#it's a bit gory I apologize-

[azenighty]

‼️ TRIGGER WARNINGS ‼️ MOUTH GORE / BLOODY MOUTH

You've been warned 🫵 (it's just a drawing but still-)

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Omg I'm sorry guys I haven't post in a while, school has been rough on me xd But I have been drawing something for weeks now and finally I'm done with it!

I did two versions: Mask on

and Mask off:

Yes this is Delirium, 2P Delirious, and the eyes belong to 2P Vanoss. There is a story behind this and it'll be quite long but it's not fully developed yet, it's like an idea stuck in my head.

It's a story about both 1P and 2P meeting with each other thanks to a glitch 1P did. That's a story for another drawing tho ;) right now it's about these two. Let's just say 2p Delirious and 2p Vanoss don't have the healthiest friendship, nowhere near actually. I thought like "Oh since Vanoss and Delirious are like super close let's contrast that in this AU" y'know? So they both have this terrible bond where 2p Vanoss manipulates 2p Delirious and he unfortunately follows because he thinks he is seen as a friend, even when things go too far. There's a reason why 2p Delirious is mute in this Au, and it's not a vow of silence. What exactly does 2p Vanoss do? or did? and why? That's a story for another drawing :)

(Btw if the pose seems familiar, I did get inspired from a song :D Hyperdontia by GHOST and Creep-P. It's a cool ass song check it out on YouTube!! This song helped me describe the relationship between these two)

[undeniablereckoningart]

all of my ocs are self inserts to some degree

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

[yunopouts]

scream - l. jeno

-> lee jeno x fem reader

-> frat! au, pure smut (jeno lee is one nasty mother fucker in this one y'all)

-> CW: dom! jeno, rough sex(??), choking, edging, a small... TINY (VERY TINY) bit of ass play, protected sex, handjob, overuse of the word fuck, overstim, head god jeno, fingering, spitting, squirting, slight praise, lots of crying (reader), dumbification, marking/biting, scratching, blood, nipple play, gagging, bdj (big dick jeno LMFAOO)

-> a/n: this is my apology for going on such a long break T-T, i'm telling you i didn't even realise it went on for that long. i was checking in every now and then but i feel so bad T-T anyways! I'm back :P this one doesn't have THAT much dialogue, so i hope you guys enjoy the gory details 😁 also i think this is the filthiest, most smutty, smut i've ever fucking written, and i've written a lot... trust me on this.

-> upcoming: dilf! jaehyun next week and maybe another halloween special idk. oh btw, everything has some sort of halloween aspect to it :)) psst! requests are open!!

-> word count: 4.2k!

-> also p.s: idk how to explain the way he's acting in this fic... he's like very sweet and cute when he's kissing, but he's being a bitch when he's fucking and being rough... idk, i hope you understand what I mean. but also, as rough as he maybe, he's very touchy-feely and kissy :D ANYWHO! I present to you, six pages of pure filth!

safe! master list

mature! masterlist

“When you said we’re going to a party, I didn’t know it was a frat party.” Minjeong said as the three of you walked through the door. The house reeked of weed and sweat, all the criteria for a proper frat party, except everyone is in a Halloween costume.

“Girl, where else would the party have been?” Jimin scoffed lightly. She paused in the doorway, looking down at her phone before she sighed. “Apparently Sungchan’s waiting for me in the living room, I’ll see you two later?” Both you and Minjeong nodded, wishing the girl goodbye and watched as she walked away in her cheerleader costume. 

Turning to each other, you silently agreed that the first thing you needed was a drink, so you headed off to the kitchen. 

“I forgot to tell you how hot you look in that outfit.” She said in your ear, loud enough for you to hear over the music, and you gave her a smile while you poured yourself a drink. 

“So do you,” you whistled as you looked her up and down, the way the gross boys in movies do when they spot a hot girl. 

Together, you looked like an odd pair, seeing as you were dressed up as Jennifer, from Jennifer’s Body, and Minjeong was Little Red Riding Hood. The music thumped through the air as the two of you stood in the crowded kitchen, surrounded by costumed partygoers. The laughter and chatter blended with the bass, creating a symphony of Halloween revelry. Your playful compliment still lingered in the atmosphere, adding a touch of warmth to the otherwise chilly, dimly lit room. You took a sip from your drink, the alcohol burning your throat, but your attention was momentarily drawn away from the sensation by something else. From across the room, you spotted a familiar figure, the ever so iconic Ghost Face mask, in the back corner, talking to a boy dressed up as a mummy.

The menacing presence seemed to defy the festive atmosphere, and your eyes were drawn to it as if by some magnetic force. The Ghost Face mask turned slowly in your direction, and even though you couldn't see their face, you felt a shiver race down your spine. It was as though an invisible connection had formed between you and the enigmatic figure, a connection that transcended the costume and the anonymity it provided. There was something magnetic about their presence, something that sparked a potent and unspoken attraction.

For a brief, electrifying moment, your eyes met those hidden behind the Ghost Face mask. Time seemed to stand still as you locked onto each other, and a subtle, unspoken acknowledgment passed between you, like a silent agreement in the midst of the raucous party. Your heart quickened, and the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that charged moment.

Feeling a surge of heat and anticipation, you reluctantly tore your gaze away from the enigmatic figure and turned back to Minjeong, who had been watching the silent exchange with keen interest. She met your eyes, and the shared understanding between you two was palpable. “You saw him too, didn’t you.” Minjeong said in a way that had her sounding winded. With a knowing smile and another sip of your drink, you and Minjeong silently toasted to the unspoken intrigue that had captured your attention.

As the night continued, the magnetic pull you felt towards the Ghost Face figure in the corner didn't wane. It was like an invisible thread connected the two of you, and despite the ongoing revelry, your attention kept drifting back to that mysterious presence.

Minjeong, ever perceptive, nudged you and raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Why not go for it?" Encouraged by her silent urging, you decided to take the initiative. Setting down your drink, you nodded toward the Ghost Face figure, indicating your intention to approach.

Minjeong gave you an encouraging thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to navigate the sea of Halloween costumes on your own. You weaved through the dancing crowd, anticipation growing with each step.

As you approached, the mask-wearing figure seemed to sense your approach and turned slightly in your direction. They leaned against the counter with their arms crossed over their chest, waiting for you to arrive. The closer you got, the more you could feel the intensity of the connection between the two of you.

Finally standing face to face, the silence was almost deafening. The mask stared at you, unmoving, but you could sense a palpable tension beneath it. Without exchanging words, you both seemed to understand that this moment was special, a secret shared between you in the midst of chaos.

Slowly, your hand extended, and you reached for the Ghost Face mask. Your fingertips brushed against it, and you felt a rapid heartbeat beneath your touch. The mask gave the slightest nod, and you grasped it, carefully pulling it up.

Beneath the mask, a pair of intense, dark eyes met yours. You were momentarily lost in their depth, captivated by the enigmatic stranger who had held your attention all night. The corners of your lips curved into a small, knowing smile, and a spark of recognition flared in those deep, mysterious eyes. 

The unspoken tension that had been simmering between you erupted in a whirlwind of excitement. It was a dance of anticipation and curiosity, an unspoken agreement that you had both been waiting for this moment. And even though the music continued to thump, and the crowd continued to revel, for that brief, electric moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent, thrilling connection.

You told him your name when he asked for it, and he introduced himself as ‘Jeno’. 

“You wanna take this upstairs?” he asked with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You sucked in a breath and nodded before he pulled the mask back down and took your hand in his to lead the way through the crowd.

The staircase was crowded with a few people, Minjeong included. You spotted her talking to a girl in fairy costume and when you caught her eye, she gave you a grin, wider than you’ve ever seen. 

Every now and then, Jeno’s leather gloved hand would lightly squeeze yours as you climbed up the stairs. You held on a little tighter each time, but before you knew it, you were standing in front of a room with a big ‘JN’ poster hanging in the middle.

The boy opened the door for you and let you enter first before entering himself. The door clicked shut behind you as you sat down on the bed, your eyes locked on Jeno's every move. With a seductive confidence, he slowly peeled off the Ghost Face mask, revealing a mischievous smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

As he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours, you sucked in a breath in response to the sensual tension that crackled between you. His gloved hands, still gripping the mask, dropped to his sides, and he advanced with a slow, deliberate purpose. The room was drowning in desire, and you couldn't tear your gaze away from him.

Jeno moved in until he was standing directly in front of you. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself unable to resist as he placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. The touch was electrifying, and you leaned into it, your eyes closing as you savored the sensation. You reached up slowly and pulled his hands away, suddenly regretting it, but you went on with pulling the leather gloves off, exposing a set of large, veiny hands. 

Kicking off your shoes, you moved to the top of his bed and watched as he concentrated on your every move with dark eyes. In a flash, Jeno had pulled off the cloak, leaving his chest exposed and him only in his jeans. It felt like you were freezing without his touch on you, but soon enough, he was in front of you, inspecting your face before his eyes ultimately landed on your lips that were stained red from makeup.

His lips rushed to meet yours in a tantalising kiss, a soft exploration that soon deepened into a passionate melding of mouths. The taste of him was intoxicating, and your tongues danced in a heated rhythm, exchanging breathless sighs and moans. Every kiss, every brush of his lips against yours, sent a rush of heat through your body. It was amazing.

His hands travelled from your face, down to your waist and they pulled you to meet his body. Jeno groaned into the kiss from all the friction caused by his chest rubbing against your sweater, making his nipples hard and sensitive. 

While your arms wrap around his neck, Jeno’s hips dig into yours, creating a tent in his pants. It’s hard and uncomfortable but the pressure it’s putting on your cunt is to die for, so you grind… hard. Jeno moans your name while his hands tug at your jeans so aggressively you thought he would tear them if he continued. After blindly messing around with your pants, Jeno popped the button open and pulled down your jeans, exposing the lacy underwear you had on. 

You whined as he pulled away from your lips but you shut up quicker than ever when you noticed how he was staring at your pussy. He looked hungry.

He looked like he was starving.

And starving, he was.

Jeno practically tore off your panties, tossing them somewhere behind him, before he dove into you. His tongue pressed flat against your pussy, licking a stripe up, the muscle’s warmth and making you moan softly. His nose poked at your clit as his tongue toyed with your hole. He lapped at your folds, making sure no spot was left untouched by his tongue. Jeno loved the way you tasted; you had the best pussy he’s ever eaten, he felt like he could spend all day eating you out, and he’d never get tired of it. 

Jeno pulled away for a second to put his middle finger in his mouth, coating it in saliva before pressing it to your entrance. A hum escaped your lips as his thick digit slowly pulsed in and out of you as your hands worked to take off your sweater and shirt. Soon, one finger became two, and Jeno went back to eating you out. Your moans were driving him crazy; they were making it hard focus on your clit because his cock was so fucking hard. The hand he had pressed on your lower abdomen moved down to his button, undoing it and moving the zipper down far enough for him to get his dick out. 

As he rubbed his cock, Jeno’s teeth grazed your clit before his lips latched on to it, sucking forcefully. With that, it didn’t take long for that feeling to start to form. As your moans quickened, the pace of Jeno’s fingers grew faster, and he sucked harder on your clit– if it were even possible. He loved the way you were tightening around his fingers, like you were trying to keep them inside you, wanting them absorb your juices.

“Fuck, Jeno…” you gasped, fingers tugging at his dark, messy hair. “God, I’m so close.”

Your eyes squeezed shut right as you were about to cum, but you never did. You felt so high, but now you dropped back down to zero, and you were empty and cold. Opening your eyes, you saw Jeno looking down at you with a smug expression. He leaned down and kissed you softly, which allowed you to taste yourself off his tongue, the somewhat sweet taste filling your mouth. 

Reaching down, you felt for his cock, and began stroking when you found it. He was girthier than other guys you’ve had sex with, and he had a slight curve upwards, but my god was he long. You didn’t know if he would fit, but there was nothing you wouldn’t try. 

Jeno moaned as he kissed you, the feeling of your warm hands rubbing him up and down forced him to thrust at the pace you were moving at. He pulled back from your lips to drop his head into the crook of your neck, marking and panting against the soft skin. Behind the shell of your ear, he wet a small spot with saliva before he kissed it softly, and he did the same to a few other spots. He sucked on your skin until it bruised while he moved down to the curve of your neck. Jeno’s hot tongue laid against your skin once again before he closed his teeth around it. 

You jerked his cock harder as the boy continued to bite into different spots until his husky voice whispered a demand. 

“Stop.” Jeno told you.

You did as you were told, but you kept your fingers trailing up and down his shaft as he kissed back up your neck, to your lips.

“Gimme two seconds.” he said against your lips with a smile. You kissed him quickly before he got up, which made him chuckle. 

You watched as he got up, cock out and everything, which made you smile a bit. Jeno slid off his remaining clothes and tossed them in what presumed to be a laundry bin, and opened a drawer of his dresser, only to pull out something wrapped in a gold foil. 

Oh…

Not one;

Not two;

Or three;

But six.

Jeno pulled out a strand of six condoms before he turned back to you. “Just in case.” he smiled innocently, even though he absolutely was not. He tore one from the line and ripped the top off with his teeth before he handed you the open package. 

“Only six?” you asked in attempt to make a joke out of the pain you’re going to be in tomorrow. 

Jeno chuckled as he shrugged while you took the condom and rolled it on to his cock. “We can use the whole pack if you want, it’s new.”

And that was that, seeing as Jeno grabbed your face and kissed you passionately. His tongue eagerly explored your mouth once again, grazing your own tongue and cheeks before he pulled away. A string of your mixed saliva hung like a teather from your mouth to his.

“Turn over for me, won’t you?” you nodded in a daze and turned so that your face was in the pillows. “Good girl,” he said, his cool hands grazing down your back, sliding all the way down to your ass. He spread your cheeks far enough apart to see everything, and you swore you heard evil laughter coming from somewhere. 

What you thought was going to come, did not, in fact, come. Instead, you were surprised to feel a warm glob of spit fall on to your ass and how it trailed down to your pussy. Jeno leaned down and licked one long stripe, starting from your clit and ending at your ass. His tongue poked into your hole, once again, but this time he scisored in and out, the same way he used his fingers earlier. His tongue was warm and soft inside you, but that feeling didn’t last very long. 

Jeno pulled his tongue out, subbing it out for his fingers, but instead, he used his tongue on your ass, sending shivers down your spine. He licked at the puckered hole, warming it up a bit as he fucked your pussy with his fingers. 

“You doing okay?” he asked, but you were only able to moan out your response. His fingers fucked you faster, his thumb was ruining your clit with friction, your ass was slick with his spit. Everything was happening just as it needed to be for you to cum. “Oh fuck, Jeno, I’m gonna cum.” And this time you did. Jeno’s fingers curled inside you as they fucked you through your orgasm. Your body shook, your pussy was covered in spit and cum. Jeno’s fingers were coated in a mixture of his and your fluids, and he sucked it off like he was eating icing from a cake. 

You felt hot and sticky; he hadn’t even fucked you with his cock yet and yet that was the best orgasm you’d ever fucking felt. “Jen… Jeno, I need you.”

The desparity in your voice sent Jeno spiraling and in no time, the fingers in your pussy were gone and his cock was poking at your enterance. He spit into his hand and coated his covered cock in it, even though he doubted he needed it, considering the fact that you were so wet you could drip on to his bed.

With a slow push, Jeno’s cock entered you, but refrained from moving after hearing you gasp. You knew he was going to be big, but you didn’t know he would be that big. He was a length you’d never taken before, so it took you a few minutes to adjust to his size, but soon enough you were able to build up to a medium pace. 

Jeno’s hands snuck up your back to undo the clasp of your bra, exposing your breasts. Jeno firmly gripped your ass, with his thumb prodding at your assshole. You hummed with pleasure as the thick digit dipped into you slightly. With that, along with the pounding from his cock, you were basically in heaven. 

“Faster,” you gasped, finally feeling only pleasure as he fucks into you.

Pulling you up by the shoulder, your bra slipped off in an instant, which let Jeno get a proper view of your tits, plump and beautiful. He watched how they jiggled with each thrust, and he grew more and more fond of them. Jeno even switched his grip on you from your shoulder to your neck. His hand gripped you around the base of your throat, just tight enough for there to be a handprint later. Meanwhile, the other snaked down to your pussy, where he drew fast circles on your clit. Jeno’s cock was deep inside your cunt, it filled you to the brim and you were loving every minute of it. 

And so was he. The sound of skin slapping on skin, how your pussy fit his cock like a glove, how you moaned his name like you knew it well, how your back was practically glued to his chest. That made him go crazy; that made him fuck you even harder– a more vigurous pace that felt so good it brought you to tears. 

Jeno got a hold of one of your nipples, it was hard and practically begging for it to be twisted. You moaned at the feeling and begged for more through your tears, so Jeno’s arms crossed over your stomach, his hands reaching up to play with your nipples some more. He pulled at them until they slipped from his grip, he squeezed them until you begged for mercy. When he shoved two fingers in your mouth, you gagged and yet you could still go further. Jeno pulled his fingers out and covered your tits in your spit.

It didn’t take long for his hips to pick up the pace once he that he was about to cum. Your moans grew choppier and choppier as his thrusts became more sharp. 

“Shit, baby.” he groaned, his teeth biting down on your ear loab as he came. Your breaths were ragged in the moments of his orgasm, but you could feel his cock twitch inside you, even with the condom. Your body couldn’t keep up with the speed he was going at and soon enough you were shaking in his arms for a second time, cumming with him.

When Jeno pulled out, your head lolled backwards and you eyed him with a smile. Jeno kissed your temple and whispered his next words into your skin.

“On to the second condom, then?” You each laughed at his comment and Jeno wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly as he shook with laughter.

The boy helped you off of him before getting off the bed again to switch condoms. The exchange was quick and before you knew it, Jeno was hovering above of you once more, staring down at you like you were his prey. This predatory look formed a pit in your stomach, but the good kind. 

Jeno’s eyes scanned you from head to toe. 

Your body glistened with sweat, collarbones and throat covered with markings of all kinds, your nipples were puffy and wet, and your pussy was swollen and slick with juices. Everything looked delectable; you looked delectable and he was so tempted to consume it all. 

The boy picked up one of your legs and propped it over his shoulder and placed his tip at your entrance. He bottomed out smoothly, and this time you seemed to be able to handle his length much better. Your head sunk into the pillows as you let out a sigh. 

You watched how Jeno’s eyes closed when he felt your cunt wrap around him with his head falling back with pleasure. “Feels so good.” he groaned into the air, his jaw hanging open slightly as he continued to thrust. His head turned to the side and he brought your calf closer to his mouth, littering it with harsh bites and soft kisses.

Biting your lip, you reached your arm out, silently asking for him to come closer to you, to which he accepted. Setting your leg down, Jeno placed his arms on either side of your head, his face now just centimetres away from yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you wanted to keep the eye contact, so you mustered up the courage to look into his swirling orbs. In his eyes were a mix of emotions, ones that were unrecognisable to you, but you liked it. Tilting your head up slightly, you pecked his bottom lip lightly, which earned you a grin from Jeno. It grew wider when you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him in even closer to you. He hummed and kissed you back forcefully as he picked up the pace, his balls slapping against you sharply. 

The tears that ran from your eyes down your cheeks seemed to motivate Jeno. Before, he could only hear your sobs, but seeing you cry switched something inside him. It made him want to fuck you harder, just to see you cry even harder. You looked so pretty, with your makeup all messy and tears running down your face. He loved it. 

So he fucked you harder, and so you cried harder, you moaned louder, and you pawed at his back. His skin was under your nails, he could feel how they cut into him the harder he thrust. You were driving him fucking insane. 

Jeno leaned his forehead on to yours as he moaned out sweet nothings. “I fucking love your pussy, fuck.” he cursed. His words made you tighten around his cock, which only made him groan louder, but it was like music to your ears. He felt like your pussy was sucking him in the way it would constrict when he fucked into you. 

“Jeno, please,” you whimpered, but you didn’t even know what you were begging for. “Fuck, Jeno, you’re so fucking good.” you repeated your words as you whined out to him. 

His words made your insides flutter, his movements made your heart race and your breaths quicker. Everything felt so good you could barely moan out words anymore. 

He was fucking you dumb and silly. You were nothing but drawn out exclamations and tears. You were so sensitive, and yet you didn’t even want to tell him to stop. 

It was just too good to stop.

So he kept fucking you, and he kept filling you, over, and over, and over again until you felt it. “Jen… Jeno, fuck, I’m cumming.”  Suddenly, Jeno pulled out again, the same way he did earlier, but this time, he crawled between your legs again, fingering you until you came while jerking himself off. This one hit you so hard that your mind went completely blank and no words could even come out of your mouth. Jeno couldn’t even register what happened until he felt a wet substance leak on to his sheet. 

He couldn’t fucking believe it.

