#jon is in deep denial

[murderandcoffee]

Wingmen au where Martin straight up asks Jon out and Jon gets so flustered he tells Martin to get out of the archive

I hope you're okay with me writing a little scene based off of this because it has been rattling around in my head all day!

Jon was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands when the knock came at the door. He groaned, lifted his head, and intoned, "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal Martin.

Jon sighed. He'd thought his assistants had all left already. Apparently, he was wrong. He waved his hand in a "get on with it" sort of gesture. "Yes, Martin, what do you want? If it's about Ms. Vasquez's statement, I asked Sasha to look into the--"

"Uh, no," Martin interrupted, "it's not about that."

Jon frowned. "Well, then what is it? It's 5:15, why are you still here?"

Martin leaned against the door frame and, for a long moment, stared at Jon. Jon stared back.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Do you want to get dinner?" Martin asked.

Jon waited for additional information. Martin gave no additional information.

Jon narrowed his eyes, suspicion already bubbling up inside of him. "Why? What did you do?" Obviously Martin was trying to soften an incoming blow. Had he misfiled a statement? Contacted the wrong person? Broken something in artefact storage? "You didn't let another dog in, did you?"

"No!" Martin waved his hands. "No. No dog. And I didn't do anything." In a softer voice, he said, "I'd just like to buy you dinner."

If Jon had been holding a pencil, he'd have snapped it in half. "What?"

"I said," said Martin, sounding half-nervous, half-exasperated, "that I'd like to buy you dinner. Any place you wanna go. In fact, I know this wonderful little Greek place a few blocks up. Best souvlaki you could ask for off the continent, and the ambience--"

"Get out."

Martin blinked. Frowned. Blinked again. "What?"

"Get," Jon repeated, "out."

Martin took a step forward. "Why--"

Jon stood so fast his chair toppled over behind him. "Get out!" He pointed at the door. He could feel his face burning, and the awareness of it only made the burning worse. When Martin did not move, Jon shouted, "Get out of my archive!"

Lips pressed tightly together, Martin gave him a single nod and fled.

Jon fell forward, bracing himself against his desk with both arms. He let out a shuddering breath.

I am going to have to speak with Elias about my assistants' penchant for playing pranks. This has gone too far.

He waited until he was sure Martin was out of the building before packing his things and slipping out the door.

[beegs-bugs]

Live footage of Jon gaslighting himself into thinking he’s only jealous of Peter Lukas because Martin is such a good assistant. No other reason.

Art by my irl friend Vin Who Isn’t On Tumblr

[symphony-calamity]

No one understands him (Jon Sims) like I do...

[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

[vee-lociraptor]

hear me out jonathan sims COULD survive malevolent but only season one jonathan sims. and solely because he would simply not engage with the plot. i think john would get as far as “creepy book” and jon would check out immediately.

any later jonathan sims would not survive malevolent because if he’s not neck deep in denial he’s going to want to find things out. but he would also not trust john and i think the combination of these things would get him killed immediately.

[kayfabe-is-king]

I believe Wheeler will only start winning again when he really finds himself. Right now he is deep in the denial stage of grief (look at that sad boi face above). He has wrongly convinced himself the Death Riders are still the Blackpool Combat Club he believed in. He is blindly following Claudio and Jon because that's what he's known for a while now. Only they don't see him as a protege anymore, just their little windup murder doll (his match against Hangman on Collision last night is proof of that). But they aren’t doing the proper maintenance (i.e. supporting him and you know, not forgetting about him as they leave the arena) so the doll is malfunctioning. Hence all his recent losses.

The old Blackpool Combat Club was his home and he started coming into his own with them. Look back at photos of Wheeler during the Bryan era BCC. He was genuinely happy. He was learning and growing and finding his footing. It was something good. Sure the training was brutal (it’s a combat club not a knitting circle) but that BCC showed him how to get back up. They saw something in him and wanted to help him become a better version of himself. And he did.

gif by @heeleryuta

So now he’s latching on to the remnants of what once gave him direction and purpose. Something that built him up and helped him stand on his own two feet. It’s hard to let that go even when it turns into something toxic. The Death Riders aren’t concerned with making him better. In fact, they need him broken so they can control him. He doesn’t have a purpose outside of being a chess piece in their mind games. But here’s the thing, some of their methods remind him just enough of BCC’s tough love that he can’t see the difference (classic abuser behavior). At least not yet.

I think he will eventually but it’s going to be a journey. He will have to truly grieve the loss of the Blackpool Combat Club and finally let it go. He will have to realize he can take the lessons they taught him and stand on his own. This isn’t a quick fix and I don’t think someone else should “save” him. Much like Hangman’s story arc to the men’s world championship, I think Wheeler will have to do this on his own. It’s going to get messy, he’s going to fail and he’s going to get his heart ripped out by Claudio especially. But (ironically enough) just like Papa Castagnoli said once before:

[queen-morgana91]

Do you think that Lyanna and Rhaegar were seriously in love?

Yes. It’s literally so plain to see, you have to dig your nails deep in denial to think otherwise. You can read between the lines that GRRM wrote them as lovers.

GRRM has described himself as a romantic and ultimately R+L will be framed romantically (yes yes it has problematic implications when you think about it, but so do many other relationships that the series frames romantically, not least because these books were written with thirty-year-old sexual mores).

He dies with her name on his lips, she with his roses in her hand.

The subversion of “dragon kidnaps girl and valiant lover knight fights a war to save his beloved from her tower” when in truth the “knight” turns out to be a bit of a manwhoring douch who slept with every woman he came across, and the girl loved the dragon he slayed.

The gender subversion of the beautiful Princess with the beautiful voice and the valiant knight who stands up for the weak.

The tale of Bael the Bard, in which a Stark maid associated with winter roses disappears with a singer and comes back with their son. A male relative takes part in his killing and presents it to her as some kind of victory, but it actually breaks her heart, and she dies “by tower”.

Lyanna being heavily asscoicated to Winter Roses which were given to her by non other than Rhaegar Targaryen when he named her his Queen of Love and Beauty. Roses in general are a symbol of love while the blue rose adds a hint of mystique and in attanining the impossible.

Rhaegar, the emo Prince, who was said to have been never truly happy, named the place he stayed at with Lyanna the “Tower of Joy.”

Dany seeing a blue flower growing out of a wall of ice, which filled the air with sweetness in the HotU during the love section of her visions. It's a clear hint of Jon Snow being the love child of Rhaegar and Lyanna who will likely also be Dany’s third and final husband.

Ned confronts Robert about not truly loving Lyanna, because he only ever saw her beauty and not the Iron underneath- it’s implied that the big moment between Rhaegar and Lyanna was meeting her as a Knight who valiantly defended the honor of the weak, not some lovely little maiden spotted at a feast as she would have been to Robert.

The author refers to Rhaegar as a “love struck prince.”

And of course, we have this official new artwork by Justin Sweet, one that GRRM personaly commissioned, which frankly gives me some misguided hope that TWOW is nearly upon us. lol

I love the interplay of light and dark given what we know of these characters: Rhaegar with his sense of grief/doom is fully in the shade of the enormous heart tree while Lyanna is in the half-light half-dark, perhaps representing her own more optimistic and less convoluted worldview. She's exploring, finding balance; he's watching and seeing something he admires that somehow exists in all the twists and inescapable turns of the forest engulfing them.

The third 'person' in the art is the heart tree itself, old/wise/frowning, but also cradling both Lyanna and Rhaegar. They're both connected to it, representing in a sense that their fates are sealed and known. This is a stolen moment they're having (it's a false spring) but despite the simplicity it's still connected to the much larger world around them.

Another point I like is the lack of sigil etc. on their clothing—we know who they are but the interaction is not one of Targaryen to Stark on it's face. [there's also this other art by the same artist which parallels Lyanna and Jon's poses + Rhaegar and Jon's clothes

LAST AND MOST IMPORTANT THOUGH: the blue roses at the bottom that are firmly in the light.

Conclusion: Rhaegar and Lyanna were intended to be your classical tragic love story; think Romeo and Juliet or Tristan and Isolde and whatnot, not Rhaegar kidnapping some random girl to have a Visenya. Although Rhaegar’s desire to have a third child probably pushed him into pursuing his passion in running off with ‘his Lady Lyanna’ too use some of Ser Barristan words here.

[candyskiez]

Jon is the funniest protagonist of all time. Spends the entire first season in denial of being a protagonist but the second he realizes goes shoulder deep into paranoia and obsession. Has a heart to heart with his assistants immediately before stalking them all for months. His only friend for months was an ex cop who tried to kill him and haunts his nightmares. He keeps his rib in his office. He fell in love with a guy he thinks is bad at everything. He has weird homoeroticism with almost every guy who he spends more than 20 minutes around. He can be used as a substitute for Google in a pinch. He was raised by his grandma, which explains almost everything about him. He's God's specialist little boy. He's the antichrist. He died twice. He's extremely aware he's in a tragedy. He got kidnapped and forcibly given skincare for a month. He got eaten by worms. He is the only one not aware he's suicidal. He dates his assistant. He ended the world. He wants to be a good person so badly. He's angry at everyone and everything but mostly himself. He judges everyone and everything but mostly himself. He is the only person he could never give compassion to. He would rather end the world again than not "take responsibility" for ending it the first time. He's even asexual. What can't he do.

