#something something something revenge something something something

[onedeadkitty]

Week #3

I just know she faces the wall in the girls locker room.

Without text and more info under the cut

Mizu Monday from ch.2 of a fic in reading rn

[liyahin4k]

Can you do a Paige bueckers x reader were Paige and the team and reader are hanging out in Paige’s dorm and reader calls Paige by her full name for a prank scarring Paige

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑)

Love the idea 🥰

Tonight was the night you would get your revenge on Paige from doing all these pranks on you. you’ve had it with her, you knew how much she was terrified when you called her out by her government name.

So tonight you were gonna use that against her. The team was over giving you the perfect opportunity to embarrass her, everyone was in hers and yours room laughing and giggling at something as you got ready. You took a deep breath trying not too laugh before walking towards the room.

“Paige.madison.bueckers” you said slowly letting her know you were serious and walked out for her to follow, everyone stopped laughing and looked towards Paige as she slowly looked at you her face turning bright red “ouuuu,you in trouble” kk said trying not to laugh “s-shut up” Paige stumbled quickly getting up and followed you out the room.

“W-what I do” she asked scared you couldn’t help it, you started laughing confusing her “nothing I just wanted to say I love you” you giggled “god don’t do that again” she sighed pulling you in for a hug and kissed your head “you scared me” she mumbled “good, you should be” you laughed.

[darylssunshine]

Torture

summary: you teased daryl, and now he's getting his revenge.

