#burn and old man singe all his flesh off

[thechurchofsplatterdaysaints]

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.

Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.

Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.

"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.

"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."

"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."

"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."

"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."

"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."

"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"

"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."

"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."

"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."

The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.

The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.

Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.

It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!

With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."

She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.

"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.

The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.

"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."

"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.

"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."

Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.

They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.

Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.

"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"

The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.

"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."

With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.

"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.

Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.

"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!

"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.

Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.

For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.

As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.

For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.

In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!

The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.

Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.

Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.

The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -

But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.

Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"

Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.

"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...

"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.

"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."

Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.

"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."

"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.

But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.

"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.

"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.

"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."

"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.

As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.

The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.

This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.

Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.

The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.

Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.

With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."

Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.

"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"

Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."

Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."

Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."

The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."

Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.

"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...

"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.

"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"

As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.

"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.

"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.

"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."

"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.

"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."

Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.

She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.

She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."

"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.

Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”

Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”

Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”

She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”

He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”

Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”

The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?

It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.

Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."

Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.

Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.

The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.

Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...

To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...

“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.

In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.

Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.

“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.

Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.

His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."

"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.

The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.

The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.

Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.

He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...

His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.

The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.

"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.

"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."

Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.

Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."

The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.

"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.

"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."

Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.

"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.

The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.

When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."

Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.

Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.

He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...

He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.

"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.

He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...

Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.

Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.

Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.

The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.

After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.

Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.

Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”

Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”

She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”

Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”

Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."

"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.

"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.

"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”

"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.

Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.

It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.

“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.

Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.

“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”

She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.

With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.

Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.

As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.

One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"

Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”

Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."

"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"

"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.

"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.

"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.

The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.

She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.

"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."

As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.

During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.

Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."

She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.

“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...

She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.

Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.

“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.

Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;

She did none of that.

"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."

She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.

"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.

"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.

"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."

"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."

"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."

"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.

"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"

His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.

"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."

The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...

She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”

His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.

Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.

With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."

As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...

The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.

Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.

Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.

The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...

“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."

Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."

Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"

Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."

"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."

Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."

Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.

Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."

Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”

Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.

The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.

As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.

No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.

Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.

The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.

He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.

He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.

His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.

"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.

The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.

"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...

When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...

Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.

"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."

Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.

"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.

He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.

"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"

"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"

Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."

"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."

"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."

The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.

At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.

Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.

"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.

"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.

"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.

"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."

"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.

"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."

The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.

The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.

Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.

The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.

When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...

She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.

Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.

Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.

"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.

"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"

Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.

Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.

"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"

The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.

"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.

Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.

"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"

Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.

“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.

"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."

Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."

Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.

“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."

The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.

Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.

She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -

Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.

Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.

She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.

Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.

As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.

Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"

"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!

"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”

"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"

“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.

"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”

In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.

He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.

“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.

For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”

Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"

She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.

“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”

Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."

For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.

The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.

Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.

He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.

Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.

She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.

One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.

Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...

He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.

But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."

"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."

"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."

"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...

"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.

"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.

"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.

"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."

"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.

She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.

Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.

He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.

Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.

With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”

With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.

Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.

"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"

"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.

“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”

Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”

Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.

He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”

The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.

“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”

As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”

Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.

“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."

Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.

Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.

“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.

But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.

With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.

The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.

Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.

Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.

That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.

This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.

It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.

Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”

But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.

“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.

After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."

In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.

“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.

As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.

Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."

Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."

Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."

Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”

Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”

Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.

"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.

"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.

She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"

His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.

"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.

Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.

"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.

"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him

"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."

She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.

"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.

Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.

When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.

"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."

Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.

Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."

In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.

Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.

Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...

The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?

Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.

With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.

The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.7k | tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, soft boys, Steve takes care of Eddie, Vecna aftermath | @steddielovemonth Love is a warm hug by @unclewaynemunson | AO3)

They made it. They really did it.

Corroded Coffin play in front of thousands of people in a sold-out Madison Square Garden. Every single person seems to know their songs by heart and is singing them back at them loudly. They cheer and scream their names and Eddie feels like he's flying so high he's on his way to the moon.

This moment right now, right here, is what he has been dreaming of ever since Wayne gave him his old acoustic guitar for his fourteenth birthday and showed him how to play his first song. He always knew he'd end up here, deep, deep down. Never lost hope.

Well, that's not exactly true, but nobody knows that but Steve.

Because it was Steve who helped him to find that precious hope again, to rekindle the wild spirit inside him that only wanted to be heard with his music. He had almost lost that gift along with his left nipple.

The bat bites had been bad, of course. Pieces of his flesh were missing, gnarled scars littered his body, even as he decorated it with a plethora of new tattoos. They'll always be there.

But the worst part hadn't been the flesh wounds. It had been the infection. Robin hadn't been so far off in her fears back in the Upside Down, because while neither he nor Steve had gotten rabies, the bat's saliva hadn't been the most sterile substance to get into his wounds, and more than one bite had become infected as a result. The worst one had been on his left forearm and had caused some severe nerve damage.

The doctors had been able to save his arm and most of the feeling in his hand, but relearning how to play the guitar had been excruciating. The pain had been really bad, but even worse was the frustration, the white-hot rage he felt at this cosmic injustice. It wasn't enough that he was basically an orphan (because his father could be dead for all he knew, Eddie hadn't heard from him in years at that point), living in a trailer park and being labeled the town freak who everyone still thought had murdered several people. No, he also had to get mauled by demonic bats in an alternate dimension, nearly die, and fight his way back to his feet only to find out that he couldn't do the one thing that had always given him at least some peace of mind. His ticket out of this hellhole of a town, just gone. Poof.

It had been one of those summer days, so hot and humid that it felt like warm water was filling his lungs and dripping out of every pore of his body. He had been sitting on his bed in just his boxer shorts and a crop top because any clothes were too much, with his guitar on his lap. Eddie had been so focused on getting this one simple tune right for hours now, his fingers raw and aching, his nerves screaming at him to please stop. Only he couldn't.

He couldn't stop, because to stop would be to give up. It would mean accepting this new reality in which Eddie Munson had lost a vital part of himself; his music.

The pain had been almost unbearable for the better part of an hour by now, but it wasn't until his fingers cramped so badly that he couldn't even hold it anymore that he threw his beloved acoustic guitar off his lap and onto the floor with enough force that it was a wonder it didn't break.

"Fuck," he yelled with bitter resignation, rising like bile in his throat and spilling out in the form of hot tears from his burning eyes, and then "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," a repetitive mantra of pain and sorrow as sobs broke from his aching chest.

He was brought back from the brink of a meltdown by the pressure of a warm hand on his knee, another hand cupping his burning cheek.

"Eddie, hey, man, you're scaring me. Can you look at me, please?" Steve's voice filtered through the anger and grief that constricted his chest, and Eddie lifted his wet eyes to meet Steve's hazel ones. They were bright and warm, even with his eyebrows knitted with worry. They had become close friends over the past few months and Eddie could read his face like an open book.

"That's good, you're doing so good," Steve's voice soothed some of the ragged edges of the broken pieces that had once made up a whole person. His warm hands found Eddie's left hand, still bent into a misshapen claw, and began to massage it gently.

It felt heavenly, even if it still hurt, the gentle but firm pressure slowly loosening the tightly curled digits. Eddie's breathing had slowed, as had his heartbeat, and by the time Steve had finally stopped massaging of Eddie's hand, the sun had begun to set outside.

"Thanks," he had whispered, suddenly ashamed of his outburst, "you didn't have to do that." What he meant was, 'You shouldn't have had to do that. You shouldn't have had to see that.'

Still holding Eddie's hand loosely in his, Steve simply said, "I know. I wanted to. I always want to." The hazel eyes searched and held his again. "You want to tell me what happened? You don't have to, but I have it on good authority that I'm an excellent listener."

That had made him laugh. "That's only because Birdie speaks for both of you when she starts rambling."

"Takes one to know one," Steve had teased back, and the rest of the tension had seeped out of Eddie's body. He had told Steve everything then, about his hand, his fears, his shattered hopes and dreams. Steve hadn't lied, he was a great listener. Attentive and calm, he let Eddie talk without once interrupting.

After Eddie had finished, Steve had been quiet, clearly thinking about what Eddie had told him. After a while of comfortable silence, Steve finally broke it by asking, "Is it possible that you want it too much?"

"Huh?"

"To be able to play the guitar like you used to, I mean. I feel like maybe you want it so much that all the pressure you're putting on yourself is making you so tense and stressed that it's only getting worse."

Eddie wanted to protest, to tell Steve that there was no such thing as wanting too much, but then he stopped himself. Steve had proven himself to be far smarter and more insightful than anyone had ever given him credit for, so instead of denying the possibility outright, he had asked, "What makes you think that?"

Inexplicably, the question had made Steve smile. "When Nancy left me for Jonathan, I was kind of desperate. It sounds silly now, but I thought I needed to find a girl to help me get over it, to prove to myself that I was still attractive, still a catch. Still lovable." The smile had vanished from his face at those words. "I tried so hard, it wasn't even funny anymore, just kind of sad. Robin even had a whole board dedicated to my failures. She told me to just be myself, to let it come to me instead of chasing it like a dog after a bone. It was hard to hear at the time, but you know what? She was right."

Eddie only ever knew the Steve who never had any trouble picking up girls, so it was strange to hear him talk about a time when he clearly didn't.

"So all I'm saying is, maybe take it easy on yourself. Play for the same reasons you started, not because you want to recreate someone you no longer are. None of us is who we were before. None of us ever will be. But you can become someone new. It's up to you who you want to be instead."

After his little speech, Steve had gotten up to get them a couple of beers, and they had just hung out for the rest of the night, the guitar forgotten. It stayed in a corner of his room where Eddie wouldn't see it for a week, until Eddie felt a genuine desire to play something that had been stuck in his head whenever he thought of Steve.

It was the first tune he could get through on his guitar. It was the first song he ever played just for Steve, before he leaned in and caught Steve's lips in a soft kiss for the first time. It became the song he hums whenever Steve wakes up from a nightmare, either while holding Steve in his arms or over the phone when he's on tour.

So it's no surprise that this is the song they play as an encore at Madison fucking Square Garden.

"Hey everybody. This last song is for someone very special to me, so please let's hear it for the love of my fucking life". The crowd goes wild and Eddie winks at the camera that projects his face onto the big screens behind them. "This is for you sweetheart, thank you for always believing in me. You knew I could be someone new long before I did. I wouldn't be here without you and I don't want to be. Nothing makes sense without you. This song is called 'Someone New' and someday I want to play it at our wedding."

He gives it everything he's got, forgetting the last 90 minutes he's been on stage, to make these four minutes the most intense of their whole set. Everyone holds up a tiny flame with their lighters, and when they're done, there's a reverent silence before it breaks into thunderous applause. They cheer, they whistle, they scream.

Eddie doesn't hear any of it, his senses attuned to just one person he's spotted at the edge of the stage exit. He puts down his guitar, walks over to the tall man waiting for him with open arms, and sinks into them as if coming home.

"You did it, baby," Steve whispers into his ear and Eddie just buries himself deeper into his boyfriend's body. "I'm so, so proud of you."

"I love you," he replies simply, the only thing that matters with strong arms wrapped around him, the familiar scent of Steve filling his senses, and the steady beating of Steve's heart against his, the metronome of his new life as sure as ever.

It doesn't matter that they made it, not as much as the man holding him tightly, lovingly.

Eddie's new life is right here in his arms.

[fuumiku]

Selkie AU

Ok so on discord we went off. A lot of this is just paraphrasing or copy pasted from buddies hii guys. It’s honestly a fun concept to play with no matter how you turn it around~ I’ll start off with the version I drew these doodles for but it’s all under the cut because it got so long... There’s also always place for different flavors like if they realize the other’s a selkie immediately or over time, etc etc so this is all just food for thought. Marcille is always the instigator though lol, obsessed with him no matter the universe. As a selkie wants to learn more about this human and as a researcher is chasing after this secretive mysterious sea-guy while he very much tries to escape everyone’s attention.

Fisherman Chil & selkie Marcille

Old sad fisherman Chilchuck… He drinks out at sea even. Divorcee dad who’s got nothing waiting for him on land anymore. He’s on the sea every day to get fish to sell at the wet market or to the butcher, the sky and sea’s grey and everything’s dull and tedious. Seals are nothing special either. The only stuff he knows about selkies really could have some selkie storybooks he reads to his daughters. Meanwhile selkie Marcille��� You could go a lot of different routes I feel. You know I feel like being a selkie fits with Marcille and her mom, with that interaction of "you’ll have to let others go and deal with that", like in this AU she’ll always be different and will have to leave people behind for the sea eventually here and there and whatnot…

Chilchuck and worksongs... Fisherman Chilchuck singing sea shanties while selkie Marcille sings her songs of the sea and then she hears him and gets curious and follows him back on land or something…… Tries to blend in with humans just so she’s like. What’s his deal. But them only meeting out at sea is very cute as well. Eventually she gets on his boat and they hang out. Melancholic psychological horror sea tragedy-romance would be fun idk. Maybe he starts hearing a woman sing out at sea randomly and thinks it’s the alcohol. But he’d be a goner already lmao. Like don’t get me wrong it’d take a while of actual interactions for him to actually fall in love, but also ~~he’s lonely~~ pretty blonde woman waaaa. Siren imagery hehe. "Hmmm I didn't know selkies had hypnotic voices as well" (they don't. he's down outrageous and he knows it.) Mr "in denial so bad maybe magic is the answer yep for sure". I want her to hear him singing something he used to for his daughters/wife etc and shes like 👁️👁️ who hurt this man........... (Could also work for selkie Chil) What’s his tragic backstory…..

