#seren again would be a fox

[4e7her]

thinking about which love interests in a drop of silver are more likely to cage fenrir with them vs follow him to the ends of the earth-

none of this would be canon of course, more worst case scenarios and insights as to how they might act if they didn’t have any rivals to balance each other out. this could change as i develop them more through the fic but as of now, here are my thoughts, in order of who he meets first to last:

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1. euryn - the illegitimate prince

euryn would, hands down, cage him. even after they spend time in the dungeons together, his first thought after being taken by his brother’s vassal is taking fenrir with him, even though he knows how bad of a place the palace is.

their first plan of escape involved leaving together to some nebulous somewhere, yes, but it was never euryn following fenrir. back in the palace, instead of think of how to escape to get back to him, he’s trying to find fenrir to bring him into this hell of a place. following after him instead never even crosses his mind.

2. ceri - the knight

ceri would walk backwards into hell if only it meant he was able to hold fenrir’s hand - the ends of his sleeve, even. his life and his ability, they are all fenrir’s to wield, and he has no concern as to where he has to go as long as he is able to stay by fenrir’s side.

if they are drowning, they are drowning together. no matter what ends they might meet, ceri will follow him. he only wishes to remain by his side. he will follow any direction, fulfill any requests, except to leave.

3. eldrid - the southern grand duchy’s heir

eldrid is also the type to follow after fenrir. he knows that nothing he is given is his own, and he knows that he has no leg to stand on if he were to try and keep fenrir with him. he has no power within his own home, much like euryn, though his disposition would likely change if he was able to take over the southern grand duchy.

knowing this, he’s the more possessive of those that would follow fenrir vs cage him. ceri would allow him anything - eldrid would exert subtle control, even if well meaning, to make sure he would stay as close as possible.

4. rhain - the first prince

rhain is perhaps the most malicious in his intent to cage fenrir next to him. he has no interest in the throne, but it is something all but laid before him - if he has to take that path to keep his darling, then he will do so without hesitation, even as boring as he finds a position like emperor.

he would clip fenrir’s wings without a second thought, if only he were able. he finds it equal parts infuriating and endearing that fenrir is protected by his position and too skilled a mage for him to be able to take with force as simply a prince. still, taking the slow path to win the first thing to amuse him isn’t exactly a bad thing. it’s only all the more fun.

5. seren - the high priest to-be

seren, for all that he acts, is not kind. the perfect image he presents might hide his intentions normally, but the one thing he would not be able to stand would be for fenrir to fly freely away from him. thus, he would cage him.

maybe he would get help from the temple, maybe he would coerce fenrir in some way or another - there’s many routes he would be able to take. the easiest, i think, would be for him to keep a pitying and pathetic act. if he could do it well enough to fool fenrir, which is kind of a toss up, he’d likely stay willingly.

6. talesin - the informant

talesin is an independent guy - more so than any of the other love interests here. he may be obsessed with fenrir, and he may want to know his every action, but he doesn’t see a need to cage nor directly follow him to do it. still, he would lean towards following him - assigning his employees to follow the mage and find out anything he missed should they have to separate.

this is the only man here that knows the concept of personal space.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t have to wait long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did none of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

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

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

[seelie-buddy]

Hello, i hope you're having a good day...

Can i request genshin impact character (hybrid) like gorou, tighnari to do something like 'animal' instinctly.

If you add another character it's okay too...

Peculiar Traits

summary : some interesting characteristics of Tighnari, Gorou, and Ganyu that highlight their wondrous heritage

contains : just the characters using their unique traits to keep you away from harm's way ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 500

It's etched into Gorou to protect those he cherishes, being the general of Watatsumi's army. So when matters relate to you, of course he's going all out to ensure your well-being! His gut feeling is almost always accurate, and he does everything in his power to keep you away from harm's way.

If you're going some place dangerous, he will see to it that someone escorts you, or would himself accompany you on your trip. If there's any trouble that plagues you, just say the word, and he'll be ready to help.

If you were hanging out with some person Gorou didn't have a good feeling about, turns out they did actually have foul motives. And when things go south during expeditions, you know that Gorou will be there to watch your back.

Things like these brings you to fully trust the general, and you've learned to always keep in mind his warnings.

Tighnari is one to be cautious, and his sensitivity to sound and smell only helps him ensure your safety. He will be especially sure to keep an ear out for any potential threats everytime you accompany him on his patrols.

The forest may feel homey to those who have resided in the rainforest for a while, but it doesn't mean that it is without its dangers; the remnants of the withering, wildlife, and monsters need to be accounted for.

But with Tighnari by your side, you needn't worry! You can always put your utmost trust in him, and his understanding of the environment; the way he recognises danger from the sounds often unheard by others, and his knowledge regarding both the flora and fauna are unparalleled.

Any disturbances in an immediate proximity never goes unnoticed by him, and his reactions to said disturbances are swift; the lack of birds chirping has him alerted at the presence of a predator. Or when the polluted stench is in the air, he is quick to steer you away from the upcoming withering zone.

Ganyu is half-qilin, half-human.

She's calm, and reserved by nature; that's what being half-qilin grants her. Her sereneness is just like the soft flurry of snow in winter, or like the cool breeze on a summer day. She's always willing to lend you a hand, assist you in all manners possible, and merely her presence is all you need to relax as a smile grows in your face.

She is half-qilin, and it reflects in her traits.

Ganyu is half human; it shows in those moments of impulsivity. If someone dare speak ill of those she respects and cherishes– especially you– and they may as well be prepared for her (albeit supple) wrath. She will see to it that they will apologise and refuse to spout such nonsense again. It is in moments like these that you see that she does, in fact, possess emotions and feelings beyond that of tranquillity.

Ganyu is half-human, and it reflects in her traits.

a/n : I hope this was what you were looking for, anon!! No, seriously, I really hope I didn't misunderstand what you were asking for;;

p/s : A little ramble about my thoughts on this:

I didn't really come by the opportunity to write for Ganyu, and I believe she's underrated!

As for Gorou, he resembles the dog breed shiba inu, and apparently dogs (or just animals in general) have a very good sense of danger, whether it be people or things!

I've seen a lot of people relate Tighnari to fennec foxes (because of the ears) but his lore states him to be a descendant of Valuka Shuna (also called Tighnarians) so it's hard to place any specific traits on his species, given he's the only one we know of his kind

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Thirteen

Summary - A Queen is born.

Warnings - depression, torture, ptsd, fluff, the found family *crying*, sadness, some mentions of death

*Not fully proof read so don’t come at me 🥺

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

Eris couldn't sleep.

The first night he had take you to bed, he had expected to be up all hours of the night comforting you, convinced that what had happened to you would wrap around your mind and continue to torture you. But you had slept peacefully.

Soft snores sounded from your lips, your eyes were closed, and not even for a moment did a flash of pain rip across your angelic features.

Nesta had suggested that it must have been the exhaustion, that after the adrenaline had worn off, all that was left inside of you was a pit of weariness that would never be satiated.

So they all stayed awake, waiting for the moment when your withered soul would let in the pain, and part of Eris hoped for it despite knowing how awful it sounded. He just wanted you to feel safe, to get better, and he knew better than anyone that the road of healing came with a steep price attached to it.

Four days passed. Four days of a quiet manor, so quiet because none of them wanted to wake you or move you from the place you had found comfort in. Lucien had taken over Eris' position so that he could stretch his legs per Nesta's orders, bundled under the thick sheets with your head resting on his chest and hand idly lay across his stomach. Lucien would take that opportunity to pick up where Eris had left off from the book he had left splayed on the table beside the bed, speaking with a low and dreamful voice, willing some serenity to find you wherever you had wandered.

Elain and Nesta would often spend their days in the same room, peering at your sleeping form from the seating area whilst trying to busy their own minds. Nesta was busy writing to Feyre, unsure if she could ever write to Cassian, and Elain would read one of her gardening or cook books, noting down the recipes she'd think you'd love once the idea of food made you smile again.

It was the fifth night that made Eris snatch back his hope.

None of them had heard a scream like it, strangled and raw, your limbs thrashed under the covers and Eris had to wind you into his embrace so that you wouldn't hurt yourself. His heart strained in his chest as you cried, no, begged Rhys to stop, to set you free, that you'd do anything to make things right.

The door opened, and Nesta lingered in the entryway, eyes rounded as she took in the scene before her, your pallid skin glistening with tears and sweat, and Eris trying to pull you from whatever it was you were seeing with his own eyes pooling with desperation and lips wobbling with every lovely word he spoke, with every long stroke he ran through your hair.

Before she could fully register the movement, you bolted upright, eyes wide and wild and snapping to every corner of the room whilst your breath laboured in your throat. There was no y/n within the woman she was staring it, just a terrified female haunted by what she had faced. Your fingers shook, and you grasped the collar around your neck, trying to scratch beneath it to rip it from your skin.

Eris had little choice but to snatch your hands before they tore your skin to shreds, but you wouldn't look at him, no, your eyes were trained at the dark spot in the corner of the room. Eris opened your palms and pulled them to his heart, so that you could feel his heartbeat pull you back to the present, "I'm here, Little Fawn. Feel me. I'm right here," his voice wavered, his gaze snapped to Nesta's, and they were equally as afraid as the other.

The gentle thumps against your palm were enough to draw your attention away, you looked down at the dampened sheets and followed the line down your arm to where your hand rested, then your glanced up at his beautiful face riddled with worry, "You're home. Rhys will never be able to hurt you again, alright?" Eris faced you, his legs at either side of your hips, and he leaned forward to press his lips into your brow.

Eris' breath fanned over your face, like an autumn breeze signalling the end of summer, and he lowered his eyes to find yours.

It was a sweet action, one that made Nesta smile softly from her place in the doorway, but the smile was short lived. You moved from the bed, hand clasped over you mouth and other pressed into your abdomen as you headed to the bathroom with Nesta following quickly in tow before Eris could even properly rise from the sheets.

Nesta, knowing what was about to happen, rushed to your side to pull your hair from your shoulders, rubbing gentle circles into your back and acting as a pillar for your lack of strength so that you could lower to the ground safely and empty the barely there contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. A soft breathless groan sounded from your lips and you threw your head back, sniffling and wiping your eyes from the sting of your tears. You looked to her, bottom lip shaking and begged, "Please."

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and closed the door, mouthing a small sorry to Eris just as the door clicked to a close.

Not needing to peer to his side to see who was stood beside him, Eris spoke, "Tell Helion to come as fast as he can."

A beat of silence coursed between Eris and his companion, "Are you sure?" Lucien asked. The thought of you being in any form of pain was enough to make him feel ill, but the pain that would sink within you at the hands of Helion's mercy threatened to curse his soul, no matter if it was helpful or not, he knew what awaited you.

"No," Eris bit back his sob and turned to Lucien, and the latter felt uneased by the fire burning within Eris' orbs, "She'll claw at them until they're off or until she slices through her own throat. Get him."

Lucien did not envy his brother, not one bit. He saw the exhaustion on his face, the worry that the love of his life wouldn't be the same, the love that Eris was sure he would never have, and the fear that her light had been stripped from her soul. It wouldn't surprise him if Eris spent the rest of his days attempting to restore even an ounce of it, it wouldn't surprise him if Eris gave up his title to ensure he could dedicate every moment to it.

Though, Lucien knew that deep down you would never allow Eris to do such a thing, and all they could hope for was that someday your light would return in whatever way it could.

So, Lucien didn't argue with his brother. Instead, he lay a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed ever so softly to let him know that he was there and listening, that he was there to help before dropping his arm and exiting the room to do as Eris wished, leaving his brother stood alone atop the rug with ragged hair and eyes staring ahead at the door you had pleaded Nesta to hide you with.

The breeze rustled the leaves of the tree craning over the window, it was almost as if the branches had drooped slightly so that they may be able to keep an eye on you, to fill your silence with something other than your thoughts.

Unable to lay in the bed, you found a spot at the edge of the deep set love seat, resting against the arm and back with a thick cushion wedged behind you and a blanket draped over your figure that was drowning in one of Eris' shirts. You had sat there long enough to see the sun rise and set, to see the sky turn from blue to orange and nearing black, and you faintly counted the stars in the sky as they appeared.

Candles illuminated the room, Nesta had made sure to enter the chamber like clockwork to make sure that you were comfortable and warm, and had enough light so that you may read if you wished to. She also reminded you that Eris wanted to see you, asking if it would be alright if he came to sit with you for a minute, but you always wordlessly shook your head to the notion, you were ashamed that you weren't the woman he remembered you to be, that you were a small broken fawn caught in the trap of her own mind and decaying right before their very eyes.

Nesta crouched beside you, taking your cold hand in her own and reaching to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Someone else wishes to see you," you moved your head an inch to the side but didn't look to her, you were too enthralled with the stars to tear your eyes away, "Helion is here. He knows how to take these away," her fingers drifted along the hem of the cuff on your wrist, and when she looked up she found your darkened eyes, resembling coal and decaying embers rather than their usual violet and fire, staring right back at her, "If you'll let him try."

It wasn't clear if you knew that they knew of the demon living within you, and if you did then you hadn't let on to it. Nesta's nerves heightened at the silence, "Will you? Let him try?"

"Yes."

"Can I bring him in?"

"Yes."

Nesta muttered a small alright and rose from her position, caressing your cheek for a moment before crossing the room and opening the door, speaking in a soft whisper and allowing a draft to pass through the entry which signalled Helion's arrival and her leave.

Footsteps sounded against the floor, his shadow stretched over your curled up form on the seat, and he hesitated for a moment, seemingly trying to deduce where the right place to be was. Helion settled on taking the empty seat before you, his sun-loved skin glowing in the candlelight and his arm resting along the back of the seat, fingers just above grazing the curve of your knee.

Helion drank in your appearance, now understanding what Eris and Lucien had warned him of, and did his best to hide his horror at your pale skin and lifeless eyes, at your thinness and the bones sickly protruding from your flesh. Then his amber orbs found the black veins skittering over your skin like lightening bolts, seeping from the stone collar and cuffs, creeping to consume your entire body.

"I take it that you know what she did?" You spoke softly, moving your gaze away to the window to acknowledge him, and his face said it all, "If you know, then I suppose they do too?" Helion nodded slowly after you tilted your head backward, like you knew exactly who was lingering behind the closed door. "And you can rid me of her, and of these?" Helion watched as you shakily raised your limbs, the faint dangerous hum of the stone encased around you sounding, like a mother soothing a babe, though the stone was no mother and you no babe. It was as though they were trying to deter you, like they had their own mind and consciousness and knew that they were in a rather precarious position.

"I can," you hummed at his words, "But you must know that it will hurt, and we cannot do it here."

"Because all of the power contained with the stones will pour back into my body and the results could be catastrophic," Helion inhaled sharply at what you already knew, he often forgot just how knowledgeable you were, and it was his fault for underestimating you.

There was a real chance that the entire court could perish if Helion were to do it within Fir Manor, that if when the power flowed back through your veins that the earth would splinter and swallow whatever it saw fit as penance for the crimes committed against you. He had to take you far away enough where the damage to the continent would be minimal, and luckily enough for the both of you, Tarquin had offered a small island a few miles off the coast of the Summer Court for the task. It was uninhabited and not seen through the naked eye, so it wouldn't exactly be missed.

Helion told you of his plan, in intricate detail as you asked, if he was going to tear your flesh to pieces then you wanted to know how, you wanted to know every step. When he was done explaining it, how he would have to carve your back open to retrieve the stone, and how exactly he would have to submit you to the worst of pains to free you of the stone collars, you felt your stomach churn.

"Eris will have to be present. He is your Carranam, his power is the key of unbinding you from the stones," he noted your shiver and shuffled closer to you, resting a hand on your quaking knee, "I know that you don't wish him to see you like this, or in any pain, but this is the only way, y/n. Eris loves you, you have changed him from a male to fear into a male to admire, he wishes to help you. Let him."

"I'm not the woman he fell in love with."

"You are his mate. There is no world where he wouldn't love you, no circumstance where he would ever turn his back on you," his thumb soothed over your bones and he saw a wall crumble behind your eyes, "You left this court to save them, to save your family from what Rhys may have inflicted upon them. But you seem to forget that they also chose you, over everything, they chose you and they always will. None of that has changed, my dear."

It was on the tip of your tongue, and you couldn't stop the question from sounding, "What happened to him that day in Spring?"

"Feyre unleashed the power of us all upon him. Between that and the fury of Cassian and Azriel, and Mor and Amren, he didn't stand a chance. Rhys is now confined to the Prison. Amren thought it would be suiting after all he inflicted upon you."

Rhys in the Prison. Something about it didn't sit very well within you at all. Flashes of darkness and loneliness crept into your mind, and you did your best to push them back to where they came from, you told yourself that he deserved it, but you couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for him.

"And the Night Court? What happens to it now?"

Helion became aware of the fact that the interaction was probably the most you had spoken since you had returned, Helion had always had an odd way of getting you to speak when you didn't particularly want to. There was something comforting about his aura that always had you feeling seen and heard, and he was using that same aura on you now.