His mouth latched on to your squirting cunt almsot immediately, drinking in your juices like it was water. Some  liquid dripped down his neck as he lapped up the rest that leaked from your pussy, but he never let up. He continued to eat you out so well even after you came, you thought you were going to do it again.

As your hand raked through his dark hair, all it took was one tug at his roots for him to cum. Jeno rode his high by fucking himself into his mattress, and until he was done, he rest in between your thighs. 

Slowly making his way up to you, you looked down, only to find that his dick was still hard. “You’re joking, right?”

“How about we finish that pack in a bit, hm?” he grinned, making you scoff. 

[stellar-skyy]

♡ - LOST & FOUND - Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child has been taken from them. ii. CWS & NOTES: description of blood and injury (mildly graphic but not gory), violence, mentions of kidnapping, swearing (like once), implied murder. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. angst & slight hurt/comfort. 2.5k words. iv. A/N: i am... so normal about parental arlecchino... so normal... i hope you enjoy because i loved writing this!! i have a little written for an epilogue featuring the lyntwins + freminet reuniting, so stay tuned for that ♡

It had been fifty-eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes since [Name] had vanished.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

reblogs are appreciated ♡

[chronicdisasterwrites]

death is pretty but his eyes are prettier

pairing: gojo satoru x reader (gojo’s past arc)

genre + warnings: - blood, injuries, mentions of death, passing out and intestines spilling out of the body (it's a bit gory but nothing crazy), swearing, reader is shorter than satoru but other than that it's gender-neutral (i'm pretty sure), shoko smoking, protective satoru and suguru.

a bit angsty but definitely FLUFF !!

word count: 3,191 (yikes lmao)

authors note: okaaay, so i was inspired by taylor swift saying "you drew stars around my scars", and also i love slow burns and two idiots silently but obviously pining for each other; SO satoru and reader aren't dating here yet. but they very much do like each other.

also apologies in advance if i messed up any location descriptions :')

enjoy this chaos lol <3

I’m an idiot. 

The curse was dead. The special grade curse you were assigned to kill was dead and you were almost dead. 

As the dissipating remains of the curse mixed with the wind and faded away, you heaved as the blood from the gash across your stomach soaked your dark blue uniform and colored it an even darker shade. Taking a few steps towards the nearest wall, you lean against it, legs buckling and gasping for breath. The light-headedness was growing exponentially and you had to force your eyes to stay open and your legs to stay upright. Blinking rapidly and trying to regain focus, you press one hand to the gaping wound on your abdomen. Red bleeds through your fingers and you feel like you might just pass out. Or die. Or both. 

Feeling liquid drip down your chin, you lift your other hand to the right side of your cheek to assess the source of what you assumed had to be blood. Sure enough, your previously bloodless hand was now stained with sticky crimson. Slowly moving your finger on your cheek to figure out where the blood was coming from you felt a sharp pain when your hand made contact with what seemed to be a pretty large cut. 

Shit. That’s gonna leave a scar.

Your scythe was broken so you had no weapons to worry about carrying back to Jujutsu High. Sluggishly taking your phone out of your uniform pocket you pray to every force you know to let your phone be okay. The black cracked screen stares back at you and the reflection of your worn out, disappointed, and bloodied face is all you see.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. 

Now the question is whether to go to a hospital and get questioned by non-sorcerers about the horrendous wounds covering your entire body or, to go to Shoko and get patched up and hopefully not get asked too many questions and look like an absolute idiot. 

Shoko will ask questions and she’ll obviously be concerned. If Shoko knows, Satoru and Suguru are bound to find out and they won’t be happy with the higher-ups about this… misjudgment.

So, the hospital sounds better. But the nearest hospital is further from my current location than jujutsu high. 

Your breathing is getting shallower and your head feels so light you feel like it’ll just fall off. Closing your eyes and taking the deepest breath you could take without feeling like your stomach will tear open from the searing pain, you decide.

Fuck it. Shoko it is.

Pushing yourself off the wall with one hand still clutched to your bleeding stomach you start moving towards Jujutsu High. You control your breathing and use every last bit of cursed energy you have left to staunch the bleeding and somewhat ease your pain. With that, you urge your legs to move as fast as physically possible without breaking down.

---

You don’t know how you made it without bleeding out in the middle of the road, but the gates of Jujutsu High have never looked prettier. But, the sight of the stairs was enough to make bile rise to your throat. Swallowing it down and heaving some more, you make your way up the neverending steps of your inevitable doom.

Upon reaching the final step, your legs give out and you fall, wounded cheek first onto the stoned pavement. The pain was like nothing you’ve ever felt before; shooting upwards to your neurons and all the way down your body, right to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

It feels so nice to lie down. No no, get the hell up and go to Shoko. Or all this damn walking would’ve been for absolutely nothing.

Hours was it? Or minutes? You’re not sure but you managed to get back up. After first turning from your side to your back and then bending one leg and then using one hand to help your body up and then finally sitting up. Then at a snail’s pace, managing to stand up on your two feet you start moving towards the morgue, where Shoko spends most of her time anyways. That was your best bet. And if she wasn’t there, well then death seemed like the next best option. 

Slugging your way to the morgue, one hand still clutched to your stomach, you aggressively slap your free hand on the doorknob and turn it with your full body weight on the door. The door swings open and unable to keep your balance, you fall again, right cheek hitting the cold floor for the second time that day. 

All you remember hearing before your eyes finally shut is the sound of a chair screeching on the floor followed by the sound of rapid footsteps and a string of unintelligible words you assumed belonged to Shoko.

---

Darkness. More darkness. Muted voices. Yelling. Some more darkness. Pain.

When you finally open your eyes, everything is a blur. You blink a few times and look around until your eyes find something to focus on. The white walls, the green curtains, and the smell of antiseptic chemicals all lead you to believe you are in the infirmary. Flexing your hands one, two, three times before slowly lifting your right hand up to gently caress your right cheek, you feel the soft cloth of a bandage taped to your skin. Bringing the same hand down to lay it flat upon the blanket covering your abdomen, you apply the slightest bit of pressure down until you feel a slight prick of pain. Lifting the blanket up you tilt your head down to check the situation. You’re wearing a flowy hospital gown and your stomach looks a bit bulky. Feeling around the wound site you realize there’s a bandage there too. Laying your hand back down by your side, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering how you were even alive.

The creaking of the door opening breaks you from your stupor. 

“That was fast. Thought you’d be out for longer,” comes the smooth voice, the smell of cigarettes and that familiar sandalwood sweet perfume you know only belongs to Shoko.

Turning your head to the side you watch her sit down on the chair next to you fiddling with an unlit cigarette and crossing her legs. Her bangs almost cover her left eye and you notice how tired she looks. She sighs and looks at you with a lazy smile, fingers still twirling the cigarette with ease, she asks, “How you feeling?”

You shift and push yourself up to lean your back against the headrest of the bed. With a loud exhale you look back at her with a half-assed smile, “I’m great actually. Good job, doc.” You give her a thumbs up and hope it’ll be enough to squash any more questions she might have.

With her smile still on her face, she looks down at the cigarette and hums, “You know, Gojo was about to unleash hell on the higher-ups for giving you that mission.”

Your smile is immediately replaced with a frown and you feel unbelievably small upon hearing this. With a scowl you ask, “I mean, the mission was a success, wasn’t it?" You shrug, "And I’m fine too so win-win.”

Finally, her smile fades as she stares straight at you; and you think this is the most serious you have ever seen Shoko look, “You could’ve died. That doesn’t seem like “fine” to me. For once I actually agree with Gojo. It wasn’t right of them to assign you on that mission, especially without warning.”

“I’m feeling unbelievably underestimated right now, Shoko,” your voice is small as you fiddle with the seams of the blanket covering the lower half of your body.

Shoko sighs and shakes her head, short hair swishing as she leans forward with her arms on her legs, “I’m not doubting your abilities. No one is doubting your skills. But your wounds were really bad, you know that as well as I do.”

It’s quiet for a bit before you speak again. You look at her downturned head as you reach out your hand to hold hers. Your voice is demure.

“I know. I’m sorry for worrying you, Shoko. But I promise I’m fine. And that’s all thanks to you.” You smile at her as she lifts her head enough to lock her eyes with yours. A smile she doesn’t return but her hand holds yours back and you know she believes you now.

“Yeah well try not to pass out with your intestines all over the floor next time, thanks.”

You laugh. “I promise. I hope you’re joking about the intestines though.”

Shoko huffs a short laugh and lets go of your hand. Bringing the cigarette to her mouth as she stands up she says, “Your cursed energy is the reason that’s a joke. It’s amazing you held out for that long. But don’t get too used to that luck.”

Bringing your hand back to your lap, you watch as she makes her way out and shuts the door. 

Immediately after leaving she pokes her head in again and says one thing before leaving again without waiting for your reply, “Please talk to Gojo and Geto. Go now actually.” 

You sigh and bring down one foot then the other. The light-headedness returns once you stand up but it’s manageable, so you look around for a change of clothes when you find a new uniform folded neatly on the side table next to your bed.

Changing into the new uniform, you make your way out to look for either Satoru or Suguru or if you’re lucky (more so unlucky) both of them.

---

Jujutsu High really is beautiful this time of the season. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom and the campus looks downright ethereal. You think while walking the halls how this place would feel if it were just an ordinary high school and not a place teaching kids how to wield weapons and slay curses. The classrooms would be filled with boisterous students and teachers talking in the courtyard. Canteens with flirting couples and students playing football outside. The gymnasium would hold basketball games with students wearing the school jersey and cheering for the school team. It would be different. It wouldn’t be Jujutsu High, you think.

“Well well, look who’s up and walking already,” the loud, smug voice you know only belongs to one white-haired, blue-eyed boy.

Stopping in your tracks you turn around and stand face to face with Satoru. You give him a sheepish smile and with the sweetest voice you can muster you say, “Hey there Satoru! I was just looking for you!”

Satoru scoffs and walks closer to you. 

"Drop the crap."

Oh shit.

Once close enough to touch you he waits for a few beats staring at your face, eyes locked with yours as he occasionally looks at the bandage on your cheek. He breathes your name.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he seethes.

You groan, exasperated but expecting this reaction. 

“I’m okay, Satoru. I don’t get why this is such a big deal honestly.”

You can see his eyes widen behind his sunglasses with pure rage as he scoffs yet again. His voice gets louder and his arms flail around trying to prove his point, 

“Oh, you don’t get why this is a big deal? Well for starters, you could have died. You’re a semi-first grade, why the hell would you even accept a job to kill a special grade curse?” 

“Okay, I didn’t know it was a special grade. And I killed it, didn’t I? Have some faith in me,” your tone matches his and you glower as you cross your hands across your chest.

He starts pacing back and forth, facepalming himself to oblivion as he goes on a rant,

“Oh my- that’s not the point! It’s not about having faith. You were all messed up and half dead and you could’ve been fully dead and we were almost about to kill those stupid old geezers but then Shoko stopped us and I swear if she didn’t we would’ve actually gone through with it. I mean seriously what the hell-“

You stomp forward mid-rant and grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to stop. Your voice is soft but steady like you’re comforting a child in distress.

“Satoru calm down. I’m okay. The curse is dead. It’s fine. Now please breathe.”

He stares at you through his sunglasses. His chest is heaving and fists are clenched by his sides, not trying to move at all even though he could easily shove you away and continue pacing and ranting.

He dips his head down and exhales deeply, shoulders slanted downwards and breathing slowing down. He moves forward as his arms encircle your body and his head rests on top of yours. Your nose is squished against his chest and you can smell his scent; a mix of sweets, laundry detergent, and his signature scent; the smell of dewdrops and what you assume would probably be some expensive brand of perfume. You relax against him as you breathe him in and your arms move to hug him back. Shifting your head to rest your cheek on his chest you hear his heart beat steadily. You close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of Satoru. 

Neither of you say anything, but say everything at the same time. All his thoughts poured into that one hug, and you silently hear them all as you hug him a bit tighter.

You can feel him gulp as his Adam's apple moves against your forehead. His voice is small and honest as he says, “I would kill them all. If you didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all.”

You know he would, so it’s not really a confession. But it feels like a confession. Satoru would turn the world upside down for the people he loves. You know that too well. 

“I know,” your voice is quiet. You feel so safe in Satoru’s arms. You think it’s so embarrassing how safe you feel whenever you’re with him. You feel like a baby; guard down and vulnerable. You’re sure Satoru feels the same way. You’ve never once seen him keep his Infinity on when he’s with you. 

He hugs you tighter and you can feel his heart rate quicken. He takes a deep breath and exhales as he lets you go and looks at you. You tilt your head up and try to find those cerulean blues hidden behind the shade of his sunglasses. Lifting your hand up to push his glasses up to his head you finally look right into the swirling blues of his eyes. They’re like the ocean. Calm, but with an unmistakable power surging within them. Like the energy you feel in the water right before a wave is formed, the blues in his eyes seem to pulse and flow with power. But they’re also still and serene, and filled with so much emotion. His eyes hold so much more than just power. 

His hand comes up to your bandaged cheek and he slowly takes off one side of the tape and then another until the bandage flaps open. You suddenly feel smaller and even more vulnerable. You haven’t even seen your face with the scar yet (you’re positive there’s a scar). His eyes zone in on the cut as he traces the raised flesh lining the center of your cheek. As his finger runs down the scar, you envision just how large the cut really is; about 3 inches vertical. It didn’t hurt anymore. Shoko really is a fantastic sorcerer, you think. Not moving your eyes from Satoru’s even once, you see the whirlpool of emotions swirl around in those crystal blues. Anger, sadness, worry, relief, adoration, hope.

His jaw clenches as he furrows his brows ever so slightly, fingers moving across your scar with featherlight pressure. Moving his gaze to your eyes, he rests his entire palm against your wounded cheek. Adjusting his hand to hold the side of your face perfectly like two pieces of the same puzzle, his thumb lays on the scar with a gentleness you didn’t know Satoru had. 

It’s so quiet, you can hear your heart pounding in your chest. The occasional breeze and the mellow chirping of birds bring you back to the world, otherwise, you’re positive you’d forget all about the outside world and be content standing in the middle of the hall in Jujutsu High wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s arms. 

You and Satoru were friends. Of course, you loved him, but that love is no different from the love you have for Shoko and Suguru. They’re your home. You’re a family. You know they love you too. 

But right now, it feels different than all the other times Satoru has held you. Held your hand, held your face, hugged you, clumsily threw his lanky arms over your shoulders, ran his fingers through your hair, wiped the blood off your face, flicked you on the forehead, patted you on the head, messed up your hair, rested his head on top of yours. This particular instance feels different. More intimate, perhaps. 

Maybe because you really could’ve died. Your life was hanging by a thread and you don’t seem to understand that. You were so prepared to die, that such a close brush with death’s scythe didn’t affect you in the slightest. This job comes with a guarantee of death. Even though that is life in general; being a jujutsu sorcerer means your days are already numbered. Anytime you embark on a mission, your chances of dying are much higher than your chances of survival. So you always went out on the field with the thought of dying. Knowing you could die and leave everything and everyone behind. But this was the first time you felt you were one step through death’s door. 

You can feel Satoru’s breath on your face, and you think he might kiss you. You keep one hand on his back as you lift the other to hold his wrist near your jaw. As he leans forward you close your eyes bracing for the kiss to reach your lips. But it doesn’t reach the place you were expecting. Instead, the lightest kiss touches your forehead, almost chaste; as he lingers there for a moment and then moves back. 

By now, your heart is racing and you think you’re dreaming. Only when his hands leave you, do you open your eyes and realize this isn’t a dream. 

He exhales as he stands straight, with both hands by his side. Bringing his sunglasses back down, perched on the bridge of his nose, he gives you a small smile, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You try to mask your stunned expression with a smile and nod. 

As he turns to leave he says, “Suguru’s at the gymnasium, probably.”

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “Alright.”

He walks away and you go in the other direction.

part 2

[random-twst-things]

The Sweet Painter of Twisted things (Pt. 1)

Hi annon! Love the concept. It's no bother at all, I do love to write after all!! Ty for the request and I apologize for taking so long 😭✨🍬 (I hope you like it!)

Characters involved: Riddle, Leona, Azul pt.1 (Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus pt.2)

Pairings: Riddle, Leona, Azul pt 1 (Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus x Female reader pt.2) (Separate)

Warnings: Mentions of eerie/gory paintings

Word count: 1,630

Notes: you know what? I'm just gonna post it now and finish the rest in a different post, I don't want y'all to be kept waiting any longer 😭✨🍬

More notes: I'll be posting Pt.2 whenever I have time! I will say though, I have no idea how to write for some of the characters in Pt.2 😀✨🍬

When you said you painted and wished to show him your art, Riddle had to admit he was a tad bit (a lot) excited to see

So, when you showed him your art he was absolutely bewildered.

You, the sweetest person he has ever had the chance in meeting, paints things that could cause nightmares.

Obviously, he isn't going to say that aloud, he has manners, but dear seven, how unexpected it was for him.

He's seen art before. He's been to museums by his mother to teach him strictly of the arts and the "rules" she put in place for them to determine how well a painting is.

It's been years since his mother taught him such things, and she only did it so often, and after time, those rules of art set by his mother have dwindled.

He's been able to go to museums before with Trey as a way to calm down when things are too much. Luckily, Trey was able to explain to Riddle how there are many forms of art and how it art doesn't necessarily have rules itself.

So it's safe to say he's a bit more well-versed in paintings now, even though he still finds it a bit difficult when there's no rules to follow (a habit hard to get rid of)

Now, his reaction all depends on what painting and image your showing him

He will ask you questions about why you would paint such uncanny things such as:

Why did you paint this? What caused you to begin painting such eerie things? What Inspiration were you given to paint this particular piece?

And many more questions about technique and practical things.

He can't say that he's a fan of these types of paintings, but he can say that he thinks you're very talented to be able to make such paintings

He'll praise how well done or real your painting(s) looks.

He's going to be a bit concerned about you, though, and he shows that by (trying to) subtly asking if you're okay

"What gave you the inspiration to draw this?" Riddle asks, the worry in his tone being quite evident even through his attempts in hiding it. "Have you witnessed such things for inspiration?" He asks again, his voice laced with even more worry than before.

"What? No!" You stand up from your seat to get closer to Riddle. "It's not like that," you laugh lightly, shaking your hands in the air. "I just happened to see a rotting piece of meat in the cafeteria kitchen one time while passing by."

Riddle breathes a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in. Bro was stressing and worrying.

I say this in the nicest way possible to us all, but this man does not care but-!

Leona doesn't care in a sense like "I wanna show you something!" "Alright hurry it up and show me".

Maybe he's a bit smug that you're showing him something you like to do.

Anyways, when you said you wanted to show him your painting(s) he was being smug.

He didn't have any set expectations to what type of things you painted or what your style was.

Him seeing the eerie or gory painting didn't surprise him as much as Riddle either.

He doesn't have much to say, but this guy is still smug and is definitely showing it now.

Why? The guys got weird motives and definitions of respect and pride so we'll never know.

His does wonder how you acquired such Inspiration to paint like this.

He's not too curious about it to the point where he'll try to find out or becomes worried.

Again, he is smug and prideful but it's for you

He feels prideful FOR you. He's smug about you being able to paint such gory or eerie things FOR you.

(Bros so smitten with you)

You set your canvas/notebook down carefully against one of the plants nearby, careful not to get it dirty or damaged.

Leona lays there, back towards you, unbothered under the shade of a plant, but not for long as you bring your finger near his cheek and begin to poke.

Poke.

Poke.

PokePokePokePokePokePokePoke.

Leona swats your hand away, but not harshly. His tail swings left to right faster then he was asleep, another sign he's awake.

He looks at you, irked that you disturbed his so-called much needed nap. He glares at you, but his eyes lack the malice in them to even consider it threatening. You look at him innocently, hands behind your back as to show it wasn't you. (He knows better, only you would ever try to wake him up like that)

He sighs deeply. "What is it herbivore?" He asks as he shifts slightly to get into a more comfortable position to get a better view of you. You turn your body slightly to grab the canvas you set down behind you, careful not to accidentally show Leona just yet. "I wanna show you something," you beam, you're more excited then you thought you'd be showing him, for the first time, your most recent painting.

Leona's tail begins to swish even faster, thumping against the leaves of the plants nearby. His tail gives away that his curiosity has been piqued. Yet his face remains unchanged, besides the slight quirk of his eyebrow in questioning.

You turn the canvas around for Leona to see.

And there it is

The smirk

The smug

The eyes of pride *sound effects*

His smirk seems to widen even more as he looks at the painting and then back at you. "Looks nice herbivore, ya got anymore?"

You excitedly nod your head, "yeah, I do. Wanna see them?", you ask, gripping your painting, even more excited then before to show him.

Leona nods his head languidly while slowly closing his eyes, "sure, but after I finish this nap", he brings his arms down and begins to get comfortable. He softly pats his stomach, "Come, sleep".

