#she had to Deal with tha

[smarti-at-smogwarts]

Poet, Soldier, King ⍚ Marti Venturi ⍚ King

3/3 (Soldier, Poet)

Duty. Strength. Resignation. You were told to do things and you did them. The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture ? You don't know....Your love is where you breathe.( from this quiz)

[veone]

stefans pride n joy

[stuffyflowers]

Ok final airing of grievances (maybe.)

Alphys and ceroba haters also r both obsessed with the idea that neither of them were punished enough for their mistakes/were forgiven too quickly and it drives me crazy. Haven’t they suffered enough. What would be gained from having a scene where their closest friends berate them for being stupid idiots or whatever you’re imagining. Genuinely.

[silent-scribbs]

Working on my au to realize I rlly do need to fully design/redesign everyone

And outfits

Theres

So, SO many different ways to draw everyone… ouchie </3

[pikslasrce]

you guys have nooooo idea how crazy this moving period has been november was CRAZYYYYY literally all three of us are going insane from all the shit going on ever since we found the new place

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is rather touch averse, cringing away from casual contact people give him under the guise of being distracted or idle movement. He's used to it, the Ragnvindrs and Adenlinde got him used to frequent affectionate physical contact, but it can still be entirely Uncomfortable if he's touched by someone outside those he is close to or someone he's otherwise Allowed to touch him.

[shimshamshimsham]

some DND characters I've been playing as ! ! lore in tha tags if ur interested

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

I like old Cogliostro themes.

They never show Merlin as the Demon cleansing the moist with victory ridden battlefields.

Or the foliage the trees grow in tribute after

[shrimpybbq]

season 4 pt1 with rafe, high school gf and their son!

rafe and high school gf who spread his dad’s ashes together. they’re on rafe’s boat together as he spreads the ashes, her arms wrapped around his waist comfortingly. he wouldn’t want anyone else to be with him for this moment

rafe is pretty content with hiring a babysitter to look after the kids when he wants to spend some time alone with his girl, and when he decides to compete at the enduro, he deems the day kid-free. no one would think the couple had two kids and a house together as they stood together on the beach, her hands brushing tenderly against the nape of rafe’s neck as he sat on his bike.

“You’ve got this baby, you know that? It’ll be a piece of cake,” she said, her voice quiet. This was a moment between the two of them, and no one else needed to hear. Rafe still disliked sharing intimate moments in public brazenly, but he still needed reassurance and love.

He nodded, bringing her closer to him as he placed a quick kiss against her lips. “I’m gonna win this for you, baby.”

rafe absolutely adores when he gets to bring his smokin’ hot wife out with him to the events on figure 8. he loves to let his girl get dressed up and all pretty (for him), knowing she sometimes felt frumpy after looking after their kids all day. they’re at the club when rafe starts yelling at a random girl, enraged by her comment about his dad. his wife now having to drag him away with the help of topper, her hands soothing over his chest to try and distract him. it had been really hard for him since his dad died, and he swore he’d only survived bc of his wife and kids.

the couple are at the club they frequent together when hollis speaks to rafe, who after their conversation was no longer paying attention to the older woman, instead focusing on the girl he suddenly tucked under his arm

“And who is this?”

“This is my wife,” Rafe said with a smirk, his arm wrapping around his girls shoulders, placing a quick kiss to the top of her head. At that, the older woman’s smile dropped minutely, quickly excusing herself.

“Who was she, baby?” His wife asked, watching as Rafe turned the business card over in his hand.

“Uhh.. the biggest realtor/cougar on the island.”

“Oh ok, sounds like just your type, huh?”

“Baby, nonono, why would I want a cougar when I have the hottest milf standing in front of me?”

Rafe shielded himself from her playful swats as she came closer, his arms wrapping around his wife’s frame easily and lifting her off the ground.

“Come on baby, you know you’re the only one I want.”

rafe talks about his business deals with his wife often, her lounging on the pool chair as he vents his frustrations. he felt she was the only person he could tell everything to, and she would provide him with advice and solutions that actually helped, not just telling him what he wanted to hear

their son is resting on the other pool chair, exhausted after playing in the pool for hours with his mother and father, whilst their daughter rested on her mother’s chest, sleeping after being fed

rafe feels all of his frustrations slip away when he’s with his children - their innocence and happiness making him feel much lighter

girl dad rafe! he loves charlie but there’s something about his little girl who looks so much like her mother, who adores him and always outstretches her chubby little fingers towards him, that makes rafe’s heart melt

he spoils his little girl more than he should, buying her all the little dresses and shoes and accessories a baby could ever need

rafe who asks his wife to teach him to braid so he can practice for when she’s older!!!!!

girl dad rafe training charlie to be protective over his sister and make sure he’s always by her side

rafe had been addicted to coke, and while he’d managed to give it up, he had replaced the coke with alcohol. high school gf notices and does her best to reduce his intake, but truthfully, after seeing how difficult is was for rafe to stop the coke, she knew that this was probably the best she would get for a while. still, he doesn’t escape without a raised eyebrow when he goes to get another drink from the fridge

topper who knows never to talk bad about rafe’s girl - EVER. he made that mistake once and lived to regret it, having to lie to his parents that he fell from his bike. topper actually likes her now, and he gave himself the title of uncle topper to the cameron kids

as a husband, rafe is so handsy in public. he doesn’t care what people think about him anymore, so he lets himself squeeze and touch as much as he wants

beach time bby! i feel like honestly, rafe doesn’t like bringing his kids around the drunken kooks. they’re rowdy and rude, and rafe is trying to be better

so instead, he loves to take the family down to their private stretch of beach adjacent to the house, and relax and play with the kids. it’s so peaceful to him, and he truly feels content with his life in those moments. he’s got his hot as shit wife in a little bikini with their daughter tucked in her side, and little charlie is climbing all over rafe as he tries to get his father to throw him in the water again

oh he 100% helps his wife pick out her bikini that day, tying the tie for her, his hands roaming a little too much as she giggles in front of him

she had told him once that she felt insecure after having their children, her body a little different than it used to be. truth be told, rafe loved it. every time he looked at her body naked, fucked her or held her in his arms, he was reminded that she brought their children into the world. she gave him purpose and love

(he also likes that her tits are bigger from breastfeeding and loves to squeeze them whenever he can)

rafe is such a good dad bc he puts everything he has into being there for his children. they’re his entire world and everyone can see it

still, he needs frequent reassurance that he is nothing like the father his dad was, instead, he cares and nurtures his children

rafe discusses his plans to make amends with sarah with his wife, and she gives him strategies to try and talk to her (not that he tends to take them), but she also misses sarah

charlie who still asks for his aunty every now and then, making his mothers heart break. sarah hasn’t even met their daughter yet :(

when he makes the decision to do the deal with hollis, he does it for his family. he wants to look after them, and this deal would do that for them.

but when she hits on him, sensually touching his hand, he makes his priorities clear to the woman as he scoffs, pulling away from her

“I’m married…. And you know that - you even met her. I’m doing this deal for her, and for our family, so….”

rafe has problems but that man is so loyal, he actually couldn’t ever imagine wanting anyone else. he fought so hard and went through so much to keep his high school gf by his side and now he feels that she is the only person in the world who understands him fully. in his mind, it’s them against the world

click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

[nomaishuttle]

harvey just said to me "I'd like to get to know you better, Sanctity. Let's put aside our doctor-patient relationship." HIS ASS IS NOT FOLLOWING HIPAA GUIDELINES!!

