#but he feels like whatever secret that he's keeping is vital

[theminecraftbee]

"Well hello there Secret Keeper!" Scar says, chipper. "It's a bea-ut-i-ful day today here on the Secret Life server, and I'm here for my daily hearts for winning! I have to say, it is gorgeous today. Really a lot easier to keep the rain away without other players, what with sleeping through the night not being a problem at all! Did you know, by the way, that sleeping and rain are connected? I didn't until recently, but by golly, they sure are! Can you imagine? The world is full of so many strange things."

The Secret Keeper, being a big dumb stone statue, doesn't reply. Scar's beginning to think it's just rude. It sure replies whenever he hits the button, which is the first step in his morning routine these days. He's gotten better at dodging damage, really, even with the nearly infinite hearts! He's just not so good at dodging skeletons and creepers and such that he shouldn't top off every day.

He hits the button. He feels his health return to him. He gets a new task: Win Secret Life.

He snorts, a little bitter, to himself as he reads it and folds it into his pocket. "You know, I don't know if I'm lucky or unlucky that you're such a moron that you don't know what winning means. Your machine is broken."

No response, again, because the Secret Keeper is, as established, a big old dumb rock. Well, whatever. Besides, if he lingers on resentment and upset for too long, it might catch up with him! He's certainly let it catch up with him before. Why, a few days after he'd won, when he really had it sink in that he was for-real alone on a server covered in lightning burn marks and blood, he had a bit of a breakdown! There was sobbing, screaming, yelling at the world, the whole works! And when no one responded then, well--

"Did I just call you a moron? I'm sorry, I didn't mean that!" Scar says. "You know how I get sometimes. The world is beautiful and warm, but sometimes it gets a little hard to breathe around here! Now, where were we... oh, right! The trading post terraforming project! Now, we hit a bit of a snag the other day, what with the wandering traders I'd caught all sort of--dying--and all that, but luckily, more of them might show up any moment, and they really are vital to making the place feel alive and breathing. So today we're taking a break from that to build up some trees!"

He waves his arms like someone is listening. He'd like to imagine someone is. Grian told him he won--just because all the ghosts are quiet now doesn't mean they aren't there! And if that was a moment of temporary insanity, well, he probably--he needs to think it's not, is the thing! He absolutely needs to think it's not.

He hums and gathers more logs. His makeshift tree farms are pretty nice, if he does say so himself. He pauses as he hears distant howling and sighs. "I guess we will also be spending today cleaning up the wolf population! I swear, I have no idea what those people were thinking making a wolf spawner. A man takes a nap for a day and then the entire server is overrun with stupid white animals! And you know, I do hate having to cull the things, but, well, you know me. I've learned how to kill pretty well, I think, and really, dogs are easier to kill than people."

He grabs a sword from his chest and sharpens it. He keeps it perfectly clean so that there isn't too much blood on it. Good thing, too; most of the blood would probably be his. He's a bit clumsy, after all. He cuts his fingers on it all the time. No matter how well he bandages up his hands, he just keeps making them bleed, drip, drip, dripping blood on every path he walks down. No matter how hard he works to clean up his massive building projects, the little splatters of blood follow him, so he's sticking to dark colors where he can.

The flowers will probably show the blood, he thinks. The flowers and trees he's building. Hopefully, the blood doesn't stand out too much. It feels wrong, in a world where there are no bodies.

He stands up. He heads in the direction of today's pack of unwanted pests. He sighs. "You know, I know your question is, well gosh, Scar! All the previous winners died. When are you going to finish it off and kill yourself? And wow, that's a pretty dark question. You should be ashamed of yourself for asking, really." He laughs. It's not funny. Who cares.

Instead, he shakes his head.

"And, well, you have to understand. I'm not done building yet! I can make my base so much nicer looking! And besides, you're still handing me hearts. If I get hurt, I can just come back and get more from you! If you want to die, you have to kill me yourself. You fucking cowards!"

No response.

He sighs. "Well, that's enough of that for today. Sorry, I'm feeling kind of morose. It's all this sunshine! Can't be good for a man. Did you know populated servers rain more often than unpopulated ones? It's true! It's because people don't sleep enough. But here I am, getting all the sleep I need. Now, time to go kill some dogs and build some trees! I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon, can you?"

His hands hurt. He ignores it. He ignores a lot of hurt, these days. It's not like it's hard.

#secret life smp #goodtimeswithscar #a bee fic #implied/referenced suicide #implied/referenced self harm #SO UH. HOW ABOUT THAT SCAR NOT DYING IN THE END NONSENSE HUH. #trying to write this all very much in scar's voice was fun. dark premise. goofy guy. result: this. #also i DO love occasionally giving a character who otherwise wouldn't exactly ONE precision swear-word. very fun.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

She Hates Yellow ~ Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

What a festive day this was - Most of the Stark children thought, dressing in their best clothes, and the girls having their hair done all pretty. Their parents were nervous for what was to come, and though few knew the truth behind the King and the whole retinue, including the Royal Family coming all the way up North, via the King's Road, Y/N was more than aware. Catelyn Stark found it atrocious - Entrusting Y/N, their oldest child, with such vital secrets... Who knew what could happen?

However, Ned was more lax in his parenting choices, and with his first child especially, his beloved little girl, he personally saw to her training and knew they were so much alike in their thinking and their high justice values. He was happy that he didn't take after him in looks, however - Her hair was long and beautiful, a striking scarlet shade of red that outshined both Cat and he'd even dare say Sansa as well, whose hair shone like copper in the light. Y/N's was unique, a dark red that almost looked like the blood moon on a crimson night.

He valued how silent she was, but when she spoke, only wisdom was heard. Though she did not care for the obvious lady mannerisms, she insisted that she picks about every skill that she could learn, saying that it may come of use, in some way. Ned sometimes wondered if he's so biased because she is his firstborn, or because she was special. For him, she was. For Catelyn, Bran was the favourite child, without a doubt. He felt awful, admitting to having a favourite child, but her and Arya reminded him so much of Lyanna that he couldn't help but cherish them so deeply and indulge in whatever passions they had.

Perhaps, this overprotective love comes for guilt - His little girl had married a Lord, only to immediately take her away from there, as soon as he found out how awfully he treated her. He did not believe in divorce - It was great shame - But also would not stand for having his child mistreated by some stranger.

A parent's greatest joy was the child's happiness - And a father feels most fulfilled when his son becomes a respectable and strong man, and his daughter finds safe haven in the arms of her husband and warmth in the harth of her new family.

When the retinue arrived, Y/N stood tall and proud to her father's side, keeping her noble and regal aura - He couldn't tell where he got this from, but she's always had an inapproachable, intimidating expression on her face, so it was no surprise that she kept most to herself - However, he, of all people, knew how kind and golden her heart was, and how she would do anything to keep her family safe and happy. Evidence on how she was always the peace maker between the siblings, mainly Arya and Sansa, and would take care of all of them equally well.

"Who is that one, daddy?" Lord Stark heard Y/N asking, nodding her head towards the one with the dog-like helmet.  "Looks like Ser Sandor Clegane. He is known as The Hound. He was assigned as Prince Joffrey's sworn shield. They say he is amongst the most powerful knights, although, I believe he didn't take his vows." her father explained to her. "That means the prince is lucky. A man who loves dogs is a man who is trustworthy... But why would anyone choose yellow as their House's flag? Awful." the young lady jest, and upon looking up, she noticed her father trying not to smile. "Thank you." he knew that his daughter had made a joke in poor taste, hoping to ease his nerves.

The King dismounted his horse and hastily marched their way - He looked Ned up and down and greeted him with an insult. The Stark Lord retaliated not with his words, but with his looks alone, before the two old best friends shared an embrace. He looked over each of the children and he complimented them for their strength, their beauty, their potential and what not. Robert Baratheon looked down at the easily confident look on Y/N's face and he let out an amused exhale. "This one, Ned - She has the potential to be a good Queen. I wonder, however, why is it that you said she was like Lyanna, when she looks like a Tully?" though he father was ready to speak, she cut him off before even a word could be uttered.

"Though I have the appearance of a Tully, and the love and loyalty for mine family to match any trout, my justice sense and mine words are true. I was born on a horse's back and have the wolf's blood surging through my veins. Apart from my father, you shall never meet a more just and fair Stark than me." her eyes never left the King's, yet her little speech seemed to earn a hard laughter, and she felt her shoulder being patted. "Aye, I get it, alright. Ned, this one is more like yourself than you are!" though after this supposedly joyful event, the King asked his old friend to take him to the crypt, no doubt to visit Lyanna's grave. With this, Catelyn had to entertain the Queen, and it fell to Y/N to take care of the children. Of course, the boys wanted to have a sparring match.

"Are you not exhausted, Your Grace?" Y/N looked over at Joffrey and his little brother, Tommen. "Of course not. If it is sparring, I can defeat any opponent, at any given time." the Prince stole a charming look at young Sansa, who smiled and looked down bashfully. Y/N wanted to rip his sleazy head right off, with her own two hands. "Very well." the girl nodded and went to the Sers of Winterfell to prepare the training grounds.

With Tommen being easily defeated by Bran, who sent the boy toppling over and struggling to get up, like a tortoise on its shell, Robb was able to defeat the elder Prince, who got angry and suggested using real swords and fight like knights. The one behind him, The Hound, whose helmet was now down, was perfectly alright with such an idea, wanting not only to abide to his Prince's wish, but to further anger the Young Wolf. Of course, the Sers of Winterfell knew better than to accidentally harm the Heir to the Throne and refused to allow Robb to fight with a real sword. The poor Young Wolf was so angry after being humiliated by the laughing blond Prince, that it could have almost been hilarious.

"My younger brother, Robb, is a strong young man, and the possibility of accidentally laying harm upon the Prince would lead to endless consequences to our House. However, if Your Grace would so desire, I believe we can arrive to a compromise. As your Dog so rightfully said -" the girl stole a piercing look to the disfigured towering man before the much smaller lad. "Wars are not won with sparring swords. Thankfully, we are not a war, and hopefully, our Houses will never have to maliciously fight one another. Thus, my compromise is - The next match shalt be fought with real swords, however, your next opponent, shall be me. That way, even if there is accidental harm, it will not have as much strength as if Robb were to swing his sword." but the young Lion's eyes bulged, perplex at the woman before him - What could this wench know about sword fight anyway? She looked attractive, yes, as was more a woman than Sansa, who was his own age - But that did not mean he would not harm her, even intentionally. Alas that would not be gallant of him, and his mother might scold him. What to do, what to do. "You could not possibly be afraid of a maiden's weak grip on a sword, would you, Your Grace?" she could see the Hound struggling to keep his mouth from forming an amused snarl, making him look even uglier.

"Of course I am not afraid - Only of harming a beautiful lady's skin, perchance. Very well, I suppose such a training could suffice, if you so insist. However, a lord stays true to his convictions and every fight is real - I will not be able to allow myself to go easy on you, even with you being a woman." the Hound offered him his sword, which he gripped with pride.

"I appreciate your convictions, Your Grace. I already feel safer, knowing that someone so fair and just would one day be the ruler of the Realms. Take thy stance, Your Grace." with the same stoic expression on her face, the woman garbed in that beautiful yet elegant with its own simplicity light blue dress moved aside her fur coat and revealed her longsword that reached her chest, if placed onto the ground. The handle was shining gold, and it had a large ruby embellished on it, and on top, a perfect mix of metals that made it look like fire. A Valyrian Steel sword like no other - The only sword forged specifically for a woman - Strong and slender. Gifted to her by her Uncle Benjen, who found it beyond The Wall - It was Dark Sister.

Y/N found it easy to parry off the Prince's blows, and even easier to find the edge of the blade to his neck, thus ending their match and earning the honour for House Stark - Though, she also earned enough scolding and blaming from the Young Lion - But it did not matter. This madness was stopped by their fathers who, once they left the crypt, went to check on their unruly children. "What happened here?" the King asked, seeing the sour look on his eldest child's face, and the non-chalant way in which Y/N cleaned her sword and sheathed it back to her hip.

"His Grace wanted to show his prowess - prove how much he's learnt in his swordsmanship journey. I was too afraid of allowing two young and promising young warriors fight each other with real swords, thus, I was to be the mediator and fight him. A young Prince must learn proper fighting techniques, but we must also focus on proper safety precautious." the young maiden spoke, bowing to the King as she spoke - Somehow, the way she did not mention any winner, pleased the Young Lion, who agreed with her - And escaped from a scolding as well.

"Harsh as steel, cold as ice. You Starks are something else. Let us go, the feast is underway." all children seemed to have forgotten any animosity, and they hurried behind their fathers like little ducklings - Everyone was ready for the feast.

Sitting at the table with the royal children, Y/N dearly wanted to escape - It was so loud and obnoxious, everyone was being so overly annoying, and she dearly wanted to know - How in the world could people tolerate children? Heavens forbid, she did not want to see any children, she truly hated them. Her family was enough to deal with, she needn't anything more than that.

With the lemon cake fiasco, Catelyn had Y/N put both Sansa and Arya to sleep, and Jeyne Poole followed her best friend - with the Lannister maid putting Myrcella to bed as well, she was now the only girl at the table - And heavens forbid, it was dreadful with so many battling egos with unbased ground.  

She rose from the table and went outside, to take a breath of fresh air - But the people outside were far merrier and louder than the ones inside, so she went even farther away, into the Godswood, followed by her red wolf, Meleys. Somehow, even though she never believed in Gods, she always felt more at peace in the warmth of the white and red, old forest.

But that peace did not last forever, as Meleys started snarling, consequence of a stranger approaching. With a lethargic laziness, Y/N turned her head to look at the newcomer, and she saw The Hound, towering over her like a mountain troll over a dwarf. "Surely, you are not here to pray." she offered a mock smirk.

"Only fools pray." he barked harshly. "I have been tasked with bringing you back to your room." "By whom?" the maiden raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "My parents stopped looking for me when they realised how often I went to find my peace in the forest."

"Unfortunately for you, missy, your mother wants you to pacify your siblings." this time, it was him making fun of the obvious distress voiced by an almost exasperated groan.

"Can they not just sleep away their disagreements?" she asked, not bothering to get up from the snow on the ground, and even throwing a dismissive hand in the air, to signify the insignificance of their battling childishness.

"Sometimes siblings are more of a bother than its worth, little fox." the man's nickname seemed to pique her interest.

"You would know all about siblings, would you not?" she asked, only to raise to her feet. "And what about me, except for my stature whilst standing next to you, reminds you of a little fox?" the girl asked, pacifying her wolf into calming down.

"Your silver tongue. Do you lie as well as you sweet talk?" the man barked an ugly laugh.

"I am proficient in neither - In fact, I do not like politicians. Mind you, if I was good, I would have been able to say that your Flag looks beautiful - And look convincing. However, as you can see, highlighted better by the moonlight - I cannot." she retorted easily to the man's words.

"A wolf hates dogs? Is it because they are supposed to be tame?" but the girl smirked at him wickedly.

"Yellow is the worst colour known to mankind." her reply made the man look down at her, bewildered by the response.

"The... Colour?" the man grumbled lowly, watching her nod silently. "That is the stupidest argument I ever heard."

"But it did amuse you, and it proved my point. Correct?" the girl's voice seemed triumphant, it was almost endearing, the man thought.

"You are one nasty little fox. And you should know - Nasty little foxes don't last long in King's Landing if they keep that attitude. They will get their tongue cut and their fur made into a damn fine pelt." the man's threat was a warning as well. 

"I can accept that, only if you are the one warming yourself with my very fluffy, warm and perfume-embedded fur. Alas, I can imagine you'd miss this vixen tongue you claim that I have." she shrugged simply. Sandor was taken with her deeply. He wanted to hear more of a snark - Or, perhaps, even better - He should arrange a battle of wits between her and The Imp. That, along with some good ale, should prove to be a fine evening. Great, now he wanted to get rid of that little princeling and go back to being shit-faced drunk in some tavern.

"Don't say those words to those fancy shit lords, little fox. They won't know the difference between jest and truth." the man warned once again, as he heard the girl's playful hum.

"I save it only for the more interesting ones." would it be frowned upon, grabbing her and having her against the tree, right then and there? "Would you count yourself as one... Ser?"

"You'd be wrong to call me any of that stupid shit." the man's growl was akin to a dog's snarling.

"Woof." she let out an empty laugh, taunting him, before hurrying and walking ahead. She dictated when the conversation is over, and for now, it was.

Though they did not interact again, for the few remaining days in Winterfell, they had to see each other daily on the road. The Hound, busy as he was, could always feel the teasing gaze on the back of his head - Yet if he turned, he wouldn't even catch the glimpse of her. When he did find her, however, she was engaged in what looked like rather amusing conversations with none other than the notorious Imp, who made the girl laugh - Girl, who, in turn, made him guffaw even harder. How? He could not tell. Smart people conversations, maybe. He cared for none of those. It's not like he cared, after all. No matter how intriguing or tempting having even a night spent with Lady Y/N, he knew it could never be. She was the Lady of Winterfell, a noble Stark, and she was probably betrothed to begin with. She was old enough for stupid shit like that.

Even so, none of those trivialities could stop him from recalling the alluring conversations shared. Laconic as she was, the sweet-poisoned way in which she spoke - No wonder she could charm even the Imp, who was renowned for his orator skills. He may be a drunk whore just like him, but what he lacked in warrior skills, he had smarts - It was the only perk he had.

The only thing he could do, at least, was to silently watch over her and offer her the protection she may or may not need - After all, who else but he knew best how atrocious the Lannisters truly were? Who else, but him, could know first hand the sadism that Prince Joffrey hid behind that Prince Charming facade which he put on because of his mother. He wasn't the Fair Knight from the sweet stories little maidens always fawned over. He was a monster. And once these wolf pups find out the truth, they may already be the lions' next meal.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder - Old as she may be compared to her siblings, was she also a victim to those love stories? Was she also hopelessly fawning over the Gallant knight Florian and jealously wishing to be in Jonquil's place? Was she also dreaming for miracles, like her little sister Sansa, who was walking willingly into the Lion's den, like a stupid little love sick doe.

And so it happened, when The Hound was dismissed, so that the Crown Prince could have a walk with his young maiden Lady Sansa, whilst Arya called her friend Mycah, the Butcher's boy, with whom she was sparring and playing around with wooden swords; their elder sister Y/N was supervising them from afar, but she was not alone, for the Imp was sitting by her side, a cup of wine in his hand.

The two were engaged in quite the conversation, counting the most interesting rumours about Old Valyria and what caused its doom - Meleys was sitting peacefully next to Tyrion, allowing him to pet her head, content that she could see her owner well, and protect her if needed. "I could never imagine that I would ever, in this life, have the privilege of seeing a direwolf, let alone pet one so docile. Might I say, even the stories don't do them justice. Though I have been able to admire yours the most, all the others were just as beautiful." the Dwarf spoke, looking down at the pup who flicked her ears lazily.

"Count your blessings, Lord Tyrion. Meleys is, after all, the most beautiful of them all. But don't tell Sansa I said that, she would get upset." the girl chuckled lightly, extending her hand to scratch her lovely companion under her chin. 

"May I ask why did you choose that name for her?" the man asked. "Heard by a capricious Lord, they might accuse you of treason."

"I know." she nodded solemnly. "But Meleys was known as the Red Queen. She was, in her prime, the fastest dragon during the Dance of the Dragons, and in light, she shone bright scarlet and coppery. What other name could honour my sweet pup's beauty... As well as mine own?" the girl smirked cunningly. "Besides... Lady Rhaenys Targaryen was known as the Queen who never was - Yet she still maintained her regal grace and wisdom about her. She did not need a title to define her greatness, just as I, as well, do not need any status, wealth, nor fame to define mine worth." Y/N continued to explain. "Moreover... Arya named her wolf Nymeria - I don't need to explain why she chose such a name, do I?" she hid her amusement by sipping more wine.

"I see - I should have known. My Lady, you are rather inspired. I wish more people thought like you - Alas, people's worth is merely defined by beauty, wealth, fame and status alone. Good people are trampled over and used to their last drop." the man sighed, daring, for even one second, to dream of a better life, when his nickname wouldn't be 'The Imp' alone.

"Then you better surround yourself with worthy, trusted people, My Lord. Everyone else is a liar. Most often, even our own selves." though, as soon as she uttered that, Arya's desperate shriek made the three jolt up and run that-a-way. 

"Arya, what happened?!" Y/N asked, her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to kill whoever dared touch her sweet sister. Instead, they saw a worried Sansa in the back, and Joffrey, with his sword out, cutting the cheek of poor Mycah. 

"Nephew, what is the meaning of this?" Tyrion asked - But he earned no reply, for Arya, due to her impulsivity and fear of having her friend tortured even more, took the stick she was sparring with and hit the Prince, allowing the Butcher's boy to run away. In his angry frenzy, the blond lion started swinging his sword around aimlessly, cursing the young girl and chasing her around, until Arya tripped and fell on the ground. "JOFFREY, STOP!" Tyrion yelled at the Prince, who pointed his sword to the girl's neck. 

"I WILL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH - CUNT!" seeing how blinded the Prince was, Y/N was ready to tackle Joffrey to the ground, only to have Nymeria leap from behind a bush and she bit his sword hand, making him fall to the ground, dropping the weapon.

"What a mess." Y/N cursed under her breath, as Meleys started growling at Nymeria, who was shorter than her, and she lead her away. Arya quickly swooped up Joffrey's sword and she pointed it at the frightened, bleeding Prince grovelling on the ground pathetically.

"No - Please, no-- Please, don't." the two-faced Prince begged. The young Stark looked at her elder sister, who nodded solemnly at her - Thus, she threw the sword in the river and ran away with her wolf.

"O, Lord Tyrion, I smell a lot of trouble to come." Lady Y/N muttered, looking with horror at the humiliated Prince. Sansa crouched desperately to his side, attempting to comfort and emphatise with him.

"O, my prince, my poor prince - Look what they've done to you. I'll go back to the inn and bring help." but as she reached her hand out to caress his cheek, the boy snarled at the fair maiden. "Don't touch me."

"I very much agree, My Lady." the Lord sighed as he went to his nephew and dragged him up, before taking him back to the camp.

The Stark children were thus brought, along with their father, in front of the King, who was sat on a throne, and the Queen was glaring them up, next to her very much offended son, with the bandaged wrist. Robert Baratheon had a stern look on his face, as he assessed all three of Ned's offsprings, before sharing a short look with his oldest best friend. His first mistake was to ask Sansa to speak, as she was there, having a stroll with Joffrey.

Alas, the two young girls started physically fighting, which made Y/N yell at them sternly to stop. "ENOUGH!" what Ned often couldn't do, Y/N could. Ned could never hit his children - It hurt him too much to even scold them, let alone hit them. But Y/N was their sister. Y/N was stern, and she knew just how harsh she had to be, to make a statement. Y/N roughly grabbed the shoulders of the two girls, pulling them apart, before slapping their cheeks. "You do not quarrel like children before the king. Now stay quiet unless you are spoken to." Sansa knew Y/N better than Arya, she thought, seeing that she was older and spent more time with her. That is why, Sansa knew very well, that she could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times Y/N truly got angry enough and had to brutally separate two siblings after a fight. Unfortunately, it was usually between herself and Arya - She never seemed to have such a problem with the boys... Unless Theon did something remarkably stupid.

"Your Grace, I and my father deeply apologise for their unseeming behaviour. As their elder sister, and the one tasked with watching over them, please, punish me however you see fit." the Stark girl knelt before the King humbly. She knew very well that, not only Robert Baratheon favoured her for allegedly reminding him of his late beloved Lyanna, thus, she hoped she could try and manipulate him into seeing the truth behind the lies. That... And she had Tyrion's alibi, and hopefully, it would work in her favour.

"She's as wild as that animal of hers, she needs to be punished." Cersei glared at young Arya - But the King raised his tone at her, reproaching the Queen.

"What would you have me do, whip her through the streets?!" he sneered at her. "Damn it. Children FIGHT! It's over." the man rolled his eyes, annoyed by having to pacify such a ridiculous situation. Being King was a drag, and being a father was equally terrible.

"Joffrey will bare those scars for the rest of his life." Cersei glared at her husband.

"You let that little girl disarm you?" the King looked with disappointment at his son. In the back, his younger brother, Renly, was laughing his heart out, mocking the Prince for his incompetence. "Take him out of here." the King waved his hand dismissively. "You. Tell me what happened. Get up." with a not so harsh voice, the King motioned for Y/N to get up and speak.

"Although we do not know the entire story, Your Grace, I and Lord Tyrion were there to watch over Arya and her friend, the Butcher's boy, who were sparring with wooden sticks by the river." the girl began her story.

"Lord Tyrion, ey? Then he is also a witness for this mess?" the King asked, having the Imp walk over.

"Yes, Your Grace." the little man nodded. "I and Lady Y/N were engaged into a deep conversation, a little away from the two little ones playing, before we heard Lady Arya screaming. Once we arrived, we saw Prince Joffrey cutting the Butcher's boy with his sword. Lady Arya used her stick to hit the Prince, allowing the boy to escape, but Joffrey started swinging at her. When his sword was pointing at her, her wolf went to attack the Prince, and disarmed him. The way I see it, the wolf merely acted in any way a dog does - Defending its owner." the look of hatred and scorn on the Queen's face was enough to show how displeased she was with the unwanted testimony.

"So you really let a young girl disarm you. With a wooden stick. Enough. I don't want to hear any more of this. Ned, you discipline your child, and I will do the same with mine." the King got up from his throne, as if to end the conversation.

"What about the direwolf?" Cersei snarled awfully through her teeth. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

"We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace." one of the knights spoke.

"So be it." the King wanted to let the matter go away and drink his problems away.

"You have two other wolves." Cersei spoke, wanting revenge.

