evil straight black sails fan at some point probably: ugh, we’re not getting a flinthamilton reunion scene! stop asking! what’re they gonna do, have them run into each others arms & kiss romantically in front of everyone? it’s 1715. be realistic :/
Gay black sails writer reading this thread & slowly pulling out his phone: oh worm?
So before Toei makes or breaks this, here'smy take on Vegeta’s worry over baby Bra.
Not even the aches of a vigorous workout could satiate his worry.
Vegeta huffed as he dropped to his knees, sweat creating a pool between his fingers firmly planted on the ground. He had overworked himself again, trying to alleviate his unease the best way he knew how.
It still wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t turn off the thoughts that raced through his brain. Once upon a time, he was able to block out his conscience, silencing the voices by way of purge and inducing fear, getting lost in the madness that was Frieza’s army.
But he didn’t have that luxury now. And they screamed at him relentlessly, forcing him to cover his ear with his palms, hoping to regain his sanity.
‘What if you fail for good this time? What if she hates you because of your past? When the time comes, can she separate Vegeta the father from Vegeta the sinner?’
They paralyzed him; creating a heavy weight that threatened to burst the vessels of his stomach open. He was already a father, and even though he was anything but parental in the beginning of Trunks life, his son was happy and healthy and strong.
But that was Trunks. A boy Vegeta had the luxury of meeting before the babe even drew his first breath. He was able to see his strengths and weaknesses, get an idea of his personality, a perfect combination of wit and pride.
But she was different, she was new. She was the magnifying glass on the person he had grown to be all these years later. She wasn’t going to arrive in the midst of battle; her father wasn’t lost in his own selfish vices of becoming the strongest in the universe. He hoped she wouldn’t know the taste of battle, he prayed to Dende that her skin never became scarred with battle wounds outside of childhood scrapes. He wanted something different for her. If Trunks was his physical form of everything he pride himself in as a Saiyan, she was everything he wanted to become in a man.
In a father.
It scared him shitless.
He rose to his feet, wobbling from exhaustion, and turned off the simulated gravity. He felt relief wash over him as the chamber returned to normal gravity levels, his muscles singing in victory as they relaxed.
His stomach yelled at him vigorously, betraying the plea of isolation from his anxieties. A quick lunch couldn’t hurt, followed by a shower. And then back to the gravity room to work out his pent up aggressions.
He hadn’t seen Bulma really, other than to check on her swelling belly and deal with her hunger cravings. He didn’t know what to say to her. The day she announced that she was pregnant, he simply nodded and went to train. He may have become a good man, something he still struggled with, but he was still Vegeta. And Vegeta did not feel comfortable expressing his inner most thoughts.
And those thoughts were currently a tornado of happiness and fear, patronizing him completely until he was nothing more than a flame haired mess of emotions.
He made his way to the compound, the sun beating against his sweat slickened back, and let his mouth water to the promise of left over steak that had been cooked the night prior.
And he just about blew the whole damn place up when he saw the meat being devoured by the third class.
“Vegeta!” Goku announced, juices from the steak pooling around the indents of his mouth, “Bulma said you were trainin’ pretty intensely, I didn’t think I’d see you this early.”
Vegeta scoffed and crossed his arms. Bulma sat across from Goku, smiling at him with that hypnotizing grin of hers, the same one that led him to being a father twice now, and he relaxed the tense lines of his jaw. She was glowing, bathing in the pregnancy glow that radiated around her as she massaged her massive stomach. Had she been so ethereal when she was pregnant with Trunks? The Vegeta of yesteryear was too busy trying to ascend to pay attention, but this Vegeta noticed and he mentally declared her to be the most beautiful he had ever seen her.
“Why are you here, Kakarot? ” Vegeta tore his eyes away from the sun that called itself his wife and glared at the messy haired Saiyan. “And why are you eating my food?”
“I came here to see if you wanted to train with me and Whis, ” Goku replied, his mouth barely functioning around the food that stuffed his mouth. Vegeta grimaced. In all of the years of knowing him, he hadn’t changed his immature habits. Vegeta wasn’t sure he even minded as much, at least he could say that he was more mature in that aspect.
Vegeta looked over at Bulma, running his eyes down her plump frame. He shook his head immediately, gaining a raised eyebrow from his wife. “Now isn’t a good time for that, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Well I was goin’ to ask you, but that was before I noticed Bulma’s condition. I can’t believe you’re havin’ another baby,” Goku leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head, and whistled. “You sure have come a long way, Vegeta. Willingly havin’ another baby like that.”
“I don’t need you tell me that.”
“It’s interestin’,” Goku continued, his eyes innocently locking with Vegeta’s, “I was dead for so long before I found out about Goten, but we just clicked right away. Now you get to have a whole baby while you’re livin’. And you’re the strongest you’ve ever been while everythin’s peaceful. This new generation of kids are spoiled,” Goku laughed, wiping the corners of his mouth, “Gohan barely made it four before he ran into problems.”
“She won’t know any problems,” he retorted sharply, “not with me as her father and her brother as her protector.”
Bulma smiled radiantly, listening to her husband declare an unofficial promise to their daughter. Even she would be left in awe at the man Vegeta had grown to be. His dedication and strength had always enticed her, and it seemed like now he was using it for the greater good. Watching how he treated Trunks, both of them, had eased any doubts in her mind that he struggled as a father. He was good and she was grateful.
And she knew her little girl would love her father with the same admiration of her purple haired son.
“Well, thanks for lunch Bulma,” Goku stood, stretching and rubbing his stomach with delight, “it was pretty tasty. And Vegeta, maybe you and me can get some sparrin’ in after the baby comes? Maybe you and me can train her and Pan to be some strong Saiyan ladies.”
Vegeta smirked. Now there was a plan. “Better for you and I to do it. If it was up to Pan’s father, she’ll be in her twenties before she even ascends.”