[cherryheairt]

Not Yet Blossomed

Cregan Stark x Bolton's wife!reader

Summary- When Cregan visits the Boltons to oversee their livestock problem, he can't help but be enamored with Lord Bolton's meek wife. When he finds the truth of their relationship, he commits himself to saving her.

named Tully reader no desc

part 1?

Cregan's journey to the Dreadford was uneventful to say the least. He had enough problems to deal with in Winterfell, so being summoned by the Boltons to oversee their newest livestock problems was the least of his concerns. However, Ryen Bolton's letter remained ominous when he first sent for Lord Stark's help. Apparently, the livestock were going missing in bundles at a time. Too many to be regular predators or the animals to simply be wandering off on their own.

Cregan promised himself to deal with this swiftly. No more than a few days, then he could go back home and deal with bigger problems.

Bolton was lucky that it was still summer, warmer, and bountiful in its harvests. If it were any other season, Cregan would not have bothered with the matter himself and instead sent his trusted bannermen to meet with Ryen. Though the ground was mostly clear of snow, it did not stop the slightest tears of white to fall from the sky in light showers, the sun deterring it from sticking to the floor for long. The air carried a chilling breeze, though the sunlight kissed his cheeks warmly as he traveled on horseback.

A few days, he reminded himself.

It was only when he first saw Lady Bolton that his mind was swayed.

A beautiful young lady, to be sure. Cregan had once considered her for his own marriage before her hand was swiftly taken by Ryen. The elder man had been enamored with her beauty and grace when she had visited the Dreadfort with her father, Samuel Tully.

A shame, Cregan had thought those years ago. The two of them were so similar in age, and their houses were both paramount over the Northern and Riverland Houses. A beneficial arrangement would have surely come from their marriage. Plus, he had found a pleasent friend within their short time together.

He had met her only once, when they were both five and ten. The young Lady had been a picture of Southern elegance and flowery words, though she had none of the falseness of her kin. She was all genuine, a breath of fresh air to all who sought her company.

Ciara Tully had married at the age of six and ten to Ryen Bolton, a man of eight and thirty. Cregan had scowled when the raven had come from Samuel Tully to inform him of his daughter no longer being available. If only he had moved sooner, he had sulked for days after the news before finding his resolve and moving on to other prospects. He had no regrets in that regard, for he found a love match in his searching.

Ryen had always been a callous and frustrating man to deal with, but Cregan persevered through their occasional meetings by telling himself it would all be over soon. The Lord never liked to speak for long, not when he was more focused on drowning himself in his cups. When he did speak, it was a whole lot of nothing.

When Cregan entered the keep's council room to meet Lord Bolton, he was shocked to be met with a young boy at the man's side instead of his wife. The seat next to him was empty, and only a few adult male kin of House Bolton and the Maester were also in the room. "Will Lady Bolton not be in attendance?" Asked Cregan, sitting across from Ryen. It was the one empty seat in the room now.

Ryen coughed, shifting in his seat. "Ciara has other matters to attend to. She need not bother with the matters of men." He said dismissively, though it seemed to Cregan that he had forgotten that most Ladies would attend council with their Lord husbands at all.

Arra Norrey had when she was alive, attending every meeting Cregan held until the unfortunate day of her parting. She was a brilliant and influential mind, never afraid to speak her opinion. The North was better for it.

Ryen did not seem to share the opinion that the Bolton Lady should attend to her political duties.

Cregan nodded and left it at that, glancing briefly at the boy next to Ryen, who puffed out his cheeks and fiddled with his fur coat boredly.

Ryen seemed to perk at the opportunity to introduce. "This is my son and heir, Dalton. A boy of four just recently." He said, russeling the boy's brown hair that perfectly reflected his own. He was a bit young to be learning the ways of Lordship, but Cregan dismissed that as the man being eager to have his son learn the Bolton ways. Who was Cregan to judge, anyway? He was no longer a father himself, nor had his son lived long enough for him to consider education.

The Stark nodded his greeting, turning back to the Bolton. "What of the situation at hand?"

Ryen straightened up, folding his hands. "My farmers have accounted for flocks of sheep and pigs going missing. Which, normally, I would send for poachers to deal with the wolves or bears taking from the fields, but none of my men have spotted any signs of such predators." He took a moment to lubricate his throat with an arbor red wine.

"Many farmers are reporting such activity, and it has come to a point where I thought we could benefit from an outside view on the matter."

Or he wanted to wash his hands of the burden of being Lord, Cregan thought wryly. Lazy as his father.

He firmly nodded. "I will scout out these areas myself, with Night Seeker to guide. The direwolf is a better tracker than most hunters, to be certain." He smiled tensely, scooting his seat out and excusing himself. "I will be back in a few days' time."

Cregan found himself wandering to the gardens of the Dreadfort after he finished gathering the farm locations from the resident Maester. He needed to clear his mind and plan for any possible outcomes. He had not yet dealt with a curious situation like this one.

There, he saw a woman in a blood-red dress crouched over some winter roses. Not yet in full bloom, the bright blue of the flowers was dulled and closed to a point.

Approaching slowly, Cregan cleared his throat gently to announce his presence.

Met with an almost violent flinch and swift turn, the woman revealed herself to be Ciara. "Lord Bolton—" She started, cutting herself off when she was met with a man other than her husband. Her hands grasped anxiously at her skirts, ruffling the silky material within her palms. She wore a fine ruby necklace and earrings to match, black laced gloves upon her smooth hands. It seemed far too thin and frilly to warm her properly in such weather, but the Lady seemed not to mind it, perhaps wearing such attire daily.

"Lady Ciara," Cregan greeted kindly, bowing his head to the young woman. The years had been kind to her, transforming her from a comely girl to a radiant woman.

"Lord...Cregan?" She asked tentatively, only going off of her faint memory of the man. He seemed to have grown in both height and muscle since their meeting years ago. "It has been a while. What brings you to the Dreadfort?"

Her voice was tense but not unfriendly. He was stunned at how warily she eyed him, not at all the joyful and outgoing girl he had met before. "Aye. Six years, if I remember correctly."

Ciara glanced behind Cregan, wringing her hands together. "It is nice to see you again. I am sorry to hear about your wife and..." she trailed off quietly, not finding the words to express the loss of his infant child. It had been three years ago that Arra met her unfortunate fate, followed by Rickon a year later when he had come down with fever.

"Thank you, my Lady. I am here to deal with Lord Bolton's problem with the flocks going missing. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"I have not, actually." Spoken hesitantly. "Is everything alright?"

"That is none of your concern, wife." Ryen Bolton spoke harshly from next behind Ciara's shoulder. Cregan almost cursed at the suddenness, as if the man had a beacon that told when others congregated on his lands. Glancing at the elder, he raised a straight brow at the interruption.

A firm had was placed on Ciara's shoulder, earning a barely consealed flinch from the lady. She seemed to shrink further under Ryen's presence, bowing her head and looking to her feet. "Forgive me, Lord Bolton. I will return to my chambers." With a curtsy and flurry of silk, she was gone.

Ryen spoke first, a heavy sigh coming from his thin, cracked lips. "Forgive my wife. She seems to wander these days, against her better judgement. Always disturbing the house and the children. I'll see to it that she does not bother you during your stay, my Lord."

Cregan narrowed his eyes, ticking his jaw at the tone and words used on the man's own wife. Never had he thought his former wife to be a bother in any circumstance, nor had his father spoken like that about Gilliane. "A disturbance to her own house and children, my Lord?" He asked.

