#that she’s a hypocrite and a traitor

[watcherintheweyr]

desperately need people to understand that alicent is a victim but she’s also an abuser and a perpetrator

that she actively makes choices to harm other women because of jealousy and envy and the greed deep in her bones because submitting to suffering didn’t get her what those women fight to grasp for themselves.

she is absolutely a victim, in show.

that doesn’t change that she abused rhaenyra and her children, her own son, most likely helaena given how she flinches every time her mother touches her, and is actively weaponizing the patriarchy of westeros against other women- rhaenyra primarily, but also mysaria and dyana.

she isn’t the moral, righteous force of good that even she thinks she is, she’s a wounded woman directing all of the rot, pain, and fury inside her at the wrong people and forces.

[catofoldstones]

“I wish sansa were more aware and smart like the original outline sansa who was older and more conniving uwu” bestie, you can’t even handle alicent. sit down.

[lord-squiggletits]

Also speaking of absurd plots in Barber's writing, shout out to that time he wrote a scene of Optimus and the US President talking. And the US president who's a black woman and her father was a civil right's activist has nothing to say about the fact that a police officer in her country getting killed by Jazz was a big reason ppl don't trust the Autobots? Like, a major diplomatic incident b/t humans and Autobots just never gets discussed? Optimus never goes "so heyyy the reason my soldier killed a police officer is because he was about to kill injured and surrendering Autobots, can I get a pardon for that? Or maybe some kind of editorial where we get to clear the air and show both sides of that incident? In the spirit of transparency and fairness not only to your people but also mine?"

Like.

The black female president whose father was a civil rights activist has nothing to say about an incident of a police officer about to fire on surrendering suspects, and then the media treats his attempted killing as him being the noble police officer just doing his duty who was completely in the right to shoot??? Why was this major diplomatic incident not part of some major convention between humans and Autobots? Why did Jazz/Optimus never get to share their side of this incident on an official political or diplomatic channel? Why did Barber write one of his politician characters as being left-leaning and clearly in-tune with social justice issues, having nothing to say about a police officer from her country (a country infamous for police brutality and racial inequality, which she would know personally because she's a black woman) being the subject of an interplanetary dispute causing tension between Earth and the alien civilization trying to help them not get colonized by Decepticons?

Instead the purpose of that scene was like... I don't even remember, it was basically the US pres going "my father was a civil rights activist" and Optimus is like "hm I guess I'll leave Jazz out to dry for the sake of diplomatic relations." I don't understand why the only possible outcome of the story was for Optimus to just abandon Jazz when, as Jazz' commanding officer and a representative of Cybertron, he would've been within his rights (and indeed, may have had such meetings during the war) to demand some sort of trial to clear Jazz' name? Like, the fact that Optimus had this diplomatic power but didn't even try to use it, and the US President had a character background to make her sympathetic and she didn't bring up a trial either, just feels like a massive plot hole.

It's just so fucking bad because not only does the treatment of that incident not make sense logic wise (an international/interplanetary? incident of that magnitude is DEFINITELY something that would be discussed between the leaders of the two nations in question), it also kind of makes Barber's attempts to put progressive politics in the comics look really stupid? Like. Shouldn't a black female president whose father was a civil rights activist go "Ah yes, unfortunately I'm very familiar with pro-police propaganda and the way police are often potrayed as people who can do no wrong. We should talk more about this incident of your soldier killing a police officer, maybe have some sort of trial to determine wrongsoing. Because the fair thing to do is to give alleged victims an attempt to speak and not just assume the police are in the right." Like the US President isn't supposed to be a super important character in the plot or anything, but I just think it's really fucking weird to add this US Civil Rights Era background to one of your characters and then have her not react sympathetically at all to an incident of attempted police brutality.

It really seemed like that whole plot of Optimus deciding that public image is more important than saving Jazz feel super forced and stupid, not to mention it portrayed a minority character with activist backgrounds as being apathetic to an issue she should have a lot of stake in.

...

Also have I mentioned that the incident I'm referring to of Jazz killing a police officer was an event specifically orchestrated by Megatron? Who seeded mind-controlling, paranoia-inducing guns among Earth's populace with the specific goal of poisoning Autobot-human relations? And Megatron literally did an evil monologue about this plan in front of Spike and another Skywatch operative, and Spike is still part of the military in the present day, meaning that he would've known that Jazz killing a police officer was just part of a plan by Megatron BECAUSE HE WAS LITERALLY RIGHT THERE WHEN MEGATRON EXPLAINED IT AND IMMEDIATELY RAN TO TRY AND STOP THE INCIDENT FROM OCCURRING???

[milksnake-tea]

━━ say you still dare to dream .

Sunday has lost everything. His status, his home, his sister, all of it has slipped through his fingers, all for a failed attempt at salvation. Now imprisoned and destined to live his life in shameful shadow, you, his former subordinate, appear to offer him one last chance of redemption.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: aftermath of 2.3, depression, sunday at his lowest

word count: 1.5k

a/n: depressed sunday is my favorite sunday. like damn bro you got BROKEN ig this is what being rammed by a train 8 times does to a man... ANYWAYS. DONT TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY THIS IS JUST ME DOING SOME WRITING PRACTICE WITH BEING DRAMATIC hunches over and dies

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina

“I can only allow you a few minutes at most,” says the woman in purple.

A devil in velvet, that was what they called her. Although she may not look like much - from a distance, you’d mistake her as yet another filthy rich vacationer of Penacony - up close, her snake-like eyes and elegantly poised stature, always ready to strike unsuspecting prey, told you just how dangerous she was.

Lady Bonajade, the Stoneheart of Credit and the most deranged loan shark the galaxy had to offer. She who does the impossible and creates miracles for the price of one’s livelihood.

She, who is currently the master who holds the life of the fallen Oak Family Head in her perfectly manicured hands.

You meet her chilling gaze with steeled eyes. With a deep breath, you force down the lodge in your throat.

“I understand.”

Jade smiles. It is neither threatening nor comforting, although you cannot help but feel unsettled by her calm amusement.

“Most of the Family has turned their back on Mr. Sunday,” she comments, crossing her arms and tapping one nail against her arm. “Why haven’t you, I wonder? Surely, a mere subordinate wouldn’t be so loyal to a traitor of this degree.”

You know better than to answer her. After all, all of her questions are rhetorical - tests. She already knows their answers, she just wants to hear them come from your lips.

But you don’t give her that satisfaction. Your silence is answer enough.

You walk past her and come before a heavily armored vault door. A bit much, in your opinion, for a man who has spent the majority of his life asleep. But he is also the man who had taken control of the Asdana system and nearly ascended into Aeonhood, so this level of security is to be expected.

Hundreds of locks and gears turn before the doors open with a hiss and a billowing of smoke. With a mental prayer to Xipe for strength, you step into the dark cell.

There’s little to no light in the small room, leaving you to wonder how Sunday had managed to stay sane all this time. You already know the cells are essentially soundproof, and with so little light, the Family’s prisoners were shut off from the rest of the world and their senses.

The brief rustle of chains catches your attention, and you turn your gaze to the iron throne at the center of the room.

Oh, how far he has fallen.

Once gleaming gold has lost its luster, reflecting not sympathy nor love like you had known them to, but defeat and a resigned acceptance. Fair skin has become drained and faded like that of a corpse. Feather-like hair, once so meticulously cared for, is ruined and frayed.

Bound are the hands that would never raise against another, and shackled are the wings that have never known flight. Caged is the bird who has known no other home; only now, his gilded shackles have become sullied, ugly, disdainful.

He is hollow, empty in every sense of the word - drained of what little vitality he once had.

“Sir,” comes your whisper. He doesn’t respond.

Your footsteps are heavy as you approach. Sunday’s head is bowed - something his pride would’ve never allowed back in the day.

Once upon a time, you had found his arrogance annoying, hypocritical even. Yet at the same time, it was endearing, knowing that even the perfect and saint-like Sunday had his faults. In a sense, it had brought him down to earth, it had made him human.

Seeing him like this, so despondent and defeated, makes you long for the days where he’d scoff at the IPC or make back-handed compliments for his own sick pleasure.

“Sir,” you repeat. You stop before him, and kneel down to one knee.

Sunday’s eyes flick to meet yours, before dropping down to his lap, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. Out of guilt, or out of scorn, you don’t know.

“Why have you come?”

Your heart aches at his voice. It cracks from the days without use, deeper than his typical chirp.

“I am a sinner, a traitor to the Family.” Not once does he meet your gaze again as he speaks. “Visiting me…”

He exhales.

“You should leave.”

“I won’t.”

His hands clench from where they’re bound to the arms of his throne. Briefly, annoyance flashes over him, before he lets it wash away with a slump of his shoulders.

“It would be easier if you just- left me here,” he says painstakingly. “I am of no use to you anymore - if anything, I am a stain. Abandoning me… is the logical thing to do.”

“You and your logistics,” you sigh. “Did it never once occur to you that I cared for you as a person, and not just as my superior?”

His eyes are shaking. Sunday’s expression is pained, like that of a grieving mother.

“Why?” he asks again, his face straining as he tries to understand. “Why are you here?”

Your answer is simple. “To free you.”

Bitterly, the corners of his lips twitch in a cynical chuckle.

“You of all people should know that I was not meant for freedom,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “That is what you believe. Lady Bonajade and I agree that you deserve to have this chance.”

“Lady Jade, huh?” Resentment flashes in his irises as he scoffs. “So you intend to coerce me into accepting charity from the IPC?”

Hurt pangs at your chest and you flinch. “That isn’t-”

“Spare me the concern,” Sunday spits, turning his head. “I may have fallen, but I still have my pride. If that’s all you have to say, you can leave.”

For a moment, you are speechless. Then you are indignant, and you rise slightly, your brows furrowed.

“Why are you so willing to accept your fate?” you ask, almost angrily.

Sunday exhales. “What else am I expected do?”

“This can’t be how your story ends." Your fist balls up the fabric of your pants in its grip. “Locked away, isolated from the rest of the world - that can’t be what you want. It is too cruel a fate for you.”

For you, who loved humanity so deeply.

“Tell me,” you say, gazing up at the man who had torn his skin and carved his heart for the people. “Tell me you want to be freed, and I will do so. I’ll take care of everything. All I need is for you to say that you want it.”

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers after a moment of silence. “Why, for me…”

“What is there to understand?”

“This is unreasonable,” he starts.

“Not for me, it isn’t,” you say softly. “If it’s for you, nothing is unreasonable.”

His voice raises, trembling upon its crumbling pedestal, panic seeping into every word. “I don’t deserve that kindness - that mercy. I am a sinner, I am a traitor, I am-”

“You are a man worth saving.”

Sunday’s eyes fly open. He stares at you, eyes wide with surprise, his lips parted as to say something, only for the words to die on his tongue.

Your neck is beginning to hurt from how long you’ve been looking up at him, but you push the pain aside.

“The Sunday I knew was kind and gentle,” you say, subconsciously leaning forward. Pent-up emotions, cumulated through the years, begin to bleed into your voice, weighing it down. “He always looked out for the weak, and cared when no one else did. He put others before himself, and even if he was a little arrogant, he was selfless.”

“No,” Sunday protests weakly. “I am not- You- I-”

“You are so much more than you allow yourself to be.”

Rising from the floor, your knees aching slightly, you gently take the face of the fallen angel in your hand. Cradling him like glass, you force him to look at you, to look one of the many he’d betrayed in the face, and see the love for him despite it all.

“Sunday, do you wish for freedom?”

For the many years you’ve worked under him, his eyes have always been a cold gem, calm and unfettered. Never have you seen them glossy with tears, threatening to break at any moment.

You see fear and desire clashing as he grapples for the first time, a choice not for the people, but for himself. You see the beliefs that have been molded into him beginning to crack. You see the caged bird gaze at the world beyond his bars, and for the first time, want to soar beyond them.

Sunday’s lips open and close as he struggles to find the right words to say.

“Where will I go?” he asks instead, tearing his gaze away. It is answer enough.

You smile softly.

“Anywhere you desire.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[romanoffsbish]

Carved With Love

Natasha Romanoff x Wife!R

Yelena Belova x Fem!R (The true love story 🥹)

Yelena’s in town for the holiday season, and who would she be if not wreaking havoc? | WC: 1,986

Warnings: Mentions of Neglectful Past | Siblings

Yelena was a menace; you knew that from the insight your wife gave you before she introduced you to her.

“Y/N, she literally blew herself up and said it was fun,” your wife had reiterated her stance, that being: Yelena was a complete and total maniac. “Sounds like she’d fit right in with you and your band of superheroes,” was all you’d said back while adding pasta to your cart.

The two of you had been together for nearly a decade when they found each other again, and though the blonde was wary of a meeting she quickly agreed after hearing that the two of you were married with kids.

——

You couldn't really blame her for wanting to meet them more, especially your daughter, the eldest, who shared a name with her. They clicked instantly. Then there were your sons that you carried back to back, Andrei and Aleksander, who were bonded like twins. It was like they gained a triplet with their aunt. Then there’s the latest, Flora, who was just turning six months old and who was absolutely in love with the blonde.

The group were nothing but trouble, you adored that.

When you met her, your heart had doubled in size as you realized she was just trying to forget, to be a kid. Something you knew she never got to be, so just like with your own children, you let her get away with it all.

Natasha didn't much appreciate that, well, truthfully she adored just how much you already loved her sister. But, she was a bit jealous that you were so lenient with her, even if she knew you weren’t with her because she needed the structure and redirection you provided her.

As of right now, she thought you were also insane, "Detka, I don't think you thought this through..." Natasha mumbled against your temple from behind, where she stood with you securely in her arms, and you shook your head and softly chuckled. "It's fine baby."

Natasha currently feared for everyone's safety as her sister held one of those little orange carving knives.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N Romanoff, look!" Yelena shrieked, and your wife sighed when she felt your body relax. There was no hope left, you were at her sister's mercy. Yelena held up a stencil and you smiled. "It's cute."

"No, it is badass!" Yelena corrected, only to be met with a glare from her sister. "Watch your language."

"Natasha," you scolded instantaneously, "Lighten up."

"But she —," Natasha went to defend her decisions but quickly cut herself off when you turned with a glare.

Everyone got away with murder, except Natasha. (Well, in this symbolic context that is…)

Yelena smiled smugly at her sister, she even stuck her tongue out to mock her as you weren't looking. The redhead flipped her off, and your daughter gasped. "Mama! That's the bad finger!" Your eyes widened. "Natasha! What are you now? Some sort of hypocrite?"

"Predateli'," Natasha grumbled, making your daughter laugh alongside her aunt who was taping the ghost cat on a zombie dog's head stencil to her large pumpkin.

(Traitors)

"You all behave," you scolded the entire room before leaving to the kitchen to collect the cookies. Natasha tried to follow you, like a hurt puppy, but you made her stay behind to make sure nobody had a carving crisis. 

Which was in vain because when you came back in the room you found Yelena had upgraded to your sharp carving knife, and you nearly dropped your plate.

"Yelena honey, that's too dangerous," you practically shrieked, but not really to avoid her hand slipping. Not that you didn't have faith in her trained hands, but you knew accidents could happen regardless of skillsets. The blonde pouted up at you, and Natasha watched you once again melt into her little sister's charm.