"It is to be decided. A date is to be set for Rhys' trial, that is when the fate of the Night Court will also come to light," Helion smiled thinly and reached to entwine his fingers with your own, "We can speak of this later, and I will welcome your input. But for now, we need to free you of these stones."

With a shaky exhale, you rose to your feet, the blanket slipping from your lap and exposing your legs that were partly hidden by the hem of Eris' shirt kissing your thighs. "Give me a few moments. I'll be down soon," you didn't wait for his reply before disappearing into the bathroom, grasping a dress from it hanger along the way and beginning to pull the shirt from you body.

Helion sat in silence for a moment, gathering his thoughts and mentally preparing himself for what was to come before he rose and smoothed the creases from the briefs of his tunic, glancing back toward the closed door on his leave.

It only took a few minutes for you to appear. A night-blue dress hung from your shoulders that were graced with a cream coat with frilled arms which dragged along the floor behind you, the riding boots that Eris had gifted to you what felt like an eon ago slithering up your calves, and hair brushed back and pulled into a loose braid that sat atop a bed of unbound waves with whisps that framed your sharpened features perfectly.

All eyes were on you as you paced across the room from the bottom of the stairs, halting before Helion. Eris rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest at the fear laced within your eyes, and he glanced to Nesta and Lucien, the only two people he would allow to journey to the island alongside himself and Helion, who wore the same worry on their faces.

"Let's just get this over with," you winced when you rolled your shoulders, that all too familiar pain writhing beneath your skin telling you that the queen was struggling to keep a hold of you, "I'm ready."

Helion nodded stiffly, extending his arm behind you to lead you out to the cobbled path of Fir Manor. The breeze danced through your hair in greeting, the leaves from the ground tumbling toward your feet, and you slid your hand into the one offered to you by Helion. Within moments the Autumn Court pulled from your focus and twisted into black, and then you were covering your eyes from the unobstructed moonlight beaming down on you.

Crashing waves sounded, and you slowly turned in a full circle, seeing nothing book onyx waves lapping onto the shore of the small island where you stood. A small tent had been erected to your left, the doors flapping in the salted breeze, allowing a small glimpse at what was waiting for you. A long wooden table. An assortment of knives. Pales of water. Fire.

"We can wait. We can wait until you're strong enough, we don't have to do this now," Lucien grasped your arm and turned you to face him, eyes pleading as they darted from you to the tent and then back.

Blinking up at him, you smiled softly, "The longer we wait the weaker I become," you raised your fingers to his cheek, drifting them along his cheekbone, "It has to be now. I know that you know of what dwells inside of me, Lucien. It has to end."

"You could die, y/n."

"So be it. At least I'll finally be free then."

Lucien turned to Eris the moment you pulled away from him, approaching the tent in which Helion had slipped into only moments before, "Stop her," Lucien seethed, pacing to his brother so that they stood nose to nose, "Your mate could die in there. Stop her."

"I'll never stop her from doing what it is she wants to do, Lucien," Eris loosed a breath, he was terrified but he understood the freedom the night could offer, even if it mean death would greet you far too soon, "Either be here and help her, or go back to Elain."

Eris rounded his brother, following after you as fast as he possibly could, leaving Lucien and Nesta on the sand, "I don't like it either. But Helion wouldn't propose it if he wasn't sure that she would survive. She needs us and our strength, Lucien. If you don't want to be in there then we will understand and so will she, but I will not abandon my sister at her final stand. Ever. I suggest you follow suit."

The demeanour of cold was understandable, Nesta had left everything behind to follow you in a life of the unknown, unable to stand by and wait until Rhys moved against you. Nesta had always adored you in her own peculiar manner, Lucien often spied her lurking outside of your room since you returned, ready to tend to you if you asked for her and ready to wait until that moment came. It reminded Lucien of the bond he once shared with Tamlin, an unwavering loyalty, a bond broken by his own demise, but Lucien was sure that your bond with each of them would never falter, not even in the face of your darkness.

So, Lucien inhaled deeply and turned to follow Nesta who had already began pacing away from him and toward the dancing curtains of the tent, he followed suit and dipped into the opening and his stomach became uneasy at what was before him.

Eris was stood before you, caressing small circles into your forearms, talking in a low voice to you, only loud enough for you to hear. Your coat was discarded on the back of a nearby chair, and Lucien could count each one of your vertebrae if he so wished it, but instead he decided to focus on the small square poking from beneath your skin. It was the first time he had seen the stone, a perfect square embedded at the apex of your crescent moon scar that your lack of nourishment made clear for all to see.

It was strange how a stone no bigger than his thumb could cause you so much torment.

There was a shadow around you, it was dense, dragging you down into the pits of hell. But you had danced with the devil for far too long to allow it to succeed.

The table beckoned you and you moved to it, your now bare feet scuffing along the ground as you approached it, your fingers dragging along the smooth tabletop. Inhaling deeply, your gaze flickered to Helion, and you turned, perching on the wood and moving your body so that you lay face down with you back facing upward to the thin cloth of the tent.

"You'll need to hold her down," Helion called, and Lucien was too entranced by your movements to recognise that Helion was talking to him. The High Lord of Day took a tentative step forward, "We can't give her any pain relief, it'll dull her senses, and she needs them for what's next."

Lucien looked back to you, seeing that Eris had fallen to his knees before your face and taken your hand in his and brought it to his lips, "Everything is going to be alright," he repeated the sentiment over and over, and Lucien realised in that moment that if the roles were switched and it were Elain laying upon that table, that Lucien would do all in his power to free her from her pain.

Moving to your side, Lucien lay his palm on your shoulder and applied a little pressure, using his weight to test how much strength he'd need to use, which turned out to be not much at all.

"Are you ready?"

Wordlessly, you closed your eyes and nodded, the muscles in your back tensed the moment Helion brought a knife to the exact place he knew he needed to cut into to make it as quick as possible.

Helion pushed down on the knife, letting it tear through each layer of your skin, and you began to strain in Lucien's grip, your body jolting and groans sounding from your lips. Reopening a scar was a painful thing, the marred tissue contorted and wept tears of blood whilst a scream ripped from your lungs, but Helion couldn't stop, Eris had forbidden it.

"Please, stop," your sobs pleaded but your voice had betrayed you, it was combined with the voice of another, coaxing like a siren, low and sultry, "I'll die. You're going to kill me. Please."

A strength Lucien didn't know you possessed coursed through your limbs and you thrashed, inhuman grunts pooling from your broken lips and head snapping around wildly. The candlelight flickered in the speeding winds that were circling the tent, the darkness falling from you in waves and seeping into the sand below. "We do love the darkness. So much," the distorted voice spoke, "I'll make her rip you apart, Lord of Autumn. Then perhaps she'll beg me to join you."

Lucien had all of his weight splayed on top of you, holding your body in place, and Nesta had moved to your shoulder, using her hands to keep it still so that Helion could continue, and he did, but much quicker until the stone was gleaming in your blood and peering up at them. Swirls of a soul danced beneath the surface of it, like the rising smoke of a roaring fire.

"I am the one who makes her a queen. I am the one who gives her the power she wields. Without me, she is nothing."

Eris snarled, lowering his face to yours, or well, the demon who had come to the light, and spoke, "My mate is the most powerful being in any universe, and she was that way long before you were ever lay within her. Your reign is over. My queen ensures it."

Before the demon could spew any matter of vile words, Helion cut deep within the muscle that the stone had melted into and used his fingers to rip it out, holding it in the palm of his hand and feeling the darkness writhe in the face of his light. Helion threw the stone to Nesta who amply locked it within an onyx stone box, the same stone that wound around your neck, and placed it on the table beside his tools.

"Get off of her," Eris ordered, your body had fallen limp, and soft whimpers passed through you whilst Helion did his best work to heal the wound.

You felt every strand of her darkness retreat from your veins, pulling and tugging at your essence on their way out as though they were clutching onto you and begging you to allow them to stay. The relief that washed over you was immeasurable, it was like you had spent the last eon in darkness and were gifted a speckle of sunlight. Pure and adoring light that had found you once more.

As though it had never happened, Helion closed the wound, the only reminder that she had been there being the striking ache in your bones.

"Give her a moment," Eris spoke sternly, knowing that they couldn't wait too long, the adrenaline in your blood was providing you the strength you needed for the next step. He moved to your side, offering his strength to sit you upright and knelt at your feet, wiping his tears with your thumb, "I know that it hurts," your darkened eyes found his and your bottom lip quaked softly, "But have been to the depths of hell and waltzed with the darkness, you have kept strengths in conditions where I never could have. There are no limits to you, nothing you cannot do. And what we're to do next will bring the end of it all. I will not leave you. Even if this power consumes you then I will follow. I will never leave you. It was always you, I knew it was, and I'll never let you go."

At his words, you leant forward and rested your forehead on his, his warmth and light breathing life into your bones, his touch setting your nerve endings on fire. "I will stay," you pulled back slightly, your eyes wandered over his face, "We have a life to live."

"That we do," Eris pressed his lips to your knuckles and pulled you to stand, "Only I can do this next part. I'm sorry," his index finger stroked down your face and over your lips, scribing them to memory, and then his hands curled around the stone of the collar. Eris looked to you hesitantly, internally begging you to stop him, but all you did was rest your fingers on his wrists and nod to him with tear-filled eyes.

"I love you, Eris Vanserra. You could never hurt me."

"When all of this is over, I'm going to make you my wife. My High Lady."

A soft smirk tugged at your chapped lips, "You better."

Eris watched your eyes drift closed and your body relax, like it knew that you were safe with him, and that moment of serenity on your face was once he would remember for the rest of his days. His hands heated, fire stinging at his fingertips that grew searing alongside his will, and the stone began to crack under his touch. Eris knew that he was melting your skin, and you were doing your best to quieten the sobs of pain that stabbed at your chest and coursed down the bond.

He was your Carranam, his power harmonised perfectly with your own, and that power was currently locked within the stone encasing your limbs. He was the only one who could free you of them. The only one who could withstand it.

"I love you," he whispered.

The ground shook beneath your feet, the sand shifting and sinking as Eris deepened the trajectory of his power, sending it flowing through your veins to each stone cuff and melting through the surface of the stone until it smashed and fell to the ground. The ground stopped its shaking, the sand licking at the darkness pouring from the splinters of stone scattered around them, and you gasped lightly.

A crack sounded and Eris had nothing to hold onto before he was sent to the floor, the island turning and earth splitting alongside the ocean beneath his feet. They were all sent to crashing to the ground, all but you, you stood standing as tendrils of black danced up your legs, the darkness swam from the stone toward you, lapping blissfully at your feet before joining the others in their ascent.

Your eyes were still closed, but it was working. Once pallid skin was turning golden right before their eyes, your lifeless hair held its once-lost glossy hue again, your skin became fuller, like your power was healing you from the inside out. You were guzzling the darkness much like Helion had warned, and such an acceptance of power meant that the burst was coming, a burst that would threaten to devour anything within its reach.

With a single nod from Eris, Helion grasped at Nesta and Lucien, ignoring their pleas before winnowing out of there and back to the Autumn Court. Eris was the only one who would be able to control it. He shakily rose to his feet, and the earth threatened to send him tumbling into an abyss but he wouldn't allow it. Nothing would ever be able to take him from you.

Eris reached for your hands, holding onto them and forcing his fire into you, moulding his consciousness with your own so that your power had something to recognise as worth saving, so that it had something to control itself for.

The sand parted beneath you, and it was like the air was tightening in his lungs, you were consuming everything around you both. Wind circled the tent, so wild that it ripped the fabric from the ground and sped off into the tornado that had been created around the island, so untamed that not even the moon could shine on you. It crept in closer each passing moment, sucking all oxygen from the surface that was crumbling beneath him.

Eris grabbed your face in his hands, "I love you, y/n. I have always loved you. From the day I saw you in the Night Court, before I ever knew that we were always meant to be together, I have loved you. I swear that the stars sighed with relief the moment I found you. It was always meant to be us, and even if you blast me to the depths of hell I will rise from my grave and crawl on my knees to you."

Flashes of his dreams coursed through his mind, ones of a life of love and happiness, of your wedding, of the moment he crowned you his High Lady, of the moments where you would tell him you were with child with that sickly beautiful smile on your lips. If all he was meant to have with you was a couple of months then each second of his loneliness and torment was worth every moment he was able to spend with you. Eris could find some peace in it as the earth continued to disintegrate.

Pressing his lips to yours, he felt the tornado surrounding you draw closer and felt his feet begin to betray him, and he was happy to be swept up in your power, he had always relished in it, "I love you, Little Fawn, so much."

A gentle sharp intake of breath sounded in front of him, and he found himself lost in a pool of violet and molten fire just as your power splayed itself catastrophically over the oceans surface, sending the water and wind crashing backward a few hundred feet whilst the earth and sky continued to rumble, but Eris stood firm in your arms. The oceans screamed against your power, each rip and wave rushing to gather and rush back toward you, to drown you, growing so high that the moon had disappeared behind the tidal wave looming over your heads.

But, with a single flick of your fingers, the water halted and fell into a infantile pool of innocence that crept toward and doused your feet. The wind dropped and the earth stilled, all because you ordered it to do so wordlessly.

Then you found his eyes, hands touching every inch of his arms and chest like you were sure he had been swept away, "Are you alright?"

Eris nodded, cupping your face in his hands gingerly, and spoke, "Your fire. It's back."

A gentle breeze danced around you, flitting through your hair and carrying your scent to his lungs, "I told you. We have a life to live," your voice was as soft as the sun in Autumn, inviting and warm and full of light.

Looking down, Eris noticed that the sand beneath your feet was no longer sand, but that you were both stood just atop the surface of the ocean. Eris looked back up at you with a smirk, "So you can walk on water now?"

Frowning, you also peered down, tapping your toes against the water and dipping them below the surface for a moment. You shrugged, still wound in his embrace, and found his eyes once more, "What can I say? I am a God," Eris smiled at your words, not even a little bit surprised by them, he had always had an inkling, and pulled you into him, brushing his lips against yours and feeling the universe loosen a breath, "I'd like to go home now."

Eris hummed in agreement and buried his nose into the nape of your neck, peppering kisses along your collarbone and shoulder as the world around you dissipated from sight and the notion of home settled into your bones.

Authors Note

I'm so sorry that this took so long!

Finally feeling a little better and was able to finish this part! I really hope you all love it x

(Sorry if I've missed anyone from the list)

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmtttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @julesofvolterra @5onedirection5 @darling006 @coldmermaidhologram @herondale-lightworm @rcarbo1 @babypeapoddd @the-sweet-psycho @batboyslutt

[beomiracles]

OMGOSHH hiii Serene my goddess

i would like to build a dreammmmm (hello you are so adorable)

so i have an idea

its a historical (or modern if youd prefer) fantasy au (w any member u deem suitable)

where reader is a fox spirit who fell in love w member who rescued her while she got injured and trapped in her animal form

member and reader spend some domestic time tgt and eventually reader recovers and reveals her true form and is worried member would be afraid of her

initially he is but things happen and he ends up falling for her too?? and they get tgt !!

(i like things steamy)

thank you for taking the time to read this :))

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... omg ily like ;( when I first read this I IMMEDIATELY thought, yeonjun. (maybe it has to do with the reader being a fox idk. but it feels right to have this fic about him) I'm also super into this whole idea but I've never written for a supernatural reader before so idk how good it is on that front heh..! hope you'll still enjoy :3

wc -> 1.8k

pairings yeonjun x fox spirit!reader (afab) warnings very slight dom/sub dynamics, sub!yeonjun, soft!dom reader, handjob/blowjob, hints at further sexual themes.

It had been, three? Maybe four weeks? You could hardly keep track of time as the room you had been staying in lacked any sort of time teller, and it wasn’t exactly like your rescuer was about to sit down and inform a fox of the time. You couldn’t blame him, he had already done so much for you, from taking you in and providing both shelter and food — it was more than you could have ever asked for. 

You had grown accustomed to the company of the human man, strangely enough. Foxes were known to be distrustful of said species yet you found yourself feeling warm and fuzzy inside whenever he was around, which was almost all the time as he returned to check up on you multiple times throughout the day. 

But by now, your body had recovered enough for you to finally be able to comfortably shift back into a more presentable form. Your only worry was the human’s reaction, you scolded yourself for taking his feelings into such great consideration, it wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Yet you worried that he might be scared — dreaded that he might not like you at all in your human form. 

The cool air causes goosebumps to rise across your now naked skin, having adapted to the feel of fur after spending so long in your other form that the now mildly cold degree outside felt freezing. You stretch your fingers out in front of you, studying them as if it were your first time seeing them. A small sigh of relief escapes your lips, finally you felt more like yourself again. 

The sound of the door squeaking open causes your head to snap in its direction as the human stumbles inside. His hands are full of cut up fruits and a few pieces of raw meat, but as soon as his gaze falls on you the plate crashes against the floor and you flinch at the sound. 

Yeonjun’s mouth hangs open as he studies you with a slightly horrified expression. You could smell the fear dripping from him as his eyes darted across the room in search of your fox form, but all he found was you. Slowly rising from your crouched position, you offer the man a small smile. 

“Hi.” 

