#that spirit has never left me

[mossywizard]

Y’all… there’s lil plush Baphomets….. they’re so cute… they could be pink….

Absolutely not a need, but my personal temptation of fluff, other than all the animals I would want I’d I had a farm

[heynhay]

you do not want to do that OP I promise

[time-is-restored]

btw this might be me swinging a bat at a hornets nest but like. absolutely none of my disappointment from the tl finale comes from ship baiting or any relationships that didn’t happen (though to be clear, i think the tedbecca fake outs were meanspirited and served no narrative purpose - in noted contrast to the season's earlier jamiekeeley fakeouts, for example, which were explicitly there to demonstrate jamie's growth + maturity)

tedpendant is a really fun concept for me, and i LOVE the characterisation + thematic potential there!

but as someone who personally resonated with a lot of ted’s struggles, the idea that ted could leave richmond so… seamlessly, for lack of a better word, really doesn’t sit right with me. the thesis of the shows entire first season - assuming it can be said to have only one - was about how everyone needs the love and support of a community, whether that comes in the flavour of someone who hypes u tf up or someone who will relentlessly call u on ur shit (or, as happened quite frequently, both!).

rebecca, roy, jamie are the clearest examples as the characters with the most screentime: they were all deeply isolated and disconnected from the people around them, and that was making them miserable. the connections they made with the team, the vulnerability they finally allowed themselves to express (the ghost banishing ceremony comes to mind!), and them going on to want *more* out of their life are what made their arcs about *progression* rather than *regression*. without that clear theme of compassion + community inspiring positive growth in everyone who encounters it, there is, frankly, no season one.

my personal favourite scene from season one comes right after michelle walks away from ted, when they’ve agreed to get divorced. ted sits down on the bench looking gutted, and a little shell shocked - and beard sits down with him. hands him the drink, and they sit there together. silent, but together. to me, that scene is an implicit promise from the episode, to the audience: ‘it’ll be okay. it’s going to be hard, but ted isn’t alone, and his friends won’t leave him behind.’

it also makes it clear to the audience that ted isn’t the saintly-giver-of-grace who needs nothing in return, as one might assume on first brush, but rather that he’s Also struggling with his own shit (as is everyone, always, in real life!) and he has something he needs from the people around him too.

and looking at the text of s3, and the conclusion to his arc in the finale, i just don’t believe that he got it. he wasn’t just sad that he was leaving (which would be understandable!), he was completely closed off. unresponsive to the people around him reaching out, borderline confused as to why they were trying so hard!

(side note, while i completely respect the read of ted and trents last interaction being rather rude + ooc on ted’s part, i personally read a different motive into it. for me, it was more like… he didn’t understand where trents enthusiasm was coming from? like, he read that as trent being too invested in what other people think of him, and responded in a way that he hoped would emphasise that ted doesn’t *need* to laugh at everything trent wrote, bc trent Already Knows that he’s done something really cool and kickass, and he shouldn’t value anyone else’s reactions above that. basically, based on his demeanour in the episode, i genuinely don’t think it would’ve even occurred to him that trent was more invested in HIS reaction than he would’ve been with anyone else.)

again, looking purely at the text, the show had already established that ted has really strong depressive + avoidant tendencies, as well as panic attacks (largely triggered by his fear of not being ‘good enough’ in various roles, ie: a father). we saw one area he was able to calm HIMSELF abt these fears (worry for henry, which is a Hell of a choice considering the ending…), but in literally every other heightened moment, he had to rely on his support system to help him make the choices that he WANTED to make, rather than ones inspired by avoidance and fear (ie: confronting michelle abt jake, talking to his mum abt why she was visiting + his dads death).

and to be clear, this is a GOOD THING! we’re not supposed to go through life alone, no matter how bad OR well we’re doing. rebecca and keeleys friendship isn’t worth less for all the scenes where they’re both in good places. if anything, the opposite is true - it’s lovely that they both have someone who want to celebrate the achievements in their life!

