#about to inflict trauma on this boy

[angel-baby479]

Saw your tags and I feel like I'm peeking behind a brick wall because I'm both scared and intrigued at the same time

---

meaningless angst!! coming soon to a town near u! :D

[shepscapades]

What if. What if I said I was thinking about them again

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading the flogging scene again and I'm really struck by clean and clinical nature of a lot of it at first.

Mr Johnson has delivered Hartnell's lashes very precisely so they don't cross over and raise deeper scabs and scars. The red bag the cat o' nines comes in is in its rightful place hanging neatly from a beam overhead. Johnson literally combs Hartnell's blood from the ends of the cat to keep it neat and tangle-free.

But then I'm also struck by how much of that falls away when it's Hickey's turn.

Flesh hangs off his body, the lashes adding up until they can't help but cross over. Blood spatters the front row of assembled men. Mr Johnson tries to go easier on him but that only makes things worse as his strikes are less precise and Crozier orders more of them.

It's difficult to say what's worse - when that kind of violence is so precise, systematic, and institutionalised, or when it very much isn't...

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Liam was a boy, and then a man, who suffered so much trauma and pain. He was bullied as a child and then lived a nightmare that I think none of us can really imagine of having that triggering experience replicated on a literally global public scale. He became a man who inflicted trauma on others. He was an addict who was unable to find a way out of that disease, and now never will, but who was open and vulnerable about his struggles. He was an incredibly talented musician and artist and an absolutely integral part of one of the most important bands of a generation; his voice and songwriting and skill in the studio shaped every aspect of what One Direction became at their best. He loved that band and being a part of that experience with his whole being and would never have stopped celebrating what they meant to us and to the world. He had problems and did bad things; that doesn't mean he was a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved and helped to heal- everyone deserves that- and the fact that that's not something that can ever happen now is devastating. I was very distressed by many of his actions; and I cared deeply about this man I didn't know and wished for better for him than this outcome.

I'm so deeply, deeply SAD tonight. I'm sad for Liam, who will never now have the chance to look back on this hard time and reflect on how far he's come, and for Liam's family, for his parents and his sisters who loved and supported him so much, and for everyone in the 1D band family and circles. And I'm sad for us. It feels like nothing will ever be quite the same, and that's hard and sad and shocking. It's a special kind of doubled grief, to mourn the loss of the person, and also of what he meant to us in this strange world of parasocial fanning, for the real him and also for the version of him that we made up and attached so much meaning to and for the escape that brought us. For him, and also for the easy uncomplicated joy of listening to those beautiful songs from happier times, which might never feel the same again. For the other boys, who we love so much and wish we could shield from suffering and loss and pain. For our fellow fans, who we also worry about the impact of this on. Everything about this is terrible, and I am sending so much love out to all of you. We are not alone, and it's okay to feel complicated emotions and it's okay to mourn and it's okay to care about how it effects you and your life, whatever you're feeling- it's okay. We are here with you. We are 1D family.

[thebibliosphere]

Sat too long in my feelings about the Gotham Knights video game Jason Todd going to therapy and trying to engage with his siblings from a place of healing and hurt myself, so now I'm inflicting this on all of you, but:

Do you ever think about how Jason only ever gets to experience Dick as an extension of the breakdown of Dick and Bruce's relationship at that time? Granted, depending on the comic era, Dick maybe doesn't show up as much as he should, or Jason acts like an antagonistic little shit, but overall, Dick's falling out with Bruce overshadows all of it.

And, like, yeah, it's funny to joke that only Jason knows that Dick went through a shitbag teenage phase and that no one ever believes him. (Gaslight, Gate Keep, Gotham ✌) And Jason is irate about it because how can they not see through what is clearly The World's Best Big Brother Act? How can no one else see it's fake?

(Unless it's not fake, and Jason just wasn't worth loving... No, fuck off, he doesn't care, he doesn't. Leave him alone.)

But at the same time, what if Jason's the only one who realizes it's a trauma response?

What if Jason's in the middle of a therapy session or reading one of the self-help books we see him ordering, and he just has to take a moment to breathe because, of course, it's a fucking trauma response. Of course, it is.

Dick's not pretending to be anything. He was, in fact, so severely affected by Jason's death that he over-corrected and now refuses to let himself be anything other than the Perfect Big Brother. Because he can't. Because when he's not perfect, when he's not there for them, they die.

Suddenly the golden retriever's cheerfulness is less grating and more worrying. Dick's need for perfection is less an annoying personality trait to compete with and more an exhausted cry for help that no one else seems to see. Not even Dick.

Because Jason realizes now that he might have never managed to live up to the Golden Boy mantle, but Dick will never get to put it down, either. Because he can't let himself. Because bad shit happens when he does.

So what if that's what he hopes Dick reads between the lines in the email he sends him in GK?

What if, by saying, "Hey, I realize now trying to hold myself to your standards was damaging my relationship with you, but I need you to know it wasn't your fault," was also Jason saying, "Hey, this shit isn't healthy are you fucking okay?"

[moetartart]

:*Trigger Warning for Abuse:** An analysis of the nuanced depiction of abuse dynamics in *Baldur's Gate 3*. Please skip if you’re uncomfortable with this topic or you hate long rants <3

**Cazador at the Head of the Table, and His Forced Family, with Astarion as the Scapegoat**

Cazador is one of the best-written abusers in fiction, and Astarion is one of the best depictions of a non perfect survivor. Showcasing how abusers systematically break down their victims in a way that is thoughtful and non-voyeuristic, and how this may effect the victim after.

Astarion often receives criticism for his behavior. Much if it valid. I don’t seek to excuse his actions or speak about him as if he were a real person, But to break down this amazingly written narrative and how his experiences shape his character and a depiction of a non perfect victim. It's great to see actions having consequences in the story and being the driving force in chatecter development and I think it was handled very respectfully

One of the most compelling aspects of Astarion's story is the depiction of the "scapegoat" abuse tactic. Where a caregiver selects one child as the primary target of ridicule and abuse. Astarion says, "He took a special pleasure in my pain. He said my screams sounded sweetest." Often, the scapegoat is the child who most reminds the abuser of themselves when they were most vulnerable, or has similarities to the abuser of the parent or even someone they witnessed being abused when they were a child. The abuser uses this child to demonstrate the consequences of disobedience, and as a way of bonding the other children against the scapegoat, often by forcing the other children to engage in abuse themselves. The parent will inflict the trauma they were exposed to when they were most vulnerable on their child in a twisted way to re-gain their own power and autonomy buy projecting it onto someone elses. Acting out scenarios where they felt weak but now they are the one with all the power.

Cazador's tactics of infantilization are particularly gut-wrenching. He calls Astarion a "stupid little boy" and forces him to call him "father," undermining his belief in his ability to make adult decisions on his own while simultaneously also forcing him into adult work and physical abuse. A way to break down his self esteem and take away his autonomy. This adds another level to Cazador's twisted, intimate abuse.

It's evident when you ask if Astarion called Cazador "master" in the bedroom, and he reacts negatively. It is also implied in the dialogue, "One final thrust... and I'll be rid of you..." as Astarion stands over Cazador, ready to stab him with a phalic symbol and Cazador in a submissive position.

In a Shadowheart playthrough, we see how Astarion seeks someone to follow because he doesn’t know how to think for himself. Auntie Ethel remarks that he misses his chains, and he admits he doesn't know how to make his own decisions. In Astarion's dream, you learn one of Cazador's rules is that Astarion must stay by his side unless told otherwise. We also see that Cazador regularly dined with Astarion, serving him putrid rats. He says "I have spent two centuries with You, and that should be punishment enough," which is quite an intimate insult. In non of these are the other spawn mentioned. He also mentions his sarcasm and jokes, something you wouldn't really think Cazador would permit. This suggesting an intense, twisted co-dependency. A lot of time spent alone together. As what? His child? His slave? His lover? It's sickening. Cazador seemed to want to fill every potential key roll in Astarions life. This is actually pretty common in adults relationships.

The extent of physical abuse is further revealed when Astarion sees the mad doctor in the House of Healing and remarks, "he's just like Cazador." The narrator says, "If you're late, he will flay you... again," and Astarion states, "Sometimes he would have us submit to torture. Other times he would have us torture ourselves."

So, why does Cazador do all this? Beyond sadistic pleasure and rituals off higher power, I believe it's driven by a fear of abandonment. His goal is to strip Astarion of any autonomy so he would return even if freed. When speaking to Cazador alone, he's convinced Astarion will come back because he cannot think for himself. Cazador wants to be the center of Astarion's life, and truly believes he is. A narcissist needing to see himself reflected in others, he required Astarion by his side to validate his awful existence. If Astarion leaves, Cazador feels he's losing an extension of himself. That Astarion is his and his alone to kill.

I also believe he genuinely wants to play house. That he wants a picture perfect family. We don't know much about Cazador before the game, only that he was from a vampire family. That his niece refused to partake. It's quite clear he felt like he was missing something in his family. We know his master committed acts of cruelty far beyond what he did to his own spawn, impaling him for ten years and draining his friend Infront of him. Surly a year of solitude is like being sent to your bedroom without supper compared to that? By Cazadors logic, he's far kinder than he was ever treated. He's been kinder and more loving than his own family. His children should be grateful that he protected them from what he went through. He believes his children are spoiled and if anything he has been to soft. After all, he gave thim his families birth right far above their station, eternal life. He gave them a family that will never abandon them. What more could they want?

And if course, we as plays see this cycle continues with AA, who says he will be a far kinder master he'd never make his dear lover eat rats. They wouldn't be his child, more a pampered pet. Compared to how Astarion was treated, what more could they want?

And how very true to live that an abuser will preach about how much worse they had things and how lucky their victims are. How soft they must be to complain.

This gives us a clear picture of Astarion at the start: someone with a fragile sense of self, preferring to see others tortured rather than be the one in the chair, and looking for someone to follow. He'll fake a smile to keep them around. While this doesn't excuse his cruelty, it explains it; Astarion is free for less than a day when you meet him. There are no perfect victims, and unlearning brainwashing takes time. Reducing Astarion to "evil" or "good" overlooks the complexity of a character who could become either an abuser or a liberator.

What I appreciate most is that Astarion's past doesn't vanish when Cazador dies; he still carries the scars, but in a positive playthrough, there is hope. Astarion has the chance to do better, starts making his own choices, and sometimes gets it wrong.

Crucially, the abuse is never voyeuristic. It is always shown from the survivor's perspective, focusing on its effects on their lives. It's always clear when a player choice disrespects his growth and autonomy. Cazador and Astarion are never framed to titillate or as a mind of grousome special to the viewer, unlike in shows like *13 Reasons Why* or Ramsey Bolton in *Game of Thrones*. The game handles the topic with a lot of care. Infact the only time we see Cazador in person is when we have the chance to stop him. We never see Astarion subjected to something we can alter in some way.

Also, we do hear of Astarions bravery in trying to defy his master and save people. Unfortunately as in the game and real life, people don't always have a choice. Still, in a good ending Astarion can choose to try and help others who have been hurt and use what he has learned to make real change.

The reasons why Cazador is the way he is are another rant entirely. But while I hate him as a person, I adore him as an antagonist. How can a character be written to be pathetic and terrifying at once?

**TL;DR:** *Baldur's Gate 3* presents a complex, nuanced abuse narrative, executed beautifully. Many people overlook or disregard Astarion as an excellent depiction of survival in my opinion.

[greenfiend]

Most of Stranger Things is within Will’s head…

Including El, the Mind Flayer, Vecna, and more characters...

A lot of people aren't going to like this or agree but- if you are willing to read this at risk that you won't like it... try to keep an open mind and keep that curiosity door open.

(Above is a direct cut from Will to this line...)

I just want to begin by saying: I believe Will is the center of this show. I know many disagree, and place other characters at the center but let me explain to you why I believe the show is mainly about him.

The show begins with Will, as his disappearance is the catalyst for every single event to follow.

If you take a step back, and look at the show as a whole… making Will the center makes the most narrative sense. Without Will… there is no Stranger Things.

(GIF from @/kaypeace21's post here)

Lonnie hammering a nail into the wall while we cut to Mike poking a hole into a piece of paper visually tells a lot. Remember guys, this show is all about showing and not telling. Here they are showing us that the abuse Lonnie has inflicted unto Will caused the gate to open. The Upside Down exists due to Will's trauma. This is because the Upside Down is Will's mindscape.

DID and Internal Worlds

Will has experienced trauma far more severe than we are explicitly told. His trauma mainly leads back to his father. If you are prepared to read about the depths of said trauma, read this post. Not for the faint of heart though, my friends.

In Will's case, his trauma as led to a specific rare mental health condition called: Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is a mental health condition where you have two or more separate personalities that control your behavior at different times. When personalities switch, you’ll have gaps in your memory. The identities are usually caused by living through trauma. x

This means I believe that many of the characters we know and love were created from Will's mind. There are common alter roles within a DID system, and this show has been assigning different characters to some of these roles this whole time.

Now, this is NOT a new theory. The creator of this theory is kaypeace21 (one of the original Byler theorists!) Check out her posts here and here. While I agree with a lot of what she has to say, I do not know if I agree with all of it... specifically: the Persecutor Alter... more on that soon (not to fault her at all! As Vecna did not even exist prior to ST4).

Let's go back to the Upside Down being Will's mindscape:

Many individuals with dissociative identity disorder (DID) have an internal world in which they or their alters can manifest as themselves and interact. These internal worlds, which are also known as inner worlds or headspaces, can range in size and complexity. x

The Upside Down = Will's internal world. Those that inhabit that world or arose from said world are likely Will's alters. Yes, that includes El, the Mind Flayer, Demogorgons, etc. and of course: Vecna.

Here's another visual clue! A hole in the wall (an opened gate...) at the Byers' house that may have "always been [there]".

I know we are told the gate had opened prior to Nov 6, 1983, and that El had been the one to open that door/gate. But... that's because El herself is Will. She is a personality that had developed from him.

Now, lets talk common DID alter roles and how some of our favourite characters fill these roles to a tee.

El, the Gatekeeper Alter

I talk about the Willel theory here but I'll explain it briefly. El is "the gatekeeper", she is the one who Will lets "front" most of the time. Because remember guys... Will "likes to hide".

El was even compared to D’art (who came from Will…) see post here.

Also worth noting: Will's abduction in the shed is compared to... the first atomic bomb (used in an act of war) called "Little Boy". Post about that comparison here. What occurs during a nuclear reaction? Nuclear fission. Fission meaning: SPLITTING INTO TWO! Just as we see with the Phineus Gage comparison. That exact moment was when "El" emerged from the UD (Will's mindscape) into "reality". Leading to her becoming... a literal gatekeeper for Will.