Azul knows you paint, he knows it's been a hobby of yours for a while now.

How does he know? Doesn't matter. Does he know what exactly the contents of your paintings are? No

His curiosity has been eating away at him. He was so very curious on what his darling was capable of

So, when you first told him that you wished to show him your paintings, he was elated. His curiosity will finally be quelled.

He may or may not have a set expectations of what you paint. Something sweet, something calm or maybe something like he'd find at a museum of old paintings.

What he saw was the complete opposite to say the least.

He's not disappointed, no, he's just shocked.

He's amazed. He's taken aback. He's a lot of emotions.

.....would you be willing to, perhaps, sell these paintings? Many people out there would be willing to buy, and the profits would be even and-

Old habits die hard, I suppose 🤷🏽‍♀️

You led Azul by the hand to your room/drawing room, much slower than he would like as he wished to see your paintings as soon as possible.

"Azul, i can feel you twitching in anticipation just by holding your hand," you laughed lightly. He sighed, bringing his free hand to his temple to calm his nerves. "I'm sorry, dear, but it feels as if you're walking slower just to build up anticipation," "Maaaybeee~". Azul chuckles at your antics.

Finally, after Azuls definition of agonizing seconds. He visibly relaxed as he saw the covered canvas. "My, you really know how to keep me on my toes", ",I most certainly do". You left go of his hand and stand next to the covered canvas. "Ready?", you put your hands on the sheet. Azul held his breath and nodded.

You clench the cover and quickly pull it off. You turn to face Azul to gouge his reaction. That reaction was him frozen in place, still holding his breath (you'd begun to think how he still hasn't passed out) "Azul?" You try to call out to him.

He slowly walks up to your painting, still holding his breath. He reaches out and touches the edges of the canvas delicately, scared he we're to break it if he put too much pressure. You watch his careful movements. You watch as his eyes rake over your painting as if he could take the painting and store it into his memory box. "Azul?" You try calling out again, only this time he responds.

He let's out a shaky breath, "it looks -" he turns his head to fade you. "It looks magnificent, dear," his words were barely above a whisper. You stand there absolutely frozen and shocked. Nobody has ever quite thought this kind of painting would be 'magnificent' before.

"Really?" He turns his head back at the painting."Yes, the detail is vert intricate, and it feels so eerie. It's as if you were truly there." You stare at him bewildered, mouth slightly agape.

He puts his hand on his chin in a thinking position. The gears turn in his head. He turns to face you so quickly that you'd think he'd have snapped his neck on accident. "Have you ever considered selling these?" He asks, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Sell them?... No, I never really thought of that." You bring your fingers to your chin, now thinking as well. "Well, I'll say many would be lining up the door to buy these wonderful paintings!""Really?"

"Yes! With such talent and my business skills, we could -" and there goes the business man into his spiral of possibilities.

[bloody-peach]

The Sun Always Shines on TV (Hazbin Hotel: Vox x Reader)

SURPRISE! I'm not dead! So my buddy @omniuravity got me into Hazbin and especially my new husband Vox, and after a few headcanon chats, I just HAD to write something. So I did. Is it canon to Vox's behavior? I dunno, I haven't seen the full season, but I've seen clips, and I think I at least got a vague idea. So, sorry if not, but oh well. Still fun! This was kind of done in a rush of hyperfixation, so sorry if it's a bit rough. Anyways, enjoy!

Taglist: @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @neonvehk @omniuravity and anyone else who loves Hazbin and Vox!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

It was midnight when the hourglass finally ran out. The counter read '000', showing that time was up. You knew what today was.

Extermination Day was here again.

The day where angels would come down to hell and massacre hundreds of sinners as a form of population control. You could hear the screams of terror outside as crowds of sinners would scurry and try to escape their fates. You could've easily been in that crowd, getting impaled through the gut by an angel's spear.

Vox pulls you close to him, his arm around you as he watched the carnage from the couch on the large TV. He knew that it was hard for you to watch sinners get butchered alive, so he would let you hide your face in his chest when things got gory. When he heard you whimper, he looks at you, a concerned look on his face, saying, "You ok, Y/N?" You look at him and nod, "Yeah..it's just...it could be me out there...what if I'm next?" Vox brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear and said, "You won't be. As long as I'm here, you're safe. I won't let them hurt you." You hug him, snuggling in his chest for comfort, glad that he was there.

In truth, Vox was just as scared as you were. You could easily be in the crosshair of an angel if you were out on the streets. He would low-key panic if you weren't there with him each Extermination Day. He couldn't stand the idea of losing you, not to anything or anyone.

He still remembers seeing you watch his show from an electronics storefront. He noticed how you were drawn to the show, but somehow, his hypnosis didn't have an effect on you. But he was amazed that even without it, you still tuned in and watched with excitement. That day, he felt there was something special about you, so he kept a close eye on you, watching you through various tv screens when you weren't looking. Then one day, he met you through a chance encounter.

You worked at Valentino's studio as the camera operator and Vox happened to show up one day. You caught a glimpse of Vox talking with Valentino and you couldn't stop staring at him. You felt a ball of anxiety in your gut build as you watched him, admiring his good looks, charismatic attitude, and mesmerizing voice. You couldn't help but swoon to yourself.

"Y/N! Are you listening?!" Valentino's voice broke your daze and you quickly ran to him, so not to enrage him. "I-I'm sorry sir! I-I just sent the footage to the editor and they'll get it done right away!" Vox saw as Val smiled at you and he felt a bit of rage. He didn't like how Val looked at you with his sleazy gaze, undressing you with his eyes. He's the only one who should be allowed to do that.

Once you started to walk away, Vox trips you and you start to fall, but he catches you before you could hit the ground. You look at him and could feel your face blush and your heart flutter. You stood up and bowed your head, "I'm sorry sir!" "Hey, no need to apologize. And no need to call me 'sir', either. Just call me Vox. Now, who may you be?" "I..I'm Y/N..." "Y/N...what a nice name. So you work for Val?" You nod, saying, "Yeah, I work the camera." Vox walks closer to you, saying, "Oh, sweetheart, your cute face doesn't deserve to be hidden behind a camera. It deserves to be displayed on TV." You blushed pure red and Vox knew he had you in his grasp.

Vox buys you off of Val and he lets you live with him at his mansion. While you were amazed by the opulence an overlord possessed, all that mattered to you was that you were with Vox. As things went on, Vox noticed how caring you were towards him, comforting him when he was stressed out over Alastor or helping him fix his screen or repair his wires when he gets hurt. He would always turn to you for comfort before anyone else. He always enjoyed being around you, loving the way you laughed, smiled, made jokes, everything. Eventually, he realized that he was in love with you.

When Extermination Day came, you were just leaving the porn studio from a long night of doing re-shoots. The bell rang and you felt your heart sink. You tried to look where to hide, pushing your way through the screaming crowd. You pass by the electronics shop when you hear a familiar voice. "Y/N! Over here!" You turned and saw Vox's face on a screen. "Vox! It's time! Extermination Day! Oh my god, what do I do?!" "Listen to me, you're not too far from where I am. Find a place to hide and stay there, I'll come get you. Ok?" You nod, tears in your eyes. He sees your fear and says in a comforting voice before signing off, "It'll be okay, Y/N. I won't let them hurt you."

With that, you look and find a dumpster. You immediately hop inside and hide, keeping quiet. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours as you laid there, your anxiety and fear through the roof. You kept hoping that Vox would get there soon. You then feel a wire coil around your waist and pull you out of the dumpster and hold you. You look and see it was Vox, carrying you and rushing back to his house, dodging any angel nearby.

Once you got inside, Vox grabbed you and held you, causing your emotions to crash over you as the adrenaline ran out. You hugged him tightly and cried into his chest. "Shh, shh, it's okay now, Y/N. I'm here. You're safe. You're..safe..."

You could hear tears choked up in his voice and he hugged you tightly as you both dropped to your knees. He tried to hold back his tears, but he couldn't.

He could've lost you. When he heard the bells ring, he was so scared. He needed to find you and take you home. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't. Not you. He scanned every television in the district to find you and was so relieved when he did. He rushed out the door and ran towards the studio. And now that you were here in his arms, where he knew you were safe, he started to break down. His screen started to glitch and his audio started to skip as he tried to control himself. He was usually an narcissistic egomaniac, caring about himself, but when it came to you..it was all different. He needed you.

"Vox.."

"Y/N..please...stay with me...don't go...I love you..please..."

Those words made you cry even more, out of joy now.

"Vox...I love you too..."

"Y/N.."

And with that, you both cry out your built up emotions and soon, you both were in bed together, forgetting the world outside and only listening to each other's moans and words of love.

Ever since, Vox claimed your soul and you were now permanently his. From now on, you were under his protection. If any demon fucked with you or disrespected you, that was a direct insult to him and they would be dealt with. You would work as his assistant and co-host on some of his shows, entertaining thousands of viewers all over Hell. And whenever Extermination Day hit, you stayed at home with him, sitting with him on the couch and listening to him cheer and laugh as each sinner was killed. Sometimes it helped you, other times it didn't. But he knew that.