I think marcille also deserves to go silly and catch a carp between her teeth, giving it to chilchuck batting her eyelashes like teehee... I'm such a good assistant right... He needs them undamaged if he wants to sell them but he still makes use of her gift anyway... Puts it in a stew and shares it with her... Something we made together..… Marcille being able to taste human food with actual spices and actual heat and actual cooked meat... His home is the warmest place on the surface. His hugs are more comforting than even the water’s. AGH and how long hasn’t he eaten a real homecooked meal you’d bet 😭 Marcille notices he’s underweight and is like "he’s always fishing though??? Does he just need like, a lot??" and takes it upon herself to bring him more fish to feed him. "He NEEDS to blubber up. I know it." Do you think when his wife was still there he'd come home to the smell of cooking.... but now there's nothing......... He’s on his own, he sleeps in the boat… It just smell like fish all day. The stench gets to him and even the burn of alcohol in his nostrils is a kinder hell. NOW he comes back to the stench of roting flesh and he's like :))) ahh.... my gi rl firned 💖 /j

Selkie Marcille getting onto his boat out of nowhere and slapping the beer bottle out of his hand. It’d go hard if he’s so drunk once that he’s leaning over the railing with his bottle hanging down from his grip and the beer goes into the sea and she tastes it and is like. Now what the fuck is this. Ew. He doesn’t look so good maybe I should splash him with water. She could save him from drowning... Girl who puts him on a rock somewhere until he wakes up and hides in the water as soon as he comes to… Peekinh at him from the surface of the water because, oh dear we're shy now because it's face to face… Drawing parallels between swaying (drunk) and swaying (motion of boat on the sea). She sways his world…… Makes him feel dizzy in a nice, light airy way…… He crashes into his bed in his home and still feels the rocking of the waves under him, and he falls asleep thinking of her…

Go out to the sea in a storm because you can’t stand feeling useless. The sea is your livelihood, it's where you're good and useful. On land you never know what to do with your hands. Maybe he should just let the sea pull him under. let it sweep him away.  Marcille does exactly that, but it's not something that erases him. It's not something that swallows him whole. It's something that shows him a whole other world- The coral reefs, the schools of fish that exist below, the lush seaweed forests that Marcille treasures so much. It's all been there for him to see, theres so much beneath his feet. And all he had to do was let her take his hand. This world full of fish and creatures he's caught and gutted... that he gets to see in a different light…… The idea of him trusting her enough to let her lead him underwater... I think the time that Marcille leads him into the water should be on one beautiful evening, with the water shimmering, and the sun casting rays onto the waters surface- enough that it's still scary at first, enough that Chilchuck still struggles against the salty grasp of the waves, but when marcille takes him under he can see just how the light of the sun casts its spotlight on the seafloor- and how even in the shallows therein lies a thousand wonders, ones he's stepped right over before. I'm just obsessed with chilchuck experiencing a whole nother world in there. Give me childlike wonder. Give me a Marcille who wants to show her grump fucking fisherman boyfriend the cute fishies and the minnows, the pretty hermit crabs. Something about the sea looking different from beneath the waves... The parallels of him on the beach stepping over shells and urchins in the shallows with his boots and just crush them right over, not even noticing he did from force of habit and routine having dulled everything… Him working on the sea all the time but never really seeing it because he’s so absorbed in his own shit and he always just uses the harbor so there’s never real contact with it anyways. When the sea water laps at his forearms when he reels the net in but they feel like lashes of frost against his skin. She'd look really pretty with her hair flowy in the waves............ Marcille’s hair should get used for creepy compositions more… In the water she takes him under and her hair tangles and latch onto him against his skin. Her hair is long, underwater it could engulf him probably, he likes blonde hair he'd be happy with that… Not the lowkey suicidal ideation of letting the sea take him and how he’d be happy suffocating in her hair when doing a dive wow ok

I keep thinking about the Dredge AU… The video game yes yes. It’d be a mess but ohhh ohh the sea and its wonderful world but also its dark secrets, Marcille researching the depths and finding dark powers and idk the tragedy of a man at sea who can’t forget what he’s lost and the mythical gf he made that was never meant to be and it’ll destroy them both idk idk. Bc of Marcille helping him fish from below as a selkie, Senshi like YOU ARE OVERFISHING YOU ARE DESTROYING THE ECOSYSTEMMM @ them lmao You are feeding the whole town and making big bucks but you’re fishing so much that some fish are starting to get stale without being bought, the sea is bleeding and the leviathan is hungry

Maybe one time, one of them gets upset at the other and holds the seal fur hostage, its sooo mean but it also feels very them. When I think selkie I think of the movie Song of the Sea and in that movie the father of the protags loved a selkie, the mother, but she had to leave at one point for the sea because that’s her nature etc etc, but he didn’t want her to leave so he hid her skin which like. Ruined everything and hurt her. And ohhh the parallels… Leaving him… Just food for thought.

Selkie Chil & marine researcher Marcille

The reverse of that where Chil’s the selkie, Marcille’s fascination for him has the reverse angle, almost like admiration too. Crying she’d be like "who’s this mysterious guy, why’s he look kinda ethereal(selkie fairy blablabla)?" and investigates meanwhile he doesn’t want anyone to see him transforming and such so he’s like "leave me aloneeeeeee!!" Selkie chil? secretive man who just wants to chill gets grabbed by the most enthusiastic fairytale-obsessed girl out there. She WILL almost drown trying to say hi. C’mon mister mythical let’s have a storybook romance <3 Jumping in da water and he has to rescue her and immediately gains 100 grey hairs. She gets her storybook ‘saved by the merman’ moment but at what cost. "WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGG" screaming, she gets scolded very much but it all goes in one ear out the other tbh. Selkie Chilchuck is even better with his secretiveness... How do you get around the fact you’re a seal? Iunno I’ve never been a seal Obsessed with the implications of his family in this. Except if his wife and daughters were humans and so his work travels are instead selkie shenanigans going out at sea for months on ends, I imagine they’d be selkies too… Did they get separated? Die? Is Chilchuck’s cowl in this one Flertom’s fur? :(   Once more mentioning sea shanties Chilchuck btw, Roll the Old Chariot comes to mind… Ooough Song of the Sea from the movie that he sung to his daughters <33 I’m fine

With the researcher angle actually being pushed there are interesting plots and scenes you could think of obvi, but uh we kind of went off on the fisherman Chil Marcille selkie AU instead haha. It’d be cute if she ends up teaching him how to live on land in the end. Dresses him up like a funky lil guy. I went with tallman Chil when drawing it and selkie Marcille’s more elf-like, and for selkie Chil I’d imagine it’s the reverse where she’s tallman-like and he still looks like a halfling… Sea-related AUs are my weak spot <33

No matter how you turn it, Marcille is the instigator lol. Selkie Marcille: this little man… I want to know more about this human! Selkie Chilchuck = tries to avoid everything but this Marcille keeps chasing him! It’s her job to, Chilchuck minds his business!! He sees a sliver of something weird out at night? Not his job nope keep your nose out of that it’ll only bring you trouble. It’d have to really itch him at him for him to crack I think… Honestly he’d make a great lovecraftian horror protagonist lol. We love a girl with no chill and her nose in everyone’s business

Shout to to @dayundying, @cabinette, @soappox and @lucky-fydraws!! These people were there for the brainstorming and the writing of the scripture…

[bakuliwrites]

Veins of Gold- Dabi x Reader

Fandom: BNHA/MHA

Relationship: Dabi|Touya Todoroki x Reader

Rating: 18+, MINORS DNI

Tags: Fluff and Smut, Oral S*x, Blowjobs, PIV, Emotional S*x, Soft Dabi, Blood (Dabi's Tears), Shower S*x, Some Angst

Summary: On the one hand, he’s disgusted by how gentle you are; but on the other, Dabi feels a wretched gratitude. A desperate yearning for you to keep going. How long has it been since anyone has shown him any ounce of tenderness? Any iota of softness? You are the only one in his recent memory that has even bothered. And you do it not out of pity or sorrow. But so frustratingly out of love. Dabi hardly feels worthy. Dabi sees himself as a failure, but you are always there to remind him how loved and cherished he truly is.

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

As Dabi stands before the bathroom mirror, he’s reminded of when he was little: sitting on the granite counter, watching his father shave. He was mesmerized by the razor gliding through white, foamy shaving cream. He couldn’t wait to be just like dad, both as a future hero and everything that comes with being an adult. Including shaving. 

“Dad, when will I get to shave?” Touya’s tiny voice asks as he swings his legs back and forth, the hollow reverb of his heels tapping against the cabinets ringing in his ears. To him, shaving is the mark of being a man. Of being old enough to be a hero. Just like dad. And probably just like All Might. 

“When you’re older, Touya,” his father grunts, not taking his eyes off of his own reflection in the mirror. Being older was a concept that was so far out of young Touya’s vision. Being older would take forever and a day. In the meantime, however, he could practice for his impending adulthood. Touya would take to standing next to Enji in the mornings, a razor protected with a safety guard pressed to his chin. His father would squeeze out a bit of shaving cream and slather it on to Touya’s little face, who would then copy his father’s motions. Touya tried so hard to embody everything he thought his father was. Everything his father wanted him to be. 

The very first time Touya tried to actually shave, he was twelve. He’d noticed the tiny outcroppings of stubble on his chin earlier that day. Delighted, he hid himself in the bathroom and pilfered one of his dad’s razors. With shaving cream lathered on his face, he set to work. Almost immediately, he felt the sharp slice of it cutting his fragile skin. Blood trickled down from the thin sliver on his cheek. The wound bled, and bled, and bled. This wasn’t the first time he’d hurt himself in his pursuit of emulating his father. And it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

Now, as Touya stands before the bathroom mirror, Dabi stares back at him. He finds himself inspecting his skin for any open cuts, but not because he’s been shaving. Burned follicles don’t grow hair anymore. Instead, he’s looking to see if he’s sustained any injuries from his latest battle. His lithe body is covered in burns, piercings and staples holding together what remaining healthy flesh he has left. He looks pieced together haphazardly. Like at any moment, his flames could burst through and singe away the remnants of what remains of Touya Todoroki. 

Good, Dabi thinks to himself with a scowl, Let it all burn. What good has my body ever done for me? Weak. Pathetic. Incapable. 

All his body has ever done is betray him. It can’t withstand the power he possesses. What’s the point of having such a beautiful gift if he can’t even use it without hurting himself? His father saw the irony in it. Too bad Touya was too stupid to realize that. 

Dabi cards his fingers through his spiked hair. The face that stares back at him has lost the vibrance of youth, the enthusiasm of his childhood. Touya is worn down, weary, crumpled. Dabi’s wrath flickers in his irises, blue flame swimming in pools of white, the dark center of his pupils deep, abyssal.

So much for making his father proud. Dabi is the embodiment of Enji’s disappointment. His scarred skin is a daily reminder of Touya’s ultimate failure. Sure, his firepower rivals Endeavor's. Maybe even surpasses it. But the sacrifice he’s had to make to attain that level of power has been monumental. His purpled, pierced, stapled skin is proof enough. 

Haggard, he lets his hands rest against the counter and hangs his head. Sometimes, looking at himself is painful. He can feel the memory of flame, searing his skin, making it blister and burn. The ashen air of the forest scalding his esophagus, parching his lungs. The puckered, leathery bags under his eyes make him look constantly exhausted. So much of his skin is that way now: tired. What a gruesome sight, he thinks to himself.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly, noticing the trickle of blood pooling from one of the staples in his cheek. He must’ve snagged it on his shirt when he was undressing. Frequently, his clothing or bedsheets get caught on his piercings, tugging at the metal and, in turn, pulling at his skin. He’s gotten used to the feeling, often not noticing until he finds a dark little spot of dried blood. 

Dabi grabs a nearby washcloth, wetting it under some warm water and pressing it against his cheek. He hardly notices you entering the room until he feels your hands snake around his waist, gently ghosting along his hip bones and settling on his stomach. You must have heard his outcry, summoned by the whispered profanity. The tiny, featherlight kisses you lay upon the length of his spine attempt to gently pull him from his self-flagellation. Even if you have no idea what’s going through his head right now, he knows you can probably tell. 

“Hmm,” you hum against him as your lips reach his shoulder blade, “What are you thinking about?” 

Failure. Disappointment. All the weak, negative emotions he wouldn’t dare show anyone else in the League. Dabi is confident. Cocky. Nonchalant. To the rest of the world, he’s enigmatic and driven, passionate and grandiose. He puts on a show for everyone else in order to hide the soft, vulnerable corpse of Touya buried in his soul. He shrouds himself in hatred and anger. A protective cloak of flame that drives back anyone who tries to guess at who he really is. 

However, your gentility has always been capable of drawing him out of his darkness. Your touch is a beacon in a foggy sea, piercing light out of a curtain of dense, impenetrable mist. Before he can say anything to you, you come around to his side, noticing the washcloth he’s got pressed against his face. He feels his tense muscles loosen at your touch, the heaviness of his thoughts lifted just a little.

“Did you cut yourself again?” you whisper softly, brows furrowed with concern. 

“Yeah. Damn staple got caught on my shirt,” he returns, chuckling ruefully. You gesture for him to hand you the washcloth and he obliges. Tenderly, you dab at the wound, careful not to snag the cloth on the staple either. Crimson blooms across the surface of the white towel, the scent of iron hanging in the air, sharp and metallic. Dabi gazes at you, wondering why you’re with him, before glancing at himself in the mirror. He can’t fathom why you’d want to touch his gnarled, scarred skin. He reaches down to rest his hands on your hips, feeling the hint of bone beneath soft, supple skin. Every inch of you is plush, a welcome sensation on his calloused fingertips. Dabi is edges, angles, sharpness, while you are velvety, rounded, tender.

You set the washcloth down on the counter before gently tracing the divide between Dabi’s scarred and unscarred skin. His burns are wrinkled, leathery under your touch, a sensation only broken when you graze one of the smooth metal piercings that hold him together.

“Pretty gross, huh?” he puts forth, watching curiously as you move to caress the angles of his cheeks. “Gross,” not because they’re scars. “Gross,” because they are constant reminders of what a letdown Touya was to his father. In their folds, they collect Dabi’s self-loathing and malcontent. Every day, he marvels at the fact that you don’t pull your hand away in disgust when you touch him. He wonders if you can feel the wells of resentment that pool in every wrinkle.