and fuck it, we’re sure as hell not supposed to go through life with exactly one (1) person whom we expect to fulfill ALL of our emotional needs at all times either! like, im sure i don’t need to labour my point here, but tying everything to one (1) person in ur life doesn’t make u any less isolated than if u were going it completely alone, whether it’s a family member, a friend, or a partner. i won’t pretend to know the first thing abt what it’s like to be a parent, but i don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that no parent would be at their best if they had absolutely no support/camaraderie/general love provided to them from Anyone other than their child.

so when ted is SPECIFICALLY shown to be in a bad place, over and over again (did he come to terms w his fear to be close to henry overnight???????), and then removed from his community? of COURSE the audience is left feeling unsettled, and like the rug has been pulled out from under them. there was no time in this finale dedicated to how ted would still be in contact with anyone from richmond. no promises of visits, or phone calls - fuck, nothing about emails!! according to the text, we might as well assume this is a clean break (and the maybe-dream-sequence does Fuck All to assure us otherwise. if ted doesn’t go to beards wedding, what WOULD he go to????). and since the show has ALSO completely failed to give us even an IMPLICATION of who/what ted’s support system would be in kansas, there’s… a reasonable argument to be made that this is It for ted. that, after two seasons doing NOTHING but attesting otherwise, the audience is supposed to suddenly believe that ted can (and SHOULD!) pull himself up by his bootstraps, and cope entirely on his own.

that, to me, is a betrayal of the show’s premise. we were promised a show about how, no matter how dark things may get, none of the characters would be left to struggle alone. and then they ended the show with ted alone.

i don’t know. i guess if i had to give this post a tldr; if anyone has any gen fic/meta/Literally Anything in the pipeline, i would absolutely love to be tagged/directed towards it. i’ll be endeavouring to write something myself, as well, but it might take a while before i can return to my WIP, lol.

[fiendishartist2]

the bar for "revolutionary" webhorror is so low. what happened

[depressedzelda]

u know when u overthink shit and ur convinced something is destined to spiral into a fuckshow but you have no control over it or leaving said situation. Feeling that with this job

[the-trans-dragon]

Me as a kid: why do adults decorate everything seasonally. Putting up a Christmas tree is so much work. Why would I change my wardrobe colors based on season. Why does grandma have a welcome mat for every season

Me as an adult, lost in the endless churn of capitalism and forcefully divorced from the natural changes of the season, never having time to notice the caterpillars in spring or the seed pods of fall: my mental health entirely depends on this fake pumpkin I set on the bookshelf

[merlin-wolfgang-trades-hale]

One of my on-going project snippets. Avatar!Steve

“Why is Danny’s place still frozen?” Steve demanded as soon as he saw Duke. 

“Our water-benders are trying, but there is a limit to their ability,” Duke replied. 

Steve’s clarity was being disrupted by his worry over Danny, so he snapped, “Limit? It’s ice! They’re water-benders!” 

Duke often revered to Steve with the respect gained by his rank, in both military and as Avatar, as well as the respect he was born with as a McGarrett. But in that moment, he was an older Hawaiian native who gave a strict gaze as he reminded Steve of where they lived. “You have traveled far and seen many other places. Maybe it has escaped your memory that out of all the benders that live or visit our small islands, water is arguably the one with most restrictions and rules. Only a limited few water-bending masters exist here who are experienced with colder temperatures and ice or snow manipulation.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself before he opened them again and apologized. “Sorry, Duke. It’s...it’s Danny, y’know?” 

“I do. And I know that there’s no one else on this island who knows those ice bending restrictions better than him. Given how much flack he got in the early months of him being here. So I understand your concern...but these ice structures were created by Danny himself. They’re fortified with the strength that will take the Hawaiian August sun hours to melt. We can’t get inside yet.”

“Yeah, well...I’m here now. Let me work.” It was nearly a threat but it most certainly was a warning. Duke called off the benders and let Steve try. 

Steve has begun his water bending training but it was with the basics. Learning to alter the water’s temperature to make it freeze or unfreeze wasn’t anywhere near the curriculum. Didn’t mean he didn’t try. Except he was too angry because he didn’t want to be worried. 

So he stopped trying to water-bend the ice away and instead unleashed his fury with his fire-bending until he saw some of the ice give way before earth-bending a stalagmite to shatter it’s way through. 