[sentientforest-orb]

man, jared hopworths character is so fucking funny.

mans had a childhood bestie (whom he definitely had a crush on) who “left him” to go to college so he holds a grudge against him. then when said childhood friend comes back to town and gets a job at the local library he decides he needs to visit him at least weekly out of rage and to beat him up because his ass is so deep in the closet and in denial of his feelings. then gets ahold of the boneturners tale and does some fleshy experiments on his (i assume) pet rat and his mOTHER. he does eventually kill his crush, not exactly the best way to deal with all those feelings imo.. then some time later he starts a gym for people to work on their “dream bodies” particularly to his standards of ripped mangled flesh creatures. he happily takes a rib from jon as a treat. then during the eyepocalypse (i imagine) he’s just all dolled up in a gardening apron tending to his people garden, practically cooing and babying his plants, when jon and martin come to smite him and he tries to make a homophobic joke that jon just agrees to and he’s like “ö̶̺̙͈̻͖͙́̌̃̇̅̀͒́̊͋̌̂̌͌͝ͅh̶͕́̒̇́̎͐͝” (in his monster voice), then gets consensually smote after listening to jon tell him stories about how grotesque and awful his people flowers are.

it’s so funny that this guy is basically the only “homophobic” fucker in this podcast, but i deeply believe it’s because he didn’t know how to express his feelings for his friend lmao

i bring this all up because whilst relistening to episode 17 there was this scene where sebastian (the friend) was bent over picking up a cart of books that jared had knocked over, and as he stood back up was hit over the head with the boneturners tale—SO, what i imagine happened (besides jared’s desire to torment and hurt him) was that jared knocked the cart over, then accidentally took a peek at seb’s ass when he bent over and got so filled with closeted rage that he needed to hit him with something.

[ultfreakme]

Jon and Co-dependence: my boy's mad at me. i'm going to make him move in w/ me and make him popcorn

Absolute Power: Super Son gave me a lot to think about. In terms of writing I really can't complain, it was executed very well for a one-shot. But in terms of characters, I'm frustrated(in a way indicative of good writing) about Jon and Nia.

This issue does not resolve Jon's problems, it brings them to audience awareness in an explicit manner. People who've been keeping a keen eye on Jon saw this coming since 2021 in SOKE but no writer stated it in clear terms on page this way. Avoidance, denial, and an inability to think in terms of his humanity and only as a tool or a part of a whole(family, romance, friendship). Jon knows he's avoidant, he doesn't like thinking about his trauma or talking about it, he will suffer through it alone. Even in his deepest, most lowest moment, he speaks of his own trauma in terms of his family.

His autonomy and individuality have been slowly chipped away by the prospect of being Superman. Superman does not live for himself, he takes risks and sacrifices himself for the greater good. That label and the shadow of his father in that suit has been following him since he was 9-10 years old.

The only thing Jon seems to want solely for himself, is Jay.

Up until this point, Jon has been fairly chill and normal about seemingly on the surface. Their relationship was always very sweet, they were always on the same page and never had a reason to fight. There is a deep admiration and respect between them. But the understanding, the ability to see the person for who they are at their core, has yet to happen.

Regardless of that, Jon loves Jay in a way that is damn near unhealthy and codependent.

His love for Jay is what breaks Jon out of Brainiac Queen(BQ)'s control, but it makes him reckless and impulsive. He needs Jay in his life. Throughout the issue, Jay was pointedly not present in the dreams Nia constructed to keep Jon's mind safe from BQ's attack. This is precisely what kept breaking any shield Nia put up.

Jay's absence drives Jon deeper into spiraling. The lies Nia made for Jon never, ever worked because Jay was missing. A dream of his which Nia repeatedly showed Jon and which Jon has admitted is his wish to move to San Fran and get an apartment with Jay in it.

Nia gave him the apartment and the city but not the man and that always, ALWAYS broke Jon out. When Nia isn't around to keep things in-check, Jon just spontaneously remembers Jay on his own and inserts him into the dreamscape.

Nia built those dreams to protect Jon, but also to help him in fighting back but Jon was extremely weak to BQ's control regardless of those efforts. The only time Jon manages to find the strength to fight back is when Nia drops the dreams and instead just shows him the truth of BQ and acknowledges his trauma. She correctly identified that Jon needs help to fight back, but not through falsehoods, but through the truth.

That's when Jon fights back and breaks out of the control. At every turn, Jay and the things he stands for are what pull Jon out of false comfort.

There's those phrases right? Sweet dreams. Ugly truths. That's Nia and Jay.

The reality with Jay is nothing like a dream but Jon would rather take the pain of reality than be trapped in fake happiness. There was a pattern in the issue where Jon kept texting Jay after every dream session with the Amazonians. Jay checking in asking if he's okay, Jon replying he's 'totally fine' despite not feeling like that. Jay was his guide to the truth in SOKE, AOSJK, and now Super Son.

Jon's had his reality fucked with a LOOOOOOOT. Manchester Black, Waller & BQ, Injustice Universe, and the whole space trip. Jon has had this existential turmoil since he was a child, it was made worse by his trip to space with Jor-El. The impossibility of his existence is frequently emphasized. Most people see it as a miracle, Jon sees it as point of fear and doubt about his existence. He needs something, anything to stay above the surface and that is Jay.

Like, it is now canon, that Jay is Jon's tether to reality. He is the one thing he will selfishly ask for himself and by golly is he selfish about it. He clings. It's a repeated pattern.

The night they become official, the tendencies start showing.

SOKE establishes that Jay is always the one letting go, and Jon is always the one holding on by any means necessary. This leads to so truly ✨Problematic✨decisions on Jon's part.

A list, if I may:

Gives Jay a new suit and half-proposes to him with a legion ring

Nearly fights Batman over him

Goes to Jay's counterpart in the injustice-verse with no evidence of if he may be good or not and just trusts him blindly

Took Jay to his own Fortress of Solitude and planned on keeping him there during the Siege of Gamorra

Burst in through a wall because he thought Jay was in danger

Asks to move in with him and move across the country with him

Safe to say, Jon needs Jay in some deep, fundamental, and kind of unhealthy way. The last one happens when Jay suggests it's not going to work between them if Jon insists he must forgive Nia. You don't define your own reality based on one person if you don't got issues, and unfortunately Jay does dish it like it is and calls himself the truth so like Jay was doomed from the second he opened his mouth and posted his recordings online.

Jay suggested breaking it off-- for understandable reasons- and within five minutes Jon dropped his very first "I love you" to Jay and asked him to move in with him.

This kind of leads to Jon deifying Jay and not seeing him entirely as a person. Jay is deeply upset about his mother's death, when Jon just rush at him with moving in together, Jay cries but doesn't immediately agree. He actually pulled away and seemed like he might have protested if not for the Amazonians calling Jon in to stop Waller.

Jay's relationship with Jon is filled with this, and Jay has to call Jon out to slow down and address Jay's issues(this makes him sound so bad, he really isn't, he' just gets too caught up in "protect him protect him protect him" mode when he's under distress). He does this when Jon is about to leave him to go fight Bendix, and in AOSJK when Jon's being all happy about getting to go out freely in public while Jay's stuck wearing disguises.

Jon's tendency to view Jay as his tether leads to him dismissing Jay's very human, raw and awful emotions. It's why he's so shocked when Jay feels nothing about Nia's death. It's also why he's quick to just ignore the topic and because yeah he feels terrible about it but if he keeps pushing this, Jay will leave him.

Jay's story.....is one of a loss of autonomy, just as much as Jon's. It happens in how he gains his powers, the way Nia betrayed him, the loss of his secret identity which he HEAVILY relied on to convey news, the seeming loss/ lowered involvement with The Truth news streams, and frequently with Jon where Jon chips at it with his desperate need to keep Jay by his side.

Jay doesn't dream of San Fran. Jay doesn't dream of shared apartments. No one has yet to properly let Jay cry about the loss of his country and his mother. Jon's avoidance strategy HURTS Jay here in an immense way.

If this keeps going, this relationship is going to break. Jay's always putting up with this, with Jon, because at this moment, he has no family. Jon is his closest tie to anyone, he can't let him go either because if he does he loses his entire support system but he's willing to since he actually prioritizes his grief over his mother. Jon centering Jay as a concept around his desire for himself is going to cause huge problems in the future.

Anyways, Jon's a freak, free Jay. Stan toxic yaoi.