She also helps solve Will's dilemma of to stay or to go, as Will himself stays (in the UD) and El goes.

So... what do I mean by “the gatekeeper"?

A gatekeeper is an alter that controls switching or access to front, access to an internal world or certain areas within it, or access to certain alters or memories. x

Now. Remember guys, we literally see her closing the gate and she (allegedly) was the first to open said gate. She also is heavily associated with repressed memories (the whole NINA plot...)

El has always been protecting Will from facing his trauma and facing himself. That is why we see her "save" him multiple times, why she takes on the role of Mike's romantic partner, why she takes the brunt of the bullies at Lenora, and why Will looks on like a helpless bystander... It is not due to resentment nor cruelty but fear. Will has been hiding behind her this whole time. He is not ready to face his memories, trauma, and the world. Not yet...

The Mind Flayer, the Demon Alter

In abusive groups, a young child can be severely traumatized in order for abusers to intentionally create an alter, and the alter can be tricked into believing they have been possessed by, and have become, a demon. X

This one is pretty self-explanatory, as we literal have a "possession" plot line involving Will. Though, instead of being "possessed", this alter of Will's was fronting.

Vecna, the Persecutor Alter

This is the one I'm most excited (and nervous) to talk about because it is SO fascinating and it matches his character perfectly.

So basically, Vecna is NOT Henry Creel. Vecna is an alter of Will's existing in his hive mind. Hear me out about this.

What I believe is that Henry Creel (or perhaps Edward Creel), was a real person that Will had heard about resulting in him creating an alter based on him. This is called "Factive Introject":

An alter with the form, personality, and possibly the psychological backstory e.g. memories of an outer-world person, whether a relative, a celebrity, or even an acquaintance. x

I believe that when we see "Henry" within both the Rainbow Room AND the Upside Down... this is Will's alter. (The Rainbow Room is likely another inner world of Will's...).

Are you still with me on this? Because lets get into the real evidence here.

What is a persecutor alter?

Persecutors are alters that purposefully harm the body, system, host, core, or other alters, sabotage the system’s goals or healing, or work to assist the system’s abuser(s). x

I know that sounds pretty scary, and some easily dismiss persecutor alters as "evil" BUT they are not. Viewing any alters this way is harmful. All alters' goals are to protect the system, even if they may do so in misguided ways.

x

Most persecutor alters start out as protector alters… which exactly what we see in the show! “Henry” is kind and protective towards El (who is another alter).

Then he decides to “kill” the other kids/alters (I say kill but they will still live on in the mind.)

Lets look at the exact terms used to describe the effects the persecutor alter has on the system...

X

Headaches…

Internal bullying…

Increased blank spells…

Interference with function…

Self-multilation…

Still have doubts on this? Let’s continue…

x

As I said, the persecutor alter is not "evil", it is a misguided protector. Its goal is to protect and often does this by taking on all the suffering experienced by the host and the alters...

But why? Why does the persecutor alter do such things if the goal is to protect?

X

To prevent the host and alters from disclosing their abuse. Think about this for a moment. What did Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Max all have in common (other than trauma)? They all were seeing the student counsellor Ms. Kelley and revealing to her aspects of their trauma and abuse.

Vecna, as the persecutor alter, was having NONE of that and thus… “killed” them to protect the system. As he feared the consequences for Will/the system as a whole.

This is VERY telling for Will, because he has long been afraid of opening up about his abuse, trauma, and everything…

We see this emerge in many forms:

The Byers phone frequently going unanswered throughout the show due to Will’s fear of opening up/communication.

Lonnie telling Jonathan to keep his mouth shut for his mom’s sake…

The rats in ST3. To “rat” = to snitch.

El’s bullying in ST4. Angela repeatedly refers to her as a “snitch” even though she never did snitch.

Papa/the Demogorgon/Neil, the Abuser Alter

x I’m going to go right out and say this: “Papa” represents Will's abuser. We see him abuse El, Henry and others in a manner similar to what Will had experienced with Lonnie.

That’s why he’s called “Papa”, as he is a representation of the abusive papa of Will: Lonnie Byers.

Like Henry Creel, he is also likely based off a real person... Richard Brenner perhaps?

"That's what I have to do to keep her close to me. I don't want her going out. Men only want her for one thing and then they hurt her. She doesn't need anyone else but me." In addition to intimidating her so that she would not seek contact with men and risk further abuse, [the abuser alter] was also possessively trying to strengthen her attachment to him. X

This perfectly applies to Brenner's relationship with El, Henry and the others. He wants to isolate them to "protect" them from further abuse. We see this clearly as Brenner prevents El from leaving NINA, at all costs.

Again, even the alter representing the abuser should not be seen as “evil”. It’s complicated. All alters are aspect of the host, they are not evil. There are good intentions behind the bad actions.

Other Alters…

So, I believe other characters are also alters of Will’s such as:

Max, Billy, Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, Eddie, Argyle… and more. This post is getting far too long for me to expand on that just yet though.

Mike is “The Key” but… he’s not the only key

Let’s not forget about Ms Kelley and her key necklace!

Although Mike’s love will be an incredibly important aspect to saving Hawkins and saving Will… Will also needs to open up, face his trauma, and reveal his truth. Keeping all of this bottled up inside is causing far more problems…

When it comes to treatment for DID, there are different methods. Some include:

Identifying and working through past trauma.

Managing sudden behavioral changes.

Merging separate identities into a single identity. x

The latter being a highly controversial one, and it may not be the right choice for everyone with DID.

Within the show however? We will likely see merging or fusion of some of the characters in the end (we likely already have too...)

We already have foreshadowing of fusion between Will and El:

Robin and Steve discussing the act of "combining" to "solve all [their] problems".

Dustin hugging El and Will only to have El visually disappear during their hug.

El ending the season standing alone in the Upside Down.

In DID there's also a concept called integration, which may not be as extreme as fusion.

The individual must then make the choice of to what extent they want to integrate their alters as part of their healing. Again, some degree of integration is inevitable. The individual must integrate traumatic materials in order to heal from PTSD. As well, enough integration between alters must occur to allow for easy communication, a lack of dissociative amnesia between parts, and a consistent sense of being grounded in the present and in the body. The individual must be able to take responsibility for all of the system's actions, and all alters in the system should work together towards the same goals. x

Basically, Will must become insightful of his condition and see all aspects of himself (all alters) as helpful (even if they may be misguided). It will NOT help him to simply "kill" any alters, that will not work. He must accept himself for who he is. He must learn to love all aspects of himself.

I won’t touch on it here, but I will just mention that I’m very confident the show will end with another realm/internal world that’s beautiful and full of life. Implying that Will has finally found some peace of mind. I talk about it in this post.

[fipindustries]

another thing i noticed watching all of these kids cartoons and modern children's media in general is that they put so much effort on teaching about emotional inteligence. learning how to manage your feelings (particularly anxiety for some reason, anxiety seems to be a BIG thing children's media wants to teach about now a days). about how emotions affect us, how to recognize them, how we might try to repress them and how they will inevitably manifest.

this stems from the idea that a lot of the evils from past generations, the trauma inflicted by our parents, which was in turn inherited from our parents parents, stem from emotional immaturity, from toxic feelings manifesting and leaving scars in the generations that come after. and if only we get to teach the children of today how to process this in healthier ways then the future will be less bleak than our past.

this is all fine and good and in some levels i do ascrive to this and i endorse it.

but, not to be too rationalist on main, i feel that critical thinking skills is being kind of neglected a bit in these shows. a lot of their stories are emotionally resonant but frankly they depend too much on the power of love, friendship and acceptance and too little in the importance of temperance, of recognizing internal biases and trapped priors (and this goes beyond confronting internalized bigotry, i mean the much more mundane failure modes of confirmation bias et al), of when a conclussion is valid, of when a thing has been demonstrated, of what counts as rigorous evidence that actually works as dispositive for a hypothesis. essentially on the importance of Truth. on the imperative need of being actually Correct. on having a good handle of what is real and what isnt.

this all may sound unbearably nerdy and pedantic but i genuenly feel that a lot of the evils we are dealing with today stem, yes, from the maliciousness and emotional immaturity of close minded selfish people, but also from the stupidity and the open embracement of anti intellectual forms of thinking. the world is getting darker because evil rises but also because stupidity finds itself unable to stop it.

it makes me think of this one quote from ward

“I don’t believe in order, or tallies,” she said, staring out over the edge, into oblivion.  “I like art, creativity, ideas.  Kindness.  I know I’m not rational, but rational gave birth to this.” She extended a hand and unconsciously dissolved it to indicate the edifice they were beside with bands of flesh.  Even dropping her hand to her side, she pointed at the platform, and at sections of building that bulged out from the exterior wall. “Rational gave birth to everything good too.  Irrationality gave birth to every problem we’re dealing with now.”

obviously im 100% on the side of number boy here

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.” 

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?” 

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about. 

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.” 

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?” 

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.” 

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.” 

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile. 

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly. 

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression. 

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.” 

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone. 

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you. 

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently. 

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation. 

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–  

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?” 

He thought your eyes were pretty? 

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out. 

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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[criminalamnesia]

for a slight spinoff to the traitor pieces...

how bad would it have been if the initial interrogation had been passed off to another team?

i feel like protocol would bar the 141 from having to hurt one of their own, if anything for conflict of interests, going too hard or too soft on them, liabilities, etc

BUT. they have the advantage of knowing so much about their teammate, that they probably reported their weak points- family, traumas, insecurities, ALL OF IT, and all of it told to them originally in what was supposed to be a level of confidence. The 141 is betrayed anyways, they think she spilled their secrets, so they do it with bitterness but no regret.

Well no regret until it turns out she hadn't betrayed them in the first place! whoops!

i think its one thing for you to ask forgiveness after literally cutting off their finger and crippling them, but its another thing entirely to have not been the one to beat her, but to be the one supplying all of her deepest thoughts and weak points to allow someone ELSE to do that much more effectively

THAT is much worse of a betrayal imo. especially since it'd embolden the boys more as they beg for forgiveness; they weren't even the ones who beat you, it was out of their hands! but they dont realize just how deep of a transgression it was for them to turn on one of their own like that. hypocrites

im also thinking of it being like, a week or two since you got detained, and they're doing some digging for their own missions, and someone sees a lead not end up right... and after some chasing they realize themselves that the intel was forged and then THEY gotta be the ones to go to the higherups and get you pulled out of there. they feel like heroes, and that you'll be so happy to see them again when you wake up in the infirmary, but you see the faces of your team and remember how the interrogators beat you to questions about things that you had only ever told to your boys

those are just my thoughts teehee!

your mind is so powerful.

(honestly, you guys should take this series out of my hands and write it yourselves. you all have so many good ideas!🥰)

but I kinda agree with you. physical torture is awful, don’t get me wrong. but the team sees that, and they don’t feel bad because they didn’t inflict those wounds.

psychological torture, though? they can’t see what they’ve done to you, but it’s there. and because they can’t see it it makes it so much worse. it makes it so much harder for them to understand why you won’t forgive them, and why you won’t praise them for clearing your name.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what I meant by my post about the boys not appreciating Yuu enough is about the trauma they inflicted on them and the lack of compensation we get because trauma=not guilty.

We just let them get away scott free without them facing serious consequences and get little to nothing in return. I got inspired by this post https://rose-tea-and-strawberries.tumblr.com/post/720285231576465408/justiceforyuu

So what are your thoughts on this?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmm… 🤔 While I do think the post linked is an interesting read (and OP does make valid points), I think a lot of it goes back to the nature of TWST’s design vs what the individual desires. It’s very easy to self-insert (meaning everyone’s mileage with the characters and plot will vary greatly), and with it being a mobile gacha game, there are definitely some limitations and design philosophies that must be adhered to in order to keep content flowing and thus keep the game profitable.

However, I don’t agree with some of the points suggested (whether by OP or by Anon), particularly that TWST presents “trauma = not guilty” and that Yuu should somehow be “compensated” or given something in return for the troubles they went through. To the former point, I completely agree that the boys’ punishments are far too light for what they’ve done (in OB form). As for their behavior pre-OB (which is, admittedly, still shitty)… I mean, we came into this game knowing the characters are twisted from villains, of all things. We shouldn’t be expecting them to be Super Nice and Empathetic to begin with, no? (So of course Riddle will be insulting Yuu’s background and lineage, Trey’s a bystander, etc.) It doesn’t excuse the behavior of course (it’s still objectively bad), but I thought we came into TWST expecting it??? Like it’s a major part of the draw…

I also believe TWST does a decent job at explaining the OB boys’ trauma while not excusing them because of their trauma; funnily enough, a major theme in book 1 was Riddle being held accountable for his actions for once. (This isn’t limited to just his OB behavior, but rather extends to prior; he was clearly harming his own dorm members well before Yuu got involved with Heartslabyul.) The OB boys were eventually punished for their actions, but because the sentences are relatively light, that’s perhaps where the “trauma = not guilty” perception of the fandom comes from. As I said before though, I think this can easily be attributed to TWST being constrained by the mobile game format (ie it has to be snappy); the light novel is able to expand on the consequences in greater detail.

The game devs likely don’t want to linger on how badly the OB boys truly acted because that could hamper their bottom line (ie endearing the characters to us enough so we sympathize with them and spend money). If they keep demonizing the boys or continuously bring up their literal murder attempts when they were fully lucid and aware of themselves (Leona almost sanding Ruggie, Vil trying to poison Neige), it looks “too” bad on the characters’ part. We also can’t haul the boys off to serious rehabilitation facilities because they need to be physically present to return for the subsequent book—and, of course. You can say “they didn’t get punished severely enough”, sure. But what exactly would that “more severe punishment” being called for entail, especially without disrupting the current story’s flow and not harming the OB boys further in the process? There are practical real world game design and business reasons for this.

To address the Yuu should somehow be “compensated” part, well… I’m not entirely sure if I understand it?? Thinking about it logically, what “compensation” are we looking for? Firstly, no compensation, in my opinion, is worth the anguish that “earned” it in the first place. Compensation will never make up for the mental scars 😔 Secondly, it implies that people are “owed” something for the general bad attitudes they’re given on a daily basis, which is not in any way how real interactions work. Some people will just be assholes to you, and we have to deal with it and move on. In the cases of the OBs and some events (like being kidnapped and basically held hostage in book 4), yes, those are much more serious and should be treated as such. But again, what exactly are we looking for here as “proper” compensation? Is acknowledging one’s faults and mistakes, and saying sorry for it and working toward being “better” not enough? What about the money Vil gives in book 5; is that also not enough? Where do we draw the line? When is it finally “enough” compensation? It’s so poorly defined and there’s no “blanket” compensation that would satisfy everyone and anyone 💦 I would personally be happy just knowing that the other person is aware they’ve done wrong and are taking that vital first step to changing. That’s very difficult to do, especially considering the pride of the average NRC student, so I commend them for at least doing that.

