#and then another thing to look at the source material and go

[ghosthoard]

i don't have money or time to play video games

i do want to play all the zelda games eventually for my own sake and my own writing but my friend gifted me totk two years ago (i think) and i still haven't played it because i know if i played it i wouldn't have time to create art or write because i'd be sucked in (which i can't risk because i need to focus on studying too). i've only played botw, again cause my friend bought it for me. games are expensive first and foremost and also they take a long time for me to finish and require me to set aside time. i really wish i had gotten into it when i was younger, when i had more time, but well, i got into it in grad school.

if i were to wait until i played all the games to create anything for the fandom, i wouldn't be able to create anything until at least 5 years later.

so i tend to be discouraged by people who say things like "they haven't even played the games".

it's odd, because this really reminds me of the fans in the batfam fandom who insist that the fans who haven't read the comics are dumb and really talk down on anything they make. i think i saw most of them on twitter when i used to use twitter. i'm glad i don't really see stuff like that on ao3. but again, the problem is, a lot of the fans don't have the time or money to read comics. (also for DC in general, it's a pick-your-canon situation because there are so many comic writers that have their own version of the characters too so i don't understand people who say that comics should be where you get all your information when the characters vary from writer to writer, just like in fanfiction, it's about finding a writer you like) AND ALSO DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GENERATIONS AND ITERATIONS AND COMIC RUNS EXIST IN BATFAM ALONE??? ITS NOT LIKE MANGA WHERE IT'S A CONTINUOUS STORY BY ONE WRITER, IMAGINE IF NARUTO WAS WRITTEN BY OTHER WRITERS MULTIPLE TIMES ACROSS ALMOST A CENTURY. YOUNG JUSTICE AND TEEN TITANS THE ANIMATED SHOWS ARE FANFICTIONS IN THEIR OWN RIGHT.

anyway

i don't think its reasonable to say i should play all the games before i create something. i want to create. i want to be happy. this is supposed to be fun.

i think i'd agree that those who insist that an interpretation of a character is wrong/right when they haven't seen the source material or try to do an analysis of the character in the context of the source material shouldn't do that, if you want to do analysis posts about canon, that's when you should know the source material, but a lot of the time it's the fanon version of the character they're talking about through headcanons. and also a lot of the time, these types of fans that only know the characters through fanon are children and/or are new to the concept of fandom. i would assume the version of a character that i've seen first or that everybody is talking about was the only way to think about it too if i was new and young.

in fact at my grown age, i was one of those people who tagged a non-LU art as LU, because a lot of the links across link-meets look pretty similar, because people are designing their links based on canon so they're going to share similarities. i saw another au creator state that they were scared of giving twilight a fur detail bc it would look too much like LU but did it anyway bc they wanted to (as they should) but also i feel like that proves how easy it is to mistake the designs. after the creator of the art i tagged incorrectly corrected me, i was more alert about it going forward (honestly i've just been sticking to LU creators to be safe at this point).

and people are right, LU is very popular. it's the ONLY links-meet i knew about when i emerged from botw and my friend told me about it. i honestly wasn't aware there were other versions until way later. especially because the names are pretty similar across links-meets and again the designs are too so i don't think it's all that surprising people get confused and just tag it LU. now imagine you're new to even the concept of fandom AND still in junior high. (side note, i have a couple of cis-straight male friends who are zelda fans and they don't use twilight or time or wild to call the characters, which i think is crazy because it'd be much easier than "twilight princess link" or "ocarina of time link". actually, speaking of cis-straight male fans, a lot of them say the same thing people hating on the LU fandom say, that we (transformative fandom) as a whole haven't played the games, especially when we say we headcanon the characters as queer or if they have autism or if they act differently than the "cool, masculine character" they think the links are.) this (different links-meet aus) is a very unique situation in fandom i think, from my go-around fandoms, naruto, one piece, batfam, haikyuu, the hobbit, etc haven't had different au beef to this extent or at all. it's honestly so fascinating. it's like everybody wants to be separated from each other in a way. (edit: i GOT IT! IT'S BC THE LINKS HAVE BECOME PERSONAL OCs MORE THAN SHARED CHARACTERS, THEY'RE NOT FIGHTING OVER SHARED CHARACTERS, NOT EVEN THE INTERPRETATION OF SAID CHARACTERS LIKE MOST OTHER FANDOMS, BUT SINCE THEY MADE THEIR OWN STORY, THEIR LINKS ARE MORE THEIR OCS THAN ANYTHING THEREFORE SOME PEOPLE FEEL MORE DEFENSIVE THAN FANS IN OTHER FANDOMS WOULD, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL—also most aus are shared between fans in other fandoms, like in batfam they have talon!dick or reverse robins, in the zelda fandom it's more a personal project, also in the microcosm that is LU the LU fandom have aus within the au which are exactly how other fandoms usually do aus, it's all so fascinating!) also i think the fact that LU is so much more popular than any other au adds to it. i've never seen such a phenomenon in other fandoms where one iteration is so much more well known.

LU is popular, i think the most popular links-meet au, at least on tumblr. (jhoca and ovega-karts works are getting more attention as a result of the comic dubs voice actors have done on YouTube) it's what one of my friends called "the gateway links meet au" which means a lot of the new zelda fans are getting funneled through LU first, which means a lot of them are young, new to fandom, new to zelda, or a combination of those. (also, especially for the first two, young and/or new to fandom, means they are susceptible to purity fandom culture, watch out for that). i'm not trying to excuse if people have done harmful things on purpose in the past or in the present but i feel like ignoring this context is doing more harm than good: the context being that because LU is popular it's where all the newest fans end up, and new fans are still learning.

and i really sympathize with creators who keep having their art tagged wrong, whether it was an accident by the tagger or not, because after a while i can understand for some people it can get annoying. but like this recent situation i feel like this pent up frustration is causing people to get too eager to jump on any perceived slight and honestly come off as a bit of an asshole.

i saw someone say they should just block every LU fan at this point, (meaning for it to be a punishment i'm assuming), but honestly yes, please do if it will give you peace. we don't want to be in places we're not wanted either. but it'll be hard, because again, LU is the gateway new zelda fans will come through and they will keep making the same mistake.

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.

[once-in-a-half-life]

...

[justanisabelakinnie]

Unpopular fandom opinion but: "If it's not in the movie/book/show itself then it isn't canon, idc what the creator says!" is such a stupid af bullshit take lmfao.

[milkymiks]

Prev

Danny can’t find Jason, he’s too young of a ghost, powerful, but inexperienced. He knew that Jason is from another universe, but he can’t access that Universe, having been relying on the fenton portal for going in and out of the ghost zone. Sam and Tucker can only do so much but they did what they can and Danny is grateful for their efforts.

Years went by, longer than how long Jason had been with them, They’re in 2nd year college now and Jazz is graduating. Danny had been crowned the King of Infinite Realms despite his futile attempts at prolonging it, ‘A year after your legal maturity day is the perfect time’ As Clockwork had said. Still no sign of Jason.

It happened a year later.

Danny, drowning in bureaucratic shit that the ancients had decided to set aside despite their own ability to solve those problems themselves only to dump them in an inexperienced newly unwillingly crowned King. Danny is also in his third year of college that means his human identity is also drowning in fucking thesis papers, He’s getting nightmares just by looking at parchment and office papers.

Jason would probably laugh at him.

Jason, who has been missing for more than five years…

God Danny misses Jason, He misses sitting at the roof of a random house with him Stargazing. He misses Jason’s excited babble whenever he discusses some difference with the classic literature in this world to his’. The feeling of his core synchronizing with his…

Was he even real? No, Sam and Tucker remembers him so he wasn’t some hallucination.

Danny glances down on the paper before him, rereading the thing three times before it registered in his mind and promptly throws the parchment away from him, and because it’s paper, it only flapped pathetically on the air before smacking him in the face. He sighed.

___

“Fuck we were too late! they’re almost complete with the chanting!” Constantine curses, sees the runes etched on the floor and pales.

“What exactly are we dealing with here?” Batman grunts, They’re a good feet away from the cloaked figures. The warehouse is dark, the only light source coming from the green flamed candles surrounding the runes.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but the sudden shift in the atmosphere earlier was heavy, I thought they were summoning demons, That we can deal with. This is so much worse”

“Get to the point” Batman turned to the other’s “apprehend the cloaked figures, especially the one in the middle, we need to know their intentions” Dick nodded and saluted “Roger that” He and the other bat’s got to work. Zatanna started to seal the area around the runes to keep whatever was about to be summoned inside.

“They’re summoning the High King of the Infinite Realms, The infinite realms is the border between all universes and where everyone that dies, ends up to. I don’t know how they managed to conjure all the materials needed to but they’re summoning a GOD!” Constantine is panicking “And I don’t even want to touch the shit that’s happening inside there with a ten foot pole but I do know the king is a tyrant!”

“Hah! It’s too late! This is as fated from the scriptures, Pariah Dark will free us and govern the world with his greatness!” The deranged leader said, laughing in his binds as Red Robin easily kept him down. In front of them the runes lit up with a bright green, the ground shook as the cloaked leader’s deranged laughter increased.

A large black whispy arm shot out from the ground in the middle of the summoning circle, followed by a head, A flaming crown on top, then a body, its jagged rib cage outside framing his torso. everything about it looked off, apparently even for the cult leader that summoned it.

“Wha-?! You’re not Pariah Dark!” He screamed and thrashed in Red Robin's hold, who held him down with a foot on his back.

Its white eerie eyes darted down to him, It seemed to take full offense as it bent down and hisses “Do I look like Pariah Dark?” Its voice is like fork grating on a chalkboard, every mortal in the room winced, especially Red Robin who is closer in proximity.

The King straightened up and swept its cold eyes across the room “Why am I called here?” It sounded annoyed, like they’re just ants wasting its time, which in retrospect they were.

“I swear I changed the summoning requirements…” It muttered, which was heard by everyone. A hint of humanity, they could use this. It’s obviously a new King but they have to thread carefully.

Constantine stepped forward and bowed “High King of the infinite realms, we deeply apologize on behalf of these cult for wasting your time. We want nothing of the sort from you and we only wish to be on your good side”

It looked and stared at Constantine for a good moment before it lunged with rage, only stopped by the summoning circle and Zatanna’s barrier “YOU!!!!”

Constantine stumbled a step back in shock at the absolute hatred brimming the King's eyes.

“You’re the major cause of my headache’s! Who the fuck sells their soul to different entity’s when you only got one?! You whore! I have a special cabinet just full of your paperwork shit! I ought to just kill you and slice your core into ten so I’ll have one less ton of paperwork to deal with!”

It smashes its fist on the barrier and a resounding ‘crack’ echoed across the warehouse.

Constantine can feel Batman’s glare on the back of his head, Zatanna’s strengthening the barrier but the King doesn’t seem to care.

The other bats have gathered the cultist to one side of the room far away from the summoning circle and they stood waiting for orders dealing with their new problem.

Danny sighed, he wanted to finish up until section J but he still has to deal with this. He looked consideringly at the flimsy barrier keeping him, the only reason he stayed was so he wouldn’t scare the superhero team gathered around already securing the cult that was the cause of this shit. Also this is a new universe, not unheard of as he knew a lot of ghosts from this universe and other variants, Just that he hasn’t had the time to visit as many universes as he would’ve liked.

Ever since taking the crown his powers grew exponentially and he gained the ability to cross other universes as he liked. It’s just that the few Universes he managed to visit didn’t have His Jason in it. And there are infinite universes, it’s like finding a microscopic needle in a pit of hay.

He shifted from his eldritch form to something more fitted for royalty. It wouldn’t hurt to check this universe out. The cult summoning him had been knowledgeable but not enough, They only bound their souls to him as an offering so he isn’t required to grant whatever wishes they would have liked.

Danny flew out of the summoning circle and the barrier, He could make acquaintances with the people here. The guy in black and blue spandex looks friendly.

Batman and the other’s watched as the King turned into a more human form and tore through Zatanna’s barrier with no problem, floating down and seemed to say something before he froze, eye’s widening, and then he shot off.

“Nightwing, Robin, I trust you two to finish this up and hand them over to the GCPD. The rest of you let’s go, we can’t trust an unknown entity to roam free”

“It’s headed towards the docks” Zatanna informed them, already ahead in locating their wayward King.

Batman frowned, The docks, It’s where Red Hood currently is, he turned down the emergency call claiming he already had other plans. He caught wind of another unauthorized drug trade starting to circulate when the alley kids helpfully informed him of unfamiliar men trying to sell them drugs and a few attempts of kidnapping. Everyone knew each other in crime alley and one of the main rules Red Hood has is to not involve kids.

Next

[swampjawn]

Dungeon Meshi Episode 7 was super interesting from an adaptation standpoint - this'll be a little different from what I usually write about (though I do still talk about the animation in the full video).

Studio Trigger have never done a straight-up manga adaptation before - and led by Yoshihiro Miyajima, a big fan of the manga who pushed hard for the adaptation to get made, and who has never directed a full series before, it was unclear if they'd be able to find the right balance between a simple panel-for-panel recreation and making something that's completely different.

And in the first few episodes, you could really feel the tension between the influence of a cautious young creative with great respect for the source material, and a studio with a unique established visual style. It kinda seemed like they were ping-ponging willy-nillily between the two sides of that spectrum.

But this episode showed that Miyajima (and series writer Kimiko Ueno) can take 3 chapters, slice them up and rearrange them into a cohesive-feeling episode while taking into account the differences between screen and page, and using them to their advantage.

Starting with the way the water looks. This line from the manga describes a faint magical glow to the water in this lake and you can see that the cavern fades into darkness above, but Kui's illustration style doesn't really define lighting and shadows very much compared to the cel-drawing style of animation. So the animators took the opportunity to use the water as the light source, and make a whole episode that's lit almost entirely from below. It really gives an otherworldly feeling to this area.

Particularly when the Kelpie shows up, that under-lighting works wonders to define its anatomy within the relatively simple line art.

What do you do when you can't show the immense fuck-off scale of a monster with a beautiful full-page spread like this?

Well you use what you do have: the ability to move the camera instead. This is such a great way to communicate the scale of this thing, AND such a great way to show some of Senshi's anime-original butt-cheeks!

This is one of my favorite shots from this episode - this whole sequence is super hectic, cutting quickly from character to character, but they use tricks like this to keep you from getting confused. This is framed much like it is in the manga, but with the moving image, they're able to use the trajectory of the fish head in the background to lead your eye directly from Chilchuck, right to the point where Senshi pops up in the foreground and transition seamlessly from one character to another!

Now, it's not all good - I am a bit disappointed that they removed Marcille's own Senshi-style soap-making montage, which was the perfect visual representation of the culmination of the character development and understanding built between Senshi and Marcille.

It's a shame to see it go.

I get more into that, what else was cut, and much more in this video where I broke down the entire episode!

Check it out if you feel like it. If you don't, jump in a ditch, cover yourself in leaves and jump out at people as they walk by.

Thanks for reading!

[girllblogging777]

HEART EYES… AND HARDCOVERS 𝜗𝜚

spencer reid x gf!reader (fluff, book shopping)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : in which spencer, like the perfect boyfriend he is, carries your books and pays for them too.

“well, if that isn’t my favourite, my straight out of a fairytale, my only proof of romance, biggest and favorite clients !”

a voice welcomed you cheerfully as you came into the bookstore, the words immediately bringing a smile to your face. the tiny bell above the door rang when you closed it, your other hand tightly holding spencer’s.

it was a routine for the two of you to get some new reading material whenever you run out of books at home, which, for the two of you happened to be once every couple of days.

spencer smiled politely at the woman behind the counter, who was shamefully staring at the two of you with heart in her eyes and you simply gave her a shrug, smiling. “hi, beth. we’re just here to help you pay your rent”

she looked amused at your remark, and if she answered something, you didn’t hear it. you were already long gone, walking past the bookshelves and not glancing back like you owned the place and had no need for directions (you didn’t), while spencer had quietly slipped away in pursuit of his own new source of happiness.

the books on the shelves gleamed in the sunlight, and no words could explain the warm feeling in your chest at the familiar smell of ink on paper. time seemed to stop when you while you picked the books, propping them on your hip and tracing their spines like each of them had been carved specifically to receive your touch.

this was how you enjoyed spending your days. browsing through the store and with nowhere else to be, with no one around to disturb you.

no one, apart from your nerdy husband a couple of feet away, who had somehow already managed to go through half the store. oh, and beth, who paid more attention to the two of you than to the clients she was currently advising.

“found anything yet ?” spencer asked, looking at you softly. his eyes darted down to the numerous books you were still carrying.

you nodded, noticing he seemed in his element too. after all, reading was one of the first things the two of you had bonded over when you first met. and if somehow, you two weren’t eachother’s soulmates, that was because literature held the number one spot in each of your hearts.

“yeah, i think this is good for now. hey, would you-“

he cut you off with a knowing smile, shifting the books from your hands to his. “carry your books, yes ma’am. you know i always do. now cmon, let’s go check out”

perfect. he was perfect.

✩✩✩✩

“will that be all for today ?” beth asked in a high pitched voice, to which spencer nodded in confirmation.

she silently scanned the books one by one, forming an actual pile on the counter, that almost reached your ribs. he glanced at you with a raised brow.

“this is mostly yours”

“right, as if you didn’t just pick another edition of white nights like we don’t have three others at home” you answered in the same teasing tone, taking your credit card out of your wallet.

wrong. move.

before you could realise what happened, spencer’s right hand had your wrists against the wooden counter, his left one handing his own credit card to beth.

“hey- what the hell ! beth-“ you exclaimed, looking up at the woman behind the cash register, hoping she’d have some girls-support-girls energy within her and would take your card.

she didn’t. she shook her head, grinning, and smoothly slid his credit card over the machine.

“that’s not fair, it was my turn to pay.” you protested helplessly, turning to them “and what are you, teaming up against me now ?”

they both shrugged, you had to admit you didn’t seem to have your word to say in this.

“sweetheart, it’s always the same thing. you two empty my store, fight to pay, and then leave” she said, almost bored at the thought of having to repeat the cycle once more.

“you forgot the part where i win the argument every time, by the way” spencer added like the smartass he was, and you stepped on his foot to shut him up, to which he let out an almost whimpering sound that only you heard.

then, beth handed you the quite heavy shopping bag, and you took it, admitting defeat. she seemed to read your thoughts.

“look. he’s smart, he buys you books. he’s basically a keeper”

a smile creeped up your lips, you turned around to look at spencer. he was pretending to be paying attention to the receipt, but the blush on his cheeks told you all you needed to know. yup. he was a keeper.

a/n : reblogs, comments and reviews are appreciated <333

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must. 

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege. 

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family. 

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture. 

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed. 

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child. 

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.” 

