Motherly Transformations

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Trump Rally Catfight (commission)

Heads up! I'm not at all political, so there may be some made up terms and references I only learned from memes in here. I really do not care about politics either way, it's just a commission story. Also, it gets bloody and brutal, so watch for that (rapey by the end of it)! I don't believe most of the stuff I write, let alone this, so just.... I guess shock warning? It's not really something I haven't written.

The music fest had been going great. Jennifer had gone with a group of friends, though David had her eye in particular. He was tall and good looking, and they had been friends for a long time. Not much had come of it besides just that: friendship and affection. There was just something in the air that night. It might have been the music, or the liberal atmosphere that had everyone cheerful and open about their distaste for the new president. Of course, the sheer amount of people smoking pot in the open could certainly be the “something” in the air. Either way, the group was all having fun and Jen and David were growing quickly closer until it was clear to all their friends that the two of them were falling in love.

The last band was just winding down their last song when Jennifer saw something that threatened to ruin her perfect evening. Angelina stood out from the crowd, the rich blonde sporting huge tits that stretched out a shirt with the “Make America Great Again” slogan stenciled across her jugs. She got some dirty looks from the clearly anti-Trump audience, but she seemed to ignore them as she enjoyed the music.

While most people were content to simply glare at the blonde intruder, Jennifer was in too high spirits to let it stand. As soon as she had a path, the short and cute redhead stormed up to the Trump-backing blonde, clad in a light summer dress compared to the busty tramp in her tight red t-shirt and tight jeans.

"Hey!" Jennifer snapped at her, getting the chesty outsider's attention. "What do you think you're doing here?"

Angelina looked back at her with annoyed confusion on her face. "Enjoying the show with some friends," she excused, gesturing at said friends. "What's it to you?" A total of five men their age were accompanying Angelina and standing behind her, but they were not the only ones turning to watch the spectacle.

"You don't belong here, you hatemongering bitch," Jen insisted, getting a few cheers and shouts from random festival-goers. "You can take your ignorant shit somewhere else, but we're all having a good time here without you fucking it up."

"Excuse me," Angelina scoffed. "I'm not breaking any rules here. I'm allowed to enjoy the show as much as anybody else. Just because I don't subscribe to your hippy bullshit and fake news propaganda doesn't mean I can't go to a fucking concert. So step off, bitch." She folded her arms under her big breasts, getting a few agreeing chuckles from her accompanying male friends.

"Oh no you don't!" Jennifer snapped, getting in Angelina's face. "Your slutty ass is already stinking up the place. Either you leave or we'll make you leave."

Angelina smirked back at her and shrugged. "So then call security. Tell them all the shit I've done 'wrong' here." She gave Jen a mockingly chipper smile and turned on her heel to walk away.

She didn't get far before Jennifer grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and bitchslapped her right across the face. Angelina almost went to the ground from the single slap, Jen being an outdoorsy kind of girl to earn her strong build and tanned skin. The blonde went wide-eyed in surprise while Jen grabbed her hair, bending the taller girl over and forcing her to stumble back towards the exit. "Let me show you out myself!" Jen snapped, getting more hoots and cheers from her friends and the random crowd.

However, the blonde didn't give up as easily as expected. Jen gave a surprised grunt when Angelina suddenly punched her in the side, stopping her in her tracks. The busty right-winger grabbed Jen around the waist, sending more wild punches into the redhead's guts.

"You cocky little bitch!" Angelina hissed, suddenly barging forward and sending them both crashing into the dirt with Jennifer landing on her stomach. Angelina grabbed her red locks and pulled up, ready to drive another punch into the back of her head when Jennifer twisted her upper body and smashed her elbow into the blonde's tit. Angelina howled out in pain as her soft tits squashed back against her ribs, grabbing her jiggling chest and pulling back away from her foe. Jennifer pushed herself back up in a hurry, leaving Angelina still on her knees when the redhead kicked her square in the tits.

"Did Trump buy your tits like he bought your vote?!" Jen shouted at her as the blonde landed roughly in the grass, her footprint smeared roughly over her Make America Great Again shirt. Jennifer straddled Angelina's flat stomach, throwing punches across the blonde's pretty face to knock her head back and forth while she cradled her beaten breasts. While Angelina looked like a Barbie doll, Jen was petite but with a stunningly beautiful face, natural looks and built for actual athleticism.

Angelina still refused to stay down, reaching up and clawing her hard fingernails into Jennifer's face. The dominating redhead shrieked and grabbing at her hands while pulling away, Angelina glad to shove her and let her fall off. The blonde rubbed her face with her forearm, a few sore spots where bruises were starting to form. "You dirty little skank!" she fumed, grabbing Jennifer by her hair and throwing her to the ground. She grabbed Jen by the top of her dress, starting to pull her back up when the shorter girl drove her knee up into her belly. Angelina grunted loudly and bent over, balanced on her knees and clutching her stomach.

"Let's get this propaganda bullshit out of here," Jen hissed angrily, grabbing the bottom of Angelina's shirt. Jennifer pulled the red top over Angelina's head and the crowd cheered for various reasons as it both covered up the slogan and exposed the black bra that barely contained the blonde's giant tits. Jen was content to hold the top over Angelina's head, sending a few more relentless knees into the Trump-backing bitch's breasts for extra punishment and humiliation. Angelina thrashed and squirmed enough that she was able to pull free of her shirt, leaving her in just her bra and jeans in front of the whistling and catcalling crowd.

"There! We don't buy your shitty campaign promises here!" Jennifer declared proudly as she flung the shirt off into the audience. A random tomboy gladly took a lighter to the overly-political garment where it landed.

Angelina's face went red with rage to match her shirt as she lunged and tackled Jennifer to the ground. The women rolled back and forth in the dirt while clawing and smacking at each other wildly, stinging the other more than causing any real damage. The blonde grabbed a fistful of Jennifer's hair and yanked to the side, getting a shrill cry of pain from the redhead. Jennifer drove a few angry punches into the sides of Angelina's breasts, but when she still didn't let go she grabbed the offending hand. Jen dug her nails into Angelina’s' fingers and shoved the hand back, though the blonde didn't go quietly. She tore out some of her hair with her, and her clawing hand caught on the shoulder strap of Jennifer's dress.

Jen's torn garment slid off to one side, exposing some of her pink bra to the crowd. The cheers of the crowd picked up(especially those that had come with Angelina) at the extra skin, but Jennifer surprised everyone with a sudden comeback in the form of a furious punch to the jaw. Angelina went flying off of her, caught completely off guard by the escalation of the fight. The busty blonde was floored, holding her mouth and moaning in pain. She was too dazed to stop Jennifer as she grabbed the waist of her shorts and pulled down. She started yanking them back and forth to whip Angelina's limp legs around until she tore off her shorts and panties alike.

With the political outcast of the festival left wearing nothing but her black bra, the onlookers laughed and cheered for Angelina's humiliating position. The blonde seemed too stunned from her beating to properly register her situation, Jennifer throwing away her bottoms callously. The crowd's praise her her feeling cocky while her bustier nemesis was crawling away from her on all fours, curvy ass up in the air. Jen was quick to storm after and stomp on the nearly-naked Angelina's back, getting a quick cry from her as her tits were flattened under her body into the dirt.

"This' what you get, you racist slut!" Jennifer mocked her proudly, stomping again and grinding her heel into her back. Angelina emitted more pained screams as she worked her spine, but she rolled over and swung a wild elbow at Jennifer. It caught the redhead in the knee and brought her crashing down to Angelina's level. She pounced on Jennifer, who panicked but managed to lash out with her claws and start scratching all over the big fake tits. Angelina shrieked from the fresh pain that reddened her breasts and tore at her last piece of clothing, but she burrowed her hands under Jennifer's top and returned her favor on her own smaller chest.

Angelina dragged her fingernails up the underside of Jennifer's tits, getting a drawn out scream from the redhead as the naked blonde mounted her. "You mouthy little cxnt! Where do you get off telling me where I can go and who to vote for!?" She pulled her hands out of Jen's stretched out top to slap her across the face a few times, but the fight was clearly growing into more than just trying to eject one another from the festival. Jennifer yelped from the hits, but leaned in and bit into Angelina's fingers. The blonde shrieked and recoiled, clutching her hand. "OWWW! You fake news-watching savage!"

Jennifer ignored her and just took it up another level as she pushed Angelina back off and sank her teeth into the Trump-friendly blonde's huge tit. Fake or not, it still got a shrill scream from Angelina, her eyes growing huge with shock and pain. Jen grabbed her around the waist and started to push her to the ground, but Angelina continued to surprise her with just how hard the controversial bitch could fight back. She threw punches into her face, pelting her with lefts and rights. Jennifer's mouth stayed latched onto her like a pit bull, but that left her as a stationary target. Angelina's fists quickly started to bruise and sting her face, forcing her to open her mouth and back off. The spot of spit and blood she left behind stained Angelina's gorgeously false tits, causing her rage to take over while Jen was reeling from the punches.

Angelina rose to her feet, but as she did she swung her knee upward. It crashed right into Jennifer's nose with a fleshy crack, causing it to spray a gout of blood across the dirt. The liberal redhead fell flat on her back with a short wail, clutching her swollen face while Angelina got to work on her. Jen was far too distracted to stop Angelina as she grabbed the top of her dress with both hands and started pulling apart. The fine but flimsy material started to rip apart, exposing more of Jennifer's skin and undergarments. The purple bra and panties were bared, though the clawing from earlier had left her breasts hanging out and over her bra's cups.