Vox stands up from the couch and shuts off the TV, saying "Come on, let's get to bed. It should be over soon anyways." You nod, following him. It's not too long til you both lay in bed, holding each other close. The bedroom was higher up from the ground floor, so the screams and sounds of death were much more distant. You lay your head on his chest and you hear his circuits buzzing rapidly, a sign of his anxiety. You lift your head and look at him, concerned. "Vox? Are you okay, honey?" He looks at you and smiles, but his face gave away that today kind of disturbs him too. It would remind him of the day that he almost lost you. He cupped your cheek and said softly, "I am, knowing that you're with me." You smile and lean up, kiss him softly and tenderly, the kiss showing so much love. Vox reciprocated the kiss and held you close. Once you broke the kiss, you hear the bell ring out, signaling the end of the annual massacre. Vox chuckled, saying, "Perfect. Now I can get some sleep. Night, babe." You lay on him, your head resting on his chest as you respond, "Night, sweetie. I love you." Vox wrapped his arms around you, gently rubbing your back as he said softly, "I love you too, Y/N."

~~~♡♡♡~~~

I hope you all like it!!

[ddejavvu]

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

summary: you think anakin's scar is sexy // based on this post and the line, "during heated moments of course, when you dig your nails into his face as he prompts you to 'give me another one, baby. cut me open, make me bleed.'"

cw: smut, minors dni. blood/gore (she scratches him and draws blood), don't like don't read.

Sex with Anakin is a bloody thing; the rush of it through your ears and the tang of it on your tongue as your spit runs hot. Though it mainly stays beneath your skin, rising to the surface to splotch you purple here and there, it occasionally surfaces due to the harsh bite of Anakin's teeth.

He's latched onto your shoulder now, some base instinct he doesn't bother to combat. He grunts against your skin as he ruts into you, teeth digging sharply into your skin. He hasn't broken it, but he will if he clamps down harder, and there's no telling what he'll do.

"Fuck, Anakin," You wince at the pain that's boiling your blood, sending shockwaves of its heat to your core, "Be- be careful, you're gonna leave a- mm! - a scar."

He exhales through his nose; you feel the breath against your shoulder.

His pace doesn't slow, but his teeth unlatch from your shoulder, leaving strings of spit behind, and his lips press there lazily.

"You and scars," He hums thoughtfully, almost amusedly, "You fuckin' love 'em, don't you?"

"Hm?" Is all you can manage as Anakin latches to your jaw now, his lip a tight, sucking ring.

"You love my fucking scar," He accuses, licking a hot stripe of saliva up your jawline and over your cheek. It puts the aforementioned scar in your view, and you admire the way it cuts jaggedly close to his eye.

He's right; it's hot.

"I do," You breathe, really more of a moan as Anakin's dick prods deep into your sensitive cunt, "I- It's so pretty, Ani."

"Yeah?" He asks, breath hitting your face, "Give me another one, then."

"What?"

"Give me another one," He repeats, breaking the bruising seal that his hand has had over your hip since he'd first laid over you. He lifts his hand to take your own, bringing it up to his face and setting it over his eye. Your nails rest gently against his tan skin, and his breath shudders when he exhales over your mouth.

"Dig your fucking nails into me, baby. Give me another scar- cut me open and make me fucking bleed."

"Anakin!" You protest, momentarily horrified, "I- I can't do that! I can't hurt you!"

"You can," He urges- no, begs, his hips snapping faster and faster into yours as he smashes your hand to his face, feeling the bite of your nails, "Do it, baby, fucking- fucking do it, give me another scar!"

"Anakin-"

"Do it!"

You let the heat of the moment seize you, and, though all five of your nails dig into his skin, one breaks through. You scrape your middle finger so harshly against his eyebrow that it draws blood, a crimson streak that lays lopsided and not quite parallel against his now-healed scar.

The burning pain that accompanies your nail's sharp edge is enough to push Anakin over the edge, and you feel yourself succumbing to your own orgasm as he begins to fuck his way through his inside of your spasming cunt. When the height of it takes him he nudges your hand out of the way and rubs his face against yours, leaving you with a gory smear of blood against your own eyebrow.

Something about it makes you sob; not sadness or anger, but perhaps sheer viscerality. Anakin's blood on your face feels cosmically binding, wrought from the edge of your nail at his heated insistence. He feels the shake of your chest as he collapses above you, his dick still inside of you though it softens now that he's spent.

"Shit," Is all he can offer, and you agree.

"Does it hurt?" You ask curiously, knowing that an apology will be dismissed; he'd begged for it, after all.

"A bit," He shrugs, eyes shut despite the crimson stain just left of them, "I've had worse."

"It'll scar," You note, perhaps stating the obvious but acknowledging it now for the first time.

"Yeah. Now I've got double the sex appeal," Anakin nods absentmindedly against your chest, more focused on regaining his breath, "And every time you see it you'll think of how you gave it to me."

[stellar-constellations]

Uppermoon trio + Muzan x female reader watching a horror movie headcanons? ;)

Muzan + Upper Moon Trio (separately) x Fem! Reader Watching Horror Movies

Modern AU (they're still demons and reader is a female human!)

Muzan: 

It's hard finding a movie for Muzan to genuinely watch. He's so nitpicky about them. What's the point of watching fake gore if he can just go outside, kill someone, and create his own horror movie?

Muzan glares at the screen if the gore is inaccurate or there's too much blood (or too little). Why lie? Where's the real stuff? 

Muzan probably likes torture gore movies but still wants plot. 

Muzan likes Silent Hill (2006), the Saw series, Silence of the lambs (1991), Truth or Dare (2018). He likes all the gore and the plot makes up for the inaccuracy of the gore (he likes Truth or Dare simply because the idea of controlling human's minds and bodies are amusing to him)

It's hard to make Muzan sit down and watch a movie with you since he'd rather do other things instead such as work, but once in a blue moon you can convince him. 

Muzan rarely ever cuddles you when watching movies, but if he notices you're scared, he'd pull you close by your waist so you're hugging his side. He acts like it isn't a big deal, but it obviously is considering Muzan's dislike for humans and their weakness. He doesn't bother trying to tease you about your fear, you're already scared and you both know this, and scary movies are supposed to ignite that sort of fear (he also might be engrossed in the movie you put on, but he'll never let you know that satisfaction). 

Douma: 

Douma loves gory movies. 

Douma talks to the TV like it can hear him. Will tell the characters to calmly run, makes remarks about them being too slow or how the killer is catching up (he might be fantasizing about being the one chasing them). 

Douma laughs at every joke in the script like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. He even laughs when background characters laugh (that's how you know he's a fake one). 

Douma likes obscure movies such as the Circle (2015), Last Shift (2014), the Final Destinations, and Wolf Creek (2005). Probably likes Human Centipede (2009) and laughs at the grossest scenes.

Douma forces you to keep your eyes open, like physically holds them open.

Douma laughs at your fear, he finds amusement in it. It's real genuine fear compared to the fake acting on TV. 

Douma will only comfort you if you cry or if you walk out on the movie to get away from him. He'll apologize profusely (mainly because he doesn't want to sleep alone on the couch). 

Kokushibo: 

Kokushibo doesn't care much for them. He prefers thrillers or mysteries instead.

Kokukshibo is genuinely a little bit freaked out of Scream (1996) because of the guessing who is the killer element, along with the technology of phones (he's traditional, refuses to use anything except letters or email). It was a fight to get him to use router phones. 

Kokushibo likes storytelling movies, or movies with multiple protagonists, or movies where you guess the killer.

Kokushibo likes movies such as Trick ‘R Treat (2007), the Tales from the Crypt series (1989), Stephen King's 1922 (from 2017), Psycho (1960). Nothing too graphic. Gore does not equal horror in his book. He watched M3gan (2022) and was uncomfortable of the advanced technology. 

Kokushibo will reassure you if you're scared. He'll tell you that the movie is fake and will turn the movie off if that's what you want, he'd rather read or do something else instead. If you want to continue watching the movie, he'll give you a blanket so you can hide your face when you get scared, or hide it in his chest, he doesn't mind that either. He finds it comforting that you turn to him when you're scared.

Akaza: 

Akaza is someone who yells at the TV. He'll be one to yell "Run lady run!" whenever the victim trips. Akaza understands final girls cannot punch a hole through their stomaches like how he can, so he just screams at them.

Akaza loves watching movies involving final girls such as the classic 80's and 90's movies with the most final girls. He likes seeing the women kick evil men's asses because the killer had the audacity to prey on someone they believed were weak. 

Akaza likes the first Halloween (1978). He walks you home so you don't get stalked like Laurie Strode did. He also likes the Nightmare on Elm Street series (and watches you when you sleep to make sure Freddy Krueger isn't getting you). He likes Joy Ride 1 (2001) and Joy Ride 2 (2008) [though, he likes the second one way better], and Unfriended: Dark Web (2017). Unfriended made him genuinely uncomfortable because of the invisible paranormal force killing the victims off. How can you fight if you can't see it?

Akaza notices the second you show discomfort or fear, he asks if you want to have the movie turned off. If you don't, he'll put his arm around your shoulder and pull you close to him. He likes when you hide your face in his shoulder or chest, he likes that you turn to him to protect you (because he obviously will). 

        I apologize sincerely for the huge delay! I had little time to write due to work so the only time I had to write was when I was supposed to be sleeping or relaxing, but I finally got this done! Better late than never!

         Want more Muzan content? Check out the Muzan masterlist!

        Want more Kokushibo content? Check out the Kokushibo masterlist!

        Want more Douma content? Check out the Douma

masterlist!

        Want more Akaza content? Check out the Akaza masterlist!

        At the moment my requests are temporarily closed, I'm working on other requests (that are months old...), but once I finally clear those up, I'll be accepting more requests!

[stirthewaters]

Can you make a “ You Miss Her “ Part two please? tysm🤍

You Miss Her Pt. 2

SUMMARY: A couple of days after your falling out with Wednesday, you receive news of a 'Werewolf Crisis' in Enid's dorm, and go to check it out.

WARNINGS: Angst. Slightly less than the first part, but still angst nonetheless. There is some fluff at the end tho :)

A/N: Send in those requests, homies! I loved this series and would enjoy some more opportunities to work on writing angst.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And you were right. You were imagining things. But when the voice fades into the crackling of leaves, you realize that something is coming towards you. Standing and wiping your face, you turn to see Thing scuttling towards you, something scribbled on his palm.

The disembodied hand leaps onto your thigh, showing his palm to you so that you can see the message scrawled onto it;

'WEREWOLF CRISIS; please come! Urgent!! -Enid.'

Emotions mixed, you look at Thing.

"Are you sure she's having a crisis?"

The hand signs frantically, and you sigh, nodding your head.

"All right, I'm coming. But only for Enid."

You follow the surprisingly fast hand back to the academy and into Ophelia Hall. Realizing suddenly that Wednesday might be inside, you stop suddenly, and turn to look at Thing.

"Thing, is Wednesday in there?"

Thing signs no.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief, and open the door, walking in.

Immediately you realize that something's off. Enid is nowhere to be found, and Wednesday is standing on the other side of the room, facing a board covered in pictures of gory body parts.

Letting out a hiss of air from in between your teeth, you realize that this was a trick, you turn to exit the room, but Thing has locked the door, and scuttled off with the key.

"Thing! You stupid piece of--" You groan, kicking the door.

Wednesday turns to face you. Her deadpan expression is only slightly varied by her lifted eyebrows and you can see a flash of guilt in her eye.

"Y/N..." she starts, striding towards you.

"I-" immediately you start backing away. Conflict has never been your strong suit. Heck the one time you were forced into conflict back in seventh grade, you almost started bawling.

And part of you is scared. Scared to talk to her because you're scared as hell that she'll say those words again.

"We need to talk." Wednesday says, studying you. She stands opposite you, clearly keeping her distance because she can tell that you're nervous.

For the past couple of days, Wednesday has felt like hell too. As soon as you left the dorm room, she wanted to kick herself. She knew that she had been having a bad day, but that was no reason to lash out at you, especially when you were just trying to help.

And every time she saw you in the halls, Wednesday felt her hurtful words ringing in the back of her head, and she felt an emotion that she didn't feel often; guilt.

For the past few days, Enid had been trying to convince Wednesday to talk to you; but Wednesday shrugged off her attempts, since every time she had tried to approach you, you had made some lame excuse that you had to grab something from your dorm, or that you were late for a class that wasn't even happening.

And even though she wouldn't admit it; she was worried, because, observant as ever, she could tell that her words had struck deep. Your bubbly personality seemed to have disappeared instantly.

And that tiny emotion of guilt continued to keep a hold on her day and night, and she didn't like it one bit.

So now that you're standing here, facing her, that small voice of guilt is starting to speak louder and louder.

"We need to talk," Wednesday repeats.

You look at her, and then back at the door. There's nowhere to go. You slowly slump against the door, sinking onto the floor in defeat.

"Five minutes. And if Thing doesn't come back here in those five minutes, I'll strangle him," you say, not looking at her.

Wednesday hesitates for a second. She's never been good at apologies, nor using her words to express how she's feeling; you've made her feel things that she does not want to feel but if she doesn't admit them, then she might lose you for good.

"I--I wanted to apologize," she begins, clearing her throat. "What I said was-uncalled for and rude, and you didn't deserve it, nor is it true. I never wished to make you upset."

You look up at her, tears glistening in your eyes.

"Wednesday...what you said hurt."

Wednesday inhales, realizing that her suspicions were right. "You know what I said wasn't true."

You don't say anything, wiping the tears from your eyes; you don't want to see her crying now.

"Please forgive me," Wednesday realized that she was close to begging; something that she would never do unless in an emergency. "Y/N...the way you make me feel is indescribable. You do...you do mean something to me."

You look up at her. Her deadpan expression is slightly crumpled; and her eyes are a bit glossy.

"If...if you say something like that ever again...I won't be giving you a second chance." You mumble, letting out a small sigh of relief and exhaustion. You go to stand, but you suddenly sway dizzily; clearly the fact that you haven't been sleeping or eating has done something to you.

Wednesday approaches now, and she offers you her hand, which, blushing, you take. When you stand, your face is inches from hers.

"You're tired and hungry," she observes, quirking an eyebrow at you. "I assume that I'm the reason for this." You don't say anything.

"Y/N, I truly am sorry. I did not mean one word of what I said to you, nor was it true," Wednesday says, taking her hand to gently tilt your face upwards to meet her gaze. You feel your heart beginning to pound. "Forgive me."

You nod. You want to hug her; but you know that she isn't one for touch so you hold your hand awkwardly out for her to shake.

She raises an eyebrow at you with a bit of a smirk.

"I know just as well as you that you want a hug right now," she deadpans. With a sigh, she holds open her arms; she won't admit it but she knows that you do give some pretty good hugs.

[walpu]

while I'm waiting for my second flight this day here's some infodump about my oc, one day I'll write some reader insert based on them god bless

Their name is Andreas but they go as Andy or Rea, rarely using their full name.

He/they

They're a Stellaron hunter with a personal vendetta again the IPC and the future Elio promised them is the one where they watch the IPC crumbles by their hands

looks

drawn by wonderful @/kenwnyan ❤️

picrew 1 picrew 2 picrew 3

style

they haven't decided yet if he wants to look like a gothic young lord or like a gangster in leather so he just mixes it up

music themes

path&type

quantum destruction

lore details

He's from an ocean world, the water is everywhere but it's impossible to drink it due to the salt. The climate change also made the weather unusually hot

People on their planet can manipulate their blood flow to a certain degree

Rea's abilities were always extraordinary compared to his kind but after genetic modifications they became truly unique. Also deadly :)

They're a living voodoo doll, as long as they have at least a drop of someone's blood, they can transfer their wounds (even tge fatal ones) to this person (they can also transfer this person's wounds to themselves but they rarely do it)

Genetic modifications weren't consensual btw. They were done by a group of ipc researchers and then original goal of the project was harmless. But then the lead researcher was changed to Dottore wannabe and the gory nightmare began

The IPC didn't know about it and never checked on the project much. When Rea eventually killed everyone and run away, the truth came up, and the IPC realized how badly they've fucked up. In order to save some face, they've severely downplayed the issue, put all the blame on the research team and publicly apologized for allowing this tragedy to happen

Oh and they've announced Rea dead too. So now catching them is their priority since they're trying so hard to erase their connection to the IPC

Like it's a huuuuge secret that they are directly connected to the ipc

Andy himself became an intergalactic terrorist with only one goal: to creat as many troubles for the ipc as possible. In fact, the first time he met Aven (the first time they remember at least), he fucked over his deal

The only thing keeping them going was hatred, to the point where they've mindset was practically "as long as I can keep destroying things I hate, I'm alive. As long as I'm able to feel hatred, I exist".

At one point Nanook has turned their gaze on them. Later, when they've joined the Stellaron hunters, Elio reveals to them that their destiny was to became an emanator of destruction. They were lowkey upset they ended up settling for the Stellaron hunters instead lol

They have very shitty memory. Part of this is a trauma response but there's also the fact that they constantly shoot themselves in the head to transfer the injury to their opponent. They regenerate immediately (an important note, they would only regenerate if their voodoo doll mode is activated) but their brain still gets damaged to a degree.

personality

They're immature in a lot of ways. While certainly smart and creative, they're impatient, whiny, a bit of an airhead. They appear bubbly and playful at the first sight, can easily hide their unstable physiological state. May appear nihilistic since they trust Elio so blindly.

Lowkey very attached to the Stellaron hunters but they don't like to admit it. A type of person who would be mistyped as ENTP due to their vibes.

VERY THEATRICAL also prone to escapism.

[celestiarambles]

hi this may be a bit random but i just want to point out how deep misogyny runs in the cc fandom, starting with how some people judge and criticize the mother characters in cc with so much vitriol, while the cc fathers are given more leeway with the things they do. good examples of this are the knight family and the douglas family.

(s2 and s3 spoilers ahead, and maybe a bit of a trigger warning as well for alcoholism mentions!!)

so starting with karen, people’s immediate impression of her was that she was “a bitch” for divorcing frank due to his alcoholism and for “not letting him see his daughter”. people even go out of their way to say karen filed a restraining order against frank — which was not true btw!! karen loves frank, but while they were both understandably grieving for their dead daughter, frank being an alcoholic was a bad thing for his other daughter to grow up with. karen divorced frank because she wanted him to get himself together. and it was not karen who didn’t want to see frank, it was DAISY who did. maybe it was because she was still angry at him due to his alcoholism and him being emotionally absent in his daughter’s life. karen still left the decision up to her daughter. and it was totally valid for daisy to react that way; she could understand why her father ended up being an alcoholic, but she can still be mad at him at the same time. and in another way, frank feeling guilty about his actions and regretting the way he treated his daughter doesn’t change the fact that to daisy, he was a bad father.

but back to karen, the hate got even worse with frank’s betrayal. people even added a “manipulative” to the “bitch”. she was now a “manipulative bitch” because she “blackmailed frank to do the things he did or else he would never see daisy again.” now i understand why frank did what he did, but truth be told, he did worse things than karen WILLINGLY. he even admits to it and defends karen, saying she never manipulated him!! and he even tells the player and amy that HE WAS UNREDEEMABLE AT THAT POINT. he had the chance to defend himself, but he defended karen instead!! in fact, karen was also manipulated by tesla!! karen organized the heist and did all the things she did just to save her daughter, but people call her an evil, manipulative bitch for it and A BAD MOTHER. while frank does worse for the same reasoning, but people say that karen manipulated him and he’s a good father for doing everything he did for his family.

and then with angela, god. i remember watching pitchingace88 and rolling my eyes whenever he would complain about angela getting worried for her daughters. he insinuates that she’s a bad mother for letting one of her daughters help with the autopsy, and he would yell at her to watch her kids whenever one of them goes missing!! and people blame her for the shenanigans her daughters do like the whole crossbow thing!! but when lars accidentally loses one of their daughters under his watch, somehow the blame STILL GETS SHIFTED UNTO ANGELA!! and people even say he’s the more “responsible parent” just because he doesn’t like talking about gory details of a murder around his kids!!

like people kind of ignore the reason why their daughters ended up tagging along with them in east asia at the first place; lars wanted to move his family to india on a whim without even consulting angela, and when angela gets furious at him for it, somehow people still call her a bitch for it!! angela clearly knows how dangerous their line of work is and clearly doesn’t like the idea of it, but at the same time she misses the girls because they rarely spend time with them, so she eventually warms up to the idea. but that doesn’t change the fact she was upset at lars for it. it would also be exhausting for the girls to go to a totally different country to meet their parents, only for them to immediately get sent back after. LARS EVEN ACKNOWLEDGES AND APOLOGIZES TO ANGELA SAYING THAT WHAT HE DID WAS WRONG!! and in east asia, it was clearly shown and mentioned that lars and angela take turns with watching over their kids, but whenever something happens to their daughters, people still find a way to blame and hate angela for it.

edit: also found a comment in one of pitchingace88’s videos saying that angela ONLY DOES AUTOPSIES, therefore she should be able to watch her kids so it’s her fault 😭 like what

listen, i don’t hate the male characters mentioned, but it’s okay to like and understand a character while acknowledging their faults at wrongdoings at the same time. and we’ve gotta expand our media literacy and stop the hate for the female characters. if frank and lars could hear the shit some people are saying about their wives, they would not like them 🥰

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

21 - A Bastard or The White Wolf

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

Length: 21.2k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slight canon divergence, bloody and gory imagery, mention of animal death, child death, references to rape, descriptions of warfare, canon divergence

Notes: I know, okay? I had to be the one to write it, I know about the preposterous length. I'm sorry. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

You had never told your father about that day, even though for a long time it stuck out in your mind the more used to it you became. Always in the back of your head, but not only the violence that you had seen, it was the words with it. The first time was the one that frightened most, that was what you were told before and it seemed it was true, because the thing that never got easier was the answer that followed after it was all over.

You could look back through your stays in Winterfell but so often it landed back at a moment right at the start, even though everything else were the ones that impacted your life's course.

During your first stay in Winterfell, you had started to adjust within the month. It wasn’t being away from your father and mother which was the most difficult part to you, it was simply the difference in the day to day that was so odd. The Starks noticed it right away, that you were not used to being apart of a household that wasn’t so stern and rigid.

When you had woken up from your trio of days asleep and fever ridden, you didn’t remember right away that you had even arrived. Taking a few minutes to recall the fuzzy memory of being shown the castle and partially remembering meeting Lord and Lady Stark, before you vaguely recalled feeling terribly unwell by supper. Luwin had been checking up on you while Catelyn sent the boys away thinking that it might be better to ease you into things with a mother figure at your side.

She was wrong it turned out. You were almost uncomfortable and put off by how kind and gentle she was with you. Explaining in a soothing tone that you had been rather sick when you arrived and you had slept through most of it, the entire time you had been painfully quiet and stiff when she would try to run a hand over you comfortingly.

Only when you were up and about, you still were like that, but with everyone.

Would listen and stand by Lord Stark during the day but you really didn’t say much. Meals were when it stood out the most. Robb and Jon were ten at the time, and were as loud and rambunctious with each other at supper as they were outside in the training yard. They would try and include you all the time to talk and joke at the table, but you would look over hesitantly at the curious faces of Ned and Catelyn before giving the boys a shy smile and little else. It took a fortnight for everyone to understand that perhaps you had grown up in a bit more of a difficult family then they assumed. Then everyone had their own tactics at how to make you comfortable.

Catelyn’s was the most simple and emotionally effective. Easing you into the dynamics of a mother figure, knowing you were rather young in a far away place surrounded by strangers. It took some time for you to get used to her being around, prompting you with questions to open up, easing you into things like admitting that you think your mother loves you but she stopped spending time with you after she lost your first brother. Then she lost your second brother and father sent you away. You had thought it was you who did something wrong and this was a punishment.