“Not in the slightest,” you return quietly, a loving beam dancing on your lips. You rest your hands on either side of his face. Your eyes are searching for other cuts he might’ve missed. On the one hand, he’s disgusted by how gentle you are; but on the other, Dabi feels a wretched gratitude. A desperate yearning for you to keep going. How long has it been since anyone has shown him any ounce of tenderness? Any iota of softness? You are the only one in his recent memory that has even bothered. And you do it not out of pity or sorrow. But so frustratingly out of love. Dabi hardly feels worthy.

“You’re like Kintsugi,” you suggest. He looks quizzically at you, yanked abruptly from his melancholic ruminations.

“What?” he questions, tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion. Another soft smile from you. That damn smile.

“Kintsugi,” you repeat, “It’s the art of piecing broken pottery back together with gold.” As you say this, you slide a thumb over one of the gilded piercings underneath his eye. 

“Much like a vase or a bowl that’s been broken, you’re being held together again by veins of gold. You might’ve been shattered by something in your past, but you didn’t let it break you,” you go on, tone suffused with affection. Dabi merely stares at you, wide-eyed and confused. Normally he would scoff at something like that. Say, “That’s stupid,” and dismiss the idea. But for some reason, when you say it, it’s endearing .  

“I don’t think anyone’s ever compared me to a bowl before,” he teases, trying to downplay the sentiment. He’s not sure he’s worthy of being compared to an artwork as elegant as that. He feels more like he’s been pieced back together with thin concrete and jagged shards of metal.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything!” you laugh, lighting up the tiny bathroom with your smile. And Dabi finds himself smiling with you, though he raises a skeptical eyebrow at your suggestion. Your look softens once again as you caress the pads of your thumbs against the angles of his cheekbones. 

You make Dabi feel seen. Heard. Paid attention to. And not for his potential to surpass a great hero. Not for his power or any expectations you might have of him. You don’t have any expectations and you certainly haven’t imposed any on him. You embrace him, Dabi, Touya, as he is. At this very moment in time. You don’t see him as Touya, who will surpass All Might. Or Dabi, who will end Endeavor (and likely himself in the process). You have asked for nothing in return. Your kindness and love have never been conditional. This is the first time in a long time he’s felt companionship without obligation or condition.

“I think you wear your strength beautifully, Touya,” you breathe. Touya, he loves it when his name, his real name, flutters from your lips. You’re the only one that gets to call him that now. It’s a secret the two of you share. Soon, the world will know it. But not yet. For now, he’s Dabi to everyone else, but you.

Dabi, Touya, whoever he is, grits his teeth. He can't cry anymore. Not since he burned away his tear ducts. But he can feel the sting of evaporated tears in his eyes. Dammit, why is he so emotional around you? Dabi pinches the bridge of his nose, squinting and turning away. He doesn't want you to see him like this. Weak, tragic. He bites his tongue, hoping it’ll stop the impending flow of sanguine tears. 

"Hey," you whisper gently, turning him towards you, pressing kiss after kiss to his jawline, all the way to the corners of his lips. 

His singed ducts leak warm blood. It flows down his cheeks, stains them crimson, and drips to the floor beneath. The droplets splatter, tiny massacres on the clean ground. He feels your thumbs on his cheeks, quick to wipe up his metallic tears. It's all too much sometimes: his self-hatred battling with your uplifting words. Your constant, radiant affection. 

Dabi feels frustrated that he's not able to as easily express his love for you as you are for him. Often he feels pent up, stifled, unsure of how to go about showing you how much you mean to him. You grace him with your love so easily, so readily. All he feels he can do is greedily accept it and hope you know how much you mean to him. But that doesn't cut it for him. No, he needs to show you.

He leans down, breath fanning softly against your lips as he whispers, “You’re too good to me.” 

A breathless tension hovers between you before you make the move to close the distance, tongue tracing his parted lips, begging for entrance, while his hands ghost along your curves. As your palms smooth over the lean muscles of his abdomen, Dabi deepens the kiss, tongue grazing your teeth. Your nails drag along his stomach, sending electric tingles throughout his whole body. Your kisses grow sloppy, yearning and needy. Dabi’s hands can’t get enough of you. He’s kneading the supple flesh of your thighs, grabbing handfuls of your ass, and wanting desperately to free the strain in his pants. Your hand moves to palm his growing bulge, drawing from Dabi a salacious moan. 

He’s tugging at your shirt, parting from you just long enough to slip it over your head. He smirks at the whimper you release when he lifts you into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Join me in the shower?” he breathes between kisses. All you can do is nod enthusiastically, unable to form words as Dabi dips his head to ensnare the pert bud of your nipple between his teeth. He carries you towards the shower, setting you down to get the water started. While you wait for it to warm up, Dabi toys with the hem of your underwear, tickling the tender flesh of your pelvis before dipping his fingers into your heat. He drags two along your wet folds, sucking a breath in through his teeth as you make quick work of his pants. They drop to the ground, pooling around his feet, followed by his underwear. His cock springs free, relieving some of his building pressure. 

“So wet, just for me, babygirl,” Dabi purrs, mischief dancing in his cerulean eyes. His fingers are slick with you as he teases your entrance, hungrily capturing your lips again. Your tragic mewls and pathetic whines are music to his ears as he thrusts two of his fingers into your entrance, his thumb circling your clit. He feels your fingers grasp his dick, swiping your thumb over the bead of cum that sits at his tip. His moan reverberates through your chest as you pump rhythmically, slow and languorous. He follows suit, fingers moving slow and purposeful. He holds out his free hand under the shower stream, checking to see if it’s warm enough for you. Satisfied, he quickly withdraws himself from you, chuckling at the whimper you release as he leaves you empty.

His smirk is positively devilish as he meets your eye. His gaze is intense, dark with lust, as he slips his two slick fingers into his mouth. He licks them clean, dragging his fingers torturously slow past his lips, releasing them with a wet pop.

"Fuck, doll, you taste delicious," Dabi groans, gently pushing you into the shower and shutting the glass door behind the two of you. 

“Touya, you’re terrible,” you coo, and he can’t get enough of how flushed you are. He’s blazing, heat building in his core, fire burning through his veins. As soon as the water hits his skin, it starts to evaporate, filling the shower with steam. He pulls you close to him, your body flush to his. His erection prods at your stomach while his hands massage your tits. He’s about to lean down to capture your lips with his again when your eyes fill with an impish glee.

“Sit,” you command, lips curving into a coy smile. Dabi’s dick twitches with your demanding tone. God, he loves it when you take control. He obliges, like a good boy, sitting himself down on the little stone ledge in the corner of the shower. His cock curves upwards, sitting pretty against his stomach, cum glistening at the tip. There’s a flash of white hair at the base of his dick, leading up in a fine line towards his navel. He watches with wide, blue eyes as you kneel before him, trailing kiss after kiss up the insides of his thighs. You’re extra careful over any of his staples and burned skin, nibbling gently and only leaving love-bites on his healthier flesh. 

“Shit,” he grunts as you inch closer to his cock. You giggle, clearly delighted by Dabi’s blushing cheeks and dopey, glazed look. Your eyes are filled with a playful light as you press a light kiss to Dabi’s swollen tip. He lets his head fall back as you drag your tongue along his length, a raspy groan escaping his lips. Your fingers grasp his thighs, digging into them, while you take him in your mouth. Your skilful tongue swirls around his tip. He tries his best not to move too much, but he can’t help the bucking of his hips as you bob your head up and down. 

Dabi grasps at the glass for purchase, pressing his palm to the steamy surface, leaving behind a smeared handprint as you take him even further into you. His legs are shaking with how close he is, but he’s not quite ready to finish yet.

“Fuck, baby, so close,” he grunts, vapor rolling off his overheated body, “Wanna- come inside you.” 

With his struggling plea, you let your mouth slide off his cock, rising to smash your lips against his. He returns your hungry kiss with equal desperation, tasting himself on you, salty and warm. He pulls you onto his lap, hands gliding with ease over your slick curves. He can’t get enough of you as he lines you up over his erection, slowly lowering you onto him. You moan into him, filling him like burning smoke. His hands grip your ass, fingers digging into your tender flesh. He holds you there a moment, the feeling of your tight cunt around his sensitive dick making him joyously dizzy. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, pulsing up into you. 

“Ah!” you gasp, grasping the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck, “Touya, you make me feel so amazing.” 

You grind your hips into his, the lewd slap of skin on skin made even louder by how soaked the two of you are in the shower stream. Inside you, Dabi feels whole. He feels safe, loved, complete. He envelops you in his arms, holding you close as you ride him, your lips finding their way to the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Here, in the sanctity of your home, in the safety of this shower, Dabi forgets what it means to be forgotten. To be abandoned. The world the two of you inhabit is temporarily limited to this steamy shower, hidden in an eden of vapor and water. 

When Dabi exhales, a wispy trail of smoke pours from his lips. You ignite him, warm lamplight on a pleasant summer night. He’s drunk on you: on your body, your adoration and love. He draws you up, feeling your walls shuddering around his twitching cock. He presses his forehead to yours, wanting to feel as close as he possibly can while the two of you come undone. 

“Touya,” he hears you breathe over the gentle roar of the shower. Your eyes are bright, the corners crinkling joyously as you twitter, “You’re beautiful. So beautiful, my darling.” 

Dabi feels himself break. Never in a million years would he have imagined himself here, cocooned by your warmth and affection, learning how to love himself. Learning that he is loved and cared for and cherished by someone. His cock twitches one final time before Dabi releases into you, threads of hot cum filling you to the brim. Your walls pulse around him and your eyes squeeze shut as you ride Dabi through your orgasm. Your pace is erratic, hips rocking against his. Your lips crash into his, fervent kisses passed back and forth as you each reach ecstasy. 

Dabi feels tears spill over his cheekbones, but this time, they’re not imbued with blood. Molten gold flows from him, snaking in sparkling rivers down his face, pooling in his scars. Your whispered, “I love you, Touya,” graces his ears. He returns this with equal fervor. 

When Dabi is positive he’s spent himself in you, he makes sure you’ve ridden him to your content. He litters your collarbone and breasts with kisses as you catch your breath. He carefully slips himself out of you, feeling his hot cum dripping down your thighs. When you lean back, he beams at your flushed cheeks and radiant smile. Black hair dye drips down his shoulders, washing away and circling the drain, leaving the hair on his head a stark white. You gently card your fingers through it.

“You are stronger than you know, Touya,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his, “You are so loved. So adored.”  

He presses his forehead to yours, letting his eyelids fall shut as you wrap your arms around him. You remind him that he is not a failure. He is not a disappointment or a burden or forgotten. All the pain of the past, the agony of his present, and the impending future are forgotten when he is encompassed in your light. His body isn’t entirely useless. It can bring pleasure to someone dear to him. It can bring pleasure to himself, too. His flames are destructive, but he does not always have to destroy. He can create, he can build, and he has you to remind him of that. 

“Kintsugi, ” he murmurs, finding endless comfort in the way your fingers softly brush through the pale strands of his hair, “I guess I can get used to being compared to a bowl.”

Your chuckle makes him smile.

“A very beautiful bowl,” you laugh as he beams, pressing his lips to yours. 

A/N: Finally finished this fic! It's been a lot of waffling back and forth between what direction I wanted to go with it, and from it, several other Dabi fics have been born. Those won't come out for a little bit though. But you can certainly look forward to more Dabi smut from me! For now, I wanted to write something soft and spicy for him. I adore Dabi. I think he is so beautiful and passionate. I love him as a villain. His backstory is so very sorrowful. I wanted to give him some comfort and peace. As always, thank you for reading! Any likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I hope you are all doing well in this new year! Lots of love!

[sweepingboy]

"General Ming Guang is doing palm reading!"

Gods surround the ruler of North giggling and shoving each other like a bunch of teens. They're hooting and hollering as they listen to old Pei's fortune telling, teasing each other. Sex, love... It seems that some topics will always bug people no matter how many centuries they lived.

Mu Qing rolls his eyes at them but keeps watching from his seat across the table as Pei Ming masterfully flirts with young goddesses clearly abusing his palm reading excuse as he brushes his lips against their delicate hands. They blush and squeak and look at the deity oh so hopefully.

Mu Qing came in terms with his fate long time ago - always in a rush he had no time to fool around. He took his vows, sharpening himself like a sword. A blade that had passed the fire of the forge and the icy waters, the singing steel praising the scarlet drops on the grim metal. Protecting attacking - he has a duty, he chose it himself 800 years ago.

He feels a tug in the ribcage as Pei Ming grabs Xie Lian's hand.

" Ho-ho!, Your Highness! I see a long and happy marriage" Ming Guang winks "death won't be enough to set you apart!" The prince blushes and laughs awkwardly placing a hand over his chest where, Mu Qing knows, the diamond ring is hidden. He clenches fists under the table the bandages digging uncomfortably into his skin.

Quietly he gets up and leaves.

Gentle wind plays with his hair as he stands in the shadows of the garden feeling like a shadow himself; frozen in his power he watches the life passing leaving him behind.

"General Xuan Zhen," familiar voice calls "may I have your hand?"

Mu Qing sighs in annoyance as steady footsteps approach him "I'm not interested, Ming Guang."

"Xuan Zhen," the other general teases " is this how you treat your elders?"

Mu Qing scoffs at him, while Pei Ming smiles charmingly. Exasperated, he lifts his hand and starts taking off the bandages slowly, arranging them into a neat roll as he does so. Inch by inch he reveals areas of burned skin - some pale pink, healing already, some still aggressively red. At least they aren't wet with ichor he thinks. He hated feeling moist cloth against his skin.

General Ming Guang takes his hand carefully.

He traces the lines gently - Mu Qing thought they wouldn't be visible at all remembering how tight was his grip on the red-hot hilt of Zhanmadao but they are even more defined like that, long curves against the puffed flesh.

"Your heart is covered in thorns."

"How original."