word count: almost 3.7k

genre: smut

warnings: p in v, choking, biting

era: commonwealth

a/n: this picture got me so deranged that I wrote several essays worth of smut. god. || thanks to @dixons-sunshine and @shadowcitrine on some parts of this!

~~~

Rubbing a hand down his face, Daryl opened the door to your shared home, exhausted from his supply run. The sound of the door clicking open and his hard boot steps on the floor were unmistakable, so you hollered down at him from upstairs.

“Hey, Dar!” You shouted in a sing-song way.

Immediately in a slightly better mood just by hearing your voice, he replied back in a louder than normal talking voice. “Evenin', sunshine.”

Grunting, he set his bag down near the door, noting to deal with it tomorrow when he didn't feel like he was going to literally fall apart where he stood. He gripped his elbow to stretch his forearms, followed by his neck.

He had lost his stealthy grace that he had when he was hunting just hours before, as his loud footsteps climbing the stairs could be heard throughout the house, the floorboards creaking loudly. He headed towards your shared bedroom when he noticed the bathroom light illuminating the adjacent wall, along with an interesting looking leaf you found and thumbtacked to the wall for “decoration.” What he was greeted with when he turned the corner into the bathroom was something he had definitely not been expecting. He was catatonic in his tracks.

You turned around to greet him in a silky, red dress that hugged you just right. It had a v-neck neckline, and it came down to your middle thighs, not showing any signs of you wearing anything underneath.

He raised an eyebrow while slowly looking you up and down, drinking you in. “ S’all this?” He leaned his forearm on the doorframe to get a better look at you, suddenly not thinking about his sore neck anymore.

You noticed your husband's sultry look and grinned, redness adorning your cheeks. “Just something I found while I was out a couple of weeks ago. Nothing special.”

As an act of disagreement, Daryl slid behind you to grip your hips and put his face in the nape of your neck, breathing in your scent. His stubble tickled your neck, making you giggle. “‘Nothin’ special’ my ass.”

His hands began to explore your body, rubbing your exposed shoulders, contrasting your smooth skin with his calloused, overworked hands. They went back down to your hips, savoring the curves and the dips. You snapped out of your trance of feeling Daryl's perfect hands on you when he snaked said hands under your dress.

“Hey! Handsy!” You squealed playfully and quickly turned around to face him, disconnecting his hand from your body. You then slapped his arm, and he smirked in response.

“Ain't I allowed to appreciate ya?” He purred rhetorically, pulling you in again by your waist and resting his forehead against yours. Giggles erupted from your lips once more, very much enjoying the state your husband was in and how you alone made him like that.

“You definitely are, but…” You broke apart your intimate embrace, much to his dismay. “This isn't for you. I'm going out with a friend.”

“Oh?” Daryl questioned dangerously. He had no problem with you going out late and hanging out with your friends, but God damn it, he was horny.

You turned back to the mirror to fix your hair before you headed out the door. “Yeah, remember Emily? The person I introduced you to at the party?”

He grunted affirmatively.

“We’re just gonna catch up over some drinks, I just felt like putting on something fancy.” You stated matter-of-factly, carefully squeezing past Daryl in the doorway to step down the stairs, him following in tow.

He leaned against the banister of the staircase, arms crossed. “Aight. Have fun.”

“Dar, I won't do anything stupid. I swear.” Your eyes never leave his as you clasped your arms around his neck, emphasizing your seriousness.

Daryl placed a short yet loving kiss to your lips. “I know ya won't. Go on, now.”

You reluctantly separated yourself from him, but not before giving him yet another kiss in response. You both said your goodbyes, and you headed out to visit Emily.

---

The Commonwealth was lively, children’s laughter being heard from afar. You still weren’t that used to the usual hustle and bustle of everyday life there, but you were thankful that, in an apocalypse, this reality can still even exist. You were actually thankful to have a job again. You ran a small clothing shop right next to Princess’ vinyl shop. It was nice. A routine. Safety. Almost like a home.

Despite this, your shared home with Daryl had a tense atmosphere at the moment. He was grumpy all morning, only answering you in one or two word sentences. You tried and tried, pressed until you thought he was going to snap, anything to get him to talk to you. To communicate what he was feeling. But still, nothing. He was never that good at communication, even now. So, you let it go after a while, chalked it up to him waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You couldn’t help but worry if something was wrong, though. If you had done something wrong.

He was out doing God knows what, considering this was his day off from scouting with the Commonwealth Army. Hunting, probably. It’s what he did to get his mind off things. Get his anger out. Whatever he was feeling at that present moment.

Your suspicions were proven incorrect, though, because while you were standing outside your shop to get some fresh air, he seamlessly came into your peripheral view and leaned against the outside wall of the shop. You turned your head towards your husband's figure, and didn’t know how to react to what you saw standing before you.

He was in the outfit he practically lived in, his black jeans and long sleeve black sweater, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. His hair was matted, but still perfectly wavy, framing his face, only a few stray hairs in the way of his eyes. Three deskinned snakes adorned his neck, hanging limply against his chest. That was normal, though. He showed up with dead animals all the time. What was the most jarring, however, was his bloody hands, both of his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. It was almost like he had made absolutely no effort to clean them off in any way. Covered in blood and grime, excess blood dripping off his fingertips and onto the grass below. Dirt underneath his fingernails. Those three thick veins on both hands popping out a little bit more than usual. Almost like he knew that you wanted to see them like that. Imagining how they would look around your ne-

“Ya starin’, sunshine.”

Physically shaking your head, you forcefully broke yourself out of your Daryl induced haze. You cleared your throat and immediately sputtered out, “Nope. Nope. Not at all.” The clothing rack you were standing by suddenly seemed very interesting, so you absentmindedly flipped through the t-shirts, definitely not trying to hide your slightly flustered expression.

He hummed in amusement, and just like that, he was off to the communal kitchen to drop off his successful kill. Once you knew his gaze was out of view, you watched him walk all the way there until he shut the door behind him.

What the fuck?

—

The sheer strangeness of that interaction had you confused. Bewildered. Turned on. What?

You couldn’t focus. Thankfully, it had been a very slow day, only having one person browse the clothing within the last hour. You busied yourself with stock that you had been procrastinating for a few days.

You were about to bring the last box of clothes to the back, but your path there just so happened to include a window, and there was Daryl again, back against a nearby tree, staring at you through the glass. You shifted the box to be held with one arm to offer him an awkward wave. Of course, he did not return this greeting. Instead, he simply pulled something out of his pocket. It was a… peach that was cut in half. All while his half open eyes were locked with yours, he lifted the peach to his mouth, and you expected him to take a bite. What he actually did, however, was take a long lick down the middle with his tongue.

Oh.

He continued this at a purposely slow pace a few more times, and when his tongue went back into his mouth, you thought he was done. But he then raised his opposite hand to the peach and used his middle two fingers to glide over the fruit’s surface. Moving them back and forth, his fingers digging deeper into the squishy substance each time. He had gone about a knuckle deep before he took out his long fingers from the fruit. His fingers were drenched when he raised them up to his mouth and took in both fingers easily. They slid out of his mouth at an excruciatingly slow pace, his lustful gaze intensely boring into yours.

You didn't even know how long you’d been staring or how long your mouth had been agape when you ripped yourself away from the mirror and quickly hid in the back.

Your breathing was heavy and your cunt clenched.

What the fuck?

—

You definitely weren't focused on your job, now. That being effident by the few customers that came in after that interaction having to say your same several times at rising decibel levels to get your attention.

It was only thirty minutes until the end of your government assigned shift, so you resorted to walking around from behind the cashier’s counter to the main floor and pacing back and forth to try and release some of your anxious energy. It wasn’t working that well.

What was Daryl’s deal?

He clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk earlier, but now his mood was bolder. Daring. Flirtatious. It confused, and excited, but mostly confused the hell out of you. What could he be thinking? What reaction is he trying to achieve with this?

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the main entrance door open and heavy boots step on the tile floor below.

“Hey.”

You yelped in fear and snapped your gaze over to the door, only to be met with the man that you were just thinking about. “Jesus, Dar! Scared the shit outta me!”

Instead of apologizing, he stepped closer to the back wall where you were standing and said “Am I th’ one gettin’ ya all worked up? Hm?”

You wanted to retort with a pissy and witty response, but your brain could only muster up a sputtered, “Well- you- I was-”

“Use yer words, baby.”

You bit your cheek and took a deep breath. He was going to be the death of you.

“What the hell is your deal today?” It was a layered question that required a quite lengthy answer.

He didn’t give you that satisfaction, however. He instead stepped forward even more, leaving you with no more room, bumping into the wall behind you. His large hand then raised to your throat, wrapping it around easily, and slid it up, simultaneously raising your chin up to force you to look at him and slightly restricting your air flow. He looked at you like you were his prey, and he was ready to pounce.

“Guess you’ll haveta see.”

You didn’t even have time to process what just happened before he turned around and walked out the door.

What. The fuck.

—

Your heartbeat was noticeably higher as you locked the main entrance door at the end of your shift and started the walk back to your house. This entire day had been a fever dream. You had been racking your brain all day to figure out Daryl’s angle in all of this torture he was springing upon you. Was it a special day? No, Daryl remembered those, you thought back to him telling you that he made an extra effort to remember certain days to make you happy. But this was just a random day.

Was he trying some sort of kink out? You never thought that Daryl was into extra kinky stuff, but if that’s what it was, it was working.

Did he just think getting you all hot and bothered was funny? Some sort of game? This was impossible to crack.

You’ll have to have a talk with him, you thought as you stepped inside your safe haven. You were about to loudly announce your presence, but that proved to be unnecessary when you moved your head to the right, because there he was, and it took everything in you not to drop the keys that you were holding.

He was spread out on the couch that faced the doorway, so he was completely in your view. Both of his arms were resting on either side of him on the back of the couch. His legs were deviously and very obviously spread apart. He was manspreading.

Your mouth watered, and you swallowed hard.

Almost as if on cue, he tilted his head in a mocking manner. God, even him tilting his head had you weak in the knees. He knows you were being tortured. He knows.

“See some’n ya like?

Your eyes unconsciously went to the bulge that was growing his pants. Yes. Yes, you did.

Shaking your head again, you ripped yourself away from his crotch and forced yourself to look at him in his fiery blue eyes, walking more into the living room. “I’m not answering that until you answer my question from earlier.” You spoke almost nonchalantly. Almost.

He shifted, bringing his arms down to cross them across his chest and then crossed one leg over the other. As if he knew you wanted to see more, but he wasn’t allowing you. Not yet.

“‘Member last night when I came home and ya was wearin’ that dress?”

“Of course I do, and I had a nice time last night at Emily’s, thanks for asking.” You tried to sound snappy.

“Wanted ta fuck ya right then n there. Wanted to rip it off ya. Ta fuck ya ‘till ya couldn’t walk fer days.”

Any chance of forming a coherent thought was now lost. He took advantage of your silence and continued.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout ya that night. How I wanted ya so bad and ya just walked out the door without even lettin’ me touch ya. So…” He tilted his head again. “I did the same thing ta you. Made ya all hot ‘n bothered, then left.”

So many thoughts were in your head just then. But one was more prominent than the rest.

“So, you were jealous?” You raised an eyebrow and let a small grin creep onto your face.

“Ya wanna say tha’ again, brat?”

That thoroughly shut you up, your wide doe eyes locked with Daryl’s, the confidence you just expressed suddenly lost.

He raised his head a bit and huffed in amusement. “The teasin’ that I was doin’? Ya liked it, didn’t ya?”

An affirmative nod was all you could muster.

“Words, sweetheart.”

Fuck, he was going to kill you.

You bit your lip in embarrassment. “Yeah. I did.”

With that, he pushed himself off the couch. Within a couple seconds, he was standing right in front of you, his hand being placed on the wall right beside your head. Your eyes flicked down to his lips as a force of habit. He took notice of this and leaned down towards yours, your eyes already closed. But, the kiss never came. He had stopped only a couple inches from your face.

“Yer so needy ‘n I haven't even touched ya.”

A high-pitched whine bubbled up in your throat.

“Need you.”

You didn't even think you were going to say that. It just came out. An honest knee jerk response straight from the depths of your brain. You felt as if the world was going to collapse around you if you didn’t have him buried deep inside you.

Daryl jerked his chin towards your shared bedroom. "Bed." He watched with impassive eyes as your chest heaved with heavy breaths. "Now."

As if a feral animal had possessed you, you hungerly latched onto his chapped lips. He happily returned the passion, gracing you with hot, open-mouthed kisses. He licked your lower lip to gain entrance, and you granted it without a second thought. You leaned into the kiss, craving more. When he leaned back, you were reminded that you were still right next to a wall.

He was a mind reader, you thought. Because right after your head softly impacted with the wall behind you, he grasped the back of your thighs and effortlessly picked you up and supported your weight, all while continuing the fight for dominance with his tongue. You yelped when he squeezed your ass with his large hand, but it was muffled by the mouth that was currently connected to yours. Your arm instinctually wrapped around the back of his neck, while the other grabbed his hair and pulled, desperate to touch any part of him you could.

He fucking growled.

The next thing you knew, you were being gently but firmly tossed onto the king-sized bed. You wasted no time getting your clothes off, and neither did he. Shirts, pants, bras, and vests were discarded to the floor with no care. The room was filled with heavy breaths and anticipation.

He crawled on his hands and knees to get to you, his eyes never leaving yours; a predator stalking his prey. He started marking his territory by sucking and biting your skin, earning a sudden hiss of pleasure from you. The squirming and unholy noises started when he bit and sucked right on the side of your neck, leaving no question who you belonged to. He gazed at his work like an artist admires their newly finished painting.

“Now everyone’ll know who owns ya.” He popped a tit in his mouth and lightly bit your nipple, rolling the other one with his pointer finger and thumb.

You had a vice grip on the sheets, neck straining to see your beloved.

He brought a hand down to your crotch and lightly swiped the area with two fingers, then ran fingers along the inside of the waistband teasingly.

“Dar…” You pleaded.

“Yeah?” He retorted, acting clueless as to what you needed, slowly removing your black panties and throwing them behind him to the floor with the rest of the garments. Neck still straining, you had so many things you wanted to say, but your limited brain function only allowed you to bat your eyelashes at him. He left a trail of purposefully wet kisses from the middle of your abdomen down to the very top of your lips.

“Tell me what ya want, baby.” He teased your sensitive folds with a calloused finger tip, and a deep, mangled breath crawled its way through your throat.

“You. All of you.” You obediently responded. You couldn’t have been more sincere, your words breathy and desperate.

That was all Daryl needed to hear before he eagerly pulled his boxers down, his cock springing to life, the tip already angry and red. You tried so hard to keep your eyes locked with Daryl’s, but your eyes involuntarily flicked to his other head. And it got even harder to concentrate when he got impossibly closer, the tip grazing your folds. Your chest heaved with loud, open mouth breaths.

“Needy little brat.”

A broken yell could be heard throughout the house when he entered you almost entirely.

You clumsily wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to be closer. He could never be close enough. His strong arms were placed on either side of your head to watch and listen to the symphony that you were currently performing for him.

“Mhm. Yeah. Wanna hear ya.” He grumbled softly into your ear, nibbling the lobe below.

Your mind had already gone blank, now filled with only thoughts of Daryl. How good he was making you feel. How deep his voice could go when he wanted it to. How he hit your sweet spot just right. Daryl. Daryl. Daryl.

Judging by his weak chuckling, you must’ve said that last part out loud.

You were in absolute bliss, mouth agape and eyes starting to roll and seeing stars, and Daryl couldn’t get enough of it. One of his favorite things about sex wasn’t his own pleasure, but yours. Giving it to you and seeing how you react while doing it.

