#The horses name is snowball.

[dantedoodles]

Young(er) frollo sketch I made some time ago that I honestly kinda want to redraw

#dantedraws #claude frollo #judge frollo #the hunchback of notre dame #frollo #Idk how to draw horses #The horses name is snowball. #Anyway don’t look at the horse #Look at Claude #I like his cunty leggings #thond

[cheeseburger443]

🐎...

#*cough* anyways #save a horse ride a cowboy 🗣️🔥 #sorry not sorry #Still can't believe they name this emo horse Snowball #He legit cares more about his horse than everyone else🤦‍♀️ #the hunchback of notre dame #hond #claude frollo #disney art #disney #disney villains #judge frollo #frollo

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

disney horse

OKAY SO

Today I learned that Frollo’s (black) horse is (ironically) named Snowball… LIKE. WhY THAT nAmE???? QhY’S THE nAmE SO……. …. . . .. . CUTEsY????????????? Despite its (presumed) owner being so… awful 🤡 WHAT IS THE PURPOSE??????

Can you imagine. Horsebackriding/Equestrian Club Rollo??? And he just. NamES HiS gHORSR “Snowball” (or some other super cute name)?????? Imagine him casually stroking Snowball’s mane while he’s watching crimson flowers consume the city and listening to people cry out in agony…

I know we don’t even see Rollo interact with a horse in Glorious Masquerade but let me have this—

#Rollo Flamm #Rollo Flamme #I love sassy Disney horses #Khan (Mulan’s horse) #Pegasus (from Hercules) #Maximus (from Tangled) #and then you have. #fucking SNOWBALL #alternatively think about Rollo patting a town goat #at least Riddle’s horse has a cool ass name #Vorpal… like the Vorpal Sword #Snowball sounds like a MLP name 💕 #Snowball is also the name of Aya’s bunny in Mad Father #notes from the writing raven #twst shitpost #twisted wonderland shitpost #twst shitposts #twisted wonderland shitposts

[smash-chu]

One of the best fliers out there among piñatas, the Swallolly is swift - both in terms of speed and at dispensing swoops. For being rather small it attacks anything which it sees as a danger, how feisty!

These little guys want to be known as graceful, but they're far from it, so to make up for being such bumbling little piñatas they take things very slowly - if you want something done fast, don't ask a Schneehorse

Woosh, woosh! The Fliesquirrel might not fly like your traditional "flying" piñata, but it's gliding skills are nothing to sneeze at. Luckily even if they get pulled into trees on windy days, they can climb as well, so no getting stuck there for them~

Another handful of piñatas~!

#viva piñata #viva pinata #fan pinatas #my designs #my art #smash-chu's art #just some little guys #enjoy #swallolly is swallow + lollypop #schneehorse is sea horse + schneeball (a german pastry named after snowball in the same language) #and fliesquirrel is flying squirrel + flies graveyard (yes that's the name for a group of pastries. yes i know it's weird)

[cat-or-kitten]

So now i have to work with them and Katja just hopes i die in the Prozess thank you hun love you too snowball

#sso #sso jessica #sso sabine #sso spoilers #sso katja #the snowball hopes i die #also i think the name of my horse was a wrong choice #i always read Blood pressure instead of Blueduck in german

[silvcrignis]

To Frollo: ⊗

Meme: Send me ⊗ for my muse’s reaction to yours locking them outside {x}

HONESTLY he could hardly BLAME her for ushering him out the door, nor could he fault her for the CLICK of the lock his pointed ears picked up afterwards... He had probably looked uncomfortable in there. Which made SENSE. He WAS uncomfortable in the Charming household, almost UNBEARABLY so... He had not said a SINGLE word to Edward the entire time he was there & had maybe said a total of five sentences to Cinderella herself during the TWO hours he had been there.

The only reason he had even BEEN there was because a very drunk Kovu (Scar would have been so PROUD of his son's inebriation had he actually been there to SEE it that night) had dragged him along, insisting he "Meet my friendssssss!". Problem was Kovu's friends were an UNBEARABLY attractive married couple who Claude honestly did NOT know that well.

Which led to his CURRENT situation. He rolled his eyes slightly at how RIDICULOUS this entire situation was as his large black destrier, Aldon cantered up to him, excitedly accepting the long fingers of Claude's right hand carding through his mane before the horse rested his head on his rider's shoulder with a LARGE puff of warm air before Claude realised he was actually HOLDING something in his left hand, which he usually preferred. Pale turquoise moved to glance at what he had in his hand & he gave a long, DEEP sigh, murmuring "Jesus Plesus on a stick..." under his breath.

