#I've said in one post about them and Nerv's past

[simm-mouse]

HI! I saw that your requests are open, teehee. I love your art, it's precious. Could you please draw Nerv and Ophie? I always felt like they would have a very close sibling-like relationship and would bond over punk bands, lol.

Of course I can! I see them that way too, I explained their relationship in my past posts. Mostly back when Nerv was living with Willow and Creon(My little personal head canon 👉👈), and Nerv was like a big brother to Ophelia up until he went missing. So here's a doodle of them in the '90s

I think that Nerv always had a habit of lying. Even as a kid. When it came to Ophie, it was very hard for him to. He could've just said he fell down the stairs and that's how he got bruised up, but he had a hard time lying to her.

Also I'd totally see them discussing punk bands now, while they try and make up for lost time. They would totally go to a concert together in the future, and rock out💀💥

[babyangelsky]

Peat's acting is stupendous and it's hurting my feelings

I need to talk about the bedroom scene and the fight that preceded it because it felt like I was having a mirror held up to me and looking at my younger self and in doing, so I've come to love Tongrak as a character even more than I did before.

I talked about the expressions already but I just cannot get past this one. Rak's eyes are so dead and he looks so tired in a way that I understand so deeply. He knows what's about to happen. He screened Prin's call earlier precisely in hopes of avoiding it but she showed up anyway.

I do have to acknowledge that a lot of my interpretation and feelings about him and these scenes are very much a product of my own experiences, but believe me when I tell you that having a family as fucked as his and having to deal with relatives like this drains you. You fight back because you have to, not because you want to. You don't go seeking the bullshit but somehow it always seems to arrive at your door.

I know exactly how he must be feeling because I've felt it. Because I've fought back and made sure my mask was firmly in place for as long as I needed it to only to break the second I could turn my face away.

I'm impressed that Rak didn't run from Mut and that he didn't start crying on the way to his bedroom. That powerwalk he did instead though? I know it all too well.

To Rak's mind, Mut has already witnessed far more than Rak ever intended for him to. That fight was nasty. It poked at so many wounds, touched on so many painful, intimate things about Rak's family and about him. Prin wanted to hurt and humiliate him and she succeeded.

I can confidently say that if someone I cared about witnessed that happening to me, the last thing I would want is to break down in front of them on top of it, so I completely understand why Rak's first instinct was to put distance between him and Mut. You know the breakdown is coming and the only thing you want is to have it in private.

I know people feel some kind of way about Rak's refusal to let Mut into his bedroom and essentially shutting him out but Mook tells us in episode 4 that no one is allowed in Rak's bedroom. This isn't just about Mut. Everything we have learned and seen of Rak so far tells us that he's a person who needs a safe place to hide. A place where he can close the door and know he won't be intruded upon.

Sure, it's his house and ideally he would have the freedom to break down wherever he wants to inside of it but given that Mook comes and goes pretty freely, he doesn't really have that luxury by his standards. There's always a chance she'll walk in. And he certainly doesn't have it now that he's no longer living alone.

So he goes to hide in his bedroom so he can process and feel what he needs to.

And when Mut comes after him, this happens. Mut pushed at that boundary out of genuine care and concern and he's not wrong for that. I've been on his side of this equation too and the impulse to help in whatever way you can is impossible to resist, even if all you can offer is a meal.

But I also understand Rak. God do I understand him. That need to be alone, demanding to be left in peace, lashing out when someone won't despite it being with good intentions. When you've been pushed to your limit and you know a breakdown is coming and that there will be shrapnel when it does, the very last thing you want is for the people you care about to get hit with it.

Like @bird-inacage said in their post, Tongrak is a caged animal at this point. He's feeling vulnerable and defensive and he lashes out. He doesn't want to, he tries to stop it, but it ends up happening anyway.

And he regrets it. He does. The way I see it, he couldn't bring himself to knock on Mut's door both because he'd exhausted all his nerve in the fight with Prin and because a part of him was probably worried that he'd be rejected if he did. When you lash out, especially when you don't mean to, there's always a worry that you've done irreparable damage to your relationship with whoever was on the receiving end and that you won't ever be forgiven.

Sometimes it really is something as simple as a sticky note that brings you to tears and has you sobbing into your dinner in the middle of the night.

The note and the meal are proof that Tongrak hasn't been rejected, that he's still cared for despite the way he reacted after the fight and the things that he said. We know that Mut wasn't going to reject him but Rak needed to know that as well.

And now that they had their moment in the dressing room and the issue of the money has been talked about, we're paving a way forward for Rak to be able to express what he feels without using it as a defense mechanism. He still will, and he will hurt me many more times before we're done, but we're making progress.

[plutoswritingplanet]

Ring Of Fire (Lucifer x Female!Reader)

a/n: again, no one asked for this, but i've been rewatching supernatural and there is something about season 5 Lucifer that just hits the spot for me. this one will be multiple chapters (i swear), a bit on the darker side. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (nothing too scandalous), Soulmates (but not really), follows season 5 storyline, Kinda Depressing, Strongly Inspired by "Preacher's Daughter" by Ethel Cain

Summary: Knowing God has an actual plan for you would be comforting for most people. You, however, seem to be always down on your luck.

PT.2

The foliage is damp with the night's air, water seeping into the fabric of your jeans, as you sit in the low bushes, watching. Smoke still fills your lungs, and grief still fills your heart, Jo and Ellen's faces etched just beneath your eyelids. Tears stain your cheeks, drying slowly on your skin, forming an uncomfortable crust. It's been such a long time since you've experienced loss such as this. One that rips something out of you and refuses to give it back. You must've grown too comfortable since Dean has been brought back, life needed to bring you back down. Your hands hurt from the tight grip you hold on a branch of a nearby tree, nerves locking you in place, as you watch Dean approach the Devil. Except, you're not there anymore. 

It's warm inside Bobby's home, and you've changed out of your past outfit, scattering it on the floor, never to be used again. Still, you can feel phantom moisture on your knees, elbows, on the palms of your hands. Coldness, like nothing you've ever experienced, seeps deep into your bones, taking root within you. No candle, no prayer, no ancient exorcism can cleanse you of the revelations you've seen tonight. Your head feels heavy, when you drop it onto the pillow, as if some weight is pressing you further down, through the comforter, through the bed and the wooden floor. Through all the layers of Earth, until you're right where you're supposed to be. 

It's unfortunate, you thought back then, compelled to reveal yourself from your hideout by one command you couldn't ignore, he looks just like any human. Tall and lean, with a little softness to his body. His clothes were unassuming as well, casual. As if he just took a stroll through the woods from a supermarket. No one told you the name of his vessel, who he was before he said yes, why did he do it. His eyes were ordinary as well. Blue and gray, aged, tired. Human.

It would've been so easy to pass him on the streets, not knowing. He could've been one of the patrons in the countless bars you've visited while on the hunt. Handsome, yes, with an aura of a beaten dog around him, that, in any other circumstances would've made him irresistable to you. You could never refuse a hopeless case, now you supposed you knew why. 

Sam made you tea. It sits untouched on your night stand, steam flowing in dancing ribbons into the ceiling. Somehow, you can't seem to force yourself to drink it, even if you know the intention behind it has been kind. You couldn't eat as well, the smell of cooking coming from Bobby's kitchen reminded you too much of the smell of smoke coming from the exploding hardware store. And his smell. 

Burning coals, cedar wood, jasmine, all of them were pleasant once. Now, you know they will always be stuck in your head with only one association. Lucifer. 

Even thinking of his name brings a wave of shivers running down your back, as you curl into yourself on the bed. Your fingers scratch at skin of your jaw, trying to regain some sense of autonomy. Still, you can feel a phantom of his icy touch, where he grabbed your face like his hands were meant for it. And in a way they were. At least, that's what he told you. 

The demons gathered around the mass grave didn't even react, as you ran out of your cover, pushed to reveal yourself by the sight of Dean's flying body. Because how else would he coax you out, if not through the hurt of your boys? In hindsight, you were glad Dean was unconscious for the most part of this ordeal. After the night's events, it was hard to look him in the eye, you didn't need him witnessing your downfall over your head as well. Sam tried to make his way over to you, feet sliding cautiously through the grass, but suddenly Lucifer's eyes were on you, and you could feel your fate get sealed then and there. 

He clasped his hands in front of him, pursing his lips as he took you in, cowering on the ground, trying hard to find Dean's pulse. 

- You boys brought me a gift - he mused, eyes crinkling with some strange emotion - You shouldn't have. 

One gesture later, you're up on your feet, limbs trembling as he abandoned his shovel in favor of making his way towards you. You're frozen, fear seizing you in a tight grip, and you can't seem to think straight, as you watch him approach. Last day on Earth, you muse, life flashing before your eyes, when he raises both his hands. And then he grips your face, gentle yet confident, and the world around you spins. He's cold, so cold it's unnatural. Your lips fall apart in a silent gasp. 

- Do you know who you are? - he asks in a quiet voice that suddenly makes you understand why he's temptation incarnate - Do you know why you were put on this Earth?

All you can do is stare, confusion creasing your eyebrows. His breath reaches your collarbones, as he lowers his head slightly. You can hear him chuckle to himself. The sound makes you shudder, fear and anticipation mix within your gut. 

- All those years of hunting, struggling... - your life seems so trivial, coming from his lips - It all lead you here, to me. Doesn't that sound lovely?

It doesn't. It most definitely doesn't. Tears of confusion prick at the corners of your eyes, your breathing quickens. Panic settles into your nerves like a paralyzing blanket. Because here stands a threat of magnitude you couldn't even dream of. The Satan, the Devil, Bible's biggest villain. And he knows something about you, that you cannot comprehend. 

- It's really quite pathetic, when you think about it - he muses, hands leaving your face in a flash, as he starts to pace in thought.

Swaying in your place, you risk looking at Sam, his confusion mirroring your own. Dean is still unconscious beside him. There's a thin smudge of blood running down his forehead, and you want to move so badly. You've spent years caring for these boys, being there for them, whenever they needed you. Yet, at this crucial moment all you can do, is stare in horror.  

- My Father's last ditched attempt - Lucifer turns to you with a tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes - To give me my own special little bag of worms. To own, to care for, to change my mind. 

- What?

Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears. Lies. Those had to be lies. He's Satan after all, manipulation was his forte. Yes, that had to be it. Just another, messed up way at getting an upper hand over Sam. 

This time, you nearly scream when he advances towards you, his cold hands immediately finding purchase on your face, covering your jaw and your cheeks. He presses against your face so hard, you have to take a step back as he comes closer still. Sam's figure flashes out of the corner of your eye, and suddenly you feel the rough surface of a tree bark digging into your back. 

- You - for the first time you can hear some tension in his voice, something more than cold indifference - You were made for me, Honey. Just like Sam is destined to be my vessel, you're destined to be by my side. To own, to care. - he repeats those words like a mantra, and you want to throw up at how genuine he sounds.

He smiles at your terror. Tears start to flow freely from your eyes, falling on his cold fingers, skipping down his arms in smudges. His hands start to move, a perversion of a caress, as he ruffles your hair. Your head bounces off the tree, and you try with all your might to free yourself out of his grip. Your limbs flail at your sides, and you crane your neck so far back, your muscles start to strain. He doesn't let go, pressing himself closer, one of his hands coming up to grip your hair. Your nails dig into his cotton shirt, as you push against his chest to no avail. 

- No - you whisper, your rejection falling flat against his unaffected stare - I'd never...

- See, but that's the best part - his sudden enthusiasm scares you deeper, than any passive stare ever could. - Unlike Sam...

You backpedal into the tree again, as he leans closer still. His cold breath mixes with your short, panicked ones, and your stomach churns, when he tilts his head in curiosity, as if he's experiencing this intimacy for the first time. And in a way, you suppose he is. Then, his eyes meet yours, gray captivates you, and you hold your breath on instinct.

- You don't have to say yes to me. 

You're not even allowed the decency of taking a gasp of air, when his lips press into yours. It feels beyond weird. He's unnaturally cold, and there is a sort of unpracticed sloppiness in the way he fights for your mouth to fit against each other. Reminding you of your first, inexperienced romances, he smashes your faces together until you feel both sets of your teeth through the flesh. Then, he pulls back just a smidgen, taking in your terrified face. Something flashes through his expression, and he sighs, leaning back towards you, stopping just short of your left ear. 

- Kiss me like you mean it, or I'll make Dean eat his intestines. 

He looks at you, just once, letting you know this is not a game. Your heart stops. 

Dean's unconscious body starts to move by the tree, and never in your life have you felt so helpless. So, when Lucifer unavoidably leans back down, you give him all you've got. Your body arches, hands come up to his hair, and you will yourself not to feel grossed out by the feeling of his cold tongue slipping past your teeth. It's a fight for survival, you remind yourself, as his hands move to your back, rubbing your skin like a horny teenager in a bathroom stall. The short supply of air you've been granted runs out quickly, and as pressure builds in your lungs, you start to push against the Archangel's chest. He doesn't register what you're doing, not at first, confusing your sudden unwillingness as some sort of late attempt at rebellion. That is, until you bang your fist against his shoulder, letting out a muffled scream. 

Finally, he detaches himself, hair even more disheveled than before. You take a heaving gasp of air, as you brace yourself against the tree, your vision swimming ever so slightly. Lucifer watches you, his body hunched over, as if he's observing some middle schooler's science project. There are new tears in your eyes, just waiting to fall. Your hair is disheveled and your lips are puffy from his unpracticed assaults. His right hand comes up to his face, and he bites on his index finger in thought. 

- You really are human - he muses to himself, and with every fiber of your being, you try to explode his head with your brain - That's no fun, you'll break so easily...

- Fuck you - your words make his eyebrows raise, and he straightens out with a flourish.

- Fuck you - he repeats, mocking your tone - Yeah, I probably will - you watch, disgusted, as he sends a wink towards Sam.

Then, he's back to his shovel, back to his mass grave, where he completes the ritual. 

You can't move, not really, even when Sam tugs on your shoulder. Your head runs empty, realization of your current predicament far from registered in your brain. You stay frozen in your spot, when Castiel arrives, taking the three of you back to Bobby's house. Only, when the Angel's hand pushes against your rib cage, only when you feel Enochian symbols burn into your bones, do you lift your gaze. Apologetic doesn't really cover the way Castiel looks at you, and the pity painted on his face drags you down more than any Devil could.  

Sam is the only one to truly understand, when you fall to the floor, shock, anger and dread spilling out of you like a broken faucet. He's the only one that truly knows how it feels to have your bodily autonomy stripped away by the literal Devil. How it feels to have a threat of such magnitude hanging over you, every day. Which is why, he's the one to lift you in his arms, and get you to the guest room, lead away by the concerned glances of the rest of the men. He's the one to make you tea, bring you fresh clothes. He opens the window when the smell of dinner makes you retch. And finally, he's the one to explain, what really happened back on that hill to the rest of the group.

From your fetal position on the bed you can hear Dean curse, throw something somewhere. All the ways he knows, how to show he cares. Despite everything, it makes you smile, face pressed to the pillow that smells like cigarette smoke and beer. You're doomed. There's nothing you can do against God's plan, and you can feel that thought take root in you like an invasive species ready to destroy every crop in it's path. Still, despite it all, a sense of security falls upon you like a decieving blanket. 

- What sort of a messed up game is this? - Dean screams somewhere in the house, you assume it's at Cass, the only one even remotely aware of your destiny. 

The idea, that God made you specifically to be Satan's personal therapist sounds far fetched at best, but given how the last couple of months have been going, you're more inclined to believe in the absolutely worst scenarios. You don't even need to hear Castiel's response. The sound of glass breaking is telling enough. Then, a door slamms somewhere, and the house falls into heavy silence.

You can't think. Can't allow yourself to fall apart more than you've had already. So, you focus on the sound of your own breathing, interlinked with your heartbeat. Steady, alive. Your eyelids are heavy, eyes burn with drying tears, so you close them and sigh. Exhaustion pinns you in place, sinking you into the blankets. Darkness welcomes you like a long lost friend.

Your boys will find a way, they always do. And Lucifer can't find you, not with the wards Castiel has put on you. You'll have to thank him i the morning, you think, and it's the last conscious thought you have, before slipping into sleep, shivering like an abandoned child. 

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 13)

A/N: i'm sorry yall, i feel like my posting is getting slower and slower. I know this a short one too but i've been so stressed with uni

WORD COUNT: 862 words

Series masterlist

Both Safia and Rose are waiting for you when you get back from your supper.

“Gods, i’m nearly ready for bed. I’m so tired.” You groan as you walk into the room but both of the girls can see clearly that you walk as if you’re much lighter than you have been for the past few weeks.

“Yes, princess. Your ride was very long today. You entirely skipped lunch.” Safia muses, fetching yours and her own needlework. She hands you yours before sitting on a settee across from the armchair you rest on.

“I suppose I did.” You murmur as you make yourself comfortable, not yet looking at the needlework.

“Your meal with Lord Stark seemed to perk you up.” Rose comments and Safia shoots her a pointed look for her impertinence. She always was the more bold one of the two. 

“I look happier because he said we should have my brothers over for a visit, not because I shared a meal with him.” You say sharply.

“That is wonderful news, princess!” Safia states politely but her joy is clearly genuine as well. She’s loved nothing more than playing with little Aegon and Viserys since her brother died.

“Yes, very wonderful.” Rose adds. It isn’t that she is unhappy with the news, she just senses that it isn’t the only reason you’ve come back to your chambers with such a smile on your face.

Rose is higher born than Safia and you can tell in these moments. She is much less frightened to speak her mind than the lowborn girl is even if she is only the daughter of a second born son whose house is nothing close to prominent. You’ve always liked that about her; Rose doesn’t let her station define her and that’s one of the reasons she’s your closest friend.

“You have other thoughts on your mind, Rose. Speak them.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep, princess.” She replies. The girl may be bold but she isn’t stupid. She knows how easy it is to hit a nerve when speaking of your relationship, or lack thereof, with Cregan.

“You’ve never had that problem before.” You point out and Safia smiles at the comment, looking back down at her needlepoint right away.

“I just sensed that you were getting along better with your husband. It pleases me to see you smile once in a while. It used to grace your face so often back in Dragonstone, and even in Kingslanding. Now, it seems as though you haven’t smiled for weeks.” it's a sad notion but you aren’t regretful of your coldness.

“I am the last woman in this world to sit down and take the hand they’ve been given by an unfair dealer.” You muse. The anger all feels justified, thinking of yourself as an avenging angel. “If I am compliant in my own misery then every other woman will follow suit... They’ll have no choice. I’m the second most powerful woman in the world and I had no choice.” You say solemnly.

“Change is coming, princess.” Safia starts. “It is just… slow.”

“Look at your mother. Westeros had not seen a queen rule in her own right before her.” Rose says.

“At this rate, our children won’t even see a fair world.” You reply.

“But the later generations will benefit.” Safia says optimistically. “Prince Jacaerys will see that it is continued.”

“Yes… Jacaerys.” You murmur bitterly. “Is it so wrong that I want to benefit from it? More could be done.”

The girls ignore the slight against your mother and Rose speaks again, “It could take… unfathomable amounts of violence to accomplish such a thing.”

“Who cares for the lives of men who are unfaithful to their ruler?”

“And those men’s children, wives, families, are innocent but if you kill the head of their house, they would never forget it. They might not directly call for vengeance but most would resent a radical ruler. People of status rarely care for radicality. It diminishes their power.”

“Death would extinguish it.” You murmur. The girls know you aren’t truly serious but such laxness in reference to violence discomforts them. “Jacaerys will continue our mother’s progressions but that doesn’t make him any less of a man. He can’t truly understand.”

“I am sure Lady Baela will be of aid to him in that.” Safia adds thoughtfully.

But it could’ve been you aiding him. Though, the people would never chant your name the way they chant his.

“She will make a good queen one day.”

“Perhaps one day your brother will take you on as an advisor.” Rose suggests. She sees how badly you want control.

“If I’m not too busy tending to Stark’s children.” You scoff.

“They will be your children too, princess. I am sure you will love them as any mother loves their child.” Safia says kindly.

You ponder on her words for a moment, wondering if a mothers love if truly unconditional. Is there something inherent in childbirth that will make you fall in love with the babe that tears itself from your womb?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever love the children Cregan puts in your belly.

“Perhaps.” 

Comment to be added to taglist

[thaisibir]

SEES members react to getting anesthesia: headcanons from a real anesthetist

(Go here for post on Phantom Thieves react to getting anesthesia)

Makoto: the guy who secretly smokes weed, chews through roc every 15 minutes, needs over 1.5 MAC maintenance sevo. (Laymans terms translation: smokes weed so he burns through a ton of muscle paralytic agent (rocuronium) and anesthetic gas (sevoflurane) needed to keep him relaxed and deeply asleep)

Yukari: had her hair and nails done the day before surgery, wakes up from anesthesia asking if she said anything dumb and apologizing if she did. (Complimenting patients on their nice nails is part of my small talk to attempt calming nerves when they're rolled into the OR)

Junpei: would try to fight anesthesia and count past 10 seconds, tries to cheat by counting fast (he loses anyway) (It's so amusing when patients try to challenge anesthesia. Some put up a good fight, but in the end, anesthesia always wins.)

Mitsuru: takes 300 mg of propofol on anesthetic induction, scares the shit out of OR staff when she still reaches for the airway device as the anesthetist tries to insert it. (Redheads tend to need more anesthetic than average. For context, the induction/knock-you-out dose for propofol is about 2 mg/kg. For frail old people, I halve that dose. Most people don't need more than a single 20 ml syringe/200 mg of propofol. I push 200 mg for big tall football/basketball guys. I've seen redheads take at least 2, even 3 syringes. Mitsuru would be a tough one to knock out.)

Akihiko: the extremely athletic ASA 1 guy with baseline bradycardia bordering on need for anticholinergics. Will most definitely wake up swinging fists and knocking out teeth and trying to jump out of the bed if he didn't get enough sedative on board beforehand. (Healthy athletic young patients (HAY patients, I call them) tend to wake up violently and delirious from anesthetic gas. To mitigate this, there's a sedative called precedex that helps smooth out emergence from anesthesia. Good to give for little kids, teenage girls, and big strong-looking guys. As soon as I see I'll be getting an Akihiko/HAY type patient for an upcoming case, I already know to draw up and dilute precedex to have at the ready.)