“Feel so good. Fuck. So good.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth, no thought behind them. Pure honesty and ecstasy.

Daryl could tell you weren’t going to last long.

In an act of lust driven confidence, he propped himself up on his left forearm resting on your upper abdomen, while his other arm gripped the hair close to your scalp and yanked. Hard.

A high-pitched gasp filled the air. Your core became unimaginably tighter, begging for a release.

Daryl grunted through a half open mouth while giving you another hickey near your clavicle, roughly biting down just enough to hurt but not break the skin. His hazy eyes bore into you before he crashed down onto your lips, his hot breaths only exciting you more. “Let go, (Y/N.) I got ya.” He huffed in between when he was basically eating you alive.

Your insides became white hot fire. A mangled scream ripped through your throat, everything going blurry. You went limp on the bed, unmoving except your labored breathing. Daryl was in the same catatonic state but had his forehead pressed against yours so you could clearly see his sweaty and exhausted state. You both lay there for a few moments in sweet content silence. When you brought a hand up to stroke his cheek, he smiled.

“So, ya gonna wear that dress again?”

“Oh my God.”

Of fucking course you were.

[xiao-come-home]

also i love that ppl headcanon that boothill will just randomly bite you cause bitch me too, the fuck. idc if you're made of metal i still have your ears and nose mister - 💫

He didn’t believe in karma until that fateful day…

Can you guess what happens if Boothill decides to act up on his intrusive thoughts?

Biting. When you least expect it.

You’re cooking peacefully and minding your own business, chomp. Boothill’s lips connect with your neck, his teeth lightly teasing your sensitive skin. You can feel the smirk he has on his face without even sparing him a look, and you can’t help, but let out a tired sigh after the initial jumpscare he got you.

There’s no escape, really. Even if you’re doing a deep cleaning of your closet, finding some ancient school photos or things you refuse to consider garbage every time you clean, he tiptoes quietly behind you and bites your earlobe while tickling you and pulling you close to him, only to scare the soul out of your body and almost attack him with a hammer.

Wait, how did a hammer end up in your closet? Doesn’t matter. I guess it might get useful in the future.

Either way, one day, you feel something snap inside you and decide to do just that to Boothill as well. And there he is, currently recharging on the couch - meaning that he’s let his guard down for at least few hours. Not expecting anything, Boothill closes his eyes and lays his head on top of the couch, already used to the feeling of different energy flowing to his fake veins.

What he certainly doesn’t expect is you launching at the couch and biting his his cheek.

“Ow, ow, ow! What the heck, baby!” Boothill yells as he gently pushes you off of him and rubs his cheek to soothe the uncomfortable feeling.

“Revenge!”

“Revenge?! For what?!”

You roll your eyes and point to the bite mark on your neck that definitely did not happen during the fun time.

“Okay, at least I was tryin’ to make it sexy,” a tiny blush appears on his cheeks, but he quickly recovers and throws a pillow at you, “but it ain’t sexy at all! Now ya owe me an apology kiss, ya little shirtbag!”

You put the pillow nearby and straddle his lap, gently massaging the cheek you bit, while Boothill whines and mutters “fudge” under his breath every few seconds. “Alright. I’ll give you one.”

Boothill closes his eyes and awaits the kiss impatiently.

But yet again, he lets out a loud yelp when you bite his nose softly.

“This is for the ‘shirtbag’ earlier.”

Though, when you try to actually give him a kiss, he turns his head and pulls away, firmly stating (yelling) that you won’t get him this time. Well, you’re not exactly trying to…

[foursaints]

fanonwise i sometimes feel that we don’t treat barty crouch jr’s relationship to his father with the amount of nuance that it’s given in canon.

i see more evidence for their dynamic as one of a prodigal son‘s unexpected betrayal, rather than him being openly defiant from the beginning. barty jr disdains his father more than he fears him.

barty’s character is more about being Stifled than it is about being Penalized, if that makes sense. he is a docile thing on the outside. for a counterexample: sirius continuously rebelled against his parents and was punished for it, over and over. barty is more the case of a child dutifully abiding with something spiteful and ugly growing underneath his surface, larger each passing year.

barty’s revenge, and his anger, and his suffering, are all quiet things: the secret burying of a bone, the forced muteness of imperius. barty doesn’t react when he speaks about his father or sees him in disguise. he admits to never truly considering him a father, seeing more of himself in tom instead.

this is more compelling to me than casting him as a sirius-variant!! it’s a slow type of resentment— leading to torture and ending in revenge— and i like the idea of barty as someone in Waiting. he’s the deferential mirror of a man he doesn’t respect (but never truly, not inside). barty jr was a son raised to take the place of his father: obeying to the letter until he suddenly didn’t, and finally usurping him in the most violent way possible with patricide. his father wanted an heir to replace him and he created a perfect one, in the most tragically ironic way possible!! this will always be more interesting to me than a barty who is plainly defiant from the outset— it flattens him!!

[feroluce]

“-and that's why I ain't allowed in Pier Point no more!” Boothill throws his head back and cackles, somehow completely comfortable on the bare floor of the archives. He's the very picture of ease, his arms behind his head, his legs bent and crossed.

Dan Heng barely looks up from his notebook, not much surprises him anymore after the first few tales of lawless exploits. “So they really have that many laws and restrictions there.” 

“And prob’ly a few more now that I've been through there! Heck, ya think they named any after me? I'm hopin’ so.” There's so much smug cockiness seeping through his voice Dan Heng could bottle it.

Silence settles in, stretches out. Dan Heng doodles pensive circles in the corner of his page.

He shouldn't ask. It's a private matter. It's none of his business. He of all people should know-

Something pokes his shoe, and when he looks up, Boothill has stretched one arm up to tap metallic fingertips against his foot. “Ain't like ya to hesitate.” With his head tipped back on the tiles and gazing at him upside down, Boothill's hair is out of his face and spooling out all over the floor, offering a rare view of his right side. His right eye is sealed over with a pitch-black patch, stark against his skin. Dan Heng wonders what he looks like behind it. “C'mon, then, out with it. Spill the beans, brother, just say it.”

“What does ‘Boothill’ mean?”

The man blinks at him, the crosshair in his cybernetic left eye flickering. Dan Heng shifts, smooths out his long coat. “I tried to look it up once. It's not in any database as a name...other than your wanted posters.” There's a thread beginning to fray near the hem, he should sew it up. “I couldn't find it anywhere.” 

He nearly takes it back, but- “Heh, ya that curious about me, darlin’?”

Dan Heng quickly levels his face into the most impassive, nonplussed expression he can muster, but Boothill has already turned away, head pillowed on his arms and face once again turned to the ceiling.

“But nah, ya wouldn't. Hah, like they'd allow any record of the language, fudgeheads.” One arm sweeps around blindly until it finds the edge of Boothill's hat, sets it back where it belongs on his head. Dan Heng shuffles around, scoots a little closer, but the brim is pulled too low to see his eyes anymore.

“It's ‘cause it's not a name. It's a noun.” All that's visible of his face is a sharp grin, pulled too tight at the edges.

“It's my people's word for a grave.”

Dan Heng's pencil stops.

“It's the kinda grave fer someone who died with their boots on. If ya catch my drift there.” Boothill's foot starts to bounce. “There was a war, and it got reeeeeal intense, yup. Folks started droppin’ like flies, ‘n’ there was bodies faster'n what we could bury ‘em.” A cooling fan kicks on somewhere. Dan Heng is pretty sure it's not any of the Express equipment.

“We lost some real good people there, real good. Mighty shame.” His hidden Vidyadhara ears detect a quiet metallic click, a whir, pressurized gas. Boothill's next words waft steam from his angry circuits into the air. “When I left, I decided to leave my name there, too. Didn't feel right otherwise. The life I lead now is a whole ‘nother existence.” And then Boothill turns his head, raises his hat, and Dan Heng suddenly feels pinned dead center, caught in that crosshair.

“Ya know what I mean, don'tcha?”

Dan Heng swallows.

Does Boothill know? Who he is and who came before him? There had been that moment in the Penacony Grand Theater, after he activated the Jade Abacus… Dan Heng had tried to shoo him out, keep him from seeing anything, but Boothill has the astounding ability to turn up exactly wherever people are trying to keep him away from.

If he did see, does he actually understand it? Does he know what a High Elder is? Does he know about the sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the transmutation arcanum, everything Dan Feng had done and Dan Heng was punished for?

He doesn't want to explain it all. Not now. Possibly not ever, truth be told.

And it's not the same as Boothill leaving behind his old identity when whatever event happened that caused him to leave home. Not really. But…

But so far, Boothill has slid so easily into Dan Heng’s routine. His presence never feels like an intrusion. He's already figured out what he can push and when to back down. And even Dan Heng finds himself able to roll with whatever punches Boothill throws with baffling ease. They share too much in their methods and ideologies, and sometimes Dan Heng knows what Boothill will do seemingly before even Boothill himself knows.

“...Tell me about Talia and the Nailscrap Town.” Boothill must know he's avoiding the topic. He must. But the man just throws his head back and cackles, melting easily back into what they had been doing before, as he speaks fondly of a planet that Dan Heng has never visited.

Not today. But.

Dan Heng inches just a little closer, just enough to nudge his foot against a metal leg. Boothill doesn't pull away.

Maybe someday.

[celluloidbroomcloset]

So this came up in conversation elsewhere, and it got me thinking: something we don’t talk about much is how Izzy doesn’t really start attacking Ed until Ed starts acting more like Stede.

After he returns to the Revenge and gets over his heartbreak enough to come out on deck with the crew, he's wearing Stede’s clothes, repeating Stede’s words and attitude, treating the crew as Stede treated them, behaving vulnerably and without shame, as Stede did. He has completely dropped the Blackbeard performance. The last time Izzy saw Ed, Ed was choosing Stede over him and over Blackbeard and piracy. Now Ed is STILL CHOOSING STEDE. Even gone, Stede is still on the ship because Ed and the crew are keeping him there.

It is not just that Ed is being less like Blackbeard, or that he’s pining over the loss of his love; it’s that Ed’s response to his grief is to become more like Stede. And Izzy, who hates Stede, who hates his representation of non-toxic, gender nonconformity, who hates what Stede has "done to my boss's brain," is now faced with Ed discarding Blackbeard and "becoming" Stede Bonnet (just as he said he would at the beginning). Ed is working towards a reinvention of himself as "Edward," modeled after the person he loves who has changed his life. Eventually, Blackbeard will no longer exist because Ed and Stede together will have killed him. And that's the moment that Izzy moves against Ed.

Stede's still there. He's haunting the ship. He lives as a part of Ed and the rest of the crew. He's gone but he's a part of everything. Izzy tries to kill him again, and fails.

It is no wonder, then, that one of the last straws in Season 2 is when Izzy invokes Stede’s words. Ed had attempted to live by Stede's ethos and Izzy is invoking that ethos again after Ed was threatened with death for it. That hypocrisy is what makes Ed finally break again.

[ladylovesloki]

The Fated Apple: Part Six

Pairings: Loki X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Summary: You’re getting worse, tough decisions need to be made.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the comments, reblogs and likes! Enjoy💚

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Jane continues to sit by your bedside. Frigga came to join her after she learned her husband and sons had already left for Muspelheim . 

Jane hasn’t let go of your hand. Not even when Eir had to administer more of the antidote. 

You woke for just a moment. But you were in so much pain that Frigga placed a sleeping spell on you. The purple veins now remain on your face, even after healers give you more of the antidote. 

You’re dying. 

“There has to be something else we can do…”, Jane looks to Frigga miserably. 

“The healers have done everything that they can. We have to hope Alarian knows where to poison came from. We must have faith.”

A silent tear falls down Jane’s face. 

As she’s looking down at you she sees signs of discomfort on your face. 

“I think she’s in pain..”

Frigga calls Eir over who looks above your body to the soul forge. She shakes her head, “she is going to need another antidote soon. I am trying to hold off, we are almost through with what we have.”

“Can you make more?”, Jane asks. 

Eir nods, “I already have my healers brewing another batch. But to what end?..”

“What are you saying Eir?”, Frigga asks.

“We have the solution. The Apple. She only needs a small amount. We can brew it into a tonic and give it to her just as we have been giving her the antidote.”

Jane shook her head, “no, Loki is right. It needs to be her decision. On her terms.”

“She is dying my lady. If Alarian does not know where the poison originated from then…we may not have a choice.”

Jane looks to Frigga for an answer but as soon as Frigga opens her mouth to speak the doors to the healing wing open. Odin and Thor walking through. No sign of Loki. 

Frigga immediately notices her absent son, “where is Loki?”

Odin walks to Frigga, “Surtr betrayed us. He demanded a trade. I was not inclined to acquiesce.”

“Where is my son Odin?”

Odin looks down to the floor, “I called for Heimdall to bring us back to Asgard but Loki used his seidr and forced himself away from the pull of the Bifrost.”

“You left him there?, she says quietly. 

“I had no choice.”

“There was a choice father. We should have turned around immediately.”, Thor says from over Odin’s shoulder. 

“And what would that have accomplished?”

“We would have Loki here instead of leaving him on a realm that could very well kill him! You know just as well as I do that their forces would not stand a chance against us.”, Thor moves around his father to stand next to his mother. 

“What was the trade Surtr wanted?, Frigga asked. “Tell me Odin, what was it that you couldn’t give up?”

“It doesn’t matter. He will not have it.”

“What else was he trading? Surely Loki would not go to such extremes for revenge against Alarian? There had to have been something else.”, Frigga challenges.

Thor looks at Odin, “tell her father. Tell her what else Surtr was offering.”

“An antidote for Lady y/n.”

“What?!”, Jane shoots up from her seat. 

“He informed us that the poison Alarian had used against Lady y/n was made in his realm. He offered the antidote along with Alarian.”

“And you said no to this? Why?!”, Frigga asks breathlessly. 

“He will not have it! I forbid it!”

“Have what father? What could he possibly want that you would deny it of him when y/n’s life…your sons life is at risk?”

Odin walks to a chair and plops down in it, showing how exhausted he was by all of this. “Centuries ago…before Surtr’s kingdom fell to ruin…he had a most powerful weapon. A weapon that could bring Asgard to its knees. Loganda.”

Thor’s eyes widen, “the flaming sword?”

Odin nods, “yes. The very thing that could cut through our shields like they were made of parchment. He would destroy Asgard…the nine… everything if it were back in his possession.”

Jane stands, “so we don’t give it to him…”

Everyone turns to her in shock. 

“I mean…we know where the poison came from right?”, Jane turns her attention to Eir. “What would you need from Muspelheim?”

“Sulfur. We need the sulfur from that realm. Everything else I have here.”

“Ok so…we go get Loki. Get some sulfur while we’re there and we come back to Asgard.”

Odin stands back up, “it’s not that simple. I’m afraid now that Loki is in his possession, Surtr will not just hand him over. And as much as I agree with Thor about the ability of our armies, I have no interest in starting a war with Muspelheim.”

“No….”

Everyone stops and looks at you on the bed. You have one eye open, which is bloodshot red. Like every vessel in your eye has ruptured. 

“Y/n?!”, Jane rushes back to your side and takes your hand. 

“We…have to get….Loki….back”, you struggle to say. 

Frigga comes to your side, “we are my dear. Save your strength.”

“Apple…give me the apple…”

“Y/n….are…are you sure?”, Jane asks. 

You nod, “we need to get him back..Surtr…he’ll kill…him even…even if you…bring him the…sword.”

Odin nods, “she is right. Even if I were willing to return the sword to Surtr, he would just kill Loki as soon as we hand it over.”

“Y/n..we can still get the sulfur. Eir will make you the antidote and you’ll have more time to decide about the apple. We can come up with a plan to save Loki after..”, Jane tries to explain her plan to you since no one else seemed to agree with it. 

You shake your head, “I…made…my decision…Jane…this is what…Idunn…warned us about…we tried to…delay…Norns…plan…”

Jane looks to Frigga not sure what to do next. 

Frigga looks to one of her ladies, “will you send for the Goddess Idunn please?”

Her lady curtsy’s and leaves to summon the goddess. Frigga takes your hand in hers and gives you a kind smile. “It’s going to be alright child. Soon you will feel no more pain.”

You nod, thankful that she’s not trying to talk you out of your decision. 

****************************************************

“You’re looking mighty uncomfortable there Prince Loki..what’s wrong? Too warm for your liking?”, Alarian taunts Loki from his own cell. 

Loki doesn’t bother to respond. Mostly because the heat has weakened him so much he’s sure whatever words he would throw back wouldn’t make much sense. 

He should’ve listened to Thor. 

He should’ve known that Surtr would not have just given up Alarian without something in return. He was just so focused on revenge and then he had to reveal that damned antidote. He wasn’t thinking clearly. How could he? Knowing that you were back on Asgard suffering. He would’ve done anything for that antidote. 

“Come on Loki…nothing to say?”