He reluctantly turned back around, large hand raising & lightly rapping at the door, his stomach TWISTING slightly.

"... I still have your wine glass. I am not in the habit of swindling STRANGERS out of their CHINA, surprisingly enough," he announced, knowing his voice would indeed carry despite the door not being open.

#x: Answered #verreprincesse #c: Claude #c: Aldon #v: Long Live Evil #((He decided to be Less Depressed for this one... A pleasant surprise)) #((I reject the name Snowball for a fucking BLACK horse Claude's horse's name is Aldon I will not subscribe to the bullSHiT))

[delopsia]

Sleigh Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

My cozy little submission for @lewmagoo's Christmas Celebration 🤍 Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, brief food mention, vague mention of somnophilia, Christmas celebrations mentioned but no religious activity tied to it, snowball fights, riding, unprotected sex. A little slice of winter fluff. Brief Summary: Rhett's fixing up the family sleigh to take you on the ride he never got to give you, but not everything goes according to plan when it's finished...

It's the crash that gets your attention. 

A harsh clatter of metal and a heaviness that booms when it hits the ground, thundering through the air like last night's storm. But despite its alarming appearance, you haven't the slightest clue where it came from, the noise bouncing from wall to wall and down to the cellar, never seeming to lose her vicious intensity.

But your feet must have grown ears of their own because they're carrying you out the door within a few seconds. Shoes thumping across hardwood older than you are and down the dirt driveway. On a one-way track to the barn where you last saw Rhett. He's the only person who could have caused such a—

...ruckus.

"Did the ghost of Christmas Past get ahold of you?" It's impossible to stifle the giggle that escapes you; not quite the sight you expected to find when you rounded the corner.

Rhett's eyes roll, hardly visible through the pile of Christmas lights that have fallen on top of him, "help me."

As much as you'd like to do that, you're not entirely sure where to begin. Stepping past clips and oddly shaped tools you don't know the name of, you bend down, grabbing a handful of the cables and pulling them away. Untangling them may take an entire day's worth of work, but at least the mass makes it easy to get them off of him, heavy as they are. 

"I thought you weren't decorating the house this year?" Your hands daringly stroking through his hair as you work, tangled from the Wyoming wind and the slightest bit damp with sweat. Should be something you find gross by now, but that grimy cowboy charm has dug its roots in deep.

"'m not," despite being the one tangled up, he's not that much help. Moving a little too slowly, as you nimbly work to free him of his decorative confines. 

His pause makes you wonder if that's your cue to speak."No?" 

And it must have been what he was waiting for because his head shakes, "Was tryin' t' find that damn drivin' harness." 

The last of the lights fall from his shoulders, laying in a heap around his ankles. A trap that he must deal with alone, lest you bend down and wind up on your knees for longer than planned. Instead, you savor the veins that bulge in his forearms as he reaches down to free himself, "Finally, see the wicked ways of big oil and convert back to old-fashioned horse and buggy?"

"Naw," he's peeking at you through the corner of his eye, seems to have caught on to the way your gaze lingers a moment too long, "d' you remember that ol' sleigh? The one my folks used for their weddin'?"

"The same one Perry cracked the frame of?" You still consider yourself fortunate that you weren't familiar with the Abbotts back then, far away from that first newlywed argument. Its hard telling if Rebecca will ever forgive Perry for making her walk through freezing snow that soaked her wedding dress on their special day. 

"'ts the one," those spurs on his boots chime like Christmas bells as he steps out from the hoard. Closer to you. "'m tryin' to fix it before Christmas."

Your head tilts to the side. "...you're not planning on a second wedding, are you?" Because as far as you remember, that sleigh has been a wedding-exclusive tradition, carrying every Abbott newlywed through a winter wonderland with their partner. And despite the newness of the rings adorning your ring fingers, you don't count as newlyweds anymore. 

Rhett just shakes his head. "Nah," leaning in to press his warm lips to your forehead before returning to the mess he's created, "but it ain't fair that I never got to give you a ride in it."

"I can think of other rides you've given me," and for once in your life, you're thankful he's not looking directly at you, or else he would have caught sight of the way your face dropped. How many more times will your inner thoughts dart off the tip of your tongue? 

He sputters, lights falling out of his hands, "I'm tryin' t' be serious here!" But those cheeks of his are red as can be, rosy with something torn between surprise and fondness. 

"But I'm fully serious," doubling down; there's no sense in going back now.

His index finger shakes at you, defiant, "I'm takin' you on a sleigh ride even if it's the last thing I do."