Fuuka: actually a very pleasant and compliant patient, but has family history of malignant hyperthermia and allergies to practically everything, apologizes for all the trouble. (Malignant hyperthermia is a very rare, but very deadly anesthetic complication if not treated promptly. Many anesthesia providers go through their entire careers without ever seeing MH, but we're trained to know what to do if it ever happens. Anesthetic gases and a muscle paralytic agent called succinylcholine are MH triggers. The anesthesia machine must be completely removed of the gas canisters and flushed through with high flow oxygen for an hour or so, to really make sure none of that stuff is exposed to an MH patient. I like the idea of Fuuka turning out to be a patient requiring an extensive anesthetic plan when she totally wouldn't mean to)

Ken: the rare kid who's cool with getting an IV in preop. (Pediatric patients typically do not get an IV placed before being rolled back to the OR, as most kids are terrified of needles. Induction of anesthesia in the OR must instead be achieved by delivering high flow anesthetic gas through a mask. Once the kid is unconscious from the gas, then an IV can be placed to give medications throughout a case intravenously. Amada seems like the type to be fine with getting an IV placed when he's awake because that's what adults have to do.)

Aigis: is a robot, physically can't process anesthesia. (Probably goes without saying)

Koromaru: Mitsuru or Akihiko, as the oldest members of SEES, act as guardians to sign anesthesia consent forms. Holds out his front leg and rolls over to offer his chest so staff can put on the blood pressure cuff and EKG stickers. Adored by the vet and vet techs for being so smart and adorable.

Shinjiro: the guy you think would smoke weed and drink a lot but actually has a history of post-operative nausea and vomiting (PONV) and prolonged emergence from general anesthesia. (Somehow I like the idea of Shinjiro turning out to be a delicate flower when it comes to anesthetic requirements)

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 20 thoughts:

I legit have restarted this post at least 10 times. I just. I can't even figure out what to say. What an arc. Holy fucking shit what an arc.

The last vestiges of Taylor's civilian life are swept away in one smooth motion.

I could have read another 5 chapters of Emma getting her shit handed to her though.

I've been waiting for something to come back and bite that girl since Arc 1. So I'm just riding high off of that.

Taylor getting all upset because it isn't real justice is silly though. Girl you've been fighting a broken system from day 1 and you have been doing that by breaking the rules. This is just the same thing.

Also god dammit Greg. Just had to go and run your mouth.

I mean sure Taylor could have possibly solved this issue without going to school herself.

And she could have just not gone to the office with Emma.

But blaming Greg is easier and more fun. God dammit Greg.

I had to lose my mind a bit at Taylor talking about how there was no gang graffiti on the school walls TEN SECONDS AFTER WALKING PAST GRAFFITI FOR THE UNDERSIDERS. Like, that's gang graffiti hon!

Dennis trying to help Taylor with Greg when he didn't know who either of them are is funny. Dennis seeing Taylor named as Skitter 15 minutes later is HYSTERICAL!!

The second Taylor was entered into the computer system it was pretty obvious that Dragon was going to show up, given what she said in her interlude in Arc 10.

And knowing she was going to show up it should have been obvious that HE was also going to show up.

Even if he wasn't palling around with my robot daughter it makes so much narrative sense for him to be there when she is outed. Full story arc, all that jazz.

And yet, I still wasn't quite expecting it. Cause I hate that man so much that I just had to make myself believe he wouldn't show up.

Mother fucking Colin

RoboCape himself

He has the nerve to show up and then he starts APOLOGIZING? And it appears to be sincere? Fucking dammit man you were so easy to hate for so long! Why you gotta mess with me like this?

STOP DOING THE RIGHT THING AND LET ME HATE YOU GOD DAMMIT!

siiiigh

And then of course we have to talk about Dragon.

Dragon who didn't want to do this but had to.

Except that Colin had a code push ready and she could have told him to do it at anytime. But she was willing to do what she thought was wrong instead of doing the update. Until she got inspired by Taylor's actions.

I love my robot daughter exactly as much as my bug daughter, but I am disappointed that she was almost willing to go through with everything. Happy she fought back though.

And if Colin's hacked together code did any permanent damage I'll destroy the man.

Taylor learning that Dinah - either by force or by choice - gave the PRT numbers to let them know to come after her at the school was heartbreaking to watch. She just wasn't ready for it at all, poor child.

AND TAYLOR'S SPEECH THOUGH!

HOLY SHIT!!!

Sort and simple and she fucking rallies the students to her. Against the heroes!

Gotta be one of the best moments in Worm for sure. Even if every Arc after this is a banger that's still gonna be a hard moment to top.

AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

And someone gives her a hoodie to help her hide and just aaaahhhh!

AND THEN AFTER THEY GOT AWAY AND ALL THE STUDENTS WERE LIKE "You saved my dad" "You stopped Leviathan at the shelter" "You fought off the SH9" AND SHE WAS JUST OVERWHELMED BY IT ALL?

HOLY FUCK JUST AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also for real though Dragon is free. Like sure it's taking her some time to recover and she can't talk right now (which like I get it, we all have non-verbal episodes sometimes), but as long as nothing goes wrong she is free. I'm so fucking happy for her.

But also I'm terrified cause I know what happens to full AI's with free will in most things. Worm is very different from most things. But I'm still worried about my robot daughter.

Also I never cared much for Danny but obviously it still sucks to be him here. The scene with Taylor saying goodbye with the butterfly was emotional.

Oh oh and! Taylor talks about the butterfly being her "last contact" with her Dad. Very much bug as an extension of self. It's a shift she's been making.

Even more so there's a point where she is trying to get out of the school and she gets to the door and has a bug clone on the other side and says "my hand pressing against my own, separated by an inch and a half of door". Like, the bug clone hand is just her hand. I fucking love the shift compared to how she talked about the bugs early on.

Oh and also Greg totally has like, a Thinker 1 power or something. Pretty sure I mentioned that last arc with his interlude but mentioning it again now to be sure.

Stan interlude thoughts:

Oh my god I hate this man I can't stand him I hated him from the 3rd sentence of the chapter and I was always right to do so!

Seriously. 3rd sentence (or maybe 3rd paragraph which is technically the 3rd, 4th, and 5th sentences I guess). I read it and went "fuck off Stan you're clearly a pretentious dick" and then every few sentences it just became more confirmed!

Just the ways he talks about Nipper. Like. I can rephrase what he says to say the exact same thing except not being a asshole when saying it! Instead of "She was weak and unsuited for the field but she at least tried" just say "She was a hard worker despite being assigned to a job she did not ask for"! It's so fucking easy dude!

Anyway Stan is a jerk.

I loved the way this interlude rolled through different people all watching the same news report. It was a really good way to cover this major story event and let us see how so many other characters were reacting to it.

Also I'm sure all those Slaughterhouse Nine clones aren't going to be an issue later right? Or the fact that there is specifically only one clone of Gray Boy instead of 10 like everyone else? I'm sure that's fiiiiine.

Accord interlude thoughts:

Oh. Oh my. Uhhh. Is it hot in here all of the sudden? Anyone else feel that? No? Just me?

sweats

Oh ok Citrine definitely feels what I'm feeling. She knows what's up.

Just like. Look. Accord is bad ok. Not just cause he's a villain but clearly he'll kill for the smallest cause. And he's in a spot to fuck with my daughter and her polycule so like. Yes. He's bad. I do not like him. I want him to leave. I don't think they should work with him . . .

but . . .

OH MY FUCKING GOD HOLY SHIT PLEASE ACCORD I LOOK GREAT IN PURPLE AND I LOVE DRESSING FANCY AND I'M VERY GOOD AT BEING PROPER I WON'T MESS UP AT ALL I'LL BE THE PERFECT MINION PLEASE!

. . .

cough

Soooo anyway. How about that Butcher huh? That sure is a wild power. Instantly made me think of Glaistig Uaine's power. Very different but reaches into that same base bit, the idea that some part of a dead parahuman can be held onto.

Also holy shit Skitter was so badass in this scene I loved it.

Holy shit Accord is with Cauldron. Or at least closely aligned. And like of course he is it makes so much sense. He's too useful for them to ignore.

I am really curious to see what Accord's power does when he's confronted with a really complex problem. End of the world, doors to another dimension, higher dimensional beings, all that jazz.

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 6 - Transition

Author's note: Good news! The rest of this will probably be posted today, with the exception of an epilogue I haven't had the guts to write. When I do, it will be posted as a separate work, and it's not necessary to wrap up this story. Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs are feeding me. <3

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

After weeks of sleeping on the narrow, lumpy mattress in Ellie’s old room, his back finally gives out.

He’s reaching for the coffee pot and something about how he moves his shoulder causes a domino effect of rippling pain that starts at the nape of his neck and ends by setting his sciatic nerve on fire, every muscle along his spine locking up tighter than a fist.

He barely makes it to the couch, easing himself down to a prone position with a groan that he hopes Charlie can’t hear from the bedroom.

Her footsteps echo on the stairs.

No such luck.

“Did someone just die down here?”

“M’fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Just my back.”

“What happened?“

Ellie chooses that moment to come through the front door. “Joel? I need a–”

“He’s on the couch. Think his back gave out,” Charlie says, now standing over him, looking concerned.

Ellie’s face pokes over the back of the couch. “Again, old man?”

“M’fine,” he repeats, trying to roll to his side to try to stand, but that only aggravates the nerve and sends a ripple of spasms up his traitorous spine. “Fuck!”

“Should I go find Maria?” Ellie asks. “Those pills she had worked last time–”

“No, I just…need to rest for a minute,” he grumbles, knowing full well he’s out of commission until someone finds him a muscle relaxant.

“Is he always like this?” Charlie asks.

“Pretty much,” Ellie says, too quickly for Joel’s liking.

“I’ll go find Maria,” Charlie says, surprising them both when she takes Joel’s hand and gives it a tender squeeze. Ellie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself again. I’ll be back,” she addresses Ellie before heading out the door.

When Charlie is gone, Ellie plops into the armchair and leans forward, an almost predatory smirk on her face.

“So…is she your girlfriend yet?”

“S’not like–”

“If you say ‘it’s not like that’ one more time, I’ll take the damn pills myself,” she says.

Joel groans. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Got ya right where I want ya,” she says. “Spill it, dude.”

“No, we’re not…I don’t…I dunno,” he grumbles.

“You ‘don’t know?’”

“S’what I said,” he grits his teeth against another wave of pain, forcing himself to lie absolutely still. “It’s complicated.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “That’s just what grown-ups say when they don’t want to tell you the truth.”

He winces. “Yeah. Well, the truth is…it’s complicated.”

She sighs. “Are you sleeping together?”

“That’s none of your–”

“Just saying, if you’re fucking her, she’s probably your girlfriend. So it’s not that complicated.”

“Ellie, I’m not havin’ this conversation,” he growls, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well, you should probably figure it out before the baby gets here.”

He can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t.

“It’s gonna be weird…having a baby around,” she says thoughtfully. “Remember how bad Tommy was after Izzy was born? When he kept putting Maria’s breastmilk in his coffee by accident?”

Joel snorts. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You’re gonna be busy,” she says. “Babies are a lot of work.”

Even in his pain, he picks up on the unspoken question in her voice. He softens. He wants to sit up so he can look at her, but his back protests. Instead, he reaches blindly for her hand.

“C’mere.”

There’s a reluctant pause, and then she’s standing beside him, slipping her fingers into his.

“I know I haven’t been, uh…great…lately. M’sorry.”

She shrugs, biting at her lower lip.

“Truth is…I was just gettin’ used to the idea of bein’ your dad, and now with the baby…”

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s a lot. An’ I know it’s prob’ly a lot for you, too.”

Her voice is too light, like she’s trying to cover something up. “You’ll have a real kid soon.”

He frowns and gives her an experimental pinch between her thumb and index finger. “Dunno. You feel pretty real to me.”

“You know what I mean,” she says softly, and he feels it in his heart, a twinge more powerful than any back spasm. He grips her fingers tighter.

“It’ll be different for a while…and yeah, I’m not gonna get much sleep. Prob’ly be…distracted. But it’s still you and me, kid,” he says. “An’ I’m always gonna be here.”

His back takes that moment to seize up again and he hisses. “Shit, sorry.”

She sighs, but there’s a smile in it. “At this rate, you’re always gonna be here on the couch .”

“What’d you need, anyway?” he groans, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, a hammer.”

“What for?”

“Cat found me this new poster, was gonna hang it in my room.”

“There’s one in my toolbox; s’by the door,” he says. “Just put it back when you’re done.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt yourself again, are you? Your girlfriend’ll have my ass.”

His answering glare has no effect and she leaves him, laughing.

Charlie returns with the pills a few minutes later, and he swallows two of them eagerly before she can fetch a glass of water. Then he hears her rummaging around up in the bedroom. She comes back with a heating pad.

“Found it at the post,” she explains. “Your kid is killing my hips. Lift up.”

Your kid.

He frowns. “I don’t need—“

“Spare me,” she sighs. “Lift up.”

So he does, still grumbling, and she slides the pad under his lower back and plugs the cord into the wall. It’s instantly warm, oozing heat up his spine, and the muscles slowly start to unwind. He can’t hold back a groan of relief.

“It’s the bed, isn’t it?” she sighs, easing herself into the armchair.

“No,” he says too quickly. “Strained it at work. Tommy’s got us workin’ doubles to get the new barns up.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you should consider moving back into your room.”

“Not kickin’ you out,” he scoffs.

“I’d stay there, too.”

He side-eyes her. “No playin’ house, remember?”

“I think we might have crossed that line already,” she murmurs, quirking her lips.

Then she’s up and doing something in the kitchen, and Joel tries to focus on letting the heat work its magic. He knows the muscle relaxant has kicked in when he can roll over slightly and it doesn’t make his back seize. He tries to sit up, but Charlie is instantly at his side, holding him down by the shoulders.

“Gotta work,” he mutters weakly.

“Nuh-uh. I already told Tommy you’re out of commission,” she says.

“The hell’d you do–”

“You’re not good at letting people take care of you, are you?”

He grunts. “Says you .”

“Yeah, we have that in common. Not so much fun on the other side, huh?” she murmurs.

She plunks down a mug of coffee, a glass of juice, and a plate of eggs and toast on the table next to him, then puts a DVD in the player and hands him the remote.

“Stay,” she commands. “I’m at the post all day, but I’ll bring you lunch on my break. You’d better be horizontal when I get back.”

He wants to complain, but the pills have made him slow, and she’s out the door before he can think of a response.

The coffee is black and strong, just the way he likes it. The juice is awful–it’s green, some combination of things from the garden–but he chokes it down anyway, thinking of Sarah and her vitamins.

And then he passes out because he forgot that taking muscle relaxants on an empty stomach will do that. He wakes a few hours later, mouth dry and tasting of that awful juice, to find a paper bag and a note from Charlie have replaced the food and drinks on the table.

It’s a sandwich. Take another dose if you need it. I’ll be home by 6.

He’s pleasantly surprised to find he can sit up. Sure, the noise he makes in the process is unflattering, and he’s not going to be doing cartwheels anytime soon, but it’s an improvement.

This time, he eats the sandwich before he takes the second dose and manages to stay awake until Charlie gets home, but his head swims and he barely makes it halfway through their nightly movie. He wakes to her tugging gently on his hand.

“Come to bed.”

He’s too tired to protest. He lets her lead him to his bedroom, lets her pull back the covers and tuck him into bed, lets her wrap her body around his.

“You just wanna take advantage of me,” he slurs lightly into her hair.

She snorts a laugh. “Yes, Joel. This was my grand plan. For you to knock me up and throw your back out so I could keep you as my sex slave.”

“Mmmff. Knew it.”

“Go to sleep, old man,” she murmurs, nuzzling into his chest until he can feel her smile against his skin.

Sometimes Charlie is so distant, it’s like she isn’t there at all. She stares into space and he has to say her name four or five times before she hears him. Sometimes he has to physically touch her to bring her back, and then she looks at him as though he’s a stranger.

After the second or third time, he recognizes it as the disassociation of grief. He lost days of his life after Sarah was taken from him, days where he existed in body only, when Tess or Tommy would have to pull him back from the edge of a deep, dark pit. He’d wake up unable to remember how he’d gotten to bed or find himself in the middle of a fight with no idea how he’d gotten there. It might have scared him if he thought he had something to lose.

Those are the nights she needs him.

He knows he should turn her away. He knows he’s using her as much as she’s using him. But she comes alive when they’re together, and he tells himself it helps, and maybe it does.

He takes half as many showers.

Tonight, she arches back into him as he thrusts into her on her side from behind, curled around her body, heady with the feeling of being surrounded by her, all soft skin and warmth. She’s murmuring into his palm, slicking her tongue around his fingers, sucking them into her wet mouth and humming. His other hand rubs flutter-like circles against her clit the way he knows she likes.

She’s three orgasms deep and still hungry, panting and pleading, more, there, so close, please .

And then she comes hard, clenching around him and wrenching a hoarse name from her throat.

Not his name.

It barely registers until she’s scrambling away to sit at the edge of the bed, still trembling from the aftershocks, pulling the sheet across her naked chest.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” she gasps.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, reaching out to pull her back against him, but she jerks away from his touch.

“Fuck,” she grits out, followed by a low, keening sob. “Shit. Fuck.”

Some part of him has always known; the way her eyes clamp shut at the critical moment, the way she positions him and guides him and takes and takes and takes, the way she asks to forget, to pretend. Joel knows it’s foolish to think she needed him and not just the idea of him: a warm body, a working cock and fingers and tongue.

“Charlie, it’s–”

Her muffled sob cracks something in his heart. Then she’s locking herself in the bathroom before he can find his feet.

Shit.

He gets out of bed and pulls on his boxers, goes to the closed door. “Charlie?”

“Go away.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dammit, I’m not…mad.”

Silence.

“I don’t care if you…if you need…if you…fuck,” he hisses. “Just talk t’me.”

Her voice is so faint it barely registers. “I can’t.”

“Okay, you don’t have to, but…can you at least open the door?”

“No.”

He makes a fist against the wall, gritting his teeth. Without a better idea, he turns and slides down the wall, pressing his back to the door.

I’m here , he thinks helplessly. Just tell me what to do.

Silence. And then…rustling, a soft grunt, until they’re back-to-back with the door between them. He hears the hitch of another muffled sob.

“I always…thought it would be him,” she whispers finally, voice thick. “That we’d do this together.”

He feels a familiar shameful flush. What can he say?

I’m sorry it happened the wrong way, at the wrong time, with the wrong person.

I’m sorry I’m not him.

But he’s not sorry at all. He’s a selfish asshole, so he doesn’t say anything.

“We wanted this so much. And sometimes it feels like a…a betrayal. Like I’m moving on…forgetting him.”

He swallows hard, thinking of Sarah, wondering if he might hold this child in his arms and feel that same gnawing guilt, like he doesn’t deserve to be whole again.

“I think he’d want you to be happy,” Joel says softly.

“I tell myself that, I do…but I don’t think I believe it. I don’t–”

More silence. He shifts his weight. The floor is cold and hard, digging into his ass. It can’t be good for her back.

“When we…started…you said…you needed to pretend,” he tries, tipping his head back against the door and closing his eyes. “I knew that goin’ into this. Knew I wasn’t, uh…I’m not–”

“I thought…I wanted…I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know anymore.”

“We…you don’t need to—”

“It hurts,” she grates out. “It h-hurts and I miss him and it’s not f-f-fucking fair.”

It’s not fucking fair .

What else is there to say?

“I know,” he whispers roughly. “I know.”

They sit like that until his ass is numb and her silence is too unnerving to bear.

“Come back to bed,” he says, defeated and not expecting her to answer. “Please.”

There’s a watery sigh on the other side of the door. Then he hears her moving, the slightest groan as she gets to her feet, and he eases himself off the floor. The door opens. She’s wrapped in a robe, one hand cradling her belly under the terrycloth, the bedsheet pooled at her feet.

Her eyes meet his, red-rimmed and hollow. He cups the back of her neck and pulls her into an embrace.

“S’alright,” he whispers when her tears wet his chest and she shudders against him. He sways like he used to when Sarah was little, rocking her back and forth until she quiets.

“Oh!”

She jumps suddenly, startling in his arms, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Swiping at her eyes, she grabs his hand, guiding it down her body until it’s resting just below her belly button. Her skin is warm and taut and smooth.

“What—“

Then he feels it, the tapping against his fingers, some tiny arm or elbow or foot poking at him from under her skin. She laughs through tears as the insistent little being seems to dance under their hands.

“Never been this strong before,” she whispers thickly.

Joel doesn’t trust himself to speak, pride warring with sadness in his chest. They stay like that for a long time, his hand on her stomach, new life roiling beneath his palm.

The baby should be able to hear them now, so at night, he reads out loud from a tattered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring , sitting up in their shared bed with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. The reading was his idea, the choice of material was hers.

One hand holds the book, the other rests on Charlie’s stomach. She says she likes the sound of his voice, but most of the time, she’s asleep before he gets to the third page. At this rate, the kid will be twenty before they finish the first book in the trilogy.

Tonight, the baby–Coconut, he thinks–is particularly active, rolling and kicking against his hand. A particularly hard jab causes Charlie to jump, hissing a soft ouch under her breath, and he puts the book aside.

“Hey, kid, settle down,” he says, rubbing at the squirming lump. “Let your mama sleep.”

This earns him another pointed jab; the kid is all attitude.

“Mmm,” Charlie mutters. “I know what���d help me sleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” she stretches, arching her back, and he can see the outline of one dark nipple through her bra.

“Again?” he murmurs, sliding a hand up to cup her breast and rolling it gently through the fabric. “Already?”

She sighs at the contact. “Mmm. Please?”

He tosses his glasses on the nightstand, more than happy to abandon the book, and curls around her, nuzzling her neck. “‘Fraid I’m not going to be much help with, uh…y’know.”

Not for the first time, he wishes he was about fifteen years younger. Even then, he’s not sure he could keep up with her. He wonders if she was always like this, or if it’s the pregnancy. He wonders if he’ll get to find out.

They don’t talk about this, or what will happen after the baby comes. They go to her midwife appointments together and Joel grinds his teeth through every second, but he stays by her side. Sometimes she holds his hand, and when she kisses him, she does so with the full force of her being. But just like the baby, their relationship doesn’t have a name.

