#they might nail the old bastard yet

[verycleverboy]

“Guilty”, “tax fraud” and “Trump” in the same headline? Did Santa come early this year?

Don’t get too wound up. It’s his criminal organization that went down today, not criminal him. Not this time, anyway. From the CBC:

Donald Trump's company was convicted of tax fraud on Tuesday in a case brought by the Manhattan District Attorney, a significant repudiation of financial practices at the former U.S. president's business.

A jury found two corporate entities at the Trump Organization guilty on all 17 counts, including conspiracy charges and falsifying business records.

The guilty verdict came on the second day of deliberations following a trial in which the Trump Organization was accused of being complicit in a scheme by top executives to avoid paying personal income taxes on job perks such as rent-free apartments and luxury cars.

The conviction is a validation for New York prosecutors, who have spent three years investigating the former president and his businesses, though the penalties aren't expected to be severe enough to jeopardize the future of Trump's company.

As punishment, the Trump Organization could be fined up to $1.6 million US — a relatively small amount for a company of its size, though the conviction might make some of its future deals more complicated.[...]

Speaking outside the courthouse after the verdict, Trump Organization lawyer Alan Futerfas vowed to appeal.

The verdict adds to already mounting legal woes for Trump, who faces a criminal investigation in Washington over both the retention of top secret documents at his Florida estate, Mar-a-Lago, and efforts to undo the results of the 2020 presidential election.[...]

While Trump himself was not charged, the verdict marks yet another setback for the former president, who has faced a series of self-inflicted crises since launching his latest campaign for the White House last month.

(full article)

[sweetnans]

love me already

Pairing: f. reader/bakugo katsuki Summary: dual POV where mc is tired of waiting for Bakugo to be truth and confess his feelings for her. tw: none. Just fluff and chaos.

"Y'know, I think I'll just tell Bakugo I like him." You were drunk, and a sort sense of boldness invaded you all of a sudden.

"Girl, don't do that." Mina put her hands on your bare thigh from your skirt ridden up. "Wait till you sober up"

You were hanging with Mina after a month of not seeing each other, being pro heroes tide up your schedule so you were out of reach most of the time, only reachable by the phone. You had a blast of a night, went clubbing, and drank while dancing like old times.

"He's playing with my mind, I swear," the words spurred out of your system, and you felt like you might start to cry in any second. "He's always sending texts and asking if I'm hurt after a fight and-"

"Hey! He doesn't do that to me!" Mina whined, putting her left hand above his heart.

"Exactly! He's this obsessive fucker who thinks he's better than everyone else, always so cocky and he had me wrapped around his fingers with the details that I know he only do to me, so obnoxious" you let a sigh trying to come down from your despertarion but something made you see red again. "And yet he never confessed! I'm tired Mina what if he's just playing with me and doesn't want anything serious just fuck with me and hop on to the next. Maybe he thinks I'm playing hard to get, and now I'm kind of a challenge to him, you know the bastard"

Now you were upset.

"Mmhm, just give him some time. He has had a crush on you since we were at UA" Mina bit his nails and poured another glass for you.

"Exactly, that's what everyone says! His mom, his dad even Midoriya who can't catch a fucking clue even if it's tingling in front of his eyes. If He thinks I'm going to wait forever for him to grow a pair of balls? He's got another thing coming. " You downed the entire glass, and Mina hurried to pour another.

...

"She haven't talked to me in an hour," Katsuki stated, folding some papers on his desk.

"Man, it's her night off duty, I heard Mina said that they were going out tonight," Kirishima made a spun in his chair. "Partying and doing girl's shit"

Bakugo hated staying in the office so late, but the papers were not going to fill themselves out. At least Kirishima was there with him, trying to calm him down, but doing a pretty bad job.

"I swear if Mina let her fall into a ditch again I'm going to-"

"For fuck sake, bro!" Kirishima rolled his eyes, almost disappearing in his skull. "It was one time! Let it go. She was fine and giggling like a mad woman when you went to her rescue"

"I just worry about her," he grunted. "I'm a hero, that's my work"

"Yeah, with civilians, but she's a real hero, y'know." Kirishima pushed. Not in the six years that he'd seen Bakugo after you, has he been able to get the real confession out of his mouth.

Bakugo checked his phone again. Nothing.

...

"I'm going to get up there and tell him that I'm done waiting for him"

You didn't know how you convinced Mina into your crazy idea, but now you were outside, in front of your apartment's lobby, waiting for a cab.

"Don't you think you need to reconsider, maybe? You're tipsy honey, what if he's not even there" Mina tried to talk to you out of it, but she knew better, you were stubborn as hell, the least she could do was following you and making sure that, this time, you didn't end up in a ditch.

"He's there, he told me," you stopped a cab lifting a finger and told the driver the direction.

The way to Katsuki's agency was a haze. You remember looking at Mina, her eyes closed, trying to rest before the chaos breaks loose.

"Do you know what you are going to say?" She mumbled with her eyes closed and grabbed your hand to reaffirm her company and her friendship.

You had no idea.

...

"This is taking ages," Kirishima complained, trying to read the papers and arrange them by dates. "Why can't we just shred them and pretend it didn't happen?"

"The TV broadcasted the fight, you dumbass"

Katsuki was tired too, but he needed to make and fill the reports before tomorrow morning.

"Did she answered you?" Kirishima asked.

It was a lame night. He was practically locked up with his best friend all alone in his office. He had a purpose, and that was making him confess his love for you.

"No," he briefly checked his phone again before returning his eyes to the files. "What if she's in a ditch?"

"She's not!" Kirishima raised his voice qhile laughing, and Katsuki only grunted in response. "So what's the deal with her? You still like her or what?"

"Who told you I liked her in the first place?" He was smug about his answer, not giving away any hint of his real feelings for you.

"C'mon, everybody knows," something dark flowed into Kirishima's mind. He felt like a child poking a mad dog with a stick. "At least in our class, I mean, I remember Todoroki showing interest in her once, and you completely beat him up in spared fight, and Mirio that time he gave her a flower from the patio, you were fuming I still remember the red shade of angry in the tips of your ears"

"Keep working"

That phrase only gave him more fuel to continue the poking the beast game.

"Man, why don't you just be truth to yourself? Like, is it that hard to accept the feelings you have for her? She's amazing, smart, beautiful, She's a beast on the field and has a great heart. What's the problem, Dynamight?

He touched a sensitive fiber using his hero name. He always bragged about being the best, bold and facing everything, and everybody who dared to get in his way, but he was acting like a real pussy with you.

"I'm scared I'm not good enough, you happy?" He was upset, and Kirishima was astonished with his confession. He expected an angry gremlin yelling at him for being so annoying, spurring out his confession between variabilities of insults, but he didn't expect his best friend, the know it all and do it all feeling like he wasn't enough.

"Not enough? Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? Yeah, of course you have a shitty attitude, but you care for her. You're the main example of manliness. You are always taking care of her, giving her your attention, making time for taking her out of a ditch while you were patrolling, I mean, I would've left her there" Kirishima joked to make Bakugo less worried about himself. "I'm telling you man, you are it for her, but you gotta hurry the fuck up because what you see in her, everybody could see it too"

In the quietness of his office, full of papers with his best friend, giving shitty but quiet good advice, he realized that he needed to tell you his feelings, he couldn't wait anymore time.

...

You sobered up real quick. Having the massive building in front of you in the middle of a cold and freezing night, returned every sense that you needed in your body.

"You are doubting" Mina established.

"I'm freezing," you counterattacked. "Why didn't you tell me to put some jeans on?"

The dancing and the drinking made you feel hot and raised your temperature and you knew it, so you put on a skirt before going out without thinking you would come out of the house after coming from the club.

The lights were on, in the floor where Bakugo's office was situated. If you squinted your eyes, you could even see the shapes of Kirishima's and Bakugo's bodies through the glass. Or you were just still drunk.

"He won't be there forever, and you're going to catch a cold if you keep us waiting here for something to happen," Mina urged, hugging herself to keep the cold out.

"You're right, it's now or never," you said, walking determinated into the big glass doors to make yourself in.

With Mina behind you, you pushed the doors, and the guard glanced at you. He recognized you and Mina immediately, but you two put your credentials out just for safety. He gave you a nod and you continued your way to the elevator.

"Are you nervous?" Mina asked while you pressed the elevator button.

"Like shit." You watched the countdown in red numbers above the elevator doors. The elevator was in Bakugo's floor so no one was around.

The ding in the elevator startled you a little, and the turmoil in your stomach didn't make it any better. Mina pushed you through the open doors and pressed the button to Bakugo's floor.

...

"Thank god it's done." Kirishima was spining in his chair while Katsuki looked for his stuff to bring them home with him. "Are you ready to face your true feelings?"

Kirishima didn't drop the topic after the big confession and the great advice, he kept pushing his best friend and giving him ideas on how to tell you, some of them were good and some of them were trash, but Bakugo just listened and ignored at the same time.

"Shut the fuck up" Katsuki growled lowly stuffing his belonging into his black backpack.

"Isn't it romantic? Like, after all this time, you could just walk in with a bouquet of flowers and, wait no, walking? That's lame. What about a white horse? Yeah, that's manly. " Kirishima was hopeless, and even though Bakugo showed a scowl at his words he was actually having fun.

"No horses, but maybe a bouquet will be cool," he was making peace with his own feelings. At the end of the day, what was the worst that could happen?

...

"I think I'm going to pee, shit," you pressed your bladder, and Mina laughed at you.

"You can't be serious right now, we are halfway," she said while you danced funny in front of her.

"I'm sorry I process my emotions somatically," you started to feel cloudy, and your hands started to sweat.

"Hey, relax. He's so into you, maybe he'll stand like a rock for the first three seconds but then he will be all over you confessing, don't worry, and if I'm wrong you can always have Shindo"

You made a gag.

"I hate Shindo," you told her.

"But he follow you like a puppy," Mina imitated a cute puppy joining his hands under her chin and poked out her tongue.

The elevator stopped with a big thump, and you feared in a good way. You had your adrenaline up, and there were still remains of booze in your system to give you a boost.

"It's time, big girl." Mina patted your shoulder and gave you a little push.

...

Kirishima stretched himself, and Bakugo took his backpack, grabbing the zipper of a back pocket to fetch the keys of his office to close it.

He was busy looking for the keys when Kirishima started patting him in the arm repeatedly.

"What?" He told him tired and with heavy eyes. Kirishima's eyes were the exact opposite of him. They were big and surprised, looking at the other side of the glass doors of his office.

He followed Kirishima's look and stopped in you.

At first, he thought it was a kind of a mirage, then he thought that maybe he was more tired than he realized, and then he thought that maybe it was a villain whose quirk was morphing into peoples body's.

Every thought ended at the sound of your voice.

...

You walked through the hallway, practicing a speech of what you were going to say to him. You did it over and over, stumbling words in your own mind. You were there, physically and mentally, ready to take all your feelings for him out. You couldn't chicken out.

You saw his figure in the last office at the end of the hallway, body contouring to grab something from his backpack.

Kirishima was the first to notice you, his eyes wide open at the sight of you two walking in the middle of the night like you owned the place. He gave multiple pats to Bakugo's arm, and from afar, you could notice that he was tired.

Maybe your boldness wasn't the best thing to do at that moment.

You couldn't make your way out because he turned his gaze from the backpack to you in a second. By his look, you could see the gears in his brain moving to give some sort of explanation of what was happening in front of him.

He opened the door, forgetting completely that Kirishima was in his way. The red-haired boy pushed him a little, giving him courage, not caring that his best friend kinda kicked him, stumbling against him.

You two were in the same hallway looking face to face. Your two best friends a step back making themselves a crowd in what was about to happen.

"What are -" Katsuki started disoriented, looking for proof or a mark that you were injured or hurt.

"Shut up," you told him. Katsuki was very surprised at your determined tone.

"I'm liking this already," Kirishima muttered behind Katsuki, grinning like the Chesire cat.

The silence between the four of you was something that was eating your bones. It wasn't awkward, but it was heavy. You told him to shut up, but you weren't talking either, and you knew it. All the speech that you practiced before vanishing from your mind.

"Are you-

"Are you going to love me already!?"

You spoke at the same time, but your message was clear. Mina was right, Katsuki stood like he was made of stone, rigid, stoic, not even a muscle moving from your confession.

You sounded desperate. You blamed your thoughts, your desire to go pee, that you were at least fifteen percent still drunk and that you were freezing. You wanted to get over this chapter in your life, you didn't want to fool around any longer and for that you needed to know if Katsuki was on the same page as you.

"Oh my god," Mina said, holding his face with both hands.

"Shh," Kirishima silenced her. "This is better than the ditch episode"

You could tell that the booze in your system worn off just by waiting for Katsuki's response. The tic tac in your intern clock made it impossible to bear the silence.

"Are you going to say something, or are you going to stay there forever?" You hurried him, trying to hide the anxious feeling that you felt coming out of your voice.

...