“He he, ” Goku rubbed the back of his head and smiled, “ Gohan will get it together. I got faith in the guy. Speaking of which… ” Goku’s eyes narrowed in concentration, and then he pressed to fingers to his forehead before he vanished. Bulma shook her head.
“That guy. He still doesn’t know how to properly exit a room.” She ran her eyes over her husband, his delicious muscles bulging in his spandex suit. His face settled on the tiles of the kitchen floor, and Bulma stood to walk to him. He didn’t need to say anything for her to understand what was going on. He was nervous and anxious and wouldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell her. She let him train away his insecurities, hoping that he would be more at ease by the time the Princess of Capsule Corps arrived.
“I’m surprised you didn’t want to go train with Goku and Whis,” she said warmly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “that’s not the Vegeta I know.”
The Vegeta she knows. He grit his teeth as he marinated on that statement. Of his family member so far, his son and soon to be daughter had not witnessed the man that he kept in the back of his mental closet. But she had. She watched as he ordered the killing of her boyfriend, experienced terror with him, and because of him, on Namek. She had slept with him, for reasons he still didn’t understand, and put up with his dismissal of she and their child, welcoming him back when he came home with his phantom tail between his legs.
Perhaps his daughter wasn’t the only one he needed to prove anything to.
“Hey,” she squeezed his shoulder, voice honeyed, “whatever it is you’re thinking about, just stop it.”
“It’s none of your concern.”
She watched his eyes dance over something disheartening and frowned. She had seen many of her friends go on with their lives despite their evil deeds, turning everything around for the sake of love, family and friendship. Did he not deserve the same? Did she not convey how much he was forgiven? Was Trunks not enough?
Perhaps, she decided, but maybe he needed a push.
She grabbed his hand, relishing in the fact that he did not snatch it back, and placed over her stomach. Vegeta immediately looked down at her gesture, her fingers intertwining with his.
“Hello baby, ” Bulma spoke to their child, “ this is your mama and your papa. Do you feel that? Papa’s hand right above your heartbeat? Do you feel how strong and protective his hand is? Because I do, princess, and I can tell you that you are in great hands. Your parents and your brother can’t wait to meet you, especially your papa. He’s so excited. ” She winked at his blushing face and continued. “Go easy on your papa, okay? He doesn’t know how us Brief women really are, your mama only gave him a taste. But your papa will protect you and love you, just like he’s done for me and your brother. We owe him so much, you know,” she looked up at him and smiled, but his face was still studying the smoothness of her belly.
Their hands jerked and finally his eyes bore into hers, wild with astonishment.
“Was that…? ”
“It was!” Bulma squeezed his fingers, pressing them gently into her skin as it moved around again. She heard Vegeta suck in a quick breath of air.
“Is everything…? ”
“ She’s kicking, hun,” she responded eagerly, easing his premature worry, “she’s saying hello and she hears us.” She reached up then and grabbed his face, lightly caressing his cheek. She ran her thumb over his bottom lip before replacing it with her mouth, lightly pecking it. “And most importantly she’s saying everything will be all right, papa. Your hands must feel comforting to her.”
Vegeta looked back down at the swollen belly. Was that true? Had his daughter really tried to convey that, or was Bulma reaching? The stomach kicked again under his palm, and he set his mouth into a tight line.
He wasn’t sure if he would be the father she needed or wanted. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make her proud of him, or if he would royally screw things up.
But he was certain of one key thing.
These hands, these calloused hands that had seen too much, done too much, would protect her. He would spend every breath he had making sure his princess was safe.
So Darkness I Became Pt. 3 - Stark!reader x Tormund
a/n: First of all, ~*some people*~ are still alive because FITE ME. Second of all, I have always admired Tormund’s honesty and how he lays everything out on the table. Third of all, thank you to everyone who has liked this story and sent me supportive messages. I’m touched. If you would like to be tagged in these installments, I’ll be happy to oblige.
You opened your eyes and found yourself sitting in a chair in a small room. You blinked, and creeping dread captured your heart. The banner hanging on the wall…
You stood at once, heart now pounding for the shouts through the halls.
“Mother, Mother please!”
Running through the door of your chambers, you began to panic.
Smalljon had Rickon by the arm, dragging him like a dead body. “She isn’t your mother, you bloody fool! Stupid fucking boy!”
“No!” You flew to slam your fists against your husband’s back. You pushed and shoved until he turned around. “Let him go! Let go of him, he’s just a little boy!”
“Then control the boy!” he shouted in your face. He was almost as big as the Greatjon, almost the biggest man you’d ever seen, and you were no taller than Mother.
You hated how he made you retreat, made you cower, made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, but you stood between him and Rickon. Your youngest brother, only nine, wrapped his arms around your legs and wept into your skirts. Without looking away from your husband’s eyes, you reached back to touch the boy’s hair. “He’s confused. It isn’t his fault, Lord Umber. Tell me what he’s done, and I’ll see he’s disciplined properly. You’re much too big for such a small matter.”
“Mother, please!” Rickon cried again. “I want to go home, Mother, please.”
“Do you hear this?” Smalljon sneered cruelly at you, stooping over you. “He wants to go home.”
“And he also thinks I’m his mother, but he’s wrong on both counts. It’s not his fault that he’s not all there. If Ned were to chew too loudly, it would be acceptable for me to start to drag him on the floor?” you demanded.
“Don’t talk about my boy,” Smalljon uttered threateningly.
“Then don’t hurt mine!” You shouted far too loudly, and now, as Smalljon crept closer, you were truly afraid.
“Shut him up. Shut him up now!”
“Ricky!” You clenched your eyes shut against your husband and tried to pull Rickon up. “Darling, quiet now. Everything is all right, my sweet. Ssh, hush now. You’re upsetting Father.” In truth, it sickened you every time you had to refer to Smalljon as such, and it sickened you to use it to manipulate Rickon, and you never would, were it not for his safety. He quieted within seconds, and slowly stood behind you.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry, Father.” He shook like a leaf.