[nagdabbit]

oh, the bliss is gonna make you see

words: 1.2k

jon moxleywheeler "Sadder Patty Hearst" yuta

tags/warnings: bad bdsm etiquette, mildly dubious consent, submission as manipulation, yuta is in denial, transactional violence

(this was written in a haze of food poisoning delirium)

also on ao3

.

Mox is already there when the hotel room door clicks shut at his back. The man is already naked, already waiting, already watching Yuta with a smug sort of smile as he grinds a piece of gum between his teeth. It's the usual scene these days.

He's no longer surprised that he was allowed to walk the halls alone again, allowed to enter the room of his own volition, without having to be frogmarched along by one of his looming shadows. It's the one time they fall away from him, the one time they give him space, and he knows what it's for: the illusion of choice. They allow him this chance to run simply because they know he won't. He hadn't run the first few times he'd been summoned to Mox’s room, after all. Mox wanted it that way these days. 

He doesn't bother saying anything as he carefully steps further into the room, no use in negotiating anymore, no use in protesting or backing out or leaving. He's in too deep now. It starts and ends when Mox wants, that's the way this goes. He's the one with the power, he's the king, now. The scene starts when Yuta enters the room, and it stops when Mox says. 

As he steps closer, his eyes are drawn to the bed. There are all manner of toys laid out across the mattress, standing out stark and vulgar against the clean, white sheets. More implements of torture than pleasure, all of them there because that's what Mox wanted. They weren't for Yuta, not really. Had he the choice, they wouldn't be there at all.

A month ago, maybe two, Yuta would have been salivating at the sight. He'd have been eager as a puppy, pawing at Jon to let him play. Those days were no more, they died suffocating.

Mox is still smacking his gum, cheeks dimpled around that little grin of his. Yuta used to think him handsome, tracing the lines of a hard life lived. He used to know the scars across his skin, used to know each and every story they told. He used to work so hard for that smug grin, used to work for the chance to trace ancient constellations across the skin of his back, used to love being caught up in Mox's plans and games. 

He doesn't like this game anymore.

He slaps Mox across the cheek before he can think better of it. But the man's shoulders give a little shake, as if he's suppressing a laugh. As he turns back, teeth bared as he gives a smarmy little grin, Yuta slaps him again.

This one is hard enough to knock the gum from between Mox’s teeth, letting it fall to the floor. He doesn't pause to clean it up, nor does he tell Mox to. It'll get ground into the carpet fibers, a forgotten bystander in the ensuing tussle, and he doesn't even pause to think of cost he'll be charged for it. 

When Mox looks at him again, his eyes are dancing, but he at least pretends to be contrite. It starts and ends when Mox wants, and this is what he wants from him. Violence, sweat and blood. Right here, now, Mox will let him win. He'll allow Yuta a few moments of having the upper hand, give him the illusion of control. But it starts and it stops when Mox says, and Yuta will follow along as he always does.

In a few moments he will launch himself at Mox, wrestling him down until he can lock the man up in loops of rope and leather. He'll think about the next stop, the next show, the next hotel room, just as he always does. He'll imagine himself walking past the door, rather than digging out the keyboard Marina will press into his palm. He'll bind the man's arms tight enough to hurt, because that's what Mox wants from him. He'll kick Mox’s legs out from under him, shove him to the floor—not the bed, never again, not after everything he's done—and viciously attack each and every vulnerable spot bared to him. 

He’ll leave teeth marks in the soft skin of his throat, a warning that won't be heeded, and he'll walk away next time. He'll bruise his own hand layering violent and dark bruises upon each tender but of skin he can find. He'll make it hurt to walk or sit or even breathe, and make Mox carry a reminder of all the anger and rage and shame and guilt and fear he's forced Yuta to carry. That will be his final taste of Yuta, because he'll walk away next time. He'll unleash a red hot anger that Mox wants from Yuta, a fire he's been building since the start. And then he'll walk away.

He'll shove Mox down and fuck him there on the floor, thrusts hard and violent enough to scrape a carpet burn across his dimpled cheek. 

He'll leave Mox there, knowing that Claudio will come for him within a few moments, listening through the adjoining door as he always does. He'll leave Mox in a heap, cock heavy and hands turning red and cold, knowing there's no point, that there's no danger or consequence or lesson for the older man to learn.

There will be a vile, acidic burn at the back of his throat as he leaves, as there's been each time before. Another shame, different than that he'd choked down while Bryan struggled beneath his hands, will eat at him through the coming days, until it falls silent beneath the swell of his rage. A shame that says he's just like them. A shame that lies to him, tells him there was always a choice. There was always another way, another path, and he chose to stay.

He could've gone down gasping for breath at Bryan's side, ended his career just as it was getting started. It could've been his hand between a hammer and a hard place, his neck on the line.

There was never a choice. 

So he'll batter Mox to pieces, just the way he wants. He'll do what is needed of him, because that is what he chose to do. He'll choose to live, and fall into line, as he always does.

In front of him, Mox is still waiting for him to move. 

The lie acting itself out across his face is barely maintained repentance. He'll play the part of the whipping boy now, because that's what he wants Yuta to believe. A punching bag to work out his frustrations on, so he'll blindly follow along at Mox’s heels, knowing he'll soon get a key card and some rope and a few quiet moments to exact his pound of flesh.

Next time, Yuta will walk away. The scene will never start, because he won't be there to let the door fall shut behind him, locking him willfully in. It starts when Mox says, but next time Yuta won't even be there to be stopped. Next time, he'll choose. 

But now, watching the lie fade back into that smug little grin, Yuta pulls his arm back a third time. This is what Mox wants, but Yuta can't deny that a part of him—slavering away in the pit of his gut like a rabid dog—wants it, too. 

His palm lands with a crack, and Mox pretends to yield as Yuta launches himself into the fray.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

13 - Dragged Through the Violence

Paring: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 9.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, reference/allusions to rape, physical violence, torture, nonconsensual sexual language, consensual smut in flashback, consensual orgasm denial in flashback, talk of forced marriage and pregnancy

Notes: The nightmare train just keeps chugging along. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Reunions were an odd thing, many spoke of them in reverence and happiness, of joy and relief to find yourself finding people or place that felt long and lost to you. Coming together in a place that give you back a sense of identity, or reminds you of how far you’ve come since the last time. Some found a deep happiness in their reunion, whereas some were the exact opposite. 

The dark of the night, snow lightly falling onto the ground now covered in wreck and blood in the aftermath of a fight was where the first was found. The mutineers of Craster’s Keep lay dead as their aloof attitudes made it easy for Jon and the others to sneak up on them and end the fight before it had any true chance of getting off the ground. 

Much had been lost to him now. The North that was his home lay in the hands of the Boltons under the Lannister control, ripped away from the brother who meant the world to him as well the one person who Jon felt empty without. It was as if he could always sense you before, but now there was a dark space in his heart that was not willing to find any reason to mend. 

Even though it seemed all he once called family was gone, there was one he knew for sure of their fate, now was somewhere out in this same frozen north beyond the Wall he stood currently, but what he was doing out here Jon didn’t know or where to even look. Bran was somewhere in this very North but Jon knew he would never find him in it. Just like another, only this wasn’t Jons brother. This missing one, was like part of his own identity he lost. 

Jon had to send Ghost away that day in the cave. Ghost could understand what was inside Jon’s head sometimes better then himself, and not for a moment would the direwolf had let any of it happen. But he had to, he had come too far to get his eyes inside Mance Rayder’s camp and to fail to complete this now would only mean death awaited him. Prove your worth or die, and proving his worth meant sending his one last means to protect himself away. 

He hadn’t seen Ghost since, and maybe that is what made Jon trick himself. If he pretended he wanted it, if he pretended he wanted her and cared about her it meant that he wasn’t forced into it. Without Ghost to remind him of a truth outside the complicated mess of inside his mind, Jon found no other way to cope with what he was being forced to do then pretend he liked it and he wanted all of this. But then he couldn’t anymore. 

The lies too much, and the warnings of who Ygritte truly was kept coming until then the arrows did as well. Ending the facade and in his dreams is when he found you in a pool of blood fading away only to wake up and be told it was real. He lost his family, his home, his brother, and the woman he actually loved. And what was left to Jon? Nothing but the Watch. Not even Ghost, the only thing he had left that understood him. 

That was, until in the bloody aftermath, his attention was dragged over as Grenn called his name. Looking over to the small open path inside of Craster’s Keep from the Northern entrance came a white four legged figure that as soon as their red eyes found Jon’s grey ones, he felt a bit of himself return enough that he saw nothing else around him. 

Ghost had not been seen since that day, but here he was walking right into the Keep towards him. “Where in Seven Hells?  Come here,” A grin forming on his face as he beckoned his direwolf over, crouching down to meet where his head would be. 

The sight off to many, this pure white and large Direwolf walking up to Jon Snow with a small little whine in the back of his throat as he leaned into the gentle brushing of Jon’s hand against his fur. A creature that many dismissed as a beast, but as Ghost and Jon looked to the other there was nothing else around for that moment. 