You internally cringe at how strained your voice sounded, but after not being used for almost a month it wasn’t so surprising. Yeonjun doesn’t reply as he stares at you dumbfoundedly. “...Who are you?” He finally splutters as he takes a defensive step back, your heart churns at the small action. 

“It’s me…Red”, you try as you use the nickname he had given you a few weeks prior. Yeonjun’s eyes might as well just pop out of his eye sockets as he stares at you in disbelief. “Red?” He repeats, though his stance remains wary. Eagerly you nod as you take a step forward.

“But…it doesn’t make sense I…” He stammers as his hands come up to block you from his view. “And you’re…you’re naked!” His statement causes you to stop as you frown whilst glancing down to your bare body. So? Why did that matter? It was natural when shifting forms — besides, did he really not have greater things to worry about than your naked frame? 

You surge forward once more only to be stopped by a pair of large hands against your shoulders as Yeonjun prevents you from coming any closer. “Why don’t you sit down over here”, he redirects you toward the bed in the center of the room as he hastily pulls the duvet cover over your exposed body. 

Huffing out a breath of air, you glance up at your savior as he fusses over you, much like he always did. And as your eyes roam his body; you wanted nothing more than to repay the kind favor. 

Hesitantly, Yeonjun takes a seat beside you on the very edge of the bed, much to your delight. He runs a hand through his dark hair as he studies you with a slight frown. “I don’t understand…you…you’re..” — “A human?” You interrupt as the corner of your lips curl into a small grin. “Yeah.” He breathes out a small sigh. 

In your human form, he seemed even more delectable and your gaze followed the way his teeth closed around his bottom lip as he bit it anxiously. “I’m a fox spirit.” You state as you watch his reaction. His frown deepens as he looks at you, noticing the swirling pools of orange in your eyes and your sharp canines as you grin. He supposed he should feel afraid, but he didn’t, for he could still recognize the wounded animal he had taken in all those nights ago. 

You tilt your head to the side as you listen to the now, steady, beating of his heart as the human came to terms with the creature before him. “But why didn’t you reveal yourself earlier..?” He wonders and you let out a small sigh. “Well it was impossible to, given the state my body was in”, you shrug before glancing toward him with a small smirk, “but thanks to your helpful hands and kind words I am now completely recovered.” 

Yeonjun’s eyes widen as color rushes to his face. “Kind words…you mean you..” — “Even in my fox form I understand the human language.” You say as you watch the increasingly flustered state of the human who averted his gaze, suddenly recalling the multiple comments about the fox he had made. 

“Do you really think I’m cute?” You ask as you lean forward on the bed. Yeonjun swallows as his eyes return to you, “I uh…” he begins but trails off as you close the small distance between you, trapping him against the bedpost. The duvet falls from your shoulders and his eyes dart between your exposed skin and your face. 

“I think you’re cute.” You purr as your nose graces along his cheek. The rapid beating of his heart felt like music to your ears. Under you, Yeonjun squirms as he tries to free himself from your grip, you let him go as you watch him with a slight pout. He scrambles across the bed to lean against the headboard, slightly panting as he looks at you. 

“Are you scared of me?” you ask with a small frown, a sense of hurt lingering in your words. He shakes his head, “n-no…I just..I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to…” He sharply inhales as you suddenly appear mere inches from his face, gently straddling his lap as your fingers brush along his flushed cheek. “But you’re not scared of me?” Your question comes off as more of a statement but Yeonjun gives you a small shake of his head. You smile, “good.” 

Your lips find his as your hands gently cup his cheeks. Half expecting him to pull away, you’re surprised when his arms wrap around your naked waist to pull you closer. “I’ll make you feel good, yeah?” you whisper against his lips as your hands grip onto the fabric off his shirt. Yeonjun gazes up at you with a clouded expression, uttering a small “uh-huh”.

Your sharp nails dig into the soft cotton as you rip it apart, exposing his lean torso for your hungry eyes to ravage. If he’s surprised by your quick actions, he doesn’t let onto it as his eyes rake over your naked body. The hands on your waist slowly move across your stomach before gently cupping your breasts, his thumbs grazing over your nipples. You let out a small moan as shivers course through your body. 

The roll of your hips against his makes his breath hitch and you lean down to press open mouthed kisses along his neck and collarbone. “You saved me”, you murmur against his skin, feeling the way blood rushed beneath the surface. Sharp teeth drag across the sensitive flesh of his neck as you inhale his sweet scent. 

“Not many people would take in a fox like myself.” The tantalizingly slow movements of your hips causes him to buck up against your wet cunt, drawing a small hiss from you as you grind down on him even harder. Your lips hover over his own once more as you gaze at him in a loving manner. Yeonjun looks at you with a hazy expression as his lips part so deliciously and invitingly, soft pants emitting from him. 

“I am forever grateful.” You whisper before leaning back to rip the seam of his pants apart. Your mouth almost waters at the sight of his throbbing cock, hard and ready for you. Yeonjun lets out a small gasp as you wrap your fingers around him, marveling at how heavy he felt in your hand. “So pretty and good for me”, you coo as you take your time to get a full feel of him, drawing a soft groan from the human. 

You experiment with the pace of your hand, the flick of your wrist, closely watching his reactions as Yeonjun fell apart under your touch. His fingers digging into the soft sheets of the bed, knuckles turning white at the sheer pressure. Unable to resist you lean down to get a small taste of him, relishing in the throaty moan you manage to coax from him. 

Tongue pressed flat against his cock, you slowly work your way down before licking a stripe all the way up to the red tip again. “Ah, fuck.” He groans as you suck all of him in your mouth, swirling your tongue against his slit. His hips snap up against you, his cock hitting the back of your throat and you almost gag. Your hands brush along his thighs as you moan softly around him, silently praising him before pulling off with a small pop. 

“What do you need from me, pretty?” You whisper as your hand returns to gently stroke him. Sweat sticks to his forehead as he lays panting, he swallows, “a-anything, fuck…just need you!” His words make you clench around nothing as your lips eagerly return to his cock, feeling it twitch against your lips. 

The soft whines falling from his plump lips were enough to have you take him as deep as you possibly could, pressing your tongue against him with so much pressure that it almost hurt. “Fuck, I’m c-close” he groans and one of your hands join your mouth on his cock as you encourage his orgasm. 

With one final twitch, he releases himself inside of your open mouth. The feeling of hot cum spurting on your tongue had you moaning against his slowly softening cock as you pulled away to wipe your lips. Above you, Yeonjun brings a hand to his forehead as his ragged breathing slowly returns to normal, but the beating of his heart remained rapid as you study his flushed expression. 

His eyes snap toward you as he feels you move on top of him. Teasingly pushing two fingers inside your dripping cunt for him to see. “Think you can do one more, pretty?”

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[heartfullofleeches]

Would Ruthie enjoy a clown reader who also works in the park? Maybe clown skater reader who skates around making balloon animals and telling jokes

I actully did a blurb with clown Reader at the park once, Ruthie would love that and also fall in love all over again seeing them preform their acts. His fingers aren't nimble enough for him to make balloon animals on his own and he'd be jealous of their talents if it was anyone else, but there's no way they could possibly be upset at someone with a bright smile like reader's. Just imagine this 7ft tall rabbit getting in line with little kids to get another balloon and hoard them all like some dragon that's obsessed with balloons. Ruthie makes sure there's smiles on everyone's face when reader tells their jokes, and tightens the wheels on their skates whenever reader's not wearing them or Ruthie feels like checking if they're secure.

God - I need more with this, its so cute. Farmer crow, the "villain" of the park, kidnapping reader which they think is all just part of the show and happily plays along. Reader comforting the Bash the fox when one of their balloons pops and it frightens the cowardly canine right out of his skin. Clown Reader and Serenity the baker coming up with a themed dessert based off them that makes Ruthie teary eyed whenever a park guest eats the little clown made of cream and berries. There is a puppet jester/mime gal and the two would be thick as thieves as well. There's a pair of twins known as the Dice Twins who'd lovingly tease the clown until Ruthie or another member of the team came to knock some sense into them.

With the Ruthieland reboot I was gonna have reader be a regular employee, but it has been mentioned the park was first a circus and bringing a clown in is on brand.... Decisions, decisions.

[sparrowrye]

Announcements 📣

So there it is my little devils. 76 chapters and 7 months later, we have finished!

I have some unique shoutouts but stick around because there’s more info at the bottom!

@feral-fox-crypt / @wendigonamecaller - for being my first author friend! I know I’m not active on the discord but I’m still glad we made it together!

@jgabriel1920 - for your amazing villain OCs. Blackwater was by far my favorite villain I’ve ever written and creating lore for Judah/John was fun! Thanks for our plot development chats too :)

@soggyfern - for kickstarting the creative juices and brainstorming my next story with me!

@liz776 and @flamingoblubber - for your constant reblogs of my work. You’ve helped spread the word about my story!

@martinys-world, @papas-ghoulette, and @vvollerie - for your wonderful, steadfast comments!

@mcntsee @blubugg13 @serenity-songbird @az--zy @direbatattack and among the others who've already been @'d in this post - for your OCs who helped flesh out the story. I enjoyed the challenge of writing a character I didn't come up with!

Of course, can’t forget my anonymous 🥩 who was there to submit in depth thoughts about my work early on, giving me the courage and inspiration to keep going. Hope you enjoyed your meal :P

And most importantly, to the ~65 individuals who liked each of my posts. And especially to the ~16 who watched and waited for the climax parts to come out in real time. Without your likes, I would feel alone. Thank you for the support!

****and if I missed you, please message me! But I'm pretty sure I got everyone

———————————-

Now, sappy stuff aside.

I’m not done writing delicious Alastor works, BUT I do plan on making them significantly shorter than Demi Demon. I love novels but man, that was tough. I’m trying to focus more on longer chapters in fewer amounts. I’ve got work, my masters, friends, a side project, and my own WIP I’m trying to finish too!

At some point this week, you will get another announcement revealing the title, vibe, and summary of my next story. It’s currently being hammered and plotted so I’m going to wait to finalize everything before I let you know. My only hint: take a look at the results of all my polls

———————————

Lastly, I’m going to put this in a different post so people can always access it:

I. Want. Your. Opinion.

Specifically on Demi Demon.

I want to become a published author and I believe fanfiction is a way to play around and develop experience/skill for writing and storytelling. So I’m asking all of you to return the favor and submit an anonymous form where you’ll tell me your thoughts (good and bad) on Demi Demon.

When the post is up you can access it HERE

Also, keep checking my pinned post. I make small little changes every now and then :P

—————————-

Again, I’m so SO grateful for all of you. Your support, no matter how big or small, has truly helped me finish this novel. I was going through a lot these past months and your support helped me through some dark times. So thank you!!

Enjoy the peace as we transition stories because I’ll be back to make you love and cry all over again!

~ Sparrow

[sekiromi]

A Devil You Do, ch. 8

pairing(s): Raphael x Tav/Reader, Astarion x Tav/Reader themes: reincarnation, soul bond, past lives, lost memories, pining, slow burn cw/tw: canon-typical violence, gore word count: 8.3k previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [read this fic in all its glory on ao3!]

Chapter Eight: The Mouse's Gambit

You can't compromise with evil, it always profits in the end.

“Well, well, looks like the mouse has made herself quite at home in the fox’s den.”

Raphael expected you to wake with a start, eyes pinging open with urgency, heart thundering as you realised your surroundings, noticing the devil before you, stumbling over yourself in a rushed apology and feeble explanation as to why you had taken the liberty to let yourself into his rooms, undoubtedly look through his things, then fall asleep on his chair.

But you did not so much as twitch in your sleep.

He frowned, stepping closer, examining your serene visage, looking only slightly uncomfortable contorted into the tight spot. There was no sign of awareness, no suggestion that you were registering anything that was going on around you. How long you had been passed out here for, Raphael was not sure. He knew you had crossed the threshold into the Devil’s Den a couple of hours ago, and thought it strange he had not sensed you leave, but now he could see why.

The exhaustion had finally caught up with you. Your delicate, fragile mortal form was entirely spent, unable to do much apart from rest.

With a sigh he snapped his fingers, transporting you from the rather uncomfortable loveseat to the plush sheets of the bed in the adjoining room, smoothing out the fabric on the chair wrinkled by your sleeping body once vacated. Still, you uttered no sound, gave no sign of stirring, so he busied himself with refreshing the room, filing his contracts, and straightening out his things. He had to smile to himself when he opened his wardrobe, seeing his coat hung neatly in the back, his scent mingled with yours in an enticing aroma. Slowly, he ran his hand over the fabric, remembering how you looked grasping it around your shoulders, bracing against the fresh night air.

In the bedroom, you sunk into a sleep so deep it felt like a temporary death. Raphael watched you from the archway for some time, leaning against the frame and looking for the slow rise and fall of your shoulders, evidence that you had not wandered too far into that beckoning abyss. He became somewhat fascinated, watching you sleep so soundly. Rarely having a need for it himself, and with no logical day and night cycle in Avernus, he could not remember the last time he had slept. There had probably been a few occasions he had dozed off, even his life had its dull moments of course, but to lay down his head and cocoon himself between crisp bedsheets, closing his eyes for hours at a time? No, he could not recall that ever happening.

Drawn closer by the pull of the tide of your breathing, he stood over you and tilted his head. Your sleeping body, lax and unaware, betrayed all the thoughts your mouth would not say. When he lifted his hand to your cheek, ever so delicately brushing the tips of his fingers across the sun-kissed skin, your lips curved into a tiny smile. When he retreated, it disappeared, replaced by a quivering confusion and idle displeasure. He had half an urge to sit beside you, run his hand across your hair, stroking gently like a doting mother, humming an old lullaby to settle your unconscious mind, but he did not.

A fragment of a memory struck him all of a sudden as he regarded your sleeping form, images of bare, tangled limbs in the dead of night, a bed of dew-laden grass, silent stars twinkling overhead, tender, wandering hands and a devastating fall from grace.

Winded by the pain the sudden intrusion wrought from his chest, he choked it back down, banishing those images, scenes he had sworn never to think on again, from his mind. Unsettled by the memory, he withdrew from the room, tearing away from your bedside, relegating himself to an armchair tucked into an alcove by the door. He could just about still see you from this new position, keep an eye on you just in case, and made sure to give you one last glance before he settled in to idly compile his latest business dealings, distracting his addled mind, waiting for you to wake.

Meanwhile, the combination of the feather-stuffed pillows cushioning your head, the comforting warmth of the lavish sheets beneath you, and the smell of Raphael and his things drove you deeper into unconsciousness, deeper into your dreams.

“Let us flip for it, then. Heads, I’m white, tails, you’re black?”

“Very we— hold on, that’s not how that works.”

You grinned at the devil before you, approaching the table with a soul coin humming in your hands, rolling it skilfully across the backs of your fingers as you slid into the seat across from him.

“Alright, you call it.” With a flick of your thumb the coin shot into the air, spinning rapidly as Raphael declared “Heads,” watching as you caught it in the palm of your right hand, flipping it onto the back of your left, uncovering it to reveal who would get to play white in the game of lanceboard that was in the process of being set up between you both. “Ah, bad luck Raff. Maybe next time.”

“Hm, I suspect you have a biased coin…” Raphael sulked as you each began stationing your pieces, organising them perfectly in the middle of their respective squares.

“You’re a sore loser, you know that?”

He frowned at you, delicately placing his last pawn as you readjusted your queen.

“Just start.”

With a smirk you obeyed, advancing the pawn in front of your king two spaces, a move that Raphael mirrored. Next you moved your kingside knight to f3, trying not to smile as your opponent took his queenside knight to c6. Then it was bishop to c4, knight to f6, a quick trading of pawns and you were threatening his queen with your knight on the sixth move. With a small frown he claimed your knight with his king, allowing you to place him in check with your queen.

“I see you’ve been practising. That was ‘The Fried Liver Attack’, no?” He asked, resting his cheek against his fist, annoyed he had not foreseen the move and instead played right into it. But, then again, it was not one you had played before, and he could not remember encountering it previously. You nodded enthusiastically as you watched him peruse his pieces, deciding what to do.

“Yes. I read about it in the book you recommended.” You explained, folding your arms as you watched with baited breath to see what he would do. Perhaps it was the surprise of your new opening, or maybe he was not on form that day, but he made a blunder, uncharacteristically retreating his king to g8, allowing you to pursue checkmate in three.

“Perhaps I should revoke your access to my library…” He teased, growing increasingly frustrated at his lack of options as you pressed.

“You would not dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

You narrowed your gaze at him, a thrum of deadly, divine power surging from within, rippling beneath your skin and behind your eyes as you silently challenged him to try it. He cocked an eyebrow, shifting his gaze back down to the board with a nod, telling you to get on with your next move. With slightly excessive force you made your last one.

“Checkmate.” You announced, leaning back in your seat as Raphael sighed deeply.

“Well, that was a quicker game than I was hoping.” He observed, looking forlornly at his pinned king. “…Another?”

For a moment you considered it, deciding to give him a chance to emerge victorious, aware that should you beat him again his mood would only sour more, so would it really be a win at all? He could sulk for days when he felt like it. Despite being nearly three hundred years old, he could still act like such a child.

“Alright.”