Loki finally looks towards Alarian, “just wait…wait until I get you back on Asgard. This is going to feel like a play date in comparison to what I have planned for you.”

“Come now Prince Loki. What would your lady think?..” Surtr’s voice pours out of the darkness. 

Loki looks towards where the voice had come from but the next thing he knew he was flying against the wall behind him. His bones cracking from the force of it. 

Surtr steps out of the darkness inside Loki’s cell and kneels before the broken prince. 

“Do you think your father will save you boy?”

Loki shakes his head, “I believe Odin will do what he always does. He will put Asgard first. As he should.”

“Then you will never return to your lady. How will it make her feel knowing something could have been done to save you? But instead you were left here to rot. Or burn in your case.”

“She is strong. She will move on from all of this. From me. She will be the only good thing I have ever given to my people.”

“We will see. In the meantime…I have always wanted to have a Jotun on my realm. So many devices I have been wanting to try.”

As the words leave his mouth Loki’s cell door swings open and more of Surtr’s guards walk in and pull him to his feet. 

Surtr grabs Loki by his face, which is covered in sweat and blood. “I look forward to hearing you scream.”

They drag him out of the cell. 

****************************************************

“Frigga?”, Idunn calls for the Queen when she arrives at the healing wing. 

“Idunn, thank you so much for getting here so quickly.”

“Of course. What do you require of me?”

Frigga looks toward you on the bed. You’re now sitting up, your face and chest completely covered in purple veins. Both of your eyes are now open, both as red as Loki’s eyes when he is in his Jotun form. 

“I’m ready.”, you say shakily. 

Idunn looks at Frigga and then walks over to you. She sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand. “Are you certain?”

You nod, “yes. Loki…went to a realm…of fire for…me. I need to…do this for…him.”

“There is still a chance we can make the antidote y/n”, Jane argues gently. 

You shake your head, “we are just…fighting against…the inevitable…I’m ready.”

Jane nods and smiles at you, Idunn does the same. 

Idunn stands and holds out her hands, the box holding the golden apple appears in them. “Ready?”, she asks you. 

You nod, “ready.”

Idunn gives the apple to Eir who takes it over to one of her tables on the opposite side of the room. Within moments a vial was in Idunn’s hand. 

Jane helps you sit up a little more and holds the back of your head. Idunn uncorks the vial and holds it to your lips. She tilts it slightly and you can taste the sweetness hit your tongue. 

You feel a tingle throughout your body but Jane’s reaction was what really confirmed to you it was working.

“Amazing.”, Jane whispers. 

The veins on your face and chest disappear and your eyes are no longer red. You look completely healthy. Better even. After a few moments you start to feel incredible and you go to move out of your bed. But before your foot can even hit the floor Eir stops you.

“Hold on there My Lady. Give yourself some time to adjust. You still might feel a little unsteady.”

You nod and take a moment to just sit there at the edge of the bed. Your legs hanging off the side. You take a deep breath and look at Odin. “What now?”

“Now..we attempt to reach an agreement with Surtr.”

“And what if he doesn’t come to an agreement?”

“Then I will take Loki back by force.”, Odin leaves the room. Thor gives an apologetic smile to Jane and quickly follows him out. 

You look to Frigga, “we can’t leave him there….”

“We won’t. We will think of something.”

****************************************************

“Do not disappoint me Prince Loki. I told you I was looking forward to your screams and I have yet to hear one.”

Loki is chained to a table, his body involuntarily shifting to his Jotun form. He assumes it’s his body’s reaction to the continuous heat, an attempt to regulate his temperature. 

He looks to Surtr and smiles, “I was tortured by a mad titan Surtr. This is nothing in comparison to the horrors of the Chitauri.”

“I heard about that. Thanos? Yes?.. the mad titan coming for all of the nine. A fools errand. After Odin brings me my sword I’ll cut him down just like everything else.”

“Odin will never bring you that weapon.”

“Then you will die here.”

“If that is the Norns will.”

“Bah! The Norns…look at where your Norns have left you. What they have allowed to happen to you already and you still look to them? Foolishness. Odin will bring me my sword, and do you know why?”

Loki doesn’t bother answering knowing Surtr loved his monologues and would continue even in his silence. 

“Frigga. Your dear mother would never let her baby boy suffer to death. She will be the one to convince Odin to bring me what is mine. And when he does I will kill you..your brother and your father. Then I will go to Asgard and destroy everything you hold dear. Starting with your mother and then…your precious mortal.”

Loki pulls against his chains but to no avail. The very mention of Surtr’s threat to you makes his blood boil hotter than the realm itself. 

“You will not touch her.”

Surtr smiles, “maybe I’ll keep you alive..I’m curious to see if fated mates feel it when their other half is snuffed out. Maybe then I will hear you scream.”

Surtr looks to his chosen torturer, “continue. I need him weakened to the point of death.”

Surtr leaves without even a second glance and Loki. As soon as he closes the door behind him two of his guards come rushing in. 

“Majesty..the Allfather has returned.”

Surtr felt a jolt of surprise. 

“Hm. I underestimated how much the Jotun bastard means to him. Or maybe I was right…Queen Frigga must’ve convinced him…no matter.”

Surtr walks to his throne room to see Odin and Thor surrounded by their guards. 

“Allfather…have you come to trade?”, Surtr can feel the power of Loganda calling to him.

“I have. But you will bring me Loki first. I will see my son is alive with my own eye.”

Surtr smiles, “very well.”

He nods to the guards behind him and they leave to go and retrieve Loki. “Bring the traitor as well.”

The sound of chains and footsteps fill the hall and the guards appear with Alarian and a very beaten..very blue Loki. 

“You dare harm my son?!”, Odin steps forward furiously. 

“Oh come now Odin, it is no secret of your feelings towards the boy. You should be thanking me for weakening him. Maybe you will finally have the chance to be rid of him, you can tell your Queen he died from the inhospitable elements of my realm.”

Thor gets Surtr’s attention, “enough of this! Do you want your bloody sword or not?”

Surtr’s gaze hardens on Thor, “be careful how you speak to me boy.”

“You wanted a trade, you will have what you desire.”, Odin interrupts before Thor’s temper gets out of control and ruins their plan.

“And yet my hand is empty. Let me see what you have brought me.”

Odin looks to a guard behind him and nods, the guard removes the sword from under their robes. Surtr couldn't hide his surprise.

“Bring it forward.”, he demands.

“Give me my son first.”

Surtr gives Odin a hard look and then he looks over to his guards and nods. The guards move Loki forward but then Surtr holds out his arm to stop them. Loki is not able to stand on his own and Thor can’t stop himself from moving towards his broken brother. Before he can take two steps Odin places his hand on Thor’s chest. He then looks behind him, to the guard holding the sword and nods. The guard moves forward slowly until Odin holds up his hand for them to stop. 

Surtr lost in his excitement looks to the guards holding Alarian, “release him to them.”

The guards do as he says and release the chains, pushing Alarian into the waiting arms of Odin’s guards. 

“My son?”, Odin reminds Surtr.

“The sword?”, Surtr responds back.

Odin looks over to the guard and nods his head again for them to move forward. He then removes his hand from Thor’s chest so he can follow to guard holding Surtr’s prize.

The guard nods back and continues walking until they are standing in front of Surtr, Thor a step behind them. Surtr reaches out for the sword and as soon as he has his hand on the hilt he holds it up to inspect it. Satisfied he looks to his guards holding Loki, “release the Jotun.” He looks to the small guard who handed him the sword, still standing in front of him. “I suppose you will want this as well.” Surtr tosses them the antidote.

The sound of Loki’s chains being removed fill the hall. Surtr sees Loki crumble to the ground before anyone could reach him. Surtr smiles, “it is truly a shame..all of this for a mortal he will never see again.”

Before anyone can react, Surtr brings his great sword down aiming straight for Loki’s neck. When the sword comes down and makes contact the blade disintegrates.

Surtr in his shock looks down at his hand that was now holding on to just a hilt of the sword that he was just swinging down for a killing blow. ���What?…”

The guard standing in front of Surtr rips their helmet off, revealing you underneath.

“Keep your fucking antidote.”, you sneer at Surtr, throwing the antidote at his feet. 

You throw yourself on top of Loki, remembering the plan that you had gone over with Odin and Thor before you all left Asgard to go to Muspelheim. And before Surtr knew it, Thor was already swinging the true sword towards his head, successfully doing what he could not do to Loki. Thor took Surtr’s head clean off his body. Before Surtr’s guards could process what was happening, Odin’s guards had already surrounded them.

You look down to Loki who is still passed out underneath you.

“Loki..”, you run your hand through his filthy hair. You use your new strength to turn him over and you start to feel panic rise in you. He looks dead. Or close to it.

Thor kneels down beside you, “y/n. We must get him back to Asgard, he needs Eir.”

You nod and move out of the way so the guards can pick him up, you follow closely and you hear Odin tell Thor that he would be staying on Muspelheim until it’s decided who would be ruling the fire realm now that Surtr has been dethroned.

Thor calls for the Bifrost and the next thing you know you are in Heimdall’s observatory. He must’ve informed Eir that she and her healers would be needed as soon as you arrived because she’s there with a few of her healers, Frigga and Idunn. 

You look to Eir with tears in your eyes, “Eir…please…he..he needs help.”

“I know child, we’re here. Come. We need to get him to the healing wing.”

The guards holding Loki move forward and Frigga shakily creates a portal straight to the healers wing. 

When they walk through, the guards place Loki gently down on the same bed you were once occupying not long ago. Eir immediately gets to work giving orders to her healers. 

“We need to bring down his temperature before we do anything.”, she instructs. 

All of the healers including Frigga and Idunn hold their hands above Loki and you see a blue light shine from each of their hands. You assume some sort of cooling enchantment. 

Eir waves her hand to activate the soul forge and you can see Loki’s temperature slowly start to come down. When Eir determines it is safe to address his wounds she instructs two of her healers to continue cooling his body and the other two she instructs to bring her certain potions from her cabinet so start healing his wounds. 

As they work you can see Loki’s skin revert back to his usual shade and you feel a small bit of relief before you see how pale he is. You look to Frigga who sees your slight panic in your eyes. 

“He has lost a lot of blood and the seidr he used to keep his body cool has significantly slowed down his healing ability.” She grabs your shaking hands, “he will be well.”

You nod, thankful that she is confident that Loki will be fine. Idunn comes to you next, “your fated is strong Lady y/n. He will return to you.”

You almost forgot Thor was in the room until his meaty hand comes to your shoulder. You turn your head slightly and look up to his face, giving him a small watery smile. 

Jane arrives shortly after and throws her arms around you, “thank god.” She looks over to where the healers are actively working on Loki. “Is he going to be ok?”

Frigga nods, “it will take him some time but yes, he will heal.”

Jane nods, “good. Just so you know I’m taking his side when he wakes up and finds out you went there to save him. He’s gonna be furious.”

You shrug, “he’ll get over it.”

The healers work for a little bit longer until all of his wounds have been tended to and his body temperature was back to normal. As soon as they said it was ok you ran to his bedside and took his hand in yours. 

A few tears fall down your face when you look down at his still very pale one, “don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. You still owe me one big apology when you wake up.”

To be continued…

Tag List:

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[marsoid]

🔥 RIDE OR DIE UPDATE! 🔥

When Lucky discovers his missing mother was once a champion street racer, he and flirtatious mechanic Vick repair her car and are launched into the world of street racing to find answers. But what they don’t know is that something demonic is lurking beneath the hood of the car, something fueled by revenge… and gasoline.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Read the update | Tapas | Webtoon

First page | Read ahead on Patreon

[ghost-bxrd]

Hi!

Kinda on a 'Jason's Red Hood Return Goes Hilariously Off The Rails' phase.

Read practically everything on AO3 with the trope, now writing my own.

Got two ideas.

Dick gets de-aged to 8 year old feral Robin and is in the Tower instead of Tim, Jason's Titans Tower attack goes waaaaay off what he planned.

Jason commenting on Tim's Batman fanfic, and the resulting comment war (with other Gothamites chiming in) leads to Jason hashing out most of his issues, derailing the whole Red Hood Revenge Run.

What do you think would be other hilarious/cracky/awesome ways for Jason's Red Hood return to go off the rails and have him come back home?

P.S. I'm going with Fanon Good(ish) Dad Bruce, not the Canon version.

First of all I love the second idea! I’ve never read anything like it before ✨

Honestly there are so many ways you can have Jason’s plans go off track somewhere along the way. Personally I’m a fan of having him run into one of the family while he’s grocery shopping or something in civilian gear, and obviously they recognize him. So now Jason has the option of either running and letting them assume stuff on their own, or he can come up with a harebrained excuse (amnesia, clone, etc). ((I also love the trope of Bruce not even checking if it’s really Jason. If this is a clone, he doesn’t want to know. Nobody’s taking Jason from him ever again)).

Another fun way would be for him to have that really hardcore “I want my dad” moment. Could be he’s sick, or concussed, or just otherwise really out of it. And he calls either Dick or Bruce on autopilot because— “I want to go home. Please. I just want to go home.” And whoever is on the other side of the call has several heart attacks while also trying to keep Jason talking, trying to track the location. Because— it could be a hallucination, a trick, anything, but— but what if it isn’t—…

Or, good old “one of the Bats is held hostage by a rogue” but it’s totally a planned thing. And obviously Jason doesn’t know about it so he drops in, pissed as all hell but not willing to let any of them die, and freeing them. Which is… very much not what that Bat had planned, but for whatever reason the murderous crime lord is now fussing over them? Better play along and keep pretending to be drugged…

Those are some things that came to mind :)

[silhouetteonpaper]

Vengeance

Summary: You decide to take matters into your own hands and get revenge on the person you despise most. But what happens when you keep it a secret from the entire team?

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

WC: 1,585

Warnings: Mentions of killing, running away

VENGEANCE

The entire team is on edge, each Avenger crowding around whatever device they have on hand in Tony’s lab. Frantically typing, tapping, calling, or watching—you’ve been missing for the past hour and no one has any clue where you could be.

It’s unlike you to step foot out of the compound without letting anyone know, whether it’s a quick text in advance or by word of mouth. But this time Natasha knows something is up, there’s a reason you didn’t let anyone know you were leaving.

The only evidence that led the team to worry is the singular missing quinjet from the landing pad. Tony attempted to track it earlier, but all communication with the vessel had been cut. Now, desperate for answers, they venture to use whatever resources possible to figure out where you could have gone.

“It’s a blank trail. Wherever she’s going, she made sure no one would know.” Tony voices, scrolling through maps of different flight radar. A part of him feels guilty for even teaching you how use stealth mode on the jet. Natasha’s expression furrows as she scans security camera footage for any other signs, inhaling sharply each time the grainy deleted footage appears.

“C’mon Nat. We’ll keep an eye out, but until then I think we all need to get some rest.” Steve states as he places a comforting hand on Natasha’s shoulder. She’s reluctant to listen, but eventually complies as the entire team heads to settle down for the night.

The last thing Natasha’s able to do is sleep, she lies in bed trying to shake her worries about you. You seemed fine just the other day, maybe slightly quieter, but on the outside no one could have suspected you were planning anything.

Usually, you’re someone who is eager to please others in work and in life. Always a smiling face as you complete a mission or hang out with the team. Natasha feels lucky to have you around, but now she worries that something she did caused this.

In the past, you had shared your grief over the live you lived before coming to the compound. In an attempt to console you, she helped you look on the bright side as you began training. But now, replaying all those interactions again, she wonders if it was enough.

Her thoughts begin to spiral, the blame she places on herself growing as the redhead concludes she caused you to leave. These flowing thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of a ringing phone.

Natasha sits up, seeing a call appear on her phone from an unknown number. At this hour, she was confused why anyone would be calling, let alone a contactless ID. Hesitantly picking up the phone, she hits the answer button.

“Hello?” She says into the dead air. Silence. Natasha’s brows cave inward in confusion.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I’m not so sure.” Your familiar voice fills Natasha’s ears, making her sigh with relief. You’re alive, and hopefully safe. She clearly wants nothing more than to bring you back to the compound.

“Where are you? I can come pick you up right now.” The redhead asks, hoping her urgency doesn’t scare you away.

“No, Nat. I…” You trail off. You can’t reveal what you’re doing at the risk of the Avengers trying to stop you. For months you’ve been planning this mission, and you knew no one on the team would support this endeavor. So, during the time spent planning you were careful not to reveal what you were up to.

