstier than anything else i've written, but i hope y'all like it anyway. i really enjoyed writing it. also, this fic is inspired by the song lyin' eyes by the eagles (as well as love you goodbye by one direction but to a much lesser extent)

*******************************************************

Your eyes slowly drifted open, vision blurry with sleep as you took in your surroundings. The room was still and engulfed by the darkness of the night, but you could make out your discarded clothes on the floor, paired by Jake’s thrown beside yours. A smile drifted onto your face as you remembered the events that occurred just a few hours earlier, but it soon faltered as you felt a familiar weight begin to find its place in your heart.

You slowly turned your head, careful not to wake the man beside you. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his face was marked with the look of peaceful slumber. At this moment, you swore that he had never looked more angelic. You desperately wanted to reach out to him. You wanted to run your hands over his features and comb your hands through his hair, burning each one into your memory so that you may never forget how he felt. 

But the longer you looked at Jake, the more you were reminded of why you shouldn’t be here. You contemplated pushing back your guilt and going back to sleep, allowing yourself to find solace in your love for at least a few more hours, but the sinking feeling in your chest grew until it became unbearable. You reluctantly peeled yourself from his grip, your heart breaking upon hearing a small whimper leave his sleeping form. As you crossed the bedroom floor, you tried to remain as quiet as possible, picking up your clothes and quickly getting dressed. Before you could leave, however, you heard the rustling of sheets behind you, followed by the voice of the man you were trying to forget. 

“You’re leaving?” Jake’s question hung in the air. Fighting against yourself, you kept your back turned to him, willing yourself to answer. 

“I have to, Jake. You know that.” Your voice was ice cold, and you hated yourself for it.

“No, you don’t,” was his response, barely above a whisper.

A long sigh left your lips as you collected yourself, forcing your voice to remain even. “What other choice do I have?” you asked him. The question sounded like a desperate plea as if you were begging him for a way out. 

He fell silent for a moment before giving you the one alternative you couldn’t take: “You could stay.”

You shook your head as tears began to blur your vision. “I can’t,” was the only reply you could manage. You reached for your purse on the dresser and moved toward the bedroom door. You told yourself that this was the last time. As soon as you touched the doorknob, you would be a new woman, a better woman, but your hand stopped short as Jake’s voice filled the room again.

“So that’s it?” he asked, “You’re just gonna go back to him and pretend like nothing ever happened between us?” The hurt in his tone was undeniable, and it broke your heart to know that it was all your fault. 

You finally turned to face him, and you immediately regretted it. Seeing the rise and fall of his bare chest paired with the soft expanse of his relaxed stomach made you want to rush into his arms and feel his touch against you, but one look at his face solidified why you could never do so again. Looking into his pained eyes, you were reminded of your other love, and you knew that he would feel the same anguish if he knew where you were. That was the thought that plagued your mind as you nodded at Jake, betraying your own heart, and answered him with a quiet, “That’s the way it has to be.”

“So it all meant nothing to you?” he murmured as tears threatened to shake his voice, “I make love to you and share a bed with you, and it means nothing?” The questions were absent of any animosity, instead carrying all the pain and desperation in his being.

Warm tears began to roll down your cheeks as you shook your head. “It meant everything, Jake. You know it did.” 

He rose to meet you and began his plea, “Then why does it have to end? I love you. Can’t that be enough for you to at least try? I know things seem messy, but if we love each other then none of that matters.” His hands reach out to grab yours, but you pull them away. 

“Jake,” you answered, your voice reverting back to its cold infliction, “I’ve made up my mind. There’s nothing you can do to change my decision.” You looked away from him, reaching for the doorknob until his hand gripped your forearm. 

“Wait,” he whispered. You turned to face him, and his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you into one final kiss. Against your better judgment, you melted into his touch. One of your hands moved to grip his bicep while the other found its way into his hair, tugging at the locks at the base of his neck. Small whimpers left you as he devoured you, allowing all of his passion to flow out of him. His hands traveled across your whole figure, knowing each touch would have to be enough for a lifetime. 

As you eventually pulled away, you felt him lingering against your skin, afraid to let go for the last time. Making the move for him, you took a step back, removing yourself from his reach. “I’m sorry, Jake,” you whispered as your hand finally turned the doorknob, “Goodbye.” And with that, you disappeared behind the door, leaving behind the man you loved. 

After a long drive home, your vehicle finally approached your driveway. You looked at yourself in the rearview mirror, making sure to remove any smudged makeup that could reveal the tears you had shed earlier in the night. You pulled into the garage and took one final breath before turning the key and exiting the car.

For the second time tonight, you tried to be as quiet as possible, unlocking the front door and slipping into your bedroom to don your pajamas. Glancing behind you, you saw your husband’s sleeping form, his mess of curls unruly but his face relaxed and angelic. Your heart ached as you were reminded of your love left behind, and you prayed to yourself that you could save the love you had left. 

Once clad in your nightclothes, you slowly climbed into bed. Your lover gently stirred as his eyes fluttered open. A small smile graced his lips, and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his bare chest. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too, Josh,” you replied as you felt him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, “Sorry I’m back so late, me and the girls lost track of time.” The lie burned as it passed through your lips.

He softly shook his head, “That’s alright. I’m just glad you had fun.” He pulled you in for another kiss, his lips lingering against yours as they curled into another smile, “I love you.”

A moment of silence fell between you until you finally answered, mumbling a quiet, “I love you,” in return. You molded into his embrace, trying to find comfort in his arms as silent tears fell down your face, only stopping once you were fast asleep. And in the night, your husband found himself fighting back the same tears, knowing that your love was both one he had to share and one he couldn't live without.

taglist: @westernwoods @sunfl0wer-power @gold-mines-melting @alwaysonthemend @andtherestishistory13

#mal writes #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x y/n #jake kiszka x you #jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake kiszka angst #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka x y/n #josh kiszka x you #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka angst #greta van fleet #gvf fic #gvf angst

[codsoup]

Something more / Ghost x Soap

Summary: Ghost and Soap confess their feelings and the longing to be something more.

This is a direct continuation of Look After You. Part 1 Part 2

————-

The weight of their duties hung heavy over Ghost and Soap, their lives an unending cycle of danger and deception. But it was the unspoken tension between them that had begun to take its toll. They may have kissed each other the other night, but that was it. After the kiss, Ghost just left, saying it was getting late and that they should talk more the next day, but it had been weeks, and Ghost dodged "The Talk" as much as he could.

One evening, Soap showed up at Ghost's room, and they sat in the dimly lit quarters, the silence between them suffocating. Ghost could feel the weight of Soap's gaze on him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet Soap's eyes.

Finally, Soap broke the silence, his voice strained. "Ghost, we can't keep doing this. We can't keep pretending."

Ghost knew exactly what Soap was referring to, but he couldn't find the words to respond. Instead, he remained silent, his jaw clenched in frustration.

Soap stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Dammit, Ghost, say something? Why are you avoiding this?"

The anger in Soap's voice startled Ghost, and he finally looked up to meet Soap's eyes. "What do you want from me, Johnny?"

Soap's expression softened, his frustration giving way to vulnerability. "I want you to be safe, Simon. I want you to stop taking unnecessary risks. I want…" He trailed off, unable to voice the deeper truth.

Ghost's heart ached as he realized what Soap was trying to say. "You want us to be more than just teammates." Soap nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I want us to be more than this, Ghost. I want us to be… together."

The admission hung heavily in the air, a raw confession of the feelings they had both been suppressing for far too long. Ghost swallowed hard, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

"Johnny, I…" He paused, struggling to find the right words. "I care about you too, more than I can put into words. But you know the risks of this life. We can't afford distractions, attachments."

Soap's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice filled with anguish. "You are saying this, but your kiss said something else the other night. And I can't keep pretending that I don't feel this way, that I don't want more."

The room felt like it was closing in on them, the weight of their emotions unbearable. They were trapped in a never-ending battle, torn between their duty to their team and the desire for something more.

Ghost and Soap remained locked in their anguished silence, neither of them saying anything. The unspoken truth hung heavy over their heads, a painful reminder of the love they could never fully embrace.

"At least consider it Simon? Can you at least consider the possibility of us?" Soap said half pleading while holding Ghost, almost clinging to him.

"I will Johnny, trust me I will." Replied Ghost with a sad smile.

-----------

Yes yes, there shall be a part two 🤧

#call of duty #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #budding romance #fluff #friendship #ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #cod modern warfare #soap x ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghoap #gaz cod #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #simon riley #soap call of duty #captain price #cod #soap mctavish #task force 141 #slow burn #angst #john soap mctavish

[slashersteve]

hi could you write a steve x fem reader where reader secretly loves steve and he almost dies in the updated down but as he’s unconscious she’s telling him that she loves him?

The way I'm starting to consider the fact that maybe the Upside Down is the perfect place to confess your love to someone since a little closer has the same vibes to this request lmfao. Anyway, I wrote a short one for you here anon, ily and pls enjoy <3

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, cursing, girlboss reader fucking up some demobats

✧ ✧ ✧

Taking out the massive bat-like creatures was not a walk in the park, especially when you were in their home world and not your own. The moment you were coming through the gate and saw Steve Harrington being chowed on by those things, you saw red.

Never mind the air that made it harder for you to breathe, or the ache in your legs from walking all day and swimming to the bottom of Lover's Lake, you were sprinting toward him with the intention to kill those things attacking him.

It was like you were possessed by somebody that was much stronger, more than likely due to the adrenaline coursing through your body. You were whacking one creature off of Steve with a wooden boat oar, and kicking the other before focusing your attention on the one that had it's long tail wrapped around his neck.

Nancy, Robin, and Eddie joined you soon after, helping fight off the bats until the last one was on the ground and torn apart by you stepping on it and pulling it's tail with a shout.

For a second, the focus was on you rather than Steve, as Robin and Nancy specifically had never seen you get so brutal before, and didn't think until now that you had it in you to tear a creature apart. Eddie was just surprised to have watched somebody do that so easily.

You tossed half of its bloody, mangled body aside, and wiped your brow with your wrist before you were twisting around and setting your sights back on Steve.

At the sight him unconscious and unmoving on the ground, your heart dropped and you were by his side in a matter of seconds.

"Steve," you called his name as you fell to the ground beside him and grasped the upper part of his body. You pulled him to your lap, feeling your lips begin to quiver when you looked at the wounds on his sides, and the bruise on his throat from the tail that had been wrapped tightly around his neck.

“God dammit, Steve,” you said with a shake of your head. You rested your hand onto his cheek, not noticing the tears were beginning to fall from your eyes.

Your thumb gently grazed over the corner of his lips, and you cupped his cheek gently as you told him quietly, “Come on, wake up, it can’t be like this, come on.” There was a feeling anguish in you now the longer he didn’t wake up.

You hadn’t been able to call Steve your friend long, but you had actually known of him for much longer.

He was such an idiot and jerk in high school, and didn’t even know you existed, but regardless, every time he waltz into your class with that stupid smile of his that was never directed at you, your tiny crush only grew.

It wasn’t until he started working by your side at the Family Video Store, when you got to truly know each other, you began to fall in love with him.

You considered him a close friend now, someone you could count on to make you laugh when you needed it, someone who help you when you needed, and somebody you loved with your entire chest.

Losing him would absolutely destroy you, more than he would ever know.

“I should’ve told you sooner, but dammit I love you so much, Steve, so if you don’t live through this, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you said in a shattered voice as you leaned down and placed your forehead onto his.

If your deep love for Steve wasnt obvious before, it certainly was now that you said it out loud, admitting it to yourself, an unconscious Steve and the three that surrounded you.

You closed your eyes, asking him again to please wake up.

#another 3 am masterpiece if you ask me <3 i really enjoyed this one haha #meanwhile Robin nance and Eddie are 🧍🏻‍♀️ #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagines #reader insert #female reader #requests #anonymous #asks #ily anon

[takearisk-xo]

I’m asking for you to copy and paste the scene!!! 🤪🤪🤪

YOU ASKED FOR IT

Ginny was supposed to be finding salvageable materials in the ground floor dining room. At least, that’s what she’d volunteered to do. There was hardly anything salvageable to find, but at least she was alone. 

Harry was one floor above, supposedly working on the full bath attached to the guest suite. Any other time she would’ve paid a sack load of galleons to watch him try and fix the plumbing, but after the previous evening, she couldn’t stomach being in the same room as him for longer than a few minutes.

The problem, she found, was that denial was only possible through awareness, and her refusal to accept the things staring her in the face meant they had to exist in the first place. 

Ginny would rather do anything than admit they existed in the first place, but botched Amortentia schemes aside, her nightmare from the night before would have been enough to confirm the very obvious conclusion that she still had feelings for Harry. Feelings seemed a good enough descriptor since she was actively avoiding the L-word.

Which was a real inconvenience seeing how she had to share a half-destroyed house with him for the foreseeable future.

Said house seemed to mock her as Ginny spun in a slow circle. The dining room looked even worse in the light of day. Haphazard stacks of lumber sat in disorganized piles along one wall, while torn wallpaper hung from where Harry had apparently attempted to strip it away. Both the floor and the ceiling had chunks missing, and the chandelier in the corner looked more cracked than whole. 

In short, the place was a disaster. Much like the current state of her well-being: ragged, frayed, coming loose at the seams.

However, unlike her own internal anguish, when she sent a Reparo! in the direction of the light fixture, the twisted metal straightened and gleamed, the crystals mending in an instant to reflect tiny rainbows of sunlight in all directions. 

Ginny felt a small sense of accomplishment, until she inspected her handiwork a little closer. 

Her minute achievement turned to ash in her mouth. The restored brackets revealed each candle fitting to be an open-mouthed snake head, their carved intertwined bodies linking together to make up the frame, and a multifaceted crystalline ouroboros dangling from the center.

She wished she would’ve left it broken. 

Giving into the impulse pounding through her skull, Ginny battered the chandelier with hex after hex until it was nothing but a knot of pulverized bronze and shattered glass.

She felt much more than an errant sting of pride at her destruction. She felt vindicated. Chest heaving from the exertion, she sent another Reparo! at it, thinking this time it was surely destroyed for good. Her spell hit, and shards of crystal soared from all over the room, fusing together as if never parted while the disfigured serpents curled and bent back to their original shape. 

Whole. The damn thing was whole again. Not an adornment or fang out of place.

Ginny felt it like a punch to the gut. It was supposed to stay mangled. Scratched, gashed and dented. It was supposed to stay unrecognizable. 

Like her. 

She started in with her hexing once more, shooting off every version of Diffindo, Confringo, and Reducto she knew. Because Ginny wasn’t about to be the only thing in this house broken beyond repair. 