"Shush! You're listening to me now, young man!" "It's hard for a living creature to get through the thorn bushes."

Mu Qing rolls his eyes "It's not how you read a palm."

"Many people see it as cruel and dead" the god continues patiently "but I can see that this heart has bled enough. General you have lived many troubled years without warmth - but you know what cold is because you have something to compare it to" the younger god listens to him, as calloused bog fingers dance over the creases of his skin "This stubborn heart will do anything for those it cares about. It will endure pain, reproach, misunderstandings. I like that little guy."

"My dear Xuan Zhen," Pei Ming's thumb is gently massaging the center of the palm "you carry the most beautiful rose in your chest. A lover worthy of you should be willing to prick himself dozens of times to see it's bud. And you must be ready to let it bloom when the time comes."

"If the time comes." Mu Qing whispers.

Pei Ming calmly looks him on the eyes "When. The Heavens are full of brave men."

"Thank you general" he says quietly " I will treasure your very accurate detailed prediction."

"Sure. Want me to do your horoscope too?"

"Please spare me that honour."

Pei Ming laughs and hugs him with one hand and Mu Qing can feel a small smile forming on his lips.

[roblogging]

i abandoned this wip a while ago and completely stopped writing it but 👉🏻👈🏻 i wanna share some of it bc i think it's pretty decent 👉🏻👈🏻

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Trauma is… complex, at the best of times. Harry knows this. He’s listened to Mind Healer after Mind Healer explain the intricacies of it - about how his trauma is not only woven into the creases of his brain and his daily life, but that his magical core is fraying as well. Slowly, yes, but it’s fraying. Ripping apart at the seams until he’s either wasting away, or no more magical than a muggle.

Harry can’t help but find this painfully ironic.

To be brought into a world that you knew nothing about, to spend your formative teenage years fighting for not only your life - the fight would’ve ended a lot sooner if that were the case - but for everybody. People who know your name and your story but not you. People who would weep if they heard about what happened in the Forbidden Forest, not because they care about him individually, but because for some reason, this 11 year old boy found in a cupboard is their pinnacle of hope.

To be brought to a school you’ve heard nothing about, to sit in an office with a man you trusted with your life, only to find out that he’s the reason you have it at all. That he’s the reason you’re here, standing in vast hallways or sitting in a crowded common room, keeping tabs on everyone that could potentially harm him rather than joining in on teenage antics.

To be brought up as a soldier that didn’t have a choice, to spend nine months carting around finding Horcruxes whilst the rest of the world holds their breath waiting for the finale. Spending months upon months finding pieces of a rotted soul, and not realising that for every part you find, your own is rotting. Pieces of yourself you can never get back and instead of receiving concern or help, you’re applauded.

To win. To win this egregious fight, to outdo every wizard that has tried before and be shown off on stage like some precious antique with indescribable worth, to look out at faces of people who admire you and all you want is for the cupboard door to open once more and wake you up.

All of this, and so much more, and his magical core is fraying? The very thing that brought him here - that led to every loss, every fight, every death - is folding in upon itself?

The Mind Healer called him ‘self-aware’ when he pointed out all the reasons his core is dying.

Yeah, Harry thinks, that’s the problem.

Because whilst Harry might be self-aware, he was never self-preservative.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

He’s overly aware of everything as he leans over to the bedside table to top up his glass with the bottle placed there: aware of the sound of amber liquid falling into crystal glass, aware of the weight of it in his hand and the way his wrist twists to bring it to his lips, aware of the slightly sticky feeling of it over his tongue, and far too aware of the burning down his throat, through to his stomach. A burn that never quite fades really.

The alcohol will stop burning after a couple of seconds, the shame won’t. The guilt won’t. Harry won’t stop burning up from the inside out.

As forms of dying go, burning isn’t high on the list. Actually, Harry would argue that it would be an awful way to go and he has the scars on his calves and the unforgettable scent of burning flesh embedded in his nose to support this.

Is burning the right word to use? He isn’t sure. He’s not sure of much right now, but burning feels wrong. Burning implies speed and ferocity, like one moment an object is fine, the next it’s burning, and the next it’s gone. Harry isn’t burning. He’s doing something slower, potentially more excruciating - he’s singeing - lighting superficially, slowly, quietly. The kind of flame that could be put out before it reaches its peak if someone cared to notice.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Guilt, as he opens up the door to Teddy’s nursery and walks over to the crying form in the crib. Guilt, as he picks him up and cradles him as best he can, bouncing him slightly up and down and knowing that his arms weren’t built for this, that these arms aren’t the ones Teddy needs. He needs his parents. He needs capable, loving, consistent parents. Andromeda is a fine substitute, a mighty one even, but it takes a village and Harry's barely a resident of his.

“Shh, shhh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Harry continues to mumble to Teddy as he paces slowly around the room, rubbing a hand up and down his back to try to quench the sobs. He doesn’t know exactly how long it takes, but eventually Teddy quiets down and is grasping at Harry’s hair.

“Do you wanna give that back? No? Okay.” Harry watches through slightly foggy eyes as Teddy’s short mass of light brown hair turns black and disorganised on his head, falling slightly into his eyes without Harry’s signature glasses there to prevent it.

Harry pushes the hair out of Teddy’s now smiling face, his eyes catching on the right side of his forehead. The clear, unmarked, right side of his forehead - just above his brow, edging towards his hairline.

Green eyes staring back at him, a mess of black hair held back by his fingers, a nose slowly shifting shape - the technicalities of bone structure still too complex for a 1-year-old to accomplish.

It feels like looking into a mirror. Not your usual one, not a perfect reflection. Not one quite like the Mirror of Erised either, but somewhere in between - somewhere between desire and reality, where Harry is gazing at a copy of him that isn’t hindered by the jagged stretch of skin and all it contains. A copy of him, born at the end of a war, orphaned, too young to understand why Mummy and Daddy aren’t coming back.

Too young to understand why Harry is crying right now.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

[moondirti]

Ok but like… catch Simon smoking one day and you just, sit on his lap, and kiss the smoke out of his mouth and it tastes like smoke and bourbon😍😍😍 mans would go feral I think

all i do is turn cute thoughts angsty. no i will not apologise i would recommend you read 'cigarettes out the window' before this. not entirely necessary, i just make references to it you might not understand otherwise. ghost x scout (reader) warnings: smoking, nicotine addiction, shotgun kisses

You find him on the roof, reeking of singed leaf and tobacco. Your lungs battle the frigid cold that pours through a sharp inhale; you desperately cling to the traces you can catch. It's a smell you're well accustomed with - an old friend that's quick to curl it's relentless grip around you. Even now, you lean into it.

Just when you'd gotten good at battling the urge.

He hates it when you smoke. Though it never stops him from frequenting the bad habit himself.

The thought filters, flares, then sinks to a faint nothing at the base of your skull. It's hard to focus on your shortcomings when he's this close - you digest the sight of him; imposing, a spill of ink against the backdrop of snow. In the never ending cover, you're barely able to make out the tendrils of grey that stream from a thin cigarette, clutched between thick fingers.

(Comical, almost. It looks like a toothpick in his clutch).

"So, you took my lighter."

His shoulders tense for a small moment - barely perceptible, you'd be the only one to notice.

But they do, of course. You have an odd habit of sneaking up on people.

"I told you I'd confiscate it." He doesn't turn to face you. Instead, he pulls another puff. You think you can feel it flood you. Head rush, buzzing adrenaline.

Or, maybe that's him. Almost eight months since Sudbury now, and you're still dizzy over the situation you've happened upon.

"I've been good, though." You whisper, almost whine, and come up behind him. He's sat on a ledge, his legs hanging off the edge. You wrap your arms around his shoulders both for the sake of it and the smallest fear that he fall off.

But Simon's a figure forged of resolute steel, tempered in some planet's core that far supersedes the burn of this world. Gunpowder. Nuclear fallout. Butane, swishing liquid inside the all-black lighter Soap had gifted you for Christmas.

It's all ye ever wear, Scout. Didnae know whit else ye'd like.

Nothing tips him over.

Almost.

(You graze your lips on the cut of his jaw - bared, now, with the balaclava rucked to his nose - and feel as his muscles flex underneath several layers of cotton.)

"We both know you're not up here for me, pet." He growls, the depth of it registering tenfold in your new proximity. His voice, thick with a cockney diction, seeps like molasses and hardens on the gummy lining of your lungs.

Your pocket heaves with the weight of a new pack. He's right.

"Hm. No, not originally. Bummed a lighter from Price."

"Then?"

You kiss his jaw again, a week old stubble chafing over your lips.

"Then, God had other plans."

A gale moves in from the North, biting at your cheeks. You can't see it, but you imagine Simon's nose is red, blushed in that way only you got to see on a regular basis. You bury your face into his neck to hide the fond smile that threatens to crack your face.

Timbre. Wet rain on a campfire. That sandalwood shampoo he still insists on using no matter how many alternatives you buy him.

From the shift of his body underneath yours, you assume he takes another drag. But he doesn't shrink with an exhale, not for a while.

When you look up quizzically, his lips touch yours. Just barely, a soft graze of chapped flesh, cold and split at the corner from where he was punched just last night.

Your nose ignites, smouldering acridity, tarnished herbs doused in the aftertaste of bourbon. You don't know why you stumble - whether it's the kiss, the shotgun, or the terrifying relief of an old vice. All there is are the gentle cradle of snowfall on your lashes, half-lidded, and the behemoth that breathes temptation to your gut.

"Hope you're not too disappointed, pet."

(Never.)

[my-name-is-apollo]

Hello! I'm currently trying to research the ways Apollo would be worshipped and prayed to by his followers in everyday-life for a writing project but I'm struggling to find any sources on actual practices and rituals, whether from the ancient Greeks or present-day worshippers.

do you know of any reliable sources for ancient Greek practices or anyone who does work with Apollo that I could ask directly?

Hello! The usual way to worship Greek deities seems to have been making an altar for the god, offering some sacrifices, praying to them and pouring libation. This was also accompanied with music, songs and dances - and I can give you a lot of instances for this. This was common to almost all the gods I believe, and the difference was probably that certain kinds of offerings were given to certain gods.

Since you asked specifically about Apollo, here are some instances I have found:

[Apollo]: and in as much as at the first on the hazy sea I sprang upon the swift ship in the form of a dolphin, pray to me as Apollo Delphinius; also the altar itself shall be called Delphinius and overlooking for ever. Afterwards, sup beside your dark ship and pour an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. But when you have put away craving for sweet food, come with me singing the hymn Ie Paean (Hail, Healer!), until you come to the place where you shall keep my rich temple.

- Homeric hymn to Apollo (Trans. Evelyn-White)

Here Apollo himself instructs the Cretan sailors on how to worship him. And they do the as instructed:

Also they made an altar upon the beach of the sea, and when they had lit a fire, made an offering of white meal, and prayed standing around the altar as Apollo had bidden them. Then they took their meal by the swift, black ship, and poured an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. And when they had put away craving for drink and food, they started out with the lord Apollo, the son of Zeus, to lead them, holding a lyre in his hands, and playing sweetly as he stepped high and featly. So the Cretans followed him to Pytho, marching in time as they chanted the Ie Paean after the manner of the Cretan paean-singers and of those in whose hearts the heavenly Muse has put sweet-voiced song.

- Homeric hymn to Apollo (Trans. Evelyn-White)

In the Iliad, the Greeks also do something similar when they bring back Chryseis in order to appease Apollo:

They brought forth the hecatomb for Apollo, who strikes from afar, and forth stepped also the daughter of Chryses from the sea-faring ship. Her then did Odysseus of many wiles lead to the altar, and place in the arms of her dear father, saying to him: "Chryses, Agamemnon, king of men, sent me forth to bring to you your daughter, and to offer to Phoebus a holy hecatomb on the Danaans' behalf, that therewith we may propitiate the lord, who has now brought upon the Argives woeful lamentation." So saying he placed her in his arms, and he joyfully took his dear child; but they made haste to set in array for the god the holy hecatomb around the well-built altar, and then they washed their hands and took up the barley grains. Then Chryses lifted up his hands, and prayed aloud for them: "Hear me, god of the silver bow, who stands over Chryse and holy Cilla, and rules mightily over Tenedos. As before you heard me when I prayed—to me you did honour, and mightily smote the host of the Achaeans—even so now fulfill me this my desire: ward off now from the Danaans the loathly pestilence." So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. Then, when they had prayed, and had sprinkled the barley grains, they first drew back the victims' heads, and cut their throats, and flayed them, and cut out the thighs and covered them with a double layer of fat, and laid raw flesh thereon. And the old man burned them on stakes of wood, and made libation over them of gleaming wine; and beside him the young men held in their hands the five-pronged forks. But when the thigh-pieces were wholly burned, and they had tasted the entrails, they cut up the rest and spitted it, and roasted it carefully, and drew all off the spits. Then, when they had ceased from their labour and had made ready the meal, they feasted, nor did their hearts lack anything of the equal feast. But when they had put from them the desire for food and drink, the youths filled the bowls brim full of drink and served out to all, first pouring drops for libation into the cups. So the whole day long they sought to appease the god with song, singing the beautiful paean, the sons of the Achaeans, hymning the god who works from afar; and his heart was glad, as he heard.

You can find more examples in Argonautica by Apollonius Rhodes:

1.402: Next, piling up shingle near the sea, they raised there an altar on the shore to Apollo, under the name of Actius and Embasius, and quickly spread above it logs of dried olive-wood. Meantime the herdsmen of Aeson's son had driven before them from the herd two steers. These the younger comrades dragged near the altars, and the others brought lustral water and barley meal, and Jason prayed, calling on Apollo the god of his fathers:

1.452: [after saying his prayer] He spake, and with his prayer cast the barley meal. And they two girded themselves to slay the steers, proud Ancaeus and Heracles. The latter with his club smote one steer mid-head on the brow, and falling in a heap on the spot, it sank to the ground; and Ancaeus struck the broad neck of the other with his axe of bronze, and shore through the mighty sinews; and it fell prone on both its horns. Their comrades quickly severed the victims' throats, and flayed the hides: they sundered the joints and carved the flesh, then cut out the sacred thigh bones, and covering them all together closely with fat burnt them upon cloven wood. And Aeson's son poured out pure libations, and Idmon rejoiced beholding the flame as it gleamed on every side from the sacrifice, and the smoke of it mounting up with good omen in dark spiral columns.