Kirishima kicked Bakugo's heavy boots to take him out of his trance. It worked.

You always said to him that you were half witch, at least, always feeling before it happened. He wandered if this was one of those situations.

"I'm-

It was the first time that he felt speechless. He knew you from head to toe, and now he noticed that you were under the effects of alcohol but sounded sure about it. The way that you let it out was some kind of outburst from the time he took to process what he really felt about you. He knew he treated you differently. He liked spending time with you, and he found himself checking his phone very often, looking for a message from you. He was whipped.

He saw your bottom lip quivering, and he knew he had to do something.

...

It happened quickly.

First, you throwing your feelings at him like it was a ball of fire, then his eternal silence, and after that, your guts twisting inside of you, your throat closing, your nose pricking and your bottom lip trembling.

It was over for your fantasies with him.

Was it the worst-case scenario? Yes. Will you be able to get over it? Absolutely. Will the healing process hurt? Like hell.

You were weighing your options when the sound of heavy boots against the carpeted floor woke you up from your suffering.

He was a mere inch from you. Your body and his body were separated by a thin layer of air. You could feel the air coming out from his nose, hitting your forehead. He was tall, and you were almost the size of a elf.

"Never call me out about what I already do"

That's everything that came out of his mouth before joining his lips with yours in a feverish kiss. He wasn't gentle, but the way that he grabbed you by both sides of your face made you float in your spot.

You didn't have the time to process what he said or why he said that, forgetting what you said first, but ignoring the cheerful sounds coming from your friends mouth, you could only concentrate in his mouth moving against yours. Finally.

Do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere! All rights reserved.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t have to wait long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did none of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

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

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

[9haharharley1]

He hadn't had this much trouble with his powers since he was fourteen, and it was getting old very quickly.

Vlad had been shocked when he answered the door with Danny's hand stuck in the doorknob, and he and Ember both shared a laugh. Danny grumbled as he held his pants up.

With a promise to head back to the Ghost Zone and give him a break, Ember flew off, leaving Danny and Vlad alone on the stoop.

Dark blue eyes narrowed in amusement, Vlad phased him out of the door and held it open for him. "Well, little badger, you might as well come in. Tell me what happened, and you can wait it out here until your powers are in control. Tell me, was it your bumbling father who did this?"

Danny glowered at the older man, grumbling as he stumbled inside. He gave Vlad a rundown of the scenario, followed by a short phone call to his parents to let them know where he was and that Vlad was helping him with college applications. The phone clattered to the floor as it phased through his hand. He sighed. Exasperated, he toed off his socks and shoes, using his toes to dial Sam, putting it on speaker and glaring at in angrily. Vlad didn't bother to hide his laughter as he went to the kitchen to make some tea.

His friends were not happy about where he was, but they understood. It wasn't like Danny could go back home with his powers on the fritz, nor could he trust himself to stay with one of them. The chance of revealing Phantom to one of their parents was all too likely in his current state, so that was a definite "No" from all three of them. Unfortunately, that left Vlad as his only saving grace. They didn't like it, and Danny might have forgotten to mention that there was something going on between them (he wasn't ready to listen to them freak out over it yet and lecture him on why it was such a bad idea), but they accepted it, making him promise to call as soon as anything shady happened. He promised (lied) and hung up, only to yelp and claw at the floor as he started to sink into it.

"Vlad, help!" he shouted, panicking.

Vlad came rushing back into the room, eyes darting around wildly in preparation for an attack. When he spotted Danny, his eyebrows shot up, and the bastard actually started laughing.

Danny glared, nails digging into the plush carpet as he held on for dear life as his torso continued to sink into the floor. "It's not funny, you fucking fruitloop! I can't control it, I can't- just help!" Panic was starting to lace his words.

"Oh- Oh, badger, I'm"- Vlad snorted and hid his smirk behind his hand. "I'm sorry! Here." He grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him up, only to lose it completely when Danny's foot got stuck.

---

Stuck in a wall fic will get finished, I swear to god

[starlightshadowsworld]

You don't know what I'd do (for you) Part 1

Sequel to Me and the Devil (Walking side by side)

(Cannabalism arc gets solved by Atsushi making a deal with Fyodor. He expected many things, but being rescued wasn't one.)

Pain wasn't a stranger to Atsushi. In fact it was one of his oldest companions. It was one of the few constants in his life. Kunikida had a notebook full of ideals and Atsushi was in pain.

That's just how life went.

But knowing that did not make his current situation any more bearable. Everything hurt, he was certain his severed hand also hurt.

Atsushi didn't know the full extent of the damage, but he knew it was nothing short of fatal. Fyodor had Dazai shot at an angle to avoid all of his vitals.

Fyodor was smart. Methodical and twisted and someone Atsushi should've known better than to cross. He was going to die, it was not a matter of if but when.

"Any regrets?"

Atsushi had coughed up blood and stared the Demon in the eye, even if he could only see out of one.

"None."

To say Fyodor had been mad was an understatement.

Atsushi did wish he could've got a photo of his shocked face to show Dazai. In another life maybe they'd be laughing at it while Kunikida pretended he wasn't also amused.

Atsushi tried not to think about what ifs. Because at the end of the day, it didn't matter. He had no regrets, it didn't matter how many times this scenario played out in his brain.

It would always end with Atsushi in a cage. He would choose his friends, his family, the safety of the people of Yokohama everytime.

Fyodor had kept his end of the deal. Atsushi had to give him that, he was the worst of the worst but at least he kept his word. What did it say about Atsushi that he hadn't.

He coughs.

He'd cover his mouth but he can't move the arm that's still attached. Much like with Dazai it hadn't been Fyodor who had tortured him.

Atsushi hadn't caught his name, just that he was definitely afraid of clowns now.

The Agency joked, in a way that was both amused and concerned, that he and Kenji were like their pin cushions. Which is exactly what Atsushi resembled now, at least from what he could see.

It made the Headmaster nailing his foot to the ground look like nothing.

Atsushi had thought that was an over reaction, this was just excessive and for what? Sure he was a lying dirty traitor, but this was a bit much. It wasn't like he had the energy to move anyway.

Atsushi's body sank against the bars. The cage was an old friend too. Even if Atsushi loathed the idea of it entirely. It didn't fit him, not really it was much to small.

It either meant Fyodor was caught off guard and stuffed him in whatever cage he had on hand. Or this was just another way to torture Atsushi in his long agonising death.

Or both.

Oh and he was definitely drugged. Atsushi figured that much out when his wounds wouldn't heal. His head was swimming and the Headmaster seemed way to amused in the corner.

Bastard.

Maybe if Atsushi wasn't bleeding out and didn't resemble a pin cushion he could enjoy the irony of escaping one cage to willingly die in another.

But he was, so he didn't enjoy it at all. And it didn't take a Ranpo to know there was a camera watching him.

Atsushi didn't know how long he'd been here, nor how long he had left. But if he was going to die anyway, he might as well make the most of his time.

If Fyodor was going to watch him he might as well give him a show. And sure maybe it wasn't the best idea, but was any of this?

Atsushi had lost his sense of shame right after he lost all feeling in his leg. The blood loss and the drugs didn't help. In any case, Atsushi began singing a very familiar song.

"Oh oh, yeah... You can't do a double suicide just by yourself."

He coughs.

His vocal cords scream at him to stop. He probably destroyed them with his screams earlier and this wasn't helping.

And yet Atsushi couldn't stop.

He couldn't remember half the words and his voice didn't even sound like his. But the song made him feel at ease, warm in a way he shouldn't be feeling right now.

"Don't forget, grab a friend. Double suicide."

Because it was Dazai's song. It was the song Atsushi hears him sing when he really wants to piss off Kunikida. Which is a lot, to the point Dazai adds another line every time, just to make the song longer.

And Atsushi was never going hear the rest. He stops, tears welling up in his eyes. Why... Why was that what got to him?

Atsushi hadn't cried when he made the plan. He didn't cry when he met Fyodor. He didn't cry when he was thrown in a cage and tortured by a clown. He hadn't cried knowing he was going to die here.

But he was crying now. Knowing he would never see his friends again.

Atsushi couldn't wipe them away, but he wanted too. He didn't deserve to cry. If he cried it meant he regretted saving them and and ending up here and Atsushi did not.

There was a crash as something heavy hit the ground.

"He's here!"

Atsushi didn't regret any of it. So why cry? Crying was for people who deserved go be loved. And Atsushi had never been wanted by anyone, unless you counted the bounty, never mind loved.

His gaze flickered over to see what the Headmaster would say... But that wasn't the Headmaster. He didn't wear a brown coat nor have bandages on his arm.

Atsushi's froze as he realised who it was. Before he laughed, it was cold and harsh to his own ears. His entire body protested against it but he couldn't help it.

So that was this was. His brain really couldn't leave him alone even now, could it? Well jokes on you brain, Atsushi very much preferred seeing Dazai over the Headmaster.

He could hear a word Dazai was saying, but it was nice. Thought Atsushi did wish Dazai didn't look so sad though. He might be fake but Atsushi didn't want Dazai to be sad.

He reached his arm up, not realising more people had shown up, or their panicked shouts at him moving so suddenly. Atsushi focused entirely on patting Dazai's face and smiling at him even if hurt.

"Don't be sad, I fixed it. It's all okay, just gotta go now." Says Atsushi, his words slurring together. He might've said more but the sudden movement took everything out of him.

Atsushi's world fell to darkness and his arm arm fell to the ground.

Part 2

[stepswordsen]

【Magi】 Judar and JuAli 🐈‍⬛🖤 ❤️ 💛

JuAli WIP doodles 🖤 ❤️ 💛

Quick doodles before I head back to my assignments

Been a while since I drew Judar and Alibaba together… I missed them!!! I hope to draw them more~

You can see the rest under the cut~

I wasn't sure if I should post my sketches here since they're so messy but I thought I might as well

I'll copy paste my old rambles too since I have more to add this time

2024 vs. 2022

(2024)

Comparison (2022 ~ 2023)

(2024)

Comparison (November 2022)

For the kissy one:

Wasn't sure which one I liked more tbh

1st one fits more...

Though for the 2nd one, I think Judar looks more efforted ADHSHDHSH

Since I excel at drawing meow meow mf charas

3rd one I drew in November 2022. The expressions are still cute in this one so I still like it, but my brush strokes improved a lot since then

For the hanfu Judar one:

Recent versions (+ the old one from 2022)

I've been playing around with the eyes~ I like these ones best. The eyes are bigger in the 1st one, and the others have them a bit smaller. The 1st one has a more innocent look. The 2nd has more slitted eyes and a "seductive" look?

Judar has sharp (tsurime) eyes and rings in his eyes, which are really fun to draw hehe 🤗

I'll redraw the hair soon! I just drew it quickly in like 5 minutes. It's finals season for me. I'm not fully free from this semester so I'm still quite busy, but you'll probably see small doodles from me 🙏

I'm definitely seeing art improvement (improvement in brush strokes and anatomy and proportions)

Ohtaka deliberately draws hatched lines near Judar's eyes to represent his eyeshadow 🤭 ❤️

I drew the hair quickly, so I didn't pay much attention to the shapes of the hair spikes so it's not as soft. But even with the quick doodle, the hair has better weight now. Once I get to refine things properly, I'll actually pay attention to the way his hair spikes are drawn.

I was recently rereading my old dialogue scripts from my JuAli AU and revamping them! I doodled Judar and Alibaba SO much in 2022. It's the Fire/Ice duality and Black Cat x Golden Retriever ship dynamic 🖤💛🐈‍⬛🐕

I wanna draw JuAli again soon and redraw my old doodles. JuAli is my main Magi ship so ofc I wanna draw lots of them~ I haven't gotten the time yet, but I want to draw my ships like AliHaku, SinJa, and KouMor eventually, too 🙏✨

Inspiration

Based on this black and red (Judar colours) hanfu I got~

Judar rambles

I originally drew Judar wearing hanfu in 2022! Still one of my personal fave doodles ❤️ Judar is my fave (no one is surprised, I have the most obvious predictable tastes in the world LMAO). A meow meow mf perfect for my tastes.

Judar fits perfectly into the highly specific Sen-core niche that my top faves all tend to fall under - Meow meow mf. C*nty sen-core bastard cat who's violent, threatens people, and ok with murder. Bloodthirsty. Monochrome aesthetic colour palette.

Manga Judar has red eyeliner (?) and anime Judar has purple eyeshadow? Both are good, but I like Judar with red eyeliner since black and red are his theme colours! 🖤❤️ I like how the colours pop, the contrast against his design, and how it matches his red eyes.

In my HCs, Judar wears a type of hanfu called Ruqun (襦裙). Ru (襦) is the cross-collared top of a hanfu, and the wrap-around skirt is called Qun (裙). The coat jacket is called Da Xiu Shan (大袖衫).

I want him to wear black, white, red, gold, hanfu & hanfu earrings, with red eyeliner and black painted nails 🤗

I still need to pick my headcanon hanfu earrings for Judar... I imagine they'd be gold with red accessories.