As instinct took over, her thoughts turned unwillingly inward. To the parts of herself that were splintered and ripped just like the wainscoting and wallpaper surrounding her. 

How could she have let this happen?

No, scratch that. How could he have let this happen?

Because this was all his fault. 

A couple of months ago, Ginny had been perfectly, completely, and utterly fine. All the shite she’d gone through had been effectively tucked away. All her unresolved feelings had been disregarded.  All her nightmares had been a distant, albeit unpleasant, memory. 

Now look at her, wrecking a chandelier as some sort of violent remedy for her own discontent.

All it took was one look. One sodding look from him on one sodding dance floor and she was undone. Absolutely doomed. Ravaged.  

Ruined.

#tpfy spoilers #tpfy sneak peek #the path from you #anon #answered #i'm not giving you everything because you know what? i do have some self control after all

[oumaheroes]

Everything Hurts and I’m Dying

Day 8 of Whumptober.

Stomach pain/ Head trauma/ Back from the dead

My own Whumptober rules can be found here, if you’re unsure what’s going on

Characters: France, Scotland, England /scotfra

Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7

Context: For @senditothemoonn and their painful painful AU

------

The world was strange.

It dipped when he walked, swaying in ways that it hadn’t before. Like oil on water, he feels as though he is just above the surface of it all, glossing over the shallow edges rather than touching anything properly. Muted colours, muted sounds- a grimy, heavy fog that holds him back.

He does not know where he is. Does not know who he is.

He knows that he is, though. Knows enough, with a fragment of detached self, that he is someone.

He is looking for something.

That, he knows. There are others too, all around him. They are also looking for something. They bump against each other as they go on their journeys, gentle and brief, as they recognise a similar lost soul in the murky mess of the world before clouded eyes, and then part ways.

He is lonely.

Despite the others all around he feels incomplete. Like there is another out there, just for him, and this person is waiting. Waiting.

He told them to wait.

He remembers snatches.

Make sure you come back.

I promise.

He promised. He needs to go back.

He continues on his way as best as he can, although it’s hard. The ground isn’t stable and his legs are stiff, they do not pick up in time sometimes and he often sprawls amongst shards of shattered shops and the grit of lost family homes before picking himself up to push onwards. In one fall something catches his mouth and his grin widens, torn at one edge. He does not feel it. His face is hard to move but now he smiles without difficulty.

He goes where his feet take him, his body remembering something perhaps that his mind cannot and he does not fight the directions that it points him. His person is waiting there.

He is hungry.

There is an emptiness in his belly. It gnaws at him, a dull ache that grows sharp as the world turns dark and cold. He does not stop moving, he has no fear of the night, but with each step he grows hungrier.

He likes the hunger. It sharpens the edges of reality and he finds that can understand more about himself. Like his jacket- it is not his. It was given to him because he was cold and it hangs too large on him, catching in the stiff fingers of his passing companions or dragging him back on broken doors. But it worked because he does not feel cold now and he thinks, as his hunger grows, that perhaps he was supposed to return it. Maybe that is where he is going, and who the person is who waits for him there.

Days pass.

He thinks. The world grows light again, and then dark. As he grows hungrier, he realises that he’d been going the wrong way. He’d crossed back on himself in the ruined city, the new layouts not matching to his slowly emerging memories. He is glad for the hunger and does not try to sate it. Mainly because, as his mind clears, he knows that if he feeds the hunger he will lose himself again. The pain will soften yes, but with it so goes the world and he does not want to disappear there again. Not yet, not before he reaches his destination. He wants to remember more, wants to know how he got here and who he is and  focuses on this to ignore the urges that call him to frightened cries in the boarded up shops. The shouts and screams sound like a siren’s song and he has to fight the crowds and himself to carry on.

Until, one day he doesn’t.

It is night.

He is out of the city, his progress faster now that there is less that has changed. His leg is stiffer, body more resisting, and he has to drag it as he walks. Maybe he should have eaten after all. There is grass under his feet and he can see, at the edge of his range of vision, a light through the trees. At first he thinks nothing of it but then, then there is a cry. A low, anguished cry.

It calls him closer like nothing else ever has.

He recognises this place. It is home. He has been going home. All this time, he had been searching for home and now he has finally found it. This is not is old home, but it is a new home they had made and as he approaches there they are, waiting for him. There are two, one his height, one tall.

He knows them both but only one is for him.

He cannot see their faces properly but what he can see makes his chest flutter and he remembers.

Remembers morning walks on a cold, pebble beach. Remembers hills and mountains and cold cold hands. Remembers nights by the fire wrapped in arms, curled up with a warm chest at his back and hands in his hair.

‘Francis!’

Remembers a house made out of stone, a homemade gate carved with their names. Remembers the smaller one’s hand in his too, squeezing it in good luck before he walked them both up a long aisle in a church.

‘Oh God- please no-‘

Remembers falling in love one summer many years ago, watching a boy in the body of a giant stumble about him as he waited patiently for him to find himself. Remembers that same man stood at the end of the aisle, his eyes wet with tears.

‘What are you waiting for? Alisdair!’

‘No! No I, I can’t.’

‘You have to!’

Remembers a promise they made. All of them together. A promise that, if one of us goes...

‘Alisdair! Shoot!’

Has he gone?

‘God forgive me. Francis, forgive me.’

He does not think he is gone. His name is Francis.

‘I love you.’

His broken mouth smiles for him. Words are in his throat, things he desperately wants to say but then they come out in a screech and a hiss, language warped and smeared into broken syllables by the hunger in his belly.

He is so, so hungry.

He steps closer. As their faces become clear and familiar in the firelight, his body lunges forwards out of his control.

Day 9

Full Masterlist

#aph france #aph scotland #scotfra #aph england #hws france #hws scotland #aph scotfra #aph #hetalia #hws #whumptalia #whumptober #whumptober 2022 #heroes writes

[cloudninetonine]

I shared this on the server but im also sharing it in here, enjoy the angst muajajjajjaj --------------------- Lily knew something was wrong when they found a new resting place in the catacombs, last time they were in this part of the kingdom it wasn't there, that zone was full of blighted of all types, always coming back, no mater how many time's the Umbral Knight, Siegrid or Silva killed them. They send a quick glance to the spirits, deciding that it was better to sit in the bench before continuing to the next room, because for some reason they felt something evil coming from there, something worse than any blighted they had to fight, including the Blighted Lord. After some minutes of being seated and watching their companions speak with each other, they decided to advance to the next area of the catacombs, hoping that they gut feeling was wrong. They felt the air escape from their lungs the moment they saw what or more correctly, who was awaiting for them in the room, they could recognize that blue scarf everywhere they go, their expression become one of horror once they really looked at the captain. His armor appeared to be fused to his skin, his tunic it looked like it has lost it's colors in some part's, in other's it was torn to pieces, with some part's of the cloth hanging, the worst part of it was his face, his hair had gone from that golden color to one that made it look like he had earth scattered all around it, his eyes where all black, with what look like blood around them. They noticed that Warrior's (or what was left of him) didn't realized they had entered the room, but that was short lived, because after they got close enough, they heard him mutter something that sounded like a name, seconds after he looked at their direction, letting a cry out (of anger or anguish? that will be forever a question on their mind) and launched himself with his sword to attack them. Lily, already knowing this was going to happen, let the headless defender out among other spirits, ready to fight the one that they once could consider a brother. ------------------------------------ They stood in front of the petrified body of the hero, it was a difficult battle, even more when it was revealed that he had a monster form, one that made him look like Silva and Siegrid in that form, but still looking like himself. They let a silent sob out, not wanting to attract the attention of their companions, before extending their hand, letting it rest in the forehead of Warriors, felling the blight starting to abandon his body, absorbing it and with it the last memory of the hero before they become this "monster". It showed him running, trying to escape from the rain and getting separated from the other hero's, it showed the speed of how the blight took over his body and it showed how he ended up in the catacombs, alone and with none of his brother's to help him.Once they came back to themselves, they heard him say something, this time being able to identify what he said. -Thanks, kiddo........ After that they realized that life left the petrified body, but they also felt a spirit joining them, looking at a side, they could see Warriors standing next to the Umbral Knight, he send them a little smile, but Lily could see that the other spirits didn't find him very funny after how he hurt them during they battle, sighing, they decided to just go back to the bench in the room before this one and rest.If they founded Warriors already consumed by the blight, they didn't want to imagine the states of the other members of the Chain. --------------------- (Cloud look, I am over the writing block, are you proud of me ? /j)

I'M VERY PROUD OF YOU SILVY I'M SO GLAD YOU GOT THROUGH IT!

AND YOU GOT MY DAMN FEELINGS, WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET PEOPLE BE HAPPY SILVY!? /j

#cloud answers

[youremyonlyhope]

Changes in Season 2 and my Feelings

Ok I gotta just list this stuff out. I gotta get the emotions out. I'm sure I'm forgetting some changes but these are the ones that mattered most to me. These will be in categories of how each change made me feel: Unforgivable, Not happy about it but whatever, Indifferent/mixed/neutral, Okay with it, Hey that's a good change/makes sense, and Yes good thank you this is amazing.

Obviously spoilers below.

UNFORGIVABLE:

Nikolai didn't call Alina "lovely" at all not even once and that makes me so mad, I love that that's his nickname for her in the books.

Where was my little baby angel Misha? But also, if I had had to watch a little boy in the middle of all of that I'd have cried, his presence in the book was enough so maybe we're luck they cut him out.

Where was Oncat and by extension Hershaw and Stigg?

Genya's scars. Yes she heals them but the stage they're in when she first gets them is what they should have been after she heals herself. It should have initially been soo much worse.

Not letting us see the King get torn apart and humiliated. He got off way too easily. MAKE HIM SUFFER MORE.

Not happy about it but whatever:

David. This is only here because I will be in denial until I see the body. And if it is true, at least it's not as sad as the book because that actually ruined me. Otherwise it'd be in the unforgivable section.

The speedrun of the Rollins stuff. It was satisfying in the book (almost going too far) after everything they'd been through. I feel like we hadn't gotten enough to justify it at the point that it happened in the show, and now he's still sticking around and being annoying so where do we go from there?

Mal's reason for not being around Alina and not being told about the tether. In the book he's avoiding her because emotions and feelings. In the show he's literally kidnapped and physically not there. And we don't even see him while he's kidnapped? Nah. No.

I can't figure out how to articulate the feelings in my brain into words, but the whole lack of Sun Summoners at the end falls in this category. They might be planning to bring this in later in the show though.

Similar to the Sun Summoner point but cutting out the Darkling's anguish at truly being alone made me sad, I actually loved that moment in the book.

The ordinary lives full of ordinary things. Loved the direct quote. Did not love that it did not actually happen, but maybe it will later. I just love the book ending overall.

Indifferent/mixed/true North neutral:

Ummmm. The entire Shu Han plotline. I loved getting to go to Shu Han. I loved seeing Tolya and Zoya team up with the Crows. Flashbacks and hallucinations, all great. But WHY was this blade even a THING!? I thought it'd lead to like "oh, it's not a blade, that was just a past Sun Summoner using the Cut and she was an ancestor of Alina's" or something and have a point ultimately, but it was just... a special blade. I have so many questions. I now realize that this is the hint to the Lives of the Saints that Leigh mentioned. I have not gotten my hands on that book yet. I'm more ok with it now, but this doesn't feel like just a hint or shoutout since this took up way too much time and energy and plot.

The multiple Grisha who got amplified by Baghra's bone dust. I thought it was one amplifier creature per person, and that you couldn't make multiple amplifiers from one being to be used by multiple Grisha. I mean adding in all those random powerful Grisha raised the stakes, but I am so confused.

Wesper past one-night-stand. I don't think I like it. But I don't know honestly. It makes me wonder how Kuwei will factor in later on.

Baghra figuring it out for Mal. It definitely made things move along faster. But personally, I kind of loved the chunk of time when Alina was worried she'd accidentally committed incest with the Darkling.

Okay with it:

The absence of white hair. It's ok with me.

Jeordie past reveal to fellow Crows so early. This was leaning towards hate but after finishing the season it's fine I guess. There were bigger gripes.

No Sturmhond tailoring. I had a feeling they wouldn't do it so I wasn't disappointed.

Controversial choice: The weird hint of Tolya/Inej at the end of the show. I am not necessarily here for them as a ship, I personally like the idea that Tolya is ace or aro, BUT I don't mind adding it in for the drama. Especially since it would mean I get more Tolya. Update: I've made a whole post about them.

Hey that's a good change/makes sense:

Combining the Palace and Spinning Wheel events. At first I was a little confused because it all was happening so soon, but that's more because I went into this season thinking it'd just be Siege and Storm and not realizing they'd cover Ruin and Rising too. I get why they did it, and it was a little repetitive in the books.

Not doing the Ice Court and instead mixing in parts of Crooked Kingdom. Most of Six of Crows took place over like 3 days so it'd be hard to stretch it out to line up with Alina's story. It was smart to pick bits of CK instead to add to the new parts.

Bringing in Dominik rather than just having flashbacks later. That was great.

The Nikolai shadow monster. I was worried they'd leave it out completely, but they just changed the order of events. So it's ok. But I will miss the emotional devastation that reading the description of the transformation caused me.

Keeping the powers. I personally didn't mind her losing them in the book, but I know a lot of people have problems with it and if Alina's sticking around she'll need her powers. Also, we definitely did not see her use them again until that last shot right? So are they completely changing the shadow thing too? Basically, I think the power loss is going to come up later and they just changed the timeline of when.

YES GOOD THANK YOU THIS IS AMAZING:

Jesper and his mom. I simultaneously love the show for doing that and also I hate them for the emotional distress it has caused me.

The bee that landed on Zoya's shoulder. I see you. I am not ready. (I also thought this was the Lives of the Saints hint not the blade)

Cutting out 99% of the Apparat. I imagine they'll do all his stuff later on now, but I hate that man so much and I'm glad we didn't have to suffer through him yet.

Showing us more scenes in Novyi Zem. I LOVED the costume design of the Zemeni. It was great. It made me happy.

Leaning into the political marriage. YES. This is what I wanted from the books. I was worried the show wouldn't touch Nikolina at all but they are really leaning into it while leaving the Zoyalai door open. The "thinking about me instead of forgetting about him" line was used and I am so happy.

Separating Mal and Alina so they can figure out if they love each other for each other or if it was destiny. I think the show is going to end with Malina so I like that this will give more to their ship if the show gets another season and we get to see them come back together.

