Venom (Roy!Sibling X Roy Family)
Venom (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)
((SUCCESSION FINALE SPOILERS))
Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Matsson, Tom
Word Count: 1,477
Tag List: @locke-writes
A/N: This is omg y'all!!! Y'all aren't ready ahhh!!!! That's all I can say :P Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜
You watch them, horrified. Kendall stop! You’re yelling, trying not to let them hear the crack in your voice, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to hear. He spits venom at your sister, calling her two-faced, saying terrible things about her. She pretends it doesn’t hurt, pretends it doesn’t kill her. The kinds of things Logan would have said. Stop it, now! None of them hear you. None of them see you. You’re invisible now, like you’ve always been. The baby, underestimated from day one because of your order of birth. Roman says something, something you’re not hearing, but seeing. Watching. About his kids. Low blow. Kendall goes for his neck. There are moments like this where you watch your father instead of your brother. Such an angry, bitter, paranoid man. With his hands around him, you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. His name is on the tip of your tongue. Logans, but that is the wrong man before you. This is Kendall. You get between them, prying his hands off Roman. In doing so, you’ve put yourself in the line of fire. His eyes are so wild, so angry. Get off me! You yell, pushing him away, but he’s too strong. He’s too powerful. He holds you against the glass, his hands around your throat, hungry enough to bite. Rabid. You can’t breathe, fighting him off, unable to make any noise. Finally he realizes it’s you. You, not Rome, not Shiv, you. His baby. He lets go immediately, stepping back, stuttering. You can’t help it, the tears begin to run down your cheeks. You saw fury in his eyes, purebred wrath. If he wanted, he could have killed you. Just like Logan. You push through them, out the door, down the hall and towards the elevator. Kendall calls your name quieter now, defeated, ashamed. You don’t turn back. Sniffling, you wait for the doors to close, trying to catch your breath. You dial the number. I knew you’d call. . .
They turned on one another. They’d decided he would be their successor. The three of them, after Roman disappeared. You were the only one he talked to on the phone, Caroline losing the power to guilt you. You weren’t her child. That was to your advantage. She put him on with strict warnings not to upset him, saying he was fragile. He sounded softer, beaten down, but as defensive as ever. Ken and Shiv are on their way, you warned. I know. He didn’t have enough in him to fight or to joke. He was all facts. Are you okay? Me? I’m fine. You knew he wasn’t, but you weren’t going to go there to see him. You had plans. For now, you had to take his word for it. You weren’t going to ask him for his vote. Quite frankly, it didn’t matter anymore. They could pretend they still had precedence, that the crown they wore could protect them from a beheading. Their heads rolled just the same when dismembered from a body. In fact, it was the crown that weighed them down. They forgot this, racing with one another about who could get to him the fastest. It wouldn’t matter in the end. When would they realize this? When would they accept it already? I have to go, call me if you want, okay? What are you doing that’s so important? Just meeting a friend.
What about Tom? Tom? He is nothing. You shouldn’t but you laugh. Your drink is strong, his even stronger. But you trust him, you believe him. He can’t be backstabbing everyone. Besides, the x’s have been removed. Yours in their place. You take a look around the bar. Expensive. Oskar and Ebba keeping to themselves off to the side. They come when he says so. They sit when he says so. Now he’s holding a pen. Would you do the same? Your whole life, all you’ve done is follow. Follow your brothers and sister into any war they brought between them and your father, into every media frenzy and disaster because they convinced you it was always in your best interest. It wasn’t, though. It never was. In the end, it was always you getting hurt, taking the blow, having your name smeared across the headlines. From the moment he saw you he’s been trying to save you. They would hold your head under water and tell you they were helping you be a better swimmer. They were trying to kill you, drown you, just so there would be one less body in the pool. You were doing this for you, for them too. To show them that you weren’t just some lap dog they could order around. You were just as much a Roy as any of them. More so, even. You were smarter, you were savvy. You could get what you wanted, you always had.
Going in, you were meant to warn them. That was the plan. Always. The deal seemed enticing, it was the cherry on top, but you couldn’t hurt them like that. You would not turn into them. But, then they decided on Kendall. Without consulting you, without even asking. They had decided for the family when there were still two more to consider. You knew what Connor would have done, you all did. He would have put up a fight, but in the end would have agreed. You? You were going to warn them. You were going to put out the fire before the house burned down with them in it. Instead they called you from the car that morning, on their way back, telling you he was next. He would be in charge. Had they even considered you? Roman laughs. The baby doesn’t get to be in charge, ever. Kendall chuckled. You didn’t get a vote or say, it was decided. You bit the inside of your cheek, letting the conversation fall. They spoke around you anyways, making all these big decisions without you. It was fine, you decided, hanging up. It was fine. You would tell them when they got here. It wasn’t technically a secret, they just hadn’t asked. That was all. So, you accepted that Kendall would take over. After everything you’ve been through, after everything they put you through, at least there would be an ending. Your phone rang, but you ignored him. Fine, you though, at least it’s staying in the family. You weren’t about to turn bitter. You weren’t about to turn vengeful.
And then she threw the plan away the minute she could, believing that Tom would be Matsson’s CEO. You were going to tell them, really. As soon as that glass door closed, you were going to spill your guts. About him, about the deal, about everything. You swear on your father’s grave, you were going to tell them. And then he put his hands on you, around your neck, and any alliance you had was over. Any good graces you had left vanished. You wanted them to burn in that house. You wanted the whole world to burn. You put up with enough. With too much for far too long. He’s been trying to save you since you met, giving you outs from the maze you were in. You couldn’t leave them, they were your family. Now? Now they were nothing. They were strangers. You watched the bruises form in the reflective doors all the way down, listening to him carefully. If you still want it, it’s yours. Good. What about Tom? Like I said, he is nothing. Nobody. All you have to do is sign.
Roman and Shiv came back from that meeting, his stitches bloody. She wears a knowing look, the kind that says she thinks she’s won. He signed in front of everyone, in front of Matsson, who signs the stack of legal documents after. I’d like to announce my CEO. Shiv steps forward, but you come up behind her, around Roman, to Lukas’ side. Please welcome, Y/N Roy. Everyone applauds you as you sign your name. Roman’s jaw hangs open before catches himself, then looks to your sister. Her lips remain in a tight line. Tom looks surprised for the both of them, trying to get close to Lukas, but is unable to with all the cameras. Thank you, you whisper to him. You deserve this. You are the most capable Roy. You would have told them, you were going to, but this tastes so much better. You don’t care that your skin till hurts, still burns from his touch. You don’t care that your brother drifts away or that your sister storms off. You don’t care that Kendall is nowhere to be found. You don’t care about them anymore, they never did about you, not when it came to this.
You win.
More Posts from 666sachertorte666 and Others
Persecution (Roy!Sibling x Roman Roy)
Character/s: Roman, Jeryd, Kendall, Shiv
Word Count: 1,465
Requested: Hihihi!!! Would it be okay to request? Or maybe just as inspiration or something: i'd love to see the dynamic between roy!siblingreader and roman and how he would interact with them trying/being the big brother to them like connor and kendall are especially takeing care of them or being protective? I have severe roman brainrot rn lol and i love how you write each of them and overall the way you use words and how alive it all feels! ♡- anon
Inspired By: Family Jewels by Marina
Warning/s: sexual harassment, harassment, men being creeps
Tag: @locke-writes
A/N: You know I had to do it!!! You know I had to!!! I can't actually remember all of the election party episode, so this might be a bit off. My apologies!!! Stop my love, Roman makes my brain rot too he lives in there 24/7!!! Thank you for such kind words!!! I try my best :) I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
His hand lingers on the small of your back, on your shoulder, on your body. It burns all the way through. You don’t shake it off though. You can’t. So you smile and excuse yourself, trying to stop yourself from shuddering. It seems wherever you go, wherever you disappear, he is there. He is always there. If not in your presence, then calling, texting, emailing. He is obsessive, hungry, and you have been served to him on a silver platter whether they realize it or not. You sit alone on the couch, nursing your drink, your fourth or fifth of the night just to get through it. His knee touches you, his arm is around you. No one takes notice, not your brothers or sister. No one can save you. He speaks, but only to get closer, so close you can smell the scotch on his breath. He talks mindlessly of his campaign, of the work he and your brother have put into it. That is why you can’t resist. That is why you can’t push him away, throw your drink in his face, call him names that sit on the tip of your tongue. Because your brother has spent too much time building this relationship up, building this man up. You’ve told him time and time again that you don’t like him, that you side with your sister on this, but he doesn’t care. He is not your President yet, though God help you if he becomes him. You won’t be able to escape him. You won’t be able to run.
His hand is on your thigh, inching down. As if his touch is fire you jump up, dropping your glass, spilling all over him, all over Shiv's carpet. Fuck, you think, fuck, fuck fuck. You apologize profusely despite yourself, picking up the shards. They glitter under the light. The mumble of the crowd never stops, there isn’t a single pause in conversation. You are the baby, the least significant one. These politicians, their groups, they don’t see you. They don’t notice you. No one is coming to help you. He doesn’t seem to notice your distress, instead leaning down, face to face with you, watching you avoid his eyes. He rubs your shoulder, explaining that it was an accident, no big deal. With his finger he tips your head up, smile for me, sweetie. You recoil, apologizing, taking what pieces you have, headed towards the kitchen. You’re unsteady on your feet, too tipsy. You drank too much. You curse yourself, trying not to let the tears that welled up in your eyes fall. You weren’t even supposed to be here. You were supposed to be home, safe, far away from him where he could not possibly reach you. But they wanted you here, they needed you here, the biggest night leading up to the election. You could never disappoint them. Never. So you showed up and you drank and now you’re in this mess. You can feel him behind you, like a shadow, close but not close enough. You catch one look behind you, biting back a scream. He shakes hands, introduces himself, cracks jokes, all while moving through the crowd. You are his target, you always have been.
From the moment he laid eyes on you, you knew it was over. Too late. You were drowning and they were doing nothing to save you. He spoke to you like you were old friends, touchy from your moment of introduction. Y/n Roy, a pleasure to meet you. A kiss on the cheek. His arm snaking around your waist for the family photo. Pleading with your eyes, but no one to see, no one to understand. Your father was more than happy to serve you to him, proud you’d made a connection so quickly. Oblivious to your disgust, to your discomfort, as always. Still, he hadn’t been that proud of you in a long time, perhaps ever. You thought you could keep up the niceties until he lost, then you would rid yourself of him for good. And then your father died. And then Roman made his deal with him. And now? Now you’re leaning over the sink, trying not to throw up, your hands shaking at the thought of him being near you like that again. He got caught in conversation with a lesser political opponent, his eyes never leaving you. Someone had given him your contact information. First an email here and there. A thank you for being so kind to him. A proposition for coffee, then drink. Texts next. Jokes that fell flat. Apologies for your father. More dates, more events, all of them, he’s hoping, you’ll be there. Calls, too. Pictures. So many pictures. Silly ones, then not so funny. If he wasn’t constantly watching, talking, touching, then he was trying to. You never responded, but that didn’t stop him. It would never stop him.