1.961: Here they built an altar to Ecbasian Apollo and set it up on the beach, and gave heed to sacrifices. And the king of his own bounty gave them sweet wine and sheep in their need; for he had heard a report that whenever a godlike band of heroes should come, straightway he should meet it with gentle words and should have no thought of war.

2.694: and at length Orpheus spake as follows, addressing the chiefs: "Come, let us call this island the sacred isle of Apollo of the Dawn since he has appeared to all, passing by at dawn; and we will offer such sacrifices as we can, building an altar on the shore; and if hereafter he shall grant us a safe return to the Haemonian land, then will we lay on his altar the thighs of horned goats. And now I bid you propitiate him with the steam of sacrifice and libations. Be gracious, O king, be gracious in thy appearing." Thus he spake, and they straightway built up an altar with shingle; and over the island they wandered, seeking if haply they could get a glimpse of a fawn or a wild goat, that often seek their pasture in the deep wood. And for them Leto's son provided a quarry; and with pious rites they wrapped in fat the thigh bones of them all and burnt them on the sacred altar, celebrating Apollo, Lord of Dawn. And round the burning sacrifice they set up a broad dancing-ring, singing, "All hail fair god of healing, Phoebus, all hail", and with them Oiagrus' goodly son began a clear lay on his Bistonian lyre; how once beneath the rocky ridge of Parnassus he slew with his bow the monster Delphyne, he, still young and beardless, still rejoicing in his long tresses.

2.911: Quickly they drew in sail and threw out hawsers, and on the strand paid honour to the tomb of Sthenelus, and poured out drink offerings to him and sacrificed sheep as victims. And besides the drink offerings they built an altar to Apollo, saviour of ships, and burnt thigh bones; and Orpheus dedicated his lyre; whence the place has the name of Lyra.

4.1694: and they made for Apollo a glorious abode in a shady wood, and a shady altar, calling on Phoebus the "Gleamer" (Aigletes), because of the gleam far-seen; and that bare island they called Anaphe, for that Phoebus had revealed it to men sore bewildered. And they sacrificed all that men could provide for sacrifice on a desolate strand; wherefore when Medea's Phaeacian handmaids saw them pouring water for libations on the burning brands, they could no longer restrain laughter within their bosoms, for that ever they had seen oxen in plenty slain in the halls of Alcinous.

- Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica (trans. Robert Cooper Seaton)

Notice how often the Argonauts had nothing fancy to offer, but they managed with whatever they could get, and I suppose this held good for day to day worship.

And then you have the Hyperboreans, who are said to be constantly singing as a form of everyday worship:

Moreover, the following legend is told concerning it: Leto was born on this island, and for that reason Apollon is honoured among them above all other gods; and the inhabitants are looked upon as priests of Apollon, after a manner, since daily they praise this god continuously in song and honour him exceedingly. And there is also on the island both a magnificent sacred precinct of Apollon and a notable temple which is adorned with many votive offerings and is spherical in shape. Furthermore, a city is there which is sacred to this god, and the majority of its inhabitants are players on the cithara; and these continually play on this instrument in the temple and sing hymns of praise to the god, glorifying his deeds.

- Diodorus Siculus, Library of History (trans. Oldfather)

They were also said to have regularly asses for Apollo:

Yet was it with these that Perseus the warrior chief once feasted, entering their homes, and chanced upon their sacrifices unto the god, those famous offerings of hecatombs of asses; for in their banquets and rich praise Apollon greatly delights, and laughs to see the rampant lewdness of those brutish beasts.

- Pindar, Pythian Ode 10 (trans. Conway)

There is also this interesting story:

Apollon and Artemis had a very great affection for him [the Babylonian man Klinis (Clinis)] and he frequently attended with these gods the temple of Apollon in the land of the Hyperboreoi where he saw the consecration of the sacrifices of asses to the god. Returning to Babylon, he too wanted to worship the god as among the Hyperboreans and arranged by the altar a hecatomb of asses. Apollon appeared and threatened him with death if he did not cease from this sacrifice and did not offer up to him the usual goats, sheep and cattle. For this sacrifice of asses was a source of pleasure for the god only if carried out by the Hyperboreans.

- Antoninus Liberalis, Metamorphoses 20 (trans. Celoria)

So goats, sheep and cows were the usual sacrifices made to him. Wine and water could be used as libation. There was also a practice of offering cake to Apollo:

Enthrypton : Made of pastry; a flat-scone, that is. Alternatively, cake crumbs. Some associate it with initiation-rites. And Apollon is called Enthryptos amongst the Athenians.

- Suidas s.v. Apollon (trans. Suda On Line)

And Pythagoras was said to have forbade all animal sacrifices when praying to Apollo Genetor (giver of life), so non-animal sacrifices were also there (Jason also offered barley meal in Apollonius' Argonautica).

Anyway, this is what I could find. I hope that answered your question, at least as far as the textual evidences go. As for modern day worshippers, I've known @teawiththegods for a long time. She also has a podcast/YouTube channel to help beginners, so you can def check that out!

[fatkish]

Demon Slayer Story Idea

Reader is the child of Yoriichi Tsugikuni and Minako Kibutsuji. Minako was Muzan’s little sister who loved him and stayed by his side, choosing to refrain from enjoying the life her elder brother could not. Instead choosing to stay by her sickly brother’s side as a means to make him feel less lonely. Unlike her older brother, Minako was incredibly kind and compassionate. She took care of Muzan and spent her days reading books to him, singing to him and helping him take his mind off his illness. Despite knowing that Muzan was unlikely to get better she promised him that when he does get better they would go explore and experience the things he couldn’t together. She promised not to leave his side and that even if he were to succumb to his illness that she would commit Seppuku so they’ll be together in the afterlife.

As the siblings grew, his little sister’s beauty became well known causing many suitors to request her hand in marriage. Despite her dreams of a happy marriage and becoming a mother, she would always turn down any and all requests in spite of keeping her brother company. Even with her brother’s disbelief and befuddlement at her constant refusal and rejection to the chances of living out her dreams. When confronted by her brother, who continuously told her she was being foolish, she remained steadfast and loyal to her promise she made him.

Although touched by Minako’s loyalty, he was not blind to his beloved sister’s moments of sorrowful daydreaming. Eventually the doctor came who would be responsible for creating the medicine that would turn Muzan into the Demon king. Even though Muzan was practically healed entirely, except for his burning in sunlight (and consumption of human flesh which he hid from his sister), she still refused to live out her dream. Dumbfounded and awed by Minako’s loyalty and devotion to him, stating that she’ll only pursue her dream when he can stand in the sun’s light.

Muzan realized that his human sister would assuredly die before he would find a cure. Being torn between knowing that his sister would never agree to let him turn her into a demon if it meant eating human flesh and watching her grow old and die, he chose to turn her while she was asleep. Promising himself that he would find a cure for the both of them and finding a man worthy of his sister’s love so she could finally live out her dream. However, when his sister did not wake the next morning after being turned, he would soon realize that she had fallen into a comatose like sleep. Realizing the irony of having to now look after his sister, he moved her to a safe place only returning occasionally to give her more of his blood as a means of sustenance not realizing she would not need to consume human flesh.

After 400 years of being in a comatose sleep, Minako awoke, much to the relief and surprise of her brother. However after learning of the massive gap in her time as well as state the world was in due to Muzan’s actions she felt immense guilt and overwhelming shame. Telling her brother that she wanted to explore the changes the world had made as well as learn and experience everything she could, Muzan let her travel unaware of his sister’s true intentions. As Muzan continued to look for the spider lily and create more demons, Minako began looking for a way to stop her brother.

During the Sengoku period Minako would meet a man who she’d later conspire with against her brother. Understand her goal and wishing to help after failing to kill Muzan, Minako and Yoriichi decided to have a child. Although Yoriichi was still saddened by the loss of his wife and unborn child, he agreed to “donate his genetic material” as he could and did not want to replace his late loved ones. Minako, in hopes that her hybrid offspring would be a reason and a way to show her brother the good in humanity and hopefully a reason to end the fighting between humans and demons. After many failed attempts and a final long awaited yet exhausting pregnancy, Minako was finally able to give birth to a child.

However, after going 500 years without a proper meal and having exhausted most of her body’s resources and energy Minako passed away leaving Yoriichi to raise and teach their child. Throughout the years Yoriichi would teach his child the known breathing techniques (sun, water, wind, stone, thunder and flame) leading them to create their own. Sharing in their mother’s love for music and the performing arts the child would incorporate these into their breathing technique. Yoriichi would also be the one to help them come up with the design behind their specialized bladed nunchucks which the Haganezuka family of the swordsmith’s village would forge.

As Yoriichi grew older his child would slowly age. Having inherited both their parents kind and compassionate nature as well as their father’s gentle and quiet nature they chose to stay with him until he would later die. After his death they began to travel the country continuing in their father’s footsteps of slaying demons unaware of the Ubuyashiki family keeping tabs on them. Centuries would pass before they made their next strong relationship in the Taisho era.

One day they came across a blind monk who raised and cared for orphans. Knowing what it was like to lose a parent they helped by teaching the children how to grow and care for a vegetable garden as well as foraging for seasonal plants. How to identify, cultivate, harvest, store and use medicinal herbs and plants as well as fishing and hunting small game. Although they still traveled slaying demons they would frequently return much to the children’s delight and tell stories of their adventures as well as sing to them. Having grown to care for the children and the monk they were devastated to the remains of a demon attack. Fearing the loss and hoping to find any survivors they were relieved to find the blind monk (Gyomei). However, hearing that the kind and gentle giant was being blamed for the children’s deaths, they planned a way for Gyomei to escape but before they could enact on their plans they were stopped by Ubuyashiki and his wife.

With the insistence of Gyomei as well as their reluctance to leave their friend they almost lost, they agreed to go with Ubuyashiki and join the demon slayer corps. Later at his estate Ubuyashiki in private relays to the reader that he and his family have always known about them and their families history. (Muzan being their uncle) Kagaya confesses to his family having kept an eye on them and kindly asks if they would be willing to help him and that he wishes to take down Kibutsuji once and for all. Despite knowing that Muzan is their uncle they agree on the condition that they will fight but if peace can be achieved without violence then they would like to try. Understanding and finding the reader’s perspective to be reasonable Kagaya agrees and the reader becomes the first Hashira of their kind.

The Demon Hashira

This is my first time posting on Tumblr so if you think I should make this a story please let me know.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Sympathy For Wolves: Werewolf!Blackwatch!Cole Cassidy x Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: The Wound

“The wolf bit you, didn’t he?” ~ The Wolf Man

Its breath was rancid against his face. It stunk of old and rusty iron and meat that had been left out in the sun a little too long. It clung to his nostrils and squeezed at his throat, choking him as the pain worsened by the second.

He stared down the one golden eye glaring back at him as he reeled his foot back. Cole winced, he felt as though he had been set on fire from the inside. His shoulder and his arm burned worse than any wound he got from Deadlock.

Before he could kick again at the beast’s gaping maw, it snapped down on his ankle, tearing through his chaps and boot and piercing his skin. He hollered in agony, the beast’s jaws closed harder against his bones he swore they were about to snap all at once.

A thundering blast came from behind the beast, the monster shrieking in pain as it finally let go of its chew toy. Ignoring Cole for a moment, its one remaining eye stared directly behind it, giving Cole just enough room to see the three other members standing behind it.

Moira stood there in shock and awe at the werewolf before her, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe at the creature before her. Genji was stiff, one hand stood ready behind him on his wakizashi and the other brandishing his katana, his red eyes trained on the beast’s every move. But Reyes, he looked furious, face twisted with anger as he raised his second shotgun towards the monster standing between them and him.

It lunged at them, claws slicing through the air as Reyes fired off another shell into the beast. Shattered shell casings tore into the front of the beast, the thing yowling in pain as it batted at the Blackwatch commander, leaving it open for Genji to slice into its flesh with his katana, stabbing the blade into its skin and yanking it out. Dark blood poured from its wounds, it was slowing down, glaring around with it’s one good eye as it decided what to do next as the commander stalked closer, guns raised.

The monster batted away Reyes and had turned on its heel, taking off down the hallway, barreling past Genji and Moira as it desperately tried to flee. Genji snatched up the katana from the floor and made to go after it when Reyes grabbed him by the shoulder.

“I’m not losing another agent to that thing,” he ordered.

Reyes fumbled with his communicator, pressing all of the buttons he could, cursing to himself when all he got was static on the other end.

Moira hovered on him, eyes trained on the multiple gashes and bite marks that had carved deep ravines into his flesh. She had produced multiple bandages and healing ointments of her own creations. His head was swimming, his body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time. The pain was ramping up to the point where he could barely feel it at all.

Genji had helped the medic, wrapping up the wound that nearly crushed his ankle to dust with careful fingers.

He wanted to say something, anything at all. A stupid joke, a dumb little comeback towards Reyes, an off-handed threat to Moira to not pull any shit.

But he couldn’t. His lips barely parted as he started to pant, chest heaving and he shook on the floor.

He could only think of you, of what you would do when you would see him like this. All bitten and scratched up by some monster straight out of a horror movie.

If he survived the flight back, that was.

The thought shook him to the core just enough to fully wake him up just for a moment. Eyes fully opening, he gasped as a sudden surge of pain washed over him. He moaned in pain and grit his teeth. He felt the bites singe and burn and tingle, like acid had been poured in every hole.

The static finally cut through to Fio responding back.