"You fucking bitch! I'll fucking destroy you for this!" Jen ranted furiously as she finally brought her hands away from her face.

"Ha! Sounds like more fake news to me!" Angelina crowed, grabbing Jen by her panties and pulling them down around her ankles. Jennifer kicked at her blindly, one dirty sole slapping into Angelina's breast a few times before the blonde managed to catch her foot. She spread her legs out and reached in between them to bury her claws into Jennifer's twat, earning her a high scream of agony from her opponent.

The crowd watched as Angelina took control of the fight, paralyzing Jen with her cxnt claw. Her nails raked down Jen's lower belly before her fingers curled and stabbed their way inside her pussy, scratching at her tender insides and able to use it as a means of brutal leverage to control Jen's bodily position.

"Are all you liberals this soft? I thought you'd have a tougher cxnt than that with all your 'free love' bullshit!" Angelina spat insults down at her to the general boos and grumbling of the crowd. The dominant blonde threw Jen over her lap, her knee digging uncomfortably into the redhead's gut as she unbuckled and tore off her bra. With both girls naked, Angelina lifted up roughly on Jen's pussy to lift her ass into the air and delivered a loud and sharp spanking. Jen shrieked and kicked her legs frantically, trying to escape the humiliating position without hurting her pussy any further. Angelina just laughed at her expense and kept up the spanking, bouncing and reddening her perky little butt in front of her shocked fellow concert-goers and the blonde's own cheering friends.

Jennifer had enough as she turned her head to bite into Angelina’s tit. The huge lump of flesh and silicon distorted as her teeth pulled at it, getting an ear-piercing shriek from the busty blonde. Angelina grabbed her red hair to try to tear her off, but Jennifer's teeth held on enough to start drawing blood. Angelina gave another pained cry, but Jennifer finally released her bite to swing her head right up into Angelina's chin. While the reverse headbutt stung Jen herself, it hit Angelina even worse as her skull connected with the blonde's jaw.

The naked Angelina tumbled off her into the grass, where the angry Jen quickly pounced on top of her. She was feeling vengeful after the humiliating spanking, so she lifted her by two handfuls of blonde and started banging her head off the ground. Angelina couldn't even see straight by the time that Jennifer lifted her head back up and punched her right across the nose. A spray of blood came from Angelina's perfect nose as she flopped back into the grass and dirt, coughing and spitting out blood that ran over her lips.

Jen finally got off of the blonde, though the red-state bimbo was still slowly starting to rise. Jennifer didn't take the opportunity to rest, more content to lift her up by her hair. She drove a knee into one of Angelina's hanging silicone lumps before dragged her on her knees towards the stage. She pulled Angelina back to throw her into it, but the blonde suddenly shoved her forward instead. Jen let out a hard grunt as her tits were crushed against the hard edge of the stage, slumping her front half onto the stage as she rubbed her stinging chest. A distinct line of reddened skin marked where the stage had impacted her chest.

"That all you fucking got, you titless skank?" Angelina snapped, spraying blood from her lips onto her naked nemesis. Jennifer turned to shout something back, just for Angelina to grab her shoulders and knee her right in the cxnt. Jennifer went down to all fours before one hand grabbed her aching twat, the cruel blonde laughing at her despite all the boos and insults from the crowd. "It looks like you're losing this election AND this fight!"

Jennifer groaned miserably, rubbing her pussed while her other hand rested on one of the smaller speakers in front of the stage. While Angelina finished gloating, she grabbed the speaker's handle and swung the hefty little block like a crude hammer. The heavy prop hit the side of Angelina's knee, knocking the foxy blonde off her feet with a pained scream. A thick-looking bruise started to spread on the blonde's leg, but still Jen pushed herself up and kneed Angelina in the jaw to put her down again.

With the blonde limp and dazed from the fresh pain, Jennifer was able to grab and throw her onto the stage. The busty Trumper rolled across the hard wood as best she could, her big aching breasts making her rolls bounce like speed bumps. Jennifer climbed up after her, and while Angelina struggled to rise, the redhead grabbed a microphone stand left out by the previous band.

"Fucking Trump humper!" Jennifer hissed before swinging the stand like a staff, smashing it across Angelina's back. The blonde screamed in pain as the heavy rod was clumsily bashed over her several times more. Angelina tried to crawl to safety, but Jennifer was still eager to dish out more punishments. Jen grabbed the microphone and the wire attached to it between her hands, straddling her naked pussy onto the fake-titted blonde's back. She looped it around Angelina's throat like a noose and pulled up into her throat. The blonde choked and drooled over her tits and the stage, pulling desperately at the chord while face started turning a deep, dark red.

Jennifer pulled up until her upper body was lifted off the ground, just to drop her suddenly. Angelina's breasts smacked loudly into the stage, weighted down by the silicon and bouncing off the hard wood. They hit hard enough that they flopped out in front of her, unable to be contained under her chest and resting under her chin like fleshy pillows.

Jennifer released the microphone, but Angelina still couldn't rise as she coughed air back into her lungs. Jennifer walked out in front of her, dragging her by her tits into position before she stepped behind one of the huge speakers left onstage.

"I think I found the one thing louder than you are, you brainwashed cxnt!" Jennifer shouted at her just before kicking the back of the towering speaker. It landed just short of Angelina's head, but landed perfectly to crush her tits beneath the dangerous weight. Angelina screamed as tears came to her eyes, both from the pain and the unsettling popping sensation inside her chest. Her implants had been destroyed by the awful weight, kicking and screaming in agony.

"MY TITS! YOU FUCKING PSYCHO HIPPY BITCH! GET IT OFF!" Angelina ranted furiously, her tit flesh distorted as she squirmed to try to pull free. Jennifer ignored her pleas and insults, going back behind the thrashing blonde to retrieve the mic stand once more.

"She always gets like this when there isn't something stuck inside her," Jennifer joked sadistically for the cheering crowd. "Well maybe this will replace the stick up your ass!" She aimed the handle-end of the stand towards Angelina and shoved it up her pussy, getting more pathetic wailing out of the trapped blonde. Jen ground it there until she could see her pussy walls were clearly scratched and swollen.

By the time Jen finally pushed the speakers away, Angelina was a bloody and sobbing mess. Her face was still damaged from the earlier punches, blood starting to dry on her lips and nose. Her crotch was raw and red from the abuse, bruises along her torso and back. Her tits seemed to have it the worst from the speakers landing on them. There was a deep indent across both her breasts, and the once big and perky jugs were now drooping and misshapen as the liquid shifted inside in ways it wasn't supposed to. They were badly bruised and swollen, and even her nipples were bleeding from the damage and sudden change in pressure. Her proud rack was ruined, and Jennifer couldn't have looked happier about the fact.

"Hey, you!" Jennifer pointed to a random concert-going man. "You looking for a new whore?" She kicked Angelina in the back, sending the the bruised up blonde tumbling over the front of the stage. Her breasts hit the ground a moment before her face did, smearing dirt on her face and once glorious tits. People cheered for the stranger until he stepped forward and grabbed Angelina by her arm and turned her onto her back. The swollen blonde bitch barely seemed to be aware of where she was when the man grabbed her sloppy breasts. He proceeded to grope her as he pulled his thick cock out, finally slapping her tits together and shoving his cock between her damaged goods.

The rest of the crowd cheered on what appeared to be the beating and raping of the woman who stood against most of what their gathering was about. Jennifer watched with smug pride as Angelina just started to come to and realize what was happening to her. Much to Jen's surprise, the blonde proceeded to lean down and wrap her mouth around the head of the stranger's dick. Those close enough could even hear the moaning as she cupped the man's balls encouragingly. Jennifer couldn't believe it! She was enjoying herself!

Angelina escalated things as she spread out her legs and leaned back. Even with her damaged pussy put on display, she shamelessly took the stranger's dick inside her. Jennifer was shocked as she not only let him fuck her, but the busted plastic bitch started to moan. Angelina rode him in front of the crowd, her heavily damaged tits flopping against her chest and stomach before he grunted hard and came inside her. Angelina winced a bit before she gave a content groan before sliding off of him, his cream sliding out of her loosened pussy.

"Sorry about that," Angelina said smugly, smirking up at the gawking Jennifer. "Needed a break for my fans. Come get some more, bitch."

Jennifer snarled and hopped off the stage to go after her hated rival. Surprisingly, Angelina seemed to be ready for her and dodged the clawing redhead. She punched Jen in the gut before throwing her into the dirt, bracing her knee on the aggressive redhead’s back to hold her down. Angelina struggled to stay steady with all her opponent’s thrashing, but she was able to reach far enough to grab a loose beer bottle.

“Cheers, you bigmouth butch!” Angelina shouted as she shoved the bottle up Jennifer’s ass. The redhead screamed and stiffened up, kicking her legs frantically at the blonde. Angelina just laughed and spanked her ass before backing out of her reach, letting the humiliated Jen pull the bottle out of herself herself.

“You fucking cxnt! I’ll kill you!” Jennifer fumed, face red with embarrassment and fury. The fight should have already been over, but the bitch had to not only stand but ENJOY being fucked by that guy.

“You don’t have the tits for it, tiny!” Angelina sneered back at her.