But why risk your safety over a mission? The answer is simple, a crystal clear priority in your mind. For years, an agent who killed your mother has roamed free. Leaving you with nothing but a desperate search of support, the Avengers took you under their wing. But the anger building inside you had not subsided regardless of time passing.

It’s unfair to even consider the idea her killer gets to live on, with no consequences for his actions. Sure, the team had promised to take care of him when the right time arrived, but those empty words were starting to make you even more impatient. Everyone had thought you were over the idea of getting vengeance, multiple years passing without a word.

But today, you hide away in a secret bunker waiting for the man to show his face, a slight unsettling feeling finding its way into your chest. You had hoped calling Natasha would help chase away the unusual feeling inside, so far just hearing her voice calms your nerves. You take a deep breath, the phone staying silent on the other end as Natasha prays you’ll give her any details on your whereabouts.

“I need to do this,” You state, shaking away the doubts inside. Justice has to be served, even if it’s morally wrong. But what would mother say? The thoughts circulate your mind, the simple task now seeming more difficult than before.

“Do what. I need you to tell me what you’re doing.” Natasha breathes, the tension rising between her concerned state and your spared details. You know she’s worried about you, that the entire team probably is. But you also value executing this mission a lot more than their feelings. Is that harsh? Possibly, but everyone knows how much you value family.

“I think there’s a chance you already know.” You respond. It’s almost too difficult to say the words yourself: I’m killing him. If Nat thought hard enough, maybe she could recall the times you talked about getting your revenge all those years ago.

A sharp inhale informs you that she figured it out on the other end. “Please don’t do this, please come home.” She pleads through the phone. You can practically picture her worried expression, and the usual protectiveness it often came with.

“You know I can’t do that, Natasha.” Your response brings silence across the call once more, the redhead taking a moment to process. Will she still attempt to stop you? Will she plea for your return again and again?

“We all have monsters in the closet, but you can’t risk your life over trying to get rid of them,” Nat suddenly starts, “You can’t ever make them go away completely.”

Maybe her words have some truth to them, because a pang of guilt in your chest now rises into your watering eyes. “I can try, I have to try!” You remark, your tone growing defensive with anger. Nat killed most of her enemies, she doesn’t understand. You feel betrayed that she’s sitting here telling you what to do while contradicting her own actions.

“Killing him won’t bring your mother back.” Natasha states firmly. You choke on your tears, covering your sobs with your free hand. You won’t let her hear you like this. You won’t let her know she’s right. “Come home, please.” Her words force their way into the swirling grief inside your mind.

Overwhelmed, and now regretting your call, you hang up without another word. Natasha is left in the dark, unable to call you back due to the unknown number leaving no trace. It’s just how you want it, yet something feels wrong about the entire situation.

Nat is right. You never thought you would say that, but it’s true. Killing him won’t bring your mother back, and if anything she wouldn’t support that endeavor either. It’s time to make a decision, one that will change the course of your life either way.

Do you kill the responsible agent and loose trust with the only people you can call family, or do you go back to the compound and feel unaccomplished? Neither sounds appealing, but if you want to leave the dusty bunker you have to make a choice.

The answer that fills you with the least dread was the one that still involves the only family you have. You know that the right path is the one that leads you back to the place you call home. So, you prepare to head back to the compound empty handed. You pack up your things, taking the same route on the jet back to the large white building on the water while your motivation to make a change for the better grows.

Unaware you’d be returning, the landing pad out front is empty as the sleek black quinjet touches down. It doesn’t take long for pattering footsteps to replace the sound of the cooling engine, the entire team now running outside at the sight. The person at the head of the group is none other than Natasha, a sad smile covering her face.

“You were right, killing him won’t bring my mom back.” You admit as you step off the jet, walking up to the redhead. She nods once, putting both her arms on your shoulders before enveloping you into a hug.

She takes a deep breath, relieved to have you back in her arms. “Even if you can’t see how proud your mother is, know how incredibly proud I am.” She voices. It hits you that you didn’t even realize in all your time planning that you didn’t need to prove anything to your mother. You didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. The real love that you so desperately wanted was in front of you this entire time, you just happened to be looking in the wrong place. And thankfully, Natasha would always be here to help you find your way back.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird & The Leased Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 12 ✿:+ War and Atonement 

Chapter Index

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, NSFW themes, VIOLENCE, threats of non-con, major character death, minor character death, mention of animal death, misogyny, angst, the boltons, mentions of being drugged, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage, 

A/N: SEASON FINALEEEE (week long break) all I am gonna say is… yeesh. It’s a little long and it's really sad. K BYE!! SEE Y'ALL LAATERR

Word Count: 8.9K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

Sandor gripped his ax in his hand tightly as he stalked through the woods. Finding the men who killed Ray and the rest of the Sept was not hard. 

The lot of them were in the woods loudly shouting about something Sandor couldn’t care less about. As he marched up behind them, a few of the four men noticed him. They startled easily looking at the giant lumbering man charging towards them with an ax in hand. 

With a furious rage fueled growl he cut and slashed through three of them men with ease. Chopping through their neck, or their heads. 

Finally he approached the last man, a bald older man. He took his ax and with one blow he buried the ax into the man's cock. 

The man cried out in pain, dropping to his knees. Sandor took hold of the man's head, forcing him to look at him, 

“Where are the other ones? The one with the yellow cloak.” He questioned, unaffected by the violence he’d just afflicted on the other men.

“Fuck you!” The bald man screamed, 

“Those are your last words? Fuck you? Come on, you can do better.” Sandor mocked,

The man stammered for a moment unsure of how to reply, “Cunt!” he screamed.

“You’re shit at dying, you know that?” He said as though he had grown tired of his attempts. 

He raised the ax high above his head and threw it down. The man screamed but his screams silenced as the Hounds ax buried deep into his skull.

He pulled his ax out and continued on, starved for the only satisfaction he’d left. Violent revenge.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

In the Eyrie, Baelish was restraining your men from returning to your aid. He closed the Bloody Gates and forced his men loyal to him and his claim to prevent any of yours from leaving. You were left in Winterfell with only nine men.

In Winterfell, you’d spend most of your time training. 

You and Ser Varys’s swords clash against one another again and again. You were able to knock Varys off his own balance and land him on the ground. You pointed your sword at him,

“I didn’t ask for you to go easy on me, Varys.” You said with a huff, out of breath.

He shook his head, “I am not, my lady. It seems as though you’ve improved remarkably, and quite quickly.” He smiled at you as he stood, “You’re a natural.” He nodded, 

You smiled and looked down, you sheathed your sword, proud of yourself. It was the first time you’d felt that feeling… Pride in your accomplishments. Before you could allow yourself to soak in that feeling, a low and gruff voice from behind you spoke. 

“Aye, I’d say so. A real killer. You can see it in her eyes.” You turned with a furrowed brow around to see a tall wild looking man. He wore furs of different origin, and his hair was the brightest red you’d ever seen. He looked at you with wide and excited eyes, “Pretty murderous eyes-“ You let out a dry chuckle, 

Varys Cole however found nothing amusing in it, he stepped forward and in front of you holding onto the hilt of his sword. “If you wish to speak to the Lady Arryn, you’ll learn to do it in a more respectful manner.” He spoke sternly.

“Who are you?” You asked, 

His eyes went from Varys to you quickly, he smiled at you, “Tormund.” He flashed his eyebrows at you.

“From beyond the wall?” You’d never met a Wildling but you’d imagine this is what they’d look like.

“Aye, you don’t like Wildlings?” His gaze narrowed at you slightly, 

You shook your head, “I am of no opinion.” 

“No opinion?” He asked with a raised eyebrow,

“I’ve never met one before.” You held in a laugh at this man's obvious attraction towards you.

“Aye well, now ye’ have.” He took one step closer, He looked over towards Varys pointing at him “I don’t think he likes wildlings much.” 

Varys took another step closer to him, you raised your hand to signal for him to step down, “It’s alright. I apologize for Ser Cole, he is quite protective of me.” You said softly,

“I’d be too if you were my woman-“ He said with his head lowered but his eyes still on you.

“She is the Lady of the Vale. I am her sword-“ Ser Varys Cole interjected. 

“You’re a sword?” he asked confused, never hearing the expression.

“Her protector.” Varys said sternly.

“The way she holds that sword I don’t think the pretty crow needs one. But a woman should have a man.” His voice was lustful, not seductive but lustful.

“You have a gift for subtlety.” You scoffed, holding in laughter.

“Aye, and gifted at many other things-” He took another step closer to you but Varys blocked him. 

The two men stared at one another attempting to intimidate the other. Before you could interject, Jon did. 

“Enough, come on, we've got things to do.” Jon said, pulling Tormund away. 

As the both of them walked away and into the Lord Commander's quarters, Varys looked at you with annoyance and you held in a laugh.

“He won’t relent if you encourage it.” He said walking towards you, 

“I found it amusing.” You shrugged. He’d no power, and you knew you’d never be with another man so long as you were without Sandor. Besides, waiting for your armies was getting dull.

“You shouldn’t allow people to speak to you like that.” He lectures, sounding like your father.

“Are you my advisor now?” You asked with a furrowed brow.

“I have been, it would seem.” He said, you couldn’t really argue because he was right.

“Perhaps.” You looked down, then back to him, “You are right. But I don’t wish to earn respect through men in armor flashing steel. That is not respect, it’s fear.” 

“Some may say they are one in the same.” 

“Some. Not I. I know the difference.” You said sternly, “Respect forged on the soil of fear will grow anger and contempt. Respect forged on the soil of kindness and compassion grows loyalty and trust.” You removed your belt that held your sword and handed it to Varys, “Soon the rest of the Knights left in the west will remember that.” 

Varys softly smiled and nodded at you, surprised but pleased with your wisdom. You smiled back.

Suddenly you could hear the guards shouting, “Open the gates!” the men shouted, 

You watched as the gates to Castle Black opened. Three people on horseback made their way in. Two of them were a mystery to you but one you recognized immediately. A tall and beautiful girl with red hair, your cousin.

As she dismounted you stepped closer towards her, unable to believe your eyes that it was her. You thought for so long that you’d never see her again.

“Sansa?” You asked softly, she looked at you, you could see a dark and tired pain in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around you, and you wrapped your arms around her in return. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked you, still wrapped around you. 

“I could ask you the same.” You said. 

You felt her arms loosen around you. As you pulled away to look at her you noticed she was looking behind you. As you turned to see what she saw, you saw Jon standing there. He was in as much disbelief as you were, maybe even more. You let go of her, and she ran into Jon’s arms. 

As they embraced, the man who rode in with Sansa walked up to you. 

“Lady Arryn?” He asked in a hush voice, 

You turned to better face him, “Do I know you, Ser?” you asked.

He shook his head, looking at you with curiosity and the same disbelief Jon looked at Sansa with. “Not very well. I was in the service of Lord Tyrion Lannister during your time in KingsLanding.” You then recognized him, you looked down and swallowed hard. “He thought you were dead, it took him some time to admit it but he did. Thought Stannis’s soldiers during the blackwater killed you, then he thought the hound took you. But when I saw him he didn’t have you, so I knew that couldn’t have been right.” He rambled mindlessly as he stared at you still examining you in disbelief.

Your eyes widened when you heard he’d seen Sandor, “You saw him?” You asked quickly.

“Before we saved Lady Sansa from the Bolton’s-” 

“The Boltons?” You interrupted him.

Petyr had threatened you with the prospect of giving Sansa away in your place. But she was in King's Landing, married to Lord Tyrion. You thought surely she was safe. You felt your stomach drop as you realized he’d done it, and it was your fault.

“Lady Brienne fought him while we were looking for Lady Arya.” He continued without answering your question.

“Fought him?” Your eyes went even wider, you felt your pulse quicken.

“And won, he fell down the mountain in the Vale.” You felt as if a wave of cold ocean water had crashed against your body. You felt your heart sink and your stomach turn.  “We were there looking for Arya, thought she might have been hiding within it.” You didn’t even pay attention to the last bit he said, your ears rang and “How did you get out?” He asked, you did not look at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to. You looked down, and you muttered, 

“Another time.” As you walked with hast back to your chambers, 

Your eyes began to well with tears and your face was hot, your breathing picked up and you couldn’t help but feel yourself begin to crumble.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・  

You slammed the door to your chamber closed, you collapsed onto your bed. 

You felt every part of your body ache, your heart felt hallowed out. Your breathing labored from your sobs. You couldn’t bear the pain, it was new. When the others you loved died, your body went numb but now, now you felt entirely too much. You felt far far far too much. You’d never felt your heart break, felt your heart truly cry, until now.

You sobbed into the furs of your bed, silencing your cries as best you could. But soon you heard your door open and close quickly as you looked up. It was Varys.

“(Y/N)?” He asked softly, he approached your side by your bed. “Are you alright?” He kneeled by your side, placing a hand on the side of your head as you laid there in agony.

“He warned me. He warned me and I did not listen to him.” You whimpered as you sobbed gently. 

Varys rubbed his thumb against your temple, “It was your life or hers, you couldn’t be made such a choice-” 

“But I could have. I didn’t give it because I thought she’d be safe… I thought he’d come back for me.” You angrily wiped your tears.

“He did-” 

“And he died for it. This whole time I waited and wished” You snapped angrily before your sorrow overtook you again, you threw your head back against the bed as you said,  “Gods, know I have been selfish and I have been spiteful. I wished to see the downfall of Littlefinger enough to overlook it willingly.” You shook your head, “It should have been me there. She is good, and I am nothing but nausea, nothing but a longing, nothing but disgrace, nothing but a piece to be moved about the board, nothing but a daughter who was meant to be a son.” Your numbness finally set in, you laid there, your tears falling from your eyes and your lips swollen, nose red but at least you didn’t need to feel it anymore. 

Varys took in your words, “Child. You are discerning, wise, and well reasoned. Those are traits of your father. You are also strong-willed, audacious, and above all loyal. Those are traits of your mother.” He shook his head, “When you were born, your mother and father could not have held greater contentedness. Since that day I have watched you create (Y/N) Arryn in wonder.” He smiled at you softly. 

“What of your family, Varys?” You felt silly for never, during this whole time, asking him such a simple question.

“I had a daughter once, for just a moment. When I was much younger.” He smiled at the memory, “My wife, Helena. A beauty she was, and as sharp as a dagger. She died, attempting to give life to our daughter. She was far too small for life to not slip from her. They both perished in her efforts.” His eyes welled up in tears but his smile persisted, “She would have been your age now.” He held your face in his hand “Since that day, I have only looked after one child my whole life.” He swallowed back emotion, he looked at you understandingly, “You’re in a dark period in your life,” 

“It seems as though my whole life has been a dark period, aside from a few days of either boredom or even fewer of happiness.” You spoke softly as you sniffed your runny nose. 

He shook his head, “You’ve lived a life within the rules of others. Soon you will live by your own. I am as old as your mother would be, I know these things well enough. You will be remembered, beloved, and respected. Soon the light and wisdom will come to you. You’ll be happy, child.” He smiled at you, he knew what he was saying and meant every word of it. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Sandor stalked the woods, tracking down the rest of the men who’d slaughtered the sept. He found them, only they were standing on logs of wood with their heads in nooses. 

The men surrounding them were the members of the Brotherhood. The very men who’d abducted Sandor and who’d separated he and you.

Thoros looked over at Sandor marching over, bloody ax in hand, “Clegane, the fuck you doing here?” He asked, 

“Chasing them. You?” Sandor asked confused,

“Hanging them.”

“Any particular reason?” He questioned

“They’re our men. Or they were. They attacked a nearby Sept and murdered the villagers. Why do you want them?”

“Same reason. I was helping build it. They killed a friend of mine.” He said as he walked closer to them three men in nooses, with a cold look in his eyes.