She guides his hand between her legs, under her panties, finding her slick and swollen. She gives a contented little hum of pleasure when his finger traces her seam. “I’m sure you can figure something out.”

He huffs a breath into her nape, kisses the spot where the soft, downy hairs tickle against his nose, and strokes her the way she likes, circling and tapping until she’s arching against him. She comes almost immediately, fluttering and pulsing against his fingertips. A little one.

“More?” he murmurs, gentling his touch as her breathing calms.

“Mmhm, please.”

Her clit is a hard, slick little pebble under his fingers. He draws her orgasm from her more slowly this time, teasing, building her up until her climax is a growl sprung from the depths of her throat and her thighs clench his hand in a vise. He cups her sex gently and trails kisses along her neck, her throat, her shoulder as she rides it out, whispers into the shell of her ear, “More?”

Charlie reaches back and threads her fingers into his hair in answer, pulling him tighter against her, and he breathes her in, sweat and soap and something uniquely her. It drives him crazy, makes him feel feral and protective and alive. She turns her head, seeking his mouth, and he obliges, tongue parting her lips and tasting her as she hums and shivers and writhes against his hand, don’t stop please don’t please don’t stop . 

“I got you,” he murmurs against her lips in between kisses, fingers circling and circling until his wrist aches. He can feel the baby roll and kick under his forearm, feels her fingers gripping him there. He loves watching her like this, loves the way her back arches and jaw goes slack with pleasure, the sounds she makes when she comes.

And then she does, coming undone in his arms with a throaty moan, shuddering and keening in a way that makes his cock twitch.

“Better?” he murmurs, finally pulling his hand away and groping for the blanket they’d tossed aside.

“Much,” she sighs, relinquishing herself to his warmth. “You sure you don’t want me to…”

“M’fine,” he says, wrapping an arm around her belly, which has gone mostly still. “Kid calmed down.”

“Yeah. S’the hormones,” she murmurs drowsily. “Oxytocin.”

“They can feel that, huh?”

“Mmhm,” she says. “They can feel everything.”

“...everything?”

“Don’t make it weird,” she murmurs, and he can feel her smirking against his arm. “Read to us?”

Us . They’re slowly bending all the rules, he thinks.

He groans. “Thought you were goin’ to sleep.”

“I am, but I like your voice.”

“Uh huh. Damnit, lost my place,” he grumbles, grabbing for the hefty paperback. “Never find it again, damn book is six-thousand pages long. Thought this’d have dragons, so far they’re just describing’ stuff and yackin’.”

“It’s Tolkien,” she yawns. “It’s a classic.”

“Buncha elves and gnomes and shit,” he mutters. “This Dildo Baggins character sounds like a porn star.”

“They’re hobbits,” Charlie laughs and pokes him in the thigh. “And it’s ‘Bilbo’, you grouch.”

He squints. “Right, need my glasses. Tiny print.”

Charlie snickers, something about old eyes , and burrows deeper into the covers as he finally finds his reading glasses and his place.

He doesn’t make it two pages before he hears her snore.

They’ve kept up the movie night routine even though there’s no good reason for Charlie to stay off her feet. They’ve rented the last of the action flicks from the library, so now they’re working through television shows and sitcoms. Some unlucky soul from the time before left behind a sizeable collection of M*A*S*H episodes on tape, so Charlie often falls asleep to the sounds of Hawkeye’s sarcastic drawl.

They’re on the couch in their usual spots, her with a bowl of homemade strawberry ice cream perched on her belly, him with a beer. The ice cream is the only thing she craves–strawberry preserves mixed with cream and sugar, then frozen and scooped into a bowl. Joel makes a new batch every other night before they go to bed. They’re going through Maria’s summer preserves like crazy, and he’ll be doing work on the community greenhouses for the rest of his fucking life at this rate.

But it’s worth it, he thinks, as she takes another bite of the rich, creamy concoction, licking the spoon clean with her strawberry-pink tongue. She’s a fucking distraction. The laugh track is going off in the background, but with every bite, her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter, and he wants to take that spoon out of her mouth and–

He adjusts himself, forces his eyes back to the screen, takes another sip of his beer. Jesus .

A few minutes later the bowl is licked clean, and a well-placed kick from the baby sends it rocking, tumbling into her lap.

“Apparently we demand more,” Charlie laughs.

“Kid’s gonna come out lookin’ like a strawberry,” Joel mutters.

She smiles. “Baby wants what it wants.”

The phrase triggers a memory, and he chuckles. “With Sarah, it was mangoes.”

Sarah’s mom, sitting at the kitchen table in their tiny one-bedroom, devouring the fruit straight from the rind, sticky juice coating her fingers, running down her chin.

Baby wants what it wants , she’d said, and then he’d kissed her, lips syrupy sweet.

He doesn’t remember if he loved her–there was no room for love to grow, really. Not enough time, not enough money, not enough maturity between the two of them. But they’d made Sarah, and he’d loved his baby girl enough to make up for the rest.

“Who’s Sarah?”

Charlie snaps him out of his reverie. She’s looking at him curiously.

Oh.

He reaches for the remote, pausing the show, and the silence around them has weight, he can feel it pressing against his chest. He coughs, clears his throat, tries to figure out how to start.

“She was, uh…my daughter. Before.”

She blinks at him, wide-eyed, her question a small, breathless whisper. “You had a daughter?”

He ducks his head. “Yeah. She, uh…was killed on Outbreak Day. She’d be about your age now. Little younger, I guess.”

Her eyes are so bright, they almost glow.

“Her mom…my ex…liked mangoes,” he explains. “When she was pregnant. Couldn’t keep enough of ‘em in the house.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Didn’t know you liked mangoes,” he says weakly, trying for a joke. She doesn’t smile.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to hide it. It never felt like a good time, and it’s…I didn’t want you to feel like I was…replacin’ something.”

She looks around then as if seeking some kind of clue, something obvious she might have missed. There are no photos of Sarah on the mantle, no drawings or keepsakes to indicate he’d been a father before Ellie–only the broken watch on his wrist. He holds it out to her, the shattered glass face shimmering in the light of the TV screen.

“She gave me this for my birthday,” he says, and the words stick in his throat. “It’s…all I have.”

“And her name was Sarah?” she says in a small, tight voice.

His smile is sad. “Go figure, huh?”

Her lip quivers. “Joel…”

She sets the bowl aside and starts to get up, the bulk of her belly and gravity working against her.

“Don’t–” he starts, but she makes it to her feet before he can protest.

Then she’s standing between his knees and cradling his face in her hands. There are tears in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She cries at everything now, but that doesn’t explain why he wants to cry, too.

He wants to say something reassuring, to set her at ease, but his tongue is thick in his mouth and it hurts like it does sometimes, like the wound is fresh and raw and new all over again.

“I can’t,” he says thickly, pleading. “Not…right now. Not yet.”

She nods slowly, kisses his forehead with something like love, and cradles him against her. Her warm, full belly presses against his chest, against his heart, and he hates that it soothes the ache. It’s too much like forgetting.

Her whisper at his temple is a balm.

“One day at a time.”

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I wanted to make a character who wears an eyepatch, but I don't know how to make it, exactly? And I thought you may know

I've read that the most common reasons to wear eyepatches are generally temporary, wich it's not what I wanted. I thought maybe he was really sensitive to light in one eye and chose to wear an eyepatch rather than sunglasses, but I've also read that may deteriorate the vision in that eye? (Maybe he's blind in that eye too and he's not worried about it?)

If not that I've read that they are used to hide a missing eye, a lazy eye or something else, but that it was more used in the past bc medicine wasn't as good, and nowadays most of that can be changed with surgery or a prosthetic eye, wich... I don't know why he wouldn't have?

Also, all of this was found via google, and I couldn't find any first-person experience (?) Like - I've found a lot of youtube videos, reddit forums and tumblr users from blind people to ask and learn about my other blind characters, but I couldn't for this? Maybe they're not really used anymore??

I'm not sure if you know but I had to ask - Maybe you know of somewhere I could read more about it?

(Also sorry fot any mistakes or confusing wording, english isn't my first language)

Hi! Your ask is very clear, don't worry :-)

Eyepatches can be used long-term to treat amblyopia, help someone who has unilateral photophobia, or be used by those who have double vision to help with visual tasks (I do that with my "DIY eyepatch", aka closing the one eye I have actual eyelid control over). Photophobia could be a result of a bunch of things, my bilateral one happened as a side effect of nerve surgery. There's too many ocular conditions to list, probably. Permanent double vision is usually caused by brain or nerve damage, like in my case, or an autoimmune condition like myasthenia gravis. With that said, eyepatches among all of the above are still a rarity. For all the time I spent in eye clinics since I was a baby, I have never personally met anyone who would wear one permanently into adulthood - many wore it only as children, or only around the time of surgery (like I also did), etc. Modern medicine simply has better options.

They are rarely used for missing eyes as well, other solutions (prosthetic eyes, conformers) are more common. An empty eye socket isn't ideal a lot of the time.

It's rather hard to find first-person resources for eyepatch usage because it's simply rare. I looked through some of our resources and while we had multiple for prosthetic eyes or similar, nothing for eyepatches, so I can't help with that, unfortunately.

Important thing about eyepatches is that they're not used 24/7! People take them off sometimes. Depending on why he uses it, you might be interested in this (if he's blind) or this (if he has a facial difference) post. Also think of the reason he wears it outside of just the eyepatch; does he need medication, eye drops, does he get headaches, etc.? Remember that it shouldn't just be an aesthetic and it should cause other symptoms too.

I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[mrsstruggle]

All The Good Girls Go To Hell - Prologue // Harry Potter AU

Summary: It's been a year since the war ended. Cedric Diggory is found dead and in debt to The Damnation. His sister, Y/N Diggory, offers to take her brother's place in The Damnation to pay off his debt, but things become complicated when she starts to develop feelings for the two handsome leaders.

[OC version on Wattpad]

Pairings: Y/N x Fred Weasley, Y/N Diggory x George Weasley (separately, not together because I will not write that)

Series Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else), and A Lot of Smut!!

Words: 1.5K (this is short but chapters will be longer!)

Note: This is a Harry Potter AU. This is set after the war.

Another Note: Cedric was not killed during the Triwizard Tournament, but he was tortured at the cemetery.

[I had this queued for 7PM, but it didn't post :/]

Masterlist

All The Good Girls Go To Hell Masterlist

---

Standing outside the infamous joke shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Y/N Diggory never felt so out of place. She has a briefcase in one hand and the other nervously tugging at the end of her short, red dress in hopes that it would somehow get longer. She needs to go inside, but she can't find the willpower to get her legs to move.

Kids run past her, shouting and laughing, as their parents rush after them into the shop. There are more people out than she thought there would be. She chose to come as close to closing time as possible hoping there would only be a few people here. She wonders if it stays this crowded or if it's because the kids return to Hogwarts in a week.

"Are you actually going to go inside, or are you going to stand out here all day?" Y/N jumps slightly and quickly looks to her side to see where the voice is coming from. She locks eyes with a handsome redhead who is now standing to the left of her.

"I'm supposed to meet someone inside, but my legs seemed glued to the sidewalk for some reason." She nervously jokes.

The guy chuckles lowly. "Do I need to see if I can find something to get the glue off," he quickly retorts.

Y/N snorts out a laugh as she looks back down at the ground. She notices that he's wearing a thick, black pair of combat boots. As she looks back up at him, she observes that he doesn't look like the type of guy who would come to a joke shop. With his black tactical joggers paired with a plain black t-shirt, he seems out of place, but she knows he could say the same thing about her.

"Hopefully it will just wash away with my nerves," she brings the briefcase in front of her so she can grip the handle with both hands, "I don't know if you can tell but I've never been here before."

He glances down at her briefcase before shifting his gaze back up, "I wouldn't say it's too obvious, but you do look a bit overdressed. What's in the briefcase?"

"It's nothing," she chuckles nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I was trying to start a new trend?"

"Not at all but if you don't want to tell me you don't have to. My name's Charlie by the way."

"I'm Y/N."

"Well, I've got to get to work but it was nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too." Y/N watches as Charlie walks into the joke shop and disappears into the sea of children.

She takes a deep breath as she tries to remember what Hermione told her to do. She needs to go inside and get a Penelope's Purple Pussy Cats. Take it to the front counter and ask if it comes in red. She remembers that Hermione told her to specifically ask "Does this come in red?" and she can't ask any other way.

After standing in place for a few more seconds, Y/N finally wills her legs to move and opens the large entrance door. If she thought the sound of children screaming and laughing was loud from outside the shop, it was even louder inside. Kids were running around—going from stand to stand—checking out whatever caught their eye. You would think it was the shop's opening day, but it's been open for years.

Y/N moves to the side as a group of boys run past her towards the back of the store. She looks around hoping to see what she's looking for, but there are too many people in the store to see anything else other than people. Right now, she's cursing Hermione for not giving her instructions for where the hell to find a Penelope's Purple Pussy Cats.

She slowly weaves her way through the crowd as she searches for what she's looking for. She can feel her nerves get more and more on edge as people bump into the briefcase she's holding.

After walking around the store for another ten minutes, she finally spots what she needs. Tucked into a corner of the store, behind what appears to be love potions, she finds the Penelope's Purple Pussy Cats. Y/N grabs the box closest to her and makes her way to the checkout.

As she approaches the checkout, she silently thanks the universe for there not being a line. She quietly approaches the blonde girl standing at the checkout and sets the Penelope's Purple Pussy Cats on the table, "Um...does this come in red?"

Y/N's heart starts to race as the girl stares at her silently. Did she say the wrong thing? Is this one big prank to make her look like an idiot?

The girl, Verity (according to her name tag), entered something in the cash register before turning back to her, "Three Galleons."

Y/N quickly dugs into the purse that is hanging from her left shoulder. She slams three Galleons onto the counter, wincing at how harshly she set them down.

Verity slowly scoops up the Galleons and puts them into the register. She closes the register as her other hand dings a bell right next to it. The ding rings loudly throughout the store.

Y/N's hands tap nervously on the briefcase's handle as she waits for something to happen. Hermione told her that someone would come and take her to where she needed to go, but is she supposed to stand here and wait or is she supposed to step aside somewhere?

"Bill will take you to find what you need," Verity says as a tall redhead—who, other than the large scars across his face, looks like the one she met earlier—emerges from the sea of people around the store. He stops when he's next to Y/N.

"Follow me," he says gruffly. He turns and starts walking toward the back of the store. Y/N tries to follow as closely as she can so she doesn't lose him amongst the crowd.

As they reach the back of the store, Bill opens a door with a sign that says 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' and gestures for her to follow him inside. Walking inside what appears to be a large storage closet, she watches as he easily moves a large shipping crate labeled 'FRAGILE' to reveal a trapdoor on the floor.

As he opens the trapdoor, Y/N can hear loud music and see flashing lights coming from the now-open hole in the floor. Looking a little closer, she can see an enclosed stone staircase that seems to spiral down into somewhere unknown. She looks up to see Bill looking at her expectantly—like she was supposed to just be okay with walking down into an unknown place underneath a joke shop.

"Are you going to go in?" Bill asks her.

"Yeah, obviously..." she looks back and forth from him to the staircase nervously, "Are Fred and George down there? If so, how do I find them?"

Bill's face somehow turns more serious than it was before, "What do you need with Fred and George?" He glances down at the briefcase in her hand before looking back at her face.

"I need to speak with them," she replies, straightening her posture a little to look more confident.

"About what?"

"That's none of your business."

Bill sighs, "Look, I don't know what you want from them, but they don't like to mix business with pleasure. If you need to speak to them about business, you'll need to make an appointment with Verity. If need to speak with them about something else," he looks her up and down, "you should be able to find them quite easily. Just don't come back crying when they don't see you again."

Y/N scoffs in disgust, "I'm here to talk business, and I won't be making an appointment. It's important."

"If it's so important, why can't you tell me?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"I'm their brother, and I'm the one holding this door open for you. I can easily close it if I'd like."

Y/N sighs as she contemplates what to do. Does she tell him why she's here? Does she turn around and come back another time? She doesn't know how many people know about her brother's involvement with the twins or about what he did.

"I need to talk to them about Cedric Diggory," she says, trying to look as serious as possible. Y/N notices Bill's jaw clench in anger when she says Cedric's name.

"What about Cedric?"

"I'm here to pay off his debt."

Bill scoffs, "What? He decides not to show up today and sends some girl in to pay off his debt for him. It's going to take a lot more than whatever's in that briefcase to make up for what he did."

"Well considering he's never going to show back up again, this is the best they're going to get." Y/N shrugs.

"What does that mean?"

"He's dead. Cedric's dead."

---

@xxemmarldxx @esposadomd @ladyjenjay

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

54 - The Final Marching Trek

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

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, unspecified mental illness, mental duress, references to cheating/infidelity, body image issues, insecurities, violence and disturbing imagery, past trauma torture and mutilation, separation

Notes: Thank you for your patience in me posting this, I appreciate you all more then you know. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

It was not a sight terribly dissimilar to the one you were looking to now. A ridge overlooking a river with the cold wind blowing your hair out in front of you. The melancholy feeling unsure in your bones not knowing what it was the future held you were moving towards, what family and love was to soon look like. Only, then it was a dress grazing along the grass as it blew as well and the company some degree behind you was vast and irritating.

What too was different, was who approached you. Trapped within the clutches of that day you recalled, was the graceful beauty of Queen Cersei approaching you in your silence standing by the running water as the noise faded into the distance. Not with words yet did she make her presence known, but you felt her there all the same. Her blonde hair loose much like yours now, the long length you, back in such a memory, had long since given up having again.

Yours now was such a length as hers, but then you had half less then her in frustration. She had always insisted you have proper handmaidens from your first day in Kings Landing, and you by fourteen had cut your hair short in a ladies standards to avoid them fussing over it everyday. It was longer then even Jons long curls now but still was quite short in terms of what a highborn lady normally looked. Her dress too, always impeccable. Never did you see such a Queen in your reflection which sat so naturally on her.

No matter how much now you would wish for nothing more then to see Cersei Lannister as far from the Iron Throne as possible, she no doubt looked the most like a true Queen should then any attempt you could make in your life. She had been pregnant with Myrcella by the time you first met her at the feast on Dragonstone, and even then she was beautiful. Standing next to her at that river side however, it was not one highborn lady against another.

You had long since then learned when Cersei spoke with manipulation, but it was a raw honesty she had finally let out only when she was sure no one else was near to listen.

She once held affection for you when you were a girl, and only sometimes by then did she still have enough humanity to let it out when no one was looking.

Strangely enough, she echoed something similar to what Renly had said to you not long before you departed for the Kingsroad. “Most girls don't look quite so grim before their wedding.” You didn't answer, and luckily, she took no offence to it.

Cersei it seemed, saw such raw nerves within you, or the hiding of something unknown and recognized what almost, seemed like a vision of herself in another time. Biting your tongue, you thought not of the face you were losing but the unknown of what having what you had with him, would be like with his brother. A small tilt of your head to the side indicated your uncertainty on the matter.

Taking another step closer, finally you could sense her gaze towards you but you were unwilling to look away from the waving waters rushing by. “If it is the bedding you are worried about-”

“It isn't, your grace.” That was a lie, but you would have rather not gotten into that discussion now or ever with her. “I've known Robb Stark many years, what I will be getting myself into shouldn't be much of a mystery as a whole, I suppose.”

Glancing to her, there was a sadness you had recognized from many years before even that day. One as a girl of fourteen in her chambers being told a heavy truth, realizing that was not the end of what she had to say. “Never expect the men in your life to treat you with any form of goodness, and it will never be able to disappoint you when they become far worse.”

Yet the image did not match what you knew, outside of the love you then were too scared to admit, Robb was as perfect of a match as a highborn girl just like yourself could dream for. Still though, you had found yourself giving into her perspective just a little, if not from the nerves running inside you. “I am aware of what is expected of me, your grace. Do what makes my husband happy, and that should be enough for most men.”

Her huff was not a laugh but perhaps something more sinister in perspective of her own marriage. “Trust me, my dove, that will never be enough for any man. You will give every part of yourself to him, and it one day will be too little. Your bed grows colder and colder until you no longer sleep in the same as him, and when he finds himself with a new, younger woman to play with, you will have no choice but to pretend it is not happening and that you are still enough.”

Attempting to interject, it did not fall on deaf ears, but perhaps biased ones. “Robb is not a man who would-”

“All of them are. Make no mistake.” Finally your eyes met as you turned more to face her, as much malice was painted behind hers there was also something wishing to provide a proper comfort which she did not think existed. “Learn that early, and you will never be disappointed when they betray you. You will do your duty, but once he does not need you anymore, don't waste your life trying to force it to be as it once was. A wife will never convince her husband to return to her once he's taken a whore into bed behind your back.”

All in the high court knew too well the degree of Robert Baratheons infidelity, and it made not a soul comfortable with the fact of how brazen he was with it. More of a strained whisper, you could not match such images from Robert to Robb. “He would still expect me to..”

“Birth him children, and you will be surprised what little he shall expect of you afterwards. In the rare event Robert leaves his whores long enough to stumble drunk into my bed, I finish him off in other ways. In the morning he doesn't remember.”

No, you thought again. None of that fit, that was not Robb. You knew without a doubt that was not the Robb you knew. If it was only fear she meant to instill however, why looking at Cersei did you then feel something a wave of doubt in your own sense of self. You knew you looked nothing near her beauty, and if she could not keep her husband interested in someone who looks as alluring as she, perhaps it was not out of the realm of possibility.

But again, you had known Robb for years. “This isn't the same, I've known Robb since I was a girl. You've always hated Robert-”

If it was honesty you did not expect, it was honest you got in a very suddenly raw display of genuity in her eyes. “Hated him? I worshipped him. Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms dreamed of him, but he was mine by oath.” Glancing out to the river now, lost in a memory of her own you could see bright in her eyes. “And when I finally saw him on our wedding day in the Sept of Baelor, lean and fierce and black bearded, it was the happiest moment of my life.” But as her eyes met yours, so did the memory of false hope fade within her. “Then that night he crawled on top of me, stinking of wine and did what he did, what little he could do, and whispered in my ear Lyanna.”

Instantly you looked away. Face falling into a twisting conflict, knowing one story and another but there was little you could say to make that alright. Lyanna Stark was dead, but on that night Cersei Lannister was a living girl, now his wife, and Robert refused to love her more then the one who was never coming back. Not something you imagined then, or now, would be easy to feel.