"I can't use the little orange one," she pleaded for your understanding, "It is too tiny and ineffective."

"Okay," you folded instantly and your wife's eyes widened with flashes of shock and betrayal. The one time Natasha had done the same thing years back, before your kids, you'd given her a safety lesson.

“This isn’t fair,” she grumbled to herself, but she also let it go when she saw you sitting with her sister, eyes focused in on the way she carved the pumpkin and mouth at the ready to give her advice or a light scold.

Natasha let her festering resentments go, and shortly after joined you all at the table so that the youngest member of the house could play with the guts. It was a perfect moment of domesticated bliss, and the redhead couldn’t help but to feel at peace in current company.

Then the following morning came, and you learned a few things. Yelena had a new favorite holiday, and in turn a hobby, carving, which piggybacked right off of her other, bugging her older sister as if it was her job.

"Natasha," you tried to calm her, your hands on her tense shoulder as you kept her from lunging at the blonde. "You need to calm down my love, I can..."

"No!" Natasha cut you off, "She will do it, not you."

"She's our guest," you reminder her, but she merely rolled her eyes—something she never did towards you. "More like a pest, Y/N/N, make her leave before I do."

Your eyes narrowed fast, and your wife cowered at the sheer intensity. "Apologize to her, right now Natalia."

The redhead held back a scoff. Yelena had carved a face only a mother could love into her favorite fall leather jacket, yet she was the one who had to apologize here.

"I'm sorry, parshivets," she begrudgingly spat at the grinning blonde across the room. "I accept, cyka."

(Brat / Bitch)

You sighed, and regretfully turned to face the smug blonde. This was partially your fault too for having let the girl get away with murder up until this point.

"Yelena, now it's your turn." Yelena frowned, but then she nodded and relaxed her features. "Sorry sestra," her tone was genuine, "I will buy you another one."

"No, you don't have to," you let the girl off the hook. "Yes she does." Natasha rebuked your words in a flash, then she intelligently rephrased, "No you don't."

You smirked and rewarded her with a kiss that she tried to melt into, but once again Yelena interrupted with a rumbling stomach. "Can we make pancakes?"

Natasha's hands harshly gripped your hips, and you smiled at her in understanding, she missed you. "How about you go get the kids up while we make breakfast?"

The redhead reluctantly let you go with a nod, but before she got too far you pulled her in for another kiss. "I'll be all yours soon, just have some patience."

Yelena was leaving after the holiday's event, and the kids were going to Wanda's for a spooky sleepover. You'd planned accordingly, and your wife smirked at the reminder, chastely pecked your lips then ran up the stairs with a reinvigorated pep in her once glum step.

"Get the chocolate chips," you instructed your sous chef, and she did so with a smile. Yelena was learning to cook from you, you never outright said it, but you worried about her eating habits. All she could make was mac and cheese and that was artery clogging if not met with a balance of other things besides takeout.

Yelena appreciated your concern, it was clear to her that you were the perfect match for Natasha, because you were an even better platonic match for her. The way you let her just be who she was, who she was discovering herself to be with her newfound freedom, meant the absolute world to her. You were a light that she found comfort in, and would never let go of.

Once you showed Yelena how to make the batter you let her ladle it onto the griddle. "Don't flip it yet," you instructed, your back was turned but you were aware of her piqued curiosity and she was enamored by your spy like skills. "You're like a super mom or something."

"It's nice to see my skillset is appreciated," you teased the younger girl as you returned to her side and gently bumped her hip. "I appreciate all of you, sestra."

It took you a second to reel in your emotions, you'd only been hoping that she wouldn't hate you, but it turned out that she actually liked you, and you didn't want to cry and make her reevaluate that judgement.

Instead you settled on hugging her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake as you showed her the indicators for flipping before finally letting her flip the pancake.

Just as you settled a pancake on the plate you heard an obnoxious scraping on the glass. "What the—." There before you was a focused blonde, the tip of her tongue rested on her lower lip as she carved your perfectly round pancake into a ghost cat. You shook your head with a fond smile, "You really love knives, don't you?" Yelena mirrored your expression and nodded as she now carved an eye into a pumpkin. "They are so cool."

"Natasha loves her guns the same." Yelena flinched, "Guns are too rigid, and loud. Knives are fun, you can do flip tricks with them and they're just as lethal."

You noted her clear discomfort with firearms, and filed it away in your mind as a later topic of discussion, and fortunately the kids came barreling into the kitchen. Yelena dropped the knife and, just like every morning, she greeted the little boys with the tickle monster.

Then came your daughter’s greeting, “Yelena Belova!"

Yelena then followed her lead, “Yelena Romanoff!"

You shook your head at their antics, then you returned to your task at hand, and began to set the table. You placed the blondes masterpieces in their designated spots, a pumpkin for each boy, the cat for her parrot, and the torn to bits pieces went to the toothless baby.

You were gifted two perfectly sized hearts, topped with fruit and whipped cream. Natasha got zero change to the shape, but instead, she was gifted icing words.

“I’m not eating that,” Natasha growled, and you bit back a laugh as you saw the script. “What’s it say?”

Natasha shook her head at you, and glared in her sister’s direction as you attempted to read the Russian out loud, “Tvoya zhena lyubit menya bol'she.”

(Your wife loves me more)

“Damn right,” Yelena teased as she sat in front of her own pancake, “Don’t worry sestra, she loves you too.”

“You two, knock it off and eat your breakfast,” your mom voice came out, and everyone was suddenly sat. You nibbled on your food while making sure your baby didn’t choke on hers as she gobbled it down like a cat (Liho and Bob) being fed at the normal time everyday.

Once breakfast was finished you sent the kids to the living room with their aunt to watch cartoons while you and your wife cleaned up the mess left behind.

As you were packing up the fruit you felt two arms snake around your waist, and a kiss placed on your neck that you instantly melted into. You felt her smirk but ignored her smugness as you lazily cleaned up.

"You're spoiling her," Natasha groaned, you shrugged and turned around to face her with a genuine smile. "I'm just giving her the same chances I did you."

Natasha frowned, "I hope it's not exactly the same."

"That’s disgusting!" Yelena groaned from the couch and you giggled into your wife's shoulder. Avoiding the question in your kids eyes, and leaving Natasha to answer it. The redhead smirked, throwing her sister a wink before she completely pulled you out of the room.

Two could play at this game…

—

[jamdragon]

Okay I've seen a lot of posts and comments here and on another short video app I shall not name about how Vi is a traitor and a hypocrite to join the enforcers in season 2. And while I don't quite want to open the bursting suitcase that is Caitlyn's current emotional state and actions, I do want to ramble a bit about how I've been interpreting Vi's actions.

The most common and coldest take I see a lot is that "Vi abandoned her family and morals because she loves Caitlyn" usually worded much more poorly, which is absolutely not true in the slightest. Getting back to Powder was her number 1 most important goal during season 1. I mean, when Caitlyn first presented the badge to her, she freaked out and outright refused. She does not want to be an enforcer but she takes the badge in the end because she sees no other option. However much she says she isn't blaming herself for Jinx's crimes anymore, she still blames herself for creating the monster. Joining the enforcers was the best way to get to her.

Is she a turncoat? Yes, absolutely. Was there literally any better option? No. Does any of this excuse releasing the Gray and using it to flush people out of the streets? Fuck no. At best, that was morally questionable, at worst a fucking warcrime. I'm pretty sure she knows that this was bad, but she's telling herself to keep going, because of Caitlyn.

Yes, she does love Caitlyn and if anyone else had proposed this idea I think she would have shut it down. But as a reminder: she watched her entire family die in front of her and then immediately spent something like 10 years in a very abusive prison system thinking that her sister might be dead. The first person to show her kindness in a very very long time was Caitlyn. And I think now that she has to accept that Jinx is not the sister she knew, she really believes Caitlyn is that last person she has. She wouldn't have any friends or family or even a home or a way to support herself. Right now, she needs Caitlyn to survive.

So Caitlyn turning her back on her, hitting her in the same place that she'd been wounded before, that Caitlyn did her best to heal her from, was like stepping on the fingers of someone hanging off the edge of a cliff. She'd been holding on desperately, but now she's got nothing and she just hit rock fucking bottom.

Thank you for coming to my Tedd Talk.

[spacerockfloater]

Gentle reminder that Alicent could have outed Rhaenyra when Criston told her about their night together in order to bring her father back to court, but she did not do so because:

1. she did not want to inflict irreparable damage to her friend, in spite of what she put her through

2. she valued Criston’s life, despite barely knowing him, who would have been executed had she told Viserys the truth

And she still refused to advance her son for the Iron Throne, even if Rhaenyra kept pushing him down the line of succession by giving birth to bastards and branding them as legitimate, up to the point when Rhaenyra felt that she and her children did not have to suffer any consequences for disabling Alicent’s child.

But sure, she’s the traitorous hypocrite.

[rynnthefangirl]

Sometimes it becomes hard to hate Team Green when they do such a great job of causing pain and suffering to my least favorite character.

Aemond's a deranged bloodthirsty little psycho, but when he burnt his rapist usurper brother to a crisp?? Iconic.

Alicent is an obnoxious hypocrite, but now she's throwing her son under the bus and is gonna let him be beheaded? Wonderful! It's about time someone did that.

Otto is a manipulative traitor piece of shit, but him putting Aegon the Usurper in his place was one of the highlights of season 2.

Larys is a snake, but he's also gonna poison Aegon down the line, which will be doubly great in the show with Aegon being betrayed by the dude he thought was on his side.

Aegon stole his sisters crown, and all it will ever bring him is betrayal, heartbreak, suffering, agony, and death. As it should be.

[harukamitsuki]

(spoilers ahead)

honestly, i think one of my biggest issues with my hero is how horikoshi is really good at setting things up, but fails in the execution of basically anything and everything. especially when everyone wants to see it prosper.

a world where everyone has quirks, except for our main character, who strives to be a hero despite that

the number two hero is anything but when behind closed doors.

the number one hero comes off as endlessly joyful, yet is more tired than anything

a world where your worth is based on your quirk

a world that is so obssessed with heroes that hidden crimes are just forgotten

a boy who was so hurt that he could only hurt in turn

a girl who was so restricted that she can't understand personal space

a boy who was neglected for being weak so he strives to become stronger and in turn only hurts himself more

a boy hated simply for looking different so he rejects the world for the world rejects him

and a boy hurt by everyone around him, but uses that to make the world a kinder place.

all of this is present within mha, but none of it is expanded on, or if it was, it felt like lip-service at best, and downright insulting at worst.

the powerless mc gets an incredibly powerful quirk and forgets he was ever quirkless.

the number two hero is abusive but it's totally okay because he regrets it and his abusive scenes are treated lightly later on

the number one hero goes back to his old ways when he finally gets a chance to be himself

there is no commentary on quirkless discrimination, and we barely see the impacts of having a 'weak' quirk

hidden crimes are explored, but there isn't anything regarding how the future generation will solve this issue

that boy who could only hurt after he was hurt so much? yeah he dies despite the mc wanting to save him so desperately, and there is no satisfaction in it. because he still didn't want to be saved

that girl who was so restricted that she couldn't understand personal space and boundaries? yeah, she never learns what they are, and nobody directly calls her out on this

that boy who was so neglected for being weak and only hurts himself the stronger he strives to become? well, it's actually his fault because he couldn't forgive his abusive father. his misplaced envy towards his abused brother is never delved into

that boy who rejected the world that hated him for being born? yeah, he's never shown any kindness from the people who should be showing it. instead, he's taken down while he's lost his mind and becomes a massive hypocrite

that boy who was hurt by everyone around him yet still wants to save others? yeah, he's still being hurt by everyone around him and is never praised for helping people, only scolded by others. he loses everything and isn't even allowed to work for it again.

the set-up for everything is so good, but the pay-off and the execution is just not.

i feel like horikoshi was winging it half of the time, hence why he forgot about the traitor plot point. something fans were speculating about for years, horikoshi just forgot. it's like - he set it up as early as the usj, forgot to build up aoyama's character, and speedran it. because of this, it didn't feel earned.

'you can still be a hero,' does not feel earned at all. why should we care about aoyama when the creator himself doesn't? the traitor could have been anyone, and it wouldn't have changed a thing, because the set-up was gone. by the time he'd remembered there was a traitor, everyone else forgot about it.

the same goes for the deaths.

i've seen people commend mha for killing people off, but, the things is, do we really care about who was killed off?

nighteye? he was a dick, and it was clear horikoshi was trying to do a whole 'redemption in death' thing, but let's be honest. we only care about the impact it had on mirio, which wasn't even much. it could have been anyone. nighteye surviving wouldn't have changed anything.

midnight? we did not spend nearly enough time with her to give two shits about her death. maybe if she were 1-a's homeroom teacher, as was originally planned, it may have meant more. as it was, who cared? she didn't even die on-screen. it could have been anyone.

native? i don't even need to explain. nobody cared.

star and stripe? did anyone really get attached to female all might? no, because there were no dimensions to her.

stain? what did his death serve? what would have changed if he survived? nothing

like, if you kill someone off, it has to mean something. what was learned by nighteye's death? heroes die? we learned that ages ago with the water hose heroes, and with stain's mini-arc. maybe it was to show, yeah, we're not afraid of killing people off.

but it didn't mean anything! at least have nighteye learn something. make it a proper tragedy - maybe he wants to apologise to all might but all might arrives too late. maybe he finally acknowledges that it was never his right to dictate who gets ofa and really apologises to izuku. maybe he can't even say goodbye to mirio.

maybe, in trying to do something, his sacrifice means nothing... until, when he's already dead, it's revealed that it did.

killing a character off to show how serious you're getting is fine... if it weren't already clear that it was serious.

people say killing off so many was mha being realistic, but they don't understand two things.

one: if you want to be realistic, kill someone off in the usj, because a bunch of kids just starting school should not be able to hold off against actual villain. if you want to be realistic, have the kids be shoved into counselling after the usj. if you want to be realistic, have aizawa die against the noumu. that's realistic

two: NOBODY GOES TO ANIME FOR REALISM!! seriously, if you want realism, go watch an indie movie or something. not anime, where everything is drawn and people have superpowers and tripping over means you accidentally grope someone.

the thing about killing characters off is that it has to mean something to both the characters and the audience. if we do not care if a character dies, it does not need to be there.

example: (spoilers for one piece ig) whitebeard from one piece. even now, people still quote his dying message. 'the one piece is real'. both this line and his death have a massive impact in-universe, and we the audienced cared, despite the relatively short time we go to know him. his death actually mattered. had whitebeard not died in marineford, i guarantee that nothing would be the same.

fishman island wouldn't have been taken over by big mom. marco and izou would not have appeared in wano, or if they did, the entire whitebeard alliance would have shown up too. there would still be a balance in the emperors. sengoku would not have retired.

there are ripple effects from whitebeard's death, and everyone one piece fan still remembers it clearly. and the same goes for every other death in one piece: ace, bellemere, kuina, hiriluk, tom, the rumbar pirates, rojer. every death had its meaning and affects either the world as a whole or specific characters who would go onto impact the world anyway.

mha just doesn't let you care about the characters it kills off, nor do their deaths have meaning, because there isn't a pay-off.

the set-up is there. the pay-off is not.

and that, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, is my biggest issue with mha. horikoshi's execution.