“Commander! Finally got through to you-”

“You need to get as close to the base as possible. Cassidy is down, you need to get here asap!” Reyes barked. “We’re moving him now.” Reyes hung up the communicator and turned to face Cole on the floor. Cole had to admit it, he was shocked to see Reyes like this. He looked so worried about him, like a father caring for his son. “Finish up fast. I’ll radio Overwatch on the flight back, but we need to get out of here.” Moira and Genji parted from his body on the floor as Reyes came closer. “This is gonna hurt,” was he warned as he suddenly hoisted Cole over his shoulder.

Cole moaned and barked in pain, spitting out blood onto the floor as Reyes marched through the hallways, Moira and Genji trailing close behind. Darkness faded in and out around the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t feel his arm and his foot, he felt like he could barely breathe, he felt too warm for his liking.

Before he knew it, they had pushed through the giant metal doors of the facility out into the pouring rain was a sudden shock to Cole’s body. He could smell the mud and the blood cut through the wind like daggers. He heard the humming of the transport over the pounding rain.

“What the hell happened out there?” Fio piped up over the loud speaker.

“Get this thing off the ground now!” Reyes ordered towards the ceiling. “That thing is still here!”

Engines whirred and came to life. Fio didn’t even spare a moment to make sure they were secured or seated before she took off, Reyes nearly falling over with Cole still slung over his shoulder like a towel as he kept marching towards the stairs to the Medbay.

The sudden changes in light burned his eyes as Reyes put him down on the first table he walked up to. The pale yellow to now strictly white was an awul change.

Moira hovered over him again, unwrapping the bandages to now properly clean him. Reyes started to take off whatever was left of Cole’s body plates that hadn’t been carved into by that beast.

The two worked over him, Genji starting on removing his boot and rolling up his pant leg to make it easier for Moira to work.

Cole felt like he was sinking into the table, eyes heavy, it suddenly became hard to breathe.

Reyes grabbed ahold of him, shaking his non-bitten shoulder to try to jerk him awake.

“Stay with me, Cole,” he barked.

Cole.

He rarely called him by his first name.

He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he could, wincing as they pulled his sullied clothing away from his still burning wounds.

“What do you plan on telling Overwatch?” Moira inquired.

She had produced several more bandages as well as an array of chemicals and medicine bottles.

“Golden boy can wait for a debrief,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “I have an agent on the brink of dying.”

“He won’t believe you if you tell him the truth,” Genji jutted in.

He suddenly felt the pull at his eyes, he felt his body start to wind down and grow heavy, his breathing started to slow.

Reyes grabbed him and shook him, calling for him to stay awake until his whole world had been snuffed out like a candle, leaving him alone in the darkness as he passed out.

He automatically knew where he was the moment he regain consciousness.

The smell woke him up before anything else. Bleach and whatever other strong chemicals they had used to scrub the entire room down - probably with toothbrushes knowing how strict Angela was with the medbays. It hurt his nose, he swore the hairs in his nostrils fried from it.

There was also a faint beeping in the room, steady and slow. He could hear the chatter of agents and medbay staff somewhere down the hall, but the beeping was what remained persistent.

It honestly started to hurt his head a bit.

His eyes peeled open, suddenly flinching at the bright lights above him. Flinching made the pain suddenly present, a low groan escaping from his parted and chapped lips.

He looked around his room only to find he was alone. His heart sank at the sight, it made his heart and stomach twist knowing he woke up alone in the room.

But there were flowers, a big glass vase full of daisies and lilies of the valley sitting on one of the little tables in the room. There were two chairs in the room, one had looked like it had ben sat in quite a lot and the other had a change of clothes resting on the cushion.

The room was barely decorated, the walls and floors were sterile white. The room was cold and bare.

He had been put into a white hospital gown and had tubes in his right arm.

It was only when he tried to move to sit up did he suddenly get hit with the pain. It smacked into his like a train going one-hundred miles an hour, crippling him for a moment as he gasped and cried out in pain.

He remembered what happened.

A big hulking thing chased him down and attacked him, using him like some kind of chew toy, biting him and scratching him to hell and back. Haunting yellow eyes suddenly pinned him in place, suffocating him as he felt his wounds burn.

The noise he made had sent footsteps barreling down the hall and a very familiar figure’s shadow appeared on the curtain blocking his view of the hallway.

You had pulled back the curtain.

Your eyes were rimmed red, cheeks looking tacky from drying tear tracks, you had tissues gripped in your hands. You looked like you had barely slept, a cup of steaming hot coffee was clutched in your other hand.

“Cole!” you whimpered. You put down the coffee and was by his side before he could blink. You pressed a firm, shaky kiss to his forehead, hands grabbing onto the little safety rail attached to the bed. He knew you wanted to do so much more, hug him, kiss him all over, never let go of him. “I was so worried.”

Fresh tears had started to spill over your cheeks.

He reached out his right hand to touch your hands still clutching onto the railing for dear life.

“Darlin’,” he croaked out.

You brushed the hair away from his forehead and eyes kissed the top of his head again. Your hands were cool to the touch, they felt like wonders against his blazing hot forehead. He leaned into your touch, wanting you to never let go.

“I was waiting for the transport to come back to see you but when I got there I saw you were being rushed on a gurney and Morrison wouldn’t let me see you for a few days until you stabilized-”

“Days?” His eyes were wide by this point as he pulled away. Days? He’s been out for days? “How long was I out?”

His voice was so hoarse it hurt his throat to speak.

“A little over a week, I’m pretty sure.”

He froze, he stopped breathing for a second.

A week? Over a week?

“A week? I’ve been out a week!”

He was grabbing your hand by this point, his hand crushing your fingers.

“I need to go tell Angela you’re awake-” You made to turn around but Cole tightened his grip and pulled you closer to the bed.

“Where’s Reyes?”

“He and Morrison have been going at it all day in Morrison’s office, now Cole, I need to tell Angela you’re awake.”

You had managed to squeeze you hand out of Cole’s death grip on you and watch at you hurried out of the room, leaving him all alone once again.

He awoke suddenly with a jerk, eyes flying open as he was gasping and panting. He couldn’t breathe, his head was spinning, his heart was pounding in his ears. He moved to try and sit up only to find he couldn’t. He tried to move his hands but found wasn’t able to. He couldn’t move his legs, he couldn’t sit up, he couldn’t adjust himself where he laid in the hospital bed. He did his best to angle his head down, managing to only see that his wrists and ankles were bound, thick black leather clamped around the joints connected him to the hospital bed.

He struggled against the bindings, the leather hissing as he yanked and pulled, but they refused to snap and let him go.

He cursed to himself, wondering what could have happened to result in him being restrained to this degree.

He continued to struggle, dead set on freeing himself and to find out what’s been going on.

He thrashed his wrists against the restraints until a sudden eruption of screaming came echoing down the hallway. Cole stilled, fear constricting his every movement.

There were gunshots and loud banging going on down the hall, but quickly the screams had died down until there was only one.

Someone crying and screaming as they ran down the hall he was in. He wanted to call out for them, for them to help him, untie him.

Until he heard it.

The familiar panting and snuffling following close behind the person running for their life.

Their screams had been suddenly snuffed out right in front of the door leading into Cole’s room, their scream cutting off into a gurgle as whatever it was had finished them off. Cole turned his head towards the door of his hospital room. The curtain may have been drawn but he could make out shadows behind it.

His blood ran cold as he saw a hulking form tearing into the person now deceased on the floor. The familiar, horrifying noises of a body being torn into by the monster echoed awfully in the room he was in. Cole started to shake in the bed, terrified as the beast clawed into and bit off pieces of the body. Cole saw on the floor the pool of blood growing, spilling into his room, staining the sterile white floor tiles as the red pool grew larger and larger.

Cole couldn’t help the fear growing inside of him, tears pricking his eyes knowing the beast that had tore into him and used him like a chew toy was now right outside of his hospital room, it had just killed so many more people. His breath hitched by accident, the monster on the other side of the curtain suddenly stopped feasting on the corpse to look towards the room.

It slowly uncurled itself from the body on the floor and stalked towards the room. Cole could smell how rancid the beast was from where he was cowering in his bed.

It suddenly tore open the curtain.

Fur caked with blood and its body riddled with bullet holes. Yellowed teeth stained red and its claws were still dripping from the massacre it had just caused.

The one yellow eye staring right down at him.

He couldn’t run, he couldn’t protect himself, he could only just die at the hands of the monster before him.

Cole shouted for help, he struggled against the bindings that seemed even tighter now.

The beast lunged at him.

Cole sat up with a shout, hands grabbing onto his person as he pat himself down. He suddenly started to cough and heave, grabbing onto his shirt as his eyes opened, frantically looking around the room he was in.

He breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing immensely when he saw he was in his own sleeping quarters. The familiar gray metal walls are covered in posters and whatever dumb little wall decorations he had collected over his time here. The hardwood floors were protected mostly by a big area rug and his clothes were thrown haphazardly onto the floor from before the mission. The bed he laid in had the sheets all twisted up messily from his tossing and turning, the red and black checkered flannel comforter had been thrown to the floor sometime during his rest. It smelled of you, sweet and homey, something that would always calm him down.

He was safe.

He brushed the sticky strands of hair out of his face, wiping away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. His heart was still racing, he felt woozy, there was a bubbling in his gut and it was not comfortable at all.

He still couldn’t get the look of that one eye looking at him. Soulless, an acidic yellow color, with barely any pupil and no humanity in it. It was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, wasn’t it?

Cole threw his legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to gather himself before attempting to stand with how dizzy he suddenly was. He had been in the med bay for almost nine days. Both Angela and Moira could not understand why he was out for that long, chalking it up to it all being shock-induced with no other way to describe it. He was ordered to be on bed rest for a few days and then he’d be put right back to work again.

He stood on wobbly legs, doing his best to walk over to his bedroom in as straight of a line as he could while walking like a newborn deer.

He flicked on the bathroom light switch and winced at how bright it was. He was still so sore, his body ached something awful. He walked over to the sink and braced himself against the porcelain countertop, gripping the cold edges as he looked at himself in the medicine cabinet’s mirror.

He looked awful. His skin was pale, the hearty tan he had was now something that didn’t look normal. The skin under his eyes was dark, his face looked sunken. His eyes were bloodshot, making the honey brown of his hues to look as dull as dirt.

He had turned on the faucet, allowing cold water to pool in his hands before bringing it up to his face, washing away the sweat and worries. He scrubbed his face, his neck, and his hands with cold water until he finally felt at least somewhat clean before he looked up into the medicine cabinet mirror once more.

He was a little thrown off by his appearance. Yes, he looked ghostly and all, but that was just a part of the process of healing he was told. But he was shocked mostly at his facial hair and his hair in general. His haircut Reyes would normally bark at him to keep up with its length; it was one of the first things Reyes had made a change to when he had practically adopted Cole (that and he had the poor boy eat more since he was a stick). Cole had managed to allow himself a curtain cut as the longest he could get under Reyes’ strict codes. The back was way longer, he could grab all of it in one hand. The front was way too long as well. And his face, the hair was way too long. He had just gotten a trim and a shave before he had left, why was it all so long now?

Cole ran a hand along his chin and jaw, brushing at the mixture of long hair and stubble growing in confusion when he felt his stomach turn. He felt suddenly hot, his throat tightening and his mouth growing moist.

Before he could do anything else, he dropped to his knees and spewed out whatever remained in his stomach into the toilet bowl… For the third time today.

That was the pattern: He would eat something, pass out to nap, wake up and vomit to only repeat the process.

Cole spit into the porcelain bowl, groaning to himself as his chest and stomach screamed at him from the inside.

“Can’t keep anything down, cowboy?” you questioned from the doorway.

He felt your hands on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his tense muscles. It felt like a gift from heaven.

“No,” Cole spit into the bowl again, “it’s the third time today.”

“Do you want me to get Angela?” Cole shook his head, placing his forehead against the lid of the bowl, enjoying how cold it was on his still-burning forehead. “I’ll bring you some more water and meds, and if you’re still not doing well by tonight I’ll take you. Okay?”

Cole glanced back at you in the doorway. You were in your full uniform. Morrison had you running around all day today, but the strike commander decided to finally give Cole a break and allow you to stay in all day with Cole tomorrow free of any calls or orders.

It was going to be heaven tomorrow, spending all day in bed with you.

“‘M fine, pumpkin,” Cole mumbled, turning his head back into the toilet bowl to spit up the remaining bile.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

You pressed a kiss to Cole’s forehead before taking your leave.

Cole stood from the toilet and rubbed at his face, groaning as he felt his body ache all over.

Flushing the toilet, he rinsed his mouth out. As he turned to leave, he caught a glance of himself in the full-length mirror against the wall. There was a speck of blood on his left shoulder, staining through the gray of his t-shirt. Cole cursed to himself and peeled the shirt off immediately. His entire left shoulder and bicep up to his elbow had been wrapped thoroughly with bandages and medical tape. His entire right ankle was wrapped the same way where he was bitten. The deep scratches were stitched and bandaged too. He had been healing for nearly nine days at this point and his shoulder was still bleeding?

Lo and behold, there were a few red specks on the front of the shoulder wrappings.

Cole peeled off the bandages, accidentally taking some of the bicep bandages with it. He was shocked at the sight of his healing wound.

It was a rainbow of colors he had never expected to see before. He’s seen bites from animals before when he was in Deadlock, gang members always pissed off the coyotes and snakes around sure, but their wounds never healed like this before. Just around where the fangs pierced his skin were divots etched in, the skin was very dark, almost like a dark purple bruising that slowly faded into a pale yellow. It was so dark he swore it nearly looked black. When Cole touched where the wound was, he was confused when no blood was on his fingertips. Nothing had leaked open, no blood was flowing from his body. In fact, the wounds were all healed up on his shoulder, sealed and everything. Surely it would leave a scar on his body, but what is shocking him like this is that it was fully healed. It’s only bruised still.