TWST’s story isn’t one that focuses on condemning people for their flaws and errors, but giving them a chance to recognize their wrongs and to grow from them. Its story promotes restorative justice over punitive justice. Overly punishing measures and reparations have proven to not smooth over “bad behavior” in real life; it’s something people need to consciously and actively work toward, so of course it’s going to be a hard process.

The reaction(s) Yuu has to the events going on around them are only as serious as individual fan interpretation makes them out to be. Official depictions thus far (manga, game, light novel) have not strongly indicated that Yuu has had any extremely adverse thoughts or feelings regarding the treatment they’ve experienced at the hands of their peers or any stress related to not being returned home. It’s also not clear (especially in the game) just how much physical involvement Yuu has in battles. Because TWST itself does not frame or portray these events as having super serious impacts on Yuu, that also informs the fans that absorb this content (so they, in turn, will usually also not take the story’s impact on Yuu all that seriously).

The interactive medium of the game (which is the main form people absorb TWST content by) plays such a crucial role in how Yuu is portrayed. Because Yuu is so inherently tied to being the player’s avatar/self-insert, there are limitations to the overt nastiness Yuu takes and their involvement. The manga and the light novel feature new versions of Yuu, yes, but these interpretations are wholly separate from Yuu (the game one). The manga and light novel Yuus can be treated as their own characters and not self insert vehicles, therefore there is a degree of separation between the player and the manga and light novel Yuus. This is why the manga Yuus are more shown to be more active in the story (most notably getting involved in battles). This is why the light novel Yuu is shown receiving more bullying (from mob students) than is depicted in the game. The manga and light novel are NOT interactive mediums, and they don’t have to worry about potentially alienating or offending players who self insert as the game Yuu. Game Yuu is intentionally kept vague for this reason; we aren’t necessarily meant to interpret that game Yuu gets as involved or is treated as harshly as what other mediums depict.

I really don’t think we (the audience) are meant to interpret most of the things (game) Yuu experiences as being deeply traumatic or scarring. In most instances, Yuu is either ignored or they act very nonchalant about what’s happening (groaning or joking about how “oh, not this again!”). The worst injury I can recall Yuu ever getting is when Grim scratches them at the end of book 5. They barely even ever bring up going home or the worry of not being able to get home (not counting very early and very late in the main story when it is plot relevant, or the occasional event story to shoehorn Yuu’s presence in). The game in particular glosses over any potential negative ramifications on Yuu’s part because endearing the boys (who often are Not Nice) to the player is an important component of the gacha model. You can’t have the players despising the characters because that doesn’t encourage spending money to roll for them on banners or to throw money at merch.

I also want to add that many people make Yuusonas to have fun and to escape into a magical world (which is likely reflected in the nonchalance Yuu demonstrates toward going home for most of the story); it’s far more common to see these lighthearted takes because I can’t imagine many people want to self-insert being deeply traumatized by the same magical boys they’re likely big fans of. If you personally want to make or to see a Yuu that becomes traumatized and jaded from what happens during their time in Twisted Wonderland, then yeah! Go for it! All the more power to you. Just remember that this isn’t a universal take.

All of that being said, we come back to something I’ve said time and time again: since Yuu is such a blank slate, you get out of it what you put into it. This means every person’s individual interpretation of the events and how Yuu engages with and reacts to those events may differ wildly. It’s all in good fun, just try to be cognizant of canon vs fanon, as well as others (who may have very different interpretations of the same events and characters).

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

56 - Wolves Teeth and Claws

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, character death, blood and disturbing imagery, past traumas and loss, unspecified mental illness/duress, hints of suicidal ideation

Notes: I know the smut has been in a bit of a drought but I promise we're nearing the end of it, just trust me that it has been gone this long for a reason. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Looking back to the moment everything changed was easier then she would once have thought. Her life so different now, and truly had been for five years, but there were two which stood out. One she preferred not to think of, the memory of watching it followed by the nothing as the utter horror and devastation screaming through her veins forced her to collapse unconscious. If she thought about it too much, she'd feel that ill rising up in her throat and she scarcely wished to think about it anymore.

The other was as much a shocking death as the previous, but the way it changed her life was unusual in contrast to the previous. Much of that day felt a blur by now, much of being forced to endure the normal torment inflicted by the King as for once she was not the immediate target, but now had to sit and watch the torment be endured by, well it was odd to think of him as her husband now, but then she had become used to it in a strange way. Now though, they hadn't spoken nor known the others whereabouts since that moment.

She could hear it so clearly in the silence, the coughing beginning to rise before in a scared panic did Margaery Tyrell shout out to the onlookers, “He's choking,”

Lady Olenna had yelled for them to help the poor boy, before Joffery had dropped the goblet to the ground grasping at his throat, stumbling down into the clearing as he made a strangled wheezing, and then did the woman stand up with an even louder shout of demand.

“Idiots, help your King.”

Sansa had been standing in a sort of shock watching it play out so suddenly when she felt a figure approach her subtly from behind, a voice somewhat familiar in her distant mind telling her, “Come with me.” But she didn't yet move. Joffery had collapsed to the ground almost vomiting up blood in a truly horrible sound as Cersei had run to his side desperately yelling his name in distress. In the back of her head as the voice spoke again, she begun to recognize it as Ser Dontos. “If you want to leave, we have to leave.”

The shock almost split between two sides, one whom understood what he was offering and yearned to turn to go with him but the other froze her feet and eyes to that spot unable to stop watching. Choking horribly as even from where she stood she could see Jofferys skin turn purple, his hand reached out as the crowed turned to look. Picking up the very goblet he dropped in a confused shock of his own was her husband, Tyrion Lannister, before attention drew back to the King just as he stopped moving.

Tears came from Cersei holding her now dead son, before something kicked Sansas senses wake just as Cersei turned to look at Tyrion. Saying that he had done this, he murdered her son. Screaming furiously to the guards to take him and suddenly Sansa felt herself moving backwards.

Just enough that it seemed to indicate to Ser Dontos it was time, grabbing her by both arms he dragged her away before taking her hand as they begun to run from the scene as more yelling by Cersei and then Lord Tywin increased in the background. Giving her a cloak to throw around her to hide what of her appearance she could, Ser Dontos urgently led her through the empty streets of the city as bells begun to toll in the distance. One street then the next, over the rocks and down cut to a set of stairs leading to the water with just a small boat as he told her to get in.

Asking where they were going, Ser Dontos only told her, “Somewhere safe.”

Sansa had turned to look up to the city that had kept her there for over three years and in a sudden moment did she wonder, was this how you felt? Fleeing from the city with your only chance of survival, did you turn to look before leaving for good? Wondering if it was the right choice? Leaving behind who you'd be forced too? She had never once blamed you for leaving, she had watched Joffery order her father beheaded, she was smart enough to know if you had not ran, she'd have watched the same fate fall to you.

But, Sansa didn't think as long as she suspected you did. You were forced to leave three Starks behind but who was she leaving behind? There were people who were kind to her of course. Margaery tried her best to ensure she felt as if she had support and a friend, she cared deeply about her handmaiden Shae who always tried to protect her, and she was now leaving behind Tyrion whom she never before thought she'd care about leaving behind. They were forced into a marriage together, but he had shown her a compassion she didn't expect.

Trying to ensure her this marriage wasn't because he asked for it, and that while he didn't really know how she felt, she didn't know how he felt and in that way they were on a similar level. Even before having to finally walk out of her chambers and make her way to the sept he tried and even succeeded to make her laugh to ease the clear nerves in her. How the dread within her filled as Joffery had begun yelling about the bedding ceremony before it all came to a halt as through his rather drunk state, Tyrion had threatened him in front of the crowd for demanding it. He was still clearly drunk as they stood in his chambers alone, but as nervous as she was, he was just as uncomfortable considering both her age and unwillingness to lay with him.

Saying he would not share her bed until she wished for him to do so, and even a promise that he'd never force her if she never wanted to share it. It was not a marriage either expected nor wanted but after that it got easier to handle. Through the pain of deaths which came next it still was a bit easier, but standing at the boat that afternoon Sansa had realized why you made your choice.

The opportunity was right in her face, if she didn't take it, she may never leave Kings Landing again, or alive. So she got in, and the new chapter of her life had begun. A new name, a new identity, a new family and home. Petyr Baelish had come through on his promise to help her escape Kings Landing, but in turn Sansa knew the second she walked through the Bloody Gate, she was no longer herself.

Hiding her away in the Vale, she was thusly given the name Alyane Stone. Posing as Petyr's bastard daughter, which was nowhere near ideal but it was the only option she had. And in such a short time there, too much had happened which tested her ability to keep up with this new ruse, and it was a test she realized, she had passed.

She and her cousin Robin had gotten into a childish fight, and Sansa had reacted as rotten as he did by slapping the boy. Petyr had come to her as Robin ran away, and if it was Petyrs kiss she thought she did not know how to react to, she was wrong. Her Aunt Lysa had confronted her about it. Something Sansa never asked or wished to happen, and her Aunt Lysa dragged her to hang over the open moondoor yelling such horrible things. And before her eyes, Petyr had convinced her to let her go, and thusly pushed Lysa out of the moondoor himself.

The Lords and Ladies of the Vale had questioned him about what happened, and she was too brought to answer for being a witness. She did not know what he told them, but despite everything, he had kept her safe. Even from her own aunt, he kept her safe. What would he tell them? What story would a man like him spin? It was a blind guess what he would say, and she took it. But Sansa too had one last trick, because even though he kept her safe, his kiss in the courtyard told her that she might never be able to truly trust him. So, she looked to Ser Yohn Royce, whom knew her father, and revealed who she was. In tears not even now did she know were real, she managed to sell the lie Petyr wanted, all the while placed herself in a position where the others too would have reason to want to protect her. Not having to rely on him alone.

And so it all begun. She was Alyane Stone from that moment on, playing her part.

She knew the plan, what to do, how to act, what to say and prepared for the plan he told her of. Until the day he called her into his study, and a new truth was revealed. The things he had been keeping from her was to not overwhelm her as he put proper plans into place, but things had changed he said. Something of an opportunity had arisen, and he could bring her home. Take her safely to Winterfell, where her long passed brothers crown awaited it's proper heir. And with Petyrs help and connection to the Vale, she had more then just the remains of a Northern army at her aid should need be.

But she was so far removed from her previous life, that Sansa had not questioned certain things which in retrospective, she wished she would have before leaving.

Once more she was asked to return to being Sansa Stark, but it had been two years. Alyane was who she was, but now she had to go back to Sansa. But Sansa had not been anywhere near home or family in five years. What was she to expect getting there? Petyr assured her it would be a big day for the North, returning her there. So in that journey, slowly letting the dark coloured dye in her hair finally wash away to the colour which so vividly reminded her of her mother, she grappled with what her life could be being home again.

She never thought she'd see Winterfell again, but he had told her what she thought was the truth. With Robb dead, with you dead, and no son nor heir between you both alive, nor her brothers or sister alive either, she was not only her fathers lawful heir, but Robb’s too. The only trueborn left, he assured the North was hers by right. That wasn't what Sansa had preyed for in the night when thinking of home, but this was the way in which would get her there, so she would take it, and embrace it. The idea of being Queen sounded far better then the two years she had spent posing as nothing but a bastard.

As she laid eyes on her once home, it looked..different. The same, yet different. Parts of it still in ruin, many places once burned down but now being rebuilt. Did it's insides look the same? Was her room still there? So many questions she had with wide eyes looking out of the carriage's translucent window at her home. There were nerves in her like a girl, but also excitement all the same. She knew what to expect, and what to do, Petyr had prepared her for it.

But the guards seemed apprehensive about her presence even when assured it was indeed her, and then they had told them to wait. That before allowing them in, that Lady Stark needed to be informed of their arrival. But her mother was dead. You were dead. Arya was dead. It baffled her who that could mean if not her mother or sisters. She was welcomed home, Petyr told her. They awaited her with Robbs crown he said. So why was the air so fraught with tension?

Then the gates opened, and a crowd had gathered within the courtyard. And three figures stood in the middle to receive them, and suddenly Sansa realized that the truth Petyr told her was not going to play out quite the way he promised it would.

Because Arya was alive, but looked not a single bit happy to see her.

She had prepared for it. What was coming, and what to do. The days before did the council and trusted allies gather in the quiet of a study to discuss what options there were, and to answer the unknown question of intent. What did both parties arriving seek? But Arya had less and less faith that they were arriving with good intentions the more Selyse spoke of what she knew about Littlefinger.

Her brows narrowed with a disdain in her tone as she spoke, “Stannis had to outlaw all forms of prostitution on Dragonstone just to get his spies out of watching his actions.” When questioning gaze arose, she clarified further. “The only person on the small council he knew he could not manipulate was him, knowing were Stannis to take the Iron Throne, Lord Baelish’s head would be on a spike before the night was out. My husband knew not for a moment to trust anything he claims to your face.”

Maege Mormont leaning with her palms braced against the table with her jaw clenched, muttering through her teeth. “Anyone else feel it is a mighty coincidence that the time he finally chooses to come all the way up here, also lines up to where our King and Queen have been gone for months?”

Narrowing his eyes, Theon stood with his arms crossed next to Arya. “You think he would try to take advantage of their absence?”

Eyes somewhat turned more to Selyse, knowing out of them all she was the closest any had to true eyes on what he was like between Stannis and your encounters. “He does not have any claim in the North, but if one who does comes with him on her side, then it would not be unlike how he found control of the Vale. By marrying Jon Arryn's widow, following her death, he becomes the acting Lord of the Vale in practice if not by name.”

Arya felt that feeling arise once more. This wasn't fair, it wasn't right. She did not leave Kings Landing wishing to leave Sansa behind, she had even told Jaqen that she could not yet go to Bravvos with him because on top of you, her mother and brother, Arya needed to find Sansa too. But this was not the way she wanted her older sister to return home.