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

[lokh]

the invitation (2015), dir. karyn kusama / babel, r.f. kuang

guy who's only watched the invitation (2015) seeing a depiction of grief: wow this is just like the invitation (2015)

[natashashill]

tell me you love me

pairing: agatha harkness x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ angst, hurt/comfort, cunnilingus, thigh riding, happy ending

a/n: this was my first time writing smut so tell me if it sucks so i can improve lowk but i have some more reqs to get to so hopefully it’s only up from here!!!

summary: based on this req

Opening up the text, you couldn’t focus on anything else for the rest of the day. Agatha’s text was vague, asking you to meet by the campus cafe once you were done with your classes. Her text lacked its usual warmness, something that was reserved for you alone. You turned your phone off immediately after shooting off a quick confirmation, trying to focus on your upcoming meeting with Professor Maximoff, who never tolerated distractions. You were so close to finishing your senior project, and her guidance is crucial to helping you finish.

The meeting flies by, with the two of you reviewing source material necessary for the finishing touches on this presentation. Soon enough, you were packing up your things and getting ready to head to the cafe. You check your phone for any other messages from Agatha, but there were none. You make your way to class with a slight frown, a funny feeling in your stomach deeping with every step made.

You see her sitting at a corner table, eyebrows furrowed as she stares at her phone. You take a few hesistant steps towards her, until she can see you. Her head slowly raises, a small smile gracing her face but it fails to meet her eyes. She gets up to meet you in a hug and waits until you both place your orders before saying anything.

“Y/N, I know that you’re about to graduate and I just need to say this now and get this out of the way. You’re such a smart girl with such a bright future ahead of you and my precious girl, I cannot be the one to hold you back. I’ve seen the way you worked so hard for this degree and I refuse to hold you back. I love you so much sweetheart, but you have your entire life ahead of you. You have all this time to explore the world and meet new people, and I know it will be a matter of time before this comes to the end. I don’t want this to end bitterly, I love you so much and I have only love for you. I will always cherish you and be rooting for you, but I can’t keep seeing you anymore, I need to let you go.”

You stare blankly at her while your brain starts to process what she just said. Almost at perfect timing, your server comes back with your orders, and she drops eye contact to focus on her drink. Your eyes start to well up with tears and suddenly your throat feels extremely dry.

“Agatha, I don’t want to break up with you. I love you, I only love you. I don’t want anyone else in my life, but you. I couldn’t have made it through this year without you, I can’t imagine my life without you now.”

She looks up at you with a watery smile, but you can tell she’s made up her mind. Your heart plummets at the thought of the situation. You start to replay all your moments in the head.

The movie nights at her place after she came back from work and picked you up from college along the way. Your head on her shoulder as you both giggled through another cheesy romcom and shared a pint of ice cream.

Your birthday, where she pulled out all the stops to make you feel cherished. Inviting all your friends and planning a special party, where you ended up going to a beautiful dinner before returning to a surprise party with all your closest friends. You knew she was behind the entire thing especially when she came up to you with a small box at the end of the night containing a small necklace with a heart pendant that you haven’t taken off since.

You slowly go to grasp the necklace when you realize what she’s doing, paying the bill. You hear her say that she knows you won’t understand right now but she loves you and is looking out for you. You face the window as she exits, not willing to believe that she’s truly walking out on you right now, six weeks before you were graduating.

You blew up her phone for the next week when you realized what she had actually meant but you received nothing from her. No texts, no calls, and not a single voicemail. Two weeks later, she sends you single text stating how much she loves you yet she cannot continue to be with you when you have your whole life ahead of you. At that, you cry. You cry and cry and cry and mourn all the good times you have had that she seemingly gave up on.

—------

Three months have passed, and you still can’t get her out of your mind. You graduated, she sent you a bouquet of flowers with a congratulations note you couldn’t bear to throw away. It sat tucked away in a small corner of your bedroom until it died, where you could throw it away without another hesitation, although you did save the card, not that you would ever admit it. You started your first job, now stuck in a cycle of long days, before mustering the last of your energy into making something to eat and passing out until the next morning at 6am sharp. You mourn the love you used to have with Agatha, how lively everything was with her, and her encouragement that would set you ready for whatever you needed to face.

Agatha wasn’t doing any better. Her days became increasingly longer since she decided to end things with you. She couldn’t stomach her thoughts, wondering if you replaced her yet, someone new and younger who was more worthy of your affection. She knew deep down that she made the worst decision of her life by ending things with you but she couldn’t escape the thoughts that made her feel that maybe she was saving herself from the heartbreak that would have occurred if she waited until you met someone else. She avoided everything that had anything to do with you, too afraid that she could run into you while you’re with someone else, not even eating the same ice cream brand anymore. Her work days became increasingly longer, hoping that she could avoid the outside world, and hopefully you.

Her co-workers drag her out one Friday, deeming that she works to hard and needs to get out more. They drag her to a local karaoke bar where she immediately beelines to the bar, ordering a double shot of tequila and a lime. She started to loosen up for the first time in three months, starting to forget about you. Her time came next, choosing to sing Shallow. Just as she finishes wrapping up the song, she sees someone enter, someone who just happens to be you. She hurriedly exits off the stage, hoping you wouldn’t notice her. She orders another drink and nurses it, hoping you wouldn’t recognize her there. Unexpectedly, she hears your voice next to her as you order out a martini, and she hesitantly lifts her head up.

Interestingly, your friends decided that evening would have been the perfect time to reconnect through all of their busy schedules. You dressed up for the first time since graduation, hoping that you would finally be able to focus on anything but her.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Your head whips around faster than it ever has, and all of your pre-gaming efforts went out the window as you lock eyes with her. You’re unable to speak, but you notice her. The subtle differences, how dimmed her eyes look now, how her eyebags grew. You manage to slip out a simple hello when you realize you’ve been staring at her for quite a bit now.

She reaches out towards your hand on the bar, stopping her hand right before yours, hesitant knowing she doesn’t have the right to reach out to you anymore.

“How are you sweetheart?”

“I’ve missed you”

Oh.

You shouldn’t have said that, but you couldn’t help but blurt it out. Her eyes have always been hypnotizing to you, and you couldn’t help but be putty around her. Your gaze quickly drops to where your hands are before slowly returning to her face, catching the way she’s looking at you hungrily. You have just a second before she leans in closer and kisses you. You kiss her back, arms wrapping around her and moving closer, you hope you never have to break apart.

Her arms wrap around your waist as she stands up and tugs you closer. Her lips capturing your bottom lip before leaving your mouth entirely.

“I’ve missed you too sweetheart, so much my darling.”

That’s all it takes for you to bring your lips back to hers. She kisses back for a second before slowly pulling back and leaving you with a small pout. She chuckles but takes a long look around making sure her co workers are thoroughly distracted, before gently moving towards your ear.

“Come home with me baby, even if it’s just for tonight, let me make you mine again.”

You let out a small gasp before whispering a small yes. You see the smile return to her face, the same way it always used to be. She covers both of your tabs before ushering you to her car, focused on getting you both home as soon as possible.

She just barely gets the front door open before you’re on her again. Lips desperately meeting hers and she kisses you back just as desperate. Her hands meet your waist again and she guides you both towards the couch. She lays you down before breaking the kiss, hands making their way towards the hem of your shirt, making a single tug, eyes meeting yours in a silent question. You nod and she starts unbuttoning your shirt, leaving small kisses and praises as she goes. After eagerly throwing your shirt somewhere you’d have to search for tomorrow, she goes straight to unhooking your bra. You look down at her with your eyes half-liddled, practically keening in anticipation with what she’s doing but to your temporary disappointment, she makes her way back up to your lips.

She meets you in a harsh kiss before making her way down to your neck. She starts sucking harshly and you let out a breathy moan, letting your hands get tangled in her hair. She makes her way down to your tits, lightly teasing one of your nipples with her tongue, before wrapping her lips around it and gently sucking. Your hands tighten around her hair and press her closer. She brings one hand to twirl and twist around your other nipple while bringing the other closer to your pant zipper. She takes your nipple out of her mouth with a small pop. She quickly unzips your pants before bringing them down leaving you bare with just your panties. You lock eyes with her as your hands untangle from her hair and move along her back until the reach the zipper of her dress. She gives you a small nod before you quickly unzip the dress. She busies herself back in your neck in the meanwhile, leaving marks that you’ll have a hard time justifying to your friends when they see it the next day. Leaning back to step out of the dress, she slowly removes her own bra for your enjoyment, savoring the look on your face as her tits come into your view. She leans eye level with your crotch, lightly rubbing your clit through your soaked panties.

Another moan escapes you and your hips involuntarily buck upwards, desperate for more. She softly slides your panties to the side, before slowly licking a stripe up your core. The first taste of you makes her desperate and suddenly she’s harsher than before. She places one arm at your hips to prevent you from moving, while they other goes to keep your thighs apart. Her tongue swirls around your clit before bringing her lips down and harshly sucking a few times. You can’t stop the moans that leave you and you bring your hands back into her hair, lightly pushing her head closer to where you need it. She doesn’t relent, lips harshly suckking your clit before slipping her tongue inside your core. Your fingers tighten around her hair and you feel the vibrations from her moan against you. She focuses back on your clit, sucking and teasing before slipping a finger into your core. She starts to pump her finger in and out, and your moans grow increasingly louder. Your fingers tighten in her hair, your thighs start to shake, and she knows your close. She adds in a second finger, sucks extremely hard on your clit, and suddenly you’re falling apart for her. She works you through the aftershocks, lightly pumping in and out while whispering sweet praise, before removing her fingers and bringing them up to her lips to taste. She catches the look in your eye and she sends you a small wink while gently rubbing her other hand against your thigh soothingly.

As she stands up, you let out a soft whine of displeasure to which she shushes you softly. She gently leads you upstairs to her bed, settling you in the center and slipping out of her panties before making her way to join you. Your lips meet once again in a passionate embrace and her hands hold your face as if you could slip away any second. Every moan that leaks through only spurs her more as she straddles one of your legs. She starts rocking her hips and your hands attempt to guide them, before she pulls them away and pins them over your head. The new angle gives her a better angle as she rocks her hips and her hair drapes over her face. The sight is too much for you to handle and you wish you could frame how she looks in this moment. Spurred on by your eager gaze, it doesn’t take long for Agatha to call you her desperate slut and push her leg closer to your center. Her degradation only turns you on more and you eagerly buck your hips against her thigh, desperately seeking whatever friction she allows you. Agatha watches you desperately hump her, the sight only pushing her closer to her climax. Pressing her knee right at your core, she eagerly watches as your face twists in please and it only takes another second for you to reach your peak. Watching you come undone, sends her over the edge as well and she breathes out a desperate I love you while she comes. She drops slightly next to you, out of breath but refusing to take her eyes off of you. She looks up at you with a soft smile and sweetly asks you to stay, and you knew you couldn’t resist her. You settled against her chest with the covers wrapped around you both and when your eyes started to droop, you didn’t resist.

Everything came crashing the next morning when you woke up to an empty bed. You look around desperately, hoping that there’s still a chance she may be in the bathroom or the kitchen. When you hear nothing, tears start cascading down your cheeks rapidly. You check for a note but there’s nothing and you can’t wrap your head around the fact that she just left you alone. Wrapping the covers around you, you start to sob and bring back all the hurt and pain that you felt when she first broke up with you. Suddenly, you hear keys rattling in the door and you rush downstairs as she’s entering the door. She drops her bags at the sight of your tear-streaked face and engulfs you in a hug as you reach her. Your sobs turn into wails as you bury your face in her neck. She rocks you both gently while whispering sweet nothings hoping to soothe you slightly. She gently pulls you away before reaching to wipe your tears.

“My darling girl, what happened? What’s gotten you so upset this early in the morning?”

You take a deep breath as you attempt to answer and she gently rubs your back encouraging you to speak.

“I thought you left me again. I woke up and you weren’t there and there wasn’t a note or anything saying you would come back and I thought you wanted me gone. I don’t want to be gone, I wanted to wake up in your arms again. I missed having you with me, I hate every day that I don’t get to be with you, and I wanted you back. I assumed that you thought this was going to be a mistake and that we can’t see each other again anymore. I love you so much and I want you to love me back.”

You look up to see tears glistening in Agatha’s eyes as she takes in your words. She gently cradles your face in her hands before speaking.

“My love, I’m sorry I haven’t made things clearer for you. I love you so much, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time we were apart. It was my own insecurities that lead me to break things off with you. I refused to believe that you would still want me after you graduated, that you would see past this infatuation and find someone who’s more your age. I didn’t realize the extent to which I woud hurt you and for that I can’t even begin to apologize. As for last night, I have to admit, I was worried about where to go from here, but I don’t think I can leave you again. You mean too much to me for me to walk away again and I want you to stay with me for as long as you wish. My intention this morning was never to leave you alone, I went on a quick grocery run to get ingredients for breakfast in case you were willing to stay. I’m so sorry you woke up alone my love but I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

You don’t respond but you fall right into her arms again, allowing yourself to fall and trusting her to take care of you. She knows that you love her just as much and that you will talk more on this later, but she focuses on making sure you’re alright and letting the future deal with itself. She guides you back to bed, bringing you back under the covers and wrapped safely in her arms as you start to drift asleep. She presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before letting sleep claim her as well.

notes: i absolutely adored this prompt so thank you to whoever sent it in. i hope this is okay and everything you could hope for!

[mirroredmemoriez]

A collection of Amanda Young’s outfits (PT 1)

As the title states, this is just all the outfits I can source from Amanda Young from the franchise but also any game adaptation too. This will be broken into parts because of the image limit.

1.) The Reverse Bear Trap (RBT) outfit

One of her most iconic and recognisable fits. She has a purple tank top with matching sleeves to go alongside, presumably kept in place by the pink bands on her upper arms? Amanda in this wears a black skirt with ripped fish nets and kinda shiny boots- Other things include the eye makeup, nail polish and the only time we ever see her have the clawing panther tattoo on her shoulder.

2.) Rockstar outfit

I've generalised this as the ROCKSTAR outfit- Because this specific shirt comes up a few times, not just in that cut scene. It seems there is actually two shirts? The blue graphic one on top and a grey one underneath. Amanda's hair and jackets change! There is the light grey jacket and then the black one and even things like how heavy her makeup is are different... The main place we see this look is when she is setting up Adam for his game. Of course she has boots on as always and I guess I'd call the jeans she has on cuffed? One extra is she has a watch on.

3.) Junkie outfit

BECAUSE I WAS A FUCKING JUNKIE!!! Anyway, with this I had to brighten the image to see what the design on the tank top was... From there I went, ''I think I've seen this before...'' And yeah, I had- Shawnee Smith has worn this logo a few times, so that's why I've added the last two images for a clearer reference. Amanda here looks quite gaunt and sickly and we can't see the rest of this outfit such as trousers.

4.) Visitor outfit

I'll dub this the Visitor outfit because of the badge of course- I would say this likely is Amanda's most simple outfit? Black shirt and skirt. The most striking thing about this look is the RBT scars she has... It's also one of the only times outside of Saw 3 we see Amanda with a ponytail! I can't lie when looking at her hair here, it almost looks two toned in places such as the side burns? Almost grey in parts? (Edit: This may be a dress actually.)

5.) The Red Pig outfit

This is my personal favourite when it comes to her in movie pig looks. She has a red coat/cloak which the length goes all the way down to her boots- Looking there I think the lower half from seeing the cuffed like jeans is probably the exact same as her Rockstar outfit. Her eye makeup is heavily smudged and the mask itself in my opinion is one of the best shaped pig masks, with what seems to be ''blood'' coming out of the eye sockets and black slash brunette hair.

6.) Bow Dress/Clinic outfit

This scene and the follow up is so depressing but she's so cutesy here- It's a simple black dress, but the bow is very Amanda. I have no clue whether the shoes she has on in the first image are actually apart of the outfit or just something Shawnee had on whilst testing it out. 7.) News Report/Scott Tibbs outfit

May be my overall favourite Amanda outfit.... She has on a grey hoodie jacket, possibly another article of clothing from her Rockstar outfit? Her iconic skull sweatpants with a belt and then boots that I would say are more akin to her RBT outfit. I can't really tell if the shirt she has got on is layers or just has different materials- Amanda's RBT scars are also very visible in this look.

8.) Suffocation outfit

At first I started doing these as two separate outfits? One for when she kills Adam, the other for when she wakes up from her nightmare- However, I'm pretty sure this is the same outfit through and through. Amanda has on a long sleeved orange shirt with a grey tanktop over it. The jacket is leather with noticeable silver studs and she has on cargo type trousers and as always... Boots.

9.) Nightmare outfit

Another personal favourite! Once again we get to see the skull pants and this is how I was able to gage the material a bit better. I honestly have no clue how to describe the specific items of clothing she has on her upper half? A corset type shirt going on? Details I enjoy are the safety pins around the shoulder and bottom half and she has a watch on.

10.) Saw X outfit

I decided to not have this pig look separate. Anyway! This is Amanda's most recent outfit with Saw X having come out in 2023.... Simple grey t-shirt alongside cargo trousers with a belt. The boots she's got on are very combat/work like and Amanda also has a black choker and earrings here- Her coat/cloak is black with red detailing such as the cuffs and the inner lining.

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; jaime lannister ; part three.

part one | part two

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 11.9k

themes ; heavy angst, action, sort of barely-there fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a dance with dragons, politicking, foul language, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, emotional constipation on bw's end, complicated-ish dynamics

a/n ; oh god i'm so sorry this took so long </3 it's so hard figuring out what to write now that i've run out of source material man !!! so i'm rlly sorry if this doesn't live up to the last two parts, i tried my best :( i'm honestly not entirely happy w this chapter but i rlly hope you guys enjoy it regardless! i love these two so much i rlly do :(

main masterlist. read on ao3!

Summers in the north meant many rainy nights. Snow was not foreign during the season either, though it was more of a cold, icy sludge than the usual thick blankets one would expect in winter. Ned wondered how long this summer would last—he’d have to check the granaries and consult the maesters to make sure they were well prepared for a sudden winter, even if it would likely be years until then.

“It’s hot,” came a voice beside him. Ned turned his head to see you making your way towards him, a frown etched across your features. “I can hardly wear my furs without boiling myself.”

A touch of a smile graced his usually-solemn face. “You’re being dramatic.”

You shot your brother a glare. “Perhaps. But it is undeniable that this summer is hotter than the previous ones. We’ve hardly gotten any snow.” You toed at the melting sludge beneath your boots.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he told you, not unkindly. “It won’t be like this for long, I’m certain. Winter is coming.”

Now at eight-and-ten, you were practically a woman grown. You were no summer child, Ned knew. In fact, you had been born amidst a harsh and blistering three-year winter. Regardless, in his eyes, you would always be the young girl he had left in Winterfell when departing for the Eyrie all those years ago. 