[criminalamnesia]

for a slight spinoff to the traitor pieces...

how bad would it have been if the initial interrogation had been passed off to another team?

i feel like protocol would bar the 141 from having to hurt one of their own, if anything for conflict of interests, going too hard or too soft on them, liabilities, etc

BUT. they have the advantage of knowing so much about their teammate, that they probably reported their weak points- family, traumas, insecurities, ALL OF IT, and all of it told to them originally in what was supposed to be a level of confidence. The 141 is betrayed anyways, they think she spilled their secrets, so they do it with bitterness but no regret.

Well no regret until it turns out she hadn't betrayed them in the first place! whoops!

i think its one thing for you to ask forgiveness after literally cutting off their finger and crippling them, but its another thing entirely to have not been the one to beat her, but to be the one supplying all of her deepest thoughts and weak points to allow someone ELSE to do that much more effectively

THAT is much worse of a betrayal imo. especially since it'd embolden the boys more as they beg for forgiveness; they weren't even the ones who beat you, it was out of their hands! but they dont realize just how deep of a transgression it was for them to turn on one of their own like that. hypocrites

im also thinking of it being like, a week or two since you got detained, and they're doing some digging for their own missions, and someone sees a lead not end up right... and after some chasing they realize themselves that the intel was forged and then THEY gotta be the ones to go to the higherups and get you pulled out of there. they feel like heroes, and that you'll be so happy to see them again when you wake up in the infirmary, but you see the faces of your team and remember how the interrogators beat you to questions about things that you had only ever told to your boys

those are just my thoughts teehee!

your mind is so powerful.

(honestly, you guys should take this series out of my hands and write it yourselves. you all have so many good ideas!🥰)

but I kinda agree with you. physical torture is awful, don’t get me wrong. but the team sees that, and they don’t feel bad because they didn’t inflict those wounds.

psychological torture, though? they can’t see what they’ve done to you, but it’s there. and because they can’t see it it makes it so much worse. it makes it so much harder for them to understand why you won’t forgive them, and why you won’t praise them for clearing your name.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Replay | ateez x reader

Pairing: pirate!ateez x adventurer!reader

Genre: adventure, fantasy, time travel, poly

Warnings: mention of a panic attack, mention of a sharp object.

Word Count: 1475 words

Summary: You're given a second chance to change things. But will you go or stay?

a/n: hello hello! welcome to my first one-shot! (but not really hehe) if you're new and found my account for the first time, I hope you enjoy my stories and it's really wonderful to have you here! :) In an update a while ago, I mentioned that I currently have a plethora of story ideas that I would love to develop into a full-length series one day, but for now, in order to not overwhelm myself, I will be posting these stories as one-shots/imagines so that I can share it with all of you and come back to it later on! This is my first one inspired by Marry My Husband and set in a world like the Choices' game Blades of Light and Shadow! Let me know what you think and happy reading! <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're standing at the plank, back against the sea, tears streaming down your face. You refuse to look up at your lovers. There's a rollercoaster of emotions going on inside you, ranging from pain, hurt and betrayal to anger. 

They chose her over you, believed her melodious and cunning lies, and expect you to apologize to her. You're not looking up but from under your eyes, you can see her figure cozying up next to Wooyoung's. He's telling her not to cry, wiping away those crocodile tears in contrast to your real ones. 

Raw rage is slowly thrumming through your veins and resentment is coiling in your stomach as a vortex of anger gradually swirls inside. You've had enough honestly and you were no longer going to bend to anyone.

"Just apologize Y/N." Hongjoong remarks in a cold and distant voice.

His sword is right in front of you, barring you from getting off the plank.

"For what?" you respond icily,  "I've done nothing wrong."

Hongjoong grumbles under his breath and another person steps in, you recognize its Seonghwa by his boots.

"Please Y/N, don't be childish. Aera is younger than you, she needs us to look after her. You can't get jealous so easily."

Jealous. Such a funny word coming out of your lover's mouth. It's hypocritical rather, because your eight lovers lose it over the slightest glance someone casts in your direction.

You find it ridiculous.

The girl weasled her way onto the ship, and you had a bad feeling about it since day one. But you didn't think it would come to this. 

Love. That's all you ever wanted, and you found it in these eight men, who you had been with since the age of 16. They loved you more than anything, at least, that's what they said.

The only thing you want more than anything right now is to go back and choose differently. 

"I—" you declare, "I hope in my next life, true love finds me."

"Y/N what—" Yunho begins but you cut him off.

"I hope I meet someone who truly loves me and I hope it isn't any of you." 

You raise your head and look at Hongjoong directly in his eyes. He's taken aback at that cold and empty look in yours. He can see the wheels turning in your head but he’s not sure what you’re planning.

"Traitor." You verbalize before running into his sword.

"NO!" All eight voices ring out.

Shouts and screams erupt from all eight men as your blood begins to stain Hongjoong’s sword.

"Y/N WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Hongjoong screams.

You pull away and stumble backward towards the edge. San tries to reach for you but you pull your hand away and fall into the sea.

You're thinking this is where your story ends but actually dear one, this is only the beginning.

-

You startle out of your trance. You're in the fortune teller's shop. Blinking around haphazardly, you try to zero-in on your surroundings. Memories flood into your mind as you recognize where you are. This is the shop you visited when you were in the town of Maverick - it would be a month before everything happens.

You're dumbstruck by what just happened. Just moments ago, you were on the plank, ran yourself into Hongjoong’s sword and fell into the cold raging sea. Now, sitting in front of you, the elderly tarot reader draws some cards and gives you a reading.

"You're in for a big change dearie. I see the wheel of fortune is in your favour but be warned, the justice card reversed suggests there is dishonesty somewhere. "

“And this one?” you ask, pointing to the death card.

“In its upright position, it reveals that beginnings and change is expected. You’re nearing the end of a cycle.”

You don't ask for a further explanation, you pay and leave, walking back to the tavern where the boys are currently in. But as you walk out the shop's door, it begins to rain.

No...

Immediately, memories rush into your mind as you recall the timeline of events. It will rain and then the dam that's near the town will break, unleashing a flood. Aera is already with you all, the boys bringing her back home to her father after she got herself caught up with some misfits. But when the flood hits, everyone will scamper and she will come back with you all, joining the crew and then ruining everything you had with the boys.

Reaching the tavern, you watch from outside: all the boys are sitting around a table while Aera's father brings another round of drinks, and says something to Hongjoong. Aera stands at the far back of the room but you can tell there is something on her mind, that dubious and suspicious glint in her eyes. Her father walks back, she asks him something and then he scolds her before walking away. She balls her fists but then regains her composure before hopping over to your boys.

Previously, none of this had happened, as far as you remembered. After visiting the tarot reader, you waltzed into the tavern, pecked San and Jongho on the cheeks before placing yourself next to Yeosang who drew you closer to sit on his lap, his arm around you bringing you in closer. Aera did not come and sit with you all.

This time you hesitate entering the tavern, wondering if wandering around, accidentally getting lost or going the other way would be better. 

Love. That's all you ever wanted and you thought it would be with these eight boys. Now, you weren't so sure.

Little did you know, this moment of hesitation will change the course of your life. As you continue to think about your next course of action, a figure runs into you, bringing you down with him.

"What the—" Before you can even question, the figure jolts up, ready to run again. But you're quick on your feet too, and you grab the person by their wrist.

"Now wait a minute Mister," you begin but you're cut off by shrill shouts.

"There he is! Get him!"

You turn to the voices but before you can look at the person, he grabs your hand and pulls you with him. 

You have no idea why you're even running with him. You're strong enough to break free and go your merry way but as you study his back, you're intrigued ��� this black hair guy has a pretty feathered twist in his hair and silver dangle earrings. Something about him entices you.

He leads you down an alleyway, over a wall and then into an open field. The next thing you knew, you are on top of a hill that overlooks the town. He brings you behind a tree and you rest against the bark, trying to regulate your breath. The stranger crouches down attempting to do the same.

"You're insane." You remark.

"Yeah well, you were slowing me down so I had to bring you with me if I wanted to get away."

He doesn’t seem dangerous but rather, very amiable. The rain has stopped and there is only a slight drizzle, but from on top of the hill, you can see the dam that’s about to burst.

"No...the dam..." you mutter in-between breaths.

The stranger turns to the dam’s direction and his eyes widen. The dam erupts and rains down like a waterfall. You watch in fear and fright at the sight and your mind races to the boys, but deep down you know that they'll escape. 

But this time, you're not with them. You're with this stranger, now apart from them. 

"Hey are you okay?"

There's a wave of emotions and you feel yourself spiralling into panic. Your heart pounds in your chest and a familiar grip of fear tightens your chest, each breath of yours shallower than the last. Suddenly, the stranger holds you gently, looking at you with a reassuring calmness.

"Hey, don’t look there, look at me okay? Deep breaths, you can do it, take your time and follow me."

You do as you're told, the stranger running soothing circles on your forearms provides a sense of comfort and relief, and after a few minutes you finally compose yourself, staring out at the now submerged town. It's heartbreaking. 

"Where are you going to go?" he asks.

"I don't know." You answer.

The stranger hums and thinks for a minute before getting up and stretching out his hand for yours.

"Let's get going together then."

You're taken aback by his boldness but fascinated and captivated at the same time.

"I don't even know your name." you voice out.

He helps you up and gives you a polite smile, one that is soft and heartfelt.

"Yoonghoon. My name is Kim Yoonghoon."

[greenaswildfire]

I get the feeling they decided to nerf Alicent and Helaena on purpose, so they could taunt part of the audience who likes the "more womanly" type of character.

Something like "oh, are you tired of girlboss characters like Rhaenyra? there you have it, your fragile woman kind of character you like so much!" and then turned them into two bland pacifists instead of soft power players they were in F&B.

There is a quote I see frequently on social media but have no idea who said it:

You can’t truly call yourself peaceful unless you’re capable of great violence. If you’re not capable of violence, you’re not peaceful, you’re harmless. Important difference.

Alicent and Helaena were peaceful in F&B. Helaena transitions to harmless after B&C, but she had a reason for it.

In HotD? Both are turned to harmless women. Helaena refuses to fight because prophecy, refuses to burn innocents by sacrificing her life and her Jaehaera's, c'mon girl, you're also innocent in all this! It's absolutely stupid to imagine that Rhaenyra would let them live, mainly because by Rhaenyra's precedent as queen, any House could back Helaena and Jaehaera's claim the moment Rhaenyra refused to bend to said House whims.

She would never let them live, she could never. And even if Rhaenyra refuses to do anything, certainly Daemon would in her stead. He's kinslaying on behalf of the queen who also happens to be his wife so he gets a pass, right? RIGHT?

I get the feeling they wanted to trap us in this "muahauha see? see? You say you hate girbosses but look at you now, you want show!Helaena, a Sansa-like character to act like a girlboss, hypocrites! Muahau we got you, traitorous women who dare to defend the patriarchy by liking non-girlboss characters!" situation.

But they forget one important thing: Alicent was bold and politically savy in S1, she was butchered because of their rhaenicent thirst and I don't doubt they build up S3 around the mandatory rhaenicent scene (this time it will be a s3x scene in the cell, after Rhaenyra imprisons Alicent for her "treason" since Aegon is no longer in KL). Alicent was a strong female character in her own right, until she wasn't.

And Helaena is just a background character tbh, writers knew they couldn't make her disband to TB side so they made her a Bran 2.0 who poses no threat to TB, but doesn't help TG either. If any female character can't be part of TB, they'll turn her into a third party so they won't pose a threat to "rightful kween". The only time she was treated as equal was by Aemond when he asks her to help protect the family and she refuses.

C'mon, she's neurodivergent but she's clearly capable of thinking that if she refuses to fight, everybody will die way quicker than if she accepts to. She's not stupid (I mean, at least until plot demands it, so her inaction-caused-by-her-visions can benefit cult leader kween's path to apocaliptic prophecy). She could clearly say something like "I will. but I won't fight because you asked me to, I'll fight for my daughter's life, I'll fight for mine." and I'm sure that Aemond would be hurt anyway, but would hide it because he's also determined to protect her.

She wants to live, so does he, and he'll somehow make up for Jaehaerys death by protecting Helaena. Helaena instead of doing the same like the other dreamers (choosing humanity's salvation over anything else) subverts expectations and says f u prophecy, and decides to fight against the prophecy instead of fulfilling it, so she and her daughter can have a chance to live. It would be such a contrast to cult leader, they make parallels in hotd all the time, why couldn't they do the same here with Helaena's plot?

Have you ever played Umineko no Naku koro ni? One of the most important aspects of the game imo it's exactly this "fight against your destiny" thing. How much do you value your life and others's? What are you willing to sacrifice for a slim chance to live and see them again? When your destiny is the same in most universes, should you give up and die instead of keep looking for one where your destiny is different? They could have done the same with Helaena here. Cole for example, he knows that probably he won't make it out alive of this war and yet he fights! Why can't a woman do the same? Fighting against destiny is something that only men do? Or are you telling me that Cole is stupid for not giving up, for relying on this slim hope he has of seeing Alicent again, of living with her and the remaining targtower children after the war?

But again, it's a web weaved by the writers, we can't ask Helaena to fight because she isn't girlboss in hotd. I should despise Alicent, I should despise Helaena, but I won't. If I do, it will only confirm the approach they've taken with these characters and I refuse to be caught on these showrunners's web.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

16 - Ashes of Various Grey

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

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, character death, mention of child death, description and threats of violence, mental duress, execution, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, possessiveness

Notes: The length is absurd because I have zero self control, but hey part 4 starts today. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Shireen had always been as fascinated by the Targaryeans as she was fearful of them. Many years she had spent asking and wondering if the dragons carved into stone of the ornate castle would one day come to life, always in a fear. Yet you could recall the books she had on them, her favourites always being about Aegon’s conquering. Part of you had always wondered if it was growing up on Dragonstone that caused the interest. The volcanic rocky terrain that surrounded your home, the impossibly beautiful yet terrifying design of the castle itself with dragons atop pillars and towers. All mixed with the looming not so distant history that you and her grew up in the very place that homed the dragon riders that would soon conquer the lands.

You never cared much for it, not for the stories, not for the dragons and not for the oddness of the Targaryeans and their strange and unseemly ways of life. But she did, Maester Cressen once said that teaching her to read was a terrible idea since it took him days to get her to pay attention to any other lessons once she started understanding the words of history. She yearned for adventure, and you had always spoken of many and the older she got the bigger the adventures were promised. Dragonstone was no place for a girl like her to grow up but you made it work as best you could to see her smile.

You told yourself it was hypocritical. You had refused to let the Nights Watch and Wildings burn Jon’s body and yet you let the same fate be that for your baby sister. Trying to tell yourself that the Targaryeans burned the bodies of their dead, and following a ritual of something that fascinated the girl was one last indulgence of her passions. But part of you, knew it was childish desperation.

You didn’t do what you had done, for them. Not for the red woman, not for her god, and not for whatever visions she saw in the flames that demanded a sacrifice. You had given her a death that would end the suffering she was laying in. Almost unrecognizable from what her own mother let happen, kept asleep with essence of nightshade solely because the pain alone could end her. She cried and begged to you it was a mistake, but she let it happen. She allowed Melisendre to drag your sister onto a pyre and only cried for it to stop when her screams became too much. She died without knowing you came back to her, and it was their fault. It was your mother and this red priestess that whispered in her ear.