You stroked your hand through his curly mop of hair and smiled kindly. “Everything is all right, darling. Go and play with Shaggydog.”
He sniffled, then ran the opposite way, leaving you with an angry Smalljon. You looked up at him again, tried to breathe steadily. “I am sorry, Lord Umber, for whatever he did, and I am sorry for what I have done. He isn’t well. I’ll send the maester.”
Smalljon pressed you up against the wall, his hands hard and unforgiving. “Do you know what I think, dear wife?”
You shook your head, eyes closed again. “No, husband, I don’t.”
“I said I don’t.”
Big hands took your shoulders, and you were screaming.
“No! No, stop! Get away, don’t touch me!” you cried, pushing the hands away.
You opened your eyes again, and everything was changed. You were safe in your bedchambers, tucked into your furs like a babe, with the aching knowledge of Rickon’s death and the touch of Smalljon still burning your skin. You blinked again, and saw the man you’d been fighting was Tormund.
“Oh, shit.” You sat up and shook your head at his troubled face. “No, no, I’m sorry. Please. Forgive me.”
Loud pounding came to your door. “Lady Stark! Lady Stark!”
“I was only sleeping!” You called to the guard. “Please, I am safe and sound.” After a few seconds, footsteps faded away. You sighed and frowned up at Tormund. “You probably think I’m mad.”
He shook his head, a darkness polluting his strong features. “You were dreaming about him.”
“I know.” Tormund pulled his fur coat over you and tucked you against his shoulder. “You’re having those dreams more often.”
“I am sorry, Tormund. You don’t have to stay the night in bed with me, I’ve told you.” You tried to smile, tried to shift the black mood. “You only have to fuck me properly, remember?”
It only made his face more sour. “Tell me.”
Realising there was no avoiding it this time, you sighed and lay back against your pillows. “I dreamt I was at Last Hearth, and Smalljon was bullying Rickon. His mind was addled by everything that had happened to us and our family, and, by the time he turned eight, he had convinced himself that I was Mother. It just made things worse, the poor love. It made Smalljon angrier, and killed my heart. I was standing up for Rickon in my dream. Smalljon didn’t like that. Tormund, you’d never seen me in your life and only saw Rickon the day he was killed. There was nothing you could have done.”
“I know that.” He said it, but you suspected he couldn’t feel it. He sat beside you, bare-chested and scarred, looking down at his hands. Hands that had stabbed Smalljon Umber’s face. You grabbed one of them and pulled it to your chest.
“You owe me lessons today,” you reminded him. “You must take me to Winter Town. I’ve got a gift for Ser Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun. Did I get that right?”
“What lessons, why Winter Town, and what about Wun Wun?” Tormund gracelessly threw back the sheets and furs to look at you.
“My dear Ginger Giant, I had hoped you remembered. My only use in life has been what I learned from Maester Luwin. Osha said I was good as a wood witch with herbs and healing. Of course, I can’t say whether that’s true or not, but when the Valemen marched on Last Hearth and gave me the wonderful news, I swore an oath to treat any man or woman who fought for the Starks. Imagine my surprise when I rode into Winterfell and found a giant. A real giant, not like you giant. Wun Wun. He was barely hanging on by a thread, and he looked like a pincushion with all those arrows sticking out of him. Jon convinced him to let the healers help him, and we did. I think he’s wonderful. I’d always wanted to see a giant, but really, he’s marvelous, not a spectacle. All the stories Old Nan told of giants eating bulls whole and mixing blood in their porridge, and Wun Wun won’t even eat another creature’s flesh.”
“What in the hell does that have to do with a gift?”
You laughed, completely unashamed of your naked body on which his eyes feasted. “He’s getting well again. And we owe him so much more than we can afford to give. I spoke with Edd. You know, Jon’s friend who’s ‘not’ Lord Commander? I sent him a raven asking for the bow left by one of the giants slain at the battle of Castle Black. Don Goh? I asked him for the bow, and requested ballista be made by the smiths here. Now, Wun Wun can arm himself and shoot back.”
Tormund smiled and bent his neck to kiss you. “You won’t stop until you’ve armed everyone from beyond the Wall, will you? I’m proud you’ve done this for him, She-Beast. You’re the very best of us.”
“I thought it best to lead with that.” You smiled back, but cast your eyes down. “I also have to tell you I’m leaving Winterfell for a time.” The room fell quiet and still. You felt your lover shift on the feather mattress, felt him gazing down at you.
“…What?” His big hand practically covered the span of your belly. “That’s buggering nonsense. You’re a Stark of Winterfell. Where the fuck else do you belong?”
“I’ll be riding for Last Hearth—”
He scoffed loudly. “The fuck you are.”
“My father taught me to honour my duties. I’m not very good at that, unfortunately, which is why I’m commonly referred to as ‘The Wildling’s Whore’—”
“Who said that?” he shouted. When you reached for his hand, he snatched it away.
You straightened your back against the headboard. “Listen to me, Ginger Giant. I refuse to stop being with you because you make me happiest and chances are there won’t be any of us left in a year, so what does my duty to the House of Stark matter in the long term? I don’t need to marry or bear sons. I’ll never have the chance, or, if I did, I would bring a child into a world where…where all the evils of the known world are coming for him. But I do have a son, and he lives at Last Hearth.”
When Tormund finally looked at you, his gaze was hard enough to stay your next words. He stood from the bed you’d been sharing and started to pace the length of the foot of the bed. His shoulders gathered tension, as did his brow, and when he looked at you again, his eyes were of dark ice. “You gave him a son.”
You jumped when he shoved a trunk out of his way and knocked over a screen. “It isn’t—”
“You didn’t want to, I know.” Tormund held on to the edge of the long table, his arms shaking. “Smallcock Umber made you take his seed and you hid the little boy to protect him from the invading forces. You’ve kept him secret to keep anyone from murdering him. Bring him here, Y/N. He’ll be ours. I’ll raise him.”