“Neither do you anymore! I’ll rip that one off of you!” Jen charged and grabbed Angelina by the arm, dragging her nails down the blonde’s soft skin. Angelina hissed and smashed an elbow into her enemy’s smaller and vulnerable chest, but Jennifer rammed her claws into Angelina’s pussy. Angelina gasped and jolted as the rake not only damaged her twat but forced her lips apart. Jennifer would have cringed at the feel of her recent partner’s cum ooze out of her foe’s snatch, but she was too furious to care right now. She’d yank hard on Angelina’s twat to force her around, suddenly pushing her back to make her fall on her ass. It just so happened that her ass landed right on the bottle that Jennifer had left behind.

The busted blonde froze at the crunching noise and screamed as she felt the stinging sensation at her hips. She pulled up to find multiple fresh lacerations marking up her ass as well as the existing ones on her tits. Jennifer tried to charge her while she was distracted, but the bloody blonde dodged around her and caught the redhead from behind. Angelina shoved her from behind and sent her crashing into one of the picnic tables left out for the guests. Jennifer yelped as her knee hit the bench and sent her flopping onto the table itself.

Angelina followed her over, gleefully admiring the naked redhead laid out like an unwilling patient for her to operate on. She stood by Jennifer's head and swung both fists down to crush her aching tits, getting a huge shout of pain from her startled opponent. "I'm going to crush those bitches flat!" Angelina shouted down at her as she dragged her nails across Jennifer's jugs, leaving rough red trails in their wake. "Just when I thought they couldn't get any smaller!"

Jennifer reached above her head to claw at Angelina's thighs before grabbing and squeezing her ass. The blonde hissed from the pain, but kept beating on Jen's tits and belly before dropping an especially stunning elbow drop to her face. Jennifer grunted and flopped on the table, clutching her face while Angelina climbed onto the table as well. She stomped both of her heels down on Jennifer's stomach, grinding her heels there until the redhead's screams sounded like she was ready to puke. Before things got that far, Angelina jumped up and sat down hard on Jennifer's face, crushing it under her ass and pussy.

Jen gave a low grunt, muffled by her opponent's muff as she weakled pushed at Angelina's plump ass cheeks. She felt her full weight crushing down on her as Angelina reached down and raked her claws over the red-bushed pussy while pelting her with insults. "I bet some libby whore like you could take this whole audience at once, couldn't you? You'd fit at least ten dicks in that big mouth of yours!"

Jennifer's trapped face twisted in revulsion as she felt the cum from the random guest dripping out of Angelina's twat, plopping onto her face as her used cxnt tried to smother her out. The redhead gave a furious snarl, refusing to go out like that as she thrashed and kicked. When the blonde wouldn't budge, she buried her teeth into her loose pussy lips. Angelina howled in pain, jumping up and grabbing her crotch with one hand. The other vengefully slashed her nails across Jennifer's pussy, lucking out as her fingernail raked right across her clitoris. Jen gave a shrill scream and rolled to flop off of the table, holding her stinging cxnt while Angelina stayed hunched over, moving to one of her friends from earlier.

The blonde shamelessly grabbed him by the belt, fiddling briefly before she ripped it from his waist. Jennifer was left helpless as she came back and swung her improvised whip, snapping loudly across Jennifer's ass and back. She screamed in agony, curling up and rolling to her side to try to protect her back. Angelina just took the belt and wrapped it around Jennifer's tit, pulling it tight. She cringed as it formed a tight noose, making her injured and bruised boob puff out from the belt's pressure. Angelina proceeded to kick and punch the big, red and purple boob like it was her personal punching bag, Jennifer in too much agony from her torment to fight back.

"Just like you third-party pussies! As soon as things don't go your way, all you do is cry while WE do everything for you!" Angelina drove another sickening kick into Jennifer's stomach before dragging her in front of the stage by the belt, putting even more pressure on her bruised and bleeding tit.

Angelina finally threw Jen into the stage, letting her chest and tits smack into the edge of the hard wood. Jen let out another loud cry as her swollen and tender boob hit the corner of the stage and her jugs finally rested on top of the surface.

"What do you say we make this fair? I had my turn..." Angelina purred, looking over the crowd. She caught David's eye, recognizing him from before and daring him to stop her. He knew that Jennifer had done the exact same thing to her before and hadn't stopped it. It felt hypocritical to cut in now.

Another random man stepped forward, Angelina grabbing and spreading out Jennifer's legs for him to access before she climbed onto the stage. She watched Jen's face with a sinister glee as the beaten redhead groaned and sobbed as her clawed up pussy was fucked until it was leaking a grotesque mix of blood and cum. "Aww, poor crybaby cxnt!" Angelina cooed to her mockingly. "Let me give you something to distract you!" She jumped up and stomped again, this time driving her heels down on top of Jennifer's tits. She screamed and shivered as the pain tore through her bleeding breasts. Jennifer felt sick with the pain, and even worse when she felt the dick of the stranger fucking her cum inside her.

"Alright, I've heard so many of this bitch's screams they're getting boring now. Who wants her mouth!?" Angelina spent the next agonizing minutes all but auctioning off Jennifer's orifices, mainly to her friends and fellow Trump supporters. Jennifer's friends avoided her gaze until they finally let her go, David quick to move in and catch her before she collapsed into a bloody, sweaty pile of cum on the ground.

"Get that used-up cum rag out of here," the bruised up and saggy-titted Angelina mocked one last time as David carefully carried her back to his car. The friends shared quick goodbyes and he brought the dazed but conscious Jennifer back to her house.

"You'll be okay," he assured her. "Your ego's hurt worse than your body... not that your body isn't..."

"Fucked up?" Jennifer muttered weakly from her spot on the bed. David came back with a bowl of hot water and some towels after Jen said that a shower would hurt too badly against her skin.

"I was gonna say injured... she got your face and chest pretty good. And... I don't want to make assumptions, but I imagine you weren't that loose and clawed up down there before."

Jennifer gave a weary snort. "Not exactly. But... you're sweet to stay. Even with me looking like this."

"What can I say. I'm into more than just your looks." He had to admit, they had taken a real blow today. A thickly blackened eye, dry blood on her nose and split lip, tits swollen to look like deformed grapes, and wild scratch marks around her twat like a bobcat had snuck into her panties. He pressed the damp cloth against her crotch, getting her to twitch and hiss. She moaned softly as he rubbed more carefully, even as the lingering glob of cum fell out of her. He promptly and wordlessly cleaned it up.

Jen was glad to have him, even in her damaged state. Maybe especially so. But she wasn't forgetting about Angelina. She'd find her and pay her back for all she did to her today.


Jennifer only got angrier as time went on, deciding that she couldn't just beat Angelina in a rematch. She had been beaten on "her own turf" at the liberal music fest, so she wanted to beat Angelina in front of her own people. Some minor digging online found her profile and that she was going to be attending a nearby pro-Trump rally before the election. It was exactly what she wanted to send the right message.

She wasn't so blind as to go on her own. She brought along backup in the form of David and Dana, a similarly slim but fit African American friend. There was a whole whole crowd of Trump supporters to wade through before they spotted Angelina near the front of the crowd. Jennifer stepped in behind her and shoved her back, making the blonde stumble and turn to her with a look of surprise. Her boobs were stuffed into a tight sports bra beneath her shirt, but even then they showed the sag that indicated she hadn't been able to repair her silicone jugs.

"Remember me, bitch?" Jennifer grinned devilishly. "Bet you didn't expect to see me here!"

Angelina regrouped as people started to turn and make space for the girls. More and more were watching, and even a security officer stopped Donald Trump himself from walking on stage for a speech until it cooled down. "No, I expected you to be off at some pussy drum circle, crying over how bad I beat you," Angelina snapped back. "Why? You get off on the pain so much you want a refresher?"

"Refresh this, you hateful cxnt!" Jen punched Angelina squarely in the tit, getting a pained howl from the damage blonde. Jen followed up with a hard cross from her other fist into Angelina's lips. The hot blonde spilled clumsily into the dirt, some loud cheers and shouts starting from the thick crowd.

Angelina wiped her arm across her mouth as she started to stand back up, finding a thin streak of blood from her lip. "Oh, that's it you little..." She wasn't even fully up when Jennifer straight kicked her in between her tits, sending her flying to land on her back near the stage. Jen's friends cheered her on as she followed up on Angelina, grabbing her hair and forcing the dazed woman to her knees as she was too busy rubbing her aching breasts. The floppy tits threatened to pop out of her top with another hard enough hit.

"Make America great again, huh? Too bad you're too pathetic to even make yourself anything but a weak slut!" Jennifer taunted, getting a few boos from the crowd as she kneed Angelina in the nose. More blood came from her face, but the blonde finally mounted a counter attack as she grabbed Jen around her waist. She pulled down on her shorts, exposing her panties and jamming her sharp nails into Jennifer's twat. It got a loud scream from the redhead, and a cheer from Angelina's own backers.

The microphones even picked up laughter from Trump onstage. "That's it! Grab her by the pussy!" he encouraged rather than breaking up the fight.

Jennifer was frozen in pain while Angelina raked at her crotch and thighs, but she finally steeled herself enough to pull up on the blonde's new "make America great again" shirt (replaced since the last one was burned). She pulled it up over Angelina's pretty, bloody face like a hockey player, tangling up her arms and giving her free reign to start ramming knees into her huge but saggy tits. They bounced around as the blows drove the air out of the blonde, getting muffled choking noises from inside the controversial shirt. A dozen or so breast-busting shots later, Jen grabbed the back of her bra and shirt in one go to rip them off the now topless blonde. Her tits hung like half-deflated balloons, the busted silicon weighing them down and swelling around her areolas.