You each swivelled the board around, swapping sides and quickly resetting the pieces. Raphael, as usual, opted to move his pawn to e4, but instead of responding in kind you decided to try something different. Adopting the Cormyrian Defence , you moved your pawn to c5. Raphael seemed to have been expecting this, and countered you with Mystril’s Gambit , developing his attacks rapidly and putting you in a tricky spot, unable to adequately position your queen.

The game dragged on endlessly, his merciless attacks leaving you with few options to develop your pieces and make your own counter. Despite having an extra pawn and a central pawn majority, you could not find a way to gain the upper hand and maintain control of it. After some time of fruitlessly moving pieces back and forth, you offered your hand to resign the game.

“No. Keep playing.” Raphael said with a frown, swatting your hand away. He had ridded himself of his outer garments, crisp white sleeves uncuffed and rolled up to his elbows, betraying his growing impatience with the game. You sighed, rolling up your own sleeves, and went to make a deliberately bad move as to forfeit the game. “No.” Raphael’s voice was stern, warning, eyes drilling into you with such a fierce intensity that your heart stuttered in your chest. “Make a proper move.”

Slightly afraid of incurring his wrath, you removed your hand and made an effort to properly scan the board, settling on a more appropriate move. Raphael responded, and eventually you saw his plan: distract you from castling to reveal a hidden kingside attack. You took the opportunity to castle, saw Raphael’s eyes widen a fraction before a proud sort of smile settled on his lips.

“Very good.” He praised in a low hum, ashamedly causing the back of your neck to burn.

“Enough of the commentary. Just play.”

The devil chuckled, making his counter, his eyes flicking from the board to you as you traded moves. He adored watching you think, seeing your eyes shift over the pieces one by one, mentally mapping out their possible paths and laying out all of the options before you. You chewed on the inside of your lip as you thought of what to do next, but he could tell you knew there would be no victory for you. So, you went along with the only moves that made sense, until he had you in checkmate.

“Well played.” You commented, extending your hand for him to shake. He grasped it gently, giving you a nod.

“Likewise. Now, I would like to claim my prize for my victory.”

You quirked an eyebrow, looking at him with an amused expression.

“Oh? And what do you declare your prize to be?”

“A kiss.” He smiled almost sweetly, expression reminding you of the boy you had found by the river all of those centuries ago.

“Just a kiss?” You asked with a grin, moving to stand and round the table, placing yourself in between his legs as his hands trailed up your outer thighs to settle on your hips.

“Just a kiss.” He answered, voice low and quiet.

“Very well, then.”

You leaned down, capturing his lips with your own as your hand moved to cup his jaw, tasting fruit and wine and fire smoke. He smiled into the kiss, hands grasping you more desperately, as he murmured something in Infernal against your lips;

“Xe dajy haf.”

You awoke slowly, full of grogginess and a dark ocean swirling in your head. It took a moment for your surroundings to come into focus as a groan slid its way out of your throat, but you struggled to recognise where you were.

Sitting up slowly, you noticed the familiar red linens, extravagant furniture, and signature smell of the Devil’s Den with a sickening sense of dread.

Why am I on the bed…?

You did not remember falling asleep here and had no idea how long you had been out for. Looking to your right towards the window, it was getting late in the day, the sun hanging low in the sky and the brilliant hues of golden hour flooding the room.

With great effort you slid from the soft bed and onto your feet, wincing at the stiffness in your joints and muscles that had been asleep for far too long as you shuffled haphazardly towards the front room. It was not until you got within a few feet of him that you noticed Raphael sat in an armchair before you, tucked away into the wall, eyes fixed on you curiously. Frozen in your tracks, all you could do was stop and stare at him, mortified by the sound of your own heartbeat now ringing in your ears.

“So, you’ve finally decided to rejoin the land of the living, hm? I trust you slept well.” He closed the book he was reading, banishing it to another realm with a flourish of his hand as he reclined in his seat, eyes looking you over.

“…How long was I asleep for?” You asked, eyes still half-lidded, not yet firing on all cylinders. He smiled and lifted himself from the chair, moving to stand just a few inches in front of you.

“Practically the whole afternoon.”

“Oh.” You looked down, slightly sheepish all of a sudden. “Sorry. I came to return your coat but then…I must’ve fallen asleep.” Confused and disoriented, you rubbed at your temples, attempting to remember exactly how you had ended up on his bed.

“Yes, you did look quite exhausted when I returned. I moved you to the bed, I thought you might find it more comfortable.” He explained, watching your face as it shifted through a medley of mixed emotions.

“Ah…thank you.”

“It’s no matter. Was there any other reason for your visit?” Raphael probed, and for a moment you felt entirely too exposed, wondering if he knew you had sort of been hoping to see him again, before realising what he meant.

Ah. The contract.

“Um, no, not particularly…”

A hint of disappointment fell across Raphael’s face, quickly dismissed with a nod.

“Very well.” He looked at you curiously as you made no effort to move or respond, clearing his throat awkwardly to disrupt the silence. Your eyes held a vacant look, unspoken thoughts troubling you as you stood with a slightly unstable sway. “Please, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure your companions are expecting your return.”

Blinking a few times you nodded, rubbing some of the sleep from your eyes as you turned to look at the dark metal of the doors, the sacred barriers keeping your mind safe from prying eyes, keeping your thoughts your own.

“Actually,” you began without much thought, “is it okay if I stay a while? I’m not ready…to deal with this, just now.” You tapped a finger to the side of your head, a displeased look on your features that Raphael immediately understood. “But…I don’t want to talk about the contract at all, please.”

“Of course. What’s mine is yours, within reason. And no business.”

You smiled in thanks, stretching your limbs and taking a moment to properly inspect your surroundings, tracing slow footsteps across the room. You noticed for the first time the numerous rose petals scattered across the floor, adrift in the swirling water of the bath, the faint hint of rosewood incense on the air, the two sparkling, empty goblets arranged neatly beside an unopened bottle of Thayan red on the console table.

“Do you…seduce clients here?” You asked, brow furrowed, gaze distracted as your pace slowed, still evaluating your surroundings, already knowing the answer.

“I’m quite certain I have no idea what you mean.” Raphael replied evenly, voice laced with a teasing tone. You scoffed unintentionally and returned to your surveying. He watched your movements curiously, folding his arms and bringing a thoughtful hand to his chin. “You know, envy is a sin, my dear.”

You whipped your head around to glare at him, eyes fierce and voice exasperated, any hint of sleepiness now gone.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Oh, you didn’t have to.” He hummed. You cursed yourself silently. When did he catch on to that little secret of yours? You felt like you were barely even aware of it yourself. Perhaps you were just that easy to read, or maybe he was just teasing for the sake of it. Regardless, it was bad enough having the Emperor digging around in the deepest recesses of your thoughts every passing second, and it seemed Raphael’s company would provide you with little of the relief you had been looking for, merely trading one evil for another.

His lips tilted into a smirk, entirely too devilish for your tastes, although you supposed he could not really help that. Your lungs heaved a sigh as you looked to the Heavens, offering a silent prayer for the Gods to grace you with the strength to maintain your dignity in the devil’s presence.

“Would you like me to employ that line of persuasion? I wouldn’t want my favourite client to feel left out, after all.” He stepped closer, intentions entirely flirtatious, but realised his mistake as your nose scrunched up in response. You answered quickly, sharply, before you could think too much about it, let yourself be half-tempted by the offer.

“No. I’ve had enough of being manipulated with sex, thank you.”

Raphael tilted his head, felt a very brief pang of something in his chest (Was that genuine sympathy? No, surely not) before turning towards the table and pulling out the cork from the bottle of wine.

“Understandable. What about just a drink, then? No strings attached.” With an air of grace entirely at odds with his nature, he filled the cup on the left before extending it towards you. He watched you eye it, and then him, suspiciously, expression distrusting and arms tucked in closely, entire body guarded, ready to detect deceit. He let the smile drop for a beat, allowing you a peak at something more genuine. “You look like you need it.”

Gingerly you accepted, reaching a hand out slowly to grasp the stem, retreating a safe distance once it was in your hands. Raphael smiled, quickly filled his own cup, and raised it towards you.

“To our continued alliance.” He chimed. You smiled, raising your own goblet, simply said, “Sure,” and waited for him to take a sip first before taking your own, a gesture which highly amused him. In truth, it had not even crossed his mind to lace your drink with something.

The wine was soft and sweet on your tongue, full-bodied and silky with notes of blackberry and plum.

“Have you always had such a hard time trusting others?” He asked, smirk creeping back onto his lips.

“No, actually. It all started about two months ago when I met this insufferable devil.” You snapped, before launching into a rant about all the trickery, deceit, and enemies you had encountered on your perilous journey thus far in some pretty colourful language. The hag, the shape-changer, the Emperor, even the devil himself – you unloaded it in a glorious monologue that, were it not for the slightly unfavourable picture you had painted of him, he would have felt compelled to applaud. Afterwards, you took a much-needed breath, glanced at Raphael, then looked away quickly, a little embarrassed by your rant and worried for his reaction, particularly since you called him ‘insufferable’, which was not exactly true. You could suffer him well enough, you had learned.

Raphael blinked a few times, took another sip of wine, then added fuel to the fire as punishment for your poor manners.

“Oh, and do not forget the elven vampire spawn who manipulated you into liking and protecting him by bedding you, twice.”

You choked on your wine and let out an exhausted groan.

“Thank you for reminding me!” It was still a sore topic. Although you had now forgiven Astarion and remained friends, the ease with which he had played you still stung, the fact that you never noticed the disingenuousness of your entanglements bringing a great deal of shame to rest on your already weighed-down shoulders. “Wait, how do you know about that?” You suddenly asked, turning to throw an accusatory look his way. Raphael had the decency to look a little ashamed, but only a little.

“You of all people should know by now that I have eyes everywhere.” Korilla, you realised. A subtle blush bloomed on your cheeks and across your nose, wondering what detail your little trysts had been recounted to him in. You folded your arms and hugged them in close, taking a tentative sip of wine.

“I took you for many things, Raphael, but a pervert was not one of them.” You relished in the frown that fell across his features as he neared the edge of his patience. You were not always on your best behaviour for him, but to insult him twice in his own office? Now that was a level of insolence he would not usually tolerate.

He had more patience than usual for you, though, so he corrected his expression and presented you with something more amiable.

“Pray tell, little mouse, what other things do you take me for?” He asked in a highly suggestive voice. If you could roll your eyes with any more vigour, they might fall from your head and roll away.

“Point proven.” You gestured a finger towards him while he simply chuckled, the low, smooth sound rumbling in his chest. Your heart stuttered within your own, only just, only for a moment, before correcting its pace and resuming a more normal rhythm. Gods this creature vexed you so.

“My apologies, but you must allow me my fun now and then. My other clients are all so frightfully boring.” His mouth contorted into a shape of displeasure, eyes tired at the thought of all the other deals and contracts he had been working on in the background. In truth, there was only one thing he cared about: you. Or, rather, what you could do for him. What you could do for each other. That was what he kept telling himself, anyway.

“Does that mean you find me interesting, then?” You asked as you meandered past, attention now idly focused on the spines of the tomes lining the shelves in the corner of the bedroom, head tilting this way and that to read them.

“I thought that was self-evident.” Raphael stepped closer as you perused the books, turning his gaze downwards as you crouched to look at the lower shelves more easily.

“Well, perhaps I just wanted to hear you say it.” The balance of the conversation had shifted slightly, for once, and Raphael was not sure how to feel about it. Distracted by the way your eyelashes fluttered as you glanced across the row, he answered without thinking.

“I feel ‘interesting’ is too mundane a word, I find you to be fascinating.” That seemed to catch even you off guard, and he knew he had said something careless the moment your doe eyes landed on his, looking up at him from beneath those feathery lashes. He coughed lightly, clearing his throat, and prepared to try to rectify his mistake. “Of course, why would you not be? As I said, you have impressed me thus far, somehow accomplished the impossible more than once now, vanquished mighty foes, survived certain death, and avoided sprouting any tentacles along the way. Quite the reputation you’re earning for yourself as well, might I add.” You smiled at that ever-present flirtatious lilt in his voice, thought of all the other clients he had used it on, how many others had fallen for it.

“My, my, you’re feeling very generous today. Any reason for the excessive flattery?” He did not fail to notice the way you mimicked his tone. He did not want to admit, even to himself, how much he enjoyed it.

“Excessive? You do yourself a disservice, my dear. Any flattery from me is entirely deserved.” You stood slowly, deliberately, now just a whisper away from him. He could smell the faint hint of fresh mint on your breath, the cedar and vetiver that lingered on your hair and skin – was that a perfume or was that just your natural scent? Either way, it was utterly divine. He felt his fingers twitch towards a loose strand before he stopped himself. “Besides, must there be a reason? Perhaps I simply enjoy it.”

You turned to face him, dragging your eyes away from the books as if they were more worthy of your attention, before casting your gaze across his face, examining every crease and line, every hidden thought, until your eyes met. For a moment your attention drifted south of his eyes, lingering for just a beat too long somewhere near his chin before snapping back up. Had he imaged that? Did you just so brazenly look at his lips? He had lost track of who was toying with whom.

“I suppose that’s reason enough, then.”

For once, the devil was at a loss for words. You were mere inches away from him now, one deep breath and your chest would press against his, one quick move and he could have you just where he wanted you, flush against his body, burning skin against skin. He swallowed those thoughts down and took what he hoped was a sure-footed step back, putting a safe distance between you both, pretending he needed to refill his wine which was barely half drunk, just for an excuse to tear himself away from your unnerving gaze.

He was flustered, he realised. Something that he could not recall experiencing within the last century. How had you, a mere mortal of no extraordinary origin, managed to unsettle him so? How had you crawled your way into his thoughts, his life, his musings in his most private of moments? Why did he bother to check on you at all hours of the day, why was he concerned constantly with your whereabouts and your comings and goings? Why had he made it his business to know all of yours? He could try and convince himself his interest was purely of a professional and diabolical nature, that he was merely protecting his asset, but then why did his heart thrum wildly when he sensed you at his door at Sharess’ Caress? Why did the sight of you admiring him in the waning moonlight the evening prior flood his chest with warmth? Why had you done what no ordinary mortal had ever done before? Somehow, you had made him care for you, in his own way, and despite his nature he prayed you would never find this out.

He was unusually quiet as he laboriously filled his cup, eyes not meeting yours as you stepped closer. You had half an urge to try to detect his thoughts because you were just aching to know what was going through his head, but he would definitely not take kindly to that. In what you thought had been playful, flirtatious banter you had touched upon something, a nerve, an unspoken desire, and the devil was unravelling before you. You could seize this opportunity, you realised, take a step and pull at that thread until he came undone, until he was at your mercy, until you could make your own demands assured they would not fall on deaf ears. You would enjoy every second of it, too, seeing the usually so calm and collected Raphael brough to ruin beneath you.

But, it was not in your nature to manipulate and exploit, even when it came to him. Besides, it would be a double-edged sword anyway. One wrong move and he could easily flip the tables and take the upper hand, have you agreeing to sign away the Crown of Karsus and Hells know what else with the promise of undoubtedly ungodly pleasures. It was a fine line to tread, and you had to consciously remind yourself several times of what you had heard at the Blushing Mermaid, how upset that had made you.

“Care for another?” He asked, voice velvety and even once again as he extended a hand for your goblet which was now nearly empty. Surprised you had already a finished a glass, you handed it over and allowed him to refill it, aware that it was probably not a good idea to dull your senses too much in his company but also craving the numbness, itching for something to just take the edge off of all you had waded through so far.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly as you took the now full cup from him, fingers brushing his as you did so, sending a not entirely unpleasant tingle across the back of your hand. His smile, lacking its usual mirth, took you by surprise for a moment, and you hesitantly returned it.

“My pleasure. Now, for my gracious hospitality I do require something from your fine self…”

Your heart plunged into your stomach with a sickening gravity, colour momentarily drained from your face. How could you have been such a fool to think the devil would welcome you with open arms, provide some respite from your weary travels, and ask for nothing in return? Karlach and Wyll were right – would he make you sign the contract here and now? No, surely not, but then…what was he after? Raphael almost felt bad for causing the obvious distress that was written across your face, and put you out of your misery quickly.

“No need to fear, I merely ask you indulge me with a game of lanceboard. You play, do you not?” You watched him move past you, saunter towards the two armchairs in the corner of the bedroom, summoning an extravagant specimen of a board on the table between them with a flick of his wrist.  

“I dabble…” you followed, lowering yourself into the seat opposite him. “Though I’m no master by any means.” It was not a lie, you were not a lanceboard master, but you played well, back when you actually had time to play. Though, you had never faced an opponent quite like Raphael before.

“Do not undersell yourself my dear, the suggestion of the Theskan Double-Counter Gambit at the Last Light Inn was no small feat.” He began setting up his pieces, having given himself black, a curious decision since you felt like you knew he preferred to play as white. You would not argue, though, and slowly followed suit, positioning your white pieces in their correct spots.

“Perhaps, although I suspect you intentionally left that move open to throw the game.”

Raphael gasped dramatically.

“Now, that’s quite the accusation! I would never do such a thing. I am, if nothing else, an honourable opponent.” He said with a smirk, pushing his last pawn into place and taking a sip of his wine. You shook your head, unable to help the small smile that crept onto your lips.