I started thinking about world building rules and them being applied to different fandom. Implementing the Avatar bending to H50, and it made me think. Being surrounded by so much water, water benders are pretty dangerous. They always have a weapon, and if they’re mastered it enough the humidity in the air, even if there isn’t an obvious body of water, they still have access to it( never mind potential gangs and criminal organization potentially having Blood Benders). 

Then I was thinking, how much of the average tourist would a)not know a fuck shit about the proper water temperature a place, it’s plant life, and animal life need to remain stable? And b)would be assholes to try and make their own waves or bigger waves or retaliate against anyone or to show off? 

Beaches in an Avatar AU would have STRICT rules in place. Lifeguards might need to be specially trained to like a military level to secure the peace, ensure the safety of native plant and animal life.

Water benders, no matter the profession or life style they lead/live, if they’re in Hawaii they are limited to just water bending. Healing, yes...but when it comes to temperature control...there are like...two official water bending MASTERS who know how to turn water into snow or ice. And it’s become a thing where it’s just been like that for so long that no one really questions it unless they’re not from there. 

I made Danny a Water-Bender and with how winters are on the east coast, and because I personally headcanon Danny to just have a more affinity to colder climates, to him ice and snow are second nature. And because he came from a big city where younger water benders as young as 7-8 year olds make their first bit of chump change by offering to snow-bend the drive ways of little old ladies or get more allowance if they wake up and defrost their parent’s car...when Danny first came to Hawaii as he followed Grace, seen as an outsider with the element that may have the most restrictions, particularly in his specialty. It was hard but Danny learned to ‘control’ himself..aka adjust his mannerism. (He’s always in control. Just...things that were normal for him are a big deal on the island, but he has never been out of control of his element. Danny is also a Blood Bender and that’s why but it’s not knowledge anyone knows and he’s terrified of anyone learning)  

Steve has seen plenty of Danny’s power, potential, and most importantly his control. It’s why Steve chose Danny to be his Water bending master instead of the native Hawaiian born they wanted to assign him. There are also a lot of deeper feelings involved, so Steve hearing that Danny elsa fortressed himself means something is very wrong! 

but on like a lighter note, when they need something from Kamekona, Danny has bribed him with water-bending him x-lbs of shaved ice. 

[magician-hero]

if anyon tells you they kin tamamo no mae i just want to tell you the day the news was reported of the stone breaking i was wondering if anyone had tried to touch it recent years while washing my hands and thought heavily of her before opening twitter to find out the stone broke

I WAS THINKING ABOUT HER BEFORE I KNEW.

[moe-broey]

Another half-cooked ramble I just didn't put into words til Right Now though that's worth mentioning is like. I feel like Moe wouldn't fall into the Hayato/Ricken category of character, where they're small and heavily implied to be younger, and a good chunk of their character is trying to "prove otherwise" (aka "Don't treat me like a kid!" ect ect). I feel like Moe would fall closer into whatever category Takumi is. Not talking tsundere trope, but talking about what being the youngest (Takumi's case: 2nd youngest) sibling in a larger family does to a motherfucker. The adoration and aspiration and idolization combined with the inferiority complex and sometimes even resentment (depends on who we're talking about here) and feeling like you need to pull your weight More and Better. Acknowledging you've undeniably had it easier at the cost of your older siblings but somehow still feeling overlooked and left behind and forgotten. Or, in some cases, feeling like you got way more than you deserved, that even though you objectively got the "better" deal, it was still Unfair. Moe is just chronically the youngest of five. And don't even get me STARTED about [redacted] but let me just say The Absence of something is also A Presence. The Takumi comparison is extremely apt.

[detective-piplup]

okay but like I joke about how much I like fireknight and how it consumes so many of my waking thoughts but it actually does . it does so much to me. a lot of it was built through fanon and clinging onto scraps from the games bc i doubt devsis will ever let them interact again but they are like insane to me.

fire spirit’s weird relationship with affection and love is also part of why I like them so much yes that was the source of the divine visions earlier .

nobody look at the tags of this post.