Asking you as she stood behind you untangling the knots in your hair, “Does it feel like a punishment? Being here?” You shook your head no, before apologizing for moving at all and sitting more rigid then before.

Your voice was quiet, but that never really went away. “Not anymore. I like it here. There’s always people around and something to do, and I don’t have any friends on Dragonstone.”

For a while, she was the one who felt like your mother. And when you went back home, you had trouble getting used to your own again. Selyse was quiet as well, she loved you but was never very affectionate and neither was your father. Things between you both never really got any better after that. Then one day Catelyn started to pull away as well. Not knowing what prompted it yourself, but you were twelve and visiting Winterfell again, it was well past midnight, so your nameday had just passed.

You and Jon had snuck out when everyone was asleep. It had been his idea. All but sneaking into your room right before you fell asleep, tossing a cloak of his at you and dragging you out of bed. A short ride on horseback to a lake nearby, he was fourteen already and sometimes had to take the reins himself to bring out your more adventurous side. Saying he never got to spend time alone with his best friend anymore. And when you teased him, “So is that my gift, Snow? Being allowed to call you my best friend? I am so greatly honoured-” He hadn’t thought twice about hoisting you up and tossing you in the lake, him following soon after.

The next day, Catelyn was a little different. A little colder to Jon then normal, and a bit stern towards keeping you focused on your tasks. Not a clue that Catelyn had spotted you both coming back. Her putting a bit more of a wall up when she recognized the evidence of him having a crush. Clear as day to her when finally seeing how physically affectionate Jon was with you, when he thought you two were alone.

It wasn’t your fault, you were the only girl both eldest boys spent most of their time around in such a consistent manner, and Robb had mentioned to his mother that he told no one he liked you until confessing in that very moment. Ned had told Catelyn to leave them all be, saying that if Robb wanted to pursue something he would do it respectfully at his own pace. While keeping from her himself, that Jon's crush wasn't new, that Jon had been the one with feelings for you since he first damn well laid eyes on you, so stopping that crush was a solid impossibility.

You were younger then the boys as well. They were both over fourteen and you had only just turned twelve. It wouldn’t be for another two years until you bled for the first time, and another two years after that before you had a single romantic interaction in your life.

Yet still, none of those stood out in impact of your time in Winterfell.

The strange part though, was how it wasn’t Jon or Robb either. Of course as a child, you had no way of ever predicting the life which would spin itself around you all in painful manners of blood.

They had become some of the biggest aspects of your life, both boys deeply curious to get to know the Southern girl who had collapsed ill on her first day in their home. Robb boisterous and eager to lead a new friend into showing you the way Northerners did things. Jon was more quiet and preferred to be the one to help ease you into the more difficult parts of being in such a new place all alone.

Early on there was no distinction between the two. As close with one as the other. Robb would often find ways to get you both into trouble, and Jon would be the one to pull you into the shadows to keep from being caught in the first place. It had been strange for them when you left. Only eight you had no understanding of if this was a place you’d be allowed to go back too, and while they would be left with each other they knew you were going home to a more difficult family and no one to remind you to have fun once in a while.

Not that he told anyone, and of course Jon had naturally treasured every second with his brother, but he liked that you were both a kind of outcast. This wasn’t your home, and Catelyn wished it weren’t Jons but together you enjoyed the quiet and didn’t have to care about those things. Winterfell was a lot more lonely for him when you left, and when they learned the day you were coming back, Jon, almost twelve by then, could have cried. Only realizing in that moment did he think he would never see you again.

A common thread in Jon’s life with you it seemed.

But still, friendships, and love, and marriage. Blood, loss, death and a strange renew of life you still could recall one day so clearly you could hear him speaking to you.

A month your first stay in was when you encountered a deserter from the Night’s Watch. Despite Catelyn’s deep protests, Ned had told Ser Rodrick to get you ready to join them. “Lord Stannis did not send her here to be coddled, Cat. She won’t be this young forever. If it scares her, then she needs to learn to face those fears.”

You had been very quiet on the ride out. Ned had been accompanied by Ser Rodrick, Jory, and two others you hadn’t known the names of as you rode, following in the back beside Robb and Jon. Both whom had been through this before, in fact it was their third time.

Robb was a little less comforting, but he also knew that one day he would have to take over as Lord, and wanted to ensure he was as calm as his father was, taking most of his energy to keep himself collected. Jon watched you a little bit closer. You looked smaller then ever amongst them all in such a large clearing of land. It stuck out to Ned as well, bright eyes and stood shorter then even his boys.

But you came close. Didn’t shy away in the back by the horses, instead up close and still silent. Robb was off to the side, adjacent to his father as the guards brought the man forth. Your eyes narrowed as he rambled. Covered in grime and dirt he looked like what they described as wildlings but draped in black leathers. You couldn’t even remember what he had said, looking so intensely at the wooden platform he was knelt over and the dark stain under it from times before.

Pulling out Ice, a great sword of Valyrian steel and pointing the blade into the ground, Lord Stark leaned over it’s hilt and spoke quietly his sentence of death. Stepping up right beside you as he did so, Jon was close enough you could feel his warmth. Voice very quiet as he asked, “Is this your first time seeing something like this?”

You could only nod, looking at the bloody wood and the great size of Ice. He had leaned in more, voice quieter even to ensure it was only for you. “The first is the scariest, but it’s important you watch.”

He stood right by you as Lord Stark brought the sword down and in one seamless slice did the man’s head come off. Dropping to the ground as the blood behind in the place it once sat dripped profusely down. In the instant it severed, you didn't close your eyes, but you did flinch, not realizing you instantly grabbed Jon’s hand as your stomach dropped at the sight. Jon held it back right away.

Quietly muttering your name with comfort he told you, “It’s alright, you did good for your first time.”

Looking down you only then realized you had grabbed his hand and wide eyed dropped it taking a step back with a mumbling apology. Your own father had always told you it was important you stand on your own with those sorts of things, and you were embarrassed at likely annoying the black haired boy with your childishness.

As Lord Stark approached, Jon took his leave to join Robb by the horses. The man kneeling down to your level with a deep rumble in his voice that held none of the coldness lessons from your father always had. “Do you understand why I did it?”

He was taken in that moment by your wide eyes and small voice. Not yet knowing two daughters was in his future he felt both the pull of teaching you duty, and comforting a little girl. “He broke the law.”

Nodding, he leaned a bit more in. “He did, but the question was not why did he have to die, but why I must do it?” You shook your head an honest no.

It was those next few exchanges that stuck so heavily with you. Something you thought about for that entire ride back, all through your supper and there still as you later drifted off to sleep. “Many King’s and Lord’s have men who do this for them. But we see things differently here. We hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eye’s and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man doesn’t deserve to die.”

Biting your lip, you nodded but clearly something else was in your thoughts. He stayed knelt there waiting for you to feel ready to ask it. “Will I have to do it one day?”

Lord Stark ran a hand over your head, and gently down your hair. “I can’t say for sure if you will. You’re Lord Stannis’s only child which means if you have no brothers, his duties will fall onto you some day. And you will be the one having to make the hard decisions.”

He watched your eyes drift to the men cleaning up what remained of the blood and body before finding his eyes again. Clearly you were a small, sheltered girl hidden away on a grim island with what Ned knew for a fact was a not very affectionate father. Truth be told, if he could have simply kept you in Winterfell with his sons, he would have. “Is it supposed to feel so scary?”

The bit of fear was in your eyes, but you held it out of your person well. “Taking a life should never be done with pleasure. But even in fear you must never look away. A leader who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.”

You never told your father about that day, you didn’t want him to be angry and it worried you that meant you would never go back to the North again. But as you stood there that day so many years from that memory, it was something you hadn’t forgotten. That you couldn’t just look away because it scared you, even when you saw the fires and heard the chanting in your mind.

It had arrived in the early hours of morning with a short scribbled letter. “Bring me my bride, bastard. Bring me her and I will give you back your brother with his head still attached. Keep the whore from me any longer, you will watch my hounds fuck her bloody and feed you to them.” The one that sat in front of you though sent you back into the flames, and the chanting. The horror of a night and an image that made you so ill you dared never think of it.

But as in that box, sat the rotting, thick blooded head of a black direwolf you couldn’t stop yourself from seeing that true horror. You knew such a fate couldn’t happen again. Ramsay would put you through a torture getting his hands on you, but you couldn’t see another Stark strung up and mutilated, parts of his own wolf shoved onto what they cut off and parade it around like a spectacle. Not again.

It had come in the early hours of the morning, a chest of sorts that reeked so heavily it made the Glover’s suspicious in it’s contents. Now it sat open on the table for everyone around it to look at in their own horror. Or in Jon’s case, a rage blazing behind his eyes as they debated around him what coarse of action to take, interrupting the current train of arguing doubt with a frustrated, “What am I supposed to do then?”

Debate had begun on if it was a trap, if walking into it was wise, and if he was telling the truth. Back and forth about the kind of person Ramsay was, how much he would stick to his word when the truth was it was impossible to tell. He was erratic, and his thirst for cruelty meant he had no bounds to keep his person within. Little else would ever drive him but the ravings of a monster that even after everything you could not predict.

Galbert Glover tried with confidence, but it was not bought by any. “We gather more men, we rally the Houses you’ve reached out to and overwhelm their own.”

Running through your mind, there were only so many that you could get to before pushing the time too far. Jon on his own, agreed. “How long will that take? You think the Bolton’s are going to wait for us to be ready? If Ramsay knows where we are, their armies will too.”

“Where’d he even find him? You both standing there telling us he’s alive but where would he even have found the boy when no one else knew where he was?” None had been able to figure that out initially, at least with the resources available but if they had sent men out before to hunt the boys down once then they likely did it again when no word was spoken of the matter.

Robett Glover looked to his brother with a knowing glance before turning to you. “Not many of the Houses under them are there willingly and they don’t have enough men on their own to escape them, but there is one that would have reason to side against you.”

Your eyes slipped shut, bracing your palms on the table with a deep sigh knowing the answer was far easier to sniff out then one may figure. The last time any had seen Bran, he had said that Rickon was being taken east to hide and there were two houses to the east that would have had the ability to search for the boy. And between them, there was only one that had proven they had the audacity.

“Kill me and be cursed.”

He was right in the end. Robb’s end was a horror and now you continued to feel the ripples of how unstable the Karstark’s had become near the end of the war. Your voice was quiet as you glanced back up to the open chest. “Well, we executed his father. So it seems to be he’s decided to take it out on the only Stark they could get their hands on.”

Jon and Theon both remained in the dark, having no proximity to the events you were discussing. Galbert Glover shook his head. “Bunch of oathbreakers, they are.”

Closer to you, Maege Mormont tried seeking your attention but it was trained on the blood in front of you all. “If he’s fool enough to think this is vengeance for his father, someone should remind the boy how old those Lannisters were.”

The rain was so heavy that day, the sky grim and cloudy as so few stood in that clearing as Robb executed Rickard Karstark. The undeniable rage in his eyes only after it was done, holding off so heavily from showing those feelings to stay composed in front of his men. He understood the weight of the choice you both had made, and yet it seemed the Karstark’s still didn’t.

“It’s not about Rickon. It’s about me.” Jon’s eyes trained up to you in a sharp glare that you worked very hard to not look at. “He can’t blame Robb now that he’s gone, but I’m alive which means the Harald Karstark can take it out on me. And he knows sending me back there is vengeance enough.”

It was on the tip of your tongue, but you knew it would cause an argument. You knew too well in fact that Jon would not stand there and let you say it, not make that choice but there was nothing else that was fair. “Why would Roose Bolton allow any of this? He’s smarter then to send out this kind of threat.”

Theon had a point, he was far smarter then this. Smart enough neither his King or Queen suspected his treachery until it was deep in your stomach. But there was one more thing in that chest that you hadn’t brought up. The one thing that you didn’t want to look at more then the direwolf’s head and it was the same thing that gave you that sensation in your stomach.

A dagger had been stabbed in the edge of the chest, keeping the note visible in place. It sat in front of Jon currently, being the one to unthinkingly pull it out to read the letter for himself when you both had arrived in the hall. You wanted to throw up thinking about it, but you couldn’t stop looking at it and unlike many times before out slipped words you couldn’t prevent.

“Theon’s right. Roose is far smarter then to do any of this, but he only let it happen because he wasn’t there to stop Ramsay from sending this one.” The group following your eyes to not the note but the knife with blood dried. Most had thought it was the wolf’s blood on it. Technically, that was true, but it also was yours.

Jon standing a little straighter as he looked to you. A warning that you refused to look at in his eyes and your name slipping sternly from his mouth. “This isn’t about-”

“Except that it is. They don’t have Tywin Lannister lording over their rule. They wanted me to marry Ramsay knowing that if I gave him an heir, then they have something to back their claim. But without that...” You looked at everyone but him, you didn’t want him to so easily recognize the conclusions you were already drawing yourself towards. “Then Roose’s son with Walda Frey would inherit the North..and if I recall he didn’t exactly take too well to the news of her carrying a boy did he?”

Theon dropped his head, “No. He didn’t. As a matter of fact I think he just might have been angry over it.” The look you both shared was dreadfully morose.

Galbert Glover nodded. “Roose Bolton doesn’t give a damn about anyone that gets in his way. You were a valuable hostage and without you then he doesn’t care about finding a new wife for the boy. Wouldn’t put it past him to take away that legitimacy the second he found out about that letter he sent your way.” Gesturing across the table to Jon.

His own hands were clenched hard enough you could see the strains in his knuckles. “If it’s only him, and he gets you back, then he thinks he has the North.” You watched with a still expression, made of stone and trying not to show anything. “He has to have Rickon then. Knows there is no chance I’d hand you over until I could see my brother with my own eyes.”

Maege was strict in her tone, a scolding that was not often heard on her. “We aren’t handing her over period.” Jon met her eyes, offended that she thought he for a second had considered the idea as she caught on quick. “I meant no disrespect, but this isn’t a negotiation, it’s a fight. Just because nothing’s been done about it yet, doesn’t make you any less the King’s heir. And even if you take it, she’s no less the Queen we chose.”

Biting your tongue hard as your eyes slipped closed before reopening. You shook your head slightly with a low tone of warning in your throat. “Maege-”

Quick though, she turned to you with a point and a set wild in her eyes. “No, shut up.” Were it anyone else, they may not have gotten away with that. “Trading one hostage for another didn’t do us any damn good last time, and we aren’t willingly doing it now.”

“She’s right.” You didn’t look at him, you didn’t want to hear about whatever this was going to turn into, and knowing full well Jon was about to keep you all but sewn to his side to prevent you from leaving on your own to do this. “I’m not offering you up to him. If I’m willing to fight for you, I’m willing to fight him for my brother too. But if we do this, we have to do it now.”

Robett tired to protest, “They have horses, weapons, everything we don’t have but numbers. We march on Winterfell now and we’re asking to lose.”

A rise in his voice, flaring a temper you knew Jon was struggling to contain. “We don’t have time. I can’t spend the next few weeks gathering more then when Ramsay has my brother. What about when he sends us something else next time, and it’s whatever he’s chopped off of Rickon? Am I still supposed to wait it out and hope we have enough?”

Voice so clear in your ear, warm but roughed with a strain of frustration as you lived it once more.

“Father rots in a dungeon, how long before they take his head?”

Your own voice finally echoing the words floating in your mind. “Jon’s right. We need to meet with Ramsay, and we need to do it now.” Finding Jon’s eyes they softened a tad towards you. “We never made it to your father when we had the chance, and we had far more time then we do here. The longer we take, the more likely he’ll kill Rickon out of anger.”

Something needed to be said between you, but there was nothing that you would do here. Neither arguing with the other in front of people, and you both hated the possibility one was coming the second you two were alone. But for now, Jon looked at you with a quiet certainty before turning to the others. “We leave as soon as we can. Ramsay doesn’t have the numbers and that’s going to have to be enough for us. I’ll speak to Tormund, make sure the free folk understand what we're walking into.”

Both Glovers and Maege nodded, not questioning that they took orders from Jon in the same way that they had once done Robb. You could almost see the traces of a title on their tongues that Jon had not yet accepted.

Jon called your name as soon as you turned to leave with the rest. Pausing mid step and turning to look back at him, reading the demand you come over to him in his eyes. Glancing at Theon with a flicker of your eyes to the door, he got the message. Leave and shut it behind you.

Standing in the middle of the room hoping he would just say it, and not make you come over to him to hear it. Only Jon could play this game of waiting even longer then you could. Perhaps over a minute passed when you relented, turning to better look at him only to find his eyes trained on the direwolf’s head. Footsteps echoing in the empty room as you approached, closer to his side then you were before.

“If I’m fighting for him, I’m fighting for you too.” His hand tracing the edges of the chest before swallowing harshly and slamming it shut. Unable to stand the sight any longer, no doubt imagining a horror as you were. What if it was the other wolf’s head he sent next. Trying to say his name, he interrupted you as his face twisted in frustration.“Let’s say I give you up, trade you to Ramsay for Rickon, do you really think he’s going to hold up his end and not kill him and the rest of us anyways?”

Arms crossing in front of your chest you shrugged. “Isn’t it worth the risk.”

You wished he had more of an outburst. Slam his fist into the table, yell at you, get angry. Anything but the quiet and almost heartbroken look he gave you instead. “I’m not letting you kill yourself by sending you back to the man who made you want to do it in the first place. You’re not going anywhere.”

“We could end this war right now, boy.”

That’s what he had said. Standing bloody and tied up in front of you and Robb, looking him in the eye saying that it could be that easy. But Robb was smart enough to know that wasn’t the case, smart enough to know that beating Jaime Lannister in a final one on one wouldn’t stop the rest of the Lannisters from coming after them anyways.

“It would save a lot of our own men’s lives. We need numbers for more the just this, only here we have a chance to trade thousands for one.” Jon pushed off the table, turning away from you as he ran a hand over his mouth. Pacing mindlessly to the opposite end of the room as you stepped only a few feet closer. “Maybe this is what’s right.”

Turning to you, his eyes were glaring and his brows narrowed in anger. “And how would you know that?” Face only twisting a little downward at this words he continued to pace. “To you what’s right is always throwing yourself down first to make it easier for everyone else. When all it’s done is make you feel worthless. You mean something to other people.”

Moving to lean against the table, you crossed your arms fixing to a point on the floor that didn’t hold anything that mattered. Hearing him come around the other side of the table, ending up closer to your left. “Not more then your own family.”

You could feel him before you saw him come into the side of your vision, always giving off such a warm heat that you could melt within. Jon’s own arms crossed as he looked to nothing as you did. “Rickon’s my little brother, and I’m going to go get him. The same way I tried to go get you when I found out you were alive. You’ve been just as important to me since the day you stepped foot in Winterfell.”

It was a rainy night when Robb told you that story. One that had been withheld from you for so long to not make you uncomfortable. “Robb said you were the one who looked after me, when I was sick.”

Jon nodded, both of your hearts heavy but maybe that would be a feeling that never went away after losing him. “I did. Watching you for three days because your fever was so bad I was scared you’d die the minute I looked away, and I’m just as scared now. Scared if I leave you alone for too long, you’ll wind up dead again or leaving because you think loving you is a burden.”

Only able to see part of him from the side as you glanced, you sighed deeply without any ability to refute it. “I wasn’t trying to make you choose between us.”

So badly Jon wanted to reach out, run a hand along your hair and down your spine but touching you when you were this dispondant was too risky to do. Not knowing if you’d flinch away from it. But his eyes had slid up to watch you trying not to watch back. “I know.”

The quiet was almost something like comfortable for a moment before you pushed off the table. “We should get to work, if we leave at dawn maybe it’ll take us a few days. If it doesn’t start snowing again at least.”

Jon called your name one more time, pausing you in your steps but instead of waiting for what he wanted to say, you felt him come up behind you. Not quite pressed against your back, but close enough your senses felt overwhelmed by him. His hands ever so slowly reaching around, running gently along your waist until one hand reached where he knew the scar was, and felt a slight tremble in you. Leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your neck you exhaled with a shake.

Didn’t push more into you or let his hands grow with greed. Only making you feel weak in your stance as he so lightly pressed his lips up a path from your neck so he could rasp in your ear. “One of us needs to tell him before we leave.” Perhaps it seemed, a little greed slipped through, the hand tracing your scar moving with a more firm hold on your hip as he stood an inch closer. Making your eyes close at the feeling. “I can-”

You shook your head, dizzy from how close he still was to you. “It should come from me. I sided against him before, meaning I know what to expect in telling him I’m doing it again.”

Jon’s brows narrowed, unhappy at the prospect but he had Stannis had come to an agreement over you, one that he had yet to really explain himself on. But your safety was paramount, even against your own father. Though if he were being honest, it was less of an agreement and more of a thinly veiled threat. Not something to be proud of, but he refused to give any a chance to hurt you again. “Come find me when you’re done. Okay?”

He didn’t move his hands or step away when you nodded, sighing lightly you breathed out, “I will.” And only then did he let you go. The more you two let whatever this was grow, the more you both were realizing it was a little...a lot more intense then the love you shared in innocent times. Something that clouded you when you were close to him like a buzz from too much wine, that only burned hot in your veins for him.

But you had to shake it off. Afterall, it was a burning Stag that you were about to face and he would take far less kindly to things then Jon did hearing it for himself. The halls of Deepwood Motte echoed in your ears as you made your way through them, knowing that where you’d find your father would be away in his own camp, making plans for his own army that you knew wouldn’t include you. But he had to accept this. Had to accept he was striving towards a goal he could not reach.

The North wouldn’t have him, because the North had a King. And now the one they were waiting for certainly wasn’t going to come from an outsider. No one cared about them until it was strategically advantageous for them, and that was the problem. They chose Robb because he was one of them, he cared, and it was their livelihoods he fought for. And all of those traits were shining brightly in Jon no matter what he tried to dispute.

Deep in your mind, you knew there was still something left in your father that could make him a good King, but you needed him to grasp what he had scolded you for. He was going to have to accept a broken Kingdom, because the fight the North was in, was for each other, and for survival against threats beyond the Wall. They wouldn’t return willingly to the Seven Kingdoms, not when the cold in the air was only going to get worse.

Not when the North was going to be the first line up against what was coming. They couldn’t afford to kneel to fights that had nothing to do with them anymore. Fighting for Stannis Baratheon meant later fighting for whatever cause he pledged them too on his own. That willingness died the second Greatjon Umber pulled his sword out, and pointed it at Robb with a passionate deceleration.

“There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee to.”

But as you stepped outside, looking to the people all around it was hard to deny that even those who would not look to Jon as their King, he was still the leader they believed in.

“And how do you know know if he is telling the truth? Wouldn’t be hard to lie, the boy has done it before.” Your palm ran up to your forehead pressing harshly against it in frustration. Stannis calling your name to look at him, you let it drop down to your side once more turning back to look a him. “All I’m asking is how can you be sure.”