Alina being in the Triumvirate. I can't even let myself think about David, but I am happy these three girls get to be the Triumvirate.

The abundance of Tolya. Just. Tolya. In general. Because I love him. Love him in the books. Love him in the show. Love love love Tolya.

I think overall, I liked or at least tolerated and understood most of the changes. But the changes that I didn't like, I really did not like.

If they can just have Nikolai call Alina "lovely" even once in the next season, I'll forgive everything. Honestly that's the one thing I'm somehow angriest about. I just really was looking forward to hearing Nikolai say "lovely."

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone spoilers #sab spoilers #if you didn't like the season then you'll be disappointed in this post because most changes ended up neutral or better

[krovscastlerpg]

Arnon Ceanai | Villager | 26 | Halfling (Seelie) | Versatile

"All destinies go awry if you try to change any one."

Following the unsightly conclusion to the Second War and the consequential closing of the portals to the Faerie Realm, Arnon’s understanding of the damage caused to a sense of civil calm amongst his species and the vampires in power was drilled into him by his mother, Elora. And so the seed of muted resentment toward those who altered it was planted, never to be removed. Whilst he’s technically incapable of hating the Vampiric powers that be, the contempt he feels toward them outweighs any immediate chance of warming to them any time soon. Arnon and his mother have always been close despite the distance placed between them following the council’s decision to exile women and children from the town. They write to one another frequently and Arnon visits as much as he can whenever free time becomes available – still, a sense of inescapable guilt nags him on the daily that he could be doing more to ensure her comfort and safety.

Arnon is currently employed at Summer Secrets as both a way to earn coin for himself to keep a roof over his head as well as a way to reconnect with his Fae roots. He enjoys the sociable aspect of interacting with customers and having his own breathing space amongst like-minded folk. The job gives him a heightened sense of independence and maturity, as well as the chance to familiarise himself with the wider community. He’s still learning when and where it’s appropriate to run his mouth in regard to his strong feelings towards the inherent social disconnect between the species inhabiting the town but, as with all things, it’s a learning curve for him.

Arnon’s Seelie heritage has not gone unnurtured. Despite the distinct lack of a male influence and purebred Fae tutelage, both Arnon and his mother have sought to educate him on his heritage and abilities over the years to make the most of the blessings bestowed upon him by blood. He’d never breathe a word of it to a single soul, but Arnon’s dual heritage has been a point of contention for the young halfling from the moment he was old enough to fully comprehend where it placed him in the hierarchy of the world around him; he is consistently torn between not being Seelie enough and too human to truly count as something worthy of inheriting his father’s legacy. Arnon’s father, Abbán Ceanai, has little to do with either Arnon or his mother. Arnon is one of many of Abbán’s bastards spread across the lands. As far as Arnon is concerned, he’s never needed his father in the picture. He’s happy to carve his own path alongside whatever the fates have in mind for him.

Despite his inherent good inclinations as a direct result of his Seelie heritage, Arnon’s human nature is as large a part of himself as his Fae heritage is. The majority of the time, Arnon is a pleasant boy, agreeable in temperament and undeniably pleasant in approach. However, if provoked or slighted (consciously or otherwise), his defences will raise almost immediately. If slighted, he’s the type to act first and think later, much to his mother’s anguish. They’ve both lost count of the number of streetside scraps and brawls he’s found himself involved in over the years, though he always tries to approach each new day with a ‘wipe the slate of yesterday clean’ attitude. Carrying around any more grievances than he already does would weigh him down entirely. 

That being said, he does hold a significant level of resentment towards the vampires in power and looks upon the castle with residual disdain. Power imbalances never sit right with him and he does little to hide such a fact from being known, even finding himself subconsciously looking down on slaves due to viewing them as willingly submitting to oppression. On the number of occasions he’s been face-to-face with any individual possessing vampiric prowess, Arnon has always fought to be civil at the very least but, as always, has struggled to bite his tongue in response to any statements he feels are soaked in ignorance or hubris, often to his detriment. Most days, he’s happy to attempt to pretend the castle doesn’t exist and he can focus on his little bubble of the village.

Positive Traits: Loyal (to those he trusts), motivated, perceptive, responsible, humorous. 

Negative Traits: Naive, stubborn, argumentative, impulsive, rowdy.

3 turn-ons: Degradation, knife play, playfighting.

3 turn-offs: Scat, feet, daddy kink.

#supernatural rp #smut rp #m/s rp #fae rp #ewan mitchell #character #arnon ceanai

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 2

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

DAN 

On the way to Castle Black, Dan noticed that Jon had started to realise The Watch was not as full of honour and bravery as he’d anticipated. The first time they had captured criminals to join the ranks, his eyes had widened and Tyrion Lannister had made it a point to mention how bad most of the people joining The Watch were. Jon had known, as had everyone, that criminals could choose to go to The Wall instead of being tried or executed, but it seemed that he had never really considered what that meant. Having to join arms with a fair amount of uneducated savages with no honour to count for had crushed Jon’s soul. It pained Dan to see his brother in such anguish, even if he did not mention it out loud.

Once they arrived, they looked around the castle. It had a Common Hall where the brothers of The Night's Watch ate and drank by the fire, a rookery where their ravens lived, a library, the towers, an armoury, and the barracks. It was an interesting place; the food was kept in the vaults so that the cold could keep everything frozen, there were underground tunnels leading to the other side of The Wall, and then there was The Wall itself. It was three times as tall as any castle he had ever seen and so white it almost looked like a thick layer of icy glass keeping Westeros safe from whatever was beyond it.

Before long, they were introduced to Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was grateful both for the addition of recruits to the quickly depleting ranks and for an opportunity to ask Tyrion Lannister to get the resources they needed to man The Wall. Dan did enjoy the stories they told but didn’t quite feel welcome in the group, so he often took to standing outside the Common Hall and staring at the courtyard lost in thought. And so their first weeks at Castle Black went by; Jon focusing on his training before taking his vows and Dan… trying not to freeze to death.

Daydreaming or dreaming of any kind had never been an issue for Dan, but there was something to be said about the cold at The Wall. Dan was not one to complain about the weather, but being at Castle Black was quite different from the beginning of winter at Winterfell, his mind could barely focus on anything other than the cold. He wrapped himself in his heaviest cloak and watched his brother fight against the other recruits. Ser Alliser Thorne, in charge of training them, seemed set on getting the young men to hate and potentially hurt each other. 

Dan watched in awe as his brother fought them one by one, easily overcoming them with a few swings of his sword or a good punch. They had no chance against Jon. Thorne yelled about their incompetence, urging the others to beat Jon. The man looked set on putting Jon in his place. Dan had to wonder what aggravated the man more: the fact that Jon came from a good family, such as himself, or the fact that he was a bastard. It was probably both - he looked like the kind of person who would never give you a pass on anything.

The Common Hall’s door opened behind Dan and he tried not to flinch, keeping his eyes on the men training below. Tyrion Lannister’s voice startled him. “What a charming man.” 

Dan was about to respond when another voice joined. 

“I don’t need him to be charming, I need him to turn a bunch of criminals and peasants into good fighters. If they don’t learn fast, they will not live another month. The wall is no place for incompetent men,” the Lord Commander said, his face twisted with a sneer. 

One of the rangers approached them and delivered a letter to the Lord Commander. “A raven arrived for the Stark children,” he said, before retiring. 

Dan turned on the spot and eagerly waited for the news. “Is everything alright?” He didn’t complain about his message being read as he was a guest, but it did bother him. 

“I am not sure,” Mormont said before handing him the message. 

Dan looked at it, his eyebrows rising as he saw the first line: “To my dear sons.”  

His mother had always despised Jon and he had no doubt that that hadn’t changed in their absence, but the penmanship was clearly hers. This was a message only for them - for both of them. 

“My heart yearns for you, my children. The dark cold has finally reached Winterfell as the red moon sets with Summer. I am not sad because of it, I know the cub shall run and bite again one day, the Rivers will flow and turn the rocks into dust, but my love will remain with both of you. May the white skies and dark nights keep you from harm.”   

“Well, what does it say?” Lord Tyrion asked. 

“Mother misses us and wishes that we stay safe. She merely wrote it in the same way she used to tell us stories growing up,” Dan said, offering him the parchment in hopes that he did not understand it. 

He read it a few times and hummed. “How curious,” he smiled, returning it to Dan. 

Dan shrugged and looked over his shoulder. Training had ended. He walked down the stairs as calmly as he could and made his way down to the armoury, hoping to catch his brother there. 

To his surprise, when he opened the door, he saw three of the men previously training cornering Jon. Two of them holding him down and the other pressing a knife to his throat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dan yelled, cursing himself for not carrying his sword. He took a step forward but the man with the knife tsked at him, pressing the tip of the blade to Jon’s skin, a drop of blood already visible. 

“If you move another muscle, you can say goodbye to your bastard brother.”

The door creaked behind Dan as Tyrion walked in. “Well… what do we have here?” 

“What are you looking at, Halfman?” 

“You have interesting faces. Yes, very distinctive faces - all of you,” Tyrion said. 

“Why do you care about our faces?”

“I just think they would look wonderful on a spike in King’s Landing. Perhaps I’ll tell my sister, the Queen, about it.”

Dan saw the conspirators’ hands relax around Jon as they looked into each other’s eyes. 

Jon pushed them away, his face full of frustration and rage as stood back and touched his neck. “Everyone knew what this place was and nobody told me about it, no one but you. Not Father or Benjen. They let me come here to rot on The Wall with a bunch of criminals.” 

Dan wanted to comfort him but he knew Jon would probably push him away to not appear weak in front of the others. He watched as one of them walked out while the others turned around and started putting their training equipment away.

Tyrion gave him an unimpressed smile. “Grenn’s father left him too, outside of Thorne House when he was three. Pyp was caught stealing a wheel of cheese; he said his sister hadn’t eaten in three days. He was given a choice: a hand or The Wall . I’ve been asking the Lord Commander about them. Fascinating stories.” 

“They hate me because I’m better!” Jon said, either ignoring or uncaring that Grenn and Pyp were still in the room with them. 

Dan leaned back against the door and watched them. Both were right. The other men were clearly jealous of Jon’s skill, but their lives had been incredibly different. Nobody knows what they would have done in those circumstances.

“They were not trained since childhood by the master of arms or lived comfortably in a castle. I doubt any of them had ever held a real sword before they came here,” Tyrion said, and turned to leave. “Oh, Catelyn Stark sent you a message.” He looked at Dan in the eyes before making his way to the courtyard. 

“A message? For me?” Jon asked.

“For both of us,” Dan corrected him and looked at Grenn and Pyp pointedly. “We should speak somewhere private.” 

Jon nodded and led Dan out. He stopped and looked around briefly before making his way to the crane the crows used to go up The Wall. He opened the cage and climbed inside gesturing for Dan to come in and closed the door. A young steward stood to the side, handling the pulley system for it to move. He looked bored but perked up when he saw them, taking a good look at their faces. 

As they moved up, closer and closer to the top, the winds got stronger, seeping deep into Dan’s bones, nearly freezing his insides. He felt as if he would never be warm again. “Won’t there be someone up there?” He said, his teeth chattering. 

“Only a few people, they won’t hear us in the wind. Not if we stay close enough.”

Dan nodded. Soon, they were at the top and nodding to the guard trying to keep warm with a fire beside the crane. Dan had never considered how everything would look up there. He was surprised to see a system of ice corridors as tall as a common house with pieces cut out on the side facing the Haunted Forest. One could step onto the ledge and see snow as far as the eye could reach, like an eternal land of winter with a clear beginning but no end. 

Jon tapped him on the shoulder and led the way not to the nearest fire, but to the one farther away, a good distance away from the man. 

“What did she say?”

“That is the problem. I need you to help me decipher the message. I have some clues to it but not all of it.”

Jon extended his hand and Dan gave him the letter. He unrolled the parchment and read it a few times, his frown deepening. “The first part is the most confusing.”

“That bit reminds me of a story she used to tell us when we were kids. Did I ever tell you about the man who captured the sun?” 

“You mentioned the story but never the details.” 

Dan tried his best to remember her words exactly before telling Jon the story. “There once was a man who everyone loved. He was kind and handsome, a good father and husband but while in his quest to give his family everything, he let greed consume him. He travelled from kingdom to kingdom, conquering it all, capturing people as slaves, taking over castles, killing Ladies and Lords and commoners alike - even attacking children in their beds. When he finally made his way home, his family did not recognize him, he was old and grey and his eyes were almost clear as glass. His wife had died many years before, most of his children too, and when he met his last son, he too did not see him for the little boy he left behind and snapped his neck. Fueled by grief and hate, he decided he would finish what he’d started and captured the sun, letting darkness and cold descend upon his land and the blue moon rise. He wrapped his arms around the sun so that nobody could steal it in his sleep and burst into flames.” 

“Darkness and cold…” Jon said. 

“But the blue moon is now red.” 

“Why?” Jon asked. “Was there a mention of summer in the story?” 

“No, no mention of the seasons.” 

Jon took another look at the letter. “I know the cub shall run and bite again one day… that is Bran.” 

“Yes,” Dan said, trying to make the message fit into the story. “Has someone attacked Winterfell?”

“Why do you think that? Why wouldn’t she ask for help instead of sending a coded message?”

“I guess… Bran -”

“What?” Jon asked.

“Someone attacked Bran,” said Dan with more conviction. “The dark cold reached Winterfell and attacked a child in its bed. And the blue moon turned red.”

Jon’s face twisted in horror. “She says he is alive… Summer. Here,” he said, running his finger over the ink. “Summer is written with a capital S, that’s a name; she protected him.”

“Why is she keeping this a secret?” 

“The rivers will flow,” Jon repeated. “She’s leaving.” 

“No, I don’t think that’s what it means,” Dan said. “She can’t leave Bran, especially if he was attacked.” 

“She’s a Tully. The bastards of the Riverlands are called Rivers.”

“Robb must be staying then,” Dan said. 

“Turning the rocks into dust. Dragonstone?” Jon asked. “No, it’s dust, not Sand. Casterly Rock.”

Dan frowned; it made no sense. “Will she fight the Lannisters alone?” He shook his head. “I need to return to Winterfell. I wish I could stay for your vows.” 

“This is more important. Take Balerion and Ghost.”

“Ghost belongs with you. You will need to watch your back here, for more reasons than one.” 

“You will need to watch your back with our Lannister guest.”

“Ghost stays.” Dan looked around, making sure there was nobody listening. “I guess Robb and I will have to think of something.”

“Yes. He will not try anything for now, not without an army.”

“Do you think it was him?”