I just have to refine the eyes, redraw the hair and hanfu, and then start doing the lineart for it! I love the expression tbh

Additional rambles

I miss my sons, I wanna draw my HC designs of JuAli (with Judar wearing hanfu and Alibaba with tanner skin, wearing traditional Arabic clothes), as a fix-it for the obvious colourism going on in Magi's character designs of SWANA and South Asian inspired characters

I bought black and red hanfu back in 2023. I based my Judar hanfu doodles on it 🥺❤️ It's in Judar colours. Black red and white 🖤❤️🤍 I'm so HAPPY to get something that reminds me of my fave 🥰🤭❤️✨ I got it from the Hanfu Story~ They have such a large selection of hanfu and they're all so gorgeous~

Basically Judar themed hanfu~ I love traditional clothes, so it's my dream to collect them! Now I can use it as refs to draw him with the poses and lighting I want teehee. Hanfu & huafu look GORGEOUS to me. I also have Việt Phục like áo dài and áo tấc~

The colours are amazing!! I love black and red combo 😭💖 It's way too easy to fall into the fashion hole and collecting traditional clothes but I definitely want more in the future!

Magi: Ch. 110 - 111, Ch. 196 - 197, Ch. 239, Ch. 288

I love how Ohtaka stylizes and draws the shape of Judar's hair and braids. It's so clever how she simplifies the shapes. It just looks so good. It looks galaxy/tornado shaped… I love how the hatched lines above his eyes in Ohtaka's inking represents his eyeliner... ❤️

Judar's expressions from Ch. 110 - 111 are so unhinged… The Ch. 288 omake Judar is iconic. Fucking crazy ass LMAO 😭😂 Love you tho! 💞🫶

I'll be honest. I've thought about changing my PFP to this Judar again from the Magi omakes, like I thought of doing it as an April Fool's joke before, but I feel like no one would bat an eye cuz of how my faves are like LMFAO

Sen-core faves: Murderous, bloodthirsty, violent (or at the very least, has a disposition for violence), MAY eat people and/or their innards 🙌

JuAli core ship posts

And while you're at it, have the meme edit of them I made (1st image)

Anyways I made the 1st image's meme edit myself <33

Alibaba with tanner skin has such great visual contrast against his earrings~

I also wanna commission arts of JuAli at one point but I'd want to do it with my headcanon designs of them (Judar wearing hanfu and Alibaba with tanner skin wearing traditional Arabic clothes)

Art rambles

When I sketch, I draw out the expressions and decide which ones looks best (I either do it once or a few ~ several times) depending on whether I'm satisfied with it. I like the two most recent 2024 versions I showed~ The old ones are still nice... But I prefer the recent versions, because I think it shows how my art style and proportions improved.

These sketches are super messy right now so when I get the time I'll refine them more! It's just to make it consistent with my current style. I'm a little insecure about my sketches, so I prefer to keep most of them on priv for mutuals.

Since I'm not really a fan of the idea of my sketches/WIPs getting posted around when I'm bound to fix/refine/improve on them later when I get the chance to refine them. Though thankfully with my 2022+ lining style, my sketches look more "aesthetically nice" or "post worthy" to me...

Perhaps in the future... I do genuinely like my art style and I'm very happy with my art improvement, but I want to keep growing as an artist first. I want to reach the point where I manage to become more technically skilled and confident about my works (even my sketches)

Though since I posted the rest of the sketches under the cut, feel free to reblog them if you want!

[highqueenofelfhame]

a/n: okay so chapter three of this might be up before ten of ciwyw simply because i'm excited about it and it's already like halfway done. i'm sorry if this is disappointing news BUT i promise it's a really really good chapter with delicious content. love u, thank you for reading <3

rowaelin // 5.6k words // skoh masterlist // masterlist

“I wish I could tell you guys about this bullshit, but it’s fucking classified,” Aelin hissed into the cell phone she had sandwiched between her ear and shoulder. To their credit, Elide and Lysandra tried to disguise their laughter on the other end, but it came back muffled all the same. The two were drunk on a beach somewhere in Ellywe, and it showed.

 Everyone knew that Aelin joining the Cadre would be a disaster one way or another. When the idea was proposed to her, she turned it down. Three different times. The bad blood with Rowan flowed so deep that she didn’t care about an increase in pay or the less boring missions that came along with it. Truthfully, she would rather be lost in the Staghorns somewhere with Aedion’s unit or back in the desert with the one that showed up to take over for the Cadre. 

 Yet when Darrow approached her with the idea a fourth time, stressing how much they needed an extra person, she caved. The claims that she was the only person fit for the job had gone to her head a little bit, and it was biting her in the ass. He had even brought in her Uncle Gavriel to talk to her about going. The bastard knew that it would sway her, and it had worked. Now that this mission required them to be married, she was pretty sure it had been in the works for a little longer than they knew, and convincing Aelin to join them was the final piece of the puzzle. 

 Currently, she was quickly washing her hands in a bathroom at the Rifthold International Airport. The flight had been sixteen hours, and she was desperate for a bath that didn’t require body wipes to make her smell decent. The boys were probably waiting for her, but she didn’t care. Rare was it that she could use her personal phone to call her friends, and godsdammit, she was going to take advantage.

 “Is he still an ass?” Lysandra asked as Aelin ripped a few paper towels from the dispenser to dry her hands.

 “Of course he is. He has the nerve to act like he’s the one that was scorned! As if I didn’t fight tooth and nail for our relationship to work until the physical and emotional distance was too much to deal with.” She huffed as she poked her bags with her boot, fingers pulling her braid over her shoulder just to have something to do with her hands.

“I mean, you have to come to some sort of truce to make it work,” Elide piped in, crunching sounds filling the space between words while she snacked. 

 “I know. Gods, I know. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.” Aelin sighed, her chest decompressing as several women scurried into and out of stalls around her. “I should go.”

 “Where are you, anyway?” Lys asked.

 “I can’t say, but I can allude that I’m closer to home.”

 “Can you get a normal job? You coming on vacations would be fun.” Elide’s sad-drunk tendencies were starting to peek through, making Aelin smile.

“If Rowan doesn’t kill me first, I might end my active-duty career as soon as possible after this shit is done.” It was only half a joke. Being this close to Rowan was already far more taxing than she imagined. If anything, she thought they might ignore each other and carry on with their jobs like responsible adults. Sure, she knew her old wounds were tender at best, but the explosive tension was slightly unexpected. 

 The three muttered their goodbyes as she hefted her bags onto her shoulders and filed out of the bathroom, immediately spotting Lorcan and Rowan’s heads towering over everyone else near the exit to baggage claim. Aelin forced her shoulders back and stood straight as she could. 

 Approaching Rowan was a battle of its own sort. She had to be ready for a fight constantly. There was just no way of telling if she was walking straight into the line of fire or not.

 ~*~

 The house they would be living in was beautiful. It was a large estate sitting on the cleaner side of the Avery River, nestled back in a little grove of oak trees. A large iron gate kept any outsiders from easily getting onto the property, but it was so far off any main road that they didn’t anticipate trespassers being much of a problem. 

 Not that it really mattered– every inch of the land surrounding the house was under twenty-four-seven surveillance that they could watch from inside. The day before, a tech team had come in to set up all the equipment they would need for quick and secure communication with their superiors. Though the equipment they used was always the best the Terrasen government had to offer, it was always a little more fun to use when stationed in a big city. 

 Though the house had six bedrooms, they quickly learned during the initial walk-through that three were being used for mission-related activities. One room comprised a large desk and about a dozen monitors for surveillance; another had enough desk space for all six of them with room to spare, and the third was primarily for communication. It was filled with phones and computers connected to a highly secure network that, in theory, was breach-proof. 

 That left three rooms for the six of them to divvy into, and Aelin tried to cut the corners of arguing with who was sleeping where by quickly voicing her own option. 

 “I’ll room with Fenrys. Lorcan and Rowan can share and–”

“No.” Rowan’s response was immediate and flat. A single eyebrow quirked up as she slowly pivoted on one heel to look at him. His eyes, however, were on Fenrys. It had been years, and apparently, their casual affection was still grating on his nerves like soft cheese. 

“No?” She questioned, arms folding over her chest. Rowan slid his gaze to her face as the others took a few casual steps away as if they would rather be anywhere but in the middle of their divorced parent’s fight.

“No.” The word was harder, more final this time. 

“Fine, you and me then?” She threw a hand in the air for sarcastic flair and laughed sardonically.  Surely he would drop his weapons and retreat with arms raised, but he didn’t. It surprised everyone in the room, herself more than the rest. 

“Fine.” Shock washed over her in a static wave, running across her body like an electrical current. Everything buzzed from her fingers to her toes as he told no one in particular, “We get the master.”

Nobody was going to disagree with his claim. The two of them needed as much space between them as possible. With all the tension and white-hot energy, they could hardly share a room for meetings, much less a bed. Mala must have boiled his brain to sludge during their stay in the desert. He clearly wasn’t thinking things through.

She was further surprised when he yanked both their bags off the floor where they’d dumped them upon entry and headed toward the north wing of the house. Aelin glanced at Lorcan, hoping he would have something to say on the matter, but he shrugged and grabbed his own bags, shouting that Vaughan was with him as he did. Fenrys, at least, looked as confused as she felt.

 “Have fun with… whatever the fuck that was,” Connall told her, the three remaining men collecting their bags from the floor. 

“You really put your foot in your mouth this time, didn’t you, babe?” Fen drawled, ruffling her hair and following his brother.

“You’re all traitors!” She called as they dispersed, leaving her to begrudgingly march toward the room Rowan had claimed for them. Their low chuckles followed her down the hall, and she was pretty fucking sure she even heard Lorcan laughing with them. 

 When she reached the master bedroom, she was pleasantly surprised at the size of it. A king-size bed was centered against one wall, each side with its own lamps and nightstands. The large bay window on the right side had a bench perfect for reading in if she ever found herself with downtime. There were two doors to the left of the bed. One led to a large bathroom with a shower and a huge bathtub that she would most definitely be soaking in soon. The other was a walk-in closet that rivaled the one she had at home. 

 It was also where she found Rowan.

 Each side of the closet had plenty of drawers and space for hanging clothes and a dozen or so cubbies scattered about. Rowan stood to one side, unpacking his clothes and placing them into drawers. She pretended she didn’t notice that he had chosen the left side– the same as when they lived together.

 Aelin followed suit, kneeling on the floor by her bag and dividing things amongst her drawers. Since they were in need of civilian attire for the mission, she would be going out to purchase new things sometime tomorrow before the real work began. For now, she just wanted a shower and a nap. 

Rowan had slipped out moments before she was finished. Once satisfied with her portion of the closet, she entered the bedroom to find him peering through the curtains, eyes scanning the backyard. He didn’t seem to notice her, or if he did, he chose to say nothing. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around her body and steeled herself for another fight.

 “Is it okay if I shower first?”

 “Yep.” His fingers released the curtain, and it slipped shut, the sheer fabric not doing much to shield them from the outside world. Aelin made a mental note to get some blackout curtains tomorrow, both for safety and to keep the early morning sun out when she had the luxury of sleeping past five am. 

 “Are you sure?” For once, she wasn’t pushing to get on his nerves. If he wanted the bathroom to himself first, she would allow it if it meant no verbal sparring.

 “I already said yes, Aelin.” The edge of his words was sharp and short as a brand-new dagger. So much for not fighting.

 “You don’t get to do this.” She blurted, fingers gripping her shirt tightly.

 “I don’t get to do what, exactly?” Rowan looked at her then, eyebrows slightly raised and shoulders tense. At his sides, his hands were rolling up into fists. 

“Be pissy about our sleeping arrangements when you’re the one that booted out my perfectly good option.”

 “You were doing it to fuck with me, and I’m not giving you the satisfaction,” he said calmly, taking up a casual fighting stance: feet shoulder-width apart, arms folded over his chest, muscles coiled and ready to strike.

 “I was doing it because I highly doubt the other three would want to catch me in any state of undress accidentally, and only me and Connall can handle Fenrys full time,” she shot back. Her fingernails dug into the skin beneath her shirt like they would sew her up if she fell apart. The tendons in Rowan’s neck were visible, hard lines. If she were closer, she would probably be able to see his pulse pounding against his skin.  “I don’t know why you think I’m just here to fuck up your life. I didn’t even want this job to begin with.”

 Hating that she was the first to retreat, she walked to the closet to gather what she would need for her shower. Footsteps followed her, stopping in the doorway as Rowan asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

 “Which part?” Aelin plucked a pair of boring cotton underwear from the drawer. 

“That you didn’t want this job.” Selecting a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she turned to face him with her facial expression calling him ten kinds of stupid.

“It means that I didn’t want this fucking job.” Maybe she drew out every word a little more slowly on purpose to needle beneath his skin. The feathering of his jaw said it worked.