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

[filmnoirsbian]

My dad has a massive vegetable garden and it is his life. Whenever I ask how things are going, he tells me about the garden. Periodically he will text me a picture of the things he's harvested and ask when I'm coming to pick them up. And for a while, the biggest bit of garden gossip has been his nemesis, the gopher. This gopher was consistently ruining his day by pilfering the best of everything just before my dad could harvest it. Anytime I talked to him, all he had to tell me about was "that damned gopher." He dreamt about killing the gopher, his truest enemy. He tried to train the dog to hunt the gopher, but the dog is a pacifist. He led some of the barn cats to the holes, but the barn cats have unionized and refused his offered rate. He then laid no-kill traps (can't risk having poison near the crops) with eventual gophercide in mind, but then suddenly he was faced with a cute and terrified animal and didn't have the heart. He released it. "He was so scared, he'll never come back." The gopher was back the next day, with a vengeance. That was some weeks ago. Today, my dad sent me pictures of his garden, and I saw a squash gently laid by the gopher's hole, like a package left on the doorstep. I said "Dad, what's that squash doing there by the gopher hole?" He said "Oh, he likes squash best." In an effort to appease the gopher, my father now gives him a little squash everyday, like leaving an offering for a garden spirit. This apparently works well as a compromise; the gopher has stopped stealing, content to have his meals delivered to his door.

[fingertipsmp3]

I can’t explain it but I do feel like there’s ghosts and supernatural stuff going on. Obviously I have no proof but I 100% believe it

[titania-sleeps]

idea pitch (adonis and dion fics in the works i promise), tell me if yall like this and if this should get a full oc + fics

yandere!sea spirit who is just a minor sea deity and met you, the moon goddess, one day. he's instantly drawn to you, as the tides are to the moon.

yandere!sea spirit who stares at you longingly every night as you come out from hiding, dragging the moon on your chariot. the legends say that you've fallen for a mere human before, and a sleeping youth at that! if a human had a chance for your affections, surely he would too?

yandere!sea spirit who gathers seashells and sparking stones he finds during his day to slowly weave the perfect necklace for you. he wants to court you properly, and the first thing that he must do is make you the greatest gift. and then he will imbue the necklace with a conjuration that brings you safety and peace.

yandere!sea spirit who finds the courage to talk to you one night. he was a stuttering and blushing mess, but you gave him a lighthearted laugh and suddenly nothing mattered anymore. only you and your joy did, at that very moment, and he was smitten. after you left, he was crestfallen realizing that he forgot to give you the necklace he made.

yandere!sea spirit who yearns to talk to you again, staring up at the night sky day by day, hoping to catch your attention for yet another moment.

yandere!sea spirit who attends the party thrown by the gods (luckily invited, though he was just a sea spirit), finding you easily in the crowd. clutching the necklace tightly in his hand, he moves through the crowd, an urgent river in the stream of people.

yandere!sea spirit who lights up as he finally reaches you. he composes himself, checking to make sure the necklace is still in perfect condition. he's about to talk to you until he sees a scathing light next to you, a burning devastation.

yandere!sea spirit who finds out that you're engaged to the sun god. you're too happy about that, and he's oh so very jealous. the sea and the moon are meant to be; the sun and moon are fated to never meet. so why aren't you looking at him instead?

yandere!sea spirit who leaves that night without gifting you the necklace. but that doesn't matter; you and him are drawn to each other like magnets, he knows, so he will bide his time and wait for the right time to bring you to him. even if it means usurping the greatest ocean god, even if it means he has to become the embodiment of the sea. he isn't in a hurry; he will wait a millennium if he has to.

and then the sea will swallow the moon, caging her gently in his worshipping warm waters. the sky and the sun didn't deserve to have you.

-> masterlist

[abyssalpriest]

the amount of shit that just adds up when you do actual spirit work

[entitled-fangirl]

A gentle wolf.

Cregan Stark x Arryn!reader

Summary: Rumors had spread of the Lord's fierceness. When the reader marries him, she fears if the rumors are true. He defends her at the ceremony, and she believes that perhaps he's just a gentle wolf.

Warnings: talks of sex, cursing, blood and death, crude comments, attempted s.a. (not from our boy), a bedding ceremony, read at your own discretion

A/n: This was based on a few different asks!