“I paid the price of not giving Smalljon sons in blood, I promise you, I’ve never borne a child for him or any man,” you said quickly, fighting the stinging strangle in your heart. “Little Lord Umber, little Ned. He’s no one left but advisors and a maester, and you know how many people have called for his head on a pike. He’s only a boy, and he faces so much now, and I broke my vows of marriage, but I won’t break my oath to family. What kind of woman would I be to leave her son alone at the end of times, surrounded by his enemies?”
Tormund appeared relieved, but it was still overshadowed by anger. “You don’t belong in that place where he beat you and forced you. It is a cursed place. Nothing good will come of this, and the Umber is not your son, he is not your child, you are not responsible. His people are responsible for him.”
“I agree that I don’t belong there, never want to lay eyes on it again, but I must see to Ned, and then I will return. I didn’t mean forever. When the Valemen came, we didn’t know what it meant, what would happen. I kept Ned with me while his father went to battle because he was still only a boy, an innocent, and he was so frightened to see the cavalry. He thought he was going to die, that I would die.” You kissed his crooked knuckles. “He’s been brave, he’s done well, but I’ve gotten a raven from him. So I’ll go.”
“I don’t like it.” Tormund closed his fist around your hand. “If you think you’ll go without me, you’ve hit your head on that board too many times.”
“I can’t take you,” you whispered gently. “It’s Last Hearth.”
He scowled. “All of a sudden you feel shame for sucking my cock?”
Now you frowned and grabbed him rough by his shoulder. Eye to eye, you spoke softly. “Never. If we live to the end of the week or the end of this century, never. Ned is a boy of ten years old and he’s suddenly Lord of a House that despises the Free Folk. As I’ve thanked you for so very much these months, you did kill his father, and he’s terrified of you. If I had my way and took you by my side, it would create nothing but trouble for a sweet little boy in a shite situation. I have to be cautious in this, Tormund, I must be wise.”
“And what if it’s a trick? What if somebody’s slit the boy’s throat and lures you back to kill you and your claim on Last Hearth? Send for the boy and bring him to me, I’ve no son anymore. If you claim he’s yours, I’ll still raise him, better than Smallcock. I can teach him to hunt, to shoot, to kill, make him strong, make him a real Northerner.” Tormund’s voice rose with every other word, and each brought a fresh pang to your heart. It was only the second time he’d mentioned his son to you.
“Do you think me a fool? Dolorous Edd sent four men of the Night’s Watch along with Wun Wun’s bow. They will accompany me.” The argument was twisting your stomach. You had known it was coming, of course, but it threatened to tear your nerves to pieces. You longed so desperately for the easiness between you to return, and to speak no more of sons. “And before you say it, no, I wouldn’t rather have a crow with me than you, but when the people of Last Hearth see Lady Stark—Umber—riding with brothers of the Night’s Watch, that will increase their faith in the North and ease their minds about Ned. They are some of Edd’s trusted men and no one who betrayed Jon.”
“You know they are rapists, don’t you? You know what they could do to you, these strange men you don’t know, these fuckers I’ve been fighting and killing since I was a lad? They’re rapists, killers, they’re cunts, they’re not me.” Tormund was shouting now, inches from your face.
Your shoulders drooped and your head lowered. “Then you tell me what to do.”
“No,” he snapped.
“Tell me what would make you feel like I’m coming back in one piece and not pieces.” You gripped his arm tight, but kept your voice low and soft. “I want to respect your wishes, but you have to be willing to make concessions. I’m not done with you, and you aren’t done with me, that’s fairly obvious, or you wouldn’t be so angry with me. I want to come home. To you. So, please.”
Tormund chewed on his lip for a moment, then sighed and drew you against him. “All right.”
At the end of a fortnight of traveling home, you saw the fires of the watchtowers of Winterfell. Pyp and Grenn flanked you on either side, Ser Davos, the wonderful, abiding man, rode in front, and Wun Wun strode casually to your right, his bow at his back. It became downright embarrassing when Tormund insisted on having Ser Davos involved, but, looking back, the inclusion of Wun Wun shouldn’t have surprised you.
It had taken a while for the point to get across to the giant, just why you, Pyp, Grenn, and Tormund had wheeled a barrow in front of him with the ancient bow inside. When Wun Wun had looked to Tormund and the man nodded, you smiled again, rather nervously, and did a curtsey before him.
“I am grateful,” you spoke slowly, as Tormund had instructed, and pointed to the bow. “This belonged to Don Goh. I had it brought here for you, and look! Arrows fit for you to shoot!”
Wun Wun had looked at you a moment, then reverentially picked up the bow once belonging to his kinsman. He fingered the string, tested its tautness, and finally looked again to you after placing it on his back and standing straight. “Stark.”
You could certainly count that as one of the greatest things that had ever happened to you.
Later, after arrangements had already been made, you’d stayed behind in Winter Town with Tormund late after checking on Karsi’s girls, and you heard him speak to Wun Wun.
“If they charge, kill ‘em all. If they turn traitor after welcoming her in, kill ‘em all slow for me, old friend.”
By now, however grateful you had been for the enduring assistance of the giant, the Onion Knight, and the two lovable twats Jon still called brothers, your ass was killing you from riding so long, and if you never heard Ser Davos speak about which knots were best for sailing slow again, it would be too soon. Because Wun Wun was conspicuous even from a distance, the gates of the castle opened and warm, glowing light poured out. Getting closer now, you saw the shadow of a four-legged beast, and soon heard her soothing howl. You managed to hide your tears from your travel companions and had them dried before climbing down from your horse, but coming home had never had such meaning, even before.
Standing in the courtyard was your brother and sister, but you got on your knees on the cobblestones to welcome Rose in your arms. She was downright playful even, pawed at your legs to tempt you into coming to play, licking your arms and face. You laughed through it all, your arms loose around her neck, and scratched her ears before standing.
“Always nice to see you prefer her to us,” Jon said with a tired smile. You hugged him next, then Sansa, sharing the wolf slobber and your love for them freely.