"It may sound exaggerated to you, but you don't live with her. She is constantly interrupting the children's lessons and the staff for menial things. One would say she's trying to help, but I say she's always been like this—desperate for attention." Ryen leaned closer, hot breath hitting Cregan's senses unpleasantly as he did so. "Between you and me, she's always been a bit slow. Only good for her looks, I suppose, so she has her uses." The man bellowed at his own jest, excusing himself to attend to the awaiting Maester at the archway of the gardens.

Cregan silently seethed in the spot he was left in, breathing carefully to not lose his cool. He was Warden of the North, his attentions must first and foremost lie with the people's problems. He could not intervene in martial problems.

The rest of the day went by quickly, with Cregan waiting for the morrow's daylight before he left. At supper, Lady Ciara was missing too, only noticed by Cregan. Everyone else seemed not to mind or care, going about the dinner with loud laughs and shallow conversations. Young Dalton was now joined by an even younger sister, who Cregan learned was named Mabel. An imagine of her mother, even at the young age of two. The hair, skin color, and even eye color were all inherited from Mabel's mother, while Dalton was a mirror of his father. Mabel was ignored by Ryen, too, but not by the maids and servants passing by, always attending the children equally and kindly. The wet nurse spoon fed Mabel a few seats down from Ryen, quietly working to get through the supper before the men got too drunk and rowdy.

Cregan did not mention Ciara's absence again. He simply sipped on his ale and chewed on his mutton while waiting for enough time to pass for a suitable time to excuse himself.

Finally, when Ryen had drank enough to put a young squire to rest, the Stark abruptly left with the excuse of resting well for the morrow.

He made his way through the fort's winding halls, only stopping at the opened nursery. Ciara was not in the room, unsurprisingly. With no babes to look after in it, it was empty. He moved on to the next rooms, sure to find the Lady of the house's room nearby to her children.

It was not. After minutes of searching empty rooms and quiet halls, Cregan found Ciara's room in one of the towers of the Dreadfort. Tucked away in a cold corner, the towers of large keeps were usually reserved for when the keep housed many guests due to the towers having thinner walls and less insulation. Ladies and Lords never kept rooms of their own residence in such places.

When Cregan heard the quiet and peaceful humming, he followed it all the way up the spiraling stairs. The door was ajar, an inviting position for any passerbys—though none seemed to take it but himself.

Ciara sat on the stone floor, dressed in a velvety blue gown suited for dinner, though she did not attend it. She hummed on lowly as she embroidered what appeared to be a lavender baby's blanket, weaving darker flowers into it for her daughter. The stitching was near professional, similar to the stitches he was used to seeing on the clothes he bought from tailors, though hers was more personal instead of used for the practicality of his sigil.

Ciara huddled herself as close to the hearth as she could without burning herself, furs being placed over her shoulders and atop the fine dress. Still, she shivered under them and shook her hands occasionally to warm them. Even Cregan suppressed a shiver in the cold room, with his leathers and furs on his person.

The room itself felt empty and impersonal. There was no decoration; only a bed, hearth, settee, wardrobe, and what he assumed was a chest filled with embroidery supplies.

He announced himself with a brief knock on the open door, standing awkwardly in the archway. Her eyes shot up immediately to meet his, appearing like a rabbit in front of the wolf, betraying her Tully blood's 'fish' heritage. "Lord Stark." She said, swallowing harshly. "What brings you up here?"

Suspicious eyes glanced between him and the stairwell as she stood, setting her supplies down.

"I wished to apologize for earlier in the gardens. It was not my intent to bother you or upset Lord Bolton. I hope my mistake did not sway you to not come to dinner tonight?"

She shook her head quickly, though she furrowed her brow as if gauging his intent. "Of course not. In fact, I had wished to come tonight. It is nice to see an old friend, someone familiar to me. But...I was not summoned tonight." Was the simple answer.

"Summoned?" He could not stop himself from asking. "Surely you need not be summonded in your house." He said lightly.

Twisting her ring, she pursed her lips. "My husband gets irritated easily. He says it is best that I stay in my room most nights, so I cannot be in the way. Most of the time, I think he just forgets to send for me." She smiled sadly, though her words were beyond casual.

Cregan held a sigh back, going along with her casual attitude. "Your rooms are quite far, my Lady. Are there no open ones next to the nursery?" He asked.

She looked down at her feet again. This time, an indescribable tone laced her words. "I stayed there when Dalton was first born, but Ryen says it was much too close. That a woman's softness should not influence his son. I suppose he was right, I did spend too much time with them."

"They are but four and two. Children at that age need their parents—their mothers." Cregan offered, stepping a bit closer. He remembered little of his youth at that age, but knew from watching his own younger siblings grow that his mother and father both doted on them until they gained their own independence and started spending time with courtyard friends than their parents.

She took a subtle matching step backward, leaving Cregan to still himself entirely to not discomfort her. Shaking her head 'no', she disagreed with the Lord. "He is right. The children had started crying when parted from me. It was best that I moved away."

"That is a normal thing for one's own children to do. It shows that they are most comfortable with you, rather than servants." He stated.

"I'm afraid it is not possible. Staying up here has allowed me to keep Ryen happy. And Dalton, I'm sure." She nodded to herself, still avoiding Cregan's eyes.

"Dalton? Have you not spent much time with him after your move?"

"Oh, no. Of course not." She laughed quietly, brushing a stand of hair behind her ear. It held none of the true joy that it once did when she was younger. Her eyes held the same dullness that the winter roses in the gardens did, like the life had been sucked out of her since her marriage. "I'm not to see him at all, unless I am allowed to come to dinner. My daughter, though, is different. Her wet nurse takes breaks, and then I look after her for a time."

It should be the other way around, with the wet nurse taking Mabel only when Ciara felt drained from all the energy babes took to care for. Cregan had truly never heard of babes being taken from their own mothers except for special exceptions like illness or the occasional post-birth rut that trapped new mothers. Ciara was neither sick nor unresponsive, so Ryen's orders made zero sense.

"Have you eaten, my Lady?" He changed the topic of conversation, afraid to upset her or himself any longer.

"I have, earlier. Gresha brings me meals to my room." She said brightly, nodding to the settee and small table in front of it that he hadn't noticed before. Cregan felt a squeeze in his heart, seeing the half-emptied plate alone on the table. He had never guessed how Lady Ciara's life had been since her marriage all those years ago. Never would he have assumed it would be so desolate.

Most Ladies, even when dealt a poor hand with their husbands, always had their children to keep them company. Or visiting family, since their Houses were so close together. Ciara had none. She lived her days like a forgotten ghost haunting the Dreadfort, only remembered by the servants assigned to her and her husband, occasionally, when she got bold enough to wander the halls of her own home.

Even then, she could not find it in her heart to hold anger. Ever the patient and kind soul, Ciara persevered through the situation and found the best of it. Grateful for every crumb of respect and decency she was provided. This was no way a noble lady of her status should be treated.

For once, Cregan Stark felt utterly helpless.

He left early in the morning, Night Seeker at his heels. His first destination was to White Tower, one of the larger farms he had marked down on his map. Within the lands of the Boltons, White Tower held many acres and the largest flock of sheep available to the House. Cregan figured the root of the problem could easily be found at such a place.