"Looks like your fighting's as fake as your tits," Jennifer taunted, but Angelina tackled one of the redhead's legs to tip her over. Angelina was hurt but furious, grabbing Jennifer by the collar and pounding her fist into her face as fast and hard as she could. She only got a couple shots in before the more level-headed Jen ducked around her next punch and squeezed one of her overly-heavy tits. Angelina howled and recoiled out of instinct, allowing Jen to brace her shoulders on the ground and double kick right into her bared belly. Angelina went flying back, tearing a chunk of Jennifer's shirt with her before landing and clutching her tits, sobbing as Jen stood back up and went after her.

"Let's get our next Trump-humping suckup on stage for all these hatemongers!" Jennifer shouted as she grabbed Angelina by the hair. She wound her head back before smashing her face into one of the lights at the foot of the stage, the large and hot stagelight shattering on the impact with her face. Angelina flopped limply against the stage, groaning as she laid with her upper half propped up amongst the broken glass. The crowd started to boo and protest, but Jen's friends stood firmly in their way.

"I must have knocked the bimbo slut's lights out!" Jen quipped, grinning sadistically at her success in paying back the blonde. She grabbed her by the hair for another slam. "She's got about as much hopes as you do for winning the election. Now let's keep up this light test..." She had just lifted Angelina up when the blonde took the chance to grab a handful of the powdery remains of the lightbulb, hurling it into Jennifer's eyes. She screamed in surprise and covered her eyes, stinging and temporarily blinding the redhead.

Angelina turned to a random rallier and held out a hand. "Give me that," she growled, the Trump-backing man gladly passing off his half-empty beer. Angelina smashed it into pieces over Jennifer's head, blood trickling from her scalp to mix with her red hair. "You've got some balls coming here," Angelina fumed, tossing the remains of her bottle aside. "Now you're going to get beat harder than Romney."

The crowd returned to its cheers as Angelina forced Jennifer to her feet and shoved her into the crowd. David recognized one of her friends from the first fight among the crowd, who grabbed Jennifer's arms from behind. She was too dazed to even struggle against his grip, letting Angelina march up to her and freely knee her hard in the twat. Jennifer looked ready to be sick, especially when Angelina patiently lined up and drove home two more similar cxnt-busters. "This' what happens to bitches who get in our way!" Angelina shouted, getting a cheer of agreement from the bloodthirsty crowd.

Angelina grabbed the tear she'd left in Jennifer's top, ripping it wide open before yanking down her bra to expose her tits. David and Dana tried to intervene, at least to stop the heartless double-team, but they were quickly stopped. By turning their back to the crowd to help with the fight, several of the bigger men in attendance could grab Jen's friends. They quickly set to work stripping the thrashing Dana of her clothes while David felt some rope being wound around his wrists behind his back.

Angelina took her time beating the fight out of the trapped Jen before she finished stripping her, tearing her bra and panties off to leave her entirely nude. "Remember these beauties? Funny how they're still bigger than yours," Angelina mocked, pressing her chest forward to rub her sore and saggy breasts into Jen's face. "I'm gonna see that no plastic surgery can fix what we do to you!" She grabbed and squeezed one of Jennifer's breasts, puffing it up between her fingers before she bit the swollen nipple. Jennifer cried in pain as her breast started to swell and bleed, Angelina pulling her head back while keeping her teeth latched on to stretch out her smaller tits. Jen's orbs were stretched and torn by Angelina's teeth before she started to punch into the overextended chest muscles, making them bounce and shake. When Angelina finally stepped back, Jennifer's breasts drooped like smaller versions of her own. "You're right. I'm glad you came here for some payback," Angelina sneered before striding off into the crowd.

Jennifer was an absolute mess, bruised all around her drooping breasts and fit belly. Her pussy was swollen and scratched up, with its own share of bruises from the various kicks and punches the blonde had landed on her. She could barely stand between her fatigue and pain, her banged up face looking red and swollen to distort her natural beauty. Her vision was blurry, but she could make out Angelina returning, the naked, bruised beauty carrying something in her hand.

She had stopped by some of the food and souvenir vendors, and with a combination of a portable grill, a baton, and a brass plaque with "Trump towers over the competition," she had some of the boys make her a makeshift branding iron. Jennifer didn't have time to recognize it as Angelina ordered the men holding her to push her onto a table. She landed with a sad splat of her softened tits against the tabletop, wailing and struggling to pull herself free.

"Ugh, make sure she hold still or it won't go on clean," Angelina scoffed, stopping to pick up one of her stiletto shoes she'd worn to the rally. She held it by the toe and spiked the heel into Jennifer's breast, getting a fresh screech of pain as her tit was penetrated and effectively nailed to the table. Angelina went to the other side of her with the hot iron, the sobbing Jennifer unable to stop her as she seared the humiliating slogan into her free breast's sizzling flesh. The quickly scabbing burns were a bit crude, but "Trump" was certainly legible on her latest wound.

"Stopppp! Let me goooo!" Jennifer pleaded, pained and shameful tears running down her face.. "I'll go! I'll stop!"

"You start all this shit and then you want out? You must be used to starting losing battles if you're not voting Trump!" Angelina had grabbed a microphone, getting a laugh from the audience and some more cheers (to say nothing of her fighting dirty with her friends for back up). Donald himself looked rather amused on the stage, starting to step out from behind the curtain. "I'll tell you what," grinned the blonde, leaning down in front of Jennifer's face. "You're going to be our new toy for tonight. EVERYONE here gets a piece of you, for this and every Trump gathering until the election!"

Jen was crushed inside and out, but the fresh and lingering pain of her impaled breast and its burned twin made her relent. "Yes! Okay! Just let me go!"

"And as for your friends," Angelina went on, turning to the captured Dana and David. "They're going to be part of the floor show. They need to fuck in front of us before we let them go."

"What?!" Dana blurted, looking to the scowling David. "Fuck you! No way we're playing your sick game!"

"I could always let you join Jen here and feed you to the eager crowd. I'm sure they're plenty horny from watching red get her shit kicked." One of the ladies that had Dana held back groped one of her tits roughly.

"Stop it! We'll do it!" David cut in. Better him than a whole army of strangers. They untied him and shoved Dana towards him,. He gave his friend an apologetic look before he awkwardly pulled down his pants, the crowd laughing and hooting as he pulled her onto his shaft, carefully and tenderly fucking his friend. While they started their humiliating show, Jen was already being groped and grabbed by several of Angelina's handsy and horny Trumpers.

"Now hold on!" Angelina cut in, a devilish grin on her bruised and bloodied face. "I think it's only fair that we give the first fuck to the reason we're all here..." The crowd around her cheered and whistled as Angelina took Jen by the hair and shoved her towards the stage, propping her wounded breasts on the edge right in front of Trump himself. The candidate laughed heartily at the offer and started undoing his belt.

"Ah, why the hell not? It's my name on all the posters, ain't it?" he joked with the adoring crowd before raping Jen's aching mouth in front of them.

Jennifer left the night covered in blood, bruises, and strangers' cum and full of shame. She limped back home, refusing David's help so she would at least avoid feeling any more humiliated in front of him. She was distant enough that given the peculiar icebreaker they'd been through together, David eventually gave up and dated Dana instead of her. Jen received a package within the next few days, opening it up to find a slip of paper with a list of rallies and gatherings for Trump supporters, stating that she would be on the "VIP" list for them. The package itself contained a bright red bikini for her to wear, with "Trump" printed across the breasts and "Grab her by the pussy" on the crotch.

Game of Thrones: Myranda vs Sansa

Real big one with a whole lot of lore to it, so that took me a while. Sansa pulls some royal treachery, which gets her husband's mistress after her. What results is a battle in her family tomb that's among the more brutal commissions I've done, and also littered throughout with a spectral battle between a god and mortal spirits.

It is always summer in Winterfell. Winterfell was built on a natural hot spring, with tubes running through its walls to channel the hot steam from deep beneath the earth. So even in the darkest winters, the halls are always warm and the ladies dressed in summer silks. The crypt, though, is a whole other story. The crypt should have been warmer than most places in Winterfell, since it was closer to the hot springs, but the chill remained. The crypt is always cold and damp, far too cold for Sansa’s light silk.

It was chaos in Winterfell. Rebellions sprung up on all fronts whilst a menacing army marched from the Vale. Amidst the noise and confusion, no one seems to notice that the newest Lady Bolton has disappeared, and if they did, no one would have any clue as to where she is.

“Just as we'd planned.” thought Sansa, as she sat on her father’s stony lap, reading a book by lamplight. Her father was the latest Stark to be buried in the crypt. To her left, rows of statues sat on their stony thrones with a longsword in hand and a direwolf by their sides. To her right, countless holes extended into the darkness, gaping mouths waiting for the next Stark body.

The Starks had always buried their dead in the crypt, though only the Lords of Winterfell were given a statue in their likeness. Old Nan said that even the first Stark, the legendary Bran the Builder, was buried here, after he felled the Great Other. Old Nan’s stories also spoke of other, fouler things sealed in the crypt; ghouls and ghosts, ice dragons and giant spiders, and the Great Other itself. All the more reason for Sansa not to go poking around for the lack of heat in the gristly place.

“Those are just stupid stories for a silly little girl.” Sansa said outloud. No more true than all those songs about knights and monsters she sang as a little girl. There were no ice demons, just like there are no gallant knights. Men were all the monsters this world needs. But as she gazed across the rows of empty holes leading into darkness, she couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe Old Nan was more right than she knew.