Your eyes painting over as you once more saw the bloody horror inside the chest with no doubt about whose it belonged to. “It was Rickon’s direwolf, Theon and Jon both knew what he looked like there is no mistaking it. Unless he caught a miracle and found the head of another black direwolf to send as a mocking.”

Your father watched you carefully, noting the agitation in your posture. Leaning back in his seat a small bit, he looked once more like there was no hope in your ask. There was hardly ever any, normally sending you off with a dismissal no matter what it was towards. “I don’t imagine he is going to give you up that easily, you’re heading to Winterfell for a battle.”

Neither confirming nor denying, you only positioned your hands at your hips one knee bending slightly trying to find the right string of words to place after one another. “First light of dawn, the men and the free folk all know to be ready. We push hard enough, we may be able to make it there in three days time.”

Straight to the point your father, “Neither of you have come asking for my help.” Your eyes only narrowing the very slightest of bits, at least fully aware at your father would catch it out of everyone. A remaining trait between you. The only ones who could still read the other like a book. “The wildlings came here to fight the same fight I was, what reasons would they have for not following now?”

Truth was that, he was just not a man they would believe in. You wanted to, truly you did. Those many years ago in King’s Landing as you and Ned Stark looked to each other as the only ones fighting for the right claim to the Iron Throne. But those days were long gone, and too much had happened to push it all back to that now. It was impossible.

“The only way you are willing to find allies is if they respect your rule. Your claim. Trying to do the right thing, but you’ve shown them no reason to believe in you.” Pausing, you let the air in your lungs tighten as it approached your mouth. “Jon doesn’t want them to kneel for him, they don’t need to, to have a leader they can rally around.”

Father and daughter both keeping your eyes as still as possible, letting him connect those dots all on his own. He reached it likely already, but he was a man who needed to stew on things before blurting out the first in his mind. “And why would anyone kneel for him?” The condescension of someone who figured it out but would make you say it.

That habit was a lot more endearing on Robb then it currently was on your father.

Head tilting to your feet, eyes closing as long as it took to inhale before you matched your father right in the eye. “All of the Northern high lords signed off on Robb’s will before...” Your heart still plummeted, that knife sitting on the table mocking you for how you could still see it’s final act. “It outlined his decrees of inheritance, including his line of succession. Who would take over after him.”

“The Northerners have yet to claim anyone as their King, only your the Queen that remains to them. You don’t see fit to take that role of leader for yourself?” It itched in the back of your mind, that he was testing you. Shireen was gone, meaning you were his last living child. Renly was gone and had no children of his own, and the only remaining Baratheon’s would be those surviving somewhere in these lands forced to call themselves a bastard.

Stannis was trying to gauge if you had any willingness to take the Iron Throne after him.

If you took the North, you might be open to taking the rest of them he likely figured. Only you shook your head. “No. Robb trusted me, we were at war and we worked together. But he was King. He was their leader. I am not the Queen who gets to rule on her own, after her King’s death.”

Robb spend no time ensuring you were supported and listened too, but his word was final no matter what and you wouldn’t have spent so much time on his will if it were to only survive through you. You inheriting the North was only a possibility if your son had lived. And even then, you would still be here, because someone would have to be King until little Ned was of age.

You weren’t Cersei. You were not going to just place your sons on into a Kingship no matter how old they were. That was a making of disaster. No matter what those around you may claim, children deserved to stay children. Tommen sat on the Iron Throne now but it was Cersei in charge. Gods, Tommen was what? Eight when you last saw him in Kings Landing?

You could hardly picture what he and Myrcella both would look like now. Myrcella would be verging on womanhood in some time. By her next name day she would be fifteen, Tommen thirteen. At those ages you were still carefree enough to run around the wolfswood with the Starks, stay up until you and Robb were caught trying to sneak wine out of the kitchens. Even if your son had lived, you wanted him to experience those things, live a childhood they deserved.

Stannis watched you lost in thought, were he a better father he would have found some way to assure you, comfort you through these struggles. But he wasn’t. From everything he had heard both from Winterfell and the months in Kings Landing, the man who acted more as a father to you then anyone was Ned Stark. “Who then?”

Inhaling a breath you just smacked your palms in defeat against your thighs as you dropped them from your hips. Looking at your father with a plain honesty. “Robb named Jon as his heir. To be King in the North after him.”

He may have seen it coming, but hearing the truth of it was another matter you suspected. His silence and cold stare hadn’t changed much at all but you could see the cogs turning behind his face. “And how many of these Houses know that he’s left the Night’s Watch for this cause?”

Running in your mind the list and picking out the few that was written off as to not cause disruption in the more loyal ranks to the Boltons. “Most. Save for House Karstark and a few smaller houses. Chopping Rickard Karstark’s head off seems to still be a sore spot for them, reaching out seemed like a risky idea but most others have gotten our calls. None will be able to get to Winterfell before we do, but we can’t risk Rickon’s life in hope’s of waiting for those brave enough to come.”

The silence in the tent was thick, a stifling air that could choke if either of you breathed it in. Once more you stood across from your father, at the side of a King that was not him and saying they will still not kneel anyone but their own King. None had called Jon King yet, but everyone was starting to feel it. The more in command he took, the more everyone saw their leader.

“You understand what this means right?”

Nodding, your face twisted into a harshness. “I do.” Looking to meet his eyes, you found no fear of what he would do this time. Nor did you think if he wanted to, did he have the courage now that he was forced to look you in the eye as he would do so. “I swore my life to the last King in the North, and I didn’t sign in agreement on the next only to betray him for the father I was ready to fight against.”

Looking down, his voice was a bit more rough and strained. “I’m not asking you to betray him. I’m asking if you understand this means I cannot fight with you. I don’t need another leader to follow or to run off alongside. I needed an ally in the North. If he is a King, he’s not an ally.”

“No, in your eyes he’s an adversary.”

As they flew back up to you, whatever was built between you two in the short time you had seen each other again was burning out right before your eyes. If he truly wanted to fight for the threat that matters, then this wouldn’t be so hard for him to accept. But he still was the same man as before. Still the man who stood across from you and Robb saying that he will destroy you.

Opening his mouth to speak, you shook your head. “I don’t have time for this. I left a Stark behind once and he lost his head for it. I’m not doing the same thing again for Rickon. With or without you, we leave at first light.”

Coming out into the cloudy sky, you sighed to yourself. Feeling a dizziness wash over you while you stood there. Once more letting your hand press firmly against your forehead as the pain increased as the racing agitation in your heart.

You had begged Renly not to declare himself King, told him to not break apart this family more then it already was becoming. Perhaps it was meaningless ask. House Baratheon already doomed to split apart and fight against one another in one manner or another. He told you to pick a side, to think about what family you were trying to keep together.

But the only family you had that felt like it, was Shireen. Now, only three of you were left, and everything between you all was without any love. The only family that remained to you were the ones fighting for each other. Not against.

Sitting by the free folk in a tense quiet, did he approach. The one person on the other side you knew without a doubt you were going to miss. Sitting beside you, both watching the camp in quiet as you both contemplated what to say. You gave him a break, starting first time time around. “I’m sorry to see you go, Ser Davos. It’s been a long time since I got to spend any time with you.”

His voice was a bit lighter then yours, not weighed down by onslaughts of problems one after the other that never ended. Just a few personal ones he kept close to his chest. “Easy for you to forget, but I’ve known you since you were a girl. Watched you go from a shy thing too afraid to make friends to a Queen in the North. You’ve done well for yourself.”

Leaning forward, your arms resting against your knees as your hands stayed clasped together. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

Positioning himself enough to still be within your vision, staying with his eyes outward to the same sights you were. “Hardly ever does. I tried to murder the red woman, got thrown in a dungeon by your father and next thing I knew he had renamed me Hand of the King. Success for people like us rarely comes at a pretty price.”

You hadn’t said anything, and you suspected he didn’t want to talk about it as much as you didn’t yours, but leaving him with nothing felt wrong. Not picking up that it was the same words as your father, only the emotion behind it was held back with an obvious weight that hurt more then you could pretend it didn’t. “I’m sorry about Matthos.”

Inhaling deeply beside you, there was a glad feeling that it was shared, but also one that knew how hard it would be to say anything further on it. “And I’m sorry about yours.”

Swallowing harsh, your eyes stung wishing they would let them fall. “It’s not anywhere near the same as your loss, but thank you. I take it my father told you?”

“He did. Wasn’t too happy about being kept in the dark, but I also think somewhere deep down he knew something like this was inevitable.” Nodding, your hands clasped together tightened around what it was holding, willing yourself to do it already. Give it up to someone who would keep it safe as he continued beside you. “Your mother isn’t pleased.”

“She rarely is.” Now that got a bit of a huffing laugh from Davos. Pulling only a tiny smirk from you in return. “She thought she lost me, then her husband, Shireen...but she always had a purpose beside him. Was loyal to him, and she should keep that. Give her something proper to hold onto.”

He was looking at you, but you not brave enough to look back. “And what about you? What belief now is keeping you going?”

Maybe you knew, maybe you didn’t but the answer felt strange to admit all the same. So you shrugged in response. “Only the gods know that now.” Fiddling with the bag you finally leaned back, turning partially to him. “I have something for you, before we leave.”

Gently, you opened your hands and moved them over to him. Taking him a good minute to open the small pouch to see, slowly as he knew what was in there, but having to be sure. Saying your name in protest you shook your head. “No, I want you to take her. She was like a daughter to you, and I know you’ll keep her safe.”

Holding it in his hand, he turned it around to look it all over as if it would show you anymore of her then the small bits. “Why not take her with you? She always wanted to go with you to visit Winterfell, after all.”

You shook your head, hoping to not hear the toxic words in your ear. “We’re walking into a battle with no idea if we can win it or not. If I die out there then she’s just lost to the ground. If Ramsay gets me back...I refuse to let any part of her be around him. Ever.” Finding his eyes proper, and as much ran through his in pain as yours tried to hide, but your voice broke all the same. “Take care of her for me.”

Moving to stand up abruptly, Davos followed suit calling your name. Looking back, you both found no ire for standing on different sides of this mess. Finding the other in a hug, he held you close as you found the sound of a father’s care in his voice. “You and Jon go reclaim your home, and I’ll bring her there to visit myself.”

Nodding you held tighter for a moment. Tired of leaving and losing things left to care about.

The closer you got to Winterfell the more everyone could tell there was something deeply wrong in the air. You had grown to be dead silent during the day, and the normally endearing brashness of the free folk only served to further worsen your head. The cold hardly feeling like it touched you anymore and only found itself further freezing soon as it reached your heart. Clouds were mostly grim, and even though in some places the snow wasn’t any more prominent then a sprinkling on the ground you found it’s once beauty to return to darkness.

It was that first snow storm that blew in not long after arriving in Winterfell. It was that which you would find yourself staring out into, the small pockets of quiet you were trusted to be by yourself with only to know it was because the only other option was death in the drastic drop below. The fear from the rush of how high up the one you and Theon had to make was minuscule in the grand image.

Only a few horses were within your ranks. Not nearly what would match Ramsay’s men. He had not the numbers, but the weapons and the strength. You only had so many, less then a hundred up against the many hundreds if not close to thousands in his. No doubt having taken the time to rip away your chances of finding enough on your own.

The free folk were fierce, and Jon was a great commander but you were walking into a bloodbath and you all knew it. The kind of bloodbath you desperately wished Jon would let you prevent. Maybe he would keep his word, if all he cared about was getting back what he lost, maybe you would be enough and Rickon could live without doubts.

But Jon still kept you close to his side in the journey. Refusing to allow you alone, and certainly not alone with a horse. You’d ride off the second you did and Jon knew it. If he wasn’t there it was Ghost, and if Ghost wasn’t there it was the large imposing form of Tormund who would no doubt just toss you back with no effort.

Let him take you, let him do whatever he wants and maybe this didn’t have to end the way it was going to. Whatever your odds were, you didn’t look at them with promise. Numbers didn’t mean anything, you knew that too well. For three years you had the least amount of numbers rallied behind Robb and he lead them to every victory. Ramsay wasn’t a commander, but he had the strength, and he certainly had the brutality.

The night before you would arrive at Winterfell was awful. You wanted to throw up, maybe scream while the entire time you saw the same in Theon. The nightmare of what you had escaped and now both of you were running right back up to the front door.

“Can I even trust you tomorrow to be on your own horse?” From watching the small fire where you sat away from many, Ghost only a few feet from your feet most of the evening, Jon seemed to have snuck up on you as your mind was too far away. Turning your upper body back and upwards to see him approaching you narrowed your eyes in confusion. Taking no time to sit down next to you as he elaborated. “When we meet with him. Can I trust you with your own horse that you won’t run, or am I putting you on the back of mine where I know you will stay put?”

You looked over at him with a sigh. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

Exhaling deeply, Jon looked you over before learning to rest his head in his hands. A sinking in his posture as he contemplated the approach. Raising his head enough, he too only watched the flickering of flames in the mumbling quiet of the camp. “I shouldn’t be making you go, after everything he’s done to you, it feels cruel to ask you to come with me. But he needs to see you, see you by my side and not as if you’re some toy we’re fighting over.”

The sting behind your eyes hurt, the prospect of what on earth he was going to say tomorrow perhaps was what frightened you the most. What horror’s would he find to mock with, to taunt, to belittle and shove you back into the ground. What he was going to say about you to Jon?

You nodded, hands clasped in front of you as your head hung in the space between them with a shaking exhale. Your name slipping gently from his mouth, “How well are you going to take it, if I ask you not to fight.”

Your face twisting in a frustration, covering your face entirely in your palms. Trying to maintain a composure of how little you wanted to be here but how important it was that you not abandon him again. “Jon-”

Calling back with your name in the same dismissive tone, “Look at me.” Tearing your head up, you rolled your eyes over to meet his. Jon’s expression full of a love you couldn’t handle right now, and knowing in yours was fear and doubt. “I’m not trying to dismiss you, but if you’re out there how do I know you won’t do anything rash?”

“Like surrender to Ramsay?”

You held a half smirk, he didn’t. “Like surrendering to Ramsay.” Yourself trying to argue that you could still do that from the sidelines but the flashing of something dark in his eyes didn’t go away. “I have one chance tomorrow at settling this peacefully, and if it doesn’t I want you to promise me you won’t give yourself up just to end it.”

A dripping of sorrow was in yours that also sought to plead for him to understand you once last time, only the intensity that pushed the grey into something so dark it was as protective as it was possessive in a way. Looking at the other, none else existing in that camp you both could only hear the dancing of the flames. “I promise.”

No lies found in your eyes, Jon deflated a bit. Braving to run a hand gently over your hair that led to holding tenderly at you jaw. “I won’t ask you to stay out it, but when this turns into a battle I won’t have you out in front.” You opened your mouth and he only pulled you a little closer to his face, “No this isn’t up for debate. You want to be out there, I won’t stop you but you’re not going into the worst of it. I- I’m not going to be able to handle that.”

Your mouth parted slightly as your lungs sunk in your chest. Closing again as you mustered enough of the turmoil inside you to gently reach up, grasping at the wrist attached to the gloved hand at the side of your face. Both inhaling deeply at the feeling as you pushed past the material to run your thumb across his pulse, like you’d done with multiple Starks before it seemed. A reminder of life. Even after death, his ran strong.

“Why do you drive me so crazy?” Jon’s other hand moving to hold the other side, resting your forehead against his as he spoke, before sitting back up, and turning you by the waist to sit more back against his chest. Facing you both out to the fire once more, his hands resting at your waist now and the side of his head pressed into yours. “Feels sometimes as if living without you wasn’t real. Like we were never apart, how easy it was to fall back into it.”

Resting a little bit back, one of his hands slid across your stomach to pull you more upright against him comfortably. “We’ve never had to fall into it. Not really. It always existed between us, only we weren’t old enough to understand for a while.” His hand squeezed your waist more, but said nothing as you both looked just to the fires and ignored the distance that others may look over with. Ghost’s eyes peeled and sharp, as if to tell those to leave you both alone.

His voice was a low rasp in your ear that almost sent a shiver up your spine. “Speak for yourself. I’ve always known you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And I’m not about to give you up to someone who hurt you the way he did.”

Heart pausing in a beat, you felt almost a jolt of something pass through your head at the sudden voices and feelings inside. But this time, you could feel and hear it was only Jon behind you, making that your mind’s focus to settle down. “I don’t know what he’s going to say to you tomorrow. He’ll want a reaction, he already knows me, and now he’s going to try and find the right ways to poke at you in just the worst spot.”

Jon hummed, the sound vibrating through your ears and shivering now down your arms this time. “I’ve handled being degraded all my life, I don’t care if he tries to rile me up. Only that it doesn’t hurt you to hear it.” He was watching you more from where he sat behind you, just tall enough that he could watch the troubled clench in your jaw but enough to your level that he could nudge your head with his, leaving a kiss in your hair.

“He’s said a lot of things. Most of it so bad I couldn’t even begin to know where to start..or if I even could.” His heart raced behind the leather armour, knowing the things Theon had told him and how sick it made him feel. A long quiet sat there, only the warmth of him behind and the fire in front keeping you steady. “You’re not allowed to die by the way.” Jon humming in question, “If I’m not allowed to surrender myself to Ramsay, you’re not allowed to die fighting him.”

The hand around your stomach slid across to grasp at your hand, encasing the far smaller one in his as he ran his thumb over your palm. Sighing out dramatically behind, “You come back to me a Queen and now you’re the one barking all the orders.” You breathed out a laugh, and in Jon a deeper one fell much more freely. Pulling your hand up to press a kiss to it before settling it back down on you. “And it’s cute that you think I’m going to listen.”

Turning ever so slightly to try and catch a glimpse of him, “You’re not King yet, Snow. Technically you are still supposed take orders from me.”

Your lungs shook as he pressed another kiss to your hair at the side of your head this time. “Naming you a Stark didn’t make you any stronger. You can try and order me around all you like, but I’m the one here whose strong enough to toss you over my shoulder.” Smiling in a blissful warmth you almost laughed.

“That’s probably true.” You thought of no reasonable explanation as to why you said it, but you did. And as soon as you put it out there you felt the heavens drop down and shine something on you that Jon hadn’t felt in too long. Or ever. “You’re father knew about us.”

Stilling like a stone statue in a second, you could feel the wide eyes behind you with the same that you had that day. Not letting it turn into something warped you continued, “I don’t know for how long, but he knew about us. Said that it didn’t feel good, watching as Robb got one final thing that had always been yours alone. Wondering how different things could have been if he made you a Stark in name, that then there wouldn’t have been anything keeping you from me.”

Jon was silent behind you, nowhere to hide from this one only sat in the others arms for as long as the dark remained above the skies. Choosing the path less full of heavy agony of many ways, Jon rested his head against you almost trying to hide away in your neck. “Would’ve been able to kiss you in public at least.”

Raising an eyebrow, you snapped back, “You don’t even do that now, Snow.”

A full laugh came from him that time, pulling from your neck as it rung in your ears at how little you were graced with the sound. Pulling you a bit more into his chest, his other arm leaving your waist to drape around your stomach, the one still holding your hand dragging up higher on your ribs. “It’s for your own good.” Asking how, he never let that smile leave but his voice was deep in your ear on purpose. “I’m not kissing you until I have you alone in a bed, because once I do you’re not leaving that bed for at least a week.”

That shiver across your whole body he definitely had to have felt. Breathing stuttering as you sighed out in a tensity that he could only have known from those intimate moments together these past weeks. A tiny indicator of amusement in your tone, trying to play it off. “What, are you going to chain me to it?”

Heart spinning in your chest as Jon so confidently whispered, “If you let me.” That one got more of a breathy laugh out of you and grin from him. “No? We’ll work up to it.” Kissing the side of your head once more as if in the private moment here, he was unable to keep away from you.

Neither of you said much more for a long time, you felt no need to. The peaceful quiet with Jon was always something you could count on bringing comfort. Just being near the other was good enough some times. In moments like this it felt like no time or changes have passed, only to feel in your heart that something deeply was different and there was no hiding the desire anymore. Or, Jon simply had found little care anymore in pretending as if it were otherwise.

“Do you ever wish we could go back to that night?” Your eyebrows raised in question, “Our last night together under the Weirwood.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought of that night in a long time. You didn’t want to. It was a night you thought was the last time you would truly see each other, and certainly didn’t feel good to think back on it in the worst of days. Biting your lip before shaking your head, you were quiet, almost a whisper just for him. “I don’t think so.” Jon asking why, you took a deep breathe and tried to lean your head back a little more against his in a sort of nuzzle. “Because that was a Jon who didn’t think he was worth enough, one who didn’t think he deserved anything good. Despite everything, the you I found again isn’t like that anymore. You’ve found purpose, you’ve found confidence. These people all look to you as their leader because of it. Going back means I want the Jon then. I loved you then too, but I’m proud of who you’ve become. I wouldn’t want you to lose that.”

You didn’t expect him to reply, and it was likely the most you had said in one go in a number of days now. Once more not a painful quiet, one that you could bask in forever. You wouldn’t want to go back to that night, that was true, but it did remind you of how easy it was to feel so close to him in complete silence. Like being around each other was enough to know what the other was feeling.

Speaking quietly into your ear, there was that hint of doubt, a dash of insecurity that was so much more prevalent in your years before. “You’ve always thought too highly of me.”

Shaking your head firmly, your free hand reached up to grasp his already covering your first hand near your ribs. “No, I haven’t. I’ve always known who you are, who you could be. You deserved the world back when everyone looked at you as nothing more then a bastard. But these people, the Northerners around us wouldn’t have rallied to your side if that was still all you were. You’ve always been so much more then that.”

You could hear him swallowing harshly, throwing down whatever emotions were spilling from them back to their depths. Waiting a good minute before finding the courage to speak again. “When did he tell you? My father, when did he tell you he knew about us?”

The smirk on your face was in no way able to be stopped. What a panic that man sent you into in the worst place possible. “About five minutes before he walked me out to marry Robb.” The stillness that erupted in his body had a burst of a giggle fly out. Catching Jon’s attention who rolled his eyes in a playful spark. “Almost sent me into an early grave.”

Huffing behind you, even through the pain there was something playful in such memories of Ned Stark, this man known for his stern Northern rule who also had a propensity of finding total amusement in his children’s embarrassment. “We have a way with words.” And those words in Jon’s mind always worth it to see that very laugh on your lips just like now. So rare anymore to see or hear it.

Leaning back finally, you rested against him more comfortably. “He would be proud of you, you know? Your father. He would be incredibly proud of the man you’ve become.”

“And I need you to know, I’m proud of you too- no shut up you don’t get a say in how I feel.” Knocking down your instant protests of that with such a genuine casualness that you couldn’t help but just laugh. It had been a long time since either you or Jon could just sit together, joke and laugh and feel like two normal lovers. But tomorrow you meet with Ramsay and the fear in your heart was great. But you knew, that even in fear you must not look away.