White Tower was nothing special, only a few barns, mills, and a small house at the top of a hill. There, Cregan was greeted by Zayne and Milly Narrows. An old and kind couple, they recounted tales of their missing sheep with stressed tears filling their eyelines.

"You see, Lord Stark, it had only started with one or two at first. Then, weeks later, the sheep dissappeared in bunches at a time. We're already down to half our flock, and if it continues like this, we'll lose everything we've worked so hard for." Milly Narrows told him, hankerchief brushing her eyes and nose to keep appearances.

Zayne nodded solemnly, a more quiet presence than his wife. "I thought it was some coyotes or wolves, like it normally is, but our livestock dogs haven't alerted us to anything. No blood, no tracks, just missin' sheep."

Cregan hummed thoughtfully, glancing out of the window to the green fields. "That is a conundrum. I've never had a livestock problem where the dogs didn't know the situation better than the farmers." He said, mostly to himself.

"Can you help us, Lord Stark?" Milly asked, teary eyes hopeful.

"I will try my best, miss." He promised, leaving the home with his sword strapped to his shoulder. Whatever he would face, he would never do so without Ice. Night Seeker was already waiting by the fence where Cregan left him, panting at the sight of so many sheep flocked together in a confined space. Luckily, the wolf knew better than to give into such baser instinct. Cregan clicked his tongue for the direwolf to follow, pointing out to the forest where the Narrows had said the most foliage was tussled.

Night Seeker ran ahead, sniffing eagerly at anything and everything. It seemed he immediately found a trail, much to Cregan's surprise. Why hadn't the Narrows' dogs found anything?

He trudged forth, brushing past any bushes or trees in the way to follow the tracker. Night Seeker moved with a vigor, excitement growing at the chase, though admittedly Cregan's own curiousity grew as they went. Indeed, there were no animal tracks or strong scents to be seen by the human eye or smelt by the human nose.

Finally, after perhaps two hours of this, the forest broke into clear daylight. Beyond the treeline was more grass, though the chill was still lingering from the cool morning. Empty rolling fields, it seemed to be, leading Cregan to glance at his companion.

The direwolf's tongue lolled from its maw, tail wagging at his grand find. "What is this?" Cregan asked tiredly, doubting the location of multitudes of sheep being in such an open area.

The wolf huffed before breaking off into a dead sprint ahead, leaving Cregan to stammer and chase after him as best he could.

The fields winded for what felt like forever before leading to the border stones between House Flint and House Bolton. Only a few towers of smooth grey stone, as borders were oft marked by, it was an underwhelming sight. The direwolf knew better than to cross such things without Cregan's explicit permission, so he was left waiting for the man to catch up. Panting heavily, Cregan's brow furrowed. "House Flint?" He asked himself softly, wondering why the sheep trail would lead to the border.

House Flint had stayed unproblematic for Cregan's current rule and for Rickon's before him, too. Not having to do much in terms of peacekeeping, Cregan was glad to have a lightened load when it came to the ancient house.

"Go on." He commanded. They were surely close to the answer.

The direwolf happily led the way to a series of massive makeshift barns. Peeking inside, Cregan could not count the amount of livestock being held. On the doors was labeled 'Narrows', 'Fresc', and 'Limbant', three of the family farms that reported livestock missing.

Cregan cursed quietly, moving on to the next barn. Inside were pigs of ranging sizes and colors, labeled all the same. Wielding his ancestral sword, Cregan rounded the wooden buildings to the end of the row, finding a camp filled with a group of young men.

"What is this display before my eyes?" He demanded harshly, earning shocked stares and gaped mouths. The young men seemed no older than himself, perhaps thinking this all to be a fun juvenile prank, unknowing of the livelihoods being ripped from people.

One stood up from the bench, stuttering out his words, "Lord Stark!" He bowed quickly, the rest of the group following in suit. "We mean no harm, I swear! Simply following our orders, m'Lord."

Squires, the lot of them. It was clear to see now, these boys were not culprits but pawns. Fools, nonetheless. "And who has ordered hundreds of livestock to be stolen from House Bolton's lands?"

"Not stolen, m'lord!" Another valiantly spoke. "It is collateral, from the promise Lord Bolton owes our Lord Flint."

"A promise? What was owed that is equal to hundreds of livestock?" Cregan huffed out, shealthing his Valyrion steel sword.

"You don't know, m'Lord?" A blonde-haired boy asked, glancing between his friends. "Lord Bolton promised Lord Flint a hundred gold dragons if he could borrow working men to build some houses for him."

"How many? That's a steep price that few would pay for mere houses."

The one next to him shrugged, a shaggy-haired brunette, "a village, I 'eard. Right on the outskirts of the Dreadfort's walls.

The price made more sense, then. But for Bolton to offer a hundred gold dragons to outside help rather than his own men was an odd thing indeed. The first thought that came to mind was that Ryen Bolton was cheap—promising a payment that he never intended to pay and thinking he'd suffer no consequence for it.

"I see now." He sighed, rubbing his temple stressfully. "How did you get past livestock dogs with a whole group of men?"

The blonde smiled a crooked grin, puffing out his chest proudly. "That was my idea, m'Lord! I used some chamomile in their water supplies a few days before taking the herds. Knocks them to sleep real fast, though it doesn't last long."

"And how did you cover the tracks of so many?"

"Carts, m'Lord." One shrugged. "We took the trading route paths at night while some stayed behind to cover the tracks we entered through in the forests. A nasty job, it is." He huffed, scratching at his reddened legs. Seemed like he was one of the ones stuck with that job.

As much as Cregan wished to be angry at the boys, he could not find it in himself to blame them. Orders were orders, after all, and any young squire must follow them to achieve knighthood. "Get to work on returning them. Every. Last. One. I will deal with Flint and Bolton, and see to it that you go unblamed." He said heavily, making it clear that his command was non-negotiable.

With a few scattered groans and sighs, the squires all obeyed and got to work.

Cregan left again, borrowing a chestnut mare to make his journey back faster. He had much to think about.

💠

It was well into the afternoon when he finally returned, pointedly guided away from Lord Bolton's councilroom and chambers by a few maids. "Lord Bolton is resting at this hour. You can join him for supper." One said as she settled down lunch for Cregan in his guest chambers.

Cregan had half a mind to burst down the man's door and demand explanations, but knew that patience would yield the best results in this circumstance. He could not butt heads with such a stubborn and self-righteous man like Ryen.

Finishing his stew quickly, Cregan found himself too restless to stay confined. He took to the halls, intending to head to the gardens for a walk. As he passed the halls, commotion in the nursery caught his attention.

"...Didn't mean to, I promise!" Ciara's voice pleaded tearfully. Cregan wasted no time barging into the room, which had its door shut behind the last who entered. Ryen, it seemed, who loomed over Ciara and Mabel like a wild beast.

Ciara had Mabel clutched in her arms, protectively guarding her babe though she trembled like a leaf. In the hand holding the girl's head was also the lavender blanket, soft as silk and finished with its last sewn touches, he presumed. Neither adult noticed his presence, though young Dalton sat on his little bed and held himself in a ball, glancing up at the newcomer.

"What have I told you about coming in here?! You should be in your rooms until I say otherwise. I cannot deal with such nonsense any longer, I have tolerated your dimwitted behavior for far too long." He boomed, then dwindled into a growl as he spoke.

"I waited for someone to come in so I could ask to come downstairs. It's been nearly all day, so I thought Gresha had gotten ill and forgot to tell another maid to come up." She hurriedly explained herself, expression laced with guilt as she struggled to meet the man's eye.