“You’ve got friends?” Thoros asked mockingly, 

Sandor shook his head, “Not anymore. They’re mine.” He said, still walking closer.

Beric stopped him, “It’s the Brotherhood’s good name they’ve dragged through the dirt.”

“Fuck your name, they’re mine.” Sandor tried to step forward again but Beric’s hand stopped him, Sandor looked at him with dark eyes “I killed you once before, Dondarrion. Happy to do it again.” He narrowed his eyes, “Drop that arrow you bloody girl. Tougher girls than you have tried to kill me.” He threatened without looking away from Beric. Once the archer didn’t relent he turned to him and began to walk towards him, ax ready in hand. 

Beric interjected, “You can have one of them.”

Sandor turned around, “Two.” He haggled. 

Beric considered it, then finally nodded in approval. 

Sandor walked towards the first man, drew back his ax behind his head and as he was about to swing, Thoros grabbed it, stopping the swing. 

“No, no, no. We’re not butchers. We hang them.” Thoros said,

Sandor pulled his ax away from his grasp, “Hanging? All over in an instant. Where's the punishment in that?” He sighed, “I’ll only gut one of them.” trying to haggle again. 

“No,” Beric said firmly, 

“Chop off one hand?” Sandor asked

“We gave you two out of three out of respect for your loss. That’s generous.” Beric reaffirmed,

Sandor huffed, “Bunch of nancies.” He dropped his ax, “There was a time I would have killed all seven of you just to gut these three.” 

“Getting old, Clegane.” Thoros teased

“He’s not.” Sandor said before kicking out the wood logs from underneath the two men he was granted to kill. 

As they thrashed around, he stole the boots from one of the men. As he tried on the stolen boots he turned to the Brotherhood who were staring at him, “Got anything to eat?”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As you sat at a dining table with Jon, Edd, Tormund, Brienne, Podrick, and sat beside you was Sansa and to your otherside, Varys. 

You all sat together eating some sort of meat. It was awful but it was no worse than the food you and Sandor were forced to endure while you were on your own. 

It was awkwardly silent. The unspoken trauma that you and Sansa had experienced separately that lingered in the air was certainly to blame. Nor did your disdain for Brienne. You had to keep it hidden though you couldn’t help but scowl at her from time to time. You knew she most likely had no choice but to kill him. Your man did not relent, it wasn’t his nature to stop. When he fought he fought to kill. Still, it was hard not to feel resentment. But the hungry looks Tormund flashed your way certainly did not help ease tensions either.

A member of the Night's watch walked into the room, “A letter for you, Lord Commander.” breaking the tension for a moment.

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.” Jon said, bringing back that same tension. However he conceded and took the scroll from the man.  He opened it breaking the Bolton’s wax seal, he did so nodding at him allowing him to go. 

You felt ill once you noticed the wax seal. 

Jon read a little of it, then began to read it aloud. “To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow. You allowed thousands of wildlings past the wall. You have betrayed your own kind, you have betrayed the north. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon, his direwolves skin is on my floor, come and see. I want my bride back or the traitor to the east as was betrothed to me. Send one to me, Bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep them from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling, man, and babe living under your protection.” You knew very little of the Boltons, but now you understood just how cruel they were, how much pleasure they took in it. And you knew just how much of a dangerous and sadistic environment Sansa was forced into, it made you feel a red hot rage. “You will watch as I skin them living. You–” Jon stopped, looking at both you and Sansa.

“Go on.” Sansa said, full of conviction. She had grown so much since you’d last seen her. Forced to anyway. 

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon said, looking away.

Sansa grabbed ahold of the letter when he wasn’t looking. She continued on reading, “You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister and cousin. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” 

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon said cautiously,

“His father’s dead. Ramsay killed him.” She looked down, worried. “And now he has Rickon.” 

“We don’t know that.” Jon shook his head in denial.

“Yes we do.” Sansa said sternly, 

“How many men does he have in his army?” Tormund asked Sansa,

Sansa thought about it for a moment, “I heard him say 5000 once when he was talking about Stannis’s attack.”

“How many do you have?” Jon asked Tormund, 

“That can march and fight? 2000.” Tormund estimated.

“And you?” Jon turned his attention towards you.

You looked over to Varys next to you, wanting him to break the news rather than you. “Ser Cole?”

“Half the knights are divided evenly. 3000 so far on our causes side.” Varys said, confidently.

“That's an even fight, but where are they?” Jon questioned,

“Lord Baelish has denied them leave from the Eyrie. The other 3000 keep them at bay within the confines behind the Bloody Gate. Only 50 have escaped, and should, if all goes well, be here within a week's time.” Varys finished. Jon looked at him, then you could tell he was incredibly disappointed and for good. 

“I’ve only nine men with me, another 50 coming, hopefully.” You looked at Jon with lowered eyes, knowing it was hardly anything at all. 

Sansa remained unmoved, “You are the last son of the last trueborn Lord of Winterfell. Northern families are loyal they’ll fight if you ask.” Sansa gripped onto Jons hand as if she was begging him to see reason. “A monster has taken our home, and our little brother. We have to go back to winterfell.” 

Jon nodded, knowing there was no other option than war.

As you sat there you contemplated your options, contemplated what move you could make next.

You turned to Varys, “Ser Cole send a raven, I will attempt contact with Lord Baelish. I will set our… differences aside… momentarily.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor ripped into a piece of pork while he sat around a fire with the rest of the Brotherhood.

Beric stared at him, as it ate it, “You ought to join us. We could use you.”

Sandor wasn’t too pleased with the prospect of joining a new group. He was only with the Sept to heal, and repay his debt to Ray. He wanted to get on with it and find you already. “Last time I went with you lot, it didn’t work out for me.” He faked a smile for a moment and dropped it swiftly as he dug further into their food. 

“Clegane, we're here for a reason.” Thoros said, trying to convince him, he clearly knew something he didn’t. “The Lord of Light is keeping Beric alive for a reason. We are part of something larger than ourselves.” 

“Lots of horrible shit in this world gets done for something larger than ourselves.” Sandor shook his head, not allowing himself to believe it. He was skeptical, and even if it were real what he said, if it meant he had to leave his plans to find you behind… he wouldn’t do it.

“Cold winds are rising in the North.” 

“And you’re going go to stop them?” Sandor asked mockingly. 

“We need good men to help us.” 

“Last time you saw me you wanted to execute me. Got me separated from my woman, she could be dead now. Why would I help you?” His eyes narrowed. 

“You can find another woman along the way.” Beric said, trying to comfort him in a way.

If he had said that to Sandor even a fortnight ago he would have beaten him for even suggesting it. But he flashed furious eyes at him, then looked down, “Don’t want another.” he said, sulking in his own misery.

Beric nodded, “True enough. But the Lord of Light gave you the power to defeat me. Why?” 

“I beat you, because I’m better than you, Beric. I was better than you before you started yammering about the Lord. And I’m better than you now.” Sandor said with confidence. And he was right, there were very few who could best him.

Beric chuckled, “Aye, you’re probably right. You’re a fighter, born a fighter. You walked away from that fight. How did that go? Good and bad young and old. The thing we’re fighting will destroy them all alike. And if that lady love of yours is still out there, that just will happen to her too. You can help a lot more than you’ve harmed, Clegane.” Beric finished, finally convincing him. 

Whatever threat was coming, if it meant you would be in danger, he would do everything he could to stop it. Even if it meant he would be apart from you longer, as long as you were alive, that would be enough.

He nodded, agreeing to whatever journey they had planned for them. 

As he did, a large and beautiful Falcon came and landed in a tree nearby, it loudly cawed at him. It was the very same Falcon that stayed with him while he was dying in the mountains of the Vale, the one that had gone missing since. 

“Fucking hells…” Sandor grumplied looking at the bird.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You, and Varys rode up to meet with Lord Baelish just outside of Mole Town. 

You sat on your horse about twenty feet in front of Baelish on his own horse. He had with him two other Knights of the Vale. 

“My beloved Niece.” Baelsih said, smirking, “I hear you have come to a change in heart.” 

You showed no emotion, stoic in your response, “No, a momentary delay. I have to request the aid of your army.” 

“It is certainly unusual. We are meant to be at war are we not?”

“We are, though I need numbers in another fight.” 

“Another?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

You didn’t indulge him in an argument, “I know what you did to Sansa.” You said, darkness growing in your eyes.

He attempted to rationalize his actions quickly, “She wished to return to Winterfell, and I aided her in her effort.”

“She escaped, Baelish.” You interjected quickly, “You should have seen her.” You held back emotion, swallowing it down, “They have threatened war, and we don’t have the numbers. They are going to kill her, kill her brothers, and they will take me in her place. You might believe that to be a good thing, for me to be gone from you. But with his power he will want the Eyrie just as badly, and we both know his cruelty.” 

He considered your words carefully, “How do I know you tell the truth? How do I know I am not sending men into a trap where you plan to slaughter them?”

“Because I am the Lady of the Vale. I would not lie to these men.” You looked at the traitors who accompanied Baelish. You could see shame in their eyes as they avoided your gaze. You turned your gaze back to Baelish, much harsher and cold, “Do one good thing. You’ll want Lady Sansa on your side, you’ll want her favor, you’ll want the north’s favor, and you’ll want my mercy.” 

“Lady Sansa knows I would never wish ill will onto her. She knows I did not kn-” 

“Ask her yourself.” You interrupted before riding off and away from him.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・ ꒱꒱

Once you returned to Winterfell, you received a raven from Baelish. The message read that Baelish would meet with Sansa and offer his aid to her, and her alone. You were determined to convince him. Determined to not let the world take another loved one away from you. You couldn’t take another loss. It would crush any bit of warmth within you that was left, leave you cruel and hateful.

When you entered Sansa’s chambers, you noticed her sewing something. 

“What are you working on?” You asked as you walked closer towards her.

“A cape for Jon. The same as our Father wore.” She said as she sewed. 

You sat beside her, “He was a good man.” you said, smiling softly at her. 

“He was.” She said with a sorrowful smile. As she raised her hand up, pulling a needle through the leather and fur of the cape. Her sleeve fell slightly, allowing you to see bruising. 

You held her wrist in your hands gently, stopping her from sewing. You swallowed hard, observing the bruise, feeling both guilt and rage serge through your blood. “I must know what you endured.” You said, sweetly and softly. Like a mother.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently.” She shook her head, and removed her hand. “Besides, I still don’t know what happened to you.” She said looking down shamefully.

You positioned yourself to face her better, “Littlefinger might have taken a child from me. I don’t even know if I have the right to cry over it, because I don't even know if I was, or was not. He took the only man I loved away from me, he took your sister from me. He killed my aunt. He might have killed my father.” You shook your head. “I don't even know that for certain either. The uncertain is worse than the certain, it was almost part of the torment. Kept me in a castle, fed me isolation until I never left my chambers, only thought of the uncertainties. Until he drugged me and sold me to the Boltons. But Varys Cole saved me and brought me here.” Her eyes fell on you, soft and warm. Sympathetic, not pitiful. You smiled through a growing emotion, “See, you’ve not looked at me differently at all.” 

Sansa, put down her needle. She looked at you, and with courage she told you all of what she’d endured. Since the moment you had left King’s Landing she had experienced every tragedy you had narrowly escaped. The things the Bolton’s had done was the worst of it. Your blood boiled with hatred. But soon the rage subsided with the overwhelming feeling of guilt, and sorrow.

“I seem to have left you my fate, inadvertently, twice now I am sorry.” You tried to hold back tears, though your voice wavered “Very, very sorry.” You held her hand, “I’d not look at you differently. You are my blood. I’m going to help you kill those men.” You took a breath, “Though there is one thing that you can do.” You said handing her the message Littlefinger had sent for you.

She took the letter and read it, “Littlefinger…” She whispered, “How far is Mole Town?” She asked you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The dreaded moment came, a war consultation with Ramsay Bolton the morning before the battle. 

Smalljon Umber, and Harald Karstark were there to accompany Ramsay. You and Varys were there alongside Jon, Sansa, Tormund, Davos, and Lyanna Mormont. All of you on horseback on an open field. 

Ramsay smiled and spoke confidently, “My beloved wife. Thank you for returning Lady Bolton home safely. Now dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will Pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous Lords for betraying my house. And I shall give Lady Arryn the men to fight for the Vale.” You remained stone faced, and stone hearted. As did your companions. Ramsay then continued, “Come Bastard. You don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you don’t have Winterfell. And she doesn’t even have the Eyrie.” He smiled at you, you only scowled.  “Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There’s no need for a battle. Get off your horse, and kneel. I am a man of mercy.” He said, it made you feel ill.

You said nothing, only holding back your desire to stab him in the eye.

“You’re right. There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us. Let's do this the old way. You against me.” Jon said, you held back a smirk, knowing Bolton would never agree.

Ramsay “I keep hearing stories about you. The way the North tells it you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don’t know if I can beat you. But I know my army will beat yours.” His eyes were wild and wide. 

“Aye, you’ve the numbers. Would your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn’t want to fight for them?” Jon said, it made you smirk.

Ramsay smiled, angrily “He’s good, very good. But are you going to let your little brother die because you are too proud to surrender?” 

“How do we know you have him?” Sansa said, without fear. 

Ramsay smirked, then nodded to one of his men. The man threw towards Sansa the decapitated head of Rickon’s direwolves head. Sansa looked upon it with cold and emotionless eyes. 

Ramsey continued, “Now if you want to save–” 

“You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton.” Sansa interrupted coldy, “Sleep well.” She said riding away. You watched as she left, you understood the feeling she had all too well. 

Ramsay smiled, “She’s a fine woman, your sister. Just as fine as your cousin.” You looked back at Ramsay, your gaze was hateful and cold, “I look forward to having one of them back in my bed. In the morning then. Bastard.” Ramsay said as he rode away.

You watched them ride off, “If it comes to it… I’ll take her place.” you said to Jon beside you.

Jon shook his head, “No, you won’t. We need every man we can get. Send some ravens.” He said pulling on the reins of his horse, riding away. 

You sat there for a moment, thinking of how furious Sandor would be. Furious that someone would have even threatened such actions towards you. Furious that you would even suggest taking such punishment if it meant someone else didn’t. Furious that you’d even gotten in this war. He would have killed Ramsay then and there. But Sandor wasn’t here anymore, only you. So you’d have to kill Ramsay yourself. 

You then followed after Jon. You’d a war to plan for.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor and the rest of the Brotherhood rode through the Riverlands. It was snowing and cold. And Sandor was irritable for good reason. They were going to the Wall, and in Sandor’s mind that was the last place you would be. Of course he would be wrong in that, but you never thought you’d be there either.

“Bad night to be outdoors,” Thoros said, observing the obvious weather.

“You got real powerful to figure that out. Did the Lord of Light whisper that in your ear?” Sandor said mockingly, “‘It’s snowing, Thoros. It’s windy. It's gonna be a cold night.’” He said in a deeper voice mimicking the Lord Thoros served.

Thoros scoffed, “You’re a grouchy old bear, aren’t you, Clegane?” He held out a bottle towards Sandor as a peace offering “You want some rum?”

“Don’t like that shit, It’s too sweet.” Sandor said with a disgusted expression.

“Why are you always in such a foul mood?” Thoros teased,

“Experience.” Sandor replied

Above them a Falcon flew, Sandor saw it and huffed to himself. He thought he’d seen the last of it but the bird continued to stalk him. 

“There goes that bird again. Maybe cook it for supper…” Thoros said thinking out loud.

“No.” Sandor snapped quickly before regaining composure, “No one's eating that bird.” He grumbled.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You laid in your bed. You watched as the sun began to rise over the wall. In solitude you could be weak, devastated, and useless. You could let yourself sink and drown peacefully in your grief and sorrow. Allowing it to wrap you in its cold embrace. Until you heard the horn of war blow. Now you had to hold your head high, you had to be strong, you needed to be relentless. 

You pushed yourself out of bed and sat beside the fire in your room. 

Varys walked into your chambers, “The war horn has been blown, My Lady.” He said as he closed the door and approached you.