Maybe you hoped, you had at least one father in Ned Stark who might be genuinely proud of you.

The sight of Winterfell once more filled with dread instead of the once lifting feeling of relief. A place you once could only feel home, and yet all you could see looking at it anymore was a pitiful reminder of how far you’d fallen to. Snow having clear enough that there was a clearing of grey scattered around the clearing to the South.

Much like the last time, your group had arrived first. To his word the night before, Jon kept you on the back of his own horse. You had wished you were trustworthy enough to have your own, but you understood his misgivings over it. Jon knew too well that you would rather send yourself back into a hell instead of a fight. Ensure Rickon’s return for yours. But he didn’t trust you, and so you were kept with him.

Trying to keep it to minimal, you knew Jon was doing his best to present his side as the route to a more peaceful outcome rather then having so many men stand behind. On what horses you had, men of the Mormonts and Glovers followed as did a number of free folk. To your right sat Tormund as well, curious to your deathly silence and almost barley moving. Knowing the very second there was view of them something in your blood would freeze up and threaten to drown you then and there.

Not even the breeze of wind graced you, just a cold that stung through your skin. When they appeared, they seemed to be confident enough not to bring as many men. Perhaps ten at most from what you could see and sure enough, the person of Roose Bolton nowhere to be found within them. Just riding in the middle, a smug smirk from Ramsay himself as he approached.

Eyes looking between you both, as you felt Jon stiffen in front of you. His own gaze sharp and grey bleeding into a darker almost black colour at the sight.

Only men of the Boltons accompanied him, no other houses which may have pledged to his side joined the parlay and you couldn’t help but wonder why. Of course, as they stopped a few meters away from your own group, Ramsay’s pale blues found yours with a sickening pleasure you had known all to well.

Your lungs barley finding any movement within them, having too many times recalled what such a look would normally follow. It was that same look on his face now that he had that first night he came down to the dungeon of the Dreadfort all alone to begin a new nightmare.

Jon spent no energy on courtesies. No civility or neutral greeting as had been the day such a meeting occurred on the opposite end of your father. No, he had not the care to play Ramsay’s games.

Ramsay however always played. A tone of sincerity that was as fake as the air was cold as he looked past Jon to you. “My dear bride, you wound me. Running away only to return to me on the back of a another man’s horse? What would the people think of such behaviour?” His smugness turning to Jon himself, “Come bastard, you’ve brought my bride all this way, now give her to me where she belongs.”

Jon clutched the reigns on his horse a bit tighter in his fist, keeping a stoned expression trained on him without giving much away. “I’ve shown you her, now you show me my brother.”

Tsking at him, Ramsay never once gave up the ruse. It took much to break that joy of cruelty to something more angry and vicious. “Now, it doesn’t work that way does it? You don’t get to see little Rickon until I have her by my side again. This can be easy, bastard. Give me what belongs to me and I give back what belongs to you.”

Jon’s voice was rough, a louder tone to ensure all heard but tinted in a husk of anger. “She’s not your prisoner, and she’s certainly not your bride.”

Raising his eyebrows in a fake impress, your heart dropped realizing the things about to come out of his mouth as his eyes shined with a horrifying glee again looking to you. “My lovely bride, you wouldn’t have happened to play around with other men while you were gone were you? Running from where I’ve given you a home in a nice warm bed right into his, I’m hurt.” You couldn’t tell if you hated how he was trying to rile Jon up through you, or how in a sick way, he wasn’t really wrong.

“She isn’t a toy for you to throw around, and this isn’t your home, Ramsay. It’s mine.” A bit of a fallen expression painted over the man, possessive like the one in front of you but not in a way that was full of a care or love. Just a childish anger of wanting things to belong to him and no one else.

Finding his eyes once more, Ramsay found it in him to give a second’s patience for diplomacy. “It hasn’t been your home for some time, bastard. But I may forgive you for that if you just give me what I want. Hand me my bride, kneel before me, surrender your army, and proclaim me as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. You should be thanking me, I executed the man who murdered your brother, gave justice to how many times he stabbed a knife into my bride’s stomach there. Him and that fat wife of his won’t trouble us any longer.”

Glad for the gloves on your hands so you couldn’t dig your nails deep into your palms, trying to keep calm when all you felt was ill. Jon was equally as tense in his posture, you had been right. Murdered Roose Bolton and that way with you nothing would stand in his way of ruling the North alone.

He found once more, no amusement in Jon’s own response. Finding him to be difficult to manipulate with his words. “We both know why I’m not going to do that.”

“Come, bastard. You don’t have the horses, you don’t have the strength, and the only men at your side are a bunch of savages with no discipline. There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse, return my bride to me and kneel. I will even bring your brother to you myself, alive of course. I’m a man of mercy.”

So this was why he knew to keep you behind him. Your muscles all screaming at you to get off and just go to him, let this be over. If you did it willingly perhaps he wouldn’t even need to submit to him at all, your willingness would be enough. But Jon wouldn’t let you give yourself over, and you knew a strained feeling inside your heart was as close to gratefulness as you could get.

“You’re right. There’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us.” In a real trick of the gods, you suddenly realized too much what Jon was feeling before. Your heart raced almost too fast leaving you lightheaded. Your hands reaching barley forward so he could feel the slight pressure of your fingertips at his back. “Let’s end this the old way. You against me.”

Almost indescribably, did he lean back just the slightest. Even as Ramsay chuckled, you could sense Jon telling you to stay calm, let him handle it. Pale blue eyes narrowing slightly in a curiosity to him. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way the people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don’t know if I’d beat you, but I know my army will.”

Voice not wavering for a second, strong as he sat tall atop his horse, Jon didn’t miss a beat. “Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn’t fight for them?”

A blaze in his eyes send a prickling shiver down your spine, one that you had seen in your more daring of moments. Before he had learned ways to shut you up. Scoffing with what you knew wasn’t a true security in his leadership he played himself off too casually.

“You’re good. Very good. I can see why my bride ran all the way to you. Needs a strong man with enough sense to knock her around. Not just anyone can handle a cunt like hers. Tell me, does she bleed and fight against you as she does with me?” You couldn’t see Jon’s eyes, but you would be willing to wager they were as black as could be if the strain in his shoulders were to go off of. “Do you fuck her like a wolf, bastard? She certainly takes it like one.”

Everyone on your side of the field was horribly uncomfortable. In a way, it sickeningly reminded you of that morning at the Twins. Having to stand in front of Walder Frey and let him look you over like a slab of meat and parade his disgusting interests in front of his family, your army, and Robb himself knowing that saying anything in your defence as he wanted was a mistake.

Jon felt the same, and your insides twisted at what he could possibly be imagining. “I offered you and your men a way out. But I’m not handing her over just for you to torture her more. I know the North as well as you do. Do you really think they will stay at your side after finding out what you’ve done? That they’ll still fight for you, if you murder Rickon?”

Whatever confidence Ramsay was boasting, didn’t seem as confident in the glare he gave Jon in return. More of an anger that was rarely wound up by another in his monster of a mind. “Have it your way. Come morning, we will find out. I hope your men are ready, I haven’t fed my hounds in seven days. They are dying to meet you. Of course, not before I keep you alive just long enough to watch me and my bride consummate our lovely marriage properly. You know as well as I do she's nice and broken in. But I am a generous man, so I'll even let you watch as my hounds give her all a turn before I kill you.”

Never to leave his guard down, Jon had everyone stay in their place as Ramsay so confidently turned to leave. Almost out of sight before you too, made your leave. Once the morning comes, you knew this same field would be drenched in blood, but you had to be ready this time. You’ve been in battle before, only never with such a risk of being on the losing side.

“If he was smart, he’d stay inside the walls of Winterfell and try to wait us out. But he won’t.” Nightfall had fallen upon your army, only a fair few of you still up and rerunning the plans again and again until it was ingrained in everyone’s minds. Charging into a bloodbath, too many scenarios played through your minds and every one had to be planned out no matter how minute.

Lord Glover looking at Jon with the kind of trust you’d seen in the man before, only directed towards another he’d eventually call King. “You don’t think he’d force us into a siege?”

Shaking his head no, voice low but no hesitation. “Most of his men are houses forced to fight for him. If he can make an example out of us, then he knows they won’t turn on him out of fear. He wants it to be a slaughter.”

Your eyes were narrowed, looking over everything laid out to the group almost without blinking, running along the edges where they could come from. Tormund leaning over more looking to Jon with a knowing. “It’s his horses that’s a problem. I know what mounted horses can do to an army. You and Stannis cut through us like piss through snow.”

Your eyes flickered up briefly, before turning back down. Tactic’s running through you head trying to find a solution that even sounded good before speaking up. Your head already hurt, trying to come back into this kind of world after being so drastically torn from it made it feel so much like your first battles all over again. Relying on the skill of others to push you into an idea that could even work.

The conversation around you continued as you leaned over the table silently, “They won’t be able to hit us from the sides.” Jon called your name causing your head to snap up with a bit more intensity in your eyes then perhaps you realized. “Are you with us?”

Gaze drifting to the side, you couldn’t help but recall those days in Riverrun. How full proof the plan was until one thing had taken it all apart, and ended it just before your father had breached the gates of King’s Landing. “They’ll charge at us trying to push us back, but maybe we need to do the same.” Only catching Jon’s eye you spoke with a hesitant pause hoping you made as much sense as the images in your mind. “How long would it take to breach the gate?”

A glint in his eye caught yours, something of an understanding as he answered, “If we have a proper clearing, maybe minutes.” He put the pieces together faster then you did, leaning back up as he looked to the others. “He’ll send his horses into a slaughter because he thinks it will push us back.” His voice trailing off with a lightness, looking at you with a plan the others hadn’t seen yet.

Nodding slowly, you looked to the outlaid plans once more. Finding a voice for the first time in a long time that awoken the memories of what used to be in Maege and Glover. “They’ll attempt to block our path closer, but if we can break that line we can push them right up to the gates. And if we get into the gates?”

“Then it’s over.” Maege finished for you, a proud look on her face. “I knew you were still in there somewhere.” You didn’t quite share the confidence. None of the battles Robb had one had been rushed into knowing a victory, handling every time with as much planning for failure as their was success.

Every time you would get to cocky about your own plans, was the same instances the Stark’s would all knock you into the dirt in the training yard. And Ramsay was confident. He has the advantage of Winterfell, and he has the horses but it also means he thinks there’s nothing for your men to stand up with. Jon had at some point come closer to your side, his tone rumbling in your chest from the proximity. “Ensure all the men out there knows my instructions are clear. I can’t have surprises from them tomorrow.”

Hardly having noticed Theon watching you closely, you also missed the glance between the two of them the former nodding towards you. It was almost an odd dynamic, between the four of you as teenagers it was usually split evenly of Theon and Robb, and Jon and yourself as the pairs. It was a bit odd for Jon, having missed war bringing you two together, and the trauma that bonded it for good

In ways, Theon knew you as well as Jon did. He hadn’t gone into detail so much about what Ramsay had done in specifics, but it was enough to paint the picture to Jon that day in Castle Black. It also was clear, Theon’s quiet was one thing but the fear in his own eyes trying to describe the things you had been through was another.

It wasn’t until you had told him that night in Deepwood Motte, did he learn that Theon would be dragged into the room to watch what Ramsay would do. And judging by how many marks were left on you that first night he truly came back, clearly there was so much worse happening. And it felt strange, knowing that it was Theon who knew it all best, not Jon. Theon had been the one to protect you, get you out of there and instead of returning to his family he betrayed Robb for? He stayed, knowing if Jon were vengeful enough he may have merely acted out Robb’s own execution order for him.

When you came to Winterfell shortly after you turned fourteen, Theon had already been there for about two years. Long enough to lose that initial fear of what may happen to him, and feel more at ease around him and Robb as friends of sorts. Then you showed up, and Jon could still recall how much red was painted over his eyes as he heard Theon remarking about “showing you what a man looks like.”

Robb had been as close to hitting him as Jon had. The two of you were always combative though, always bantering and joking. Many days he and Robb would have their own tasks when it was usually you and Theon whose jobs typically aligned with the other. If he used to feel jealous of what he saw as Robb getting their father’s true attention, it was Theon he was jealous of spending so much time with you day to day.

Standing there, seeing Theon’s eyes trained concerned as you tried desperately to only focus on what was right in front of you instead of the fear to come. It was that same feeling of jealousy in his gut, like no matter what he did Jon would never know you the way others did. Then again, he also wasn’t sure you knew yourself better then others did anymore.

Both men nodded at the other, at the very least, Theon had found himself working to trust your well being with him more freely. Theon could talk you down, but Jon was there to prevent it in the first place now. Most took their leave, save for Tormund.

Raising an eyebrow to him, the larger man asked with a doubtful amusement “Did you really think that cunt would fight you man to man?”

“We could end this war right now, boy. Save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters.”

The same offer, only given by the other side of the fight. Except Jaime was already a prisoner, and the battle already won. Jon next to you though, spoke deep as he glanced from Tormund to yourself. Eyes dark with far too much brewing behind them. “No. But I wanted to make him angry. I want him coming at us full tilt, no tricks waiting for us over the hill.” Turning to glance at you, he looked back to Tormund in finality. “We should all get some sleep.”

Both men nodding to the other, once a threatening dynamic built on lies turned into someone the other had found a deep trust in. “Make sure she does too,” Gesturing towards you, “Need you both sharp tomorrow.”

You hardly noticed it was only Jon left. A true battle oncoming, and sending good men into an undeniable slaughter. You could have been in the war tent garrisoned in Moat Cailin over four years ago and you might not have realized, the anxiety racing just the same.

Only brought back to the world when warmth enveloped your back and two arms came to stretch beside yours, keeping you caged between the table and Jon. A barley there hint of relaxing coming over you at the feeling, but little would make it go away. His voice was low, resting close to your ear almost humming in tone. “We’ve gone over everything as much as we can, nothing left to do but wait.”

Tilting your head barley to one side, but didn’t make any moves to look away. “I can hardly remember when I used to go into these things with any confidence.” Sighing behind you, Jon moved his hands to your hips, adjusting you a bit closer, standing a bit straighter against the wooden surface so he could more comfortably keep you close. “How the hell was I going to do any of this on my own?”

Hands holding your hips a bit tighter, voice lowering more to a rasp that could’ve made you shiver more then the cold air around you. “You were never going to do this on your own. The moment I realized you were alive, I knew ever letting you go was a mistake.” One hand running smoothly from hip to across your stomach and pulling you more back into him, your eyes fluttering shut at the sudden feeling.

Slowly, you let your hands reach up from the table and rest gently along the arm running around your front. “That day on the Kingsroad, I remember this..strange feeling. As if the second I turned from you something in me started screaming. Trying to tell me something was wrong. At the time, I thought that was just what heartbreak was supposed to feel like.” He nodded against the back of your head, prompting you to continue. “But then it kept coming back. Almost as if it were some sign that I was making the wrong choice, or was walking into a trap. I never felt something like that until we finally left, and it hasn’t been back since..since I’ve been back.”

Shivering in his arms as the hand across your stomach begun to stretch and trace along where your scar sat hidden under your layers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. All three of you.” Neither of you spoke about it, about what you had lost from that scar other then your life. You had no way of knowing what to even say to him about it, or anyone. You didn’t want too, but you still felt a sting building up quickly behind your eyes.

Trying to shake your head, shake the water from them too, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to you fast enough to protect you.” Jon trying telling you it wasn’t your job, but you pushed past him. “No, Jon. It is. If you’re supposed to protect me, then I’m here to protect you. That’s what this is. You don’t get to do all the work by yourself.”

Another sigh, this one with enough strength that it was both exhausted yet purposely dramatic. “Did you drive Robb this mad with how stubborn you are?”

Shrugging lightly, you leaned back into him finally. “Sometimes.”

His hand traced along that small area a little firmer, as if wishing he could feel it from over it all. Insecurity once more seeped so lightly into his voice, asking in a whisper, “Can I ask? About him?” Pressing harder into that scar for a second to indicate which he meant.

Your head felt light, for a moment it wasn’t his hand there, it was that warmth pooling of blood that left your body shivering and pale. It wasn’t judgment in your tone, but for a moment you worried it came out as such. “You’ve never asked about him before..why?”

Stilling for a moment before exhaling deeply, the nerves not quite leaving him this time. “I was jealous. Most of my life I never thought too far ahead, life like mine didn’t have much to look forward to. We couldn’t even be together anywhere but completely alone, I knew marrying you was never going to happen. Then I saw you like that in my dream one day, and all I could think about was how jealous I was that it wasn’t mine.”

Biting your tongue, trying to keep the inevitable emotions at bay desperately. But he continued. “Then you and Robb died, and I felt like a horrible person for it. Spent all that time wishing it was mine, and then you lost both of them. After that I don’t think I even knew what to ask.”

You had thought it was Robb’s in that dream, and maybe it was, or maybe it was Jon’s you didn’t really know. That dream of a baby boy was so far away in another life that it was too foreign to remember properly. Yet, you found a smile. Something deep in there was the softness you shared with Robb over it. The only times you two had any happiness before it was all ripped away. “We had names picked out.”

Jon turned a bit to look over your shoulder, a hint of a smile on your face that you never had anymore when talking about Robb. His thumb now gently running across your stomach, not at all realizing it was just the same manner that Robb himself used to do when you were pregnant. “What were they?”

Looking to nothing for a moment, you found the same words you told Robb coming back. “Both you and Robb were named after your father’s closest companions. Jon Arryn named his son after Robert, but neither of them did the same for him. We left for war trying to save him, it seemed only fitting. We had at least two others planned as well. If our first boy was named after Ned, then any girl we had would’ve been Lyanna. And-” You paused, and for a moment Jon couldn’t quite tell why you almost seemed amusingly hesitant.

Squeezing your hip he prompted, “What?”

Holding a smirk back, you shrugged. “We uh...were fairly certain however that Catelyn was not going to appreciate what we thought of for our second son...”

If anything got a sigh along with an eye roll out of Jon, it was that. Letting his forehead rest against the back of your head, grumbling, “Seven hells...what was wrong with you two..” A small laugh burst from you, prompting Jon to tear himself from you and turn you around. Backing you against the table once more, his arms now reaching to encase you between them as well. A playful glint in his own eye, “Well, when we get to our second boy we’re sure as hell not naming him Jon.”

A flush ran through your skin, and a flustered smile you wished wasn’t running so obviously across your lips. The sheer ease in his eyes and grin on his face as he said it almost made your head spin. Trying to play yourself off as just coy and joking, “Well what did you have in mind then?”

Once more there was no hesitation or doubt. Just the somewhat, actually very intimidating aura of a man who knows exactly what he wants. Running a hand gently along your hair, “Robb would appreciate having one of your boys named after him a lot more then I would after me. It doesn’t have to be our second if you’re not ready. If I recall, I promised you eight.”

Your eyes widened, mouth parting in incredulity his audacity. A higher pitched protest trying not to laugh out of your mouth, “Excuse me, I clearly remember saying we should stop at three, but you made me agree on five, where's this eight coming from?”

Jon leaned forward, his breathe brushing across your skin as he ran the hand down to stroke gently at your jaw, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m older now. I want more.”

There wasn’t much sleep to be found that night. Not by your, not by many. A battle was one thing, but tomorrow was going to be more rough then the ones you remembered. What little you did, for the first time in a long time, you were so vividly haunted by that very thing. That very horror you couldn’t keep from. Only this time, you couldn’t even tell which Stark it was strung up like a puppet, a blend of direwolves morphing in front of you so jaggedly staked onto where their heads were.

Whatever Northerners were fighting on Ramsay’s side, you hoped they too recalled the inconceivable cruelty of what House Bolton helped create as the end of their own King. Maybe Jon was right, maybe you were wrong to think giving yourself up was an option. It would’ve have saved Robb from that fate, but maybe you just needed to force yourself into those fears. Get out in the mud and do what needs to be done. No one protected Robb from such an end, but you could protect the two brothers that were right in front of you.

But perhaps, two was too great of a number to be allowed to come true.

You knew what would happen as soon as you rode up. Most of your forces on foot, only a handful on what horses you had, most in lines of archers lined across the fields from one end to the other along where you dug out. Cutting off their ability to circle around you, as your archers stood tallest to pick off any oncoming men seeking to circle your forces. None of the Bolton army was seen as Jon rode up in the middle of his army to the front.

Standing atop it were only a few figures, one of which was Ramsay and the other to yours and Jons horror was Rickon. He was alive, but as soon as you saw the distance between, and the bow in Ramsay’s hand you looked to the men poised to flank to the free folk’s right. Eyes looking to Theon’s as you knew exactly what was about to happen.

All of you were deathly silent. Ramsay leaning to Rickon in a falseness that you knew the boy wouldn’t be able to tell. He was older then you last saw, almost eleven now and yet he looked far older then a boy his age had any purpose looking. Your place enough behind Jon, you knew he could hear you in the painful quiet that was surrounding everyone.

“He’s going to make him run...”

You didn’t elaborate, and the worst was that Jon knew too well exactly what you meant. This wasn’t an act of war, this was pure cruelty. You had spared a child’s life before, you had stood beside him as Robb executed his own men for murdering children even as hostages. This wasn’t an act of a commander, and it was why Ramsay couldn’t have Roose Bolton around to stop him.

If he was sure he was going to win this battle, he still had one last game to taunt with and you felt utterly sick. This was why Jon refused to let you even attempt your own surrender, he had enough foresight to know it wouldn’t be as simple as that and he was right. Only it was against the wrong person in your eyes.

As soon as Rickon ran, Jon took off. Riding towards his brother as all of you were forced to wait in a wide eyed horror. Arrows didn’t barrage Jon, no it was a far sicker game. Ramsay stood from his safe high top, and shot arrows down around Rickon desperately running to Jon. The first time they had seen each other in over four years and you knew Jon could see nothing else but how far he had to go to get his brother.

Only, Ramsay was toying with them both. It was almost enough to make you look away. So close to their brother, both almost managed to even grab the other’s hand. Only as soon as they barley could feel the other, a final arrow shot right into the boy, and hurled him face down to the ground.

Heart stopping, the sickening dizziness. Rickon laid there, and didn’t move and for a moment Jon could only look down at what he only just couldn’t reach.

And yet, that weight, that darkness, everything that had bore down on you for over a year. The blood and bright blue eyes of that night, the fire and chanting turned to torment and a nightmare only death was your wish from. It all didn’t quite ring clearly.

Something stirred in the sheer seconds you had to act. An instinct that had been buried so deep the last time it was awake, it was Robb’s side you were fighting at. And at his side, you knew what needed to be done, and so did you now. You knew better, because you knew exactly what Jon was about to do.

As soon as Jon beckoned his horse to ride straight forward, you found a voice. Quiet for so much of your life, and yet somewhere deep you found enough of that desperate Baratheon fury that would cause Robert to shout like no other man. “Prepare to charge,”

Jon rode more, and the arrows shot at him with more vigour then the toying of his brother. In an instant enough hit his horse, sending it stumbling down and Jon slamming to the ground with it. And it was then, there was no turning back.