"This is two days in a row that you've disobeyed my orders and left your room. At this rate, I'll have to lock you in the dungeons just to keep you in place."

"I only wished to give Mabel her blanket. She has been complaining at the night's chill for days." She mustered out, rocking the girl in her arms in a soothing matter as the girl whimpered at her father's tone.

"It is Summer, you daft girl! That girl would complain about the grass being too green, and you'd try to dye it blue just to appease her." He snatched up the blanket, tossing it into the warmed hearth and earning a squealing cry from Mabel.

Finally, Cregan thought he had seen enough. In the comfort of his own home, Ryen Bolton showed the kind of person he was beyond the watchful eye of the Starks. Stepping between Ryen as he took another intimidating step towards his wife, the grip Ryen had taken on Ciara's hand had slackened at the sight of the Lord.

"What are you doing in here, Lord Stark?" He grumbled out, unwilling to back down so easily when he was worked up so much.

"Watching my host make an utter fool of himself. I could hear you from my own chambers," he fibbed slightly. "Shall we reconvene in the council room?" He asked through gritted teeth, wishing to spare the children of a proper argument.

Ryen backed up, shaking his head firmly. "We will speak on the morrow." As he stormed out of the room, calling for a maid to bring him a keg of ale.

Turning to Ciara, Cregan gently brushed her wrist with his calloused fingertips. He saw only the conflicted storm held within glossy eyes, admiring how composed she managed to hold herself for the sake of her babes.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" He asked in a hushed tone, careful not to frighten the girl in her arms. He knew his size was not the most welcome sight to an already shivering young girl, much less one who had clearly been used to the biggest man in the house regularly using his size as an advantage.

Ciara nodded curtly, rocking Mabel in her arms until the girl stopped crying and only sniffled every so often. The repeated motion seemed to work to calm both of them. "Thank you, my Lord." She mumbled as she set the drowsy child into bed. Only afternoon, but little hands were adamantly rubbed at puffy undereyes already, the poor lass had worn herself to exhaustion.

Cregan saw similar puffiness on Ciara but chose to stay silent in his revelations. "Will you not stay in here, or bring the children to your room?" He offered. "I will ensure Lord Bolton does not bother you again today. Perhaps the quietness of the tower would do good for some quality rest."

Ciara seemed to contemplate but sadly shook her head 'no'. "The maester says the tower is much too cold for the children. They cannot regulate body heat as well as we can." She said, tucking Mabel into drab grey sheets. The whole room seemed the same to Cregan, though Dalton's side had more color and personality to it. Spoiled with toys and perhaps any other thing a boy of four had temporary whims for. Most lied scattered at the foot of his bed, though, untouched until a maid came in and cleaned it all up.

"And Dalton?" He asked, hesitating this time.

Ciara glanced up to the bed where he still sat, curious blue eyes on them both as they sat in the still silence. As quick as she looked, she broke the eye contact and left the room.

Puzzled, Cregan ushered the waiting maid at the door into the room, ensuring the children were taken care of being following the woman.

Her steps were hurried and floating, hands holding her dark emerald skirts to allow such fast movements. He noticed then that she was adorned in more fancy jewels. Emerald bracelets and a heavy necklace to match. Even in her simply-braided hair, that he assumed she did herself, lie a few studded pearls.

"Ciara?" He called after her, jogging to catch up with her head start.

She did not turn, instead rushing to the steps faster. On the first step, he was able to catch her arm before she could disappear into the sanctuary of her cold room. "Please, wait." He huffed.

Meeting his eye line better from the height boost, Ciara's face was dimmed with the low light available in the corridor. "What?" She demanded, a harsh and shocking contrast to her previous demeanor.

"What is wrong?" He scanned her briefly. "Is something...wrong with your son?" When he mentioned bringing Dalton along with her, the shift that he saw in her was concerning.

"Of course not!" She said, immediately defending her son with narrowed eyes. "Why would there be?"

"You didn't speak to him—nor comfort him like you did your daughter." The blunt words made her look away, blinking away tears rapidly. None fell, and she sighed shakily, as if the one thing she could control in such an unforgiving place was her own appearance.

"I cannot."

"Cannot speak to your son?"

"I am not allowed to, my Lord." She answered, clenching her jaw tightly. An unladylike behavior to grind her teeth or bite her nails, but both were nasty habits that she anxiously indulged in often.

Cregan laughed almost disbelievingly, shaking his head as if she told a most humorous jest. "Allowed to? I was not aware that mothers were given rules permitting their children's company." Though his growing anger seethed from his body clearly, none of it was directed at the woman in front of him. That did not stop her from stepping up another stair, twisting her ring around her finger as she did.

"It has been set for many moons, now. Lord Bolton had been unhappy with Dalton's behavior when I looked after him. He's better off with the maids." Her own son's name sounded foreign on her tongue, like she had tried to erase him from her mind to make the distance hurt less. Only, there was no distance. There were mere hallways apart at all times, yet it seemed like the Narrow Sea itself was placed between them.

"What could he have been upset with?" Cregan tried to make sense of Ryen's mindset, if he had any at all. A four year old boy could have many problematic behaviors, but surely none that could be influenced by a mother as sweet as Ciara.

Ciara sucked a breath sharply through her teeth, retreating a few steps more. "May I be excused, My Lord? I am quite tired from the day's affairs." She asked. There had only been the one 'affair', as she said herself earlier, but Cregan could not outright challenge her.

"I only wish to understand, Ciara. I want to help you." He pleaded, brows knitting together as he clasped the wooden rail of the stairs.

"You can't. There is no need to meddle in the affairs of others. Please, conduct your business and be on your way." She bit, turning her back and rushing up the steps finally, closing the door behind her.

Cregan was forced to retire to his chambers, his previous plans of visiting the gardens spoiled and his mind exhausted.

Early in the morning, Cregan woke before Ryen Bolton and weaved his way around the staff to start his day. Presuming that the Lord would sleep well into the day, Cregan made his way to the 'village' that had started the problem in the first place.

It was a short walk from the Dreadfort, and an annoyance to the residents who had already made their homes near the keep. When the Stark had asked a villager of the whereabouts of the new town, the old man had scowled deeper and pointed his nose toward the direction, grumbling as he walked off. "These young'ins...always with too much time on 'er hands."

Bemused, Cregan continued on.

As he passed the first building, he finally understood the old man's irritable nature. The entire place smelled of incense, sweat, and sex. He almost gagged, the scent reminiscent of his brief stay in King's Landing. He had made a point to make his visit very short after truly seeing the disgusting sights of the capitol. True, there were brothel houses and short 'silk streets' in the North, too, but never an abundant amount, nor were they as frequented as the ones in the South.

The further he walked through, the more he realized just how dire the situation was. Every single building was not a house like he had figured, but a mere cesspool of vulgarity. Even in the early morning, peeks passed opened doors showed sights of young men indulging themselves in the young and pretty women of the street.

Now, he realized what Bolton's intentions were. He had commissioned an entire 'village' to be made purely for the sake of pleasure and sin. As if the one pleasure house lying on the streets of One Hill, the collection of towns nearest to the Bolton's Dreadfort, were not enough.

It was an insult to the Flints, who made the buildings without compensation. It was an insult to the Starks, who, represented only by Cregan, had generously offered to solve the problem for the Boltons and were lied to blatantly. Most of all, it was an insult to Ryen's wife, who sat locked up in her room day after day, unknowing of her husband's unfaithful nature.