Cole ripped off the rest of his bicep bandages, brows pinching together when he saw it was the exact same thing as his shoulder. No blood, no open wounds, and no scabs still healing. Just smooth, healed skin that was just bruised heavily.

Cole pulled off the bandages at his hips and what he could get off of his back where he got clawed into only to freeze. They have completely healed just the bite marks, yes, but this time there was no bruising to be found. Not even a scar where he was sliced into, just skin that matched perfectly with the rest of his.

He could only stare at himself in the mirror, utterly shocked and confused. He would never heal this fast.

Angela had to have given him something. Moira had to have done something to him.

Why else would he heal like this?

Cole backed away from the mirror and made to turn into the bedroom when he nearly bumped into you, spooking himself and you in the process.

“Hey, you’re standing up pretty well,” you commented. You were about to hand him a couple of painkillers when you looked directly at his bruised shoulder and arm. “What happened to your arm? Why did you unwrap it? It’s still healing-”

“It’s sealed,” Cole interrupted you.

He guided a finger along the new divots in his collarbone and the muscles of his shoulder to show they were no longer bleeding or raw. You looked completely shocked as you had to set down the glass and pills.

“What happened out there?” you suddenly asked. “What did Talon do, what did they have that could do something like this. Reyes won’t give me an answer, Moira is just always locked up in her lab and I don’t know where Genji is. Morrison doesn’t even know and that’s what is terrifying to me. Talon had something that can do something like this to a person?”

“I don’t even think it’s Talon’s,” Cole touched at his bicep.

“Then what-”

You were cut off by Cole’s door opening, and Reyes marching in. He only looked between the two of you with a stack of folders tucked under his arm as always.

“Put a shirt on, Cassidy, Morrison wants a talk between us all about what happened.”

“(Y/n) comes,” Cole protested, snatching up a (mostly) clean t-shirt.

Reyes looked back to you only to be met with a defiant stare only to look back at Cole.

“Morrison wants it only between us and him. I’m sorry.” He shifted the folders under his arm and looked back at you. “When he’s done with us, I promise I will inform you on what happened.” You couldn’t but sigh through your nose, knowing it was a near-empty promise Reyes could not keep due to Morrison being even stricter. Protocols and bullshit rules about higher-ups and whatnot. “Come on, Cassidy, best not keep the golden boy waiting too long.”

Cole spared a glance back at you, eyes with worry before following quickly behind his boss.

The room was cold and dark, barely any light poured into the room from the hallways when Cole walked in right behind Reyes. It was the grand meeting room that he had only had the “gracious” offer of being allowed in when Overwatch received a grant from the European Union about a year ago. They had to groom the hell out of Cole to make him look just presentable enough to stick him behind a bunch of Overwatch agents in their brand-new shiny armor.

Genji was already there, standing against the wall inside of the room, Moira was not far behind the two either. She looked as though she hadn’t slept well the past few nights. He wanted to pipe up and ask her what was wrong (or even what the fuck she did to him) but his throat tightened before he could speak.

Morrison stood at the end of the grand table, back turned to the four as he looked at the papers in his hands. His shoulders were squared and tensed, he didn’t make a single move to acknowledge them as they entered. He flipped a page over in the folder, back still to the agents.

Classic Morrison. The flag pole is stuck so far up his ass that he’ll spit freedom as far as he can hock it. It’s always about business and duty and war with this man, ever since he was arrested and stuck in that cold holding cell. He was always undermining Reyes and all of the work he puts in for Blackwatch. Hell, he’s seen and heard Morrison try to ruin Blackwatch just to make his own image appear to be greater. What more could he want? He was the one successful super soldier and he had to rub everyone else’s noses in the fact that they pumped him full of the right chemicals.

The tall curtains had been drawn over the grand windows overlooking the Swiss Alps, casting the room in a blanket of eerieness. The carpet, Cole could smell it the moment he stepped through the giant carved doors, was freshly cleaned, making the room smell of flowers and a hint of bleach. The long rows of fancy wooden and cushioned chairs were all perfectly spaced apart and cleaned and pushed in just enough. The Overwatch runner that normally ran the length of the table was suddenly absent, something Cole knew was weird.

“Sit down,” Morrison’s voice cut through the air cleanly, “all of you.”

Reyes seemed the know the drill with all of this, nonchalantly sitting towards the middle of the lengthy table and put down his folders full of papers. Moira sat across from him, tired eyes looking at the back of the strike commander’s back.

Genji moved when Cole did, walking on opposite sides of the table. Cole sat down next to Reyes and Genji with Moira.

Morrison didn’t look back from the paperwork in his hands.

“Thirty-four of my agents went into those woods, and thirty-four ended up dead,” Morrison didn’t even bother to turn around to speak to them face-to-face. “Agents that I had to send there to recover the bodies of my deceased agents counted dozens of Talon agents strewn about, dead as well. All of the bodies were reportedly not killed by gunfire by the other party, but by animal attacks.” Morrison finally turned around, tossing the papers he had been looking at onto the meeting room table. Photos of mutilated corpses and animal prints in the mud as well of the breaking down facility scattered across the table before them all. Morrison planted both hands against the polished oak wood of the tabletop, brows lowered and nostrils flaring slightly. “What the hell happened at that base?”

[iricathel]

Nun Irina Headcanons

"... Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Warning: There may be sensitive topics, please use discretion when reading this

"Repent...

Repent...

Repent...

Repent..."

Lucky was the young golden woman for having been educated throughout her childhood based on the pain of punishment, with a heightened tolerance for pain, there was nothing that could cause her more anguish and burning pain than being exiled from her family to one of the harshest monasteries as punishment for her disobedience.

Stubborn and rebellious woman, just like that man, bearer of her last name.

"Repent for your actions."

An impact tore through her ivory complexion, moist and flushed by the crimson that dripped down her flesh.

"Beg our Lord's forgiveness, sinner. Pray for his mercy."

Another bang resounded on the cold balcony, making the female body weep inconsolably to cover her nude with the red liquid like a satin cloth.

"...Remember, Lord. Your compassion and mercy which you showed long ago. Do not recall the sins and failings of my youth. In your mercy remember me, lord, because of your goodness..."

A growl muffled by the sharp bite to his bottom lip. Irina squirmed while holding her arms up holding two buckets of cold water.

Blurred by the drops of cloudy water that seeped into her emerald eyes, the new member could barely see the panorama that the high tower of the monastery offered her.

"... Wash me from my guilt, and cleanse me of my sin."

"Repent...

Repent...

Repent..."

The arrival at the sacred temple was not the best experience for Irina, since all those privileges that she knew from the commonality of her life as a noble, or even as a relevant figure in fashion, had vanished just by having set foot in its artisan soil of rocks and stones of andesite and slate.

All the luxuries that she could afford were taken away and replaced by old and used clothing, causing the woman to want to rip off her own skin at the slightest thought of wearing something full of someone else's dirt rubbing against her body.

The blonde has a great talent for studying her surroundings and shaping her attitude so that, thanks also to her charisma, she can blend in with the group and gradually stand out. However, the rebellious spirit with ambitions to challenge all the existing authorities to implement her own order, were always a headache for one of the nuns responsable for putting order and teaching the new members of that monastery to be ideal believers of God.

The orthodox religion was very heavy and rooted in the written words of the old Bibles, being taken literally. A good opportunity for Irina to manipulate the book at will for her convenience, once she doesn't have any obstacles.

"I hope that God has mercy on your soul and can welcome you into his kingdom, for you are one of his faithful daughters despite having used his name in vain so many times to do evil."

"Repent...

Repent..."

Irina, after finishing her training, specialized more in the choir of churches, monasteries and chapels, since by being able to transmit emotions through serenades that came to influence a person, she was capable of influencing a strong melancholy in people. who listened to her until they cried. This is very pleasing for the higher positions since after all, their religion was based on the sorrows, fear and suffering of the weakest so that they would not stop pursuing God's mercy.

In addition, Irina was one of the favorite helpers of several priests for her gentleness and divine and pure appearance, assimilating to an angel or even, little by little being considered as the physical representation of Mary Magdalen.

Beyond the hypocritical and false appearances that Avenel gave to others. She took advantage of her singing and influence to be able to blackmail the lambs of God in order to be the wolf that sullied them before the very eyes of the shepherd.

"Sin is necessary, because without evil good would not exist, and why would we need God then? Just let yourself be carried away by the whisper of the devil and repent before God for his forgiveness."

Some believers disappeared at least once a week, supposedly having been enlightened to follow the path of the Lord to his kingdom. Is it possible that the red corrupted floor and walls have allowed their soul to transcend to the gates of heaven, or have they been devoured by the arid hell to be eternally punished?

Perhaps that warm smile was hiding a malicious grin waiting for you to fall into her clutches.

"Let me help you meet God. You will be appropriately punished for your actions and once you are purified, you will be left in charge of the Lord's court."

"Repent."

Eyes flew open with her breath so heavy she could feel her heart pounding against her chest. It had felt like a nightmare.

The realization hit almost as hard as the cold blizzard that froze her face while that female voice tormented her ears.

"Are you already thinking about ending your life, Sor? I didn't imagine that I could really cause you so much grief with your favorite melody. How sad..."

A mocking smile let the sharp white ivories light up with the clear moonlight, almost as brilliant as her green emeralds.

"Repent. Repent for having had the audacity to let me bleed for your punishments, for leaving me marks of your lessons, and for believing that you had the privilege of doing so. Maybe, just maybe, I'll have enough mercy to spare your pathetic life."

Murmurs accumulating thousands of various prayers began to come out of the old woman's mouth, on the edge of the balcony of the tower where she used to humiliate the blonde to bring down her rebellion. She would only be saved from certain death thanks to the strong grip of her old nightgown, the young woman digging her nails deep into the fabric.

"Sor Irina, do not let the devil incite you to regret in the house of God, our lord. Do not murder, because you will break one of his sacred commandments in his presence. Do not let yourself fall into the temptation of evil, and do good. Open your eyes to the word of God and —"

The tearing sound of tissues parting was as sharp as scissors breaking the thread of life.

For the first time, the blonde was not afraid of heights, and she was able to lean over the precipice to see with a non-existent expression how the body of her problem fell at great speed until it crashed against the clay roof of one of the chapels until breaking into it.

The smell of iron was able to reach her nostrils, and she was able to hear her groans of agony.

Impaled on the cross of the altar upside down, the old woman slowly died while she felt how her blood left her body until it dyed the white marble floor with that impure bright red, having only at that moment the classic paintings of religious deities to cry and lament her end.

Turning around, Irina left the balcony with a satisfying smile to be able to sleep peacefully before the disappearance of the obstacle that was bothering her the most.

"Perhaps your Lord will be good enough to send someone to discover your corpse before it rots to sleep in that old chapel. Perhaps he will even allow you to be recognized and made a grave... Or perhaps, you will be entombed in solitude in those rubble."

"Repent for your actions, and I will be happy to chain you in the depths of hell."

[renoxvated]

Smell fuckin' what air-- fuckin' bat shit ass asshole. The only lottery that matters? He thinks to himself, confused he eyeballs the stranger as he comes to a full stop, Nipton.

'Fuck off! Win your own fucking lottery!' The other mans words hit Roy's ears like an annoying BUZZING bee, he wants to swat the other man down. It would be so easy and his trigger finger itches at the hilt of his pistol. He was a powder ganger by the looks of it, so truth be told he was lucky The Courier didn't shoot him on sight. Instead he barks back as the stranger runs off past him. Goddamn lunatic.

“Yeah FUCK YOU TOO PAL, up yours!” Roy sneers and when he does the smell of fire hits his nostrils, singes at his senses-- what's worse was the STENCH of flesh cooking itself wafting from the pyre, the CROSS beside him.

'Up on a cross, head on no pole,' Roy replays the words back in his mind and for a moment there's a look of brief fleeting HORROR registering across his features. "Fuck." He utters, staring at the body to his left and the others as his gaze shifts further down, so many; it reminded him of the things his father told him about, from that old tattered bible. Thinks these guys ain't coming back three days later from this. Roy clinches his fists, he should pull out his gun, but he doesn't.

Just what the hell happened here? He steadies himself, swallowing hard. He hadn't seen anything like this before and if he had, well he couldn't remember it anyway. Roy bounces on his heels, he doesn't know if it's just excitement or a nervous tick anymore. He doesn't care either way, doesn't notice it as he bounds forward, fists clenched-- just incase.

More bodies strung up, more heads on pikes, it took a great deal to disgust Roy if he was being honest, he took SPLENDOR in his own violence, sure. As messy and macabre as it was, but this? This was clearly a whole town...it was a MASSCACRE. His nose scrunches, the smell of fire and burning bodies starting to get to him. He wants to be angry, but most of all he wants to understand why.

Then he spots the town hall, a few guys; five from what he could count, there had to be more...always was. He doesn't think he could fight anymore if that was true, that wasn't even considering the dogs up ahead-- AND a dog headed man before them all at the top of the stairs, surveying the scorched earth like some sort of GOD KING among the riffraff. Roy's hand etches, creeps towards his gun, he needed to leave, needed to get out before he became one of the unlucky lottery losers, apparently. Then he's spotted, he knows it even with sunglasses blocking the dog headed mans GAZE, feels like it's burning into him as if he was on the pyre too.

"Fuck." Roy speaks again, that seemed to be the mantra of the day.

starter for @ratherxintense

[cutiemarkofcain]

So, the main thing I've been working on for the past few years? A rickorty longfics series. It's got angst, fluff, smut, humor, drama, more angst, gangs, heroics, time travel, mindfuckery, and Interdimensional Cable. It's called A Tale Told By a Morty.

(I'd recommend clicking the above link before any of the ones below; that way you can see all the tags before diving in.)

Part 1 - Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Flesh Curtains (47k+ words) - Morty goes back in time and meets a young Rick. Mistakes are/were made.

Part 2 - A Citizen of the Multiverse (117k+ words) - Rick and Morty are bad at processing their feelings. But when they finally do, Rick's past comes back to haunt them both.