He stood there alone as Ramsay commanded this men to charge, a terrifying onslaught of mounted horsemen all riding towards one lone man with but a sword at his side. “Men, go, protect your commander- now,”

The free folk were as terrifying from this view as it was for the men coming. A ferocious people, sided along good men you had known and fought with before. Your own on the horses you had at their backs following enough to cover.

The roaring from both sides only forced your lungs out harder in commanding their draws, each side knowing their strategy and yours trained on those in front of Jon himself.

There was no way to describe it. What kind of blood was shed in the middle of that chaos. Your own archers the only thing that was poised to keep the Bolton armies from circling around Jon’s forces but the carnage below was something new. Mounted horses, brutal fighting from both free folk and the men with a flayed men itched into their insignia, it built up before your eyes.

Desperate yourself to remember everything you’d been taught and yet nothing could prepare anyone for this. None. In a true twisted fashion, you were sure this was his plan. Bolton men in the brunt of the action, as Jon’s men had to navigate a chaos around them and the arrows barraging them from their own sides with sigils you indeed recognized. Ones that you had sent pleas to, and ones whose arrows were as focused on you as you were focused on your own men.

In the ensuing chaos, both sides of your own on horse back had to push forward, push the line of men towards the chaos because there was no other option. They wanted to keep you as far from the castle as they could and there was only losing if you were pushed back enough.

But what built, was horror. Two sides guarding the line all poised at either side of what they created and in the middle was a wall of dead. Piles trampling over the other and adding to the weight that you could barley see in. One that you could barley see Jon in, and in an instant you found a voice that almost shocked the man you called to as it did you. But you yelled over the chaos and he heard you. “Tormund-”

It was indescribable in those moments. So much around him that he could feel his lungs crushing under the pressure of it all and soaking his vision. If this was what hell felt like then Jon would lose himself inside of it. Barley managing to push back what was on top of him until enough was there to reach up to grab onto what he knew was dead. His own and their own but he had to drag himself from it.

Something, someone seemed to have the stance to yank him back to earth, and as soon as his feet touched solid ground and he felt the air once more through the blood and grime that soaked all who found trapped within it’s depths. He hardly felt anything but a shaking ferocity that threatened to tear him apart. It wasn’t until he was yanked by the arm, forced to look at Tormund urging him to stay in control. To not lose it.

Senses from a highest peak that radiated something he couldn’t describe as the man forced Jon to keep eye contact did he realize how far down did he need to be pulled back. Coming to earth did he realize that something was off, or maybe it was that it wasn’t so deafeningly loud.

The wall of the dead in the middle, on two sides were a mixture of Boltons, Umbers, and Karstarks all holding their own line, some men, Jon even recognized himself. Many, he knew had once fought by his brothers side and it only made him angrier.

Watched their King betrayed by the Boltons, and now watched as the same house murdered Ned Stark’s last trueborn son and all posed in a challenge. Begging his forces to charge them first and get picked off by them and the arrows behind them.

Only, Jon recognized the men flanking to the Bolton’s left and right as well. Houses that he and you had called to. Houses that now, weren’t watching the men their arrows were trained on. No way of knowing the silence between a fair few that spoke volumes.

The Northerners were sure that the other houses forced to fight would surrender when the tides turned, but it wasn’t quite that. Your eyes and Theon’s had found leaders in the horseback archers parallel to your own. And a wave washed through, looks you had shared with these men in plans of battle before. Hornwood’s, Manderly’s, Blackwood’s, Dustin’s, all men you knew and you realized it wasn’t surrender they chose.

Fight as you had no other option, and once a choice was to be made they made the one that you barley had a plan for. But it was there, it had to be. You didn’t spend three years at Robb’s side, not to know exactly the kind of men who followed him. Jon’s forces on foot slightly ahead of you, and the opposite arches aimed over just enough to hit them. Your own flanking each side, turning enough to see Theon recognizing as you saw. So it was the very last plan in the book you were to cook up, was it?

Jon stood soaked in blood, men all at his sides ready to cut through them as tensions arose and as the archers poised at them were commanded to start moving. He could hear you, from what he could tell almost just behind him by a good number of feet as you held the back lines harshly.

As children, Jon and Robb often found themselves climbing the highest towers, and shouting to each other from increasingly far distances. Their father had told them that the greatest of commanders could only do so much if no one on the battlefield could hear them. That a good commander knew how to yell, a lesson he knew he and Robb both had learned with success.

But then he heard you, and he got it. He knew why you refused to let him stick you off to the sides. He wanted to fight for you, but you would for him. And no matter how much having you there scared him, you’d keep going as long as it took to ensure he kept going. And your yell, had to be that of a commander right now. One that he had previously only heard stories of from his father, that Baratheon’s were the one house who had a true set of lungs when they wanted too.

“Nock,”

The faint sounds of men and horses shifting behind them as he stared down the ones holding the line from them, teeth gritting and heaving for as much air as he could.

“Draw,”

A yell he had never heard on you, but there was a confidence he only caught at the last second. That the men in front of them, were only ones that had denied their cause and pledged to the Boltons. Only those and the Bolton’s themselves. None else. The Northerns at their backs however, looked as if they were actually listening for orders from the voice yelling behind him, watching you with a nod as if- oh honestly Jon could’ve turned around and kissed you right then and there.

“Loose,” Your arrows all fired, and the second they reached the men blocking the path, did the archers behind the Boltons turn. And arrows flew in vast numbers into the remaining men all posed to charge.

Another set of arrows and Jon found his own voice to match. “With me, men. Break their line,”

Taken off guard, Jon and his own men found their strength once more, and found the shock and confusion of the Bolton’s being picked off by their own sides broke through. He couldn’t quite see ahead of him enough, but he also knew to trust your eyes to watch those from the leader who hadn’t touched a single second of battle, save for an innocent boy running for his life.

The Northerners turning to the side of their own, men who now fought at Jon’s side recognizing the leader they didn’t just need, the one they wanted. One that was as fierce as the brother before him.

In the turning of the tides, Ramsay stood almost baffled by what was happening. Realized that the only men fighting for him for the ones being picked off by the bastard. So he did what cowards do when faced with forces that could outdo them. He ran. Commanded his men and what was left to turn back.

Realizing what happened, you made a risky judgment call. One he would be likely mad at you for later but now was important. Because you weren’t leading these men. The free folk, the Northerners all turning to fight for Jon’s side as one.

In a stroke of, not quite luck, but trust in someone who once fought beside you, you commanded your own horse forward and it was Theon picking any off before you could reach him. Coming to his side as there were more of you then there were of them, Jon looked up to where you came towards him.

Barley a glance was needed and it was all spoken already. Ramsay didn’t have the men for a siege anymore, and they all knew it. Hauling himself up in front of you, grabbing the reigns for himself. Telling his men to follow, telling them “We’re going home,”

Ramsay wasn’t ready. He wasn’t the one to lead such vicious battles and he despised that his men knew it. He thought he had them. He thought he could do it that he only had a scrap of wildings to help. Only to have the irritating audacity of Harald Karstark the night before, telling him that if it was a wildling army led by Jon Snow, then they might be fucked. That he would know this place better then any of them could wish.

His own bloody men turned on him, Houses that had sworn to his side. Albeit through threat of force but his side none the less. He thought he had the bastard, and then..he didn’t. And now he knew there was only a matter of time before they broke those gates down and the instant they did he would only have seconds to find a plan.

“Archers to the walls.” Only they didn’t. Wide eyed and rageful he yelled louder, “Archers-”

His own men by his side telling him, “Our army’s gone, we can’t hold off a siege.” At least there was the satisfaction of knocking the mouth breather on his ass for that. But the men that remained, ones that weren’t soldiers of his own house? Oh it was bad. It was bad, because they stood down. They stood down, and the gates open.

There would be no siege because there weren't enough men willing anymore to die for Ramsay Bolton’s malicious temper. They had a King, a King his father murdered, and outside those gates was the King that without ever calling himself one, had led his men through a bloodbath as fiercely as their last.

As those gates opened, on either side taking sure control of the perimeter of the yard were a mix of free folk and Northerns together finally. But as Jon descended on the home he had once thought couldn’t ever be his again, all he saw was red.

A monstrous, pathetic man who preyed only on those too weak to fight back. All Jon could see was the vile thing that waited until Jon had just reached Rickon, before shooting the boy dead. All he could see was how horrifically scared he had seen Ramsay leave you and the fear in your eyes for too long tormented by him. He didn’t get here in time to kill Roose Bolton for Robb, but Ramsay was here when Rickon wasn't, and Jon felt an intensity in his blood like none other.

You followed not long after, you and the men beaten, covered in grime, blood mixes of yours and others as Jon was drenched, soaked in the massacre which tried to crush him in. And Ramsay, stood there almost entirely clean with a bow in his arms. Looking between Jon and you with the same condescension in his voice he always had. “You suggested one on one combat, didn’t you? I’ve reconsidered, fighting for my whore of a bride sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Men all standing back, as Jon walked forward with not an ounce of fear or doubt in his eyes. You could still see Jaime Lannister, tired up, bloody and beaten taunting Robb “ Swords, lances, teeth, nails choose your weapons. And let’s end this hear and now. ” But Robb was smart enough to know a trap when he saw one.

Ramsay wasn’t.

Step by step Jon threw his shield up, taking arrow after arrow all barley moving him back a single inch. All of you stood heaving from the fight to get to this point, as you watched Jon approach Ramsay without a care in the world over his attacks. The second he got close, Jon thrusted it forward by a blunt edge, smacking Ramsay in the head and sending him knocked to the ground.

And that didn’t stop until there was barley anything left to recognize outside the blood. It could only be described once more, as brutal. An anger and violence that was so destructively pulled to the surface that none stepped in to stop. Maybe you should have, but you found no strength left in you to do so.

You fought back against Ramsay too many times and he overpowered you with ease. But Jon was the one who overpowered him, and you couldn’t convince yourself it was wrong to stop. Luckily for you, however, Jon had more strength then physical.

Ramsay broken and bloody on the ground when he stopped. Jon’s voice a hissing rasp full of vitriol as he knelt over him. “I should kill you right here, let you die humiliated in front of your own men.” Tossing what was left of his hold on him to the ground, Jon stood up. Looking down to the man with exactly what you knew you had seen in him. “But I won’t. That’s not the kind of leader these people deserve, and it’s not the kind of man I am. For now, you can rot in the dungeons with the rest of your men.”

Taken back to Whispering Wood, some taking away what was left of the men on the other side, while the rest stood around you in cheers. But it wasn’t quite over. It was why you told him, why he needed to know before he got here. You were Robb’s Queen, they fought beside you. But you weren’t their leader, you never were. Only one here was the only person it could be.

Only this time, the man they would call to saw it coming. And he knew better then most, the cheers around him couldn’t last. You didn’t come all this way together just to fight this battle. Jon’s voice was loud as he stood in the middle of his people. “Men, you’ve fought with honour. Stood beside the free folk and fought together, my father used to say we find out true friends on the battlefield. And you’ve proven that today, but one victory does not make us conquerors.”

Multiple men stepped forward, Northern Lords who you had seen in this position before, had seen this look on their faces, but this time, as you stepped forward as well they knew that you still truly believed it too.

“Winter has come, and I promise you. There is a bigger enemy coming for us. One that won’t wait out the cold. They will bring the storm with them. Bury and burn the dead, and celebrate while you can, but this war is far from over.”

It was Lord Dustin who stepped forward first. “We all received a call from a Southerner calling himself King, but we refused. Some of us forced into allegiance with the men who murdered our King and our Queen, and yet by the gods grace she’s standing here in front of us because she understands better then we all did.”

Jon met your eyes, and you just once, begged the gods to let him accept what he deserves. Just once.

Another loud, impassioned voice that spoke over many with conviction. Only Maege had a bit more grace then that was of the Greatjon who spoke the declaration years before. “Bear Island knows no King but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. Robb Stark was the King we chose, but he didn’t need to make this one a Stark to follow after him. He named Jon Snow as King after him because Ned Stark’s blood runs through his veins all the same.”

More stepped forward, men who answered the call and those who didn’t all as Jon stood at the centre of all. The Manderly’s next, and you knew too well they realized at the last second what the true choice was, their eyes had found yours in those vital seconds before Jon broke the line, and turned to join. “Lady Mormont speaks true. Your brother came to us, chose you to succeed him, and it wasn’t until I realized I was on the wrong side of the battlefield did I remember that.”

Lord Blackwood stepped next. “My son died fighting for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and never once have I regretted standing beside him. And I won’t regret should I die in battle beside the brother he trusted, the brother he called King.”

Fighting against until the very last surrender as they opened the gates finally, it was indeed Smalljon Umber who had the courage to step forward just as he was the one who ordered the gates to be opened. “My father’s rotting in a Frey dungeon because he fought by Robb Stark’s side, and I dishonoured him, my King, and my house by pledging my men to the ones that killed him. A man can only admit when he’s wrong, and ask for forgiveness, if not mercy.”

Jon’s voice wasn’t as powerful as before, and he caught you in his eye, closer then before. Rough and scratched like the toll was long taken on it. “You sided with us in the moments it mattered most. There’s nothing to forgive.”

With as much admiration as he had that day years ago, Lord Glover was as confident now as he was then, this time your name in his words. “We’ve heard rumours, about your death, about his.” Gesturing to Jon, still as quiet and still as ever, like he was the stag about to be spooked for once. “And if the gods brought you back, maybe they wanted you to bring him back too. Without either of you, we wouldn’t have a Queen, or a King. House Glover has stood behind House Stark for thousands of years, and I will stand behind Jon Snow.”

Silence was met, as you approached him. Bloody and beaten beyond belief and yet you held no doubt in your eyes, or a nervous hesitation as you had shared with Robb before. Now was different, and you could only see a man that was exactly what you wished he himself had seen earlier.

Your voice nowhere near as loud as any of theirs, but you trusted these men to hear you. Even if your voice was only loud enough for Jon as you found his grey ones you missed for too long.

“Robb chose you because you deserved everything he had. He didn’t want to force you to become a Stark just to lead, because Stark or Snow, you’re his brother. He didn’t want you to be the King he was, he trusted the King you would be on your own.” A hint of a smile on your face as Jon’s gaze was trained intensely into yours as if needing to lighten the thick air between you in front of so many people. “Though being a Snow..I suppose would make you the White Wolf instead of the Young Wolf.”

Had Jon’s heart not been about to break through his chest and armour and sink him into the ground, he may have found it in himself to laugh. But as he looked to you, and then up to the men, he knew there was only one choice. The Free Folk wouldn’t kneel to him, but Jon didn’t want them too. They followed him as a leader, but it was the North that was his home who needed him as their King. And who would he be if he refused the call when Robb hadn’t, he thought.

Soaking in blood from a horror bloodbath he led them all to victory in, the Northerners around Jon graced him with the title he never thought he would’ve deserved. “The King in the North,” And as more joined, drawing their swords to swear, he looked to his people with an acceptance in his eyes.

It was different this time though, you didn’t make any pledge of loyalty because truly Jon had no gods forsaken reason to hear one from you. You both came back from death in ways not a soul other would understand, and that was enough.

He did though, in front of men, in a home, in a place he never would have dared only four years ago, find enough in himself to let go of that long insecurity. The last time it happened, you both were in Winterfell together, thought was the last time. Leaving the other may have been a mistake, it may not have been, but you were in front of him all the same.

That cold night of the feast he was kicked out of, both of you had looked around to ensure you were alone first. But this time, Jon let himself just not care, and in however long the men chose to chant and cheer, Jon pulled all the air out of you as he grabbed you, pulling you to him.

Almost spinning you in his arms as you both clung to the other in a tight yet tender embrace, as all the “King in the North” faded until only your breaths could be heard by the other.

For this very moment, it would have to do.

Splashing harsh against the rocky shores, the fleet all gathered around to see the immaculate castle that stood before them, stone dragons carved into their towers and the volcanic cliffs around it acted as an overpowering shadow. An image of fear to many, but they had only just arrived. They couldn’t leave now.

Some were familiar to the land, others weren’t at all but they all stepped ashore, and with little fight as could be given, the island was theirs. It wouldn’t last for long, not as a permanent home, but it was the closest thing to what was his blood family as one man could get for now.

Some called him Young Griff, but as he stepped onto the shores of Dragonstone, he knew he had to become what he was trained to be his whole life. Eventually all the Seven Kingdoms would know him by what he came here to be. Here to claim his rightful place on the Iron Throne, as would have belonged to his father befor

But Young Griff wasn’t here to be his father. Rhaegar died a prince, but Young Griff was his only living son. The rightful heir. He was here to be King.

For his true name was said to be Aegon Targaryean

[ghostlyforxst]

Hi, are your requests open?

For Demon Slayer, I would like a headcannon+Short scenario with Rengoku, Akaza, Uzui and Genya with a s/o who’s like Wednesday Adams? It can be a GN or she/her, bonus if you include “the thing”

GENDER: Gender Neutral Reader

WARNINGS: Wednesday Addams AU, Fluff, Mentions of Gore, and Not Proffed.

CHARACTERS: Kyojuro Rengoku, Akaza, Uzui Tengen, and Genya Shinazugawa

WORD COUNT: 503

A/N- Still having trouble spelling Wensday-Wednesday lmao, anyways I apologize for responding late and I hope you don't mind that I'm basing this off of the old Wednesday Addams. But, Enjoy!

RENGOKU KYOJURO 𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Opposites attract, that’s the relationship the two of you share—day and night. 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Kyojuro finds your odds norms and indifferent attitude unique, he is even-tempered man. Though your fascination on torturing and death is a bit odd, but he'll turn a blind eye for you. Kyojuro is also the one who initiates the affection in the relationship, it doesn’t bother him, clinging to you even as your hand thrusted against his chest—laughing boisterously. 

     “And who is this, darling?” kyojuro questioned, eyeing the hairy being you were speaking to. 

     You whipped around, your leaden eyes observing him before you montoned. “Oh Kyojuro, meet my cousin itt. He was visiting for my fathers sake, we were just ending our conversation.” 

     Kyojuro smiled and bowed, “pleasure to meet your cousin Itt!” 

     Once those gibberish words left cousin Itt’s hidden mouth, Kyojuro was baffled and curious. “What did he say?” 

UZUI TENGEN 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Tengen does find you quite strange and unflamboyant, but in a since that’s what sort of attracted him. The relationship is odd, unexpected, since the two of your personality are vastly different—a relationship people would never have thought of. 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Obviously Tengen and his wives are the ones who bring about the affection, it does bother them at times but when you show your affection in your own way it eases their thoughts. 

     Your feet patered about the house, until your movements came to a halt. You discern the familiar gibberish being spoken, you peaked behind the wall watching as Tengen nodded and laughed with Itt. Not much fazes you, but this did. 

    “Yeah, I’ll go get them!” 

SHINAZUGAWA GENYA 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Genya himself feels unusual, being pushed away by his older brother and so on, and that’s why his attracted to you—leaving him unruffled by your morbid and emotionless behavior. 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Though he is shy around you, he is the one to begin the affection and isn’t troubled by it that much. But like Tengen, he notices the slightest affection from you. 

     “Y/N!” Genya shouted, sprinting towards you his weapon aimed to kill. 

     You snatched a rock from the ground and threw it at, whacking him to throw him off. “Genya, this is my relative not a demon.” 

     “ :o ”

AKAZA 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸 Unbothered, Akaza enjoys your indifferent and morbid attitude. It doesn’t annoy him like a certain someone, Douma, and finds your sarcasm and intelligence attractive. Matter of factly, Akaza feeds into your morbid attitude by supplying you victims or even indulging in your gory behaviors. 

𓂃𓍊𓋼𓂂𓏸Affection is rarely shared between the two of you, but Akaza would the one to act on it if so. 

     You watched from the sidelines as Akaza battled the firey head man, your lips pulling up fairly as he toyed with him. You peered over your shoulder, catching sight of a familiar hairy being.  

     “Cousin Itt, what a surprise.” You spoked, stepping over to him. 

     “---gibberish—”

    “Is that so, hm, Akaza should be finished soon and we can leave.”

[loth-creatures]

So... how does Baylan become a wolf? In one post you said it was Sabine, but in another you said Sabine bit Shin who then got Baylan later on.Si which is it?

So originally Shin bit Baylan simply bc I hadn't yet committed to writing in the entire ahsoka series and didn't think about it much; that just seemed like a likely scenario.

But I decided on Sabine biting Baylan instead (she still also bites Shin first, on Seatos) when thinking about how she would attempt to escape and compromise the Sion, as well as developing Sabine and Baylan's dynamic more...I just so happen to have a substantial wall of text of ideas about the Sion's voyage sitting around if anyone is interested in that. It just needs some refinement.

ANYWAY, gory details below cut

Sabine makes her escape attempt a day or two before landing on Peridea. At this point, her and Shin are somewhat getting along and she's allowed her lightsaber for sparring. As soon as the opportunity arises she incapacitates Shin long enough to disappear into the walls Ezra style and spends the last 24 hours of the trip hiding deep in the guts of the ship and using the saber parts including the kyber to create a small bomb that can hopefully later be used to disable the Sion. Sacrificing the lightsaber almost breaks her heart again, and she is 100% banking on finding Ezra to pull this off, bc there's no way to detonate it without someone using the Force.

Once they've landed, she tries to get off the ship, and might have even succeeded if she didn't have to go back for her armor. She is then confronted by Baylan. He could have killed her using the Force the entire time but they didn't really want her corpse stuck somewhere hard to reach, so waited for her to make a move.

Idk why I got the idea but I've been imagining one of Baylan's Force talents as being really in tune with bodies, kind of like the heartrenders from Grishaverse, though not nearly on their level of percision.

He's been listening to Sabine's heartbeat since the moment she made a break for it. When he finds her, he squeezes her heart through the Force, crippling her. But before he crushes it, he makes the mistake of taking a moment to apologize for this, and the fact that she came this far only to never see Ezra again.

I mentioned before recently that Baylan knew of the Wolfwalkers from ancient stories in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and is lowkey a fan. He attempts to get on better terms with Sabine during the trip in part because of that. She told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off but he still was hoping to not have to kill her.

In that moment of desperation, Sabine wolfs. It's like the moment in Wolfwalkers when Robyn's father becomes a wolf out of shear desperation to protect her.

Baylan wasn't aware that was a thing that could happen (spontaneous wolfing) and has about half a second to react before Wolfbine nails him. She misses his throat but crushes his shoulder and half his ribs in her jaws, fully intending to kill him. And she would have if WolfShin didn't show up just in time to intervene. And Shin would've ripped Sabine's throat out for reals, if Morgan and her soldiers didn't intervene just in time. Lucky for her they already contacted Thrawn and he wants her alive. Morgan, who watched Baylan leave to go kill her moments before getting Thrawn on the line is like 'Ahh. I'll see what I can do...'

Anyway, Baylan pulls through just barely, and is now a Wolfwalker as well, which he is actually very happy about. He hardly resents Sabine, even if he'll never be able to use that arm properly again and limps badly as a wolf. It is only fair, after all he tried to kill her first. Shin is the one Sabine will have to worry about seeking vengeance. Meanwhile Sabine is beating herself up even more for letting anyone affiliated with the Empire close to Lothal's secrets, though in the end neither Baylan nor Shin give a shit about the Empire.