Cregan assessed how many buildings there were total, counting twelve along the cobble path before abruptly making his leave. An older 'Madam' standing at the curtained doorway of one of the houses beckoned the Lord close, a sultry look in her blue eyes. He brushed past the touch she laid on his shoulder, not bothering with polite words as he ignored her entirely.

He would ensure the Bolton Lord never saw the same status that the Starks had granted his house hundreds of years prior. He was not as generous and forgiving as his ancestors.

🩷

this was so hard to write solely in his pov idk why

I had so many good ideas going into this but none translated to words like I wanted them to, most getting scrapped. I need to get something out so I can stop focusing on one-shots for now and get dd chap 15 out its nagging my mind 😪

lmk if I should do a part 2 eventually

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch

Poly!141 x chunky!reader tw: mentions of cheating

Ghost found you. Pretty thing standing by the produce section and Ghost thought you too beautiful to be quite so sad looking. He snapped a picture and sent it to his team with two words. Found her. 6 Months Earlier.

“Fuck you, Kit! Take your stupid whore and get the hell out!” You screamed at your soon-to-be-ex husband, throwing a vase at the wall by his head. He’d been fucking your cousin because, as he put it, she was beautiful and skinny and you were some used up fat whore. He left with her in tow, smirking evilly at you over her shoulder. 

You collapsed on the floor where you stood, sobbing as you tried to deal with your heart shattering into tiny pieces. You and Kit had started dating in high school, back when you were much smaller and he was the guy every girl wanted. Sure, you’d put on weight, but she hadn’t expected it to be the thing that destroyed your relationship. Well, that caused your asshole ex to do what he’d done. 

The thing was you lived in an apartment building in a quiet neighborhood in Upper New York, second story with a neighbor above and below. You’d talked to the masked man that lived above, constantly having to apologize for the volume level that Kit would get to at 4 am when he was playing his games. The masked man would just grumble and glare, telling you to make sure he kept it down.

By the 6th or 7th time, Ghost noticed the bruise on your arm despite your efforts to hide it under a loosely knitted sweater and grunted, eyeing the mark before his dark chocolate hues flicked to yours in question. You blew him off, saying you fell in the bathtub, but he couldn’t ignore the fingerprint shape the purple splotch made. 

This time he came down and banged on the door, a sense of urgency behind it. He’d never heard you scream like that and he’d found himself with a need to protect you, if he could. You stood from your spot, wiping your tears as you moved to the door. Peeking through the peephole, you let out a heavy sigh and steeled yourself for the masked man’s wrath. Ghost grunted at you, brow raised as he took in the way you looked. Your hair was a mess, body wrapped in a tattered sweater and dark circles that held spilled tears. “I’m so sorry for the noise. It won’t happen again,” you stated, not looking up to catch the man’s eyes and moving to close the door again. But it stuck, the man’s large boot between the jam and the door. 

Your eyes widened and you opened the door, peeking around it and finally meeting his eyes. “Don’t d’serve that treatment,” Ghost grunted at you, arms still crossed over his broad chest. You’d always found him intimidating, but you had to admit that his size intrigued you. You whimpered in response, feeling a fresh wave of tears fighting to the surface.

Ghost bullied his way into your apartment, closing the door behind him with his boot as he scooped you up into his arms. He didn’t know why he was doing this, comforting a stranger like you, but he held tight to his words. From what he could hear, you didn’t do anything wrong and never raised your voice to your trash ex and no one deserved to be treated that way for nothing. 

He moved to the couch, holding you against his chest until your cries quieted down. That also meant your sense was coming back to you. You scrambled from his lap, moving to stand closer to the corner of the room. “I’m sorry. I’m okay, you don’t need to be here. I’m-I’ll be fine,” your voice shook with every word and you couldn’t look him in the eye. 

You heard the couch creak in a way it usually only did when you moved off it as heavy, black boots came into your view. You looked up and met his eyes, gasping softly as you caught your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t look a’ me like tha’, love,” Ghost growled low in his throat, massive form hovering over you in the corner. 

Maybe something snapped inside you. Maybe you were having a full on mental breakdown. But the next thing you knew, you were raising your hand to the bottom of the black balaclava covering his face. Your eyes never left his, watching them grow darker as your fingers hooked under the bottom. You waited to see if he would stop you, but when he did it, you slowly began sliding it up and off his head, scars and marks revealed inch by inch. 

Ghost didn’t know why he was letting you see him. Perhaps he wanted you to see that you weren’t alone in your brokenness. You closed the distance, pulling him down to you as you pressed your lips to his in a desperate kiss. He obliged you, letting you lead the kiss as you worked through your pain. His gloved hands came to grasp the flesh of your waist, backing you to the wall when his self-control slipped momentarily. 

With a growl, he pulled back from you and shook his head. He stomped away from you, wrenching your door open and slamming it behind him. He leaned against your door for a moment, ripping his mask back over his head before disappearing upstairs. And you found yourself collapsed on the floor for the second time that night.

You were resolute, determined to rid yourself of everything that tied you to Kit. It would be a long six months of divorce lawyers, packing, moving, and erasing every last trace of him from your life. 

Which was why you were standing in the produce section in the middle of Manchester, England, woefully looking over the peppers you knew you’d never end up eating. You hadn’t seen anyone tied to Kit or even your own family for about four months. You were lonely, but it felt better being lonely alone instead of lonely and married. You hadn’t seen the masked man that lived above you after he comforted you that night.

You felt eyes on the back of your neck, heading whipping up in paranoia as it swiveled side to side. But you didn't see anyone. You had moved out so quickly that Ghost didn’t have a chance to check on you and had been searching for you ever since, even looping in his team. How lucky was he that six months later, he happened to be on leave and you had moved right into his hometown.

If I continue, it'll eventually be poly!141. I'm trying not to use many identifying characteristics for the reader other than she is shorter. However, this is written with the idea that the reader is plus size. Please let me know any suggestions or ways to make this better. It's the first time I'm posting my writing publicly so please be nice.

[dutybcrne]

Forever love the idea of Kaeya and Diluc just. Hogging Jean to themselves every time the Knights or especially the Ragnvindr and Gunnhildr families had Special Events to attend to, so she didn’t have to dance with anybody else unless she REALLY wanted to.

[azure-sorceress]

One thing I absolutely love about the way Sanderson wrote Gavilar is how the reader's perception of him slowly changes as the books go along.

In The Way of Kings we are under the impression Gavilar was not only a great king, but a great person as well. The highprinces respected him where they don't respect Elhokar. Dalinar talks about him as a perfect brother, Elhokar talks about him as a perfect father and even Jasnah misses him. Only Navani seems to be a little glad he's gone, but we can easily disregard that knowing she's in love with Dalinar.

This perception of him stays mostly unchanged in Words of Radiance, but by Oathbringer this picture of the perfect king and good person starts to crumble. We have confirmation in the prologue that he wanted to bring back the Desolations and that was the only reason he had made the deal with the Listeners in the first place.

In Dalinar's flashbacks we see how he used Dalinar as his war machine, how his conquest turned Dalinar into a man that could not live without a war, and didn't give him a purpose beyond that once the fighting was over. We see how Dalinar gave up everything for his brother but got very little in return. Gavilar wouldn't even let Dalinar finally relax and spend time with his first son, he had to imidiately give him a war to fight lest he find that he could live without being the Blackthorn. We see how he didn't try to help his brother when he was a drunk and let him destroy himself.