Hearing such vengeful malevolence, Y/N threw herself at Robert Baratheon's feet at once. "Your Grace, I beg of you, do not kill our wolves. They have been as close to us, as our own siblings, since we rescued them, as pups. If it is the act of self-defense the matter, then, by all means, I am willing to have mine own wolf savage me the same as Nymeria did to Prince Joffrey. And if the Queen, Her Grace, wants to see no more wolf, then I will chase them away - We are still close to Winterfell. They can find their way home, to their kin. We were wrong to bring our companions with us - A direwolf's home is the North - It's the forest - Not a highly populated city. I beg of you, your Grace. Have mercy on us, for we love them as much as we love each other." Y/N knelt desperately before the King, pleading and bowing all the way to the ground. She could not imagine ever forgiving herself, or anyone else, should Meleys, Lady or Nymeria be killed. For her family, she would even humiliate herself to such degree.

"Y/N, raise up and look at me - " the King helped the young lady up, speaking in a softer voice. Though she did not have the features of Lyanna Stark, her deep devotion for her family and courage to stand up not on her behalf, but for her kin - She truly was her Aunt's niece. "You are a lady. It is one for a man to have scars, and another for an unmarried lady. You are aware of the implications, aren't you?" he tried to scare her off, but her gleaming eyes and the ambition, passion and love in her beautiful orbs melted his last remaining resolve.

"I will order my wolf to even rip my arm off, if it would please Her Grace and atone for our misbehaving - As long as the wolves live. I cannot imagine our soul kin dying, nor do I wish for my sweet, young sisters to encounter such grief at an early age." the King groaned loudly and shook his head. Watching the tears of conviction and bravery well up in those crystal eyes of hers, innocent and pure, only drew flashbacks of Lyanna before his vision. He was done with all this. He needed those bloody drinks, and he needed his best friend urgently.

"Fine, fine. Chase off the wolves. I don't want to see them anymore." the King put his hand on Ned's shoulder and dragged him away from the tent - It was already late evening, and he was getting tired of being a King. 

"Sister, won't you let Lady Stark go already? It was no one's fault that the accident happened." Tyrion tried to pacify his sister, but it only made things worse.

"I don't need any words from your filthy liar tongue, Tyrion." her eyes almost bulged with hatred. "I will have someone punished for what happened to my son!" her voice boomed loudly - But another entered the tent. It was The Hound.

"The butcher's boy has been caught and killed, Your Grace." he spoke, but it did not please the Queen.

"Then, if it will offer any consolation for Her Grace, I will do as I have promised." Sandor was confused as to what the young lady was saying, or why she went on the ground, waiting obediently, as if she was lowering her collar to accept beheading.

"Clegane - Bring the red wolf over. Keep a tight hold on it. We don't want more accidents, do we?" the sneer she spit made the Hound simply conform to her words, albeit, not without his gaze lingering onto the red head who knelt with a stone face.

"Y/N, what are you doing? Are you insane? You are a lady! What will your Lord husband say when he sees those scars?!" Sansa cried out, sobbing, with Arya holding onto her.

"Luckily, I have no Lord husband, and even if I did, he should live with the idea that a Prince is not to be brought to harm by any means, under no circumstance - Those who do must face the consequences of their own actions." both Sansa's and Arya's blood froze in their veins - Those words weren't only to please the Queen, but to warn them. Y/N's eyes were fixated on them, and they held no emotion. Both girls would have preferred to get a beating or a scolding - But this... This was excruciatingly painful.

Clegane brought the large red wolf - And thankfully, most people ran from the tent. "Meleys, issa jorrāelagon." Tyrion realised it was High Valyrian she was speaking with. Most noble children were taught that language when they were children, albeit, few actually want to bother with it. No wonder the one naming her wolf over a creature that only responds to Valyrian-spoken orders would fluently speak the language of old. "Māzigon kesīr." the wolf tugged at the leash and went to sit besides her owner. Looking at the two, he realised how much they looked alike. Same hair, same eyes - And the invisible bond between those two was so evident, that it almost made his little heart break.

Sandor looked down as he felt a small, gentle hand over his - And he allowed the leash into her hand. Y/N's other arm was extended. Unlike the Imp, the Hound couldn't understand her broken words - yet the emotion behind them was enough. "Angogon." but the wolf looked at her owner and whimpered. "Meleys. Angogon." Tyrion knew that the girl was ordering her beloved wolf to bite her, and the animal was confused and afraid - How could she hurt the person she loved the most? The one she's supposed to protect?

Y/N sighed. "Arya, come over." Arya knew Y/N's secret - Y/N was a warg. In fact, she claimed all the siblings were wargs, and she tried to teach and help them actively bond with their wolves, yet it did not work as well as expected. Still, Arya went behind Y/N and held her shoulders, in case she lost composure and her body fell to the side. It only happened twice, but better safe than sorry. Y/N looked down, her hair covering her face - And now, she could see her own self, through her wolf's very eyes.

The graveyard silence of the tent was broken by the snarling sound of the wolf biting her owner's arm, chewing at it - Her snout was bloody, as well the arm and the ground. Blood stained the sleeve of the ripped dress. The wound would have hurt much worse if Y/N wasn't warged, but she stepped back and then sat down, as the wolf, before she went back into her own consciousness. She bit her lip hard, now feeling the full searing agony electrocuting her entire arm. She felt the iron on her tongue, but did not as much as whimper - Yet she could feel wetness wash her cheeks. Her body was reacting on its own to the agonizing pain afflicting her arm. "Avy jorrāelan, Meleys. Avy jorrāelan. Ao issi nykeā sȳz hāedar." Tyrion looked down, unable to see Y/N patting and praising her remorseful wolf, confused as she was - He could not bare to see the blood falling even still on the ground - The sweet declarations of love towards her companion were bittersweet enough as they were. Sometimes - In fact, very often - He truly hated how merciless his family was. 

"Dismissed." Cersei growled, dragging her son out of the tent. 

"You may raise, Lady Y/N." the girl nodded simply, trying to mask the trembling of her figure as she stood up. She must not have been aware at first, but from the anguish her body felt after the gnawing, the leash had fallen from her grasp. Were it not for Clegane holding tightly onto it, who knows what a worried wolf would have done to protect her master.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion." her voice was soft and barely audible, and her arm was trembling, yet she wasn't clutching on it. Instead, her good hand went to take ahold of the leash - But Clegane wasn't letting go. He was looking down at the little fox, unsure of what to do. He wasn't there to know the fate of the wolves, yet he desperately wanted to just let her go. Was this her own doing, or did the Queen order it? A normal lady would despair at having the tiniest flaw on her body, let alone her whole forearm mutilated in such a way. That won't perfectly heal, no matter what revolutionary, miracle medicine the Maesters give her. Lady Y/N looked absolutely pitiful, Sandor thought; she looked so small and broken, so vulnerable and afraid... This little fox cub was going to end up as food if she continues to offer up her fur to save her siblings - And dear as she may be for him, there is little a stupid guard dog can do to protect a fox kit from a whole pack of rabid, starving lions.

"You may release her." he did not let go, even feeling that small hand over his, trying to dig the leather leash from his strong grip. Somehow, even without seeing her face, covered by the curtain of carmine velvet hair, he could feel the rising rage bubbling in her heart. "LET HER GO, MUTT!" her head snapped up, and she snatched the leash, stepping away from him - The hard glare on her face shocked Clegane. From the mischievous little vixen, to a broken, bitter noble lady. Blood for blood, a wound for a wound. She protected her siblings in her detriment, but to what extent can her life stretch out and save everyone? He dearly hoped he wouldn't find out the answer - Those tears were enough to make him forget how to speak or even think straight. He hadn't realised how awful he felt, watching the broken porcelain doll before him - Nor how protective he suddenly felt over her.

"Let her go, Clegane. The wolves are her responsibility now." Sandor needn't be told twice, as he watched the girl get out of the tent. He stared down at the Imp, and marched out as well. From the corner of his eye, he saw, in the distance, the three Stark sisters and their father, surrounded by the three wolves. They looked like a proper family. Pity it had to be broken.

In life, there are only two types of families - Those who are dysfunctional to the core from the very beginning, his own life being the best example - And those perfect, loving families, much like the Starks, who end up torn apart by the ruthless cruelty of the former category. Bitter as he may be, Sandor Clegane wished not to harm any of those innocent fools, especially these little ladies who have been so perfectly safe from any worry and danger, and think life to be truly beautiful and worth living. Somehow, his heart was alit with a burning need of protecting their innocence - The innocence taken away from himself and his sister, the hope that was robbed from him all these years ago - All because of his own brother.

Far into the forest, Y/N, with a heavy heart and a pained arm, warged into her wolf again, and lead her two wolf sisters away from there. Better away than dead. Hopefully, they will find a pack to lead, or go back home. Either way, it was fine. But Y/N was done with her sisters for a while. Though she could not condemn them - Joffrey was a jerk, and his mother, even more so - Things were going to be trouble. "Daddy - Is there no way to return back to Winterfell?" Y/N asked, almost as if she was resigned with her imminent death.

"No, my dear... Unfortunately... No." Ned sighed and hugged his eldest daughter, kissing the top of her head. Neither of them imagined it would be one of their last tender father-daughter moments. "Let's get that wound looked after." but she stepped away.

"I'll wrap it myself. Please take care of these two. They need you more." Ned watched Y/N turn and walk away, before turning his sight to his youngest daughters, still shaken up. Not only was she afraid for them, due to their childish outbursts and lack of understanding of proper high court etiquette and political manners - He was even more afraid that Y/N would end up taking all the blame on herself, to protect her two foolish sisters. She changed so much after that marriage... She became so self-sacrificing that it pained him, as a father, for indirectly causing this shift; From an impishly playful and haughty little lady, to the wise woman with the bitter and nostalgic smile of an old crone weathered by countless winters.

Y/N went back to the river, away from the nosy people. The river was part of her inner peace, after all. Half a Tully of Riverrun, on the side of her mother, she always felt comfort in the sound of the rapid water breaking over the stones. When she wasn't seeking the calm of the Godswood, she would listen to the lullaby of the rivers running wild.

Oh, how she missed her mother - Her heart ached, looking towards the clean water, lost in thought. How they would go by the river and play barefoot in the water, or make flower crowns for the family together; How they would embroider pretty dresses, or recite old poems that Cat was taught by her own mother, and even her grandmother. She would tell her stories about her little misadventures and mischief with her sister, Lysa, who was now the Lady of the Eyrie, a castle high up into the mountains that made you feel as if you were floating up onto the fluffy clouds. And on the rarest occasions, Y/N would listen, with the widest grin on her face, about her romantic moments with her father. He may be a little clumsy when it comes to love and the hearts of women, but he was always gallant and attentive with her mother; They truly loved each other. Y/N didn't need the ballads and stories of beautiful maidens and brave knights falling in love flawlessly, at first sight - She wanted a caring and tender love story like that of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully; Flawed as it may be, at least it was real. She needn't the most charming or gallant man, nor a poet or a scribe - But a man who would protect her and treat her with such care, as if she was a frail little snowdrop amidst the snow.

Her reverie day-dreaming was broken, as the loud clanking of heavy armor approached her. Though it was now dark outside, as the night he found her in the Woods in Winterfell, the Hound's towering form appeared in front of her. "Hello, dog. Are you here to seek the apology that you rightfully deserve? Or, mayhaps either of the offended Graces wanted more revenge on the, to quote, 'stupid cunt', who humiliated the little, defenseless princeling?" that sharp bitterness would have been amusing, were it not for the implication. However, Sandor remained silent for a while. He went on one knee and took the girl's injured arm - Carefully as a crystal doll, and he washed it away, before wrapping it up. His touch was gentle as no one would expect, but the wound still burnt in agony, causing the maiden to instinctively attempt to remove her arm from the on-going pain with a soft whimper.

He did not apologise for causing her pain, but she needn't an apology for it anyway. Instead, it was her who apologised. "I hate you for killing an innocent boy." she said, out of the blue. "But a dog is a dog. Fiercely loyal until the very end. It was not for you to disobey." she continued. "Forgive me for insulting you. You did not deserve an insult - Lest of all, for doing your job." the man stared her in the eye, conflicted at what to say. Then, he saw the stray tear, possibly escaped because of the wound, and he took a rag from his pocket, wiping it away as gently as he could.

"No need to apologise to me, girl." he grumbled lowly. "You more than paid for whatever happened." she said nothing - But the way she looked at him was amusing - She wanted to strike him down where he stood. "I know what you're thinking. Don't. Say one wrong word and you might get your head put on a spike."

"Of course. I cannot trust a dog which is not loyal to me. Nor can I trust a wolf that is greener than me. And you wonder why I dislike speaking." the maiden scoffed, removing her arm from his hold once he finished wrapping it up. "Thank you - Ser." she emphasised the last word, knowing it would irritate him.

"I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows." the man spit on the ground.

"I know. That's why I taunted you." she retorted easily. "If you don't accept my apology, then that's fine. You hold 'Dog' as a compliment, rather than an insult. Smart. The connotation, however - Differs on who it is that calls you that. It might serve as a term of endearment for some."

"I like dogs better than knights... A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And the hound will look you straight in the face." perhaps it was a way of intimidating the girl, but Sandor leaned closer to the younger girl, his eyes dead set on her.

But she did not back down - Instead, she leaned forward, and she smirked like an enticing vixen. She was so close to his face - So close that he could feel her breath on his face; And those plump lips of hers, soft and beautiful, were tempting him so bad. "Before or after I'm dead?" Sandor wanted to reach his hands out and grab her face, smashing his lips against her own - Pink and wet, like a rose petal bathing in the morning dew. It was almost like she was begging him to kiss her.

"You have a death wish, little fox?" the man growled lowly, almost resembling a dog.

"No more than you do."

Their stay in King's Landing, albeit luxurious, and with enough maids to care for them, was awful. No matter what, the only reason they were still fine, was because their father was still alive, and with the uncanny influence as the Hand of the King. She could not imagine how stressed he was feeling every day he woke up and realised the corruption and injustice crawling through every corner of this God forsaken place.

Though she couldn't spend time with Clegane, being the Prince's sworn shield and constantly by his side - Tyrion was another story altogether. The witty little imp was great to spend the time with, so at least, whenever she was drinking and laughing with him, she felt as close to the word 'safe' as she could possibly feel in the capital city of Westeros. But Tyrion's word meant nothing, in front of the Queen or the Prince, so from how much could he protect her, before she gets her head on a spike, as the dog said?

The very first great festivity to be held in King's Landing was Joffrey's Name's Day Tourney - Many knights from all over Westeros have gathered forth, joining the jousting competition. Though from Winterfell, no knight was able to get too far down the brackets, they still fought valiantly, and were praised. Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gregor Clegane, Sandor's very own elder brother, went farthest into the competition. The charming lion even defeated Barristan the Bold, as their father called him - What a great and true knight the old one is!

Alas, during the semi-finals, Ser Loras was to fight The Mountain. The Knight of the Flowers went to gift Sansa a rose before doing a pretty courtesy in front of the King, who allowed the beginning of the match. Loras was riding a white, pristine clean, beautiful mare, and he was dressed in shining silver-like armor, making his radiating, prince-like handsomeness even more highlighted. Sansa's face was as red as the rose she was gifted, looking at the dashing young boy, old as Robb and Jon. On the other end of the court, dressed in all black, on a black stallion, The Mountain, towering over all, was fixing that ugly, yellow shield, with a single black dog painted on it.

It was a scary match, Y/N though, gripping instinctively the hilt of Dark Sister - It was a bad habit she had to break, whenever she was nervous. She was a lady, and she couldn't go around with a sword so leisurely anymore - Not in King's Landing. This was, at least, an exception, especially as she hid it with her cloak so well. At a tourney, everyone had a weapon! "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him." Sansa, afraid for the beautiful boy, clinged to both her father's and her sister's arms, her gaze fixed on the knight. A bit more, and she might have been forgetting how to breathe. "He's going to die!"

"Ser Loras rides well." Ned reassured his sweet girl.

"Daddy, if you were there, you could have defeated them all." Y/N grinned childishly at her two family members. Unfortunately, neither of them were paying attention.

As the trumpet sang, the two knight galloped towards one another - And to everyone's erupting glee, the feared Mountain toppled over from his horse, down on the ground, bringing down the fragile wooden fence with him. Y/N jolted to her feet - She smelt trouble - She looked back, and saw the Hound. He felt her gaze, and looked straight back. Though perfectly stoic, Y/N could almost feel even his nervousness. Sandor might be a dog, but Gregor as a whole damn mountain - Bigger, stronger, and far scarier. The man could see the anxiety surging through her veins - Was she afraid for the charming knight? Did she fall in love with him and his beauty, like all the other maidens watching? Still - Her gorgeous eyes were pooling with terror.

In an instant, she looked back at the court. "Daddy, the Mountain is going to kill Loras Tyrell." she found herself uttering in an eerie tone. Gregor picked up his sword and beheaded his own poor horse, while Loras was doing courtesies. It wasn't surprising for his brother, but the action startled even the otherwise level-headed Y/N, the dog noted. Everyone gasped, watching the huge man strike the knight from his horse, and even try to slash him, while he was on the ground - Luckily, he blocked it with a shield. That was no knight behaviour, and definitely not something to show during a sacred festivity.

Y/N felt her heart beating fast - On the ground, she did not see Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, the sweet, dashing boy from Highgarden; Not anymore. She saw Robb Stark, the young wolf. She saw Jon Snow, her shy brother. Her family. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" the foolish, reckless, absolutely idiotic girl jumped the protective fence from the stands and used Dark Sister to block a well-aimed blow to the boy's face. Clegane thought the girl had a death wish - Was she fucked in the head, to go against the bloody Mountain? Was she that desperately in love with that young boy that she'd give away her life, for his own? Regardless of the reason, even he couldn't help but worry for the foolish lady.

Her arms were trembling, and she couldn't hold her own against this outlandish brute strength, but at least she was happy to have spared the boy - Temporarily, at least. "YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING AND PRINCE JOFFREY - STOP THIS UNSIGHTLY BEHAVIOUR AT ONCE!" but the Mountain did not listen. He was deaf and blind to anything but his rage. "Loras, get up, now!" she spoke, stepping back and parrying one more of his blows. Y/N was sure her arms would fall off, and were it not for her sword being forged from Valyrian steel, she could have sworn it would break from his brute strength, and the barely healed wound on her forearm would spill over with blood and flesh and bits of bone all over the ground.

The third strike was the last, and she was on her back - For a split moment, she remembered how Bran defeated Tommen and sent him to the ground, struggling like a turtle on its shell. Seeing the man raise his longsword to strike somewhere between herself and Loras, she heard the boy call to her. "Duck!" and the two rolled away from the blow. 

Stupid girl, going out of her way to fight death himself. What the hell is in that empty head of hers? She goes out of her way to seduce him, and now, she's shielding another. Y/N and Loras looked like two children, dirty and playing in the sand, only to get bullied by the awful Mountain. Screw him and his stupid brain, and his stupid eroded heart and his stupid fucking morals. "LEAVE THEM BE!" a familiar, rough voice called out, and another man, wearing black, leapt from the stands to parry another swing from the Mountain. Sandor Clegane was shielding Lady Stark, who was on the ground. She looked up at his grand form, struggling to push his gargantuan brother away from the two idiots. Y/N and Loras dragged each other up quickly, scurried next to one another, defending themselves behind his shield and her sword, yet also watching the immaculate fight between the two brothers.

Whilst the Tyrell knight wanted to one day have the Hound's otherwordly sword skill; Y/N felt her heart go crazy with mad love. That man had no reason to go out of his way and face the worst man known to Westeros, and coincidently, his own worst fear - Yet, there he was, protecting her, and fighting off his mad brother. Y/N was striken dizzy with such an intense adoration for Sandor Clegane, like she's never thought possible.

Stupid Joffrey and everyone else only watched the altercation unfold - Were they all dumb? Were they perhaps too stunned by the dance of death? Or were they screaming, yet their shrieks were deaf to those in the ring? "STOP THIS MADNESS, IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" that, however, everyone heard, as Robert Baratheon rose from his throne and his voice roared and thundered throughout the place. The hound kneeled to bend his knee to the King while simultaneously dodging a fatal blow from his brother.

Y/N's hand was desperately clutching on her chest, trying to stop her beating heart from escaping her chest, while her other hand was shaking terribly, clasped around the hilt of her sword. The stupid Stark girl stole a glance at her father - He almost had collapsed from worry, but at least was now relieved she was unharmed. She will explain to him later, the reason for her absolute foolishness. Sansa, too, felt at ease, seeing no one die - Though the shock from the horse's brutal death still weighed heavy on her. She saw Gregor throw away his sword in disgust, and walk away. What a disgusting, unsightly creature. However, Sandor Clegane was his complete opposite. He was faithfully kneeling on one knee, his hands on the hilt of the sword impaled into the ground, and head was down, in respect and loyalty for his King. Y/N had never thought she would ever see someone like him in such a light - However, her heart beat faster, seeing him so humble. He was the only one who got out of his way to protect Loras, a literal child, against his own brother, the most feared Knight of Westeros.

Sandor Clegane was one of the only men that Y/N would call a true Knight.

Looking up, The Hound saw that he could rise - And so he did, yet his head was still hung. Though both young ones still in the ring had trembling legs like flowers in the spring breeze, they made their way towards the Knight who saved them. "I owe my life to you, Ser. And you, My Lady - Thank you to the both of you." though Y/N was too absorbed by shock to speak, Sandor simply spat in bitterness. He truly hated all this unnecessary attention brought to him. "I'm no Ser." Loras grabbed the Hound's hand and brought it up on the sky, declaring him the winner. Y/N smiled, and began clapping - The rest followed. The man, however, was glaring deeply at everyone. 

"Just accept the appreciation, dog." Sandor looked down at the girl, and he wanted to snark her - But that smile. That smile stopped him. It was sweet, and her eyes were sparkling. For a few seconds, he felt as though that dreamy and pure adoration was addressed to him. He loved that thought, be it real or not.

He hated seeing her afraid, like when her life was threatened by his own brother, and he hated seeing her angry, like during the Joffrey incident. He hated seeing her wounded, as with the wound on her arm, and he hated seeing her crying, having seen her cheeks wet with tears.

The dog loved, however, those witty one liners of hers, and the cunning philosophies she spoke of. He loved hearing her conversations with the Imp, although he got jealous, because they were always so clever and tricky. He loved seeing that smirk of hers, as she taunted or mocked him. And he adored that love she held for her family and how she nurtured them all with all her heart.

However, what Sandor Clegane loved, more than anything, was that genuine, innocent smile that. It was all for him. His dear little fox.

But now came the bad part of being the 'hero' as those foolish maidens would call him now. He had to participate in the farce of a tourney. 

Watching the girl take back her seat next to her sister and father, and them hugging her tightly - She seemed to have a guilty expression on her face - But they forgave her for making them worry. That was family. Loving and forgiving each other. Not what his brother did. Killing their father. Killing their sister. Melting half of his face in the brazier. 

Monster.

Sandor's first joust was against the King's own brother, Renly Baratheon, whom he easily defeated, and next, he had to fight the Queen's brother, Jaime Lannister for the semi-finals. A man came over to him with a basket full of flowers. He cursed him off, but the man insisted that he HAD to gift a woman the flower. If he wasn't so done with life, he would have shoved that rose down his nose, watching him bleed to death. But out of respect and loyalty for the King, he kept himself in check, begrudgingly snatching that stupid flower. It was blood red, but thorny. Sandor climbed on his dear horse, Stranger, and all the way to the stands, he absent-mindedly removed the thorns from its stem until he got in front of the beautiful Stark girl with red hair. He extended his hand over, but did not directly face her - Only from the corner of his eye, to get a feel of her feelings regarding his weird gesture. "Here, little fox. Tradition - Or whatever horse-shit some fool spat."

He felt the flower being slowly taken away from his hand, yet he did not, at first, see the demure, bashful expression on her face, nor that sweet blush. For what felt like an eternity, but were merely a few seconds, the girl did not speak - Thousands of fitting replies were running through her head. All of them, appropriate for any other person.

But Sandor Clegane was not just any other person. "Woof." the girl was struggling not to grin from ear to ear, amused beyond belief by her own sick sense of humour. The man, however, snapped his head at her and glared hard - Though his heart melted, watching that joyous innocence - And it was addressed his way. He barked, rough and raspy, before going to his end of the ring.

"Not exactly a prince charming..." Sansa looked skeptical, and slightly disgusted. She wished only the best for her sister - And the Hound was not the handsome knight she wanted Y/N to fall in love with. Clearly, in no way, that monster of a man could be gentle and caring with a noble lady, lest of all, Y/N - Right?

"He may not look as handsome as Loras, Sansa - But his heart is in the right place. More or less." the girl chuckled, watching the dog miraculously taking down the Lannister Lion. "I would choose him, over all knights across Westeros, and beyond." Sansa couldn't comprehend the weirdness of her statement; Perhaps she was still shaken up after all the insane things she did in the jousting court.

The final, however, did not take place, as Loras Tyrell yielded before the match could begin - He did not want to fight the man who saved his life - Thus, Sandor Clegane had won the Jousting Tourney held on the Name's Day of Prince Joffrey. The feast at night was what everyone was truly waiting for - But Arya refused to participate, and Sansa and Jeyne were hovering over the lemon cakes and gossiping about the pretty knights. Y/N had no babysitter job, so she went looking for Sandor. Half of her expected him to be drinking his victory away at the feast - The other, to stay by Joffrey's side. None were true. She found the man drinking all by himself, at the end of the feast, having growled and snarled away any drinking companion. 

Smirking to herself, Y/N nonchalantly stepped to the very end of the feast, and she stood in front of him. She hoped she would be towering over him, while he was sitting, the same way he always shades her with his height. Alas - He was far too tall, either way. "You have fought valiantly today, good Ser." the man growled in annoyance. 