Masterlist

..................................................

Y/n's father, Lord Arryn,was a firm man. Headstrong, he fought for the best for his children. 

When Rickon Stark accepted the proposal of Y/n Arryn to his only living son, Cregan, the smile that came to her father's face was the only one she'd ever seen graze his features.

This betrothal was the highest honor her family could have received.

She had never met Cregan before, but only being eleven, there was much time before she had to worry about such things. 

…

The years had moved by quickly, a rapid approach to the girl's end to childish things. 

The rumors through the years of Cregan's growing formidable northern spirit increased tremendously. 

Perhaps some of them were true. 

He's ruthless. Heartless. More animal than human. 

She grew fearful of how her future husband would treat her.

"Perhaps he'll finally get the bratty behavior out of you," her brother mused. 

Her brother's wife, the future Lady Arryn, hit his chest, "Be gone with you. Do not frighten the poor girl."

When he had left, the woman turned to Y/n to speak, but Y/n beat her to it.

"Will it hurt as bad as they say?" She asked in a hushed tone.

She paused to answer her, careful of her word choices, "It… may not be pleasant, my lady."

She had to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. 

"But I'm sure Lord Cregan will be merciful to you."

She wanted to believe her sister-by-law. She really did. 

But even she could not believe the tense look in the woman's eyes.

…

Cregan was just as intimidating as the rumors had made him. 

Strong. Hardy. Gruff and unforgiving. Stern and harsh.

Yet his eyes always held an unfamiliar look to them, as if his next move was completely undecided to the person that stared into them.

A small smile came to his face as he held a hand out to her, "I'm sure your family wishes to rest from their long travel. I would be overjoyed to show you Winterfell if you'll allow me."

Y/n looked over to her father, who gave his stern look that he always gave. A silent warning to behave.

She took Cregan's hand with her own, trying to still the small tremor to it. Her voice was meek, "I'd like that, my lord."

"Cregan."

"Hmm?" She questioned.

"My name," he began, "It's Cregan. Please use it."

She nodded, "Very well… Cregan."

His smile grew as he studied the girl. As the two began to walk from the main hall, Cregan softly murmured to one of the servants to show her family to their chambers. 

"I do apologize that Winterfell has no lavish garden or beautiful art to view. It's rather lacking in color." He spoke lightly after a while.

She let out a soft breath, relishing in his voice finally. It was low, yes, but not the growl that she had thought it would be. 

"However," he continued. "It has formidable walls and a strong structure. Those who stand on this side of it are safer than King's Landing."

She hummed, "I don't believe the North really focuses on color and art over warmth and survival."

A chuckle escapes his throat, "Aye." His steps slow as they near one of the few balconies, "But perhaps you may breathe life into it."

She wanted to turn and question him, but the view from the balcony caught her attention. 

He made a motion with his hand, encouraging her to look out.

She took slow steps, reaching the bannister as she looked out at what Winterfell had to offer outdoors. 

What she didn't notice was what laid within the walls as well, for Lord Cregan Stark's eyes had softened tremendously as he watched the young woman. 

"I'm afraid I don't know how to be a lady," she lightly remarked as she looked over the courtyard.

He stepped forward to her, meeting her at the bannister, "It is not a matter you know, it is one you learn."

When she looked over, she finally took him in.

The man was every bit the wolf they had said. She knew that. 

But like every Stark, he was still a man. 

"I became the Lord when I was only three and ten," he said. "It was frightening. I was hardly old enough to know the sword, much less to lead such a people as the Northerners." His eyes softened again as he looked into her eyes, "It will come in time. Do not fret."

"Thank you, my lord."

He head tilted lightly, a small twinkle to his eyes.

"Oh. Cregan, I meant," she bit back a small smile at her words.

A surprising chuckle bubbled from him as he looked out over the bannister. "You're a quick learner, pretty girl."

She fought to keep the blush rising to her cheeks at bay.

She couldn't let the wolf sink his teeth into her just yet.

…

She was completely zoned out for the ceremony. She wanted to be involved and remember it, yes. But everything was just too much.

Right now, she focused on the heavy feeling of Cregan's cloak draping over her shoulders as he stated his vows to protect her under his house. 