But perhaps burning her, wasn’t just for Shireen. You woke from what felt like the dead to a life with none left in it. Robb and your son dead without you, most of his and your family dead across the lands and finally as you found your way back to some, you found just more death. She had said burning that of King’s Blood was a sacrifice needed, and perhaps if there was the slightest chance giving Shireen to the fire would find a way to bring your father back maybe you should just do it. She was already gone, and burning bodies was the way the far North did things now but perhaps a tiny helpless part of you wondered if it would bring Stannis Baratheon back.

You had no idea if he had died hating you, still thinking you as a traitor but perhaps it would be easier to look at the cold hateful eyes of him, then it was to look at nothing left but quiet.

One day had been spent thrown back into the duty of a leader and yet every single choice you made was done alone, done out of desperation, and every single thing just felt like you were nothing of a leader that the King’s once around you were.

The cold of the night was painful, stinging your face and hands as you walked through the tunnel hearing the whirling of wind ting in your ears. The sheet of white in your arms was all you’d allow anyone to see. She didn’t deserve to be remembered this way, she deserved to be remembered as the girl she once was.

Coming to the end, the land opened up to a vast clearing that led into the darks of a forest you had seen in your dreams. The fire was no ceremony, no ritual to be done. Small enough for a girl.

Your mother stood beside Ser Davos on the right in front of him, and you could see Theon and Edd standing a smaller distance away keeping watch. None said a word as you approached. Your eyes far off as your lungs refused to even breathe. Gently, you knelt down to lay her on the flattened pyre. Running a hand over where the top of her hair lay under the sheet. She deserved more then this.

Coming up to your side, Tormund held a torch as he crouched beside you. Most wouldn’t speak a word in such a situation, but you found a small appreciation in how comfortably he approached you. Voice low and grumbling as he watched. “Why bring her out here to do it?”

There was a gentleness in the way you looked and touched her that was uncommon of most everyone he had met. You wanted to smile at the memory, but you felt only the way the dagger so easily slid into the base of her skull. “She had never even left home before this. She always dreamed of adventures and the last time I saw her, I’d promise to take her on one.”

He had told Jon once that once they burn their dead that’s it, there’s nothing else to it. But then there was the anger in finding his body, the way Edd had closed Jon’s eyes as he spat that some fucker had butchered him. And now in the way you looked like this was the one last tie to the world before you faded away forever, you weren’t speaking to him really. The whisper for the girl under the sheet.

“I know it’s not where I said I’d take you. I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfill my promise, but beyond the wall is as far as either of us have ever been. A small adventure is still an adventure none the less, right?” Leaning down you pressed one last gentle kiss to her forehead before Tormund handed you the torch.

Both standing up, you placed it down onto the wood before backing away to stand to the left of your mother and Davos. The flames lit and burned in flickering quiet, the crackling of wood all there was to hear and none of the screams that haunted the night before in the chaos.

Your face was still, unmoving and in life’s previous you’d have wondered if you looked cold and uncaring but you knew the tears slipping from your eyes as you watched the fire consume more of her, they all could see. Your pain sat right in the colours of your eyes and as you looked into the flames you saw nothing. Whatever visions were said to be there, you only found the last of those who held your heart and a life of darkness alone in the hours of the next morning to await what was left of you.

The only ones left were three of you. Edd continued to watch, and would make sure you got safely behind the wall once you were ready to go back through the tunnel. Tormund had no reason to stay with you as you watched, but you were glad he did. None of this should have mattered to a man like him, but in his own mind, Jon mattered to him and you mattered to Jon. Which meant you were someone who mattered to Tormund now.

The only other friend you had left was in Theon, but there was betrayal, pain, and blood in that history. At least in Tormund the pain that greeted in less horror and agony then the other.

Neither man said a word as the remains of the fire smouldered and little was left in it to be recognized by any. Uncaring of the remaining heat, you knelt down and gathered a handful of ash and bone left behind in a small pouch keeping it in the same pocket a small paper flower sat as well. The final thing you could do for her, was keep something of Shireen with you for wherever this tormenting life had in mind for you.

She wanted to go with you on grand journeys and you would take her there.

Left alone as the gates closed behind you, you leaned against the back of a wall and looked up to the glow of the moon. The yard mostly empty as scattered men kept their distance and words to themselves. The tears were still fresh, but you did not wipe them away. Let the gods see you cry for the last of those you love they tore away from you.

Maybe they would finally see fit to end such cruelty.

The stars shined bright in that cold. Mocking you for how much the world around you was the same without having a place for you anymore. Like no matter where you searched, no matter what you did or spoke, part of you had been ripped away so deeply that night and you found nothing to heal it. Nothing that gave you purpose and it all felt futile, like more then people you loved had died, but as if you died and the part of you which came back was just like this night.

It looked clear, the skies beautiful and bright but there was nothing within you but the bitter cold in your lungs and a missing purpose. The path to your fathers quarters was hollow. Gently draping the coat over a shelf, and sitting down in the dim room at his desk felt even worse. The letter weighed so heavily in your pocket that taking it out and tossing it’s folded contents onto the desk almost felt like a shift that left you lightheaded. With it you gently laid both the little flower under what was left of her on the desk as well.

“I will cut out your bastard heart and make her watch.”

“Let you freeze to death next to the bastard who loved you so much.”

The voices passing back and forth in the forefront of your mind as your fingers reached up to where you had laid Longclaw out on top. The pommel even in the light of only the window’s moon, the red jem shined against the carving of the wolf. Jeor Mormont had seen so much in him, that he had the bear remade not just into a Direwolf, but into Jon’s Direwolf. Had given him a sword that once his families for five centuries, and then so betrayed by his own son sat with the man for over twenty years.

He had seen something in Jon that had him dedicated to giving it to him, but felt worthless under your own touch. You had earned nothing, but as long as you were here it seemed it was entrusted in your care. The people looked at you in a silent reverence at the person long thought to be dead and all you had done was make decisions you had no way of knowing if they were even decent.

You had never had to lead like this alone. You hadn’t led anything in over a year, and now you were to do it by yourself and maybe it was a test of how incapable you were. A high ranking man of the Night’s Watch executed under your command only a day after their Lord Commander was murdered, who was supposed to take charge of a mantle so few understood.

His closest companions heard enough about you to trust, but you weren’t Jon and you couldn’t be a leader like him. As you ran your fingertips over the carved teeth you felt that twisting in your stomach that had you put any food in it, may have come right back out. But much like since you found yourself awake, you had little desire for anything but a sleep that never ended.

A scratching at the door is what finally grabbed your attention, scratching and whine that you knew could only come from one animal. As you opened it, you were nearly tackled by Ghost who was suddenly far more energetic then he had been since you arrived. Reminding you more of the puppy you left him as then the unusually intense and aggressive demeanour he had all day.

Leaning down slightly you ran a hand over the side of his face as he whined. Turning in place and beckoning you to come with him, and a whine that seemed more urgent then before. Looking to the outside nothing you could see looked dire but you felt an inkling in your stomach that felt more confusing then sickening.

Glancing back inside, you grabbed Longclaw keeping it tight in your grip as your other hand closed the door behind you. “Alright, it’s alright Ghost. Show me what’s wrong.” Your voice was low and steady but your heart pounded as the direwolf led you down to the ground level and over to the one place you didn’t want to be.

Opening the harsh doors, a few stragglers noticed the grimness of the sight and wondered just what the Direwolf was leading you into but the idea hit both them and you. The stairwell into the main halls of the ice cells was just as it was before. Saving itself from a pitch black only from scattered torchlight.

Your steps echoed against the stone as your breath increased in nervous pants the closer you got to where you didn’t wish to see at this moment. But the cell door, was slightly open and you stood frozen beside Ghost. He just look up at you with another whine, your hand gripping the sheath with one hand and the other tightly against the sword’s mantle as you finally walked forward.

You had told them, you’d handle it. You would deal with the consequence of not burning his body and now it seemed as your final punishment you would have to deal with it now. Dreams long passed of bodies raising up with eyes just as blue as the figures in the night you dreamt of, along the cries of infants. You knew the stories, and you knew the threat that had taken over the worries of all this far North.

It was now though that you’d face it for the first time and it couldn’t be towards a worse opponent. But as the slight open door came into your eyes, you could see nothing outright. Pushing it open only enough that it let you slip inside and Ghost behind you, you didn’t notice you had lived this mistake before as a girl. Outside in the training yard of Winterfell and then too, you hadn’t thought of checking corners or watching for what was coming up behind you.

Stepping towards the iron bars which still had yet to be locked, there no longer was anything there to keep guard. And that was the problem. Your eyes widened, and your heart felt painful inside you as you looked to where you knew for sure you had left him but there was no one.

Ghost had walked to the other side of the room, your eyes glancing to meet his red ones with a sharp panic until it swelled into a fear that sent you turning around, your grip on Longclaw loose enough you almost dropped it. The heavy metal door you walked in though, right behind you now, slammed shut with an echoed thud.

Turning in place though, you could see a hand press down on the lock before you met their eyes. Eyes, that weren’t a crystallized blue, but a grey so dark they appeared almost black.

Neither of you spoke a word in that moment, your heart stopped in your chest as your muscles all shook in such a shock it glued you in place. Just as he looked only with colour and life breathed back into him and far less dead, Jon looked at you with as much of an intensity as you felt.

Instinct told you to fight in fear of what was warned to you, but nothing of what was to be seen was found. It wasn’t a standing corpse in front of you, but just an older, more wild Jon Snow as alive as you were. His own eyes were as incapable of staying in once place as yours, but his feet stepped forward towards you.

Both your breathing was heavy as you dared step forward as well and yet still you saw nothing dead in his eyes. Just as full of words and emotions as he always lived in them and they looked over you as your mouth parted open in words that refused to speak outloud.

You didn’t know when you dropped the sword, but it now lay useless on the ground as you and Jon stood so close in front of each other you could feel the warmth he always gave off even in a place so cold as this. A pain in his eyes that almost looked like he would fall apart was too much, but yet your own found the same place that sickened you hours ago.

Your fingers reaching up, and just as they did before, gently pushed the edges of his shirt aside and ran gently over the wound over his heart. Only this time there wasn’t cold under it, but that of a beating heart as your breathing picked up heavier. Trailing down over the others they were as real as they had been before.

Jon’s own hand reached up, causing you to pause but not look away. Pushing the material up and up until his large, calloused hand ran over the just as mortal, deep scar across your stomach until his palm laid almost flat across it. Like he knew exactly what he was looking for and as your head rose up to look at him, there was such a deep seething anger in his eyes as he looked where he was touching.

Finding the others gaze, you searched for something to say, but your heart was so heavy and so flipped around inside you stammered silently as he looked at you the same. Such a silent whisper in your voice yet it felt like it screamed in the small room. “You were....”

His voice sent something running through your veins, something that burned and shivered down every inch of your nerves as you finally heard it. That deep, low rasping husk of a voice that could entrance you, roughly looked at you with his own pain behind it, a hand still on your own scar. “So were you.”

Not another word was let out though, or even a thought for you finished. Only a moment passed between you, before Jon’s hands reached up to cup both of your cheeks.

Taking you by suprise, he pulled you up while he also leaned down to meet, Jon roughly pressed his lips to yours and suddenly that burning turned into an overwhelming scream in your head. A feeling that took over and shoved out every other thought and sense, as you meekly steadied yourself with hands at his waist. His lips were rough with you, demanding but refused to give you any space to breathe before he turned your body himself and you were shoved roughly into the wall beside you.

Jon pressing his own body tight against you as he moved to hold your jaw and keep your kiss as deep as he could while his other hand ran down and in a second, only pulled from you to suddenly yank your shirt up over your head. The cold of the cells striking over your skin as Jon gritted his teeth in a hiss as his eyes trailed over your bare breasts. You looked at him with a need that you hadn’t felt in such a manner in your entire life, folding instantly into him as he roughly kissed you once more.

His hands reaching up and grasping at your breasts, groping tightly and running his thumbs intently over your nipples until he heard you whine against his mouth. You arched into him as your core already burned at the touch, Jon biting at your lip until you gasped. His tongue slipping into your mouth before his hands gripped and teased you more roughly at how easily you explored him back.

Your own hands suddenly reaching up to shakily rip open the rest of his shirt before trying to move against his demanding kiss and intense touch to push it down his shoulders. Jon never breaking the kiss as he helped shove the material off for you. Your hands running freely along his shoulders and chest before wrapping up around his neck and running into his curls.

Jon cupped the back of your head the second you even tried pulling back for air, refusing you any reprieve as he squeezed every inch of skin his other hand ran along. Kissing deep and increasing in demand as your breaths turned to moans gifted right into his own mouth.

Touch leaving you, Jon ran his hands down until he reached your pants and just as he pulled from your lips, both of you matching in growing red, swollen from his roughness and panting in desperation, he suddenly knelt down. Yanking the material straight down and off your legs. All but throwing your boots to the side and leaving you bare for him in the freezing cold.

You didn’t even consider the scars and horrid marks so blatantly left on the inside of your thighs, as before you could say anything Jon didn’t come back to your lips. Stayed knelt on the ground before pulling your legs as far apart as he could. Gripping your hips to pull you to him, and in a second of confusion for you it was soon replaced with a gasp of his name.

This..you didn’t know about what this is. Had no idea what he was doing but Jon’s mouth leaned up to run along between your legs. His mouth was hot and his tongue licked along your folds up to your clit that had you arch against the stone and hands pressing harder into it as you shook. Jon kept his mouth against your cunt like a true wolf starved from the world as he gripped your hips tightly. Refusing to let you escape him, his tongue ran across your clit before sucking slightly at the tiny bundle, making you jump and cry out his name.

You couldn’t contemplate what Jon was even doing to you, as any slight hint of you trying to pull away from something boiling fast inside of you he yanked you back to him tighter. You knew you were just soaking him from how easily you grew wetter and wetter and it mixed with his tongue running flat along your folds before you cried more.

His hands having pulled you wider open for him, and his tongue reaching to lick inside of you as you stuttered out gasps with no way to speak. Only letting you go long enough to snatch a hand of yours he guided it to run through his hair, and the second you let your nails scratch along his scalp Jon shook against you. The vibrations of his growl against your cunt soaked him more as it spiked a screeching and burning pleasure inside of you. His facial hair burned against your skin, making you desperate enough to want to beg for mercy.

Just as he refused for your lips, he never allowed himself a second to tear way from licking into you as if he could sense every single angle and manner which brought the most moans from you. Truly a wolf that had been starved for weeks and finding something worth dying for between your legs.

Your orgasm passed through you without any warning, you tensed in his hold and hand grasping his curls tighter as he shoved you hard against the wall and ran his tongue across your folds, inside as it pressed along something gaspingly sensitive and back up to your clit. Your core snapped and you begged with nothing but pleas of his name that made him groan and growl into you more.

But he didn’t give you a second’s reprieve. He seemed to lick every sound of wetness between your legs and now the pressure build to the point you almost started to panic. Jon’s grip too strong as he licked so much inside you that he found every way to tune you like an instrument until tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

Both hands dug into his hair as he pushed you into the wall more and almost forced you to hover just barley on your toes with hands braced against your inner thighs. Letting him press his mouth against you entirely as he dragged you right from one orgasm into another as he refused to let go until he tasted every bit of what you soaked him with.