“I hope it comes sooner,” you grumbled, fanning at your face, which Ned found amusing, considering there was a semi-chilly breeze whistling through the two of you. Then, you casted a sidelong glance at him.

It had only been a handful of weeks since he returned from the south to suppress the Greyjoy Rebellion. The young boy he had brought back as a ward-hostage, Theon, was a frightened, green-eared thing—but little Robb seemed to take a liking to him.

“Theon and Robb were playing at the kennels,” you told him, voice softer. “Tossing bones at the hounds.”

Ned made a noise of disapproval, but said nothing.

“Ned… Theon is the second child you’ve brought home unannounced. You scared Cat half to death.”

Ned’s eyes grew pained. He remembered the way she looked at him once she saw the little boy by his side. “I know. I need no reminder.” 

“At least you bear no resemblance to Theon. But Jon—he looks much like you,” you said. The sludgy snow you were toeing had now completely melted into a shallow puddle. 

“He looks like you, too,” Ned pointed out. He wasn’t quite sure what you were dancing around. 

“No, I’m saying…” You winced at yourself. It was an awkward topic to discuss, knowing Ned was so adamant on keeping his secrets close to his chest, despite your and Benjen’s prodding. “Does he resemble his mother at all?”

Pursing his lips, Ned simply bowed his head and sighed as he always did when it came to matters of Jon. “I don’t want to speak of his mother.”

“Alright,” you relented. But another second passed, and, unable to help yourself, you blurted, “He has the dark hair of Ashara Dayne.”

Ned’s dark grey eyes swung to you. Anger crossed his features, which he had never looked at you with before, not once. His soldiers oft spread rumors of Ashara and him, he knew, but you? He hadn’t expected this to come from you, of all people.

Quickly, you began to stumble over your words. “I just—I remember how you danced with her. And you went to Starfall to return Dawn, didn’t you? And she died, Ashara, so I thought—It was only logical that Jon—”

“What does it matter?” Ned brusquely snapped. “Jon is my blood. He’s your nephew, and that’s all that matters.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, guilt seizing you. You shouldn’t have pried. It was a sensitive subject, and perhaps there was a reason why Ned didn’t want to tell you. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you looked ten years younger at that moment. Ned softened. 

“He does look like her,” said Ned after many minutes of silence. “His mother. I thank the Gods for that.”

You leaned against the balcony ledge. “He has Stark eyes, though. Our eyes.” 

“Aye.” 

A strike of guilt warmed your insides as you gestured about vaguely. “He’s my nephew, just as Robb is. But I treat neither of them as such. It’s hard being… affectionate. I wish I had it in me. Lyanna would have been a much better aunt than I. I suspect she would have loved Jon where Cat could not.” 

There was something about Ned’s expression that struck you as odd. His features hardened considerably, and your stomach turned with guilt yet again in fear that you’d said something out of turn.

Finally, Ned squared his shoulders and turned to face you. “You’re a fine aunt. Jon and Robb love you well enough.” Ned shook his head, deciding to change the subject. “The boy, Theon. I can only pray he won’t become a trouble in the years to come. He’s a good lad. But I do hope I won’t have to keep him for long.”

“Robb will be heartbroken once he leaves,” you said. 

Ned’s reluctant smile returned at that. “He’ll live.” One of Ned’s hands landed on your shoulder. “If things were different, Robert would be on the throne with Lyanna as his Queen. Maybe then the Rebellions would never have happened. Balon Greyjoy thought Robert lacked noble support. Perhaps with Lyanna by his side, it would have been different.”

That made you bark out a harsh laugh. “That’s not true,” you told him. “Lyanna would have found a way not to come to her own wedding. She would have rather run off to Yi Ti than marry Robert. And even so… if she had been forced into the marriage, the rebellions would likely still have happened. Balon Greyjoy is a power-hungry man. He would’ve sought another reason to claim independence.”

Ned frowned at that, but did not disagree with you. “And you? Would you do the same if you were betrothed? Run off to Yi Ti never to be found again?”

You shrugged. “It depends on who I would be bound to.”

“Jory Cassel?” Ned lightly suggested, more as a jest than anything. Though, come to think of it, he was a good, loyal fighter, and would treat you well enough. “It would be a fine match.”

The thoughts were quickly dashed, however, when you scoffed and batted his hand away from your shoulder. “Jory would be more suitable for Benjen than I. The two tussle about with their swords all the time.”

“How about—?”

“I don’t think anybody you offer would be any good for me, Ned.”

“Do you plan to just sit in the castle all your life?”

“Yes. If I were to marry a man, would I not be doing the very same, just in a different castle?” At that moment, it looked like you were sulking, as you often did when you were a very young child. 

Ned smiled fondly. “A fair point, sister-mine. Alright, then. As long as you’re happy.”

“You’re my family, Ned,” you told him. “I do not need a husband or children of my own to replace who I’ve lost.”

Going further north was not an option for you, not anymore. It was crawling with Freys and westermen alike. Westward from the Vale was the only viable pathway now. 

The Inn of the Kneeling Man was a famous little establishment—notorious for its location, where your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, first knelt to Aegon the Conqueror. You stared at the old, flaking painting depicting the kneeling figure, his hands bound together. If not for his submission, you likely wouldn’t be standing here at this very spot. 

With a grimace, you made your way into the inn. It was a far cry nicer than any other inn you’d been to the past few moons, and consequently far more crowded. After a quick glance around, you observed no enemy banners or insignia anywhere, and deemed it safe to stay for a bit. The air smelled of fresh bread and crisp ale. You sat down at one of the common room’s tables, your hood pulled up over your hair, which was freshly cropped and dyed as of the previous night. 

“What can I get for you today?” a rotund serving boy asked, smiling at you wide and genuine. All the commotion and bustling made him damp with sweat and rosy-cheeked, but he was happier than ever.

“What do you have?” you asked. 

“We have meat stew, we do. Horse or lamb or rabbit, you can take your pick. Fried onions and eggs and beans, if it please you. We’ve got plenty of ale for you to wash it all down, as well. There are sweetcakes in the pantry, last I checked, but I’d have to look again to make sure. Food goes quickly here!” He laughed good-naturedly, but abruptly paused when he caught a glimpse of your eyes. “Say—I knew a girl who had eyes just like yours.”

You arched a brow. You were sure there were many girls out there that had eyes like yours. “Did you?”

He lowered his voice and glanced about, as if he wasn’t sure of what he could say. “I was traveling with her from King’s Landing, you see. We’ve parted ways since then. I do hope to see her again, once the war is over.”

Wishful thinking, you thought with a sad hum. 

“Who was this girl?” you asked.

“Nobody,” he replied hastily. “A friend.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Hot Pie, ser.”

“Don’t call me ser.”

“Sorry. Er—what should I call you?”

“You can call me Ned. That’s a funny name you’ve got, Hot Pie.”

“My mother was a baker.”

The past tense in the sentence was not lost on you. You regarded him in a more sympathetic light.

“My mother was a lady,” you told him in a lowered voice, and his brows raised. 

“Would that make you a lord, then?”

You sucked at your teeth. “Not quite, Hot Pie.” There was a familiar cinch of hunger that took hold of your stomach. “Could I have some of that rabbit stew? And a bit of bread to mop it up with, please. That’s a good lad.”

Hot Pie brightened and nodded several times. “Yes, of course! I’ll bring you the freshest bread we’ve got! I bake them all myself—it didn’t taste that great before I got here, but it’s much better now, I promise.”

The chubby boy hustled away, stopping by a few other tables to take orders and pluck up empty chalices. It took only a few minutes for him to return with the warm stew and bread, and you were quick to start wolfing it down. 

“Sit, Hot Pie. Have some of the bread,” you told the boy. You supposed the best way to get information was talking to someone who worked here rather than a passerby. Hot Pie seemed reluctant to take a break, eager to get back to serving customers, but it was clear that your request was an order, not a offer. The dangerous glint in your gaze made a shiver run down his spine and he didn’t wait to sit down across from you. You wiped a bit of stew from your lips with the back of your hand and asked, “What’s been happening in the Riverlands? I’ve heard talk of sieges during my travels.”

 Hot Pie shifted his weight this way and that. He reached over to tear off a chunk of the fresh bread he brought. As he chewed, he hummed in thought. “You’d be right in that. From what I heard, the Lannisters have come to bring peace to the Riverlands. There have been sieges, but it’s all been resolved now, if I recall. There is still much to be wary of, though. The brotherhood without banners are at large and there are many thieves and crooks out alike. Bad men roam these lands. I’m lucky the cooks in this establishment had the space to take in a boy like me, even if they’ve got me scurrying around until it feels like my feet’re about to fall off.”

You spooned some more stew into your mouth and swallowed heavily. “Yes, I’ve heard of this brotherhood. That’s not what I’m worried about, really. Who’s heading the Lannister sieges? Lord Kevan?”

The young boy shook his head. “It’s the Kingslayer at the head of it all. Jaime Lannister. He just had Raventree surrender to him, I’ve heard.”

There was a brief pause. You could feel your heart seize in your chest, almost painful in its stutter. 

“Ned? Ned, are you alright?”

You hadn’t realized you’d went quiet for that long. Hot Pie was leaning forward in concern, waving his hand a short distance from your face. 

After another moment, you washed the food down with a swig of ale. “I’ll be taking a room for the night, Hot Pie. Will you let the inn owner know for me?” You slipped the boy enough money to cover both the food and the room.

“Oh—yes, of course. Yeah, I’ll get right to that. Just tonight, you say?”

“Just tonight,” you confirmed with a grim nod. “I’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

Pennytree was slowly but surely rebuilding itself. It was larger than Jaime had expected, with its stretches of burned fruit orchards, blackened, crumbling houses, and scorched rubble. But new houses and buildings were being erected, and plenty of them to come, judging by all the wood and raw material he could see stacked in neat, orderly piles.

Despite the obvious signs of life, there was not a single soul to be in sight. Hiding, he presumed. Afraid of me. Perhaps rightfully so.

They set up camp for the night right outside the village. Jaime first sent out half a dozen scouts to make sure no enemies prowled about, then meandered about the wreck of a village, eyeing all the burnt homes and destroyed livelihoods. King’s men had done this, one of the sentries told him. His men.

Not too long after, one of the scouts came back with someone accompanying him. 

“My lord,” the young boy addressed him, pulling Jaime’s attention away from the rubble. “She rode up to the camp, bold as ever, demanding to speak with you.” 

When Jaime’s eyes fell upon the newcomer, his back straightened like a rod. “My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon.” Her face… What had happened to her? “You’ve been wounded,” he said, feeling like a fool for pointing out the obvious. Of course she��s been wounded, half her face has been torn off. 

“I was bitten,” Brienne told him. Her blue eyes swam with pain from more than just her flesh wound. Her hand was wound tight around Oathkeeper. “My lord, I have a request to ask of you. It’s—”

Before she could finish, another scout that he’d sent off at the same time as the first, grizzled and worn by age and war, came riding up to him with a cloaked figure behind his back.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lord,” he said, scowl deep and voice strained. Jaime could sense something was off. “Found this’un trying to creep into camp. When I tried to shackle the lad, he put a blade to my throat and forced me onto the horse to get to you.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for his own sword’s hilt. “I would be ever so grateful if you could release my scout—unless you’d prefer to be gutted like a pig. I would be happy to arrange it.”

“You wouldn’t do that. But I do need to be promised I won’t be pierced with arrows once I let go,” said the figure. 

That voice. Jaime knew that voice—he’d recognize it anywhere. That was no man. Before he could think, your name slipped from his throat, more of a question than anything.

You pulled back the cowl and he could see the flash of the blade pressing deeper into the scout’s throat. Jaime stared at you with eyes as large as the moon. It was you—unmistakably so—with harsh eyes of winter and lips drawn back into a familiar snarl. Your hair was different, he quickly noticed—short and coppery-red. Like Robb Stark’s had been… 

But it was you. You, who he had never expected to see for many years to come. You, who he had willingly given up, even if he never wanted to let you go. What the hell were you doing here? 

Two arm’s lengths away from him, Brienne watched you with utter relief in her eyes, clearly having been at her wit’s end trying to find you the past fortnight. 

“Jaime,” you sharply said, snapping the knight out of his reverie. “Tell them to put their weapons down.”

He glanced behind him to see a few knights with their swords and bows at the ready. Immediately, he waved his hand and told them to leave. They glanced at each other, unsure.

“Put your damn weapons down!” Jaime barked, voice now raised. Almost immediately, the knights reluctantly lowered their arms. Satisfied but still wary, you slid down from the horse and pulled the blade away from the scout. 

“Leave us,” Jaime told the two scouts and all his loitering squires. 

“But—” the grizzled scout began to say.

“Leave us.”

They all scampered off into nearby pitched pavilions, pace quickened by the tone of finality in Jaime’s order.

Jaime then said your name again, and he could see your chest rise and fall rapidly. Calming your nerves or quelling your anger, he wasn’t sure. Instead of saying a word to him, you looked to Brienne. 

“Gods, Brienne, I am very glad to see you. I thought you died,” you said, so soft and unsure. One of your hands reached up to hover just above her flesh wound, but you did not touch it, knowing it must’ve hurt like all hells. “I’m so sorry I left. If I’d known—”

“No, my lady,” she placated. “I’m glad you left. They would have killed you if you hadn’t. I only barely escaped with my life. I apologize—I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“Would someone care to fill me in?” Jaime impatiently asked, gaze flitting back and forth between the two of you. 

Immediately, your head snapped to him, and he had to resist the urge to shrink away. Monstrous knights and beasts aplenty he’d faced, but none were as frightening as you were in that very moment. In the blink of an eye, you darted forward and your palm struck across the side of his face. Jaime staggered a step back in shock, his one hand cradling his now-throbbing cheek. Many seconds of silence passed, thick with tension. 

Then he smiled. All sharp and prideful.

“I’m sure I deserve that,” he said, voice clipped.

The way you regarded him was not hostile, but rather akin to a wounded feral animal of sorts. “You deserve more than that. Burning down the Riverlands. Taking their castles. Have you no shame?”

“No, but I have a duty,” came his dry response.

You reared back with an incredulous look. “Duty? You wouldn’t know duty even if it spat you in the face!”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me?” Jaime taunted, his infuriating smile only widening. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.” 

Your face flushed with heat. With a frustrated huff, you shook your head, knowing it was futile to argue with him. He had kissed you the last time you saw one another, but that felt like centuries ago. Time had weathered the two of you. Was he even the same Jaime that had set you off on Varys’ ship?

“There is much you need to tell me, but I should tell you this first,” Jaime said, eyeing you curiously, mind still reeling. His voice lowered, making sure only you and Brienne could hear him. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, since you’ve left but it’s best you hear this from me than some fishwives’ gossip mill. There is a girl posing as your niece, Arya in Winterfell. She’s just been married to Ramsay Snow. Bolton now, actually. Roose’s bastard has been legitimized.”

Your brows creased at the news. “What? Who’s the girl?” You glanced at Brienne, who’d told you that Arya had been traveling with the Hound a while back, but you decided now was not the best time to share such rumors with Jaime. 

A shrug lifted his shoulders. “Some girl. She’s young and scrawny. It’s close enough to what people are expecting of her. And of the small population that actually remembers what little Arya looked like, who would dare to defy the Warden of the North?”

Anger seized your chest. “Who did this? You?” 

“Of course not,” snorted Jaime. “My dear father did. He’s dead now, so don’t go traipsing off trying to kill him. Tyrion already did that honor for us.”

You swallowed heavily. How haven’t you heard that the mighty Tywin Lannister has fallen? With hesitant hands, you reached out to take his golden one. You knew what it was like to lose a father. Jaime could feel his heart palpitate beneath his chest.

“Jaime…”

Whatever you wanted to say—an offering of condolence, perhaps—died on your tongue. You let the golden hand drop back to his side, and folded your arms across your chest, glaring off elsewhere. Tywin Lannister was no man to mourn—he didn’t deserve your grief.

“I do have good news,” he said, desperate to rekindle whatever good nature the two of you once had.

“I doubt it.”

Jaime could only smile at that. “Bitter Wolf,” he said, almost affectionately. “Your nephew at the Wall—Jon Snow, if I remember?”

At the mention of Jon, your head turned back towards him. “What? What about him? Is he alright?”

The knight let the seconds draw out—he liked the way your eyes widened with anticipation. “I cannot attest to his well being. But I can tell you he’s now Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He hung his head and laughed a dry, chesty sound. “Bastards are climbing high these days.”

There’s one on the Iron Throne as we speak, he thought to himself. 

“Jon…” you whispered, eyes now distant.

“Stannis is there, as well. Planning on taking Winterfell, perhaps finding another little lordling to plant there. Hells, if he got his hands on you, he’d rejoice…”

Jaime narrowed his eyes in thought. 

“You aren’t planning on keeping me prisoner, are you?” you asked Jaime. If you were to get to Stannis, things would certainly look up for you.

“I promised you I would never, didn’t I?” he replied. “All those moons ago, in Harrenhal. You’re so forgetful.”

You chose to ignore his airy, nonchalant manner. “Could I have a moment to speak to Brienne privately?”

This surprised Jaime. “What could you say to her that you can’t say to me? I thought you trusted me.”

Both you and Brienne stared at him in silence for a few long seconds. Finally, Jaime nodded his defeat. “Fine. I’ll bring the two of you some hot food to fill your bellies. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be so keen on biting my head off.”

“Unlikely,” he heard Brienne mutter as he moved away.

He could just as easily have asked a squire to fetch the food for him, but Jaime thought it wise to let the two of you have a moment to yourselves. He wasn’t keen on being slapped another time.

“My lady,” Brienne said once Jaime left, her voice now strained with urgency. “There’s been—I know this may sound deranged, but I need you to trust me. Lady Catelyn is back. Only, it’s not really her, not as you remember her, she is—angry and torn.”

You reared back at her words. What the hell was she on about?

“Cat?” You tilted your head in befuddlement. “I don’t understand.”

“Her body is cut up and her hair is white and her eyes have been scratched to ribbons. She is a living corpse,” Brienne told you, quick and hushed. Her blue eyes shone with a film of unshed tears. “They call her the Lady Stoneheart. She leads the brotherhood without banners—a group of misfits and bandits and thieves alike, but they rally to her, exacting revenge on everybody involved with the Red Wedding. I tried to tell her of my search for Sansa, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She wanted me to bring her Jaime’s head. And…” Brienne paused for a brief moment to suck in a breath. “She has Podrick. She was about to hang me—asked me to choose between the sword or the noose. And I couldn’t sentence Podrick to his death with me so I…”

“You chose the sword,” you whispered in horror. “I cannot bring Jaime to his death.”

“They’ll kill the boy if we don’t,” Brienne replied, almost pleading.