“I understood that part.” He sounded frustrated, his fingernails white where they pressed into his biceps. “You didn’t ask for the transfer?”

 “I turned it down three times. In the last few weeks, Darrow was up my ass about it. Even had Uncle Gav try to convince me, so I caved. Did you think I asked for this to come rain a special kind of hell down on your head?” 

“I wouldn’t put past you,” he retorted, and something in her broke. Just a little bit. 

“Contrary to whatever bullshit you’ve made up about me to craft me into your villain, I was perfectly content to never see you again. I don’t want to work with you, I don’t want to share a single molecule of oxygen with you, and I don’t want to constantly be ready to fight with you at the drop of a hat. This isn’t what I wanted for my career or my personal life. I’m here because I took an oath to protect my country, and despite my multiple refusals, they wanted me here with this unit.” Aelin shoved past him, her shoulder ramming into his arms as she did. “Do us both a favor and get over yourself, Rowan. This self-centered bullshit is exactly why I fucking left you.”

Though she hadn’t meant to be quite so dramatic, the bathroom door slammed in his face when she closed it. The sickly feeling of guilt washed over her at the look on his face. That last hateful sentence wasn’t even supposed to be said out loud. Did she even mean it?

Aelin didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she finally heard his footsteps retreat from the room and a heavy exhale whooshed from her lungs.

~*~

“Aelin, I–” His hands reached for her, but she smacked them away hard enough that it stung his palms.

 “No, no, no. I told you a thousand times if you took another deployment, I was done. And there is just no–” Aelin let out a gasping sob, one hand on her heart and the other wrapped around her torso. Unable to stop himself, he tried to pull her to him. If he could just calm her down, it would be okay.

Before his fingers could even graze her skin, she stumbled backward. A gust of wind had rain blowing at him from behind. He wasn’t sure if his face was wet with tears from his eyes or the sky. 

 “Baby–” The back of Aelin’s wrist pressed to her mouth and did nothing to muffle the sob. Knowing he was the source of her pain had him wishing for a lightning strike. 

 “There is no coming back from this.” The words were almost carried away in the storm. Not once had he ever heard her speak so softly, so broken. Tears streamed down her cheeks and neck, soaking the collar of her t-shirt while she shook her head and pointed for him to leave with a shaky finger. Her other hand was still pushing her heart back into her chest. “There is no coming back.”

The front door slammed in his face and triggered a final fissure in his heart that had his heart and soul shattering into a million jagged pieces on the rain-soaked ground. 

A firm hand on his shoulder made him jerk forward, twisting on his heel. A soldier through and through, he started to go on the defensive. Just as he reached for his attacker, he realized it was Lorcan and dropped his hands, shaking his head to clear his mind of the memory.

 Lorcan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as he said, “I said your name twice.” 

 “Sorry. What’s up?” Rowan hadn’t meant to be so wrapped up in his thoughts as he stood on the back porch. A mirror image of the gloomy gray sky reflected on the surface of the swimming pool. The sound of the door slamming in his face still echoed in his ears, but he didn’t know if it was the past or present that haunted him. Probably both. 

 “I want to go over what needs to be done this week,” Lorcan told him, nodding toward the house. Through the windows, he could see everyone lounging on the couches and chairs that made up the formal living room. Each of them held a folder; Aelin’s was in her lap, where she curled up in the corner of the couch. Deft fingers twined her damp hair into a braid over her shoulder. Lorcan’s eyes followed his gaze as he braced his hands on his hips. “Do you need to talk about it before we go in?” 

“I don’t know what there is to say.”

 “Look, I am by no means any sort of authority on relationships, but the fact that you two can barely be in the same room without starting a fight shows how deep it all goes. You sure as fuck aren’t over it–” Lorcan gave him a stern look when he opened his mouth to object, then continued, “And neither is she. You can both act like you don’t care, but you do. At some point, an olive branch needs to be extended one way or the other. Otherwise, it will stack up to messy mistakes in the field and you’ll both drag everyone else down with you. I can’t allow that. So find a truce. Wave your white flag if you fucking have to. Talk about it. Fuck it out. I don’t care. But don’t let it compromise the job.” 

 Rowan nodded, hands sliding into his pockets as he took a deep breath. All of those things were easier said than done. If they were ever going to talk it out, they would both have to come to some peace with the past and present. Right now, he wasn’t sure how to do that. His behavior had clearly torn into her with a jagged blade, the same way her leaving him did. Both had raw, gaping wounds that were still bloody from the battle. The time apart had done nothing to heal either of them. If anything, it made it worse. 

 There wasn’t ever supposed to be so much distance, time, or emotion stretched between them, to begin with. Rowan could strut around like he didn’t care all he wanted to, but he did care. Looking at her made it hard to breathe. 

 “Did you ever, at any point in your relationship, tell her about what happened to Lyria?” Lorcan asked, just as Rowan took a step toward the house. His teeth snapped together so hard that it hurt, narrowly missing a bite of his tongue. “Maybe start there.”

“I don’t think it would matter at this point.”

 “Not that I don’t think she’s a swaggering asshole ninety-nine percent of the time or anything–” Rowan snorted, looking back at Aelin through the window. She was looking back. “– But she isn’t a bitch. Not all the time, anyway.”

 Part of him wanted to throttle Lorcan for talking about her that way, but their personalities had always been mixing oil and water. Even still, Lorcan would never hold his personal relationship against her. She was far too good of an asset. 

 “Can I ask something of you?” Rowan inquired, restlessly scratching the back of his neck. His eyes didn’t leave Aelin’s, and she tilted her head curiously. Almost as if, despite their fight, she was trying to inquire if he was okay. 

 “Of course.” Rowan sidestepped out of view, not wanting her to read his lips as he looked at his commander. Lorcan leaned against the table that decorated the patio, an open and caring demeanor slipping into place. 

“If anything on this mission goes sideways, if it ever comes down to a split second when it has to be her or me… I don’t care if it’s a temporary thing where you come back for me later or we’re both bleeding out somewhere, whatever the situation is. If shit goes down and it’s her or me, you take her.” Green eyes bore fiercely into onyx ones. Lorcan’s eyes widened in surprise and something that looked a little like fear.  

“Rowan…” He wasn’t one to leave a man behind, but Rowan knew all too well that sometimes it became a necessary call to make. When forced with a split-second decision about who lived or died, the luxury of time to juggle your choices didn’t always exist. This oath would take the struggle out of it. 

 “Promise me that you will get her out first.” He hated the way his voice cracked like the fissures in his heart. Hated that he was prepared to fall to his knees and beg if it might save her life at any point in the future. Yet he knew that he would if Lorcan refused. The bad terms he and Aelin were on didn’t matter. Rowan would never forgive himself or his comrades if he woke up and something had happened to her. “Promise me, Lorcan.”

 He wished he could tell himself it was for selfish reasons. That he was asking to clear his conscience should it ever become a reality. Deep down, he knew it had nothing to do with that, though. It had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with her and the wildfire of unresolved feelings that haunted his waking and sleeping hours. 

 Rowan tried to get over her. Attempting to lose himself through sex with other women had been a fruitless endeavor. No amount of boiling showers had made him feel clean, like any level of intimacy with someone that wasn’t Aelin left behind an oily residue he couldn’t wash away. After the third time, he quit trying. It felt too much like cheating on her, like betraying her, even if she had been the one to leave him. 

 He had followed her career over the last two and a half years. Though she had passed on another deployment when she thought he would too, months after the breakup, he heard she was back in it. Lorcan had passed him details of her missions, and Rowan had a mental list of every injury she had ever received. Nothing had been remotely close to life-threatening, but he felt every one of those wounds like they’d happened to him. It had been difficult not to follow up with her directly to see if she was okay, but she was better off without him. Of that, he was certain. 

Being part of the same unit, he would do whatever he could to protect her. It hadn’t surprised Lorcan when Rowan declared he would always choose her first the morning she arrived. The commander made him swear that it wouldn’t compromise any missions, and it wouldn’t. But for Rowan, if the choice were anyone else or Aelin, he would save Aelin first. Now he needed to be sure someone else would choose her over him. 

“Okay. I promise,” Lorcan finally swore, his eyes saying that he hoped for all the world it never came down to it.

When they made their way inside, there were two seats available. One was smack dab between Aelin and Fenrys; the other was an overstuffed chair near the window. Rowan knew for a fact that the two blondes had been sitting side by side moments earlier and knew that one or both of them had done this on purpose. They lived in a constant state of scheming and had been driving Rowan insane from the moment their friendship began.

Lorcan hijacked the chair, which left Rowan to drop onto the sofa between Bonnie and Clyde. He swore the commander was fighting off his smirk while settling into the chair away from the drama. Bastards. All of them were bastards. It was starting to feel like everyone had been part of a private meeting on the best ways to drive Rowan insane with Aelin around. 

“Here,” Aelin said softly, nudging his arm with a folder. Nodding his thanks, he flipped it open and began skimming the pages while Lorcan got into what the next few days would look like. Every breath he took was more shallow than it needed to be, but he would lose his mind if he inhaled deep enough to smell her jasmine shampoo. 

He tried to focus on Lorcan’s words, but sitting beside Aelin was a distraction in itself. The promise their commander had just made soothed a small part of his chest, even if he thought she would throttle him if she ever found out about it. The woman beside him was more than capable of taking care of herself, yes, but Rowan needed that security blanket to fall back on if things went to hell.

 Aelin nudged him with her elbow, and he blinked, looking into her quizzical gaze. It was strange to find a hint of concern hidden behind the brilliant band of gold around her iris. With a shake of his head, he looked at the folder in his lap and tuned his ears to Lorcan’s voice. Right. Now was definitely not the time to think about this. 

 They would start by surveilling the notorious Glass Castle. It was imperative they find out how easily the outside guards could be distracted and bribed. While they had inside contacts close to the prince working with them under extremely delicate conditions, they needed to see if anyone was willing to waver. Finding the weak links could lead to it all being over before an assassination attempt began.

 The Prince’s closest and really only friend was his captain of the guard. Through their contacts, he agreed to work with them on the castle’s blueprints and help them however he could. If everything went smoothly, nobody would die, lose their jobs, or be accused of treason, and in the process, their president would be safe from the fallout.

“We need to take passport photos in the morning, and someone is coming by tomorrow afternoon to stage some pictures of our Duke and Duchess over here.” Rowan and Aelin’s heads both snapped up at neck-breaking speed.

“What?” Rowan said, eyes darting to Aelin. There was no way in hell she would be okay with this.

“All of the royals in Fenharrow have websites,” she answered for Lorcan. “Do I get to wear a pretty gown?”

“You’ll wear whatever shows up, and you won’t give anybody any shit about it,” was the commander’s flat response. Aelin’s smoldering gaze told him she would do as she pleased, but her eyes wandered back down to the pages in her lap. If the wardrobe weren’t to her taste, they would surely hear about it no matter what Lorcan said.

“Box dye is going to absolutely ruin our hair.” Rowan didn’t know anything about that. According to his passport, he had blonde hair and brown eyes. Curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned a little toward Aelin to see what hers said. With a flick of her wrist, it was turned toward him so he could see better. Red hair, green eyes. Rowan had a hard time imagining it.

“Are you going to complain the whole time?” Lorcan snapped. Aelin, to her credit, grinned.

 “Maybe. It’s fun getting under everyone’s skin so easily.” 

It felt like a jab with one of the daggers she favored. A quick stab into his back, the twist of the blade as it sunk deeper. Rowan sat up straight and tried to keep from crumpling the papers in his hands.

It might not be an outright bloody war, but every vaguely altruistic word that left her mouth made him tenser than any gunfight ever did.

 ~*~

A book lay open upon the pillow in her lap, eyes skimming the pages when Rowan soundlessly opened the door and slipped into their room. He was clearly hoping she would be asleep when he came to bed to avoid any awkward interactions or heated arguments. Aelin was too tired for anything beyond a few pulled punches tonight and closed her book. The t-shirt he wore was pulled over his head in a single, fluid motion, and he slipped between the sheets. After placing her nightly read on the bedside table, she snuggled under the blankets. Rowan was on his back staring at the fan when she turned her light off. Aelin lay on her side, facing him straight on.

“This is… weird,” he admitted as the air deflated from his lungs in a deep sigh.

“Sleeping together or, however fake it may be, being married to me when you never wanted it in the first place?” Aelin wasn’t sure why flames kept spewing out of her mouth every time they spoke. Closure was what she was after, yet she knew it wouldn’t come this way. It was more of a defense mechanism than anything else.

“We aren’t doing this tonight, Aelin. I’m tired.” Rowan rolled onto his side, facing away from her, hand smacking at his pillow before he settled against it. 

Through the dim moonlight slipping through those sheer curtains, she could make out the scars on his back. Some she knew, others she didn’t. Without thinking, she reached out and touched one she didn’t recognize. Rowan’s inhale was sharp, shoulders expanding and muscles tightening beneath her fingers. As tense as he was, his body betrayed him in the form of goose flesh over his skin. 