“I know it.” You said staring into the fire.

“I have something for you.” He said softly, you looked over towards him, “I had it made for you here.” You took the metal from his hands. It was black armor, fearsome looking. “Now I do not wish for you to fight. However, this is the first fight you shall lead into Battle.” 

“I lead only nine men.” 

“59, my lady. The men arrived late last night.” You felt a wave of relief but also a great weight of responsibility and duty, “Even if it were nine men, It is your first fight. You should lead in armor. Your father always wore armor, not in silver and blue but black.” You looked at the armor in your hand, it was a deep and dark black color, like a night sky. “He wore black to show the enemy that his presence, his army's presence, meant death.” You ran your hand over the falcon that was imprinted on the breast plate, “And of course there's a falcon, because there has to be a falcon.” He smiled, 

You smiled softly in return, “Thank you.” 

He placed a hand on your shoulder, “Are you frightened?” He asked ready to offer reassurance in your ability.

“No.” You said with strong conviction. You had no room to be frightened. You knew you would succeed because failure was not an option. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

The Battle Began. Your men alongside the Stark forces were stationed at a treeline, to be sure you couldn’t be taken from behind. It was made known prior to the battle that the Stark army would not charge first. You had the least men, so you needed patience on your side. 

Across the field is the much larger Bolton army, who have placed archery distance markers with burning, flayed corpses attached to them. You had never seen such a grotesque scene. Though it only made your rage grow bigger. 

Ramsay rode out on his horse to the front of his own army, bringing a tied up Rickon Stark. You saw Ramsay dismount and walk towards Rickon with a dagger, you worried for a moment that Ramsay would slit Rickon's throat, but instead he cut bonds. Ramsay pointed at Jon. Rickon starts running in a straight line toward Jon. 

Jon, confused, watched as Ramsay pulled out a bow and arrow as Ramsay pointed it at Rickon. 

Jon, terrified for his brother, rode out alone onto the battlefield charging towards his brother. All the while Ramsay shoots and misses again. Your heart raced, watching it. Just when Rickon is about to reach Jon, however, Ramsay's final shot hits Rickon in the heart, killing him almost instantly.

“Gods.” You whispered to yourself, 

“Prepare to charge!” Davos announced, 

You looked over to your men and Ser Varys Cole, you nodded to them to prepare.

Jon you could see across the field. Your heart ached for him, you’d seen your own brother die with only the Gods to blame. And now Jon had one man to blame. So it did not surprise you when Jon charged full tilt at the Bolton army alone, who immediately lost their arrows on him. Alarmed, Davos ordered the Stark forces to charge after their commander. 

You commanded the same of your men, Varys gave you one last nod before riding into battle. 

Jon was thrown from his horse when it was shot out from under him, Jon prepares for his last stand by drawing his sword and facing the Bolton army alone. However he was saved by the Stark army, and the battle became a chaotic mess of blood, arrows, horses, and swords. Men were killed so quickly that they began to form small hills of the dead.

“It’s a slaughter. Where is Lady Sansa?” You asked Davos, he shook his head at you not knowing. You huffed and looked back to the battle in front of you. 

Ramsay ordered his own archers to shoot at the battle. Killing both the Stark forces and his own army. Instead of doing the same, Davos led his archers to join Jon Snow and the others into battle. 

You being left alone at the treeline where your armies first deployed you fled to a high hill to get a better view of the battle. 

Once you did you could see that the arrows Ramsay ordered out had killed both Stark and Bolton men, and soon the small hills of bodies had become a wall of the dead. It was then clear what they were planning. It was a sadistic way to prevent his enemy from retreating. The remaining Bolton army manage to surround the remaining Stark army and close them in with a shield phalanx. 

You watched horrified as the phalanx acted as a noose, tightening around the Stark forces, who by now are dying in droves. Any of them that attempt to retreat toward the wall of dead men, they trample the wounded and squeeze so tightly in the confined space that they are unable to properly move. Smalljon leads a small force over the wall of the dead to ensure that none are able to escape.

Finally you heard the sounds of Horse hooves behind you. You saw a sea of silver Knights being led by both Sansa and Petyr. As they approached you, Petyr looked at you with contempt and explained, “Knights of the Vale shall ride for Lady Sansa.” Making it clear they were not there for you.

You couldn’t argue, there was no time for that. You pulled the reins of your horse Lika. “They will follow me into battle then.” You said with strong conviction, Petyr nodded to them. 

The knights looked at you, “There is no time for motivation, no time for a speech. Your men are down there already dying. These men will kill you. So we will kill them first. Now circle them, take them from behind! Blow the horns, and Charge!” You shouted as you rode into battle. 

In the battle, Jon was suffocating, just when all hope seemed lost, he heard a war horn sound off in the distance. Around the bend appears a large mounted army of the Knights of the Vale, led by you. The newly arrived Arryn reinforcements quickly circle the phalanx. The Vale knights are able to attack on the Boltons' undefended side, wiping away Ramsay's phalanx and freeing the Stark soldiers. As you led them around, an arrow shot into Lika’s heart, she dropped to the ground and tossed you off and onto the ground. 

Disorientation from the fall, you looked up and saw a man in silver armor, laying against the wall of the dead men. As your eyes steadied you saw he was breathing labored, and coughing blood. As they steadied more you saw an arrow in his throat, and as they steadied even more you noticed the man was Varys Cole. You grunted as you crawled towards him on your elbows. 

“No,” You whimpered, you pulled yourself onto him, you held his neck, bleeding profusely, “NO!” You cried, 

Varys coughed up more blood, “(Y/N), you must leave here” he wheezed, 

“No, no, no,” You sobbed gently like a little girl as you held onto his wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

He took your wrist in hand “Leave me-” 

You interrupted him, continuing to sob, “Don’t leave me-”

“I am dying.” His eyes were low, and he spoke tiredly. 

“You cannot!” You shook your head and shouted as you cried

“All men can.” He removed his belt and sword along with it, handing it to you. “My sword is yours, child.” 

You continued to sob, “Varys-”  

He whipped your tears with his bloody hand, “It’s been yours long enough.” You held the hand he caressed your cheek with until it went limp and fell to his side.  

“Varys-V-V” You stammered as you sobbed, “Varys!” Clinging to his armor, as his eyes faded. Your numbness didn’t come as it often did. But sadness did not either. A rage fueled blood lust unlike anything you'd ever felt overtook your body.

Enraged and maddened with grief you took Varys’s sword in hand, you stood and charged into battle, eyes puffy and red swelled from the tears that fell from them, your nose and cheeks red and slashed with heat from emotion, you breathed deeply but your sobs made you choke on your own breathing. 

You managed to strike two men down with your sword. Grunting and screaming out in grief as you fought. All in which you endured to this moment flashed before your eyes. It only fueled your rage. 

After you striked down your third man an arrow flew and struck you in your thigh. You overpowered your body’s instrict to hunch over in pain. As your hands reached the arrow in your leg, a man came up behind you and grabbed you.

He placed his hand over your mouth pressing you against his body. His other hand held a dagger, he swung his arm around to stab you in the belly but you grabbed ahold of his forearm before he could make contact. 

You bit his hand as hard as you could, nearly taking off his finger completely. The man dropped the dagger and shouted out in pain.

Within an instant you broke the end of the arrow in your thigh off and pulled it through your leg. You then turned around and used the arrow to stab through the man's eye. Killing him.

You looked over to see Tormund staring at you, in awe, “Fuck you doing here?” Tormund asked,

“Fighting.” You responded, eyes still puffy and red. Mouth still stained with the blood of the man you’d just killed. You took back your sword and looked over to see Ramsay, now without a fighting force, decides to retreat to Winterfell to hold out in a siege. Your eyes found Jon nearby, “Jon, He’s fleeing!” You shouted. You and Jon ran following behind Ramsay alongside Tormund and the giant Wun Wun. You ran despite the horrid pain in your leg. 

Before you could reach the main gate. Ramsay closed them. However it didn’t last very long when Wun Wun was able to break down the main gate, allowing the Starks and Arryns to pour through. 

Your army along with the remaining Starks and Freefolks kill all remaining Bolton men in the castle. Wun Wun collapses to his knees after being hit by arrows, bolts, and javelins. Before Jon can comfort his friend, however, Ramsay kills the giant with an arrow through the eye. 

Ramsay, refusing to surrender, “You suggested one on one combat, I’ve reconsidered, I think that's a wonderful Idea.” He taunted Jon,

Ramsay then began shooting arrows at Jon unarmed. You threw a shield from a fallen Mormont soldier. Jon grabs it while boldly advancing, blocking all of Ramsay's shots. When he reached Ramsay, he smacks the bow out of his hands and knocks him to the ground. With Ramsay down, Jon pins him and proceeds to beat him savagely. 

You smiled as you watched it, tears falling from your eyes. You feared you may laugh.

Though it seems as if he will kill Ramsay, Jon stops. Jon then ordered for Ramsay to be locked in the kennels. The Bolton banners drop to the ground in a cluttered heap while the Starks banner is raised above Winterfell for the first time in three years.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

You entered the Kennels. Looking upon the bloodied and beaten Ramsay, tied in a chair. 

He looked at you, “Are you waiting for me to speak first? Man does not normally introduce himself to his former betrothed.” He said mockingly

“Ramsay.” You stated quietly and coldly.

“You do remember, how lovely.” He laughed to himself, “You look wonderful. The crimson of violence suits you well. I knew it would.” He said, attempting to goad you.

“I understand who you are now. A broken little boy who cannot bear the pain of the world, so he becomes it. But cruelty is easy and you are not special for choosing it.” You took out your sword, you placed the tip of the blade against his chest, “I’ve wanted to bury my blade in you for a long time.” You said, fighting the urge to push it in,  “Only, it’s not my blade to hold.” You said, looking behind you, seeing Sansa standing here. She nodded to you and you nodded in return as you opened the kennel doors and stood with her on the outside of the kennel’s cage.

“Oh, Sansa.” Ramsay smiled, “Our time together is about to come to an end. That’s alright, you can’t kill me. I’m part of you now.” He said trying to torment her one last time.

Sansa however remained unfazed by his attempt, “Your words will disappear, your house will disappear, your name will disappear, all memories of you will disappear.” She said coldly as Ramsay’s starved dogs fled their cages and circled him.

“My Hounds will never harm me.” Ramsay said, with a growing fear in his voice.

“You haven’t fed them in seven days. You said it yourself.” Sansa said emotionlessly as she watched them circle.

“They’re loyal beasts.” Ramsay said, uncertainty present in his voice.

“They were. Now they’re starving.” 

“Down!” He shouted at the dog, instead of listening the dog began hungrily sniffing and licking his bloody face. “Down! Down! Down!” He shouted and shouted until his shouts became screams. Overcome by hunger, the hound proceeds to savagely maul his face and the others follow suit. As Ramsay is devoured alive by his own dogs, Sansa turns to you and you both lock arms as you and she walk away. Though you limped mostly. You both savor the sounds of his screams. You turn to look at one another, you both softly smile at one another.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

In Winterfell, A day had passed since the battle. You laid in your bed recovering from your physical injuries. Though you spent most of your time laying there sulking in your own misery.

That night Sansa entered your chambers with a cup of tea, “How’re you feeling?” She asked, handing you the cup as you sat up.

“Like I’ve had an arrow through my leg.” You said stoically as you took the cup.

She smiled, though her smile faded, “I am… sorry for your loss.” she said earnestly. 

“And I yours.” You said, just as earnest as she was. 

“I’ve come with good news.” She said trying to brighten your spirits, “Once they were left unattended at the gate, your armies fled the Vale, they are coming here, to Winterfell. And I hear some of Baelish’s Knights have left his side to join your ranks. You have shown great bravery, and great loyalty to your men. No one shall forget it.” She smiled at you.

“It wouldn’t have happened without you. They rode for you.” You smiled back, 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

During your recovery Jon continued his mission in defeating the White Walkers. He had traveled to Dragonstone to persuade The Dragon Queen to allow him to mine for Dragonglass. While there, Jon received a letter regarding the army of the dead approaching Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Tyrion who was acting as Daenerys hand, proposed a plan to capture a wight to prove to Cersei, the existence of the White Walkers. Jon agrees and departs with Davos, Jorah, and Gendry.

Once at the Wall, they met with Tormund with whom they shared their plan.

“Isn’t it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?” Tormund asked Davos, unconvinced that their plan was wise.

“I've been failing at that job as of late.” Davos teased, making Jon smirk.

“How many queens are there now?” Tormund asked Jon,

“Two.” He responded, 

“And you need to convince the one with dragons or the one who fucks her brother?” Tormund asked crudely but accurately. 

“Both.” Jon held back a laugh,

“How many men did you bring?” Tormund asked again, attempting to understand how bad of an idea this was.

“Not enough.” Jon said, this had become a recurring issue. 

“Not the armored woman?” Tormund asked like a whiny puppy, hoping you’d be joining.

Jon smiled and shook his head, as you were still back in Winterfell.

“You really want to go out there again?” Gentry said, “You’re not the only ones.”

The men at the table looked at him confused,

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Upon reaching Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Sandor and the Brotherhood were taken by wildlings serving alongside the Night's Watch, and were held in the ice cells below the castle.

“My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here.” The man said, 

Jon looked at Sandor in the cell, “You’re the Hound, I saw you once at Winterfell.” Recognizing him instantly. Sandor sat up in his cell, not responding.

“They want to go beyond the wall too.” Gentry said angrily, untrusting of the Brotherhood.

“We don’t want to go beyond the Wall, we have to. Our Lord told us that the Great War is coming. It doesn’t matter what our reasons are, there is a greater purpose at work. And we serve it together, whether we know it or not.” Beric said standing, ready to give a speech, “We may take the steps but the Lord of Light–”

Sandor couldn’t take it anymore and interrupted, “For fuck’s sake will you shut your hole? Are we coming with you or not?” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: Hmmm seems like our pookie bear might just be approaching…. I hope you like this. I am treating it as a season finale bc there won't be an update until maybe 6/30.

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

Beloved Tags: 

@dontfollowjuststuff @merfic @broadsdrinkwhisky  @vikingswhore0

@the-queen-of-sorrows @eddiesbongwater @not-neverland06  @symonedoesart 

@wyvernnest @bdudette @frosch-thefrog @patrick-hockstutter

@drymushroomfics @dream-a-little-nightmare 

[firstdivisiongirl]

Pet Store Trio Falling for a Fem Reader Who Works Near Them

Myself and @silversatin2105 started to rewatch Tokyo Revengers again. It's just as good as we remember and I felt like writing something for my favorite trio. Please enjoy!

Chifuyu Matsuno:

He’s a hopeless romantic at heart!

I get him, I’m the same way! 

When he saw you at the coffee shop you own next door.  It felt like he was in his own romance manga!

So he went every day and ordered breakfast.

Even his days off.

You started to just see him and know what he wanted

One medium matcha latte and a red bean bun

You would just see him walk in and start his order

He always tried to be a good neighbor and give you any of your mail that was accidentally delivered to them

Baji and Kazutora would tease him about it

Your coworkers teased you too about your crush too

After lots of blushes and awkwardness, the two of you finally got that romance manga love story!

Kazutora Hanemiya:

He’s always a little nervous when it comes to people especially women

It’s his dad’s fault

Chifuyu asked him to pick up some flowers from the new shop next door for their adopt a cat event!

He was expecting a little old lady to come out but instead it was the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life

He instantly forgot everything

But Chifuyu had figured this would happen so he called and warned you!

You sweetly smiled and handed him the flowers

Everytime the shop had an event, Kazutora would go over, just to see you

Eventually, a simple hello became small talk which became a friendship which became more

He swore that he would never treat you like his father treated his mother

Keisuke Baji:

Boy is simple

He likes fighting, motorcycles, animals and food

There was a new Yakisoba shop next door to the pet shop so all the boys went.

You were their waitress and Baji instantly couldn’t take his eyes off you

Your smile, the sparkle in your eye, just everything about you was so….lovely

Of course, Chifuyu and Kazutora noticed and made fun of him so much for how love struck he was

He doesn’t go back to the shop after that and doesn’t see you

But you’re still always on his mind

So one day you come in to adopt a cat and the two of you start talking

And you hit it off instantly

Once you adopt your new cat, he gives you his number and asks you to go to dinner with him

You happily agree and that became the first of many dates

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[frownyalfred]