The thought of monsters lurking in the dark gave her chill, so she averted her gaze to the more familiar faces. She could have sworn that the statues are staring back at her, but somehow, the notion seemed reassuring. She looked back up to her father’s stony face, and wondered out loud. “What would you say if you could see me now? Knowing what I have done. I have tortured a girl, deceived my husband, laid with whores, and murdered a kin. I have become a monster when all wanted was a knight to protect me from them. Perhaps... it is best that you cannot see me now.”

Despite all her words of regrets and shame, she had never felt more alive than she did in the last month. In merely a moon’s turn, she has turned every house in the North against the traitorous Boltons and instigated the rebellion that will surely end their brief reign. It wasn’t that difficult. Ramsay was smarter than Joffrey and ten times crueller, but she was trained and taught by Petyr Baelish, the greatest schemer in all the Seven Kingdoms. The only challenge turned out to be Ramsay’s long time love interest Myranda. The girl thought Sansa was another woman competing for Ramsay’s affection. The two had multiple fights since she got here, some even arranged by Ramsay himself.  Myranda had no clue that Sansa wanted nothing to do with Ramsay’s heart other than feeding it to the dogs, so she went after her savagely. No matter how many times they clashed, neither was able to get a clear victory on the other.

Sansa did not hate Myranda at first. She saw her merely as a mild annoyance. But Sansa had swiftly developed a strong hatred towards the girl after all their fights. It was hard to fight someone so much and have them force so much blood from you without developing some level of hatred. If Myranda somehow survived the siege, she'd remember to ask Petyr to deliver Myranda to her. She didn't deserve a clean death.

A sudden gush of cold wind interrupted her revenge fantasies. It has been years since she last set foot in the crypt and she has forgotten about how cold it was inside. She has water, food, lamp oil, and books to last for months but her thin silk dress did little to protect her against the cold. She considered sneaking back up for something warmer, but quickly realized that she couldn’t risk it. They would never find the crypt on their own, but she could not risk someone seeing her burst out of a wall. After all, a wildling was said to have lived in the crypt for ten years. Surely she could survive down here for the few weeks until Petyr’s men arrived to bring her back.

Sudden footsteps followed the wind and broke the tranquil air. Immediately, Sansa tensed and put out her lamp. In the direction of the statues, she could vaguely see a flicker of light - someone had come down here. The old Sansa would have been frozen with fear, or maybe even cried, but this Sansa was beyond that. Silently, she removed her heavy leather shoes, and hid her supplies in one of the pits. She held her breath and approached the light. Only one, and lightweight, she noted as she listened to the footsteps. As the light got closer, she made out who the intruder was - Myranda. She quickly hid behind a statue and pondered her options. She could just hide. Myranda would likely never find her. Myranda's clothes were a momentary temptation, though they were light silk just like Sansa’s. But maybe, just maybe, she could finish her off quickly. She just needed to keep herself quick and quiet... slowly, Sansa unsheathed her dagger.

Myranda was in a foul mood. Sansa Stark has been acting strangely lately, and she had been stalking Sansa on and off for the last few days. At one point, Sansa had entered a room and just vanished. She tried telling the guards about it but the guards just laughed. They would have never dared to laugh at her when she was the only woman in Ramsay’s life. After a few hours in the room, Myranda finally found a secret entrance leading to some dark tunnel. Convinced that this must be where Sansa was hiding some dark secret and unsure who else to trust with the fact, Myranda took a torch and a dagger before venturing down into the tunnel. Once she was inside, entrance shut itself right after her, sending a gush of wind that almost blew out her torch.

The tunnels eventually opened up to a vast chamber with countless statues leading into the darkness. As the light shone on their stony faces, Myranda thought for the briefest moment that the statues were staring at her, cold anger in their stony eyes. "You don’t belong here," a voice in her head called. "Get out. NOW." That was a bit too much for Myranda to withstand. As she was about to retreat, she heard a faint shuffle from up ahead. "The Stark bitch," she thought, and she advanced. Hatred outweighed her fear as she did her best to ignore the cold stony eyes and left any sense of dread behind her.

Myranda heard the attacking Sansa before she saw her, but it was enough for her to react to. Both responded quickly, twisting and lunging with their daggers. Sansa's incoming blade slid and caught on Myranda's, coming up just short of sinking into her belly. The Bolton mistress swept her knife to one side, trying for an awkward parry that would hopefully at least take a finger. Sansa pulled back in instinct, but it still left a thin slice up the side of her arm. Sansa grabbed the wrist that held Myranda's knife and pushed into her, slamming the mistress' back into the nearest statue's stoney leg. Myranda grunted, but when Sansa's own knife came swinging down on her she grabbed and redirected the stabbing motion. The awkward slash left a slice along the back of her hand, but she had gone through worse.

"Now why does this feel familiar?" Sansa hissed at her, steadying her breathing when she realized it would be a genuine struggle rather than a stealthy assassination.

"Because you realize how easily I can destroy you," Myranda grinned sadistically, the two struggling to free their armed hands.

"There are enough Starks buried here," Sansa said, eyes darting suggestively at the nearest random ancestor. "They don't need another." She suddenly twisted her weight to one side, swinging Myranda with her. She went off balance and grabbed for the next wolf statue to stay upright, but Sansa threw a kick into her other hand that send the knife sliding off into one of the shadowy depths of the future tombs.

Sansa gave a shout and went in for a finishing blow with her dagger, but Myranda caught it before it reached her face. With both hands free, she bent over and twisted Sansa's wrist. She'd attempted to steal the dagger, but only succeeded in disarming her as it flew off and bounced off the tunnel's floors, dropping into another random spot of darkness. Sansa's eyes tried to follow which one it went into, but Myranda suddenly punched her across the face, jarring her vision and quickly losing track.

"There's no guards, knives, or laws to save you now," Myranda snarled. "You're a wolf pup amidst hounds. I think I'll do Ramsay the favor of making his decision for him."

"Look around; my pack is here," Sansa snapped back. "And he won't be around long enough to decide anything. Fortunately, neither will you!"

“All dead and buried and rotten,” snarled Myranda, doing the best to forget the whisper she heard earlier. “They aren’t a threat to anyone and neither are you.”

Myranda threw another punch at Sansa's head, but she was still wary from the first hit and ducked away from it. She wasn't quick enough to deliver any actual counter attack, but she threw herself into the intruding mistress. They both fell at the feet of one stone ancestor or another, fingers crooked into claws to claw and grab at whatever their attacker left remotely vulnerable. Their grunts of effort and furious growls echoed off the vast and seemingly lifeless cave. When Sansa raked her nails down Myranda's cheek and left a shallow red slice down her cheek, her shriek of pain pierced even further into the depths of Winterfell.

And faintly... something heard her. It was not used to hearing much of anything in the somber caverns that contained it. It has slumbered here for thousands of years, a prisoner of the offsprings of its captor. The prison and the guards have kept it asleep for eons, but now, it sensed warm flesh; some of it familiar, and some quite new; and it sensed death, in the near future. Still half asleep, it started to rise, slowly pressing against the forces that held it at bay. But almost instantly, a soft grey mist creeped out of nowhere and silently enveloped it, half like a blanket and half like chains. It shook a bit, and fell back to its slumber...

"You treacherous little coward!" Myranda hissed as the blood ran down her cheek. She caught Sansa by the throat, the mounted Stark woman bracing herself for an attempted strangling. Instead, Myranda simply shoved her head to one side, bouncing her head off of the knee of one of her seated forefathers' monuments. Sansa gave a sharp cry as her skull bounced off and took a small chunk off of the ancient stone with her. Its pieces tangled in her hair as her eyes watered from the jarring pain, but she fired a fierce kick into Myranda's stomach.

The mistress stumbled back, trying to regain her footing as her hand rested on the staring statue's sword-hand for balance. Her eyes flitted to it briefly, denying the possibility of wielding its weapon. Even if it could be forced from their grip, they were too heavy to wield in any practical means. Still, her heavy breathing echoed back to her off the deep, dead walls as if the dire wolves were panting softly all around her.

Sansa grabbed the hesitating intruder by the hair and drove a knee into Myranda's stomach. She bent over, suddenly breathless as Sansa helped hold her down in the position. She drove her free hand into Myranda's back, repeatedly bashing and bruising the back of her neck and shoulders. Myranda would only endure a handful of such punishing blows before she reached a hand under Sansa's silk and raked her nails down her inner thigh. Sansa screamed out in pain as her Stark blood trickled here and there while her husband's sadistic lover savored the sounds and signs of her pain.

"You should have stayed hiding, little pup," Myranda scolded mockingly as she pulled on Sansa's leg. The Stark heiress tumbled to the cold floor, the edge of her dress tearing on the protruding handle of the statue's sword as she fell. Myranda delivered a quick but painful aimed kick into Sansa's ribs. "The Starks deserve to be forgotten if you're all that's left of them!"

"You will remember where you stand, you pathetic slut!" Sansa shouted at her. She leaned to one side and swung her foot up, driving her foot upward. It hooked under Myranda's skirts and plowed her toes right into the mistress' pussy.

The disturbing of the statues and spilling of the Stark blood stirred it up once more. The bonds seem to loosen on the sleeping presence and it started to rise. It stirred like a great, sleeping avalanche., For the first time in century, ancient and undying thing that was only kept asleep by the souls and bodies of the Starks, was stirring.