What were you going to do?
You clutch the edge of the sink, taking a few deep breaths. As quickly as you can without making yourself even more nauseous, you cut through the pack, headed towards the bathroom. Without meaning to, your barge through your siblings semi-circle conversation. The tears are falling. All of them look up at you, startled, but you slam the door shut before they can ask anything. Shiv knocks softly, saying your name, trying to get you out. Y/n? Y/n what happened? Can you come out and talk to us? Knees to chest you slide down to the floor, drunk, tired, your skin still crawling. Trying to catch your breath. Y/n, come on, come out. Whatever happened, we can fix it. Kendall sounded exhausted. Rightfully so. You stifle a sob, the words coming out before you can stop them. I didn’t mean- I didn’t- I know this is important to you guys. Mencken. He’s important to them, he’s important to your brother, he was to your father. You couldn’t just suck it up for a little while, you had to cry like a child. Who? What are you talking about? It’s Roman now, his voice close to you. He’s not standing like the others, he’s on your level now. You don’t know how to explain it, you can’t. You fear it’ll sound ridiculous. That you’re making a bigger deal about this than necessary. You’re not sure what else to do. You open every tab, every phone call and text thread and email. Then you open the door just a crack, sliding the phone through, shutting it again. There's a moment of silence that feels like eternity. How long has been this going on? Roman sounds angry. At you? A while. It’s all you can manage, curling into a ball, bracing for the worst. For the yelling, the disappointment, for one of them to bang on the door and demand that you come out right now. You wait, and you wait, but it never comes. It never happens. Instead your brother and sister call after Roman, trying to stop him, but he’s seeing red.
There’s no stopping him.
It’s quiet for a long time, but you don’t move a muscle. Your nausea has gotten a little better, your head a little clearer. You call for your siblings, but none answer. What were they doing? What were they saying? You can hear muffled yelling through the door, but the words melt together. Tones rise in pitch. The apartment has quieted. Someone laughs, you think it’s Mencken. More quiet. A door slams. You wince. This is all your fault. Whatever they were doing, whatever was going on, it was your fault. It was all your fault. Then a voice, softer now. He’s gone, kid. You can come out. Roman. He didn’t sound angry, but when did that ever stop anyone? Certainly not your father. When you don’t, you hear him groan, getting to the floor. Through the door, you can hear the weight in his voice. I’m not mad at you, I, I could never be mad at you. A pause. You honestly think I would have chosen him over you? You nod before choking up a yes. It’s my fault, you start, but he doesn’t let you finish. It’s not, it never was. He’s a fucking creep y/n, a monster. I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. He's gone now. He won’t come near you ever again. He’s never been so sure of anything in his life. He would never let fucking Mencken do that to you again. He wouldn’t let anyone do that. He shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place, he’d carry this for the rest of his life. He let you down, your big brother. He let you down for the last time.
Yes, this is exactly what it looks like. (there are also a bunch of euro trash songs on there oops) these are just a bunch of songs i think kurt might also like ( ᵕᴗᵕ )✩
My personal fave on there: Fahradsattel (ofc)
i love your writing sm!!! i was wondering if you can do a studying with steve one to where he’s struggling with a subject and ur explaining it to him and he’s like not paying attention and just kinda admiring the reader ?? i think it would be so cute thank uu bye!! ❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹
gn!reader. hi thank you for ur request and the compliments <3 it's like tutoring instead of studying
“…there’s three stop codons, and— Steve, are you even listening to me?”
The library’s quiet, a half-hour from closing and it was only you and Steve and a librarian glaring at you for keeping her until they actually kicked you out for the night.
Steve blinks slowly.
“I’m listening,” he tells you, but he wrinkles his nose up and you know he’s lying because Steve Harrington is an awful liar.
“Okay, sure,” you say, rubbing at your tired eyes and taking another sip from your near-empty cup of coffee. “So, as I was saying — three stop codons that indicate the end of translation— Steve!”
Steve’s not really listening. He didn’t care that he was teetering on the edge of an F in biology because he didn’t care about biology either. He didn’t care about college and he didn’t care about what his parents thought about him since he was destined to be a deadbeat anyway.
And then there’s you. Charming, sweet you that only wanted the best for him and, really, how was he supposed to say no when you offered to tutor him?
And you were the total opposite of him. Hot-shot smartypants you set on the path to becoming valedictorian, found in corners with your nose buried in a book or annotating some research article he couldn’t bring himself to be interested in.
You swipe at your nose, thumbing through the pages of the thick biology textbook in front of you.
“I guess it’s not all that important,” you say, seeming a bit affronted by his lack of interest. “The unit’s almost over. You just need to memorize the stop codons and you’re good as gold, okay?”
Steve nods, markedly bored. Maybe it was sort of oddball for him to be jealous of a textbook — it was a textbook, for crying out loud, but it was the object of attention and he, beyond doubt, was not.
And he’s looking at you and he feels like he’s starring in a cheesy rom-com, harboring a secret crush on his tutor, then he’d get good and smart after enough tutoring and you’d disappear because he didn’t need you to help him anymore. It was the worst possible cliché.
The way the light catches on the tip of your nose, eyelashes fluttering as you flip through the chapters, lips pursed but you still managed to look pretty, even with wrinkles creasing your forehead that he would’ve found unflattering had it been anyone else.
Your words are a sort of unintelligible hum and he can’t look away but he doesn’t want to. You with your sweet smile and your perfect hair and soft sweater, good-looking without even trying, and perhaps evilly, without knowing, either.
“…and I think that’s all you really need to know,” you say, standing up and crossing your arms over the book you hold to your chest. “I can bring you a copy of my notes tomorrow. Night, Steve.”
Then he’s facing your back as you slip between bookshelves, a brio to your step despite the late hour and he’s completely and utterly taken with you.
masterlist thank you for reading ♡
For those of y'all who do have access to follow a TikTok link. Here's the video!!
I believe wholehwartedly that with every kid of the golden trio - Ken, Rome and Shiv - there has been a moment or multible moments when they were young (2 - 8 y.o) where they accidentally called Connor "Dad".
Succession Preference: Youngest Sibling Fainting
Requested: I would love either a preference of how each succession character would react to there S/O fainting around them or a baby roy sibling fic were she faints around some of their siblings ❤️Thank you ❤️❤️ - anon
A/N: I combined some of the ideas, I hope you don't mind!! I love this so much it's not even funny like they would all freak out internally I love it. I wanted to show different reasons for the fainting from each sibling, so that's why I chose the preference btw! I hope you like it my love! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
Connor is so worried. You're sitting outside his ranch when you go pale. It's been pretty hot out, but today takes the cake. You excuse yourself, getting up to go to the bathroom, when you faint. Immediately he's calling out for Willa, his heart going into his stomach. He loves you more than life itself. He's scared beyond belief. You wake up to the two of them above you, each of them using a tone they'd use to hush a crying baby. What happened? What the hell were they doing? Slowly, they get you up, walking you inside, getting you water and an ice pack for your head. You're burning up. Connor can't help but apologize over and over again. Of course it's not his fault, of course, but he won't hear it. It was the sun you tell him, but he's not listening. It's his job as big brother to take care of you, to make sure you're okay. When you're not, and he doesn't notice, that's on him. Connor banishes you to the inside for the rest of your stay, asking you every fifteen minutes if you feel okay, etc. He won't have you fainting again, not on his watch.
Kendall had no idea what happened. It was a side effect of a medication you were taking and telling no one about. Ever since your father passed you hadn't been able to sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, his body. You'd been on the plane, you'd been there through it all. You were dizzy, but only a little. You thought you could manage, that you were fine. You pull up in the car outside of Waystar, getting out, when you faint. Kendall runs around the car, calling your name, trying to shake you awake. You're only out for a minute, but it feels like an eternity. You're groggy, scared, unsure of what happened. He gets security to get you some water, holding on to you despite your fighting. You scare him so much he's gone pale. He doesn't stop asking if you're okay until you're seated in the office, someone checking you out, shining a light in your eyes. That's when you tell him about the pills, the not sleeping. He had no idea, though he knows he should have. He's your big brother, he should be protecting you from everything. He should have been there for you, before this. He makes a vow to himself that he'll be better, he has to be.
Shiv knew something was off. Ever since you'd been officially hired by your father at Waystar, you haven't been eating or sleeping or really leaving the office. You'd been tasked with a minefield and every wrong step would cost you your job. You were in the middle of presenting to your father, in front of everyone: Logan, Shiv, Gerri, Karl, Frank, Hugo, Kerry. You lose track of what you're saying in the middle of the sentence, so unlike yourself. That's when the dizziness hits, when you clutch the desk, when you drop. You bang your head pretty hard on the floor, though there isn't any outside damage. Shiv steps up right away, getting to the floor. Everyone is calling your name, questioning what to do, she's the only one who works. She fans you with her hand, calling your name. You're awake before you know it, terribly embarrassed, apologizing to your father. She doesn't let you get up though, not right away. She doesn't care how much work you have or what your father thinks, you hit your head pretty hard, she's surprised it's not cracked open. She needs to take care of you now, cursing herself she hadn't noticed earlier, hadn't stepped in and intervened earlier. You definitely feared losing your job now.
Roman had no idea how to help. You'd been there with him, before the funeral. Unlike his overly enthusiastic demeanor, you couldn't stop from freaking out. You were hyperventilating, feeling sick to your stomach, calling to him from the bathroom doorway that you didn't think you could go. That's when you faint, from getting all worked up. He drops his cards, running towards you. You look dead. Roman is shaking you, yelling your name, about to be sick himself when you open your eyes. He breathes the biggest sigh of relief, doing something so unlike himself: he hugs you. Hard. You have no memory of falling, of the last few minutes. He makes you stay there so he can call someone, anyone, unsure of what to do. Shiv gives him instructions. Through it all he cracks a few jokes, his heart still racing. You scared the shit out of him. He gets you water and gets you up slowly, bringing you to the couch. Shiv and Ken both on their way, coming to check on you, already in the same car. Awkwardly, he pats your leg, threatening to never scare him like that ever again.