"Must I bite you, to make you stop calling me that?" he seemed genuinely disgusted by the idea of being called a knight.

"O, my, Ser~. Court me first, before you speak of such indecent implications." the man snapped his head up, and looked straight into her beautiful eyes. His beard was wet from all the ale he spilled on himself while drinking his sorrows away.

"That is a very dangerous thing to say to a drunk man, little fox." the man warned, only to see the enigmatic grin on her face.

"I am saying it to you - Not to any drunk man." she giggled, a nasty impish grin on her face, watching him get riled up so easily. "Ever since I left the North, my sense of self-preservation has been completely depraved. Mayhaps I am in need of a loyal hound to protect me, when I cannot." he took a sharp inhale.

"You intentionally got yourself in front of my brother's sword. I'd say 'depraved' is too light a word. Nonexistent is a better fit." the girl looked away, a guilty smile on her face, before she sighed.

"Loras is the same age as Robb and Jon. I did not see Loras there. I saw Robb. I saw Jon." Sandor's heart dropped. The little fox wasn't in love with Loras - She was so madly protective over her younger brothers, that she ended up shielding another female's cubs. He thought all women were the same - Damsels in distress, afraid, frail and so on. But he was wrong. The little fox may be all that, but she's also fierce and with such a strong love for her family, that she would do anything. Now he felt guilty for thinking ill of her.

"I'm not saying what I did was not stupid. It was. If it were not for you, both myself and Loras would have died out there." she admitted, and the man was soberly attentive. "But my siblings are too innocent. They are still children. They did not see how awful the world can be. I want to protect them and that innocence of theirs, for as long as I can. I want to see them happy." she explained, taking out the rose and twirling it around her fingers. "Don't think me altruistic - I am doing it for myself. I live vicariously through them. My happiness comes from their happiness." she smiled bitterly, further confusing the dog. "You can call me all synonyms existent for the word - Stupid - And I will accept them. But that erases naught how strongly I feel about protecting my kin... And..." she bruskly turned in front of the man, and extended the flower intimately towards him. "That even though you cast away the title, you are one of the very few people, in a sea of knights, who deserves that title. And, whether it means anything to you or not, you have earned by deep respect and appreciation." the man was speechless for a while, but then he slapped away her hand. 

"What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing." the man snarled at her, a look of self-hatred on his face. Drinking always made him even more of a bitter and eroded man than he already was.

"I think black suits you rather well - Although, I would want to see you in shining silver, or elegant gold." she did not let go of the rose. "Knights are for killing, yes, but today, the knight before me used his power to protect me."

"There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different. Today, you should have died. You just got lucky. Same as that other lad. Woman, child, elderly or man - None of these matter, in the eyes of a killer." he reprimanded the girl harshly, yet she only seemed to smile at him - That smile was defiant of his words.

"I don't believe in Gods, nor altruism. I believe not in humanity, nor the genuine good of mankind. I have seen many, I have faced even more, yet there are far worse things out there, of which I would be terrified to witness." she spoke softly, stepping close towards him. "Yet when I saw you there, in front of me - Protecting me against that monster of a man..." her voice was much softer. "I felt safe."

Sandor, with his inebriated mind, was so, so close to just grabbing the girl and smashing his lips to hers - He wanted her so bad. He needed her, more than he needed air to breathe in his lungs. He did, however, grab her arm and brought her to sit on his knee - Yet he only damaged himself and his psyche further, as the imagery of the beautiful girl being flushed against his chest, was doing things to him. He really needed to go to a tavern and fuck some whores, and soon. "Are you done?"

"I want to give you the rose back." the man was confused. Surely, favour can't be returned. Was this her way of rejecting him? Of telling him that, even if she did love him, her noble status prohibited her from being with him? "Red doesn't look good on me, and roses are for fair maidens." her smile disappeared, and a solemn, nostalgic look took over. She looked devastated and anguished, in spite of the facade she tried to keep together.

"You are one." he saw her shake her head, smiling bitterly. 

"I am not." her reply was cold cut like a blade in winter - Though whose heart ached more, was uncertain. "Red roses are for fair maidens, destined to fall in love with a strong knight that will protect her." she said, getting up from his leg, placing the flower gently on the table in front of him. "You are one. But I am not. Love is not something that I am deserving of." he could not understand what she was saying. It was only gibberish and the ramblings of a silly girl. Still, she turned her back to him. "Good night, Sweet Sandor. I truly wish you all the best in the world. You are a fine man. Better than most." her silhouette was trembling softly. "You are the Knight that my young self dreamt of all her life." her voice held a melancholic vibrato; and she walked away, leaving the Hound all alone, as he's always been.

He wanted to think and understand what the hell had that all been about, yet no matter how much he tried to think, he failed at finding an answer. He never prided himself with being overly intelligent, perhaps that was the reason why he couldn't comprehend. He wasn't up to her mental capacity, like The Imp was, nor was he anywhere as wealthy or high in status. Or, even better - He was not as pretty as the Knight of the Flowers - After all, he was ugly, and disfigured. Not that she ever had any problem looking at him - Her gaze never shied away from him, and with that sweet smile from before, he even had... Hope, mayhaps. 

But it had all been for naught.

In his heart, however, he was unable to sever the bond he had between himself and the sweet girl whom he had lost forever.

She did not avoid him though, despite that smile never making its way to her face. She was deathly worried, every second of her existence. Sandor was as ruthless a beast as never before, and he cared little for anyone standing in his way, including her father's own men, whom he helped slaughter. Things were getting rougher. Eddard Stark was imprisoned, and the Stark girls were in grave danger. He worried for them, without realising. But what could he do, when King Baratheon is dead and Ned Stark, the single remaining man who wished for true justice, was sent to the gallows, forced to admit to a lie he never committed, in front of the whole city.

Up on the pedestal, he looked down at the dirty crowd. Beggars and whores and disgusting fleas. Next to him, he could see Sansa, all prettied up, and almost proud of the deal she had made with the Queen next to her. Y/N, however, was keeping King Joffrey deep under her gaze. Glaring at him. It looked as though she was suspecting something ill to be happening. Ilyn Payne was there too. And Littlefinger, and Maester Pycelle, and a few Golden Cloaks. He wanted to reach his hands out, put them on the girl's shoulders and keep her steady - He was afraid she might lash out and get herself killed somehow. The father looked at his two girls, before hanging his head and daring to confess whatever that was to confess. 

Joffrey spoke about Sansa begging him to send him to The Wall - And Cersei too. The Hound found out this way that Y/N, too, pleaded mercy for her father - It was no wonder, he thought. What other deal could you make with a mad child like Joffrey? Alas, their judgement and feelings were subject to mockery. "Ser Ilyn - Bring me his head!" as soon as the King ordered, Sandor's arms grabbed Y/N's body, immobilising her before she could throw herself out there, to die with her father. "LET ME GO, YOU STUPID DOG!" her insults were desperate, but the words did not hurt him. Her pain did. It stuck the blade deep in his heart, and then twisted it around hard. "DADDY! DADDY, NO! STOP -- DON'T DO IT! DON'T KILL HIM! DADDY!" she was not the cunning and enigmatic little fox that was perfectly calm, collected and calculated. That was a little girl, crying for her father. She was a child in his arms, wriggling and struggling to slip from his grasp, but no matter how close she was to getting out, he grabbed her again and brought her to his chest. 

"Don't look, Y/N. Don't look." but she was far too desperate, and when the the longsword was brought down, in one swing, Eddard Stark's head rolled to the ground. Y/N stopped moving - Perhaps, she even stopped breathing - And she fell lax, only the Hound's arms holding him. "No." she was heard by no one, except the dog, who held her tightly. "Y/N - Y/N, look at me." he tried to turn her around, his hands on her face - But his heart stopped, seeing her face, sheer agony and hopelessness in her dead eyes, and her face drenched with tears. One arm was securely holding her body up, wrapped around her waist, for she held no more strength for once; And the other hand was gently holding the back of her head, his fingers through that shiny scarlet hair of hers - As scarlet as the blood of her father, running in thin ribbons down the pedestal.

"He's dead, Sandor. He's dead. What's the point anymore?" he was at a loss of words. How was he to comfort a girl, after she just watched her beloved father get killed, in front of the whole King's Landing - All because of the capricious nature of the boy king?

"He died, for you and your sisters to live. That's the point. Live. For his sake. For the little bird's sake. She needs you." the quivering of her lip and the way she tried to bite down roughly on it did not stop her body from shaking from the sobs. She knew, better than anyone, the torture she was going to face in the many, many days to come. 

"Everyone needs me, Sandor, and they have me - But who do I have?" her question was so desperately heart breaking, that despite his better knowledge, he found himself blurting an answer he never thought would come out of his filthy mouth. A statement that only made the little fox start sobbing openly, burying herself in his chest, relishing in the feeling of his arms around her broken body.

"You have me."

The lions were ready to rip apart the young wolf pups, and the dog held no real power to protect either of them. At least, Sandor thought, Y/N might feel better, knowing that the youngest one had escaped. Maybe, only. The blatant mocking and disrespect could simply be ignored, The Hound thought. Even if Joffrey made fun of Eddark Stark in front of the girls. They looked dead, but at the same time, vengeful. He was afraid either of them might act up stupidly.

One day, he accompanied the King on the bridge, where he wanted to admire the heads propped on lances, serving as a grim reminder for all traitors. He taunted Sansa - And what a fool the little bird was, she wanted to push the bratty King off the bridge, to his death. While very satisfying, Y/N would go insane, if she were to witness her own sister's death as well. Perhaps he had called the sisters separately to mock their father, reveling in their raw emotions? Was humiliating them and bringing them such pain, his pleasure? Definitely.

Thus, there she stood, tall and proud, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her in her life. She had easily masked over her pain. Now, he wondered - His mind flew to that night, after the Tourney - What awful things could she have experienced, that she claimed to not be deserving of love? More, to be able to hide away her true feelings so well? 

He watched Y/N looking up at her father's head - It almost looked alive, she thought. Sleeping. She didn't need Meryn Trant to force her to look at him. She was content on her own. No matter how much he was taunting her, she did not speak. Even if she did spare him a glance, it was defiant, and deep. Piercing, like a hawk staring at its prey. When he smiled, she knew he was mocking her. “Your brother is a traitor too, you know. Just like your father. And so are you and your sister.” he turned Septa Mordane’s head around. “I remember your brother from Winterfell. My dog called him the lord of the wooden sword. Didn’t you, dog? Made fun of how he needed a girl to protect him.”

"Did I?" the Hound replied. "I don't recall." Y/N refused to even spare him a glance. In fact, she did not react at all. She remained unmoved as a statue. His words came back to literally bite him - And hard.

It angered the King that she wasn't afraid of him. How dare she? A stupid little cunt, defying him? Outrageous! "Ser Trant, teach this traitorous wench what happens when she defies my orders." without any hesitation, Meryn Trant stepped almost perfectly between her and Sandor, and with those metal gauntlets, he struck her - Once, and then twice. She did not let out a single whimper, nor sound. A single, thin river of blood went down her chin, from her busted lip. "Still don't want to speak to me? Go on. Ser Trant, continue until she apologises for defying me." Sandor was disgusted with the white cloak before him, who dared call himself a 'Knight', using all his force into slapping a woman. Though, he shouldn't be one to judge - A member of the famed Kingsguard, was watching an innocent person getting beaten up, and he did not stop it. A real dog would never watch the person he is loyal to, getting hurt, and act naught. 

He watched Y/N lose balance from the force behind one of the blows, and she fell to the ground, a single gasp of surprise being heard. Seeing Trant ready to strike her head again, he rushed to grab his hand. "She spoke. You're getting His Grace's schedule behind." Meryn snatched away the hand from the Hound's, and went to sit next to the King.

"Huh. I suppose you're right, dog. I was enjoying myself so much, watching a traitor cunt getting the treatment she deserves, that I have forgotten the course of time." the King marched past her, only to stop. "Ah, before I forget - Mother says that we have to marry you off soon. I'll think of someone really nice for you. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I was thinking that you might be missing home - Perchance, the bastard son of Lord Bolton would make a good match. Betray your brother even. Or... Some stinky, homeless old man from the sewers of Fleas Bottom would be far more fitting?" the King laughed tauntingly, marching towards the Throne room, with Meryn Trant behind him.

Sandor watched the girl get up, and gaze fondly at the high drop - Pondering, for a small amount of time, the pros and cons of throwing herself and ending things already. The man took out a rag from his pocket and reached out to dab away the blood welling from the various shallow cuts made on her face - But it was slapped away, and she stepped back. "So much for protecting me." she muttered monotonously, walking past him, no doubt back to her room, where she had locked herself into.

He wanted to go over to her room, but she never answered the knocks. He wanted to grab her face again and make her look at him - To tell her - How in the world could he go against the King's word? It would get them both killed - It won't help anyone. He can protect her from anyone, but her greatest enemy - The Lion. Not even the new Hand of the King, Tyrion, who was her friend, could save her. The one time he had barged into her chambers, he had seen her drinking with the Imp, and upon questioning, he simply came up with a petty excuse, and left.

Why did she want to speak to the Imp, and not to him? Did she truly hate him so? 

Unbeknownst to him, he wasn't the only one drinking her sorrows away - Like most people in King's Landing, Y/N, also, fell pray to the vice brought upon by Tyrion and his sweet wine from Highgarden. She knew she was wrong, lashing out at Sandor for not protecting her, and even more wrong for not apologising. She was hurt then, and continued to get even worse - Yet that wasn't even a proper excuse. Some day, she will bribe the dog into her chambers, with the smell of luxury alcohol, and a much needed apology.

Days later, he stood next to the throne, protecting the King. An audience around. Something was going to happen. To his dread, there she was again, walking slow, and with her head up. The make up on her face made wonders in covering the fresh, healing wounds on her face, yet her beauty still looked busted. She was made to kneel on the ground and look up at the King, who held a crossbow at ready, aimed at her. He could only look down at her. He could see there was no fight in her eyes. She looked absolutely dead. Void. One of the King's relatives began to tell her of the crimes her brother seemingly committed - Obviously, all of them exaggerated beyond belief. "Killing you would send your brother a message. He could not protect the one that protected him. I am to marry Sansa, you know? But you? You have no value to me." the King was smirking and having so much fun. "But my mother insists on keeping you and marrying you off to someone. Get up." but before the King put the crossbow away, much to everyone's shock, he fired it at the lady.

Sandor himself, as well as everyone present, flinched in shock at the unexpected occurrence - While the ladies screeched or gasped, and the guards all oh'ed, the Hound found himself unable to breathe. The crossbow arrow had precisely fired past Y/N's ear, so very close to grazing her temple, and it bounced a few feet behind her, on the ground. Few war-hardened could stand still after getting so close to death; Y/N herself, though fighting her shaking body, her shallow breaths, the picked up heartbeat and her trembling lip. She was doing a wonderful job, getting over her terror.

Sandor could almost feel himself sighing in relief - Only internally, of course. He was so happy she was alive after that bullshit. She deserved better than all this shit happening to her. "Are you not going to thank me for sparing you? I did not have the same mercy with your father." she said nothing. "If you insist on being a mute, perhaps I might as well cut your tongue off. You have no use for it, anyway." his hand was up, and was ready to give the order - She had finally spoken. 

"I am undeserving of your mercy, Your Grace. I have nothing to thank, nor be regretful of. The one who deserved your mercy was my father. As you so brilliantly spoketh, I have no value in this greater political game. Whatever it is that you have in plan for me, I will simply accept and not object." the King was ready to take offense - But the ending made him smirk.

"You are saying you're ready to accept any man to be your husband, yes?" the girl did not speak. "If you're so eager to serve - Then serve my dog!" the King's laugh echoed through the place. 

"But... Your Grace... The Hound is a white cloak. He swore an oath." one man warned the King, but he dismissed him.

"I don't care about oaths. My dog has been serving me loyally for years, hasn't he? Doesn't he deserve to be satisfied by a pretty noble lady? Whenever he wants, however he wants - Without needing to stoop so low and crawl in some common tavern whore's bed?" no one could speak a word - Everything the King was saying was madness - A kind of madness that should never be spoken in the holy throne room. "You know, Y/N... Ser Sandor Clegane here is renowned throughout the Realm for how ruthless he is. I am sure you'll serve as a good chewing toy for him. At least, until he's lost interest in you. All dogs gets bored of their broken toys, sooner or later." neither of the two involved could speak. 

For one, Y/N felt her mind spin indefinitely. Marriage? Again? She had hoped to escape this fate - Alas, with the Lannisters on her back, she had no way of running away. She did not mind - It was Sandor. Though he could not protect her, at least she knew, he had a good heart... Even if it was hidden, buried very, very deep inside that guarded chest of his. 

The Hound, however, was nervous - He did not feel often this emotion, but he truly did now. Not only would he have to marry the woman he had grown so fond with - But he would put her in even more danger, because of it. Not that he had any say in it, for the matter. At least it wasn't some old and sleazy old shit lord who would beat her up or what not. With him, at least she was safe. She was not going to see him.

"Thank you for your blessing, Your Grace." Sandor suddenly heard the little fox speak - A voice soft and forced, and she gave a short courtesy bow.

"Now that we've got that settled - I was wondering - Perhaps The Hound should be the one to make a statement. First off, he should discipline his future Lady Wife into not defying her King so much. Secondly, we need to make a point - To her traitorous brother." and here came the trouble that Sandor feared. "Go on, dog. Don't make me say it twice." but Sandor felt reticent - His own legs were refusing to move - How could he actively harm the person he was supposed to protect. "You'll regret it, dog. Ser Trant - You do it. But leave her face - She has to be pretty for the wedding day... And the bedding ceremony." she wanted to take out a dagger and carve her own heart out, just hearing such a thing.

Meryn Trant, unlike Clegane, did not hesitate. He marched, once again, in front of the girl, and with a tightly clenched fist, he punched the girl's gut, cutting out the air from her lungs. As she instinctively stepped back, he took out his sword and used it to hit the girl's leg, making her stumble. Sheathing it back, the knight roughly brought her up, before landing another hit - And another, and another. All of them with such intensity that Y/N lost count. "ENOUGH." Y/N heard the Hound rasp. The sound of metal clinking was approaching.

"Ah, finally ready to join the show? Hit her until I've grown bored." the King was laid back on the throne. For once, Sandor wanted to rip his head off - Looking down at the small, frail girl that he wanted to hold in his arms and protect. She looked even smaller than before, and even more vulnerable.

"Forgive me, Y/N." the girl knew that he chose to do it himself, rather than have that hateful man use all his strength to cause her harm - Alas, she wasn't sure whether the Hound knew or not, the passive strength which he possessed.

"Get it over with." she muttered - And though she was not prepared for the blow, the strikes from the man were just as painful as the ones from that awful man before. She wanted to cry from the pain, but she couldn't give anyone the satisfaction. Soon, she lost count of all the hits that were going to paint her body in all sorts of colours - But some time soon, at least - It will all be over. 

"Ser Meryn - I think Lady Y/N is overdressed. Don't you want to make a pretty gift for your fellow white cloak, and unburden his future lady wife for him?" Sandor wanted to bash his skull against the nearest wall, watching the sadistic grin of Trant as he got behind his Y/N and ripped the whole back of her dress for the audience to see - In front, the fabric was toppling over, and she could only hold it with her hands, so it would not expose the corset and her skin. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't even look at the girl. Her soft whimper of fear and shame drove him crazy. How much more before someone finally stopped this? "Come on, dog! I have given you a gift - It is unwrapped, all for you to claim! Go ahead, it's all yours!" Sandor, for the first time in his life, was praying - Praying that someone would finally step in and put a stopper to this idiocy.

The saving grace did come - Clegane never expected to be grateful to the Imp - Alas, it was him to whom he should light a thankful candle at the Sept later on. "WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!" his powerful voice boomed, as he stomped all the way to Y/N. "Clegane. Trant. What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?!" the dwarf glared at the two white cloaks. 

"The kind who serves his King - Imp!" Meryn spat at the Hand of the King. Sandor did no utter a single word. 

"Easy, now. We don't want to get blood all over that pretty cloak." the man accompanying Tyrion mocked the ser.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with!" at once, Sandor ripped that stupid white cloak and carefully wrapped it all around her form, holding her close to his chest. He never wanted to let go of her. She was forever trapped in his arms.

"She is your soon-to-be sister-in-law. Have you no regard to her honour?!" Tyrion reprimanded his nephew. 

"I was punishing her! Besides - She's The Hound's future wife! He can do whatever he wants with her!" Sandor refused to listen to any of the witty threats that the Imp threw to the King - Even the quarrel about the marriage. He only realised that he existed again, once he went to their side. Y/N turned her head slightly, and nodded. "Thank you, Tyrion." it was small and sincere, and only for the two men to hear. The Lannister nodded back, appalled by the situation.

"I apologise for my nephew's behaviour. Clegane, escort Lady Y/N back to her room." though Y/N turned around to walk on her own, Sandor picked her up with ease - She looked like a child, wrapped like a cocoon in her own blankets. It would have been a romantic scene, were it not for what happened a little ago. 

The walk to her room was silent as a lake. None spoke a single word. He placed her gently on her bed, and with one last look, he turned to leave. "Are you leaving already?" the man stopped in his tracks, yet did not turn. "It wasn't as bad as when he did it. Thank you." somehow, that pissed the man off more - He wasn't angry at her, but at himself.

"Why the hell are you thanking me for beating you up?" his voice was more like a dog's growl. Angry. Not only that he was forced to lay his hand of his woman, but also because she was thanking him for being gentle. Fucking outrageous.

"A small price to pay for being on the wrong side of a war. I cannot ask you to compromise your life, for a failed attempt at protecting me." her humble understanding sent him into a rage. "And... I hadn't had the chance to apologise for lashing at you back then. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I did - And for that, I am truly sorry. I deserved what happened today."

"If you want death, go throw yourself off the bridge. I won't stop you. But don't bullshit me with that selfless act - It doesn't impress me." she didn't even flinch from his risen tone.

"Joffrey said our wedding is next week. Are you going to wear festive clothing?" she gave a weak smile.

"I did not hit you in the head - Why are you babbling?" he asked, watching the girl fumble with the cloak.

"I am fine with anything. As long as it is you. I meant what I said that night. I suppose even my fears and insecurities, I must face and accept." she spoke softly. "You have secrets, as well as I - Yet neither of them were spoken. I... Am willing to... If so are you." she must be referring to their past, Sandor realised. He pondered over - He couldn't stay much for the day - He still had that little cunt to serve. The wedding night could, however, serve as a perfect pretext for drunk story telling.

"Fine. But I bring the drinks. I don't drink sweet mead for women." he grumbled, ready to exit the room. "Don't leave the room without me." and he left. 

A week went by past, and Sandor found himself, disgusted, in the middle of the Sept. Sandor Clegane was getting married. What a fucking sick joke. He looked down, from the stairs of the Sept, at the ridiculous crowd. And there she stood, led by the King - His beautiful wife. She was dressed in a beautiful dress of pure gold - She looked like the Sun - Or like the fire itself, with her long hair, going down her shoulders in crimson waves.

But she didn't smile. Not even the littlest bit. Even when looking up into his own, dark eyes, Sandor could only see sorrow and pity.

She had the grey Stark cape. The Septon spoke whatever gibberish these old people of so called faith did, before he heard that he may cloak the bride and 'Bring her under his protection'. Bullshit. If he could, he would fight the whole realm - Yet he cannot. That means he cannot properly protect her.

Y/N turned her back to him took her hair away from her back, making it easier for him to fumble with the Stark cape... And put the Clegane one. It fit better - Yellow, Gold, same thing.

Nah, it wasn't - Not even he could say that the cheap yellow of Clegane could outshine the gorgeous gold of her dress. Long, and with long sleeves that covered her arms, yet her hands were covered in jewellery - As well as her neck, ears and hair. She was a jewel herself.

But she hated yellow.

Still, he was forced to put that cloak over her shoulders - It was so large over her form. Yellow did not make her happy.

At last, the septon continued the ceremony, and it ended even sooner. With the cloak thus removed permanently, the two went to the feast that was to last until well into the evening. They sat at the main table, only the two of them - But she did not eat. He couldn't either. Instead, he downed drink after drink, while she sat there, unmoving. He could see the look of sorry on the Imp's face - As if he was apologising to her for allowing things to get so bad, so easily. Her little sister was hiding in some corner, afraid for her own fate. She had never been to a wedding, had no idea what could happen. She was far too little to properly attend her sister's wedding, so she does not know its horrors, nor of the shameful bedding ceremony.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the growing desperation inside his bride's heart. Finally, she reached for the sweetest summerwine, and she drank it faster than even he. Was she willingly getting drunk, to escape the humiliation? Smart move. Painful, but smart.

The longer they stood there, the more he could see Y/N checking the time of day. The more it got darker outside, the more fidgety she would get. "What are you so afraid of?" he turned his head to her - She seemed genuinely shocked to hear that question.

"Do you have any idea how absolutely humiliating that... That THING is, for a woman?" she was perplex, but Sandor was clueless. "You... You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" now, the shock was greater.

"If you'd stop speaking so damn cryptic, I might know, little fox." he downed another ale, clearly left in the dark to her fears.

"The... The be-..." he never heard her stutter, nor was she afraid when she was being beaten or threatened. Now, she was horrified.

"THE BEDDING CEREMONY!" Joffrey's voice greatly overshowed her own - Sandor heard the girl curse and freeze, for the first time since they've known themselves. The same word, repeatedly. She glanced down, almost as if she wanted to hide forever under the table.

Clegane, too, cursed himself - How could he forget that fucking stupid tradition, of all things? He just wanted to get this stupid fucking wedding over with, and keep Y/N forever in her fox cage, away from harm. "No ceremony." came the growl of the Hound, watching Y/N get dragged away by the King. She was petrified.