"You will stay down." A man's firm voice drew the rising Other's attention. He was more a memory of a man, broad and of noble visage and dress by what could be seen of him. He was a rough and coarse man, clad in thick furs that blended with his beard. He wore the Winter Crown on his head, the black iron circlet spiked with its sword-shaped tips. "The North remembers. We will stand watch over you, even in death." The spectral royal drew a sword and pointed it at the dark entity. The creature either ignored or dismissed him as it started to rise again. The dead king gave a bellowing shout and threw himself at the ethereal prisoner. His form, sword and all, broke against it like water on the rocks, shattering into a puff of grey smoke that merged with the chains binding the prisoner. The creature clearly felt it. It recoiled, beaten back a few more steps. It trembled slightly, as if the hit was enough to send it back to sleep, but the smell of blood was too strong. It regrouped and started to rise again, but a new phantom of the Starks stood in front of him. Slightly different, slightly younger, but clearly of the same line.

"There are plenty more of us where that came from. Dare you try again?"

Myranda dropped to her knees with a grunt. That hard of a kick would have taken a lesser woman out of the fight, but no part of any lover of Ramsay Bolton lasted this long without a familiarity with pain. It still slowed her enough that when she grabbed for Sansa, the last Stark dodged around her hand and kneed her in the middle of her breasts. The firm blow drove a deep grunt and a burst of breath from the mistress, who was left clawing at one of the statues just to remain on her haunches. Even that frantic clawing left chips and scratches in the carved, old stone, disturbing the monuments to their rest as if giving them more reason to glare down at her.

“Don’t worry,” Sansa jeered mockingly as she advanced on her again, grabbing the back of Myranda’s hair. “I’ll see that your body is thrown out in the mud rather than sullying my family’s tomb.” She drove her fist into Myranda’s back, sending a sharp pain up her spine. As her back arched, the sadistic mistress found herself staring up at one of the stone Starks. The jarring pain and haunting visage stunned her a moment but when Sansa hit another blow into a similar spot in her back, she growled and spat on the statue.

“Your bloodline ends with you, Stark slut. There will be no one left to bury you!" Myranda ranted at her, but Sansa kicked her in the stomach before smashing her face into the floor of the cave. Myranda's teeth hit the inside of her lips, causing her to spit out blood when Sansa kicked her once again, this time in the ribs. Even with her bare feet, the blows were hard and precise enough that they kept hitting the same spot to optimize the pain Myranda suffered through.

The blows spurred Myranda's already bloodthirsty hatred, throwing herself into a tackle around Sansa's waist. She shrugged off the ache in her side that stung freshly when she rammed Sansa into another statue. The last Stark knocked more stone loose from the statue and while she hardly winced from the impact, her elbow landed against one of the rusted swords of her ancestors. It left more of a deep scratch than a true slice, but her hard landing made the dulled blade leave a wide and thick bruise across the back of her arm.

Sansa lashed out and scratched a stinging red line across Myranda's face just short of her eye, but Myranda shoved the treacherous bride back into the statue. This time Sansa stumbled and splayed into the lap of the stone Stark, Myranda quickly mounting her and raining punches into her face. Blood ran down her pale skin as not only did the blows threaten to ruin her face, but bounced her head back into the statue's hard but crumbling surface.

The tomb's spectral prisoner continued to rise, slowly waking from its unnatural hibernation and creeping towards the surface. Whenever it grew far enough, another Stark charged and obliterated themselves to drive it right back. Some were kings clad in robes and armor, while others were better remembered clad in armor and wielding maces. Even the occasional bastard son threw themselves at it, beating back what was otherwise unstoppable.

The next Stark grunted as he came to face the entity. He was a broad-shouldered lord, and he could feel the vast number of the Stark spirits were thinning. They were an army throwing themselves at an immortal. They could strike it, and they could pin it down, but however massive their numbers, they were finite. It was a matter of hoping it would tire itself out and return to being contained by its bonds. "I see... Winter is coming," he muttered as the creature readied another attempt. "It is inevitable."

"True, but the inevitable can be delayed." His sister appeared beside him, the woman in noble dress but with a blade of her own in hand. "Hope is not yet lost. We still have one heiress left alive, should we continue to protect her."

The grim Stark smirked at his sister's words. "Then let's make this one count. For the North!"

"Winterfell!"

The two ghostly figures charged with a haunting roar, and the advancing form of blue and black was once again blown away.

Sansa was pounded into the statue once more before she braced a foot against Myranda's stomach and shoved with all her might. The might of an enraged and meticulously trained woman was no small amount, sending the mistress flying off and hitting her head against the opposite statue. Myranda's blood ran from the corner of her hairline, where the edge of her temple had struck the head of the carved wolf. It didn't seem to hamper her in the slightest as she growled furiously, Sansa rubbing her own bruised and bleeding face while she stood back up. Neither felt that pursuing their knives (even if they knew where they were) would end up being productive, considering that would mean exposing their backs to their hated rival.

They had been through enough fights at her newest husband's whim to remain well aware that they were a deadly pair of women. Too often had they fought to a draw, or at best, with one of them lasting just long enough to see the other fall and then collapsing themselves. Sansa had no love lost for Ramsay, but she wouldn't stand for meddling pet defying and challenging her. The fight was a long time coming, and not a hint of regret plagued the warring women as Sansa threw a punch across Myranda's nose. The cartilage cracked and bent as more blood tainted the seductive mistress' face, but she still grabbed frantically for Sansa's throat. The Stark evaded well enough to avoid any sort of strangling, but Myranda's meticulously sharpened nails kept leaving fresh scratches around her neck and throat.

Sansa finally cut off her opponent with a sharp punch to the throat. Myranda gagged and clutched her throat, giving Stark a chance to swing a hard if unpracticed uppercut into her jaw. Myranda stumbled and tripped over one of the stone wolves, her face swelling in several spots. She fumbled around in an attempt to rise, her head throbbing. She was able to shut out such negligible pains after so much time living and surviving with Ramsay, so when Sansa stood over her and grabbed her by the hair, Myranda reached under Sansa's skirts from her low position and rammed her claws into her womanhood. Sansa's resulting shrill scream echoed off the walls and into the depths of her family's tomb.

It was getting stronger. The ancestral Starks' sacrifices were still holding the back their prisoner, but it was taking more and more of them to do obtain the same result. The ancient thing had reached a point where a single Stark soul would only slow it down.

"Night gathers," one of the armored men muttered. He had been of the Stark blood, but had left his position to join the Night’s Watch and had never returned alive. However, he had not been the only one. Another Stark that had died guarding The Wall.

"And now my watch begins." Another specter manifested beside him, one that matched his armor but was older and built thicker. "It shall not end until my death."

A man in the same Night’s Watch garb of plain black appeared with a bow in his hands. "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children." More and more gathered in their line in front of the incoming immortal force. Soon, even those remaining lords and ladies and fallen kings appeared beside them. Not all of those present had served the watch, but they knew of their oath enough to recite it beside them. Their voices found a singular rhythm as they all spoke up.

"I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men!"

The dark and cold force started to take a crude shape like that of a skeletal humanoid, emitting a howl like a mighty winter wind as if infuriated by the ancient oath.

"I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch for this night and all the nights to come!" With that, the ghosts all joined in a battle roar and hurled themselves at the Great Other. Their energies erupted like an exploding sun, flinging the dark entity back to where it had been bound before.

Sansa pushed at Myranda’s wrists, burying her nails into the base of her hand. She didn’t bother pulling, well aware that it would only make her claws tear over more of her flesh from past experience. When Myranda’s arm twists and she instinctively cried out, Sansa twisted on one foot to smash her knee into the side of her face. Myranda went down, but lashed out enough to claw down Sansa’s leg. The noble grabbed for the mistress’ throat, but Myranda caught her hand to stop it short. The pinned mistress managed to grab and strategically twist Sansa’s finger, a dull crack getting a fresh scream from her as she broke the delicate digit. Myranda flashed a brief grin at her sadistic success, but Sansa threw a punch into her face with her good hand. A lesser woman likely would have blacked out from the snapping of her fingerbone, but Myranda had spent enough time fighting Sansa to imagine that she would.

Myranda kicked at Sansa’s leg hard enough to get out from under her, but Sansa gave another punch to her mouth. Blood came from Sansa’s knuckles and Myranda’s mouth as the mistress spat out a tooth. The trickle of blood encouraged Sansa rather than deterring her, clawing at Myranda's eyes. A quick dodge was all that let Myranda keep her eye at all, her nails leaving a deep and bloody scratch down from the edge of her socket to the side of her face. She snatched Sansa's arm and bit into her wrist, a thick stream of blood pouring from her pierced veins. Their audience of statues watched grimly as Sansa's screams drowned out the faint and distant rumblings of anything going on deeper in the tomb.

The fog was clearing around The Great Other, in both a mental and mystical sense. It had taken a beating from the Starks’ guardian spirits, but the prison had never felt weaker. The realm of mortals was just beyond its reach. There were fresh bodies waiting to be taken.

“And here I thought I’d seen the last of you.” One more phantom stepped forward from the fog that surrounded the terrible entity. He was a lean man carrying a hammer, a long sword slung over his back that glowed faintly through its sheathe. “Stubborn old pest.”

The Other seemed to seethe to the point where steam poured from it. “You have no guardians left, Builder.”

Bran the Builder looked back at him and shrugged. “There’s me. That seemed to be enough last time, if I remember correctly.”