As your legs shook in his hold, Jon finally pulled away. Rising up with one hand gripping your jaw to tilt you up to his mouth, the other made quick work at tossing off his own pants. Your hands gripping his shoulders as he purposely kissed you with a sloppiness that forced you to taste what heavy wetness you left on his tongue as he ran over yours.

Barley leaving your lips as he moved enough to kick what was left of his own clothes somewhere behind him before tilting your head more up to his mercy, words brushing against your lips that pulled a whine from you, “I love the way you taste.” Before kissing you again and pressing his body tight against you into the wall.

His cock was as hard as the stone scratching at your back. Jon’s hands unable to choose where to stay on as he let himself grind into you, his cock slipping between your legs to move along your entrance.

You writhed into him back as Jon once more returned to his determined goal of keeping your lips pressed against his. As your hands reached behind his neck, Jon suddenly shifted, hoisting you up by your thighs as you kept them partially wrapped around his waist as he held you in his arms against the wall.

This was not the hesitant almost of years ago. As soon as you felt the tip of Jon’s cock press against your clit, he slid along you and with the wetness you soaked his mouth with and how much his own saliva soaked you, there was no resistance.

You cried so loudly into his kiss at the burn. One single push inside you and you could truly feel how long he was and how almost too thick his cock was to handle, how stretched you open for him. You shook in his arms but Jon never wavered in holding you. Letting himself slide as deep as he could inside of you without pause.

He wasn’t fast and impatient, instead keeping you so close to him as he pulled his cock slowly out of you to the tip before slowly once more sliding right back as deep as possible. Your head slammed against the wall behind you as you whined and Jon’s face fell into your neck as you felt him bearing his teeth in deep pants of his own.

His cock was slow as he slid it in and out of you, but just enough to have you feel delirious should he let you go now. Even in this cold, sweat begun to run lightly across both your bodies as he pulled his face up to look into yours.

His eyes black and lips swollen and parted before a particularly deep thrust had his eyes shut and teeth grit together in a hiss. You couldn’t see, feel, or think of anything but Jon like he consumed every inch of your soul as he fucked you.

Just as before, it started out of nowhere but this time your walls soaked his cock, clenching so tight around him Jon’s groans turned to deep growls as he had to fuck up into you harder to slide his cock as deep as he could everytime. Your foreheads pressed together as tears fell freely from your eyes and you could barley breathe but he kissed you everytime you were sure you could handle his fucking and stole you right back to being so out of breathe you held him tighter as the dizziness set in.

Sliding so smoothly in and out of you with such slow and deep strokes against a sensitive wall inside you, Jon’s breathing begun to stutter himself before kissing you again and licking inside your mouth just as his tongue did inside of you and in the same slow overtaking lack of mercy which your orgasm snapped, burning as it spiralled in from his touch.

You grasped onto him so tightly as you tried to cry into his mouth but he stole every breathe and word as he kissed and fucked you slowly through it. His cock pushing up into you with slightly harder thrusts until he pressed against you so tightly you felt only his lips, cock and his chest and none of the world existed beyond that.

Jon shook in your touch, his cock throbbing deep inside you before holding your lips to his with a hand at the back of your head. His cum was warm, unusually warm. One arm still holding you up, as he had you pressed tightly against the wall, Jon forced the leg he held onto, to widen as much as he could make you, as his cock spilled inside you. His cum was also thick, you could feel it was so thick that it matched the almost painful way his cock so largely filled you. But it was a lot, enough of him filled you that it tried to slip down your legs but he stretched so tightly it could only stay deep inside you.

As he slowly fucked the rest of his seed into you, you could feel he was still hard. In an instant your world spun, as he turned you around and pressed you hard into the cold ground. Your legs still spread wide as he pushed them far as they could go, and he looked over you with a need in his eyes as you had in yours. The greyness almost glistening as his chest heaved, your eyes looking over the stab wounds as his found the deep scar on you.

You had seen most of him before, but not like this. His cock was long, and like his seed, he was thick enough it intimidated you even now and making you shudder, clenching around nothing, the sight of it soaked from you and tinted white from his own cum still inside you. Jon gripped his thick base and pushed himself back as deep as he could inside of you. The mix of his cum and yours making the sound almost shameful at how wet it was.

Your muscles all tensed at the large push inside you, his cock running firmly along your sensitive walls as you cried out. Jon’s eyes flew down to where you were joined, watching him slide deep inside of you before his hand rose, pressing against the scar and pushing down firmly that made you jump with a spark of wild desire before slipping to hold your hip.

His other hand tightly gripping your hair before moving to lean down and kiss you once more as this time, he fucked you a little faster, but with much harder thrusts. The force used made his skin slap loudly against yours and you gripped his hair tightly while against his lips.

He pulled away, almost lovingly raking through the back of your hair as his own dark curls brushed against your skin, your jaw and neck was red from how much his facial hair scratched raw against your skin just as it burned still between your legs.

Jon hovered over your lips, his cock never stopped his pace as he fucked into you rough and just less then fast enough that it made you clench so tightly around him he needed to pound harder just to stay so deep inside. His voice rough, and his northern accent so thick it slurred. “You’re so beautiful,”

You gasped as he was pulling you to another orgasm, this time it would be much more powerful as you felt his cock so deep and the sound of his skin against yours with a rough slap each time but soaking wet to the obscene. You pressed your forehead against his as you lost everything that wasn’t his touch, his voice, anything that wasn’t Jon fell away.

Voice wavering as tears fell freely from the mix of pleasure so overwhelming that his cock almost made your cunt burn in pain but you craved every second. “I missed you, gods, Jon I’m sorry I-”

His lips shushing you between more gentle kisses that did not match his cock’s pounding, how tightly his one hand gripped your hip to force you to take his rough pace. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, darling, I know. I missed you so much,”

Jon could feel the pressure around his cock growing and he knew you were losing it, shifting you to hold your head into his neck as he buried his face into your hair as he fucked you a little faster with every passing second. Low murmurs into your ear of how he missed you, how he was the sorry one, how beautiful you felt and just as you clenched tightly around him you arched up with a true sob.

Something inside you burst around his cock and you knew you were truly soaking him but it felt as if you were underwater and nothing around in the water did anything but drown you in a pleasure that burned in agony through it’s orgasm.

Your nails with a mind of their own in desperation, clawed down his back as he groaned into you. His cock thrusting shallow but deep as he left the rough pace and shamelessly sped towards filling you once more. A trail of two sets of nails raked across his back bright and red but you were covered in bruises that fit his hand and mouth perfectly as he pushed back your soaking orgasm to his.

Jon came much more that time, spilling inside you deep and the slick wetness around his cock and filling you with his warm, thick seed as his hips never stopped until there was nothing left. For a moment, you both held the other, panting with something close to tears even in his own eyes but you were too far gone to comprehend.

Pulling out of you, you whined against Jon but he kissed you gently. Turning you slowly to press your back against his chest as you tumbled into him. His arms tight around you as you muttered distressingly, “I can’t, I’ll wake up and you won’t..” But while your eyes shut and voice mumbled, Jon nuzzled the back of your head.

“Sleep, darling. I’ll be here, I promise.”

Something in Jon’s mind almost worried this wasn’t real as much as you did while falling asleep finally, but he also knew something more. He knew he had watched you through Ghosts eyes, lived as the very direwolf that sat in the corner almost keeping guard of you two. If he knew that was real, then Jon could finally let himself actually sleep for once assuring this was real too.

He could feel the heart beneath his wounded chest slow against your back and he felt the deep scar across your stomach as he too finally fell asleep. Something inside him was feeling like yours, something that looked to the other and felt consumed by their presence.

Something about finding you again, that had Jon feel like a true wolf. Risking going rabid and crazed if he let you slip from him this time. When his eyes slid open to the room, with Ghost at his side as he finally felt his mind properly settle, suddenly all he could think of was finding you. Desperately sending his companion out to bring you here as he felt like a mad man at finding himself truly back in his own once murdered body.

But then you walked in, and that wolf snapped. If direwolves mated for life, Jon couldn’t really know, but he did know as he fell asleep finally, that this wolf certainly did. Ramsay Bolton’s manic letter had accused Jon of stealing you, “Give me my bride back.” It had said.

You weren't his bride, you weren’t Ramsay’s and you never would be. As soon as Jon woke back up in his true body, something inside him couldn’t stop the nagging question. Why did it feel like you were the one who brought him back? Why was he consumed in his new life with you, but he also wondered if you somehow were feeling the same.

Eventually, you both would have to face everyone. Walk up those steps and they would see the impossible before them. The time could come where those remaining would see the remains of a murder walking on two feet, those who watched the crime and those who mourned but none expected Jon the way he was now.

But right now, you both struggled to bring yourselves to walk into that realization. Partially dressed, Jon’s back was leaned against the wall as he kept you perched in his lap. Neither with a shirt on as both of you ran your hands over the scars of the other. Both trying to find an explanation in the other but Jon was persistent. “No one survives something like this.” You tried to argue but your name slipped firmly from Jon’s mouth as his eyes narrowed up at you on his lap. “I saw it, I saw you. You were dead.”

It made sense in your heart but not your mind. “That isn’t...it’s not possible-”

His touch was soft as his hands shifted to your waist, yours gently resting on his shoulders while he leaned his head back onto the stone to look up. “It’s not possible to survive these either.” Nodding down to his chest, your eyes narrowed with your face twisting harshly as you ran your palm flat against them. They felt like yours. Not quite healed, but not scarred either. Like they just existed without being part of your living body. The wounds like they were dead but everything around it alive underneath.

Jon watched you for a moment, his voice low as he spoke again. “Maybe these dreams, these visions I’ve been having. Maybe they were trying to tell me to find you, protect you before..” You both swallowed. You couldn’t talk about that now, neither knew when you should. You watched his eyes soften as you ran a hand gently over his jaw, the coarse facial hair scratching your skin before they moved to gently run along the length of his curls. “Whatever brought me back, we might need to consider it that it brought you back too.”

You bit your tongue as the nerves rose but instantly Jon leaned up, pulling you to press his lips to yours gently, trying to soothe those nerves instead of letting them fester. He still knew you far too well. You swallowed harshly as your mind ran too fast in too many directions, “So, the gods what? Keep me alive just so I could come here? See you dead just long enough to think I’ve lost everyone?”

He hummed, unable to stop his hands from running along your skin as long as he was this close. In truth neither of you understood enough to say what this was. All was known that Jon felt a bit different in this new life. Like something more dark and possessive lived inside of him and he was consumed with you until he had you in his arms. He felt as if he was going to lose his mind in the time between sending Ghost to find you and seeing you step into that cell.

Even now, he took you twice in the early seconds he woke up. Your breasts currently littered in marks from his teeth and bruises from his mouth, he had yanked you up onto his lap as he desperately bounced you rough on his cock, him sitting up and burying his face into your chest smothering the growls in him. Barley awake compared to him, you were at his mercy, his cock fucking up into you as hard as Jon’s grip on your hips moving you himself to fuck you down onto him, letting him take you in whatever demand he wanted. Pushing past both your first orgasms without ever stopping to let you come down.

He was a man possessed, something terribly animalistic in his heart as he felt a screaming, dark desire to spill deep inside you, to fill you up again as soon as he did the first time. You, yourself had felt as if you were burning up on the inside until he was inside you again. Like something was deeply tethering you to him.

The feelings were calm, much calmer now but there remained something between you that was difficult to explain. Like in your new life, you only found purpose after seeing the other again but for Jon it just took far less time and torture to get there. You knew he was angry, wanting to demand everything that happened to you, but it wasn’t the time for it.

His own clothes back on, Jon was before you helping put your own shirt back on neatly as he tilted your chin up to look at him. Gods help him Jon was about two seconds away from just pushing you back onto the ground and taking you all over again, but the dark look in your eyes was focused on something else as you pulled away, reaching down to hand him Longclaw.

Both of you held onto it for a second as he watched you closely, “Out of all the ways for things to end between me and him, it’s hard to believe it was you of all people who did it.” Your eyes wide as they looked at Jon asking how he knew but Ghost had walked over to nudge at Jon. Smiling at him while strapping it back around his person, “I could see things through Ghost...or was controlling him. It’s hard to explain but it was like as soon as I died I could see and move through him.”

A whine coming from Ghost had him kneel down, running a hand along his fur as the two looked at one another. You were to afraid to bring it up yet, like saying his name would destroy whatever had been created in this little, dark room together but you think you understood it. You had watched a strange almost abnormal ability to control a direwolf before.

“Wish I could say I’m glad he’s gone but at least that part of my humanity came back with me.” He knew about Ser Alliser Thorne, he knew it wasn’t vengeance but justice you were seeking for him. “If yesterday didn’t scare the others into making up themselves for what they’ve done-”

“Then seeing you now sure will.” Looking up to you with a more serious look, Jon stood back up and pulled you into his arms for a moment. Only for a moment, as quite quickly, you both were nudged in the legs by Ghost, causing you both to turn to him with a laugh. “At least one thing does make sense to me. If you were somehow living inside Ghost, it would explain why he was so..intense and aggressive yesterday but far more of a large pup now that I remember”

Jon held you one hand gently at your jaw, the other your waist as he looked back to you, waiting for you to meet his eyes before you both felt the air turn much more heavy and tense. “You told them today is a fresh start.” You nodded slowly, a hope that it didn’t make him mad but his expression never changed. “Why?”

Your hands struggled to land on him, much like that night in Winterfell like despite the closeness seconds before you were now afraid to touch him. “Everything they said, about the North, about the Others. I spent over four years with a war and it’s aftermath having dreams and visions of what was happening but I didn’t understand any of it. But...now I do, and I think even the men who betrayed you need a chance to realize that was well.”

Jon watched you closely, his voice low but assuring. “Then we give them that chance.” Almost leaving for a second, Jon hesitated before pulling you back with a gentle call of your name, “Theon...”

You shook your head firmly, a stern look with no room for question. “He’s paid for what he did. He’s paid the cost and then far more then what he deserved. And he’s the only reason I made it out of Winterfell alive. He’s with me and right now I would leave it at that.”

The relief in you as Jon never doubted your word, giving a nod. “I won’t pressure you, but eventually I am going to need you to tell me what happened. What he did to you.” He, you both knew, meant Ramsay. “Not right now, but we can’t avoid him forever and I need to hear what he did from your mouth, because if I have to hear it from his, I may not end up letting him even finish a sentence.” His hands tightened on you, before you finally reached up to run along where his scars behind the black shirt sat under.

He would. You knew it. Ramsay loved to use information as torment in and of itself, and that letter...either Jon finds Ramsay first or he brings himself and the rest of the Boltons men here. But he’ll mock him with every torture his words can summon, it was just his cruel nature at work.

Was it fair to assume the worst? Some considered it so. You had followed Ghost to the Ice Cells in the dead of night and quite some time had passed and none had seen you. They all knew what was down there by now, and all of them feared what the worst might mean.

Ser Davos Seaworth had shared a moment with the large wildling, Tormund. Discussing that they may need to begin forming plans for the worst, knowing now that there were bigger threats on the horizon and the remaining wildings and Night’s Watch could not just stand by and wait for whatever threat to attack from one side of the other.