"We must respect traditions, dog." Joffrey laughed merrily. "Come, everyone! Unburden her, pick her up, and carry her to her wedding bed! Get rid of her gown - She won't be needing it any longer!" Clegane watched as his bride snatched her hand away from the King's, and hugged herself. She looked left and right, for predators. She wasn't a little fox anymore. She was a scared little fawn, begging for help.

"The groom said he doesn't want to partake in the ceremony. Let him have it." Tyrion spoke up, but the King's word is law.

"The dog is loyal to me, uncle. If I tell him to fuck his bride right here, he will do so without question. Don't make me order him so. Or maybe I should?" the little Imp tried to intervene again, but the King pushed him aside. "Ladies - Attend to my dog. They say he's well-gifted down there." the King laughed harder, watching the women giggle and surround the Hound, only for him to aggressively growl at them and scare them away.

"There will be no bedding ceremony, Your Grace." Sandor's voice was more clear now - The King did not have it. Though Joffrey feared his dog to a certain degree, he knew he couldn't go against his direct order.

"There WILL be, if I say so." with a simple exchange of looks, Sandor understood the gravity of the situation. He arose from his seat, aggravated, as soon as he saw some of the men praying on Y/N, and even daring to ruin that dress from her body. Thankfully, she wasn't uncovered, or he'd have stomped them alive. Instead, he swatted them away like flies, and he picked the girl up, stepping in front of the King.

"No. Ceremony." the dog's snarl sent a shiver down the King's spine, watching his personal guard carry his wife away from the venue, and back to her own room. Once again, no word spoken - Though her trembling was shaking his arms, and she was visibly distraught by what had happened. 

Perfectly mimicking what happened a week prior, Y/N was placed on the bed, and Sandor remained on his feet. "Go ahead, change in your sleeping clothes. I'm leaving." the man spoke, ready to turn around and exit - Only to get his arm grabbed, and pulled back. 

"Don't go." she said. "Stay. Please." she spoke in that sweet voice of hers, as she guided him on the bed. Kneeling behind him, her slender arms wrapped around him, and her forehead rested between his shoulder blades. "I'm afraid."

"No one would dare hurt you, now that you're under my protection." not even he did truly believe those words.

"Then... You want to leave?" she sounded so broken and meek, as if it wasn't her.

"A little ago, you were afraid of the ceremony. You want me to fuck you now?" her fingers gripped his clothing tighter. "I won't bother you. I'm going to the tavern. Drink and fuck the night away or something."

"Already going to other women?" she muttered lowly.

"I ask again - Do you want me to fuck you?" he was met with silence. "That's right. You don't." he spat bitterly. "No woman in her right mind would want to fuck a disfigured, ugly monster of a man like me, without being paid well - Let alone marry one."

"That's not true." she retorted, offended. "That's not the truth at all."

"Then what is the truth? If you want to deprive me of getting my dick sucked, then at least give me a good reason." the girl thought a bit, before she spoke. Though she didn't appreciate the vulgar tone, even she couldn't deny how her heart yearned for him strongly.

"Reputation might matter little to you - But it could be my death. What do you think is worse - Knowing that the King's dog had his way with the Stark heiress, who was his wife - Or that he left her on their wedding night, to sleep with common women in a cheap tavern." she had a point - Sort of. 

"You're right. I don't care about a reputation, and neither should you." she was silent again, for a longer time. "If you don't have a real reason, I'm leaving." he was ready to get up, but her hold on him was far greater. 

"I don't want you to spend the night with anyone else but me." his breath was cut off from that bold statement. "I... I've been wishing to say this to you, since that time you bandaged my wound by the river. I've been falling in love with you progressively ever since." her voice sounded ragged and ashamed - Humiliated to admit she was in love. "You are the only man I ever loved." were it not for his keen hearing, he wouldn't have heard her last whispering.

"How many times must I tell you not to say such words to a drunk man? Do you have any idea the power you hold, looking like that - Your dress is half ripped off, and you think you're safe with me?" in an instant, Y/N found herself laying on her back, her wrists pinned to the bed, and his hair tickling her face. But the man saw clear anxiety gleaming into her fearful eyes, and tried to rip himself off from her - She stopped him. "I thought I didn't scare you. You can't even look me in the face anymore. Next time you lie to me, at least make it more credible."

"I was married once." she blurted out - Sandor frowned his brows, inching backward. "I was. I was -- I was married once. A while ago." Clegane looked at her, and saw a broken woman, hurt countless times. "Maybe it sounds petty - It's no different than things that many other women go through. I went through this humiliating... Thing once. It wasn't fun. It wasn't... Anything good. None of it was." she spoke, slowly pushing herself in a sitting position, and although she looked at Sandor, she looked... Timid. "I didn't last long. I wanted to divorce. I was not allowed to. I killed him." the coldness with which she spoke made the hurt even more transparent. "Only dad knew the truth. I never told anyone else. It was a burden on him - But he did it for me. He felt responsible. Poor man." she muttered softly. "I meant it when I said you were a good man, Sandor. I feel... Lucky, even - To say that, out of all the possible men in Westeros, it is you, that I married. I was really, really lucky. Joffrey does not know the man you are." though she lacked coherency, her words were hitting his weak spot. "I never felt safe since then. I wanted to just rot away, alone, in the safety of my home, surrounded by my family. I would become an old crone that teaches young girls how to embroider. It was fine." she said, making a small pause. "But with you... I was..." the last word, the man grunted himself. 

"Safe." she nodded.

"I never felt safe with a man that wasn't my family." her confession made Sandor's mind and heart go crazy.

Sandor got off the bed. "I'll go get booze." the girl stopped him. To his surprise, the girl hopped off the bed and he comically saw her struggling to move a large shelf - Behind it, a whole alcohol cabinet was revealed. 

"You have free access to my secret alcohol stash. Only the best ale and wine. Courtesy of Tyrion Lannister." met with a sheepish smile, Sandor barked a laugh, and took away all the bottles and put them around the night stands. Easily moving the shelf back in its place, he motioned for the girl to get dressed and get back in bed.

But seeing Y/N dressed in an almost sheer-white nightgown proved another challenge for the Hound. Her body looked perfect, her silhouette, though barely visible, was highlighted into the dim light of the candle, as she sat there, leisurely, with a golden goblet into her hand, sipping whatever sweet summer wine she had from Highgarden. Mostly, she told him about good memories she had of her family, with her parents, her brothers, her wolves. She looked genuinely happy. Sandor wanted to make her happy for her entire life. Somehow, he had to get her out of here. There was no way a flower of the North was going to survive the scorching heat and the deathly stink of the South. She would wilt.

Unexpectedly, Sandor spoke laso. "I was a mere child. I loved knights - Foolishly deluded myself, just like your little bird of a sister did. A wood carver came by our house. Gave my brother a toy knight - It had joints and it could move, thanks to the strings. I wanted that toy - Gregor didn't care of it. But he did not want to share. Instead, he grabbed my head and he pressed me to the fire like I was a nice juicy mutton chop." Y/N's eyes were wide and her jaw agape. "He killed our sister. Then, our father. All the inheritance was to fall into his hands. I run away and swore servitude to the Lannisters the very same day. I was just a squire back then - But at least I realised that all oaths are just that - Horseshit." was it the first time that Sandor ever told his past to anyone? He wasn't sure, not did he care.

"I hope your child self feels some comfort, knowing that your present self became the most honorable knight there is." the man scoffed, with bitter annoyance. 

"Your pretty words won't help me, little fox." he spoke. "I want to fuck you more than a little ago, all the same. Just because I can control myself, doesn't mean my thoughts aren't lingering." she wasn't threatened - Instead, she chuckled.

"It would be rather awkward if mine own husband thought little of me." she admitted, a half-amused smile on her face. "Besides - It is our actions that define us, not our words. With the amount of swearing you do, you could be champion - Alas, your heart is real. And I can feel it being genuine to me all the same." Y/N felt his hands on either side of her legs, and they were trailing up her soft skin, until they reached her thighs - Sandor was well between her legs, fully clothed, while Y/N could only blush - She then felt herself being pulled towards him, her head resting comfortably on the pillow.

"I know things that those fancy, pretty lord don't even dream of doing to their ladies. So shameful that even a whore would blush like a maiden. I can make you mewl mine name through the night, and people through the realm would wonder what happened." the Hound rasped from above, his face so dangerously close to hers, drinking in the dazed look she had, all flushed from the dirty words he spoke. "So stop tempting me with that pretty mouth of yours, or I will do so many sinful things to you that the Sept will explode - And I will not regret any little thing." and he said all that, kneeling comfortably between her legs, prowling over her petite body. She's never felt her heart beating so fast, in anticipation. Maybe it was her inebriated brain, or just him - She wanted him more than she needed water to drink - But she couldn't possibly voice something so embarrassing.

Instead, before she could even react, he felt the man's hands going up her body, until they reached her upper back - And he lay his head on her chest. And he started snoring softly.

Y/N was completely bewildered, tried calling out his name - He was fast asleep. "Seven Hells." the girl muttered under her breath. "Sandor, I'm cold. At least put the blanket over." no response. "You're kinda heavy." still, his weight on her body, as well as his arms wrapped around her gave her comfort and a sense of safety. "I'm still cold thought." he definitely was in a very deep sleep. "Damn it."

No matter how much she wished for for sleep - She couldn't. The heavy form of her husband was weighting on her, the pressure, uncomfortable. She could only look out of the window, in search for the moon, hoping it would move already. To pass the time, she warged, linking her mind to her darling Meleys's. She saw her as the protector of the pack - The leader seemed to be Nymeria. Lady was seeking comfort from Meleys, always glued to her side. The sweet sister wolves were protecting one another, as they should have. Y/N was content with that knowledge, although, she would have hoped they were back in Winterfell, or maybe even aiding Robb with his war. Grey Wind was always the leader, back home. She wondered now how Summer and Shaggydog were doing, protective over their sweet boys, just like their loving lady mother. Alas, Ghost was up there, at the Wall, with Jon - Will she ever see her brother again? She dearly hoped she would. Jon was always so nice - A true brother to his siblings. Robb saw him as a true brother, and Arya, especially, was so fond of him. Bastard or not, he was still their brother - And she was protective of her kin.

Y/N was forcefully awoken from her dream-like state, and going back into her own consciousness, she was met with the kind yet dazed dark eyes of The Hound. He looked down at her - And then even further down - Before meeting her face again. "Slept well, Lord husband?" the vixen teased him.

"Best sleep of my life." he muttered, rolling on the side of the bed. Y/N felt now, again, the sweet feeling of breathing.

"At least one of us slept." she chuckled weakly. "You're damn heavy." she explained, once he frowned, questioning. "And you didn't give me the blanket."

"I'm warm enough for the both of us." he muttered begrudgingly.

"It wasn't all bad though." she hummed, sitting up on the bed. "I at least had good company and no fear creeping on me. That beats the cold by far - Not to mention - I had enough time to see what Meleys was doing." Y/N grinned down at the man.

"You were dreaming, yet you say you did not sleep. You're so full of shit." but the girl's mischievous smirk begged to differ.

"You simply are unaware of the magic that a child of the North possesses, so no need to call me a hypocrite." she retorted hastily.

"Whatever, girl. I have duties to attend to. Go on, playing with your pups in your dreams." the man gruffed, raising from the bed. He didn't bother even looking in the mirror to fix his disheveled look. He would have to return to his room and dorn the white cloak either way.

Before he left - The door wide open - He heard her speak. "Some day, I shall hold you to your promise." Sandor looked back, unaware of the promise of a drunk man - Yet that cheeky grin spoke a thousand words.

"You're as much of a fairy as I am, little fox." the man barked in amusement, closing the door behind him. She liked keeping him on the edge, it seemed. What a lass. Flashbacks of last night came forth - Y/N, all beautiful, in that dress of hers, hair done and make up pretty - Yet looking like an alluring mess with her outfit ripped as she lay down on the bed, below him. That look in her eyes - The innocent yet wanting look of an unaware lady with great promises from her lord - And those fingers gripping into his clothes. The feeling of her body flushed against him -

Sandor truly needed to find a way to release this tension on his body, otherwise, she'll drive him crazy and completely unable to even remember his name. He always wore gloves - But that night, he did not. He could feel that skin of hers. He never lay with a noble lady - Were all of them like this? Not even Littlefinger's whores were like this, and they were luxury whores. Those slender legs, that tiny waist, her feather weight - How easy it was for him to simply hoist her up with a single hand and do so many things to her. He recalled all the shameful things that he threatened her with - 

He didn't want to stop at simple, innocent touches. He wanted to hide his head under that sheer nightgown of hers and hold tightly onto her hips. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and kiss her thighs - And further up, when he's pleasured her once, as he's heard that sweet melody of hers, he will tower over her, unburdening her of the dress, and he will tease her like she's done to him, one hand caressing her face dearly, making her look up at him as his fingers become all wet in her heat - And then --

Sandor stopped and bashed his head against the wall, growling at himself for the far too long moment of weakness - And he hurried to his chambers to change into his armor, to guard that bratty King - But how could his head be focused on standing still and at ready next to the King, when his mind is caught in that wretched imagery of his lady wife?

Days passed and so did night, and though days have been not as cruel for Y/N Stark, yet Sansa was still the subject of her future lord husband's cruelty. Being the betrothed of a bratty king couldn't be easy - Sandor saw the worry in his wife's eyes, and that very concern dripped with every word she spoke to him in private. There was nothing he could do for the little bird that sang like one of those birdies from the Summer Isles. His dear little vixen wasn't tamed - Nor did he want her to be - But he also didn't want to see the king wearing fox fur any time soon. He couldn't protect everyone at once - Heavens knew, he was just a stupid dog, bound by his duty to the Lannisters, yet soul bound to the Stark girl he was married to. A fine privilege that no other man could ever even dream of - Let alone, a member of the kingsguard.

In all ways possible, he was pissing on every vow and oath existent to mankind. And he was loving it. 

Sandor was very fine with checking each evening on the girl in her own room, as seeing her reading or embroidering - Or whatever it was that noble women liked to do - As long as she wasn't in the direct way of harm, he was content. She wasn't going out much, unless it was to escort her sister through the gardens - Though even those stank like shit, because of all the waste from Fleas Bottom. Really, that place had to be destroyed and all the people killed. They were nothing but trouble.

There came new reason for worry though, as Sandor found out about the farewell 'party' of Princess Myrcella - The royal family, as well as the Stark girls, as well as the Stokeworths and some others were to see the little girl on her way to the docks, where she would depart for Dorne, soon to be wed to the Martell heir. Going on horseback, through, it was imminent death, and no amount of golden cloaks or white cloaks could flawlessly save the entire retinue - Clegane thought to himself. He was glued to the King - He knew something would definitely happen, should he allow any of the other incompetent idiots who call themselves the 'Knights of the Kingsguard' were left unsupervised. The Queen was flanked by three knights - The same as Joffrey. The Imp had just one white cloak, along with his sworn sellsword or whatever that frail man was - He often saw him in the tavern, drinking and whoring. Y/N and Sansa, however, barely had any real protection - They had two other women with them. He knew one of them was a Stokeworth - The other, he did not know, nor care. His eyes were glued to his little fox and that striking, vibrant green dress that brought out her eyes so well. Sansa was wearing a powder pink, soft and feminine, fit for a fair maiden. A little bird, ready to sing her song. But the other two had similar hairstyles and clothes. Y/N didn't. Y/N kept most of her hair flowing, aside from two braids with flowers - As if she was some flower spirit.

The way to the docks went relatively well, and Myrcella was sent off to Dorne. The way back, however, was not as safe. People were hostile - Aggressive. Angry. They were shouting various things - Their frustrations. Hunger, especially. They kept chanting usurper names, from Stannis to the Young Wolf, Robb Stark, or even Renly Baratheon's name. No surprise, as soon as Y/N heard Robb's name, her attention snapped to the people perched on the walls. Skeleton people, skin and bones, desperate and in need of taking care of.

The first to react was Tyrion, who had Prince Tommen quickly taken away from the retinue. Y/N grabbed Sansa's hand and held it tightly, her other hand checking the simple dagger in her sleeve. She was not allowed her sword, so it was the next best thing. She feared now that she might be needing it. 

The riot was started by some woman who went before the King and showed him her dead baby. Sansa gently told Joffrey that she might appease the crowd if he were to give her some money. He was greedy, and barely spared a silver stag - Yet even that coin, he threw in the crowd, for the people to fight over it. Anarchy started as someone retaliated to this mocking by throwing literal shit, hitting Joffrey right in the face. Tyrion shouted at the knights to take the Queen away as fast as possible, while the Hound and the other members of the Kingsguard were focusing on protecting and dragging the King back to the Keep. This left the four women completely unprotected during this madness and forced to witness the High Septon being dragged by the people and ripped apart, limb from limb - Only to completely cannibalize him. 

Y/N grabbed Sansa, who was being clinged onto by the other two women, and tried to make way between the many so-called knights, trying to reach the keep. The road was blocked by tens upon tens of filthy men who tried to grab them, and they spewed vulgar words. The eldest Stark lady cursed under her breath and used her dagger, impaling the eye of one who dared touch her little sister, and kicking him away, she ran away with the girls in the other direction, where Cersei was being taken. She couldn't even pinpoint where her Dwarf friend and ally was - She was simply lost, in an ocean of enemies. 

By the time they got away, only three remained. Their way forth was blocked by two men, so Y/N backed to her right - The only open way. Only Sansa and Lollys remained by her side. But they were met with misfortune, as the cramped alleyway was a dead end that led into some kind of closed stable, with hay to on the ground and what not. It wouldn't last long. She knew that. "Lollys - Go back the way we came, but turn right. The path that the Queen and her knights took is clear by now." Y/N told the Stokeworth lady, dreading her awful deception. Lollys was a known halfwit, unmarried, a maiden still at three and twenty. She wasn't the most attractive woman in the world - But she did not care. Y/N would even stoop so low, if it meant keeping herself and Sansa safe. The lady, worried, nodded vigorously and ran as she was instructed. Little after she turned towards the path Cersei took, Lollys's scream was heard. Both Stark girls shuddered. 

"Why did you do that?!" Sansa grabbed her elder sister, who slapped her hand over her mouth and pulled her flush against the wall.

"Lollys is not my sister. You are. Not keep quiet." Y/N whispered in her ear. She was even afraid of breathing, in fear of alerting the wild men outside. Their safety didn't last long, for one man found its way in this stable. Y/N killed him with ease and pulled his body away from the corridor. Another and another came - But she could defeat them with ease, as they were all defenseless. Though she ordered Sansa to pick up any kind of weapon, she was cowered in a corner. Gods knew, there were plenty of wooden bats even, with which she could defend herself against a single man. She was too far gone. Y/N thought, by now, she'd have gotten used to this hell and would learn to fight back by herself, and preserve her life. She did not.

But she will need to, unless she wants a dozen men to fuck her to death. "SANSA, GET A WEAPON!" Y/N yelled to her sister, seeing more and more men intrude the stables, in packs of two or three - Though she struggled, she killed them. "SANSA! WAKE UP! I NEED YOU!" Y/N kept yelling at her sister, realising how she was struggling to keep the predators away from them.

"I CAN'T! I CAN'T! I'M SCARED!" she was sobbing and shaking in the corner. "WHERE IS THE HOUND?! WHERE IS THE IMP?! WHERE IS EVERYONE WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT US?!" she kept on babbling around.

"To hell with everyone - We have only ourselves now, damn it! Get up and fight!" Y/N's words only earned more deep sobs and whimpers - Followed by a shriek.

"STOP! I WILL KILL HER! DROP YOUR WEAPON OR I BASH HER PRETTY SKULL OPEN BEFORE I FUCK YOU BOTH!" one burlier man got ahold of a bat and threatened Sansa. Y/N only looked in horror at her little sister, threatened with death, crying and apologising over and over again. Y/N felt the dagger fall from her grasp, before she was struck hard and thrown to the ground - Not on the hay, but on the cobbled floor. She kicked around and tried to punch, even dragged herself towards the hay, trying to reach the kicked dagger, but also afraid of that one hurting Sansa - But he had his boot over her only weapon - And he threw Sansa to the side, reaching to the Lady on the ground. His hand buried deep into her flame hair, pulled on it hard and rolled the girl over on her back. The flowers were long since destroyed, and the searing burn from her scalp was blinding her.

She felt her hands being stomped on, so she would stop struggling so much, while the other five surrounded her. Two were fully naked, one only shirtless, while the other were beginning to undress. She tried to kick away the one who kept trying to get between her legs, but the naked ones grabbed away at her ankles and knees and pulled them away. For skeletal people, they were awfully strong. "SANDOR! SANDOR!" Y/N didn't realise she was crying her husband's name, still squirming around, hoping to escape, but Sansa felt her heart stabbed. Her strong, ferocious elder sister was resumed to a scared girl, just like she was - And she was calling for help from the ugly beast. 

"Don't even think, girl." the one who was sitting on Y/N's hands took out his cock and glared at Sansa, a perverted smirk on her face. "You're next." is this what they deserved for using Lollys as a bait?

Hard, rushed steps made their way through the endless stable-like corridor - The knight saw the glimpse of expensive shoes worn by a woman with pale skin like snow and legs flawlessly sculped. An ugly sucker was on his knees, between her skirts, while another either trying to choke her or keep her quite, covering her mouth with those disgusting ones. He saw Sansa Stark, trembling in the corner - Her blue eyes like the sky were wet like rain - They noticed him, but didn't dare speak a word. They were pleading to him to save the one on the ground.

Sandor Clegane felt a rage like never before - His longsword impaled the churl who dared sit in a place no man should ever stay around his lady wife - All the way to its hilt. If he wanted to impale something, now, he felt what it was like to get impaled back. Sandor cut that fucker in two - Then four, and more parts, all the viscera on the ground, unrecognizable. Pure anger was fueling him as he easily disposed of the other shits surrounding her - And with the bigger one finally stepping away from her hands, she was able to crawl and hide in a corner, holding her hands to her chest. They hurt so much, and the feeling of the crawling hands on her skin - They were haunting her and she wanted to flay herself from disgust. Those hands weren't Sandor's. Those men weren't Sandor. This wasn't their room either. 

Her mind was still swimming with incoherent thoughts - Only to squeak and try to hide even further inside the cold stone corner of the corridor upon feeling another touch. "It's over, Y/N. You're safe now. I'm here." Sansa was in deep shock - She had never heard the Hound ever having such a gentle, velvety voice, nor did she imagine a man who looked so sloppy, clumsy and rough, being so careful with someone, especially her sister, whom, she thought, married unwillingly. What about all those rumours of abuse? Had Y/N truly spoken the truth to her before?

Noticing her uneven breathing, Sandor took off his gloves. "I'm here, my little fox. You can open your eyes. There's no more threat now." he cupped her face gingerly, and made her look at him - She looked so broken, so afraid. It was different from the time Eddark Stark died. He wanted to hold her cradled to his chest and rock her, kiss her hair and tell her it's all going to be alright. She's safe with him. She's always safe with him. She looked so weak, so vulnerable, so frail. So very afraid. He knew what happened to her. That night of their wedding when they confessed their woes, it was the only time they truly allowed themselves to open their hearts to another. True and sincere. "Can you see me, little fox?" though she took a while, she nodded slightly. "Do you know who I am?"  once again, she nodded. "Do you trust me?" she looked at him long, and his dark eyes twitched with every tears that escaped her eye. He thought that her unresponsiveness meant a negative answer. Instead, he was shocked to see the girl crawl into his arms and nestle herself into his plated chest. 

"I called for you." her shaky breath was heart shattering. "And you came." she whimpered. "You are here." she repeated, again and again. "I was so scared, Sandor. So scared." his arms were holding her protectively to his body, caressing and untangling her beautiful hair, kissing it now and again.

"I know, little fox. I know." the monster of a man was so loving and kind to her sister, Sansa thought - The most unlikely man, who pissed on all knights - Was a paradox. The most knightly man in the world. Also, the most gentle. "I will always keep you safe." the man held her that-a-way until he could feel her trembling going down.

"Sandor. I have sinned." she spoke meekly. Those words spooked the man greatly.

"Had any of those fuckers touched you? Did they hurt you?" he asked, fearing the worst - Thankfully, she shook her head. He had gotten there in time. "Then whatever you did, it doesn't matter. You're safe now. We're going back to your room and we're not leaving until you've calmed." he reassured her.

"I lied to Lollys. Made her run away. I used her as bait. I fear for her, yet had no remorse, using her to save Sansa and myself." he had seen that one - Walking dazed, naked through the streets, covered with a variety of... Things.

"She's alive." he grunted, evading any implication. "Anything else doesn't matter now. Let's get you two back to the castle." but her soft whimper proved she was still afraid of the outside word. 

"Can you carry Sansa?" the girl asked, struggling to get up.

"No." the man rasped harshly, confusing his wife. "The little bird is not my lady wife. The little bird has wings. She will be fine by my side. The riot has subsided significantly." Sandor's strong arms scooped Y/N into his arms.

"How come we always end up like this?" the girl asked, her arms gingerly wrapped around his neck, her head hiding in the crook of his neck.

"Because I can." he said. "And because I especially like carrying my pretty little fox to bed." though said in a jesting manner, he looked down, and noticed her bashful expression. He wasn't a dashing, charming man - Never was - But whatever he was doing, he must be doing right. Or maybe her brain was simply broken. Who knew. "You have got to stop letting other men ruin your clothes." he pointed out playfully. "The only man allowed to rip your dress off is me."

"If you do that every time you want me, I won't be able to keep up... And seam more clothes. What ever will I do?" slowly, she was finding her voice again - She was safe. The safest she's ever been.

"Sleep all day like the spoiled little vixen that you are and wear those sheer gowns with which you tease me with."

The way back to the keep was surprisingly short - Or maybe it felt that way, being carried effortlessly by the giant man. By the time they arrived, Tyrion looked at the two Stark sisters with eyes and mouth wide open. "Take the little bird back to her cage. She's bleeding - See to her cut." The Hound instructed the Lannister imp, watching Sansa being taken away by her maids. 