Would their word enough be convincing to her? Because the truth was right there in Aryas face, she was not a fool in what way it could look. One on hand, Sansa may come home and learning that Jon rules as Robbs successor, she could see that in the eyes of how the Iron Throne would consider such a thing. Little more then a false King, a usurper. But on the other hand, the way those around Arya like Maege Mormont, like Galbert Glover, others who were standing in place of the Lord that did sign off like Smalljon Umber too, they had all agreed and signed off as witnesses that Robb Stark’s decree of inheritance and succession was solid and unanimously approved of.

But they did not have to listen. Robb was dead, you were not a Northerner and since you had not given birth to Robb's heir, your ties to the North could have stopped then and there. They could have ignored your words, your plight and much like how Cersei Lannister refused to honour her dead Kings words, so the North could Robbs. Smalljon Umber had described the day they crowned him to her months previous.

Jon had accepted it much like Robb apparently. Neither said anything, not a yes or no to the words of the Lords around them putting up their support for such a claim. Brothers both, the North had understood their silence and the responsibility of such a weight could be handled. But even moreso then Robb, it was Jon who arguably they would fight for harder, because this time, the war they fought was nothing like the other and only Jon knew it. No one in the North ever had to defend the position of Stark King to their fellow Northmen, but they knew fighting for a Stark Blooded King named Snow would be an inevitable should someone decide he has no right.

They had chosen Robb as the first King in the North since Torrhen Stark, and he led them as their own independent people in a war to free themselves from the yoke of the south. When they crowned him, you as his wife already, was crowned Queen. And from everything Arya understood, you were seen differently as a Queen then many others. Cersei only had her power once Robert was gone, Margaery Tyrell was not a Queen with her own power over the people at King Tommen's side. Even in front of her, Selyse was a Queen at Stannis Baratheon's side but she held little sway in her husbands actions.

As Arya stood as Lady of Winterfell in place of Jon title of King, Selyse was there in place of you only as something like Queen Mother. You had the respect of the North when you were at Robbs side as if you were his equal when your own crowning was only complimentary to the crowning they truly chose in Robb.

But they kept looking to you as Queen even when Robb was gone, it was why the Boltons needed you. The North still respected you as Queen, had Jon refused, they still would have looked to you. And that day, they looked to you as you looked to Jon and Arya knew that it was not honouring law alone that they chose Jon. Robbs will was what convinced Jon to accept this title, but it was the people still who decided for themselves.

You had died and returned to life, Jon had died and you returned him to life and now you both were out there alone to protect the North from a war which would come for everyone should nothing be done about it. Jon had found allies to the North, and he had come from far less privilege then even his own brother. The North would not back down on him now, Arya was certain of it.

Which meant she could not back down either. “If they are coming now beacuse he knows Jon isn't here to stand up for himself, that means we cannot give Littlefinger any reason to think he could sway our opinion. As soon as he finds what he thinks is a weakness, he'll exploit it.”

Someone speaking up to ask about Sansa, and Arya knew she had to stand firm in her choice the way Jon would, the way Robb or their father would. She could still hear her fathers voice.

“Now winter is truly coming. And in the winter, we must protect ourselves, look after one another. Sansa is your sister. We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves.”

Arya didn’t want to fight Sansa on their own family, but she would do what needs to be done to protect the family she returned to Westeros for. She had sat in the inn seeing Hot Pie doing well after all these years, recalling how instantly she called him a liar the moment he said Jon was King in the North. The way which he instantly came back asking why he’d make such a thing up. The way you were dragged before that thing pretending to be her mother and defended with your life at risk, Jons right to hold such a title.

She couldn’t allow that all to be taken away from him now. To return and think everyone had turned their backs on him the moment his sister came home. She wouldn’t allow Sansa to use how much she looked down on Jon for being a bastard to her advantage, not now. So a plan was made, and all they could do from that point on was wait. Only a matter of days before she would arrive. Sansa was welcome in her home, but Littlefinger and his weasely tricks were not.

As the room cleared, Selyse had stopped the silent Gendry, mostly there for Arya’s sake. Turning partway to her saying she needed a word with him in private. Waiting now outside the room, she wracked her brain trying to think what issue needed to be said between the two of them of all people.

By the time he emerged, as they walked down the halls both knew he could sense her questioning stare. Not even looking at her as he asked, “Are you waiting for something?”

Prompting him with a further look she knew he was pretending not to see, Arya now alone felt no shame in pestering him. “What was that about?” Gendry only replies dryly that it was private, an emphasis on what they both heard Selyse say. But Arya narrowed her gaze. “So it’s something so private you can’t tell me about but can talk about it to her?” It was not an offence towards her, but an oddity she did not grasp.

Your name came out of his mouth with an ease, “Maybe it was about her. She’s her mother afterall.”

Arya snapped out with as much quick dryness as he normally could deliver to her. “You have a mysterious friendship with her you won’t tell me about, and now you have a secret, what? Kinship with her mother you won’t tell me about?” His lack of response only made her more annoyed and they both knew it was intentional. “You know I’m in charge right? Which means you shouldn’t be keeping secrets from the person in charge.”

Gendry though was not deterred and once again, Arya knew it was to pester her right back. “So what outranks what? The King in the North’s little sister or the Queen in the North’s mother? Queen sounds like it should outrank Lady of Winterfell.” The smirk across his face when her own fell in annoyance. Multiple times a week she’d tell him to stop calling her that, most people around her addressed her by her name anyways, which is what she repeated then and there. “To other highborns, maybe. How many servants and maids around here don’t call you milady?”

Her glare spoke the answer they both knew and once more she dropped the issue before she shoved him into the wall and walked off. But Gendry pulled the discussion back to the matter at hand bothering her most. “Do you really think your sister is going to try and claim the North for herself?”

“If she’s coming with Littlefinger, then yes. He wouldn’t travel a thousand miles just to deliver her to the gate and then leave.” Your name leaving her mouth again, “He tried to have her killed so she’d be out of his way. He betrayed her and my father in Kings Landing. Tricked my mother into betraying Robb. Sansa is only his newest way to try and destroy my family from the inside all over again.”

But by the time night would come, Arya sat in her chambers once more at her desk. Pulling out a small journal, ready to be opened right near the middle as she added another line to the already filled out two pages. Not needing to even count, she already knew the number as she muttered it aloud to the quiet room in a defeated tone. “One hundred and ninety four.”

That was how many days Jon and you were gone. She tried not to let it bother her, knowing six moons had passed now and Jon had told her he didn’t know when they were coming back. Arya was fairly certain you did not know she was aware you left already pregnant, but how far would that make you? Eight moons? Nine? Would the baby inside you even survive a journey like that?

It was a horrible feeling, that you may one day return with nothing in your arms. Jon would blame himself, for bringing you out there in the first place. But he had no choice, he assured her he had no choice and this was what needed to be done. But the closer she crept up on ticking away two hundred days, the worse she felt about it all. With you both out there, that made four members of her family lost to the far North. Six if she included Ghost and Summer. Seven if she included what was supposed to be her niece or nephew. All for the coming winter storms.

Why did the cost have to be her family? So much of her family when already too much was gone as it was? How was Arya supposed to hold Jons position forever when he deserved it, when she wanted him to come back and have it once more?

Two more days had passed when finally through Nymeria’s eyes did she see them. Her own direwolf leading a pack of her own around the North as if protecting it while the King in the North could not, she saw them. They had yet to reunite together, but Nymeria and Arya still were connected, and they both still protected the ones and places she loved. It would be within the hour she’d arrive at the gates. And Arya went to Selyse, went to Theon, and then as the men all converged on the courtyard for the worst, and the three of them descended out into the cold. Selyse was as stern as she’d ever seen the woman but reminded Arya so much of you.

Theon was nearly unreadable, he was most often these days now. But he stood tall beside Arya in the home he once ruined, now here to defend it with her if need be. Arya stood in the middle between them in the clearing as the gates opened and in came a carriage, and a group of men on horseback, likely guards.

Then he emerged first. No words in the cold air was spoken as he then reached in to assist the other to climb out. The last she had seen of her sister was as she collapsed to the ground after their Illyn Payne took their fathers head, but this was not at all the sister she saw screaming and crying desperately for them to stop.

She was taller then Arya remembered, and even more beautiful as she’d grown into a woman. Her hair still long and an orange tinted red, even moreso then their mother, the rest of her distinguished and developed in a way Arya knew she wasn’t. That was the first thing that came out of Jons mouth when they reunited, only a joke of asking how after all this time was she still so small. Her clothes though, blacks and greys as her cloak matched that of Littlefingers as they came to stand beside one another.

She certainly looked like Sansa, but in another way, it was as if Arya was looking at a complete stranger. A stranger, who looked shocked and confused to see her. “Arya?” Nothing, she said and did nothing yet. Letting Sansa find the greeting on her own. “I thought you were-”

But something impulsive spoke, interrupting Sansa with a shortness. “Well, I’m not.”

Sansa almost looked confused, as if seeing her sister again not being filled with a happiness was something foreign to her. But there was a whirlwind of feelings as the two sisters looked at one another. Arya wanted to be happy, wanted to go to the sister she hadn’t seen in years and hug. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. Sansa at the least, picked up on it, and the very quiet courtyard of people around as she took a step forward, which Arya matched.

“What’s he doing here?” Eyes flickering to the curiously watching Littlefinger, Sansa followed the glance and then back as he begun to speak. Only for Arya to cut in but with far less patience. “I asked my sister, not you.” The weasel of a man did not look deterred but with a curiosity she hated. Peeling her gaze back to the much more apprehensive Sansa, Arya asked once more. “What is he doing here?”

Her brows furrowing, Sansa struggled it looked, to keep up with the tension. “He brought me here, he’s helping me.”

“The way he helped father?” Arya’s darkening eyes finally met his narrowing ones. If he thought she was just a girl who was in over her head, he was wrong. She never trusted him, and now she trusted him even less. Sansa tried saying she didn’t know what she was talking about. “Don’t you?”

Selyse tried to even the rising tension out, glancing between both girls with a calm, lower tone. “I believe we are getting into matters best discussed inside.” Sansa asked who she was and Arya once again looked even more suspiciously at her when she seemed again, confused by the answer as your name came from her mouth. “She is my daughter.”

Taking control once more, Arya did not allow more questions. “She’s right.” Softening just the smallest bit, hoping Sansa could pick up on it. “You’re home now, you should get settled in before we do this.” Sansa first turned to Littlefinger, and it was his nod that had them both move forward before all attitude returned. “Not him. Winterfell is my sisters home, not yours.”

His voice was exactly as she remembered, and it angered her just as much. Feigning ignorance when they both knew why Arya did not want him near. “The castle too crowded?”

Selyse was the one who offered it, the even third party between them all it felt. “Perhaps it would be wise, my lord, if you allowed the girls their privacy after so many years. There is an inn on the edge of Winter Town I’m sure would be happy to house such a well paying guest.”

The man could at least read the tension in the air. Backing off with a smile she could not trust, but seemed to fool Sansa. “Of course, who am I to get in the way of a happy family reunion?” Sansa turned quickly to look at him, but whatever look he gave her seemed to be of a bit of comfort. “We’ll speak later. Get used to being home first.”

Arya barley glanced to the side, which was enough of a command for Theon to turn to guards under his command. “Lads, escort Lord Baelish into Winter Town. See to it he and his men get to an inn without issue.” Or delay both thought. Of course, the men were under instruction to then stay there, to not let a man like him wander her home on his own, but he could find out that in his own time.

For now, as the nerves eased in the courtyard, Arya rose an eyebrow to Sansa. “I assume you still remember where everything is.”

“Hopefully.” Sansa’s light tone should have been funny, and again Arya thought, they should have hugged. But they didn’t, and neither sister made a move to do anything even close to that.

Most of the crowd was gone when the small few of a group remained as the rest continued about their duties in the grounds. The scoffing sound of Maege filled the air as she came up beside Selyse, gesturing her head tilt towards the woman with your name. “And I thought her reunion with her father was the most loveless thing I’ve ever seen. Made those two look downright affectionate.” Selyse managed to muster part of a laugh in agreement.

Arya though, she looked over to Theon whose expression as a doubtful as her own. His voice low speaking mostly to her alone. “Would be a bad look to have guards following her around. I think that’s more of the duty for someone smaller. Quicker.”

A small smirk finally peeked onto her face. “Stealthier?”

His own grin finally came through to match. “Exactly.” He was not wrong, everyone had their instructions and now was not the time to let it all fall apart. Turning to go inside though, Arya did notice it was odd that for once where he’d be seen working away by the armoury, Gendry was absolutely nowhere to be seen.

In her own way, she shouldn’t have been shocked that she ended up where she did. Most of them it seemed gravitated to the crypts once they were once again within Winterfell. The pull to family lost after so many years all spent apart, the morbid wonder of who was there, and more importantly they wondered, which ones of them weren’t.

For Arya, she knew her sister likely wondered if there would be four of them, but in truth there was only half that and only one statue when there should’ve been two. Seeing her standing still in the distance, her expression was unreadable. Only the two of them had been there that day, and it haunted them both but how much did that matter in the now, Arya didn’t know. Their father would’ve wanted them to come together again, nor did Arya wish to do this in front of him, but they were alone down here.

Sansa no doubt heard her approaching footsteps, but did not turn to look her way. Allowing Arya to come within a few feet as they both stood near one another facing the statue of their father. The crackle of fire the only sound within the vicinity, until her voice spoke out finally in a solemn sort of quiet. “It doesn’t really look like him.”

Arya’s gaze didn’t move, staying on the statue. “I think it does. Whenever he was serious, he always looked stern like that.” Neither sister said anything for a moment, but he knew thoughts were brewing in the head beside her.

When speaking them outloud, she dared not interrupt this part. She let it be about family first, allow her sister to take in the grief as she had when coming down here. “Bran and Robb aren’t here.”

Short Arya’s tone was. “No.” Asking why not, she pushed down that strangling darkness in her throat which she last felt. Seeing you again, the finality knowing Robb would never be brought home and how both refused to let the other go until that pain had come down from something so overwhelming of the matter. Instead, she chose the route of less pain in her heart. “Because Bran isn’t dead.”

From the corner of her eye she could see Sansa turning wide eyed to face her, but Arya once more did not turn away. “Bran’s alive?” Only a slow nod, her jaw a little more clenched as she continued to force herself together. “What happened-”

Cutting her off, she put the details as concise as she could manage. “Bran and Rickon ran away, and Theon never found them. So he had one of his men kill two orphan boys, and burn the bodies so people thought he caught and killed them.” She could her the trailing start of Sansa finding a defence, and yet Arya did what you had done for many months on your own. “Leave it, Sansa. Theon paid for what he did but he never killed them. Never wanted to hurt them. He killed Ser Rodrick because he thought he had to, but he knew Bran and Rickon their whole lives. He’d never actually hurt them on purpose.”