Your Best Nightmare
Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader
Note: harrington!reader, can be biological or adopted, no reference to appearance. Also gender neutral, only characterization is that Steve is a protective older brother
request by @kazeddie85 : Harrington!reader x Eddie? They were dating before they went into the Upside Down and her brother has to force her to leave his body there. For days she’s depressed, won’t eat or go to school, even to graduation. She can’t sleep because of the nightmares of Eddie being ripped apart and hearing his screams. Until one night she sees him in her room. She thinks she’s dreaming but it turns out that it’s real- it’s vampire!Eddie.
wc: 3k
warnings: canon s4 event/character death, grief, depressive symptoms related to grief, nightmares, vampire!eddie
*****
“No! No!” Your shrill voice echoed through the quiet house. “No! Please!” Rapid footsteps thundered down the hallway and stopped abruptly at your doorway.
A darkness weighed heavily over the town of Hawkins, but the darkness in your own life was suffocating. You tossed and turned, sweat seeping through your bedsheets as your sleep-ridden brain conjured the worst of images.
Steve hesitated a moment at the threshold to your room, but soon his feet carried him to your bedside, a heartbreaking routine. He climbed onto your bed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. With the shuffling movement, you awoke and tears stained your cheeks as you hid them in your brother's nightshirt. Your cries were muffled but the shuddering of your body was unmistakable pain.
“Shhh, I’m here.” Steve whispered into the top of your head as he rubbed his hands over your shoulder in soothing circles. Words were futile but it was all he could do. Nothing could take away the pain of the prior few days.
“Y/n, just go!” Dustin shouted to you, piercing the haze of worry set deeply into your face. Ignoring the voice in your head telling you that you shouldn’t leave Dustin behind, you listened to the boy for once and turned tail to run out into the open expanse of the Upside Down in search of your boyfriend.
“Eddie!” You screamed into the void, looking all around you until your eyes settled on the swirling cloud of demobats in the distance. With a gut-wrenching realization, your breathing picked up and you took off in a sprint toward that nightmarish cloud in the distance. “Eddie! Hold on, I’m coming!” You puffed out with difficulty while you ran. But he couldn’t hear you. Through the blurry barrage of tears trickling down your face while you ran, you could just make out Eddie’s form, valiantly slaying the small-but-mighty beasts as they took turns dive-bombing toward him. A pride knocked in your chest at his performance, the brave way he fought despite the stupidity of leaving you behind in his trailer.
But pride was soon replaced with despair when Eddie’s body was yanked to the ground and your breath caught in your throat just as your feet froze and your body halted in shock. Recovering quickly, you continued running, cursing the ground for how far away you still were. With a quick glance behind you, you spotted Dustin limping away from the trailer, following after you slowly. But you kept running.
“Eddie!” Your shouts were growing more frantic with each passing second. As you neared enough for the scene to unfold clearer, you choked back a fresh round of tears. He was struggling. His body writhed on the ground and the black shadowy forms of the bats surrounded him, diving in and out with a rhythmic thrum.
It was when Eddie stopped fighting back that your heart dropped into your stomach and you ran with a renewed desperation to save the man who was so set on saving you.
“Was it the same one again?” Steve asked you once your body relaxed and you sank exhausted into his side. Steve swung his legs up fully onto your bed and you curled into his side, feeling once again like a little kid afraid of the monsters in your closet. But this time the monsters were real.
Nodding your answer to his question, Steve tightened his grip on you. He settled in for the long run, letting his eyes drift shut while you battled to dismiss your terrorizing thoughts in order to get at least a few hours of rest.
The truth was, Steve understood all too well. Your nightmares were relentless and they were like clockwork. But Steve wrestled daily with his own memories of that night, although nothing could compare to the misery he knew you faced. At first, Steve had been resistant to the idea of you dating Eddie Munson, resident freak of Hawkins High. But seeing the way your smile stretched wider than ever before when you were with him, and the way Eddie looked after you like you were his greatest treasure - Steve couldn’t deny that there was something special there, no matter how confused he was by the pairing.
But that made this reality all the more worse. School was now impossible for you, everything reminded you of Eddie. Eddie had escorted you through every hallway to each of your classes, sacrificing his own class time to be with you - something you knew he wasn’t too heartbroken to do. Every sight and every smell would bring back the emptiness in your chest. So you refused to go.
Graduation was nearing and you were barely keeping your head above water. But if Eddie couldn’t graduate, why should you? You’d be lucky to make it through the rest of the year anyway, because even the teachers had to pretend like the whole town wasn’t falling to pieces and the apocalyptic end of the world wasn’t just around the corner.
Steve checked in on you on his breaks from work, but most times you would hide under the covers and let the phone ring with no desire to respond.
And then there were your parents - they were completely unsympathetic to your condition, insisting that a “selfish, murdering psychopath like that Munson boy doesn’t deserve the grieving you are giving him.” They never liked him, or more like they never cared enough to try, and you hadn’t the energy to put up a fight.
It was endless.
You weren’t sure how your body hadn’t shriveled up from all the tears you expended each day. And you simply couldn’t comprehend how life could go on with any semblance of normalcy knowing what had happened in the Upside Down that fateful night.
“No, no no no.” Your head shook back and forth in denial as your eyes swept over the chewed up form of your boyfriend. “Eddie,” it came out more as a whimper, as you knelt beside him, immediately taking his hand into your own and cradling his head in your lap. His eyes fluttered open but his usually bright and piercing brown eyes were now a deep muddy color, like the light was being pulled from him with every passing second.
Your tears began to fall freely and without restraint, dropping down over Eddie’s body, your tears mixing with his blood. And there was so much blood.
“Edds, I’m here.” You choked it out, horrified at the croak of your voice. His gaze met yours and despite the severity of his injuries, he smiled at you.
You could have melted right there, his smile alone sending a wave of welcome warmth over you. But this wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t be happening.
His smile faded when a fresh jolt of pain seized his body, his muddled brain only half processing the state of his body.
When Dustin finally arrived, the weight of the moment intensified, seeing the agony behind the younger boy’s eyes was difficult to bear on top of your own emotions spilling over. You looked at each other with a knowing failure.
Eddie’s body shuddered in your arms and you fought back the urge to scream out into the vast expanse of this nightmarish world.
With nothing around to stop the bleeding or dull the pain, you were helpless. As you watched the life drain from his eyes, his dying words to you and Dustin would be tattooed in your mind for the rest of your life, you were sure. You begged for the fates to bring him back to you. What had you done to deserve this?
After what felt like an eternity, you heard shouts in the distance. You knew that voice. And it was panicked.
Steve, Robin, and Nancy crested the horizon and ran in your direction. At the same time, you felt the ground beneath you rumble and the sky erupted in fluorescent lightning. Dustin looked up at them as they neared, but you kept your eyes glued to the still and cold face of Eddie beneath you, afraid he would disappear if you looked away. You ignored your racing heartbeat responding to whatever was happening to the very ground on which you sat.
Once the others had approached close enough to know it was too late for their friend, Robin and Nancy dropped down behind Dustin and offered what little comfort they could. Steve, however, was at your side in an instant and he would never forget the racking sobs shaking your body as he held you and wished he could make it all go away.
But there was no time to waste. With your head curled up under Steve’s chin, he whispered to you frantically. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. But we have to go. We have to get out of here.”
You were awash with every possible emotion all at once. You shook your head fervently. No, you couldn’t leave.
“Yes, we have to go, come on.” Steve moved to stand and he tried to pull you up with him. But you threw your body back down over Eddie’s in a last ditch effort to remain behind, despite knowing that Steve would never allow you to stay here when you could already feel the world crumbling around you.
Steve’s hands gripped your shoulders and pulled you away, but you didn’t go easily. “No, I won’t leave him!” You fought against his hold but you were no match for Steve as a bone-deep fatigue sank in over the overwhelming heartache. “I can’t- I won’t- Steve please.” You begged through your tears.
Another rumble sounded and all heads turned toward the sound. Not a hundred yards away, the ground was opening up and an eerie red glow emanated from within.
Nancy pulled Dustin to his feet and yelled over the din of destruction, “Steve, we need to leave NOW!” She was already pulling Robin and Dustin behind her, heading toward the Munson trailer to return to Hawkins before the Upside Down imploded on itself.
Steve hauled you along behind him, refusing to let you have your way and remain behind with Eddie. “Eddie!” You cried out repeatedly, an unwavering flow of tears barreling across your cheeks.
“We have to leave him, Y/n. I’m sorry, there’s just no time.” Steve tried to remain calm and gentle but he was worried they had already wasted too much time. “We can come back for him later.” He knew this was a lie, there was no coming back here, not after all of this.
And so Steve dragged your emotionally drained body away from Eddie’s. It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do, leaving Eddie behind in the place that had quite literally destroyed everything you loved. And the image of his body laying alone in that horrid place would haunt you for days to come.
It had been two months since that night that scarred your heart and mind irreparably. Two months of crying into your pillow and trying desperately to mend the broken pieces of your life. Two months of tossing and turning to the tune of nightmarish images of Eddie and the bats and the sorry state they left him in. Two months of Steve and the others fretting over you and your inability to move on, yet understanding the difficulty of it all.
Tonight, the routine would start all over again. You knew exactly what would happen. You would lay in bed, pushing away the images that would plague your waking mind, trying in vain to forget everything long enough to fall asleep. But then the sleep demons would slink through your thoughts and memories and pull the images back, bringing those memories to life and forcing you to relive those horrific moments. The final moments of Eddie’s life.
So you laid yourself down, forced away those painful thoughts and after a fit of discomfort, you finally drifted to sleep.
Your dream tonight was different, however. In your dream, you imagined leaving Eddie’s body behind and the toll if had on you as Steve dragged your body away, kicking and screaming. But this time, you awoke from the nightmare much faster than usual. Because as soon as the image of Eddie’s lone body solidified and your dream self stood over his prone form, he opened his eyes and his red irises stared back at you. This image jolted you awake. You sat up abruptly in bed, panting heavily from the confusion and the barrage of feelings threatening to explode from within yourself.
Your eyes searched the darkness around you, ensuring that you were still in your bed at home, where you had been just a few hours ago.
But what your eyes found was even more alarming than you could have expected. Standing just a few feet from the foot of your bed was a tall, lean figure with a head of curly, shoulder-length hair. The familiarity struck you to the core.
Your breathing picked up more, matching the escalated beating of your heart. You could have sworn you had woken up from your dream, but blinking away the image before you was proven impossible. This was real.
“Eddie?” You whispered into the darkness, your voice quiet and hesitant.
He took a step toward you and you pulled the blankets tighter around you. This couldn’t be real, right?
The figure raised his hands in a defensive stance, and he stepped into the dim light of the moon cast through your open window - that window had remained closed for the past two months, a reminder of all the times your Eddie had snuck in after hours.