“I’m happy to be home,” you told them, and really, you were. So damn happy just to see your siblings still alive, again. Ser Davos passed by with little more than warm regards and a smile for you all, fatigued himself and aching to be in his own bed. You turned to the rest. “Wun Wun, I am grateful to you yet again. You may rest in the tower, if you wish, you are welcome here as long as I live. Pyp, Grenn, we’ve talked about this, and I’ve already written Edd, you’re staying to rest yourselves and your horses a few days.”
Grenn clapped your shoulder amiably. “Yes, m’lady. We are ever at your service.”
You rolled your eyes at his light mockery and snickered. “Don’t keep the whores waiting, then.”
Sharing a few more words with your sweet Sansa, the men and giant dispersed, Jon taking his brothers for a late meal and decent ale.
“How was it, then?” she asked, holding your hands in hers.
You smiled. “It will never cease to be so sad and so funny that I’m the eldest sister, and you dwarf me. Oh, that was an asshole thing to say, right?”
“I would marry Lord Tyrion again in a heartbeat, if it meant never coming here to Ramsay. He was kind. I should have seen that for what it was in King’s Landing. And no one can help that you’re short, sister.”
The two of you hugged again, and you kissed her cheek. “It’s late, dear sweet. You should go and rest.”
She smirked as she turned, still looking over her shoulder at you. “You just want to find the wine and Tormund,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“He’s here?” Your own voice was incredulous. “He’s back from the Gift? Already? How?”
“You were gone for some time, Lady Stark.”
Your heart soared instantly and you could hear he was only a few yards away, behind you. Sansa gave her sweet, soft smirk for being so clever with you and left for her rooms quickly to give you privacy or to save herself from having to bear witness, you did not know.
When you turned to see your Ginger Giant, all the tension left your body, all the pains from such a long journey, and all you could feel was bubbling joy within. You laughed softly as Rose panted and circled around the two of you, still itching to play. “You look bloody naked without all those furs.”
He did, but it suited him so well. He was still so tall, so broad, so handsome, and your knees truly did wobble when he reached you and kissed you long and hard. You expected some raunchy retort or filthy words, but you were met with only more kisses until you could’ve begged to be taken then and there.
“Come with me,” he said when you’d stopped expecting words. You forced your eyes open only to see he was leading you away from your chambers, toward the godswood.
“Tormund,” you whined, “I would be so very in your debt if you could just to take me to bed, fuck me silly, and be there for breakfast in the morning.”
Ahead of you, he gave a raspy laugh, but that was all. When he felt you weren’t moving quickly enough, he’d tug on your arm, and he twice had to shoo Rose away before she made a noise as if offended and went off to hunt.
“I haven’t prayed in years,” you admitted as you stood before the little pond beside the heart tree. You touched the face carved there, tracing its features.
“I didn’t bring you here to pray, She-Wolf.”
You bounced on your feet, eyes curious when you turned back to him. “Why then?”
“Because I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Had a bit too much every night. No man can lie in the godswood, so you will believe me.” He stood over you now, making your heart pound within your chest. Canopied by the thick red leaves above, it felt almost like a secret place that only the two of you knew.
“I don’t think you are a liar, Tormund.”
He shook his head, and you could see the inebriation, a bit. He sat awkwardly on the ground and pulled you down to his lap, also a tad awkwardly. Gazing at each other, it dawned on you just how much you had missed him. You wanted to tell him, but Tormund put his hand on either side of your head and touched your foreheads together. “Shut up. I’m going to say a lot of things and I don’t want you to interrupt me with your big, beautiful mouth. Aye?”
You laughed softly. “Aye, you mad fool.”
“I hate when you say that the world will end. Hate it with all my guts. I know it could be true, but it seems like you don’t have any faith left in you at all, and I hate that. I hate knowing you’ll only stay with me because you think the world will end, so what the fuck does it matter if you’re fucking a wildling and not some buggering Lord? I hate that you convince yourself I’m sort of king so that it’s easier to lower yourself. I hated that you left, and hated you a bit for leaving. Hated that it was so easy, that you wouldn’t let me come. I didn’t fucking go to the fucking Gift. I trailed you, and when I saw it seemed safe, I came back and drank. Haven’t really stopped. Don’t interrupt. I hate you think that I can’t or shouldn’t keep you safe. I hate your fucking moon tea—I want babies. Your babies. Tiny little babies who’ve been kissed by fire, with the green eyes of a Stark—but you’d only give sons to a Lord, like Umber. I hate what you were taught a man is, and I hate that I don’t fit it right, so I’ll never be the man you want. I hate how ignorant you think I am. I hate that you hate goat’s milk.”
You blinked at him, not entirely sure how hurt you should be. Your heart sank to your knees, and the rest of you sank against him. Tears pricked behind your eyes, but damn them. “So, you’ve brought me into the godswood so I would know you really mean how much you hate me?”
Tormund looked bewildered and pawed at his mess of hair until it was far messier. “I don’t hate you. I hate all these things I can’t change because I love you.”
Your eyes snapped shut and your throat quivered. Fight all you wanted, you couldn’t stop bitter salt tears from marching twin tracks down your cheeks. You began to shake your head, little jerks from side to side, and tried to pull away. “You’re just drunk.”
He grunted in frustration and locked his arms around you, almost too tight. “That’s exactly why I brought you to the one fucking place you can’t say that I lied, and you’re still too stubborn to listen. I hate that, too, but I bloody love you, you stupid girl.”
“You can’t,” you whispered.
“Because I’m lowborn? You are better than thinking like all these other empty-headed idiots. You’re my Lady, the only I’ll ever see, because I think you people are fucking mad to be this way. You understand what I’m telling you?” He shook you in his arms. “I love you and I hate that you can’t love me and I hate that I hate it because why shouldn’t I get to give as few shits as you?”
“I don’t give few shits,” you said tremulously. “Tormund, these things you think about me, I could never…I’m just living to be lying by your side.”