"Lady Y/N, are you alright?" Tyrion's voice, albeit filled with concern, was sympathetic and soft. He knew his friend as she always was - Defiant, strong, valiant and cunning. The way she was cuddled up in Clegane's arms, so small, so defenseless, powerless - It broke the dwarf's heart.

"She's fine. No harm done. Tell the King I'm off duty today." with a shared nod of their head, Clegane turned around.

"Good job, Clegane." though the Hound let out some grunt as a response, he leapt up the stairs to get into the castle, and back into her room. Her safe haven. The only place she could relatively feel safe - And since their wedding, the chamber he visited the most. 

The comfortable bed, the pillows, the blankets - They all felt like a fluffy cloud, keeping her away from any trouble from outside of these four walls keeping her safe. Sometimes, she wishes she would never leave this room, and just have Sandor hold her in his arms forever.

But then she misses her home and finds herself going through the flower garden or Godswood. It was the best thing she could do, in lack of her real home.

Like before, Y/N dressed in her sleeping wear while Sandor took off his armor. Suddenly, he felt so much better with all that weight off him. He was so used to all the knight stuff that he didn't notice the emotional and mental burden pressed on him with each piece of protective metal on him.

The gloves and chest piece especially, were his favourite parts to remove. He could feel Y/N as he touched her, and more, he could pull her against his broad chest where she so loved to nestle herself and fall asleep. She looked like a tiny little fox pup compared to him. It was very amusing. "Sandor - Will you please stay the night again? Stay with me? Forever?" the girl asked in a small voice.

"If you want me to, I will." he grunted, holding her tighter.

"I do." she spoke back. 

It was barely the next day that Y/N found out the tragic fate of Lollys, impregnated by half a hundred men - Not only did Y/N felt her vision blurry and mind go hazy, Sandor was sick to his stomach as well - He didn't care for the Stokeworth halfwit - It would be stupid to weep for every tragic soul in Westeros - But the mere thought that, should he not have been there, the same could have happened to his little lady, it made him want to castrate every man who dared look her way. He can't handle the simple idea of any harm coming her way - She's suffered enough, hasn't she? Now she was safe, and he will continue to keep her that a way. She had a bad marriage - He knew the truth. He knew she was the one who poisoned her late lord husband - He did not care. He was going to show her there was no need to fear, that he was no way the awful beast that the fucker was. He was just a dog - Stupidly loyal and aggressively overprotective. 

He had seen her bruised body, after Joffrey ordered not only him, but others to beat her, not on a single occasion - He felt guilty and ashamed - How could fate be so cruel, to force him to lay his hand on his own lady wife? The king was a cunt, but he was powerless before him and his stupid family. He kissed every inch of unnaturally coloured skin - Blue, black, yellow, and every other colour that a bruise can get. And only he knew how much she hated yellow. 

It was in this room that he first danced, in the dim light from the candles, as Y/N hummed a pretty song from the North and she embraced him, swaying with him, the way she her her mum and dad dance one night, on the anniversary of their wedding - They thought they were sneaky, outside, at night. They weren't - Not to her, at least. 

It was in that room that the girl first kissed him, and she caressed his burnt, ugly face, planting lots of little kisses all over - He felt like his soul was departing from his body from the heavenly way he was feeling. It was also, in this room, that he first saw her naked, in his arms - The suffocating feeling of love and passion that was overflowing from his body, watching her melt, and every sweet noise that escaped those lovely lips, were taking him to the edge. It was then that he realised that none of his previous addictions were able to get his mental stability back - They were all distractions from the miserable life he was feeling. He needed no alcohol to drown down his sorrows, no depraved whores that would do the most shameless things to him, nor did he need to waste his money away on baseless gambling. He needed only her love - So, so  desperately, as without it, he would die.

It was here that he first had a woman urge him to relax with his head on her lap, as she read to him whatever story book she found around - Albeit, not without various pragmatic comments about its content - All which made her laugh. That night, he remembers he was so comfortable, at ease. He felt inner peace, which he's never felt before - And he fell asleep, with Y/N's hand stroking his hair and caressing his face. He genuinely forgot how ugly and disfigured he was, whenever she was around - It was like she was not seeing the hideousness that he was seeing.

And here it was that he could drink wine or ale without feeling the need to get drunk to death, all so he could watch the graceful way in which she embroidered or fixed his ripped clothes - Yet she never touched the ripped Clegane cape, yellow and black. She told him that she would use it as fuel for the fire kindling in the fireplace. Her long, slender fingers could create such small and meticulous thing - While all he could do was destroy everything that stood in his way, with those huge, calloused, rough hands of his.

And wood carving. That, he could do. It involved a sharp blade - He was good with those. Hence why, he had gifted her a statuette of Meleys, her red wolf, whom she missed so dearly - And then, it was, that she told him the secret of the Stark children and their warg abilities. 

Finally, it was here that Sandor finally started longing for a place of their own - Small and cozy, away from the chaos and threats of King's Landing - He was willing to return with Y/N back to her home in Winterfell if she would have him, but anywhere was fine. He would build the house himself, and every piece of furniture - Would make the house impeccable and warm, and fit for the most special woman in the world - This change only happened once he heard her yearning for home one night, saying how she wished the two were back there, where it all began. Back when things were still safe and harmless. 

He had all the time in the world to think of that - As a Knight of the Kingsguard, as a white cloak and the King's personal sworn shield, he was forced to serve for life. All the same, he was not supposed to marry either - Not that he ever thought he would - Yet here he was, a married man, and very much content and happy with this intertwined fate.

This messed up peace was disrupted when King's Landing fell under attack from the enemy, Stannis Baratheon himself. It was late into the night, and all the noble women were sitting in the same room as the Queen - Who was drinking wine and masking her worry. Y/N forgot any animosity for Cersei Lannister, and asked to drink with her - Though surprised, the Queen accepted, and even poured some of the sweet wine into her cup. Sansa was pacing worriedly around the room - Her sister only bothered to throw a comment or two her way, but she already knew they were pointless. It was either death or living, yet everything went down to the army's prowess and their strategies.

The Hound had told her before, the castle was being kept safe by a bunch of cunts. Old veterans, new recruits, squires, and whatever cloaks they could find - Every competent knight was fighting in the Riverlands, with Tywin Lannister. It was the perfect strategy, Stannis attacking them from the Blackwater Bay - But Tyrion told her of his witty strategy involving wildfire. 

Of course, after a few too many cups of wine, Y/N became restless and gripped the sword she kept for protection. Dark Sister never failed to keep her safe in every situation. She went outside - And from the distance and that height, she could see the ships approaching swiftly - Only for a huge explosion of green flames to erupt throughout the black sea. "O, Sandor..." the imagery could have even be called artistic and beautiful, in its own tragedy and death - Yet Y/N's mind was only on Sandor, and how terrified he must of all that fire. Her sweet Sandor. 

The fire was everywhere, ranging from every shade of vibrant green, to strong yellow. Oh, how she hated that awful yellow. She really needed to find Sandor - And fast - Before he loses his mind because of all this madness. "Y/N, what in Seven Hells are you doing here?!" she heard Tyrion's voice, stopping his commanding for a second, his eyes bulking in bewilderment at seeing her, with her sword in her hand. 

"I have to find Sandor. Do you see that fire? He's going to lose his mind. If you want The Hound to keep on fighting, Sandor Clegane must be snapped out of his traumatic fear." she explained, standing tall and scanning for the man.

"I understand - I will look for him - But please, for goodness's sake, go back to safety! Only the Gods know, if anything happens to you, Clegane would get over his fear of fire and actually burn the whole King's Landing to the ground!" the dwarf tried to warn her. The King was there too, satisfied after the wildfire explosion, but incredibly terrified of war.

"I don't see the problem." the girl muttered, simply uncaring of any repercussion she might face. "Ah - There he is." the girl pushed the two out of her way and jumped off the stairs, sprinting and killing the enemies that approached her dog. "Sandor! Sandor, snap out of it! You're fine! You're safe with me - Sandor, everything will be alright!" the girl yelled at him, hoping to be heard through the ocean of screams. "Sandor, look at me! My love -- Look at me!" with her free hand, she brought his head down so she could touch her forehead to his own, bringing him some peace before she pulled him into a deep kiss. "It's me. It's your little fox. Snap out of it, my love. Wake up." she pleaded and pleaded - And a kiss was his only reply. 

"I need a drink." he muttered, clearly shaken.

The Hound grabbed her wrist and brought her to safety, close to the gates of the castle where Tyrion was. He can't believe that he began this war, threatening the army that he would fuck their dead bodies if they die with a clean sword - Yet here he was, losing his mind over fire. Pathetic. Just like the water the page offered him. He threw the deerskin back at him, before downing the wine in one go. 

"Can I get you some iced milk - And a bowl of raspberries too?" the dwarf asked, appalled by their greatest fighter being so vulnerable - He was seeing their defeat before his eyes.

"Eat shit, dwarf." Clegane snarled ugly at him.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall!" Tyrion reprimanded him harshly.

"I lost half my men." Sandor spoke. "The Blackwater's on fire..." his voice was shaking from fright and shock, memories of his own burning marks flashing painfully. 

"Dog! I command you to go out there and FIGHT!" Joffrey shouted at his own protector.

"Leave him be!" Y/N shouted back at the offended King. "Can't you see he's traumatised?! What good would throwing him back out there do for you, if he'll only die? Who will protect you as good as him? There's no one out there who would devout his own life like that for you!" the girl reprimanded the boy, as if she was scolding her own brothers - Bad move, Tyrion thought, not only as she had no right to scold the King, but also, because they truly needed Clegane to fight.

"I'll have you killed, you stupid bitch. You ruined my dog! You tamed my vicious, rabid dog! I'll put your head on a spike, right next to your traitor father, when this battle is won!" Joffrey yelled back at her, almost frothing at the mouth.

"You're Kingsguard, Clegane! We must beat them back, unless they're going to take the city. Your King's city." Tyrion spoke pointed to him.

"Fuck the Kingsguard." this comment took aback the Lannister and the Baratheon King. "Fuck the city." he continued, before his eyes glared at Joffrey. "Fuck the King." throwing away the empty deerskin, he threw his arm around his girl and took her away from there.

"That was incredibly brave of you. And such a turn on. Did you see Joffrey's face?" the girl's giggled did nothing for the man.

"Fuck that bratty cunt's face. We're leaving the city." the girl stopped dead in her track. "You heard me. Let's get your sister and let's go." 

"You... Know the implications, don't you?" she asked, knowing how, should he be found and caught, he would face execution.

"Die here in the fire, die here from being a dumb idiot, or die somewhere out there - Dying is dying, the reason matters little." there was truth in his words. "We are going North." he heart leapt, and Y/N immediately flushed with life and she was now the one dragging him away, to Sansa's room.

"Sansa!" Y/N called out, unwillingly frightening her, almost dropping her doll. "We are leaving the city."  she spoke in a rush.

"What?" her sister gasped, her gaze going between the two. "Y/N, you must have drunk too much with the Queen. We can't leave - That's... That's treason. We can't." but the elder Stark girl rolled her eyes.

"You are not speaking courtesies to the Queen, Sansa. You are speaking to your sister. Fuck any courtesy you know. The city will fall. Let's go back home." Y/N tried to persuade her, but even her words didn't reach her.

"I'm not coming." her words felt like a guillotine blade - Sharp and just. "Please don't try to convince me. You two are married - Even if you didn't want to, you would still follow your lord husband. But I'm not going. I have to stay here." she felt a sharp slap on her face.

"Are you out of your mind?! If the city falls, there's no way knowing what Stannis might do to you! And if the city does not fall - Joffrey and Cersei will continue to torture you. You want that? To become the most tragic Queen in history? To have that diabolical brat abuse you with every chance he gets?!" she yelled desperately at her sister, who turned away, clutching her cheek.

"Just leave! Leave, or I will tell the Queen of your plot!" Sansa's voice was wavery - No doubt, she was crying. "We are not like each other. I- I was never like you. Arya was. Arya would have picked up a weapon when you were attacked, and she would have protected you, while I just stood there and cried. Arya would have ran away with you, just like she did when dad died. Arya would have been as defiant and reckless as you. But I'm not like you. This is who I am. This is my path, and I'm willing to go down, being who I am." her words were melodramatic and absolutely tragic.

"Sansa - The Others take me - If you do not come, I will hit you over the head, make you faint, and drag you out of this hell myself. So just come willingly already. Fuck the Lannisters and fuck this forsaken place. This is not where we belong. Our place is up in the North. It always has and it will always be so. Come on." Sansa did not budge.

"I will hate you forever if you do that. I will even kill myself. Leave me out of your plot, and I will pretend I had no idea you left. Now go!" the young Stark's conviction put her sister's at a loss. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't going to remain here - But if she left, only Tyrion remained to protect her, and there was only so much he could do.

"You're making a grave mistake, little song bird." Sandor warned the girl.

"So are you. Keep her safe out there. Now leave." it was with heavy feet that Y/N left her sister's room, and both the Stark girls felt shattered, being torn apart from each other. Sandor took Y/N to the stables, from where he retrieved his beautiful black horse, Stranger, and another one for the girl.

"I'm proud of you, Sandor." the girl spoke, her hand reaching out to cup his face. "You were very brave today. I'm happy that you're no longer tied to some child who does not appreciate you." the man scoffed in self-deprecation.

"I don't need to hear any of that. I just need to get as far away from that fire as possible." he muttered, leaning into her loving touch.

"Sandor. I love you." her voice was sweet, but her kiss was sweeter. He did not say a single word, yet he almost felt guilty for not doing so. "You don't have to tell me anything. Your actions speak far louder than any words existent." he barked a dry laugh.

"You and that cunning, silver tongue of yours. You're lucky I didn't cut it yet." he helped her up, before the two ran the hell out of there, towards the North. The whole night they were tireless and galloped away through the forests, avoiding the King's Road, in case anyone might want to follow their traces.

Her closest relatives were either to the far left, in the Westerlands, where Robb was fighting, or up and to the right, in the Eyrie, where her aunt would be waiting. From the two options, neither were great - But she wanted to see the heir of Winterfell. Thankfully, the Young Wolf was winning his fights and keeping Jaime Lannister as the perfect captive. And once they arrive at his camp, she can finally call Meleys, Lady and Nymeria back to her. It was perfect.

Sandor and Y/N stopped riding, once they spotted an inn. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Y/N spoke, getting off the horse. "That is what dad always told us. Yet now, look at us. All of us. We are spread all over Westeros. We should have never left Winterfell." she sneered, still angry for leaving her sister behind.

"You've got a dog protecting you. The rest of the pack can be gathered. As long as we're far away from that shit city, we can do whatever the hell we want." the girl hummed in agreement. The two propped the horses outside and went to warm themselves and get something warm to eat. 

"We've got a long way ahead of us. Are you ready, dear?" he let out a grunt, eating away on that chicken leg. A man sat on the bench opposite of them - A dashing smirk, and a flower in his hand - He extended his hand between the two travelling companions, who were more confused than anything.

"O, what a sight to behold! Your beauty exceeds any flower that I hath seen!" the young lad spoke, and Sandor looked at Y/N - Her hand was covering her mouth as she tried not to laugh.

"You want to such my dick, is that it?" Clegane asked the young one.

"Dick?" he repeated the unknown word. "Cock." the dog clarified.

"Ohhhh." the young one let out a dumb exhale of realisation. "Dick. Yeah, I like it." he nodded, understanding, and liking the sound of the word.

"I bet you do." Y/N couldn't hide her giggles anymore. The poor boy thought he was the one amusing her.

"My fair maiden, please accept this token of courtship - You are, by far, the most beautiful lady that I have ever seen." though the girl's smile was wry, she had no idea how to respond. Instead, Sandor's large hand grabbed the flower and destroyed it in his fist, before glaring harshly enough as to scare away the poor lad.

"She HATES yellow." Sandor smirked, remembering the moment he threw away his house's cloak, permanently renouncing it and any titles that were associated with his Clegane name, along with his hound helmet. From then on, he was not Ser Clegane, nor The Hound, or the King's sworn shield, a member of the Kingsguard, or some stupid cloak.

He was just Sandor, a dog taking care of his lovely little fox and whatever wolf pup she decided to take care of. 

And only Sandor knew how much he loved red.

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane imagine #sandor clegane #the hound x reader #the hound imagine #the hound #got x reader #got imagine #got

[tybalt-you-saucy-boi]

Let's talk about what Winner's Theory means for the next season of Life SMP, and what we could see depending on who wins Secret Life.

Disclaimer: I know this is just a theory and they don't actually base the new games off of the winners of the previous season, but that's the fun of theorizing.

Etho - Underselling himself, no longer the best at PVP, but with a long legacy of obliterating all competition in death games. Loyal to a fault to his team, with no expectations from them in return. A bit similar to how Scott plays in terms of his alliances, but more likely to be hostile towards others outside of his group. We could see another season similar to Double Life, with game-mechanic incentive to keep your teammates safe at all cost.

Cleo - Similar to Etho, but with a lot more arson. She's also loyal to her team, but if anyone crosses her they will be her biggest target, regardless of a previous alliance. You cannot betray Cleo without life altering consequences. You get one chance and then it's over. I would expect something that will be ruthless and unforgiving if you make the wrong move. Something that feels like stepping on eggshells.

Sidenote: Cleo is the only member of the Divorce Quartet without a win so far, and it would really tickle me if this was her season.

Joel - He's a leader, but also distant from his pack. Only one in his alliance to live outside their walls. First one on yellow. Started a cult. He's with them but he's also with himself. His game is vengeance, for Lizzie, for Jimmy, for Mumbo. His season will be brutal. It will start out brutal and it will end brutally. Players will be picking themselves up from the floor the minute they spawn in. Imagine a season where everyone starts in the Nether. That's Joel's revenge.

Bigb - You thought Cleo was gaslight? This man can pack some fire in his words. And what a season for it! His alliance is pretty much doomed, trying to pull themselves out of the wreckage, but he's got plans that go beyond Skizz and Tango. Right from the get-go with his first task he's marked as the odd one out. He gives out lies like they're candy, and not just for his own preservation, but for FUN. His winner's season will be built on chaos, not knowing where you stand among everyone else, and rewarded for tricking and betraying others. This will be the return of the Boogeyman.

Gem - Big risks, big rewards, bigger fury. The newest member of the series and defying all odds to earn her place in victory, in her season players will face challenges they've never seen before, but will be stronger beyond measure if they come out alive on the other end. Regardless of which life you're on, you'll have just as much chance of winning right up to the end, but the victor must be prepared to risk it all for their spot of glory. This will not be a season to shrink back from and make logical plans before acting. One must have quick feet.

Impulse - Almost the opposite of Gem, Impulse has taken his time, patience is his virtue. He's been so close to winning, but he'll know when the time is right to strike. He'll do whatever it takes, but it will be intentional and planned. I anticipate his season will be one with rough terrain, similar to the big rift in the middle of the Double Life map dividing everyone across a chasm. Reaching other players will be treacherous by foot, but ripe for planning elaborate traps and schemes to secure the win. Most certainly players will need to work hard for it.

Scar - Lone wolves roam free! He's been forced to work for himself alone this season, and so far he's reaped plenty rewards! The next season will give players a motive to work alone, and they will have to build themselves up using their own ingenuity and wits. Making yourself look like an underdog will be vital, stealing will be even more necessary, and the world will be ripe for monopolies. It's a real war out there, and you can't trust anyone.

#secret life #life series #life series smp #traffic life #traffic life series #traffic life smp #traffic series #traffic smp #trafficblr #trafficsmp #etho #ethoslab #zombie cleo #zombiecleo #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #bigbst4tz2 #bigbstatz #Bigb #geminitay #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #gtwscar #hermitcraft

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Hi hi ! I was wondering if you would do Amelia Shepherd x fem reader fic where R is the third twisted sister to Cristina and Mer, Amelia and reader have been in a relationship in secret for a while because they afraid of Mer’s reaction. They finally tell her and she gets protective of R but at the end she is very supportive and protects them against a patient’s hate comment? Xoxo

You’re dating my sister?

Summary: see req above!

Pairings: Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader

fluff, slight angst, homophobia, use of a homophobic slur

Word Count: 1.04k

NOT PROOFREAD

SET WHEN MEREDITH DIDNT LIKE AMELIA MUCH IN THE BEGINNING

Reader pov:

One year. One whole year me and Amelia have been dating for. It’s crazy how fast time feels when you’re in love, I do t know what I’d do without her. The only issue is my best friends, Cristina and Metrdith. Not that I’m afraid of their answer, well. I’m not staid if Cristina’s answer.

Meredith’s husband happens to be my girlfriend brother. It’s a minor detail, and you know, Meredith isn’t the biggest fan of said sister. Me and ames have talked it over and we’re going to tell people soon, but leave Mer till last, what could go wrong right?

Cristina went wrong.

“Hey! Cristina!” I whisper yelled across the nurses station.

“If you have another twisted-sisters-almost-died-or-had-a-traumatic-event drama to tell me save it for after my surgery. Please.” She sighed out.

“No it’s not that I have to tell you something. But you can not, and I mean can not, tell mer.“ I insist

“Dann what did you do screw her sister or something?”

I stay silent at this and her eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God. No you did not.”

I nod my head profusely and respond “We’ve been dating for a year Cristina. Me and Amelia, what am I supposed to tell her?!” I start to panic just thinking about all the different ways this could go wrong.

“Ohh I have no idea! Good luck, you’re gunna need it, oh and tell me when you’re telling her so I can watch.” I rolled my eyes as she walked away from me towards the OR to scrub in.

I walk to my patients room pondering ways to tell mer about me and Amelia, it was going to be a long day.

Amelia pov:

“Derek! Come here!” I call out to him across the neuro floor.

“What do you need I’ve got a surgery with Yang in like, 2 minutes?” He says looking bored before I even start talking.

“Hey you could at least act interest in what I’m about to say, oh and don’t tell mer yet. Please.” His interest was piqued at this so he gave me a look as if to say ‘keep going you’ve got me hooked’ so I continued “Me and y/n have been dating for a year, and we are o my just telling people ad were scared how mer will react because she’s not exactly my biggest fan as of right now and her and y/n/n, and Cristina obviously, are like twisted sisters or whatever.” I took a breather after sayibg all that and my brother just looked like he wanted to laugh in my face.

“Well, good luck!” He smiled and walked off to the OR.

Well shit.

Reader pov:

I walk into my patients room still deep in thought when he speaks up, he’s fairly old, around 70-ish and was in for a broken hip. “You seemed pretty serious with whatever you were talking about back there and now I don’t even get a hello? Something’s gotta be on your mind Doctor.” He gave me a knowing smirk as I open my mouth yet no words come out and let out and exasperated sigh.

“Ah you know, trouble in paradise, well, paradise’s surroundings at least.” I say trying to be as brief as possible.

“Happens to the best of us kid.” He seemed like a genuinely nice guy and to be honest I needed a break so instead of getting a nurse to check his vitals I decided I was going to do them, although it seemed someone else had the same idea.

“Hey y/n/n what are you doing here?” I hear a voice I know all too well say from behind me.

“Hi Ames, just doing Mr Davison’s vitals, are you okay?” I say giving her a smile.

“Funny I was just coming to do the same thing.” she walked beside me and trailed her hand lightly over my lower back which didn’t go unnoticed by Mr Davison.

“Your ‘paradise’ is a she? Ugh just another dyke, exactly what we need!” I stare at him shocked, as does Amelia. His sudden outburst seemed to pull some attention from outside and the one person that I didn’t want to walked in, walked in.

“Is everything okay in here?” Meredith asked.

“No get these people away from me! Horrible people you lgqbt whatever people!” He flailed his arms about like a toddler as he was ranting and raving. Immediately Meredith jumped to our defence.

“Excuse you? Who do you think you’re talking to? I have you know you’ve just made and enemy out of the best neuro, general and ortho (sorry callie) in the state. It’s 2024 in the USA for gods sake, get a grip man!” With this she ushered us out of the room and then into an in call room so she could talk to us.

•

“YOURE WHAT?!” mer practically yelled

“Keep your voice down, yes we’re dating.” Amelia said to mer try help her keep her head on.

“Look Amelia, I love y/n with my whole heart she’s my sister okay? So, if you hurt her, break her heart or do anything to even slightly harm her, I will hurt you twice as much. She’s the best thing that’ll ever happened to you, so don’t screw it up okay?” My heart warmed after hearing just how much mer cared about me and that she would protect me but also slightly concerned she just threatened my girlfriend.

“Yes ma’am.” Amelia murmured clearly slightly intimidated by mer.

“Okay, now that that’s out the way, I’m so happy for you guys!” Me and Ames say thanks and mer’s oager goes off so she has to run so me and amy are left alone in the in-call room.

“I love you Amelia.” I say as I peck her lips and wrap my arms around her neck.

“I love you too y/n/n.” At this she pulled me into a passionate kiss and lowered us both down onto a bed.

When in an unoccupied on-call room…

#wlw #lesbian pride #wlw fanfic #lesbian #sapphic #wlw pride #greys anatomy fanfiction #greys anatomy #amelia shepard x reader #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepard #amelia shepherd #meredith grey #cristina yang #derek shepard #derek shepherd

[denaliwrites]

Intrigued and Afraid

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader

Summary: Cale finds out something you've been trying to hide from him.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: It's Cale Erendreich.

Cale was a man of power and control. Anything he couldn't rule over or make submit was Public Enemy Number One, in his eyes, whether it be a bratty girlfriend or a stray hair on his head.

And then you came along.

He hadn't really needed to control you. Intuitive nearly to a fault, you knew exactly what he wanted or needed and were usually quick to provide it, if it was reasonable or within your power. If not, something about you just... eased him. Just a little. He found himself losing his cool less around you in comparison to without you.