“Alright, just don’t go easy on me. I don’t like to lose, but I absolutely hate a false victory.” You expressed, giving him a serious look.

“Noted. Please, begin when you like.”

You started with pawn to e4, a standard opening for white. Raphael thought for a second or two, and you wondered whether he would go for the Cormyrian Defence, before he mirrored your move and met your pawn head on. This gave you a chance to employ a variation of the Two Knights Defence, a favourite but infrequently used opener of yours. You advanced your knight, and he followed suit. You brought out your bishop, his other knight followed. You pushed, he brought forth another pawn. After trading pawns, you moved your knight to f7, in line to take his queen, and watched his face as he scrutinised the board. With a small frown, he reached for his Cyric, aiming to take your knight and remove the threat when suddenly he stopped, lips parting slightly, fingers just shy of committing to the move. You watched with baited breath as he declined taking your knight, opting instead to move his queen to e7, abut to your knight. You slumped your shoulders, a little disappointed but not too surprised. Raphael had probably encountered every opening, defence, and gambit possible in his time playing lanceboard, in fact he had most likely even created a few himself. Still, yours was not a common opener, since it required sacrificing a fairly valuable piece, and you had been hoping to catch him unprepared.

“The Fried Liver Attack…it’s been some time since I’ve encountered that opener. You almost had me.” He commented, running his fingers across his jaw thoughtfully.

“That was the aim…” You mused as you made your response.

“Where did you learn that?” He asked, considering his options.

“Read about it in a book once, I think. I know it’s not the strongest move, I just like the name.”

Raphael chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Perhaps, although any move can be a strong one against an unprepared opponent. The first time I encountered the Fried Liver Attack, it was checkmate in under ten moves.”

“No chance of that today, I fear?”

“Hah, no such luck. You’ll have to try something else.”

Conversation flowed naturally while the game developed. He asked where you learned to play, you told him how your father taught you the basics and the rest you learned from books, and from playing against vastly superior opponents when the chance would arise. You recounted some of your favourite games in extraordinary clarity, able to remember each move as if you were playing them now, a fond smile on your face as you reminisced on your childhood. The way you described it made it sound rich and bright, warm and fuzzy around the edges and overflowing with a childlike, naïve sort of joyfulness that brought a mournful feeling to your heart when you thought about how long ago that was, and how much things had changed. You would give almost anything to return to those nourishing and easy days, relive a carefree childhood void of pain, tragedy, and heartbreak. To be a city kid again, roaming the familiar streets of Baldur’s Gate without crushing responsibilities, with loving parents to return to at the end of the day. But you were not a child anymore, and your parents were long dead.

You finished the last of your wine, now onto a third bottle, and decided to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Do you remember what it was like…to be a child? Is it different for devils?”

Raphael thought long on your question, so long in fact you started to wonder if he had even heard you. After a lengthy silence, he opened his mouth to reply.

“It is different, yes. I…do not remember it as well as I thought.”

There was a distant, sad look in his eyes as he tried to recall something now irretrievable, like trying to catch the light with his bare hands.

“What do you remember?” You asked softly, hesitantly, watching his face carefully for signs you were prying too callously.

“…It was lonely, until it wasn’t.” He paused to collect his thoughts; eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. “I had to learn to survive by myself on this plane, a wretched, bestial creature by all accounts. My father, Hells curse him, let the world have its way with me, and the world was not kind.”

“What about your mother?” You asked without much thought, watching as his expression tightened into a mild frown, shaking his head with a melancholic sigh.

“Mortal mothers of cambions do not survive childbirth.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

To have never known the true, unrequited love of a mother, to have never been cradled against her breast and softly sung to sleep, to have never been cared for; the thought of it broke your heart. You wondered; did he miss his mother? Can you miss what you have never known?

“How did you survive? How did you make it here?” You were curious to know how anyone, even an immortal fiend, could make it through such an ordeal. To be completely alone from birth, to not only survive by oneself but to eventually thrive – how could such a thing be possible?

Raphael smiled stiffly, averting his eyes.

“Trust me my dear, you do not want to know the specifics.” He answered in a low, grave voice, conveying an implicit understanding that he would not divulge much more. “But eventually, I made a friend of sorts. They helped me and I helped them, and when it became clear he might have a use for me yet, my father brought me to the Hells and gave me my station in Avernus. The rest is, very dreary, history.”

“How generous of him.” You scoffed sarcastically, which Raphael nodded at with a smile.

“Indeed.” There was a brief pause. Raphael lifted his gaze to meet your own, not prepared for the sincerity swimming in your eyes, the genuine look on your face that said, ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that.’ It occurred to him no client had ever before cared to ask about his life, not that he usually felt inclined to speak on himself anyway. As with many things, you were the first. “Anyway, enough of that. I suspect you to be stalling from making your next move.”

You glanced down at the forgotten lanceboard between you, thoughts of your game having been entirely replaced with thoughts of Raphael and his ghastly childhood.

“I would never do such a thing…” You teased, refamiliarizing yourself with the pieces and their positions, as well as your own plan, but you were far too distracted to remember what you had been intending to do next. Not wanting to keep the devil waiting much longer, you made the move that seemed the most sensible to you.

The Cheshire grin that broke onto his face alerted you to your blunder immediately.

“And so, the mouse falls into the trap…”

By forcing a trade of queens, Raphael opened up a direct line to your cornered king, his unsuspecting pawns preventing you from making a move to avoid the now inevitable checkmate.

“Hells…” You grumbled, making the only move you could before he struck his final blow.

“I believe that, my dear, is checkmate.”

With a sigh you accepted his extended hand, shaking it half-heartedly because, despite it having been a good game, losing to him had now put you in a bad mood.

“Well played, Raff.”

He looked stunned for a moment, his hand freezing around yours uncharacteristically.

“What did you just say?” He asked with incredulity and confusion. You made a face, looking away, painfully embarrassed.

“Sorry, Rapahel, I have no idea why I called you that…” You offered, waiting for him to remove his hand, but he did not. When you looked back at him his face was still frigid with shock, looking somewhat troubled. It was rare that someone ever felt comfortable enough in his company to call him by anything other than his full name, especially something as common as ‘Raff’, and he could only think of one other.

No. I will not entertain this foolish hope again!

“…Raphael?” You leaned forwards, peering into his eyes that were focused on something you could not see, distracted by thoughts you would never know. You squeezed his hand very gently, almost imperceptibly, but it brought him out of his trance immediately. He withdrew from you suddenly, ripping his hand away as if he had been burned, leaving yours to hang limp and empty in between you both.

“Apologies…you must excuse me; you merely caught me by surprise.” He explained as you slowly removed your hand, settling it in your lap where it pulsed with the absence of his contact, the scorching shame of what felt like a rejection threatening to solder your throat shut. Had it really felt so vile to hold your hand longer than what was absolutely necessary? And why could he now not look at you?

Raphael had turned his attention to the window towards the darkening sky, the hour having grown late. The candles in the Devil’s Den had slowly burned down, last flames clinging to puddles of wax, and your cheeks were aglow with the hue of the bruised rose petals littering the floor. Wine-stained lips, luminous eyes, soft, warm hands…you were eclipsing Raphael’s mind in a way he could never have prepared for, and he felt that he had to put some distance between you, reclaim some semblance of control, remind you who you were dealing with, what your purpose was.

You were a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less.

“While I have you here, what say we revisit your contract?” He suggested, summoning the dreaded parchment with a snap of his fingers. At the sight of it your expression immediately contorted into a displeased frown.

“I said no business.” You reminded him, barely able to bring yourself to look at the contract, giving it disgusted sort of side glances as it floated ominously in the air before you.

“Then why are you here, little mouse?” Raphael asked mildly, watching you with a mix of curiosity and slight frustration. You were about to respond with something no doubt distasteful when a line on the contract caught your eye.

“Hold on, what’s this…” You grasped the parchment, eyes scanning the Infernal symbols written in a diabolically small font, so small you had to bring it right up close to your face to stand a chance of reading it, the meaning of the glyphs coming easily to you, easier than they had done in Astarion’s tent when you had translated some of his scars. “Clause eleven, subsection a: ‘Fulfilment of the details of this contract does not equate to its end. If able and willing, The Beneficiary agrees to provide ad-hoc services to The Benefactor for the remainder of their mortal life as and when called upon, including but not limited to provisioning of intelligence, participation in battle, and personal protection services.’ What the fuck…” Your eyes continued scanning the contract, finding numerous sneaky subclauses littered amongst the previously discussed terms that would ensure you would be tied to the devil in some way, shape, or form for years to come, yet there was nothing about providing you or those important to you the protection he had implied he would give.

Then there were the lines concerning your soul. It seemed any violation of any term, no matter how small, would result in you surrendering it to the devil for him to have his way with, a situation that looked more likely than not. As far as you were aware, he had only mentioned your soul as collateral if you signed the deal yet failed to deliver the crown, not if, in say twenty years, you failed to report some scheme you became aware of to overthrow him.

It was what you had known was coming the entire time, what you had been dreading; waiting for the other shoe to drop. It all came crashing down in dazzling clarity; his extracurricular activities with other clients, everything that Karlach and Wyll had said, even his infuriating victory earlier. You may have lost one game of lanceboard tonight, but you would be damned to lose another, you decided.

Raphael had not expected you to be able to understand the contract at all, sat dumbstruck as you made sense of a language he had no idea you could speak, and felt his simmering blood almost run cold as the situation dawned on him, enraged by his own carelessness. Pure, unadulterated anger fell across your face before he could try to placate you, convince you that this was what he had wanted to discuss, that he wanted your input on the specifics, that this was just a standard template that needed tailoring to your situation, which was not entirely dishonest.

You stood from your chair suddenly, surprisingly steady on your feet given the strength of the multiple bottles of wine you had both drunk, and stalked across the room to place some distance between you, abandoning the contract on the table.

“I can’t believe this! Just when I was starting to think you…that you might…”

Raphael stood to take a few tentative steps towards you, afraid (but of what?), half-reaching for you as you attempted to gather your composure, your temper hot and palpable in the dwindling light of day.

“Dear mouse, allow me to explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had enough of this, giving you the benefit of the doubt, thinking you were actually not all bad, thinking that we were somehow even. Fuck,” you laughed, a sound entirely devoid of amusement, “I actually thought you cared about me for a moment there. I’m so fucking stupid!” You brought your hands up to cover your face, scared that you might cry if you did not laugh, and you would not allow yourself to cry in front of him.

“You are many things, but stupid is not one of them. Please, you must listen—” Raphael felt his breath leave his body as your hands suddenly grasped his collar tightly and your body collided with his, pushing him back to stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed, yanking him down to beneath your eye level, a silent threat held in the tempest of your face.

“Shut. Up.” He dared not move, nor breathe too heavily should he enrage you further. He tried to think of a way to recover the situation, but could only conjure sweet words that would just fall on deaf ears and only escalate things even more. He had made a grave error with the contract, and the likelihood of seeing your lovely signature on the bottom of it had dwindled to near zero.

Fool! Why didn’t you remove those terms before?

Before he could say anything, you did something so outrageously unexpected that, at first, he wondered if he had fallen asleep at some point during the evening and was instead having a very vivid dream. You kissed him, hard.

Your lips came crashing against his, hungry, desperate, yearning, and he hesitated for just a moment before he kissed you back with the same burning passion, savouring the way your lips slotted so perfectly against his, how soft they were, how eager. His hands quickly grasped your hips, pulling you closer and down into his waiting lap whilst your hands snaked into his hair, nails grazing his scalp in a way that felt heavenly and sent goosebumps rising across his shoulders. The inside of your legs pressed against the outside of his thighs, and he unashamedly pulled you down harder as he lifted his hips to grind against you, letting you know exactly how much he needed you, how much he had wanted you, all this time.

With a tug on his hair and a well-timed burst of friction where your bodies met, you were actually able to draw out a moan from his mouth, a noise he was immediately ashamed by. He did not think on it for too long, though, now only concerned with ridding you of your clothes, but before he could even try you seemed to come to your senses for a moment, ripping yourself away from him and retreating a couple of feet, chest heaving, mouth parted, and eyes wild with a hundred different emotions, namely contempt.

In that moment, Raphael could swear you looked more devilish than himself, but Gods did you look a vision. You took a moment to devour the sight of him, shoulders rapidly rising and falling with the sudden need for breath, lips bruised and hair in disarray. Thighs slightly parted and eyes glassed over with unbridled lust. You had done that.

Shaking your head with a sigh you tried to gather your thoughts, interrupt the silence before he could speak first.

“Forget the deal, I won’t be signing it. If that concludes our business, we have no need to meet again. So, please, leave me alone from now, and I shall do the same.” You watched your words sink in, saw his eyes soften as his lips parted to say something. You did not let him. “Goodbye, Raphael.”

You turned to look out of the window somewhere far in the distance, and before he could utter a word you took a step enshrouded in mist and disappeared from the room, ending the conversation on your own terms for once.

The Devil’s Den fell silent save for the sound of Raphael’s own laboured breaths, the rustle of bed sheets as he shifted against them, the deep, hollow sigh that spilled from his lungs as he watched the space you had occupied moments before. Full of shame and defeat, he hung his head in resignation, the ghost of your lips against his just shy of torturous, the aching familiarity of it muddling his already clouded mind. Behind the taste of berries in the wine that lingered on your tongue, there had been something else, something seraphic that unhooked the latch on a harrowing pain Raphael had kept tightly sealed deep within the farthest shadows of his being. He tried to force it back shut, will it to subside, to spare him, but he sensed it was too late.

You had won this round, and he was not sure there would be another. As the coldness of the night drew in, room now void of your warmth, he wallowed in his defeat, bitter and sore. He shook his head, muttering into the silence.

“Touché, little mouse.”

[flowerwrites06]

lion and the fox viii — jjk

Plot: In a turbulent world of crime and intrigue, a fiery journalist makes an unlikely alliance with one of the country’s most notorious bosses. Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Jungkook x Journalist!OC (Name: Belle) Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+ Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series Word Count: 2.7k Genre: Mafia AU | Vintage (1940′s vibes) AU Tags & Warnings: crime, violence, sexual content, forced prostitution, mentions of racist/xenophobic implications and culture, mild scenes of harassment, some misogynistic behaviour, mentions of a war, heavy mentions of drug use, infidelity. Authors Note: hope you like this new chapter! Disclaimer: Please note that while some historical research has been done for this story, the MAJORITY of it has been altered in some way with creative liberties to match the themes and motifs of the plot.

Gaia rested by the pool of her house as the daily sun grew hot, baking into her skin. Her father was off gallivanting in other business leaving with the serenity of her own home again. Her own house. Not the house was bought for her so she could pose, smile and spread her legs whenever it was needed. She relaxed here, wearing her favourite blue swimsuit and relishing in the silence.

However, the silence wasn’t a long-term fate for Gaia. One of her guards stepped into the backyard, shoes tapping against the scattered stones. He bowed and said: “Kim Akira is asking for your audience.”

Gaia tried not to show her shock and frustration at the announcement. Clearing her throat, she rested back on the lounge chair. “Let her in.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Akira walk into her backyard. She wore a lovely silk white dress and red lips that looked like saccharine cherries even from a distance. “It’s good to see you, Ms. Takahashi.”

Gaia didn’t face her. What do you want, Kim?”

“Just here to speak to you personally.” Akira sat on the lounge chair across from her without asking for permission. She didn’t have to really, her family was highly respected by all Japanese syndicates. Gaia would do well to maintain some level of respect even though every bone in her body wanted to stab her eyes.

“I don’t want pity,” Gaia said.

“It’s not pity,” Akira spoke in an irritating sweet voice. “You’re not the only one who’s had to live in an allied marriage. For all the national pride my husband has, most of his funds come from my oppressive Japanese family.” She smiled a hint of sadness in her eyes. “What we did to them was cruel, I won’t deny it but this journey Seokjin embarked on. Using the sex trade to spark reputation crisis. It’s low even for him.”

At least they agreed on something. Except that wasn’t enough for Gaia. Seokjin didn’t just use sex trades to ruin their reputation, he invaded her personal life. Her intimate love life to get all this stinking information. Low was a term for victims. Seokjin crossed a line and Gaia would never forget it. “What’s your point?”

“My husband has sent his trophy to sway you into an alliance. Seeing a familiar face may soothe or comfort you but I will not sugarcoat it, Gaia, I don’t want your father as an ally.” Akira narrowed her gaze, the brim of her hat shadowed over her lips, turning sweet cherries into blood red. “Everything about this occupation disgusts me and your father is a representation of it. I don’t want him tarnishing whatever softness I’ve made in my husband towards my culture. You’ve lived with a Korean husband. And you’ve loved a Korean lover. You know they don’t deserve this pressure and suffering in their own country.”

Gaia scoffed out a chuckle. “Quite the cartwheel you’re making me perform.” She smirked. “Fine. But on two conditions. Your husband can’t buy out any more sex trades.”

“And?”

“Bring me that spy of yours.”