He had enough lying to himself about what and who he was or wanted, but as he looked so gently at Ghost? Jon felt more of himself. “I missed you, boy.” Jon smiled in a way he hadn’t since before he left Winterfell. He didn’t have much, hardly any family left, he didn’t even have you left in this world to dream of outside his nightmares of your blood, but Jon did have a duty to do. And with his direwolf back at his side, maybe that would be enough to get Jon through this. 

Little hope was in is life, but you had told Ghost to look out for him. Said that if you ever saw him again, Ghost better have kept him safe. Jon could still see, you knelt down in front of the then smaller direwolf with a gentle touch and affection that none but Jon treated Ghost with. You told Ghost to keep him safe, and Jon wouldn’t dishonour your last wish by sending him away ever again. 

The gods saw fit to reunite Jon with the only last mark of his real identity and he wouldn’t let go of it.

Other reunions weren’t with people though, but places that once which meant something to you. For you though, the conditions weren’t all the dissimilar but vastly opposite of that further north beyond the wall. 

The snow falling to the ground draped the now barren lands in a gorgeous blanket of white, winter had arrived as you arrived yourself, in Winterfell. The last time had been still in the summer, with the royal brigade in toe as you were to marry the man you now had failed. You too were surrounded by blood but not that of others. Your clothes were that of bloody rags hardly resembling the dress you had worn to match Robb at the Twins. 

It was still stained with blood, and there was fresh scars of blood on your skin. Snow and violence proceeded your reunion, but yours was not walking into something of good, but to strip you further of your humanity. Your lip was no longer swollen, but the cut across your bottom lip was scarred red from how difficult it was to heal over. How little it was left to heal, and the scratches and bruises on your face were not large and ugly, but small and subtle. 

Gifts from Ramsay Bolton to remind you of what you would get in larger quantities when his mood struck. Your small cuts stung in the wind, but it was the agony of being on a horse as long as you were with the new other injuries. 

Multiple times as you approached Winterfell, you could feel Theon sneaking glances at you. The dispondant look in your eye and the new wounds that he knew came from one man. You knew there was such little hope left in your eyes as you all came into the main courtyard. 

Years ago, you sat atop a horse in this very place. Looking stern and serious as the King greeted his old friend, “You got fat.” And in this very spot your eyes met Jon’s beautiful grey ones like you were destined by the gods to always drawn to each other no matter what the situation was. Both of you trying to hide away a smirk that was difficult to do as long as you looked at each other. Nothing was like that now, just pain, stares from those who could see your state was unseemly, and your hands tied once more together only in front of you, so you could at least grasp the reins of your own horse. 

Parts of it were run down, the remains of what was lit on fire as a final insult but there too was no welcome here. None who remained in Winterfell accepted the Boltons with anything but a fear for their lives should they do or say anything against them. They all knew what Roose Bolton had done, and no one felt safe now. 

Some you think, may have recognized you. It was difficult, you were clearly unwell, weak, partially tied up and clearly covered in grime, blood, and scattered wounds all over. And your position only spoke to them more as guards all but dragged you onto the ground, shoving you harshly when you stumbled. It made you wince to do so, walking hurt a bit still. He had made sure it would. 

“Fucking all those big, strong wolves made you a fighter, hasn’t it? Unfortunately for you, my lady, but very good for me, I like it when a girl fights back.” 

You had almost given yourself once to a man you always loved, then when you finally did, it was with a husband you grew to love. But now all that remains for you here was being dragged through the violence that left you bleeding and your head in a fog. Both how hard Ramsay liked to slam into the ground, but also from the chaos inside from what came after. 

The Boltons had returned to the Dreadfort from Moat Cailin and the bastard son had been decreed a legitimate son and heir under the word of the now King Tommen. And it all came to you as you dragged yourself up off the ground once he finally saw fit to leave you alone that first night he visited for something more then to speak. Just how truly bleak your life was to be. 

The man himself walking over to you, as you refused to look him in his callous pale blue eyes. “A lovely homecoming for you, my lady. Of course, there must be just a few people missing then you remember, but worry not. We will make sure to give you a fitting reminder of your new life here. Reek,” 

Theon turning to him with a quick startle, his own eyes which had been trying very hard not to look around and see what he too used to have here. Allowing him the small chance to be Theon Greyjoy, letting him see you, something in him was stirring but he couldn’t figure out what and neither could you see it. 

“Prepare a hot bath for the lady, and bring her some fresh clothes. I can’t have my bride walking around in filth as if she’s just a thing like you. That wouldn’t be right, would it?” 

You bit your tongue as your eyes stared hard into the ground. If they thought there was a chance you would allow them to dangle you in front of the north and pretend to be something they all know you aren’t? Then Roose and Ramsay were less clever then they saw themselves as. There was no chance of that.

They had no idea how much you’d been thinking about how that will never happen, if it was the only thing you ever did again. You wanted to throw up as you were eventually led down the halls of the castle. It looked just the same but like that of a stranger too now. So much emptier, colder and more grim with people who had no right to call it their own and no one that belonged there occupy it. 

You had been in these halls so often that you could give a grand tour with your eyes closed, but these halls felt as foreign as those in the Dreadfort to you. The rooms that seemed to be the ones you would all occupy, were not the right ones. Not the main ones. If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have realized there were many places in the castle you would never be allowed to step anywhere near now.

Passing a hall where you knew to find each Stark once, to a different set of corridors until arriving at a partially open door. The guard roughly turned you to him, cutting the restrains free before nodding for you to go in. Bracing a hand slowly on the door frame, you stepped inside with a narrow brow and confused tilt of your head at the sight. One of guest rooms made for such a task, a strong wooden bath sat right in the middle, water steaming from the tops and just at the wardrobe behind it was Walda.

A cheery little smile on her face as she turned to see you before glancing to the guards behind, “I trust you gentleman know it isn’t proper to watch a lady bathe?” As the door closed behind you, it left you and her alone in the room. Walda turning to you with a sigh, “Honestly, they think keep an eye on her means they can never stop looking, no matter how creepy it is.” 

Stepping closer, you could see soaps and small vials laid out. The cold Northern air meshing with the water in front of you, but such kindness felt like a trap. It was too many times a trap. You were a little more blunt then you intended the tone to be as you asked, “What are you doing here?” 

Walda took no notice of it, just coming towards you like it was not a strange sight at all for you both to be here. “Roose told me you’ve been through the ringer, and you do look it. He suggested you may want a helping hand getting settled into your new home and we’ve spent no time together haven’t we?” You hesitantly let her grab your arm and bring you over to the other side of the room as she continued to talk. “We’re going to be Boltons together one day after all. And I know you’re older then myself, but I’ll still be like a mother to you when you marry Ramsay so I may as well start getting used to that now.”

You were quiet as Walda moved to undo the laces at the back of your dress, your eyes strained to the fire in the background of the room as you fought to keep your pounding heart from exploding at such a thought. She went on but you heard but muffled sounds in the fog of your head. 

Kill the King in the North and his Queen, but when you had survived Roose Bolton came up with a new use for you. Legitimize his own monster of a son, and have him marry the once Queen in the North when he is ready to strike to seize the Kingdom as his own. Keep you dead until he was ready to flex his new power by publically dangling an heir to them and thus creating a stronger foothold in the North then the very Lannisters who gave it to him. 

You didn’t die beside Robb, and yet now the gods thought you would stand by and marry into the family who ruined everything? Marry a vile man who had...you didn’t think further. If you pretended it never happened, pretended that it was not real as it was to continue to happen then you didn’t need to say or think of the words at all. 

Ramsay would not marry you yet, but he didn’t let that stop him to show you what married life would be like with him. The door opened, bringing you from your thoughts once more as Theon came in, with a bundle in his hands. Walda paused her movements just as she was helping pull the long sleeves down, “Sit them over there.” 

Theon putting what looked like a fresh set of clothes down before placing himself against the wall, hands clasped in front of him as he tried to look as if he was not there. Walda thought nothing as she pulled the fabric off your skin, certain places needing a good tug as the dried blood stuck to your skin. “The guards following you everywhere might get tiresome, Ramsay suggested giving you Reek to watch over you. Make sure you don’t accidentally walk into trouble, take care of things for you.” 

She seemed to treat it like Theon wasn’t a person, but an object to obey orders as she thought not of how much she was pulling off you. She also said nothing of the extend of wounds and scars on your skin as she did so. Not the arrow wound in your upper arm-

You had tried desperately to hit him with a blade but an array of arrows shot into you to knock you back to the ground. Your stomach soaked in dried blood as she uncovered that too without a care. 

Theon however, you knew was seeing a different story. The cuts on your face were one thing, but purples and yellows and greens along with red welts and cuts sat across various parts of your body that were not there before. From your chest and back with longer slashes, down to your hips and lower, around your upper thighs and leading to between them as there was the truth of what Theon had been trying to figure out on the journey here. 