You gestured about aimlessly. “So what’s your plan? March him right out of his own camp and murder him the second we’re a league away?” You shook your head vehemently. “No. I could not—I will not—kill Jaime. Is she sound of mind, Cat? Will she be willing to hear me speak?”

“I cannot say, my lady. She would not listen to me.”

There came noises from outside the tent and the two of you went silent for many moments before continuing in an even lower volume. “Do not tell Jaime of this. He won’t come if he knows of the truth. We will tell him Sansa is with the Hound holding her hostage—and we need him to come along to pay her ransom with that wretched golden hand of his.”

Brienne nodded. “He must come alone. Lady Stoneheart is not likely to listen to us if he brings a squadron of soldiers with him.”

“We’ll tell him he must come away with no company or Sansa will be killed,” you said, grimacing at the idea of lying to Jaime. “Once we get to Cat, I will try to reason with her. She wouldn’t murder an innocent boy. Seeing Jaime would, hopefully, convince her to release Podrick. And if not… well… I’m sure I could make some sort of bargain with her. She’s my sister.”

This made the tall woman hesitate. Was Lady Stoneheart still Lady Catelyn deep down? “What if she forces you to choose?”

Your expression grew stony. “I would save the innocent squire over the man who fights alongside the monsters that murdered my nephew. But it won’t come to that.”

Brienne’s torn expression was skeptical. You had not yet seen the ruthlessness of Stoneheart; your mind’s image was still picturesque and soft with hope of a distant past. “My lady, I do not know if this is wise.”

“What other choice do we have?”

Once Jaime returned with warm bowls of meat stew, both you and Brienne scarfed down the food at a concerning speed. Jaime watched you with a twisted sense of wonder—part of him thought that he was going to wake up any moment now, and you’d still be gone, off sailing somewhere with the little birds. But you were here—eyeing him intensely over your bowl of stew. It made him feel his chest feel warm and hazy, which was ridiculous, considering the night was frigid. Jaime found himself thinking that he found you frustratingly complex—he was never one for puzzles.

“There’s more if you’d like—” Jaime began to say by the time you had your last spoonful, but you shook your head.

“No time. We have to go.”

Jaime pretended not to be affected when you gave his shoulder a little shove. 

Jaime put up little argument when the both of you told him of Sansa. 

“I’ll come,” he had said, amused at the surprise in your eyes. “I swore an oath. Not that that means much anymore. But I swore, and I intend to see it through.”

“Really?” you asked, disbelief evident in the singular word. “No questions asked, you would follow me just like that?”

“I would follow you off the edge of a cliff if you asked,” Jaime said, so calm it disturbed you. Being away from the tension and stress of King’s Landing really had changed him, it seemed. Distance from his family was, likely, also a contributing factor. “I jumped into a bear cage for the two of you, remember? This isn’t new territory.”

The three of you left Pennytree almost immediately after the meal—Jaime made sure to tell the few men who you passed that he would return in haste. He gave them no explanation as to where he was going. 

Brienne had told you “Sansa” was about a day’s ride away. After many hours on horseback, trying to put as much distance between you and the camp, the three of you stopped by a grove of shady trees for a brief rest to recover the numbness in your legs. The sun was just beginning to rise, and Brienne rode off to do a quick scout of the perimeter.

“Do you still feel the same as when you left?” he asked once the two of you were alone. The green of his sharp eyes seemed to glow in the warm, dim light. “You told me I was a good man. Was that real, or were your words just wind?”

You had been tightening the saddle on the horse, but stiffened at his sudden question, turning to face him. “That was before you aligned yourself with my nephew’s murderers.”

A frown creased the space between his brows. “I was sent away by Cersei’s command. I never wanted to leave Tommen. Do you really think I have a say on who fights who in this five-faced war?”

No longer did the war have five faces—not if your Robb was dead. Anger crossed your expression, and you pushed closer to him in a blaze of fury. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? You always have a choice, and you’re always choosing the wrong one.”

Jaime’s one hand reached out to brush over your arm, but you shoved him away. His expression crumpled. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

You felt tears touch the corner of your eyes, but you willed them away. He had chosen you, to your simultaneous dismay and relief. Why?

Jaime turned his head to the side and breathed out a heavy sigh when you spared him no response. “I avoided as much bloodshed as possible in this war. I kept Edmure Tully alive thinking of you and your family.”

“What, you want me to thank you for not brutally murdering an innocent man?” Your hands twitched at your sides, and Jaime wondered if you were going to slap him again. If you were, he was not going to pull away.

But you didn’t, and he ignored your question to continue his dramatics. “And now I’m leaving it all—the battles, the fighting, my duty—because I want to be with you. You are more important to me than this war. I want to help you find your niece.”

Guilt stroked its heavy hand over your chest. You took no pleasure in lying to Jaime. Especially not when he’s been so honest with you in the past, even when he shouldn’t have been. The wretched knight seemed to notice the conflict warring over your features, and reached out to gently cup your face with his one remaining hand. 

“My Bitter Wolf,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “I’m choosing you. Does that mean nothing?”

You wrenched yourself away from him, causing him to stumble back a few paces, and your eyes stung with salt. I’m not choosing you, you thought miserably. But you spoke no words, spared Jaime a hurtful glare, and whisked away from him, back to Brienne. 

When Brienne led you into the thicket where the brotherhood had set up their makeshift camp, a swarm of men crawled out from the forest like ants to honey. They nodded to Brienne, grabbing a hold of her. She relented with no fight. They took you and Jaime—while you stared at the ground, Jaime erupted in incredulous commands and angry queries to unhand him. He said your name many times, demanding some sort of explanation, but you ignored him. Jaime thrashed and bucked under the grasp of half a dozen men, breaking the nose of two before a blade was slotted beneath his throat. If it had not been for your calm manner, he would have done much worse damage—and he would have easily bested all six with hardly any effort.

“I suppose this is my fault,” Jaime said, voice low, stilling his motions. “My punishment for choosing you, Wolf? What have you done?”

You shut your eyes for a brief moment. After sucking in a breath, you craned your head back to look at the man binding your wrists together. “Take us to her.”

Behind screens of brambles and by the babbling brook, what looked to be the main area of the camp came into view. A large fire crackled greedily within the center. The brotherhood was much larger than you imagined.

Lady Stoneheart was a sight to behold. Her skin was grey, gnarled, and scarred. Her hair was a mess of ashen-white clumps and tangles. Her eyes were a menacing, angry red. Across her throat was a deep gash wound. But beneath all the blood and decay, you could see her—you could see your sister.

“Cat,” you murmured, taking a step towards her. The man holding you tugged you back forcefully. Again, you said her name, this time a sob bubbling forth. It suddenly felt as if you were seven-and-ten again, with your head resting upon her shoulder, listening to her hum as she embroidered Tully fishes onto baby Sansa’s dress. “Cat!”

You cried, heartbroken that the Cat you had known for so many years was now—

She croaked something unintelligible. Her voice was rough, akin to the sound of steel against stone. Beside her stood a thin, bearded man in an oily jerkin. It took you a few moments to recognize him through your bleary gaze. 

“Harwin,” you said, remembering the son of Hullen, the master of horse at Winterfell. The knight had once been a stable-boy when you were no more than a child. He used to ride with Arya, Jon, and Robb during quintains. One of the few chosen to travel down south with Ned after he was appointed to be Hand. What was he doing here?

The man stared at you with only slight sympathy, but made no attempts to help you. “Lady Stoneheart says you have brought him the Oathbreaker.”

“What?” You looked to Jaime, who was staring at you with an indecipherable expression, then turned your eyes back to Catelyn and Harwin. “No, I—Cat, I didn’t come here for that. It’s me. It’s your good-sister. Please, please hear my words.”

Another gruelling noise fell from her torn lips. 

“She does not want to listen to you. She wants justice,” said Harwin. “Bitter Wolf, I believe it best if—”

Rage began to spill over your expression. You could feel the anger that haunted you throughout your youth begin to resurface upon seeing a reminder of your past, of Winterfell. “I’m not speaking to you!” you just about snarled at him, lips curled. You looked back to Catelyn’s desecrated corpse. “Cat, please. It’s your sister—Ned’s sister. Remember?”

Cat grated out a sound.

“She remembers,” Harwin translated. “She remembers everything.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Then you must remember the oath Jaime swore before you released us. He is no oathbreaker, Cat. I was there. I saw Sansa—hells, if we could have left we would have. She disappeared, and I know where she is.” You hoped your lie sounded more believable than it sounded; you misliked the way your voice trembled with uncertainty. “She’s in the Eyrie. Littlefinger has taken her there.”

There was a cascade of murmurs across the brotherhood. Stoneheart, however, stared at you with her cruel, torn eyes.

“Let him redeem himself,” you pleaded. “Cat, let him fulfill his oath.”

The sound that left Stoneheart was sharp and angry. Harwin, solemn, said seconds after she fell silent, “‘Not an oathbreaker?’ she asks. Jaime Lannister is the reason why her son was murdered.”

“Robb?” you whispered. “That’s not true, Cat. We were still traveling together to King’s Landing when it happened. I miss him, too. More than anything, more than life itself—but it’s not right to blame him for a crime he has not committed.” Finally, you tore your eyes away from Catelyn to look over at Jaime. For once, he was silent, watching you with creased, heavy brows. 

Stoneheart gestured to a man nearby, wielding a sword. An executioner? You felt your blood run cold.

“Jaime Lannister will not be leaving alive,” said Harwin. 

Having been quiet for longer than usual, Jaime finally decided to speak. “I demand a trial by combat,” he announced, voice clear and devoid of fear, a stark contrast to you. “Clearly I won’t be getting a fair trial otherwise, no matter how many testimonies I receive in my favor.”

Stoneheart twitched with mute fury. Her shredded eyes honed in on Jaime as she garbled out more nonsense.

“Very well,” Harwin translated, expression distinctly Northern in his grimness. “Her champion will be Brienne of Tarth.”

You could feel your heart attack the inside of your ribcage, akin to a panicked bird in a cage. “Unhand me,” you snarled, turning to the man still holding you. 

The man said nothing, but with one look at Stoneheart’s expressionless nod, released his grip. Immediately, you sprang away from your captor and made to stand between your former good-sister and Jaime.

“I know you must think him a monster. Trust me, I did, as well. But he’s not a monster—he’s just a man. A better one than most.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You didn’t dare look back at Jaime, keeping your eyes fixed on Cat. “I’ll extend you a deal. A promise. I will personally bring him back to you if he fails to find Sansa within a year, and you’ll be able to do what you want with him. Please, Cat. I was your kin by law. You were my sister. Please let him help me find your daughters. Just give him some time to fulfill his oath.”

Lady Stoneheart seemed to consider your words seriously for the first time since you were brought out in front of her. She said something then, cold and emotionless, and you could already tell this was another denial before Harwin could even begin to translate.

“She asks if you have decided to betray your family for the Lannisters,” said Harwin.

Your expression soured in incredulity. “I am a Stark of the North,” you whispered. “I will never turn my back on my family. Sansa is not too far, I’m sure. We’ll be able to find her. She’s suspected for the murder of the bastard king, Cat. If Cersei finds her before us, your daughter will be dead. And Arya—Arya is in the North. In… in Winterfell. She’s to marry the Bolton bastard and will be at the mercy of the Lannisters.”

It was a lie, you knew. Jaime told you it was some girl posing as Arya, not Arya herself. Would Stoneheart know? You could only pray she didn’t.

The name Bolton seemed to stir something in her. Her torn eyelids closed open and shut, open and shut, open and—

“Ahh…ya?” her ragged voice strained. That was the first word she’d uttered that you understood. 

“Yes,” you said, eyes misting over once more. “Arya. The Boltons serve the Lannisters now. With Jaime by my side… he may be the only bartering tool powerful enough to sway Roose, now that Tywin and Joffrey are both dead.”

After another lengthy pause, Stoneheart straightened her crooked spine (which still remained considerably bent), and nodded once, then twice. She rasped out some things to Harwin.

Even Harwin looked mildly surprised when he translated. “She accepts this deal. However, she has one condition.”

“Name your price,” you said.

“Bring back Jaime Lannister in a year. If you don’t have at least one of the girls with you, he will die, and you will die with him.”

Behind you, you could hear Jaime suck in a breath, as you knew without even sparing him a glance that he was about to say something rash. You took a step back closer to him and immediately said before he could get a single offensive word in: “Alright. Yes.”

Finally, you turned to look at Jaime. To your surprise, his eyes were wide and—was that fear you could see? Anxious flecks of gold amidst the arrogant calm of his green? You hadn’t even realized that Stoneheart had said something more until Harwin cleared his throat. 

“You will be given a warm meal to fill your belly, and you and the Kingslayer will be sent off.”

“What of Podrick and Brienne?” you asked, looking towards the large knight—your friend. Your only friend.

“They will be kept prisoners—to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain. We cannot trust your word alone. If Jaime Lannister is not brought back for execution within a year, the woman and the squire will both be met with noose. Bring back the girls, and they will be spared.”

“My word alone?” you parroted in offense. “I am Stark. These are my nieces we are talking about.”

Harwin merely shrugged at this. “The Boltons were one of your family’s bannermen. They are not the paradigm of honor you once thought, either.” With that, he gestured towards a few watching men standing further away from the fire. “Bring them food. They will set off in the morn.”

The brotherhood had given you meager rations for your journey. A handful of salted meat (you hadn’t had the heart to ask exactly what kind of meat), a few chunks of crusty bread, and two leather pitchers full of water that tasted distinctly of old metal. You decided not to think of it too much and accepted what was given to you without complaint. They allowed for you to keep your weapons—they knew better than anyone the two of you would hardly survive a fortnight without a form of defense. 

When the two of you left, you bid Brienne a solemn goodbye and a promise to return. The look she gave you was equally somber, but she nodded in understanding. Jaime made a snarky remark about missing seeing her brutish face first thing in the morning, and Brienne simply pretended not to hear him. 

The plan was to move north, avoiding the Twins crossing, for obvious reasons… and head eastward towards Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed. Howland Reed was a close friend of Ned’s, a small, kind man from what little you remembered of him… you were sure he was more likely to be friend than foe—though Jaime Lannister in your company made the situation a tad more complicated. You weren’t entirely sure how Howland would react to a Lannister in his halls. Many moons ago, Robb had sent orders to Howland to defend the North by not allowing Tywin Lannister’s army through. But Jaime was not Tywin, and the two of you were no army. Greywater Watch was the most promising place to go. 

Your journey the first few days consisted of many questions from Jaime. How was the trip? What happened to Varys’ ship? Where did you go? Why did you come back? Where are we going now? Why aren’t you eating? Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at making conversation? So on and so forth. For every ten questions, Jaime counted you bothering to answer only one, and it was often curt, single-worded replies. At least this time he was not shackled with a big brute of a woman prodding his back every five seconds, so he supposed he had less to complain about. 

“I could leave you here now,” Jaime had said. “I could abandon you while you sleep and alert my men of your whereabouts.”

“Do it,” you said airily. “I’ll go back to Stoneheart and ask her to hunt you down.”

Jaime’s sharp face soured. “I wouldn’t leave you. Even though you make things incredibly difficult.”

“Oh, I know,” was all you said in return, and the conversation ended with that.

On the third night of traveling north, the two of you decided to settle down by a bubbling creek. The water was greenish and looked rather terrible to drink, but water was water. Jaime watched you build a small fire. He asked who had taught you to build fires, and, expectedly, was received with silence. To his small delight, you sat beside him instead of across from him. 

It was only a few minutes later when you spoke. “She’ll kill you,” you whispered, just loud enough so that he would hear over the howling wind and crackling fire. It was obvious to Jaime that you’d been thinking about her the entire journey so far. Your eyes flickered upwards to search his face. His beard seemed to give him a scruffy, wild spirit that you rather appreciated. “Even if you bring Sansa back to her, she’ll kill you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You were so tired of crying. You’d spent your entire life doing so, and it seemed you weren’t stopping any time soon—you felt the tears slip down your face regardless of your contempt for them. Jaime swiped the wetness away for you with a soft touch for a calloused thumb, but you shifted away from his touch. 

“Because she will never forgive you. As Lady Catelyn, perhaps she once would have. But she is no longer my good-sister Cat. Not anymore. I do not blame her.”

There was a long silence. Jaime regarded you with a look that you could only read as warm. “If she kills me once I’ve fulfilled my oath, I would gladly welcome the prospect of dying after doing something honorable for a change. I do not fear death.”

“I do,” you told him. “I’ve seen it everywhere I go. And to see you dead… it would ruin me. You ruin me.” Another pause, then— “I loathe you, I really do.” It sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Jaime made a gruff, chuckling noise, even though it was no laughing matter. Your hands curled into tight fists. “I think if there existed a world where I never met you… I would’ve been far happier. How does the saying go? Never meet your idols.”

Jaime stopped laughing and reared back a small distance with quirked brows. “I’m your idol?”

“That’s not the point,” you said, rolling your eyes away from him to the dark sky. “I just think you were much more appealing as an idea in my head. That’s all.”

Jaime thought it very pretty, the way your nose wrinkled and your cheeks warmed the more flustered you got. “No, no, I would really like it if you elaborated on this ‘idol’ matter. Missing a hand, wronged you a dozen different times, and brought shame to everything I’ve ever been named to? That is who your idol would be?”

“I don’t mind the missing hand. How it went missing is a different story. And yes, you’ve wronged me, but I’ve wronged you, as well. I lied to you. Granted, it’s not of the same caliber.” 

“You lied to me, but then you lied for me. I would call it even. Who’s keeping score?” Jaime then regarded you with a queer look. “You’re chatty today. I like you with a loose tongue.” 

You ignored his statement, stoking the fire by tossing more broken branches that Jaime had collected before into the licking flames. “You shouldn’t be so proud of being my idol. From childhood it was because of your infamously worst deed. I used to think you heard my prayers from all the way down south and killed the king just for me. I was no older than one-and-ten. Don’t let it get to you.”

It was already getting to Jaime. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smug grin from his sharp lips. 

“You honor me,” he said, sounding genuine; a rare feat. “I am glad to be your idol.”

That brought a touch of fondness to your wintry countenance. If Jaime wasn’t careful, he would find himself lost in those tired, sad eyes of yours. There was a quiet beauty to them.

“Your eyes,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Your father had the very same eyes.”

At first, he thought you would bite his head right off, with the way you stared at him in that same wounded-animal expression you often wore. Then you quickly looked away, sucking in a small breath. “Do I? He told me I had my mother’s eyes.”

Jaime softened. “I never met your mother.”

“Neither did I. Not really.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Apologies were foreign on his tongue. 

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “After all, how can you miss something that never really existed for you?”