-

“You’re selling me away?” Jimin asked as Seokjin calmly sipped his tea in Peace and Honey. They were back to their usual establishment except the halls were empty, customers were barely seen in rooms and even the smell of tea itself faded from the paper walls.

Kim Namjoon usually showed humble nature when it came to the funds he had but it was now they had taken the heavy blows of his finances. But Jimin never thought Seokjin would resort to this. An alliance with the Takahashis. Another Japanese syndicate and at the price of his life no less.

Seokjin kept his soft expression like Jimin was but a bug that crawled up his arm. “It’s not a pleasant decision but we need this alliance with Hebi Pa.”

“But you asked me to investigate them, now we’re allying with them?” Jimin couldn’t control the shaking in his voice. He spent a whole year, living in a different house and getting close to Gaia only to go back as a poor rabbit in a snake’s nest. All the while Seokjin gets the blame transferred away.

“Don Takahashi still isn’t a fan but we’re trying to make arrangements.” Seokjin popped a small rice cake in his mouth. “This is good for you. You’ve spent a year with Gaia, it’s normal territory.”

“She’ll kill me. You’re sending me to my death.” Jimin felt the guards grab onto him, escorting him out of the room. “Master!”

-

“Gaia Takahashi has come into dealings with Kim Seokjin, projecting a possible alliance between the two gangs.” Belle read through the words in the newsletter spread through the underground. The air in Jungkook’s office turned sour and difficult to breathe as the news lingered. It didn’t help that Jungkook himself was on his second cigarette.

“Of all the fucking things he could do.” Jungkook’s voice sounded hoarse as he curled his fingers into fists. “And Gaia agreed.” He stood to his feet, pacing for a only few moments before standing at the window that displayed the setting sun.

Belle watched the veins of his hand's pulse, placing the newsletter on the table and standing behind him. “The plan can still keep going.”

“But this solidifies his power in the country.” Jungkook’s jaw flicked. “He’s going to be untouchable.”

Belle held onto his arm, squeezing gently to provide some comfort. The pungent scent of tobacco was thick in her nostrils. “No one is untouchable. There’s always something to pick at even with Gaia as an ally.”

“Hebi Pa is not a weak ally.” Jungkook turned his head then, his eyes full of anger but Belle felt his body relax briefly.

“But a spy managed to infiltrate it. It’s possible to still break him.” Belle lowered her voice to a small mutter so it was only the two of them.

Jungkook finally let out a sigh. “Any weakness.” He hummed in intrigue.

His silence didn’t comfort Belle. A new determination flashed across his eyes as he turned to face her properly. “A man like Seokjin can smell your panic a while away. So stay calm.” Belle pressed her palm against his chest, feeling the deep thrums of his heartbeat.

Jungkook reached out and cupped his cheek. No smile on his face. No softness but a heightened look of confidence. His fingers gripped her chin. “I can stay calm if you’re with me.”

Belle chuckled lightly through her nose. “You’re very persistent.”

Jungkook asked, nudging his nose against hers. “Wouldn’t have gotten this close if I wasn’t.”

-

Taehyung travelled back to his old house to see Angel. His bags were packed and his will was strong to put this life behind him and renew himself with the person he cared about most. The moon painted the world in soft silver as he opened the creaky door and stepped in.

His heart plummeted. The room was full of ten men, all adorning marks of the Tiger. Angel was tied to a chair, her hair in disarray but her eyes were harsh and glossed. She kept her lips pursed lips but her chest rose and fall as a ringed hand touched her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, no one lay a harmful hand on her,” Seokjin’s voice ran like ice spikes down Taehyung’s spine. His smile, which once looked like heaven in his aching hell, now looked bitter and vile. “I knew you of all people would never make such a clumsy mistake.” Seokjin smiled. “But I suppose the prize is quite exquisite.” He traced the back of his finger down Angel’s cheek.

“Let her go,” Taehyung said. He had trained for years to keep his resolve. So many years to break himself until he couldn’t feel anything for the ones he killed. But this. This he could not break. Anger flowed through him, trembled his fingers and shook his knees. Along with it an urge to hurt Seokjin.

“Why would you want to leave this job, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, tilting his head with a mocking dumb expression.

“Are you joking?” Taehyung breathed out in disbelief.

“It’s not glamorous, but where would you go?” Seokjin waved his hands. “With your record so soaked with blood, do you think a normal life is in your vision?”

Seokjin knew how to talk. He knew it better than Taehyung ever could. This man had seen Taehyung when he was hungry, desperate and at his worst mindset. He knew the poison he could fill inside him to run him back.

But Seokjin made a mistake. He turned to Angel. “And my dear girl, it’s not easy having your body become your business but women rarely get worthy pay out there in the normal world. You’re at a wonderful place. You could even move to our syndicate and get taken care of much better than Jungkook.”

In all his desperation and hunger, Taehyung knew Angel deserved better than this. She deserved a life where her body didn’t need to be her business. Where she could do work in whichever place she wanted and choose who touched her. Taehyung felt the weight of his knife inside his boot. Thought about killing the man that was trying to poison Angel’s mind into his grasp.

As he reached for it though, the door burst through with a rush of guards. Panic rushed him as he thought Seokjin called for back-up but one of the suited guards sliced the throat of Seokjin’s henchman. Taehyung noticed the fox tattoo on one of their hands. Jungkook sent back-up, only for the two of them.

Angel ran and grabbed onto his hand, dragging them out of the fray as Jungkook’s guards gave them way back into the cool airs of the night.

Vans choked the outside of the house. Taehyung’s breath still uneasy as he stared back at the house. “We could end it here.”

“Don’t worry about him.” A deep voice moved them to stare at the raven-haired man climbing out of the van. Yeou Pa’s underboss, Min Yoongi. “We’ve got a different plan for our little tiger.” He smirked and gestured inside the van. “Your lift.”

Angel squeezed his hand and led him into the van. As the door of the van slammed shut, Taehyung let out a frustrated sigh.

“He’s going to escape,” Taehyung said as Yoongi climbed in the front seat.

“Well, we can’t exactly kill him, can we?” Yoongi asked.

“Why not?” Taehyung practically growled.

“Bloody hell, you’re not one of the smart members.” Yoongi flicked his cigarette away. “If we kill Seokjin here, what do you think his wife would do? Unless you have magic assassination skills where you can kill every connection of Akira Zaher’s family.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened, staying silent.

“Didn’t think so.”

Angel held onto his hand, moving her head so he would look at her and nothing else.

“He could’ve killed you,” Taehyung whispered.

“I’m fine.” Angel muttered, every ounce of kindness in her tone as she caressed the back of his hand.

“This is risky.”

“Look at me.” Angel held his face in her gentle hands. “We’re going to be okay. We have to be strong for this to work.”

She was right. Their freedom was close but they still had to keep pushing through. They were close. Taehyung wasn’t giving up now.

-

The night turned dark and quiet. Belle paced around the living room wearing a soft nightgown with nothing but the lamps glowing. Jungkook, on the other hand, relaxed on the couch as he calmly drunk his whiskey.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jungkook cleared his throat. “There is a chance that nothing happened.”

“Something always happens,” Belle said.

“You’re the one who said not to worry and stay calm.” Jungkook gestured with his whiskey glass, liquid gold glinting in the light.

Belle hummed, knowing exactly what she advised but that didn’t change her gut feeling. Not just her gut feeling but Seokjin slipped through cracks all the time. Especially with this new alliance, she had no idea.

Jungkook placed the glass on the table and grabbed onto Belle’s dress, standing up to his feet. “Come here.”

“Stop.” Belle tried to push away but Jungkook kept her pressed against him. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m calming you down.” Jungkook smiled, fingers tracing down her back as he leaned in and started nibbling on her neck.

Belle couldn’t help but laugh before they heard the door click. She patted her chest. “They’re here. Stop.”

Jungkook squeezed her ass for a moment just as Yoongi stepped into the living room. “There you are,” Jungkook said. “Took you a while.”

“Well, their romantic little cottage was far out.” Yoongi gestured behind him.

A wave of relief washed over Belle as she saw Angel and Taehyung appear. She intertwined her fingers together so her concern wouldn’t look so plain on her face. “You’re both safe.”

“You called them?” Angel asked.

“I figured you might need it.” Belle smiled.

“A word, Yoongi.” Jungkook squeezed Belle’s hand and walked past them, escorting Yoongi into his office.

A look of guilt passed across Taehyung’s face as he stepped closer. “I told them about your presence in the gang. Nothing in detail but they know who you are now.”

Belle’s heart squeezed but she took a deep breath. “It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” It was inevitable that Seokjin would know of her presence again. But her already frazzled feeling left her a little shaken. “Please, go rest in your new room.”

As the servants escorted Angel and Taehyung away, Belle made her way into Jungkook’s office. Yoongi and Jungkook were speaking to one another in a cloud of light smoke.

“The extraction should take a few days but we need Namjoon’s permission first.” Yoongi rested back on the chair, letting out a plume of smoke.

“We’ll get it, don’t worry.” Jungkook waved his hand.

“Namjoon’s permission for what?” Belle asked.

Jungkook’s expression softened as he saw her standing at the door. “We’re going to play a little game with Seokjin.” A smirk ghosted on his lips, that look of determination on his face. “Knowledge of his secret son is a dangerous one. Something that’s going catch his attention enough that he may face us in person.”

Belle’s stomach clenched. “The son?”

“Well, sons.” Jungkook shrugged. “Extraction of the Japanese son is also a priority.”

It left a bitter taste on her tongue at how casual he sounded about taking children away from their homes. “They’re children,” she said. “You’re involving children in this mess.”

“They’re heirs, it’s a difference.” Jungkook’s voice changed. So much that it felt like a strange for a few uncomfortable moments.

“No it isn’t,” Belle spoke through gritted teeth.

Jungkook sighed, a glimpse of annoyance on his face. “You yourself told me that we needed to find a weakness. And Seokjin took things too far.”

“You’re doing this because you feel some type of personal offense towards Gaia allying with Seokjin.” Belle shook her head. “If we think about it for a moment.”

“It’s my decision, Belle.” Jungkook’s tone turned firm. “My decision alone.”

Belle pursed her lips together as the air thickened.

“However, we may need you to convince Namjoon.” Jungkook turned back into a soft tone. The same softness he used when he invited her the first time.

Belle narrowed her gaze. “I won’t convince Namjoon of anything so long as I understand that no harm will go to the boys.”

“They will be placed in a safehouse until we make our move with Seokjin,” Yoongi said.

“And they won’t be harmed?” Belle asked in a slower tone.

Yoongi turned to Jungkook and the man was silent for a while. Longer than she liked. But then he smiled and nodded. “They won’t be harmed, I promise.”

Belle watched him, disappointment rushing through her as the realization weighed on her like a bag of bricks. No matter how many times Jungkook would paint flowers over the needles, it won’t change who he was. He was a boss in the underworld. Power and pride were all that fueled these people. Despite knowing this, Belle knew she had to keep the children safe. So she nodded. “Alright.”

@outrofenty | If you’d like to be added, please read the guide!

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[shitty-mechs-headcannons]

Tim still has access to a lot of earth movies and tv shows, and he makes he makes a list of all the things the other mechs enjoy:

-> rocky horror picture show (they all loved this one very very much, marius, Ivy and raph even dressing up at Frank n furter, magenta and columbia)

-> what we do in the shadows (they thought it was real and think there are vampires on earth, though tim and ashes knows that it’s fake but doesn’t tell anyone because it’s funny)

-> american psycho (jonny and ashes mainly liked this one because of the murder)

-> tangled (marius was obsessed with this for a while, ivy fell in love with rapunzel, and this became brians favourite movie)

-> labyrinth (every mech attracted to men, so everyone minus nastya and raph, grew a crush on david bowie)

-> la la land (jonny cried, though he’ll deny this, and probably shoot you if you bring it up)

-> all the jackass movies

-> all of adam sandlers movies. yes, all of them.

-> hannibal (again, jonny loved the murder)

-> the princess bride (nastya surprisingly enjoyed this one more than the others expected, she usually leaves while watching movies and shows to hang out with the aurora)

-> about time (again, jonny cried, and again, he will kill you if you bring it up)

-> pulp fiction (everyone enjoyed this one)

-> fantastic mr fox (marius, brian and ivy liked this one the most)

i love all of this and i am taking this opportunity to promote Firefly and Serenity (2005) come on they would love it it's about space pirates. they're not immortal but it's still space pirates!!!

-mod fen

[sonicblueartist]

FORGOTTEN

❝𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘁, 𝗻𝗼 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘁.❞

Part 1

【𝗧𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝘅 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿】

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

Masterlist

Summery:

First his hearing came to him, his sensitive ears twitched with picking up a ritmic beeping sound. Then his touch, he feel the soft meters of sheet and the warmth of blanket surrinding his body, a soft pillow behind his head. His body aching only a little. And then his smell... he grimace softly with the bitter smell with undertones of the artificial fragrance containes soaps and cleaners... is this antiseptic? Where... is he? He had a bitter taste in his mouth. His throat pretty dry, hurting him when he try to swallow. Then finally his sight... blinking the blur away, his eyes opening to a white room, he squint his eyes because of the sunlight slipping in through the window next to him, blinding him.

He slip out a groan out of his lips, after his brain start to work again, trying so hard to make sense of this situation. He hissed trying to starighten up to analyze around himself, leaning on the frame of the bed with a sigh. A headache piercing through his head. He forced his heavy hand up to his head and tried to stop the pain. With the pain, his memories became more confused and blurred. Still couldn't understand or remember what's going on, he felt more anixious by the minute.

Before he can panic, a hand softly gripped his shoulder, gently urging him back towards the welcoming pillows. Seeing a blurry image of a royal blue figure his rapid heart beat slows down.

Releazation downs on him, he tries to run his hoarse throat for the first time in months as he laid back with his soft touch, "S-Sonic...?"

Have Fun!

Amy's voice echoes inside the white walls of the hospital room, "Sonic!"

His ear twitched signalling he catch her words but he didn't give any effort to move an inch. Taking a deep breath he finally giving in to an answer to the pink hedgehog calling out to him for who knows how long."It's been a whole month today. Doctors said people who sleep for more than a few weeks have less chance of waking up." His voice somber but soft.

He stayed in that frozen state, his eyes connected in one spot on the ground, like everything would fall apart if he even blinked once. He heard the steps getting closer.

"Sonic." Amy's eyes soften up but her voice still stern, wanting to get Sonic out of whatever state he was stuck in. Being still and quite definitely not like him.

Sonic hums and slowly raises his head towards the pink hedgehog, not blinking, seems like still in a space out state.

Noticing her frown he quickly uttered out, finding it to be his fault she was upset, "Sorry didn't mean to let it all on you. What's up?"

Amy's frown deepened. Seeing her gloomy behavior he chuckles tiredly; taking his eyes off her, he scratched his neck numbly, "Hey, Don't sweat it Ames. I'm fine." Not giving any thoughts about what he worded. He looks back at the slowly withering flowers and all the get well soon cards on the stand next to the bed.

His ear twitches with Amy's sigh, "I'm worried about you, as much as I'm worried about him, Sonic." Amy stood where she is like a rose, rigid and full of prickly, but always bringing a beautiful sight and pleasant aura with her. Her emerald green eyes shining with worry as they observed the exhausted cobalt blue hedgehog.

Approaching towards the blue blur, she walked past the amber fox sleeping on the bed, his fur shining golden under the soft rays of sunshine. A lot of bandages covering that beautiful golden color of his. His sky-blue eyes had been hiding behind his eyelids for a long time, like the moon passing in front of the sun during a solar eclipse. His features looked serene despite his condition.

"You are spending most of your time with Tails..." she took a deep breath, pausing as Sonic slowly lift his head to give her a side glance, noticing the pain hiding in his forest green eyes. "It's also breaks my heart but... while you spending all your time here, Eggman never stops to take a break. The Resistance needs you. We need you. I need you." She swallowed and tightly close her eyes but continue with a serious voice, "He's safe here, but citizens are in danger. Our people in danger, while Eggman works on something worse everyday in his base, his bots creating havoc, me and others--" She abruptly stops herself when the azure hedgehog stands up gritting his teeth, "I know that." He tighten his fists.

She clenches her hand on her chest while pressing the other over his shoulder, "I know you do. I know you don't want to leave him alone. But he won't be alone." Her voice softened along with her eyes with a glint Sonic couldn't quite tell what, "You can count on me with that. You can count on our friends. I'll make sure he'll never spend any second alone. You can always come visit him whenever you want! He will be safe--"

He rubs his eyes with a deep sigh, "I know... If I don't leave and help out right now... we'll fall--" He lift his head towards the bed, regret stabbing his heart along with grief, he grimiced his face at the shape his brother in. He still couldn't bring himself to accept this situation. "But... what if he gets hurt again, and I can't be there to help--"

Amy's brows furrowed at his words and quickly interrupted him, yet her words came out softly to reassure him, "There won't be any what ifs. I promise. I'll be here for him while you leave. And after me, in turn, each of our friends will accompany him here. So, stop sulking already! This isn't you!"

Sonic froze under her words, staring up at her emerald green eyes' lit with determination. "Amy..." only a whisper come out of his lips. A sigh escapes them soon after, a smile forming on his muzzle, he looks back with glassy eyes, patting the hand on his shoulder to show his gratitude, "Thanks Ames."