But the weight was heavy between them, and Arya braced herself to tell her sister what had hurt terribly when Jon told her. Sansa’s voice was little more then a held back whisper. “What happened to Rickon?”

Jaw clenched, she felt herself tensing her hands at her sides trying not to let that feeling overwhelm her, and in such a prospect she knew she was leaving details out. If not to pile too much on at once, then to prevent herself from trying to imagine it too much. “The Boltons found him and killed him. I don’t know much about it, Jon saw it happen. Not me.”

Aryas eyes however, did peel to the side to watch her sister now, but she gave nothing away while the topic was still on Rickon. “When was this?” Arya answering that it was around a year ago, but that again she was not there when it happened. Sansa it seemed though, switched to something else rather then address what was going unsaid. “What happened to you, where did you go?”

Turning to face one another, Arya inhaled with her eyes narrowing. As if to figure out once more what details she deserved. Once more, she kept it rather simple. “I was on the run, the whole war and even after, I was out there. Just trying to survive. But then I had no one left, and no way to get to Castle Black on my own, so I left.” Sansa asked to where, and her answer seemed to confuse her. “To Bravvos. I had met someone who was from there, I thought he could help me.”

“Did he?”

Arya didn’t answer. She still did not know that answer. Did seeking out the House of Black and White help her? Or did it make her worse, did it push away what she was trying to hold onto, to a point she still was seeking parts of herself.

Vividly she could recall that evening. Carefully folding away all of her things, and dropping it into the water. But then she stood there. Holding Needle in both hands and every time her fingers asked to open, she clutched it harder as the tears welled up behind her eyes even more. It was all she had left, it was the one thing that was hers and always had been. It was home, but more importantly, it was her brother.

She stood there on the dock, and she could see Jons smile and the feeling as if she’d be a monster came over her should she throw it into the water too. So she buried it. Hid it. And every single night Arya would think of going to seek it out but didn’t, because until she thought becoming Arya Stark once more was safe, she could not cease being nothing but a girl.

But she did leave. She did return home, and brought Needle with her because it was Jon she was coming home for, and Needle was just as much part of her as her memories of her brother was.

Just as her name left Sansa’s mouth, did Arya interrupt now pivoting to face her. “Why did you come here?” Whatever excuse left her mouth came off too much as deflection and Arya stepped closer looking up with much more distrust. “Jons held Winterfell for well over a year, it’s been safe to come home for over a year. Why only come now? Why did you bring him?”

“I told you he was helping me-”

Arya couldn’t help the way her voice raised. “The way he helped father before betraying him?” Sansa claimed almost defensively that he had no choice but it only caused Arya to come off with an even stronger anger. “No choice but to help send out father to his death?”

Sansa rose her voice as well. “Petyr didn’t do that, Joffery did-”

Arya only yelled louder then her. “Because he set father up, he put everything into place for Joffery to kill him. He betrayed him, betrayed our mother, he betrayed Robb,” Finishing as well that he too, had betrayed you as well but Sansa's face twisted into a frown as she turned away. But Arya only moved to follow, forcing her to meet her eyes once more. “How could you ever think he has the right to be here? In our home? What did he tell you?”

Only this time it was Sansa’s turn to switch her own tactics. “You said Jons held Winterfell. He isn’t here.” Arya didn’t say anything, she waited for her sister to get to the point without talking around it. “He’s in the Nights Watch, he can’t just leave to take back a castle.” Arya only said shortly that he did, and pushed her further and further into getting to the root of her point. “Was he only holding it until one of us came back?”

Arya could feel it, what was coming. Despite the beg for it not to, she braced herself regardless as she was honest. “Until I showed up one day, Jon thought I was dead. He didn’t know if Bran was ever coming back, no one knew what happened to you, and Rickon was dead.” But Sansa she realized, picked up on the way she phrased that.

She was very calm as she said it, but with something hiding a confidence she was sure in. “If he thought Bran and I were alive, and then you showed up alive..he was holding it until one of us could come back.” Say it Arya thought, just say what she really came back for. “Robb didn’t have any children when they killed him.”

“No.”

If Sansa picked up on the tight and rigidness of Aryas tone, she said nothing of it as she put it forth as matter of fact as she could. “Which means his crown passes down to us. His oldest living sibling.” Neither said a word, but Arya played this game far better now then Sansa ever could, and remained deathly silent. “If Bran isn’t-”

Arya only then cut her off, she had to get it over with before she left any further ideas get into her head. “It did pass to his oldest living sibling.” Sansa tried interjecting that Arya had just said they thought Bran wasn’t coming back. Arya though, did not even blink. “I wasn’t talking about Bran.”

She knew she had put it together. The referring to Arya as Lady of Winterfell was the biggest clue, she was not ruling as anything more and Sansa’s face only twitched a bit in a disbelief with her doubting tone to match. “Jon’s in the Nights Watch-”

“He isn’t now. Kings can set precedence to pardon men from lifelong vows for urgent royal decrees.”

The two sisters looked to one another, and finally it was said what Arya knew she’d do. “He can’t be a King, he’s a bastard.” It shouldn’t have made Arya as mad as it did, she knew what was coming but it still made her angry. Learning Jon was King in the North, she had never even considered that. He was her brother that was all which mattered. “Bastards can’t inherit-”

“He can if Robb decreed it before he died.” Sansa shortly asked if he did, and Aryas brow raised slightly as if testing her. “Maybe you should ask everyone out there for yourself. He reclaimed Winterfell from the Boltons, he’s the one finishing Robbs work of making the North independent again. No one had to listen, Robb was dead they could’ve ignored his will. But they chose to make Jon the King all on their own.”

Her expression was hard to read, but Arya stood firm as she argued back. “The law has never allowed a bastard to-”

“What law, Sansa? The Iron Throne? He’s not fighting for the Iron Throne, he’s King in the North. He’s following what the last Kings law was, what Robb wanted.”

Sansa was quiet, and Arya hated the next thing she said with a passion. “Robb named him a Stark.”

If she did not grasp the anger on Arya’s face, that was her fault. The anger in her she felt was difficult to keep down. “Jon’s name is still Snow, but he’s always been a Stark. He’s always been one of us, and Robb knew it. Jon has every right to be King.”

The quiet between them was deafening. “If he’s King, why isn’t he here?”

Arya matched the quiet one, not letting her sisters taller stature intimidate her as she stepped into her space looking up at her. “He’s doing what needs to be done.” Sansa only asked what that was, and Arya felt her face harden even more. The feeling petty but unable to be tossed aside that she didn’t deserve a real answer, she wouldn’t even believe it. “Protecting us. All of us.”

Stepping away she had enough, Arya didn’t want to fight more in front of their father, in front of Rickon. “So if you only came here to be Queen, it’s too late. The North already has a King and Queen.”

Turning on the spot, Arya hardly got anywhere away when Sansa had spoke up. “And a Queen?” Turning her body only half way, Aryas brows narrowed at her. “You said a King and a Queen. Wouldn’t that mean Jon got married? To who?”

Arya though, let her head jolt back a bit in confusion. “Littlefinger didn’t tell you as much as he claimed he did, clearly. If you don’t know yet.”

Sansa had yelled an ask of, “Know what?” But Arya left her alone down there. She had told Sansa their brother was King, and all she did was question why he was allowed to be if he was a bastard. She still didn’t get it. At this point, Arya didn’t know if she ever would, and it only made her even more angry.

To say things around Winterfell were tense was an understatement. Both sisters avoided each other, as Arya continued about the duties Jon left for her. The back of her mind she knew it must have stood out that even though her older sister was home, the lords around still spoke to Arya instead. Unsure if it was because now they were simply used to her, or if Sansa had proved herself to be as untrustworthy as Arya feared.

If Sansa had learned where Jon was, she didn’t say anything. If she learned it was you he was married too, she didn’t say anything. If she even learned of both his and your deaths, she didn’t say anything. Arya and Theon barley were around any time Sansa would be for a meal, finding themselves purposely busy elsewhere.

It was all rather uncomfortable, but Arya didn’t know how to approach any of it on her own without accidentally turning the situation into something far closer to a boiling point. A fair number of people stood freely in the meeting hall discussing one thing or another. Arya could see Sansa lingering in the background watchful, but neither sister said any words to each other.

But then they heard a ruckus outside. Muffled as it grew and grew, until it sounded like excitement was found in the courtyard. Looking to the walls as if seeing through it, Arya and Maege traded a glance of question which turned into something brighter and hopeful, certainly on Aryas face as the muffled sounds of what appeared to include the words king and north. The second someone came through the doors it was clear what they were about to say by the level of noise. “My lady, it’s-”

Arya cut him off with wide eyes, seeing no one around her anymore. “My brother?” She did not even hear his next words before her feet begun to move, as did all else in the hall and those still inside slowly making their way out as word spread like a forest fire.

In every truth, it almost was too overwhelming to the point Jon hardly could focus on any of it.

The crowd small, and then more and more people came and then the talking, shouting, and gleeful celebration of their Kings return came which only drew more people. Climbing down from his horse, he was grateful for the small few still rushing through to do their duty as he managed to hand the reigns off to one of the stable boys.

Being who he was had an advantage in the fact that the people moved for him as he could too see the level of people overwhelmed Meera, still atop her own horse. Pushing through, he held an arm out as if to motion for them to move, before grabbing her as she climbed off herself, and brought her back to the side of the cart he had been at with an arm around her shoulders.

They had all spent much time out alone, and Meera even moreso then he and you. It was all loud and overwhelming to the senses but he could hardly focus. The more people came out, the louder it got until they all realized who else was here, which then it fell silent.

Stepping up to the cart, Jon carefully prompted you up with him, guiding you down to the ground as Meera assisted on the other side to ensure the jostle wasn’t too destabilizing for the baby. Pulling you close into his side with one arm wrapped around your back, resting at the upper arm of yours, too keeping the baby close tucked up in your chest, the other at your waist keeping you pressed back into him safely, but there was no denying what they were all now looking at.

His eyes looking over the crowd desperate for someone he could trust without explaining anything when instantly he caught sight of some just emerging with wide eyes. Whispering waved over the people as Jon lifted his head to shout, “Selyse.”

Your mother looked stunned for a moment, but she moved swiftly as Maege beside her acted as the guide for her through the crowd as Jon moved you with him to meet in the middle. Nodding for them to turn around it became a small huddle as Jon spoke lowly for the two women to hear as he guided you to the entrance they came from. “Take her to my chambers, get Maester Wolkan to look at both of them immediately. I’ll be there soon as I can.” Pulling your head just the slightest closer to him, Jon rasped in your ear only for you. “I won’t be long, I promise.” Pressing his lips to your hair, he let Selyse and Maege take over bringing you swiftly out of the noise and into the castle.

As if all understood suddenly, the noise returned in far more yelling. For what they all realized, not only had the King in the North returned after months but he had returned with his Queen and a newborn in your arms. The details would require a proper explanation at a later point, but the laughs and mighty pats and smacks to his arm as he passed, Jon could only return some back with more of a smile gracing his face.

Trying to move back to where Bran and Meera still were, Jon had gotten within a few feet when he heard a voice shouting over the rest. Turning in place in an instant, Jon looked over the crowd knowing damn well she’d see him before he could spot her short stature, but the moment he saw one pushing through the crowds did he shout back. “Arya,”

Not a single moment wasted like the last, neither caring about those watching at all. Jon moved to her as Arya ran to him. And still further not he nor her hesitated as she jumped into him, and Jon caught her. Pulling her tight as she held him tightly back, both relieved beyond anything. Sitting her back to her feet, Jon didn’t hold back in pulling her head close as he leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to his little sister’s forehead. Arya looked up to him with a bright smile. “I missed you.”

Smiling just as much, Jon muttered it right back. “I missed you too. But I wasn’t the only one.” Turning her towards the cart, it was likely, not even half a second before they saw one another.

Bran called to her, Arya called to him, and not wasting any longer did Arya run and practically leap up onto the cart. Were Bran not already sitting she’d have knocked him over, but both wrapped their arms around the other as tight as could be. Jon knew, what he and Arya had were special but Bran and Arya to each other were much like what Robb and Jon were to one another. Close in age, and each others closest companions most of their lives.

The two practically were twins in how much they could once be seen together, always getting into trouble or bickering as if they existed to poke fun at the other. Appearing moreso behind them, Jon braced himself perched by the edge as he smiled brightly at how both were to see each other again after all that time. “I promised you I would bring him home.”

Both laughing but truly refusing to let go yet, it only made sense. Bran was ten and Arya was eleven when they last saw each other, and now at fifteen and sixteen they were so different yet not at all changed. Looking up enough to Jon, his hand running gently down the back of his little brothers head as he joked up to him, “I certainly didn’t make it easy.”

Yet, there were two pairs of eyes in the crowd which did not have anything close to such a reunion. One had watched, but slunk away as if feeling there was not quite the room for how things had been for the days she was there, but as soon as Jon thought he had caught sight of hair he had not seen as long as he had seen Bran, did it disappear.

Arya though, pulled away from Bran. The whispers were unheard by any else, but she knew Jon of all people had to know before walking into the rest of the castle. The other though, is what pulled his attention away from both his siblings or any of the people around to greet them as well. Grey eyes wide as he watched her carefully, it was a pain which she had refused to speak about but it was going to always come out one way or another.

She was still just a girl, and Jon could only wonder if this was the first time Meera had let herself feel the true extent of whatever had happened out there.

Slowly did she start moving through the more parting ways crowd as some returned to what they had been doing or moved into groups, at the same time Howland Reed carved a path through towards her. Meera stood still the moment father and daughter got within a few feet of one another. No words even needed be spoken.

A knowing passed across Howland’s face as he tilted his head in the only question he’d ask about it outright, but the tears on Meera had fallen without her ability to stop them. Slowly she shook her head, but the very second her father stepped into her reach did she break. Not loud enough for any around to notice, and the ones who did recognized it all too knowingly as Jon had.

Howland puled Meera into him, as her arms wrapped desperately around her father. Keeping her tight in his front, he ran a hand over her hair, letting her cry in the safety of his embrace as he briefly glanced up to Jon and Bran. Bran swallowed roughly with something begging to go away washing over his eyes, and Jon nodded one and subtly.

Were Meera not so hidden in her fathers arms, one may have heard her muffled attempt of, “I’m sorry,” through jagged breaths between cries, and the gentle murmuring of her father telling her not to be. In a way, Jon was glad. Well over a week he knew her, and for years to to be keeping that inside and finally letting it out, it was in the arms of her own father to feel that loss.