“I don’t want that!” He shook you again, complexion growing more ruddy. “I don’t want you to live that way! You should be living for other things, too, like the brother who came back from the dead, your sister who wishes she was dead, the babies I want to put in your belly! I wanted to be what makes you happy!”
“I told you, you make me the happiest.” He had your arms pinned down, so you wiped your tears on his shirt. “I told you I didn’t want to go back there, but it was my duty to Ned. I have said shit about the world ending half a hundred times, but how can you truly think that I wouldn’t still be with you, even if it were a sweet summer and all the horrible things were gone, or never real to begin with? I think you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, how can you think I don’t believe you could or should protect me? I think you shouldn’t have to, I think it isn’t your problem—”
“That is horse shit,” he growled forcefully.
“I can’t lie here, remember?” You tucked your head under his chin and tried to breathe steady. “You can’t love me, because I’m nothing. I’ve always been nothing, and I let all the ones I love die or suffer terrible things because I’m weak and small and I want you to protect yourself and not die trying to save me. I was fucked by a man who hated your people and willingly became his wife. I stopped flowering—I drank the moon tea, and he found out and beat me bloody for killing his child. I hated wildlings, too, long before. Once upon a time, when the world seemed so lovely, but looking back, I don’t know that it ever was. I look up to you, not down on you. That is who I am. Small and weak and angry and vengeful and I will always do the stupid, wrong thing. You’ve always been free, and you always will be, and you should b-be free, not with me. You’re better than I’ll ever be. You are perfect. You’re so perfect, Tormund. I never…I never meant to make you think those things.”
“It wasn’t his choice, if you had a baby. It’s your choosing. Everything is your choosing.” Tormund leaned back and let you go, head against the bark of the heart tree. “Go.”
“What? No.” You straddled his lap and leaned close to his face again. “I won’t go anywhere without you again, I promised. I swore to you.”
“You heard what I had to say, let me spill my guts on the ground, and then tried to convince me you’re not to be loved. Is that your way of being kind? Is that your goodness or your cruelty?”
“You’ll say anything but to leave you be. Tell me you don’t love me, then, and be done with it all. I know you don’t.” He was scowling like you’d never seen, and it was a hot knife in your belly.
You gripped his shirt tight at the collar with both of your small hands, shaking for anger, now. “Is it cruel to not want you to waste it on me? Do you know that you are the only thing I have ever done in my life by my own will and desire? Do you know the truth, Tormund? That it crushes me to think of this war, for it will kill you, and I think my heart will truly perish when I learn that I’ll never see you again. Being with you means throwing aside my duties to my house, and I do it gladly. If I had to leave to keep being yours, I would. I would take up a spear above the Wall, because you are my king and I will follow you. Fuck them all, you are a true man to me, the only man that I choose or will, ever. You are everything wonderful that I’ve never known in my life, and I would know it all if only I could. I would climb the Wall and not stop until I made it to wherever the bloody hells you’re from. I would give this castle, I would give this kingdom if it were mine to give. Can you hear, or did you really drink too much of your revolting goat’s milk? I love you, you fucking Ginger Giant. You stalker. You bear-fucking animal person.”
“Oh for fuck’s—I never fucked a bear, you know I never fucked a bear, I don’t want to talk about the bear I never fucked. I want to talk about babies.”
“Not here,” you whispered through the laughter you shared. Once it began, neither of you could stop, and you wound up splayed together on the hardy grasses. You kissed him when you could breathe again. You wanted to kiss away all the little things he hated until there was room for him to love your more unfortunate qualities. “Take me to bed, aye? Take me there just like this.”
“You may have to be the one who takes me.” Tormund made a face and ground his hand against it. “I’m not tempered to being without you anymore. I’ve been drunk almost the whole time.”
You forced yourself to stand in your dusty riding clothes and held your hand out for him. “What do we do now? What comes next?”
Tormund rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck once he was upright. “I think we’ll sleep. I think I’ll wake up and remember me guts on the ground and what an ass I’ve made of myself, feel like shite, but then I’ll remember that you love me, and my head will quit aching, and I won’t leave you alone until you’re awake, and then I’ll start to nag you about making tiny babies with names the day they’re born, and maybe I’ll tell you about Torwyn.”
“How about this,” you began, supporting him as you walked. “When you win the war and come home to me safely, it’s time for sons.”
“When? So it’s when now?” He looked younger instantly, like someone had washed away the lines that had etched so heavy on his face.
“You are right. We could die, but we may also live, and what is life if you do not dream of a future worth living in?” In the dark of the corridor, drunk Tormund was not so quiet as mostly-sober Tormund. You shushed him repeatedly, and were relieved enough to cry when you saw your bed.
Tall-Talker lay atop Tormund’s thicker furs, too warm to wear in Winterfell, which were piled on top of your writing desk. Many of his things were clustered throughout the room, creating a bit of a mess, as your maids were wary of touching his belongings, but the disorder made it feel much more like home.
Once your doors were shut and locked, you exhaled heavily and went to wash your face in the basin. From your polished metal mirror, you saw Tormund struggling with his shirt behind you. You watched for a few moments, feeling both exhausted with him and delighted in his very existence, before turning to assist him. “Tor—yes—Ginger Dear, you have to hold still. Tormund, you’re much bigger than me, I may need a ladder to help you disrobe. Just hold still!”
He grunted and groused while you worked, and eventually he stood with his bare chest and gold-banded arms, swaying just a bit and smirking. He pointed at you, then laughed a bit. “You’re little.”
“Your little Lady, aye.” You tossed his shirt aside and stood back to begin to untie the closures of your own. “Did you really follow me to Last Hearth?”
“O’ course I did. I told you, you weren’t going to go without me. You didn’t have to know that I was there. I had to.” The second your chest was exposed, his hands reached out. Playing with your tits took up much of his attention span. “When you said you would leave, it felt like a cold knife slid down me throat. I slept here most nights, in spite o’ Jon, because…”
“I’m going to fuck you when you wake up, you know.” He staggered toward the bed and plopped face-down on his side. His next words were too obscured by furs and linen for you to hear, but you were sure it was something cheeky along the lines of his usual ‘cumming buckets’.