To Walda your bare state was just something to get scrubbed down, to you it was an agony you would kill not just others to stop, and to Theon? It was a horror as your bare frame was littered in the evidence of what Ramsay was really doing in the darkness. 

“I can do this myself, you don’t need to help me.” 

Climbing into the water, your face gave away the sting of the heat washing over your body and hitting any sensitive mark or open wound. The one on your stomach the only one noticed you couldn’t feel the pain from as you settled. Walda moved by you, and part of your mind wondered if she was used to this sort of thing with the sheer amount of people in her family. “No, of course you can. But it’s always nice to have someone help you now and again. And if we’re going to be family, it can’t be too early to start treating each other like it.” 

Oh how you felt sick. How you couldn’t physically see that scenario play out and you knew you would never find out. You have a family- had a family. Had more then one, was ready to bring new life into that family with Robb, but now that was all gone. And if no one but these people knew you were even alive, maybe you really didn’t have any family now. “Suppose so.” 

Voice but a mutter from you, starting to weakly scrub away at your skin with every pass over a bruise making you wince. Walda had added something to the water around you, the scent passing your face and hitting you with a sweetness. It was very sweet, too much so it made you take pause to readjust to the overwhelming smell. “I always add a little something, try to impress. Though I suppose I’m married, not really needing to do much of that now.” She gently nudged at you, your eyes flying up to nothing with a sharp look as you tried not to flinch away. “You on the other hand, can’t hurt to give you a little something extra to impress your husband to be.” 

Robb’s soft smile and gentle hands that would run over your stomach flashed by your eyes as it constricted your heart and lungs. “I already was married.” 

A sigh leaving her, it wasn’t a fake tone Walda spoke with but one that felt naive almost. “I know it must hurt, but sometimes things happen for a reason. Who knows, maybe the gods were just putting you on the path to meet the one you’re supposed to be with.” 

You didn’t want to lash out at her, but the one you were supposed to be with wasn’t anything these people said. You stood by the Weirwood tree outside these castle walls and the old gods recognized your life with Robb together. You were supposed to come back here with him, with your son and find a life as the ones to rule the North together. 

Ramsay’s eyes weren’t even grey.

She continued to fill the space of your silence. “At least Ramsay is a handsome lad, and you’re rather pretty underneath all of this.” Her hands prodded at your skin and still grimy hair as she begun to move to stand behind you. “Losing your husband must be awful, but you’ll have little Northern dark haired babies to love before you know it.” 

As Walda reached up to run her hands through your knotted hair, you remembered a dream that wasn’t bound in blood. It was a baby, a tiny son with a fierce attitude and curls that were dark enough to verge on black. The dream that night had them with your own eyes, but a face that radiated like his fathers like the sun against the water. You thought you knew who that child looked like, but when your mind tried to find that dream again, it wasn’t your eyes. Nor shining blue. 

No, this one as you saw him in your mind, dark almost black haired curls and face all the same, but now looking up at you were beautiful grey eyes. But right as you saw it, you could feel Walda’s hands gently running through your hair and those dark curls suddenly were older, different as they leaned over your shoulder to press a kiss to the free skin there. 

Large hands, rough against the fingertips but careful in strength ran through your hair like they did many times. Untangling the mess as he did it behind you in a looser braid, always making it feel like a massage and you’d lean back into him. His deep rasp chuckling into your ear before telling you to sit straight. 

You flinched that time. Moving from her touch right away as the water sloshed along the sides and onto the stone below. Theon’s eyes followed with their usual unsettled wide eyes but now with a concern that was not of the name they gave him. Moving to the middle out of her grasp your voice raised with a stammer to it. 

“Stop- I’m sorry, I just would rather do this myself. Okay?” A look of genuine regret in her eyes, Walda backed away apologizing. You huffed, relaxing a but from your protective curl into yourself. “I appreciate the effort, but I would rather do this alone. Please.” 

Relenting, you felt bad for your harsh attitude towards the girl but you couldn’t sit there with that feeling in your hair and the images in your head and pretend you were okay. She begun to leave, “I’ll come get you later, walk to have our first meal as a family together if you’d like?” 

You bit your tongue, hardly looked at her face but nodded. Walda was trying, and it wasn’t her fault you hated every second of it. Leaving you alone as if the other person in the room was not supposed to be acknowledged as there. Only he was, and in the few seconds of quiet you wondered if he himself remembered that. 

Slowly moving to grasp at the cloth draped over the side you honestly realized there was no point in trying to cover from him, what was the point of modesty when the underneath was as unattractive as it was painful. Who would want you looking like this but the one who did it to you? And maybe that was part of the idea. Escape and who would be out there who wants you? 

“I don’t know who he’s trying to torment more with this, you or me.” 

You didn’t look at him as you had spoke, you weren’t sure you wanted to in that moment. The people in this room were so far away from yourself and Theon Greyjoy. They didn’t even allow Theon his own name, and you? A good part of you felt like it didn’t follow you from the Twins. Theon’s voice was quiet from his corner of the room. Barley heard over the light sloshing of the water. “It only gets worse. The more you fight him.” 

Hands pausing before your face twisted in an exhausted anger as you moved to scrub the grime off you harder. “Good.” Betraying yourself, you let your eyes flicker to him who was trying not to react with any emotion, but Theon’s eyes now it seemed gave every bit of him away. “Roose Bolton took everything from me, and didn’t even have the courtesy to let me die beside Robb. They want anything else, then let them work for it.” 

Wincing the more you washed lower, the sting in your eyes had you choking it all back. Even in private, even only in front of Theon you couldn’t let yourself cry. It would just be another thing they got from you, your tears. In an instant you sunk under the water, letting it soak into your hair. The feeling was something relieving, the muffled quiet and complete isolation keeping you under for longer then you should have been. By the time you rose back up, you breathed in heavily before running the cloth over your eyes. 

Theon had stepped forward a few feet, his arm partially outstretched like he wasn’t sure which side of him should win out as you looked at him. Almost like he could tell what you wanted to do, what your solution to escape really was becoming and couldn’t let it happen. You still saw him as a person, you still saw him as Theon. If you were gone what was left of him but Reek? 

You gently nodded to some of the vials on a dresser with a small voice, “Would you bring me those, please?” His dark eyes trained intensely on you with hands threatening to shake. As you opened one, once more hit with the overwhelmingly sweet scent, you begun running it through your hands and down your hair. Theon, had not moved from his spot near the dresser. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but...what did he do to you, Theon?” 

He fought with himself as you watched him, a good minute he did so. Eyes far away as he looked to nothing before nodding to himself. Tentatively, he looked to you before sitting down facing the opposite direction on the outside of the water. He wouldn’t look at you as he spoke, and you wouldn’t ask him too. 

Ramsay had tortured him in any way that amused his sick mind, cut at him in some ways and sliced on him in others. But then he described the girls. The girls who came in all pretty and seductive until Ramsay interrupted the game he set up. Your hands wrapped around your legs and you never once looked the other in the eye. 

It was your fault, you let Roose send Ramsay his way to handle it. You were right there helping to send this man a hellish nightmare that cut off more then you could have imaged. There was nothing you could say, but force back small tears wishing to roll down in the quiet. Theon didn’t deserve this, no one did. The man you had known for over a decade, someone who was a good friend and had become someone belonging in the North as you had. 

He betrayed you and Robb, but this was a punishment that went beyond any semblance of justice, this was beyond anything either of you had ever thought of to him. It was cruel and so severely inhumane and yet both of you sat there as the Bolton’s playthings. Too weak and tormented to find any way to escape beyond your wishes of death. 

“You’re still Theon.” Meeting his eyes, your hearts both felt too heavy. “As long as I’m here, I’m still me and you’re still Theon. Even if it’s just when it’s us, don’t let him take that away too.” The pains were both still to real and too raw, but the small distance between your hands as they both rested beside the other on the edge of the wooden tub stayed there for a while until the water was cold. 

Moving to stand, Theon on instinct jumped up to wrap a towel around you making you almost flinch away on instinct in return. Turning to him, you both looked like the kids you were when you first met, not the adults, the leaders you had once grown to become. Only then you might have both made some joke about the oddness of this exact situation, but in this day there was no laughter or reason for to be found.

“They want me to marry him.” You looked up at him with a darker look in your eye. “Ramsay. When they have a better hold on the North, they want me to marry him and so our son would have some claim to rule. If there’s some part of you that still wants to atone for what you’ve done, you’ll just slit my throat in my sleep before that day comes.” 

Neither of you spoke after that. There was no joke in your eyes or the certainty in your voice. You meant it. If there was no one left in the world who would look for you, cared, or even knew you were alive? Then the world would be no worse off if you found a permanent way out. 

“Ah, there she is. I knew there was a pretty bride under all that filth.” 