There was more silence before Jaime said, “I miss many things that never existed for me.” He could feel your curious glance roam over his features, so he decided to change the subject. “Would you like to hear a story?” Before you could say anything—not that you were going to—Jaime said, “My brother was married once before he was wed to Sansa.”

You tilted your head, suddenly interested. “He was?”

“When I was twenty years of age and Tyrion three-and-ten, we were traveling together between Lannisport and Casterly Rock. We came across a maiden. A crofter’s daughter. Tysha, her name was. She was being robbed by a group of outlaws. I chased them off and Tyrion looked after Tysha. He was madly in love with her, you see. He took her maidenhead and the two were later married by a septon drunk off Dornish red. I wasn’t there for the occasion… I had returned to King’s Landing to attend Robert Baratheon at the time. The duties of a Kingsguard.” Jaime smiled at that, sharp as a fox. “A fortnight later, the septon felt awfully guilty and confessed to my father what he’d done. Of course, Tywin Lannister wasn’t happy about his son marrying a common girl. So he had me lie and say that she was a whore I paid for Tyrion to have a few nights with.”

“That’s terrible,” you said, voice quiet. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Jaime could only shrug at that. Whatever residual guilt he had harbored over the girl was still there, though the many years had softened the blow. “I have no proper excuse. I was young. Father was convinced she only wanted Tyrion’s money and not Tyrion. He convinced me to lie that I had set everything up, outlaws and all—and I thought it best at the time, considering Tyrion was so miserable all the time. He missed her.”

“What of the girl?” you whispered, stomach knotted, knowing no story like this had a happy end.

Jaime drew in a shallow breath. “She was brought to Casterly Rock. My father had her raped by the guards to put her in her place. A silver for each guard. Then he had Tyrion rape her, too. Left a gold coin for her because Lannisters are worth more. The marriage was undone, and now hardly a living soul knows.”

There was horror written plain as day across your features. “Your father was a monster. It was no wonder Tyrion killed him.”

To that, Jaime nodded. “It was at times like that I considered myself fortunate to be a Kingsguard, far from him. Either way, I would have been an Oathbreaker from the start. Betray my king or betray my blood?”

“Would you really have defied your father’s orders?” you asked. 

Without needing to think about it, Jaime said, “Yes. If I needed to.”

The wind howled cold whispers into your ears as you pondered on his story. You drew further into your cloak’s hood. “I’ll tell you a story.”

This pleasantly surprised Jaime. “That’s a first,” he said. “Out with it.”

“The first time a boy kissed me, I was seven and he was one-and-ten, if I recall correctly. Perhaps two-and-ten. It was only a moon before the tourney at Harrenhal. He was the son of a blacksmith living in the castle. He would bring me arrowheads he made—they were terrible, blunt little pieces, but I accepted his gifts nonetheless. He kissed me as he handed me another arrowhead. I shoved him away as fast as I could—I was afraid I’d done something wrong, and Father would be cross with me. I was so angry with him… and he was so afraid of me. He asked for my forgiveness—begged for it, even.”

Jaime leaned forward. “And?”

To his bemusement, your expression grew rather embarrassed. “I kicked him.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not too ba—”

“In the face.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, it was not my finest moment. Two of his teeth came out in bloody stumps. I felt sorry for him, but I told him never to touch me again and I ran off. Brandon had to take care of the mess while Lyanna and Ned comforted me. I was sobbing in his arms, afraid the stableboy had gotten me with child. Lyanna had to explain why she was sure I wasn’t with child.” You used the cowl of your cloak to shield your burning features.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jaime flicked the hood back just enough so he could meet your eyes. “And? What came of him? Did your father lop his tiny cock off? Became a eunuch and was sent off to the Wall?”

“No,” you hotly replied, swatting away his hand. “It was just a warning and a slap on the wrist, was all. He actually became a distinguished rider in Winterfell. I hardly ever spoke to him after that—he kept a respectful distance. If I recall, he’s even gotten himself a wife and children.”

A silence stretched thin between the two of you. Then, to your shock, Jaime began cackling up a storm, even bending at the stomach and slapping at his thigh in hilarity. His ribs ached with how much he was laughing.

“It wasn’t a funny story,” you said, almost stern. “I feel bad for him.”

This made Jaime pause. “He forced himself on you, and you feel bad for him? If anything, he deserved a worse fate.” 

“We were children. Things are much simpler when you’re children.” You tilted your head, recalling another memory. “When I was an even younger child, perhaps Rickon’s age now, I told my siblings I was afraid of doors.”

The knight beside you scoffed at that, stifling the remnants of his laughter. “Doors?”

“Well—not the physical wooden slab itself, but… the idea of not knowing what was behind it. It terrified me. But that was all too much and too hard to explain to my brothers and sister at such a young age, so I simply told them I was afraid of doors.” 

Jaime regarded you with narrowed eyes. “Hm. I can’t even picture it.”

“Brandon and Ned never let me sit closest to a door from then on. Benjen always teased me and would sling me over his shoulder and stand the both of us by the doorway, and then he’d ask if I was scared. He was cruel the way brothers are cruel. The way you were to Tyrion, I suppose.”

A discontent noise fell from Jaime’s lips, but he did not disagree with you. 

“And Lyanna… Lyanna tried to help me face this fear by telling me to open a closed door to check what’s behind it.”

Jaime hummed. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing ever,” you said, shaking your head. “Except one time, Benjen was hiding behind. But he never scared me, not ever.”

“And are you now?”

“Hm?”

“Are you afraid of what could be behind a door?”

There was a pause as you thought. You picked up some more branches to toss into the fire, watching the fire shift and pop with the new food. “Would you think less of me if I told you yes?” you whispered.

How Jaime saw you then was how he was sure a moth saw light. “No,” he said, feeling as if something had caught in his throat. “I do admire your fear, Wolf. It’s something I can learn from.”

Jaime was asleep. One thing you noticed was that he always left you to sleep past the agreed time he should’ve woken you up to swap watches. 

“You need your sleep,” he had said with an easy shrug and a grin once you confronted him about the matter. “You look terrible, you know.”

As irritating as he was, you found yourself grateful for the extra hours of rest. The journey certainly hadn’t been kind on your body; your feet were aching with the grueling pace you had set for yourself. While Jaime was catching up on a few hours of sleep, you would watch the treeline in the distance, listening to the leaves rustle with the breeze and the owls hooting to their hatchlings. The stars were bright that night, pale amongst the sky. You wondered how many there were, and if you could manage to count them all before having to rouse Jaime.

You only managed to get to twenty before you heard a swishing noise from a thicket in the distance. You tensed, immediately reaching for your dagger. The two of you were somewhat protected by a brambled hedge of shrubbery, but that did not mean you were entirely safe. 

A four-legged figure nosed its way out of the green. Your muscles relaxed, but only slightly. An animal was far less dangerous than a man. It would likely scurry off in a moment or two.

You stared at it for a while longer, and the animal drew nearer. A wolf, you realized, noting its bushy, swishing tail. Then, your brows knitted together. It was far larger than a regular wolf, near monstrous in size, looking to be taller than you, even in the distance. It had a glossy grey pelt and glowing, amber eyes. 

This was no normal wolf. It was a direwolf. 

You breathed out a shaking breath. Direwolves hardly wandered as far south as Winterfell, much less down to the Riverlands. It couldn’t have wandered here all on its own. Lady was dead, you knew that to be true. Grey Wind murdered by the Freys. Shaggydog and Summer were likely killed by Theon Greyjoy, or thrown into a cage somewhere in Winterfell. Little Ghost was on the Wall with Jon. That left—

“Nymeria,” you murmured in shock. 

You stood up. Would she recognize you? Or worse—would she hurt you?

It was probably a good idea to shake Jaime awake. You casted a brief glance over at him, curled up by the sack of food rations, his sharp, handsome face softened with slumber. Deciding against it, you began to creep nearer to the direwolf. She stood with her ears pricked, unblinking, not taking her eyes off you.

“Hello, sweet one,” you said, voice low and level, despite the rushed blood coursing through your veins. Nymeria’s ears twitched. “It’s been a long time.”

The wolf lifted one paw, swayed her tail against the grass twice. Then her sharp teeth bared in a snarl, glowing beneath the starlight.

You stepped back, sensing her growing hostility. It felt ridiculous speaking to a direwolf, but you knew how intelligent they were. If there was even a shred of a possibility, it was worth pursuing. 

“Do you know where Arya is? Arya.” 

At the name, Nymeria put her paw back down. Her head tilted, much like she used to do when she was a confused pup learning how to spin for food. Abruptly, she turned and bounded back into the trees. A deep howl echoed through the forest, sounding ghostly in its timbre. Other howls echoed after her—Nymeria clearly wasn’t alone. You were grateful the other wolves hadn’t approached. Just a day ago, Jaime was telling you about many squadrons of Lannister bannermen being mauled by a pack of wolves, led by a large she-wolf. Perhaps that was Nymeria. She certainly fit the description.

You returned to the bramble barrier, finding Jaime still sound asleep. He had turned whilst you were gone, now facing away from the sack. You sat down beside him, and, strangely, found yourself excited for him to wake up so you could tell him what had happened.

There was, you waged, about an hour before the sun would rise. You would wake Jaime then, and the two of you would continue northward to Howland Reed’s castle. If the pace the two of you had set was consistent, you should be there in no more than a fortnight. 

It was quiet for a long while. You thought you could hear someone humming a familiar tune, and after waiting with your ears pricked for a moment, you realized you were imagining it—after all, you knew nobody but Benjen that used to hum that melody. Your heart ached at the thought of your youngest older brother. 

There came a rustle, a step, and the snap of a branch somewhere off to your left. You turned, hand curled around the handle of the dagger, muscles coiled at the ready. Perhaps Nymeria had come back, you pondered, unsure if that was something you would even want to happen. Probably not. 

Another snap. A shuffle. A thud. You narrowed your eyes—wolves familiar with this forest would be far more sure-footed than that. 

After a tense second, you were proved right. Before you knew it, half a dozen men swarmed out of the trees, silent despite their clumsy feet, eyes wide and pale with the moonlight. They all carried weapons—though they were rather unconventional ones; pitchforks, shovels, garden pick-axes. Their tattered clothing told you that they were likely farmers who had turned to the life of thievery in times of desperation. So much for Jaime bringing peace to the Riverlands.

Hurriedly, you managed to kick at Jaime’s leg just as one man was already advancing on you with a snarl, barreling forward and pinning you down onto the foliage underneath. All the air slipped out of your lungs. You were no good at close-hand combat, and hadn’t had time to properly train in many moons—but you relied on your instincts, which told you to claw at any part of his skin you could reach, and lift your feet as high as he could possibly allow, kicking him in the chest. 

By now, Jaime had been hauled off by a bigger, burlier man that stood so tall that Jaime only came up to his chest. There was another going straight for him—but you had more pressing matters to focus on. The man that had been on top of you was drawing back with wounded, ragged gasps, and you pounced forward, brandishing your dagger.

He had time to let slip one plea for his life—but you were quick to plunge the sharp end straight down his sternum with as much force possible, piercing his heart swiftly. Out it came—and down again. And again. Again. Once more. There was blood all over your forearms, some flecks landing wetly on your face. With a clenched jaw, you slashed his throat. Rubies dribbled from the cut, glittering under the moonlight. You abandoned his body, briefly wondering if Nymeria and her pack would come back and feast.

When you turned, there were two more thieves hesitating. They looked on the younger end—just boys. You scowled at them, made a motion as if you were going to attack them next, and they promptly turned on their heels and fled. When you looked over to Jaime, he had managed to grab his sword and had pierced his two assailants swiftly. They fell to the ground with bloodied noises of pain. Jaime flicked the excess blood off of the blade with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. Then, he looked at you, taking in your gore-soaked appearance. His brows raised when he looked over at the corpse you’d stabbed and slashed.

“What happened to being so concerned over innocent men?” Jaime questioned, half-genuine and half-provoking. 

“I told you before,” you hissed. “There are always a few rotten apples in an orchard. I would have been fine helping the men find food—pinning me to the ground with the intent of robbing us, or worse, revokes them of any right to my pleasantries.”

Jaime smiled at that. “Right—because you’re well renowned for your pleasantries. Is it concerning that I find you even more attractive covered in blood?” he asked as he drew nearer, blunt as always. “I do think I’m falling for you like this.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you snapped. You turned to look at the treeline, where Nymeria had come out. 

“Are you alright?” he queried, expression shifting into one of concern, single hand reaching out to touch your arm, tender from when you slammed into the ground. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Most of the blood isn’t mine. I just have to wash it off.”

Jaime nodded, looking strangely prideful. He offered his hand out for you to take. You stared at him for a moment, then brushed past him and made your way to the river. He trailed after you with a barely-repressed smile.

“What were you looking for?” he asked as you began to scrub the blood off you. Thankfully, it came off quite easily since it hadn’t had time to set and dry on you. 

“I think I saw someone I knew,” you muttered. The excitement of telling him the news had worn off with the attack. The water was frigid, and though you were well acquainted with the cold, you were going to catch your death if you loitered longer than you needed to.

With furrowed brows, Jaime regarded you as if you had grown a second head. “Who?” His hand was already falling to the pommel of the longsword. 

You shook your head. “Not a person. A direwolf.”

After you had washed up, dripping with river water but now void of grime, you and Jaime were quick to pack up what little you were carrying with you, to start off northward once again. When you had asked if Jaime wanted to wash himself before leaving, he only laughed at your face. “I’ll freeze my balls off if I do that. I’d rather keep them for now. I can bathe once we get to Greywater Watch.” Where there was one gang of thieves, there were likely a dozen others—it was better to keep moving.

“Only if Howland Reed doesn’t skin your balls off himself,” you remarked.

Jaime didn’t say anything to that, but he glanced over at you with a grin. That was likely the closest thing to a jest he’d ever heard you say.

As you walked, Jaime noticed you were favoring your left side, trying not to put too much weight on your right foot. “Did he knock you there?” he asked, gesturing downward to your ankles.

You scowled at him, as if irritated that he was observing the smallest of your actions. It made you feel terribly intruded upon. “I’m fine,” you repeated. 

Jaime shrugged. “If you say so.” But he stepped closer, occasionally bumping into your right side as if to help you keep your weight off. Arse.

About an hour after the skirmish, Jaime decided he had enough of the silence. He was keen on hearing your voice again, even if it was going to tell him to fuck right off. 

“You can reclaim the North as yours now,” he said. “If you gathered enough loyal men… you could.”

You sucked in a breath. “I have more pressing matters before sitting on a throne.” You didn’t bother to list them, but you thought them glaringly obvious.

Sansa. Arya. Brienne. Pod. Ca—Stoneheart.

“Everyone in my family is scattered and alone and I need to be there for them. What good would it be wasting all my energy battling the Boltons?” 

Jaime wasn’t used to being the smarter of the two. He felt that it was the most logical decision at the moment, considering the two of you would practically be wandering about aimlessly if not for going after your rightful seat. “Perhaps you can be there for your family by retaking your home.” With a softer tone, he added on, “Might I remind you… you have nothing right now. No castle, no money, no weapons, nothing. Only me to watch you.”

This seemed to struck a nerve in you, much to Jaime’s simultaneous dismay and elation. 

“I don’t need you to watch me,” you scathingly said. “You’re just with me because you’re an important political figure that could be of use. And I didn’t want to have to watch my good-sister lop your head off.”

Jaime briefly wondered why, but instead arrogantly retorted, “Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t have let it come to—”

“But I suppose you’re right,” you admitted, interrupting him with a melancholic puff of an exhale, words weighing heavy.

Jaime barked out a laugh. “Say that again. I want to savor it this time.”

“You are insufferable,” you said, though it lacked any true bite. “To save my family, I must leave them. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“You’re not leaving,” Jaime reminded. “You’re just taking… a short detour.”

“Short,” you snorted. “It would be a miracle if we can take Winterfell back before the year’s mark.”

Jaime squared his jaw, now thinking back to Brienne. “Alright. After Greywater Watch, what then? Where would you like to go? I would…” He stopped walking, and grabbed hold of your wrist. Your eyes flashed dangerously as they met his. “I would follow you wherever you go.”

For once, you had no harsh retort for him.

Instead, you asked, almost as if searching for a reason for him to rescind his statement, “Even if I keep telling you to leave?”

Jaime nodded. “Even then.”

“And when I put a knife to your throat, deciding that I want to take revenge for my nephews?”

Again, there was no hesitation on his end. Jaime hardly thought before he spoke, but it was the truth nonetheless. “I would let you cut me open until you’re satisfied with me, if that’s what you wish. Are you done asking me needless questions or shall we start playing a drinking game with our muddy river water?”

Your features, which had softened considerably, now fell back into their naturally irritated state. You nodded with solemn determination. Jaime thought you looked much like your brother Ned right then. 

“Right. I think that settles it.” You started off walking again, shaking your wrist free of his hold. “We’ll go north, as we have. But—it’s time I stop hiding.”

In the distance, a single wolf howled. 

“It’s time I returned home.”

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Fire & Ice 🔥🧊 | MCU!Johnny Storm Imagine

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x enhanced!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic), The Avengers (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of canon violence and death, canon divergence, light angst | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 7K

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Earth-616 is no stranger to the multiverse. Since the defeat of Thanos in 2023, the Avengers have had their fair share of visitors from other worlds and know what to expect when they do. But when a man wearing the same face of their late comrade arrives, the Avengers are in for the shock of their lives when a group of heroes tailing the individual fall through the portal behind him. And for the flying, fire-wielding, and sometimes charming Johnny Storm, he meets his match in the form of a woman whose power and reputation matches that of her cold, steel, heart.

Note: Happy 2025 everyone! To kick off the year I am gifting y'all this damn idea that's been stuck in my head the past two weeks. Now if you've been following my work since I started, then you know I was pumping out Marvel fics back in the day. Phase 1-4 of Marvel have my heart, and unfortunately the disappointment of Phase 5 (with few exceptions) had me lose interest. BUT if there was one thing I absolutely loved when I was a kid, it was the OG Fantastic Four movies with Chris Evans, Jessica Alba, etc. I watched those literally every day and before the Avengers/MCU I rolled hard with the FF, Blade, & X-Men (I've got another idea involving Deadpool & Wolverine cooking). So I have a lot of expectations for FF: First Steps especially because the MCU has had so many misses the last two years. I love Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby, and Joseph Quinn, I haven't watched The Bear, but I've heard great things about Ebon Moss-Bachrach and I look forward to his and the rest of the cast's portrayal of the FF.

I've been a fan of JQ since 2022 because like majority of people I discovered him by his performance as Eddie in Stranger Things. I'll admit I haven't seen much of his filmography, but I did watch A Quiet Place: Day One and he was phenomenal. And don't get me started on Gladiator II. I was pleased to hear he'd be playing my first love Johnny Storm and I know he'll do amazing, not to mention he has said that he was a fan of the OG movies and Chris' version of the character. Whenever I hear an actor is a fan of the source material, I know they're going to deliver.