But when the figure was illuminated in that faint moonlight, your breath hitched. The chestnut-colored eyes you adored so much were staring back at you, but the blood-red irises were startlingly new. It was Eddie. And yet it wasn’t.
“Eddie, is- is that you?”
Hope sparked, but you refused to hold too tight for fear of utter disappointment.
In the blink of an eye, he was at your bedside, knelt beside you. His unmistakably gentle gaze was trained on you and you alone. His hand was cold as his fingers laced in yours, you could feel the heat from your own hands transfer to him.
It was as if time stood still in that moment. It was him. It was your Eddie. And yet he was different.
“I thought you were dead. You- your body was- you stopped breathing.” You tried to reason it out. Your hand untangled from his and you let your fingers dance over his shoulders, his cheeks, feeling flesh and only barely allowing yourself to hold onto the crumb of joy at believing this was really him.
Your hands cupped his cheeks and you knew without a doubt. Eddie closed his eyes at your touch, a pained expression of lost time swept over him.
Into the silence broken only by the slight sniffles brought on by the tears you hadn’t realized were falling, Eddie spoke to you, hearing his voice for the first time in two months. “It’s me, but I’m- I’m not the same. I've… changed. I’m different.”
You laughed at his choice of words. “You’ve always been different. That’s why I’ve always loved you so much.” You pressed your forehead against his, relishing in the closeness you had missed with your whole heart.
Eddie pulled his head back and took your hands in his, lowering them into your lap. He was serious, more serious than you had ever seen him before. “It’s much more than that now. I can’t- you just have to trust me for right now. But I needed you to know that I’m here, and I’m- not exactly alive but I’m here. And this will all be over soon.” He looked around and paused, listening into the silence at the muted squeaks of the floorboards in the hall. “I have to go. I have to get back before-“ he stopped himself. Then continued. “I love you and I’ll be back. Just trust me.” Before you could protest, Eddie moved and within the blur of a fraction of a second, he was at the window, hands braced against the frame. He hesitated, waiting.
Then you heard it. Footsteps padding down the hall, just outside your room. The door swung open slowly and Steve stood stock still, his eyes sweeping the room, first finding you sitting up in bed, then following your gaze toward the window, he spotted Eddie. A sight he thought he would never see again. How many times had Steve caught Eddie in this exact position, poised for escape through your second floor window.
While Steve remained frozen in place, processing the scene before him, Eddie nodded his head toward his friend before jumping from the windowsill toward the ground below.
Alarmed by the sudden movement, Steve ran toward the window, looking down toward the ground below, but seeing no sign of the Munson boy who had been there not two seconds before.
He turned toward you for answers. And what he saw almost melted him right then and there. It was subtle, but for the first time in two months, you were smiling. You had a dreamy look of slight disbelief, but then again, what you had just witnessed was something out of your dreams.
When you met Steve’s questioning gaze, you told him the most beautiful truth. “He’s back. I don’t know how and I don’t care. But he’s back. Eddie’s back.”
*****
wanna be tagged next time?
All: @jellyfishbeansontoast @makebank @astrydis @gloryekaterina @outerbankslut @miraclesoflove @hufflepuffhaze @glitt3r-litt3r @simonsbluee
Stranger Things: @sortagaysortahigh @maycat-19-142 @theoreticslut @ambearsstuff @emersongareth @munson-burner @val-writesstuff @milkiane @luvmybbies @meaganjm @melody303 @tiaamberxx @fairyhope028 @darklingbrekksov @bijleegiregi @buckysgirl17 @unbelievablefandoms @spongebob-in-the-upsidedown @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sadbitchfangirl @fandomsunited @yoalchumly @rienstalled @flwrdia
I want to live by myself when I move out of my parent's place but I'm really afraid of money problems? I'm afraid that the only place I can afford will be in the ghetto and it'll all be torn apart and I'll only be allowed to eat one granola bar a week. I'm really stressing out about this. I don't know anything about after school life. I don't know anything about paying bills or how to buy an apartment and it's really scaring me. is there anything you know that can help me?
HI darling,
I’ve actually got a super wonderful masterpost for you to check out:
Home
what the hell is a mortgage?
first apartment essentials checklist
how to care for cacti and succulents
the care and keeping of plants
Getting an apartment
Money
earn rewards by taking polls
how to coupon
what to do when you can’t pay your bills
see if you’re paying too much for your cell phone bill
how to save money
How to Balance a Check Book
How to do Your Own Taxes
Health
how to take care of yourself when you’re sick
things to bring to a doctor’s appointment
how to get free therapy
what to expect from your first gynecologist appointment
how to make a doctor’s appointment
how to pick a health insurance plan
how to avoid a hangover
a list of stress relievers
how to remove a splinter
Emergency
what to do if you get pulled over by a cop
a list of hotlines in a crisis
things to keep in your car in case of an emergency
how to do the heimlich maneuver
Job
time management
create a resume
find the right career
how to pick a major
how to avoid a hangover
how to interview for a job
how to stop procrastinating
How to write cover letters
Travel
ULTIMATE PACKING LIST
Traveling for Cheap
Travel Accessories
The Best Way to Pack a Suitcase
How To Read A Map
How to Apply For A Passport
How to Make A Travel Budget
Better You
read the news
leave your childhood traumas behind
how to quit smoking
how to knit
how to stop biting your nails
how to stop procrastinating
how to stop skipping breakfast
how to stop micromanaging
how to stop avoiding asking for help
how to stop swearing constantly
how to stop being a pushover
learn another language
how to improve your self-esteem
how to sew
learn how to embroider
how to love yourself
100 tips for life
Apartments/Houses/Moving
Moving Out and Getting an Apartment, Part 1: Are You Sure? (The Responsible One)
Moving Out and Getting an Apartment, Part 2: Finding the Damn Apartment (The Responsible One)
Moving Out and Getting an Apartment, Part 3: Questions to Ask about the Damn Apartment (The Responsible One)
Moving Out and Getting an Apartment, Part 4: Packing and Moving All of Your Shit (The Responsible One)
How to Protect Your Home Against Break-Ins (The Responsible One)
Education
How to Find a Fucking College (The Sudden Adult)
How to Find Some Fucking Money for College (The Sudden Adult)
What to Do When You Can’t Afford Your #1 Post-Secondary School (The Sudden Adult)
Stop Shitting on Community College Kids (Why Community College is Fucking Awesome) (The Responsible One)
How to Ask for a Recommendation Letter (The Responsible One)
How to Choose a College Major (The Sudden Adult)
Finances
How to Write a Goddamn Check (The Responsible One)
How to Convince Credit Companies You’re Not a Worthless Bag of Shit (The Responsible One)
Debit vs Credit (The Responsible One)
What to Do if Your Wallet is Stolen/Lost (The Sudden Adult)
Budgeting 101 (The Responsible One)
Important Tax Links to Know (The Responsible One)
How to Choose a Bank Without Screwing Yourself (The Responsible One)
Job Hunting
How to Write a Resume Like a Boss (The Responsible One)
How to Write a Cover Letter Someone Will Actually Read (The Responsible One)
How to Handle a Phone Interview without Fucking Up (The Responsible One)
10 Sites to Start Your Job Search (The Responsible One)
Life Skills
Staying in Touch with Friends/Family (The Sudden Adult)
Bar Etiquette (The Sudden Adult)
What to Do After a Car Accident (The Sudden Adult)
Grow Up and Buy Your Own Groceries (The Responsible One)
How to Survive Plane Trips (The Sudden Adult)
How to Make a List of Goals (The Responsible One)
How to Stop Whining and Make a Damn Appointment (The Responsible One)
Miscellaneous
What to Expect from the Hell that is Jury Duty (The Responsible One)
Relationships
Marriage: What the Fuck Does It Mean and How the Hell Do I Know When I’m Ready? (Guest post - The Northwest Adult)
How Fucked Are You for Moving In with Your Significant Other: An Interview with an Actual Real-Life Couple Living Together™ (mintypineapple and catastrofries)
Travel & Vehicles
How to Winterize Your Piece of Shit Vehicle (The Responsible One)
How to Make Public Transportation Your Bitch (The Responsible One)
Other Blog Features
Apps for Asshats
Harsh Truths & Bitter Reminders
Asks I’ll Probably Need to Refer People to Later
Apartments (or Life Skills) - How Not to Live in Filth (The Sudden Adult)
Finances - Tax Basics (The Responsible One)
Important Documents - How to Get a Copy of Your Birth Certificate (The Responsible One)
Important Documents - How to Get a Replacement ID (The Responsible One)
Health - How to Deal with a Chemical Burn (The Responsible One)
Job Hunting - List of Jobs Based on Social Interaction Levels (The Sudden Adult)
Job Hunting - How to Avoid Falling into a Pit of Despair While Job Hunting (The Responsible One)
Job Hunting - Questions to Ask in an Interview (The Responsible One)
Life Skills - First-Time Flying Tips (The Sudden Adult)
Life Skills - How to Ask a Good Question (The Responsible One)
Life Skills - Reasons to Take a Foreign Language (The Responsible One)
Life Skills - Opening a Bar Tab (The Sudden Adult)
Relationships - Long Distance Relationships: How to Stay in Contact (The Responsible One)
Adult Cheat Sheet:
what to do if your pet gets lost
removing stains from your carpet
how to know if you’re eligible for food stamps
throwing a dinner party
i’m pregnant, now what?
first aid tools to keep in your house
how to keep a clean kitchen
learning how to become independent from your parents
job interview tips
opening your first bank account
what to do if you lose your wallet
tips for cheap furniture
easy ways to cut your spending
selecting the right tires for your car
taking out your first loan
picking out the right credit card
how to get out of parking tickets
how to fix a leaky faucet
get all of your news in one place
getting rid of mice & rats in your house
when to go to the e.r.
buying your first home
how to buy your first stocks
guide to brewing coffee
first apartment essentials checklist
coping with a job you hate
30 books to read before you’re 30
what’s the deal with retirement?
difference between insurances
Once you’ve looked over all those cool links, I have some general advice for you on how you can have some sort of support system going for you:
Reasons to move out of home
You may decide to leave home for many different reasons, including:
wishing to live independently
location difficulties – for example, the need to move closer to university
conflict with your parents
being asked to leave by your parents.
Issues to consider when moving out of home
It’s common to be a little unsure when you make a decision like leaving home. You may choose to move, but find that you face problems you didn’t anticipate, such as:
Unreadiness – you may find you are not quite ready to handle all the responsibilities.