This alone set him on edge, sometimes, because despite not needing to exert control over you, you were still a free agent, prone to doing whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. This was rarely a problem, but on rare occasions, he'd call with dinner plans or something and you'd unexpectedly be in the club, or getting a manicure, or... any of your other random activities.

And then there were the emotions.

He wasn't an overly emotional person, generally (besides anger, he did feel that one a lot), but you... had the full range of human emotion, and you expressed it all openly. He wasn't sure how to handle you when you cried, or when you couldn't stop laughing, or when you were frustrated with something he'd done.

In fact, it was the emotions that were currently getting under his skin.

He knew, generally, when someone had a secret. Certain tells, certain ways they dodged a topic, or hedged around certain people. Despite being knowable, though, they were uncontrollable.

Secrets bothered him.

And you had one.

He could tell by the way you looked at him. There were emotions in those eyes that he didn't understand, couldn't even begin to comprehend, just nameless amalgamations of human experience swimming in a sea of a color that was now, inexplicably, his favorite.

And you were good at skirting around the issue. Whenever he tried to bring it up, you'd laugh, cheeks lightly brushed with the palest and prettiest pink he'd ever seen, and then you'd flitter away in a delicate dance of avoidance. You'd turn the topic to something you could control -- his day, the weather, what the Kardashians were up to, if you were particularly desperate for a subject to change to. Once, you'd even told him about the true story behind Moby Dick -- to this day, he was still trying to piece together how and why.

It was intriguing, watching you do all you could to avoid revealing your secret to him.

And, eventually, he gave up trying to weasel the information out of you. You left him no choice but to admit defeat, for once.

Apparently, that was all you needed.

About a week after he'd stopped asking after whatever it was you were hiding from him, you entered his home unannounced, made a beeline for the kitchen, made yourself some tea, and stood before him.

He had been eating lunch, but he stopped for you, because even he could see that you were about ready to burst with some vital information that you couldn't bear to hold any longer.

"What is i--" he started.

You quickly interjected, in a big emotional rush, "I'm madly in love with you!"

Oh.

Wait.

Oh.

A strange new emotion filled him. One he couldn't quite name but was sure he didn't like.

"... Why do you look so afraid?" your nervous voice cut through it like a hot knife through butter, and he startled and looked at you.

Fear? He was feeling fear? Why would he be feeling fear?

"I... don't know."

Oh, wait. No. He knew.

Well, now he was the one keeping secrets.

"It's nothing," he said after a moment, reassuringly taking your hand and squeezing it. "Anyway. You were saying?"

"... That's... that's it. Just that I'm... you know."

"Right." He hummed for a moment in thought. "What were you hoping to achieve by telling me?"

Shit. You looked hurt. He hadn't meant to hurt you.

"I dunno... guess I just... felt like I needed to get it off my chest. I... it's nothing. I should go."

You pulled out of his grasp and turned to leave. He watched you take a few steps before he got up to follow you. And he was surprised that you were able to make it all the way to the door before he caught up. Quite the legs you had, apparently.

But still, he caught up. A hand wrapped around your wrist to pull you to him, so firmly that in the blink of an eye you suddenly found yourself flush against him. Your eyes were wide as his hands moved to cradle your face, his eyes adoring as they met yours.

He had the control here. All of it. He could make or break you. Hell, he could even kill you if he wanted. And no one would even know. You'd be gone, forever, and though there'd be people who'd miss you, no one would ever be able to find you, and even if they did, they'd never be able to tie your death to him.

"I'm sorry."

Your eyes blinked up at him, confused. "For what?"

"I didn't mean for what I said to be hurtful to you."

"Oh..." You stared in stunned silence.

He had all the control in this situation, could do anything he wanted to you. Yet all he found himself wanting was to let you control the moment.

He'd put the power in your hands, too, with his apology. You decided whether to accept it or not, whether to leave or stay.

He was afraid.

Or, at least he was, until you pulled him into a soft, sweet kiss that left him lightheaded, yet strangely... elated.

Your lips were still brushing against his when you whispered, "you're forgiven."

#cale erendreich x reader #cale erendreich x you #bad samaritan fic #bad samaritan fanfiction #cale erendreich fic #cale erendreich fanfiction #david tennant #denali strikes again

[cowgurrrl]

Rockstar Joel Miller finding out he’s going to be a dad again ✨pretty please ✨

It’s not that you weren’t trying, but you definitely didn’t think it would ever happen. Maybe you’re on set and you pass out after a particularly strenuous day and they call your emergency contact (Joel) on the way to the hospital. When you get there, they run all the tests and give you fluids to make sure that you’re healthy and Joel is there by the time you wake up. He holds your hand and makes sure that you know that he’s right there with you, no matter what the results are. When the doctor comes in with an official looking clipboard and a nurse carting in some equipment behind him, he announces happily, “Well, it looks like you just had a little dizzy spell. You probably just need to drink some more water and maybe an iron supplement. All your vitals are normal and you and the baby are totally healthy.” And you and Joel blink at the doctor, your heart suddenly going a million miles an hour. “Did you… not know that you’re pregnant?” “Does this look like the face of someone who knows she’s pregnant?” You ask. Your mind is going five thousand directions all at once as the nurse says something about doing an ultrasound. The second you see the tiny peanut shaped blob on the screen, everything else fades away. She says something about the baby looking great for ten weeks and that they are developing normally.

When you and Joel are finally alone again, you turn to tell him that you’re sorry, you didn’t know, you can fix this, it’s okay, but he beats you to it. He wraps his arms around you and holds you, a few tears falling from his eyes and onto your neck. “We’re gonna have a baby,” he says. Once you get over the initial shock, you go through a million different emotions. Happiness because you and Joel are going to have a baby. Frustration and guilt because you’ve definitely been drinking and doing god knows what else but you didn’t know you were pregnant. Fear of how being pregnant/having a baby could affect your career. Things were just starting to fall into place and you weren’t sure if you were ready to give it all up but Joel assured you that he would never make you give up your career and you two would figure it out.

You two keep the pregnancy a secret for as long as you can, only telling the really important people in your lives about it. Sarah and Ellie are ecstatic if not a little worried for both of your sanities. It isn’t until you are about six months pregnant that you feel comfortable telling the world. You join Joel on a red carpet for one of your mutual friend’s TV show premieres and you wear a beautiful flowing gown that accentuates your baby bump and Joel stands proudly next to you with a hand on your stomach. All night, you each field questions about the baby. “How far along are you?” “Do you know what you’re having?” “How long have you known?” “What did your girls think about this news?”

You are a little more reserved in your answers, wanting to keep some things for yourself. You lie about not knowing the gender and keep your due date thinly veiled. “We aren’t sure what we’re having yet, but I know the girls have bet money on us having another girl. Everyone’s very happy and healthy and we’ll have a baby in our arms come summer.” Everyone congratulates you and wishes you a healthy delivery which is very sweet. You interrupt Joel doing an interview with a different reporter by kissing him on the cheek and wrapping an arm around his middle, cutting him off mid thought. His hand rests on your bump again and he smirks as he looks at the reporter. “I did that.” He says, and you smack his arm almost immediately.

The next day, flowers flood your kitchen with well wishes from costars, producers, other people in the music industry, and even the Russo brothers who you’ve never worked with but you know they were eyeing you for an upcoming film. You feel so loved and cherished and you know that you and Joel can face whatever is next as long as you have each other.

Bonus: instagram story posts during your pregnancy 🫶

#rockstar!joel miller #dad!joel miller #the last of us #joel and ellie #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #the last of us au #the last of us fluff #tlou au #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller drabble #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller x female reader

[geekywritings]

Don’t leave me

I usually don’t add it, but I kinda felt like writing some angst.

So have Cal x reader, where you worry that Cal might die. But no worries, there is a happy end!

___

Sobs were wrecking through your body, as you desperately tore at Cal’s vest and shirt to get to the damn blaster wound at his side. Too much blood, you realized, panic rising even higher, as you willed your body to function.

As a medic, you had seen all kinds of wounds and injuries. You had brought people back from the brink of death without losing focus. But this was different. This was the man you loved slipping away right beneath your hands.

“Another stim, BD!”, you called, and the little droid obeyed instantly.

The third one already, keeping him alive, while you tried to stave the bleeding. You had already used up whatever bandages you always carried on yourself and had resorted to tearing at your own shirt for more material.

“Y/N…” In your panic you had almost missed what barely qualified as a whisper coming from him. He was conscious! That was an improvement, though moreso for you than for him, as the pain seemed to hit him instantly.

“Shhh, lie still. I got you.”, you spoke, trying to sound calm and soothing, as you tightened the bandage around his torso, feeling the groan he gave deep in your soul.

“I… want to… see you… one…last…”

“NO! Die with whoever comes after me, Cal! You do not leave me! Not now! And not like this!”, you yelled, refusing to let this become your final goodbye.

“After you?”, his voice was so quiet. But the fact that he was able to speak at all gave you hope. “Nobody…ever…could…”

“Then even more reason for you not to die here.”, you continued, now taking care of the other blaster wound in his shoulder, which was bleeding equally badly. “Because I have every intention of growing old with you, you hear me? You and I are gonna spend our final days in some nice house by a lake, looking at holos of our children and grandchildren.”

“Is that… what…you…want?”

“I haven’t wanted anything else since you told me you loved me, Cal…” Why did you suddenly feel like crying? Deep down you knew. If the Mantis didn’t pick you up soon, giving you access to the rest of your medical equipment, you would lose him…

“Sounds…nice…”

“Another stim, BD!” The droid opened his compartment, revealing the very last he carried and you swallowed. You had to time it right or it would all have been for nothing. His heartbeat was so slow… his breathing so faint… and he was undoubtedly in a lot of pain…

But Cal was also fighting. You’ve seen enough patients in his state. Those, who had given up would fade quickly. But your experience also told you that a will to fight wasn’t always enough. Even a Jedi aided by the Force could not overcome too much blood loss…

Suddenly you heard it. An incoming message with Greez’s familiar voice. A huge relief washed over you and you injected the last stim quickly, before getting everything ready to dock your stolen vessel to the Mantis.

Once on the ship, you’d be able to treat him properly. At least until you reached a proper medical unit in one of the secret rebel bases.

“Hang in there just a little longer, Cal. Don’t leave me.”, you urged, as the crew came in to help you move him.

A few days later, you woke up from a restless nap at a table in the medical unit. Bacta tanks were rare, but the rebellion had managed to secure a handful. A fact that you were more than grateful for. Day in and day out you spent by Cal’s side, waiting and worrying. The crew would bring you food, but you ate just enough to stay awake a little longer.

On the third day, fatigue had taken over and you had fallen asleep at the table, Cal’s vitals still flashing on the screen before you. He was stable now, with a high chance of recovery. Yet you still refused to move. You wanted to be there when he woke up properly…

Yet in your sleep you missed exactly that moment. It was someone else from the medical unit that came in and moved the recovering Jedi to a bed for a check-up and more rest.

Waking up and not finding him there… you feared the worst at first. Only to be assured by the first person you ran into that everything was well.

“There you are.”, he greeted you, voice still weak and eyes barely open, when you entered his room.

“How are you feeling?”, you asked, instantly taking a seat by his side.

“Probably better rested than you.” Ah, humor again. It meant good things and you managed a tired smile.

“What planet?”

The question confused you and you gave him a quizzical look.

“The house you spoke of… What planet should we build it on?”

He still remembered that. “Naboo would be nice… or Koboh… but I am open to suggestions.”, you indulged him.

“Sounds nice… What about names for the kids? Any ideas there?”

You laughed, while tears brimmed in your eyes at the same time. “Plenty…”

A trembling hand came to your face, wiping the first tear that had dared to travel over your cheek. “I thought of nothing else… that future you planned for us… it’s what kept me alive….”

More tears now, as you placed a hand over his. “Will you stop fighting now?”

He nodded slowly. “I guess I found my place in the galaxy… and it’s next to you.”

It was time for a peaceful life. For both of you.

#cal kestis #cal kestis x yn #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x reader #jedi survivor

[misirosekisiro]

Neutral Territory Under Siege

Inside the gleaming, prestigious confines of the International Conference Center, diplomats and representatives from rival nations gathered together to sign the groundbreaking peace treaty - an agreement symbolizing unity and hope after years of strife. However, even amid such noble intentions, whispers of danger echoed softly within the corridors. Rumors spread about potential threats aiming to sabotage the historic occasion...

Krits, a seasoned SWAT policeman, roamed vigilantly among the luxuriously appointed hallways and lobbies of the building.

His expert gaze took note of every minor detail, picking out nuances most would miss, but which could prove vital should trouble arise.

His keen sense had alerted him to something amiss earlier; the shifting glint of light off metal, whispered murmurs, subtle movements betraying nervousness – all these clues led him closer to discovering what lay hidden beneath the surface.

But it was only when he noticed the shadowed figure lurking inconspicuously behind one of the opulently adorned pillars did he realize that time was running short. This person appeared menacing and cunning, a clear threat to the proceedings taking place inside the conference room. With a single glance, they seemed to exchange some kind of secret communication before vanishing away amongst the crowd of attendees.

Drawing upon years of experience and unwavering commitment to duty, Krits decided not to alarm anyone just yet.

That young man exit the events building. But Krits still trust his nerve, follow him to the building near by.

He watched as the suspected individual entered through a side door, seemingly unaware that someone had been tailing them. Upon entering, Krits quickly assessed the surroundings to ensure there were no imminent dangers. Then he also enter that building.

To think that a big events was hold just a building near by. This building is desert.There are many doors, dim lights, dust, old furniture, smell of mustiness everywhere. It seems like nobody come here often, maybe for illegal activities. The suspicious man leads Krits deeper into the bowels of the structure. It’s cold down here and quiet. Each step, each turn brings the two men closer to whatever lies waiting ahead. The air becomes denser with anticipation as the sounds of muffled footsteps echo back from distant corners. In this moment, time slows down almost imperceptibly. Every breath feels more intense than the last.

He can't see that young man, but He notice one door still closing.

Cautiously, he approaches it slowly, carefully listening for any sound or movement coming from beyond the closed entrance. His heart races as adrenaline courses through his veins, propelling him ever-closer to confronting the unknown situation unfolding right underneath his nose.

The darkness envelops the space, casting long, eerie shadows against the walls. Despite this disquieting atmosphere, Krits refuses to let fear gain control. Instead, he takes advantage of the obscurity to silently slip past a few more obstacles without detection.

It's an Service area's corridor.Much older and much less maintained compared to other parts of the building. Cobwebs hang delicately from the ceiling while a faint whiff of urine permeates the air. One might assume this part of the complex rarely sees use unless it serves purposes too unsavory to discuss openly. Krits knew well enough how things worked, so he wasn't entirely surprised by the state of this area.

Then he see one door in this corridor, it's open wide. but very dark inside.

Krits moves forward hesitating, feeling uneasy. Suddenly, the rustling noise catches his attention. He stops moving forward and starts scanning his surrounding closely. The creak of floorboards nearby indicates that someone else is present. Krits keeps his gun ready, holding his breath, trying to get familiarized with his new environment and identify the source of the sound. His senses heightened, ears straining to detect the slightest clue as to where his quarry may have gone. Silence lingers heavy in the air.

Krits stands motionless, his breath held tightly in his throat, his body coiled in readiness for action. Seconds feel like minutes as he waits patiently, assessing the possible locations of the enemy. Time drags on endlessly, making every passing second feel increasingly fraught with apprehension. Finally, a flickering movement in the corner of his eye draws his focus sharply toward a partially concealed alcove. There, huddled behind a large pile of discarded equipment, he spies the mysterious stranger.

"Stop right there!" Krits point the gun to that young man.

He didn't expect to find himself face-to-face with the target of his investigation in such close quarters, but he couldn't afford to show surprise now. His stomach twisted into knots as the reality of the precarious situation dawned on him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, giving him the strength to remain composed despite the mounting anxiety surging through his body.

"Stop right there! Show your hand and kneel!" Krits commanded firmly, his voice ringing loudly in the silence of the abandoned service area.

"Show me your hands!"

The younger man complied instantly, raising his arms above his head, exposing them clearly. Although tension radiated visibly from his slender frame, his expression remained calm. The seconds ticked by in agonizing slowness as Krits made a calculated decision regarding his next steps.

Keeping his weapon trained on the young man, he moved cautiously towards him. "What exactly do you want?" he asked, probing for information.

"If I don't hear anything convincing," he continued gravely, "consider yourself arrested."

As the young man lowered his hands back to his sides, his brow furrowed in confusion mixed with determination.

"Why?" He queried cautiously, attempting to gauge whether he could rely on this authority figure.

Krits narrowed his eyes slightly, contemplating whether he should share crucial intel with the captive. After weighing the pros and cons, he opted for honesty.

"Do you think I you catch me here, because it just happen ?" young man said and giggle.

Krits felt his jaw clench involuntarily. Though the laughter was innocuous, it struck a raw nerve within him, triggering memories best left buried deep within his psyche. Biting back the impulse to snap at the youthful audacity, he chose instead to respond calmly.

"No. We caught you because our intelligence suggested someone wanted to cause havoc during today's critical meeting," he explained sternly.

While he talk he feel something not right.

Something is wrong, this guy looks way too confident and relaxed. Something isn't adding up, but he cannot put his finger on it. Maybe there is another reason why the young man brought Krits to this desolate place? Is there something going on outside his knowledge?

"So tell me, why did you bring me here?" Krits finally managed to ask, his curiosity piqued by the odd behavior of his prisoner.

But before that young man answer, The box that contain various thing on the shelves above Krits head falling to him.

A trap! Krits then notice that young man use his feet to pull the string to active trap. He lure Krits to a position where he stand under a trap by talk with him.

Krits remember those moments vividly - the sudden shock as everything went black, the searing pain ripping through his shoulder blades, followed by a swift descent into utter oblivion.

A young man look at dazing Krits with smile.

In those split seconds, the world shifted drastically. Darkness consumed everything in sight, leaving behind only the haunting echoes of a fallen life. Yet amidst the chaos, an unexpected surge of rage filled Krits, driving him towards consciousness once again. Unbeknownst to his adversary, he was awake.

Still lying flat on the ground, Krits struggles to regain his bearings after being hit by the falling object. Despite the acute pain in his shoulders, his first instinct is to escape the predicament he finds himself in.

Fighting off the encroaching wave of numbness threatening to take over his entire body, Krits manages to struggle onto his knees. Grimacing from the intensity of the pain pulsing through his injured limbs, he reaches out for support, grasping onto the nearest stable surface available – a rickety wooden crate propped beside the wall. Drawing heavily upon his reserves of sheer willpower, he maneuvers upright, ignoring the protests of his battered flesh.

His vision swirling with blurred edges, Krits forced himself to remain conscious despite the debilitating pain that threatened to consume him whole. Struggling valiantly against the waves of dizziness crashing through his skull, he glanced around the cavernous warehouse, taking stock of his dire circumstances.

Armed with nothing more than defiance and a burning desire to protect what lay ahead, Krits grappled for leverage among the detritus scattered across the floorscape.

As he sought to steady himself, his mind raced frantically, searching for ways to counteract the advancing threat posed by the young man. Gripping the edge of a splintered wooden beam, he summoned all his remaining energy to launch himself towards his opponent.

With lightning speed, Krits lunged forward, aiming for the vulnerable spot exposed by the young man's carelessness. Surprise registered briefly on the intruder's features before he reacted swiftly, evading the attack effortlessly. Their bodies collided violently, sending both combatants reeling backwards. Pain shot through Krits' already wounded arm, causing him to cry out involuntarily.

Undeterred, Krits rose to his feet once more, determined to reclaim his power. With renewed vigor, he charged towards the young man, seeking to exploit the opening presented by their earlier exchange.

But before he could land another blow, the young man deftly sidestepped out of reach, mockingly taunting Krits' futility.

"Come on, little cop! What took you so long?" The younger man goaded Krits relentlessly, enjoying the thrill of the chase far too much.

Frustrated yet undaunted, Krits increased his pace, drawing closer to his prey. Fueled by adrenaline and unwavering resolve, he closed the gap between them until they were mere inches apart.

The young man grinned devilishly, relishing the game of cat and mouse they had engaged in thus far. This time, however, he miscalculated. In the blink of an eye, Krits seized control of the encounter, delivering a powerful strike to the younger man's torso. As the young man doubled over in pain, he retaliated fiercely, landing a series of rapid blows designed to force submission. Blood trickled down Krits' forehead, mixing with sweat as his stamina dwindled rapidly.

Sensing the urgency of the moment, he pressed harder, pushing past boundaries previously thought impossible. Desperation burned bright within him, fueled by a fervent need to overcome the foe standing before him. But try as he might, every attempt proved fruitless. No matter how brutal or strategic his strikes became, the nimble young man somehow managed to evade capture. It seemed as though fate itself conspired against him, preventing victory even when success appeared imminent.

Worn thin by the continuous volley of attacks, Krits succumbed to exhaustion.

Each breath came increasingly difficult, as if he was suffocating. Gasping for air, he collapsed onto the filthy floor, unable to muster any further resistance. Clutching his aching ribs, he rolled helplessly away from the young man, finding solace in the relative safety offered by the nearby stack of wooden pallets. Breathless and bruised, Krits lay sprawled across the cold, hard surface, trying to make sense of the turn of events that led him to this pathetic state.

Exhausted, he attempted to rise, only to collapse once more, defeated by the agony wracking his entire body. Overwhelming despair clouded his senses, obscuring rational thought and reducing him to a single-minded pursuit of survival.

"Good night! my dear cops!" Young man swing a pipe in his hand to Krits' occipital.

His eyes close reflexively due to the impact, his mind spiraling into darkness as pain engulfs him completely.

Young man standing look at completlycomatose cop.

He smile maliciously as he examine his captive. This small victory fills him with a strange mix of elation and arousal. There's no doubt about it now—this journey would be sweet indeed.

Feeling strangely empowered, he approached Krits slowly, his footsteps reverberating softly against the concrete floor. He bent down, carefully lifting one of Krits' legs, revealing the hidden truth beneath his tight fabric trousers.

The young man couldn't help but admire the firm, well-toned thighs that spoke volumes about the intense physical training required of a SWAT officer. His fingers traced the outline of Krits' calf muscles, feeling the warmth emanating from the powerful leg.

Next, he moved to the other side, lifting Krits' other leg, exposing the same strong, toned quadriceps. Each movement sent shivers of anticipation coursing through his veins, heightening his excitement. Slowly, methodically, he began to peel away each layer of protection shielding Krits' most intimate secrets.

First, he stat with removed the bulky tactical boots,

revealing smooth, pale skin that contrasted starkly with the rugged exterior of the rest of Krits' body. Then, he proceeded to remove the thick, formidable socks, allowing the delicate arches of Krits' feet to breathe freely.

The young man marvelled at the unique scent of sweaty, worn cotton combined with the subtle fragrance of fresh human skin. He savored the experience, letting the essence of Krits permeate his nostrils, filling his senses with the intoxicating mixture of strength and vulnerability.

Next is his tactical gears that bond around body.

You can see the traces of gunpowder residues on his clothing, evidence of a day spent battling criminals. Striping off his jacket reveals a sleek bulletproof vest underneath, accented by the gleaming silver nameplate bearing the word "SWAT". On his arms, two pairs of heavy duty gloves still clung stubbornly to his hands, making it slightly challenging to extract them fully. He remove Krits' tactical helmet and balaclava, showcasing the proud lineaments of Krits' face sculpted with determination and intelligence. Beneath his headset lay the familiar features of a battle-hardened hero. As the cool evening breeze whispered past his ears, the faint remnants of a battle plan danced tantalisingly on the tip of his tongue. He put balacava on his nose.Smelling the masculinity embedded in the fibres, exhilarating sensations stirring deep inside. Now last piece.Krits' undergarments, revealed to be a pair of snug fitting grey boxer briefs, finally gave up their secret. They were crafted from a blend of stretchy microfiber, hugging his lean frame perfectly without restricting his movements. Understanding the significance of these garments, the young man felt a surge of excitement course through his veins. He wanted to caress the contours of Krits' naked body, reveling in the pure, unbridled passion he was experiencing.

With his heart racing wildly, he ran his finger along the crevices of Krits' muscular abs, lingering over the sharp angles of his pecs. Each touch made his skin flush with heat, as his loins throbbed in anticipation. He slipped his hand underneath the waistband of Krits' boxer briefs, brushing his fingertips teasingly over the warm, velvety skin concealed there. As he trailed lower, discovering new territories to explore, the hunger grew stronger within him.

Reaching the tender area just below Krits' navel, he encountered the first signs of treasure – wispy curls of fine golden hair that hinted at the delights awaiting him. Running his fingers through these silken threads ignited a fire within him, fueling his desire to conquer this unknown landscape.

Drawing ever closer to the final frontier, he felt the pulse of life ticking steadily below his touch. With growing impatience, he lifted the hem of Krits' underwear, revealing the prize within - a robust mound nestled beneath a healthy covering of fur.

As his fingers grazed lightly over this sacred territory, Krits groaned softly, stirring in response to the touch. Unable to resist the temptation, the young man buried his lips in the crook of Krits' neck, taking in the warmth and saltiness of his flesh. Tasting the complex flavors of perspiration and determination mixed together, the rush of adrenaline threatened to consume him whole.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, he dove deeper into the rabbit hole of forbidden desires, exploring every curve and crevice of Krits' magnificently honed body. Slipping off Krits' wet, salty underwear, he marveled at the impressive length and width of Krits' penis, which was clearly meant for conquering many a conquest. The sight of such raw male power provoked a mix of fear and attraction within him, triggering his own rising libido.

Revenge and domination had been the driving forces behind his actions all along, but now, the sheer potency of his feelings took him by surprise.