The movie hasn't come out, neither has the trailer, so I don't have much to work with. But we know that FF:FS is following the origin story of the FF and will feature the Silver Surfer. AND it's rumored to be where RDJ's Doctor Doom will debut, setting up Avengers: Doomsday and he will be the big villain of the MCU. This obviously is diverging from canon and pretty much an AU story, remember that please. SO here's my treat to my fellow Johnny Storm lovers to feed y'all since we still got months until FF:FS. Enjoy.

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

The blinding light of the sun peaking through the curtains pulled Johnny from his sleep before the alarm was set to go off. Had it been any other day he’d be upset. Wishing nothing more than to curl into the comforter and get the extra minutes of sleep. But thankfully it was Sunday--the day reserved for rest. No agenda. No training. No missions. Completely free and dedicated to recoupling after a week filled with non-stop action. 

And if there was anyone who would be displeased at waking up earlier than needed, it was the woman lying beside him. Fast asleep on her back with one hand curled beneath the pillow and the other clasping his on her chest. Body cooler than the average person, which made the atmosphere of the room comfortable considering Johnny’s was hotter than the average citizen. Figuratively and literally. 

Johnny smiled, happily tucking himself further into her space, chin leaning on her shoulder as he snuggled against her side. Allowing his eyes to flutter close and accept the slumber his body itched to claim. The fresh scent of shea butter from her shampoo and body wash filled his nostrils, and he sighed in content. 

This was what life was worth living.

But just when Johnny welcomed the darkness, the annoying, blazing sound of their alarm clock echoed against the walls, disturbing the peaceful moment and making him flinch and groan. “Dammit,” he rolled onto his back, arm reaching to slap at the air until his fingers grasped the device. Snoozing it asleep with a press of a button. 

Now he was fully awake.

Flinging himself back onto the mattress, he felt her body shift before letting out a soft chuckle, “Had you turned it off when you first woke, you’d have spared yourself this torment.” Her voice was laced with tiredness, and Johnny turned his head to find her eyes still closed but clear amusement painting her visage by the smirk on her lips. 

Rolling his eyes, he moved to lay on his side and brought his arm around her waist, “Why didn’t you? Seeing as you were also awake.” 

“Too comfy.”

“Well, so was I,” he sassed, mouth hovering over her jaw before leaning down to kiss the skin, the coolness sending a chill along his spine. She hums, nuzzling into the touch, seeking it.

“The alarm is also on your side.”

Johnny smirks against her cheek, mischief coating his gaze, “you could’ve reached over me, you know. Saved us both the hassle.” His hand reached up to stoke her jaw, trailing to tangle his fingers in her hair. Soft and silky. He takes a moment to appreciate the beauty before him. From her thick eyelashes, to her lips. Her cheekbones and kissable lips. 

“Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you,” she challenged with no actual bite to her tone, one eye peeking open. “Me on top of you in the morning.” He didn’t even deny it, flashing a toothy smile

“Very much so.” 

Instead of replying, Y/n moved to push the man onto his back, throwing her leg over his waist to lay herself on top of him. Johnny’s hands immediately grabbed her, keeping her body pressed against his with one hand on her back and the other firmly on her hips. The heat radiating off his complexion clashed against the frostiness of hers. Two polar opposites coming together in an explosion of love and devotion. 

Johnny welcomed it with open arms, bringing her mouth to his in a tender kiss. Chuckling as she fought away while mumbling about morning breath to which he didn’t care. He kissed her like his life depended on it. Like they were the only two people in existence. For there was nothing sweeter on the planet than the taste of her lips on his. 

And thanks to the fire that consumed his veins, Johnny was spared from getting frostbite.

“Happy?” She asked while pulling away, but not getting far as Johnny cupped her jaw in his hand to keep her close. Kissing her once more after mumbling, “exceptionally.”

The tale of the Human Torch falling in love with the Ice Princess begins long ago, three years to be exact, when the Fantastic Four find themselves sitting across the table of Earth’s mightiest heroes, the Avengers. 

Everything leading up to the moment was still a blur to the young Johnny Storm. One moment he and his team, the Fantastic Four as they called themselves, were fighting the formidable Doctor Doom in their 60s-style futuristic Earth. And the next they are pulled into another universe while tailing the bastard to prevent him from bringing utter destruction to the world. It hadn’t even been five minutes and the Four were surrounded by armored trucks and individuals donning costumes similar to their own. 

“Hands where we can see them!”

“State your name and purpose!”

“Who are you and where did you come from!”

Johnny’s heart pounded against his chest. The anxiety piling up like a volcano ready to explode as he took in the scene before him. There were guns pointed at him and his friends. A man in a blue tunic and red cape with his hands raised in defense next to a young girl wearing a brown tunic. Another man in a red, white, and blue tactical suit with wings who landed in front of them. His shield reflecting off the light. Next to him was a man in a similar attire with wings but in grey. Then there was a woman in all purple, bow and arrow trained on the Four. A man with five golden rings on either wrist. A masked individual in a bright red and blue suit with spider webbing detail crouched on top of a car. And finally, a woman in a striking gray tactical ensemble stood closest to Johnny with a cold look in her eyes. 

Upon making a flame with his hands, ready to defend himself and his friends, Johnny watched her face shift to amusement. Raising her brow as though unimpressed by the trick, “Don’t even try, hotshot.” And without taking her eyes off his, her palm raised up to form an icicle in the shape of a dagger. Her other arm extended to show her skin turning completely into ice. 

Yeah, Johnny wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal that consumed him. He often confused them at times. All he knows is there was a pretty woman before him with ice powers with cold eyes ready to strike him down with God knows what laid in store for him should he dare tempt her. 

But now wasn’t the time to flirt. There were more important matters at stake. Like the fact they were surrounded by highly advanced, highly enhanced, people with an army of soldiers at their command. In a place that looked like New York but lacked the 60s style he was accustomed to. 

“Cuff them and begin transport to HQ!”

“Find me Banner and clear this area at once!” 

The Four were at a loss. Outnumbered and confused, none able to process what the fuck was going on. They lost Doom. He was God knows where and they were not a match against these strangers. So they took their loss and compiled as they were restrained by agents.

“What the fuck is happening, Reed?” Johnny demanded, struggling against the cuffs on his arms and ankles. His power seemingly unable to melt the damn things which both intrigued and terrified him. 

“I don’t know?”

“Where are we?” said Sue from beside the genius, expression full of confusion and slight fear. The last thing she remembered was falling through a glowing yellow-orange light in the shape of a ring and the feeling of nausea hitting her full force. Giving her whiplash. 

But before anyone could answer, the blinding light of the sun hit them as the door whipped open and agents ushered them out of the vehicle. Clashes of voices, cameras flashing as news crews desperately tried to breach the barrier guards had formed and even a helicopter flying above. Johnny glanced up to take in the chaos, gaze falling onto the large building before him with a giant ‘A’ 

The Four are led to a large glass encased room, still cuffed, and ordered to sit and wait while armed guards post themselves outside. Expecting someone to come in and interrogate them, they take the moment to assess the area. Noting that the glass room sat perched above a large space, like a bullpen, where people were rushing to answer phones, type on computers, or stood watching the vast tv screens splayed on the wall. The news channels played footage of what transpired on the streets moments prior. The Four tense when they see an image of Doctor Doom, disappearing after falling from what appeared to be a portal in the sky. 

Just like they did. 

The sound of the glass door opening captured their attention, turning to find the man in the wingsuit and the woman in gray. Their body language showed they were on high alert, analyzing the Four for any potential threat, and they exchanged a look before the man set down his shield on a free chair while the woman placed a stack of files onto the table. 

“I’m Captain Sam Wilson, this is Agent Y/n L/n,” The man spoke first, cutting right to the chase, “You’re not from here, are you?”

“Here?” Reed repeated, perplexed.

“Earth-616,” Y/n answered, locking eyes with each of the Four, lingering on Johnny before falling onto Reed. “At first we suspected you’re with Hydra, or part of the team Fontaine has been cooking up. But ruled those possibilities out once we saw the footage of your friend who preceded you in the portal.”

The Four processed her words, unable to identify the names she spoke of. 

“Hydra?”

“We don’t know who this Fontaine person is, but we can assure you we’re not involved with them.”

“You saw Doom? We have to find him immediately!” 

“I’m sorry, did you say Earth-616?,’ Reed reeled back to her initial answer. Y/n crossed her arms over her chest with a nod.

“I did,” she then turned to Sam, lowering her voice but they were still able to hear everything, “This isn’t going to be easy, Cap. They obviously hadn’t discovered what we know and that makes them a liability.”

“We have no choice. Whoever traveled with them is still out there and they know what we’re up against. We need them.”

“And how exactly are we going to send them back to where they came from?”

“We’ll figure it out like we always do,” Sam’s tone grows stern, but Y/n holds her ground and doesn’t reveal any ounce of intimidation. “Strange and Banner can find something.”

Johnny, having had enough of them talking about them as though they weren’t right there, spoke up with annoyance, “Can you two please tell us what the fuck is going on? What do you mean “send us back where we came from,” and that we hadn’t discovered what you apparently know?”

Reed pitches in, “Sounds like you’re suggesting the theory of the multiverse is real and that we’ve somehow breached the gap between space, time, and reality and have fallen into a parallel universe,” the genius scoffs, gaze flicking between the two as though waiting for them to say, ‘Sike!’ only for his stomach to plummet in fear as he saw how serious they were. “Oh my God.”

Reed’s reaction to the implication was enough to cause the same in his friends. Sue’s face paled, Ben froze, and Johnny felt a sudden urge to throw up. They were in another universe.

 They watch as Y/n removes a device from her utility belt, stiffening as she points it at the man, a buzzing sound emitting from its speakers causing her brows to furrow and the man leaned over to read whatever it was on the screen. “You’re human, like us, and your DNA appears to be altered with enhanced biological traits.” Glancing up from the screen, her head tilts with suspicion, “but that’s not the interesting part…..your readings indicate you obtain multiversal particles.”

The revelation sent the Four into hysterics. All denying at first the inevitable truth, speaking over each other, struggling against their cuffs--which Sam removed once they calmed down. Reed was dealing with shock and excitement, for the scientific discovery was something he always theorized was true. Meanwhile the others were more fearful of what this meant for their world and the one they were in. 

For hours after the initial shock wore off, they stayed in that room until all information was exchanged between the groups. Sam infomed the Four they were at Avengers campus, headquarters for the Avengers. A team consisting of biologically or technologically enhanced individuals responsible for the safety and order of Earth-616 against domestic, international, and intergalactic threats.

“Well now we can add multiversal to the mix,” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly annoyed with having to deal with another damn enemy after they’d finally defeated an adversary not long ago.

Part of Johnny wanted to laugh at her irritation, but that probably would’ve made things worse on his end. So he kept his mouth shut. 

Sam and Y/n were soon joined by the man in the tunic, who introduced himself as Doctor Stephen Strange. A Master of the Mystic Arts who had experience traveling the multiverse, and had even met a variant of Reed years prior. 

He didn’t go into detail obviously of how that ended.

Not long later he was followed by a large man who’s physique rivaled Ben’s and was green. “Dr. Reed Richards, meet Dr. Bruce Banner,” Y/n did not look up from her tablet, full focus on the screen. “You two will surely get on well with figuring out what the fuck it is this Doctor Doom wants with our world.”

While they didn’t join the group, Sam explained who the other team members were that helped attain the Fantastic Four. Stephen’s protegee, America Chavez, who had the power to travel the multiverse--which had Reed’s eyes bulging from his head. He definitely wanted to have a conversation with her. There was Kate Bishop, the purple archer who trained under former Avenger, Clint Barton. Sam’s wingman, Joaquin Torres, and Shang-Chi, who possessed the Ten Rings. Lastly there was Peter Parker, the boy donning the red and blue webbed suit. 

They mentioned the Thunderbolts, another team of enhanced individuals who were more anti-heroes and had once been adversaries of the Avengers but are now allies. Then there was the Guardians of the Galaxy. A team of intergalactic heroes traveling space and protecting the galaxy from threats not on Earth. The Norse Gods of Asgard, now living on Earth. Shuri, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, and the Marvels. Lastly, they touched on former Avengers. Ones who retired, like Barton, and the ones who perished. 

Finally, when things seemed to settle, Johnny decided to lift the mood by saying, “So do you guys have nicknames? Or like code for when you’re on missions?” Sue shot him a look that read, “For the love of God, Johnny.”

Y/n lifted her eyes from the tablet, giving him a once over, “Are you serious right now?”

“What?”

“Aye, take it easy, L/N,” Sam pitched in, waving a hand for emphasis. “Can’t blame the kid for being curious.” All he receives is a mock scoff. 

“Okay, Captain America.”

Johnny’s ears perked up as he looked at Sam with interest. Boyish grin plastered on his face, “You’re called Captain America? That’s really cool.” He motions toward the suit and shield, “Should’ve guessed as much though with the colors of your suit and stars.”  

“I used to be the Falcon, but Torres has taken on that mantle. Strange is just strange,” Y/n snickered under her breath, causing Johnny to bite back a smile. “We call America, Miss America.”

Ben nods his head in approval, “fitting.”

Sam continued listing off the aliases of the team, finally coming to Y/n who narrowed her eyes with a frown as he said, “And she’s the Ice Princess.” 

Honestly she should be grateful for the nickname and that it sounded quite regal in comparison to other ice related names. Hell, they could’ve dubbed her Frost. Or Snowflake. Or God forbid Icicle. At least with the Ice Princess it made her sound both menacing and dauntless. Still, it was too on the nose. And it didn’t help that before the accident that granted her the powers and the Avengers, she was a socialite in America. Before they died, her parents were wealthy investors and friends with the late Tony Stark.

Johnny didn’t try to hide his grin, “The Ice Princess,” earning a glare from the woman, obviously not amused by the nickname nor his delight from it. 

“And what do they call you, hotshot? Firestarter? Flame-man?” 

He shrugs sheepishly, cheeks a tint red, “Human Torch.” Now that has Y/n’s lips curl, fighting back the smile as she hums.

Setting the Four up at campus, they were given rooms and full access to the labs and training facilities. Reed and Ben immediately joined Banner, while Johnny and Sue decided to observe the Avengers and learn from them. Their dynamics. Their history. The way they train and how they come together to develop strategy. How they are able to make a team consisting of individuals with different levels of abilities, experience, and ethics work. 

Johnny would be lying if he said he wasn’t the most curious about Y/n. Not only was she the most beautiful, and quite terrifying, woman he’d ever met, but he was drawn to her aura. The power she held, both physically and on the team. She was extremely intelligent, a mentor to the young members, witty. Unafraid to go toe-to-toe with Sam or Strange. 

And her powers….they were exact opposites. Fire and ice. Hot and cold. Where he controlled flames, she manipulated glaciers. He turned himself into a human torch, she transformed to a human icicle. 

Talk about opposites attract. 

Days passed, and the two teams merged together with the goal of locating their common enemy. By keeping up with the news and reports of suspicious activity, they were able to narrow down the search for Doom. Suspecting him to be hiding somewhere in the New England area. 

The day before planning to scour the location, the teams trained with each other, none holding back. Showing off what they were made of. An enthralling experience considering the Fantastic Four had only been a team for a couple years in comparison to the fifteen plus of the Avengers. Banner being the only founding member there, Sam and Y/n not far behind. 

“I like her,” Sue whispered to her brother when Y/n sideswiped Joaquin and put him on his ass. The group made a circle around the matts in the gym and were taking turns going against each other. Sue caught the way the man’s gaze followed the Avenger. Mesmerized by her skill and ability. And Sue always knew when her brother had a crush. “You should go next when it’s her turn again.” 

Johnny didn’t respond, but the look on his sister's face, a cheeky smirk told him he wasn’t being conspicuous as he thought he was with his feelings. “Shut up.” 

The most tense, and nearly destructible moment, came when the Four discovered a photograph of Tony Stark on the wall of a different debrief room alongside the founding Avengers. Who bore a striking resemblance, well actually he was identical, to Dr. Victor von Doom. The man they were after. 

There was screaming. Accusations thrown at each other. Of course suspicion and confusion from the Four. Up until that point the Avengers only saw Doom with his cloak and mask from the footage, and the Four hadn’t described his appearance. And while the Avengers mentioned Tony Stark, they didn’t show any pictures. 

It calmed when Strange had to remind them about the existence of variants. He met Reed’s when traveling to Earth-838. Peter Parker met two of his. It was completely possible that their Victor von Doom was a variant of their Tony Stark. Were they the same man? Not really when one thinks about it. But they shared a face. The Reed Richards Strange met looked nothing like the one standing in front of him. While in Earth-838, Strange met a young lady who worked with Christine, that world’s version of the Ice Princess, who was not Y/n. Peggy Carter was their Captain America!

Oh, and there was the big detail in the fact that Tony Stark was dead. 

When the commotion settled and the two groups lost their steam, Johnny noted the deflated appearance of the Avengers. All falling quiet with unreadable expressions. Peter excused himself, “I-I don’t feel good. I’m gonna go lay down,” but the blonde saw the way his lip trembled and eyes watered. Rushing out of the debriefing room on a mission to get away from everyone before he burst into tears. A feeling of guilt suddenly consumed Johnny, glancing at his friends who shared the same concern. 

Banner was quiet, as was Strange. The others, who didn’t know Tony personally, shuffled on their feet and quietly excused themselves as well. Sam had his back to everyone, a distant look in his eyes as he gazed down at the bullpen below. 

And then there was Y/n. Sitting in silence with her hands clenching the arms of her chair, white knuckled and jaw so tight he swore he saw a vein protruding. Her breathing was shallow, eyes staring blankly at the wall. 

Johnny felt unease, unsure of what to do. Should he say something? Should they leave the room? Nothing felt right at that moment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this new revelation changed everything. This was no longer just containing a multiversal threat, this was personal so to say. 

He was spared the ordeal when Sam finally spoke, only to be interrupted by Y/n, “You know you don’t have to--.”

“Do not finish that sentence, Sam.”

He turned away from the window to look at her, tone serious, “I’m trying to look out for you, Kid.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that?” 

“And Peter,” Sam continues, not letting up, “No one will fault you two for wanting to pull out of this.” 

She scoffs, offended by the insinuation as she stands from her chair. The atmosphere in the room heated up again, and Johnny tensed, watching the woman step forward so she was nearly chest to chest with Sam. “There is a multiversal madman out there and you’re suggesting I stay grounded?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“This is different, Y/n,” his voice was steady, willing her to understand. He wanted the best for his team. And their situation was unlike anything they’d ever dealt with. “You have to realize that. This Doom is--.”