“Your walls… your mortal souls. They grow weaker. They are too weak to contain me.”

Bran hefted his hammer, as if weighing it for a precise swing soon enough. “I’ll keep you down here with everything I’ve got, you miserable storm cloud.”

“And when that is gone as well?” The dark entity was focused now. Its smoky form condensed and shifted, taking a more concentrated form. It formed a towering, skeletal shape, its twisted features spreading into a skeletal grin. “What then, Bran?”

Bran drew his legendary sword, the one coated in flames from the hilt upward. The Great Other recoiled from the weapon that had slain it once before, and Bran whistled off into the fog. Whether called by the light of his sword or the sound of his whistle, thirteen figures appeared beside him. Ten were men of all sizes and builds. An oily-haired man with a long and wicked knife. Another was covered head to toe in heavy steel, the helm curving into the shape of a dragon’s head. The other was a man who if he was not a true giant, then was large enough to spawn legends about them. Another appeared to be a dark, small and childlike figure dressed in leaf, but with a wise and knowing gleam to his ancient blood red eyes. A bald man stood between the two contrasting silhouettes, armed with a long axe that he held tightly across a lengthy beard. Two were women, one stocky and handsome with a blood-stained axe that lesser men couldn’t even lift and the other with an ornate crossbow leveled at the surrounded entity. The last was an especially huge dire wolf the size of a mammoth.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Bran offered. With no words needed, the old warband descended on their ancient foe once more.

Sansa grabbed a chunk of rock that had fallen from one of the crumbling statues, swinging it like a primitive hammer that smashed into Myranda's eye. It struck with a meaty crunch leaving an ugly bruise and blood leaking out from behind her eye. Myranda didn't even finish her cry of anguish before it turned into a howl of fury, driving a crushing punch into Sansa's belly just below her ribs. No matter how she resisted the pain, Sansa's body reacted for her and vomited onto the ground of the ancient cave. It left her disoriented enough for Myranda to shove her off, grabbing Sansa by the hair as she stood over her and driving more crunching punches into Sansa's face. Fresh bruises grew on the last Stark's face, joining the thick discolored lumps already developing on her pretty face and head.

Sansa was knocked onto her ass, throwing a kick between Myranda's legs only for the bloody and psychotic mistress to catch her by the foot. "The Starks should have died out a long time ago," Myranda hissed, the blood staining the white of her eye so that even if the light were better, Sansa couldn't just how well she could see out of it. "Let's finish the job."

Myranda swung Sansa's leg to one side, smashing the center of her bone against one of the swords held by her ancestral statues. It wasn't sharp enough to slice her open as Myranda might have wished, but her bone snapped at the sudden impact. Sansa's scream rang out as she focused to block out the agony in her leg, fending off the impulses to black out from both her leg and finger. She had to keep her mind on how it would affect her performance in the fight. Myranda sneered in sadistic triumph as Sansa dragged herself away, tears welling in her eyes out of instinct more than actual pain.

"Time to put down this wounded dog," Myranda hissed, advancing on the crippled Stark. Sansa managed to get a grip on the knee of her father's statue, forcing herself up quickly and turning to swing a kick into Myranda's chest. Ramsay's plaything was sent tumbling back, tripping one one of the wolf statues and tumbling into one of the open mouths of the future graves. She landed in a haggard heap, breathing heavily as she felt lightheaded. The pain was one thing, but she was bleeding from several of her wounds, and no amount of strength prevented her from bleeding to death. She tried to push herself up, more focused on killing than staying alive, but her hand brushed something that slid across the ground with a light clattering noise. Sansa saw the gleam the weak light off of her blood-red eye as Myranda grabbed one of the stray daggers.

Bran was on one knee as The Great Other towered taller than ever. Though all the other Starks had vanished, his comrades' spectral bodies were littered around him once more. He wondered if it was the doing of the dark thing to torment him, trying to break his will and his prison. His hammer was in pieces well out of his reach, only the flickering of his flaming sword remaining. Even that seemed to be fading as his body flickered in and out of existence, taking all he had just to exist.

"You have failed, builder!" the smoky voice boasted, but it didn't move to finish his ancient foe. "You failed to slay me, and now you fail to bind me. You and your bloodline worked for centuries just to keep me here, and you let them die once again just to buy your world minutes. It was as a drawing breath for me to annihilate your entire clan." The Great Other leaned forward, casting its black shadow over Bran but still not striking. "But I admire perseverance. You could spare me the bother of ending you and join me, Bran. I would build you a new body to house your soul... even the one you keep in your sword." Its dark grin spread wider than its face should be able to contain. "Think of your wife, Bran. The one whose body you sacrificed to bring me here. You've let so many die, but you could bring her back, Bran..."

Bran looked to his flickering sword and frowned. "I loved that woman," he muttered grimly. The Great Other's grin twisted even wider. "Because she knew when something needed to be done, someone had to do it. She knew about sacrifice... she married a scrawny young fool like me, for one," he added with a small smirk. "And when I told her about the sword, she said that a real man isn't one that accepts his fate quietly, but one that spits in the eye of Death as he takes him. I cursed my own bloodline that their spirits may return here to guard you. What kind of ancestor would I be if I try to escape myself?"

The Great Other rose tall as its grin returned to a grimace. "Then you damn yourself and your whore bride." It raised a clawed hand, but Bram's sword burst into fresh and powerful flames.

"Ohhh, I don't think she cared for you calling her that. You went and upset the missus." Bram smirked, raising the fiery blade over his head. The dark immortal flung itself at him just as Bram spiked the tip of his sword into the ground between them. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" he boomed as the fire spread from his sword into the ground in a broad ring that surrounded the Other. The sword faded into dull, dark steel, but The Great Other hit the wall of flames and bounced back as the unstoppable entity was a bird hitting a window. The entity slammed and clawed at it a few more times to no avail.

Bran dropped into a sitting position, breathing a long sigh as his body flickered again. "I've bought you one week," he said, glancing over his shoulder at his distant descendant. "That's all I've got left." He closed his eyes and vanished from The Great Other's sight, leaving only the sword. As Bran left, it gave a short, anguished wail before shattering to pieces against nothing in particular. The Great Other raged in a forgotten language as it repeatedly bashed itself against its newest prison, still not gaining so much as an inch.

Sansa ducked behind her father's statue, letting Myranda's wild swing plant her knife into it rather than her own skin. "Stop running, you treacherous whore!" the mistress threatened. She grabbed Sansa's tattered clothes and drove her knife into her inner thigh. It wasn't clear if it was aiming for her belly or trying to ram it into Sansa's crotch, but either way Sansa's sudden shift in position stabbed it into the tender flesh of her leg instead. Sansa grabbed the knife-wielding hand, trying to force it away without allowing Myranda to take another swing. Even more of her blood ran down her unbroken leg as she leaned more heavily against the Stark statue. Myranda struggled against her grip, starting to overpower Sansa as she pressed one of her thumbs down on her broken finger. Sansa grit her teeth to endure as Myranda pushed closer and closer to her chest until finally, she was near enough that Sansa could lean in and bite her ear, tearing loose a chunk of flesh and cartilage before spitting it to the cave floor. Myranda recoiled and howled in pain, but Sansa still had her grip on her armed wrist. Sansa leaned to the other side of the statue and pulled down, making Myranda's elbow pop out the wrong side of her arm as it connected with her father's knee.

Myranda let out a long, horrible howl as her twitching fingers went limp and Sansa claimed her dagger. Even as her legs gave out, she lunged for Myranda and rammed the knife between her ribs. The sadistic mistress gurgled as more blood came from her lips, Sansa not bothering to linger on her wound. They both hit the ground, but the vengeful Stark felt herself fading fast. She twisted the knife quickly, ensuring she had hit something vital before pulling it out and going for another stab of her blade. Myranda surprised her as not only did she not go down quietly, but countered as she grabbed Sansa's hand and turned it around to stab herself in the shoulder. Both women gave off savage screams of agony and fury that filled the tomb, echoing off every wall as both of the bloody women threw themselves at their hate enemy with no thought for their own safety.

Sansa raked her nails down Myranda's face, her nails tearing into her vulnerable eye. Myranda sent sloppy punches into Sansa's face, letting her fist land where it may. Her knuckles drove into Sansa's mouth, skull and throat with quick but random strikes as her vision blurred and strength faltered. She pounded her fist against the knife stuck in Sansa's shoulder, spraying fresh blood over the both of them before Sansa gave a savage howl. She was losing some color in her face from blood loss, but she balled up all her rage into her fist and smashed it into Myranda's throat. There was a crunching noise and a wet choking sound from Myranda when she stopped moving. Sansa stared at her enemy and watched the murderous mistress die in front of her. There was a strange flicker of blue from one of her bloody sockets, but it seemed to be a trick  of the light as it faded away quickly.

She was feeling lightheaded as she looked up at the statue of her father. His image seemed to blur, but she managed to focus and keep her vision clear. She was still bleeding, and she could probably manage some basic bandages from her supplies. She pulled the knife out of her shoulder and tossed it aside as she carefully tried to clean and cover the wound with a piece of cloth torn from her dress, her heavy breathing suddenly all the noise that remained in the tomb…

Which made it that much more obvious when something moved. Sansa froze and heard the sliding of pebbles again, turning her head cautiously to keep her shoulders still. She saw it again; the blue glow by Myranda’s face. She turned to look more carefully, seeing that the light flickered like torchlight in the center of her eyes, but the color of deep water or especially thick ice. Myranda pushed herself up, her movements a bit jerky by growing smoother as she stood back up. The blood running her from eyes did nothing to diminish the flames, and even her numerous wounds didn’t seem to slow her down. Sansa jolted back as Myranda started to approach her, teeth baring in a vicious grimace and her chipped and broken nails outstretched. “I’m still not done with you, you treacherous cunt,” Myranda seethed through her menacing grin.