Part 3 - The Penitent Rick (131k+ words) - After his drunkenness indirectly gets Morty hurt, Rick swears off alcohol. While he's at a clinic, Morty deals with stuff at home, and meets up with old friends.

Part 4 - The Fears That Once Controlled Them (in progress)

Some things to note:

This series begins about four years after the end of season 5, which means A) Morty is 18 at the start, and B) It does not take the events of season 6 into account.

There's not much (percentage wise), but this series does have adult content. I mean ADULT.

This ain't just slow burn, it's downright glacial. The main ship doesn't officially get together until about halfway into part 2.

There are so many OCs and stuff.

A guide to the locations, OCs, etc

Sweetoppi:

Another planet with an anthropomorphic sun. Fortunately or unfortunately, this sun is friendly and likes to sing. Populated by smoogians, cradhians, and throxoloxons.

Smoogians: They're almost all under three feet and they all resemble animal plushies. They eat plastic. The middle to upper class and abled Smoogians live in Smoogi City, while the poor and disabled Smoogians, as well as political dissidents, live in the outskirts. This is slowly changing.

Cradhians: They're an intelligent spiderlike species, about the size of a saucer, legs included. They communicate with a form of sign language using all eight legs. They emigrated to Smoogi City after their home was destroyed.

Throxoloxons: They're a hermaphroditic species that lived in the area that became Smoogi City before the Smoogians pushed them out. They're all masses of tentacles with eyestalks. They eat dreams.

People

Smoogians

Mayor Flumby: Faux affably evil (now ex) mayor of Smoogi City. Obsessed with keeping the status quo. Probably dead. Resembles a bear plushie.

Leelee: Mayor Flumby's second-in-command. Resembles a rabbit plushie.

Grobor: Blind. Mistrusts Mayor Flumby; leads a rebellion against him and the townsfolk. Sacrifices himself. Resembles a rabbit plushie.

Miss Mopple: Former friend of Mayor Flumby's. Current mayor of Smoogi City. Probably assassinated the old mayor. Married to Ilsilix. Resembles a raccoon plushie.

Zooni: One of Miss Mopple's guards. Ex-husband of Rovo. Resembles a lion plushie.

Rovo: Very tall for his species. Keeps Morty company and serves as a guide during his stay at Paerwesh. Ex-husband of Zooni. Resembles a horse plushie.

Cradhians

Ilsilix: Saved her species from genocide with diplomacy. Now married to Miss Mopple.

Sfilnin: Runs the daycare at Paerwesh.

Throxoloxons

Margeth: Child. Has a tendency to swear by accident.

Chlogul: Parental figure to Margeth. Takes over the rebellion after Grobor's death. Forms Paerwesh after the rebellion ends.

Places

Smoogi City: Where many Smoogians live

Paerwesh: A building where anyone who's down on their luck can stay. Formerly a house; served as the hideout for the rebellion.

Things

The censor: A structure that looked like a barbershop pole. Formerly used to censor anything inappropriate, if there were Smoogians around to witness it. Was dismantled and retooled, now disables hi-tech devices in its vicinity.

---

Goldorok Prime:

A planet with a barrier around it that prevents certain spacecrafts from getting in or out- including Rick's ship. There are pyramids in GP's sky that rain sparkles. Populated by tanglors and kithwiks.

Tanglors: They're a humanoid species with an extra set of eyes and an extra set of arms. Their skin is in shades of gray and their hair is cool tones. They eat primarily bark and bones. When threatened with serious physical harm, they will automatically teleport to a different location, although there is a limit to how far they might teleport. They also have pyrokinetic abilities, although it is not spoken of in polite company. Most can only generate heat, and at most, create sparks, but there are exceptions…

Kithwiks: They're purple blobs with snakelike lower halves. They have beaks they whistle out of, but the whistles mostly just communicate mood. For more elaborate communication, they use the long tendrils that come out of their backs, positioning them in all sorts of configurations. They can regenerate their flesh, no matter how much they lose, unless it's burned off. They have mild mind control powers, though most can only encourage others to do things they planned on doing anyway- basically, giving them a nudge. Most of the time, they have to be touching someone with their tendrils to control them, but the more emotionally close they are to someone, the further away they can be physically, while still being able to control them.

People

Tanglors

Reeshkla Ivinte: Worked at Café Sweez until she quit. Friend of Morty's. Married to Drav. Has six kids. Call her Reesh.

Barros Arbekt: (Ex)-owner of Café Sweez. (Ex)-leader of the Slingers. Currently incarcerated.

Tiersi: Deaf. Also known as Mama Tiersi. Owns Club Setweeba. Lost a son to gang violence.

Grijya Seelins: Enjoys causing trouble. Maybe Morty's friend?

Drav Ivinte: Reesh's husband. Chronically ill.

Athel, Ashek, Grente, Jevla, Natasi, Kesir Ivinte: Reesh and Drav's kids

Yotis Arbekt: Brother to Barros. Rick got him killed, maybe accidentally, and Barros never forgave him.

Zash Hezen: Unofficially affiliated with the Slingers. Is now in trouble with them after revealing one of their hideouts.

Mirsh Velliej: Slinger. Loyal to Barros.

Klavvi Merlega: Slinger. Barros' former second-in-command. Killed by Rick.

Commander Prynk: Leads the team that arrests Barros.

Szaren Vench: Knight. Tortures Mirsh for information, which he gives to Tarrin.

Gorra Seelins: Grijya's brother. Keeps getting in trouble with the gangs, but doesn't take them seriously.

Namrala Darlach: One leader of the Avatars. Usually called Mother Darlach. Might be dead.

Officer Helshon: Aided Commander Prynk in arresting Barros.

Tarrin: Prynk's second-in-command. Tasked with getting more information on the gangs.

Lorz Prennet: Namrala's second-in-command. Their motives, and fate, are a mystery.

Etebi (AKA Tenne) Kigati: Accidentally killed her parents. Kept prisoner by Dr. Mesile, who cut off her top arms. Freed by Rick.

Dr. Avran Mesile: Manipulated Etebi into killing her parents. Was going to train her to be a killing machine.

Zea: Frycook. Imprisoned by the Avatars. Freed by Morty. Very close with Charisma.

Pravash: Reesh's twin sister. Ex-wife of Barros. Overly cautious. Temporarily takes in Etebi and renames her Tenne.

Maziam: Gatekeeper. Helps Rick save Morty, betraying the Avatars in the process.

The Gateway: Protects the Avatars in exchange for sex slaves.

Kithwiks

Frozz, the Head Frozzulator: Works at Cafe Sweez, deseeding the eefee fruits. Keeps to himself. Takes over ownership after Barros' arrest.

Seven: Works at Cafe Sweez. Learns to write English so they can communicate with Morty.

Scythe: Imprisoned by the Avatars.

Charisma: Imprisoned by the Avatars. Very close with Zea.

Places

Skardoria: The nation where the story takes place

Café Sweez: Formerly owned by Barros, taken over by Frozz. Used to be a front, while also being a legitimate business in its own right. Unknown as of yet if Frozz plans to make it completely legit. They are famous for "eefee shakes."

Club Setweeba: Owned by Tiersi. Aside from hospitals and graveyards, is the only public spot where the gangs have unanimously agreed not to fight.

Lissal Street: A dangerous street that the gangs have completely taken over. Every building there is abandoned.

The basement: Tunnels that travel throughout the city, connecting different gang hideouts

The House of Shudrauth: A possibly sentient building that serves as the main base for the Avatars of Shudrauth. Whenever something tragic happens inside it, it will go dark and the rooms will move to random locations. The movement is not felt by the occupants. There is also a prison that is separate from the House, but considered part of it by the Avatars. The House has an anti-portal area of effect around it.

Things

The Slingers: A gang that makes and sells drugs in exchange for weapons. They wear blue.

The Gilded Knights: A new gang that causes trouble and does the whole protection racket thing. They wear gold.

The Avatars of Shudrauth: A cultlike gang. Some of them have tattoos of eyes. A subset of the Avatars are the Gatekeepers, whose job it is to keep the Gateway happy.

Eefee fruit: A fruit with multiple uses. The juice is used in drinks at places like Café Sweez, while the seeds are crushed and either kept as a powder, or formed into "eef sticks". Crushed eefee seeds get tanglors high while disrupting their teleportation abilities, and thus can be used recreationally, or for more nefarious purposes…

Shlegmarks: Skardorian currency

---

Hakorori-9:

A planet covered almost entirely in water or swamplands. Populated by rokaedas.

Rokaedas: They're an amphibious humanoid species. Some have fins, some have scales, and some have tentacles. They have greenish skin. They have a multi-purpose appendage that comes out of their forehead called a "prokei".

People

Rokaedas

Ekos: Receptionist at Sooquea House.

Arit Patyph: Runs one branch of Sooquea House. Not as friendly as he acts, and he doesn't act that friendly.

Ujaria Dupuk: Worker at Sooquea House. Has some baggage.

Khot Sorij: Worker at Sooquea House. Rick's helper, after he rejects Alaera's help.

Alaera Asory: Worker at Sooquea House. Rick's initial helper.

Shiru Phelk: Worker at Sooquea House. Tells Rick about Firio.

Firio [REDACTED]: Alaera's old patient. Overdosed after being exposed to Alaera's experimental treatment.

Places

Wirje: The nation where the story takes place

Sooquea House: A clinic that specializes in helping people get over their addiction by making them forget they can use. The exterior of the house looks different to everyone.

Things

Prokei: A two-pronged appendage that comes out of all rokaedas' foreheads. They use it to taste/smell peoples' moods, and can transport someone to the "Mindscape" by inserting both prongs into the other person's ears.

Goeji: A breakfast food with a texture somewhere between a pancake and a marshmallow

Threlkai Doom Pepper, and its extract: Really spicy

Foppsu juice: Absolutely disgusting

---

Other characters

Skylar Andersen-Williams: Human. Morty meets her while time travelling. Dating and eventually married to Tomas. Matt was their third.

Tomas Andersen-Williams: Human. Morty meets him while time travelling. Dating and eventually married to Skylar. Matt was their third.

Matt: Used to date Skylar and Tomas. Died on a skiing trip.

Bywuth (aka Squanchette): Species unknown. Seer. Mistrusts Squanchy, but warms up to him after seeing him reunite Rick and Morty.

---------

Here's what some of the characters look like

[parissfrogg]

Windsor Wallace (backstory)

I recently started playing d&d again and am really proud of the story I wrote for my character's backstory so I thought I would post it!

Trigger warning for hallucinations, unreality, violence, blood, and dreath/murder

Tick Tick Tick

The clock on the wall ticked in rhythm as Windsor tapped the tip of his pencil against the paper. They were his student’s essays and he couldn’t understand a word of them. He read and reread the same sentence over and over again, but the letters garbled and distorted until they became incomprehensible.

Tick Ti-ck

Was the clock getting louder? Each tick seemed to be louder than the last, stuttering every couple of ticks. The candlelight seemed to be growing brighter too, swelling and sparking in waves so bright they almost blinded him. Something about that light was beckoning to him, pleading for him to reach his hand into the flame-

Windsor stood abruptly. He was over-tired and overworked, that was all. It had been a dreadful few months. His work as a professor at Edgewater University had been draining him bit by bit; he taught an elective class on occult literature. He had dove deep into the history of old gods, the cults surrounding them, and the stories written about them.

Did the walls whisper and sing back then? Did he always hear voices murmuring just beyond earshot?

He should go home. Even though it’s only just past noon, he should tell someone he doesn’t feel well and get some sleep. He hadn’t slept much; strange, unremembered dreams plagued his short nights and often left him trembling in his bed, unaware of his surroundings.

The whispering was not always there. Only in the last few months did bright lights and dark depths call to him and sing “Join me, you are chosen, you can mean something. Sing along.”. He used to be just an odd little man with a strange penchant for odd books.

Tick T-Tick Tick-k-K

The ticking of the clock morphed into a steady thump like the heartbeat in his chest. Windsor covered his ears with his palms in an attempt to shield himself from the ticking that sent bolts of pain through his scattered mind.

“You’re so close” The flames on the table cooed.

“Be quiet.” Windsor whispered, and when the noise had dimmed ever so slightly, he removed his hands from his ears.

His hands came away bloody. He didn’t notice.

Windsor stumbled through the door, trying to keep his footing against the shifting, churning, floor. He held his hand against the mahogany wall for balance, unknowingly smearing it with a trail of blood as his ears and nose dripped more onto the plush carpet.

His head snapped up at the sound of footsteps.

“Who’s there?” Windsor called thickly.

“I am always here,” A voice echoed through the corridor, inside Windsor’s head and chest, so loud it burned.

A figure emerged from around the corner, walking with poise and grace. Its face was so bright all that could be seen were teeth and eyes. Its hands dripped a black ooze.

“Stay back!” Windsor shouted, blood splattering from between his teeth. He drew his letter opener from his pocket. He didn’t remember putting it in his pocket.

The figure swayed closer, closer until a hand so bright and so hot Windsor could swear he heard his flesh sizzle landed on his shoulder.

Windsor brought the letter opener up in a terrified arc against the figure’s body. Where it hit, more black seeped. Where he cut, the light died.

He kept slicing and stabbing with mania until the creature was more black ooze than blinding light.

He stared down at the mangled remains with terror marring his face. Windsor ran all the way home, but couldn’t escape the pounding, pulsing light at the edge of his vision.

He sent his letter of resignation from the university that night.

Two days later, a newspaper was dropped off at Windsor’s now abandoned home. It told the story of a young professor at Edgewater University by the name of Elliot Martin, who was brutally murdered in the hallway. He was sliced and stabbed to death with a letter opener.

The story did not name a culprit.

Elliot had seen his good friend and colleague, Windsor, stumble out of his office dripping blood from his ears and nose and asked if he was alright. He’d been attacked when he’d placed his hand upon Windsor’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him and urge him to find a doctor.

It took Windsor three months to learn this news, to learn that he would always be on the run for murder.