“It was probably the Queen - or the Kingslayer.”

They heard someone cough close by followed by steps. Dan braced himself for throwing the Queen’s brother beyond The Wall if it was him, but a head full of long dark hair popped around the corner. It was Uncle Benjen. 

He smiled and walked over to them, pulling each into a hug before standing beside Jon looking out into the wilderness. “I wanted to be here when you saw it for the first time. I am leaving in the morning.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I'm the first ranger, my job is out there,” said Uncle Benjen. “There’d been disturbing reports.”

“What kind of reports?” Dan asked.

“The kind you don’t want to believe.”

Jon nodded. “I’m ready, I won’t let you down.”

Uncle Benjen gave him a meaningful look. “You’re not going. You’re no ranger, Jon.”

“But I’m better than-” Jon tried,

“Better than no one. Here a man is what he earns when he earns it. We’ll speak when I return.” Benjen patted him on the back and nodded to Dan on his way out. 

Dan blinked repeatedly when Tyrion Lannister drunkenly walked past them and pissed off the edge of The Wall.

--

Many strange things had happened to Dan before, but he could say that tagging along with someone from the family that had tried to assassinate his little brother was one of the weirdest ones. He hadn’t even planned it, but as soon as Jon heard Tyrion asking Dan if he wanted to see King’s Landing next, he said it was a good idea. After all, he had the option to stay in Winterfell as the Lannister had expressed his wish to stay there once again, although Dan was not quite sure if said visit would have good results. In any case, if his family decided to end him, it would be better for Dan to be there and repel any attacks that may come their way.

DAENERYS

Danny rolled in bed and huffed. She had not been able to get comfortable anywhere as of late and she felt constantly hungry, but the dried horse meat was not something she could continue to eat day in and day out without feeling incredibly sick. 

She checked that all the candles around her dragon eggs were still lit and looked at her servant and friend, Irri. “Would you get me anything else to eat?” 

“I don’t think there’s anything else, Khaleesi.”

“I just - I feel tired of eating horse meat all the time. It makes me feel sick.” 

Irri looked at her briefly and pressed her hand against Danny’s chest, cupping her breast. “Oh!” Daenerys laughed in shock. “What are you doing?”

“You changed, Khaleesi!” 

“What do you mean?”

“When was last time you bleed, Khaleesi?” 

“I - I don’t know. I think… not since the last time you helped me.”

“You have a baby, Khaleesi!” Irri said and walked out of the tent, asking the guard outside to get something else for her to eat. 

Daenerys smiled. A child. She brought her hand down to her stomach and gently ran her fingers on her skin. She could almost weep with excitement. Viserys was her only family and he had never given her the kind of care or love she actually desired or needed. She’d always been nothing more than a game piece for him to use and dispose of in his games. Now she had a husband that cared for her and had given her a child. This was the beginning of a new stage in her life, her chance at happiness. She would make sure to give this child all the love and family moments she had missed growing up. They would be the happiest child in the world.

Irri walked in with a smile. “You will eat goat today.” 

“We will eat goat today,” she smiled back. “Thank you.”

Jorah’s voice carried from the outside. “I must ride to Qohor.” 

“We ride for Vaes Dothrak.” Rakharo’s gentle voice answered him.

“I will catch up to you. The horde’s easy to find,” Jorah said and Danny heard him gallop away. She would miss his company but she was certain that he would be back. For the time being, she would focus on her child and continue learning the Dothraki language.

NED

Ned unrolled the message and let out a sigh of relief. Bran had woken up and even though he would never walk again, it seemed he would make a full recovery. 

“Good news?” Petyr Baelish said as he walked past him. “You should share them with your wife.”

“My wife is in Winterfell,” Ned answered.

“Is she?”

Ned decided to follow the man. His smile let Ned know that Baelish knew something he didn’t. They walked out of the keep and down the city streets until they were standing outside of one of the whore houses Baelish ran. 

“I thought she would be safe here,” he smiled. 

Ned pushed the little scoundrel against the wall for implying his Cat would be in such a place. “You think you are a funny man, don’t you? A very funny man,” he said, pressing his arm against Petyr’s throat as he looked into his eyes. 

“Ned!” said Cat from a window right above them before promptly closing it. 

He let go of ‘Littlefinger’ and ran up the stairs, hugging her tightly. How he had missed her! “What are you doing here?” 

“Someone tried to murder Bran. With this…” Cat said, presenting a blunt object wrapped piece of cloth to him. “Summer saved him.” 

Ned nodded, breathing a little easier, knowing that his son was saved. He opened it to reveal an ornate dagger, made of Valyrian Steel and a carved gold handle as well. “This is a noble man’s weapon. Who does it belong to?” 

“It used to be mine, but I lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a bid,” Baelish said. 

“We should let Robert know,” Ned said. 

“Implying that the Queen’s brother tried to kill your son would be considered treason.” 

“But we have proof,” Cat replied. 

“No, it’s your word against his and the only man who can say otherwise has no throat thanks to the boy’s wolf.”

“Then I will find proof and take it to Robert,” Ned said.

“You can count on my services,” Littlefinger said.

Catelyn smiled, turning to Ned and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Petyr is a good friend. He’s like a little brother to me, he would never betray my trust.” 

“Don’t let anyone know. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Ned resisted the urge to throw Bealish out the window and focused on keeping Cat safe instead. “I will deal with this. You must leave. It is not safe for you here, especially now.” 

Catelyn nodded and kissed him one last time before pulling her hood over her hair to conceal her identity for the road and walking out. The last thing Ned said to her was to control her temper and stay out of trouble. She was a smart woman, and Ned felt blessed every day since they got married, he couldn’t wait to be back at Winterfell, at her side and enjoying life with his children. 

--

He decided to check on Arya and her progress with the ‘Dancing Master’ he’d hired for her; Syrio Forel, a skilled swordsman from Braavos. Ned knew the man had the right personality to catch his daughter’s full attention and the skill to teach her a way of fighting that would suit her size perfectly. It was the perfect solution to keep her from running around unprotected in King’s Landing as well as give her the tools to keep herself safe.

Ned stood by the door and watched them train with wooden swords. 

“This is the water dance. It is swift,” he said gliding his sword gracefully through the air. “And sudden!” He changed the direction of his sword and surprised Arya by pointing it directly at her. If it had been a real weapon, she’d be dead. “All men are made of water. If you pierce them the water leaks out and they die.” He made a stabbing motion on her belly.

Arya smiled at Syrio. 

“Now you will strike me,” the man said and turned his back on her.

Lifting her wooden sword, Arya ran towards him, trying to poke his back as she yelled, no skill in her movements. Syrio stepped aside and continued walking in the opposite direction in a fluid motion that looked effortless, as if he hadn’t even been inconvenienced by her attack. Then, he stood in a fencing position and let her copy his movements before waiting for her next attack. 

As Arya ran towards him, flinging her sword, Syrio stepped aside, causing her to fall to the ground and instructed her to get back up. They took their positions again and he let Arya swing her sword at him, catching her every time, poking her with his wooden sword, saying the word “dead” every time to demonstrate how easy it would be to kill her if she was not careful enough. 

The smile slid from Ned’s face as he watched her struggle. 

--

Unable to stop thinking about his friend’s death, Ned decided to try and uncover the truth behind his passing. If the letter from Lysa Arryn was right, the murder attempt against Bran was not the only crime the Lannisters were behind. But this time, the clear person behind the plot was the Queen.

After the small council meeting called in emergency because of the increased violence caused by the influx of visitors from all over Westero’s for ‘The Hand’s Tournament', Ned asked Grand Maester Pycelle about Jon Arryn’s last moments. 

The Grand Maester only mentioned that Jon’s illness struck him very hard and very fast, causing him to die of natural causes. The night prior to his death, Jon had borrowed a book from him and the next he was gone. 

It was a big tome called “The History and Lineages of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms” containing a record of births of every noble family and their children with descriptions. Ned asked to borrow said book, but before leaving with it, he asked the Grand Maester if he thought it could have been poison, a woman’s weapon. 

The old man’s eyes widened.”I do not think so,” he said. “But poison is the weapon of women, cravens and eunuchs.” He was clearly trying to implicate Lord Varys in the matter.

Ned nodded and thanked him for his help before going in search of his daughters. He caught Arya, barefoot, standing on one leg on atop small staircase right outside his room.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m practising my water dancing!” She said with an excited smile.

“That would be a nasty fall. Be careful.” 

Arya set the other foot on the ground. “Syrio said I need to be faster so I have to chase cats. He says you have to be quick to catch them.” 

Ned nodded. “He’s right about that.”

--

Lord Baelish walked with him through the gardens where they could speak privately. Ned didn’t like him at all, but Littlefinger was a well-connected man and his only ally in his quest for the truth.  

“Before his untimely death, Jon Arryn was seen visiting Tobho Mott's smithy with his esquire quite a few times.”

“Why?” Ned asked.

“I believe the person who can answer that best is not me.” 

“This esquire - where can I find him?” 

Baelish raised his eyebrows. “Ser Hugh was knighted shortly after Arryn’s death.” 

“For what?”

“Indeed.” 

“I will go speak to him.”

“That would not be wise - not at all. See that little boy?” Baelish asked. “That is one of Varys’ little birds.” 

Ned looked at the boy. He was dressed in plain clothes, not a day older than 4 years old. 

“See that gardener?” 

He turned to the opposite side and locked eyes with a very old gardener who was staring at him intently.

“That one is the Queen’s. Many people are interested in your comings and goings, Lord Stark.” Baelish smiled. “See that septa reading a book?”

“Yes. Is she Varys’ or the Queen’s?”

“That one is mine. Everyone has ears around the city. You must be careful. Do you have a man in your guard that you can trust?”

Ned thought about it briefly. Was there someone’s hands he would put his life in? “Yes.”

“Send him to speak to Ser Hugh.” 

“Thank you, Lord Baelish, I apologise for distrusting you at first.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Distrusting me was the smartest thing you have done since you got off your horse.”

--

As Ned and Jory made their way to the smithy atop their white horses, they saw many people watching them closely. 

“The esquire said that he wants to speak to the hand himself,” Jory said. 

Ned groaned. “Did you tell him I sent you?” 

“I did.” 

“Very well. I will go speak to him.” Ned got off his horse and turned to the door.

“We should leave. You never know who has eyes here,” Jory said. 

“Then let them look,” Ned said, before walking inside. 

The blacksmith was an old man, not much older than Jon Arryn himself. 

“Oh, Lord Stark! Welcome to my shop! How can I help you?”

“I got news that the previous hand came to visit in the weeks before his death.” When the man nodded, Ned continued. “Why did he come here?”

“He said he came to see the boy.” 

“I want to see the boy as well,” he said. The young blacksmith apprentice working in the background set his tools down and looked at him expectantly. 

“Gendry, come here.” The blacksmith said. “Show The Hand the helmet you made, lad.” 

The boy grabbed a metal helmet shaped like a bull’s head and passed it on to him. He stood before Ned and raised his eyebrows. “It is not for sale.” 

“This is incredible craftsmanship.” 

“It’s not for sale.”

“This is The Hand of the King!” The blacksmith said, raising his voice.

“It’s not for sale. I made it for myself,” Gendry said. 

“My apologies for the offence, My Lord”

“There is no offence.” Ned nodded and returned the piece. “What did you speak about with Jon Arryn?”

“At first he asked if I was well paid, if I was happy here. Then he asked about my mother - who she was, what she looked like.”

“What did you tell him?” Pressed Ned.

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair and sang to me.” The boy seemed to be uncomfortable when it came to that topic.

Could it be possible? “Look at me, Gendry.” 

As Ned was met with the boy’s blue eyes and raven black hair, it was too easy to imagine him, a little taller, a hammer as big as his head in his hand, leading the rebellion against the Mad King. “Thank you, Gendry. If you ever want to wield a sword instead of forge one, come to me.”

He walked out and rode back to the Red Keep. He reached his chambers as fast as he could, writing a short message for Robert and sent Jory in search of the King, who at that time of day was probably rolling around in bed with some woman, or drinking enough wine to drown someone in. 

Jory returned shortly after being turned away by the Kingslayer. Ned groaned. They would have to find another way.

---

The day of the bloody tournament finally arrived and Ned wanted no part in it. He hesitantly allowed his girls to go along with Jory and Lord Baelish, to let them experience a few of the benefits of living in the capital. He had briefly considered not allowing them but Sansa was still hurt about him killing Lady and Robert would take great offence if none of the Starks were present.

He decided to make better use of his time by going through the tome Jon had been reading. He had yet to find a clue about what he was looking for in it. When he reached the record of his own family, he smiled. All of his children were there, but so were the deaths of his brother and father, Lyanna’s kidnapping and subsequent death too. Someone was still missing. He knew he shouldn’t but it wouldn’t be the first time he was breaking the rules for the boy. 

Ned grabbed a quill and dipped it in the inkwell, adding ‘Jon Snow’ as his son. The writing was small and had to be squeezed in on the page but he didn’t want Jon to go beyond The Wall without any official record of him left behind. He was as much of a Stark as any of them.

There was a knock on the door, but before he could answer, Cersei Lannister walked in with one of her venomous smiles. 

“Your Grace,” he said. 

“I would like to put our differences about what happened at The Kingsroad aside, Lord Stark. I recognize that forcing you to kill the beast was extreme, but sometimes we go to extremes for our children. How is Sansa?”

“She is enjoying King’s Landing,” he lied. Sansa had hardly enjoyed anything since Lady died. 

“She seems to be the only Stark doing so.”

“Is there anything you need, Your Grace?” He asked, tired of the charade already. 

“Why are you not at your tournament?”

“I want no part in it. The fact that it has my name doesn’t make it mine.” Ned watched as her entire demeanour changed. The smile slipped from her face. 

“What are you doing here, Lord Stark?” She asked in an accusative tone.

Ned knew what she meant. “The king called on me to serve him and The Realm and that’s what I will do.”

Cersei raised one eyebrow at him. “You can’t help him; he will do as he wishes no matter what you say. You are just here to pick up the pieces.” 

“I will do it anyway.”

“You will just take your orders and follow them, won’t you?” She asked. “I guess it makes sense. Your brother was trained to lead and you were trained to follow orders.”

It seemed that they were done speaking in riddles and exchanging fake pleasantries. “I was also trained to kill my enemies, Your Grace.”

Cersei smiled widely and nodded. “As was I.” She turned on the spot and left without another word. 

Ned closed the book in front of him and decided to go to the tournament after all. He would need to stay as close to Arya and Sansa as possible. 