Watching your brother die in front of you was something not many knew what such agony felt like, nor a parent losing one of their children. But everything she had done for Bran, she was as good as family in Jons eyes. What she wanted next would be up to her, but Jon would ensure she knew just as it was for her father, she too would always have a place in Winterfell for what house Reed has done for Jons family.

There was lots to do, discuss, go over and be brought up to speed on, but right now, the only priority Jon was going to take care of was his family. All of what remained of his was here, or on their way in his uncle’s case. One of which however, Jon did not know what them being here would mean or what it already might mean, but he wouldn’t focus on that now.

She had a place in this reunion, but it was her choice to walk away from being part of it. And whatever way which that would mean for the rest of them going forward, he’d find out in due time. But, Jon had one place to be and much of a crowd to greet in order to make his way there first.

“Would you like to explain how a couple could be that far North for what? A little over six months, and return with a bloody newborn?”

If it were at all possible, which it was, Maege was somehow more irate then your own mother about all of this. Though, you did not yet know if it was being directed at you, or if Jon was going to be on the receiving end of her anger more then you were. It had a chance of going in either direction. Tilting your head, you muttered without much effort, “I presume saying time does not run beyond the Wall the same as here, would not be a believable explanation?” Her eyes narrowed, but yours only softened with a plead. “Jon had no choice-”

“Of course he did-”

Attempting to be firm, but not loud with the baby close to your front you narrowed your eyes at her just as much as she was giving you. “Maege, no one hates that he brought me out there more then Jon himself. If he had a choice, he would never have made one risking any of this, but he did what he needed to do, and so did I.”

The room was quiet, as your mother watched the now silent standoff between yourself and Maege as if the later was the mother you were trying to avoid a lecture from. A small sound though, softened all expressions in an instant as you pulled the still wrapped bundle back from where you held him. Laying him down more comfortably out in your arms, little Eddards eyes started to pry themselves open as his arms now were more free from the fabrics around him.

A gentle shushing came from you, as you moved him in your hold lightly. With all babies it seemed a tender rocking was soothing to them, and the one in your arms was no exception. Selyse and Maege both stepped closer to where you stood holding him but did not invade. The faint trace of a small smile came over you, as he begun to settle before waking up in such a new place with new people could upset him.

It was either you did not notice they could hear you, or part of you simply did not care but not such a soft and loving mutter was ever heard on you from either of them in such a manner as you spoke. “It’s alright, you’re home. We’re finally home, sweet boy. I promise.” The way his eyes shined up at you, it never ceased to strike you thus far the degree to which they looked just like Jon. The green was yours, but even at such a small size and age, you could tell he was going to grow up to look exactly like his father.

Drawing your attention up as Maester Wolkan came in, but unlike either of the two in the room accompanying you, he did not seem surprised at the sight. A small bow before turning to close the door, “My Queen” Turning properly, his calm was somewhat relieving to the nerves running within your blood. “It is truly a relief to find you have returned to us safe and sound.”

That time it was Selyse who spoke up with a slight indigence. “Safe?”

Turning your head barley to the side, you couldn’t even see her but the tone pushed through all the same. “Mother.” No words came back to you as once more you looked to Wolkan as you approached him slowly. Reaching out gently with an ask of permission first, you nodded. Pulling back the covering by the babies head just the slightest to get a first glance at him. Muttering quietly to him in almost a lulling voice, “It’s alright, this is Maester Wolkan. He is here to make sure you’re good and healthy.”

Eyes flickering up to him, the slight worry however was seen painting over your own features. Wolkan asking with a soothing calm, “And does the little one have a name?”

“Eddard.”

You looked not at either womans reaction, not in the right mindset to handle whatever associations in their minds they were making personally. Wolkan though kept his tone soft and even. “A fitting name for a Stark blooded Snow. Would you be comfortable laying him down on the bed, so we could take a closer look at him?”

Nodding, you both moved to the bed, gently holding the back of his head to support him before he lay out comfortably. Undoing the blankets and swaddled shirt keeping him hidden away. Muttering to Wolkan as you sat down on the bed next to the where the baby laid out that you had no clothes to dress him in. “Has be been wrapped up like this the entire time?” Explaining he was more then hidden from the cold even in furs when out beyond, he looked him over with gentle eyes.

Clearly used to interacting with babies, part of you felt nothing but thanks that between all of the maesters you knew, the three most important ones in your life had all been gentle and kind beyond what you knew some were. You dared not imagine how little comfort having your infant tended to by Grandmaester Pycelle would’ve been.

Noting he was rather small, he asked you how long ago was he born. “Over a week. I’m not sure how many days beyond that. Jon would know for certain.” Before he could ask or say anything, you revealed the truth that to a man such as himself he likely already knew. “He was born a month early. I had only reached eight months when he came into this world.”

Whatever shock your mother and Maege had you looked not to such reactions, not now. Telling him of the size the baby was when he was born, and already what of him had grown, Wolkan did not add to the worry you and Jon had felt when seeing for the first time his very small size. “Infants born that early tend to be quite small. Some occasions they will have stunted growth for some time, and others the body compensates too much and they grow too quickly. I presume you have fed him from your own breast?” Nodding yes, Wolkan hummed in thought as he seemed to be almost testing the baby with how he would physically react to certain gentle stimuli. “You have nothing to fear thus far in regards to his size, your grace. Early born infants rely on the nutrients of their mothers milk far more then normal babes. It helps them catch up to the growing they would have done inside you.”

Questions here and there, inspecting parts of him which only a maester would know what it means, he had asked you in passing almost. “What assistance did you have when you laboured him, may I ask?”

You knew your quiet sounded suspicious, but that your answer would catch even more attention from all three parties. “We were a near a week from reaching Castle Black. There was only, Jon, Ghost and I. Jon had to deliver him, himself.”

That time you purposefully were keeping your attention down on the baby, keeping his focus on you to not get upset by still being so exposed to the air around a man he did not know. “The King delivered your son alone?” Biting down on your tongue, you nodded once. You still hated it fell on him, that shouldn’t have been forced to be his responsibility. You couldn’t imagine what you had forced him to feel in those hours practically all alone with how little you could speak through the pain and blood.

By the time Wolkan seemed to come to his assessment, you were nothing but relieved. “He seems, for his size and circumstances to be in extraordinary health. I would suggest we meet every other day to check on his progress until he reaches his proper potential, but otherwise you have nothing to worry about thus far. You and his grace have taken wonderful care of him in such circumstances.”

It was your turn however, and as you wrapped him back up in what you still only had, you felt more nerves then before. Glancing up to the stern silence of both women in the room, you hesitated as you shifted the baby in your arms. Maege found the right words first, passing you by with a comforting hand on your shoulder with a fondness as she looked at you. “I’ll see if we can’t find something proper to dress him in.”

You thanked her in a whisper, but both of you knew she needed nothing of the sort from you. Turning to the other, you gestured down to him. “Would you be alright taking him, mother?”

She stood at once, with a light in her eyes you had not seen in some time. “Of course.” Coming close, as you both exchanged his hold, your mother softened with a smile you hadn’t seen in even longer. “Hello, little one. You’re safe with me, I’m your grandmother.” Holding him calm in her arms, your eyes met. Had you two held such a relationship, you both may have found words for what wanted to be said, but there was none. “Would you want privacy?”

You shook your head though, not sure if you needed another in the room, or perhaps if the idea of little Eddard being so far away again upset you. But she understood. Finding a place comfortable to sit with him, but giving you privacy for what needed to be done, you knew too there were a number of things you would need to explain, and more then a few injuries to elaborate on.

At the very least, your entire time knowing Wolkan had not made you both strangers to seeing such intimate injuries on you, nor was this anywhere near the strangest or most horrifying. Each description increased in the severity of the situations, but by the time the most pressing part came, you could provide little to add. Just an unspeakable pain and more blood then there should have been. You looked at none but the dark stone ceiling above with as little voice as you could provide, trying not to return to that night. For many reasons, but such an important one to be seen to was the least you wished to return to.

You spoke not of the terror that you wouldn’t make it.

By the time you were sat more upright, your mother had come closer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, but not invading your space entirely as she watched with a careful gaze. Wolkan however, seemed to have much more confidence and comfort then either of you. “You will need much rest for the next number of days, but otherwise your injuries have begun healing well all on their own.”

Your mother asking in a quiet doubt which you took no offence towards. “Right after birthing a child, and none of those have long lasting problems?”

Wolkan only shook his head. “I assure you, my lady. Were it to be more severe, she would be in far worse shape then she currently is. Likely most of her current weakness comes from a mixture of exhaustion and strain on the body in general.” Directing his attention towards you, which you had by then moved to more match your mothers position rather then staying laid out on the bed as before. “The worst of the bleeding has all but ceased. Birthing a child that early means you will likely require far less time to heal, but I will need to see to you on a regular basis to ensure no further complications have arisen.”

Merely a nod left you, thinking not to yourself what something darker was asking to be brought up. You had only just gotten back, push that away. Just for now. Handle it tomorrow.

Putting little Eddard, mostly now asleep in a small cradle, your mother seemed to speak for you to Maester Wolkan with little thought to your relative quiet, how little you had yet to move. “I’m sure we will be able to find something suitable enough for him to sleep in properly.”

Wolkan had been putting his own things away slowly. “Lord Stark raised six children, I’m sure somewhere within the storage below we will find an appropriate bed for him.” His attention turning to you, catching your gaze to shoot up suddenly. “We should be able to acquire something before the tomorrow evening.”

You were quiet as you said it, a little dispondant had you the thought to put a word to it. “No need to rush yourselves. He got this far without a bed.” Luckily, muffled voices from outside spared you from any further questioning as your brows narrowed looking towards the door.

Though there was little question as to who was speaking to whom, both strong voices when agitated could grow to a loud yell echoing over top one another. Maege seemed to have found herself at a crossroads with Jon about whether or not he should interrupt, with the later not taking it very well at the insulation that he should give his own wife privacy in these regards. The moment you heard something well along the lines of Jon saying he delivered his son himself, and Maege starting on something about he dragged you out there in the first place your hand rose to press against your forehead as your elbows leaned on your knees.

“Mother, could you go out there and tell them to stop arguing about me where I can hear them?”

Her head tilted a little in an understanding if not a bit of amusement behind her gaze knowing what form of headache could arise in you. Moving swiftly to the door now that little Eddard was settled and asleep in his small cradle on a table closer to the fire, she and Wolkan stood at the door where no doubt both heads turned to see your mothers disapproving stare along with a strict lecturing tone. “If you two are going to argue, I presume taking it elsewhere but the hall would be appropriate.”

Hearing the trail end of Jon asking how you were, the door closed behind the rest of them likely to discuss it as giving you quiet. Slowly standing, you circled around to where little Eddard slept soundly. Your hand rising to rest just enough on the blanket covering his chest that you could feel his faint breathing moving up and down.

It felt strange, knowing he was here and real and yours. It was not a dream you would awake from and find yourself trapped back down in the cold cell of the Dreadfort, alone and feverish. Not the life you once thought you’d have but one similar in the one you once wanted. But the way to such a path was so blood soaked you felt like it all would melt away around you and reveal it was a facade.

Head turning on the spot, the door opened and closed with only enough space for Jon to quickly slip through. Wide eyes as he looked from the bed over to where you actually stood. Whatever was in his hand he didn’t even look as he placed it to the cabinet beside him and walked over to you. Looking you over in the short time he had to cross the way was something shining bright in his eyes as if the worry had yet to realize it didn’t need to stay.

Turning to face him more, you hadn’t even managed to say his name before Jon wasted no more of his time. Cupping your cheeks, Jon leaned down as he too pulled you up to meet his lips. A desperate kiss rough and demanding as if pouring the remaining nerves flowing through him into yours, just as in return you gifted him your sighs. Your hands found his waist at first, but as Jon tilted your jaw up to better keep your lips to his. You let them slide up his chest and around the back of his neck.

Keeping one hand on your jaw as he deepened his kiss, Jon wrapped the other around your waist and back to pull you tight into his front before keeping you there at your hip with a tight hold. Small nibbles to your bottom lip were followed by him chasing to keep you even closer, the hand on your jaw sliding to cup the back of your neck and force you to lean up for him.

The urgency faded a little, replaced by something no less desperate, but begging for you to not pull away yet. Hand adjusting and re adjusting over and over through the strands of hair in his fingers to almost caress his hold as much as it was forcing you to stay in his kiss. His tongue gently running along your lip as you gasped from another small bite, only for his hands to grip you tighter, the manner in which you so easily parted your lips granting his tongue permission to brush over yours. Your hands tightening their grip with your nails digging somewhat into the curls fallen loose from the day as he explored the taste of your mouth gently with a need constantly keeping him pulling you close when you drifted even somewhat.

Not yet letting you go, Jon used his grip on your hip to turn you away from the table. Pushing you further back into the room before the back of your knees came into contact with the edge of the bed. Pulling away just enough, Jon rasped deeply as his breath danced hot across your skin he remained so close. “Sit.”

The moment you tried to gently protest of his name, Jon pulled you back to his lips as soon as he connected them on his own moving forward. Sitting you down your hands braced against the fur below you before seeking Jon out again. Now kneeling before you Jon had to lurch upward to almost hover over you again. As if were he not dragging your lips up to his you might escape, and he could not handle that by how much he cupped your cheeks once more with a force pressing you to his lips that made your lungs start to burn.

Begging for air, but no mercy was granted as he stole each and every but of air you needed, taking all for himself what your needs were to trust he’d give it back. A whimper slipped through just as your nails dug deep into his skin enough indents were made, did he tear himself away. Strands of saliva not yet snapping between you as he tilted your forehead to rest against his. Your chest heaving as you tried to regain your breath, Jon running a hand down your hair at the back of your head.

Through the pounding in your heart, you heard not the door knocking. Only a faint murmur from Jon refusing to let you move from him, telling them to come on. The moment your eyes opened Jon tugged you back to focus on him, eyes closing again naturally from the force it took him to keep you close enough he could push forward hardly an inch and capture your lips again.

Hands smoothing out against his shoulders until voices told him whatever they had been doing was ready. Barley muttering out a thank you as the doors closed, your brows furrowed. Jon only then tilted your forehead down to meet his lips as he pulled back enough to seek your eyes.