“What is the matter with you?” Sansa snapped, more confused and concerned than afraid. Sansa’s back hit the foot of her father’s statue, turning briefly towards it in surprise before going back to Myranda. Still in the corner of her eye, she saw a kind of grey fog rolling in, seemingly from the statue itself as well as her aunt Lyanna’s nearby. The mist passed over her shoulders, and Sansa couldn’t explain why, but she felt herself strengthened. Her wounds didn’t go away, but she found them easier to ignore and a fiery strength in her weary muscles.

Myranda came rushing at her, but Sansa grabbed hold of her arm to stop her hand short. Her nails still left a fresh scratch on Sansa’s face, but she swung a surprising punch across Myranda’s jaw. It hit with a short, clear crunching sound as she reeled and shook her head. Her face looked swollen and her jaw was bent into an unnatural angle, but she still snarled and grabbed for one of the nearby statues. She ripped one of the swords from its inanimate owner and swung it in a wide arc. Sansa grunted loudly out as the blade cracked into pieces against her, but still left a slash down the side of her arm. Sansa grabbed the wrist that was left holding the handle and an inch or so of broken blade, pulling on for leverage as she kicked the inside of Myranda’s knee. The reanimated mistress fell with a crunch, but she lashed out and bit down on Sansa’s fingers to penetrate deep into her flesh. Her manic attacker buried her claws into Sansa’s inner thighs, burying them deep to keep herself painfully close to her nemesis.

Sansa gave a shrill scream, not sure if she was going to be able to keep those fingers but not bothering to find out now. She grabbed Myranda’s hair just as the nearby torch flickered out, leaving nothing in sight but the glowing of her unnatural eyes. Sansa still had a grip on her, so she turned and shoved her head towards the spot where she’d last seen one of the dire wolves. The soft crunching noise told her she had guessed right, cuing her to rapidly lift and slam Myranda’s face into the cracking statue again and again. She felt blood and torn flesh against her fingers, but she didn’t stop until she saw the flashing streaks of blue finally go out. With a few more final, puffing breaths, she felt whatever had empowered her fade away and collapsed onto the bloody earth.

Sansa was still dazed when she saw the figures descend upon her, but she wasn’t afraid. There was her father, and her aunt and brother as well. Her father knelt down to brush her bloody hair from her face. "Rest easy, child," his deep voice assured her.

"You fought a wight and you fought well," her brother Robb noted rather proudly. “Not all Starks can say that, and I think Grey Wind relished that bit of blood” A monstrous grey direwolf appeared and softly nuzzled against Sansa’s lap. A monstrous grey direwolf appeared and softly nuzzled against Sansa’s lap.

Her first instinct was to ask if Myranda was dead, but the gruesome scene was fresh in her memory. "I'm sorry," she blurted instead, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm a disgrace. I'm a kin-slayer and a traitor. I'm a whore and an assassin, always hiding behind someone else when things go wrong. Petyr is the only reason I'm still around, and..."

Her spectral father gestured her to hold as he softly shushed her. "I know. I know. We've been watching over you." He looked down the long row of statues before looking back at her. "Sansa Stark, you have caused many changes wherever you go. You were always your mother’s daughter. You did what I never could have done. You survived amidst foes and beat them in ways I never could. You protected yourself when all I’ve done was to endanger you with my damned honour. You survived, when winter came for our family.”

Sansa didn’t pay much attention to her aunt, but as Lyanna seemed to be smoothing out her clothes and dabbing at her wounds, they slowly healed and closed at her touch. “Nearly done,” she said, but looked more to her fellow spirits than to Sansa. Bran had sent them to see that Sansa made it through this encounter safely, and with her foe gone, all there was left was to heal her from her violent injuries.

Sansa smiled weakly as she looked up at her dearest family. “I’m sorry. I’m not the fine lady you all remember… but I’m not afraid anymore, either.”

“Good girl,” her father said simply. “You’ll do us proud.”

Sansa woke up with a start, but rather than the cave, she was in a proper bed. She patted herself down, finding herself in a simple night gown. She lifted up her sleeves and skirts to see that she had been entirely healed from the struggle… all but a small but very clear scar that felt icy cold to the touch. Whatever it was that had healed her, it had run out just before it could truly finish its work.

She was quickly brought up to speed and shared the information of her own, for what little all that did to explain things. One of Petyr’s men had found her passed out in the catacombs and brought her back. They hadn’t found anyone else down there apart from the butchered remains of another woman with her blood everywhere. They insisted she sleep some more rather than press herself minutes after waking up, but she insisted on bringing an armed batch of guards into the tomb when she was rested.

Sansa regretted this decision, as her sleep was plagued by ominous dreaming. She saw thousands of statues of her ancestral family crumble and collapse to the sound of the mournful howls of wolves. There was darkness until she saw two flickering blue flames, burning brighter until they lit up the scene. It showed the figure Myranda staring at her through grim, ice blue eyes until she awoke with a gasp. She quickly gathered her men, but when they reached the passageway, it wouldn’t budge. It was as if the secret door had been turned back into a random part of the castle walls.

Unknown to  them, a few miles from Winterfell, a pale girl crawled from the earth, her flaming blue eyes rising behind her probing hands.

Sansa wasn’t exactly pleased with this outcome, but it would do. Petyr and his forces had done just as they’d planned and the keep was now her own. While she would always show respect and deference to him, she was now the Wardeness of the North and essentially his political equal. Petyr offered to stay in the North for the time being and Sansa graciously accepted. She still had much to learn and much more to do to solidify her rule. For the time being, things appeared to have settled down.

It stayed that way for about a year. Sansa was fully recovered apart from the scar between her legs, but there weren’t many who would notice. She was requested (never ordered) to come visit Petyr’s office, and she was quick to arrive. He had his usual orderly pile of work in front of him, but he set it aside with a smile when he saw Sansa enter the room. “Prompt and punctual, as always,” he praised.

Sansa returned his smile and seeing that the doors were closed, she asked “So what news do you have for me?”

Her mentor gestured at some parchment, the pile nearest to him. “”Quite a deal of it, really. King’s Landing finally lived up to its name. Our beloved King Tommen flung himself out of a window and landed in the moat. A pity no one was there to stop the young king when he heard of her mother’s death.

Sansa returned his smile and seeing that the doors were closed, she asked “So what news do you have for me?”

Her mentor gestured at some parchment, the pile nearest to him. “”Quite a deal of it, really. King’s Landing finally lived up to its name. Our beloved King Tommen flung himself out of a window and landed in the moat. A pity no one was there to stop the young king when he heard of her mother’s death."

"And nobody stopped him?" Sansa pried in a detached tone, studying the window curtains as if they proved more interesting than the conversation.

"I'm afraid his servants left him alone in his room." Petyr breathed a short scoff of amusement. "Must have been their breaks. I have contact with a good number of them, and I must tell you they are just dreadful at keeping a good schedule."

Sansa let a small smirk cross her lips. "Has anyone found the body?"

"In Riverland. Or so they say. I had been investigating her squabble when there came reports of her corpse being found abandoned by some scheming maniac or another. Her face was slashed to bits, but they say the hair was sign enough. More gold on her head than in her coffers, they say."

"Sounds like a lot of effort just to murder a royal," Sansa observed casually.

"Oh, murder is easy, child. The hard part is in the body. You'd be shocked at how difficult it would be finding someone with hair to match that radiant color. Once you'd have that, it's easy enough for a man to mutilate a face beyond recognition. Without the eyes, lips, nose, a face is just a face." He spoke with a tone of playful mock-frustration as if a royal corpse was like finding a stain on his shirt.

"So with Tommen and Cersei missing, there's quite the political sinkhole drawing people into action. The Lannisters rally behind Princess Myrcella (likely Doran's doing, that meddler)." Hearing Petyr accuse someone of meddling got a snicker out of Sansa. "They march on King's Landing as we speak while Prince Doran prepares for war in Dorne. Royals out for royal blood: business as usual, as you surely know by now."

Sansa nodded, folding her hands patiently. "And have you hear the rumors? The talk of monsters?"

"I read more than I hear, but of course I have. More information passes through me than food these days. Reports of dragons to the east, and krakens out west. The south sends word of mermans in their seas, and the north even says White Walkers threaten their walls. Thankfully, the Night Watch is full of tough enough bastards to beat back the dead themselves. They say your reinforcements are greatly appreciated, and that your brother is leading them very effectively."

Petyr stopped to tap a finger on a very small pile of paperwork; only two or three thick at most. "Perhaps most peculiar, a dragon prince from Volantis has set sail for the mainlands with nearly everyone failing to notice." Sansa glanced at the papers then back to him, getting Petyr to flash a guilty smile.

"I suppose that you're not 'hardly everyone,' then."

"Perish the thought!" he chuckled. "People can be so predictable. It's boring enough watching them work, let alone being one." Petyr smirked at his protege and leaned back in his seat. He shook his head in a bemused sort of way at what other people would read as signs of the end of the world. “Dragons, prince, and Queens, I may have found you a prince straight from the fairy tales. If that sort of things still interests you of course.”