He made his way to the jousting event, quickly finding his front row seat along his family. He took a careful look around, checking who was sitting close. Ptyr Baelish was sitting next to Sansa, and Septa Mordane on the other side of Arya, but she moved to the side to let Ned sit with his daughters. Jory stood close by.

A few rows behind was Renly, sitting with a young man Ned had never seen. He looked quite peculiar with his black hair and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in Tyrell attire, a gold rose pin on his leather armour, many rings on his fingers and a gold pendant hanging from his neck. Ned was almost taken aback by the sight of this man. He didn’t have brown hair as the rest of the Tyrells, nor was he well known in King’s landing for being part of the family, but he was apparently regarded as such. 

Robert sat beside Cersei, surrounded by his children yet he looked completely miserable as he drank wine from his horn. 

“I’ve been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!” He yelled. Cersei looked at him in disgust and left without a word. 

Sansa looked at Joffrey and smiled at him but he turned his face with a frown. 

“Why do they call you Littlefinger?” Arya asked Lord Baelish. 

“Arya! Don’t be rude!” Septa Mordane admonished her.

“It’s alright. I come from a small spit of land called The Fingers and I was quite a small child, so, you see, it’s only a clever nickname.”

“Who’s that?” Sansa asked as she looked at an exceedingly tall rider atop a black horse. 

“That is Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him The Mountain. The Hound’s older brother. And his opponent, Ser Hugh of the Veil; he was Jon Arryn’s esquire.” 

Both riders bowed to Robert and took their place. Ser Hugh went first, but The Mountain nudged his horse soon after. Only seconds later, Ser Gregor’s lance broke on Ser Hugh’s shield, breaking it into pieces and throwing him off the horse. Just as he hit the ground, Sansa let out a scream. Ned stood from his seat as he watched Ser Hugh die - a piece of his opponent’s lance sticking out from his chest. The man had taken the answers Ned was looking for to the grave. 

The crowd was horrified, but they still watched intently as the body was dragged away, just as they always did. 

“Have you ever heard of the story of The Hound?” Baeslish whispered to Sansa.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Ned said, sitting back down.

“I want to know. Please tell me, Lord Baelish.” 

“The Hound was just a pup, six years old, maybe. Gregor, already a big boy with a reputation and a talent for violence, found The Hound playing by the fire with a wooden toy soldier - it was Gregor’s toy. Without saying a word he grabbed his little brother by the hair and pressed his face into the open fire, holding him there as he screamed. The Hound has hated his brother ever since. Not many people know the story.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Sansa said. 

“Don’t. If The Hound Heard you, you’d be in danger.” 

A short break was announced and Ned looked around, trying to find Robert. As he made his way to the King’s tent, he saw the guards that had dragged Ser Hugh’s body standing close by. They stepped aside as soon as they saw him. He was surprised to find Ser Barristan, one of the golden cloaks, looking at the dead man; two sisters of The Seven were already working on him.

According to Ser Barristan, Ser Hugh had no family in King’s Landing and his bad luck had sealed his fate. All jousters drew straws that determined the matches and he had been the one to come up against The Mountain. 

The brief conversation Ned held with Ser Barristan reminded him that even men of honour had stood beside the Targaryens and simply sworn loyalty to Robert after the Mad King’s death. In King’s Landing, alliances lasted as long as the power of those involved. 

Ned rushed to Robert’s tent when Ser Barristan mentioned the King was planning on joining the tournament. 

“Your mum was a dumb whore with a fat ass!” Robert yelled at his esquire, a scrawny-looking Lannister boy. “Look at this idiot! He can’t even put on a man’s armour properly!” he yelled looking at Ned. 

“You are too fat for your armour,” Ned observed. 

“Too fat, you say? Is that how you speak to your King?” Robert asked and Ned nodded. The esquire’s eyes widened, fearing another outburst. “Don’t stand there, boy. You heard The Hand, the King’s too fat for his armour! Go get the breastplate stretcher! Now!” 

The boy ran out of the tent. “Breastplate stretcher?” Ned laughed. 

“Maybe he will return when someone invents one,” Robert laughed, already reaching for a glass of wine. 

“I heard you intend to joust today.”

“Yes, I haven’t gotten a good fight in a long time. I feel restless.” 

“Where is the honour of fighting against men who can't hit back? There’s not a man in the seven kingdoms who would dare hurt you.” 

“Do you think those cowards would let me win?”

“Of course they will; you are the King.”

Robert huffed but nodded. 

--

Ned returned to his place and sat beside Sansa. 

“Where is Arya?” 

Sansa shrugged. “She said she had dancing lessons.” 

He nodded and tried to place his hand on hers but she crossed her arms. Her face softened as he saw a knight approaching. “The Knight of the Flowers!” She exclaimed excitedly, waving just her fingertips at the knight. 

Ser Loras Tyrell guided his white horse towards them, his impeccable silver armour was adorned with engraved roses and his long brown hair gave him a gentle look, nothing like Joffrey. He smiled at her, giving her a red rose and a nod. 

“Thank you, Ser Loras,” she said, blushing. 

Ned didn’t have the heart to tell her that Ser Loras was merely paying his respects but his eyes and his heart were only focused on Renly Baratheon. In fact, the lovers exchanged a heated look, before the knight took his place beside The Mountain, bowing gracefully before Robert. 

For a moment, Ned’s mind wandered back to Dan, how he was doing at The Wall, wondering if he had left already. He turned and looked at the Tyrell man sitting by Renly; he looked close to his son’s age, Ned didn’t know why, but he thought they would get along well. 

Sansa clutched to his arm. “Don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him!” She pleaded. 

Ser Loras received his helmet and lance, preparing for the match. There wasn’t much Ned could do to stop them so he held her hand tightly, hoping the young man would survive.

Lord Baelish, now sitting behind Ned, looked at Renly. “One hundred Dragon Gold on The Mountain.”

Renly smiled. “I’ll take that bet.” 

“Now, what would I buy with one hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine, or a girl from the pleasure house at Lys?

“You could even buy a friend.”

“He’s going to die,” Sansa mumbled at his side. 

Ned shook his head. “Ser Loras rides well.”

The trumpets gave the signal. Ser Gregor’s restless horse took a moment to follow his master’s orders but Ser Loras was in full control of his white mare. The Tyrell knight pushed his lance against The Mountain’s shield, throwing him to the ground, horse and all, causing them to break the fence.

Renly cheered and laughed. “Such a shame, Littlefinger.  It would have been nice for you to have a friend.”

“And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?” Lord Baelish smirked, gesturing to Loras Tyrell. 

“I will have him whenever I please,” Renly said with an amused smile. The man beside him laughed and elbowed him. 

Littlefinger leaned close to Sansa and whispered: “Ser Loras was very clever, he knew his mare was in heat.” 

Sansa huffed. “Ser Loras would never do that; there’s no honour in tricks.”

“No honour and quite a bit of gold!” Baelish whispered back with a laugh, his hand briefly touching Sansa’s shoulder.

The Mountain stood from the ground and called his esquire.

“Sword!” he yelled, throwing his helmet to the ground. As soon as the grip touched his hand, he closed his fingers around it and swung the blade on his horse with a yell, the animal falling to the ground with a thud. With no hesitation, he swung his sword again, this time against Ser Loras, who was bowing before Robert. 

Loras Tyrell hit the ground, shield already up and he tried to survive the onslaught of The Mountain’s sword trying to kill him. Renly and his companion gasped, clutching at each other’s arms as they watched. Two hits, Loras’ shield could withstand but just as the wood was starting to crack, The Hound jumped from Joffrey's side, sword already in hand. 

“Let him be!” The Hound yelled as he repelled his brother’s attacks again and again, not quite overpowering him, but at least matching his force enough to survive the encounter. 

Joffrey watched with a pleased smile while his father clutched at his chair nervously, still letting the fight continue briefly. Once Ser Gregor charged against The Hound, Robert finally stood.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King!” He yelled.

The moment his voice pierced through the crowd’s murmurs, The Hound kneeled, saving himself from his brother’s last attack just by a hair. The Mountain looked at Robert, his eyes full of hate, as he threw his sword to the ground and left, a group of knights in pursuit. 

“Let him go!” Robert yelled. 

Loras stood and walked over to The Hound. “I owe you my life, Ser.” 

“I am no Ser,” Sandor Clegane said. 

Still, Loras grabbed The Hound’s hand and raised it, proclaiming him the winner. The crowd cheered for him, giving him a standing ovation for his heroic actions.

It was a bit of a humorous sight since Ser Loras was quite shorter than either of the Clegane brothers, but The Hound nodded to the Royal Family nonetheless. Despite his services for the crown, the man was feared for the scars marring his face and received no respect from anyone; not the people he served, nor the town folk. Ser Loras had just given him a piece of something that had always been denied to him. Pride.

DAN

With the first light of day, Dan got on his horse, Balerion already at his side and along Tyrion Lannister, and Yoren started the long trip back to Winterfell. With every sunset and every sunrise, Dan wished he was back home with his family, instead of with one of the members of House Lannister.

The long journey was uneventful but it still kept Dan on edge. Not only was he riding with someone who was not well regarded anywhere, but a member of the family who had conspired to kill Bran. 

The mere thought of what would happen when they arrived at Winterfell made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Still, Dan was eager to hug his little brother. If the message they received had been decoded correctly, Bran had woken up, even if he would never walk again. Dan would make sure to help him have a fulfilling life. 

----

Weeks later, Dan braced himself as they crossed the gate and made their way past the walls of Winterfell. The weather was still cold but it was not as hard to withstand as at The Wall. Once they were back at the Great Keep, Robb wrapped Dan in a tight hug and asked him why he was with the Lannister. 

“I received Mother’s message and decided to ride with him,” he whispered.  “How is Bran?” Dan asked loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“He’s still resting. Theon, take Hodor and bring Bran back to greet Dan.” Robb patted his shoulder and returned to the table and sat beside Maester Luwin, Greywind laying close to his feet. 

Theon Greyjoy nodded and went in search of Hodor. 

Tyrion nodded at Robb as a form of greeting.

Robb looked at him cooly and turned to Yoren. “Any man from the Night’s Watch is welcome at Winterfell,” he said, looking back at Tyrion without extending him the same courtesy. 

Before long, Hodor, one of the servants, came carrying Bran without any effort. Dan smiled at him; Hodor was a simple-minded man but he was always gentle and willing to help. There had always been talk about him having giant’s blood, making him taller than every Stark or every other Winterfell resident.

Dan came close to them and pulled Bran into a hug ever so gently. “I’ve missed you, little brother,” he said, trying not to choke up. 

“You didn’t have to go,” Bran complained. 

It broke Dan’s heart. He was right, there was no excuse to leave him, but Dan thought Bran would be cared for by their mother. He couldn’t have possibly imagined what would happen. “I’m sorry,” is all he dared to say in front of Tyrion as he stepped away. 

“What do you remember of your accident?” Tyrion asked.

“He remembers nothing of that day,” Maester Luwin said.

“Curious. Kneel, please,” asked Tyrion.

Bran frowned. “Why?”

“So that we can speak more comfortably. I brought you a gift and I want you to see it.” 

“Kneel, Hodor.”

Once they were at the same height, Tyrion opened a big roll of parchment and Dan leaned over them to look. It was some sort of design. 

“What is it?” asked Bran. 

“It is a saddle for -” 

Bran’s face fell. “They said I’ll never ride again.”

“You need to adapt the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to voice commands and such but it can be done. This saddle will allow you to ride upright and unaided; it will bring you a bit of freedom back.”

Bran looked at the design and back at Tyrion with wide eyes. “Is that true?”

“Yes, give this to your saddler, he will provide the rest. On horseback, you’ll be as tall as any of them.” 

“Is this a trick? Why help him?” Asked Robb, his face settling into a frown.

Tyrion looked at him and then Bran. “Because I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

“I am not a cripple!” Bran whined.

“Then I am not a dwarf! My father will rejoice to hear that!” 

“You’ve done my brother a kindness, the hospitality of Winterfell is yours,” Robb said, but his tone indicated how displeased he was to have that man between his castle walls.

“Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There is a brothel outside your walls, I will stay there and we will both sleep better because of it.”

Dan escorted Tyrion out. “How long will you be staying, My Lord?” 

“Two days I believe. I need to rest, but I am not welcome here. Better to ride as soon as possible,” the Lannister imp said. “You are still welcome to join me on my way to King’s Landing. If I don’t see you soon, I will assume you chose to stay with your family.”

Dan nodded and turned towards the Great Keep. He looked over his shoulder and saw Theon talking to the dwarf but he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, it left Greyjoy with a sour look on his face, picking up a gold coin from the mud.

--

Laying back on his own bed, beside his fireplace and cuddling up to Balerion, Dan let out a sigh of relief; it was good to be home, however long it would last. 

Balerion’s ears perked up as he looked to the door. 

“Who’s there?” Dan asked, a hand already reaching for the knife still strapped to his thigh. 

“It’s me,” Robb said. 

Dan smiled. “Well, come in then.” Finally, they would get to speak privately.

Robb walked in, Greywind at his side. Balerion marched up to greet them, demanding pets from Robb and nuzzling up to his brother. 

“How was your time at The Wall?” 

“Interesting. I learned many things.”

“Such as?” 

“People will do anything in a time of need. And the cold at Castle Black is much worse than here.”

Robb laughed. “Did you get Mum’s message?” 

“Yes. Who was it?” 

“Someone sent by the Lannisters. She had the suspicion when she left for King’s Landing, but a friend at the capital confirmed that the Valyrian Steel dagger the attacker had used belonged to Tyrion Lannister. 

“What reason could he have to try to kill Bran?”

“Maybe Bran saw something, or heard something. We don’t know and Bran doesn’t remember any of it.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I saw Bran fall?” 

“But there was no one around.” 

“Sometimes…I have dreams. I - I see myself in four paws, with black fur, running in the woods or walking about Winterfell. When Bran fell I saw him climbing the burnt tower, he got all the way up and I sat by Summer, watching him. When he got to the window, something happened and he fell, away from the tower, not close as if he had slipped.” 

“So - that is odd. But, if that was the case, and you were there, why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I woke up and ran out of bed. As soon as I got to the tower, he was already being looked over. I think -” Dan sighed, there was no reasonable way to put it. “The Starks, we were always able to reach into the bodies of animals if we were close enough with them, if there was some sort of bond. There was a book in the library that mentioned it as far back as Bran The Builder. The people with that kind of power were called Wargs.” 

“Do you believe to be one? A Warg?” 

“I think we may all be. It’s just a matter of trying.”

“If I told Maester Luwin you said that, he’d have you restrained.” 