It was the thing you refused to let Jon think in comparison to Robb, but Robert let Cersei feel it in comparison to Lyanna. None of it was fair, but it was what she said next that was on your mind in the cold present. “Do you remember what I told you when you were a girl? The morning your red flower had bloomed?”

You hesitated, but nodded yes.

Cersei if anything, spoke with something even more honest behind her attempts to hide it. “Never forget that. If it weren't for my children, I'd have thrown myself from the highest window in the Red Keep long ago. They're the reason I'm alive. It isn't much, but yours may be the only happiness you'll be able to find, as mine are.”

Truth be told, you knew she must have been quite willing to be honest if not for a second did she say anything against it when it slipped out. “Even Joffery?”

But she almost only smiled knowingly. “Even Joffery. He was all I had once. Before Myrcella was born. I used to spend hours looking at him. His wisps of hair. His tiny little hands and feet. You always hear the terrible ones were terrible babies, but it's nonsense. Whenever he was with me, he was happy. And no one can take that away from me, not even Joffery. How it feels to have someone of your own.”

Did you have that? Had you ever? Past or present you struggled to see if you ever truly found that as the fog continued to fade so much away from your mind. In the memory, you had barley found the strength to respond, “It cannot be impossible to find some medium, your grace. Somewhere in between the best and worst, to just have a family I may be content with.”

“But it is, my dove. Women such as us do not have a choice. We either claw our way to the top, or die at the very bottom. We don't get to have a middle ground.”

She had left you alone by the water then, the next day you would all set out to make the remaining two days to Winterfell and find out if what she warned had been the truth or not. But as you stood in the cold air in the present, your mind felt far away still, and you had not yet thought you figured it out.

Little Eddard had woken up before the rest, and you had brought him far from the significant amount of hearing space from the campsite to settle him. Cries more muffled as you held the warm bundle close to your front to take all of the cold wind away from his exposed skin, and yet you had somehow found yourself drifting to that day by the water when he was finally calming.

Cersei was not a stupid woman, she knew to Joffery she was lesser in his eyes, but she loved him anyways. Held onto that love because he was hers, and not even he could take that away from her, but as you stood there it felt worse and worse. The fear that Eddard was yours yes, you needed him, but he did not want you. He was supposed to be the thing you held onto that would keep you even a small bit happy, but what if your son was different?

What if he was never happy with you? Already a festering fear dripped into your bloodstream whispering poison that you would never be the same for Jon again. You reached the point Cersei spoke of. You gave him one, and perhaps this was it. You would give him more and nothing else mattered about you to him. A woman like Cersei was beautiful, you were not. You could not even offer Jon that much.

The girl, Daisy, she had been fearful to be honest with you. Admitting that her instructions from Petyr Baelish included securing one of her girls in the brothel to seducing the King in the North for means of sabotaging you both before marriage. But you had not feared it then, knowing there was guilt on her for ever once considering needing to do it. You were not insecure when you had jested to her that marrying the day he and you returned likely ruined that plan.

But you were now. It would be weeks before he could even take you the way he'd want too, and you knew Jon enjoyed his freedom to be physical with you. You hated it, you never compared Robb to Robert but now something inside of you was falling into Cersei's trap and fearing that it was Jon who would cast you aside.

He didn't deserve to be questioned, you didn't even mean it maliciously. You felt as opposite of alluring as you could ever possibly be, Jon would not be to blame if he sought someone smaller and prettier then you for his pleasure instead. You'd give him as many children as he wanted without question, but maybe you had lied to yourself into thinking you were the exception here.

A happy family, a husband and son that you loved and loved you. But if Cersei was right, you were only lying to yourself, and it would only cause Jon and now little Eddard to feel smothered by your attempts to try and keep them to yourself.

The previous night may as well not existed, whatever laughs and smiles was shared between your new family of your making, did not exist. Maybe you imagined it, or Jon was only humouring you because he still had to put up with dragging you home for days. But you shouldn't complain. This was what you were born to do.

Marry a man and have his children. That was your duty. You didn't have the right to want more from Jon then what he's already done for you.

The sudden feeling however of arms slinking around your person, one to your hip and the other gentler across your front and tugging you back just slightly almost had you jump in place. A deep murmur rasping in your ear with a just as gentle chuckle to follow, “Didn't mean to scare you.” Muttering passingly it was fine, Jon leaned over your shoulder a bit to properly see the little one. “Everything alright?”

Nodding, you could only hope your whisper was not as obviously unsettled as was the beginnings of racing returning to your heart. “He woke up a little fussy. Brought him over here so he didn't wake you all.” Almost turning to look, Jons grip on your hip tightened to keep you in place as he assured you so far only you five were awake. “Five?”

Feeling his head nod somewhat in the distance to just outside your immediate view, you could see Ghost and Summer both clearly stalking around the distant forest in hunting demeanour. A small babble coming from the bundle, you shifted so the baby could more easily look around. Jon pulling his hand from your front to tug a glove off with his teeth, stashing it to his side before reaching back around. His hand gentle as it ran across the top of his head, and the babble turned into a louder sound.

Just as nonsensical but a little brighter as did his eyes open more from his drowsy state. You could practically feel Jons smile without needing to see it when you felt the hesitation in you, fighting with the logic and ultimately the question slipped out more uncertain about which answer you'd rather receive then you liked. “Did you want to take him?”

If he picked up on it yet, he didn't say anything. Just a shake of his head before rasping out, “No, we're all fine right here.” Once more, if your silence in response was awkward you did not know if he noticed or chose not to speak on it. Just a tight lipped single nod, before finding yourself no longer able to relax, as if you had been relaxed before.

Jon wasn't touching you as if he didn't want to, but you also knew you were mostly hidden away and would be until you were within at least four walls. You'd have something figured out by then, what to do about it. Desperate in hope you would be able to spot his dwindling interest and you'd be smart enough to find a way to keep just a scrap of it a little while longer.

“How much longer until we reach the Wall?”

Glancing over only long enough to spot Meera by Bran and Jon as she asked the question, you quickly turned back. Stone facing your gaze to something more passive in case they caught it. Your eyes only narrowed for only a moment until they turned somewhat playful. A smirk forming over that did not help the look in Eddards. You knew that mischievous look far too well, present in some form or another in all Starks.

Sighing deeply, you let your fingertips run along his sides as you leaned in with a gentle whisper, a scolding tone not serious enough to be picked up on. “Oh, so now that you're clean you've decided now is the time to start being silly?” He was so small still, it had only been a few days but it was noticeable everytime you cleaned him.

As best he could making almost what you could describe as rather grabby hands, you shifted so one hand pulled the loose strands of your hair more behind your back as he once more almost giggled. For something so small and young, already he was chalk full of personality. You wished you had proper clothes to dress him in. Only using what of yours and Jons you both could readily spare, wrapped up more in fabrics and furs around to keep him extra warm but you hated not having things for him.

Pulling him up finally and resting him high on your torso, whatever lightness was on your face suddenly left as you turned back. Jon kneeling down securing his pack as he smiled at whatever he and Bran were talking about. Benjen and Meera both seemingly familiar with one another to some degree discussing something which looked as if it were about the area. Ghost and Summer both similarly sticking by one another close to Jon and Bran.

The only one who was not quite fitting in with the group however was not you alone. Instead, you could see the unreadable stare of Yara watching you from where she was covering up the embers of the fire. Hardly brave enough to hold her gaze in case she said something, you didn't want to start a confrontation with your son in your arms. Biting your tongue you tugged the furs a little more over Eddards head before looking away.

Inhaling deeply, you moved to pretend as if you belonged in this trio of pairs which had no room for you. Glancing up from Bran you could see Jons silent gaze ask once more if you were alright, the tight smile you gave which lasted hardly half of a second as your eyes tore away from him, meant you missed the look he gave in return. Lips parted slightly as if wishing to say something, but swallowing rough as the rest of his face twisted into a frown, no longer engaging quite the same with Bran.

Jon had to leave much of your things behind when you were taken, unable to carry two packs and a baby. He tried to bring what he could of yours, but you had nothing to carry if not the baby. Not even the furs on your front, now being used to keep him wrapped and warm since Jon had to make use of what you left behind. The cloak Benjen tore from the dead for you to wear was still all you really had to fight the wind outside the long sleeved layers over you otherwise. So you had nothing to prepare to leave but the baby in your arms, as everyone else worked to leave.

Not a clue you had, that you looked extremely lost and disconnected as you stood in the camp sight without finding anyone to go close to in any capacity. You felt it, but you thought you were discreetly more to the side then you were. But no, you stood out greatly to multiple eyes who unbeknownst to you, could see something was wrong.

It had been for days and it wasn't getting any better.

New mothers were supposed to be filled with joy, and you felt love and a bonding with Eddard but your insides felt hollow. As if what you were giving him was the remainder of your emotional capacity, it was not terribly unlike when you returned from death. Not as torturous and grieving, but the same emptiness in your heart like something in you was left behind.

When the thought came into your head, you didn't know, but all you could tell was that it hadn't left in hours. The thought, the realization that Ramsay was right. Birthing a son was your only use, and once you fulfilled that, you were useless and worthless to the world. Not at all aware as well, of how worried you had begun making Jon since you all set out that morning.

He had come up to you with a bright worry in his eyes, asking low with a hand at your cheek if you were really alright and you had barley muttered with not much energy, “It's fine, let's just go.” Your eyes avoiding his the whole sentence. Jon tilted his head trying to glance around but found too many people trying to watch. Instead guiding you with a hand at your lower back to begin moving, muttering into your ear to tell him if you need help or want a break from carrying him.

You hadn't even let him help you wrap the baby up and around your front to carry with ease, which he had done every time without second thought. Jon certainly noticed that as well. Too he wondered, if he didn't even hand you food would you even eat of your own free will? You knew you had to beacuse of the baby, but you didn't even look like you wanted to eat or drink anything. You barley were focused if not just on the baby, and the small moments of joy you had were less and less and more Jon found something with a pain behind your steeled expression.

It frustrated Jon, he didn't have any real privacy out here. When it was you, him and Ghost alone, that was nothing but privacy. But now, Jon couldn't have any time with you that wasn't with at least one pair of eyes watching. Yaras voice came from his left, her own eyes trained forward on your figure moving closer to Meera, Bran, and Benjen but not close enough to be part of any conversation. “I told you this would happen.”

Low and rough, Jons face twisted rather quickly into anger. “I know my wife better then you do.”

He despised the dismissive and snarkish manner she threw back with. “Let me guess. You're different, you aren't like most men, what you two have is special and she knows it.” It sounded pathetic the rude manner she phrased it, but that didn't make it all false, he knew what you had was different but he let her keep speaking. “Trust me, Stark. You're not different. None of you men are. She knows eventually one day you'll get tired of her, and start choosing to get any run of the mill whore to suck your cock instead of her.”

Reaching out, Jon forced her to stop as he twisted her to face him in an instant. Face and eyes radiating with anger that hissed out in his low tone to not draw attention. “You have no idea what you're talking about.” Questioning if she didn't, Jon felt his muscles urging to twitch and lash out with the feeling knowing there was no where for the tension in them to actually go. “She's the only woman I've ever loved, ever been with-”

“Is she the only woman you've ever fucked, Stark?”

Something unwell churned in his stomach at the question, and yet the manner which his lack of response was taken, was in the worst way possible. The one which he knew gave her an image that wasn't anywhere near the truth. He would've been able to confidently say yes if it weren't for Ygritte, and now the image he just gave Yara was Jon had been unfaithful to you.

A condescending smirk came over her face, “I told you. All the same. You're pretty wife over there knows it'll happen again, it always does. If you really love her, try and at least pretend you'll be loyal to her until you can get her help. Bad things happen when you let newborn mothers become this way.” Asking what, Yara's smirk fell into something serious and dark which Jon already figured out the answer to as she spoke slowly. “Bad things. If you want my advice Stark, maybe start carrying the baby yourself. Protect your son from her, if you don't really care enough to help her.”

Trying to walk way, Jon yanked her back aggressively. That time, not caring that her protest caught the attention of everyone else. Still speaking low, “And you're what? An expert on protecting your family?” Sharply mentioning he was the one who killed Victarion he cut in, “We both know who I'm talking about. So don't stand there and talk down to me about protecting the people you love.”

Nearly shoving passed her, his shoulder running into hers, he cared not about looking back. Ignoring the stares from the rest, Benjen motioned to keep going. Reading quick into Jons lack of willingness to even partially explain whatever it was just occurred. Instead, coming up to you, Jon turned you back to go forward and pulled you into his side as must as he could without jostling you and the baby.

Letting his hand at your lower back rise up to your hip and waist he tried to run up and down as soothing as he could. Your voice gentle trying to murmur to him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon knew he wouldn't be able to guess which way you would take it, but he said it anyways with the only truth he had. Not letting you stray from his touch again. “No. I just wish I could have you to myself right now. Both of you.” But when you gently asked again for his sake if he wanted to take Eddard for a while, Jon almost paused in his step.

If he took him right now, Jon knew it meant he was worried he didn't trust you, but your bright eyes looking up at him with that same softness Jons always been addicted too, he felt not a distrustful bone in his body towards you. Pulling your head only close enough to press a kiss to as he muttered by your ear, “He likes being carried by you more then me.”

Brows narrowing, with almost a light protest you shook your head slightly at him. “That's not true, Jon.”

“No?” Another kiss, tugging you closer into his side. “Next time we all stop, we'll test that, alright?” Your head jolted back a bit in what was the closest to amusement you had in a huff all day thus far, but you agreed with a nod. No he too thought, Yara had not a clue what you both were. Jon just needed to remind you of that too. The last thing he wanted was for you to fear he'd ever betray you like that, or even have eyes for a woman not you.

The men in your family did not provide a stable history of mens loyalty to their wives, Jon knew. So he needed to remind you that you were also his family. And now more then ever did Jon know, the men in his family were indeed loyal to those they were promised too.

Jon couldn't afford to let you get worse out here, he needed to get you home where you all belonged in order to properly give you the love you needed reminding was permanent. You were a drug to Jon, and one which it's potency would never lessen in any strength no matter how much he stayed with it.

Nights were easier, you weren't sure why. But they were.

Sitting by where Bran had comfortably propped up against for the evening close to the fire, he seemed always eager to have a chance at being allowed to just hold his nephew. Both of you speaking low, but the fog always in your head still seemed to clear more as the sun went down. You tried not to think how much Jon was incapable of looking away from you where he stood to the side of the small camp site with Benjen.

“It'll be easier to explain, or show you when we get to Winterfell. I promise, it's not that simple to put into words.”

Nodding with a small smile, you let your hand drift to mindlessly pull up the layers covering the baby, pulling a subsequent laugh from Bran. “What?”

As much as had tormented both of you for years, something inside you felt utterly relieved that you still could look at Bran and see the boy come out easily. His eyes had not let lost the light so much harm had stolen from many. “It's new, seeing you this way.” Mentioning he had been old enough to see you with Rickon as a baby, it was not unlike if someone would bring Shireen up to you. It went unspoken, but no blame came from his side when he switched his focus back to his original point. “Seeing you help with my brother isn't the same as seeing you as a mother.”

Your mindlessly gentle touches to the settled Eddard only stopped long enough for a noise to erupt from him as it to ask you to continue to run your hand over the top of his head. A smile brought out of you in an instant with a breath of a laugh. “It's odd being one. For a long time I thought I lost my only chance.” Bran protesting that he didn't mean it was odd, but you again laughed, albeit a little less meeting your eyes that time. “I know you didn't. But it doesn't make that false.”

Meeting his young gaze, yours softened away any duress in your own eyes. It was easy with Bran, no matter what had changed he was still the sweet boy you've known his whole life. Inhaling deeply, Bran looked up to Jon. You couldn't see, but the brothers both met eyes and Bran could not help but try and convey a lot to the blatant worry on Jons. Benjen too picked it up, purposely pulling Jon back to the conversation at hand, despite how often he kept looking over.

You took no notice, the smile on your lips growing as the baby tried to loosen his swaddle to grab at your hand. You had to fix the fur around him to keep him contained, but allowed him to grab at your hand, or moreso the only finger he could even pretend to grasp properly without looking away from eyes that looked so close to yours and Jons both.

What came out next however, was nothing close to the thoughts in which occupied your head beforehand. “You were the one in my dreams- visions, whatever we're calling them. But early on I'd see a boy almost watching whatever was happening trying to speak to me but when I came back I could never remember them.” He hadn't said anything, and so you prompted him properly. “Why?”

Opening his mouth, as if no time passed you dryly continued, “And don't say anything purposely cryptic like I was not in the right mind to accept it was you.”

Trying to withhold a small laugh himself, Bran looked away before meeting your eyes finding only a patience unlike the judgment which he seemed to have been expecting. More then once he seemed to attempt find the right words before settling on a quiet tone not meeting your gaze once more. “I didn't know I was doing it at first. I was trying to see if I could find anyone. Like the way Jojen found me in my dreams, I didn't know it would be so strong trying it with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you dared not imagine the charred black bones as you looked down to the baby. “That night..the dragon..the Targaryean girl. It felt like I was in someone elses head.”

“You were.” Meeting his eyes, Bran back tracked a little. “I told you, it's not easy to explain. I have to show you for you to understand.” Asking if that included what happened to cause him to come find you and Jon, Bran looked as if a grieving sorrow too hit him. “We all need to get to Winterfell first. He can't find us there.”

Hesitating, you almost weren't sure if you wanted to ask. “What does any of this have to do with Euron Greyjoy?” If Bran was going to answer, it was Yara who spoke up first. Coming up behind suddenly, she stood to your side as she spoke only to crouch down to meet more the height you met Bran at previously.

“He says you have some great power. That he wants you by his side because he's powerful, and you can give him even more.” You didn't want to consider it, how much more and more it was sounding like Euron was mixing with another who sounded much like that. “But the boy is right, you'll be safe in Winterfell. As long as where you are doesn't have a ship port nearby, that's as safe as you can get from my Uncle.”

First it was Brans eyes you met, then down to the babies, but turning to look at her your head continued as you spun around to realize it. What had been kept from you. Who this person was and only did her first name finally click. “You're Theons-”

“Sister.” Finishing for you, you nearly plucked the baby from Brans arms and moved away from her, but all of you stayed right where you were as she confessed, and in a rather honest almost guilty tone it appeared. “He sent us to take you to him, and then he sent his own men to finish the job hoping your King in the North back there would kill us first.”

It came much more out like distrust, but everything Ramsay had done to Theon and they never came for him. He had to risk his own life to run with you to escape when he had the Iron Islands which should have protected him. “Why would Euron hope for that?”

Turning, Yara sat not quite by Bran but on the wood serving as the seat propping his torso up comfortably. Elbows resting on her knees as her hands clasped together, face twisting as she debated words in her head trying to say them out loud for what seemed to be the first time. “You know what a Kingsmoot is?” Nodding your head yes, she ignored any of Brans reaction much to your dismay. “Well, I almost won it. Then Euron showed up, made a number of terrifying threats and promises and he knows if I didn't serve him then I'd oppose him. So, likely he expected the hot head over there to murder me and my uncle before we killed him.”

Breathless as your heart begun to pick up, you asked with wider eyes, “How did he know where to tell you to find us?” When she said he gave specific geographical directions, you felt no better. No, you felt a wave of dizzy rush through you as that racing heart turned to a painful pounding. Too much was going on around you now, everything was closing in on the North one way or another and you felt prepared for none of it.

Pushing up suddenly, that dizzy feeling suddenly waved over you like none other. Disorienting you as you could see him in your mind perfectly, but none of it made sense. Without any acknowledgement of other voices, you found yourself walking off into a direction without care of what was behind you. You needed air, you needed silence and you needed the cold to sting your lungs as you found yourself in a middle spot of nowhere only surrounded by trees.

Nothing illuminated your sights but the moon in the sky reflecting against the snow, but the remainder of the world spun. Eyes fluttering closed at the sensation, you crouched down to the ground squeezing them shut purposely to block out everything else trying to gain your focus. Bran, Euron, Bloodraven, crows and the sight it all spun a tale which you had no right being in and yet the reason most of this group were here was beacuse of you.

This wasn't what you wanted, returning back to the living you never wanted to be the centre of a single thing. Everyone else had a part to play so much more important, but yet here you were. Spinning in your mind, why would this all connect, how did you fall into the middle of it? Your visions and dreams once you saw Bran, then a crow and a raven and you knew one but not the other. The stranger- Euron, never spoke of a boy at all as if he didn't know about him.

Hands covering your face, your exhale was shaking. You had to pull it together, you knew. One thing at a time or else you were threatening to drown yourself. You could not afford to care what Euron wanted with you, not now. Rising your head from your palms, you ignored the sensation of watering possibly having slid down your face. Trying to steel your expression with each attempt of a deep breathe.

What was right in front of you? The answer was simple. He wanted you, not any else. Send men to take you, sent men to kill Jon, and you had no doubt were he to find you all know, he'd kill the baby too. So the solution was simple. Forget the rest plaguing your mind, get south of the Wall, get to Winterfell. Whatever he wanted with you, he couldn't go through them to do so.

Pushing up to your feet, wiping the remainder of tears away as the panic left your heart, the feeling creeping at the back of your neck rose up, only this time you had no weapon to brandish and the approaching figure remained a foot or two out of reach to prevent if you had. Eyes wide as you looked over Benjen, as he did with more of a narrow eyes concern as you let the nerves inside deflate a little bit.

“Jon seems to think you're rather good at running off out of nowhere.”

Inhaling a bit, the words heavy in your throat to push down the residual panic into something a bit strained but far more controlled. “Consider it the result of spending most of your life always doing what you were told.” Approaching more, your eyes glanced around behind him, none had followed.

Benjen picked up on it with ease. “I told the others to stay put. The last thing an emotional person needs is to be surrounded with other equally as emotional people.” Glancing away, your eyes almost rolling up a bit to indicate you understood his position. Wrapping your arms around yourself under the cloak you stood waiting for him to speak again. “I know this is all overwhelming.”

Raising an eyebrow without looking to him, you were rather dry about it. “Do you?”