“Rowan?” Aelin must have been imagining his jagged breaths. It sounded too much like shredding self-control to be real. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. For today, I’m sorry.” Doused in a burning tension, she traced her fingers over another pale scar on his back. Tears pricked her eyes over the featherlight touches she made, at the emotion that welled up in her throat. This sort of casual intimacy used to be second nature. Aelin hated that her fingers craved to touch more of him, all of him. They never thought about touching before; they just always were. It had once been necessary, vital even. Now he was a coiled asp ready to strike, waiting for the fighting words she couldn’t find. 

“Okay,” he finally whispered back on an exhale. 

“I didn’t mean to slam the door, either. I know you won’t believe me, but I–”

“I do believe you.” Her throat was suddenly tight as she swallowed, dropping her hand from his back. Sometime soon, she would ask how he got those new markings. Maybe Fenrys would have the answers if her cowardice won over and she couldn’t ask him herself.

“Okay,” she parroted, the word muffled by the blanket as she pulled it up and tucked her face into it. 

Seconds stretched into minutes before he rolled onto his back, head turning to face her. With her eyes more adjusted to the dark, she could tell he was looking at her. They didn’t say anything, just took each other in. It was the first quiet moment they’d shared since her arrival. Somehow, the heaviness of this moment was far more abundant than the times they were yelling.

“Were you talking about me when you said it’s fun to get under our skin?”

“I’ve always liked getting under your skin,” she teased, but he didn’t smile. Aelin’s own faltered, mouth twisted to the side as she considered it. Yes, she had. “It is fun but… I didn’t mean it quite how it sounded. I haven’t been picking fights with you the last few days for shits and giggles. I’m sure you aren’t doing it for that reason either.”

It’s what she wanted to believe, anyway. Perhaps it made her naive, but she knew Rowan. Even if they hated each other, they didn’t like causing the other unnecessary pain.

 “Why are we fighting then?” The bald vulnerability he gave had her mouth parting in surprise. Of all the ways she saw this first night going, a calm discussion was nowhere on the list. Murder definitely was, but this? 

 “I don’t think we know how to be around each other like this,” she said slowly. “We had moments of bickering when we first met, sure, but…” 

The words she wanted to say would strip her a little more bare than she wanted to be, yet she wasn’t ready to let the moment go. Rowan saw her hesitation and waited patiently, eyes scanning her face as though he could sneak into her mind and steal the thoughts for himself. Tomorrow the fires would rage again but for tonight? Tonight she would settle close to the truth without laying it all at his feet.

“But?” Aelin sighed and shook her head.

“We’ve always been intense,” she shrugged a shoulder. “Now that we aren’t in love, I guess it’s just going to be in the form of verbal sparring and screaming matches. Maybe a few physical blows during training.”

Aelin averted her eyes, slipping her fingers out from beneath the blanket to inspect her nails. It probably looked as stupid as it felt, considering she could hardly see, but Rowan didn’t call her on it. Nor did he point out how unlike her it was to balk from a conversation, yet here she was, being a coward and avoiding his gaze. It was a half-truth wrapped up in a teasing taunt at best and clearly not the answer he sought.

It wasn’t fair that he still had her tied up in so many knots. For years she paraded around, pretending she was over it and it didn’t matter anymore. Not being in love with Rowan was one of the biggest lies she’d ever told, one she whispered to herself every time she found him looking at her. It was a foolish, stupid mask she wore to hide the pain of the ugly, bleeding truth of everything. 

Rowan handled it better than she did, and it hurt more than she would ever admit. 

@elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @fancysludgeshoelamp  @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-life @the-hospitality-of-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn  @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme  @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294  @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior @backtobl4ck @shyvioletcat @bellasbookboyfriends @icantfindmychashma @swankii-art-teacher

[devonhinged]

[FFxivWrite2024] Horizon

Endwalker ending spoilers! About the aftermath of Ultima Thule. If you've been following my tweets this might be easier to understand...

Zenos lies overlapping the horizon. The light grazed the roots of his hair that were still golden. The alien yet earthly warm light. In this vast space where there is nothing else but them, despite himself, Saga stretches out a hand towards him. Zenos is merely a few ilms away. If Saga moved about his torso, maybe he could nudge himself far enough to touch him. But it seems like he had lost all the muscle for it. 

He still sees and hears, but he's fighting a very heavy sleep. 

... a gift, or a burden? 

For a moment, in this warmth, Saga remembers laying on the floor of his childhood bedroom, letting the window open and the sun in. 

"Don't you dare.... Bastard."

He grimaces in tears. Pain slowly setting in the longer that he's awake, along with an incredible sadness. He never came back home.

"Don't you... dare die before me." His fingers curl into his palm, but too weak to push his own nails in. Zenos no longer speaks to him. Hell would've frozen over. "I thought you wanted to fight. I thought you'd live for it forever." Saga is not too sure if he's still speaking himself.... 

He let go of his fight to breathe. So this was all his life was going to be. In the end, there is no end to it after all. Only one step after the other, every moment of every second, until he can't do another. And all these people he's leaving behind, his greatest nightmare still manages to come true.

...I don't want to die alone.

. 

. 

. 

The more he slips into unconsciousness, the more he is calm. At least, his soul feels happy. Had he done a good job then? He is wrapped in an old, familiar embrace. Alike, but not of his brother or even his mom. Not even from his earliest childhood memory. He slips deeper and deeper into it, it’s like a cold blanket. He reckoned... his soul must've been very old.

Is that really enough? 

I understand what we must do, but I don't know what to do anyway...

I'm scared to be alone, I'll be honest. 

What if I forget everything? What if we all do? 

Do I just keep on going?

A faint echo. Trickling water. Smell of wet soil. The sun hitting his scalp and rocks beneath his feet. There were distant footsteps somewhere echoing around him. Saga doesn't think he is anywhere new. He's been here this whole time.

Then I will, no matter what. Even if I lose the purpose. 

If that's all you ask, then it seems easy enough. 

I'll keep going for the sake of it. I will trust you. 

And I'll see you again. 

That was as vivid as it comes, then the dream fades away again, as if he is slowly waking up. But there's nothing on the other side of his closed eyes. There's only that distant, echoing footsteps. Not even getting louder or fainter, only at a consistent pace. As if they're walking with him. He only stays in one place, though. He's not going anywhere. So he doesn't know where they're going. 

Here, he is not alone. He's never been alone. He's been here this whole time. 

Saga's eyes are flooded with light and he gasps for air.

[elliemarchetti]

Obsession (Part 2)

@jilymicrofics’s prompt #28. Hope I nailed it.

Part 1

Prompt: Nostalgic

Words: 690

After yet another day spent groping in the dark, James threw himself on the creaking bed of the small hotel room he had rented. He hadn't been too sophisticated with his temporary accommodation, and for some reason he liked the idea of ​​the place having a single window looking out onto a dark grey concrete wall.

Technically, he could’ve gone home. His colleagues had found nothing to indicate where the bastard might have taken his wife, and even James himself had ascertained that there was nothing out of place. The murderer, and now also kidnapper, hadn’t touched anything. The table was set exactly as if Lily were to emerge from the kitchen at any moment with a roast pan in hand, her brown suede jacket was hanging on the coat rack in the hall, and her favourite ankle boots, the ones she had recently worn to every event they attended, were right beside her fuzzy slippers. Everything was normal but she was too painfully absent for James to be able to stay in that house without going crazy, so he paid in advance for a week at the closest place to the police station he could find.

He shouldn't have worked on the case. He was too involved, and even his partner feared that he might risk his own life to get back the woman he loved, but since their superior hadn't objected when he saw him enter the office less than twenty-four hours after the fateful call, who was Sirius to speak?

With a loud sigh, James pulled his wallet out of the coat’s inner pocket, searching for the small wedding photo he always carried with him. In the image now slightly creased at the corners, Lily was laughing happily as he made her twirl, her red hair half hidden by the voluminous veil she had chosen, the transparent sleeves of the dress highlighting her slender arms. She had always been tiny, more than a few inches shorter than him, and weighed so little compared to a man... He had to forcibly stop his mind from taking this dangerous path, one that led his imagination to what that psychopath could’ve done to her, or could be doing right at that moment.

He had to stay calm, to rein his emotions, otherwise he would’ve worked to the point of exhaustion, until his eyes asked for mercy and closed spontaneously. He felt guilty, and he felt fooled, but he knew it was of little use, that he had to keep his mind clear to earn a chance to hug Lily again.

Even before they got married, even before he started the academy and probably even when they were just kids, she had always been his anchor, a safe haven in the storm; the fact she now was the victim, the centre of his work and not the one who lightened his days and made him smile, made him forget for a moment the horrors he witnessed, added a layer of sadism to the whole ordeal.

“This is what he wants,” Sirius had told him when he found his best friend with his head in his hands, staring at an unspecified point on a folder full of papers whose meaning he could barely understand. “If you panic, he wins.”

But James wasn't panicking. He was just homesick, obviously not for a building but for the sense of peace that space shared with his wife and only her gave him. He missed walking through the door and smelling dinner, or seeing her curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace reading one of her terrible romance novels. He missed her closeness, her laugh, and how her eyes became bright when she recalled the good old days at school. He was longing for something that would never return, because even if he found her, even if by some miracle she was unharmed, such a trauma would change her, and nothing would ever be the same again.

“I miss you,” he murmured to the smiling face in the photo he still held in his hands, praying that, somehow, she could feel him close.

[wispisstillverybored67]

Wisp rambles about GyoTengu, the post.

I'm digging in my own grave... But whatever.

Swap AU is hinted at with a $ in front.But SO!

We have the very obvious difference in aesthetics, no matter where you look. Gyokko is primarily white, but there's obvious color everywhere you look. Meanwhile, Hantengu appears as a usually dark colored old man. His tones make it hard to discern color. The only thing in common in their looks is that they're... grotesque, in a sense. Gyokko is self explanatory, with what his face in all the wrong spots, and his damn arms as well. Hantengu is a bit more low-key on this, with his lack of eye definition, gnarly limbs and nails, and massive tumor jutting out of his forehead.

And their personalities are also distinct. Gyokko is extroverted, (and the only one to reciprocate friendly feelings with Douma, to boot!), arrogant, egotistical, and macabre. He's very in your face about things. Hantengu, on the other hand is very much a coward, and afraid of nearly everything. He's introverted by definition, clearly presents as pathetic, a nervous wreck, and would clearly rather remain low-key.

But there IS one thing that they DO have alike though: their "delusions".

Gyokko believes himself to be a great artiste and a thing of beauty, and liked.... Hantengu thinks that, no matter what he does, he's innocent of wrong-doing, regardless of how out-there it seems.

Between that... It would seem like they'd never get along.

And you may have a point: their only canon interaction is when Hantengu is criticizing Gyokko on his lack of time frame (he said it was 90 year's since a meeting was called, when it was only 103<).

HOWEVER.

It's a comfort HC of mine, so to speak, that they're quite good friends with each other. I believe that their uh... (gestures to everything) will work creepily well. And I can see the two having a twistedly caring bond with each other. $And even as the Pillars, they might actually have a better chance at this, since, mostly through process of elimination (I gave Gyokko Mitsuri's role, while Hantengu got Iguro's)$ Still, you can assume where this heads with my suggestion, and their given roles.

They are as the sun and moon, distinct, yet reliant on each other.

Hantengu is the hateful introvert, Gyokko is the unorthodox extrovert.

Believe it or not, Hantengu actually makes the first move no matter where you look.

Perhaps it was under the urgings of the clones, or an awkward conversation starter, but it's there. And it's an odd feeling. For the both of them.

Gyokko, who only extended this "love" to another person once as a human, and only focuses his "love" towards his art, was attached to this rat (affectionate)? Hantengu, who's every extent of his "love" ended with a widow's kiss, and holds his "love" in a separate entity (Urogi, and not really) entirely from himself, was attached to this beast (affectionate)?

Very confusing indeed.

$Kokushibo somehow figured out that they're in love with each other WAY before even Hantengu did. And when he (terrifyingly) confessed to him, he just went, "Ah. Is he aware of it as well?"$

$So he goes, "P-Probably n-Wait what?!"$ (You can tell he's pining a bit...)

No matter what, Kokushibo figures it out, Douma grills him for it, Sekido, Aizetsu, Urogi, Karaku and Zohakuten playing reluctant match maker, and Gyokko himself finds it out WAY. TOO. DAMN. LATE.

Yes. Poor Gyokko indeed. In either case, I believe that he had made him a vase (corpse tree in the vase up to you in canon specifics) as a gift, only, you know, he forgot to give it to him. It was based off a scene of a rare calm Hantengu. You guessed it, Kokushibo figured its existence before its intended target.

This can serve as a nice scene of ship tease in either canon, before their uh... deaths.

See, if Iguro and Mitsuri get their scenes, of course these bastards do so also! $I'm actually working a post on how Hantengu views the other Pillars, and another HC comes into play with their relationship that can't be recreated in canon.$

The HC in question? Hmm...