Jon Snow’s last stand had been the choice to fight for not just the North he now guarded, but the North that was his home, the North that the woman he loved was trapped within. He had made it known he considered those beyond the wall to belong to the realms of men, and now he had remembered truly that his duty was to those south of it as well.

He had died for that conviction, and if that damned letter was right, without King Stannis Baratheon now they had to face the idea that you too might not come back alive from the cells if it had been this long. Tormund had said it was by nightfall most men turned to the blue eyes of the dead, and that the only things he’d ever seen kill them were fire, and that sword of Jon’s.

Some said you brought it with you, others weren’t sure. If not, and if you couldn’t grab a torch in time, they were going to have to find a way to continue this on their own and they didn’t like their chances.

Only, they didn’t have too.

The large pure white direwolf emerged first. Thick metal doors opening as he walked out onto the yard first, and caught many eyes. But, what followed Ghost was enough that every person in Castle Black stopped and watched. You were still you, but you also walked beside a figure that they had seen dead the day before.

He looked exactly as he did before, scars still on his face red from their freshness, Longclaw strapped to his side as it truly belonged, and even more striking, eyes just as grey as they were before that night. No blue, no sigh of death, no fear from you except the dark looks on both your expressions as the men all gathered close.

Whispers begun right away. The North’s previously thought dead Queen, had disappeared in the dark of night and reemerged hours later with the once dead Jon Snow alive by her side. Davos had seen the body himself, but there was no sigh of the dead to fear in the man. Just the man himself, and you.

You were in rough shape the morning the Greyjoy had brought you here, but you were darker, angrier, and missing part of the life he knew in you as a girl that he wondered would ever come back. You refused to speak on what happened at The Twins, refused to speak on the whispers of you being dead and only said “As you can see, I certainly am alive right now.”

But he saw Jon Snow dead, and the ones who hadn’t, either murdered him, watched him be murdered or had the trusting word of his closest companions and the woman he died for. But here he was, speaking to his men as much of a leader as he saw before.

Davos tried not to look to where he knew the red woman to be. He had no idea what you could have done to bring this man back, but knew he did not want her of all people having any place in what was to come. In any of it. But as Jon stood on even ground as his own men, you stood beside him as your eyes blazed in a mistrusting rage towards the same woman Davos was ignoring.

Edd and Tormund both walked closer to the pair, sharing looks of bewilderment at the other. Both had seen things they never in a lifetime thought would be true, but this was something else. This was a dead man standing before them but not in the same horror’s Tormund and Jon himself had witnessed at Hardhome.

He had found a lot to admire over the past few years of the crow, and over the past few months in particular stood out. Never would’ve thought possible, but somehow he both admired the man more after watching him lead the crows to defeat the free folk. Somehow found himself being the man doing the growing and changing afterwards.

He had heard him talk about you once they finally found common ground that day in his office. To Tormund, it seemed a bit stupid. You were in love with the girl first, you snuck around for six years with her and then you let your fathers make her marry your brother and you go off and vow yourself to the crows instead of fighting for her. He could not understand either of you, but now looking at the two of you he knew no other explanation then somehow you found a way to bring him back from the dead.

That is some power between you two only gods are supposed to have, if you asked him.

As he spoke, the same deep rasping voice came out, but a tinge rougher with more of an anger behind the words. A darker tint floated around Jon Snow, and it would never quite go away, but no question, those who knew you before could also could see it in yourself as well.

“Most of you should know, two night’s ago twelve of our own took it upon themselves to betray a brother. Lured me out alone, cornered me, and stabbed me in the chest and heart. Then threw me into an ice cell thinking they could get away with it if they hide the evidence.”

A glance up from where you stood beside him, you could see Olly pale and full of a shocked kind of fear in his eyes. A look that was shared by a number of others who had seen it themselves first hand. The boy had your word, but the same would not be found for others.

“Nine of you came forward yourselves, admitted your part. Except three.” Drawing attention to you, the way the eyes watched you both was far easier then yesterday doing it on your own. “Ser Alliser Thorne planned and carried out my own murder, and then paid the price for his crimes, but two of you didn’t. Two men who once stood by my side as Lord Commander.”

The yard quiet as this time, you had already named them front of everyone the day before but still, they found no courage to step forward until this time, the one who named them was the brother they killed.

“Othell Yarwyck, Bowen Marsh.”

There was quiet until a path begun to turn, men shifting in place to draw all attention on the two older men so white they just may have passed out if not for the bitter cold keeping them alert. There was no need for yesterday’s demands, and this time, it was Jon who saw men that once voted against him force the two to come to his feet. Shoved onto the ground as they looked up at him.

You promised a fresh start, but for those who confessed before you did it for them. You executed the man who did this to him, but Jon knew better then anyone both of them had shoved their knifes into his chest and watched him bleed out. And never had the courage to speak up when confronted.

Jon would stand by your decision for the others, but you would stand by his decision for the two of them. “This fight is bigger then us, bigger then our disagreements, bigger then our vows. I’m not leading these men to fight for nothing but the wall.” His face twisted slightly, tone almost irritated that some of them hadn’t understood the grander image yet. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that there’s no room in our vows that means protecting the North, the whole North, or the people we love in it.”

The men found nothing in glancing at you. It wasn’t you they betrayed, and it wasn’t them they were to answer too. Their eyes tearing up to Jon’s in hesitancy, neither finding the bravery to speak. Voices that did speak up were men scattered in the crowd, perking up from different points and picking up in fervour. Words of “murderers”, “dirty traitors” all the way up to “hang them” as still the men found no courage to truly face the man they ended.

It was Edd who stepped forward enough to capture attention, something barley held back in his expression of awe and relief. “What is to be done with them, Lord Commander?” A point in his voice, make sure any possible descender know, he is still in charge, he is still the leader they chose.

Stepping closer to them, Jon’s eyes narrowed sharply as he found more anger in his disgust at their cowardice. His head nodded back to your distant stillness, “She was kind enough to show you mercy.” His grey eyes bordering on a black as his tone lowered to something rough that made them shiver. “But I’m not. You have until sundown to make peace with yourselves.”

Multiple men stepped forward, dragging the remaining two men to be tossed away. For a moment, there was a tense quiet as they all looked to their somehow undead leader, and bless Edd for stepping forward first to break such still heavy air.

The two friends hugged, and the gates opened to the rest of them approaching their brother, and the scattered wildlings joining too.

You could recall the day you left Winterfell. Hearing behind where you stood Jon and Robb saying their goodbyes and how wrong it felt to accidentally intrude on it, the same felt deep in you now. Stepping back slowly as men all approached Jon before something in the pit of your stomach needed to walk away entirely. These were his people, not yours. You still didn’t belong here.

You weren’t quite sure where you were even headed at all until reaching far into part of a dining hall, dim and empty as the mass of men were outside. You could feel your heart pounding but nothing to explain why or even the senses to tell yourself to breathe. It was as if the world was dizzy and your chest ready to burst open as your palms braced on a counter. Your eyes shut as you leaned over hearing the blood rushing in your ears.

It all felt too much all in one instance. The strings, the blood, the warm blue eyes turning to terrifying pale ones, all swirling into bodies and fire and her and him and all of them as the night before screamed in your head and deafening you until a gentle hand found it’s way to your upper arm.

Flipping around with a desperate gasp of air you found Theon flinched back slightly, for only a second did you try and tell him not to sneak up on you but you only felt the world fade and twist in colour before slinking to the ground. Your back pressed against the counter as Theon slowly knelt in front of you. “What can I do?” His voice quiet but a concerned plead as you felt like the world spun in your mind.

You shook your head almost choking on the words of not knowing, eyes stinging with water trapped behind them until an old trick came to Theon’s mind. Stepping away from you you heard thuds and shuffling but you could only hear a mixture of voices. Voices of Jon, of Robb, of Shireen, of your father and the mocking words of Melisendre that day in the Westlands.

Heart stopping yet racing all at once until Theon returned with a large mug shoving it into your hand and just moving you to drink. “Come on, all of it, let’s go.” Ale rich and bitter but you let it sink down as you slammed it on the ground before letting your head fall against the wood. The world still spinning as your eyes remained closed but it all eased up as Theon spoke. “You alright?”

Taking a deep breathe before nodding, you moved your feet to sit flat on the floor knees closer to your chest as your head dropped into your folding arms. You felt Theon shift to sit next to you, it was never often him all those years ago that would see spirals of panic this way but he’d seen them once or twice enough to recall what they looked like. And the memory of having you down something alcoholic to simmer it out or maybe just to distract you for a moment still worked luckily.

Voices spoke muffled in the distant outdoors before you finally felt your heart grant your feet back on the earth and mind lifting such haze. Your arms remained folded against your knees but you raised back up as he could see you wipe back whatever tears fell with the back of your hand, frustrated furrow of your brows that they even fell in the first place.

He leaned over quietly, as if hiding with a whisper in the empty room of your name, dropping any formalities or titles in the moment, knowing right now you just needed a friend. “What the hell happened?”

You looked forward at a spot on the floor, a shrug in your shoulders with a weak voice. “I don’t know, I have no idea what I had done. He was dead one moment and alive the next. I...” You didn’t know how to say it, you didn’t want to even think of that night not the blood not the fire or the strings or the chanting but something about last night felt true as you spoke. Voice meek like a confused child, “I don’t think he’s the only one.”

Theon’s brows furrowed, but you couldn’t look at him as you spoke. “Something’s been so wrong with me since that night, something inside me felt so twisted and missing like I never really survived. As if I’ve been walking around barley alive until last night, and now it’s all right here and it’s too much at once but...” Finally, you looked at him.

A far away concern in his eyes that you knew wasn’t judgment, but just not understanding. You didn’t expect him too, you think only person in the realm will understand it now. “I died that night, Theon. I know I did, I felt it...I died beside him. But it never felt like I woke up until..”

“Until he did?” His head gesturing outside vaugley as you nodded. “Could be why you came back. You couldn’t stay dead because you needed to be here to bring him back.”

You shook your head, letting it thud back behind you once more. “Given this a lot of thought, Greyjoy?”

The smile wasn’t really genuine, but the light tone in your voice that accompanied it gave a little perk to him, as if for a second it was just the two of you years ago. Teenagers in Winterfell that snuck into the kitchens to have a drink way passed when anyone was supposed to be awake. “One of us should.”

He nudged your arm, you nudged his back. The panic and tears were still staining your face and soul but in the quiet it was a tad easier to swallow down. “What is it the Drowned God speaks of? What is dead may never die?” You looked at him with an unconvincing half smile. “What does he say about those who bring a man back to life?”

Reaching beside him, he dragged a mug of ale back over to you with a second for him. Nudging you to take a sip. “Nothing. Think it might just be you two.” For a moment it was quiet before he asked “Do you think he’s lying about your father? Ramsay?”

Biting you lip harshly before you took another sip, “I couldn’t say. He’s a commander, an excellent one. But I’ve seen more then enough commanders take knives to their hearts to feel any kind of optimistic about it anymore.” The ale was bitter, but Theon was right, it helped bring you down a little bit even if it was the sake of distracting your mind. “If he isn’t, he died thinking I hated him. If he is, then he will hate me anyways.” His eyes narrowed in confusion as your heart felt heavy. “The wrong daughter came back.”

A fleeting wish in Theon that maybe those thoughts had found their way out of your mind, but in the quiet of the room you still voiced the same. His head dropped, face twisting downward. “You’re still his kid. No parent wants to outlive their kids.”

In the quiet of the room, your head tilted slightly to the side, almost resting on him if only just a few inches closer. “What about you? You’re here when you could be making your way back to Pyke instead of being with me still. Your father would want to know you made it out of Winterfell alive.”

His heart in that moment felt far away, much like your own. “My real father lost his head in King’s Landing.”

Little seemed to change, the outside was different, the people not as cruel and the circumstances to get here were something of chaos, but in here it was the same as back there. You and Theon still held this strange dynamic, a bond that was rooted in feeling out of place in the world amongst your own people and your own blood. Your voice was just as quiet. “Some days I wonder if mine did too.”

You had to guess where he may be, though logic ended up telling you to search your quarters. A strange place to look for him, if considering what his position really is here. Your fathers quarters just as cold and dim as the way you left it the night before. No sign of life beyond you and Theon as you walked in but your eyes remained sharp. You had a feeling he was in here, but you weren’t with such energy to hunt.

Coming around to the desk, you ran your hand over the leather of the grey overcoat hanging across it you barley paid attention to before. Grasping it gently in your hand as you pulled it up, you could see it on him. Not magnificent of a wardrobe, much of similar things but they all were very striking of your father’s appearance.

Looking up you caught Theon watching, both of you turning away in an instant. You swallowed as you nodded over to the table near the back. The things on there clearly that of a young girl, “Could you..”

You turned away as he walked over to take them out of your view. Eyes drifting to the window up to the clouds of the winter day as you tugged the leather over your person. Too large to do up, without swallowing you, you kept it open and at least felt the leather warm you the slightest bit more then the only soft material under it before.

The first of papers on one side containing raven scrolls large and small, papers with too many numbers and listing details to count. One in particular still catching your eye, words you read and reread far too often and yet even now you felt just as awful thinking of it’s contents as before. Fingers tracing over it’s edges before a shifting across the room and a startle from Theon had you stand up suddenly.

“Seven hells, what are you doing hiding in here?”

Stepping around, Theon looked startled but annoyed as he looked at the now exposed Olly hiding in a corner. His face pale and hands shaking that fear you saw in him yesterday at that very desk back with a much larger looming fear. “He was dead, I stabbed him I know he was dead.”

Your jaw set, tilting your head slightly to Theon to continue on you stepped towards the boy, a hand outstretched. Pushing him lightly forward from his back as you led him back to the main room. Away from where you couldn’t handle being around Shireen’s things. Sitting back at the desk, you leaned against it to face him.

“What did you do?”

Your face still and unblinking for a moment before you came to an honest answer. “Maybe I didn’t do anything. The gods may have just decided he wasn’t supposed to die and made it so.” Your brows narrowed as he looked distant in his gaze. “Olly-”

“He’s going to hang me too.” You sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I put a knife in his heart, if he sees me, he’ll hang me.” Opening your eyes you shared a flicker of your eyes with Theon, almost as if asking each other if you thought it was a possibility. But you couldn’t, it seemed like a different person who would do such a thing.

Olly’s circumstances didn’t make what he did to Jon any more acceptable, but there were unavoidable truths in his age and what drove him here to take in account. Executing adults is part of being a just leader, but children was...

“Do you know where Riverrun is?” Both looked at you confused only getting an eyebrow raised back to him until Olly nodded yes. “Our army was garrisoned there near the end of the war. River Lords had attacked Lannister forces without our knowledge and they took two teenage boys hostages. Not much older then you.”

Theon didn’t know any of this either, leaning against the wall to watch as you yourself turned further away for a moment. “I spoke to them, gained their trust, gave them food and water. They were prisoners, but they were still boys who weren’t the ones responsible for the war. They were good kids, really. Then in the middle of the night, five of our own men dragged them from their cell and murdered them just for being kids of the enemy.”

You could see them, the way they were laid out in the hall that night and the tension so thick in that room that radiated fury. If you let yourself, you could still hear Robb yell that they were just boys.