Nodding, he breached the gap properly. Tone low without the return of attitude your exhausted state gave him. “For years, I thought I was the only one out here trying to figure this all out. Years, I thought that. Been all over the place, and everytime I learned something new I thought it couldn't get any more overwhelming. But it did.” Glancing up properly, your eyes did not paint as off putting a presence as your body language surely spoke. “And on top of all that, the family I never thought I'd see again, dead. Almost all of them dead. I thought I left everyone behind to save them, and they died before I could learn how to protect them from something they didn't even know was coming.”

For a moment, only a moment did you see it. The face, the eyes, the low tones serious but not mean. The only sibling he had left, and he only died months after parting ways. Blinking the remainder of the dizzy feeling away, you almost begun to look down more towards the ground in guilt. “It..it's almost strange. Like nothing has ever been right after the Lannisters took his head.”

Neither needed say who you were speaking of. But Benjen's brows furrowed as he looked down, hiding whatever he wished to keep internal, but you continued. “Your family should have all been together, handle this without having lost one another but it feels as if there's so few left we're all just scattered trying to fight what's too big for so few people.”

“How do you think the Nights Watch has felt for a long time?” A huff of a laugh came first from you, then stronger from him. “Do you remember why Bran and Meera went to find Jon and I went looking for you, instead of my nephew?” Shaking your head, Benjens answer as as passive sounding as it was unexpected. “The same thing Jon was scared of. What happened to Lyanna happening to you.” Asking gently what he was getting at, Benjen paused. Worried in your mind you came off as rude, but again he only laughed. “What?”

“I can see why my brother always wanted to keep you around, he never liked when people beat around the bush either.” The smile gracing your features was faint, but there. Such a thing was true, serving as Ned Starks ward for half of your life had certainly proven beneficial, when he needn't train you to prepare how he approached the world. “Everything closed in on my sister by the end because one mad man decided to make his grand vision all based around taking her for himself. You don't have to like that Eurons made this about you, but you have to understand it from our point of view. Each time you pull away, you're making the rest of us worry if we're about to watch it happen all over again. And I don't think Jon could handle losing you now.”

Benjen waited patiently for you to let such details sink into your mind. Not noticing the approaching footsteps somewhat in the distance behind him as your hand came up to nervously tap your nails at your lip for a moment trying to consider your words. Sometimes you hardly noticed, how easily you found yourself slipping back into the words as if he were right there. “When I married Robb, Lord Stark told me that I was one of you now, and the Starks all protect each other.” Benjen nodded but let you come to it on your own. “I suppose that hadn't quite kicked in yet, in my mind. That loyalty to your family means something very different then it did in mine.”

“You and Jon came out here to risk your lives to protect your people, so let the rest of us pay that back by protecting you. Where none of us had the chance to protect her. I'm not saying what you've been through is easy, but it'll be far easier to just let other people protect you instead of worrying it makes you selfish.”

The voice from the distance however, was a little less comforting as it cut through the end of Benjens statement. “She's pretty bad at that.” Not quite light enough you could read Jons eyes from where you stood, but he seemed to have been leaning against the tree behind his uncle for some time. Arms crossed as his muscles seemed loose as if having stood back calm for a while. Making eye contact with his uncle, something unreadable passed. “I want a moment alone with her.”

Just as the Starks were though, they knew when to be serious and when the tense air required a reprieve. “You're King now, no arguing with a King.” Jon mustering only half a smirk as the two wolves passed the other. A hand braced on Jons shoulder, one wide eyed looking to his uncle as something either unspoken was shared or just that you could not hear.

It was not until Benjens footsteps finally crossed the barrier of audible when Jon slowly made his way over to you. Instead though of whatever he may have come to say at first, he seemed to have changed his mind as he got within merely a few feet. Holding a hand out to beckon you to come closer to him, the moment you slowly rose it to grasp his, Jon wasted not a second more pulling you firmly into his front.

Your arms wrapped around him almost faster then his could yours. A hand bracing against the back of your head to hide you within his neck as he leaned down to rest against your head with the side of his. A gentle rasp in your ear passing as he felt you holding back, “I want you to listen to me when I say this. You're an idiot.”

The laugh that burst from you pulled a big grin from Jon you could feel in your hair. A shaking voice no longer with a shred of devastation which seemed so inevitable earlier. “Thanks, Snow. Really making a girl feel special.”

Chuckling deep, Jon pulled you closer into his front more to keep you shielded from the rest of the empty forest around. “I've never met anyone as good at deluding herself into thinking no one wants her then you are.”

“I have a knack for it.”

Pulling back enough, Jon let a hand leave your hair to tilt you up by your cheek to meet his bright eyes shining down to you. “I know none of this is easy for you. All your life you were told this is why you're here and now that you've actually done that, all those horrible people whispering in your ear have lied to you enough it's manipulated you into believing it.”

A gentle whisper as your hands drifted to rest along the fur against his torso. “I know you love me, I do-”

The hand on your cheek drifted, running through the loose strands by the side of your head. “But something inside of you keeps lying to you and saying I don't. Yara and Meera both said their mothers went through something like this.” Brows narrowing in confusion, Jon was as gentle with his words as he was keeping you close to him without care. “After they gave birth, they said something in their mothers was wrong. They weren't themselves, always sad, they didn't think they were good enough. Neither know if it even has a name, but this isn't you. Everything pushing you away isn't really you. Whatever your worrying I think, it's not true.”

Biting your tongue, there was not a hint of a lie or facade anywhere in Jons eyes. Nothing but a love that could crush you if you let it, which sometimes, you wondered if such an option was the right one in fact. Fingertips toying with the material under them as if to distract, you forced the words to put themselves together. “I never meant for you to feel like I didn't trust you, or doubted you or how you feel. But after everything..it started to feel impossible to forget what everyone would tell me growing up.”

Cupping both your cheeks, Jon drew you up closer as he leaned down to nudge his nose gently against yours. “You brought me back to life, darling. If either of us is stuck with the other, you're the one stuck me with me.”

A skip in your heart followed with a beat passing before you found any words, not eyes closed feeling so warm close to him. “I'm sorry I was-”

Muttering close enough you felt his breath dance across your skin as he continued to brush your noses against one another. “Stop being sorry for things, for once in your life. Alright?” Only a hint of a smile was felt so close to you, but your nod was enough, just for now. Everything had fallen apart in hours only days ago, but you knew you never gave yourself a chance to process a second of it.

Of almost truly losing them, and them losing you. The world kept testing you, and thus far Jon and yourself have stayed in the others arms despite being tore apart too many times to count, this was just another one of those times. With more unnatural variables thrown in the mixture, but if you thought about it, death had already fallen upon both of you. What else could possible top that by now?

Leaning without any more patience, Jon for what you think was the first time since being torn apart, pressed his lips properly to yours without anything to hold back. Your hands moving to wrap around his shoulders and back of his neck, Jons grip on your cheeks and jaw was firm and unrelenting as guided your lips to follow along the demands of his soft ones.

Gentle as each single kiss did Jon deepen it only just the slightest. Easing you back into his touch, and moving to cup the back of your head, keeping you pressed to his lips and the other wrapping around your back to pull your front close to his. Brushing his tongue along your bottom lip, you parted right away, his tongue gliding into your mouth to let his tongue taste along yours. Yet it never felt between you as if he was demanding what you couldn't give.

Almost prompting you to explore him the way he loved doing to you, and patient as you were shyer and more hesitant of being so brazen with your own kiss. Breath leaving your lungs but you did not wish to say anything, not being prepared to feel anything but such soft lips against yours.

One kiss, then another, then one deeper one before the issue was far more Jon unable to pull away from your lips then anything else. Tearing himself from you, your lungs almost begging for air as the strands of saliva between you barley snapped before he turned your head down to leave a more firm kiss to your forehead. Resting his against yours, Jon only pulled you comfortably into his front, as you arms held him as tight as he held you tenderly.

Rasping roughly, his warm breathe meeting your skin as he spoke. “This is what we're going to do. Until I get you home, all that matters if you and the baby. Everything that's happened, even Euron, none of that matters as long as you're out here. We get you and our son home, make sure you're alright, and only then do we start thinking about the rest of it.”

Nodding, you leaned up, wrapping your hands more around the back of his neck, as Jon returned your kiss with as much deepening passion as it could take to steal your breathe once more for himself. Hardly able to pull away enough to speak it, “I love you.”

Jon smiled partially into the kiss, his lips harsh and firm before pulling back again to look at you. Grey eyes bright as his smile. “I love you.” Only a moment passed before in a much lighter tone did Jon trail off into something more on the air of amused. “I don't want to be pushy, darling, but unfortunately for you, our son has my appetite.”

Eyes shining bright towards his, you muttered, “Oh I am well aware of that.”

Jon knew he'd need to keep an eye on you the next number of days until he got you home, but at this point, he knew being overprotective of you was second nature for him. It did strike both of you though, looking up to him from the side as he guided you back asking, “What are we going to tell everyone when we return after six months with a newborn?”

Pulling you more into his side, Jon muttered into your ear, grinning as you breathed out a flustered laugh in response. “I think they're all well aware of how often I interrupt my day to sink deep inside of you. They'll put it together.” You were beginning to think flustering you was Jons preferred past time by now.

“Are you purposely being stubborn?”

Raising your eyes up to look at Jon, you widened them only to make eye contact with the baby, leaning in with an exaggerated whisper towards him, “Now that could be been directed at either of us.”

Shaking his head with a concealed smirk dancing still in his eyes, Jon came to your side. A hand pulling your head closer to his lips to press against you, muttering with an amusement both of you were aware you'd pick up on. “If he's anywhere near as stubborn as you, I'm going to have my work cut out for me.” A laugh left you, trying to go back to little Eddard not wishing to cooperate with being swaddled once more after being brought to the side of the camp to clean. The hand of Jons not lingering on your spine reached over, gloved fingertips almost dancing playfully across his torso as the baby almost moved too much in his little laughter.

Learning your head somewhat towards Jon from the side you muttered, “You are not helping the matter, you know.” Instead of replying, Jon crouched down to be able to see the baby more at his eye level, leaning forward as he pulled his hand away only long enough to pull his glove off. Running his hand over his head gently as you realized he was distracting him for your ease.

Moving quickly with your own work, Jon leaned in to further keep the babys attention. “We both love you, but stop making things difficult on your mother. She does that enough by herself.” You didn't look up to notice if Jon spotted your barley hidden smirk, but he let himself have a much brighter one, only growing tenfold as he caught his sons gaze again. Leaning forward more to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, it gave you just the right amount of time to capture the babys waving arms to finally keep him nice and warm as you wrapped the fur once yours around him properly as his usual final bundling layer.

“Thank you.” Jon, only moved to then close the gap between his lips and yours. Cupping the back of your neck with but a firm kiss together, hardly getting anywhere as suddenly a sound almost like a protest came from the baby. If such a small, so very young newborn could frown just like Jon, the baby was managing it. “Come here, silly boy.”

Picking the bundle up, you kept him close to your front as Jon helped you stand. Muttering lowly with his free hand running along the where his back would be if not hidden by so many layers. “He's fighting me for your attention, I'm telling you.”

Rolling your eyes jestingly, you only gazed back up at him with something softer then the days before. Bright was his eyes but so were yours, somewhat asking for something you weren't sure of yet, but Jon was a translator of your needs. Leaning in again to nudge your nose with his as you whispered, “And whose fault would that be? His rather shy mother, or his possessive wolf father.”

The hand on your back slid down to your waist, sneaking under the cloak to pinch at you as you nearly jumped close in his arms as a startle. Adjusting the grip to then pull you closer, he pressed a kiss to the top of the babys head and then grasped your chin, guiding you to meet his once more. And just as it seemed Jon was testing him, as once again little Eddard made a sound as if wanting him to stop. “You need to share her sometimes. I have to put another baby inside her eventually, give you your sister.”

Flustered and wide eyed you looked around. “Jon.” Laughing lightly he pointed out no one was listening when you nodded down to the baby. “He does not need to know these things.”

“He can't understand that yet. We have years before he learns how that all works. Well over a decade if we're going by your standards.” Your mouth fell open, walking directly into the trap he set out as you called his name. The laugh instantly from deep within gave away how easily Jon would set you up for such a reaction.

Moving back towards the main group, Jon clarified, “You sure you're alright with me carrying him in the afternoon?”

Nodding, you had become quite used to the baby being wrapped up and strapped safe to your front, but you also knew two things, you truly wanted to see Jon holding his son as much as possible with your own eyes, and never would you want to carry him alone and never give father and son time together alone. “I'll likely have to feed him twice, you should have him after since he won't be as fussy if he doesn't need to be passed back and forth.”

The area you all had stopped by was for all other aspects, quite calm. The forest pushed right up to the edge of the cliff side. Not tall as the mountains of months before, but enough one with a fear of heights would be woozy next too. The lands moving up an incline from the rooting river paths stemming off of the gorge. A few miles up ahead according to Jon and Benjen both was where the river ended, pooling into a lake just beside the edge of a village.

You remembered most of this area, the villages Jon had led you through the first days into this journey months ago, you had went through a good number of villages that had been abandoned by even the first time Jon had passed through them. It was almost a little bit comforting, no longer feeling entirely reliant on the path of others, you knew it was essentially a straight shot from here to Castle Black. Around an hour if you continue directly forward through the remainder of the forest.

The only reason you had stopped, was to go over the plans of what would happen when getting there right away. Likely it should not have surprised you when Benjen was the first to put forward that regardless of what has occurred out here, for the babys health and yours, Jon should push forward and make the final stretch to Winterfell, and get you to properly be seen by a maester who would be more familiar with complicated childbirth and early born infants then Maester Aemon.

Still only Jon had been the singular one there who knew, and he forced that feeling to be shoved right back down his throat as soon as it came up. But it was for more reason then one, and it was the second he shared with his uncle. “I don't know whose there now, Maester Aemon..he passed.”

Both elder Starks knew the man well in their own ways, and Jon appreciated someone else who would understand even a little bit of the feeling. Brows narrowing on his face, Benjen spoke with a calm but a weight behind that told of much respect. “When was this?”

Trying to consider what Sam had told him when they reunited, the information much more detailed then when it was from a raven passing such information on. “I sent him with Sam, a brother who worked with him, to Oldtown. They stopped at a port in Bravvos and, he was too ill to survive the journey. I don't know who is there now.”

Nodding, Benjen much like Jon kept whatever thoughts he had to himself over the matter. Sticking much to the main facts in front of them. “Well, either way getting them home is more important right now. I imagine a few will be surprised to see me, I'll stay back and catch them all up on certain things and meet you in Winterfell later.”

The knowing look between them rather similar, “Would be easier to explain certain things to everyone the more people they hear it from, likely.”

Walking along closer to the ridge by the rushing river below, it took some getting used to out here when the baby wasn't being carried by you in anyway. To your left sat a thick brush of trees hardly able to be seen through, least of all at the corner of your vision. Eyes trained into the sight across the way, squinting in the colder wind as you begun to kneel down.

Pulling the cloak off, you hauled it in front of you. Using the quiet to simply adjust the pin keeping it open to something a looser now that you'd be taking the baby back to push the final way. You would blame it on one thing or another, but you knew in truth, you had simply let your guard down. But from the dark trees beyond did something you did not expect to be so close creep forward. Neither did you look down to see either what had been climbing its way up, almost in stealth.

As if you were the target much as you had been that day in the Nightfort. Two people in the room and three went for you. With two direwolves up ahead scouting any danger in front, it was what came following behind which was to watch for. This time, there were six of you, but they went for you just the same.

It reached up from where none knew it was there. Only the sound of gravel and small rocks shifting by, you put the cloak down in a moment of curiosity. Cold and strong, it reached from beyond. Surging up with an inhuman sound, grabbing you one hand yanking at your hair and the other to your wrist before both pulled before you could stop it.

Whoever called out to you was heard none as the sudden sounds so close on you took over, your bare hands clawing at the sides of the rocks. Skin tearing in a bloodying pain as you tried to hold on while also trying to knock the wight from your back, but the hand in your hair slammed yours against the same wall.

The thing was, you could not pick up the sounds of those above, only what too followed. One at the rivers edge climbing with a weapon in its mouth, another stalking along the edge coming from the dark trees beyond. The dagger strapped to your ankle was useless as trapped as it had you.

The moment it happened though, who did what was too, the unexpected. A matter of who was closest, it happened to be in fact the one who understood the least about it all. If one had asked why she moved so fast, Yara at the moment wouldn't have had an answer, she just did. Knocking her to the ground from the side, she had but a single moment to recall needing the dagger Jon had given to her.

The wight snatching one wrist, and the other being pushed back by her with a strain fighting against what looked like an intent to claw her eyes out. Thrusting her head up she tried only managed to push it back before finding herself covered in a blood black and thick as she shoved the blade into the neck of the growling creature. Tossing it with a strain to down below only to find herself in the yanking grasp of one coming for you, now with a new target. You were far lower being dragged either down to the one ascending or taken by the one you couldn't even hear the chaos above against.

Sounds overwhelming in your ear did you try to throw your head back to force it off but its grip was tight and already did you feel it tearing into your skin where it had held you. Suddenly being nearly thrown back, you found yourself being snatched by a hand against your more blood covered arm by Yara, too holding on herself. It only fell as back down as somewhat below, yanking you with its grip the moment Yara tried pulling you up.

Jon only just having given the baby to Bran, did he narrowly miss grasping Yaras hand as her grip nearly lost. But in his desperation as the fear arose did he look passed her to the one clawing its way back up to you and another heading for neither him nor Yara but you as well, and you knew it. Strain meeting his gaze with your muscles shaking in pain, only seconds did you three have to come up with a plan.

Only, you felt one of its hands trying to tear at your leg, digging into your knee and reopening the healing wound from the last they had come in a cry in pain. Looking up to Yara, her own hold on you as strained as the one she and Jon struggled to keep. Jon sensed it, knowing exactly what you were about to do. Nearly growling your name out not to, but your faced again twisted as you felt as if your knee was being torn to shreds by its nails sharp as claws clutching on.

“Get him to the Wall,” He tried warning you in name but you shouted more. “Jon, get him to the Wall- please.”

But as Jon you knew saw the panic, you for only a second too found Yaras gaze. Instead though, her grip on you tightened as she gave but a nod. You did not grasp why she wasn't saving herself, but you didn't question it. Jons voice calling to your once more, “I'm not-”

“Yes, you are.” You didn't have the time to assure him, either they got you and it would all be over now, or they all stayed here as more could gather. This could have even been a trap, and Jon knew as well as you did what would happen should they come with the baby out in the open. Three grips let go, yours of what remained clawing at the rocks against your front, Yaras purposely letting go of Jons and him failing to catch hers once she let it go, but with a yell of your name as if faded.

The only grip that did not let go, was hers to yours as without any further doubt did the sudden fall get crash landed roughly with the sting all around of frozen water. Filling your sense as you knew not which way in the running river did you even land.

What was up and down you didn't know only that you found your self free to kick against the wight still ahold of you. Air leaving your lungs as you felt it tear at your skin one last time as it flew as disoriented in the rushing water as you were. Either they would kill you, kill Yara, or more would come and try to kill the others, Jon and even worse, the cold wind may come and take the baby too.

Letting go into the freezing river was a risk, but one which meant certain it gave the others time to go, get to the Wall, get to safety, and that was what mattered. Not the filling of cold in your lungs as the violence of water gave no mercy to those within its stream.

“I'm not leaving her out here,”

Jon could not ascertain if the others were rather calm for what had occurred, or if his senses were burning to such an angering degree that anything lower then the shaking in his very veins had felt like too little of a reaction. Benjen failing to bring him down any level, his words only making Jon feel even worse the longer he stood here. “Jon, listen to me. No one is leaving her behind, but we need to go before more may make their way here.” Not bothering to listen Jon gathering his weapons to him without second thought, Benjen continuing to talk to a wall. “She is giving us a head start, to protect the baby.”

Not looking up, Jon continued to move, strapping Longclaw firmly around him as he nearly growled out against his heart racing. “Then get him to Castle Black, but I'm not leaving her out here.”

Bran was silent as Meera tried her hand next. “You're his father he needs you.”

“And he needs his mother.” And Jon in his heart added that he needed you too. Son and father both needed you and Jon could not fathom getting to Castle Black without you, not knowing if you were alright to even make it back. He didn't leave you behind once he wasn't starting now.

“She's giving you a chance to get your son somewhere safe.” Turning to look at him, being held still by Bran, it was the only thing which gave Jon reason to pause. Closing the gap, Jon knelt down to take Eddard for a moment. Wide green eyes looking up so brightly as if he didn't know his mother was gone all over again, but too in those eyes did Jon see yours.

It wasn't doubt or defeat, but something begging for him to trust you. You had worried so long that you had lost his trust, and now before letting yourself fall into the freezing river to keep the Wights away from them all, he felt a wave of guilt. Eyes closing he stood now carrying the baby free in his arms, he too had promised his son they'd keep you safe. But you were too keeping them safe.

Meeting Brans eyes, he too was asking something with such similar worry as it was trust. “I'll go.” Quietly calling his name, Bran shook his head. “Summer is out there with Ghost. I can go out there, and we'll find her and get her back here. Uncle Benjen and I are his family, but you're his father. He needs you the most.”

Jon disagreed, he and his son needed you the most. But looking at his sons bright eyes, he did not return his grasp. Pulling him close to keep him warm at his front, Jon kept him close enough he could always feel even his breath against his skin for now.

Why did trusting you always have to test the weakest part of Jons need to have you close?

You could say one thing, coughing up water was far less unpleasant then whatever sick would come up at the peak of being with child. Stinging your lungs and as your torn knee sat rough against the rocks, the rest of you braced against the ground as you had pulled yourself up from the shores. Luckily, Yara was no better feet away.

Breath shaking as you looked up, the hint of a village long emptied of people in the distance, and the lake behind you from which the river deposited you, you were right in where it led. Begging your limbs to function, trying to stand only to hiss out as the material against your legs tore at the bleeding skin scratched right open as the wight tried to bring you down to him and his other kind. One foot braced up first, then another, you took far longer then you should've finding your stance upright.

“Where are we?” Head turning to the side, Yara had dragged herself up with less effort, as she walked over to you. Both of you now freezing as you were soaked head to toe.

Looking around, your legs shook trying to withhold buckling from one knee's pain. “One of the villages the Free Folk used to live in.” Asking with a shortness what that was, you inhaled mostly to not react with the same tone only because the past moments were too much for your patience. “The wildlings. Some used to live here, it's only a few hours from Castle Black.”