$Inspired by Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth for this... Hantengu is just his last name. His given name is "Shiko". Plainly translated as "Fourth (or something death related) Child", it's very demeaning for someone like him. As he hates his name, he just says his name is "Hantengu" and nothing more. The only one to know this name is, you guessed it, Gyokko (named Managi Mizamura)! He just shrugged it off when he got told of it... and then he clarified why. Yeah. He promised to never call him by that again. But for a hint of tragedy, I like to believe that he asked him to call him that (for some damn reason) when they died together.$

Hehehe... Dear Rei provided me with some inspo... So I finished this specific HC in her honor.

[winksasleeplesseye]

via ad perditionem (three)

SUMMARY: Leon wakes up in a new place and meets a rather...interesting man named Luis Sera. Amara also finds herself in interesting company.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS: death, implied experimentation, some cursing

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

Sacrificial lamb. You will receive our most sacred body. 

It begins now.

Leon wakes up with a start.

It’s brighter than he remembers. And colder.

All he remembers is…Shit, Amara. He’s back to square one. He had been able to check off one part of the mission until that man knocked him out—an unfair advantage on him, considering the sheer size of him. 

He squints his eyes as he looks around the area in front of him, then he looks up above him, finding his hands cuffed. His mind only just now registers a throbbing in the back of his head and an ache of having been in this position for a while. Well, that’s…something. 

What was it with these bastards with the chains and ropes? 

“Oh, what the fuck?” He forcefully brings his hands down to his front, chain rustling at the movement. A voice lightly chastises him for it. “Hey, stop it!” 

He recognizes the voice. The man he’d somewhat freed underneath the house by the lake. And now he’s chained to him? Just great. He pushes himself off the ground to better assess his surroundings. 

Well, he tries at least. Being trapped like this doesn’t exactly give someone that much leeway to look at things to escape. Unfortunately, he did have to be considerate of the person on the other end of the chain. Despite the annoying vibes that radiate from the man. 

He’d felt a small, almost green demon of envy crawl up his spine as he recalled this same annoying man had taken to flirting with Amara and the sweet smile, the easy yet witty answer she’d given to him in return. It made him feel like the rookie he thought he’d left behind, palms clammy and word vomit galore, he wished he could make her smile like that again.

First, he needed to get out of here if wanted that to happen.

“Oye, Yanqui, got a name?” 

He’s only half listening as he steps towards some shelving. “Leon.” 

“Quiet type, eh? I’m Luis Serra.” He introduces himself. “And guess—you, me—picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?” 

Leon tugs the chain a little too far, briefly eyeing Luis as he scolds him. “Hey! Stop it! You move, I move…And I’m beat up enough as it is!”

What exactly was holding these chains anyways? Leon glances up to find—

—hm, chained together by a pulley, huh? He could work with that. Enough force and it’d be down soon enough. He leans back a bit, repositioning himself to have a better grip to pull it, he notices Luis following his movements as he gives a forceful tug. 

“I can see your thinking.” Leon felt the give on the chain, assuming the man decided to be helpful. “Bet you’ve been in spots like this before, hm?” 

Leon furrows his brow slightly, beginning to wish this man would shut up. He had bigger fish to fry than to have a needless conversation with this guy about what spots he has and hasn’t been in on missions. Who knows what that man did to Amara and not to mention he needed to go find Ashley too. He turns, finding that pulling while facing away might do more good. He could just hear the nails coming undone from the wood. 

“My guess…you’re here looking for someone?” Luis posits. Leon doesn’t answer. Just a couple more pulls and he’d be free. “One more guess…you’re here looking for some missing senorita?” 

Leon stopped dead in his tracks, turning on a dime towards him. Now he said something useful. “Young girl?” 

He pulls the chain, holding Luis’ arms above his head. “Talk. Now.” 

“All right,” Luis grunts. “See, heard chatter about moving a senorita.”

“Moving her. Where?” 

“Who knows?” He responds. “But later, saw some men dragging someone…to the old church. Who knows maybe that radiante flor from earlier is there too?” 

Jesus Christ. If he says one more thing about her, he’s more than liable to break a foot off in his ass. 

With a final tug, the pulley breaks, sending Luis to the floor. “Mierda…” 

That’s when he sees him behind Luis, a man wild-eyed and flailing around with an ax, Leon doesn’t think twice to pull him away from the other man. 

“Hanging with you not healthy—“ 

It takes mere seconds to whip the man with the length of the chain. Wrapping it around his neck, with the two men becoming temporary animal tamers…except the animal is a man. 

Ending this ordeal quickly, Leon forces the weight of his knee against the chain, a sickening snap coming from the man’s neck. He collapses, taking Luis down with him. 

He wanted to feel sorry about taking the man down so brutally but considering the man had come in the room with full intention to more than likely lob both their heads off with the ax, he can’t find it in him to feel all that sorry either. 

Luis excitedly scrambles for something on the man’s belt loop. Leon heard the telltale sign of that something being keys for the cuffs. 

Luis backs away, free from the chain in a gesture as if he just did a magic act. 

“Hey, we’re not done here!” Leon runs at him but the weight of the man holds him back, Luis backs up with a triumphant smile. 

He tosses the keys to the floor without so much as a second glance to Leon. “Later, amigo!” 

Leon can’t help but linger his eyes in a fierce gaze in the general direction he ran off. 

Jackass. 

For an agent, finding ways out of any situation is crucial in every sense. It was one of the biggest tenets of training to prepare agents for whatever may come. 

Amara had been in her fair share of…sticky situations to say the least. 

However, this one had topped the list. 

The stone tiles had been digging into her knees for some time, Amara’s sure her knees would pop out of their sockets. Not to mention, the strain on her arm muscles in this position. All in all, everything about this sucks and there wasn’t a way out. 

Not that she could see. She could definitely hear rats squeaking and scurrying about, their little paws scraping against the floor. Smell only the scent of fire burning, an almost—emphasis on almost—pleasant woodsy scent amongst the smoky scent and a scent that always seemed to permeate in old buildings. Mold and mildew no doubt. 

Well, at least it wasn’t the skunk lake-scented bag.

But Amara doesn’t imagine it’s much better wherever they put her. 

She hears footfalls echoing from a distance. Female. Judging by the click-clack of heels. Who the hell would wear heels of any kind in this place? Amara pities whoever it is, the cracks in the stone had probably given the person more than a few missteps. 

By the pace, she can tell they’re scared, nervous…a whole other gaggle of emotions to do with fear.

They sound closer and closer by the second, it’s only when someone gently unties the blindfold that the sound stops. 

Her eyes scan the room before looking over at the person who had slightly freed her. It’s a church, that much is obvious, judging by the architecture, a stain-glass window just beyond the doorway, the shelves directly in front of her lined with bibles collecting dust and the worn, rusted cups that were used for communion next to them. At one point, they were more than likely a more pristine gold color but age had gotten to them. 

There’s a grime to the walls that makes her skin crawl. 

Amara never really cared that much, but now she could safely say she hated churches. Well, just this one. 

Then there was the person who freed her. Under the glow of the lantern, the orange and green colors of her outfit stick out almost ridiculously in this place. Amara is no fashion critic by any means, but the outfit is cute. 

She didn’t look too much older than 20, her soft features and curious eyes studying Amara. Something about her reminded her of Sherry. 

“You’re not one of those people, I take it?” Amara questions, though the answer is pretty obvious.

She scoffs, the labored breaths she let out returning to a normal pace from stopping her exertion. “Considering I took off that blindfold, I’d hope not.” 

“Think you’ve got a key to this?” Amara smiles, shaking her arms to emphasize the chain holding her captive. “Not that I don’t appreciate being able to see again.” 

“Me and you are in the same boat, unfortunately.”

“Well, not exactly. You’re not chained to a wall at the moment,” Amara said, almost reflexively. It came off a little meaner than she intended but the frustration started to wear on her. 

It took Amara a moment longer than necessary to register the girl’s words. “Ashley Graham?” 

“My name precedes me.” She offers a closed mouth smile, there’s a pain in her eyes. 

Amara immediately felt like a piece of shit, but it’s too late to really take back that she kind of sassed the president’s daughter, because the moment has already passed and Ashley already seems to be moving her eyes over the area.

“I’ll see what I can fin—“ 

“Don’t bother, you’re stuck here too, doubt they’d let that key lay around where their prisoners can find it.” Amara sighed, gesturing near her. “Least you can do is keep me company. Name’s Amara.” 

Ashley delicately placed herself on a spot on the floor nearby. It only just now hits Amara how bare and cold everything is, goosebumps raising against her exposed skin instantly. At least one of them was warm, and it definitely wasn’t her. 

Amara decided it was in their best interest to be friendly with one another. More than anything, this girl probably needed some friendly, Amara couldn’t exactly picture what had been occurring since being kidnapped. Nor how her detail had managed to slip up so badly. Dumbasses, the lot of them. 

“You’re not scared?” 

“Terrified. Guess I hide it pretty well.” Amara can tell she’s trying her damndest to put on a brave face. Though it was entirely possible the next sudden move or even shift of a shadow would make the girl jump.

“We’ll get out of here, trust me.” Well, that depends solely on Leon. Why on god's green earth did they only send him? Amara knows he’s more than capable (if the whispers around the office and during training were anything to go by) but one man up against…whatever is going on here seemed a bit much. 

But, recalling the mole, it made a stupid amount of sense. One agent to each hypothetical needle in the haystack to see which one found the needle. Leon now either possessed the short end or long end of the stick in finding them. 

“Are you an agent or something?”

“As far as I’m aware I am.”

“For my dad?” 

“Oh, no. That’s way above my pay grade,” she jokes lightly. Can’t have a living, breathing BoW breathe the same air as the President after all. 

She felt disgusted to even admit that but it was—is— the truth. 

The only reason they hadn’t been given orders to take her out at the first chance they had was because much like that sunglasses-wearing slick blonde hair idiot thought, they thought the same. 

She’s special. 

And she just so happened to be of age while Sherry was not. Those factors equated to the almost perfect candidate because of the “medical potential” and the fact that to her family, she’d been dead since 1998. No one would come looking for her despite the fact a woman eerily similar to someone they’d lost now roamed freely using her name. Heh, and she was calling Ada a ghost? 

The first couple of months had been the hardest, her body and psyche had been put to the test, mentally, physically, and emotionally. 

More than a few training sessions ended up with her writhing in pain, bloodied, and bruised as the trainers had been given almost free reign to test all methods of attacks against her as scientists watched over her “healing” abilities. One particularly mean bitch trainer named Diana Foster knocked out a few of her teeth and while her teeth grew back almost instantaneously, the phantom pain of losing them came up ever so often now. 

That coupled right now with the awful sensation of rubbing against her wrists gave her a throbbing pain in her right temple. That didn’t explain why she had spit up blood earlier just before Ashley had found her, she had chalked the weariness upon waking to Luis taking her blood but something about not being able to even have the strength to break free of these chains certainly began to alarm her. 

She needed to find Luis and find out what the hell was going on with her. Better yet, the progress on the so-called suppressant he was working on. 

“Are you alright?” Ashley asked, a frantic tone to her voice. “Your nose!” 

A warm dribble just so happens to run down to her mouth, the taste of iron hitting her tongue. Yep, that’s blood alright. 

Of course, something in her tells her not to worry her only companion for the moment. Amara is still a bit touched by the care she shows for her, despite only having just met. 

“Probably just the air in here, that or being carried upside down,” she shrugs her shoulders as best she can. Ashley takes part of her scarf and tears it to make a makeshift napkin, wiping the blood and tossing the soiled piece away. “Thanks.”

“Are these people patrolling the church too?” Amara knew the next thing to do was survey the situation. 

Ashley shakes her head. “I just woke up here so I’m not too sure.” 

“Do me a favor. Look around this place, find something weighty.”

“Uh…why?” 

“To defend yourself. If I can’t, the least you can do is knock someone out to escape, if it comes to that.”

“What about you?” 

“I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.” Maybe. Hopefully. If she could rid herself of this damn pain in her head, she’d be more than okay. 

Ashley looked over the shelving next to Amara, she can’t exactly see what she grabbed until she comes back into her full line of sight. A candelabra. Oh, hell. This place was ancient. 

Ashley’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion as she examines it. Amara had to remind herself that there was a time that people were born after her, although the only reason she even knew what that was was because of her own interest in a few things of gothic persuasion. “This candle thingy should be good, right?” 

“It’s a candelabra,” she corrected politely. “But yes, it should work. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to get away from me. Only because it’s a bit better strategy not for them to be able to take us both out in one go.”

Without another word, Ashley nods hesitantly, carrying the candelabra as if it were a shield from the world and heading out the way she came to hopefully hide. Yet again, Amara is alone. 

The last remnants of the boat sink slowly to the depths of the lake within the boat house. The pink, purple, and orange hues denoting sunset had now vanished with an almost pitch black sky in its place. Leon gingerly steps off the boat, full intention to contact Roost. 