Money worries – bills including rent, utilities like gas and electricity and the cost of groceries may catch you by surprise, especially if you are used to your parents providing for everything. Debt may become an issue.
Flatmate problems – issues such as paying bills on time, sharing housework equally, friends who never pay board, but stay anyway, and lifestyle incompatibilities (such as a non-drug-user flatting with a drug user) may result in hostilities and arguments.
Your parents may be worried
Think about how your parents may be feeling and talk with them if they are worried about you. Most parents want their children to be happy and independent, but they might be concerned about a lot of different things. For example:
They may worry that you are not ready.
They may be sad because they will miss you.
They may think you shouldn’t leave home until you are married or have bought a house.
They may be concerned about the people you have chosen to live with.
Reassure your parents that you will keep in touch and visit regularly. Try to leave on a positive note. Hopefully, they are happy about your plans and support your decision.
Tips for a successful move
Tips include:
Don’t make a rash decision – consider the situation carefully. Are you ready to live independently? Do you make enough money to support yourself? Are you moving out for the right reasons?
Draw up a realistic budget – don’t forget to include ‘hidden’ expenses such as the property’s security deposit or bond (usually four weeks’ rent), connection fees for utilities, and home and contents insurance.
Communicate – avoid misunderstandings, hostilities and arguments by talking openly and respectfully about your concerns with flatmates and parents. Make sure you’re open to their point of view too – getting along is a two-way street.
Keep in touch – talk to your parents about regular home visits: for example, having Sunday night dinner together every week.
Work out acceptable behaviour – if your parents don’t like your flatmate(s), find out why. It is usually the behaviour rather than the person that causes offence (for example, swearing or smoking). Out of respect for your parents, ask your flatmate(s) to be on their best behaviour when your parents visit and do the same for them.
Ask for help – if things are becoming difficult, don’t be too proud to ask your parents for help. They have a lot of life experience.
If your family home does not provide support
Not everyone who leaves home can return home or ask their parents for help in times of trouble. If you have been thrown out of home or left home to escape abuse or conflict, you may be too young or unprepared to cope.
If you are a fostered child, you will have to leave the state-care system when you turn 18, but you may not be ready to make the sudden transition to independence.
If you need support, help is available from a range of community and government organisations. Assistance includes emergency accommodation and food vouchers. If you can’t call your parents or foster parents, call one of the associations below for information, advice and assistance.
Where to get help
Your doctor
Kids Helpline Tel. 1800 55 1800
Lifeline Tel. 13 11 44
Home Ground Services Tel. 1800 048 325
Relationships Australia Tel. 1300 364 277
Centrelink Crisis or Special Help Tel. 13 28 50
Tenants Union of Victoria Tel. (03) 9416 2577
Things to remember
Try to solve any problems before you leave home. Don’t leave because of a fight or other family difficulty if you can possibly avoid it.
Draw up a realistic budget that includes ‘hidden’ expenses, such as bond, connection fees for utilities, and home and contents insurance.
Remember that you can get help from a range of community and government organizations.
(source)
Keep me updated? xx
I have no words this is Amazing
Yandere Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Ramsay Bolton (Platonic Scenario - "A Fool's Mistake 3: Taking the Black")
Warnings: Abuse of Power, Reality Warping, Violence, Blood, Death, Mentions of Torture, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.
Word Count: 7825.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here)
The silhouettes of free folk dashed between trees and rocks in the silverish light of the full moon. They were clothed in the skins of woodland animals, and they wielded with much dexterity a combination of bows, axes and spears crafted from the forest.
Droves of the free folk had begun to scale the Wall at yesterday's sunset and, from midnight to daybreak, had reached the point where falling meant certain death. Despite enough time passing for the sun to peek over the mountaintop, the space that surrounded the free folk remained dark as night.
The sky was black but held no stars as if drapes had been thrown over the earth. The top of the Wall, a summit that appeared taller than the clouds, was covered in impenetrable darkness. Glimmers of sunlight skirted the darkness, and the scarce light traced the shape of a bubble around the free folk who dared to rise.
The ground was no longer visible to those who looked down in the hope of descending the Wall and testing the climb another day. The ice wall in front of them and the makeshift tools used to hook it was all that met their eyes beyond the shadows.
Whispers seeped into the ears of the free folk, whispers that resembled the faint voices of the people climbing with them. The voices asked for the location of the other free folk, asked after their health and encouraged them to resume the climb.
Once the first ragged antler and stake impaled the ice at the top of the Wall, the free folk realised that their vision had been dulling. In the final moments of heaving oneself onto the Wall, each member of the expedition noted themselves to be the only living thing there.
The sight that greeted them flashed back and forth between the bodies of their fellow free folk and an empty stretch of ice. The shadows warped their eye and seemed to drill into their heads before the darkness took them to the ground far below.
When no birds sang and the air became colder than the depths of a northern pond, you watched for creatures with blue eyes and ghostly skin.
Except for the occasional lash of shadows at the base of snowy trees, the woods lay motionless and free of dark magic on this hour. The current flowing from the distant Bay of Seals was tumultuous and churned as if locked in a storm, but it carried nothing more than the rare howl and rush of icy breath.
* * *
With his wrists bound to the back of a chair and his ankles tied to the wood legs, the sole mercenary to survive the recent battle at the Dreadfort sat in his own sweat. A mob of Bolton soldiers encircled him with their swords raised and their eyes locked on whichever part of him they were most inclined to cut.
The large door to the dining hall creaked open in an outward swing of metal and bending joints. Ramsay Bolton stormed into the room, his fingers playing with a gore-drenched knife.
After a moment of examining the mercenary, the immediate wrath flaring on his face waned and evolved into morbid curiosity. “I remember you.” Ramsay tilted his head and scanned the man's visible wounds and foul odour to confirm his suspicion.
It was then that the mercenary's stomach dropped to bottomless depths, and he began to whisper prayers for the mercy of the Mother.
Unlike the frantic turns and agitated stomps of earlier, Ramsay's next movements were slower and dominated by quiet steps that struck a greater panic in the heart of the mercenary each time. “You took a long look at them.”
From his pocket came the glint of a knife, prompting the mercenary to squirm against the ropes and expel a whimper.
Ramsay twirled the weapon in his right hand and conveyed a taste of future pain with unrepentant eye contact. “Just before you tried to kill them.”
Before the tip of the steel could blind the mercenary, the harsh voice of Roose Bolton echoed in the dining hall and overpowered any wails spilling out of the mercenary. “Ramsay!”
The sound was little more than a growl, and Ramsay paused with his knife hovering just in front of the mercenary's eyeball.
The violent shake gripping his arm did not cease, spreading to his lips and upper body as he stared into the mercenary's terror with bubbling insanity that flailed against the bridle he was compelled to put on it. Ramsay vented slivers of his untapped rage through the tremulous breaths whipping past his bared teeth.
While the soldiers beside him kept a tight hold on their swords, Roose did not allow his voice to waver. “We need this one alive.”
The blade was so close that the mercenary's eyelashes brushed it every time he blinked.
It quivered with the threat of twitching too far and impaling his skull before he could release a full scream, but Ramsay seemed to find enough delight in his father's command that he turned his head away. “Oh, he'll live.”
Just as the knife reeled back and then plunged forward, a booming announcement sounded from Roose. “We're going on a diplomatic mission to White Harbor.”
Ramsay listened to his father with a distracted mind plagued by runaway thoughts and bits of emotion he could not manage, his eyes flitting between Roose and the nearest objects while his fingers twitched with ideas of what pain to inflict on the captured mercenary. “When will you return?”
Roose looked upon his struggle with amusement and indifference. “You should know. You're coming with me.”
As if Roose had revoked his legitimacy as the heir, Ramsay raised his head and widened his eyes. The tension clenching his shoulders and jaw shifted to confused glances, and his lips moved to search for the appropriate response that changed with each surge of dissatisfaction and the sense of a goal stepping out of his reach.
“My place is here. I have rallied the men.”
Roose began to approach the main entrance to the fortress and did not slow his stride. “Your place is where I say it is.”
Ramsay stopped walking, but Roose ignored the vicious stare drilling into the back of his head. “Father,” murmured Ramsay, and his next words were spoken through gritted teeth. “I need to find them.”
Roose took a final, definitive step forward and turned, the bottom of his cloak gliding across the floor. “There will be a time for that. Right now, what you need to do is mount a horse and ride with me to White Harbor.”
* * *
The chambers of Tyrion Lannister stank of wine on most nights, but the scent was especially potent on this night. An empty flagon sat at the foot of a luxurious chair, which Tyrion used to rest his legs while he put his mouth to the work of downing every glass he could fill.
With his knuckles pressed underneath his chin, Tyrion observed the half-full goblet with a curious glint in his eye. He laid his hand over the top of it and waited in silence for many a second.
When he retracted his hand and peeked into the cup, a foolish part of him hoped that it would be full again. A layer of wine at the bottom was all that greeted him. Tyrion hurled the goblet at the wall, and a thick wave of blackberry wine exploded onto the stone.
The glass clattered to the floor and rolled into the leg of a chair, streaks of reddish-purple cascading down the rock and draining into the crevices. Droplets continued to seep from the rim of the cup as trails of the dark liquor mixed with the red of a Lannister banner and fell behind a dresser.
As the door slammed behind him, Tyrion stamped past the duo of guards protecting his chambers and snapped his fingers. “With me.”
The guards lifted their shields from the floor and hurried to follow.
Tyrion marched down the corridor with a palace guard on his left and his right. Flanked by the men, he rounded a corner and leaned forward to place his hands upon an ornate set of double doors.
He pushed open the door to Cersei's chambers and found her sitting at the table beside the balcony, a glass in her hand and red wine on her lips. The rattles of the guards' swords and armour must have been loud in the silent halls, for she was facing the entrance without a lick of surprise.
She lowered the glass and eyed him as if he were an insect that had crawled into her bedroom from a hole in the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Tyrion widened his eyes and removed his hands from the door, allowing it to shut at his back. “I was concerned,” he lied, feigning fear in an exaggerated, deliberately obvious manner. “Just the other day, a man had his throat slit for sleeping.”
Cersei kept her voice low as though others were in danger of listening. “I believe that to be the work of our mutual friend.” She placed distinct acrimony on the word “friend,” her lip curling.
As her gaze drifted off to the cityscape outside her balcony, Tyrion wondered if the bitterness came from her belief that the word was untrue or the implication that the two of them could ever share a companion. “Don't tell that to the king. He was quite upset at having his prized day interrupted.”
The hand that held onto the wine glass began to shake, and Cersei refrained from looking at her brother. “Joffrey won't see me.” A heaviness existed in her words, a quiet misery that she was attempting to drown in wine.