In spite of his apprehension, Krits began to awaken, gradually regaining consciousness after being struck earlier. Confusion laced his voice as he murmured, "Who...who are you?" His eyes fluttered open to find himself bound tightly with duct tape, lying on top of a dusty mattress surrounded by debris.

Disoriented and struggling to understand what had transpired, Krits' brain raced to recall the recent events leading up to this dire situation. The fogginess cleared somewhat as memories resurfaced of his encounter with the enigmatic young man. Panic set in as he realized he had fallen prey to someone far more dangerous than expected.

Feeling an instinctual revulsion toward his predicament, Krits shifted uncomfortably, straining against the confines of his bindings.

Despite his efforts, escape proved futile, leaving him vulnerable and exposed before the stranger. As he struggled, the young man watched him closely, seemingly satisfied with having reduced Krits to this humiliated state. Unbeknownst to either party, the clock was rapidly counting down, time ticking away until the arrival of reinforcements. For now, however, the moment belonged solely to the adversaries locked in a deadly dance of cat and mouse.

Seeing the flash of defiance in Krits' eyes, the young man relished the challenge presented before him. He want to destroy this man's pride.

So he pick up Krit's uniform. Show it to bound and gaged Krits.

Looking at his own clothes, Krits recognized them immediately. Despite the fact that he wasn't wearing anything else, the knowledge that his assailant had taken something so personal filled him with anger and frustration. He could feel his cheeks burning red with embarrassment and indignation. he tried speaking again, "Dont' dare to touch it! You have not right to do so!" But everything he say muffle by a gaged.

Even young man can't heard what Krits say exectly. but he know by Krits's motion. How he show an anger, young man feel satifyfrom this. He decide to make things worse.

The young man sashayed towards Krits, sauntering confidently across the cold, hard floors. Clutching Krits' uniform close to his chest, he held it out in front of the prisoner, inviting him to take it back. Seeing the pleading look in Krits' eyes, he mockingly tossed the uniform onto the ground beside Krits. It landed in a heap with a gentle rustle, drawing Krits' attention to the crisp fabric that had once protected him.

Then he start to dress in Krits's uniform piece by piece start formTactical pants,He reached down and grasped the crotch of Krits' tactical pants firmly, holding it inches away from his nose. Inhaling deeply, he allowed the distinct scent of sweaty, worn cotton combined with the subtle fragrance of fresh human skin to waft through his nostrils. Savouring the experience, he let the essence of Krits permeate his olfactory senses, filling his mind with the intoxicating mixture of strength and vulnerability.

He closed his eyes, indulging in the rich bouquet of scents emanating from the cloth. The combination of sweat, gunpowder residue, and the underlying notes of cleanliness represented a perfect amalgamation of the conflicting aspects of Krits' personality.

Drenched in the sumptuous perfume of masculinity and self-assurance, the young man was captivated by this unexpected discovery. Gripping the fabric of the crotch, he pressed it fervently against his nose, allowing the heady concoction to cloud his thoughts. Then he start to donned that pant.

Fulfilling one part of his fetish, feeling the comfort of his favorite material on his skin, embracing the strength of the fabric, wrapping himself in power, protection, and sexuality. He looked like a walking arsenal of destruction. But underneath that facade lies hidden a secret, yearning for the release that only surrender can bring.

Satisfied with how the pants fit him, he moved on to Krit's sock.

These too bore traces of Krits' unique scent, imbuing them with a sense of intimacy that sent shivers down his spine. Carefully rolling each sock onto his feet, he savored the feeling of the smooth fabric encasing his calves and ankles.

Then he follow with his next favorite piece. A tactical boots. Again, he bring it to his nose.

Inhaling the familiar odor of leather, rubber, and the faint trace of sweat melded together, the young man felt an almost primal connection forming with the boot. He couldn't help but wonder why Krits would choose this particular model among others available. Was it due to functionality? Or perhaps some other reason entirely? Whatever the case, it served to heighten the sensory experience further. After slipping the footwear onto his feet, he pulled on the zippered cuffs.

Their functional design brought to life the rugged image associated with his role as a SWAT officer. Then he take an inner t-shirt, It's a white T-shirt with V-shape red collar, also got red ring at the end of each arm. on the chest got red police department insignia. It's also soak with sweat,especially in the armpits.And even though it's smells like him, it still smells good, reminding me of my own experiences in training and missions. I feel like I'm becoming more attached to the idea of owning parts of him, possessing a piece of him. It's exciting yet terrifying simultaneously. Next one is his tactical long-sleeved shirt.This tactical shirt was made of polyester/cotton blend, designed to offer superior moisture management and excellent resistance to wrinkling. Embroidered badges displayed his rank and affiliation to special law enforcement division, indicating his authority and status. Donning this garment gave him an added layer of confidence, knowing that he now possessed a symbol of authority that truly belonged to another individual.

Then he move to Krits's balaclava.

It's a black balaclava with a small opening around the mouth area, designed to protect the wearer's identity while providing breathability. Its presence alone evokes a sense of mystery and intrigue, as if concealing secrets waiting to be revealed. Upon placing it upon his head, the young man feels an undeniable thrill coursing through his veins. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating fusion of their two scents intermingling.

Then he take eye on left tactical gear, A bulletprove vest with radio, Tactical belt with accessory, Legs gun holster, And last one Tactical helmet.

Each item carried its own significance, adding layers of complexity to the overall ensemble. The vest provided crucial ballistic protection, the belt housed essential equipment, the leg holster secured firepower, and the helmet offered vital head coverage. These items collectively transformed him into a formidable force capable of subduing any threat - or so he believed.

As he finished putting on these pieces, he stood tall, admiring himself. The transformation was complete – both visually and psychologically. Dressed in Krits' clothing, adorned with his accoutrements, he appeared as a powerful, authoritative figure ready to tackle any obstacle. Yet, there remained an air of uncertainty surrounding him, hinting at the fragility of his newfound persona.

The he look at Krist. Krits'eyes fill with anger,and hatred and desperation. This all making our young man hornier. He want to punishment Krits' pride fully, wanting to break him completely. So he approach Krits.

"Your pride doesn't belong here," he murmured, running his fingers along the edge of Krits' throbbing erection. Krits jerked involuntarily, trying vainly to resist the overwhelming urge that raged inside him.

His hands trembled slightly as he caressed Krits' exposed flesh, tracing delicate patterns across his body.

"You are no more officer, swat, cops. Just ahelpless victim captured by someone stronger than you." The voice of young man echoed throughout the abandoned storage room, taunting Krits mercilessly. Each word seemed to strike a nerve within Krits, sending shockwaves of fury and humiliation reverberating through his core. Unable to speak, Krits grunted silently, fighting off the pain and restraints binding him tightly.

"You are under arrest!" Young man shout then catch at Krits crotch and grab it hard!.

Krits struggled futilely against the bindings that held him fast. Every movement caused searing pain to shoot through his aching limbs. Sweat dripped profusely down his forehead, causing his brow to burn with a feverish heat. With every breath, his heart raced wildly in his chest, threatening to escape its confines. Desperate to regain control, he tried calling out for help, hoping against hope that someone might hear his cries. Yet, his voice emerged weak and feeble, barely carrying beyond the immediate vicinity.

Young man crushed his hand in and out on Krit's cock.

"You are nothing but a sex slave now." he said with a smile that conveyed both sadism and satisfaction.

Krist struggling hard in attempt to free himself, tears falling down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat pouring down his face. Pride being stripped from him, Krits felt utterly degraded and defeated. His body shook violently as his master continued torturing him mentally and physically.

The young man took pleasure in witnessing the despair etched upon Krits' features.

"Let's see just how much your esteemed reputation means when faced with your impending defeat," he whispered huskily, nipping at Krits' earlobe before trailing kisses down his neckline.

Feeling the warmth of the stranger's lips against his sensitive skin, Krits flinched, unable to hide his growing trepidation. Despite his determination to remain composed, the reality of his precarious situation began to sink in, weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

As his captor ran expert fingers through his tousled hair, pressing soft kisses against his cheekbones, Krits could do little else but surrender to the torrent of emotions surging through him. Resentment simmered below the surface, fueling a burning desire for vengeance. However, exhaustion soon won out, dragging him into the abyss of hopelessness and fear.

The young man bent closer to Krits, brushing tender kisses along his temple and teasingly nipping at his earlobes.

"See how sweet submission can taste?" he purred, his breath tickling Krits' skin. Feeling his defenses falter, Krits allowed himself to revel in the forbidden sensations flooding his system. His brain foggy with lust, he surrendered to the pleasures bestowed upon him by his captor.

Lost in the haze of passion, Krits' body reacted instinctively to the stimuli. His hips thrust rhythmically, betraying his innermost desires despite his attempts to retain control.

The sight of Krits' vulnerability fueled the young man's eagerness to assert dominance. He trailed light bites down Krits' chest, leaving behind a trail of bruises as evidence of his conquest.

"Such a fine specimen you are," he breathed, squeezing Krits' firm ass playfully. The intensity of their gaze locked upon one another ignited a spark, setting off a chain reaction of fierce passion. Their bodies pressed together, each seeking solace in the other's embrace. As their movements grew increasingly erratic, driven by the force of raw desire, Krits reluctantly submitted to the unbreakable bond holding them captive.

Clutching at his predatory partner's arms, Krits fought back the waves of shame that threatened to consume him. Yet, his struggle only intensified the passion encapsulating them both.

Despite his protests, Krits gradually succumbed to the erotic currents guiding their encounter. As they moved against one another, the walls around them became shrouded in a cloud of heavy breaths and labored gasps. Their palms were slick with perspiration, melding together as if to ensure their union would never cease.

Krits' lips parted slightly, allowing gentle whimpers to escape his throat. He couldn't deny the intense rush of euphoria coursing through his veins. In spite of the looming danger, he was caught up in the moment, finding solace in the foreign touch invading his previously guarded territory.

Though Krits' heart yearned for freedom, his physical craving refused to let go of its hold on him. With each passing second, his resolve wavered further until finally giving way entirely.

Beneath the weight of his predator's commanding gaze, Krits acquiesced to the demands of his unrelenting libido. Submission had become an elixir, infusing his bloodstream with potency enough to drive away any lingering reservations.

The very thought of losing control sent shivers of ecstasy down his spine. Bound in his enemy's iron grasp, he had finally found liberation from the constraints imposed by duty and morality.

With his former sense of self obliterated, Krits lay prostrate beneath the unyielding touch of his conqueror. It wasn't merely a physical connection but rather an exploration of deeper, hidden territories. Emotional barriers fell like sandcastles battered by a violent storm, exposing raw, primordial desires buried within.

Young man see Krits eyes and know that Krits no more resist. He breaking inside. Too bad, he want more fun but he need a task to attend.

He realize his time limit.It's getting late, and he needs to fulfill his mission quickly and efficiently without arousing suspicion. After some careful planning, he decided to set everything in motion.

Gathering the necessary tools required for his plan, he meticulously assembled them beside him. Then, taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for what awaited him outside. Leaving the abandoned storage room behind, he ventured forth into the darkness that enveloped the night sky.

Outside, the streets bustled with activity, yet he managed to blend effortlessly among the crowds. Passing through alleys and narrow pathways, he reached his destination swiftly. As he approached his target, anticipation built within him, heightening his awareness.

Show himself as SWAT member, he can gain access tosensitive areas easily, which perfectly suits his plans. Using his knowledge of protocols and procedures, he navigates the complex structure seamlessly. Unnoticed, he enters a restricted area and takes position undetected. He blend himself to other SWAT member which now know one know which one is young man.

In the morning, A Urgent News in every channale,

"A newsworthy piece was reported today", news anchor exclaimed excitedly into the microphone. "This city is still reeling from last week's terrorist attack. But today, we bring even more shocking news—the peace treaty signing ceremony between Countries A and C has been interrupted!".

People watching the TV channels at home turned to look at the screen anxiously. They talked loudly amongst themselves, sharing theories and opinions on the incident. Rumors spread like wildfire through social media platforms, feeding people's curiosity and concern.

Online comment sections buzzed with discussions regarding the saboteur's identity, motivations, and methods. Some suggested political conspiracies, others pointed fingers at terrorist organizations looking to destabilize international relations. All these conjectures added layers of intrigue to the unfolding events.

Distraught, officials convened urgently to address the crisis and protect the integrity of the peace treaty negotiations. Meanwhile, law enforcement agencies scrambled to identify the culprit responsible for derailing such crucial diplomacy efforts.

Intelligence units analyzed surveillance footages, pored over data logs, cross-referenced databases, all searching for clues that would lead them to the notorious saboteur. Suspicions arose about those affiliated with extremist groups, as well as high-ranking government figures attempting to thwart the peace agreement. Nevertheless, with so many potential suspects and limited information available, progress remained slow and frustrating.

News networks bombarded viewers with updates, interviewing key players involved in drafting the peace treaty and experts specialized in geopolitics.

Young man close his laptop.There was much work ahead of him. First, he needed to get rid of the evidence left behind. Clenching his jaw, he set about collecting his belongings methodically - stripped clothes, used condoms, and anything else incriminating. This done, he stuffed it all into a duffel bag, making sure to dispose of it far away from the abandoned warehouse where his journey had begun.

Glancing once more at the place, a mixture of triumph and melancholy passed across his face. His mission had indeed succeeded – but at what cost? Young man knew his life would be forever changed after tonight, yet there was no turning back now. The thrill of victory, coupled with the lingering taste of defeat, filled him with ambivalence.

As the sun crept towards dawn, the young man slipped silently out of the warehouse, disappearing into the early morning mist. His heart raced with adrenaline, propelling him forward, faster than ever before.

#identity theft #steal clothes #stolen identity #clothes stolen #gay #steal uniform #uniform stolen #uniform

[aurborsau]

The Auction

Content warnings: omegaverse, NSFW, porn with plot, cunnilingus, medical kink, slight angst, vaginal sex

Paring: Terry silver/Daniel LaRusso

Word count: 2.8k

Summery: EIGHT IS ENOUGH AU ~ After the tragic loss of his mother, Daniel becomes a ward of the state and is forced to participate in an auction for unclaimed Omegas.

After his mothers untimely death. Daniel found himself with no place to call home. His father (whoever he was) remained oblivious to his existence, and his aunt callously turned him away. Left with no where to go, He ultimately gets sent to an overcrowded group home, where he had to keep his true identity as an omega a secret, the only other person who knew was his mother, and he had hoped the secret would die with her, but as fate would have it, the other boys in the home began to catch onto his scent and before he knew it, he was packing up his things and being sent to a facility for unclaimed Omegas where his fears of being mated to some Alpha jerk would become a reality. Soon enough, he would become simply a commodity, auctioned off to the highest bidder for them to do god knows what with him.

The place was relatively nicer than the group home, he found solace in having his own room, even if I felt more like a jail cell then anything. The walls were painted an eggshell white that matched the rest of the few pieces of furniture, there wasn’t a window in sight. (He could guess why that was) The room was lit solely by a Recessed light, creating a somewhat clinical ambiance in the otherwise dimly lit space. He wondered how many other omegas had lived there before him, and where they had ended up.

It came the night of his first auction and Daniel thought of every excuse under the sun to try and get out of it but they explained that it was very important for him to be there tonight, leaving no room for any exemptions. The day was spent getting prepared for his new Alpha. That included getting some kind of purity exam — whatever the hell that was.

✧ ✧ ✧

The doctor began by checking the boy's vitals and blood pressure, and then demanded he undress. Daniel’s eyes went wide at the order. He outright refused at first. But with the threat of calling in security, Daniel stood up, having no choice but to remove his clothes as instructed, his eyes glued to the ground as he felt daggers being shot onto his cold naked skin. He positioned himself on the table, placing his feet in the stirrups, trying to conceal his body as best he could with his hands.

The doctor swiftly moved behind the scared boy, gently moving Daniel’s shaking hands aside and placing his own cold, gloved hands on his budding breasts. Massaging in circles gently, making Daniel gasp slightly at the tenderness of his growing breasts as he examined for anything irregular.

The doctor then sat down in the chair in front of him, slowly easing a gloved finger into his tight core, making him squirm and gasp around the intrusion. A pleased sigh coming from the doctor when he hit the hymen. Muttering a simple “you passed.” As he checked him off on the clipboard, Before cleaning up and exiting the room, leaving Daniel feeling dirty and guilty as he laid out on the padded exam table like a lamb, awaiting slaughter.

✧ ✧ ✧

Later that evening, he sat in the bathtub until the water ran cold, His mind reeling from the events of earlier. He hung his head over the side of the tub, tears falling onto the porcelain below, The sound of his sobs echoed in the empty bathroom. He was told to get himself clean for his new alpha, but he couldn’t bring himself to even touch his own body. The body that would soon belong to someone else.

Suddenly, a knock reverberated through the steam filled bathroom, one of the nun’s voice following after. “You’ve been in there far too long now, it’s time to get out. The auction starts in only an hour.”

He towels off and exits the bathroom, where she was waiting for him by his bed, holding what could only be those customary robes reserved for omegas. Only these were sheer, too sheer, with no other piece of clothing in sight. “Where are my under garments?” He panicked. “You won’t be needing those.” She hands him the robe. “Now, I expect you will get dressed and be downstairs in ten minutes.” With that she left him in his own shock, having no choice but to follow the orders given to him. He slips on the sheer white fabric over his damp skin, his small breasts peaked through the material, clear as day.

With a shaking hand, he slowly twisted the door handle open, trying to cover himself the best he could as he made his way down to the main floor where the auction was held.

He watched from the curtain as the many alphas filtered in, all wearing expensive suits and holding a glass of champagne as they mingled among himself. Daniel wondered which one of them he would be going home with, Practically gagging at the thought of having to actually mate with one of them.

They called the first omega on stage, a timid girl who got sold for fifty thousand. They put him at the back of the line, making the wait even more excruciating. His anxiety intensified as he observed others ahead of him, his heart raced as the line got shorter. “We move on now, ladies and gentlemen, to our last item for auction. Our youngest - most desired, virgin, male Omega.” In a moment of panic he was pushed onto stage, his heart racing as he walked centerstage, the lights blinding him as he tried to make out the faces of the hundreds of Alpha’s awed faces in the crowd.

“We shall start the bidding at 50,000 dollars. Do I hear 50,000?” Almost immediately, a number raised in the air. His eyes going wide at the outrageous price, all for him? The bids just kept getting higher, numbers were called out almost inaudibly fast as many hands raised. “Do I hear 130? 140?” Suddenly, a man from the back, calls out “500,000.” The words hung in the silence, Like this stranger already owned him and was just waiting patiently for his moment to strike. The room went still as heads turned to get a glimpse of the generous bidder. “$500.000, going once, going twice… sold to our esteemed Mr. Silver." In an instant, he was whisked away from the glaring spotlight, ushered into a private room where he crumpled into a corner. Like a frightened animal awaiting its fate, his eyes remained fixed on the locked door, his heart beating out of his chest.

Footsteps were heard over the deafening silence. With a decisive click, the lock turned and the door swung open, revealing three men entering the room. Two of them were burly looking security guards, and the third man was freakishly tall and dark-haired, exuding an aura of dominance in his wake.

He walked closer to the boy’s shaking figure, the strong smell of cigar smoke and whiskey hit his nose almost instantly. Trembling, he instinctively curled into himself, his head tucked between his knees.

“My name is Terry Silver.” The man knelt down infront of him. “What’s your name, sweet boy?”

His lips shook as he bid himself not to cry. “D…Daniel.” His voice wavered as he continued to hide his head. “What a nice name.” the man’s deep, raspy voice reverberated through the dimly lit room. “Can I see your face, Daniel?” he lifted his head just slightly, allowing Terry's calloused hand to graze his delicate cheek. The touch was light, gentle even, the chill of Terry's rings against his skin sent shivers down his spine. “Gorgeous.” The man appreciated. “Absolutely breathtaking.” His hand traveled down his neck and taking hold of his shaking shoulder. Concerned by the boys trembling, Terry swiftly removed his jacket and draped it over the boy's quivering frame. Daniel instinctively pulled the jacket close, seeking solace in the comforting scent of the alpha's musk. Terry then turned his attention to the guards, and with hushed whispers he pulled out his wallet and handed each man a hundred dollar bill. With a nod they left the room, closing the door behind them. The alphas scent grew stronger with nowhere to dissipate. It was overpowering, clouding his senses and judgment.

Terry pulled up a chair and beckoned for the boy to come over. Despite feeling fear in the air, he found himself compelled to make the older man happy. Terry's eyes roamed hungrily over Daniel's slender form as he drew closer, his hand firmly grasping Daniel's bony hip. "I know I'm not supposed to touch you until our wedding…" A surge of desire evident in Terry’s voice as his hand ventured further, gently squeezing Daniel's thigh, “but your body. It drives me crazy.” Terry confessed, Daniel’s scent once sour with fear, now configured into arousal, with something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. "The moment you stepped onto that stage, I knew I had to have you. I could smell you from a mile away.” Terry sank down onto his knees before him, slipping off the jacket he gave the boy and letting it fall to the ground behind him. The heat between Daniels legs grew as the Alphas large hand slid under his robes. With the touch of his skin against his thigh, Daniel came back to reality in an instant, snaking away from the man’s delicate touch. “I…I can’t.” His breathing became ragged. “Don’t be shy. I don’t want to hurt you. Just a little taste.”

reached out again, this time placing both hands on Daniel's hips, guiding him back towards him almost in a playful manner, his rough hands sending shivers down his spine. Terrys skilled fingers undid the tie on his robes, making Daniel yelp in surprise as the cool air hit his sensitive skin. “Sir, don’t.” He pleaded weakly as he slipped off the rest of his robe. “Don’t argue with your Alpha, sweetheart. I know what’s best for you… trust me.” *‘Your Alpha*.’ that word sent shivers down his spine, the idea of giving yourself over to someone body and soul, should have sounded like some kind of nightmare, but now only made the heat between his legs intensify, a choked out whimper leaving his lips when he felt himself grow wet between his legs. Terry threw his head back, absolutely reveling in the smell of his sweet Omega’s body, readying itself for his Alpha. Terry's eyes darkened as his gaze locked onto his beautiful body in all its glory. His hands moved up to Daniel’s small chest, feeling the tremble beneath his touch. "You're so responsive,”

His eyes moved down to the proof of Daniel's desire between his legs now. He groaned as his hand trailed up Daniel's thigh, teasing the outer labia of his cunt. Daniel couldn’t do more than whimper as he was fondled. He let his eyelids flutter close in an attempt to hide himself from his true desires, The sound of his moans only made Terry grow bolder. His rough fingers dipped into the slick heat of his core, causing Daniel to cry out in pleasure. "Your scent... it's driving me crazy,” His voice was rough with desire as his thick fingers teased the sensitive folds of Daniel's sex, spreading his slick up to his sensitive clit. It felt like a jolt of electricity shot through him as he doubled over onto the alphas shoulder in defeat. Terry moaned in satisfaction as he felt Daniel’s hips rock forward onto his fingers. He kept them moving, circling and teasing his little nub of flesh that had the poor thing falling apart in his hands. The pleasure was an all-consuming sensation that coursed through every fiber of his being. “I can't take it anymore, Terry. Please..." he begged, not quite knowing what exactly he was asking for. “Be patient, baby. Let me show you how good it can feel." With that, he slowly began to push a finger inside Daniel's tight heat. He gasped at the sudden invasion, his body tensing up around Terry's digit.

Terry continued to push in slowly, His finger twisted and curled, hitting his g-spot dead on. Making Daniel scream out in overstimulation. A sensation he wasn’t familiar with, but welcomed nonetheless. Terry increased the pace of his thrusts, his rough fingers curling deeper inside of him only to be taken away in an instant. “No, no, why’d you stop?” Daniel whined. “Because I want to taste you, Danny. I want to feel you on my tongue." He slowly removed his fingers and licked the juices off his digits one by one and groaning lewdy at the taste. "Now lie down on the ground for me, baby.” Daniel nodded in agreement as he slowly got down on the ground, the wooden floors cold on his back as he stared at the ceiling, shaking as he anticipated what the man was going to do next.

Daniel watched as Terry moved between his legs, his heart pounding in anticipation. The older man's hands ran up his thighs, stopping just short of where he needed them most. "Look at me, Danny.”

he inclined his head weakly to make eye contact with the man before him, the fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow on his pale, handsome face. He looked... hungry, almost ravenous, His piercing blue eyes were filled with an insatiable desire, like he was a lion who’s been deprived of food for days, only to find himself face-to-face with a succulent gazelle that’s been released into his cage.

Terry gently eased his trembling, legs open and slowly poked his tongue out and ran it along the small slit of Daniel's cunt.

A shudder ran through his body as the warm, wet tongue ghosted over his sensitive clit. A gush of slick running down the mans chin as he continued his torment. Daniel’s hips lifted off the floor involuntarily, seeking more contact with the invading tongue as it traced his clit. He bit his lip hard, trying (and failing) to suppress the moans that threatened to escape his throat. He threw his arm over his face in an attempt to quiet himself, but Terry couldn’t have that. Stopping his relentless tongue, he pulled Daniel’s arm away from his face, “no baby, I want to hear all those pretty noises your making for me," he commanded softly. A loud moan escaped his lips. And although embarrassing to Daniels ears, It only served to encourage Terry as he lapped up his slick, drinking it down like water. Daniel felt himself nearing the edge. His fingers dug into the floor, trying to find some kind of anchor as his body shook in anticipation. “I… I can’t. I’m so close.”

"Good, come for me, baby. Come for your Alpha," Terry purred, his tongue never ceasing its rhythmic dance around Daniel's sensitive nub.

As he felt his orgasm building up inside him, Terry moved his hand between their bodies, slipping two fingers inside him. The dual sensation was too much for Daniel to handle, and he cried out in pleasure as his body convulsed around Terry's fingers. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he reached his peak. His entire body tensed up as he felt hot liquid shoot out from himself, almost like he was peeing - it was intense, more intense than anything he’s ever experienced. Sure, he’s had orgasms in the past, but they couldn't compare to the level of intensity he felt in those few fleeting moments of bliss. The room was filled with the intoxicating scent of the Alpha’s addicting pheromones, making him feel a newfound closeness with the man he was obligated to call his mate.