Coughing up blood and taking an unintended mid-mission nap (if he could call it a nap) were not on the agenda. 

Neither was fighting a giant lake monster but that's besides the point. 

A touch to his comms sends the familiar beeping to his ear. His voice is a little more exhausted than he’d like as he states the usual call sign. “Condor One to Roost.”

Hunnigan’s voice filled his ear, there was concern and surprise in her voice. “Condor One? You’ve been radio silent for three hours. Are you alright?” 

Shit. Was it that long? 

“Yeah…I’m fine,” he lightly laughed at her concern, but he didn’t want to really make her any more concerned. He’d keep coughing up blood to himself, probably that night out a few days ago coming back to bite him in the ass. “Won’t let it happen again.” 

“And the church?” 

“Still looking for whatever key I need.” 

“Copy that. I’m glad you’re okay. Roost out.” 

After tedious traveling back and forth, Leon finally retrieved the key. Upon examining it closer, he noticed the same insignia he’d seen outside the path to the hunter’s lodge from that crudely made post, the same he’d seen on the altar where the corpse of who he assumed was one of the missing hikers had laid, now the same he’d looked at upon the stained glass window above this church. 

If it weren’t already completely obvious, there was a pattern. 

Besides that, he briefly wanted to pat himself on the back for even getting here again in one piece but there’d be no celebrations until he had both Ashley and Amara secured. 

“Ashley Graham? I’m here to help!” He called, though he was already doubtful he’d get a response. “Amara! Are you here?”

No answer. Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Leon held back a sigh as he noticed a mechanism just ahead. It doesn’t take two and two to put together that it’s another damn puzzle. Goddamn it. 

If anyone had told him six years ago that he’d be going all over the world to do weirdly intricate puzzles, he would’ve quit right on the spot. Shit, at least it gave his brain something to focus on that didn’t involve fucking disgusting monsters for a change. 

Having found the third piece to the mechanism, Leon worked through uncovering—what else—another insignia amongst the almost beautiful kaleidoscope of colors on the wall. He heard the scraping of the bars against the stone walls as they lifted, which signified that he could finally get to the upper level.

Please be here. 

Now that he was closer, he called out again. “Ashley? Amara? You in there?” 

His eyes fell upon an obnoxiously pink item on the floor. Bending down, he picked it up. A flip phone with sorority stickers on it, the screen is cracked so it was useless. Must be Ashley’s. Yup, she’s definitely here.

Coming to a set of two doors, Leon looked between them. Would it really matter which one he chose? 

With a brief shrug, he readied himself for anything behind the door closest to the windows. He slowly pushed the door open, mindful to keep his handgun aimed downwards just in case either Ashley or Amara were in the room. The corners were shrouded in darkness, just about the only light coming from the dimmed flames of a lantern but Leon could just make out the form of someone, similarly positioned like one of the hikers he’d found earlier. 

Luckily, his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Even with her head hung downwards, he could recognize the two streaks of white in her hair. He always assumed it was partially from what the G-virus had done but also a style choice on her part. 

Amara. 

It only takes about two or three strides before he’s by her side, gun back in its holster for the moment. There’s a nervous bundle twisted in his stomach as he lifted her chin, he hoped she was better off than the hikers. 

Her skin was a bit flushed, more than likely being close to the lantern and the strenuous position they’d put her in. 

“Your hands are cold…” Amara weakly spoke, automatically moving her head away from Leon’s touch. 

“C’mon, wake up. It’s me, Leon.”

“Leon?” She mumbled. 

“The one and only. Now, give me a–”

Leon sensed someone behind him within only half a second to spare, a gold candelabra laid on the ground where he just stood. It would’ve damn near taken his head off. “Get away from her!”

His attention is now solely on getting Ashley Graham to not land him in the upper room with blunt force trauma.

“Easy with that!” He raises his arms in surrender, voice even as he tried to approach her. “My name’s Leon. I’m here on the president’s orders–”

Before he can finish what he’s saying, Ashley practically scurries out the door she’d come in from. Running away from a perceived threat, can’t say he blamed her. Though, probably wasn’t logical to leave her companion with said perceived threat. 

Amara coughs a bit, a chuckle followed after. “Smooth.”

“Hush.” Leon eyed an ax hidden behind some of the shelving. That would do the trick for Amara’s chains. 

“So bossy,” she teased. He noticed that she was a bit more alert than she was a few moments ago. That was a good sign.

“As I was going to say, give me a second and I’ll get you out of these chains.” He began to ready his swing on the chain, as far as he could from Amara’s body. With one heaving swing, the chain broke from the wall, Amara’s hands flying to her front and sending her face first to the ground. 

Amara groaned out for a moment, voice dripped with sarcasm as she pushed herself off the ground. “Great plan, Leon. Loved the part where I ate shit.”  

“Sorry,” Leon offered a hand once more to help her up fully. She took it, grabbing more of his arm as she stumbled a tad. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, just give me a minute. That was hell on my knees,” Amara offered a small smile to reassure him that she was doing okay. Leon could see it didn’t reach her eyes but he didn’t want to push her. She untangled her hand from him as she leaned against the wall near the door. “You should probably go tell Ashley that you’re a friendly. Unless you’d like her to come back in here with another thing to hit you over the head with.” 

“Right.” 

He marched right outside the door, seeing Ashley had her eyes set outside the window. “Hey, it’s dangerous outside.” He can see Amara in his peripheral, slowly walking towards the nearby pillar.

Ashley doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. 

Leon was beginning to feel like a scolding parent. He cautiously approached her once again. “You need to listen to me–”

“What is that? Over there?” Ashley cuts him off, pointing outside the windows. Through the inkling of raindrops, there’s an orange glow moving towards the church. Torches. Villagers holding them. Leon can just barely make them out before a booming voice invades his brain, it sounded strangely familiar as he held his hand to his head. 

Pursue them. 

The lost lambs are escaping… 

Deliver unto them…

Salvation. 

As quick as it had came, it was over just as fast. The pain in his head subsided too. He and Ashley briefly share a look between them, his eyes then turning towards Amara as she stood nearby. A look of confusion seemed to pass between all of them before they looked on at the villagers coming closer to the church. 

What the hell was that? 

[that-golden-lyre]

I posted 1,112 times in 2022

30 posts created (3%)

1,082 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@flowerflamestars

@ladynestaarcheron

@vidalinav

@hoax1918

@arinbelle

I tagged 245 of my posts in 2022

#nesta archeron - 29 posts

#thanksvember2022 - 28 posts

#nessian - 28 posts

#cassian - 24 posts

#the old guard - 17 posts

#dream of the endless - 16 posts

#the sandman - 15 posts

#hob gadling - 15 posts

#yusuf al kaysani - 13 posts

#dream x hob - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 114 characters

#what about the rest of us poor writing simps trying not to absolutely loose it everytime you post a snippet huh???

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

So we have another late one. May I start with the fact that this fic is a beautiful version of the “if you love me go to sleep, know your limits”, meme. And I ADORE it. It is wonderful and warm and Dream is in his soft boi era and I’m in love with it. The fact that Dream experiences every dream of every living thing and yet his feelings for Hob are SO STRONG that he NOTICES when he is not there is enough to make me cry. But Dream reveling in the routine of Hob’s life had me in a fucking puddle. The way Dream just wants to be a part of it as much as he wants to simply be present for it. You can feel the eons of existing in the way his feelings are described and that is once again a BIG favorite of mine. I love how Hob is so unfazed by him at this point in his life that he just figures this might as well happen but there’s still a little bit of embarrassment, not really embarrassment but…being unnerved for once? I don’t know how to describe it, but the way that Hob for the first time realizes that he’s sharing this tiny part of domesticity with Dream, but he’s almost too tired to be fully embarrassed about it. Anyways, if you love Dream x Hob domesticity as much as I do, READ THIS. Absolutely loved it! Thanks to @astrangebird for sharing! 💜💜

12 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

#4

Oh no I missed a day....GUESS I'M DOING TWO POSTS THEN!!!!

For day 11, I give you an incredibly recent read! Oh, the way my heart actually skipped a beat reading this. I've said it before but when writers can portray the depth of years onto an ancient character the writing SLAPS 👏🏾. Listen kids, Dream of the endless is basically the pathetic meow meow equivalent to an eldrich terror. Reading fics about him is honestly a LARGE hit or miss for me. Because people will either treat him like a horny teenager or a boring old man. He's the collective unconscious of EVERY LIVING THING. That being said, the portrayal I have of him in my head is a pretty damn high standard. BUT SHIT @fellshish really hit the nail on the head for me. It's not that Dream never acts dumb about stuff, it's just the WAY he's dumb about stuff is so...well...different. The way that Dream's inner monologue is in SUCH denial if not only for the fact that as long as he has control then none of it is real. Until it is, until he wants it to be real so badly that he forgets a bit that this is HOBS DREAM. I absolutely love how at the end of it all, he gives the choice back to Hob. He stops trying to control destiny as if that wasn't what he's been doing this whole time. He surrenders...to Hob. And the romanticism of him surrendering to him regardless of how Hob reacts was just absolutely beautiful. Anyways, now that I have 1,000% spoiled this fic for you, you should STILL go read it! Thank you to @fellshish for sharing! ❣️

12 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

#3

I don’t think you guys understand how much I needed this. Netflix has a habit of cancelling shows with representation in them and I’m scared for this show. Fingers crossed that the bastard son and the devil himself gets renewed for season two! 🥹 Now, this fic. I needed something to fill my head with after this show became my new hyper fixation of the week. The show is so much fun and I honestly love the poly vibes that I’m getting from the main trio! No love triangle, just a triad. As it stands this fic is like getting a warm cup of hot chocolate after being outside in the snow. After the emotional STORM that was that season finale, reading this was like tying a beautiful bow on top of a heartbreak. This fic had me yearning for the love these three have for each other in the darkest times. And hey, maybe this wasn’t the cheerful bow that other people want, but it’s the aftercare post massacre that I needed. Because maybe the bad times were the good times ❤️. So if you’re obsessed with this show just like I am, go give this a read! Thanks to @wandersmoklight for sharing! 💝

14 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#2

We’ve got something new folks! No nessian today! 😂 Okay, I will admit I watched the old guard movie before I read the comics but I’m SO glad I did!!! Props to @hoax1918 for the artwork it is GORGEOUS! This fic goes into an everyday detail that I absolutely love! I love how this just exposes the reasons they care for each other and how they got there. It’s a simple gesture, but they can’t help it! They’re literally magnetic. There’s something about the story that just brims with the electricity of the possible. I fully enjoyed just how hard they’re trying NOT to be fond of each other in public. But again, they can’t help it and I will forever love the pining in this dynamic. Nicky and Joe just have this sweet sadness about them before they become a couple and I don’t think I’ve found that in many other ships! So if you’re looking for a bit of ancient yearning definitely give this fic a read! Thanks to @shadowhannibad for sharing 💘

18 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Ok I am still on my Dreamling domestic bullshit. Sorry not sorry. This really made me want to curl up by a fire and hug a cat. The way that this just slaps me in the face with the need to have someone care for me, the tiny details of everyday care just KILL ME. And that’s it isn’t it? That’s the love that Dream and Hob so desperately need, they want someone who will love every detail of who they are. I think that’s what they deserve! After centuries of pining and being alone, Hob doesn’t want to hold back! And Dream is venturing again into love when it has never turned out well for him, he’s afraid. The apprehension that this fic explores, the silent touches, and HILARIOUS timing on Dreams part. But Dream is never convenient is he? And Hob for all that he is has never bothered to care! Not when he was rich, not when he was poor. Dream just integrating himself into Hob’s life accidentally! Literally chefs kiss 💋! This fic really is just full of details that I continue to loose my mind over (because I definitely read it too many times). Sometimes after reading the sandman I forget that Dream loves quiet, yet so so loud. He integrates the person he loves into his very being. He has seen every for of love every living being has to offer. Love is a part of Dream as much as slumber. I absolutely LOVED every bit of this fic! And if you love Domestic Dream and Hob, you NEED to read it! Thanks to @wordsinhaled for sharing! 💙💙

33 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[i-didnt-do-1t]

I've been absolutely loving your thoughts on the Delanceys and their approaches on religion and I wanna offer smth totally not based on my own experiences

Oscar, for one reason or another, didn't end up getting christened/baptised. And all he heard from those who knew was that he was going straight to Hell. Before he'd even started fighting, started hating everything and everyone (but Morris). Nope, apparently it's already decided where he's going because of something he didn't even get a say in, but apparently it's his fault.

Well if he's already going to Hell, what does it matter what he does on Earth?

Ahhh thank you!!

Ohhhhh I love this so much!!

I feel like it makes so much sense, like Oscar was his first kid, born a bastard out of wedlock and his father decided it wasn’t worth it to have him baptised - it’s only when Morris comes along later that he looks at two year old Oscar who has a habit for getting in trouble and on his nerves (except he’s not he 2) and thinks maybe if I baptise this one it can make up for the fact he’s a bastard, maybe he’ll be better.