“The King had four of them hanged, took the head of the one who planned it himself.” Crouching down to look at him closely you could still see how young he really was. “We executed five of our own men, and lost the support of one of our own bannermen’s houses as a result of that execution. And we did it because they were grown men who murdered two boys your age. We did it because they were under our protection and murdering them was treason.”

“Kill me and be cursed.”

Push the thought from your mind, push it all back. You couldn’t. Not now, maybe not ever. Exhaling deeply you leaned in more to make Olly meet your eyes. “Some might argue it’s justice the other way around. But I don’t see it that way. Sometimes...” Both men in the room watched you look over to Theon. “Sometimes what we think is justice leads to things which are far worse.”

He had many things to hate you for in your life after him, but you couldn’t imagine executing a thirteen year old boy would be something wherever he was, he would look at you any more favourably for. If indeed, there was anything left he’d be even remotely alright with. Not now, not after last night.

“But you are going to have to face him. You can’t avoid that, and you shouldn’t. The last thing you should do right now is hide from him. You came to me yesterday, told me the truth all of your own choice. Don’t make him have to come to you.”

So why were you up here hiding from Jon as well? After everything why was it you still felt that lingering dread that he wouldn’t want anything to do with you? Unable to tell if it was the worry of disappointing just one more person with who you’ve become, or the pit deep within you of guilt at how desperately attached you felt last night.

Leaning forward so his forearms rested against his knees he looked down before finding your eyes, a doubt of his own painted across. “Why are you helping me? After everything I did, you cut off Thorne’s head when he confessed.”

Circling around you placed yourself back behind your fathers desk, fingers tapping at the wood before settling. “I have a soft spot for giving those who have wronged the people I love, another chance at life, you could say.” Flickering slightly to the side, you didn’t properly look at Theon but you both could sense the other’s gaze. Two years ago you nor Robb wanted anything but bring him down from the North and take his head but now you wouldn’t want the man going anywhere else.

Pausing you leaned forward, hands clasped together. “I betrayed my own father.” Olly’s eyes rising to you in confusion, you nodded to the desk. “Stannis Baratheon was my father, I was his eldest daughter and he raised me to be his heir. Gave me a proper education, let me spend many years in Winterfell and Kings Landing to learn as he was, and then the Lannisters took Ned Stark’s head.”

This time you purposely didn’t look at Theon, you never spoke of it, but the day you all found out you had visited Theon in his tent. Things everywhere were thrown around and a few bottles were smashed on the ground. Nothing truly had been right since that day.

“Everyone expected me to go to his side. Join my father, the rightful King and fight for his claim, but instead I sided with Robb Stark. I sided with the man I married and when they declared him King in the North my own father declared me a traitor.” His eyes dropped a bit, Olly being from the North himself had long heard of the two of you. “I cannot deny what I did, I was a traitor to him. What I am saying is, we all do bad things. We all do things many consider horrible or monstrous, but it’s what pushes us to those circumstances that matters when facing judgment.”

A knock at the door had all three of you raising your heads up, Olly looking from the door to you with a barley concealed panic as Theon went to open it. First only Ser Davos walking in causing no alarm until it was the one who came behind him that made two hearts jump for very different reasons. Having changed into something without the traces of his own blood, and black fur around his shoulders that made him look large and imposing.

Instantly you gestured for Olly to come around the desk to stand behind you, doing so with a jump as you could see him try to remain steady. His grey eyes unblinking as he moved to stand beside Ser Davos on the shame filled yet terrified ones of the boy.

Jon wouldn’t go against your choice, he understood it likely better then you. He knew what Olly had come from, and he knew too well that putting his anger on the boy would be misplacing the ones who knew what they were really agreeing too. He could still recall having that final knife shoved into his heart, but he also could see the confused, angry pain in the tears in the boys as he did so.

As you sat there, it was an odd feeling for him. He once could recognize Stannis Baratheon without ever being introduced his name because of how much he could see you in the man. Now though, it was as if he could see Stannis in you as if he didn’t know you first. You had left in the noise earlier and now looked at him with something very held up, very guarded in your eyes that he didn’t like.

Something about his connection with Ghost had him once wondering if this strange phenomena was what being a warg was, and then his spent over a day in his direwolf’s body and consciousness when he finally found you again. Too much of the day now he had been torn between the nature of his new life, and how something deep within him knew it was through you that he could stand here now. The other was burning and obsessive being able to touch you in ways he for too long thought was a dead gone dream.

But then you sat there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you wanted to be here trying to put that wall up he knew came from Stannis himself. Only his wasn’t a wall, just his nature and with you it was hiding you away from everyone else. Jon wondered, did you realize how well he still knew you, did you even know yourself anymore. His voice was rough and low as he spoke, “It’s time.”

He didn’t need to ask he knew you would join no matter what you were trying to ignore. You glanced to Theon, indicating something with a more narrowed glance before the man left with the quickly joining him out the door with Olly as Ser Davos followed in a thoughtful silence, the sounds of distant shouting and footsteps heard in the distance. Looking at each other for a moment, Jon turned and closed it completely shutting the world out. Gloved hand still on the wood as he faced away from you, his eyes shut as he inhale deeply.

“They all think you had something to do with bringing me back. And I don’t think they’re wrong.”

Turning back to you, your eyes were set to the floor with something that he could feel the sting sitting just behind them. Only a mutter left in it, “I can feel it. As if it’s screaming at me like I’ve found any kind of a purpose, for the first time since...” Your words died right in your mouth and it only left you more uncomfortable as you sat there.

Everytime Jon had to share you with the world, it made things between you that much more difficult to overcome. Only now, the weight of so much in this world bared down on both of you and only brought you together after forcing you to lose everything. Jon hoped Robb could somehow see how much he meant to you, hoped that he didn’t hate him for always holding part of your heart.

But he had it for so long, so far away from you, that it was possible to Jon that you forgot what letting it share between you both felt like. “I know it would have been different for you, I don’t know how long you were..”

The shatter in your tone made him want to go to you, but the stillness and harshness in your distant unfocused eyes had him stay. You’d just flinch back from him at that moment if he tried. “It was the same night...” You sighed, running a hand over your forehead before resting them both on the desk, hands clasped against your lips. “It could have been minutes, or hours, but it was long enough to throw me in a cage and for them to...”

Whatever was on your lips next left with something that swam over your eyes like it was about to make you sick, and Jon felt a similar sinking feeling that it was about Robb. That the details you were forcing back down your throat would only serve to hurt him as well.

He could see you bite your tongue even from where was before you. Your name falling so gently from his lips before you stood abruptly. Making your way towards the door and breaking the quiet tension between you both as the cold air rushed in. “We shouldn’t keep your men waiting.”

That damned letter was on the desk in the seconds he was left alone in the room. The letter that started all of this, and the one that woke him from a slumber of refusing to involve himself with the realm. He didn’t read it as he gently picked it up, but he certainly took it with him. As he descended upon the awaiting crowd. You now standing grim and tall much like your father by the platform, standing by his choice no matter what you would’ve done or not done the day before.

Only hours ago Jon had you in ways he never thought would be blessed to him, and yet now you looked at him like you would shatter if he ever got that close again. He couldn’t let you walk away, like being too far from you even sent his head spiralling and an aggression in his chest rose. A barley contained growl within as if he was an animal watching his mate in pain.

Jon felt consumed with something darker in this new life and yet surrounding all of it was a burning possessiveness to keep you close. Jon just didn’t know how to quell that great strengthening desire in him, nor did he know how to keep you by his side without chasing you off. Just his gaze on you was enough to startle you out of the room like a frightened deer. But he could feel it in his heart, he sensed it that night.

The pull to find his body once more as if he could feel his mind being pushed back to where it belonged and all he could think or feel as it happened was you. And then his eyes opened once more in his own body with Ghost at his side and he knew it was you his heart was once more beating for. Beating because of.

But Jon also had no idea what you had truly been through, the extent of the night Robb died and what led you into the captors of the Boltons escaping with barley your sanity. Perhaps you just needed time, but Jon needed you. The darkness was coming to devour them all, a night that never ends and Jon had seen first hand the death which would follow if no one did anything about it.

It was on his shoulders now, but Jon couldn’t do it without you. He didn’t want to either.

Draped in blacks and furs, scar over the skin right beside his eye still red and imposing as the snowflakes fell across the wildness of his curls. Jon stood tall as he faced the two men who had yet to find any redemption or remorse. They had watched what you did to the man responsible, and now Jon would finish what you started.

His eyes dark as he looked up, their hands tied together and noose around their necks with looks of contempt from all three men standing there. Jon’s a seething and quiet outrage as Yarwyck spit, “You shouldn’t be alive, it isn’t right.”

You stood only a few feet beside Jon, his voice rasping deep as he didn’t turn away from them. “Neither was killing me.” Eyes flashing to down in that cell, the first time you pulled the edges of his shirt to the side to trace over the wounds deep in him and how they later felt flat against your palms as he knelt over you.

Bowen Marsh was pleading with more regret but no apology. “Would you let my mother know, she still lives in White Harbour. Tell her I died fighting the wildlings.” It wasn’t her Jon had issue with, and it was his duty to listen to the mens final words and requests. He gave a nod in agreement to his request, and their fate was sealed.

He let them go loose, and it took minutes for the sounds to stop. Jon had told them he wouldn’t give them a death as merciful as you had to Ser Alliser, and yet he felt little guilt. Looking to you, it was hard to tell if there was regret or shame in your own eyes.

A power of the gods had told them that Jon Snow should not be dead, and it was through you they chose to do so. You could argue against the idea, but you both felt that deep pull. Loving one another was just part of who you were for so long, but this wasn’t just that. This was something darker, something more desperate and protective that Jon knew would be impossible to keep away from this time around.

You could feel her eyes on you, watching with a shocked curiosity that you knew would lead to answers you already dreaded. You knew what you had done, what you had felt and what was said about such powers in her god. Her intentions for one man, but it flowed through you to bring back another.

Men all around this camp wanted to speak to you, had things to address and questions which needed answering but none of them were what you could handle. Not today, maybe not tomorrow or ever by this state of your mind. Not until one final thing was done.

When none had seen you part, none followed, she finally did.

A small fire finding itself lit as the remains of the hanged burned before the brother, the leader they betrayed and the men who now remained which stood with him. A few stragglers remained about, and it was them who helped you up.

The steps towards the lift were sturdy but you felt even there the cold wind of night increasing over your face. The long leather across your back and arms at least sheltered the warm better then everything else on you. Closing the gate behind you, you leaned against the back with your hands braced against the wood as you looked to the rising view of Castle Black.

The darkness of the North you knew in front rose up and the fires lighting below dimmed. Enough of the days clouds had scattered as the moon shined bright, but the crackling and gears turning around you were loud. The floor not shaking, but uneasy under your feet as you raised higher then most had ever been before leaning your head back eyes slipping shut to await the stop.

You knew in the morning, Ser Davos would seek you out and speak the words you wished you could throw into the mud. Where your place was now you did not know, but you did know it wasn’t that and it never would be. Your father did not come all the way to the Wall thinking it would help the Iron Throne and if he truly died in attempts to reclaim land from the Boltons that was not for anything but the North either.

A North that he turned away to your face and not. A North all his side called you a traitor for siding with, you had no place in his plans then and you could not see taking up them in his memory as right or fair. A new purpose needed to be carved before the swirling agony of panic inside you had you leap from these heights. This was far taller then the stone walls of Winterfell. This jump would certainly kill you.

The tops of the wall were higher then most, only opening up in carved spots to look out too as braziers laid about that had the stragglers within. Some men only watched you with a silent fear as you passed, others with a nervous mutter of a title you had not heard in a long time. Coming around the corner was an empty opening, but high enough the sky lit the trees below.

The wind was utterly freezing as it blew the edges of your coat and the strands of your hair around behind you. Your eyes widened a bit and the cold stung them, but the sight was as magnificent as it was invoking of terrifying. You had been out there, just barley and yet with no idea this was truly what lay beyond.

Only, the cold grew within your bones and for just a moment the dark of the night enveloped you with blues and cries of an infant in dreams long passed. Images of this sight but in the daytime flashed through your eyes and pretty red hair flashed through your mind and instantly you closed your eyes to push them out.

For too long you had been nothing but a problem in his life, something keeping him down and even now your very name in Ramsay’s hand caused his death. Even in his new life you had no idea if you belonged in it or if he wanted you in it. In the throes of the night it wasn’t even a thought that was all just a passing passion but now in the quiet and the freezing high dark you could hear him.

Hear how much he wanted to break you case any others wanted to play with his new toy. The vile spitting in your ear of mocking that ruined the memories of the only man who before then had taken you like that. Ramsay ruined all of it and you felt like a stupid child for thinking the kind of man Jon had become would care at all to take on your pain as his burden anymore.

If your true purpose in such a new life was just to be there to bring him back then you fulfilled that and should leave the realms to those who still deserved to fight for it. You felt her before you saw her, something that creeped up your spine and wrapped their tendrils around your neck speaking whispers of fire into them.

Not dressed much better then you, Melisendre stood beside you looking out to the far North with something less knowing on her face. A quieter shock that permeated her person and a tone quieter then such certainly held the night before. “The Lord of Light works through you, your grace. A power that should not belong to any. I merely speak to the Lord and he answers with his own power if he sees fit, and I do with offerings and practices he desires and yet it was you who he chose the one to bring back.”

Your eyes glared to her before returning back to the windy darkness. “What do you know about it?”

“Many have seen the wounds on your person, and none of them think you should have survived it. But I know you didn’t, your sights in the flames was death but here you stand.” Neither noticed the figure leaned against the cold walls of ice some feet away with keen ears. “The Lord brought you back himself, so you could be the one to bring another back.”

Your tone was low and filled with much ire, “And yet I didn’t have to burn any alive to accomplish it. What does that say about this god of yours.” Melisendre watched you curiously, the sight of Jon Snow as alive as he was dead hours before was a shock. He was not the name in the visions and flames she sought to revive. No images of her King showed death but it was death spoken of him, offering the princess as a final sacrifice was needed.

Appearing, you had taken away that chance and the Lord would not consider burning her body the offering, but you had done it at your own hand and that was the blood he decided would bring this man back. He accepted your offer, not any else and she could not help but consider that only someone of once death could bring back another in such a way.

“I think it means the Lord intends to keep you alive, that the flames showed me the truth. The King will return to us, because you have returned to him, the wolf at your side.”

For all her calm, she didn’t expect the move and you didn’t quite either. In a second, you had the woman pinned roughly to the wall with a small but sharp blade pressed to her stomach. Just barley scraping the fabric as you leaned into her with fury in your eyes. “Don’t speak to me about what your Lord intends. You looked me in the eyes, told me of a future with my husband that was ripped away from us by his own men.”

There was a hitch in her breathe, it seemed drastic pain sent more then just the King’s Baratheon into such a violent push. “I spoke the truth, it was not any fault of mine that he did not show me which wolf you would be at the side of. We do not choose our destiny.”

You pushed a little harder, blood rushing in your veins as your muscles screamed at you to act but you just stared at her with unmoving stillness. “Do not speak to me about my destiny, you have no right now or ever again to tell me what future you think I should follow. He was my husband, the only thing he fought for was his family and his people. You have no right to have any part in his memory. Or anyone else I love.”