Daniel's body trembled from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He was breathless and completely exposed, his legs trembling as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

He looked down at Terry, gasping at the sight of his drenched face, his collar stained with his own fluids.

"I- I'm sorry" he said softly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Terry chuckled softly as he wiped his face clean with an embossed “TS” handkerchief stuffed in his pocket, his eyes never leaving Daniel's. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he said, his voice low and raspy. "I love the way you taste.” He leaned in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss, Daniel could taste himself on the mans tongue, forcing itself into his mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss. Maybe… being mated wasn’t as bad as Daniel thought it was going to be, especially if it was going to be like this all the time.

Based off of an anonymous ask: “Eight Is Enough!Daniel but make it Omegaverse. He’s not quite of the legal age, but he’s been promised to, and is engaged to, Mr. Silver: an older, wealthy Alpha who asked for his hand. They will be married when Daniel turns 18. Until then, they are allowed to meet and have supervised visits during their courtship, as Daniel is an Omega, and it is not considered proper for them to be left unattended with an Alpha if they are not married. Mr. Silver is of course very delighted and charmed by this sweet boy, and can’t wait until he is truly his, body and soul…”

#eight is enough au #silverusso ask #silverusso #daniel larusso #karate kid #terry silver #cobra kai #ralph macchio #fiction #thomas ian griffith #eight is enough #alpha terry silver #omega daniel larusso #omegaverse

[imagine--if]

Hiii may I please request riddler/Eddie having a crush and being absolutely obsessed with a reader who also wears glasses, he eventually confesses to them,maybe he kidnaps them even and confesses, u do ur thing besite I just want it to be super fluffy please 🥺🥺🥺

A/N: Okay, so I actually took inspiration from an idea I had about sending Eddie a love letter and his obsessive reaction to it, and morphed it with this request 😂💚 ik it's a bit random, but I love this scenario so much and it's based off this Quotev quiz lmao, thanks to that writer for the inspo!! Enjoy 😁

Pairing: Dano!Riddler x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: Obsessive love and stalking behaviour 😍 PART UNO

Words: 981

It was so sickening, so putrid to Edward Nashton, having to keep the tiresome facade of being an ordinary, everyday, scummy citizen of Gotham City. Went to work every few weekdays, scribbling down and filing numbers, while taking pictures of things that didn't quite add up. Taking little, vital pieces of information on the elite, the so-called city leaders; corrupt, all of them. He was sure that every single one of Gotham's minions was just the same.

Until he caught sight of the envelope.

Trudging back to his small suite in the run-down hotel block, Edward's eyes are downcast, codes and unsolvable puzzles whirring in his head as he absentmindedly goes up the flights of stairs that lead to his floor. The silver ring hooked in the centre of his key is around his finger, and he pulls it up to open the door a few steps before he gets to it, looking up tiredly...

His brows furrow. Green eyes widen.

It's like getting a taste of his own medicine; an anonymous letter, a bright envelope resting neatly against the hard, cool door to his rooms. There's no address written on the deep green paper, no writing at all, just the sealed, thin envelope.

Is this a cruel trick? Was he so careless to let someone follow him here? No, no, not yet- they can't know where he's living, it'll spoil the puzzle!

Edward snatched up the envelope, shoving the key through the hole and twisting it, a soft click sounding as he pushes in the door and closes it behind him with an impatient wave of his hand. With the other, he pulls off the seal from the envelope's front, and tugs out a letter written on pristine white paper. It's folded carefully in half, and he can see the faint black swirls of inky words from the closed side. Edward takes a long breath in through his nose, immediately apprehensive, ready to kick off at the moment he finds out that this little game will come to an end a lot sooner than he wants.

But that moment never comes.

To The Riddler,

Please don't panic or anything about how I got this letter to you! It took me ages to get the right clues and information from people lurking around the place to find you, but I'm glad I did. I'm glad, because I won't be invisible to you! You could never be invisible to me.

I love what you're doing for Gotham. Things have to change, and you're doing amazingly. I watch your streams every night - one of the only sources of hope I get each day. It's all because of you. I get a bit too shy to type in the comments, but after all this effort to get this to you, you should know. You deserve to know that you could never be invisible to me, because you're practically everything to me now. I could love you, even!! I think I already do...

Sorry if this seems a bit weird. I feel like you're used to getting crazed fangirls who watch your streams say similar things, but this isn't a faze or anything shallow like that. I want to help you however I can -be with you, if you'll let me. If you do, you'll do what you'll do best. You'll go through cameras on the building's CCTV and track me down after a little while (quicker than I did haha) and do whatever you want with me. I know you can. I wouldn't want it to be anyone else.

I love you! No lies!

-Your secret admirer ♡

Edward's breaths are shaky now, forced, whimpers escaping his throat as his lips press tightly together, green eyes widening behind his glasses as he reads over and over your letter. It's... it's not a cruel trick, is it? He's not truly invisible anymore. He has you, whoever you are - and he'll find you.

Giggles make their way out of his throat, a large, dopey grin on his face like a lovestruck schoolgirl. He staggers to his bedroom, sitting haphazardly on his bed before collapsing into a curled-up pile on top of the sheets. The letter is clutched to his chest now, cradled in his hands as he repeats the sweet words in his head, trying to imagine your voice.

But why imagine it when he can find out for real? That's what you want, isn't it? You know he can do it. God, you're so clever, so patient, going through all that trouble just to send him a letter he could throw away in some delusional, ridiculous idea of The Riddler.

But that idea is nowhere near close to the truth.

Edward doesn't bother waiting - it doesn't take much to get the CCTV from the building's weak camera surveillance uploaded onto his laptop, and after whizzing through the norm, he stops when he catches sight of an unfamiliar, beautiful face. You're partially hidden by the hood that covers your head, but glasses poke out from beneath it as you rush to his door, double-check a note you'd made of the suite number, and leave the same envelope he's clutching so hopefully in one trembling hand by the door. Then you're off again, disappearing out the back door of the hotel block, and Eddie's shaky breaths fill the absence of muffled city and rain sounds from the laptop.

He goes back, zooming in on your face, and stifles an excited, newfound lovestruck whimper behind his hand that's pressed over his lips. Gotcha. He lets out a soft, broken chuckle that soon turns into hysterical giggles, eyes blown wide with adoration and giddiness.

"I- I love you too," he whispers to the grainy image of you on screen, smoothing the paper of the letter and envelope carefully in his hands, stroking it tenderly. "N-no lies!"

PART TWO?? PART TWO 😁💚

.・ Taglist: ・.

@i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @r4iner @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @vaylordd @dangerouslittlefairy @katjourno @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowers @hxney-lemcn @confusedchildsstuff @callsigncrash @sugahbabieexo @bokksieu @skateb0red @wilburrrsworld @philiasoul @darthcringe @felicityofbakerstreet @bloodypantomime @deadlights-darling @tianotfound @mortem-muse @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

#edward nashton x reader #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler #edward nashton #edward nashton imagine #paul dano x reader #the riddler x reader #batman 2022 #paul dano #the batman 2022 #danonation #paul dano movies #dano riddler x reader #paul dano fanfic #paul dano fluff #dano riddler #edward nashton fluff #edward nashton x you #edward nashton fanfiction #the riddler fanfiction #the riddler 2022 #the riddler x you #the riddler paul dano #the riddler x y/n #the batman fic #battinson #riddler fanfic #riddler x reader #riddler x you #paul dano riddler

[bracketsoffear]

Columbo (Columbo) "A shrewd but inelegant blue-collar homicide detective whose trademarks include his shambling manner, rumpled beige raincoat, cigar and off-putting, relentless investigative approach. Columbo was the master of perp sweating. Though he generally settles on his horse from the outset, he never lets on, instead worming his way into their confidence via fawning adulation, begging their assistance as he "solves" the case. Usually he forces them to weave a huge web of lies until he can finally pull the thread — justified because he's always right. Without letting on that he suspects the perp, he'd have long, seemingly innocuous conversations with the murderer who would get more and more frustrated as they tried to get this annoying man to go away, and thus already be off-balance when the topic turned to holes in their cover-up. Columbo's favorite move was seeming to leave once the suspect thought they'd thrown him off the scent, then turning around and adding "Just one more thing," knocking them on their heels. He's overly nice to people in a bloodhound sort of way; he convinces people that he's just a country bumpkin more interested in whatever 'hat' the villain wears than solving the crime, only to reveal in the end a cold detachment and clinical mind that the bumpkin persona allowed free rein. He plays with the feelings of the criminals, making them like him (more often than not) or at least pity him and drop their guard, or he pushes them subtly and continuously to the point where they break. He attributes his success to merely working harder, thinking longer, and looking closer than anyone else would. However, Columbo has solved every case put before him onscreen (he sometimes claims that he only solves about a third total, but this could well be part of the humility act) and hasn't gotten his man only once — in which case the perp was dying anyway. In true classic mystery fashion, each episode wraps up with the Lieutenant confronting his prey with his train of deduction, culminating in the vital clue; the perp may not confess, but they know, and the viewer knows, they have been beaten. He also possesses an encyclopedic knowledge on some subjects, which he usually hides, and has explained to colleagues that his wife believes there is "something wrong" with him."

Jadis (Kill Six Billion Demons) "Jadis was born into a family of philosopher royalty who saw the Shape of the Universe as an experiment to study and dissect; they wasted ten generations in their efforts to witness the Shape (something that boiled a goddess’ eyes to see) and obtain all the secrets of Creation, a task she was prophecised to complete. She successfully saw the Shape, but it proved to be a thing beyond mortal ken and Jadis was shattered in both mind and body. She now exists inside a block of glass, a decaying, unmoving corpse, whispering prophecies with her perfect, terrible knowledge and worshipped by a cult devoted to recording and intepreting her whispers (and occasionally mis-interpreting them) while keeping their God-Queen alive. Book 5 demonstrates that, like the author has said, “Jadis knows the most, in fact. Of anyone. Ever”…and it has utterly destroyed her. Her perfect knowledge left her a deeply jaded, nihilistic woman who feels her actions, choices, and even her own identity (and everyone else's) are rendered completely moot when compared to the full shape of the universe. As someone who is ignorant of nothing, Jadis' limits are absolute and she is incapable of anything she hasn't already predicted will happen. She can't choose to do anything, because her decisions and their outcomes are already known to her. The alt text and some of her lines in her section of Breaker of Infinites discuss how if you can see everything, anything in it just becomes meaningless, unidentifiable noise in the infinite detail of it all: “When you see everything, there’s only one color left.” Jadis straight-up tells Allison that she, Jadis, does not exist in any meaningful sense because she can't tell where the lines between the Shape of the Universe and even her own mind are anymore. Consequently, Jadis tries to convince Allison to stop her mission to stop the destruction of the multiverse because she’s convinced that fighting is futile and meaningless in the end, so she should surrender instead of choosing more suffering. She takes Allison to see the machine that showed her the Shape, tells her the exact time from then she will die, comments on a personal detail of Allison’s past, and says what she’s doing before she does it (to make it creepier, her predictions were in the alt text several pages before). She then shows Allison the Shape and gives her a breaking speech to try and convince her to give up, and eventually talks Allison into accepting futility for months before she gets her shit together. Allison eventually realizes that Jadis is unable to change or recover from the traumas of her past because she no longer has a past - her perfect knowledge of everything that ever is, was, and will be means that she is constantly, continually reliving the complete and total despair that hit her when she saw the Shape and realized the futility of everything, and will do so for as long as she exists. Jadis wanted to know, believing that she could use her wisdom for the greater good, but the horrible knowledge she gained by seeing literally everything ever destroyed her so completely that she cannot comprehend being a person or making choices anymore--she has thus trapped herself in nihilistic certainty that she knows what’s going to happen and therefore nothing matters, and she wants to impress that mindset onto the only person she can even share her omniscience with anymore."

#eye poll #the magnus archives #the eye #poll #columbo #kill six billion demons

[comicaurora]

What would you say is the most important part of each character's "voice"?

Oh, that's a great question!

Kendal communicates his thoughts simply and honestly. He doesn't lie, but he will avoid stating certain things around certain people if he has reason to believe it'll produce an undesirable outcome. This straightforwardness is vital to his tone. He won't even indulge in metaphor or non-questions like "don't you understand?" because those don't serve the purpose of communicating his thoughts as clearly as possible. He already has enough trouble connecting with people - he won't exacerbate that by adding unnecessary complications to his words.

Alinua is one of my only characters who stutters! I think it's very important to her tone that she'll pause, "uh-" and repeat herself sometimes. She gets caught up in her thoughts and sometimes outruns her mouth.

Erin is suave and cool and finds communication very easy. Even when it's coming from a genuine case, it has the practiced fluidity of a memorized script. He also typically finds ways to frame everything that are either self-aggrandizing or self-deprecating - he'll seek new information because he made a fool of himself with his ignorance, or he'll have experience with something because of his extensive repertoire of skills and allies. Erin will say what needs to be said to shape a situation the way he wants it to go, and is the only one of the main cast readily willing to lie - which is good, considering the kind of secrets he's lugging around.

Falst is defensive and lashes out easily. Anything he perceives as a vulnerability in himself is strictly off-limits and will never be willingly volunteered. He also doesn't generally lie, but he'll respond to probing questions or desperate circumstances with rage rather than silence. He's the only character I have to keep track of the breaking point for - there are some scenes I've played out with him where I have to stop scripting because I realize he's hit the point where he just starts swinging, or if he doesn't consider the person strictly an enemy, starts threatening. It's like he's playing a game of keepaway with his own emotional vulnerabilities.

Tess is very focused on whatever she's doing at any given time, but that focus can jump easily, and she doesn't tend to consider the context of her situation very much. Trespassing on a prison mountain in the dead of night is a great time to be making new friends! She's not dumb by any metric, and she has a very unique plethora of life experiences to draw from that makes her very easy to get along with and gives her a lot of ways to relate to the people she meets, but that social and emotional intelligence doesn't directly translate into really… being on anyone else's wavelength. She's a creature of sensation, and typically couches her actions in terms of how they make her feel - she won't fight city guards because they're "squishier than her" and that makes her feel bad, but she'll gleefully fight Tynan regardless of his dramatics or evil scheming because it looks like a blast. Erin is probably the only person in the group who really understands how she works, and that's fine by her - she touches a lot of lives, but she doesn't tie herself to any of them too strongly.

Dainix is gentle and emotionally open, but he's not superhuman. In trying circumstances he'll lock up, and while he's not quick to lash out, he will shut people down, and he'll sometimes use his insights into their emotional state to do it. Of the group, Dainix has the most experience relating to people on a personal level, which means he's pretty good at reading relationships and navigating emotionally complex people, but isn't a total doormat about it - he's got boundaries he'll enforce for his own well-being, and as we've seen, he has a breaking point where all his compassion and careful navigation burns away. Dainix is prone to anger, and carefully manages himself to keep his temperature as low as possible to avoid problems and breakdowns. Basically, voice-wise, Dainix is generally polite and empathic and will try to get a feel for whoever he's dealing with to avoid unnecessary conflicts with them, but he will stand his ground if something hurts him - and his one blind spot is that sometimes he'll realize something about the person he's dealing with and drop an insightful nugget of wisdom about them that they'll get very angry about. Not everyone likes being casually psychoanalyzed.

#aurora #asks #writing stuff

[deancasbigbang]

Title: o weary traveler

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden

Artist: Sketcheun

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen, minor Sam/Ruby

Length: 85000

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Imprisonment

Tags: angel!Cas, The Odyssey AU, wings, slow burn, enemies to lovers, mutual pining

Posting Date: November 8, 2022

Summary: Still reeling from the death of his father, Dean Winchester has one goal: make it home to Lawrence, where his kingdom and the rest of his life are waiting for him. His task is made infinitely more difficult when he shipwrecks on a mysterious island. When his crew and then his brother disappears, Dean enters into a deal with the island's mysterious inhabitant, Castiel, to keep them safe. The catch? He can never leave. Bound by his deal, Dean has no choice but to get to know Castiel, and what he finds is surprising. Castiel is kinder than he originally thought, even though he's harboring his own secrets and guilt. Dean needs to return to Lawrence, but he finds himself reluctant to leave Castiel behind. Meanwhile, Castiel knows that the kindest thing to do for Dean is to let him go, regardless of his own feelings towards him. As their relationship deepens into friendship and then something more, Dean and Castiel face both outside dangers as well as their own doubts. Can Castiel find it within himself to let Dean leave? Can Dean find it within himself to go? Or can these two create their own destiny?

Excerpt: Something passes behind the man’s eyes. In the shifting sun and shadows of the room, Dean can’t quite see it, but when he speaks, there’s no hint of any inner turmoil. “What would you do to keep them safe?”  “Anything,” is Dean’s immediate answer.  The man scoffs. “A coward’s answer. Easy to promise, and difficult to fulfill.”  Dean lifts his chin. “I’m their captain, and when we get home, I’ll be their arch. An arch is nothing without the support of his people. In order to be worthy of their loyalty, I have to be willing to take on their burdens as well.”  The man’s eyes narrow. “You would take on danger for their sake? You would risk yourself and all that you’ve gained for the chance that they might survive? That they might be happy?”  Dean’s upper lip lifts in a sneer. “Are you deaf? How many times do I need to say yes before you understand? You ask me what I would do to keep Sam safe? There’s not a damn thing that I wouldn’t do, the angels and demons both be damned.”  “Would you take on their punishment?”  The question comes swiftly, and it’s dropped like a stone into a calm pond. The ripples threaten to bowl Dean over, at least at first.  “Yes.”  The man straightens, staring at Dean. Dean shifts. Though it’s ridiculous, he feels like the man can see straight through him, into his soul, or whatever Sam would say he has.  “You will never leave this island,” the man says slowly, giving each word enough weight to sink on Dean’s chest. “Your family and friends and lovers will move on without you. Time and life will pass you by.”  Each word feels like the man is carving a slice out of him, like he’s losing something vital with each syllable. Dean doesn’t crack, though. He stands firm and takes it, with only the faint wobble of his lower lip to give truth to his feelings.  “As long as Sam and Ash go free,” he says, putting every ounce of conviction he can into his words.  Light flashes in the man’s eyes, blue-white swirling in his pupils, and Dean has just enough time to draw back in fear before the man reaches out and grips Dean’s left shoulder. The swirling light in his pupils brightens to an almost painful brilliance, and searing pain envelops his left shoulder. Dean cries out, but almost as soon as it arrives, the pain is gone, leaving nothing but a dull ache in its place.  “What did you do?” Dean asks. He wants his voice to snap, but he’s too shaken. It wobbles instead. To hide his shame, he yanks at his sleeve, tearing the fabric to reveal a bright red scar, shiny on his otherwise pale arm. It’s the man’s handprint, seared into his skin. Dean hisses as he touches the tender, raised edge.

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2022 #fic preview #2022 promo #deancas #destiel

[smilehoya]

Okay so spoilers under the cut for AIB s2 things that I wish they had added / I have a problem with / I liked !

- SPOILERS -

* I honestly liked that Niragi didn’t have a ‘redemption’ arc, not really. He was a little more toned down then how he was at the beach, but also maybe that’s a mixture of he wasn’t killing people every two seconds like he was when they were doing the witch game, and also maybe because we didn’t see him a whole bunch? But yeah, i’m all for letting bad guys be bad guys.

* also I CACKLED at how within two seconds of Niragi and Chishiya seeing each other again, Niragi shoots Chishiya and tHIS MOTHERFUCKER proceeds to then lie on the ground in a ‘pose’ and complain ‘you didn’t even hit me anywhere vital on purpose’ while looking wholly unimpressed and then thru started bickering like an old married couple.

* Chishiya’s game with what’s his face (the 2nd leader from the beach don’t remember his name) was everything I ever wanted, literally. I remember reading that in the manga and being like holy fuck this is intense but amazing and they rly managed to pull it off just the same in the live action.

* on another note, I really wish Akane wasn’t sexualised as much as she was. I know at one point it says she’s a senior in high school, which would make her around 18 in Japan but like … I kept being so fucking aware that she’s soooo much younger than Arisu and Aguni who she kept flirting with and I just - it made me uncomfy. Plus ALL the panty shots????? There were SO many!! If they were gonna do that (which I still wish they wouldn’t but this is an example) why not do it for one of the older woman whose ya’know an actual adult?????

* I really dislike the trope of like … forgetting something that had happened as a plot device, so the ending irritated me. It’s written the same in the manga, so it’s not even that they changed it, I just hate that trope all together because it kinda just feels lack lustre once they’re all back that they don’t even remember each other properly they just have a feeling ‘they’ve met’ and we don’t get like … that big emotional re-union ya know?

* speaking of re-unions though Kuina’s broke me. Her dad finally being supporting of her! I cried.

* also love that Kuina and Chishiya stayed bsf all thru the borderlands, even in the gap between s1 and s2 and all the time in s2 when they were separated the first thing Kuina asks when she sees Arisu again is where Chishiya is and how he’s doing.

* someone correct me if I’m wrong for this one but - in the manga, don’t they explain what happens now that the game has been concluded? Like yeah they explained that people can choose to stay or go, but they left out the part where the people who stay get to take over whatever bosses game they won!!!! So like, those two motherfuckers from the prison game now get to stay and continue being the boss same with a ‘new’ Mira or whatever; isn’t that something that happens? That the games just … keep going with a new group.

* upset also that they left out Chishiya’s relationship with his dad because that explains his personality a LOT for people who may be confused why he acts like he is / why he’s so logical. It’s because his dad didn’t give him the emotional / love when he was a kid so he became cool calm and calculated. I don’t wanna say the guy he was calling ‘Sir’ in the LA was his dad, but I’m pretty sure in the manga is dad is some higher up in the hospital too??????????

* I NEED / NEEDED more of Usagi + Ahn + Kuina being best girlfriends like … ugh, their friendship. I want them to go on cute fashion trips together, get manicures or w/e, braid each others hair and tell each other secrets just ugh gIVE ME GIRL BSF.

That’s it for now but I’m sure I’ll think of more and add to this thanks !!

#alice in borderland #aib #Alice in borderland season 2 #aib s2

[cluelessteam]

Eternal Harmony: {~Eclipse of Emotions~}

Summary: Y/N's ordinary life takes a supernatural twist when they encounter the mysterious Cullen family in Forks. Immersed in a world of eternal love and trials, Y/N becomes a vital part of the Cullens' immortal story. Guided by Alice's visions and Jasper's wisdom, they face cosmic threats and navigate the complexities of supernatural existence. The story unfolds through eclipses of emotions and trials, culminating in a dawn where enduring bonds and love echo through the ages—a forever-bound journey in the supernatural realm.

Characters: The Cullen family

Pairing: Jasper x Reader x Alice

Warnings: No Warnings

Word Count: 509

Chapter 4 --- Chapter 5

The meadow, now bathed in the silvery light of the moon, became a canvas for the emotions swirling within the Cullen family. Y/N, standing amidst the ethereal glow, felt the weight of the immortal secrets that hung in the air. It was a pivotal moment, where the bonds of love and the complexities of their supernatural existence converged.

Alice, her eyes gleaming like stars in the night sky, turned to Y/N. "This is the hour of revelations, a time when emotions and destinies align under the celestial gaze."

Jasper, the quiet maestro of emotions, sensed the shifting energies. "Eclipses are moments of profound change, where the balance tilts between light and shadow," he explained, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

As the Cullen family gathered in the moonlit meadow, Edward and Bella stood side by side, their love a beacon that defied the limitations of mortality. Emmett and Rosalie, the epitome of strength and beauty, exchanged a knowing glance, their unspoken connection resonating in the night.

Y/N, feeling the ebb and flow of emotions, turned to Alice. "What does the eclipse reveal for us?" they asked, their eyes searching the star-studded sky.

Alice's gaze shifted to the moon, her expression contemplative. "Eclipses are times of transformation, of choices that echo through the ages. The path ahead holds challenges, but also moments of profound connection and understanding."

Jasper, attuned to the emotional currents, continued, "Love in the supernatural realm is both a gift and a trial. It tests our resilience, challenges our perceptions, and, in the face of eternity, becomes a constant source of renewal."

The moon, shrouded in a momentary veil, cast an otherworldly glow on the meadow. In that luminal space between light and shadow, Y/N felt the weight of the choices that lay ahead. The complexities of navigating immortal love became tangible, and the silent communication among the Cullens spoke volumes.

Emmett, breaking the reflective silence, boomed with joviality. "Well, I say we face whatever comes our way with laughter and a bit of mischief. Keeps things interesting, don't you think?"

Rosalie, elegant and composed, added, "Our family has weathered centuries together. We endure, not just survive, and face the challenges with unwavering strength."

As the eclipse reached its zenith, the Cullens stood united, their collective presence a testament to the endurance of immortal bonds. The meadow, bathed in the surreal glow of the celestial event, became a stage for the emotions that intertwined their fates.

In that luminous moment, Y/N couldn't help but feel a profound sense of unity. The eclipse, with its symbolic dance of shadows and light, mirrored the intricate dynamics of the Cullen family. As the moon emerged from the shadow's embrace, the night embraced a new chapter—one where love, trials, and the eternal dance of existence unfolded under the watchful eyes of the cosmos. Little did Y/N know that the eclipses of emotions were but a prelude to the epic tale of love and immortality that awaited them in the pages of their intertwined destinies.

#Twilight #Edward Cullen #Alice Cullen #Emmet Cullen #Bella Cullen #Rosalie Hale #Jasper Hale #Carlisle Cullen #Esme Cullen #Fanfic #jasper x reader #alice x reader #Jasper x Alice #jasper x reader x alice