Of course it doesn’t do anything except have Oscar grow up with this held over his head like some kind of sentence for something he hasn’t done yet. He’s been told all his life he’s this bastard child who’s predestined for hell but his father will still make him kneel on the cold floor of the barn, stones digging into his knees and say the Hail Mary a hundred times over to the small model crucifix that is nailed to the wall.

Some days he prayed for Gods forgiveness for this thing he had no choice in. Some days he’s deeply jealous that Morris will at least get the choice in whether or not his asking for forgiveness actually means anything.

And god is there, looking down at him from every angle of his home and not helping so he starts to resent it instead.

Once they’re sent to the refuge he pulls away from religion as hard as he can because why the hell shouldn’t he. And if he’s going to hell anyway why shouldn’t he at least make it worth his while, so he does. He lives in a cycle of envy and wrath and pride, makes a point of it, it’s the reason him and Morris can survive.

He pulls morris away from it too, doesn’t see the point in replacing one deadbeat father with another and starts to wonder if god really is real, because there’s no point in Morris living with this delusion that someone is coming to help them (though they might help him, he’s been baptised after all)

Years later when Morris comes back to the ramshackle apartment they call home, brushing his hair down as he takes off his hat and tells him he’s been to mass for the first time in almost a decade Oscar has to stop for a second, tell himself that maybe Morris is allowed to have the hope that someone is looking out for them in the way he isn’t because he was christened (even if morris has always had Oscar and this Formidable figure has never been there except in printed words and on their das tongue as he recites it)

Maybe that’s why Oscar resents it so much. And he hates it but he doesn’t say anything.

(He knows envy is a sin, he knows he shouldn’t envy Morris but he does even if he won’t admit it out loud and he doesn’t care. Why should he)

It not until he has a bad day and the nuns decide to preach at him and he picks a fight with the wrong person and he goes home to Morris counting his rosary that the envy makes itself known.

Oscar knows he’s going to hell, has been told all his life, there’s nothing he can do about it so he may as well revel in it. Why should he care, when his fate is predestined.

At least it gives him something to blame things on.

(I now Really want to write something about Oscar going to confession.)

(This is also making me think that he would really Get John Donne poetry- I’ll see if I can find one that matches the vibe)

[electricea]

@thenihilistofthevoid sent - "He lashes out, like his Dad." Nakaoka jeered, having invaded Ryuji's private training space as Saburo entered, having just gotten out of an abusive practice session with Kamoshida. His temper was already stoked by that smug bastard. "That's crossing a fucking line, Nakaoka. He gives all the teams that aren't volleyball shit. So apologize." Saburo demanded, hopping the metal grate and storming over, ensuring no teachers were around. "Butt out, Kusanagi. Just because you want in to Sakamoto's pants- The track team member didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as Saburo nailed him in the mouth with a solid right hook, knocking a tooth out as Nakaoka grunted, blood coming from his mouth.

"Keep your shitty opinions to yourself. Talk crap about me or Ryuji again and I'll break your fucking jaw next time." He stated, his eyes filled with anger as he balled his hands into fists, taking a fighting stance before they all scrambled as Kamoshida left the swimming pool. "Are you okay?" Saburo asked the blonde, hoping they wouldn't be noticed.

"...Get out of here, Nakaoka,"

Ryuji had heard the jeering before he had actually taken notice of his former teammates. Pausing mid-stretch, he gave only a light frown in response, trying not to look nonplussed and unfazed by the teasing, but in actuality, he could already feel his hands beginning to ball into fists and he found himself biting down on his lower lip, physically having to stop himself from arguing back. He had always accepted it was his fault, there were no questions there - the blame lay solely with him and he would always be regretful for what he'd done to his teammates. However, for his part he had always tried to mind his own business, silently staying away from his old teammates and shying away at any attempts to reconcile or bring the gang back together. Tough as it might be for him to swallow, those days were long behind him now. Yet...why did he have to deal with these guys still busting his balls over the past? He'd said he was sorry and he'd tried to make amends, but it seemed like his teammates would never let him forget it - maybe he didn't even want to forget it.

Lifting up his head, he was startled suddenly at the sudden sound of quick footsteps and Saburo's voice cutting in - even more satisfying was seeing Saburo actually sock Nakaoka in the face - he didn't want to see a teammate hurt, but with all of his bullshit lately, he couldn't help but take a small bit of guilty pleasure in watching someone shut Nakaoka up, though that pleasure was once again washed away by guilt as he watched Nakaoka walking away, his teammates in tow. Maybe...maybe next time things would be better - or maybe they wouldn't. But at least he had good friends like Saburo looking out for him.

"Yeah, I'm okay..." He moves to swim to the edge of the pool, closer to where Saburo was. "...Thanks, Sab."

[warystares]

if there's one thing angel would like to make perfectly clear : she is NOT following him. and yes, before you even say it, she does know what it looks like, thanks ! has she already caught sight of him half a dozen times by now ? at least. even with the masks distributed to provide an illusion of ANONYMITY, there's not a doubt in her mind that angel could pick RAFFERTY O'SHEA out of a blind lineup ; she's tangled with that body enough to know the moody, COCKSURE swagger of his silhouette like the back of her manicured hand ! and sure enough, the SEXY BASTARD has found himself right in front of her. angel doesn't have to pretend to be annoyed ; quite frankly, she's PISSED. an entire fucking boat and she can't go a single night without being haunted by this dick ? after the first time she spots him, angel resolves herself to stay strong ― there will be no regrets tonight if she's got anything to do with it.

and, to be fair, it's easy enough to avoid him at first. she may not be at gravity right now, but that doesn't mean she's not here to WORK ― charming men, dropping tabs and capsules onto curious tongues and then swiping her WORTH ( plus some ! ) from their overstuffed billfolds ; a SIREN in her own right, angel seduces strangers into the shadowier corners of the ship where she can work her DARK MAGIC. and for a while, she can almost pretend she's FORGOTTEN he's here, caught up in the hands and hips of countless shrouded suitors. but every time angel turns around, there he is. and it's fucking RUDE, honestly ! and for what it's worth, she does intend to ignore him ( or at very least, try to ) and mind her own ; that is, of course, until he's got to turn around and open his big fucking MOUTH.

( don't act like you weren't trying to MANIFEST it, angelbaby. )

dark eyes roll behind a glittering mask and angel puts on their most convincing air of indifference. ❝ that was my plan, ❞ she answers, bored & honest as she inspects the gem ornaments framing stiletto nails, ❝ but i should have guessed you wouldn't LET me. ❞ their own lips twitch into a smirk to MIRROR his ( it only makes sense ― they've already got matching tempers, matching egos ! ) and angel finally lets their gaze drift toward him. ❝ and yet, here YOU are, picking little old ME out of a crowd ! i might have known it was you, honey, but who was really LOOKING for whom ? ❞ does she know he'll have something smart to say ? of course. at this point they EXPECT it from him. and if the comment about her name is enough to ruffle any of angel's feathers, she makes a point not to SHOW it. you'd never guess the amount of EFFORT it takes to look this UNIMPRESSED. ❝ aw, ouchie ! big swing from the emotional bruiser ! ❞ glossed lips form a dramatic pout and she clicks her tongue, wipes away a NON-EXISTENT tear. ❝ i thought i told you that was OUR special nickname, pastelito ― not just anybody gets the PRIVILEGE. ❞

who: @warystares ( angel )

where: faceless ship, fourth floor

the ring was tempting, he was biding his time off to the side while he watched the masked fighters go at it. a few of them he recognized and others he wasn't quite so sure. the night was still young. no need to rush his first entrance into the ring. he'd at least let saint wear himself out first. between matches, rafe made his way down to the lounge for a new perspective ( one with alcohol readily available without having to wait for someone to come around with it ). besides, they had food in there and wouldn't you know it? rafe was hungry ( then again, when wasn't he ). out of his periphreal he spotted that disco ball get up for at least the second time that night, if not more. of course he knew just who it was, too. ain't no mistaking those curls and that androgynous lithe frame. only person he knows with a mouth just as big, if not bigger, than his.

most of the time angel was alright, fun to fuck around with but damn he wished she'd shut up sometimes. they also knew how to play at his nerves to make him so angry he couldn't see straight. he figured their egos were too big to fit under the same roof for too long. give or take eight to twelve hours was the limit. though one time they'd made it a solid five days in a row at his apartment. even rafe was surprised they made it out of that one alive. basically he loved to piss them off and see just how long it would take for angel to truly hate him. "ye just goin' t' ignore me all night," he asked as she walked behind him, his head rolling to the side to offer a devious grin that met his eyes. "can't tell me ye didn't know it was me." he got glimpse of her nametag and laughed. "they sure pegged you, no? who'd ye have to blow to get them to change it from thunder cunt?" he teased, snickering through his grin.

[evacado3]

Hey! May I request Eli, Jake, Vin Jin & Samuel if they arrive too late to save their s/o headcanons ?

Of course anonie, let's get right into the angst!

WARNING!LOTS OF ANGST!DEATH!

Eli Jang

Eli had promised himself after heather's death, that he would never be late again, for anything. Dates, parties, or even just a regular meeting.

Yet things never went Eli's way.

The situation he wanted to avoid the most still happened, right in front of his own eyes.

Eli Jang had lost the girl he swore to protect, twice.

He wasn't late, but neither could he stop a bullet's speed. Watching the bullet delve through your head, the light dying out of your eyes was unbearable, he felt dizzy from the blood rushing to his head, face turning pale.

Eli wanted to vomit at the scene that unfolded in front of him, the scene that he didn't, no, couldn't stop.

Tears fell from his fierce eyes before he realized, blood poured out of his palms from the digging of his nails, teeth sinking deep in his lip,

"No one try to run, you're all fucking dead"

Nobody got out of the building that night and Eli stayed with your corpse in his embrace. He stayed till the last bits of warmth has left your once heated body.

Jake Kim

"Cut off Jake before he grows any bigger... big boss said so"

During the fight against the rebels of big deal, Samuel has once reminded old face that a very valuable card is you.

If you were ever to be taken hostage, Jake might stop his rampage and submit to them. So that's exactly what he did.

You, an innocent woman was now tangled into Jake's mess. You were tied to a chair in an unknown room. Sight blinded by darkness, cries of agony were all unheard.

Yet Jake sided with his men, taking on all the opponent's threats. He merely sent a few men to rescue you.

"Y-you will regret this! Y/n is held captive, if you don't stop this then we will take her to workers with us!"

But he still fought alongside his gang, hurrying to find Sinu. Jake couldn't think of anything else other then saving his brother, so much that he unintentionally neglected your safety.

After Jake fainted, Jason received a taunting phone call,

"The girl's last words were 'Jake will come and save me!' HAHA what a joke, that bastard only has eyes for Sinu! Oh hey Jason, make sure to tell your 'big boss' that y/n isn't going home anymo-"

He ended the call, they really did keep their words and took you away. Jason only looked at the new boss's unconscious figure.

Little did Jake know, when he wakes up he would then realize, that he had lost two of the most important people in his life.

Vin Jin

Vin isn't a considerate person, he's a self-centered bastard who has never cared for anyone other then himself.

But back in the Cheonliang fam, he had once opened up to the idea of having a lover. One who would love him for who he was, and in return he promises protect her from the dangers of the world.

Vin Jin met you in the most unfavorable circumstance, blood dripping down his forehead, sunglasses broken and unusable. He had his head down low when he saw you walking in the alley, ready to yell at you to leave.

"Oh my gosh! You're all bloody a-and hurt, I can patch you up a little and call the ambulan-"

He at last looked you in the eye, hoping to scare you away.

"Y-you're eyes... they're beautiful... polycoria?"

However, puppy love didn't last long for him, as long as he's in that gang, Vin would have dangerous enemies.

You were kidnapped by their rival on your birthday, where Vin Jin was finally mustering up the courage to ask for your never ending love.

But when he slams open the door of the location on your phone, he realized that he will never get that chance.

Bruises and blood covered your face, your eyes didn't react to his movements. Vin soon noticed that your chest wasn't heaving up and down anymore. He clenched his fists and let out a loud cry,

"Unforgivable, I'm gonna fucking kill you "

That was the night where Vin Jin committed his first murder, his victim's limbs were all disconnected and his neck was snapped.

In the end, he thought the idea of a having lover was only bullshit and unfair, you did love him unconditionally despite his behavior yet he did not protect you the way he assured.

The idea of having a lover was only bullshit, you played your roll so well in this relationship yet he failed so miserably.

=============================

Sorry I didn't write for Samuel cause I feel like the guy wouldn't care if he was late I couldn't make anything up for him (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞. But if you still want it you could request again sorry anon

First time I've written for Eli though, don't really know how to feel. I got carried away with vinjin lol it's a little long. I'll probs be inactive next week since there's a big exam coming up so I wanna post something before I start studying, wish me luck <3