Every inch of his voice you hated, the fake sincerity that fooled not a single soul. It was coated in a maliciousness designed to poke at the worst parts of you. No doubt a coincidence that he used terms and sweetness that Robb used towards you, but you hated how tainted it made it. You loved the gentle way Robb would describe you with, and now those same words you wanted to tear up and feed to those vicious hounds chained up outside. 

They took Robb from you, your son, and now the very memory of your intimate moments together were being replaced with a terrorizing pain both on your body and in your heart. What more of him was to be stripped away from you? 

Ramsay pulling a seat out for you that made you close up, his hand brushing your shoulder as he tucked you politely into the table and you found no desire to consume anything that had been placed in front of you. Roose finding it in himself to speak. “I hope you find your new accommodations adequate, my lady.” 

Eyes peeling up to find Roose’s as he and Walda sat in front of you, he seemed to just continue on as if you being here was normal, as if this was a family dinner, as if he had any right to be in this place and pretend like you were as new to it as they were. “I do, thank you.” 

It was not the tone of the woman who Roose had served with for three years, and that was the way he wanted it. “This isn’t your first time in Winterfell, if I’m not mistaken?” Oh you wanted to take the plate in front of you and smash it down his throat, but you nodded. “Good, I was hoping you could take the time tomorrow to show Walda around. It is a big castle, and I’m sure she would appreciate a female friend at her side.” 

Looking to her, Walda played the part of the kind wife with ease. Like who these men were, and who you were and why you were here did not get taken into account. “You don’t need to show me the woods or anything, I’m not much of an outside girl if you hadn’t guessed.” The little laugh light on her lips that you wished you could find amusement in. 

Maybe in another life, you would have liked the girl. You nodded though, raising your glass to your lips but finding the wine thick and bitter as it went down your throat before speaking. “I would love to.” 

Were there not guards to keep you under their watchful eyes, you had a few places you would want to go see for your own sanity. But Roose and Ramsay knew where to let you go, and none of them included spaces that would let you simmer in the remnants of the last home you knew, and the family you had joined with so much love. 

The noise in your head was loud, blocking out the truth and the pain of where the glass had smashed against your cheek. Theon said you would be making it worse for yourself, and indeed that was the truth. A glass thrown in defence, only to have your face smashed right up against where it lay and scratch deeper at your cheek. 

At least you could be thankful this was one of the rare times Ramsay didn’t speak much to you directly. His focus on cruelty and not whatever vile he could spit from his mouth in your ear. He too focused on another after he dragged Theon into the room with the intentions of making him watch, “Maybe once upon a time, I would have made you do this part Reek, have you bond with my bride,” Having dragged you back to speak into your ear in a loud whisper by a painful grip on your hair. “But he doesn’t have the right equipment anymore, now does he?” 

Claiming to him, as he shoved your face against the glass you tried throwing into his own face, “You see Reek, the best part about my bride being a sad little widow, is that I have no reason to preserve her innocence do I? She’s already been well broken in by the wolves, hasn’t she.” 

It wasn’t the physical pain that you couldn’t handle, it was being so in the moment. You couldn’t think about what was happening and be forced to endure it at the same time, he could watch you bleed and wince but he would not see you cry over it. 

Instead, you coped almost in a way that should’ve made you feel even more guilty. It was Robb and your son together you were dragged away from, but it wasn’t his touch or warm soothing voice you drifted away too. You didn’t mean to, but it was the only thing your mind could desperately cling onto that had sent you far enough away that you couldn’t remember where you were. 

It was in the outside you weren’t allowed to go to. The summer late in it’s years but still warm enough that snow didn’t often touch the North so heavily yet. It was a small cliff you were on, overlooking a denser part of the wolfswood hidden away from people who didn’t traverse far too long to get there. It was a place to be alone, and a place that didn’t need to hide what you were doing. 

Truly you were cursed to have fallen in love Jon Snow of all men, you had thought in that memory. You both were sat atop a rock once looking out to the woods and making jokes with him. Only when you had admitted something, in complete passing, it turned the air. Now, you were living the reason why to come to that place. 

Still sitting on the rock yourself, but Jon was now on his feet standing between your legs as he had pulled your face up to press his lips to yours. His kiss spoke so much of what he struggled to ever say, hardly giving you space to breathe before he would pull you right back in. One hand drifting downwards to bunch the skirt of your dress up tightly in his fist before yanking it up. His other gently raked through your hair.

Your hands had grasped his shoulders as you whined into his lips, rough calloused hand running flat across your thigh before running on it’s innermost side and upwards. He smiled as he gently deepened the kiss, coaxing your tongue to follow his guide and brush against his. He had no more experience then you did, but you still hated how he so easily found every way to tease and overwhelm your senses.

Fingers finally brushed between your legs, and even through the fabric hiding you from him, you jumped at the spark. Jon’s tender assurance was deep as he pulled from your lips enough to gently run them across your jaw, hand running along the back of your hair soothingly. “You’re alright. Not here to rush you, just let me explore a bit?” 

You nodded eagerly, both the nerves running through you but desperate to let him do exactly what he wanted. You should never have admitted you didn’t know what an orgasm felt like, because now he was determined to show you but in a way you didn’t expect. 

Spent so much time working you up with his kiss alone, and now he didn’t even get to the one thing he said he wanted to do, show you what it would feel like. Jon was so quick to get riled up over your comment but so damned slow at doing anything about it. And worse, he enjoyed it, it seemed. A hum in his throat as his lips brushed against your neck everytime you shook slightly.  

Fingers running up and down your covered entrance until he let out his own shaking breathe, feeling the fabric grow wet under his touch. He pulled you into another kiss at that, moving suddenly to dance his fingertips under the fabric and run just along the top of your mound. Your nails digging into his shoulders as you let him take your breathe away once more. 

When Jon pulled back, his eyes were so dark, his lips parted as he breathed heavy pants trying to reign himself in. “I want you to tell me, do you want this?” Leaning down slightly to make sure he caught your direct eyeline. “I want to make you feel good, but only if you tell me you want it too.” 

You paused, the need between your legs so close to where he was touching burned and you wondered how not normal this might be. One of your hands slid up to gently run through his long curls, “Please,  Jon. Please show me.” 

The smile on his lips was so genuine and gentle that it surprised you with how harsh it was when he actually kissed you once more. A kiss that distracted you as his hand slipped underneath to lightly run his fingers along your wetness. You seized in his touch as he moved to kiss your cheek, “Hey, hey, relax for me.” 

Nudging you to look up at him, his fingers still gently running along your slit and up to your clit and back with as light a touch as he could manage. “I’m sorry-”

Shaking his head he used his free hand to run along the cup the back of your neck and pull you close, “I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to tell me if you need me to stop.” You said no, many times over like you couldn’t figure out why you felt so out of your mind but Jon kissed you again and you relaxed a bit. 

Finally, he pressed more firmly against your clit as you cried into his mouth, your body arching into his chest as your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Had you asked Jon in that moment he would’ve told you how difficult you had made it to control himself. How much he wanted to sink those same fingers deep inside you just to hear the kind of sounds you’d make then, to know just what it felt like inside you, even just with this.

Not too much pressure or too fast, he rubbed tight circles against you. A changing pattern as he carefully figured out what worked you up the most it seemed. Your core insides were spinning like an iron coil twisting so tight it could snap as it burned. You moaned his name as he ran his fingertips over it like he would when he’d stand behind you some moments alone, running his hands down the front of your dress and teasing your breasts, just to hear your breathe stutter. And you had thought that made you feel worked up.

Quickly you felt that tightening inside of you strengthen, your hands holding onto his hair tighter as you arched into his chest completely. And just as something inside you was about to break, it faded away in a painful quickness just as his touch did. 

Pulling back to look at him with a breathless needy confusion, “Wha-why did you-” Jon just grabbed your cheeks and kissed you deeply once more. Keeping you pressed tightly against him before his hand slid back down as he felt you relax again. A small groan of his own into the kiss as he could feel you tense up as he returned. This time his touch a little firmer and rhythm a little faster that had you moan much more freely. 

Once more he build you up before pulling back, nuzzling your cheek despite your annoyed whine. “Jon, fuck, why won’t you let me-”

He kissed your cheek and spoke deeply with his thick rasp in your ear. “I thought you didn’t know what it feels like, maybe that’s exactly it.” 

You narrowed your eyes to pull back and look at him, his touch against your clit but stopped moving entirely. “I don’t, I’m sorry please just..I need you, so much, please.” Jon kissed you gently once more. A hint of a dark tint in his grey eyes when he pulled back, told you that he just might be enjoying keeping you so on an edge. 

Keeping you pressed close, his tone was much softer then before. “I know, but I’m not doing this to torment you, I just want you to remember this. Will you trust me?” 