Dan laughed. “Don’t tell him then.” He sighed deeply. “What should I do? Do I stay here with you, or do I follow Tyrion Lannister to the capital?” 

“When is he leaving?”

“In two days.”

“Then let us spend two days together and go with him. Spend time with Bran, he’s been very sad and resents Mum going away while he was not even awake to give her a kiss.”

“Aye. Let’s enjoy some family time.” Dan got up and put his boots back on, his back already complaining at him for being on his feet again. “I will go speak to Bran.” 

“Convince him to come down for supper, will you? It will be good for his mind and for his back.”

“Alright. We’ll see you there.”

--

Dan laid beside Bran on his bed, Balerion cuddling up to Summer on the other side. 

He passed a rolled-up piece of parchment to him. “I made you this,” Dan said.

He ran his small fingers on the ink tracing the lines and the letters at the bottom. “Castle Black - The Wall,” he said. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Yes. Is it really this big?” 

“It is. Bran The Builder was a very clever man.”

“Do you think the Wildlings will cross The Wall one day?” Bran looked at the drawing again and pursed his lips.

“I don’t think so. The Wall is rumoured to have magic in it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Bran rolled the parchment and set it on the chair by his bed. A big pile of books already covered most of the seat.

A crow flew and sat on the window, cawing at them repeatedly, stepping from side to side on the windowsill. Bran was startled, holding onto Dan’s arm tightly.

“Don’t listen to it,” said Old Nan. “Crows are all liars.” She watched the bird curiously for a moment before shrugging and continuing with her knitting. “I know a story about a crow!”

Bran huffed. “I hate your stories!”

Dan pursed his lips. Bran had never been so rude, especially not to Old Nan; she had cared for him since birth, just as she’d cared for all the Stark children, but she had a special place in her heart for Bran. Of course, he couldn’t fault his brother; he had lost access to everything he liked doing, like climbing and riding - he would never be a knight either. All of it at ten years old. Dan would have gone mad. He ran his hand on Bran’s hair softly.

Old Nan huffed and looked at Bran through narrowed eyes. “I know a story about a boy who hated stories. I could tell you about Ser Duncan the Tall! Those were always your favourites!”

“Those weren't my favourites. My favourites were the scary ones!”

“Oh, my sweet summer child! What do you know about fear? Fear is for the winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep; fear is for the long night when the sun hides for years and children are born and live and die all in darkness - that is the time for fear, my little Lord. When the White Walkers, led by their Night’s King,  moved through the woods thousands of years ago, there came a night that lasted a generation. Kings froze to death in their castles, same as the shepherds in their huts and women smothered their babies rather than see them starve and wept, and felt the tears freeze on their cheeks. So is this the sort of story that you like?”

Bran nodded, pulling the covers up to his chin. 

Smiling, she continued. “In that darkness, the White Walkers came for the first time. They swept through cities and kingdoms riding their dead horses, hunting with their packs of pale spiders big as hounds!”

Dan sat up and gave her a look. “Well, as lovely as the stories are, Bran and I should head down for dinner.” He got out of bed and strode to the door, pulling it open. “Hodor, would you please carry Bran to the Great Hall?” 

“Hodor!” he nodded with a smile. 

Bran looked at them but finally stretched his arms letting the man pick him up. Summer and Balerion standing immediately. And so they all marched down to eat.

--

For much of the trip, nothing out of the ordinary happened. They were not attacked, Tyrion Lannister remained his joly, sarcastic self - no indication that he’d been involved in the assassination attempt against Bran. If his own family hadn’t relayed this information to Dan, he’d have never suspected a thing. Maybe he was too gullible; maybe he was still too inexperienced to travel around Westeros on his own, but once he’d left home, things had gotten out of control, and here he was, sharing every waking moment with a man capable of killing a child. 

Three weeks after leaving they finally arrived at the crossroads and decided to stop at the inn for a hot meal and a good night’s rest. The moment they walked inside, Dan spotted Ser Rodrik along with a woman who he recognized as his mother even though she was facing away from him. 

Panic rose within him, not knowing what to do. It was a dangerous situation, they were far away from home, surrounded by a multitude of people from every corner of Westeros and if the Lannisters got any idea of their suspicions, every Stark head would end up in a spike at King’s Landing. 

Dan tried to distract Tyrion, guiding him away from his mother. “We should sit close to the door, just for security.”

“Nonsense, by the door is the least secure location at any establishment!” Tyrion said with a smile before turning to the inn keeper. “I would like a room.”

“We have no available bed, My Lord. You will have to find another place.” 

“I am the Queen’s brother! I am sure you can accommodate me.”

“All the beds are occupied, what do you expect me to do? Put someone on the street!?”

“You can have mine,” said a man sitting close by. He was not a knight, but he was dressed like a warrior, armour and all, a hand on the grip of his sword.

“Would you like a song?” A man sitting at his mother’s table asked loudly. Dan briefly considered walking to them and telling the man to leave but that would attract Tyrion’s attention. 

“Oh, Lord Lannister! May I sign to you about your father’s victory in King’s Landing?” The man yelled, standing from his seat. 

Tyrion walked over with a smile. “Nothing would ruin my supper more.” He gave the man a gold coin. “I will thank you for not singing at all.” 

The man was clearly distraught but took the coin anyway.

“Lady Stark! What an unexpected pleasure! I wondered why you weren’t there to receive me on my visit to Winterfell.”

Dan’s stomach dropped. He knew his mother’s temper well. 

She stood and uncovered her long red hair. “I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here,” she said, addressing every person at the Inn. “I see the sigils of house Harrenhal, house Bracken and Frey. This man came into my house as a guest and then conspired to murder my son - a boy of ten.” 

“I did no such thing!” Tyrion Lannister yelled.

Dan’s mother continued as if she had not heard him. “You are true friends and loyal bannermen to the Tullys of Riverrun, in the name of King Robert and the good Lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await The King’s Justice. 

Every man with a sword at the Inn drew it against Tyrion Lannister, Dan included, helping to tie his hands and those of his guards behind their backs for the journey back to Winterfell. 

---

“You have to realise how reckless that was,” Dan said, trying not to snap at his mother. “We are too close to King’s Landing, this will not go as you want it.”

“A wise observation from young Lord Stark. Perhaps it would be better to let me go on my way - no hard feelings.” Tyrion interjected. 

“Shut up!” Dan and his mother yelled before turning to each other. 

Shrugging, their prisoner walked to the other side of the room and looked out the window, taking a seat and letting his legs dangle from the chair.

Dan’s mother looked at Tyrion and only continued speaking once he was away. “This was the only opportunity I had. He tried to kill your brother! What am I supposed to do?” 

“Anything but kidnap the Queen’s brother without proof or the King’s approval. If Father had gotten an order from him, it would be different, but this will ruin us, Mother.”

“We are ruined already, Daniel. Words travel fast. The Lannisters already know I’ve visited Ned and come to their own conclusions as to why.” 

“I still think you should have waited. This will put Winterfell in danger.”

“Bran has already suffered the consequences of dealing with the Lannisters. What danger are you talking about?” 

“Yes, but you have other children. Did you forget that Arya and Sansa are on their grounds? What about Robb? What about me?” 

“Your father will protect the girls, Robb is a grown man, he can take care of himself and you have chosen your own destiny.” 

That shattered Dan’s heart. “I see…” He turned away. He was a man now, he was not going to cry. 

He felt her hand on his back, her voice softer, barely above a whisper. “Dan, a mother’s job is -”

“Bran is awake. If you care so much about him, why are you not taking care of him, watching him grow? He misses you.” 

“I am protecting him. He will understand. I will return to him when I’ve solved this.” She cleared her throat. “You are right to be scared for your sisters. It is best that you go along to King’s Landing and keep an eye out for them. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“The ride back to Winterfell will be long.”

She stepped onto the tips of her toes and whispered in his ear. “I’m bringing him to The Vale. Your aunt Lysa will bring him to justice, the Lannisters also killed her husband.”

Dan hummed and looked at Tyrion out of the corner of his eye. The Knights of The Vale would keep his family safe for the time being. He just needed to look out for Arya and Sansa. “Promise me that I will see you again.” 

“You will. I promise.” She pulled him into an awkward hug. She was much smaller than him and felt frail as if she was about to be whisked away by the wind. “Be careful.” 

“I will be. You too.”

JON 

Castle Black, Westeros.

Jon grabbed one of the training swords and a shield and made his way to training with a heavy heart. After his initial run in with Grenn and Pyp, the three of them had sat down to talk and realised they had much more in common than they had initially thought. They were honourable men caught in difficult circumstances and trying to make the best of the life they got and so was Jon. They may not have shared Jon’s privileges - even as a bastard - but they shared the same core beliefs and morals. Sadly, the same could not be said for Rast. 

Rast had been the one to egg his comrades against Jon, trying to threaten his life for the mere fact that he’d had actual training and beat them fairly easily. He was a bad man; a true criminal, and a cruel one at that. Jon knew he would spend the rest of his days avoiding Rast ever since he heard what he’d done to end up at Castle Black. He shivered just thinking about it. 

Ser Alliser Thorne saw him and smirked. A new recruit stood next to him; a big man - in every sense of the word, yet he looked scared as a mouse, shaking both from the cold and the armed men in front of him if the wide eyes was any indication. 

“Tell them your name!” Thorne barked. 

“S-Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill,” the boy said. He was probably the same age as Jon. “Well, I was of Horn Hill. I’ve come to take The Black.”

“Come to take the black pudding?” Rast said, letting out a deep laugh. 

“Well, you can’t be worse than you look,” Thorne said. “Rast, see what he can do!” 

Rast smirked at Samwell and swung his sword at him four times before he hit the mud, groaning in pain already. 

“I yield! I yield!” Samwell screamed. “Please, no more!”

“On your feet!” Thorne yelled. “Hit him until he finds his feet,” he said, not missing a beat. 

Samwell struggled to get up but before he could make any progress, Rast hit him again and again, laughing as Samwell cried in pain, begging for the attack to stop.

“It seems they’ve run short of poachers and thieves down south, now they are sending us bloody pigs!” Thorne said with a maniacal laugh. 

Jon couldn’t bear to watch the poor boy be attacked for no reason. This was not training, this was torture. How was he supposed to learn anything at all if all the training he got was getting hit and kicked around? He took a step forward with the intention of stopping the abuse but Pyp held onto his sleeve. He didn’t say a word, but he knew why his friend was stopping him. Thorne had a thing for cruelty and he also had an incredible amount of hate against Jon.

Encouraged by Alliser Thorne, Rast kept swinging his sword at Samwell, no matter how much he was groaning and screaming in pain. Even though the training swords were blunt, they were also very heavy and were bound to cause a lot of damage. Samwell would be black and blue and green by the end of the day.

“Stop! Stop it!” Jon said and walked over to the man on the ground, extending his hand towards him. “He yielded!”

Rast tried to hit him as well, but Jon swung his sword at him once and kicked him in the chest, making him fall to the ground gasping for air. 

“Aww, looks like the bastard’s in love!” Thorne said.

Jon grabbed the shaking man and shoved him in the general direction of Grenn and Pyp before turning around and standing between his friends and the others. 

“Alright, since you want to protect your love, Lord Snow, let’s make it an exercise!” Thorne gave him a cruel smile. “You three,” he said, pointing to Rast Grenn and Pyp, “You can hit the piggy as much as you want, you just have to get  past the bastard!” 

Jon looked at Grenn and cocked his head in amusement. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“No,” he said, before swinging his sword at him and getting struck hard by Jon’s blunt blade.

Grenn fell to the ground with a grunt. 

Pyp tried next, doing even a worse job at handling his sword and trying to punch Jon instead. 

Jon kicked his ankle and swung his sword around, hitting him in the back. 

Rast didn’t waste a second, charging at him the moment Pyp was out. He was the more dangerous one out of the three, not because he was skilled, but because he used his anger in combat, often trying to use dirty tricks to get ahead. Rast tried to hit him, their swords clashing time and time again as Jon blocked his attacks. 

Finally, Jon misstepped and slipped in the mud, giving Rast the fraction of a second he needed to get him. All wind was knocked out of Jon but he turned on the spot and struck him twice, finally knocking him to the floor.

Jon raised his eyebrows at Thorne, who was already red from the cold and the sheer anger he felt for him. “Go clean the armour! That’s all you’re good for.”

Jon huffed and strode to the armoury for his punishment. The sooner he started, the sooner it would be over. 

---

Later that night, Jon stood atop The Wall for his shift, sticking as close to the fire as he could while trying not to set his clothes alight. 

“Thank you,” a voice said behind him, startling him. It was Samwell.

Jon tried not to blame him for his lack of dexterity, but part of him did. Samwell was highborn, he must have been trained his entire life. “It won’t get easier, you know that, right?” 

“I know, but I still wanted to say thank you,” he said, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself but not coming closer to the fire. 

“You need to stay as close to the fire as possible or you’ll freeze.”

“I’m alright.”

“You are clearly not.”

Sam stepped closer and ventured a look down the side of The Wall before holding onto Jon. “I’m scared of heights and can’t see very well,” he admitted. 

“How can you be scared of everything?”

“I am a coward, my father always said so.”

“Then why are you here? Can’t fight, can’t see, and you’re afraid. The Watch is no place for a coward!” 

“On my eighteenth name day, my father called me and said I should renounce all rights to his land and properties and take The Black. He said that if I didn’t, he would take me hunting and I would fall from my horse and never return - or so he would tell my mother - and nothing would give him more joy.”

Jon’s eyes widened. He never knew there was a different way to be a bastard. 

“Will I have to fight again tomorrow?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, and you won’t get any better.” 

“I know.”

“At least you can’t get any worse.” 

Sam burst out laughing and Jon joined in, elbowing him. The boy stepped closer to the fire and breathed a little easier.

--

Jon walked into the Great Keep and signalled Grenn and Pyp to follow him to a different table than their usual arrangement; he didn’t want Rast interfering if possible. He grabbed a plate of hot soup and a piece of bread, dunked it and brought it to his lips, letting the warmth of the meal soothe his tight jaw muscles. 

He cleared his throat and leaned closer to his friends. “We will not attack Sam no matter what. Not tomorrow, not ever again.” 

The others raised his eyebrows at him. 

“What will we do then?” Asked Grenn. 

Rast stood from his seat. “You really are in love, Snow!” he laughed. “I will attack him. I will get a piece of meat from that piggy as soon as I can put my hands on him.” 

The older crows laughed and cheered at Rast’s joke, but Jon did not. He threw a disgusted look Rast’s way and finished his supper. He’d need to talk to his friends in private. 