Tyrion kept his frown level. “Oh, yes. Not since you promised the sorcerer would find their own way back to him, a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.” He tilted his head upon saying the second bit.
Cersei shut her eyes and clenched her teeth slightly, refusing to let the posh smile on her lips fall. She opened her eyes and glanced in his direction when the soft thuds of footsteps came near the table.
A chair squealed as it was pulled from under the table, and Tyrion plopped on it with his hands resting close to Cersei's. “If I say it, I would be branded an enemy of the crown and lose my head within the hour. Perhaps Jaime?”
She turned farther away and fixed her eye on the open doors to the balcony. “Joffrey's working him like a dog.”
A slight sigh rolled out of him, and Tyrion closed his eyes for a pensive instant before opening them with a degree of sympathy. “If Jaime could be here with you, he would be.” He unfurled his arms, turned his palms to the ceiling, and gestured to the bedroom.
Lifting the glass, Cersei took another sip. “I'm not so sure.”
* * *
The courtyard of the Red Keep smelled of pollen as a medley of berry bushes and wildflowers bloomed in the light of day. The leafy grass was green as the coat of arms from House Tyrell of Highgarden, and it swayed in a cool breeze that was welcomed by the lords and ladies dilly-dallying in the sun.
From the generous lengths of the surrounding corridors, Varys and Petyr Baelish strolled into the small garden. Each one moved in tandem with the other just enough to keep up the illusion of leisure and signify that the interaction would not end until one of them deviated from the path.
“The Boltons are a minute settlement thousands of miles away in the North with one fiefdom no larger than my biggest brothel,” said Petyr.
A slight nod of the head came from Varys. “Yes, but some of my little birds have flown north for the summer.”
“And what songs do they sing?” asked Petyr, his lips casting the shadow of a smile as he walked past a servant girl consorting with a visiting lord.
Varys spotted similar goings-on in a corner of the garden ahead, and he cast his gaze in the direction of the man beside him. “They sing that the Bolton's youngest is unbalanced yet terribly ambitious. Certainly one to watch.”
Petyr slowed to a stop and turned on the heels of his boots. He blinked slowly and released a modest sigh, his eyes flickering to his surroundings while his voice quieted. “He's one man with neither the stomach nor the mind for the South.”
Varys looked askance, tilted his head, and raised his shoulders a bit as if considering Petyr's words. “One man nearly toppled the realm not so long ago,” he replied.
The subtlest chuckle—no more than an audible exhale—slipped out of Petyr. His neck bent towards the ground slightly, and his attention remained on the cobblestone patterns flowing beneath him for a contemplative instant. “Indeed,” he conceded. “I have to go.”
Varys bowed his head. “Ah, very well.” He lifted his eyes to catch sight of Petyr slinking to the edge of the garden. “Perhaps we can speak again soon, Lord Baelish.”
As the shadow cast by the arch of the Red Keep fell over him, Petyr turned and offered a glib smile. “Perhaps we can, Lord Varys.”
* * *
Every man atop the Wall was struck by an unearthly coldness that night.
No matter how thick the coats around their shoulders were, the wind sliced their face and nipped any exposed skin with its frosty claws. The cold dove into their bones and seemed to chill them from the inside out.
Despite being rekindled every other minute, the light of the torches was dimmer here. The fog of the night was murkier than the bottom of a bog. The fires were short-lived, swept away into simmering embers by sudden and isolated gusts.
The same light that would have illuminated your body was extinguished by the wind. The brother in charge of relighting it swore under his breath. When he peered at you in wonderment of your apparent resistance to the frigid weather, a shiver ran through him as if he had been stuck with a frost-tipped spear.
It killed the words on his tongue.
The dark around you seemed deeper and more foreboding than any cave, unaffected by light even as the moon beamed down upon it. The brother saw the outline of you hidden in the darkness, and it was all he needed to see to decide that the remainder of his watch was someone else's responsibility for the night.
In the ensuing calm, your head surveyed one end of the forest below to the other. No figures had crept out of the woods yet.
The clanks and grinds of the lift rising to the top of the Wall sounded from behind, and Samwell Tarly stepped off it into the snow. The soft, pearly white material was crushed under his heavy boots. After a brief pause, his footsteps approached you and stopped at your side.
Your head slowly turned, which allowed you to catch Sam peeking in your direction. He glanced downward and released a bashful chuckle upon being caught, but a look of childish excitement soon washed over his full face. “Jon says you're a wizard!”
The snow crunched as Sam shuffled his feet, his gaze darting from his shoes to you. “I've never seen a real wizard before!” He shifted again and failed to restrain the huge grin breaking out across his lips. “Only read about them in books,” he added, somewhat lowering his voice.
Sam leaned forward and looked up and down at your iron mask and dark robes. “Do you all dress like that?” He outstretched his arms to push his cloak back and looked at his own black coat and armour. “Maybe we're more alike than I thought!” What escaped him next was a quick, “Ha!”
He turned his head back to you and kept his mouth open slightly as if expecting you to agree, but your continued silence prompted his smile to falter.
As his eyes searched the snowy darkness that lay in front of him, Sam shook his head. “My father detests wizards. Thinks magic's for nellies who don't want to fight.” There was a layer of distaste and pain to his words as though repeating his father's opinion had poisoned his tongue and caused a bad memory to churn within his mind.
“Not me,” he blurted, his head bouncing towards you before moving back again. Sam leaned over and patted his chest with both hands once. “Big fan.”
As Sam marvelled at his proximity to a real magic user, the lift descended into the bowels of Castle Black and then rose to the top of the Wall after a few minutes of rasping. The dark-haired Jon Snow emerged from the fiery light of the lift with a torch raised in his hand.
“Sam,” was all he said, and Sam fell silent.
Jon nodded at him with a tiny smile when Sam turned and offered a happy, “Hello, Jon!” Sam stepped back to allow Jon room to walk forward and stand diagonal to him.
Although he was addressing more than one person, Jon kept his eyes focused on your mask. “If it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with Brother Black alone.”
Sam lost his smile for a moment, but it returned with a shrug of his shoulders and another shift of his feet. “Of course! Of course!” He distanced himself from where he had been standing and motioned for you to go with Jon. “I'll just be here.”
Jon bid him farewell before marching farther down the Wall, the light of the torch undulating in the icy wind.
As the orange glow started to vanish from sight, Sam looked away and faced the edge of the Wall. “I ought to be checking on Gilly.” Fond memories of the woman softened his voice and provided some warmth against the cold. “Sweet Gilly.”
No one answered but the howl of the wind. Sam inhaled through his nose and allowed the silence to live for a couple of seconds before he sighed. “Boy, it's cold up here.”
The journey ended after roughly ten minutes of walking, and Jon turned to give you a cursory scan. In his eyes was suspicion, curiosity and more than a token of discomfort. His breath was visible in the cold, flowing upward as he turned to overlook the cliff.
“The other brothers don't feel safe around you. They need to know they can trust the man standing next to them.” A flash of uncertainty overtook him in a sweep of cold wind, and Jon turned his head to look at you as if for the first time. “You are a man, right?”
There was a carefulness to his words as though you might shed your veil of humanity and lunge at him before he took another breath, his legs shifting with a rattle of his heavy armour and his hand confirming its place on the pommel of his sword.
A gust of air wafted from the lower slit in your mask and floated into the night sky.
Holding the silence as the grey cloud dispersed into the darkness looming above the castle, Jon chose not to pursue such thoughts and gave a single nod. “Right.”
* * *
The flaps of wings preceded the caws of a raven, and the bird landed its coat of snow-dappled feathers on the stone frame of the window. It raised its left leg as if it were limp and turned its black eyes to Jon, revealing a scroll tied to its lean body.
Jon approached the raven as it continued to caw and move its head in sudden, jerky motions.
“I haven't sent for any wandering crows,” mumbled Alliser Thorne, who waved at Jon to receive the letter when he paused at his comment.
The bird twitched and hopped while the scroll was taken from its leg, and once the gloved hand released it, the raven flew into the white skies with a string of caws.
As Jon brushed his thumb across the reddish-pink seal, the emblem of an upside-down flayed man sent a wave of apprehension over his body. The impulsive part of him said to toss the letter in the fire and never wonder about its contents, but the impatient gaze of Alliser demanded that he push his misgivings aside.
“Well?” came the older man's disgruntled voice.
“It's the sigil of House Bolton, ser.” Jon glanced between the Lord Commander and the scroll, struggling to void all of his concerns but stepping forward with dutiful haste.
Alliser nodded his head and quirked his eyebrows as if coaching a child. “I can see that. Would you care to read it?”
Inspecting the seal one last time, Jon broke it with a snap and unfolded the parchment. “Dear the men of the Night's Watch, it has come to my attention that you recently brought a sorcerer into your ranks.”
His volume tapered after every few words as if seeking to lessen the blow of an expected threat, but as the inky texture of the crooked and misplaced lines stretched and fell before his eyes, he realized it was a continuous promise of danger.
“Their allegiance belongs to House Bolton. If you do not return them to me, I shall flay you living and make you watch as I tear your brother's still-beating heart from his chest and feed it to my hounds.”
Jon lost much of his interest in reading the message and looked askance at Alliser for the sake of averting his eyes from the letter.
When the Lord Commander returned his gaze with stunned silence and a minor shift in his position, Jon proceeded to the end. “Two fortnights it will take for me to march on your pathetic excuse for a castle, so two fortnights you shall have to act.”
Despite the reluctance plaguing his hold on the scroll as if touching it would transmit a disease, Jon took only a second to recuperate and finished with a weary drop in his tone. “Signed Ramsay Bolton, Acting Lord of the Dreadfort.”
He tucked the parchment and lowered his arms to his side, casting a pensive look over the glow of the fire before turning his eyes to the Lord Commander.
“Inane ramblings from a madman,” spat Alliser with a sharp turn of his head. The man tugged a quill out of the inkpot on his desk and slammed a piece of blank paper onto its surface.
Jon watched the quivers of his hand and the words they wrote becoming clearer as the ink dried, but the scratches of the quill marking the parchment were overshadowed by a quick step forward. “Ser, the Boltons are a ruthless people. We shouldn't take anything they say to be idle threats.”
The Lord Commander refused to look away from his writing or slow the motions of his hand. “Roose Bolton is a few steps short of a wildling in lord's clothing. As for his son, I've never met him.” He finished the letter with a flourish. “And I'd like to keep it that way.”
The thud of a seal echoed in the room before it was replaced by the creak of a chair sliding across the floor, and Jon clutched the letter that was pushed into his hand.