She had already stated her part, leaving her to stare up at Cregan. She couldn't look away from how his breath could be seen in the cold chill.

Her attention reverted back when his hands cupped her cheeks and he leaned down to her, placing a heavy kiss to her lips.

Her hands gripped his wrists, thrown off at the feeling.

When he pulled away, a wide grin was pulled across his face. His forehead rested to hers. "I am yours, and you are mine," he whispered to her.

A breath escaped her lungs at his proclamation. 

Perhaps she truly was a lamb brought to appease the wolf. 

But then why was the wolf's smile so charming?

…

She sat in her seat anxiously, her entire body practically shaking.

She was supposed to sit with Cregan and enjoy the feast. 

But she couldn't stop worrying of the bedding ceremony.

To be naked in front of all these people? It made bile rise in her throat. 

"Something amiss?" Cregan asked as he leaned towards her.

She quickly shook her head, "Just nerves is all."

He nodded slowly, debating a thought. Finally, he handed her his own cup, "For the nerves."

Y/n took it gratefully, sipping the dark wine.

She barely noticed when Cregan stood and kissed the crown of her head. "I'll be back momentarily. I've a few guests to greet."

He straightened himself up, leaving the table to disappear into the crowd.

Perhaps a moment alone in her thoughts would be good-

"Excuse me, Lady Stark," a new voice mused. 

The lady paused, looking up to the voice. Across the table was a man no older than thirty, his surcoat a bright red. His smile was all teeth, and it put her on edge.

"Lord Bolton, my lady." He bowed his head before letting his eyes rake her form, "I was hoping to ask you for a dance."

"Ah," she quietly acknowledged. Her eyes began to look around for her husband. "I was led to believe that a first dance is required between a husband and his w-"

"-Lord Stark doesn't dance, my lady. Most northerners don't."

"I suppose that makes you… different." She said as she studied him.

He grinned again, "Aye. I suppose so."

With no Cregan in sight and no reason to say no despite wishing to, she nodded and began to stand, "Very well, Lord Bolton."

When she rounded the table, she took his hand, forcing a smile to her face. 

The two descended down to the floor as the small quartet began to play.

Lord Bolton's moves were careful and calculated, that much was clear. That alone seemed to describe him wholly as a person as well.

Another man rushed to Bolton, a smile on his face as he leaned to him, "Is it time yet?"

Bolton sighed mid step, "No. I will inform you when it is."

The man sulked off. Before the woman could ask, Bolton made a quick effort to spin her, distracting her from the conversation before. 

She tries to ignore the feeling of Bolton's hand on her waist. It's forced, uncomfortable. She feels controlled under his grip. 

As the song comes to an end, he makes no move to step away. "I must say, my lady, I have been most eager for this."

"Hmm?"

"The ceremony, I mean. I am quite eager for it."

"What do you mean, my lord?"

His hand reaches up to her cheek, his thumb running along her bottom lip as he stares at it, "To tear your clothes from you and watch you be throughly fucked by your lord husband."

Cregan stood with a cup of ale in his hand, his laughs loud through the hall as he joked with a friend of his. With his back turned to the high table, he had yet to notice his wife's absence from it. 

Until a voice whispered in his ear. 

His head turned, his face suddenly serious. "Repeat that?"

"The Lady… she danced with Lord Bolton."

His attention was completely lost from the previous conversation as he looked over to the busy floor. 

Sure enough, he saw Bolton with his filthy hand on her cheek, his eyes full of lust. 

When Bolton reaches up to the shoulder of her dress and tugged harshly, Cregan moved. 

A downright mob formed, eager to begin the bedding ceremony of stripping the couple and marching them to their room to consummate. But any body that moved toward Cregan was met with injury. 

He pushed and shoved bodies left and right, finally getting to Bolton.

Y/n laid on the floor, pushing Bolton's hands away, as well as others, as they pulled on what material they could. She cried out with every sound of the ripping dress. 

Fire filled the Stark, and his voice showed it. 

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER!" His voice echoed through the hall.

All the attention shot to Cregan, silence filling the room.

He forced himself to breathe. "I said," he muttered lowly, "Get. Away."