Once the entire castle had fallen silent and most of the brothers were sleeping, Jon opened Ghost’s cage and slipped into the Barracks, where Grenn and Pyp were already waiting for them. 

Rast woke to the pressure of Ghost’s full body weight on his chest as the wolf growled at him. 

“Nobody touches Sam,” Jon said as he and the other boys loomed over Rast’s face. 

The man nodded, keeping his eyes on Ghost’s mouth with a terrified expression.

--

“Alright ladies, let’s see what you can do,” Thorne sneered. “You first,” he said, pointing at Grenn.

Grenn approached Sam, sword in hand and stepped a bit too close and whispered. “Attack me.”

“What?” Sam whispered.

“Attack me!” 

Sam poked him in the arm with his sword and Grenn fell to the ground whining. “I yield! I yield!” 

“Oh, you idiot!” Thorne said, Grenn’s horrible act not fooling him for a second and turned onto Rast. “You show them how it’s done!” 

Jon looked at him, a hand on the grip of his sword. He could see that Rast wanted to strike Sam, he wanted to see him hurt and suffering, but the memory of last night’s visit was still on his mind. 

“Attack him!” Yelled Thorne.

Rast hesitated, taking a step forward, but he looked into Jon’s eyes and froze. 

“These men will be with you when you go beyond The Wall! You protect him now, but when you go out for a real fight you will want a man guarding your back, not a snivelling boy!” Alliser Thorne spat on the ground as he walked past Sam and left.

At first, Jon thought they had rid themselves of Thorne for the rest of the day, hoping that he’d be so mad that he’d stay away from them, but he waited until they were alone to berate them further. 

“Can you believe they make us take a chastity vow when I know for a fact that most crows go to the brothel in Mole’s town?” Sam asked as he brushed the tables of the Common Hall with a bit of sawdust.

Jon laughed. “Missing it already, are we?”

“No, I’ve never - I just think it’s unfair.”

“Why are you so upset about it?” Jon asked with an amused smile.

“Why not? Is it because I’m fat?” Sam whined. “I like girls just as much as you do, they may not like me as much. I know you must have had a hundred of them. I bet all the girls like you.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you.”

“Why? There must have been someone.”

“There was one time I came really close to it. I was in a room with a naked girl but I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t know where to put it then?” Sam teased. 

“I did know where to put it,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. 

“Was she old and ugly?”

“No. She was young and beautiful, with long red hair. A whore named Ros.”

“Why didn’t you make love to the beautiful Ros then?”

“I just couldn’t stop thinking ‘What if I get her pregnant?’ If she had a child, it would be another bastard named Snow. I never knew my mother, my father wouldn’t even tell me her name, or even if she was alive. That is no life for a child.” Jon grabbed his brush and turned away from Sam, lost in thought, working on his side of the table.

“So you didn’t know where to put it,” Sam whispered. 

Jon laughed and threw his brush at him. 

The door of the Common Hall opened and Thorne walked in, his face twisted in disgust at them. 

“Well, how are you, boys?”

“It’s a bit nippy,” Sam replied.

“Nippy, yeah? By the fire, indoors still,” Ser Alliser said. “None of you boys even remember the last winter. How long has it been? Ten years?” 

“I remember,” Jon said. 

“Was it uncomfortable at Winterfell? Were there days when you just couldn't get warm, never mind how many fires your servants built?”

Jon shook his head. “I built my own fires.”

“That's admirable! I spent six months out there beyond The Wall during the last winter. It was supposed to be a two-week mission; we heard a rumour Mance Rayder was planning to attack Eastwatch so we went out to look for some of his men, capture them, and gather some knowledge. The wildlings who fight for Mance Rayder are hard men, harder than you'll ever be. They know their country better than we do. They knew there was a storm coming in, so they hid in their caves and waited for it to pass; we got caught in the open,” he said, his eyes far away as if he could see it all happening again. “The wind was so strong it yanked 100-foot trees straight from the ground roots, and all . If you took your gloves off to find your prick to have a piss you lost a finger to the frost and all in darkness. You don't know cold,” he said looking at Jon. “Neither of you do. The horses die first, there’s never enough to feed them, to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy,  but later, when we started to fall, that wasn't easy. We should have brought a couple of boys like you. Soft, fat boys like you. We'd have lasted a fortnight on you and still had bones leftover for soup.” 

Thorne shook his head and continued. “Soon we'll have new recruits and your lot will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment, they will call you men of the Night's Watch but you'd be fools to believe it. Come winter, you boys will die - like flies.”

DAENERYS

Vaes Dothrak, Essos.

With the scorching hot sun shining bright above their heads, the khalasar arrived at Vaes Dothrak, city of the horse lords. Viserys huffed, looking at the statue of two stallions standing on their hind legs that marked the entrance to the city. 

“This is nothing but a pile of mud and shit and twigs! Where is my army? These savages better keep their end of the deal or I will have their heads.” 

“This is the place of my people, you shouldn’t call them savages!” Danny said. 

“These are my people. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army,” he said and rode ahead of them.

Daenerys looked at Jorah. “If my brother had an army of Dothraki, could he conquer the seven kingdoms?”

“The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea, they fear any water that their horses can’t drink.” 

“But if he did?”

“King Robert is foolish enough to face them in battle, but the council advising him are not.”

“And you know these men?”

“I fought beside them once,” Jorah said. “Now Ned Stark wants my head; he drove me from my land.”

Daenerys looked at him curiously. “You sold slaves. Why?”

Jorah looked away into the distance. “I had no money and an expensive wife.”

She tried to make eye contact with him but he deflected. “That’s not a valid reason to take someone’s freedom.”

With a deep sigh, Jorah looked into her eyes and asked: “What would a valid reason be then, Khaleesi?”

“There is no valid reason, I suppose. You shouldn’t have done that.” 

He nodded. “I know.” 

--

In an attempt to breach the gap between Viserys and her that grew bigger and bigger by the day, Daenerys sent Doreah to invite him over for dinner. Danny was no fool, she knew Viserys had bought her Doreah not only as a servant and someone to help her settle into the Khalassar, but he made use of her in other ways too. Thankfully Doreah seemed pleased enough with his company, it was an unspoken agreement that served them all well.

Danny looked around and smiled; she had lit candles and sent for food now that they had access to crops and milk and Dothraki delicacies. She’d also asked Drogo for the best gold pieces he’d gotten in his conquests to give them to her brother - as a gift. Even if Viserys was a hateful man, he was still her brother, the last of her family.

She turned to the small fire she had burning, checking on the dragon eggs, but it seemed that there had been no changes yet.

Viserys pulled the tent open and threw Doreah to the floor in front of her, her face already bruising, her nose bleeding. 

“I’m sorry Khaleesi! I was just doing what you asked!” Doreah cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Danny grabbed at one of her tops and kneeled in front of her friend, gently pressing the fabric to her nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Irri, Jhiqui, please take her and leave us.”

“Why did you do that?” Daenerys asked, trying to calm the anger already rising inside her. 

“You dare order me around!” Viserys yelled. 

“I asked you over for supper!” She said, pointing at the table full of foods and leathers and gold. 

“What’s this?” He asked grabbing at the leather clothes with a disgusted expression.

“It’s a gift! I had it made for you!”

“Dothraki rags!” He yelled, throwing a big golden belt at her face. “You would turn me into one of them? Braid my hair?”

She could already feel the cut on her cheek bleeding. Disgusted by his behaviour, Danny finally musters the courage to stand up to him. “You have no right to a braid; you have won no battles!”

Viserys slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground. He wasted no time climbing on top of her, straddling her hips. “You have woken the Dragon!” He laughed hysterically as his hands closed around Daenerys’ throat. 

For a moment she regretted what she’d said, putting her child at risk, but instead of letting him have his way, she reached for the golden belt and swung it at his face, giving him a deep cut on his cheek and lip. 

Her brother fell back, frozen in shock. 

“I am a Khaleesi of the Dothraki, I am the wife of the great Khal Drogo and I carry his son inside me. The next time you raise a hand at me will be the last time you have hands!” She screamed, shaking with anger. 

“You will regret this for the rest of your life!” he screamed back and ran from her tent. 

Daenerys looked at her shaking hands and tried to take deep breaths, sitting on her bed as she waited for it to pass. 

Irri ran into the tent and looked at her, checking her face. “Khaleesi, you are hurt.” 

“I am alright, Irri. Thank you. Would you please ask Jorah Mormont to join me for supper?”

The girl nodded and left. 

Closing her eyes, Daenerys kept taking deep breaths until her hands were steady once again. Her child moved inside her, making her smile. She couldn’t wait to meet her little one, to see Drogo’s face when he saw him. 

Jorah walked in and gave her a wet rag to clean her wound. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I just - I can’t believe I hit him. I hit The Dragon.”

“Your brother Rhaegar was the last Dragon. Viserys is less than a shadow of a snake.”

“He’s still the True King.” She insisted. “Illyrio said that the common people in Westeros are sewing dragon banners and singing songs, praying for his return.”

“The people of Westeros pray for food and a short winter. They don’t pray for kings, especially kings they haven’t even met. Do you really want to see your brother sitting on the throne, being responsible for the seven kingdoms? I believe he would make your father seem like a peaceful ruler.”

Daenerys smiled in spite of the hard topic. “Yes, I suppose. What do you pray for, Jorah?” 

“Home.” “He will never take us home, will he? He will never take back the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn’t lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He’s not a leader; he’s a child.”

#phanfiction #phanfic #ospbb 2022 #succubusphan fics #game of thrones #got fic

[kurt-wagner-official]

Post #78: NM issues 38-40

We open with a dream sequence from Max. He’s watching the New Mutants fight Sentinels and then the Hellions until he interrupts the action and tells them it’s time for bed. They casually say their goodnights and walk over to lay down in their graves and go to sleep. He’s been having the nightmare every night since the end of Secret Wars II; it’s the projection of his students’ psychic anguish. The kids are empty shells of their former selves, traumatized by the full memory of their brutal murders at the whims of the Beyonder (except for Berto, who still hasn’t returned). They haven’t told Max what happened, and he’s helpless and frustrated, wishing Xavier were here to help them. But another telepath arrives to offer her assistance- Emma Frost. Frost tells Max that he can’t help them the way she can and says she can take the New Mutants to her school to give them the psychic counseling they need. He tells her to go to hell, and she leaves, warning him not to let his pride be the kids’ downfall. As the days drag on, the New Mutants get worse and worse. They no longer put effort into classes or take joy from anything. Dani gets a visit from Thor, who at this point has been turned into a frog and can sense a Valkyrie. He tries to inspire her to reclaim her old self and her love for life before hopping off to do his stuff in the Thor book. It doesn’t cheer Dani up, but it does make her at least want to get better. There’s been a lot of links between the Thor and mutant books recently, which will culminate in a crossover in Massacre. It’s because Louise Simonson, although no longer Claremont’s editor, is still one of the only people he collaborates with on his plots, and she’s currently dating Walt Simonson, her soon to be husband and the writer on Thor. Max continues to be torn up by his lack of control over the situation, unaware that his doubts are being exaggerated and directed by Empath on the orders of Frost. He decides to take her up on her offer and transfers all his students to the Massachusetts Academy. Dani has enough spirit left to refuse, and Warlock wasn’t affected by the trauma the same way as the others, but the rest of the kids mindlessly follow their new headmistress out of the school.

Sam and Doug are welcomed by Thunderbird and Jetstream, who seem genuinely friendly to their new classmates. But they’re weirded out by the zombie-like behavior of the former Xavier students. Empath tries to dominate the new girls, but they have no emotions to manipulate, and the other Hellions beat him up. Catseye in particular is thrilled to see Rahne again. Frost keeps her word and seems to care about the kids as she alters their memories of their trauma. They’re so grateful that they agree to stay. Back in New York, Max is drinking his sorrows away while Dani decides to go back home to her parents. She feels awful for abandoning her friends but doesn't know anything else to do. She fears that the future she saw months ago of her teammates converted to Hellions is now coming true and tells Max it’s his fault. She bids goodbye to Warlock, now the only student left, and flies off on Brightwing. At the Academy, it seems all is not perfect, and the New Mutants are having violent nightmares that Frost can’t find the cause of. All except for Illyana, who's spending all of her time in Limbo and has given up sleep. At the mansion, Tom and Sharon return. Weeks ago, when Empath was there to manipulate Max, they found and confronted him, but he told them they were in love with each other and wanted nothing else. It’s implied they’ve spent these weeks having sex nonstop until the influence finally wore off and they came to warn Max. This was really too far for Claremont to go, the story could have been accomplished so many other ways. But anyway, this is what happened, and Max puts all the pieces together and is beyond enraged. Frost can feel his anger from Massachusetts, but she has a plan. She calls the cops to say the evil terrorist Magneto is planning to kidnap her students, and they transfer her to the Avengers.

This is one of my favorite Avengers lineups; Captain America, Wasp, Hercules, Black Knight, Namor, and Monica Rambeau when she was going by Captain Marvel. Claremont writes a good Captain America in particular. They get the call about Max and immediately leave to intercept him. At the Academy, Frost is frustrated by the issues still plaguing the former New Mutants, which she can’t get to the bottom of. Warlock has transformed into a plane resembling the Blackbird so he can fly Max to Massachusetts. I really love their relationship. Warlock sees morality in black and white. Max has protected and loved him, so Warlock trusts and admires him completely. Max trusts and admires himself less than anyone else, but Warlock, maybe more so than any other student, makes him feel like he can be that hero. Warlock wants to kill Frost, but Max tells him they’re going to try for a peaceful solution and under no circumstances kill their enemies. Just then, the Avengers catch up. Not knowing the Blackbird is Warlock, Herc hits him full strength, almost killing him. Max flies them down to safety, prioritizing Warlock over all else, but he’s forced to battle the Avengers to draw them away from his student. Even ganged up on six to one and holding back so as not to kill them, Max is holding his own. He calls them out on their hypocrisy for believing in Namor’s redemption but not his own, to which Cap responds that Namor fought by his side in World War II. This understandably pisses Max off. At the Academy, Amara can sense Max ripping metal out of the ground miles away, and Illyana goes to investigate. She ports there, sees the scene, steals Cap’s shield, and returns. At the same time, Max has finally been overpowered, but Warlock regains enough strength to attack the Avengers. He’s about to kill them when Max stops him. He tells the Avengers if they let him heal Warlock he’ll turn himself over. The truce is wrecked when New Mutants return. Although they knew Frost would be mad, they refused to abandon their old teacher, and they port off with him and Warlock, leaving the Avengers wondering if they made a mistake. Max and Frost have a peace summit  and learn what’s wrong with the New Mutants. She healed their minds, but not their hearts. That part was done when their collective father figure tried to risk his life and sacrifice his freedom for them, helping them pull themselves out of their funk to save him. They’re all in agreement that they want to return home with Max, and they depart from Frost as uneasy allies.