“Give this to Maester Aemon. Tell him to send it immediately. When it's done, have a brother ride to Mole's Town.” As Alliser marched out the door to his chambers, Jon followed and overheard his yells to the congregation of Night's Watchmen standing below. “Increase the patrols! I want a fresh man at those gates for every hour!”
The group lifted their swords and scattered throughout the courtyard, while Jon hastened his walk to the library. Orders were shouted into the wind, and the collective rattle of armour and thump of boots faded into the background.
Jon entered the library a bit louder than he intended. The door slammed behind him when a strong wind pulled it forward, causing both he and Maester Aemon to jump.
A mumble slipped out of Maester Aemon as he ran his fingers across the Braille in the book of dragons he had been delighting in reading. The table at which he was seated was strewn with a variety of books. It stood in the centre of the room, and it was bordered by tall bookcases full of centuries of knowledge.
Stepping forward, Jon extended the scroll and approached the table. “Maester Aemon, I have an urgent scroll from the Lord Commander.”
Maester Aemon took the sealed scroll from him, running his fingertips along the seal and parchment. “Oh,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. He turned back to the books in front of him and heaved himself from the rickety chair.
As soon as he had started to drag himself forward, a chill washed down his spine as if dunked in ice water. He slowly turned his head and fixed his blind eyes on the furthest corner of the library.
There existed a deep shadow, swirling and spreading like tar. It seemed to emanate from the wall itself, and Maester Aemon took notice of whispers filling the back of his mind. They spoke in ancient tongues with otherworldly inflections that echoed in every part of the library.
His chapped lips struggled to find his brittle voice. “Who are you?”
Jon stilled and followed his gaze, but he saw nothing more than ordinary darkness. “Maester Aemon?”
A few mumbles crept out of Maester Aemon, each one disjointed and confused. He turned his head back and forth between the stone floor, the nearest bookshelf and Jon. His eyes were lost and searching for something unknown to Jon. “Oh, never mind,” he said softly, for the whispers had ceased.
Tucked away behind a wood column, on the corner of a table set against the wall, was a rectangular coop. Tufts of hay and wheat laid on the bottom and provided the footing for the assortment of ravens scuttling inside.
Maester Aemon shambled to the coop and peeled open its small door. With both hands, he lifted a raven from the enclosure. The bird went limp in his hold, its head facing downward and its legs sticking out.
He equipped the raven with a leather cylinder on its left leg into which he inserted the scroll. Once the latch on the cylinder was pinched shut, Maester Aemon retreated to allow for the raven to take flight with a flutter of its wings.
Jon watched as it glided through the short window at the base of the ceiling, and he wondered why a raven was necessary if a brother was riding to the town. His first thought was the scroll contained additional information that the brother was not privy to learn.
The answer came when he caught sight of the raven flying southeast instead of towards Mole's Town.
Before he could question the destination, Samwell Tarly burst into the library. Sam doubled over and placed a hand over his palpitating heart, breathing as a runner would after a race. “Jon!” he panted. “We're needed at the King's Tower!”
Two pairs of footsteps rushed to the walkway outside the library. Jon collided with the guardrail and grasped the top of it, leaning forward to get a closer look at the discord unfolding in the courtyard.
Night's Watchmen streamed into the corridors overlooking the main entrance, a group of five rangers was riding astride on horses, and the brassy call of a horn was sounding over the din of brothers hauling weapons and scaling sentry towers.
As the rangers poured into the stables, Jon looked further and noticed a circle of brothers marching in tandem with you to the opening doors.
* * *
The chairs of Merman's Court were cushioned with the finest silk. They complemented the long table stretching from the foyer to the throne, which was decorated with a nautical tablecloth and various plates of pork pies, roasted eels and fried lampreys.
The food, still warmed by the steam of the fires, smelled of spice and gravy. The dead and cooked fish swam in the sauce and drank mouthfuls of it in a vile parody of life, a life that the oceanic paintings lining the walls and ceiling illustrated in vivid colour.
The guards who watched over the feast resembled the type of warriors one expected to see in a submarine kingdom, for the weapons clutched in their hands were tridents.
Lord Manderly sat in a velvet chair similar to his throne, which he had joked about bringing to the table more than once. The Boltons were seated opposite him, and sitting beside them were Lord Cerwyn and his son Cley.
While Roose met the eyes of each lord, Ramsay turned his gaze downwards and divvied his attention between the various items of food covering his plate.
Roose glanced in his direction when Ramsay's hand found its way to the knife. “Forgive my son's lethargy. He is weary from our travels.”
Lord Manderly drew his eyebrows to his receding hairline and stretched his lips in a royal imitation of surprise. “Is he an old man?” Lord Cerwyn joined his chuckles with bountiful enthusiasm, neither lord acknowledging how Ramsay slowly lifted his head.
Malice radiated from the young Bolton like foul breath from a dog's jaws, but, sensing the gaze of his father, he mustered a polite smile.
Roose waited for the laughter to fade into a pregnant silence before he seized control of the discussion. “Our merchants are reporting that they've been turned away from the gates of White Harbor, some at swordpoint.”
Lord Manderly tore a chunk of bread from the strudel and ate it at a comfortable speed, peering across the feast rather than at Roose. “Aye, you'll have to find somewhere else to dump your subpar goods.”
A screech resounded in the dining hall as Ramsay yanked the blade of his knife a short distance across the wood, and he looked at Lord Manderly without raising his head. “Watch your tongue.”
Lord Manderly stopped chewing and faced the young Bolton's desire to maim him with a combination of surprise and umbrage.
At the stern look of Roose, Ramsay lowered his gaze and resumed carving a furrow into the table.
Lord Cerwyn shared an unsettled glance with his son, turning his eye to Roose when Roose looked away from Ramsay and spoke with far more elegance. “The Boltons have traded with the other Northern houses for years, and I haven't had complaints from House Cerwyn or House Umber.”
The weathered face of Lord Manderly acquired a sombre quality. “Ah, Umber. I heard what happened to Gareth's fifth-born. A right tragedy, that.”
A stillness came over Ramsay, his hand pausing and his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at the plate.
There was no visible change in Roose's demeanour, but he offered no words of sympathy.
Lord Cerwyn picked his tankard off the table and turned to Lord Manderly. “One less Umber. That's a start.” The two men descended into a hearty roar of joy and bumped their cups together, while the Boltons watched in quiet amusement.
When the lords joked and drank without a care for the original discussion, Roose spoke with enough strength to regain their attention but not appear demanding. “As Warden of the North, our trade is essential to Northern commerce.”
Lord Cerwyn, who had been gulping the alcohol like a direwolf gorging itself on meat, lowered his cup to the table. With an eye roll, he muttered, “Oh, great. More Bolton furs and flayed skin. Just what this city needs.”
The hiss of a blade rang in the ears of every lord when Ramsay jumped from his seat and slammed the knife through Lord Cerwyn's finger. The bone was just barely visible peeking out of the skin's edge as blood gushed from the exposed tendon in spurts.
A howl of agony bellowed from Lord Cerwyn, and he clutched his injured hand while reeling in his chair. His legs began to kick the stone floor, the distress growing louder and more wild with each surge of pain that lashed his mind and dragged shrieks from him as if his finger were aflame.
As Cley started to shiver and seemed on the verge of tears, he stood with a sharp creak of wood on the rock and rushed to help his father.
The corners of Ramsay's mouth twitched in a small release of tension, his pupils dilating at the screams and his hand squeezing the utensil. He did not blink once to sever his view of the desperate eyes and paling skin of Lord Cerwyn.
It was not until he turned to his father with a jerk of his head that he allowed his enthusiasm to wither, for Roose was looking at him with the unforgiving coldness of someone who regretted his son's birth.
Smile dropping, Ramsay attempted to win back his favour. “Father-”
Roose interrupted him with a frigid scowl. “Leave.”
Ramsay faced his father's tranquil rage in momentary shock as if the man had ordered him to leave the realm instead of the room, his fingers tapping the knife before curling around it. He glanced at various spots on the walls and the table without focusing on any of them.
Hatred of the glare Roose was sending him and his own failure to meet the man's wishes quickened his breaths, and the young Bolton tore the blade out of the wooden surface.
A thin crater became visible on the table next to the disembodied finger, with jagged chips of wood rising to decorate it.
Ramsay took fervent and aggressive strides to the door and shoved it open. Gales of Northern wind swept into the hall like ice water, lifting his cloak as he stormed outside.
The slam of the door behind him cut the chilling breeze like a sword to the head of a great beast, and the return of the torches' warmth redirected the spotlight to the weakening cries of Lord Cerwyn.
“My wedding finger,” groaned Lord Cerwyn, his neck drooping and his eyes fluttering. “He took my wedding finger!”
The limb sitting on the table was adorned with a gold ring that glittered under the candlelight of the chandelier. Only droplets of blood still leaked from his knuckle, dripping onto the plate and tablecloth.
Cley guided him to his feet and positioned himself under his father's left arm, while Lord Cerwyn scrambled to retrieve his finger and cradled it in his other hand.
Lord Manderly tossed his napkin onto the fresh bloodstain infecting his tablecloth and peered at the man with an irritated side-eye. “Pipe down, Medger. It's not like you were using it for much.”
Lord Cerwyn squirmed in his son's grasp, continuing to whimper and holler as he was hurried to the door. Another gust of wind followed their exit, and Roose shifted to a more comfortable position on his chair and clasped his hands together. “So, the trade routes are to be reopened?”
Lord Manderly cocked his head and seemed to repress a scoff. “The chopped-off finger of a twat won't buy our obedience. Do you expect House Manderly to cower in fear?”
Roose presented a look of callous certainty. “I know you're going to lose more than fingers if another Bolton caravan returns empty-handed.”
This sparked a burst of resentment to twist the mouth of Lord Manderly. “You'd threaten a man in his own home? Need I remind you whose wine you're drinking?”
Crumbs from a pork pie tumbled down his fat chin as he took a greedy bite of one, and Roose eyed the meat pie sitting on Lord Manderly's plate. “Need I remind you who hunted the pigs you're eating, Wyman?”
Lord Manderly stopped his chewing. There was a threatening sort of emphasis placed on his first name, like someone dangling a steak over a hungry dog. The remaining chunk of pork pie hovered in front of his mouth, untouched.
A battle of eye contact came and went between the two lords before Lord Manderly dropped the chunk on his plate.
With a subdued sigh, he looked down and pushed his fork away from his dish. “Aye, you're a tough, old codger, Roose.” Roose offered a slight smile at this, and Lord Manderly reclined on his chair. “I'm only doing it 'cause of pressure from the Lannisters.”