By the time you climbed in beside him, he was already snoring. You scoffed and turned him on his side, something you’d found effective before, but your annoyance was chased away by how carefree he looked in slumber. Like a baby, almost. You settled down, nestled in, and felt sleep tug at your arms and legs and the corners of your eyes. You yawned and slipped your hand inside of his. “I do love you,” you whispered, eyes closing.
shinji “wakame” matou caused the entirety of fate/series to happen by being too lazy to clean up the archery dojo way at the start of fsn. we owe so much to him and it’s about time we all start showing a little gratitude for everything he’s done for us
summary: a s3 AU where Jemma tells Fitz how she feels before he goes to Maveth, they rescue Will, there’s no continued love triangle, and FitzSimmons live happily ever after. Angst with a slightly smutty ending. Rated M.
a/n: during my AoS rewatch, I wanted to write something where Jemma gets to make her feelings more explicit instead of the show acting like there’s really a question…but I already wrote that once, so I let Will live this time, lol.
shoutout to @itsavolcano for beta-ing my first attempt at including smut hahahaha.
Jemma stands outside of Fitz’s bunk, hand raised to knock, and hesitates. Instead, she presses it against her forehead, trying to control the pulsing of her temple. She licks her lips unconsciously, imagines that she can still taste him. She has found herself fixating on how unexpectedly soft his lips had been. How he had tasted so like Fitz, and how she hadn’t known what that could mean until the moment she experienced it.
Fitz had left the mission planning meeting with barely a glance towards her, explaining that he wanted to get as much sleep as possible before their early morning departure for the former facilities of Malick’s independent contractors. She shouldn’t be here; she should respect the distance he obviously needs from her. At the very least, she should allow him a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. But his words won’t stop ringing in her head. Perhaps there are more important things to worry about, but all she can think is that if she dies, everything she has struggled to voice will suffocate with her, and he will never know. After everything, he deserves to hear this from her.
She punches in his code before she can talk herself out of it and pushes his door cautiously open. He’s curled up on his side, wrapped around a pillow, and he looks so small in this moment that she has to choke back a sob. Ever since her return, he’s been excessively careful around her—always positive, never tired. It’s only now that she can see his own faded bruises, the dark circles under his eyes, the new defined muscles she knows instinctively he hasn’t earned from the gym.
She kneels next to his bed and reaches a hand towards his face. “Fitz,” she whispers, and he startles awake, inhaling sharply and falling back.
“Jemma?” he gasps, holding a hand against his chest as if to keep his heart in place. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She wants to cry so badly she can feel the pressure building in her sinuses. But if she cries, he will comfort her, and she has taken too much of his comfort. She came here to say it, to say one thing only, and then she will let him have his space. It’s just that the words are so much harder than they should be, especially when he’s looking at her like she’s holding a knife to his throat.
“Fitz, I…” She breathes in deeply, grateful he hasn’t turned on the light. “I love you. I just needed to tell you. Because you asked me about Will, but you didn’t ask…and it’s different, but I…you should know.”
He studies her for a few seconds, and she has a wild hope that he’s going to kiss her again. Her limbs tremble in anticipation. Then he blinks and the spell is broken.
“Jemma,” he sighs, looking away. “It’s okay. I know it’s different. I know we…we weren’t anything.”
“How can you say that?” she practically whimpers, before she can stop herself.
He brings a hand up to rub his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, of course you love me. We’re best friends. But anything else was only a possibility. That’s why it’s different with Will. I understand, okay?”
Fitz looks so lovely, silhouetted in the darkness, and she is so frustrated with him, with his perfect features and perfect patience and perfect inability to interpret her words correctly. “That’s not why it’s different, Fitz.” She feels guilty for telling him before she tells Will; there has to be some etiquette she’s not following properly. But she supposes she would be forgiven, considering the circumstances.
“Will is…he’s a good man. He really is. And I care about him and I thought…I thought we could have been happy. We could have made the most of our lives there. I owe him so much. But I love you, Fitz. You’re…” She shakes her head, can’t believe after a decade of choosing Fitz, of being by his side the whole damn time, she can’t articulate the way he makes her heart crack wide open, the way he makes her question a scientific understanding of the universe because surely their atoms were meant to fit together, always. Of course he doesn’t understand what she means by different.
She smiles. “You know what Will told me once? He said I talked about you a lot. That your name was like my favorite word, and it seemed you were more than just a best friend.” Fitz doesn’t say anything, and she laughs softly. “I thought about that constantly, your name being my favorite word, and it’s true. Fitz, you’re my favorite everything. And it’s such a cliche, but I don’t think I really understood that until the moment I truly believed I’d never see you again.”
He stares at her, tears hanging on his lashes, and then he stretches forward and hugs her so tightly she gasps. He shudders violently, his wracking sobs reverberating through her own bones, and she wonders briefly if he’d ever allowed himself to break apart like this while she was missing.
“I lost hope,” he confesses, his lips forming the words against her neck. “Everyone thinks I never gave up hope, but I did. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jemma. I should have worked faster, I should have…I thought I’d never see you again and I couldn’t, I couldn’t—”
She threads her fingers through his hair, inhaling his scent. When he cries, he smells like the ocean and it should hurt, but instead it reminds her of her own strength and everything they’ve already survived.
Do you think when Shawn gets a girlfriend he will be a little bit scared to tell us since he will think the girl will get ALOT of h8. Also how do you think most fans will respond.
I’ve answered questions like these so many times before. I think - first of all - Shawn would let it be completely up to his girlfriend whether or not she wanted to be a part of the public side of his world or if she would like to stay out of it. I know Shawn - getting bigger as he is - probably won’t be able to keep her completely anonymous - but if she didn’t want to take part in that side of things, he would do whatever was in his power to selther her from the media and his fans. I think when he couldn’t keep her a secret anymore, Shawn would admit he had a girlfriend, but he would also kindly explain that she didn’t felt like being known in the public eye and then he wouldn’t talk about her or post pics of her or anything like that. He would respect her wishes, because that’s what we do when we love someone.