One by one, the people stepped away from the girl, creating distance. When Bolton stood, he straightened his clothes, huffing as he did so.

Y/n sat in tears as she pulled up what material she could to cover herself. Her dress was all but tatters, her shift containing large rips that only chilled her already shaking body. 

"Bolton," his voice growled out.

A shiver ran down Bolton's spine at the sound of Cregan's voice. He stepped to the man, "My lord?"

"Explain yourself before I murder you at my wedding."

"The bedding ceremony," he said as if it was obvious, "We were beginning the ceremony."

"And I told you there would be no such thing. Did I not?'

"Aye, but it is tradition," Bolton continued. 

"Aye, but I'll have your fucking head for this," Cregan mocked him.

Cregan knelt down to Y/n, helping her cover herself in what he could, as well as his own body shielding some of the stares. His voice was soft in her ear, "Are you harmed?"

She moved to speak, but her breath was all hiccups from her tears, so she shook her head instead. 

Cregan turned his head to look at the nearest servant.

"Bring me Ice."

Whispers moved across the hall immediately.

What would Lord Stark need with his longsword?

Soon, Ice was in his hand, and he stood from his wife to glare at Bolton. "I'm going to take something from you. But I'm noble enough that I'll let you choose."

Bolton's eyebrows shot up, "Take, my lord? W… What do you-"

"I was not finished," Cregan growled. He paced back and forth in front of the man. "I can take your hand, your tongue, your feet," he paused as a smirk came to his lips, "…or your cock."

"This is outrageous-"

Ice was suddenly pointed at Bolton's throat, "The next words from your mouth will be your answer or I will take your head entirely."

When silence filled the room again, Cregan turned his head barely to his servant again, "Get my cloak for my wife to cover."

When the warmness returned to the woman's shoulders, she pulled the cloak to her as much as she could, hoping it would sooth the chill and embarrassment that had settled into her bones.

"Take her to our chambers," he muttered lowly, not letting his eyes leave Bolton. "I'd hate to ruin her wedding night with the sight of blood."

…

Cregan met her a few hours later as he entered their chambers. His shoulders were still tense and his eyes still held fire, but it was better than before. "Forgive me."

She looked up from the sofa, a new, unripped shift covering her body now. "For what?" She asked softly.

Her eyes were still puffy, her nose a bright red from irritation. 

It didn't help his anger.

"I made a vow to protect you under my house and my name and I've already failed you."

"No, forgive me," she sniffled. 

His mouth opened to rebut against her, but no words came out.

"I… I did not mean to mislead Lord Bolton. I… I have sullied the Stark name. Dirtied it with… with a mere dance. I am sorry."

Cregan wanted to scoff. "What?"

"I mislead him. He-"

"Quiet," he said. "You've done nothing wrong."

"I've not angered you?" 

He took a step to her.

Her sniffles grew to hiccups, "Please don't."

His confusion grew, "What are you speaking of?"

But when he stepped to her again, she flinched away, pushing herself further down the sofa. 

"My sweet wife, please speak plainly," he tried to reason with his hands up.

"I… I can be better. Give me a chance, please."

"B…Better?" He scoffed. "You are an image of the Mother herself. I hold no anger to you."

She hiccuped again as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, "None?"

"No. Only a creature of a man would ever be angered at his wife so. I defended you, did I not?"

Y/n considered his words. She was deep enough in thought that she didn't notice Cregan's closing steps until he was sat on the sofa next to her. 

His hand reached up to her chin, pushing her face up to look at him. "I promise. I promise to be entirely too gentle with you."

This was no wolf at all.

All of this time, she feared the Warden of the North. The wielder of Ice. The Stark Wolf. 

She hadn't considered that she had married Cregan. 

"What have you done to Lord Bolton?" She dared to ask him.

His head tilted, "Enough to help him learn better."

He may have been all of those frightening things outside of their chambers. But for her, he was only Cregan. 

He laid her down with careful movements, his touch light as he began to undress her. 

…

She was unsure what happened to Bolton that night, but rumors spread throughout the castle that the man's blood had to be cleaned from the Winterfell floors over a dozen times over to get the stain out.

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