The rasp just as deep, but the grey returned to his eyes wide looking now up at you. His touch never leaving by your jaw, cheek or through your hair. “Maege brought him some clothes, and I had them run a bath for you, both of you when he wakes up.” Smoothly running your hands along the skin exposed around his neck, you couldn’t help but look Jon over with a silence but all within it dripped of a gentle feeling you hadn’t been able to give him alone in days upon days. Not realizing your silence, Jon prompted you as he nudged his nose against yours before racing down the length of it. “Do you want to be alone for-”

Shaking your head, your words were more desperate then you expected, or him. “No, no. Please, I want you with me.”

Sighing deeply, Jon nodded. Pulling you in for one more gentle kiss, much more chaste then before. A smile breezing onto his lips as he chased your kiss once, twice more. “Always.”

As if made of porcelain, Jon stood grabbing your hands to pull you up, but never quite let go as he ran them smoothly across your hips. Once more resting his forehead against yours. Your voice small but tender as you let yours sit high on his chest. “I���ll set the record straight with Maege tomorrow. She’s worked up is all, I don’t want her thinking you did anything wrong.”

Only a single nod followed, as Jon moved to pull your head close to kiss your forehead muttering against it. “Don’t worry about that, darling.” Perhaps something sat on your tongue wanting to defend your position, but you didn’t. Allowing him to guide you to the other room, warm and steaming the water begged for you to join. Everything sat out ready, with a smaller basin kept warm nearby as Jon muttered in your ear. “It’ll be his first proper bath.”

Leaning back into his chest as he kept you pressed against him you only smiled faintly once more. “It’ll be his first proper night in his real home.”

Lips finding their way to your neck, Jon murmured against you, letting his hands now drift up to the remaining layers covering your front. “Our first proper night as a family.” Instead of finding a good response, Jon stole your breath again but this time with the swiftness in which he pulled your final layer off from your torso, leaving you exposed to the cold. Muttering back that was all you could ask for, Jon only laughed as he turned you to face him, working now gently on your bottom layers. “We’ll do this right next time. I’ll give you a little girl, and we’ll have her here.”

You only nodded, once again letting a shiver come about as the last of the wretched layers you felt so trapped in for so long were finally off you. Not moving in the slightest, you begun working on Jon. The layers easy to come off, but too did you look forward to being able to take your time again. Work on his many layers, leathers or armour. Undoing every little bit keeping him so well put together that gave you both more intimate quiet then the minute or two this all took in total.

Instantly, your hands found his torso. Palms flat against the scars across him, just as real as they ever were before you shook yourself out of it. Reaching up you reached behind without looking from his grey eyes, letting loose his curls. Running your fingers through them as his jaw clenched ever so briefly as his eyes fluttered. Swallowing rougher, Jon rasped as he pushed lightly at your hip. “Get in for me.”

Little needed to be said, there was little to say at all. First Jon pulling your back into his chest so he could carefully wash your hair and skin, only for you to turn in his grip. Perched in his lap to do the same. Acts so simple for a man and wife but so long forgotten between you both in this manner. Unable to help himself, more then once as you were so close, Jon interrupted your work to pull you by your chin to meet his lips, letting you go to work again as he ran his hands along your waist, then losing that control again and kissing you once more.

Nearly unwilling to let you go for any period of time, even as he pulled you both from the water did he keep you in front of him. Hands, lips and eyes always attached to you in one fashion or another, but it was the small sound in Jons main room which drew a smile from you both. It was someone else’s turn that time.

For such a small thing, it did strike you both as rather funny it still took four hands to bathe little Eddard. One of you would occupy his need to grab and play with one of you, while the other gently cleaned him. Water splashing at you more then once as the baby's small babble of a sound drew your eyes narrowed. Leaning down to him with a jesting lecture, “You won’t be so silly when this takes too long and the water is cold.” A small kiss to his forehead and he was much more at ease.

“They won’t fit him perfect, but it will do until we can get him things of his own.” Jon was right, the baby being born so early meant that normal sized clothes even for newborns were still too big, but at least he could be warm and comfortable better then he had been able to since he came into the world. It all felt so easy, so natural the way you and Jon worked together with him, but you had not much in the way of time to focus on it. Jon kissed the side of your head, muttering into your hair, “You look as tired as him. You need to rest.”

For once, you did not argue that at all. A fading mumble as he laid you under the furs properly, “Thank you.” A smile passing his lips asking for what, your brows furrowed as if he should already know. “For everything, for him, for getting us home, keeping us safe. All of it.” But your eyes begun to slip closed, and with a kiss to your lips, then forehead before all you recalled warm in Jons bed was his rasp in your ear to sleep and perhaps the fading off memory of telling you he loves you, but by the time you would have wished to respond, the softness and warmth around you finally overtook whatever remained in your head, and drifted away.

Jon could affirmatively say, he had only been expecting to take care of one child that night.

But much to his own instant amusement, did the feeling not long after he left you and the baby to sleep did his discussion with Wolkan get interrupted with something running into his leg with a rather young sound to follow. “Jon,”

Blonde hair and bright blue eyes, if those did not give it away, the giggle did. Looking down, did the laughing figure of a more grown Sam come into Jons view. Crouching down more to him, Jon smiled easily running a hand over the boys hair. “Look how much bigger you’ve gotten.” A quick glance saw he was alone, and a knowing look rose in his eyebrows to the boy. “Where’s your mother?”

Shaking his head in what Jon knew all too well was a mischievous look, he grinned. Continuing on, “Now I know you’re not supposed to be awake.” Glancing up to Wolkan who was equally as amused. “We’ll finish discussing this in the morning.” Picking the boy of three up whose arms raised eager to be picked up by him, Jon perched him in his arms to keep him at his own eye level. He hadn’t seen either of them yet, so Jon did not know where Gilly would be, but he had a feeling he knew Sam well enough to guess where he’d be at this time in the evening.

Voices a little frantic were heard behind the door as Jon approached, raising a brow to the toddler as if to point out what hes caused. From looks of worry to surprise to exasperation all within seconds did Gilly turn from where she and Sam had been much more worried and make her way with playfully narrowed eyes. “Samwell.”

Hiding instantly into Jon, he could only laugh as he approached her. His voice more gentle then before, “I think he heard I was back, and came looking for me.” Sighing deeply, Gilly tried to apologize before Jon dismissed the need for it. Putting him down, Gilly pointed to the other side of the room where no doubt his bed was in a side room.

All watching little Sam make his way before it seemed to dawn on both other parties exactly what was happening. Sam calling Jons name in a relief, and the closer Gilly just as matching in tone, “We didn’t know when you were coming back, I’m so glad you’re alright.” For someone who was as small as you were, it continued to always surprise Jon when Gilly’s hug could be as strong as it was. Jon only muttered he didn’t know either, she pulled back with a desperate wide eyed look saying your name. “Is she alright, is the baby-”

Holding her by her arms, Jon muttered that you were alright, both of you. Letting go, she glanced between he and Sam before giving both space she knew that they needed. If Gilly was happy to see Jon back and alive, Sam was even moreso. Neither hesitated in bringing the other in for a hug, no time the two of them spent apart ever had managed to separate that they were as close to brothers as they could possibly get without the same blood. And too many times had they seen the other off not knowing when or if they’d ever come back.

“What was it even like?”

Both arms perched on the table between them, Jon first only propped one up by his elbow as he let the bitter taste of the ale burn down his throat. Doing little to hide the wince as he let the mug hit down on the wooden surface a little harder then necessary. Rough and low his tone was, but in truth he couldn’t stand around listening to anyone congratulate him anymore. “What was it like? What do you want me to say, Sam?”

Already people were whispering about it in wonder, when it really did not feel good to look back on for either of you. Jaw clenched, Jon could nearly still hear it, the screams in his head. How in the cave they echoed around you both making that all either of you could hear. Sam had clearly not been expecting the sort of reaction Jon was giving him. “I only mean, you delivered the baby yourself. That must have been something.”

Dark eyes stared down at the wood as he failed to clear his throat before the tearing showed up in his voice, only a mutter but something heavy and in pain intertwined with it. “It was awful.” Meeting Sam’s taken aback gaze, Jon dropped his eyes once more as they grew brighter but with a shine none close to happy. “We were alone, and she only had me. I- I couldn’t even help her. Something was wrong and she was in so much pain but I couldn’t do anything but force her to handle it alone.”

Jon didn’t want to see the look in Sams eyes, he didn’t want to confront the gut wrenching feeling in his own heart. Luckily, his voice came down to his lack of loudness and was less sympathetic but more on the realistic side Jon tended to live at. “And Maester Wolkan said they are both fine. You did everything right, Jon-”

Cutting him off, he was far away. Not present as his hand gripped the mud tight to the point the strain was visible in his knuckles. “I thought I lost her.” The heartbreak in his eyes was something Sam almost couldn’t look at, but he held Jons gaze as much as he was willing to meet his. “When it was all over, for a moment she..there was a minute after when I didn’t even know if she was alive, and all the blood..”

Sam had tried a more reasonable way to divert that pain, “There’s always pain and blood in delivering a baby, it was-”

“My father had four children after me, Sam. It was never like that..she was in so much pain she could barley breath, she couldn’t even talk.” Jon bothered not to hide the water behind his eyes, but attempted to drown out that feeling in his veins as he downed far more of the bitter ale then he had the last time. “I didn’t comfort her once, forced her to endure it on her own because I had to focus on the baby.”

Sams voice was stern as he spoke up. “Jon.” Eyes flickering back over, Sams head tilted a bit as his voice followed with more emphasis. “She’s alive, the baby’s alive and you’re all home, together. Most men wouldn’t have even done as much as you did, most would’ve left her to birth a child all alone.”

He didn’t want the tears to fall, but even if they did, Jon knew Sam could see how much they were already building up as it was. “And after?” Words not spoken at first, and it only gave Jon the room to let that darkness brew further. “I was supposed to protect her, and I didn’t. Twice. I wasn’t the one who hurt her, but I didn’t keep her safe. I’m the reason she was out there in the first place. She shouldn’t be thanking me for keeping her safe when I didn’t.”

In a switching tactic, Sam changed the subject not too far to be jarring, but enough to hopefully swivel Jons self hatred from falling too deep into the depths. “So you named him after your father?”

In the minimal, it pulled a small grin from Jon. “From the minute he was born I knew I wanted to name him after my father.” Meant only as a joke, Sam had commented that at least his name would be easy to explain, being a family name already, but Jon hadn’t even thought much of how he said it nor to be patronizing. “Sams is easy too. You’re already his father where it matters.”

Not unlike the name of Eddard, Jon knew. Not much different at all. Two fathers by blood a son would loathe to learn of, and a father which birth or not was the only one which mattered.

“When are you going to reveal him?” Jons face jolted back twisting in a pure confusion for a moment as Sam laughed. “Really, sometimes I think you of all people forget the most that you’re a King.” His brows furrowed more and Jon was already aware for his sake, Sam was withholding a no doubt clever comment about his intelligence. “He’s not just your son, he’s the son of the King in the North. Aren’t the firstborn Princes of a King supposed to get revealed formally to the court?”

Jon hadn’t even considered that. Not truly. Thinking of himself in terms of being called a King was one thing, but now calling his son a Prince? That certainly would take a grand amount of getting used to he realized. Running a hand over his forehead Jon muttered your name, “When she’s better then maybe. There’s a lot more to do first then reveal a son everyone already knows I have by now.”

By the time Jon made to leave, Sam had one more question in mind as he turned from where he was by the door. “Jon, what did you learn out there? Something that could save us, or help?” When he hesitated, Sams tone lowered to more a concern again. “Was it anything good?”

It wasn’t any words Jon said, as he said nothing, but the morose look on his face that did not give much optimism by the time he muttered out, “Goodnight, Sam.” And closed the door behind him. Jon and you had learned too much out there, and part of him wishes he never did. It might have made some of this a bit easier, but there was no changing the past. He knew what he knew, and the only singular option was to move forward best he could.

As Jon grasped the handle to his chamber door, for a moment, Jon thought perhaps he spotted her again. If so, she had disappeared down the hall before he could call out to her. Sighing deeply, Jon closed his eyes to gather that tension and leave it here before walking into his chambers for the night. Tomorrow he had a busy day, make sure you always had someone with you to help and ensure you were actually resting as needed. Make sure by the end of the night he’d have most of what his son would need now that he was home.

But right now, the fact that Sansa was both watching and avoiding him couldn’t be on Jons list of things to deal with. He couldn’t force her to accept anything, and he was likely the last sibling she would take well to some of the more harsh truths about their new specific debacle. He never wanted it to be one against the other with any of his siblings, but Jon was aware enough that if there was one sibling who such a problem would turn unpleasant against, it was her.

For now, he had to be fine with the simple fact that she was home. There weren’t many of them left, their family, but what there was, was alive and it would have to do. Jon did know however, that tomorrow he and Arya needed to start handling the much more urgent problem, that came with Sansa returning home.

Jon though, was not quite sure he had the self restraint to not at some point, let his temper get the best of him in what would be his first meeting of Petyr Baelish. He never liked him from the stories you would tell him when you sat on the small council, and now that had grown into a hatred. But as he entered his chambers, he could only smile.

You and the baby clearly had been awake at some point. His small cradle moved from the table to the floor on Jons side of the bed as the fur there was rustled as if you had sat there for a while. Likely he presumed, he had woken up hungry and no doubt woken you up with him. Now uncovered by the furs, laid atop you, in fact you were on top of them further down the bed not even with a pillow. Your arm by the look of it seemed like you would be able to easily reach down to soothe him should he awake again and you wanted to be close if need be.

As quiet as could be did Jon pull most of his layers off, leaving just his breeches as he carefully climbed up on the bed beside you. Leaning over to press a kiss to your neck as he pulled your long hair out of his way, Jon didn’t move you. Just positioned himself behind you in the same manner close to the edge, only tugging your back a bit more comfortably into his chest. One hand running over your hip, Jon had to remind himself.

Maester Wolkan had said you’d need a while to heal entirely if you got enough rest. The bleeding had stopped but you’d still be in too much pain for anything like that. Your emotions had been all over the place, even if since getting to Castle Black they had been on the better side. Jon had to remember not to push you, or make you feel pressured just because of the darkness in his head. He could look at you now, and say without any fantasy that you were the mother of his child and even that thought alone he felt his cock stir.

He didn’t want you to feel like he would pressure you into anything, he wanted to wait as long as you needed. Jon closed his eyes, nuzzling into the back of your head and neck as the oils he used to wash your hair invaded his senses enough to relax him. His final thought as his mind begun to fade was to ease off of you for a while. Back up the amount he could be physical with you, no matter what the wolf in him growled in such a dark clawing instinct, sex with you wasn’t anywhere near the most important thing in his love for you.

If only the twisting fog in your own head had understood that when you would wake.