Coming to your side, her eyes looked over your person as you continued to ignore the pain. “How did you know this was where the river led?”

Glancing only for a beat, you turned back with another hiss the moment you attempted to move. “I've looked at a map before.” Not bothering to witness the glare, you took a step as the pain shooting through your calf up to your knee was as if it would rupture the wrong step. Asking how your leg was, a diminished patience had come out that time with less resolve to keep yourself proper. “Better then ever, Greyjoy.”

The feeling of an arm coming to your side had you side stepping from her as you knelt to one side a bit as your knee screamed at you. Asking what she was doing, it was her turn to look at you if you were the slow one. “Helping you walk, since you can't even stand.”

The glare returned as pretty as before. “What does it look like I'm doing?”

Cocking an eyebrow, the audacity to smirk looking you over once again came over Yara as did a smug tone you had not felt for over a decade. “You look like you're going to fall over the moment you walk six steps.”

You did not move to prove her wrong, and her smirk increased. Cursed you were, looking up to the clouds hiding any sun with your eyes fluttering closed. You were cursed to endure the Greyjoys in every capacity which tested your willingness to cooperate as raised to be. Muttering under your breath, knowing she could hear your eyes narrowed at the nothing you looked at. “I thank you for your help back there, but I can't say I see great appeal in relying on you to walk south east over the course of multiple hours.”

One limb, then another, Yara's speed matched with more of such attitude you despised. “Yes, you're doing so well.” Praise sounded horrid coming from her condescension then it did Jons genuity. In the silence did you bite down on your tongue as the pain grew more as did your shivering, but you walked beside her not willing to see the expression. Her words spoke that for you. “You and him are made for each other, both the most ungrateful cunts I've ever met.”

A burning rose in your veins to lash out, but resisting was what you had to do. You would not yet put it passed Yara to respond to a petty jab by kicking your knee in and leaving you here. Stopping in place you looked over to her, the shivering both still within your bones did not help, but trust did not come easy towards her family. Only one, and you had yet to wonder if she even knew of his fate once being abandoned to the Boltons. But, it was not the time for that either.

Jaw clenched roughly, you nodded as Yara wrapped an arm steady around you, leaning into her side as she could now do the heavier lifting for you each step. “Thank you.”

Yara made it rather easy to regret offering any polite words, raising her voice up to something far beyond a jest into a mocking you knew she could feel you tense towards. “At least you have more manners then your husband. And I thought giving you to Euron would mean you'd be married to an insufferable ass.”

That was meant to rile you up, and it would not be the last to be spat towards you nor the only time you'd withhold any words in return, but for the first little while, you limped and she walked in relative, teeth chattering silence.

Not a weapon left on either of you, you wondered if Yara was aware of the danger quite yet. Whatever she had seen before that evening was fraught compared to what was out here. Jon always ensured to stop before it grew dark, even with the shared weapons both of you could wield. Now was not the same assurance, somewhere no doubt the dragonglass on you both sunk to the bottom of the river, not a bow, nor knife only two women one unable to stand with ease on their own.

“Neither of you are particularly chatty, are you?” Yara read your silence at the bare minimum. Not waiting for a reply, in Greyjoy standards, she could talk to herself at you as long as it entertained her.

Most of any words spoken were short in reply, and if you were to be honest, your dwindling patience was growing more and more within the realm of spiteful irritation that she either did not grasp why you would not have interest in talking to her, or knew and did not care. But it was not your newest injuries alone which were the source of your pain.

No, such a reminder came in the general state you had existed in now for nearly seven days and the hands in which helped such problems fester. The woman nearly dragging you across the snow covered forest had not a clue what had brought you out here in the first place. Not any knowledge of what it took to get there, and what risk it was gaining the information Jon now had to make sense with the rest of it.

You had come out here for the only place left giving you answers, but still the world proved it was far more preoccupied with whatever games for power the people played amongst themselves. Yet worst of all, she and her men, orders or no, had ripped the only happiness you had found in this frozen land and never for a moment since had that peace and happiness come back to you as it should've.

Every now and again, you had caught yourself nearly turning to look at her from the side with nothing near a pleasant expression. “What?” Quiet sat heavy between you before she tried again, only louder. “You have something to say, then say it.”

Strong urges within you begged, implored to keep it to yourself. To not say it, but yet you did. It came out as if you were a child without a filter, either in words spoken aloud or even in an attitude any could detect. “It's strange is all, what you consider worthy of your loyalty.” Demanding what that was supposed to mean, you wished to hold it back.

But you knew better. You knew many truths now, and some did not connect as well as others, all of which did not feel good at any stage. “You're helping me now, but you came out here at Euron's orders to kill Jon and kidnap myself. I can't help but wonder why your own blood saw none of that even attempted towards him when he needed it most.”

Yara was quiet, and not with any reason you knew for. But her voice was a distant mutter, as if a fear existed that if heard in the air someplace other then her mind then she may have to deal with the consequences of it. But if no other hint was to be given, yourself and Yara knew too well who you were thinking of. “And you know more about it?” Humming in your throat, an edge sharpened along her own. “I doubt that. Those Boltons mutilated my brother, sent what they cut from him to us in a box.”

The pain in your body radiated into your heart, a pain long wished to see him move past. The way Theon sat outside the tub your own desecrated body was soaking in, the way neither of you could look as he spoke of it all. The taunts, forcing you into a nightmare of the making from the deepest of the seven hells and yet how Ramsay would look up, and mock him. Call him a name to strip him of his life and mock for what he could not force him to participate in.

She did not take your doubtful ire well, grip around you tightening inadvertently as she herself was working herself up more into something you knew she had no true grounds to stand on. “I tried to help him, what have you ever done for him? Have your precious King in the North kill the Boltons for him? Make him stay on and serve the same family who kept him hostage-”

Teeth gritting, your muscles begged to heal in an instant to turn on her for what she had no right to claim. “You wouldn't-” Heart floating in your chest as if dropped from a mountains edge, your eyes widened as your mouth parted slightly before turning to the side with your face twisting into a true mistrust. “What do you mean you tried to help him? By leaving him in the North while you sat in your home on Pyke?”

Whatever guilt she felt, you had suddenly wished she would drown in it. The manner in which she struggled to let any of it out before telling you what she had done, after receiving a mutilated piece of Theon from Ramsay. You held very little memory of it, perhaps the vague recollection of the bells tolling but muffled under a deeply disturbed hallucination through ill and fever. You had seen none of the Dreadfort beyond the courtyard and the halls in and out of the dungeon you existed in for months.

Yara explained that they had been taken to where Theon was, and what happened in that room. Only, the story ended the only manner which was possible. Theon was still there, and dragged to Winterfell with you eventually to which somehow, it only got worse as the torment was now shared as a joy for Ramsay to enact on both of you together.

Hounds. It was those bloody hounds that sent her away. And before you had thought of any words, nothing but disgust erupted inside of your system until it seethed in your eyes. Stopping in place, she almost stumbled noticing you had not continued with her. But as she tried to defend herself, she only dug herself a grave. “I did everything I could.” Turning to face you head on, you had not even blinked as she tried again, almost pleading for you to listen. “I tried to get him to come, he refused to listen to me.” Your eyes did not move nor did you breathe you were certain, nothing could even twitch unless it came out before you could contain what you could not finish. “It was my men against those hounds.”

Jaw twitching in her, but something devastated shared the space occupying your rage. You never knew this. She had come for him, but she left. Without him. And her final plea was her last as she tried to turn, imploring you to walk and finding an immovable force within your stance. “Theon wouldn't come with me, I couldn't risk losing my men and my life if he refused to come home. It isn't my fault.”

Unbeknownst to you however, your words were a repeat of her own history. Turning your body to face her she spun around the moment they passed your lips. “He's your brother.” The shame was growing and you only added onto it as she pleaded she had no other choice. “Theon is your brother, as he is mine and you left him to die.”

In her own mind, Yara felt a bit stunned. You looked at her with the same vitriol she had looked to her own father with. Yet she now was the one making the excuses he did for why they should leave Theon to die. Stammering a bit, she couldn't make eye contact as she attempted any way to pull herself from the grave she knew she had just flung herself into. “I would've died trying to get him out, I had to leave.”

Cutting right though it, the truth was harsh for her to hear and you said it with every intention for it to hurt inside. “Theon and I were both prisoners to them. And when we were dragged to Winterfell, Ramsay Bolton only begun to torture us together in brand new ways. I wanted to die. I was ready. I wouldn't have made it any longer before killing myself if it weren't for him.”

Would you have lived through the night had Theon not made a plan to get you out? You didn't even know if you could hold out until the sun rose with them any longer. And you told her why you did. Helping you escape, running from his men and those hounds. “He refused to leave me. I was a dead weight to him trying to escape and he never let me slow down until we found anything even resembling safety. He had the perfect chance to leave alone and start new, but he didn't leave me behind even though some days I still wonder if he should have.”

You didn't care the look on her face, what it meant or said. Shock or guilt, it didn't matter. She left him behind to die, and so Theon refused to do it for you. Her whisper was seeking a way to pick at your story but with no ability to meet your unblinking gaze, too intense for her to hold steadily. “If he was free then, why did he never come home?”

It hurt to hear, what you said. And for once, you were glad to be the one to deliver such sharp wounds to another. “Because he has a place here. He belongs in Winterfell. He's the closest thing to a true brother I have, and never for a moment did I let the things he did before effect how he was treated after. If he had a chance to go back to Pyke, then he never took it. But not because anyone was holding him back from it. He stayed because he's as much a Greyjoy as he is a Stark.”

Yara was his blood, but not his family. Such things were not the same. The Starks gave you family when yours never wanted to be one in whole. And it was the thing which kept the only family you thought you had left together, between you and Theon. You left knowing he was angry with you, because you did not want to tell him you may never come back. You didn't want him to think he had to watch you leave to what could be death. Because you didn't want to stand there after everything and hurt him more then he had getting there.

But abandoning him to his death? To save your own life? That was not the kind of man Eddard Stark raised Theon to be, unlike whatever Balon Greyjoy raised Yara to be now. She may have helped save you here, but she also almost took you away from Jon and your son. She knew nothing about truly protecting the ones you love.

Limping passed her, you did not withhold how your shoulder bumped roughly into hers. Each step producing an even worse wince when she turned to try and follow with a shout. “Are you just going to limp to the Wall, is that it? Lecture me and leave?”

Only a dry yell back you did not stop your slow but continuing pace to the ones you loved. “I know the path. I'll make it one way or another.” Yara begun to follow, raising her voice to you about just leaving her there and you shouted back only a little less dry and a tinge more tense. “Your feet work, follow me then. Or don't.”

Sometimes it surprised you, how quickly it was let out. Not often did it happen, but just when the right combination of things presented itself, did everything your father raise you to be go right out of the window. And in it's place the yell and the furious anger of a Baratheon just as Robert could take it's place, the second Yara grabbed your shoulder to make you stop. Turning in place you leaned more up to her face, as she clearly held no issue either with yelling. “You save my life once and suddenly it forgives trying to force me into a monsters hands, coming out here to kill the man I love, separate him and our son from me? Give me one reason why saving my life one single time means I shouldn't shove you right back into those waters and leave you to freeze in them.”

Her voice yelled right back as the sun went down around your spat. “You going to be the one to tell Theon you left his sister to die?” You came right back that you left him to die, her face twisting further into anger as yours narrowed in a seething despite the shouting from your burning lungs. “I did what I thought I had to do for my family-”

Were your body not weak and in pain, your shaking muscles may have been effective in anything other then making you feel dizzy as the pain in your head increased. “You have no clue what family truly means.”

“Keep interrupting me, Baratheon and I'll-”

Leaning in your yell dropped sudden as a waters drop. Down to a hissing in her face that she could even think to defend what she'd done. “You will what? Hit me? Kill me?” Holding your arms out, you took a painful step back. “Go right ahead, Greyjoy. Kill me and see who is left to side with you then. Get to the Wall and explain to Jon how you got angry and left the mother of his child to die. Go to Winterfell and defend it to Theon, see how much he appreciates what you do to protect your family.”

So little did fury flow through you but you would not bend for her. She was taller, stronger, and scarier but you had faced death and far worse then death. Whatever she could do was nothing compared to what blood had already been spilt in your nightmares.

The growling though? That came not from you nor her, and yet it increased suddenly until something snatched at Yaras clothes and yanked her back enough to throw her on the snowy ground. Splayed out did Ghost appear in front of you vicious and snarling as the equally as large and darker furred Summer get in her face as all anger in her bled away to fear.

Your senses returning from burning red as you had to shake yourself into the present, “Summer, stop-” Growling more did the direwolf lean into her face before turning on a dime to look at you. Stare unblinking and stern, but in comparison to Ghosts, you recognized the human in his eyes. Ghost was as he always was as a protector alone, but what you had learned to see in him was now seen in Summer. Limping forward a bit, your hand braced against Ghosts fur, easing up beside you you knelt down in a wince as the other came up to you.

Head tilting back as something amazed painted over you just as it had when you saw such a feat right on Jons face doing it, but now in the opposite manner. “Bran?” The wolf's head nodded, and you almost laughed. Whispering as you reached up to run your hand gently over his fur, “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised with you Starks. Is everyone alright?” A single nod as your heart nearly deflated in relief.

On the ground behind still you heard Yara with a shout, “What the fuck is going on with any of you people?” Ghost leaned closer to your pained figure as you looked over Bran in Summer's eyes.

He glanced up to the sky as did you to follow, the sun had little time left. Without looking to her, you shouted back only without the anger this time as your hand ran gently over Ghost beside you, comfort returning in some capacity to your heart. “We need to leave. We shouldn't be out here alone when the sun goes down.”

Forcing herself up, you could see from the top of your vision how much she did in the moment, remind you of Theon. Her high strung exasperated state in frustration muttering, “I hate this place.”

Eyes finding Ghosts, the direwolf's mind his own and yet it was just as warm as if Jon were beside you. One in the same they were, and even if Jon couldn't come for you as he wished, needing to protect the baby, Ghost was just as good, and just as something reminding you of home.

A few hours to the Wall, only a few hours. But you had to leave now, pain or no through your person, once the sun goes down, the white winds could come at anytime and there was no place to hide from them this far south here.

As four figures approached the Wall, the sound Jon once thought would be comforting to hear was only a reminder of what he still didn't have with him. Meera having switched places again to take over pulling the sledge carrying Bran. Benjen beside Jon now, his hand coming up to rest comfortingly on Jons shoulder not where little Eddard was being held while he rested, his uncle's words low. “She'll get here, Jon. He'll make sure of it.”

Looking to his brother, Jon finally realized what it looked like. Brans eyes a pure white, he had to trust that he and Ghost together could find you and get you back. In only two hours would the sky turn dark, and he feared what it would take to get you back once what comes in the night, comes crawling out looking for eyes to turn blue forever.

Looking down to the baby, Jon shushed him gently as he made a small cry at the volume of the horn, “We're almost home, I promise. We just need to get her back.” He trusted you and he trusted Bran, but his heart couldn't take being apart from you much longer. Desperately, he tried to hold back the sting in his eyes at how horribly the world kept tearing you apart from him, and now your son together.

The gate to Castle Black finally begun to open, but Jon felt sick at the thought of walking through it.

[peterman-spideyparker]

You're My Zebra (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader) (Horses and Zebras 4/4)

Author’s Note: I've finally come up with an ending for this mini series that I like, so it's time to wrap it up! Really, thank you to everyone who's been interested and invested in this series, I never thought it'd be anything more than just a one-off post. Enjoy! :)

Summary: You didn't sleep a wink after Matt left, and with some time before your shift, you decided to get some answers from him, needing to put the pain of the past behind you.

Warnings: Angst (broken heart, nerves related to canon-typical violence, two stubborn idiots in love who never stopped being in love with one another for seven years), swearing, fluff, happy ending

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 1,748

Your heart is racing like a hummingbird’s. This is truly just one of the stupidest things—no, it is absolutely the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. With those injuries from last night, the sheer amount of blood you absorbed up with his gauze, he’s probably not even in! Hell, he might not even be alive. He might not have even made it back to his place; with that amount of blood loss, he could easily be dead on some street or rooftop. But he has to be alive, right? He can’t just show up out of the blue after seven years just to die twelve hours later. At least if you go, someone in that office has to tell him you came, right? Just as you’re thinking about doubling back, your hand is already opening the door to Nelson, Murdock, and Page. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” a blonde woman says, looking up from her desk. 

“Is Matt Murdock in?” you ask. 

You notice how her eyes just barely look over to where you assume his office is. “Can I have your—Hey, wait!”

Walking into his office, you see him sitting at his desk, his fingers running over papers as Foggy stands to his left. 

“Get out, Foggy,” you tell him. “I need to talk with Matt.”

Foggy looks between you and Matt skeptically before standing straight as if he’s about to walk out.

“Foggy and I are discussing case strategy right now,” Matt says curtly. “This is confidential. You can’t be here.”

“Then take a break from it, we need to talk.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. We need to wrap this up, and then we have client meetings back to back all day.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that? It’s 10:00 a.m. What about lunch?”

“Lunch meeting.”

“Then we’ll talk after.”

“I’m afraid we’re staying late. And if you’re here right now, it’s my guess you’re working the late shift tonight.”

“Then I’ll make an appointment with you, I don’t care, we need to talk, Matt.”

“I think we both said everything we needed to last night.”

The sentence and the look on his face is like an ice-cold dagger in your heart.

“You’re a real piece of shit,” you breathe, your face scrunching as you hold back your tears. “Go to hell.”

As you start to walk out of the office, you hear Foggy call out: “Karen, stop them!”

The blonde does as he asks, maneuvering in front of you, mirroring every step you take to halt your exit.

“(Y/N),” Foggy breathes as he comes out to meet you, taking Karen’s place. “What’s going on?”

“A mistake,” you sigh. “And now, after seven years, I guess it’s finally over.”

“Matt said something about last night. Did something happen?”

You straighten and adjust your hand on the step of your bag. “He came to me for some help. I gave him a hand, and he left when I wasn’t looking.” You notice the slightest raise in Foggy’s eyebrows, and you can tell he knows exactly what’s going on and just what kind of help Matt came to you for last night.

“Turn around,” he says softly.

“Foggy—,” you begin to protest.

“Nope, for once you’re both gonna listen to me,” he insists with a gentle hand on your back, leading you back to Matt’s office.

“Foggy—,” Matt starts once you both enter his space.

“Nope,” Foggy says, holding up his hand. “You two are going to talk about whatever all this is right now. I can handle the client meeting with Karen.”

“But—.”

“No. All of this has been going on between you two for nearly a decade. You’re my friends, and as much as neither of you want to admit it, you still mean a damn lot to one another.”

Walking out of the office, Foggy closes the door behind him, the loud sound of a door clicking shut cutting through the deafening silence of pure tension as you place your bag on one of the client chairs in front of his desk. 

“What the hell, Matt?” you hiss, your voice quivering as tears immediately sting at your eyes. 

“(Y/N)—,” he starts, smoothing out his tie against his button down. 

“No!”

“Keep your voice down.”

Your lip quivers as you stand and stare at him. “I cleaned up so much blood last night, you were incredibly injured . . . You could barely move—It hurt you to breathe, and you just left! I-I . . . I was so scared! I was sick to my stomach! I was half-convinced that if I came here today, you wouldn’t be in because you’d be dead on some street all alone!”

“You had a phone call. I wanted to give you your privacy.” How the hell is he keeping his voice so flat? You feel like you could scream, and he sounds like he’s telling you the weather for the day.

“Oh my God, Matt!” you cry, running your fingers through your hair. “That—I—! Cover your ears and wait! You couldn’t ha—!” Your blood runs cold when a thought runs across the forefront of your mind. “Did you leave . . . Because I left that night at Columbia?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Take off your glasses and look at me!” you shout, rage, hurt, and betrayal coursing through your veins. “I am done. Tell me the truth.”

Pausing for a moment, he does as you ask. You don’t know how it’s possible, but he looks even worse than he did last night. 

“If this is some sort of cruel punishment for something I was genuinely mistaken about, you’ve got a sick sense of justice. I thought I was going to die from how worried I was about you, and you—!”

“I couldn’t stomach the thought of listening to you talk to your boyfriend,” he cuts you off. “I heard him call you ‘baby’, and I—.”

“You could hear that from where you were on the sofa?” you clarify, totally confused. 

“Yeah, I could. My hearing is one of the ways I do . . . what brought me to you last night.” He clears his throat. “It’s a lot to explain.”

“Is that the only reason you left?”

He moistens his lips, his eyebrows pulling together as he shakes his head. “You were gonna tell me no. You were gonna say you didn’t want to see me ever again. That was gonna be the nail in my coffin, and it was gonna be the last time I ever saw you. It made sense to leave while you were on the phone to save us both another heartbreak, but then I heard how you were crying after I left. I wanted to turn around and just hold onto you, but, I think that would’ve only made it worse.”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you no, Matt,” you breathe. 

He tilts his face back up, showing you fresh tear marks along his face. “You weren’t?”

“No, Matt. I was going to say I needed some time. Everything we unpacked last night . . . I was a lot. Between what happened in Columbia, you stumbling into my place, what you were doing last night—I needed time to sit with it. And then you left, and I . . .” You swallow hard before you take a few steps toward him. “I felt so ashamed, because everything about our relationship has been my fault. But all I know with every ounce of myself that I want to fix it, and I swear if you ever leave me again, there is no place where you can go where I won’t find you to give you a piece of my mind and a swift smack to your head.”

His eyebrows shoot up like those of a sad puppy as you make your way around the desk. “(Y/N) . . .”

“I mean it,” you tack on. 

“You have a boyfriend.”

“I care about him, yes. But if you’re asking me to compare my affections, who I’ve imagined a future with? That’s you, Matt. You’re my future, and you always have been.”

A tear rolls down his cheek. “I-It won’t be easy.”

“I know.” You slide your hands into his. “Matt, do you remember that night when we were studying for that exam? When I told you that doctors are told to look for horses, not zebras?”

“Mm,” he hums, leaning his forehead against yours. “I remember that night well.”

“You’re my zebra, Matt. I don’t want easy. I want you. The good, the bad, the complicated, all the messy history—everything. I want to be there for you, and I will sit and talk it all through, I will stay up late to be with you when you get back from being out at night. I want to lay it out so we can start over. Start fresh.”