You did, you told him yes and just as his touch grew more against what you needed, your mind begun to spin. The man in front no longer Jon, but the rougher and more greedy touch of Robb. His blue eyes finding yours before a hand ran across your stomach. Looking down though, it was soaked in blood and as you looked back up to Robb his face was fading fast. 

Heart racing at how you only just got him and now you bled out in front of him as his eyes were fading in front of your and you couldn’t stop him from leaving first. But he did, Robb’s image burned away and all that was left was where you were now. 

This wasn’t anything like your memory, it wasn’t anything like the man this family took away from you either. Your stomach twisted and burned when there was nothing to aggravate it and all you could see as you stared to nothing was the fading of Robb’s eyes before you and how disgusting you were for not following him in it. Not even a son was left behind, just a wife who outlived a promise you made to him and forced at the no mercy of Ramsay Bolton and his father only using you for the gain of power. 

Theon was made to watch the whole time. Many nights he was made to watch. Some nights were brutal, the further you tried to drift away into your mind, Ramsay would order you to look up, look at Theon and him you. Watch the other as it happened and there was simply no words to describe how that felt for either of you. 

It was supposed to be a torture for his mind as much as it was a physical one for you, but all he could see was his failing. He betrayed Robb, he betrayed the Starks and the North that treated him as much as one of their own. Robb wanted his head no doubt, but as he was forced to watch what his captor did to you, to the woman Robb loved and let it happen? 

Reek was watching, but Theon was angry. He betrayed his brother enough and he died thinking Theon murdered Bran and Rickon too. Reek would do as ordered, but Theon could think and Ramsay wouldn’t know. He couldn’t know, but he was not the man Theon swore his sword too and maybe he should find a way to do right by the last person Robb left behind. 

He knew you wouldn’t marry Ramsay, never would allow yourself to even have a child with him. You had both of those things, and you felt desperate on the inside to not let the things that come after Robb be this. You were stolen your chance to stay with him, and you would rather die then let Ramsay take Robb’s place. And Theon knew that you were willing to take that action on your own, the closer the Boltons would get to marrying you. 

As you were left, your eyes found Theon’s, and when they were dragged away from you and left alone on the floor of your room, you wished you could tell Robb it’s okay. He’s been through enough, it’s okay to forgive him and that it’s you he should be ashamed and angry with. You loved Robb and you betrayed him by letting any of this happen. 

Jon wondered if he should be ashamed for what he wasn’t actually feeling, but he didn’t. If he had actually loved her, then her loss would be devastating to him, but it wasn’t. He lost his brothers, men like Grenn and Pyp. Those hurt so much deeper then her death did. Far more. He had listened to Olly’s story of what had been done to his village, his family, and he knew that was an Ygritte that Jon tried to pretend he didn’t know. 

That was a woman who had forced Jon into that cave, sent away the last companion he had and forced him into fucking her to prove he wasn’t a crow anymore. That was who died in Castle Black that night and Jon couldn’t pretend like it was someone he loved, or ever loved. Leave that false version of himself behind too.

Instead, as he had gone to Mance Rayder he knew getting out of there alive might be impossible. Jon had dreamt of the horrors he’s seen and the blood around your body every single night and if there was no one left out in the world to care about him, then he would do one last thing for the only family he had left. The brothers who fought and died beside him, and had looked to him in the darkest part of the night. 

If he did one thing right, maybe it would be this. Only, that didn’t happen either. 

What did happen, was an attack none suspected. What did happen, was men riding into the camp north of the wall dressed in armours Jon knew not to be from the free folk. Men with skills that he’d seen as soldiers use, and banners that he didn’t recognize but hit something strange inside him. 

The day they found the direwolves, the group had come across a Stag lying dead in the grass, it’s stomach opened up and spilled out from whatever killed it. And for a long time Jon only remembered that image as he could see you, laying out on your side bleeding from the stomach. Like the Stag was a warning to Jon of what would happen to you.

Only the Stag on these banners, weren’t the Baratheon ones he knew. This stag sat in a heart that was set on fire. The men with such a sigil were coordinated, well timed and took the remainder of Mance’s army by total suprise and forced the King Beyond the Wall to end the fight before it could slaughter what remained. 

Jon had managed to hold off the onslaught at Castle Black, but as the leader of the men in this charge came into view he realized he knew what happened. Sam and Maester Aemon had sent out pleas, begs for help from the leaders of the Seven Kingdoms, the Kings that remained for help in a battle beyond the wars they fought each other for. 

He didn’t need to have met him before to know who it was who had come to their aid. Older, much more rough and serious in every way but he could see it clear as day. He knew what was coming, yet still wasn’t prepared for it. Still too raw, as the second man spoke. 

“This is Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms.” And suddenly Jon’s heart weighed more in his chest at such a truth then anything else. The King who had answered their call for aid, was a man his father died for, the father of the very woman Jon would never let go of again. 

Everything he had heard made sense as he met the man, and yet there was something intimidating about him. Something of his confidence and skill that was not often found in Jon’s life anymore. Mance beside Jon, who clearly felt none of the strangeness in his heart as he spoke. “We’re not in the Seven Kingdom’s and you’re not dressed for this weather.” 

It was a such strange time to think it, but what came into his head was, so it wasn’t just a you thing. The amount of times in Winterfell Jon would spend forcing you to wear anything warmer, wasn’t you being stubborn alone. He wondered just how many traits he would find you shared with this man, and if all of them hurt as much as such a tiny one already did. 

The conversation it seemed, continued around him. “I’m not here to slaughter beat dogs. Their fate depends on their King.” Jon had no understanding of why, as he thought to himself that Mance wouldn’t break, he saw you. In a place that he didn’t know, and you stood just like Mance did now. Sure of yourself, and brave in your actions knowing they were the right ones. 

As the remaining free folk were taken away, and his direction turned to Jon, he had a strange feeling the look in Stannis’s eyes were that of recognition. 

The one next to him, older and more grey and white in his hair spoke with a much different cadence then that of the King next to him. Quick spoken, and something he recognized as less refined and more of something like a common tongue. “What’s a man of the Night’s Watch doing in a wildling camp?” 

It was the truth, only perhaps with a few details left out that were too complicated to explain Jon’s state of mind. “I was sent to discuss terms with the King Beyond the Wall.” 

The man spoke to him further as the King only watched him with a curious eye. “You’re speaking to the one true King, boy. You will address him as Your Grace.”

Oh he knew all too well this was the King, he knew painfully. This was the King that got his father’s head chopped off and begun the very wars that left his family destroyed by now. His voice was rough, more tense then he should’ve been but there was no stopping it once he opened his mouth. 

“I know he’s the King. My father died for him.” Looking to the man, he tried not to think about how much of you he could see in the way the King watched him. A curious look that wasn’t marred in a judgment but a trust in his words. “My name is Jon Snow, your grace. I’m-” 

But Stannis finished the introduction himself, much to Jon’s and the man beside him’s suprise. “I know who you are. You’re Ned Stark’s son. Your father was an honourable man.” 

How you managed to keep so calm and collected as often as you did in your life must have been a skill you inherited from Stannis, because it took all of Jon’s remaining will power to keep himself even remotely together. Thinking about his father was painful enough without seeing the man he had died for.

“He was, your grace.” 

No doubt he had come here with a plan, a plan Jon was curious as to how it landed them surprising in an attack beyond the wall of all places. But he was genuine in his ask to Jon of, “What do you think he’d have done with him?” Looking to Mance beside him still, watching with a strange curiosity himself.

He could only hope he knew his father well enough, and his head and heart too cloudy to realize that as much as Jon saw you in Stannis Baratheon as they stood there, Stannis could easily see Eddard Stark in Jon as he spoke honestly. “I was this man’s prisoner once. He could have tortured me, he could have killed me, but he spared my life. I think my father would have taken him prisoner, listened to what he had to say.” 

But with one last detail, he suspected that this was a man who would believe what was coming, Jon also told him, “If my father had seen the things that I’ve seen, he’d also tell you to burn the bodies before nightfall. All of them.” 

As he looked at Stannis, Jon had too many questions to ask about you, and none of the heart to speak a single one of them. He barley spoke about you since your death, it was something that only made him fall deeper into a darkness that made him hate himself for ever pretending someone could replace you. 

It was later with Tormund that Jon had told him he didn’t love her. He never did and he won’t stand here and lie about it, or let others lie about him anymore. “It was be with her, lay with her, say I loved her or I’d be long dead. If she loved me, it was only someone I was pretending to be. That’s all there was to it. I can’t be sorry when the woman I really loved was slaughtered like an animal, while I was pretending to love Ygritte just to save my own life.” 

The wild orange bearded man didn’t speak of it, but there was something in the crow’s painful honesty that caught his attention. And he had plenty of time to think on it. “He your King now?” Tormund had later asked him.  

And Jon was honest, the life he held outside of the Night’s Watch no longer existed. Everyone in it was dead and gone, and he didn’t have a clue how to feel about it. “I don’t have a King.” He paused, and spoke the truth to only the second person in his life before he left Tormund down in the cells. His back turned and his voice rough as ever. “But, it was his daughter I loved.” 