If she on the other hand was feeling okay being a part of his public world (or may be famous herself), I surely think Shawn would be very careful about sharing her. Especially if she wasn’t famous herself. I’m not sure he’d be “scared” to tell his fans about it, but I think he would wait until it felt right for the both of them. That could be a couple of months or a couple of weeks, no one knows really. I think it just has to feel right in his stomach and in his heart and then he’ll let us know about her.
Or maybe Shawn himself won’t feel up to sharing much about it. Maybe it’s going to be a part of Shawn, we won’t really be let into and they we’ll respect that too. Maybe once in a while in an interview or something, he’d say something along the lines of “my girlfriend is” or “my girlfriend always says” but that would be the only thing we got, because Shawn didn’t feel comfortable sharing more than that with us.
I’m really hoping with all my heart that no matter who Shawn ends up with, we - the fans - will be very supportive of him. I would love if it she didn’t get any hate at all (though I highly doubt that would actually happen) because no matter who she is, whether or not you like her or whatever, she is going to be the one making Shawn happy. She will be the one making him feel loved, cared for and so so so happy. And you know what? I really want that for Shawn. I really so deeply want that for Shawn. I want him to have a girl in his life that makes him the happiest. I want him to post cute pics of them together with cute little cations that’ll make our hearts melt, I want for him to smile whenever he’s around her, I want for him to able to walk down the street holding her hand and kissing her and showing her affection without her getting hated on. I want for him to be open with us about his girlfriend, because we’re supportive of him and her. If people start hating her or whatever, Shawn’s not going to share it with us and I want so badly to see Shawn in love. I want to see that side of him. I want to see him with that glow and those puppy eyes and that big smile. I want to see him happy and in love, no matter the person he’s dating.
We may or may not like the girl he ends up with, but we owe him to have true happiness, because he gives us so much happiness and so much joy, so whoever the girl is going to be, I fucking hope we’re all supportive. I really, really do.
I laugh as I toss my phone onto my bed and jump up, quickly gathering my items to head over to Joe’s. He was filming a PO box opening, because a lot of his fans had been asking for one, and his box had been filling up lately.
But the lazy bugger has now texted me asking me to come over and help him clean up, because he didn’t want to do it alone.
Although the promise of free food, especially cooked by Joe, was too promising.
So fifteen minutes later, I let myself into his flat, calling out as I walk down the hall.
“Where are you? I still cannot bel-“ I stop mid sentence, eyes widening at the mess splayed around him. “What the hell.”
“Erm, yeah.” Joe rubs the back of his neck, looking up at me with a sheepish grin on his face. “This is why I asked you to come help.”
“You were meant to be opening your PO Box. Not destroying your flat!”
“I didn’t destroy my flat. I just opened a few things…”
“Joe, you can’t even see your leg’s right now.”
“Can you hit the button to stop recording?” He asks, changing the topic quickly. I roll my eyes, but step carefully around the many items on the floor to hit the button on the camera.
I scan the room quickly, assessing the damage done. There’s wrapping and tissue paper everywhere, various envelopes tossed around, gifts and letters placed into different piles, along with boxes here and here. I shake my head as Joe stands, waving his arm as a piece of tape sticks to him.
“You are such a dork.” I laugh, stepping over quickly and grabbing the tape, pulling it off of him.
“Thanks. Now..where do we start?”
“You owe me so much more than dinner, Sugg.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He flips a hand towards me, before bending down to pick up an empty box.
We fall into a simple rhythm, cleaning up the garbage and shuffling over the gifts and letters. When we can finally see the floor again, and all the garbage and boxes is gathered by the door, we take a seat and begin to sort through the gifts he was sent.
“Awe, these are so cute.” I comment, flipping through a book of letters made by fans.
“They get so creative.” Joe holds up a drawing, awe evident on his face.
“They do it for you, because of you.” I shrug, moving the book into one of our many piles.
He hums in agreement, placing the drawing down carefully on the table with the others.
“They were asking about you the other day.”
“The fans.” I lift my head to blink at him.
“During my livestream. They were wondering where you were. Apparently you haven’t been seen around me lately, and that’s odd.” He explains, tossing a bag of sweets into our junk food pile.
“Well, that is odd. For us. But we’ve just both been busy.”
“I told them that.”
“And they said we should make more time for each other.” Joe laughs, and I can’t help but agree.
“I do miss you.” His face softens at my words, and he shifts a couple presents out of the way so he can shuffle over to wrap an arm around me. We give up on the sorting for a moment to lean back on the couch.
“I miss you too.”
I feel my heart begin to race. We keep having these little moments, where we act almost like a couple, despite us only being friends. Although my heart and mind always hopes for more.
“Maybe you should listen to your fans more.” I mumble, tilting my head back to look at him.
“Maybe I should…especially on some things.”
“What things are those?” My eyes flutter close as Joe’s face moves closer, and I can feel his breath on my lips.
“That I should kiss you.” He tells me, before doing just that.
When we pull apart, I smile up at him.
“I think you’ve repaid me for helping you clean up.”
He lets out a laugh, “Well, maybe just one more time, to be sure.”
It takes us a while to get back to sorting through his gifts, because we found a better use of our time.
“Who do we think we are to tell other nations how they have to live their life’s.” Helmut Schmidt ( 1918 - 2015 )
I cant believe he’s gone. He was one of the brightest heads within political ranges worldwide. We owe him so much. Germany and Europe alike. That guy was one of the few politicians who chose morals over image and money any time, always a cool head and some solutions at hands. He worked his butt off for hours and hours to come and stayed humble throughout the decades. I can’t even imagine how german politics will look like without him. Rest in Peace, Schmidt Schnauze.