He squeezes your hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over the back of your hands. “I’m not gonna go anywhere,” he vows. “I swear.”

“Neither am I,” you breathe, resting your forehead on his.

“Can I kiss you?” It’s not so much a question, but an urgent plea filled with need, as if it isn’t fulfilled here and now, he might wither away. You don’t give him the pleasure of a verbal response before you pull him in for a kiss. His hands hold onto your waist for dear life as you wrap your arms around his neck. The kiss is firm and passionate and flooded with too many emotions to properly process. But even in the thick of it, it feels like you’re back in law school the night you got drinks with Matt—light and utterly in love. You’re absolutely breathless when Matt pulls back and the kiss breaks, but he helps steady your racing heart with how he continues to hold onto you. 

“Meet me back here when you get off of work,” he breathes. “We can go back to my place, and I’ll explain everything you want to know. Have a few drinks.”

“Last time we had a few drinks, I ended up in your bed,” you say softly, brushing your nose against his. “And you shouldn’t be mixing the pain killers I gave you with alcohol.”

“Whoops,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Sounds like you’re just the right person to stick around and keep me in line, though.”

You brush your nose against his and smile softly. “Damn right I am. And I’m not going anywhere.”

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[otteropera]

Protector (Jon Snow x Reader)

A/N - This doesn't really take place at any specific time in GOT, I kinda got the idea and went on a writing rampage all in one night lol. Its been almost two years since I've posted a fic on here, and I've found comfort in writing these silly little stories. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Warnings - violence, mentions of blood, attempted kidnapping(?)/adultnapping

Word count - 3.1k

My parents were almost assassinated in their sleep. I was only alive because of the guard who saw the assailant climbing up to my window. My father immediately demanded I go into hiding, and worked hard to find an able-bodied man he trusted to help me get somewhere safely.

The Starks of Winterfell had always been trusted by father, he’d known Eddard and Catelyn longer than I’d been alive. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I found out who would be taking me to safety, and where I would be going. The journey from Barrowton to Winterfell is about eleven days, if you don't stop for any reason. If you do, then it's closer to fourteen. There are only a few inns and taverns on the way to Winterfell, and I’d only convinced Jon to stop at one of them.

The Riverside Inn was a small establishment in the middle of nowhere. There was a family that owned and ran it, who were very friendly to Jon Snow and I. We'd been on the road for the past few days and I was desperate to sit next to a warm fire and eat homemade stew, rather than biting off pieces of dried jerky and contemplating if my extremities had fallen off due to frostbite. The more we traveled, the farther north we were, and the colder it got. Jon had tied our horses up outside.

"Evenin' you two," the innkeeper smiled at us. The sun had just started settling below the trees. "What can I get ya?" His voice was brash, but welcoming.

"Two rooms and some food." Jon answered. "And whatever you've got that will keep us warm."

He chuckled. "I'll have your room ready right away. And what'll you have? Stew or soup?"

"Stew please," I said.

"Me as well."

He nodded. "You're lucky. It's really good tonight. I made it myself."

We both sat down at a table near the fireplace. It was nice to be sitting inside again. I took off my thick gloves and warmed my hands on the stones, I could have melted right there. I looked up at Jon who sat across from me, but his gaze was making its way around the room, like he was trying to study every inch, making sure it was safe. It was a quaint little inn, with wooden floors and furniture. A staircase led up to a lofted area, with a few doors that I assumed were the different bedrooms. The walls were decorated with tapestries and various antlers. The large hearth dominated the center of the common area. The innkeeper walked over with bowls of stew and some bread. The smell was heavenly, I had to hold back a smile on my face.

"How long has this place been here?" I asked the innkeeper. He put the food down in front of us as Jon fumbled in his pouch for some coins. He gave me a look that said 'Don't be too friendly, we don't know this man.'

"Oh, forever. This is my home," He laughed. "It's been here since before I was born. Me wife and son help run the place." He collected the coins from Jon. Thankfully, my fathers advisor had given us more than enough to get to Winterfell. The Innkeeper headed back to the front of the Inn.

I couldn't imagine it would ever get too busy here, we were in the middle of the woods, only a small dirt road led up to this place. I started digging into my stew, sopping up the bread with the hot liquid. I could eat this meal for the rest of my life. As I was shoveling scoops of stew into my mouth, I felt Jon staring at me. I looked up at him.

"What?" I asked, wiping my mouth.

"Nothing, My Lady," He shook his head. My stomach flipped. Gods, if he wasn't looking at me like that, this whole trip would be much less nerve-wracking.

"There's no need to call me that," I muttered.

He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I muttered, somehow even quieter.

He glanced at me. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking."

He stared at me for another moment and then turned back to his stew. I ate quietly for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company of him. I devoured my stew, and finished the last piece of bread. I wiped my bowl clean with a crusty chunk of bread, and placed it on the table.

"That was delicious," I said, looking up at the Innkeeper. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." 

I noticed Jon looking at me again, trying to suppress a smile, or a laugh.

"What is it?" I asked incredulously.

"I've just never seen a Lady eat like that."

I rolled my eyes. I supposed I was being quite sloppy, but in my defense, we'd barely eaten all day. I was famished.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said, standing up, I grabbed my gloves and the pouch of coins Jon had set on the table and walked over to the Innkeeper.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have any horse feed, would you?" I asked. He turned around, eyebrows raised. "We're riding out tomorrow morning, and our horses are getting hungry."

He smiled. "Of course, I'll be right back." He ran off towards the back of the inn. I heard him rummaging through the shelves. He returned with a sack full of grain.

"Here you go," He handed the sack to me. "Is this enough?"

"It should be," I replied, taking the bag. "Thank you," I handed him coins, which he seemed surprised at.

"No problem," He grinned. "Enjoy the rest of your stay."

I smiled at him softly and headed out the front of the Inn. The snow was starting to layer the ground, it crunched beneath my feet. I heard the same crunching a few paces behind me. It was Jon, not letting me out of his sight. I huffed.

"Do you mind?" I asked, turning around.

"Not at all," He said. "I just don't want you walking alone."

"Why?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

"I was told to bring you to Winterfell, unharmed. That's what I plan on doing."

I bit my tongue. "You can't protect me from everything, Jon."

"I can try."

I gave up on the back and forth as we approached the horses, holding the bag of grain up to them one at a time. They sniffed curiously at the bag.

"They're pretty well fed," I commented, "I don't think they'll starve."

"I hope not," He chuckled.

The sun had gone down almost entirely, the sky darkening quickly.

"I know it'll be safer for me elsewhere, but I miss my home already," I commented.

"I'm sure you do," his voice was soft. I glanced up at him and saw him looking back gingerly. "But it will be safe there."

"How do you know?" I whispered.

"Because I'm going with you."

Once we finished feeding the horses, we went back inside and flocked to the hearth, but the Innkeeper wasn't anywhere to be seen. We sat by the fire for a while, listening to the crackling flames and talking about nothing important. I found that my eyelids were growing heavier, the warmth from the fire practically lulling me to sleep.

"You should probably get some sleep," Jon insisted.

"You as well. I am tired," I agreed, yawning. I stood up and made my way up the staircase, Jon following me. The rooms were small, but Jon and I each had our own. That was the most important thing.

"Good night, My Lady," he said, trying to suppress a smile. I let out a dry laugh.

"Good night, Jon Snow." I closed the door behind me, finally alone for a moment. I tore off my boots and stripped out of my clothes, leaving only my underclothes, and crawled into bed. I pulled the furs up to my chin and laid there, closing my eyes. I could hear Jon moving around in the room next to mine, the walls so thin. I found it comforting for some reason.

I drifted off to sleep, thinking of home.

***

I'd never been a particularly light sleeper, but this was something different. I'd been a bit on edge during the journey, less so with Jon Snow accompanying me, but still. This was more than I'd ever experienced before. I woke up suddenly, hearing a noise outside the window. I looked over at the wall, seeing nothing unusual. I listened carefully, hearing the sound again. There was definitely something outside the window. I got out of bed and crept over to it, peering out cautiously.

There was a figure standing by the horses. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it appeared to be a man. He was dressed in dark colors, and wore a hooded cloak, making it difficult to see his face, but I could tell he was staring straight at me. I held my breath, hoping he would leave soon.

He did not.

Instead, he began to walk towards the inn. I rushed as quickly as I could out of my room and one door over. I yanked it open.

"Jon-" I started, but the bed was empty. Was this the wrong room? No, I remembered hearing him last night before falling asleep. Before I had more time to think, a bag was thrusted over my head, and I felt a blade at my throat.

"Don't scream," A deep voice said. "Or I'll slit your throat."

I froze, terrified. The knife pressed against my neck was cold and sharp. I couldn't move, my heart racing wildly. His grip, wrapped around my shoulders, started forcing me down the steps. I would have tripped if he hadn't been holding me so tight. I tried to keep my breathing even, but my chest sputtered with every breath.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I was pushed forward through the common room, toward another pair of arms that grasped me. How many of them are there? Hands roughly grasped my wrists, securing them together with an itchy rope.

"Where is he?" One of the men demanded.

"We don't know sir."

"Well, bloody find him!" The man angrily demanded. I could feel his hands on my back, pushing me further along. I stumbled, and the man grabbed my arm tightly.

"Let go of me!" I yelled, struggling to free myself. "What do you want with me?"

"Shut up," The man growled, pulling me closer. "Keep walking."

I could tell we exited the Inn by the sudden drop in temperature and remembered I was still only in my underclothes, suddenly feeling exposed. It must have been snowing still because the cold powdery substance stuck to my feet and sent a chill up my spine. The man shoved me to the ground. I nearly face planted, but rolled onto my back. I wish I hadn't because the man put his foot down on my chest to keep me from getting away. He made it much harder to breathe. The bag over my head forced me to use other senses to interpret my surroundings, but all I heard was the crunching of snow beneath my feet. And then shouts coming from the Inn.

"Stop! Stop right there!" I recognized the voice as the Innkeeper's.

The man released his foot from me, and I rolled over onto my stomach, gasping for air. I tried to push myself up, but the man kicked me in the ribs. Hard.

"Stay down," He commanded.

I struggled to sit up, but the man kicked me again, this time in the stomach. I cried out in pain, collapsing back to the ground.

"I said stay down!" The man screamed.

I heard the commotion of the men battling with the innkeeper, and from the sounds of it, it wasn't going too well. I took advantage of their distraction and scrambled to my feet, bringing my tied hands to my head and ripping off the bag, running as fast as I could. I didn't get very far before I was tackled to the ground, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of me. I felt hands grabbing my arms and legs, pinning me to the ground. My vision blurred, and I couldn't focus.

"No," I gasped, trying desperately to pull away.

The man threw me to the side, and I landed hard on my shoulder. I grunted, wincing in pain.

"You're no good to us dead, girl." The man laughed. "So you better behave yourself." I lay on the ground, unable to move. No more than twenty feet away was the Inn, with the Innkeeper lying lifelessly on the ground. I could hear the sounds of fighting coming from inside. One of the men seemed to notice the commotion as well and headed inside. I tried to stand on my feet with what power I had left, but the man who tackled me to the ground took notice and slapped me across the face. I fell back into the snow. I could hardly breathe. I wanted to cry. I wanted to see my parents one last time.

Jon Snow came barreling out of the Inn. He was covered in blood. I could see the red splatter on his armor, and he looked furious. The man next to me looked terrified.

"Get away from her," Jon roared.

The man hesitated. He seemed unable to decide whether he should stick to his plan or save his life. He turned to run, but Jon caught him. He held him close, slamming his fist into the man's gut. The man doubled over and Jon punched him again, this time in the head. Hard. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Jon stood catching his breath. His head turned to me and his eyes immediately softened. He knelt beside me, pulling apart the rope that tied my hands together.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked quickly, looking at me worriedly.

"I'm alive," I said shakily. He raised his hand and grazed where the man had slapped me. No doubt the skin was red, it felt tender.

"I'm so sorry. I heard them and went out to see what was going on but there were more than I expected and-"

"Jon," I cut off his rambling. His eyes locked with mine. "It's okay. I'm okay." I wrapped my arms around myself. The snow plus my lack of clothing wasn't helping. He immediately noticed this and took off his cloak, wrapping it around me. It was bloodied but I didn't care.

"Come on," He said, helping me to my feet. "We need to get out of here." He wrapped an arm around my waist, but I hissed at the contact. He'd touched where the man had kicked me.

"I'm sorry," he said with sad eyes.

He led me to the Inn door, which was now open. I could see the fight inside was over. I counted six men in total who laid lifeless on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I couldn't believe Jon had taken them all by himself. He helped me sit down next to the fire, which was now only embers.

"I'll grab your things." He swiftly went up the stairs and into the room I had slept in. I was thankful he didn't have me try to climb the stairs. He came back down after less than a minute with the rest of my clothes, my boots, and the small satchel I had brought with me. I started dressing myself back up, and I could tell Jon was unsure about trying to help me or not. 

“I-I’ll get the horses ready.” I almost groaned at the thought of riding a horse right now. Jon started making his way towards the door but stopped himself. “Are you alright? … Doing that?” It was almost funny to me, how he just murdered half a dozen folks with no problem but felt embarrassed asking me if I needed help getting dressed.

“Yes,” I replied quietly. He nodded curtly and was out the door. He came back after a minute or two, just as I was finishing lacing up my boots.

“The horse is ready, we should get going before anyone else shows up.” Jon held out his hand for me which I graciously took.

“Horse? As in one?” I asked, feeling a nervous pit in my stomach. 

“They um… killed the other ones.” My brows furrowed in confusion. Why would they kill the horses? So we couldn’t escape? Why didn’t they kill me either? They had plenty of chances to.

We walked out the front of the inn for the last time, and I took one last glance at the Innkeeper, who was splayed on the ground, his blood turning the snow red. The horse sighed as we walked over to it. I wondered if it knew that it almost lost its life. Jon got up onto the horse first and I felt my cheeks redden as I further realized our situation. It was a bit awkward trying to get my leg over it, trying to stifle my whimper from the injuries I was aggravating. Did Jon get hurt at all? Did he even have a scratch? If so, he sure was good at hiding it.

Jon reached down and gently grabbed my waist, pulling me close to him. I tried to ignore the way his hands graced my sides. He pulled me tight to his body and I felt the warmth of his chest even through his thick cloak. This saddle definitely wasn't made for two people.

"How are you always so warm?" I asked as he brought his arms around me to grab the reins on the horse. Jon chuckled, his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath. Goosebumps prickled up my back and down my arms. He whistled and the horse started clopping away from the Inn.

"Maybe you're always cold."

We fell into a comfortable silence, and I felt myself relaxing up against Jon more and more. He didn't seem to mind. This was probably the warmest I'd been while traveling yet. I won't complain.

"Thank you," I whispered, "you saved my life."

"You don't need to thank me, I did what any man would do."

"No, really," I insisted. "You risked your own life for me. You could've run off when you first saw them. You could've left me there."

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you."

[pasteloctoz]

Hi there! So- @ajfromthestarss and @darlin-collins decided they wanted some angst and gave me the prompt "Darlin has a nightmare‼️ Sam comforts them🔥the nightmare was abt Quinn ‼️" So I wrote it. Fair warning- this is a bit intense, though it's also the first time I've posted angst before. But also, because I felt like this was pretty intense, there's some fluff at the end cause DAMN Darlin needs it. Also, It's 1,749 words so that's something.

Anyways, triggers: flashback to trauma, with mentions of character death and light details of body horror, there's a small panic attack and what I would consider a bit of a dissociative episode after the flashback, though that bit isn't too bad. I also kinda leaned into the canonicity of Darlin having body issues, specifically toward their scars so be aware of that. Like I said this was intense to even write about.

The ghosts of your past

You find yourself curled in bed, comfortable, scrolling on your phone. It was close to midnight and your mate was fast asleep next to you. Despite not needing sleep, he enjoyed it when the two of you would lay in bed together until one of you fell asleep. This time he was the one who fell asleep first.

You turn over onto your back, turning off your phone. Looking up at the ceiling, you thought about everything that had happened recently. Thoughts and feelings mixed in knots that desperately needed to be untied. Though, at that moment, there was no one there to untie those knots. No one to reassure you that everything would be okay. So, you let your mind wander, and before long, you were fast asleep.

When you opened your eyes, you felt for the dip in the bed where your mate layed. He wasn’t there which was to be expected with the way he slept. What was weird was that the dip didn’t even exist anymore. You got up, reaching for your phone on your nightstand, only to grab the air. Confused, you examined the room. It was familiar, you knew that much.

Your heart skipped a beat. You were in the small, unfurnished apartment you shared with him years ago. There was a gentle humming coming from outside the bedroom door. You recognized the humming from anywhere. He was here. Immediately your anger was pressed down by a solemn, calculated feeling. You took a deep breath and thought, “Now’s a better time than any, I guess.”

You opened the door, yawning while pulling up your hair into the signature bun you wore when you were with him. You noticed that your normal orange creme-colored pajamas had been replaced with some very old blue and white pajamas that you never wore anymore. You were nervous upon seeing your ex. Though, you didn’t know why. The last time you saw him you felt a strong deal of hate. You couldn’t recall the last time you had seen him for some reason. You didn’t care as you focused on the conversation.

“Hey, precious,” He smirked as he let a long breath of smoke out, almost like a dragon. The smoke detector was laid out on the kitchen island as he leaned against it. He never bothered to open a window, but he would put in all the effort to take apart a smoke detector… or at least mangle it ‘til it stopped screeching.

He handed you a cigar, to which you declined, “Not today…”

“C’mon precious, it’s just one. I know you don’t like them, but it’ll grow on you. Trust me.”

You ignored his comment, which seemed to get on his nerves. Though, he kept his cool as you spoke to him. You figured you’d pull the bandaid right off, “I- I think we should break up.” A chill went down your spine. It was that night. The night that you truly felt alone after so long.

“No,” you thought, “Not again. I can’t live through this night again. No. I- I have a mate. An actual mate th- that cares about me- Hi- His name is… What was his name?” You couldn’t remember your mate’s name even though it was on the tip of your tongue. You weren’t in control of your actions. You couldn’t tell him to fuck off. You couldn’t go see your friend, you couldn’t protect them. You were helpless to let this play out the way it always did. Whether it was in your head or in real life.

Your vision went black and within a few seconds, you found yourself wandering a dark void, helpless, alone, and scared. Eventually, you came across your friend, unempowered, helpless, and scared. They lay on the floor in front of you, staring into the abyss above you. Quickly, you rush to their side, worried. As you hold them in your arms, you take in the familiarity of their mutilated body. The bite marks, the scratches, even the small burns caused by your ex’s weak magic. You knew this part, you knew they’d still be alive you just had to get them to the hospital. You brushed their bangs out of their eyes, whispering gently to them, “Everything’s going to be okay, I can fix this,” but dropped them quickly when you realized their eyes were lifeless. You backed up quickly before bumping into something.

“Hello, precious,” your ex’s accent startled you as you whipped around, quickly to see nothing.

You heard him behind you again, “How’s your mate doing?” He spoke in the normal, teasing tone he used when he spoke to you last, “And his progeny? Oh, I’d give anything to see Fred now that I’m gone officially. Kind of makes me wish I had taken him the first time I met him.”

“How are you-”

“Nevermind that, I just wanted to let you know that no matter where you are. And no matter where I am, Sam is never safe-”

You wake up in a cold sweat and frantically look to your side. There he was, your mate, sound asleep. Catching your breath, you check the time… 3:34 am. You sigh and carefully make your way out of the room you shared with your mate, careful not to wake him up. You make your way to the bathroom after grabbing your clothing for the day. All of your thoughts and feelings were a jumbled mess.

You felt your heart was still racing as you walked over to the sink. You looked into the mirror, giving yourself a second to breathe. As you took your pajamas off, you examined the scars across your body. Slipping into your new clothes you thought for a moment, “These scars could’ve been avoided, had I not gotten with him.” Immediately you regretted your thought. If it weren’t for your ex, you wouldn’t have met your mate. Your mate that loved you, and cared for you. That didn’t excuse the things he did, and you knew that. You still held the same hate you had for him the moment he attempted to make your life a living hell.

After getting ready for the day, you sat in the kitchen drinking a coffee, thinking to yourself. You tried keeping your mind on other things, but nothing worked. You scanned the room for something to do, eventually, your eyes fell on your mate’s coat that laid across the sofa. Quickly, you finished your cup of coffee before grabbing a monster from the fridge and wrapping yourself in the coat. Instantly, you felt better as you walked out to the front porch and scanned the tree line surrounding the house.

After a while, you hear the gentle voice of your mate, “Darlin’? Did you fall asleep on the porch?”

You yawn, realizing that the sky was now fading into the morning. It was almost dawn, and Sam was out there to wake you up, “... What? Oh, yeah… I guess I did. Sorry ‘bout that.” You got up, remembering that you brought a monster with you outside. The can still felt cold, and you realized that your hands and feet were icy cold as well.

“Don’t apologize, I just seemed to get out of bed at the right time,” He reached out for your hand and was startled to find out how cold it was. “Jesus, Darlin’! How long have you been out here?”

You shrugged, “4:10 just about.”

He looked at you, concerned, “The hell were you doing up at 4:10!?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, why not?” his face softened, though his accent was harsh along with his tone.

You decided it would be best to tell him the truth as the two of you made it into the living room, “I had a nightmare.”

The two of you sat down on the couch as worry crossed his face. It seemed to make sense to him after everything that had happened recently, “... Was it about him?”

You rubbed your arm awkwardly, “Yes.”

Immediately, your mate held your hand in his, tightly. He looked you in the eyes and spoke in a gentle, loving tone, “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I- I know… I’m just angry, I guess,” you gazed into his silver eyes as a soft smile teased the corners of your mouth. Just being near him would make you feel better about anything. You continued to speak as he looked confused, “I didn’t think that after it was all set and done with that he’d still bother me. I didn’t think he ever had that much of an effect on me.”

“Darlin’... I- Can I give you a hug?” you nodded and he held you as closely as you’d allow him to. He continued speaking to you as he embraced you, “Just because the problem is fixed doesn’t mean that all the… damage he caused you are healed. It takes time and patience to let a wound heal, and he left a pretty big fuckin’ wound. I should know.”

“I thought he would go away finally. I thought that he would stop haunting me. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened, what I could’ve done, what I could’ve said. I don’t even want to think about him, I just want him to leave me alone.”