“Not him, Sam! Y/n threw her hands up, yelling as the anger she had tried to contain began to unleash, “I’m not fucking stupid! For Christ’s sake, I know that’s not Tony and I’m not going to compromise this team because the man we’re up against has the same face as him!” 

“Y/n--,” Strange attempted to intervene but she shot him a look and he immediately backed down. 

“If you think Peter and I should back out, then so should Banner,” she pointed to the man who had yet to say something since the news of Tony’s variant was revealed. “Him and Tony founded this team. And let’s not forget your history with the damn Accords. Should I go call Rhodey and see what he thinks?” 

‘Accords? Rhodey?’ Johnny thought to himself, not familiar with the term as he thought back to the lessons on the Avengers. They must’ve omitted that detail, assuming it was a rather dark part of their history. A confirmation he got from the reactions of Banner and Strange, who’s expressions were complete shock and appalled. 

Sam’s demeanor shifted to that of hurt and exasperation, her words hitting him like a bullet from a gun. “That was low, even for you.” Yeah, whatever it was they were references, the Four gathered it wasn’t good. 

Y/n stepped back as though he struck her, a flash of regret in her eyes but she kept her head up, willing herself not to break. “I’m an Avenger. I took an oath, the same as you, and made a promise to Tony that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this planet against any and all danger. I will not break that promise, and nothing you say or do will stop me.” Y/n backs away, moving toward the door, “I’ll see you on the quinjet tomorrow, Cap.”

An eerie silence remained as the door slammed shut behind Y/n. Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound. The air was thick, and full of tension. The Four glancing at each other with uncertainty. 

“Wings up at eight,” Sam announced, voice strong with authority as though the last five minutes never occurred. Or didn’t bother him, though Johnny noted the pinched look of his brows.

The Captain then departed the room, Strange and Banner following out with a nod to the Four. Left to their own devices, the Four spent the next hour in the debrief room watching footage of the Avengers. Particularly ones with Tony Stark, the Iron Man, and the several catastrophic missions he dealt with alongside the Avengers. Provided with the mountain of videos from news channels and social media of people who experienced it first hand. 

New York 2012. Ultron 2015. The Superhero Civil War of 2016. That’s where they learned of the Accords Y/n referenced and how she and Sam were involved. The two on opposite sides of the scale as Y/n pledged allegiance to Tony while Sam supported former Captain America, Steve Rogers. Witnesses flying a private plane around the airport captured the fight between the two teams. 

Johnny watched with a frown as Y/n battled against her colleagues and friends. He could tell she was holding back on using her power to the highest degree, not really wanting to hurt them, but enough to send a message. For example, when Steve and Bucky attempted to flee to the hangar, Y/n created a layer of ice on the pavement, causing them to tumble and fall. Then she made a wall of ice to contain Scott Lang in his giant form. But that was a failure, as the wall wasn’t thick enough allowing Scott to break free, sending chunks of ice toward the ground, knocking the hero unconscious when one collided with her head, blood spilling from her temple. To prevent her from being crushed, Tony flew in a record speed to gather in his arms and rush her to safety. 

Later that night when Johnny was wandering the building, he found Y/n on the balcony overlooking the main grounds. A hue of orange and pink painting the sky as the sun set on the horizon. The dark blue of nightfall taking over lurking in the background. She was out of her suit, dressed in casual clothes consisting of a hoodie and sweats. A faint expression on her visage as she stared out in the distance. 

Gathering courage, Johnny took a deep breath before gently sliding back the door, the cool breeze hitting him in the face as he closed it behind him and approached the woman. Her head tilted slightly, acknowledging that she heard him, but made no move to address. 

They stayed like that for a minute. In silence, basking in the peace they were afforded before the impending danger they were to face. 

“I’m sorry you all had to witness that,” Y/n eventually spoke, tone neutral as her expression. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Johnny shook his head with a shrug, “You don’t have to apologize. I can’t imagine what you and your friends are feeling. And I’m sorry we jumped to conclusions--accusing you guys of--.”

“Considering what you told us of Victor von Doom,” She sent a pointed look, her voice one of understanding, “you had every right to be cautious. Plus,” she sighs, gaze flickered down to the railing, “you four are still new to the Multiverse. We’ve known about it for five years, and I remember that feeling of confusion and uncertainty. America told us all about her experiences traveling through various realities.” Y/n’s frown deepened, shuffling on her feet with unease. “In one world, she met a version of me that hated the Avengers--and tried to destroy them.” Her body shudders, and not from the wind, “That stuck me for a while. I couldn’t imagine a world where I was the enemy. Whose goal was to hurt the people I cared about. Steve, Nat, Tony.” 

Johnny nodded, leaning his elbows on the railing as he pictured it. Surely there were versions of himself out there in the multiverse. He wondered what they were like. Did they have the same power? Did they get to live a normal life like he once thought he would? Was he a hero? Or was there a version of Johnny who went against all he stood for? 

He too, refused to imagine a scenario where he’d want to harm his sister and friends. It saddened him to even think about such a thing. And the way Y/n said Tony’s name, showed him she felt the same.

“Was he your father?” the question left his lips before he could stop it. Immediately regretting upon the distant look that encompassed her visage along with the glossiness of her eyes.

“He was the closest thing I had to one after my own died,” Y/n bit her lip, scoffing lightly, “actually even when mine was alive. Met the man when I was five--my father invested in Stark Industries and the two were good friends. I have fond memories of going to Stark Tower and watching Tony’s expos.” A small smile appeared, but it soon turned to a frown. “My parents profited off the sciences and technology, but didn’t really care to understand it.” There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she spoke, and Y/n was a bit surprised she was being so open with Johnny. A rare feeling, for she was hardly this vulnerable about her past with her teammates. And she’d known them for decades almost.

“I was always smart growing up but they never acknowledged or praised me for it. Told me college wasn’t necessary since we were wealthy and what good would higher education be when we were well set. Mind you,” she shoots a glance at Johnny, who was watching her intently. “My father went to business school in Chicago and my mother was a journalist before they got married.”

“The pot calling the kettle black,” he muses, tone laced with disappointment on her behalf.

“Exactly,” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked back toward the city. “My father laughed when I told them I wanted to pursue physics at MIT. Told me if I was going to go to college then I should do business where the money was at--as if I needed more fucking money,” Johnny heard the frustration and sadness in her voice, picturing a young Y/n with dreams who just wanted the support of her parents and was denied. Thinking about it made his heart strain.

“Anyways, Tony was the one who helped me get to MIT. It was my freshman year he got kidnapped and became Iron Man. Barely saw him after that because his partnership with my dad ended.” Fiddling with her rings, Y/n closes her eyes briefly while taking a breath, then shrugs nonchalantly, “My folks were among the casualties in New York, my accident happened not long after….” she straightens up with a sniff, “Tony Stark helped me find purpose. Told me there were greater things for me--and my powers could be a tool to help people. He took me under his wing when the government advised him not to. I owe everything to him.” Turning to lock their eyes, Y/n’s gaze is filled with determination. 

“As he died I promised him to continue his legacy. I intend to keep it, until my last breath.”

Defeating Doom proved itself to be the most defining moment for the Avengers and Fantastic Four. Lasting months on end, for each time Doom was in their grasps he managed to get two steps ahead of them. Thankfully the integrity of space, time, and reality didn’t seem to disintegrate with the Four in Earth-616. Something the geniuses of the team were concerned about. 

When it was finally over, Doom neutralized and the multiverse saved, the Avengers and the Four--bloodied, bruised, and covered in grime, dragged themselves to a nearby shawarma joint to pig out. Beer flowed, music sounded from the jukebox beside the round table they took claim to. 

And after months of tip-toeing around feelings, Johnny and Y/n finally said ‘fuck it,’ falling into step together as a unit they both craved. The Ice Princess seated firmly in his lap with her head tucked under his chin, eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion kicked in. 

For Johnny, he’d been crushing on the woman since he first laid eyes on her. Keeping his affections hidden as he knew deep down it would be unwise to pursue anything with someone who 1) was from another world; and 2) he needed to focus on the task at hand. 

The same went for Y/n, who realized her fondness for the blonde about a month after he arrived. She’d be lying if she didn’t find him attractive during that first meeting. Anyone with eyes would agree. But she knew better than to be involved with him given their predicament. 

Yet, by a power greater than universe, the man of fire melted her frozen heart. He wasn’t put off by her cool attitude, unlike most people when they first meet Y/n. Yeah he got under her skin with his boyish charm and flirtations, but he never crossed any lines. Always respectful. Always mindful. 

Neither were sure when things changed between them. Maybe it was when Y/n pushed him out of the way of a line of fire from a Doombot causing her to take three bullets to her back and nearly bleed out right there in the middle of the street. Or when Johnny spent a week in a coma for exposing himself to a deadly dose of radiation to prevent Y/n from doing so. Whatever it was, the two could no longer beat around the bush. And the night before the final battle against Doom, they confessed their feelings on the balcony overlooking Avengers campus. Sealing their promise to stay alive with a kiss.

“You sleepy, darling?” Johnny murmured against her hair after finishing a conversation with Shang-Chi. Tightening his arms around the woman when she nuzzled his chest before laying a sweet kiss to her forehead. 

“Just resting my eyes.” His finger brushed her cheekbone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, making Y/n sigh in content. 

“Rest,” he told her, not buying it at all, and by the tone of his voice she knew he was smiling. “I’ll wake you when we’re ready to leave.” All he received was a hum, the man beaming as he carded his fingers through her hair. And when Johnny lifted his gaze he met his sister’s, who’s expression was full of fondness, shooting him a wink as she gestured toward the sleeping Avenger in his lap. 

‘Told you so,’ Sue mouthed, grinning at his pink tinted cheeks. 

‘Shut up,’ he mouthed back, though he returned the smile. 

In the days following their victory, one question remained: Will the Fantastic Four return home? America was their ticket out. All she had to do was open a portal. It may take time, but eventually she’d shuffle through enough realities until she found theirs. Luckily in the months they’d been away, the fabric of reality remained intact. 

In all honesty, that fact alone is what made them contemplate leaving. 

The Fantastic Four didn’t belong in Earth-616 having landed there by mistake, but it had been almost a year. Integrating themselves into the Avengers and developing bonds. Besides the romantic feelings between Johnny and Y/n, the remaining Fantastic Four were not sure if they wanted to leave. Reed and Ben enjoyed working with Banner and Strange. Sue longed for female companionship, and found that with Y/n and the other women of the Avengers. And Johnny connected with the guys. They all became friends.

They became a team.

And since they weren’t leaving anyone behind in their world, what harm was there by staying? The Avengers could use more allies. And who knows another high level threat would appear. Threatening the existence of the universe. They needed a strong team, and defeating Doom proved they were one. 

Yeah, it was a no brainer. 

Now here they were two years later. The Ice Princess and Human Torch cuddled in their bed, in their apartment in Avengers campus, on their day off where they could enjoy the peace as no new threats had emerged in the last two months. 

Johnny groaned when Y/n pulled away from the kiss, moving to sit up so she was straddling his hips. The comforter falling behind her as she fought against his firm grip when he attempted to pull her back down. 

“Sorry, hotshot, no sleeping in for me today. I have to get ready.”

He tilted his head, partly confused, partly offended, “For what?”

“I promised your sister I’d have breakfast with her.”

“But it’s Sunday,” He sat up, hands gripping her waist as he moved to press kisses on her neck. “We don’t do anything on Sundays. Except sleep….” he trailed off, pulling away to give her a cheeky smile, “and give each other some lovin’.”

Y/n chuckled, tilting her head back as his plush lips captured her chin, trailing down her jaw until he found the place behind her ear. “Baby, I’ll give you all the loving this afternoon until the sun sets and the moon rises,” she feels him shudder against her, smirking in satisfaction. “But I’m a woman of my word.” 

Lifting herself off him, she leaned over to her side of the bed to grab her rings off the nightstand. Returning to his lap as she placed them on her fingers. Her college ring on her right hand, and the beautiful Cartier stack consisting of her engagement and wedding rings. Once all were placed on her finger, Johnny lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles just below. His own wedding band shining against the sunlight peeking through the curtains. 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long now,” Johnny flirted, chocolate eyes sparkling while pressing her hand to his chest where his heart laid. Heat radiated off his body. “I might come looking for ya.” The words earned him a playful glare.

“Behave,” she scolded without any bite. “Or I’ll punish you.”

“I want you too,” Johnny challenged, winding his arm around her waist to hold her closer. 

All she did was shake her head, laughing at his behavior while he continued his assault on her neck, allowing him a few extra kisses before she really had to get up. “You are something else, Johnny Storm.” 

“And you love meeeee.”

“I do,” she breathed out, tilting her head down to meet his lips halfway, hand cupping his jaw. He sighed in victory, chasing her mouth each time she pulled away, causing her to giggle. “Johnny! The sooner you let me leave, the sooner you get to have me all to yourself.” 

He groaned again, loosening his hold but not completely letting Y/n go. “Fine,” he mumbled, pouting, but smiled when she kissed his cheek. “Bring me back a coffee, please?”

“Of course, my love.” 

With that he reluctantly let go of her waist, allowing his wife to get up from the bed. But before she could make her way to the bathroom, Johnny caught her hand, making her turn back to him with a raised brow.

“Some say the world will end in fire.” He begins to recite the famous poem by Robert Frost. What started as a joke between the two because of their abilities, transformed into something far more intimate. The poem itself was about human emotions, and their power to lead to self-destruction. Fire was fast, Ice was slow. Together they were each other's strength and weakness. And despite being complete opposites, they both played a role in dismantling humanity. 

But for Johnny and Y/n, they managed to do the impossible. They bridged the gap between fire and ice.  

Y/n smiles affectionately, lifting her free hand to the back of his neck to scratch at the nape of his hairline. “Some say in ice.”

“From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”

“But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate, to say that for destruction ice.”

“Is also great,” They both recite, leaning in to capture each other's lips as they whisper the final line of the poem. 

“And would suffice.”

[emilys-bangs]

but when you say my name (it all falls away so tenderly) | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, med student!reader (but could technically be any academically stressed reader), emily comfort, (so many!!!) forehead kisses, petnames, no use of yn

Summary: Academic stress is eating you alive. Emily helps stave it off for a little while. Requested here.

Word count: 0.9k

The longer you look at your notes, and the calendar hanging above your desk, the further doom settles in your gut. It creeps through your veins, paralyzes you from doing much more than blinking at the endless source material—which is what you’ve spent the past half hour doing, between pointless scrolls on your phone and browsing through shopping websites on your computer.

God, you’re so fucked.

The thought swells and crashes down in a wave of cold realization as Emily nudges her way through the door. You stare through the plate of sliced fruit she sets down amongst your books, eyes unseeing and mouth dry.

“I’m gonna fail.”

Emily doesn’t seem too concerned. “You’re not.” She decides, fishing a coaster from between the papers and settling it under the mug of tea she brought in.

You shake your head, her confidence knotting around your throat in coarse rope. “I’m serious this time. I don’t—I don’t think I can do it.” 

Usually you pull through. You mess around, you get too close to the fire, but you escape without getting singed. You’re not reckless per se; you get easily unmotivated, but this time you’ve really thrown it all to shit. Time keeps dwindling down and you haven’t made nearly enough progress. 

Your breathing picks up. You curse, your voice cracked with hysteria.

Warm fingers settle under your chin. Emily tilts your face up from your chest, a small furrow between her brows. “Hey. You’ve been at it for a while,” she says soothingly. You’re shaking your head again, already knowing what she’s going to suggest. “Honey, you can’t keep going like this, just take a break—”

“I can’t take a break!” You whisper-shout, tears salty in your mouth. “I haven’t been doing anything so I can take a break, I’m just wasting time doing nothing and I’ve got so much to cover that I still haven’t done, and that’s not including…” 

You trail off as your chest constricts. Emily’s face blurs, going cloudy beneath a film of tears as your panic grows. It’s buried under the apathy and procrastination, muffled by a bone deep exhaustion holding you back from just getting started. You care, you do. But you really don’t.

“I can’t fail, Emily.” You croak. You’ve come too far, spent too much of your life fighting your way through med school to let it all go up in flames now.

“Baby, you won’t.” She murmurs, soft as she dries your tears. She bends down against your desk chair, her arm wrapping around your shoulders and her lips finding your forehead. “You’ve been studying for weeks. Hell, you could probably answer half that exam in your sleep by now.”

It wasn’t enough, you want to tell her. Your attention was elsewhere, your mind wandering and distracted even as your hands worked. You’d be lucky if you could retain half the information you’d gone through already.

Emily combs your hair away from your temple to make room for another kiss. “I think you’re just burnt out, hon. Why don’t you take a break for today? Just hang out with me.” She gently drags her fingers up and down your arm. “Reset.”

You slump into her, closing your eyes. Trying to focus on the smell of her skin, the feeling of dotted kisses on your forehead. But the papers flash behind your eyes, and you force them open. “I can’t waste that much time.” You say hoarsely. “I still…I still have to revise my flashcards. And watch the recorded lectures.”

And, and, and.

“Can I help with that?” Emily straightens and reaches for your thick stack of flashcards. “You’re talking about these, right?” 

You nod. She thumbs through them, the edges slapping against each other with loud snaps. “What if I quiz you? Could help to change things up a bit.”

You rub your chin. She leans her hip against the desk, the concern in her doe-brown eyes poorly concealed. Her fingers fiddle with the cards as she waits.

“Okay. Sure.” You mumble. Couldn’t hurt.

“Great.” Emily beams. The room brightens, and for a second you almost forget why you’re killing yourself over this. “But first I’m gonna need you to eat that.” She points to the fruit. The plate is bursting with color, laden with fresh berries and orange slices and cubes of melon. Affection warms your chest, sending heat to your cheeks as Emily nudges the mug forward, too. “And drink that. And maybe get out of that chair.” She holds her hands out. 

You take them and let her pull you up. Her arms band around your back and secure you to her chest, the flat of her palms smoothing your shirt down your sides.

Her warm scent floods your lungs. You feel yourself go a little limp, your chest expanding with a deeper breath than you’ve taken all morning, your cheek pressed to hers. 

“Let’s sit on the balcony.” Emily murmurs. “You need a change of scenery.”

You exhale a slow breath, feeling it rattle. “Sounds good.”

Emily gently cups your face and nudges you back. Her eyes are soft, her thumbs skimming over your jaw. “It’s gonna be okay, sweet thing. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.” She tilts your head and brushes kisses on your hairline, her lips trailing down to the edge of your brow, the space just between.

Whatever happens, you’ll still be loved.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll

[year2000electronics]

Bill & Ford & A Book, Oh My!