At this point it's clear that Gavilar was not really a good person, even if Dalinar doesn't see it that way. But he's not tha bad, right? Dalinar did most of these things because he wanted to, Gavilar only pointed him in the direction he wanted to.

And then we get to Rhythm of War, where we find out that Navani's imposter symdrome, that has been so prevelant in the books since the beginning is all Gavilar's fault. He made her feel she wasn't really an artifabrian, that she wasn't intellegent, made her feel like she was a cheater despite the fact that she always remained loyal to him. He made it clear he didn't care about Jasnah's feelings when it came to marrying Amaram and how he didn't see Elhokar as a fit heir. Gavilar's family all cared about him so much, and yet, here we see how little he cared about them.

By this time we're all cheering Szeth when he kills this man because he didn't deserve a single good thing that was said about him throughout the entire series. Gavilar dying was the best thing that happened to all these characters and that realization is amazing.

[enwoso]

hey, could you try write something platonic for arsenal x reader with anger issues and the team getting the brunt of it? maybe like kim/leah having to deal with them or learn to calm them down? something along those lines idrk hahahah

NOT YOU — arsenal wfc x reader

this went in a different direction then what i had originally planned. sorry if some sorts don’t make sense i wrote this while i was half asleep. but enjoy x

warnings: talks of an absent father, few swear words

masterlist

the team was worried about. more specifically kim and leah were worried about you. they had never seen you act the way you had in the past. usually you were always laughing and joking around with kyra, pulling pranks and overall just being a pest.

but something had switched, little things were making you snap more quicker than usual, you were making harsh tackles on your own teammates as well as making rude remarks to anyone who tried to talk to you which wasn't totally out of the normal but your actions were speaking louder than your words at the moment.

the team knew you had a short fuse but it had never been this bad before. something had lit your fuse.

the girls had tried everything to try and figure out what had happened but nothing seemed to work but by the day, your anger was starting to build and leah and kim were worried it was about to spill over and were worried for whoever was on the receiving line for when that actually happened.

"we need to try and figure out what is wrong with y/n, she's gonna seriously hurt someone otherwise" kim said as she walked back from the training fields with leah by her side, who immediately agreed with the scot.

a hushed talk of the other girls in front on the two talking about your negative attitude. the two giving each other a look knowing the longer your temper and bad mood continued the more it was going to affect the team.

you were walking behind everyone else, by yourself letting your thoughts override as you walked along the gravelled path of colney. your boots hanging from your hand as the wind hit your bare legs.

you were last to walk into the locker room to grab your bag as well as being one of the last to leave. checking your phone to look at the time but being met with several messages from your dad.

rolling your eyes at them as your scowl deepening as you didn’t even bother to read any of them knowing it whatever he had written but be a whole load of waffle, as the man couldn’t tell the truth if smacked him in the face and said ‘i’m here!’

you and your dad had a complicated relationship, actually scratch that, that was putting it in nice terms. to you he was a deadbeat dad, or you could go as far as saying a sad excuse for a father.

chucking your shoes on and tying the laces when you felt a showed stand over you, noticing the shoes you knew who it was before you even looked up.

“y/n, can we have a chat?” kim asked calmly, as you looked at her not saying anything instead nodding for her to continue. knowing that this chat had been coming as you’d noticed the looks and chats she’d been having with leah and a few of the others girls — knowing that it would most likely be about you.

“you don’t have to tell me but i can tell your not yourself y/n and we’re all here for you and we just want to help you if we can but- your behaviour is starting to affect the team” she began as you just sat on the bench not showing the scot any emotion. kim was walking on egg shells as she spoke, you being able to sense her trying to pick her words carefully.

“you going to seriously injure someone if you carry on lashing out at people. so if there anything we can help with?” kim spoke in the same spoke tone, you leg bouncing up and down your head was a mess and the last thing you wanted was to have someone pity you.

you didn’t like pity.

you shook your head, “nope i’m all good!” packing your bag up and slinging it on your shoulder.

“are you sure- cause we-“

“kim! i said i’m good! just leave it at that! leave me fucking be!” you spat storming out the room. the door slamming as you walked down the corridor. regret and guilt filling your body with each step, but you were sick of people asking you if you were okay, babying you.

why couldn’t they all just take the hint when you said you were fine?

“y/n.” her voice echoed along the corridor, making you freeze. “c’mere” leah spoke in a stern tone, as you turned around half of the blondes body poking out of one of the meeting rooms.

dragging your feet to where she was, taking in a big breath as you walked into the empty room. taking a seat in one of the chairs as leah turned on her heel the door clicking shut as she stood tall in front of you her arms folded across her chest, almost intimidating you.

“what’s going on? this isn’t the y/n i know.” leah said in the same tone she’d spoken to you in just a few minutes ago. you stayed silent, a part of you scared you may lash out at the blonde too.

leah knew you best out of anyone on the team, she was the one you trusted most out of the team even if she was several years younger than you. she was the one that took you under her wing when you first started training with the first team.

with that though meant the blonde could read you like a book. you couldn’t lie to her like you easily could to the others as she would know the minute you opened your mouth.

“maybe this is the new y/n” you spoke in a hushed tone, shrugging your shoulders as leah raised her eyebrows confused at your words.

“no. no, this isn’t you. has something happened with your mum?” she asked, as she watched your body language closely as that was the closest she was getting to you actually giving the blonde some clues as to what had happened.

your shoulders tense up a little more. leah knew about your close relationship with your mum how she was your number one supporter, the england captain having quite a good relationship with her, herself.

you shook your head, “no, my mums fine” you paused before continuing.

"my dads’ been back in contact." you mumbled as a sigh of defeat come from you. the room filling with silence as leah came and sat down next to you putting her arm around you not saying anything yet as she knew you hadn't finished what you wanted to say yet.

"begging to be back in my life, that he's so proud that i'm his daughter, that he misses me blah blah blah, coming back into my life once again when it’s convenient for him." the bitterness was obvious in your tone of voice as you spoke, it told the whole story for itself.

leah knew about the your history with your father, how he had treat you and your mother when you were little before leaving your mum to carry on your upbringing as a single parent when you were just four.

but then every few years he would pop back up into your life, wanting and begging to be apart of it. that he had changed and wasn’t the same man he was when you were five.

but you had learned the hard way, that people like him. they don’t change.

so the first couple of times when he would spring back up when you were younger, he would promise you the world. that he would promise take you out for the day and spoil you with anything and everything you want claiming it as his way of making up for lost time but it would always end the same way.

you sitting on the bottom step of your stairs, hair all nicely done, dressed in an outfit you would spent hours figuring out what to wear. you would sit there for hours, the sound of the clock ticking away. all for him to just not turn up and then make a lame excuse up as you cried in your mums arms.

so the last time you saw him before the past week, was when you were 15 just after making it into your first youth camp with england as well as joining the arsenal academy, your dad had told you that he had met someone in america and that he was moving there.

a small part of you was a little hurt but the majority of you was happy as sad as it sounds but he was never really a dad to you.

“i thought he was living in america?” leah asked as you hummed, a mock laugh coming over you “me too, until he showed up at my door at 6 in the morning!”

“thinking he was going to just have a place to stay at mine as if he didn’t just leave for 5 years no messages, no calls. then when i said no he started trying to manipulate me, saying how im such a bad daughter-“ you breathed out feeling leah squeeze your shoulders, her hand rubbing up and down your arms for comfort.