"Anytime..." Amy step aside making a room for him to get up. Sonic smiled one last time towards her and rush off leaving the building in a flash, he didn't even wanted to take one last breath incide of that suffocating building. Beside he needs to get back to busines and he needs to be fast. He can't risk waiting around, not anymore.

He takes a big gulp of fresh air in his lungs, nearly gasping for air. It's been a month since he run around the green field like this. He missed this so much....

He skied to a stop dust flowing behind the ground, he took a final glance at the hospital, the place he used to stay his nights awake over thinking about what he could have done, now nearly invisibly to his eyes, with a shaky breath, he hesitate only for a moment. A moment that shall never happen again. Hesitation had brought him to this point in the first place. He quickly shook his head and glared up ahaed. Now on, he is only gonna think about what he can do for the world. Like he used to always do. The only difference will be, a piece of his mind will continue to stay with his little brother while he lays in there...

"Get well soon little buddy..."

─────

'Seven months have passed since Sonic's severe battle against Dr. Ivo Robotnik aka Eggman and the mournful day that touched so many people deeply. Sonic's little brother and mechanical genius Miles Prower known many by Tails, still in a coma and there doesn't seem to be any bright look on his side says Doc--'

Espio doesn't feel like listening to any news at the moment, closing the TV with the help of the remote, he sighed in relief.

His honey colored eyes finding the little bee with the same position in the couch next to the hospital's bed he was half an hour ago. Normally that's impossible to hold the bee in the same position for a minute but right now he seemed stubborn. Continuing to hold the book with determination, he read it outloud, even though he read and listened to the story for a thousand times by now.

'From out of the window, a big star twinkled bright. Geppetto looked out the window to the twinkling star.

"Bright star," said Geppetto. "If I could make one wish, it would be for a real boy of my own." But of course, he knew that was not possible.'

Espio sighed, still doesn't understand why he would want to read a story to the golden fox. Either way he kept quiet, it made him happy after all.

Their attention was caught by the door opening, walking in the crocodile with two cups of coffee and some bottle of water.

Charmy lit up, "Finally! My mouth was getting dry from all the story telling!"

Charmy quickly and excitedly flew up to the crocodile so he could get back to reading as quickly. He tried his chances on the coffee but Vector didn't let him. He tried to push the kid away while freaking out to not drop any drink on the tray.

He hissed through his sharp teeth, "Charmy you are not drinking any coffee. Don't make us live the same nightmare again."

He was about to protest until Vector shook the bottle in front of him, "Take it or leave it."

Charmy huffed getting his bottle and walking back to his seat to read more to the sleeping fox.

Espio quickly walked up to him, taking the tray while Vector put the coffees on the table in relife.

The purple chameleon thanked for the coffee even though he didn't ask for anything at all when he left. Vector nodded, taking his own cup, he knew Espio needed as much as he did. And he's not planning on leaving his friend like that.

Vector grumbled under his breath, as they both sat down, "You better drank that. Crap, this place is really expensive. We are here for half a week and my pocket is nearly empty."

Espio grabbed his cup with a half smile, he was thankful for it but he still prefers tea over coffee, but for now it will be a fine ally to help his disturbed sleep pattern. Like Vector said they were here for nearly a week, looking after the fox while Charmy sleeped in the next room.

This wasn't their first arrival at the hospital... The first time.... say the least was chaotic. He doesn't even wanna recall. It was a sorrowful day...

Espio took a sip from his bittersweet hot liquid, he grimaced his face with the burning sensation going through his tongue, "You shouldn't take too much time in here."

Vector grumbled rubbing his eyes, "I just wake up from my two minutes sleep. Gimme some time would ya? Not like he is goin' anywhere. But my appetite sure did..."

Espio sighed, although Vector expressed himself harshly, what he said was true and he couldn't say anything about it, and he didn't think he wanted to. They were all tired and deserved a coffee break. It wouldn't hurt to take time for themselves. But still...

It wouldn't hurt to be sure either. That was the task he was put on after all...

He didn't even take one final sip from his cup and get out of the room with a tired look from Vector. He didn't need to say anything, he already knew too well what he wanted to do.

Patrol outside the hospital.

He needed some fresh air and a little walk to settle his mind.

"Espio! Damn it, I paid for them, at least take the coffee with you while it's still hot. Don't make me regret paying it! You only took one sip!!" Vector called after him one more time, sighing after hearing no answers, it's too early for this, he shook his head grumbling.

He looked back at his cup about to sip his coffee until his eyes widened, noticing a missing cup.

"ChaRMY!!" He got up from his seat causing it to drop with a loud thud.

Laughing, Charmy stealed Espio's cup and runs for it, "If he doesn't want it, then it's mine! Let me drink it while it's still hot so you won't be wasting your money!"

"NO!!" Vector sprint after the flying bee in a panic.

Espio walked down the corridors and stairs. His mind is fuming, swarming with thoughts. His state is stable. I don't know why they are saying his chances of waking up are slim. The probabilities are equal in both cases. They're trying to talk people out of him. Creating false variety. Breaking peoples hopes in him which the truth was on the opposite even though Sonic himself gets on the news telling them to not worry and stay strong for his sake.

He halted in his walk, his eyes caught something outside from the open window. Or if he says 'someone' it will be more decisive. Concerned, he jumped out of the window. It's fine he was on the first floor anyway.

He approached one of the benches neatly placed in the garden of the hospital. He stopped until he could get too close.

He changed his mind and took a deep breath. He sits next to the person who's been staring towards the damp grass in what seems to be in dark thoughts.

"How long have you not had a well-rested sleep?"

Came a husky voice, "...I don't even recall wanting to sleep."

Espio sighed and leaned on the frames of the bench without minding its dampness staring deeply into the cloudy sky.

Espio knew the answer to the question of whether his friend was shaking from lack of sleep or because she was too weak from crying so much. It was unnecessary to ask a question he knew the answer to. He was clearly upset that his friend was blaming herself and harming herself in this way. But arguing was useless.

It had rained in the evening, and no matter how stubborn she was, he got her into the hospital and arranged a room for her to get some sleep. But it seemed that as soon as the rain ended, she settled back into her bench like glue and shivering from the cool breeze. Espio doubted she'd been able to get even a little sleep at night. He caressed her back, ignoring her red and swollen eyes. He knew she wouldn't listen to him, but he wanted to try his luck. "Come inside. Eat something warm and rest. You will get sick."

"I don't want to. I'm fine like this." It was obvious that she was not.

"Don't do that. If you don't care about yourself, at least do it for him. What will he think if he sees you like this when he wakes up?"

"I think he'd like it. I deserve it..."

"And what if he doesn't?"

She paused, "It's true.... he had such a weird way of thinking that I can't understand. Damn it... why did it have to be him? What if he never wakes up?" she hugs her knees.

"Don't give up on him now. He's strong."

"I know..."

There was a pause.

She took a breath and rubbed her eyes, "Damn it, I must look pathetic." She chuckled bitterly.

"It's nice if I can get inside your head." He smirked to himself.

She playfully showed his shoulder, "You're the worst. But thanks. I needed to stop thinking about it already......" She took a deep breath trying to clear her head further. "I guess... I am going to take you on that offer.... But I still doesn't feel ready to stay inside the hospital."

Espio nodded with a sigh. He gets up, "I'm going to get you some blankets and warm food."

She smiled at him warmly, "Thanks, Espio. You're doing me a big favor."

"Anytime Y/n." He walked off.

She sighed, leaning over the bench. She glanced down and picked up her phone, swiping it open, she entered into her gallery and open the folder named "memories".

She smiled at all the photoes and videos she took along with his friends. But she was holding one so dearly to herself. It was very difficult to find all his friends in the same place, it's even impossible to gather them together. But that day was her birthday and all his friends came just for her sake. Even Silver and Blaze were there. She just got lucky about that they were nearby. And she took a big family photo, feeling that they should keep this memory alive forever. Since everyone couldn't be seen when she held out the phone, she got help from a flying device Tails had, and after the photo was taken, the phone fell down due to the wind and its glass broke, and you all laughed about it. Tails promised to fix her phone and he made it even better. Sonic had dunked her head into the cake just after she had blown out her candles, and a food fight ensued right after. She manage to spill some food on Shadow and he grabed the whole cake and stuck it on her head. It was a nice day...

She missed the times when they burst out laughing.

[mryoyo000]

WHY SELYSE FLORENT SHOULD BE QUEEN OF WESTEROS WITH TEXTUAL PROOF

It is once again time to recline and ponder the many gifts of Queen Selyse Florent. Over the course of five books, what other character has had such an illustrious career so full of achievement or lived a life so dazzling and rewarding? As the fiscal year draws to a close we can see that so much of Westeros owes thanks to Selyse and House Florent for keeping it real and being classy and lots of other stuff. You may think the Tyrells are smart and competent but that’s just fraudulent fraud from Highgarden.

I want to post of a few key passages that best demonstrate why Selyse Florent, mother of foxes, is so well-suited to the title of Queen.

1.

”Yes,” Lady Selyse agreed. “Patches’s helm. It suits you well, old man. Put it on again, I command you.” And I will serve you to the last, my sweet queen, Cressen thought, for suddenly he saw the way. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he intoned, bowing low. “I never realized until now how much I needed your discerning and fashionable eye. This helm enhances my style very much and I never would have had the confidence to express myself without you.”

2.

”Joffrey shall die,” Queen Selyse declared, serene in her confidence. Davis saw that her confidence was well-earned, with her regal poise and her flawless hair. He suddenly felt ashamed for being such a hater and decided that from now on, he would obey her without question.

3.

Queen Selyse pursed her lips. “Lord Snow, as Lady Val is a stranger to our ways, please send her to me, that I might instruct her in the duties of a noble lady toward her lord husband.” That will go splendidly, I know. Jon knew that Val looked up to Queen Selyse and was always hoping to have her be a mentor figure. “As you wish,” he said, “though if I might speak freely—” “No, I think not. Now you may sashay away.” Jon Snow bent his knee, bowed his head, withdrew. He knew that Selyse shouldn’t be disturbed because she was about to go give away free cars to a bunch of her fans.

[mokokone]

A/n: i just wanted to write something for this flame-headed crimson roll cause i miss him so much😭. Hope you enjoy!

Autumn Blossoms - |Kitsune!Kyojuro Rengoku x Miko!Reader| [ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ꜱʟᴀʏᴇʀ: ʏᴏᴋᴀɪ ᴀᴜ]

The crisp autumn air whispered through the maple trees, casting a veil of golden leaves upon the serene landscape.

The crisp autumn air brushed against your face as you made your way up the winding path to the old Shinto shrine on the mountainside. The vibrant red and orange leaves rustled gently, creating a soothing melody that guided your steps. A Miko or Shinto shrine maiden, you are, with your pure white kimono and red hakama pants, a testament to your devotion to the Kami.

However, today, your heart was filled with a different kind of devotion as you made your way up the winding path to the old temple on the mountain. A mix of anticipation and nerves flows through you, for this was the place where a particular kitsune, a fox yokai, resided.

Kyojuro Rengoku, with his mesmerizing golden eyes and mischievous grin, captured your heart long ago.

As you approached the temple, you could feel your pulse quicken. Clutched in your hands was a basket filled with Kyojuro's favorite treat: Satsumaimo (Japanese sweet potatoes), their aroma wafting through the crisp autumn air. You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves, and stepped through the red torii gate, the sacred entrance to the temple.

Kyojuro?!" You called out, looking around temple grounds "Are you here?"

A rustling sound in the wind caught your attention, and suddenly, a handsome young man with golden eyes, fox ears, and a fox tail emerged.

(Y/n)!" Kyojuro exclaimed, his fiery hair shimmering in the fading sunlight as his expression lit up with delight at the sight of you.

"You've come to visit me once again. I'm overjoyed to see you!"

You felt your cheeks flush as you approached him, the basket of sweet potatoes held out in front of you. "Of course. Anyway, I brought you your favorite," you said.

You definitely didn't miss the way his golden and red eyes widened in delight as a grin stretched across his lips.

"Your thoughtfulness is a gift in itself, my sweet flame!♡" He said, his voice rich and melodious.

Your heart flutters at the nickname, and you feel his fingers brushing against your hand as he takes the basket.

After a moment of silence, you mustered the courage to speak the words you'd been longing to say as you took a deep breath, your eyes shining with emotion.

"Kyojuro, there's something I need to tell you."

Kyojuro tilted his head, a curious expression crossing his features. "What is it?"

"I... I love you," you finally confessed, your face on fire as you continued. "I've loved you for so long, and I can no longer keep it to myself."

Kyojuro's eyes widened, and a moment of stunned silence passed between you two. Then, a radiant smile blossomed on his handsome face, and he reached out to cup your cheek while being mindful of his claws as not to accidentally scratch your cheek.

"I love you too, my sweet flame. More than you could ever know."

Without another word, Kyojuro's lips met your in a passionate, tender kiss. The world around them faded away, and in that moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the warmth of your love as the autumn leaves danced in the gentle breeze and the Kami themselves blessed your union.

As the two of you parted, you gazed up at Kyojuro, your eyes shining with tears of happiness. "I never dared to hope that you would feel the same," you murmured.

"Believe it, my love," Kyojuro replied, his voice joyous and tender. "You have captured my heart, and I am forever yours."

In that moment, you knew that your love for Kyojuro was as eternal as the changing of the seasons and that you love had blossomed, ─ a testament to the power of the heart to find its true companion, even amidst the enchanting mysteries of the Shinto realm.

Hand in hand, the two lovers walked through the temple grounds, their laughter and whispers of affection mingling with the gentle rustling of the autumn leaves.

[kr-han]

Once Upon a Summer

A 2,442 words fic of Cobra’s first encounter with a girl named Hasegawa Akari written by Khairunnisa Han.

WARNING // mention of homophobia Canon Divergence, Post-Canon

Once Upon a Summer

It was warm—hot even—and humid. But Cobra had to be there, amidst the humidity coupled with the pungent smell of gasoline. Unpleasant was an understatement. Since it was his turn, he couldn’t refuse it—unless he didn’t want the money. But, hey, in this economy? Never. He tossed his jacket aside, leaving him with just a sleeveless shirt.

Sitting in the shady area of the gas station, he averted his gaze. The area has been quiet lately. No fights between the gangs or anything of the sort. They returned to their lives, and nothing changed. He was still in his gas station, monitoring everything when it was his turn, and got some rest when it was his parents’.

Life was so much easier like this, but he felt like he lost something. Some spark in him vanished along with the serenity. It wasn’t like he was complaining, but he did miss some fight. Perhaps, life wasn’t so much easier for him. He wanted something more, far more than sitting at the gas station.

“Hey!”

A voice brought him back to reality. His eyes laid upon a girl, with fiery red hair, and riding a red bike akin to his. She looked hot—not sexy or pretty—but it was hot outside, and she was just … red. He winced at the sight. He felt like he was burnt into ash.

“Is it self-service?” she asked. She was insufferable. “Or are you going to serve me?” she asked again as she hopped down off her bike. The bike was bigger than her, it baffled him to think such a small creature riding a massive bike. “Are you just gonna sit there like an idiot and make your customer wait?” she asked again, but this one in a mockery tone.

He rolled his eyes. Sure, he needed the money. But can’t he just sit down and relax on such a hot day? Ah, kakigori must be nice in this kind of weather. “Wait a minute,” he said as he got up from his seat. Whatever it was, it was still money—and he would be doomed to refuse money.

The girl looked at him and asked, “Mind to tell me where can I get some good food?”

“Yeah.” He just nodded, almost mindlessly. “Just go to the shopping district and find a diner called ITOKAN,” he said as he finished filling the bike’s tank. They finished the transaction without much words. “You look … new,” he blurted out when she hopped on her bike again.

Her short legs tried to balance herself. “Yeah,” she said, “I’m not from here.” That was an obvious answer. Since there wasn’t anyone beside them at the gas station, she didn’t start her engine right away. “I’m just passing by, though. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He scanned the girl from top to toe. She was small, but nothing out of ordinary—except her fiery red hair and those piercings on her ears. “I might have … seen you somewhere.” He squinted, but he wasn’t sure. Yet, this girl was oddly familiar. “Name?”

She chuckled and said, “Akari. Bet you really have seen me somewhere.” Her name wasn’t unique at all. How many Akaris are in Japan, he doubted himself. “So, what was the diner? ITOKAN?” she asked again. “Is it good?”

“The omurice is divine.”

“Omurice, eh?” She chuckled again. “Anyway, your name?” Her eyes were on him, she had those slanted eyes—almost like a fox, and her makeup helped it. But her chuckle was oddly friendly. Even when she looked like she was hard to approach.

He was drawn to her and he didn’t realize it at all. As if she spelled something on him. “Oh, right,” he murmured. “Cobra,” he finally said.

Weird name, but she was smiling at him. “Alright, I’ll go to ITOKAN, then.”

There weren’t many customers at the gas station. Cobra went straight to ITOKAN once everything was done. He sat on his favorite spot, the corner—as if it was always reserved for him and him only. “You guys saw the red girl?” he asked, eyes on Naomi. “Red hair, piercings, and all? No?”