DISCLAIMER: The Book of Bill has Bill Cipher serving as an unreliable narrator. If we go out trying to say something is "definitively a truth" or "definitively a lie", we're going to keep arguing about it until the heat death of the universe. This is just my own personal interpretation of the source material. If you don't agree, that's fine! Also TBOB spoilers abound.

So it's no secret that interest in the dynamic Bill & Ford have (enemies, platonic, romantic, formerly romantic, whichever way) has really skyrocketed since TBOB's release. Of course, there are the 'easy' culprits to point towards, with Mabel referring to Bill as 'being like a needy ex', and the whole O'Sadley's fiasco (Him literally crying over losing Ford and going "one Sixer, please"? Messy. Messy behavior. Still, I think it goes so much deeper than that.

Bill, being the unpredictable chaos entity that he is, also serves as the main antagonist for a show about family and having close bonds with each other. We don't really need to look into his inner psyche that much, because that's just not what he needed to be doing at that point in the cartoon. He's meant to be a way to divide the Pines, really. And a silly little guy. A silly little obstacle. So, naturally, when it came to Bill's arguably "closest" relationship to someone in the show (Ford), it was very easy to interpret it as Ford being tricked by a completely apathetic Bill, who was just using him as a rung on the ladder. And I do want to stress that Ford and Bill's physical actions remain fairly consistent throughout interpretations, and focusing on the fact that Bill badly hurt Ford is important, so if that's how you still see it, then fine by me! No harm no foul!

But I think the relationship, their story, their tragedy just becomes so much more interesting with the lens The Book of Bill has presented. We’re finally able to see Bill’s perspective as a “protagonist” of sorts in a medium where he’s not just something to defeat- and that’s something we’ve never gotten before, so it’s shedding light on an area we didn’t know about for sure! Again, Bill is lying to the character of "the reader", so we can't trust it as a completely unbiased source. But we can speculate on where the "truth" is between these lies.

First of all, Bill's backstory was that he destroyed his home dimension- we knew that already. But now, with the extra content we have about it, we see something interesting- that Bill's backstory mirrors Ford's to an uncanny degree.

Both of them champion their intelligence, although they highlight how it set them apart from others, as well as highlighting their own 'rare mutation/birth defect'.

Again, with this self-isolation already spurred on from their "weirdness", but also as a little aside, I would also like to highlight that Bill being 'ready to be one', looking up at the stars, striving to 'reach' them, is a shared motif he has with Ford, who is also associated with space, the stars, and reaching them.

Bill's 'trying-really-quick-to-convince-Ford' fantasy sequence even has him in a field of stars as a sort of "ultimate wish fulfilment". Remember, this is Bill showing Ford something he thinks would win Ford over, at least a little.

(And I'll take a quick time out for this train of thought to point out- hey! Bill admits he sought out most of his other victims, but Ford summoned him, and it took him by surprise! That adds a fun little layer of complexity to everything, don't you think? Another little layer of humanity for this whole mess- Bill didn't expertly seek out the 'perfect victim' or anything, it was just... luck. Some twist of fate.)

Anyways.

Obviously, the intro page to the 'Sixer' section has a ton of red flags galore (I mean, poor guy's literally depicted as a hapless puppet. C'mon, Bill. Not to mention the "OH BOY HE'S ALREADY SO ISOLATED, IT'S PERFECT" thing.). This guy is kind of a terrible companion no matter how you slice it. He's terrible to everyone close to him, because he's a deeply traumatized character who refuses to heal. BUT, the wording here is kinda deliciously intriguing to me. All of humanity is Bill's puppets, his future victims, but to me, it's clear that he holds a fondness for Ford. From "This is what a partner looks like", to "Me and Sixer could be the perfect team", to "He had what I always wanted- fingers" (drawn to his strangeness, maybe?), "He was destined for so much more", "I looked at his futures and giggled", and most stand-out to me, "Society calls these people freaks, I call them Henchmaniacs!"

Going back to the pre-Book of Bill era I was talking about, Bill's offers for Ford to join him were always in a sort of murky territory for interpretation. The first offer could definitely be read as mocking, with the line "WITH THAT SIX-FINGERED HAND, YOU'D FIT RIGHT IN WITH MY FREAKS!" in particular making it seem like Bill was only saying that to rub Ford's strangeness in his face, and the second offer to join Bill being under a new circumstance- that now Bill is desperate and believes Ford is the only one who can help him. But the Book of Bill mentions the idea of Ford becoming a Henchmaniac more than once, and also has Bill upset at losing Ford and claiming "he'll be back", as well as Bill seeming to use "freak" more like a badge of honour, and having previously complimented Ford's six fingers (In the Sixer intro page, he highlights Ford's fingers as a quality he likes, and in the pages about bodies, he states that "humans should have more fingers". To me, that first offer reads more now like Bill being genuine about finding Ford a place among his misfits. ...Although, the moment Ford says no, he does zap him into a statue. So. Y'know. He's still got issues.

(Yeah, again, red flag city. "Just hazing"? Bill, none of what you were doing over there was okay! You might have suppressed everything traumatic that happened to you, but that doesn't mean you can go around traumatizing everyone! Good lord.)

Bill has already been imply to like other characters because they remind him of himself. Pointing towards a connection with a character Bill DOESN'T have a weird undefinable ex-partner thing with... Mabel! Alex has says in multiple official media and interviews that Bill sees a lot of himself in Mabel, and essentially, that he thought Mabeland was the perfect prison because if HE liked all that awesome, uncontrolled chaos over any family or friends, why wouldn't SHE? And we see that again in TBOB. So basically, what I'm saying is that we have two characters to back up the fact that Bill seems gravitated towards humans or other living beings that he views as being 'like him'- beings he can relate to! So, y'know, what does that say about Bill and Ford?

There's also Bill's plans for the reader and "Weirdmageddon 2.0", where he portrays the reader as getting to, like, perch on his arm like a little bird and get their own little crown? And specifically calls out Ford for not going through with things?? Okay, Bill??

AND Ford not only being the only human mentioned on the list of people he "definitely doesn't miss so stop asking", but also having his own category? Alright, man.

Of course, another point to the 'Hey, maybe Bill can actually feel emotions towards humans besides complete and total apathy' club is this page here, which has ALSO been hotly debated! Certainly, we know he's telling the truth about his home dimension being destroyed, and we know that he's lying about the 'monster', but some interpret this scene as Bill not being remorseful at all and playing his reaction up to earn Ford's sympathy. And me, personally, I dunno if I agree. I feel like the specific inclusion of Bill "looking distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him" (Mirroring the fact that he keeps blacking out when thinking about all his large-scale massacres) and him "laughing joylessly", I think this sequence is meant to tell us that Bill actually is being vulnerable with Ford here, it's just hidden under layers and layers of deceit, whether towards himself or Ford or both.

And finally for my Book of Bill collection stuff, there's the stuff that could be read as more romantic in nature. In the 'love' section, Bill claims he doesn't love anyone, but, like-

Come on. You can disagree with me that it's Ford, but he does have exes. And he's clearly not over them. Shrimpy little liar. And then there's the fact that a lot of his hokey 'advice' is stuff he ends up directly doing to Ford.

These rats.

The Love Cage.

The Book of Bill really outlined all that in bold, but in my opinion, it was never an entirely new revelation! Bill seems to hold a preference for Ford over other humans in the show. He shows up in Ford's dreams just to say hi, tease him, and gloat (Mabelcorn) unlike the other two dream appearances he's made (Dreamscaperers, Sock Opera) which were exclusively for business purposes. Unlike every other character that gets exclusively one nickname for their zodiac sign, Ford gets multiple (Fordsy, IQ, Sixer, smart guy, brainiac, the list goes on). Bill asks Ford to join him TWICE, whereas anyone else who tries gets their face rearranged, put in a cage and made to dance, frozen in stone, etc etc. And finally, I think, the most emblematic of Bill's weird, specific relationship with Ford, is that whereas everybody else gets turned into stone, Ford got turned into gold.

Which kinda sums up their whole thing up pretty well? Bill gave him special treatment by turning him into a golden statue (similar to yellow ha ha), always holding him close, but, like... Dude. You still kidnapped a man and turned him into a statue and then threatened to kill his niece and nephew. I don't think it will change his opinion on you if he's the Most Pampered Hostage, Actually. I just don't think that we need to explore the relationships between characters as simply "Well, this character hurt the other one, so we shouldn't really think about why or what they feel personally, because what they did was bad, so there".

Bill & Ford interest me because they're a tragedy in motion. We can see that Bill and Ford mirror each other in a multitude of ways, and we can see that they both do have positive feelings towards each other at the time they meet, and we see that Bill very desperately wants Ford to be just like him in the unhealthy ways; the ways that make Bill destroy entire universes and compartmentalize it all, because maybe then, he can finally have the companionship he so deeply aches for. Bill and Ford both had tough, lonely upbringings, but Ford moved on from that "I don't need you" mentality. That's what saved him. Bill didn't, and that's what got him where he was in the end. I feel like that's just so much more interesting than Bill just being a flat entity that makes abuse Happen to Ford, just as another Event in his life. I mean, isn't it just SO much more interesting that Ford humanizes Bill, in a way? That Ford makes him- in Bill's own words- "sentimental"? That a chaotic dream demon has regrets and loves and favourites and connections? It's the same thing with Fiddleford & Ford, although, obviously, to a MUCH lesser extent than Bill & Ford. But you get what I mean, right? You know that Fiddleford and Ford are going to undo each other in the end, and the path to that downfall is... it's telling a story! I like the story of it all! I think that's what I've been invested in and intrigued by all these years- the story, the tragedy of Bill and Ford. No matter what form it takes.

(Plus, as tumblr user fordtato pointed out in their own essay (not tagging because this post is messy enough as is oh god), hey, Ford now has two incredibly queer-coded narratives, with one of them being about how he recovered and was able to heal from an abusive relationship. And, well, I think that's just neat.)

Anyways, that's the end of the post. Thanks for reading this long!

[steviewashere]

I want to write something sort of meta, hear me out on it. Sorry, if this hits too close to home. The idea came to me and I needed to get it out of my system. And...would you look at that, another half-written fic.

Steve ends up getting really into Star Wars after Dustin shows him to it. Like, so much that he gets himself involved with conventions, cosplay, collecting anything and everything he can. He's involved in a fandom space. Learns the world of fan fiction. And let's say that maybe, during his time figuring out where he wants to go with life, he picks up writing fanfic as a hobby.

It encourages him to get an English degree. Encourages him to lean more into that hobby, but then expanding upon it to write original short stories and small novels that go published. But he holds strong to Star Wars and fandom and finding his spot cemented in it. He's been a fan for...nearly forty years at this point (set in 2024, ugh I know).

And maybe he dabbles in online spaces here and there. He ignores the insufferable adults in the Star Wars fandom (the "um, actually..." guys, btw). Indulges the effort of typing out his handwritten fan fiction, ones he used to bring and pass around at conventions, ones he'd let Eddie read with a shy look in his eyes. And he posts them online, has a Tumblr account, maybe does a few short things on Twitter, definitely is on AO3 (albeit newer, having never attempted online fan work before).

But then...then he gets his first little bit of hate. Vicious, gross comments on his work. Sometimes in private messages. Even publicly, once, on Twitter. It irks him. He holds strong, he does. But then it gets worse and worse and somehow, worse. Younger people claiming he's too old, others claiming that he can't write for certain characters because they're out of his age range, that he can't ship certain people, he can't say that a character would do this or that, that Star Wars is media for a younger audience (despite being somebody who saw it "back in the day"). But that he...That he's not supposed to be there.

And that last little comment sticks with him for a long time. It makes his effort and his attention and his love for writing fanworks falter. He stops. Thinks about the characters he loves, of Leia and Han or even Luke and Han or Lando and Han (listen he loves writing Han). But then he wonders if it's even worth it, to indulge this interest anymore. Yeah, maybe he's older than the source material. Sure, maybe he was introduced to it a little later than most, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. Yet, his attention towards Star Wars completely falls away.

He stops watching it. His DVDs going dusty and unused. Starts putting away all his action figures, because what if he posts a photo one day and somebody sees them and claims that that's not for him and—

Then, he goes completely offline from fandom. Even if he still gets the emails from users who actually enjoy his stuff, ignoring them completely. Focuses on using the internet for work. For his novels, for the little stories he actually gets paid to write. But his work just isn't the same. The passion, despite being an original story and original source material, is completely dwindled.

His hobby has been stripped from him. His interest has been knocked straight out of his hands. And he just...moves on.

Even if it hurts to go down into the basement of he and Eddie's home, eyes catching on the see-through bins of original action figures, Lego sets, comic books. Even if it makes something strangle in his chest when he opens up the browser on his phone and it immediately opens to a new ship he'd been getting into: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker—because he finally picked up The Mandalorian, because he was finally talked into watching it when he had the free time.

And then it all bursts over when Eddie finally approaches him about it, when they're enjoying a night-in, sitting around lazily on their sofa.

"There's a convention coming into town," he comments, "supposedly, Hayden Christensen is going to be there. We should go, try and meet him."

Steve just grunts in response.

"Oh-kay...or we could just stay home and watch the movie?" Eddie suggests. "Been a while since I've seen Darth on screen, telling Luke about"—

"I don't want to," Steve cuts in quietly, "isn't really my thing anymore."

Silence then follows. For a beat. Then two. A third.

"Not your thing?" Eddie asks him incredulously. "Not too long ago you were raving all about that new show that's coming out! That you saw they were doing lightsaber whips and you were excited to see how they worked! What do you mean it's 'not your thing'?"

Steve shrugs. "Grew out of it or whatever. Got more important things to focus on now." He sniffs, trying to keep himself held together, grumpy and firm in his decision.

Eddie's stare drills into the side of his face. Scalding, just like that lava was in Revenge of The Sith. "Baby," he speaks softly, "did something happen? You haven't even...you don't read your beautiful little stories to me anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't even seen your lightsabers around here. What's goin' on?"

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A ratty plain white t-shirt that he wears now when he's lounging around the house. It used to be one with the Millennium Falcon on it, but that's tucked down far in his dresser. Not for him anymore.

"Steve," Eddie presses, "did something happen?"

His stare stays down at his lap, still fiddling with his shirt. Fingers flexing unfamiliarly in the strings, unlike the loose ones on his Star Wars shirts. "I just"—Steve heaves a deep sigh—"it's time I grow up. It's...not for me anymore. Too old for it now, I guess."

"You guess or you know? Because nobody's too old for anything. Unless, y'know, you're like eighty-nine and in terrible health and trying to hike Everest, then..."

Despite everything, Steve finds himself chuckling. A giddy little sound here and gone in a breath. He shrugs again, albeit smaller this time. Crumbling within himself. Quietly, honestly, he admits, "People were being mean to me about it online. About my writing. That I'm doing it wrong, that I—that I'm too old for it. That I don't belong because of my age." He finally brings himself to look at Eddie, blearily because his eyes are aching and wet. "I got to thinking and I...maybe I've just been too caught up in my own bliss to realize that those people are right. They're right and I shouldn't be into kids stuff anymore."

Eddie makes a soft, sad cooing noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, baby," he breathes. "Baby, those people don't know a single damn thing about your love. But...but I do. I know that you've seen every single Star Wars movie more times than I've probably eaten in my entire life. And what about all those Halloween costumes over the years? I didn't dress up like Leia for nothing, Mr. Solo."

Steve scoffs wetly. Goes to protest, but—

"And...and that handshake! The one with Dustin? You guys have had that for nearly forty fucking years! So, why bother indulging any of these...these hardasses on the internet? Did they sit next to you on the sofa as you fucking curled yourself like a shrimp and wrote every little intricate detail of a kiss between Luke and Han? Have they read your work while you blushed all shy, while you tucked your hair behind your ear and asked for the most earnest of feedback, to make sure you spelt things correctly or put a comma in the right place? These people, did they get to see you blossom and grow like a fucking bushel of roses over your hobby?

"Because I know I did. And even though you were nervous about your words on the paper, you still came to me. You still wrote and wrote and wrote until I had to bully you into breaks, just so you wouldn't ruin your poor wrists. If they had even an ounce of the passion that you do, they could write their own stories. They can make their own endings and make the characters the way they imagine them.

"They choose, instead, to—what—make fun of you because you have a space to express yourself? Because you found passion and turned it into something so beautiful, even I—a dungeon master, someone supposed to be amazing at storytelling—can't put into words? You found a way to do that, Steve. And you do that with kindness. You do it for free, mind you. If their only passion sits within sending you vitriol over people who aren't even remotely close to real, then they're the ones who don't belong.

"If I've learned anything, fandom is a space to share and bounce off each other's words. It's community and it's belonging and it's sharing what you love because you just love it. Fandom isn't bullying. Bullying is just bullying, Steve.

"And everything you've ever done in your life, in regards to fandom and outside of it, is so much better than hate. You may be a nerd or...or a little bit overzealous or whatever, but at least you aren't hateful. I think being hateful, that's worse—don't you think?"

Steve can only stare in response, fast tears down his cheeks, hands shaking in his shirt. Mind reeling. Because, yes, Eddie's right. And he maybe should've talked about it initially, but the hurt festered and festered and tangled and grew until he was nothing but an unhealed scab. And Eddie, he's the antiseptic to his uncovered cuts—the ones deep on his heart, where all his love is—even for things considered mundane, like movies, like TV shows.

"Steve," Eddie carefully murmurs, wrapping Steve's hands with his own, "you don't have to do something right to love it. You don't have to be a certain way to be happy. If Star Wars made you happy, then why give it up?"

He sniffles and chokes back on a sob. Because, again—damnit—Eddie's right. "I miss it," he admits quietly, "all I've done is miss it."

Eddie gives him a small smile. Something achingly soft that reaches deep within Steve. "Then open your arms and welcome it back, baby," he whispers, "even if you can't be online anymore, do it for yourself."

"I...I want to try it again, I'm just...scared. What if people hate it all over again? What if they're just nasty to me and shut me down and push me to the side and"—

"But what if they love it? What if your readers have missed you just as much?"

"You think?" he meekly asks.

Eddie's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "I know, actually. Your emails keep coming in on the computer's desktop because I keep forgetting to log you out. And, baby, you would not believe how many people have been eager for updates, for your return." His thumbs work into the backs of Steve's hands, warm and sure. "And, if it helps, maybe I can moderate your comments before you look at 'em? I'll read them to myself and if they're mean, I'll delete them."

Steve blows out a breathy little chuckle. "You'll just get mad at them," he gently teases. "But that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I should try again. Not yet, though. I'm not ready."

"That's okay," Eddie assures, "take things slow. Maybe we start with watching the movies again? Getting your lightsabers back on display?"

"Can we go to the convention, too?"

"We can do whatever you want, Stevie."

For the first time in a long while, Steve finds himself smiling. "I love you," he whispers.

"I know."