Not easily persuaded by her words or allure, and Melisendre knew that too well as you dragged it a little down her stomach. “Do you feel where that blade is? Where it would go into you if I pushed a little further? That’s where Roose Bolton stabbed me, three times in this very spot. I bled out in minutes, having to watch him shove the same blade into Robb’s heart as we died beside each other.”

The figure just beyond felt that pain in his own heart, more ways then one but truly an unsettled feeling at how similar their ends were in wounds and betrayal. And how you were at the centre of both.

“I lost everything that night, and I have no idea where it is I belong in this life anymore. Maybe my destiny was to just be here and bring Jon back, but it cost me my life and my sister. Don’t you dare tell me that everything the North lost was just because you think I was with the wrong person at the wrong time. Don’t you dare tell me that.” You didn’t hide the tears, not as they ran down your cheeks and not in the anger they soaked your voice in.

The shaking in your hand from the burning in your nerves was too angry. You knew one more word from her and you would push this too far. Pulling back with a shaky inhale you ran a hand over your mouth before stepping away.

“You leave tonight.” Quiet and barley audible over the wind but she heard you and so did he. “You dragged my sister up onto a pyre and almost burned her alive for your god. If the only thing that brought Jon back was what I did then that is my weight to bare but you put her there. You put the King’s only living heir, the daughter he loved more then anything as a sacrifice to bring him back.”

Stepping in a way that you weren’t quite in sight before you turned back to her.

“You served my father well, but you will not serve me nor any in the North. You leave tonight, and if I ever see you in these lands again I will show you exactly how getting that scar felt. Only I don’t presume your god will see to keep you alive for it.”

Finding his grey eyes as you stepped out, you could see pain in his. You lost Robb but so did he, and he didn’t deserve to have you around to make that pain worse. You did enough damage to Jon Snow as it was. You said nothing as you walked away but he saw the desperate tears in your eyes as you saw them threatening to fall behind the anger in his.

Standing at the top of the landing, palms both leaned forward and braced on the wooden railing as she looked back to you for one last time. You knew all Melisendre found was contempt. She had tried to speak to him in your leave, but found nothing more of comfort.

“You put Shireen on that pyre, not her. Which means that little girl’s blood is on your hands. If I ever see you anywhere in the North, or anywhere near her ever again, I’ll hang you myself.”

You felt him beside you as she left. Both once dead, brought back for the other side by side as the moon fell high over the sky you thought for a moment, that it felt normal to be beside him like that. But just as the thought came to you, so did the guilt, so did the blood, and so did the twisting lies of Ramsay as he took you in ways now that only two men you ever loved had you.

And you felt sick. Jon was looking at you, but you both knew you were trying to not look back and you wished you never interfered in his life in the first place. Unable to shake the thought that Jon simply would been better off if you left him alone. He didn’t need you to bring him down just as he found true leadership for the only cause that mattered. Both of you could feel something rotting and dreadful inside of you that day you separated on the Kingsroad and only now did that feeling stop for good.

Somewhere in the dead of night, he wondered if it just might be the gods trying to tell you both, that you and Jon Snow hadn’t just wanted it, but that you had truly needed to be together. He couldn’t find reason to chalk up these dreams, these visions, and the way only you brought him back to all but coincidence.

He just needed to find a way to make you believe that. And more present and urgently, he needed to know exactly what Ramsay Bolton had done to you, to twist your fears of Jon’s love into this such terrifying doubt inside you.

[fatum679]

The best mother in the world 🤡

Season 2 revealed the truth that Alicent wore that f*cking green dress and dressed her children in that color not because she realized that Otto was telling the truth about Rhaenyra, that she would kill her siblings in order to strengthen her claim to the throne and power, but because Rhaenyra was f*ck Criston and Alicent was jealous of such permissiveness. She just turned out to be a hypocrite.

🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

Of course it's the writers' fault, but if you look at her behavior as a person who once lived, it's clear that she didn't love her children.The whole war was started because of that, in which her children, her grandchildren, her brothers, her entire family died. This war was started not because Viserys refused to marry Rhaenyra to Aegon, thus creating a conflict in which Alicent's children will be killed by their older sister, but because Alicent was offended because Rhaenyra slept with the man of Alicent dreams. 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

Now it makes sense why Ewan said in interviews that Alicent was a terrible mother.

I hope her children stop wearing the green colors of their traitorous mother.

[sapphic-agent]

Bro, Aizawa can go kick rocks. That last ask you posted got me so mad about him all over again.

I have no clue how Hori meant to write Aizawa. On one hand, he admits he really has no idea what the fuck he's doing as a teacher, doesn't actually teach his students anything, lets Bakugou do whatever the hell he wants with no consequences, and was wrong to treat Izuku the way he has been since day one. He even admits that he has no clue about his students DESPITE THE UA TRAITOR BEING ONE OF HIS STUDENTS.

On the other hand, he's arrogant enough in his teaching abilities to get offended when Mic calls him out for being a terrible teacher, doesn't say shit about Ida's internship choice despite knowing how suspicious it is, only gives ONE "I'm sorry, Izuku" with ZERO reflection or introspection as to why he hated Izuku so much, and hypocritically accused All Might of favoring Izuku despite not just blatantly favoring Bakugou and Shinsou, but shutting down Mic when he brought up said favoritism.

Worst thing is, everything in the second paragraph is to be taken at face value. We're supposed to see him as Kakashi 2.0 and this amazing teacher, but really he's just an arrogant asshole who if he were a real teacher, would have gotten MANY students killed due to his negligence and love of dishonesty.

Exactly, he's so inconsistent. I suspect this is due to his role as Horikoshi's mouthpiece. Isn't it a little suspicious that both times that Bakugou faced criticism from the public, Aizawa was conveniently placed to shut them down? Because the heroes at the Sports Festival and the reporters at the press conference are supposed to be us. Horikoshi, through Aizawa, is telling us how we're supposed to be regarding Bakugou, despite the fact that Bakugou's actions completely refute what Aizawa's saying.

(The worst thing about this is that it works. I suspect a big reason why people are so convinced that Bakugou's character arc was good is because of what Aizawa says. It's easy to buy into something if it's being told to you directly)

It's actually a shame because Aizawa didn't have to be a bad character. He's actually a pretty good hero, and his attitude towards Izuku's ideals wasn't exactly wrong. His execution absolutely was and he's really shitty about it, but I can understand the fear that someone who's self-sacrificing with a quirk he can't control will get himself killed.

The issue is Aizawa didn't care enough to a) actually understand what was going on and b) make the effort to teach Izuku better. So everything about him- his background, intention, trauma, beliefs- means nothing because he's not actually taking the steps to address and amend them.

Someone- not naming names- tried to make the argument that Eri ruined Aizawa's character. But honestly? She's the only reason I like him even a little bit. If we discount the light novels (and we should because from what I can tell they're awful), their relationship can be cute, even if we only ever see him escorting her around. Those little moments make him more human. It's not great (because again, they're barely together), but it does endear me towards Aizawa, if only a tiny amount

[romanoffsbish]

Please, Forgive Me

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

You broke up with Natasha—what have you done? | WC: 1,882

Warnings: Brief Angst | Toxic “Friend” / Natasha (if you squint) | Nonsexual Nudity (18+) | H/C Ending

“You look really pretty," Valerie, your best friend said with a smile that made your stomach flip into turmoil.

——

The smile on her face dropped, the sound of your chair scraping against the linoleum the clearest rejection. It made you sick and regretful for the last twelve hours.

It was an adrenaline rush spurred on by another fight with your beloved girlfriend, Natasha... Your beautiful, sweet Natasha with enamoring eyes and a sultry smirk.

You lurched up the dinner you just shared with that traitor Valerie, who smiled at you so tenderly, it was alarming. With her repulsive blue eyes, riddled with darker hued lines to which you confused with safety.

They were dangerous; a dark storm you got caught up in, not much unlike the one you were running through.

You missed the soft pair of green that belonged to the woman who owned the key to your heart and knew the way to unlocking your soul with purposeful fingers.

Looking into her eyes was a luxury only you and Yelena were granted; the halves of Natasha's heart, oh my...

You'd broken that heart only thirteen hours ago, now you were running through the rain to make amends. It was well past midnight but you had to get across town to the compound Natasha was unfortunately staying at.

If only you would have cast that she-devil aside at the first warning Natasha threw your way you'd be safe in her arms right now, likely looking into her eyes that reflected the same heat the fire beside you would've.

Natasha's eyes were your favorite feature, truly. The way they changed your view of her in various places always filled you with wonder on how she saw yours in the first place, she was just too good for this world.

At the compound they were almost always glazed over with a clear authority no one could question. From a side glance you'd see the Black Widow, but whenever she looked your way, which was often when you'd visit, there was a sparkle of humanity reserved for you alone.

Inside the four walls of your apartment her eyes always shined like brilliant emeralds, and her teasing smirk oftentimes softened into a goofy smile; a pure love that unfolded within her irises, right before your very own.

When you were outside she'd usually wear sunglasses, but on the off chance she'd forgotten them you could see the way the sun drew out light splotches of brown. Which fondly reminded you of the days you two spent wandering the countryside, getting lost in forests with shades of green that reflected the same field you got lost in every time you looked into your lovers orbs.

They were complex—guarded, but you had worn down her walls enough to get a peak into her greatest joys and most heartbreaking sadness. You blinked hard, a hand on the freezing call box outside of the compound going unfelt as you tried to forget the pools of sadness.

Those were the last things you saw when you broke up.

The thought alone nearly halts you, the minuscule contents left within your stomach churning tauntingly as if to remind you that this was all your fault. Valerie told you Natasha was being toxic, and in some twisted sense you actually believed the hypocrites words.

You told Natasha she was toxic, and you knew how much that likely shattered her remaining self image.

What kind of person does that to the love of their life?

All of you wanted to push the code and call out to her, but you realized now how selfish it was to expect her to console you. This heartbreak was all your own doing because you truly thought Valerie was your friend, that she was right thinking Nat was being controlling, but she was a two face liar and you were an absolute fool.

Natasha deserved better, your hand fell from the box and you were prepared to walk away, but a soft voice full of exhaustion called through the speaker, "Y/N?"

All you could do was to pitifully whimper her name.

You cast a look down at your watch, a photo of the two of you smiling popped up under a bright red 1:32AM that flashed beneath a raindrop, which magnified the early morning hour that filled you with shame.

There was no time to apologize for the impromptu arrival as you heard the loud buzz that let you in. You resumed your sprint and through your tears made it to the place Natasha stood ready to catch you in her arms. The impact had to have hurt her just as it did you but she stood strong, like an unmovable fortress. A warm breath fanned over your chilled cheek and fresh hot guilt trailed down your cheeks when you felt her relax.

Natasha wasn't angry, no, she was relieved. This was meant to inspire joy in you but it hurt you more. Of course the woman would forgive you just like that.

"I'm so sorry Nat," you wailed, breaking the silence, "Fu-fuck, I can't believe I-I," you couldn't stop the harsh hiccups that stopped your heartfelt apology.

This absolutely made Natasha panic, you had stopped breathing for more than three seconds, she was about to rush you to the medical wing if not for your sharp inhale. "Keep breathing detka, just breathe, please."

You looked up into her eyes and for the first time ever you saw fear, in the bravest set of eyes you'd ever seen.

"I," you tried again but she pecked your lips shut. "I don't need you to apologize detka, you coming back to me is apology enough. I'm not mad, just worried, so please don't fuss and just let me take you inside..."

Natasha was a warrior but right now she was breaking, her eyes were pleading with you to finally stand down. To wave your white flag and let her fix everything.

"Okay," you whispered, and were rewarded with a warm kiss to your cheek that sent a shiver down your spine, which didn't go unnoticed by the worried spy.

Without question the redhead took you straight to her room and ran you a bath that likely rivaled the devil's. The redhead preferred room temp but never backed down from the challenge when it meant she could hold you close. Tonight was different though, even if she didn't need your apology she did need your consent.

In your relationship, that was technically called off, it was always welcome unless announced otherwise.

Natasha made no assumptions, and simply escorted you into the room when she deemed you'd adjusted to the rooms temperature enough before you were set to enter another that would have been polar opposite.

But you stopped her dead in her respectful tracks.

"Stay." She couldn't say no even if she wanted to, the way you looked over at her, like a frightened mouse, it made her forget all of the pain from the prior day.

There was nothing but tenderness in her touch when she tilted you up and slid in behind you. Her arms didn't even have a chance to settle around you as you instantly rolled over. Natasha had huffed in genuine surprise when you straddled her, your arms dangling over her shoulders as your face pressed into her neck. Her muscular arms locked over one another around your lower back and she hummed a soothing tune.

A gentle smile adorned Natasha's face when she heard the first snore then felt it rumble against her skin. She was ticklish and suddenly desperate to clean the both of you up and get you tucked into her Avengers bed.

The first time she heard you call the mattress that with such disgust she became defensive. But, before she could match your energy you elaborated and it was so sweet, how you regarded your apartment bed as hers, that she learned to listen first and question later.

Natasha knew yesterday afternoon that you'd come back, once you've had time to think of course. Not because she was manipulative or cocky either, but because she believed in not only your love, but her gut. She knew that as soon as you saw Valerie's intentions you'd come here to apologize for thoughts given to you.

The glint in your eyes when you're being truthful was missing when you broke things off, and so she knew this was just a standard moment of lived experience.

Natasha knew you wholly, which is why she knew better than to expect you to stay asleep when she left the room. She returned to find you sat up, the sleeves of her hoodie were balled up in your fists that rubbed your eyes in an attempt to make your vision less bleary.

"Detka," she hummed, it was angelic like, "I made you some tea because I wanna get ahead of your cold."

You pouted and shook your head. "Natasha..."

A tense sigh left her and your back straightened.

"I am not mad Y/N," her tone was level and void of unsureness, "you can't sway me because I love you, and I know you were being poisoned by your dear friend."

"Enemy," you corrected venomously and she chuckled heartily, as if your distaste healed her fresh wounds.

"The point is I love you and knew you loved me too."

"I do," you pleaded with pooling tears in your eyes. "You are my one and only Natasha, I'm so sorry."

"Don't cry pretty girl," she wiped away tears that slid halfway down your cheeks. "Don't be sorry either, I think we're stronger than this moment detka."

"But I hurt you, you should hate me." Natasha gritted her teeth and nearly spilled the tea as she set it down with a purposeful slam. "Don't ever say that again."

You blinked in shock as she gripped your chin and forced you to stop staring at the wall behind her, and into her eyes instead. Another sob shakily left your lips as you wordlessly understood the truth in them, she wasn't capable of doing anything else but loving you.

Instead of trying to make your point that she deserved better, which you knew would be futile, you leaned in and kissed her with a gentle passion. "I'm sorry..."

"I forgive you," Natasha relented, giving you a sense of closure even if she didn't mean the words. Her entire life up until you required a ruthless demeanor, but she has taken so well to the softer side of life with you. It was impossible for her to feel the anger she should towards you when you'd done nothing maliciously.

You called her toxic, it hurt; you didn't mean it though.

Intent is everything to the woman, and she knew yours was, ironically, under the influence of another's words.

Plus, Natasha knew on some level that she was toxic—it was something Valerie would come to find out once the redhead finally tapped into the fresh heartbreak...

For now though, she'd hold you close and listen to the way you breathed, a warmth, layered with a sense of calmness crept into her chest and soothed her woes with every subtle reminder that you were still hers.