The mask of composure slipped from Roose's face for just a moment. “I see.” His eyes widened a bit before narrowing in discontent, looking over the feast once more. “It's a shame that the crown feels such a powerful need to meddle in our friendship.”
A laugh bellowed from Lord Manderly as if he had just been informed that the Dothraki had laid down their arms and become a peace-seeking civilisation.
Roose swung his cloak over his shoulder and left his chair with his mind far away in the depths of planning, but he remembered enough pleasantries to nod at the lord. “Be seeing you.”
When the senior Bolton pushed the door open, the sight of an agitated Ramsay fiddling with the bloody silverware eliminated any satisfaction he had gained from learning a piece of the truth.
The soldiers were all standing at a considerable distance from Ramsay, their eyes darting between him and the snowy land to avoid being noticed.
At the sound of boots crunching snow, Ramsay whirled around with a shudder. “Father, I-”
He was struggling to meet Roose's gaze, but his father walked past him. “Be quiet, Ramsay. Mount your horse.”
Hoofprints littered the snow from where Lord Cerwyn and his son had fled to obtain the services of a maester, their tracks disappearing into the blizzard in the northwestern direction of Castle Cerwyn.
Roose lifted himself onto his steed with minimal difficulty and turned his attention to the frosty water of the White Knife babbling nearby rather than grant his son a second of acknowledgement. “We're going home.”
Ramsay was slow to heed this command, his eyes drifting across the snow and clenching the knife so that it would have snapped if made of anything weaker than metal.
When he curled his lips in a question of whether to speak or not and squinted to deflect the rays of sunshine peeking over the rolling hills, the clop of hooves leaving the entrance to New Castle broke his concentration.
Roose had spurred his horse to trot in the opposite direction, and Ramsay clambered onto a horse of his own to follow.
The journey back to the Dreadfort was far longer and more tedious than the last time. The path meandered over hills and winded around rivers like a serpent slithering in the grass, with the overcast sky looking bleakly at the snow-covered ground below.
When Roose dismounted and allowed his horse to be spirited away to the stables, he said nothing. He did not grant Ramsay the briefest glance or quietest mutter, nor did he wait to see him return safely and dismount his own horse.
Listening to the footsteps tailing him grow louder and more erratic, Roose relented and turned with a dreary, if not vaguely sarcastic, frown. “The fault is mine. I thought you could better control yourself.”
Ramsay stopped to look at his father in an inability to process the discomfort preventing his mind from resting, his breaths slowing to allow for clearer thinking.
“You've embarrassed our house and disgraced our family name.” Roose watched as the last shard of restraint broke within his son, and he gave no chance for an apology or protest to grace his ears. Instead, he walked down the hall until his footsteps had quieted into nothing.
Abandoned to brood, Ramsay was no longer comfortable in his skin and found himself overtaken by a restless and inflamed energy.
The guard who stood at the door to the kitchens nearly yelped when a gloved hand clutched his throat and yanked him downwards. The noise was silenced by the pressure constricting his windpipe, and it took all of his training and discipline not to attack or look away from the wild eyes glaring into his own.
“Gather the men.” The order slipped through Ramsay's clenched teeth as a whisper. “Tell them we march tonight.”
He released the guard, only to shove him a moment after the man failed to sprint out of arm's length. “Go!” Ramsay turned in the direction his father had gone as the rapid thuds of steel boots echoed against the stone floors.
* * *
A rush of cold wind burst into the Lord Commander's chambers as the door swung open. The thuds of leather boots on wood marked the entry of a panting Night's Watchman, his forehead slick with a layer of snow and a hand resting on his abdomen. “News from Mole's Town, ser.”
The focus of Alliser's squinting eyes crumpled into dismay, and the Night's Watchman stepped further into the chamber. “Three armed strangers arrived last night.” He took a breath. “Together.”
Alliser let his gaze fall upon the scrolls littering his desk, searching for a reason not to assume the worst. “Were they bearing any sigils?”
Despite his limited understanding of the situation, the brother saw his commander's desperate hope and shook his head as if fearing the implications of his answer. “No, ser.”
Alliser was unsure of whether to be relieved or troubled by that fact. The possibility that the strangers were merely bandits or deserters with impeccable timing was one he clung to like a monkey to the last branch, but the paranoia creeping up his spine drove him to rise from his seat. “Two fortnights, he said. Not forty-eight hours!”
The Night's Watchman looked between Alliser and the door, his feet shifting to the exit and his hand twitching closer to his sword.
A tense silence of unspoken orders and obscenities reigned as Alliser swerved his head back and forth across his desk. “The Boltons have shat on their promise,” he finally declared. “Not that I expected anything less.”
After a moment of deliberation, Alliser waved the brother away. “Ride to the Shadow Tower. Request an audience with Denys Mallister, and tell him we need as many men as he can spare.”
A brisk “yes, ser” flew out of the Night's Watchman's mouth. A gust as cold as ice blew his cloak into the air when he opened the door once again, his boots thumping away from the chambers and then descending the stairs.
Another pair of footsteps replaced his and thundered to the door with haste. Alliser jerked his head up in preparation for scolding what he assumed to be the same brother returning in confusion.
The man who greeted him was Jon Snow, and Jon hurried to the front of the desk while looking upon him in a frenzy of bewilderment. “You're having Brother Black escorted out of the castle?”
Alliser narrowed his eyes at the name, his lips pressing together and then parting into a straight line. “I am.” He gave a swift nod. “They're a fugitive from justice.” The chair squeaked as he rose from it and collected a scroll lying on the desk, which was unfolded with a broken red seal.
“Ser,” said Jon, his tone disbelieving. He looked behind himself for a brief moment and then put forward his hand. “Brother Black-”
Alliser spun towards him and yelled, “They're not a brother, Jon! They never trained! They never took the oath.” A moment of silence passed before he began again at a slightly more controlled volume, “They're a runaway scratching at our door.”
Jon took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and when he pointed a gloved finger at the Wall, Alliser knew his words before Jon uttered them. “They've killed more wildlings in a week than most of these men have in years.”
With a heavy sigh, Alliser shook his head. “The crown issued a royal decree for their return. Would you have me branded a traitor?” He turned back to the desk with an upward swing of his hand, and his voice lowered to a frustrated mutter. “Now we have Bolton spies skittering about in the dark like rats.”
At this, Jon opened his mouth and glanced around the room. “The Bolton army can't march on Castle Black.” He stretched an arm towards the open window as if the army was marching forth at that very moment. “The lords have no jurisdiction here. It's neutral territory!”
Alliser looked over his shoulder to bob his head at Jon. “Tell that to them when they're peeling the skin off your bones.”
* * *
Far outside the Lord Commander's Tower walked a group of four Night's Watchmen, each of whom was exchanging a cautious glance with the man beside him. All of them carried a sheathed blade on their hip as well as a torch to chase the shadows of tall trees away.
The shadow that was dragged across the ground at your feet, however, did not fade no matter how many sources of light were waved over it.
The forest ahead was devoid of singing birds and howling wolves, and the giant trees partially blocked the golden and pinkish rays of midday. Every man slowed his pace and watched the tree line, some expecting to see a Bolton sigil flying and others fearing that a bear was likely to hurl itself at the nearest man.
From behind a thicket hopped a rabbit. The appearance of the small animal elicited a hushed chuckle from the brother on your right. “That'd make a nice feed,” he whispered, nodding his head and waving his torch at it.
The brother on your left turned to him and talked without a care for his volume. “Don't bet your supper on it.”
After its long ears twitched and flattened at the noise, the rabbit scurried away into the bushes.
The man who had spoken first cocked his eye at him, and the brother on your left continued. “I caught me one of them hares down in Dorne. Ate the whole thing before the guards came and said it was some lord's pet.” The brother put his hands together and then spread them apart to visualise his meal.
He shrugged as if he could still taste the hare and knew it to be worth the punishment, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Now here I am.” The sliver of a smile fell to a frown, and he shook his head. “It's too bad. I hear Dorne's nice this time of year.”
You peered beyond your shoulder to spy the wood doors of the entrance to Castle Black, which were comprised of hefty logs that reached thrice above your line of sight. Somewhere warm, you thought, was an apt place to hide from those who lived in the cold.
yandere-toons, all rights reserved.
Connor tried to be there every time one of his siblings was born and visit them in the hospital. He went to great lengths to hold each one in his arms. Looking into their innocent wide eyes, he promised each of them the same thing. He knew that their father would try to shape them into the hounds he wants but that he would do everything in his power to give them the things he never had: moments of happiness, love, acceptance and refuge.
-
bringmeloki liked this · 3 weeks ago -
tualmitaa08 liked this · 1 month ago -
chaotickittengentlemen liked this · 1 month ago -
elkenenvy liked this · 1 month ago -
nanamiloml liked this · 1 month ago -
ironcowboycopnickel liked this · 1 month ago -
cowquette liked this · 1 month ago -
cutiechuu liked this · 2 months ago -
sol-101 liked this · 2 months ago -
moon888posts liked this · 3 months ago -
lambpearldoll liked this · 3 months ago -
nebsficrecs reblogged this · 3 months ago -
nebulatica liked this · 3 months ago -
therealwaterbottle liked this · 4 months ago -
choppedgalaxynerd reblogged this · 4 months ago -
hearingdamagepov liked this · 4 months ago -
diana-foggy-master liked this · 4 months ago -
godzillalyzy liked this · 5 months ago -
darlingangel-17 liked this · 6 months ago -
baddie-on-a-mission-xx liked this · 6 months ago -
guccixtaev liked this · 7 months ago -
blackpanther-1 liked this · 7 months ago -
mono-ray liked this · 8 months ago
-
barnes897 liked this · 8 months ago -
fabianaxsilvas liked this · 9 months ago -
evelinapurmale liked this · 9 months ago -
cassiopeiablog liked this · 9 months ago -
slyvi3 liked this · 9 months ago -
millie10 liked this · 9 months ago -
gahsjc liked this · 9 months ago
-
velaryqns liked this · 9 months ago -
svxcwo liked this · 9 months ago -
dreamfyre-2 liked this · 9 months ago -
oceania15-blog1 liked this · 10 months ago -
emgail1972 liked this · 10 months ago
-
igoturmoney liked this · 10 months ago -
ratcatcher2world liked this · 11 months ago -
icrygoldentears liked this · 11 months ago -
1800girlsgirl liked this · 11 months ago -
holyhell139 liked this · 1 year ago -
cristinamarina01 liked this · 1 year ago -
miazunoo liked this · 1 year ago -
hoodiepandaninja16 liked this · 1 year ago -
tremendouswolfsaladranch liked this · 1 year ago -
f1girlie liked this · 1 year ago -
dianoraaliva liked this · 1 year ago