He gave the man no time to have a response. Only Sam had known that. Samwell Tarley and Tormund Giantsbane, a strange duo for Jon to confess his heart too, they were. But the longer he thought about it, Jon had a strange, unsettled feeling that the King himself, already knows it too. 

Stannis Baratheon watched the man carefully. Much of Eddard Stark was in him in values and appearance, it was that which made it easy for him to know this wasn’t just any man of the Night’s Watch. Then he begun to talk, and it all pieced itself together before he ever had to ask.

He recognized Jon Snow because he was clearly a younger image of Eddard Stark but with black hair and a dark look beyond his eyes. One that Stannis knew came from the horrors, both of them were aware was the true threat. But he also recognized Jon Snow, because he was exactly as you described him as over the years. 

There was a pain in his eyes though as he looked at Stannis, and it only made him wonder. That was a pain he knew was lost to more then just someone who was his friend. And the way despite what he knew was a deep closeness, that Jon not a single time ever came close to bringing you up. He could tell that there was more beyond that emotion then Jon wanted people to see. 

What it was Melisendre was seeing, he did not know and Stannis was losing the patience to let her find out. Something had been bothering him ever since learning of your death. She would claim she could see the same visions in the flames, but he knew all too well his daughter and the wolf she spoke of were long dead. 

She would speak of you, but Stannis only felt the reminder of how broken they had parted ways. It was Davos who had to remind him in the end of what truly mattered, that his hubris to take the Throne had blinded him for too long and by the time he recognized it, you and Robb Stark both were dead. 

Slaughtered by the rumours sounded. You and Robb had come to Stannis and his ambition to his rights had left both of you vulnerable to the cursed traitors who killed you. If he had done things differently, then you may have lived, both of you and then he wouldn’t have a new fight on his hands just to take the North from the Boltons who killed you. 

It was as Stannis watched Jon in the yard, training the new recruits, did something else click. The way he guided them through things, some of the basics, and the specific movements that were unique to only one other person he’d seen use, a more graceful style. It was different, he was larger, older, and stronger but the foundations of that style were there that first day Stannis started to pick up the task himself to keep you on track.

You never said who it was who started you on it, afraid that somehow it would get them into trouble, but you already begun and Stannis felt it would be a waste not to continue. And as he watched more now, it was the first time he had any kind of a real smile in a very long time. It seemed fitting to him that after all these years, in this place, in these events, did the answer finally reveal itself.

The person who first taught you to use a sword he realized, was Jon Snow. 

[delicatedarknight]

Okk imagine for some reason or other Damian suggested Bruce and him take the subway for the parents meet for a change of pace and while they are waiting there they are met with Clark along with Jon in his arms who was blowing bubbles and on their way to new gotham museum. Clark and Bruce exchanged pleasantries and waited in silence until Jon spoke " Damian do u also wanna blow some bubbles?" with a gleaming smile. Damian, feeling flustered for being caught having interest in 'childish things', looked away and shook his head in denial. Bruce sighed and before he could say anything Clark has already picked Damian up in another arm and spoke "It's okay to let yourself relish things for a change of pace" as he softly smiled while Jon taught Damian how to blow bubbles. Jon told Damian to simply blow in the bubble wand and Damian being novice to it blew too hard into it, leading to soap solution being splattered. Clark cooed at the scene and tried to stifle a laugh just like Bruce whose eyes were shining in endearment. Damian poutes at the failed attempt, again Jon told him to blow slowly into the wand and demonstrated how to do it. Determined to blow his first bubble perfectly he took a deep breath and blew into the bubble wand slowly and steadily. And there it is world's most perfect bubble floating around, happy at his achievement he pointed at bubble while looking at Bruce and goes “ Did you see that? Did you see that dad? I did it!! ”. Bruce trying hard not to cry, proudly nods at his son's achievement and happiness. He doesn't know why but something about the scene warmed Bruce, that even he ended up genuinely smiling at them. He looked at how love of his life which Bruce would never admit to look like while hyping the boys for a bubble competition. Flash . All three looked at Bruce with a look of confusion when Clark squinted his eyes accusingly "you took a photo of us, didn't you?". Bruce looked away while mumbling a small 'no' a habit of his when caught lying as he silently kept his phone away. Jon chimed in gleefully with a "Show us, show us" along with the other two joining him. And there it was a photo of everyone's faces squished together trying to take a peek of the photo on the front page of every newspaper known to man with headlines 'Bruce wayne's secret lover? ' with a tiny sub heading 'Did the Gotham vigilante finally bite the dust? '

[dramaticl0vers]

I need you, protect yourself (Husband! Ardeth Bay x Wife! Reader PART 1)

Fandom: The Mummy, The Mummy Returns

Since you and your husband returned to London, troubles broke out in your lives and your brother's.

Imhotep had woken up and had everything to gain. You were terrified, your nephew had been kidnapped and these people had no mercy.

Being the wife of the chief of the tribe had not been easy, you were a foreigner, your knowledge had gaps.

But after a considerable time, seeing that you were simply sincere and devoted to the love of Ardeth and the people, you managed to win the affection of most people.

They even shared gun knowledge with you, and you were forever grateful.

Now they were in Ahm Shere, where the plan was as follows.

You, Evie and Jonathan were going to cover for Rick and Ardeth.

And although you insisted on accompanying your brother, your husband flatly forbade it.

"You are my husband, not my father, Ardeth, you cannot order me not to do it"

You said denying, while your slightly wavy hair moved along with the denials you made with your head.

Ardeth understood, you were terrified, and you wanted to fight them, side by side, as you had done since the first time, but he couldn't expose you to more danger, not again.

"I am not asking you as a husband, I am ordering you as the head of the Medjai"

You shook your head, defeated, as a tear pitifully fell from your eyes. Ardeth took you by the cheeks and dried your tears, looking into your eyes.

"I want to go with you..."

Your husband denied.

"I have promised you before, I will come back to you, one way or another, but I will"

A sob escaped from your throat.

"When that damn mummy returns to hell with the Scorpion King, we will return to the village and live in peace, I promise you, my love"

He said, you looked him in the eye.

"Come back, it's a direct order from the wife of the boss"

You said, your husband hastened to kiss your lips. a deep kiss, almost goodbye. He broke away from you with difficulty, before running off so you wouldn't chase him.

"Ardeth!"

You told him with tears in your eyes. You hugged Rick and got ready with Rick and Evie. Oh, thank goodness. When the revolver was leveled at Ardeth's head and a shot rang out, he nearly had a heart attack. But you held Jon so tight when you saw the man go down thanks to his shot.

Well, after that, Rick managed to defeat the Scorpion King, and Izzy found them and rescued them.

Oh how you loved him.

There he was, riding his black horse, smiling at you.

"Izzy, put me down"

The man huffed in annoyance, but at Rick's accusing glare, he did.

Before going down, you looked at your brother with watery eyes and ran to hug him.

"I will miss you so much, Rick..."

Your brother sighed and kissed your head, hugging you.

"We will continue writing to each other, but I hope you come to visit me without a mummy wanting to destroy the world"

You laughed and you separated from his embrace.

You said goodbye to the entire crew and Ardeth got off his horse. You laughed and ran into your husband's arms, uniting them in a hug expected by both.

You got on his horse and hugged his waist throughout the entire ride. And when they got to the village, the celebratory whoops and whistles at the two of you and the army invaded your ears.

Now if you had earned the affection of his family.

[pineconnie]

someone should make a tma statement that’s about the house that the 17yo got taken in by the mr spider book and like the house is infested with spiders now and it mentions offhand an old book inside/near the doorstep that looks like it’s been sitting there for decades (but like that isn’t the main focus of the statement idk it can be another web thing) i think it’d be really evil for jon to have to read about that in s1 while still in deep denial

[misspaoline]

"In 2007, Matt Bomer would have been a little too young to play Don Draper on Mad Men. (Jon Hamm has six years on him.) In most other ways, though, he would have been perfect. He has the kind of chiseled, leading man features, and the charisma to match, that make him seem like a man from an earlier time. His breakout TV role, 2009’s White Collar, even contrived a reason to dress him in Rat Pack-era suits, and he’s appeared in a number of period pieces, most notably Amazon’s short-lived adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Last Tycoon. In that show, and in many of his other roles, he’s also demonstrated a great facility for playing men hiding trauma and other secrets deep below that beautiful facade he shows to the world.

With Showtime‘s new miniseries Fellow Travelers, Bomer finally gets to portray a closer approximation of Draper. In the adaptation of Thomas Mallon’s novel, Bomer plays Hawkins Fuller, a mid-century decorated military veteran turned mover and shaker, who will do anything to conceal the truth about himself, who has a terrifying gift for compartmentalization and denial, and who is married to a woman he loves, but is not as attracted to her as she believes."