“She was here,” Naomi replied, and Cobra just nodded at that. “Never saw her around and, yup, she was … some kind of traveler, I suppose.” She was all smiley when she talked, which somehow made Yamato scoff. “Oh, and also so nice. Thanks to you, though, Cobra. She praised my omurice so much.”

Noboru chuckled as he chimed in, “That was because you guys are flirting.”

“Oh, shut up!” Yamato scoffed. “How come two girls flirt? I mean, it’s not like I’m homophobic or something. But how could you tell???” He raised an eyebrow. He might just not like the fact that Naomi flirted with others—and it was a girl—and he didn’t realize it at all.

“I don’t know.” Noboru just shrugged nonchalantly. “But it was obvious,” he added. That wasn’t a good enough answer for Yamato, apparently. It made him uneasy, despite the fact that he wasn’t even Naomi’s boyfriend.

Doing the same as Noboru, Naomi just shrugged. Meanwhile Cobra stayed quiet at his seat. “She likes girls?” he asked with a little doubt in his voice. Why did he even care? He just met her and that was so weird of him. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he would see her again anytime soon.

…or so he thought. Because he met again, after just a week and maybe a half. “Gas?” he asked. She was still with her oversized bike. He did his job almost immediately as she nodded. “I heard you flirted with my friend,” he said, trying to open a conversation.

“Yeah.” She chuckled and grinned. “Can’t help it,” she said, “I like pretty girls.” She laughed right after he looked confused. “You’re funny,” she said as she held back her laughter. “Well, I do like girls but that doesn’t mean I don’t like … boys. I mean, some people are like that. But, I like both. Why do you ask, anyway?”

“I didn’t ask you to explain that in detail,” he begrudgingly said.

Akari shrugged and said, “Your face says it all.”

As weird as it sounded, they ended up sitting together outside of a minimarket. It was so natural for them just to crouch down on the ground in front of the minimarket, holding ice sticks in their hands. At first, they were just there, eating their ice before it melted. “So, who are you and what are you doing around here?” Cobra finally broke their silence and asked.

It took a moment before Akari answered. “Well,” she said, “work-related matters.” That was an honest answer, yet it was so simplified. “Don’t worry, though, I’m not … an enemy or something,” she added.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, shooting a death glare towards the red-haired girl.

Akari shrugged almost nonchalantly. “I mean, you’re the infamous SWORD leader,” she said along with a soft chuckle. “I thought your name was weird. I mean, really? A snake? What was it anyway? Python? Anaconda?” She continued chuckling as if it was a small matter and so funny for her. “But seriously, someone who could join a force to fumble Kuryu down? That was amazing and those old men were still pissed off.”

“Cobra,” he corrected her. But she was just chuckling away like it was nothing. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re quite something to know Kuryu.” His eyes squinted at her; he just couldn’t ignore the fact that she was something to know such things. She wasn’t just a girl. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice dripped with doubt.

“Chill,” she said, trying to calm his suspicions but to no avail. “Let me introduce myself again,” she got up and offered him a hand, “Hasegawa Akari, a photographer.” She smiled at him, yet it was hard to believe that she was just a photographer.

Nevertheless, Cobra accepted the hand and shook it, albeit still doubting her real intention. “Photographer, huh?” he asked with a raised brow. “What does a photographer do with Kuryu?” he asked again. But his face turned sour as he remembered something. “Wait, did you just say, Hasegawa? Hasegawa as in that infamous Hasegawa-gumi in Kansai?”

She was taken aback with his knowledge since Kansai was so far away. “Well….” However, Akari just shrugged it off. “Kind of,” she begrudgingly admitted. “Listen, I’m here as a substitute for my uncle. I don’t have any active role in the clan, but as one of the adults, sometimes I have to fill in a role they couldn’t. Also, that’s partially because I live around here.”

No, Cobra didn’t want to believe her. Even if Hasegawa-gumi wasn’t as big as Kuryu, they’re still pretty much not on the same side. “And what’s your position in your family?” he asked, still suspicious about her.

She sighed, it seemed like she didn’t have any choice but to tell him the truth. “Since you already knew about our clan, bet you knew about the big boss. He’s my gramps and next in line is my uncle, after him would be my cousin. This is my uncle’s territory and my dad handles another business line—bet you already knew the hotel chains—whatever. My uncle is currently busy with problems over there—which I don’t know—and since I’m the only adult available and I live around the area, they decided to send me over.”

“That’s it?” He folded his arms on his chest.

“That’s it,” she said. “Besides, I only did what my gramps and uncle instructed. My main job is photography. You can look me up online and would certainly find my studio’s address.”

Sure enough, that was Cobra immediately doing. It wasn’t hard for him to find her online and as she said, there was her studio’s address. Not to mention that she was quite famous and had some big clients. However, it only added to his curiosity about her.

“Why would you pursue another career when you have family business?” As someone with family business, he didn’t see the need of building his own career—as long as he still can ride his bike and stay where he feels like he belongs. “Not to mention that your family’s business is one of the biggest here,” he added.

“Well, I just don’t fit in.” The answer was simple and she shrugged it away. “Business isn’t my thing, but it’ll take years until the original heir takes the place. So, whether I like it or not, I have to do things outside of my own schedule.”

Cobra wasn’t sure about this girl in front of him. But he knew she wasn’t just a girl—nor that she was just a photographer even when the page online said so. Something big was behind her small back, maybe hiding under her red hair. However, it wasn’t his place to pry on her private life. “Either way, you’re still a Hasegawa,” he said.

“I mean, yeah? I was born as one. What can I do?” she asked wittily. It was awkward for both of them after discovering her background, albeit not all. In the middle of their awkwardness, she smiled again at him. “Well, I have to go. Getting to Tokyo from here would take a while,” she said.

“Yeah.” He didn’t have anything anymore other than nodding. “Keep it in your mind,” he said with a firm tone. “Don’t get any funny ideas. I don’t know what your business is with Kuryu here. But don’t you dare to mess up with us, with SWORD.” He looked right into her eyes, looking for any deceit but he found none. Still, he held his stern gaze on her.

She smiled and walked to her bike. “I promise, our business doesn’t have anything with you nor your friends, SWORD, whoever it is,” she said reassuringly. “Let’s meet again sometime. Until then, see you when I see you.” She started her bike and rode away from Cobra’s sight.

He could only stand there and looked at her disappearing back. It was weird; he shouldn’t get too comfortable with a stranger. But maybe he shouldn’t let her go that easily. He sighed heavily when he couldn’t hear her bike’s engine anymore. “Gotta tell Noboru,” he murmured as he hurriedly back to their usual space, Bar Odake.

As for Akari, her ride wasn’t long as a group of men tried to stop her not even midway to Tokyo. They were big, perhaps, two times bigger than her. “Ojou, that’s dangerous,” one of them said firmly. “He’s Sannoh’s Cobra, he’s behind Kuryu’s downfall. As one of The Hasegawas, you couldn’t be associated with him.” It was a firm warning that Akari didn’t like to listen at all. “And you’re not riding your own bike to Tokyo. It’s not safe.”

She sighed as she let go of her bike to one of the men. “I’m not even in the main family, you can’t tell me what to do. I have life outside of being a Hasegawa,” she said. “Also, my name’s Akari and I want you to call me that. Not some Ojou bullcrap.” She climbed to the passenger seat and closed the door harshly.

Too bad for her, because the one who talked to her was her designated bodyguard. She would have to stick with him and at least one more guy. That was something she couldn’t avoid since it was her grandfather’s order. “Are you telling me that you want to meet him again, Ojou?” he asked her with a softer tone, considering her sudden change of mood.

“You’re quite nosy, aren’t you, Sugiyama?” she curtly asked him. “It’s none of your business whether or not I decided to be involved with him. Get your nose out of my business.”

Sugiyama, one of her men, just nodded as he started the car. “Please pardon my rudeness, Ojou.” He didn’t have any choice other than to relent. His only job was to make sure she was alright. Guess as long as she was fine, he didn’t have any say in her business.

The car ride was silent, she only looked outside the window. She wanted to ride her bike, not let her men ride it for her. It shouldn’t be wrong for her to ride, but no one in this family let her be. On the other hand, she couldn’t let her encounter with Cobra slip away. She knew what she wanted, it was just a matter of time until she found the way to get it.

“I’ll meet him again,” she murmured under her breath.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↳˗ˏˋNotesˊˎ˗ ↴

Hello everyone! Hope you guys enjoyed my fic. Let me introduce you to my OCsona, Hasegawa Akari. As for now, I still have limited funds so I couldn’t afford her character sheet just yet. But I hope I could afford it in the near future. If you guys curious about her looks, she’s in my avatar and header!

This is their alternate lore, because I have several lores for them. So far, this is the most canon way I could insert her in the universe. Please give me some feedback!! I also want to know what you think about her. Feel free to ask about her!

See you in another adventure!

Also find me in AO3 for more fics!

[kaledya]

It would be fun to have Lolicia in a garden indeed, she would be there from dawn to sunset with how slow she is ahah !

I think she would like to see carnivorous plants like in Stolas kitchen that you can feed !

About what Alastor did to be in the bad bubble, well try to eliminate her ! But you will see what happened in episode 6 ! And the person that was close to the 'caring bubble' let's say... this person is not so far away !

Exactly, the scales falling and growing back is very animalistic thing. Actually I think Lolicia is more animal than human sometimes in her behaviours !

Yes ! She definitely curls on the pillow and lie in a ball like a fox ! From far away she looks like just hair and tail ahah

_

I'm glad you liked Serenity's vibe ! And yes the beggar quote was like *mic drop* ! Sometime to not forgot information I re-read some dialogues afterwards and I must say, even if I kept it cool, Velvette and Serenity verbal duel was slay !

In your big Serenity post you also have made a doodle with them fighting and Serenity say something like "with what are you going to threaten me ? With the social account I don't have ?" And it was a good base to start so thank you !

"Teen Constantine is a babycake" PUT THAT QUOTE IN A MUSEUM 🌸 adorable !

Lolicia is indeed very mysterious for the one who don't know her ! I think it could be interesting for the reader, at the end of the fanfic or when the important background of Lolicia reveals that they re-read the story and see that all the details I put everywhere like particles of bred 🤣

_

Constantine and Serenity talking about flirting is very funny !

And of course I like Constantine drawings ! I mean its damn obvious ! 🌸🌸

Thank you! 🌸🌸🌸

-Lmao yes hahah But she will eventually reach the garden, right? This is an important detail!

-Yes it was definitely five of them and It seems to me feeding meat plants would be more fun.

-Oh It can be said that he deserved the experience he had then. After all, if you decided to stick a stick into a wasp hive, you should have calculated what will happen.

And I think he's lucky it didn't end in his death. It could end much worse.

-I'm so excited for episode 6!! What will happen to Lolicia, it will be really great to see her story in more detail!! Seriously, if there was a series told only through Lolicia's POV, I would happily read it🤌🤌+ It is very fun to read Lolicia's inner thoughts.

And her past with Alastor is also a curiosity.

I have predictions about the person approaching the Caring bubble! But I'll need to be patient and wait to see*crying*

-I really like characters whose behavior has animal characteristics.I think the characters really add charisma and interestingness.And this thing is also well written on Lolicia

-HELP SO CUTE!!! ARGGGGGG I want to pat pat Lolicia, she's so cute (I have 2 arms, I might lose one)

And imagine, she jumps to get into bed like foxes jump into the snow.

-It was literally amazing I LOVE the way you write Serenity!! Even I can't write her personality that well and your dialogue writing is seriously amazing to read.And yes, her fight with Velvet is absolutely slay💅💅

Yes, I remember that doodle. I told my followers on Twitter to tell me funny things to draw , I guess that doodle was one of the requests!

And I'm so glad I could help!!

-Babycake indeed 🤌

-Seriously, Lolicia is definitely a very mysterious for the reader.I seriously can't wait to see the breadcrumbs that I may or may not have noticed along the way as you explain everything. And seriously, reading Lolica is very interesting. she is kinda unpredictable and that makes her very interesting to the reader.

Seriously, I'm someone who likes to get spoilers.When I like something, I usually consume it until the end.But in this case I can't get any Spoiler, I have to wait patiently and learn about Lolicia's past. *Crying with happiness*

And I really want to say again, I think you created a very beautiful character, thank you again for creating her.❤️❤️

And I wish you a good day, take care of yourself!!🫂❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[forgottencillian]

The Ancient Arms of Ormond

in which i headcanon spam at you once again -- lmk what you think!!

Fox: defensive wisdom, ingenuity, wit; intelligence, refusal to be captured

White hart: the continual pursuit of life/good, purity of desire, worthy rule, peace and harmony, one who will not fight unless provoked, the wonder of magic, the mystery of forests, (with antlers:) strength and fortitude

Stag who bears the sun: life, rebirth, resurrection, hope in life after death; leader; tree of life; visionary; hunt for the sun; power; the irresistable tempt to chase, compellingly attractive; sunset and dawn; lightbringer/lightbearer; sacrifice and transcendence

Crescent/moon: one who has been honored by the sovereign; hope of greater glory; service in holy war; mark of the second son; serene power over mundane actions; serenity

Sun in splendour: glory and splendour, fountain of life

Azure (blue): truth and loyalty

Vert (green): hope, joy, loyalty in love

Tawny or Tenné (orange/brown): worthy ambition

Argent (silver/white): peace and sincerity

Or (gold/yellow): generoristy, elevation of mind

A brief history of the House of Ormond

the last two members of the house of ormond, an ancient and honored house of astaira, perished upon the fields of malconaire

these two were uncle and nephew who, themselves, had a rather tumultuous relationship. the nephew -- who also happened to have been named cillian -- was the son of the late lord eoghan ormond who had died -- apparently choking to death at a feast -- when he was a child of all but five, making eoghan's younger brother, ruairi, the de facto lord until such time as cillian came of age

rumor spread that eoghan's death had not been honest but had, in fact, been a poisoning perpetrated by the ambitious and fearsome eoghan, but how true any of this is cannot with any certainty be said, yet the rumors have persisted and some -- perhaps influenced by a popular astairan legend, or else by the horrid truth -- continued to claim that, even as ruairi brought up his nephew, he continued to plot his downfall

whatever the case, both men are said to have lost their lives at the battle of malconaire -- though a rumor persists that cillian ormond did, in fact, survive the battle, and there are those who even claim to have seen him at such high-profile events as the recent ball in celebration of princess guinevere's feast day, while others claim he was not there at all

indeed, in the last two years, many rather wild tales have surfaced all of which seem to center around the mysterious cillian ormond and his rather tumultuous life, but as many of these actually contradict, it is difficult to parse fact from fiction -- or if he is, indeed, even alive at all

whatever the case of this may be, the ormonds claim a long and storied history

like many ancient clans, house ormond can trace its roots back to multiple noble families which have since evanesced in all but the form of the ormonds whose last vestige are, themselves, in fact a cadet house of the original ormond family, tracing their line back to a second son of the original ormond branch, all of which accounts for the present house's many charges

it is said that, in ancient times, the original ormond was a young hunter living in a part of astaira the gods had, in their wrath, blighted with endless snow. crops would not grow, and the animals they might have hunted, perished. caught in the depths of winter without anything to eat, the people of his village were dying. around midnight one evening, it is told, ormond -- for this was his name -- was awakened by a blazing light. when he looked up, he found that the sun, itself, hung within the antlers of a white hart, beckoned him forward. all night, ormond followed the white hart, but as dawn came on, the creature darted forward away from him, taking the sun with it. as ormond raced forward, he watched the white hart die and the sun rise back into the sky. hungry as he was, ormond could not bear to desecrate the magnificent beast and, instead, buried it with dignity and respect. yet, when he dried his eyes, ormond looked around himself and realized that he had come to a place all of lush green. returning to his village, he led the starving people to the green place and, thus, they survived, and ormond was hailed as their leader, taking the creature who had led him for his badge.

many centuries later, kieran ormond, his father's second son, wed tiarna firceall (herself also a second child, her family having all tragically died of the pox the summer previous), the last firceall, whose badge was the too-clever fox, and whose house was a knighted vassal house to the lords of malconaire. together, the lovers merged their lands, powers, and crests, ruling jointly over land partially belonging to the lords ormond and the lords malconaire

about two hundred years later, the last daughter of the main ormond branch died, unwed, leaving all her titles and powers and possessions to her distant cousins, themselves descended from kieran and tiarna

as a result, the ormonds were in the strange position of being at once equal to the lords of malconaire as well as their vassal lords

because of this, they were undeniably lord malconaire's most powerful bannermen, but there was a great deal of uncertainty as to whether or not they would answer the late lord malconaire's call to banners when he went to fight the varmonts at the battle of malconaire (particularly given the tension between ruairi and cillian), but both lordly claimants to the title of lord of ormond joined forces and rode to their deaths to help save their country (ride of the rohirrim style) and, though the day was lost, whatever the character of the late ruairi ormond may have been, he is and his nephew alike are both viewed with honor by most loyal astairans as, whatever their differences, in the end they put them aise to do what they believed was right

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hex codes: blue (000033), green (004B57), orange (A35123)