How far would Bruce's love towards his children go? Imagine if any of his kids did something really bad, would he be ready to defend them against the JL/Clark? And how would he handle it?

That’s a really interesting question. I guess it depends if the JL or Clark were interfering with something Bruce sees as his jurisdiction as a mentor and parent. The JL can absolutely censure the batkids for mistakes or missions they handled poorly, and Bruce would probably be asked to recuse himself from those decisions.

I think Bruce would let the JL dole out punishments that they’d give any other member who messed up. But a truly bad thing, where people are up in arms and there’s talk of revenge and taking people out etc? Where Bruce thinks the JL is wildly out of line or out of their purview?

Bruce would be getting that kid out of there asap until cooler heads prevail. He’d park their ass in the Cave and lock it down so even Clark couldn’t come visit. And then he’d negotiate, which, as we’ve known for a while, he’s in a fantastically good position to do when it comes to the JL.

[merminns]

Learning about love

Dabi x reader

❧ it's 3am and the only thing I can think about is how our crisp boy dabi needs some love so here's a little something

Dabi doesn't know much about love. He doesn't really understand what it is. And honestly, he doesn't even get what it is all about.

He never learned to give it, never felt what it is like to truly receive it, and frankly, he didn't even cared much about it.

Ever since that incident that almost killed him, the only thing driving him was revenge. Revenge against the man that viewed him as nothing more than a tool. And deep down he thought that no one would ever look at his horrifying, barely held together body and feel anything remotely close to love.

That was why your presence in his life was so confusing for him.

You are, compared to him, a beautiful, delicate little thing. You could get anyone in the world to love you, so why would you settle with him when he looked like that. Like a monster.

He didn't understand how you, with that heart full of love, could choose to give that love to him, someone who doesn't even have anything to give you. He doesn't even know how to accept your love, to think about giving anything in return.

But he doesn't want to let go of you. Because he is selfish like that. He didn't realize how starved he was for love, for a tender touch. And ever since you started giving him that he couldn't get enough.

He couldn't get enough of waking up to your pretty, peaceful face, or the sweet smile you grace him with once you open your eyes, or the lovely way you snuggled into him, careful to not touch him in any way that would hurt his fragile skin.

It made him feel... something.

A strange feeling that he couldn't name but still liked.

He knew you loved him, you made it clear with how often you said it, with every little thing you did for him, but he didn't know how to love you back.

He didn't know how to love you but he was willing to learn.

Dabi didn't know how to love you but he knew he would burn the world down if only it meant he'd always have you by his side.

And maybe, just maybe, one day he'll find a way to show you that you're the most important thing in his life.

[buckysunshine]

i got my eye on you – house of the dragon

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut (18+) ! Targcest/Targaryen Incest (Uncle/Niece), Enemies to Lovers, Denial of feelings, explosion of feelings, vaginal fingering.

Synopsis: Sixteen hours and six days were all it took for you to have everything Aemond had wanted. A dragon, a mother's unconditional love, a brother that actually cares and gives a shit. Sixteen hours and six days were all it took to hate you. 

At the return of the blacks, the princess is transformed, and the hate swirling in Aemond’s gut is replaced with something different, something new.

Word Count: 2.6K

Sixteen hours. That was how long Rhaenyra labored to bring you into this world. With blood came the heir's only daughter, a spitting image of her mother yet contrasted by the colors of the father. A princess. Another bastard. 

Six days. That's how long you stayed in the babe's cradle until the hatching of your dragon egg. Arrax.

Sixteen hours and six days were all it took for you to have everything Aemond had wanted. A dragon, a mother's unconditional love, a brother that actually cares and gives a shit. 

Sixteen hours and six days were all it took to hate you.

~

Living in a den of vipers taught you more than the books you were forced to read. You were a princess, the daughter of the realm's heir, yet they treat you as the scum of a mare's back disguised in petty smiles and hidden whispers.

Early on, you learned you only had your family to depend on. Not your uncles. They always liked to inflict the most pain. Helaena was always sweet, but the queen made sure to isolate her from you and your family. 

But your greatest tormentor came in the form of purple eyes and silver hair. Aemond Targaryen.

He was always there to plague you no matter how nice you've been or how little you were. Eyes distant and cold, and on you at all times. You could never escape it; thus, it only made sense that you were the one to take his eye on that fateful night. You – the object of his ire, the thief who stole his eye. You tell yourself it was to protect your brother, but deep down, it was also to break free of his punishing stares. 

Aemond Targaryen was not the only person who changed from that moment. The day you took his eye was the day you gained your own courage.

"Enjoy it, uncle. The next time you see me, my mother will wear the crown, and your family will be set aside to return to your little green towers." You speak brazenly atop Arrax at the hour of your departure to Dragonstone. He may have Vhagar, but the true power belongs to the heir of the Iron Throne. 

Your last words to the one-eyed second son rang in his ears for the rest of his days, fueling the bitter craving for revenge in his heart. 

~

"You'll cut yourself." The rogue prince's warning makes you jump away from the valyrian steel. "Careful."

You've sneaked a glance at dark sister. The prince consort was rarely without it, so the one chance you see it abandoned, you gather up the courage to hold it even for a second. It felt like the blade was calling to you; surely, it was the voices of the lives taken by the age-old steel. 

Daemon takes the steel in his hand, wielding it easily. You watch his every move, utterly fascinated. Daemon sees the spark of ambition in your eyes. It's the same spark that flamed within him in his early years. 

"Ever used a blade?"

"Only one time when I took an eye."

Daemon grinned, passing the steel to you. He could work with that. "Not a bad start.”

Dark Sister felt heavy in your hands, but it was also oddly familiar. It felt right to hold it. You were a Targaryen, after all, and coupled with the strong genes of your father, it was no trouble to handle a sword. You were a quick learner, and Daemon took delight in training you, gender norms be damned. 

This would have never happened in the Red Keep. The only place for you there were the quilting room and the birthing bed. Ser Criston Cole would have never allowed you to step foot in his training grounds, and you would have never had the courage to try. 

Ever since you left for Dragonstone, your courage grew day by day, and with Daemon at your side, it flamed anew.

But all that courage faltered at the news of Vaemond Velaryon's challenge to Lucery's inheritance to Driftmark. 

Vaemond did not scare you, but the thought of returning to King's Landing and meeting a purple eye did.

-

Aemond Targaryen had never waited for a day like this. 

The blacks’ return shall be met with the green's first strike. His nephew is possibly disinherited; most importantly, he gets to prove you wrong. He waits to see you again so he could inject the fear that always made you shrink in his gaze. The years had made him hard, brutish. He and Vhagar are alike in more ways than the valyrian blood that flows in them.

Aemond's eye finds you immediately. Surrounded by your family, you seemed small but grown, more mature. Your dress is filled better by newly developed curves. Your locks remained ever dark, and it gives Aemond a reminiscence of a dark-haired woman plaguing his dreams as of late. Ever since he heard the news of your return, his dreams have been nothing but hazy images of dark hair that makes him wake with a hard cock. 

He ignores it.

Your families don't have time to reunite as the unforgiving court awaits. You don't make the effort to find your uncles either, though you did send a warm smile to your aunt. You ignore them, and it makes Aemond itch. He longs to see the fire in your eyes so he could squash and spit on it.

Vaemond Velaryon speaks, and he loses his head. 

Aemond is no stranger to bloodshed, relishes in it even. An unexpected similarity between you. 

It does not miss him when you don't flinch at the brutal slash, only moving to cover your younger brother, Joffrey. You watch the blade slash clean through flesh with a fervid gaze, and it gives Aemond surprise, his interest piqued.

~

"Seems like you're wrong, princess."

You were a hard one to track alone. Always surrounded by your pesky brothers, Aemond awaited the chance to corner you. He finds it fitting to find you in the dragon pit. You endured the tense family dinner, playing oblivious to the one purple eye peering over you, and once the feasting had ended, you were gone. Not in your chambers or even the grounds of the Red Keep. You escaped to the skies, flying Arrax till late at night. You needed the reprieve, and you wished you were back there again the moment you landed with Aemond already waiting for your alighting.

"Uncle." You greeted him, shedding your riding gloves off. He is taller now, more slender, and his face matured with the scar you left him with. Shame, he could have been handsome.

You walk, and Aemond is at your tail. He starts his taunting. 

"We meet, and yet no crown on your mother's head, and our family's roots are still deep within these courts."

"I am grateful for our king's long life." You say, eyes blank, straight ahead. You're being polite. Your mother's words of peace ring in your ears, and it takes all your effort to maintain niceties. Aemond sees right through it.

"There is only us. You can speak plainly." He clasps his arms behind his back, unbothered. "The king is dying and should have died long ago."

"Must you be so cruel?”

"I only speak the truth." He is close behind, leaning down to mutter in your ear. "Last time I recall, it is not a crime to do so. Well, should not be treated as such anyway." He says slyly, laying down his bait for you to take. 

"I was a kid, Aemond. Must you torment me all my life?" You bite, stopping in your tracks and facing him completely with fire in your eyes. The years of guilt and vexing rifts at your resolve. The man always knew how to push your buttons.

Ah, there she is. Aemond flashes a condescending smile just for a second before slipping back into his usual glare. "You know what I want. Justice."

"Then so be it." You pull out your sword, the same one Daemon gifted you years ago. It was smaller than the standard fighting swords, for it was only supposed to be used in training, but you don't care. A sword is a sword. You've done worse with smaller ones.

"Here's your justice. Try to take out my eye. I'll allow your efforts. Take my eye and be done with all these bother.”

Aemond stares at you delightfully surprised before drawing his own sword out. You dare? He answers. The years in Dragonstone changed you, no more the little girl he could torment and plague back in the Red Keep. He is made clear of it. The girl standing before him is a dragon, a warrior, a Targaryen. A predator to be conquered.

"Today is a good day for justice."

He swings, and steels meet.

It was a dance between two dragons, and the sound of swords clashing against each other played the music to every spin and sway. It was a dance, and Aemond hated how you were leading. 

Honed by the rogue prince, you've learned how to put up a good fight and sniff out an opponent's weak points. You detect Aemond's obvious weakness – his blind side. You focus your attacks on his left side, taking advantage of his every crux. He underestimated you, your hits stronger than he expected. He stumbles at your strike, aim focused on his left shoulder. 

But Aemond is no fool on the battlefield. He also paid his dues in his training with Ser Criston Cole. The man might be vile, but there is no denying the knight is the most skillful swordsman alive in King's Landing. Aemond's skills are beaten into him in the most literal sense, the years of cuts and bruises shaping him into the warrior he is now. It was no match to your little lessons, no matter how fast of a learner you might be. Aemond is still stronger, faster. 

And with a swing to your leg and a precise hit to your wrist, your blade flies away from you. Unarmed, the older boy takes the chance to seize you. 

You take the hit head on, grunting at the weight of him knocking you down.

Pinned on the ground, bladeless and pregnable, Aemond's steel rests snug against your neck. The music has stopped. You've lost. 

"Beg." Steel presses further into skin. "Beg for mercy."

"No." you spat, ever so stubbornly. A dragon does not beg.

Aemond's nostrils flare at your defiance, a thousand emotions brewing in his chest. He has wanted this for so long, yet he finds himself stalling for time.

Despite your loss, you weren't giving up. Aemond always hated how stubborn you could be, so careless, yet protected and loved even as a bastard. Aemond could do everything right, yet his father would not even spare him a glance unless he found himself in some sort of trouble, and Alicent shared the family's burden with him, depriving him of the innocence of childhood. But you had your dragon the day you were born, showered with love and affection. 

Spoiled. Ungrateful. 

In his resentment, he cuts skin, drawing blood. "Don't think I won't do it. You know I would."

You refuse to wince from the pain, eyes locked in and determined. "I fought, and I lost. I'm true to my word. Take my eye now. Take your prize." You turn your head, presenting him the left side of your face. "Is that not what you want, uncle? Or do you plan to bitch and whine to me for the rest of your days?"

"I want… nothing!"

Throwing his blade away, you're finally given a chance to breathe. Still on top, he looks down on you. Aemond has you at the bottom of his feet, to do what he wants, to take what he is robbed of, yet he finds himself at pause. He wanted an eye, and now he yearns for more.

As he watched your face, cheeks turning delightfully pink, and chest heaving, the strangest thing happened. Aemond felt something squeeze suspiciously in his chest at the thought of you exposed and vulnerable to him.

He realized he wanted you. He really, really wanted you.

Only then did the feeling of hatred in his gut turn to something different. It swirled anew — to desire.

Aemond Targaryen desires for the niece under him.

Oh.

With this revelation, he starts seeing the image in his dreams clearly. His conscience is plagued by the woman of dark hair and milky skin he's been dreaming of, the cause of his seed spilling on his thighs in the morning. It was you.

With the veil of denial finally lifted, he leans down and captures your mouth, pouring every bit of frustration and newly found desire into your kiss. Your hands raise to push him off, but he pins them down easily. Warm lips lock onto yours, forcing your mouth to yield to his demand and, eventually, your own visceral need. Unrelenting, your defiance quickly faded, and your tongue started meeting his as well. Heat dances in your chest and straight down the apex of your thighs. 

You've been kissed before, kissed sweetly, softly, but never like this. This was different; this was hungry, consuming, punishing. Aemond's kiss triggers a primal craving in your flesh; it refuses your mind's reason entirely.

Shifting above you, Aemond parts your legs, planting himself between your thighs. You feel the hard ridge of him pressing against your clothed core, and you undoubtedly grind against it. 

His body – Gods. It is evil how it was pressed against yours, the heat of it seeping through your clothing, searing your very soul.

He made you shiver. He made you melt.

Aemond gropes your breast, dipping down to nip at the neck he just pressed a blade against moments ago. "I want you."

Aemond always told the truth, an ideology planted in his head by his devoted mother, but it is only now he felt the peace a person should feel when telling the truth.

Aemond’s tongue traces a map of pleasure on your skin, fueling a need you never knew. He chants your name, groaning at every repeat. His lips move frantically along your face until they find your mouth again. “I need you.” He pressed his hips hotly against yours. “Do you feel how I need you?” 

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair, making it undone from its restraints; you grip it, urging for more.

"What is it? Take what you want." He yearns to hear your voice, hear you beg for him.

He pulls away, and you whine at the loss. "Use your words, princess. Tell me what you want.”

You're faced with Aemond's face atop of yours, and unthinking, you take it in your hands. He leans in, hanging on to your next words. 

Your lips hover over each other, and with a whisper, you say, "No."

Aemond's face breaks into a grin, a deep chuckle escaping him. Your heart stutters at the image of a genuine smile on the prince's face. It was a rare thing, and you don't know what to do with it.

Distracted, his fingers find your thighs, squeezing them hard before delving further. You gasp when he presses at the burning between your legs. 

"Now is not the time for your stubbornness, sweet niece."

Aemond quickly breaks through the layers of cloth separating him from your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing how easily he found the wetness waiting for him. But Aemond relishes at the feel of them, the thought of your excitement feeding his desire. His fingers play at your folds, sliding easily. He circles at your center, noticing how your moans become louder when he touches you there. He watches your every expression, determined to pluck your pleasure from you. You looked too pretty with your lips red and puffy, but your unscarred skin calls to be dirtied by him.

He leans down to nip at the skin of your jaw, then to your neck once more. He hopes to leave a mark. "Would you do it? Bed your uncle like your mother did.”

The sting of his tongue against the wound he placed on you wakes you from your haze. Your mother. The lust is quickly replaced by guilt and shame, and you suddenly feel suffocated. Shoving away, you slap him off you. He stumbles, shocked and disoriented. 

Gathering your skirts, you stand, now looking down at him. Your throat dries, but you speak firmly. "You've had your chance to take your justice. Now let us speak of it no more.”

And you were gone, fleeing without as much as a second glance behind, and Aemond is left alone. The sting on his face and the hardness of his cock are the only reminders of your dance.