“have you spoken to your mum about this? does she know he’s back in london?” leah asked quietly as you shook your head. “no, she doesn’t need that stress right now.”

“i don’t know what to do le, everytime i go home he’s there. i don’t even fuckjng know how he got my address.” your voice cracked, all the emotions you’d been holding in for the past week finding flooding over.

you were conflicted, cause whilst you had spent so many years hating your father for never being there or if he was it was only when it suited him and not when you really needed him. you wanted to believe he’d changed but his actions spoke louder and then his words.

but then again he was your dad, where you got your blood from but that was it, you didn’t really know him at all and he didn’t really know you.

you both only really knowing of each other.

“it’s okay, y/n we’ll figure it out together i promise.”

[dixons-sunshine]

Doggie Bath | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was bath time for your daughter. However, she refused to take a bath unless Dog bathed first, and the furry companion refused to comply with Daryl's requests. Luckily, Dog loved you and would easily comply with your wishes.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Post Bridge (Not mentioned, but Rick doesn't go missing and the Leah plot never happened, hence Daryl being in Alexandria.)

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes towards the end.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/n: I don't know what this is. I had an idea pop up and I tried to get it written down, but not very well lol. However, I hope you like this!

“Dog, c'mon. Jus' this once, buddy,” Daryl practically pleaded with his furry companion, desperately trying to lead Dog towards the bathtub and into the water, but to no avail. “I'll cook ya a squirrel if ya do this fer me.”

In your arms, your three year old was happily giggling as she watched her dad struggle due to something she requested. “Go, Doggie, go!” Hazel happily babbled as she clapped her hands for added emphasis. “Pick up, Daddy. Put in water.”

You were seated on the closed lid of the toilet with Hazel in your arms as you watched in amusement as your husband struggled with the big dog. “Yeah, babe, pick him up. Put him in the water.”

Daryl shot a small glare in your direction. “The hell ya think I've been doin'?” Dog suddenly barked loudly, making Daryl flinch and your daughter burst out into laughter. Daryl looked at Hazel with a playful glare, but the smile on his lips betrayed his true emotions. “Oh, s'this funny to ya, Hazelnut? How 'bout I put ya into the bathtub first?”

Hazel gasped and hid her face in your neck. “No! Mama, Daddy mean. He promised. He breaking promise.”

You let out a small chuckle and rubbed her back affectionately. You looked at Daryl and shared a smile with him. “You can't break your promise to our daughter, Dar.” Your eyes moved down to look at Dog, who defiantly laid on the ground with no intention of setting his paws into the water. “The deal was Dog, and then Hazel. You can't go back on your word now.”

Daryl groaned in frustration. “He won't fuckin' listen. He—” Daryl suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, all colour draining from his face. His eyes flickered back to Hazel, praying for the first time in his life; he really prayed that Hazel hadn't heard his little slip up. However, Hazel appeared ignorant to his mistake, making Daryl sigh in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

You laughed and lowered Hazel from your lap and onto the floor, handing her your necklace to play with. “Stay here, baby. Mama needs to help Daddy bathe Dog. Daddy can't do it without Mama's help.”

Hazel giggled and started toying with the arrow on the necklace you gave her to play with—a gift that had been given to you by Daryl many years ago.—and nodded. “Mama gonna get it right. Daddy learn from Mama.”

Daryl smiled fondly down at his daughter and shook his head. “Ya have a lot'a faith in yer dear ol' dad, huh?” He stepped back and allowed you to approach Dog, who excitedly wagged his tail and nudged his nose into your hand. “Good luck with tha', Sunshine. If he ain't gon' listen to me, wha' makes ya think—” With little to no effort, you urged Dog into the bathtub, the puppy in a grown dog's body excitedly splashing around in the water, nearly soaking both you and Daryl . Daryl sighed and shook his head. “I thought ya were on my side, Dog. Fu—Freakin' traitor.”

You laughed and scratched Dog's chin. “Good boy.” Dog barked happily and moved around in the water, luckily making no attempts to jump out of the bathtub. You turned your head and sent your husband a cheeky smile. “What can I say? He's a total ladies' man.”

Daryl hummed, his eyes narrowed at his furry friend. “Would be alrigh' if he wasn't tryna impress my girl with his tactics.” He stepped back and leaned down, picking Hazel up and adjusting her in his arms. “Ain't tha' righ', Hazelnut? Dog's tryna steal Mama from us?” He gently started tickling her on her stomach, eliciting shrieks of laughter from his baby girl. He chuckled and pressed a soft, tender kiss to her temple. “Dun' worry. I won't let Dog steal her from us. He'll have to fight me fer her.”

You smiled at the two people you loved the most in the whole world fondly. You leaned forward to grab the dog shampoo—something Daryl found while on a run and something you were surprised actually still existed in the now messed up world you existed in—and lathered some onto your hands. “You just gonna stand there and look pretty, Dixon, or are you gonna help?”

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed as he pretended to think about your question, gently rocking Hazel in his arms as she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. “Nah. I think ya got it. 'Sides, yer clearly tha' traitor's favourite. He'll stay still for ya.”

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. “So you're leaving this all up to me while you, what, watch?”

Daryl took your prior spot on the closed lid of the toilet. “M'holdin' our daughter. Ain't tha' the excuse ya used earlier when I originally asked fer yer help?”

“Touché, Dixon, touché.”

Daryl chuckled again and smoothed his hand over Hazel's back. All fell silent between the two of you after that. Dog was relatively still while you washed all the grime from his coat, only moving whenever you tried to wash his paws. In a little over ten minutes, Dog was completely clean and more than eager to leave the cooling water. Before you could even attempt to towel dry him, Dog was shaking himself off, sending water flying in every direction.

Daryl shielded Hazel from the onslaught of droplets. “Dog, no!” Dog simply barked and made a run out of the door, leaving wet footprints in his wake. Your husband simply rolled his eyes and shook his head, standing up from the toilet and holding Hazel close to his chest. “Fuckin' hell. M'wetter than a drownt rat righ' now.”

You laughed and nodded, standing up and wiping the water from your body. You turned to Daryl and eyed your daughter in his arms, a look of realization dawning on you. “She's asleep, isn't she?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. She fell asleep almost fifteen minutes ago.”

You shook your head and allowed a small smile to spread over your face. “Well, at least Dog's clean.” You took a step forward and pressed a soft kiss to Hazel's head. “Let's just put this little Gremlin to bed. We'll bathe her first thing tomorrow morning.”

Daryl nodded and leaned forward, capturing your lips in a quick, loving kiss. He pulled back and gave you a small, fond smile. “I love ya, Peach.”

“I love you too, Dar,” you replied softly, caressing his cheek. Hazel started stirring in the archer's arms, making your breath hitch. Luckily she only adjusted her head on her dad's shoulder, making you sigh in relief. “I think that's a sign that we should get her to bed. And after that, how about we watch a movie in our room?”

“Yeah,” Daryl quickly agreed, nodding eagerly. “Let's go.”

Daryl knew exactly what you meant by that. The television that came with the small house you lived in with Daryl and your daughter was located downstairs in the living room. There wasn't a television in your shared room. However, with a little one running around and needing to speak in codes around her innocent ears, that particular code translated to something else, something much more enjoyable.

And after Hazel was put to bed, Daryl wasted no time in rushing you to your room and gently pushing you onto the bed for some much deserved “movie watching.”