[gendertrickster]

i dunno why i'm making a post about eridan but i thought about him and how people perceive him so why not

eridan is a really good exploration of the hope aspect i think. like aspects are defined by the characters which embody them and eridan defines a very dark and twisted side of hope, which is that of holding many harmful and dangerous views of the world and choosing never to question them or allow anyone to defy your idea of how the world functions. eridan is defined by these hollow and black ambitions and in turn this defines a part of the hope aspect itself: delusion

this shit reads like a manifesto. eridan is so hopelessly far gone down this path of broken belief and it's an extremely dangerous state for a prince of hope because the strength of his convictions directly correlates to his power (in a less allegorical sense, his will to act correlates to his desire to accrue a weapon to enact his beliefs in the way he sees fit, which is an extremely real thing that happens). he's convicted in his belief that he is disrespected and not taken seriously enough but refuses to address his own flaws or the trauma society has inflicted upon him through expectations and when pushed beyond the limit the result is a murderous monster of a 13-year-old boy

it's also interesting to note that eridan does not attack unless he has a personal justification for it. to him, sollux started it and got what he deserved. to him, feferi was a delusional woman who never understood him so when she charged forward he did not hesitate. with kanaya, they stood in a standoff until she glanced the way of the matriorb and his hatred of trollkind acted on its own and destroyed it, which provoked kanaya which justified his actions. to him, all of this is just "self-defense"

here, eridan's silhouette is white where kanaya's is black because eridan believes himself the purest arbiter of truth. to him, she is acting on thoughtless aggression where he is ever calm and collected. and thus he kills one of his best friends

the only reason karkat went untouched in this is because he's a man he didn't involve himself in it, only staring in shock at what he just allowed to happen but knowing he would never have stood a chance, being complacent in the actions of the higher troll, which is befitting of karkat

and it's THIS shit that is the core of eridan's entire character. you can definitely take his character further if you so wanted — he can be really engaging and even funny if you do him right — but you have to recognize that if you do, the mark he bears for his actions can never leave him. not to say he can't change, this is homestuck we're talking about, but he was written to be the ultimate product of alternia's broken and cruel systems, and it's something very important to keep in mind lest you forget what defines him

[everybody-loves-purdy]

With a bit of inference, Moth Flight’s Vision is an accidental tragedy about generational trauma.

Moth Flight’s Vision is a book which tries to justify the medicine cat abstinence rule, and it fails at this. This is mainly due to the exceptional circumstances Moth Flight was in when she gave up her kits. And obviously you have the fact she was a very young mother with four children in a time before a nursery system and when Moth Flight herself was also navigating being the first ever medicine cat. But I want to bring up another aspect of Moth Flight’s Vision that heavily influences our titular character’s decision to give up her children and bar all medicine cats from ever having mates or kits: Trauma.

And I want to stress that at no point so I think the Erins wanted to make this a story about trauma. But boy did they accidentally make a pretty compelling story about generational trauma. You need to squint a little though but trust me, it’s there. Accidentally put in the narrative like some of the best stuff in warrior cats often is.

So the trauma I am referring two comes from two cats in her life, her mother Wind Runner/ Windstar and her mate Micah.

So if we start with the former, Wind Runner at the start of Moth Flight’s Vision is very critical of Moth Flight. She has no patience for Moth Flight getting distracted and her lack of hunting skill, and voices how she dislikes Moth Flight’s lack of prey contribution to the clan, and frequently insults her and makes snide remarks to her. Such as you can see in just this one example.

All this leaves Moth Flight feeling inferior and feeling like she is wrong.

All this cumulates in an argument in which Wind Runner lists how irresponsible she believes Moth Flight to be tells Moth Flight she is a danger to her clan. And Moth Flight believes her, and runs away.

Now after this once Moth Flight returns as a medicine cat we don’t really get anything like this from Wind Runner again but the damage is done. Now here’s where the inference has to start coming in a bit. Who wouldn’t be left with a complex after this? Who wouldn’t be left with the need to prove themselves however they can? Moth Flight certainly sets out to please Wind Runner and prove she can be useful to her clan in the early part of the book when she’s receiving this abuse. So why would it just evaporate later when she actually finds something she’s good at and can be of great use to her clan doing? Just put a pin in that for a moment.

Also while we’re talking about Wind Runner; Moth Flight has a conversation with her dead siblings about how she wishes she could please Wind Runmer, which leads to her dead siblings saying that the reason Wind Runner is so harsh towards Moth Flight is because of the trauma she experienced when she lost her kits. Wind Runner’s trauma is ultimately what is causing her to inflict trauma onto Moth Flight.

And now we move onto the second inflicter of trauma in Moth Flight’s life: Micah. Don’t worry, unlike Wind Runner, Micah didn’t inflict any trauma on Moth Flight through his own actions. Unless you count dying in a tragic accident right in front of Moth Flight. In which case yeah, his actions did inflict trauma on her. At least it was an accident.

Micah’s death deeply traumatises Moth Flight. She cannot bear to be in WindClan due to it, she lives in ShadowClan for a moon, avoiding going home due to her grief, and then only travels back once she realises she is pregnant, and decides she wants to be with kin.

The stage is set. The Erins have a young cat set up about to have four kittens that she’s going to give away and change the medicine cat code forever. What they do not realise is that the trauma they have influenced on this character can most definitely be inferred to have an effect on her actions surrounding her children from this point forward, ultimately being perceived as a large push as to why she gives them up.

The book wants us to believe that she gives up her kittens because it is just inherently impossible to be a medicine cat and have mates and children. Which isn’t true as cats such as Leafpool and Yellowfang have since proven wrong. And obviously there are the exceptional circumstances Moth Flight herself has been subjected to during this period. But her trauma can also be perceived to pay a huge part in her feeling like she cannot balance her duties and her children.

To start off with. The first moon of her kits life is fine. Moth Flight steps back from medicine cat duties and lets the very knowledgeable Reed Tail take primary healer duties for the clan. The book skips over the first moon with her kits and therefore we can assume nothing important happens, and no issues come from Moth Flight raising her kits for this first moon. Moth Flight does reflect that how she did on occasion try and do checkups but her kits always called her away. And here, while Moth Flight is reflecting on this, we get this paragraph:

So here we learn two things:

She feels ready to stop having Reed Tail help her when her kits are a moon and a half (6 weeks) old.

Moth Flight does not want to let go of her kits for any amount of time. She equates Slate saying that she can leave the kits for short periods to them not having a mother figure in their lives. And she thinks her kits can only receive adequate love from her.

So with point 1, Moth Flight’s kittens are still little babies. And she feels that she should go back to being a full time medicine cat when they’re still that young despite having Reed Tail to hold the fort, and dismissing him as her helper entirely after this point. And here I’m going to bring back the idea of inference. I feel that this could stem from Wind Runner’s abuse at the start of the book. Wind Runner left her daughter feeling so compelled to be useful to her clan that she’s throwing herself back into her work far too early in order to keep her mother happy and be of use to the clan in the only way Moth Flight feels she can be. Is any of this written in the book? Hell no. But I feel that you can absolutely infer that Moth Flight’s drive to get back to work so soon is due to the lasting trauma and insecurities her mother had imposed on her.

Point 2 is a lot to unpack and here, and this is a point that comes up again, how Moth Flight feels compelled to take care of her kits personally rather than hand them off to babysitters due to their lack of a living father.

So if we use some of that inference here, we can infer that Micah’s death has left Moth Flight insecure about leaving her children alone. She feels that she is the only one who can properly take care of them in her clan. And, undoubtedly by accident, this idea comes back. There are two incidents with her leaving her kits to be babysat and irresponsible babysitting causes the kits to get hurt. The first is where she goes to a gathering and Rocky encourages three of the kits to climb a rock but tells the fourth she’s not ready. So the very next day she climbs the rock. She falls, she gets hurt. And not once does Moth Flight get angry at Rocky for encouraging her children to climb a big rock, oh no, she blames herself.

There isn’t one second where she thinks about how it’s Rocky’s fault this situation arose. She entirely blames herself for it, and the situation is never even discussed with Rocky.

And then something similar happens later on. Storm Pelt is supposed to be watching the kits while Moth Flight goes to RiverClan. And then all four kits end up following her and one of them falls in the river. She doesn’t blame Storm Pelt for any of this. She doesn’t have a single word of blame to say to him about him allowing all four of her children to follow her to RiverClan. And from that we can infer (even though again, the book doesn’t say) she feels the blame lies with herself. This inference can be strengthened given that this is the incident which causes her to feel she should give up her kits.

On top of her feeling wholly responsible for her kits at all times no matter who is looking after them, the main other way they distract her from her medicine cat duties is when she suddenly becomes paranoid that some horrible tragedy has befallen them while she isn’t watching them. And I think all of this paranoia and heightened sense of responsibility regarding her kits all comes down to Micah.

He died traumatically in front of her eyes. She feels extra protective of her children because they no longer have a father. And we can infer that her paranoia of them meeting a gruesome fate has come from her witnessing the painful death of her beloved Micah.

And where does this leave us? All this trauma stemming from both her mother and beloved? Well, Moth Flight decrees that medicine cats must not have mates or kits. She then inflicts trauma onto her own children by separating them and forcing them all to live apart. The trauma that Wind Runner and Moth Flight experienced can now be inferred to have trickled down to both Moth Flight’s kits, and many, many medicine cats for decades to come. The book wants you to believe this is because kits can distract from medicine cat duties, that they can pull a medicine cat away from important duties. But that only happens in Moth Flight’s Vision due to poor babysitters or mainly Moth Flight becoming paranoid that her kits are going to die horribly like their father once they’re out of her sight.

Is this all a stretch? Absolutely. I have no doubt this was absolutely not the intention of the Erins at all. But in the words of Todd Chavez:

Isn’t the point of art less what people put into it and more of what people get out of it?

And thats what I get out of Moth Flight’s Vision. A story about how tragic trauma can be, not only for an individual, but also for others if it becomes generational.

[kaisaerinlover]

michael kaiser.

tw: toxic relationship, hints of domestic abuse etc.

kaiser was your boyfriend, he was one of the biggest red flags you could get, but you loved him all the same. michael kaiser is someone who wasn’t even meant to have stood a chance in life, yet here he was smiling as he took home another victory for his football team. he was a gem, he loved all the wins and all of the attention he got from the press, but the only thing he loved even more than that was you.

unfortunately kaiser’s love manifests in a variety of ways, most of them are unsavoury, so you are not surprised when he comes home you find yourself pinned against the wall of your shared luxury apartment being violated again by his mouth, biting your neck, everywhere, lapping up all the blood he can, after all, putting you through pain is how he shows he loves you the most. or maybe it isn’t, maybe he just genuinely hates you, you could believe that with the way he acts towards you sometimes, but you don’t leave, you never will, your life was just as bad as his, you have your scars too, your traumas from childhood, all your twisted ideals and ways of thinking. maybe he could sense that in you, maybe it was coincidence, doesn’t matter.

he admires all the bruises on your arms, some inflicted by him, others just reminders of your clumsiness. he runs his thumbs over the bruises, squeezes them, pinches them, and smirks at you the whole time. he loves you, he swears he does, he just wants to hurt you so bad, hurt you as much as he was as a kid, he wants to leave you, that’s what his parents did to him, isn’t that how you’re supposed to show love? he leans down and pecks your lips sweetly, so differently to what his thumbs are doing with your bruises, the bruises given by him after he squeezes you a little too tight, or gets frustrated with you. he licks up the salty, warm tears that start streaming down your face, because what else should he do?

“i love you engelchen, don’t cry hm?” he says whilst smiling at you, so contrary to the harsh pressure he is applying to your arms. poor girl.

he looks at you in the eyes and smiles sweetly. he admires you as a person, he really does. not because you’re strong, or anything of the sort, you’re a product of all his manipulation, all of his gaslighting, everything he did to you. he likes you because you take it so well. he does love you, he feels he does. he doesn’t know why he has to hurt you the way he does, or be the way he is, but he doesn’t care about whether it’s right or wrong indulging himself in it, you’re his and he’ll do what he wants with you. and you let him, because what are you without michael kaiser? nothing, that’s what.

he leans down again, and leans in for a kiss, and you let him. you open your mouth and let him in, because what else would you do? you love him too much to deny him of anything, and he knows that, he knows how broken in you are, you are truly just as much of a little girl yearning for love inside as he is the same little boy who yearns for love sometimes. maybe that’s where his interest lays in you. you’re both so fucked up, both so perfect for each other, he needs to control something and you are so desperate, so needing of being controlled by someone better, someone so much smarter than you. but maybe you are smart, no, you definitely are, no doubt about it, you have always been sharp, you aren’t dumb, but you let him treat you this way, you let him do this to you, because it’s all you knows.

he grabs your hand and leads you to the bedroom and kisses you again, so softly, so tender, his hand is gripping at your hair, so tightly that it hurts, he knows he’s hurting you, he bites your lip until he draws blood and licks up the blood seeping down it. “i love you baby, you’re so good for me always, so sweet, meine kleine prinzessin”

and of course you say it back, of course you do, what else would you do, you look up at him with blood running down your face. “i love you so much”

what else would you say? he just smiles down at you, not really a sweet smile, one of those menacing smiles actually, still with his hands gripping your hair so tight. he grabs his your mouth again with his thumb and forces it open, and you let him. you welcome the pool of spit he spits into your mouth, and you swallow it. he pushes your mouth closed and pats your cheek lovingly. “good girl”

it’s later now. you had your fun, or kaiser did with you, and he’s asleep now, next to you in bed, sleeping so peacefully, today was so much more tame than others. you look at him, he looks so sweet when he’s sleeping, so cute. so different to when he’s awake. how can someone so violent and angry ever look this vulnerable. you don’t even know why you’re with him sometimes. at first you wanted to fix him, you really did, but now that you think about it, what would you do without the violence? kaiser’s anger, his violence and all comes with him. and you love him. he loves you too. you lean over and peck his head softly, and while you sleep, you’re both just the little boy and girl who wanted to be loved all those years ago, and you both got your wish.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

note: hi it’s my first fic in a long time, it was more self indulgent honestly, sorry for that :( i am open to requests, i don’t usually write like this, but i felt like it, thanks for reading if you did and i hope you liked it, sorry for using the german names, i am german so i prefer a lot of those terms of endearments to the english ones

the translations are ‘little angel’ and ‘my little princess’ if you were wondering

i’m open to requests and love writing, and i write a lot of dark content etc so please dm me if you have any requests, ty for reading if you did 🫠💝

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. ����

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!