There was a lot of really great stuff in this arc. I would have preferred a little more exploration of the New Mutants’ depression; the only one who gets a lot of thought bubbles is Dani, and she’s not as broken as the others. But it was still a good exploration of that pain and grief. Frost gets some really interesting development in this story. Although she manipulated the situation to get the New Mutants as pawns, she also did genuinely help them. She also doesn’t argue when they return to Max. On some level, it’s all part of her long game; she hopes all these good deeds and kindness will lead to the kids returning to her out of their own choice, which would be much more valuable than telepathic slaves. But we're getting more hints that she’s not evil all the way through. I’ll confess that the Frost/Hellions stuff is the part of this series where my knowledge has the biggest gaps, so this was a pleasant surprise; I didn’t Frost being this sympathetic this early in the series. She’s still very much a villain and will remain that way until Claremont leaves, but in this story he leans a lot more into her good side. I like that rather than it being an inner conflict for her, she finds a way to line up her good and evil urges towards the same goal. It’s very complex and interesting. This was also a great Max story; we’ve seen him fight for his students and care about them, but this is the first time he’s been in a position of choosing between them and himself, and he chooses them without an hesitation at all. It’s not really a revelation for him, but it’s a great moment for the audience to see. This is also where his students are put in the same position, and the fact that they’re willing to attack the Avengers for him is really sweet to see and really important for Max himself. This story is also one of the first instances of “the Avengers are cops” in the X-Men franchise. In 21st century stories especially, the Avengers have kinda sucked when it comes to the X-Men, never helping them with mutant issues and showing up full force any time they suspect the X-Men might be doing something wrong. So basically, cops interacting with real-life minorities, although the Avengers are usually just misguided assholes instead of malicious bigots. I guess really the first time that happened was Secret Wars (unless there’s something I haven’t read from the pre-Claremont years, which is possible cause I’ve barely read any of that), but this is the first time it’s happened under a writer who (a) cares about the X-Men and (b) actually knows how to write. I don’t want this to sound like I’m bashing the Avengers, because I really do like them, although not anywhere near to the obsessive extent I love my silly little mutants. But their biggest failing as a group has always been how they treat the X-Men and mutants as a whole. One last thing before I wrap this up: it’s time to talk about Empath. I have very mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, I’m very interested in the concept of how power as strong as his can corrupt an already shitty person into a true monster. But I don’t think this book is a good place to explore that. It works with monster of the week enemies, or it could work as a main focus of a book, but it doesn’t work in this case, with Empath as a recurring supporting character who’s always present but doesn’t have that much panel time to really explore the horrors of him as a person. It especially hurts the idea of what the Hellions are supposed to represent. A big theme in X-Men is evolution, and the New Mutants and Hellions are an important part of that. Unlike the X-Men and their enemy teams, who are usually pretty diametrically opposed, the New Mutants and Hellions have a much less hate-fueled dynamic. There’s even some cross-team friendships. Evolution-wise, it’s the bridge between the blood feuds of the previous generation and the hope for mutant unity in the future (which will be achieved decades after Claremont leaves). If the kids can bridge the divides between mutant factions, there’s hope for the next generation, and there’s even a chance they can bring their mentors together in the name of the children. But Empath throws a really big wrench in those themes and in the whole New Mutants/Hellions dynamic. The Hellions are friendly rivals who really aren’t that different from the New Mutants... except Empath, who’s a serial rapist who tries to assault both teams every chance he gets. There’s not room in the book to delve into all the thematic and narrative baggage that a character like Empath entails, so his being here is just harming the other themes and narratives. Overall, a solid arc some pure gold material that still suffers from an ongoing flaw in the series.

#wes reads xmen

[a-libra-writes]

Hello! Would you write about being in an arranged marriage with Tyrion but falling in love along the way?

Combining these together bc theyre similar :3

Firstly, Tyrion would be very respectful toward you and of you. He's not happy with the arrangement more than you are; he hates the idea of some lady being 'forced' to stay with someone like him for the rest of her life. Just thinking about your looks of disdain and discomfort, day in and day out, just makes him want to avoid your shared rooms and drink all day.

The fact you're equally respectful is a bit strange, and he overthinks and worries that you're putting on an act. It'll break eventually. The mask will crack, so to speak, and he'll finally see how much you dislike him.

It doesn't happen, though. You endure the court's whispered insults, his family's pointed insults, the stares and rumors. Regardless if you keep your head down or deflect gracefully, Tyrion feels responsible. He ought to protect you from the worst of it. He grew up with it, after all. You didn't, and now you're saddled with it.

He wouldn't blame you if you wanted to hide away. Both the Red Keep and Casterly Rock have a plethora of gardens, libraries, sitting rooms, riding trails, hunting and so on to keep you occupied. Tyrion figures a good husband ought to have an interest in his wife's hobbies (and sometimes he's v lonely and wants to speak with you), so he might ask to accompany you. It means a lot to Tyrion that you actually seem a little pleased when he visits, or at least content, instead of recoiling. He's a knowledable man so he can discuss your interests with you, and can even procure things for you. Tyrion wants you to be comfortable - again, at first it's from a place of pity, but then the pining and hopefulness starts... ...

(Tyrion wears a lot of his despair on his sleeve around you, especially when he drinks. When you take his hand and take care of him through the night, he just looks at you in shock and wonder).

He really really doesn't want to get his hopes up. It happened before.

A good opportunity for you both to get closer is when you took meals in the privacy of your room. No sniggering courtiers, no mocking family members. A good meal, easy conversation and a lovely breeze coming in from an open window. It's such a domestic, easy thing that Tyrion feels like he's in a dream the first few times.

Though regardless of any developing feelings, romantic or platonic, he does a lot to keep you safe and protect your reputation. That's always consistent, especially if you do the same for him. You both will start whispering snark to each other during feasts, or hanging back in a ball, getting drunk between songs.

Any talk of trauma or family betrayal he's suffered won't come up unless he's very close with you and trusts you, possibly months or even a year into the relationship. If you open up first, Tyrion listens intently and feels more protective than before. He keeps a mental list of people and family who have wronged you, and puts faces to names once he meets them. They don't know what they're in for once he's well and truly fond of you.

Progression of any romance will fall in your lap. Tyrion is anxious to trust again but also doesn't want to "frighten" you with his growing feelings. He second guesses all of your kind gestures and words, assuming nothing, so you'll have to be direct. And consider the time - if this is after Tysha or Shae... it could take a long time. Even putting your hand over his while you sit side by side, kissing him on the cheek or forehead, defending him to others... Tyrion doesn't want to hope and be torn down to bloody pieces all over again.

Obviously he tries not to wear this anguish openly, but ...

Overall it's a relationship many expected not to go well. It was a joke for courtiers to pass around, and for his father to get an alliance out of. As time goes on, people will begin to realize what a formidable duo you and Tyrion have become.

#tyrion lannister x reader #i just want him to be HAPPY screams #libra headcanons

[the-last-kenobi]

bad things happen bingo -- passing out from pain with Obi-Wan? ps, good luck moving!! I know you can do it!! <3

Yes!! I got this request almost at the same time as @willowworkswithwords similar one, so I decided to do them both! 🤍 (and thank you for the well wishes!!)

(Note for anyone who is interested in making a request: I already have prompts for: Setting a Broken Bone, Tampering with Food/Drink, and Public Execution/Torture. All of the other squares are fair game!)

—

Obi-Wan lifted his head from the filthy stone floor.

There were footsteps rapidly approaching, three or four sets of them, urgent and hurried.

A weary smile tugged at his lips, straining the still-fresh wounds that bled across his face, seeping the taste of copper onto his tongue. It seemed his captors were finally in a hurry, which meant that rescue must be close at hand.

He wouldn’t lie here helplessly. The General clenched his teeth around a groan as he dragged himself to sit upright, his legs bound at the ankles and his hands cuffed painfully behind his back as they had been for days without relief. The room swam before his eyes. A bad sign.

Obi-Wan lifted his chin defiantly as the door to his cramped cell was flung open, and over the threshold poured four familiar figures, unfriendly acquaintances from his past two weeks in captivity. “Gentlemen,” he said derisively. A cut in his bottom lip split and began to bleed profusely.

One of the men remained in the doorway, peering anxiously up the hallways. The other three converged on the Jedi.

The leader, a middle-aged and heavily scarred Arconan, struck him directly across the face.

For all their repetition in holo-dramas, Obi-Wan reflected dimly, a well-aimed slap across the face was nothing to be shaken off in a second. His vision blacked out for a few moments and it felt as if his head and limbs were all being pulled in separate directions; his stomach, already weak from hunger, rolled nauseatingly.

When he regained his senses, he found that the other two were handling him roughly, forcing him to lay on his back, pinning him in place as he began to struggle.

The Arconan loomed over him, a disgusted sneer on his face. “I promised I would break you, Jedi,” he spat.

“Well, you know what they say, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Obi-Wan replied, still fighting the other two as they reached behind his back and broke the cuffs, yanking his arms out and pinning them to the floor. His limbs screamed in protest at the sudden change.

“I can keep it,” his captor hissed. “Sadly I won’t be around to witness it, but knowing it’s happening will be almost as good.” He raised his hand, and something gleamed silver in the dim light.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, and he thrashed helplessly, his muscles sore and unwilling, his head spinning, his arms and legs still pinned in place. “I won’t break!” he shouted, determined not to cave in to fear. “You cannot break me!” The Arconan knelt and in a single movement had placed the needle into the Jedi’s flesh and injected it.

“Are you a betting man, Jedi?” the Arconan asked.

For a single, suspended second, everything was fine. Obi-Wan was still trapped, still struggling, but everything was fine.

And then fire erupted through his veins.

-

A level above their heads, Cody’s soul seemed to lurch out of his body as an inhuman scream of pain reverberated through the halls.

-

Obi-Wan felt pain in every possible portion of his body.

Nothing so simple as an aching head or a broken limb, or even a whole-body feeling of weakness and discomfort that drugs usually caused.

No, this — this —

He felt as if he could suddenly feel each individual atom that made up his physical body.

And each atom was in unimaginable pain, shrieking, tearing, burning anguish, as if he were being torn apart slowly.

He felt, vaguely, that perhaps he was still lying on that cold stone floor, and that perhaps he saw the four Separatists fleeing out the door.

But nothing, nothing,

nothing compared

to the pain.

Obi-Wan’s next scream stretched his jaw so wide that he felt something snap. The anguish did not increase.

It could not.

There was no room for it to grow.

There was only this. Unceasing. Unendurable.

Pain.

And a face. Perhaps a hallucination. Cody, leaning over him, mouthing words Obi-Wan could not hear beyond his own deafening screams, the pain that drowned out all his senses.

He thought he saw Cody’s face crumple.

He thought he saw Cody cry.

And then the pain ate away at his eyesight and Obi-Wan thought of nothing and saw nothing.

-

Time moved so strangely.

He was awake, sometimes.

Other times, he was not.

It was not sleep. It might have been unconsciousness. Or maybe his senses simply stretched themselves too far and then resorted to empty, black numbness before they reset and all the pain came rushing back in. Like a void between true consciousness.

When he was in that void there was very little thought. But he knew that the void was never long enough, never enough relief.

But when he returned to himself, everything was so different.

One time he woke and found himself on a stretcher, watching the sky go by as he was rushed away, away, and he was screaming and thrashing and he fell from the stretcher.

The next time he was conscious, he was strapped to a med-bunk, and two medics were leaning over him, talking and talking and talking.

The time after that, he was lying facedown on the floor, which seemed odd, but there was no room to ponder it as he tore his throat out screaming again, and by then he was so used to the sound that it took him several seconds to hear it.

The next time he awoke, he caught a glimpse of Anakin’s horrified expression, felt faintly the strength of familiar arms lifting him up in a bridal carry he would have found embarrassing back when he still had a mind to think with. Obi-Wan’s eyes slid away from Anakin’s and he began, once more, to scream.

“—right here, Obi-Wan, listen to my voice—”

“Master Obi-Wan? Can you see me? I’ve brought you one of your potted plants. There, see? Brightens up the room.”

A hand caressing his forehead.

“Obi-Wan. Focus. Calm your mind. Your friends are with you.”

A machine frantically beeping. Someone yelling.

Glass shattering.

“Strong you are, Master Kenobi.”

“Please pull through. Please.”

A yellow sunburst.

“General? General, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please, please, you have to survive.”

In and out.

Of consciousness. Of breath.

In and out.

Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered open.

For a very long while, he was only confused. Somehow he was not surprised to find himself lying in a bed in the Halls of Healing, but he could not remember why he was not surprised. His limbs felt strange. Weak, and tingly. His head throbbed. Even his eyelids felt heavy.

It occurred to him that he was surprised that he could feel his limbs.

Why was that?

Memory.

His capture. The holding cell, two weeks of torture.

A drug that had torn him apart.

Endless pain.

Except, it had ended. It was over. He felt weak enough to simply fade into the bedsheets, as if all it would take was a slight nudge and he would just… cease to be. But the pain, the almighty god that had taken hold of him so completely…

It was gone.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to breathe properly and found that tears were sliding down his cheeks. One slipped between his lips and he tasted salt.

A machine nearby beeped insistently, and a moment or an eternity later, Healer Che and Anakin both rushed into the room.

Anakin’s eyes flew wide. For a moment he reeled on the spot, mouthing silently, and then the young Jedi tore across the room and fell to his knees next to the bed, one of his hands scrambling for one of Obi-Wan’s and taking hold of it fiercely. Anakin tried to speak, but only managed a wavering “Thank the Force,” before he began to cry as well. He pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan’s hand and wept.

Healer Che, for the first time in Obi-Wan’s memory, also had tears in her eyes, although she did not go so far as to allow them to fall. She smiled at him from the doorway, some of the lines in her tired face melting away. “Welcome back, Master Kenobi,” she greeted him. “How do you feel?”

Obi-Wan considered this for a moment.

“I feel,” he said at last, his voice thin and hoarse, “like I’ve just won a very unfortunate bet with a very rude Arconan.”

#poor obi wan #I really do abuse him the most #he’s just so pretty #and in dire need of hugs :’) #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #anakin skywalker #tw torture #tw drugs #star wars #my writing #bad things happen bingo