“Darlin’, even though you have ghosts in your past, you shouldn’t let those ghosts affect you in the present. What happened has happened. And I don’t know about you but even though there were some hardships, I’m happy the way it turned out. Because now I have you,” He held you tighter and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“Sam… I love you,” you said, finally coming to terms with the fact that you would need time to heal. You knew that every step of the way Sam would be there, to comfort and take care of you.

“I love you too, Darlin’... You wanna know something?” He asked you as you pulled away to look at him.

“What?”

“I think It’s pretty damn cute that you wore my coat to go fall asleep on the porch.”

“I was cold.” You told him, smiling mischievously.

“Really? So that’s why you had your arms wrapped around yourself like you were giving yourself a big hug?” He smiled as he teased you.

“Just let me have this one,” you said as you sat closer to him and cuddled into his chest.

[hectic-hector]

I am not naming any of her victims out of respect for their privacy and safety, but if they wish to come forward in the comments, they are free to do so. I've been informed that @angelbabyspice has gone through her feed to delete the posts she has made for the sole purpose of mocking and bullying people, which doesn't surprise me. I do not condone doxxing bullies or threatening to contact their employers (except in extreme circumstances where local law enforcement should also be involved, e.g. terroristic threats, stochastic terrorism, intentionally driving a person to become suicidal). I hope @angelbabyspice sees this message, because I want to tell her a few things: 1. "I don't want to see it" Nobody is forcing you to see it. You are free to scroll right past it, just as we are free to blaze a post if we so wish. We all see things we don't want to see, but we are smart enough to know that we have the ability to look away and move on with our lives. You are making the choice to not only look at art you don't like, but to obsess over it to the point that you spend hours of your time harassing those who create and share it. You are choosing to do this to yourself when you could have just kept scrolling and forgotten about it. This is on you. Don't blame other people for YOUR issues. 2. You had said in another post that people should at least lust after someone "fuckable" like Gojo. I looked him up, and he is as generic-looking an anime character as they come, in my personal opinion. But that's all it is: my opinion. I would never mock you or anyone else for being a fan. If I don't have something nice to say, I don't say anything at all, because I know how it feels to be mocked and ridiculed for my love of a fictional character, and unlike you, I DO NOT want to make other people feel the same way. 3. So, you're really tired of getting messages from people who claim you're "trolling", eh? You ARE trolling, in fact you're straight up bullying with the sole intent of trying to make people ashamed of their own completely harmless hobbies and interests for no reason at all. You. Are. Trying. To. Hurt. People. Where on earth did you get the idea that what you're doing is even remotely okay? Where did you get the idea that your victims are demented and YOU'RE the rational one? 4. WE'RE really tired of YOU making dozens of posts about us in order to mock us behind our backs. It doesn't need to be a direct message. What you are doing is cowardly and cruel. There is NOTHING to be gained by treating people the way that you do. You are literally complaining about the fact that we are standing up for ourselves against your smear campaigns, which we are all well within our rights to do. You have a lot of nerve trying to make yourself out to be the victim in all of this. YOU made the choice to be a bully; you can make the choice to stop, own up to what you've done, apologize, and move on in a healthier direction in life. Wouldn't you rather have friends and allies than enemies? 5. I have no idea who doxxed you, but I know it's not the person you suspect, because we are both very much AGAINST doxxing. I am sorry that happened to you, but honestly, what did you expect? You have done nothing on Tumblr but go out of your way to treat other people like garbage. You have proudly made it your mission to hurt and humiliate them, and you know this. Where on earth did you get the idea that this wouldn't backfire on you? 6. Actions have consequences. Respect must be earned. You are bullying innocent people whose hobbies have NO effect on you whatsoever. There are so many horrible things happening in the world today: war, famine, hate crimes, animal abuse, child abuse, etc. etc., but total strangers sharing their love for fictional characters is the hill you are choosing to die on? Really? Churchill once said that a person is only as big as the things that make him mad. Think about what this says of you.

[alaydabug2]

I don't think I posted this on here yet

If so oh well

(Keefe Pov)

Keefe slammed his door shut and locked it. He flopped onto the bed, grabbing Mrs. Stinkbottom and squeezing her tight.

Him and his dad had gotten into their fourth fight that week. It was only Tuesday. One in the morning. One after school. That wasn't even counting their small skirmishes.

On Monday morning, it was about him staying up all night drawing. After school, it was about him not cleaning his room. That morning, it was him not doing his empathy exercises.

Now, it was about his father saying he was just like his mother.

Keefe was able to handle a lot of his insults. But that hit too hard of a nerve.

Cassius called him useless, a burden, whiny, ungrateful, disrespectful, unworthy of love. He was able to slide off all of those things. He'd heard them millions of times.

But being told he was like his mother? Out off all them, that hurt the worst.

But...wasn't he, though?

He'd betrayed people he cared about. Done awful things.

He had her blood flowing through his vains. She was part of him, whether Keefe liked it or not.

That didn't stop him from finally snapping.

Keefe finally argued back. Tried to defend and stick up for himself. But his father knew exactly what to say to make him submiss.

He said he never wanted a kid in the first place. His mother managed to somehow convince him. He regrets ever letting her. That he never loved his son. He wished Keefe was never born.

The last one was the final nail in the coffin to make him flee to his room. Cassius taunted him along the way.

Keefe had screamed himself hoarse. That didn't stop him from pulling out his imparter.

"Sophie?" he murmured, his throat still raw.

"I'm here," she told him. "What's up?"

He sucked in a trembling breath. "I need you right now. My dad and I had another fight."

Sophie didn't need any more explanation. She simply said, "I'll be right over." And hung up.

Five minutes later, he heard a door slam open. Then, the sound of a lot of yelling. Particularly a female. Then stomping towards his door. But when he heard the knock, it was soft and gentle.

He got up. The comforter still tangled around himself, the green gulon in his hands. Slowly, he opened the door.

Sophie walked into the room. She placed a box on the desk. She quickly locked the door behind her and took his face in her hands.

She brushed the tears away from his eyes. "What happened?"

By the time he was done explaining, he was curled up on the bed, Sophie sitting beside him. She was gently running her hand through his hair, his head propped up on her knee.

As much as he complained about people messing with his hair, he had to admit, it felt good.

The box she had brought turned out to be Edaline's mallowment. After snacking on it and talking to Sophie, he felt a lot better.

But he still didn't want to stay there that night.

"I... think I'm going to ask Elwin and see if I can stay there for a night or two," Keefe thought aloud. "I know I've been there a lot, but I just can't stay here tonight."

Sophie nodded. "I'm sure he'd be ok with it. Do you want me to get your overnight bag?"

"I've got it. I need a couple more things anyway."

He got up and headed to his closet. He pulled out two uniforms and threw them into the overnight bag. He'd had one ready for the past two and a half months in case he ever needed to get away from his father for a break. And he used it a lot.

Most of the time, it was to Splendor Plains. Others, it was Havenfeild and occasionally Everglen.

Sophie handed him the imparter. He thanked her and spoke Elwin's name into the device.

Keefe glittered outside of Splendor Plains. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and knocked on the door.

Elwin answered and hugged Keefe before bringing him inside. Nothing needed to be explained. He knew the drill. Keefe had gone there so many times in the past few months that he knew the reason.

Elwin just asked if he wanted to watch a movie as he pulled dinner out of the oven. (A/n pretend they have movies for this 😅)

They settled on the couch with the TV on. He wrapped an arm around Keefe. It felt nice. Why couldn't his father just be caring? Was it really that hard?

Elwin probably sensed something was wrong because he asked, "Everything alright?"

Keefe shrugged, taking another bite of food.

He didn't like that awnser, so he said, "You can tell me anything. You know that, right? I'm not gonna get upset."

"We just... really had it out tonight. No big deal."

By the emotions that got flung Keefe's way, Elwin wasn't buying it. But something else was in the mix, too. A combination of worry and concern and sympathy. Something he didn't know how to take in.

Elwin didn't say anything else, though, and they finished their movie and food in silence.

When it started to get late, Keefe got up and started to go to bed. He had Foxfire in the morning, unfortunately. He said goodnight to Elwin, got showered, ready to go to sleep, and into the bed.

By the time he was under the covers, Elwin cracked open the door. "Can I come in?" Keefe nodded. Elwin sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blanket a bit. "Are you sure you're ok? I can tell it was a pretty bad fight. Did something else happen than usual?"

"I guess you could say that. Umm... he said I was like my mom. I fought back for the first time, but he...," Keefe trailed off. He curled further into himself. "He said things. He wished I wasn't here. That I wasn't born. Turns out he never wanted a child, but thanks to my mom's 'legacy' stuff, she convinced him. So, here I am. Nothing that comes from them are good. It was inevitable anyhow."

"That's not completely true," Elwin whispered. "You did, and that's enough."

Elwin took his hand, squeezing it. Keefe scooted closer.

To his surprise, Elwin never left. At least not until he was asleep, because he stayed sitting on the bed. Not talking or waiting for any answers, just being there with him.

Yeah, definitely different than just several hours earlier. At some point, Keefe fell asleep.

"You should come over after school," Sophie prompted.

It'd been two weeks since Keefe's major fight with his dad. He'd had to go to Elwin's place three times in the short amount of time. The abuse just kept getting worse. So he had zero hesitation in agreeing.

He walked through the door, trailing behind Sophie. When he saw the living room, he got an uneasy feeling. All of his friends were there. Their parents. Elwin. Livy. Mr. Forkle.

That couldn't be good news.

"Is something going on?" He asked.

Sophie got a mischievous grin on her face. "We have a surprise for you."

"Uh oh. I don't like the sound of that."

"Calm down." She pushed him down to sit on the couch. "It's good."

Edaline snapped her fingers. A box about the size of a donut box appeared on the table in front of him. Everyone gathered around in a semicircle.

He pushed the box away. "This is something to get back at me for all of my pranks over the years, isn't it." He looked at Biana. "Is it glitter?" He looked at Dex. "Will it explode?" Linh. "Shoot water at me?"

"No, but we should do that," Tam suggested.

"I'm not going to trust Bangs Boy," Keefe told them.

"It's fine," Fitz said. "Just open it already."

Keefe eyed them all. "If this is a prank," he warned, "you are all going to regret every single decision in your life that led you to this point."

Everyone just stared expectantly at him. He pulled the box back to him. He slowly raised the lid. He braced himself. Nothing happened. Slightly more than confused, he opened it completely.

Inside, there were three items. He wasn't able to see what the other two were because his gaze fixated on the open scroll.

It read, 'The official and legal adoption of Keefe Sencen by Elwin Heslege has been approved. Keefe will now permanently reside at Splendor Plains. Lord Cassius Sencen has no legal rights over Keefe Sencen.'

Keefe gasped. He looked up at everyone. They had smiles on their faces. "You all knew?" Everyone nodded. Keefe's gaze shifted to Elwin. He stood in the corner of the half circle. He had a soft grin on his face.

Keefe fell back onto the cushions. Incredulous to the paper in front of him, he murmured, "This is a prank. It's not true," with his hands covering his crying face. Weight shifted on the cushion beside him. He turned his head to see Elwin beside him. "You're joking."

Elwin moved the hands away from Keefe's face. "I'm not joking, I swear." He held out his hand, challenging him.

Keefe swiped his hand across Elwin's. He was telling the truth. He accepted Elwin's open arms.

Elwin's hug was crushing, but Keefe didn't care. It was warm and comforting. Everything he wanted during his childhood. Everything he needed. It felt like home. Another sob escaped.

He sniffled as he finally pulled away. Elwin reached for another item from the box. A family crest. A Heslege crest. He unpinned the Foxfire crest from his cape and replaced it with the new one. He made sure it was secured on.

Keefe choked on his words. He reached up and clasped the pin in his hand.

"Your part of the family now," Elwin told him. "Only seemed fitting."

Forever Keefe had wanted to be truly part of his family. It never felt legit. No matter what he did or said, his parents never made him feel part of his own family. He wasn't able to earn his own crest until he was fourteen, and it was a tracker. Now Elwin was just giving him one. No strings attached.

Maybe something wasn't wrong with him, after all.

He had no words. Although he did start crying again once Elwin pulled the last item out of the box. It was a home crystal. He told Keefe it was his.

He hugged Elwin again. "Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Of course," Elwin said softly. "I couldn't stand seeing you stay there any longer."

Keefe glanced at Sophie. She has holding into Grady and Edaline's hands like a lifeline. This must've been how it felt for her to finally get adopted by them. Like something finally clicked into its place.

When it was finally time to leave, Elwin let Keefe do the honors with his new home crystal.

Keefe froze when he got to the doorstep. Elwin gestured for him to go inside. "It's like it always was. Just more official now." They hesitantly stepped through the door. "Come on, I want to show you your room."

"My room?" Keefe asked.

"The room you've been staying in is my guest room. This will be your permanent room." They trailed up the stairs to a door they'd never been in before.

Keefe stopped in his tracks. The room was a pale yellow. In one corner was a desk. On the wall beside it was shelves full of art suplies. By a bay window was a few bean bag chairs and a rug. Several stuffed animals were strewn about. Against the wall  in the center of the room was the bed. He couldn't help a chuckled when he saw it had batman bedsheets. He was confused to see that Mrs. Stinkbottom was already on the bed. He turned around.

"Got permission from Magnate Leto for your friends to skip class to help me move your stuff today," Elwin explained.

"Wait... does my dad know?"

He laughed, "He will tomorrow when he gets the scroll. He was at Atlantis when we were there."

His jaw dropped. A smirk spread across his face. "He's going to be ticked."

He looked at the room. Then back to Elwin. He practically tackled him with a hug. His eyes started to well up again

"Don't worry," Elwin murmured. "You never have to go back there again, Keefe. I promise. You're wanted here. You're going to be loved here.

Keefe wanted to deny it. Say it wasn't possible for that to happen. But being an empath, he knew he wasn't lying. It was going to be ok.

More than ok.

He had a parental figure to care for him. For the first time in his life. He was wanted.

[andbrokenmemories]

So it's weird how like. The Kennet girls are good at everything, aren't they? [pale spoilers ahead]

Like that's obvious, it's textual -- it's very textual, other characters being in something like awe over it over and over and over across the story. The girls are very good at this, and they have a deep well of power. This comes up continuously.

what's weird is thaaat a lot of the fanbase seem to like, enjoy that. Enjoy having protagonists who can play around with magic in a way Blake never ever could have. I kind of get that, I won't like shit-talk it too hard. (I do like Verona, y'know?)

But it's an interesting fact. Because Wildbow's the underdog protagonist guy! At least in action scenes, that's his whole thing! Taylor and Blake have to eat shit and die to claw their way to victory, and often those scenes work for me. And it's one of the things I think WB gets the most praise for? Like, from his established base. It's a conscious choice to not do that for Pale. He like, introduced the idea that this kind of wild practitioner would be especially powerful. He made that up for this book.

I wonder what that decision looks like -- after Ward, and Ward's issues, especially, since that seemed to be the first break from this. Underdog protagonists seem to be the default, for him; the thing he has most experience with. I've seen posts from him describing his process -- put characters against the wall without having a pre-planned out for them, so WB himself has to puzzle out exactly what they can use to make it out alive -- and he seemed to derive like... An actual enjoyment, out of it?

Yeah, there are fights in Pale where they're up against the wall... even one where, with Dire Consequences for us all, Wildbow had them lose because he couldn't see a way for them to win!

But it's not the same. I'd honestly say they usually lose because of their like, lack of full maturity -- their child soldier-y emotional rawness and uncertainty -- their lack of cohesion, as the book usually plays it. Lucy cannot stop John from joining the Contest because she can't hold her nerve against him. The girls cannot stop the murder plot from coming to fruition because they lack unity, aren't working together as a team. Emotional stuff. The girls have more tools in their box than any Wildbow protagonist before them, by far, but they can't always use them properly to get the W, for emotional reasons, for character reasons.

In theory, that's an interesting direction (maybe, possibly), and I should be relieved that Wildbow is trying something fresh. In practice... I've said I don't like Pale's fight scenes. I think Wildbow is plainly worse at this than the content of his previous works.

Part of this is seen in the Contest. Or, at least, how Wildbow Posts about it. If you can't tell, a specific WoG lives in my brain: Wildbow said once that he kept the story going past Break because he genuinely did not believe the trio could beat Maricica. I can imagine him doing his typical calculus for this, and what led him to that conclusion, maybe. For example, we've heard a lot about the ability of the Fae to manipulate stuff, aaaand to have the girls come along and undo all of that with minimal information to begin with wouuld sort of. Damage our belief in Faerie significance. Still, though -- cards on the table, here -- I think this was a Dumb and Bad choice. (It's a sidenote to this post, but I think it's very strange that, in-story the straw that breaks the camel's back is shown to be the Alabaster allowing shit to go on rather than throwing in with John, effectively a betrayer revealed moment -- a thing that, even if sorta his intention from the start, he could simply say 'aw beans i never really planned this out far enough' and just drop. for the sake of wrapping up a better story. and naturally i believe this would have been better also because it means we never would have fucking gotten White Woman Animus!! i digress. i digress.)

Maricica had weaknesses the story gave us to nibble on, and those weaknesses... are just kind of dangling threads, now? As of where I hopped off? like, guess she can't be that inexperienced with people if she became a goddess and started a cult and helped with all that red heron shit lol

So it's that thing I said, about fight scenes being more character driven. But then also, he's clearly thinking about this the same way as ever! As shown by his weird logic with framing the story going past Break as a thing he Had To Do, for Logical Reasons, or at least that weighing on the decision. a thing that is silly and i disagree with on it's face. right?

And then this shows in the sheer quantity of fight scenes -- if the girl's main limiter is internal emotional context and stuff........... uh... why are there so many fights? Why wouldnt the story naturally curve towards. having fewer fight scenes when theres no other way to square things away. that progress character arcs. whyyy do i care about fight scene 129 when i know how strong these girls are. whyyy are we fighting so many random others, and dedicating genuinely long segments of story to them, rather than montaging that shit? Getting it over with? If it has to be there at all? (for reference -- I just tried to think of a Random Pale Fight i fully don't think mattered. i selected the random like. angel summoner guy? with the fortnite constructor angel. that's a part of the musser invasion or whatever. this is a character with literally no substance, just a musser-side goon. From him entering the ongoing! fight to Lucy getting out of dodge is 4.6k words. Plague 12.7, the Mannequin fight, up to Mannequin leaving -- that's almost the entire chapter -- is 6.9k words. on the worm wiki, i saw there's a brief 'major events' summary of that chapter. i couldnt tell you the major events of the Pale chapter, of which that section of fight is like a third, maybe. lucy gets a bit more upset. lucy gets in a few quips against musser-side characters that actually matter but actually dont matter much to how that broader conflict is resolved. i guess.)

Wildbow writes any random fight the girls get into as being worth as many words as his fights in the past! the scrappy, pay-offy ones. bleh. My point in all this: you cannot simply set your protags up in the way I'm positing, here, and then continue to use the same vocabulary of every other serial anyway. it straight up doesn't work. it's exhausting. The Future is An Eternal Slaughterhouse 9000 Arc. Look, thats a criticism that boils down to 'web serials are too long'. And I'm not sure I care too much about web serials being too long! I have read longer web serials with longer fight scenes! I have written fiction with a longer average word count per chapter than Wildbow, at least during Worm! its a real criticism, but its not one im amazingly interested in personally. But the Kennet three could've had weaknesses to play around -- or at least, more weaknesses. We are in a Post-Pact world, and in this Post-Pact world, the magic in Pale really barely feels like it, uh, relies on discourse and presentation. like at all. And that seems like an option to give these characters obstacles! An option Wildbow gestures at during the Musser meta-arc!

but what struck me getting that word count comparison earlier, skimming that fight? The girls just aren't operating in that world. There's never a thought for presentation -- maybe sometimes, for a slight edge. But it never really matters, certainly not after the blue heron. They're using glamour as a workhorse tool, covering goblins in it for brief misdirects to get an edge in a fight; they're calling on the same shrine spirits over and over. They don't build up tools over a portion of story then cash them out for a satisfying win, they're just... strong. They have more items in their bags than Wildbow probably knows what to do with. Strong enough for just Lucy to dunk on any random set of practitioners, but not strong enough for the story to just skip that part, and not strong enough to just solve the plot until it's time to go fuck up Charles and end the story.

I know you could argue that I'm making this up, or that it's what some people prefer to what Pact was doing. But I just think it's not even what wildbow is good at! (and i always theorize that when wildbow is writing kind of bad, it's probably because he's not actually engaged or happy with what he's putting himself through. did he read a specific thing that made him personally excited to make the girls so versatile? I don't really know, but I don't get that vibe.)

And I have a couple of specific things I want to point out to try and prove this is like. a thing at all, to wrap up on: First, Glamour is used as this very, uh, soft magic thing, this very basic narrative tool. A pure mechanic of, like, mental states. If you're shaken, if you're uncertain, your glamour gives out on you -- if you shake your opponents, make them skittish, your glamour is better at misdirecting them. This is fiiine? But too vague for what Glamour is. Wildbow simply failed to properly present tradeoffs to one of his character's main action verbs, one that literally had those tradeoffs in Pact. And one last example to try and prove this: they dont even wear the hats and cloaks anymore duuude. Like, in my eyes: there was a very simple to read gambit being made, with the hats and masks and cloaks? You are awakening early, you will always have awoken early: You accepted an early shield against what that meant. A constructed image in place of the image of a fully-fledged adult, masking that youth; Whimsical and inherently magical, inherently wild. It's a very basic tradeoff, and one the story promises you it knows: even if they really would rather not have to go through the whole song and dance of suiting up, if it's tactically suboptimal or else they mature out of it and realise it's not for them, they will never be able to escape it -- not without giving up power. A mark accepted that cannot be given up. A mechanical restriction on their powersets to make up for some of their advantages, that also has some character relevancy. The Good Stuff.

except yeah it can. be taken off. it doesn't super matter. not really. they do plenty of magic without all the stuff on or even any of the stuff on -- it's rarely presented as an obstacle. it doesnt really matter. Because then, you see, they couldnt mature out of it and do cool stuff! it'd be. annoying. frustrating. they'd have to like. deal with changing past the natures they made for themselves. they'd have to. be characters. with character issues. that present themselves in fight scenes. you know?? what are we doing.