Your eyes trail over to Isabella, her fuzzy head poking out of her stall. There isn't a way in hell that she knows what is being said, but her gaze suggests she understands every word. Isn't pleased in the slightest about being downgraded from loyal ranch horse to novelty sleigh puller. But it can't be as bad as that parade sleigh she begrudgingly pulled back in January.

The voice in the back of your head openly wonders if he'll give up on it within a couple of days. You've never seen him quit that easily, but what are the chances that the sleigh is even fixable? The old red paint has long since chipped away to reveal decades' worth of rust and weathering and has long since lost parts of the metal underside. No longer capable of sliding across the snow, no, now its sharp ends dig into the frozen soil like a stubborn mule. 

But you wake up the next morning to find Rhett jotting down a plan on the back of some junk mail, and the next, he's out working on it before lunch. When Cecelia approached you two with the idea of staying in the house while she and Royal visited Rebecca and Perry for a month, you'd never imagined this was how Rhett would spend his time. 

"And here I'd thought you got lost in the barn," you chirp, only lifting your head to meet him for a kiss, frozen lips melting against your warmer ones like snowflakes. 

"'m sorry," and for your troubles of waiting an extra hour, he quiets you with a second kiss. Longer. Lingering with the same fire that got you bent over the counter earlier. "I can't seem t' find them damn sleigh bell straps."

On its own, your head tilts to the side. "You're done with the sleigh?" 

"Nah," he makes a face as he peels that hat off his head, seems to have glued itself there after a long day of sweating, his forehead still shimmering with it, "jus' realized there ain't no point in a sleigh ride if there are no sleigh bells." 

But the bells...simply do not exist. 

They're not in the shed, far out in one of the pastures. Nor are they in the cellar or the measly attic full of all the junk in the world. No matter where you two search, there isn't the slightest hint of a sleigh bell. Coincidentally, every person in Wyoming must be having the same problem because there are none when you venture into town. The bells, once sitting in the front of the tack shop, are now nothing but a memory, not to be restocked until next year.

"Hey, Rhett," you find yourself saying in the middle of the general store, "will this work?"

The corner of Rhett's lip wavers up and down, torn between amusement and mock annoyance at the tiny bell necklace in your hand. Red, green, and silver bells of various sizes, all crammed together to create a gaudy masterpiece with a built-in obnoxious soundtrack. 

If his eyes could roll the way into the back of his head, they would have by now. "Yeah, if you're plannin' t' be the horse."

But he's still reaching out to give it an experimental shake as if he's considering it for the briefest of moments. 

"I don't mind the idea of that," giggling, you move to set it back on the rack, returning to its equally festive companions. 

You blink, and all of a sudden, it's sitting in the cart. Not a word is spoken as Rhett winks at you before disappearing into the next aisle over, boot spurs chiming their taunting chant. 

It's only fair that you get him something obnoxious to wear, too—a reindeer antler headband with cheap golden bells on them. Enough to get you a funny look when they cross the scanner in the checkout, but not for him to mention anything about it. 

The bells sit on the counter like a taunting reminder of what seems to have disappeared from the ranch entirely. Vibrantly colored metal catching in the morning sunlight when Rhett leans in to catch you with a goodbye kiss as if he's embarking on some lifelong journey and not walking a couple of yards to the barn. 

One afternoon you catch him swearing to the high heavens over how much he can't stand that motherfucker, Perry, as he welds two pieces of metal together. Vaguely shaped, seems to match the missing piece beneath the rusty old sleigh. On another, he walks into the house, reeking of paint stripper.

"Did you take a bath in this stuff?" You ask, lathering your hands for a second time, working your way back through those freshly washed locks of hair. Silky soft to the touch, the peppermint of his shampoo nearly enough to drown out the overwhelming scent of chemicals. 

"I even used gloves," his nose wrinkles, eyes scrunching shut at the stray bit of soap running down his forehead. Your finger swipes it away just in the nick of time before it can cross his eye and begin to sting. 

You're fortunate that washing his hair has become a favorite winding down activity because it seems you spend half of your evening helping him scrub every crevice twice. Washing away the grime from under his nails and not resting until he smells like peppermint and the brisk winter breeze...at least that's what the bottle says. It's more of a dull mintiness that kisses your nose when you get close enough. 

But it only marks the start of something else. 

Red flecks of paint cling to his clothes and skin like a toddler who has gotten carried away with an unsupervised art project. Unlike the paint stripper, it doesn't carry a scent that makes you lightheaded, but you roll your eyes every time you see him. Red on the edges of his nails splattered up his forearms and reaching up to his cheeks. Ratty old jacket growing to look like it's been involved in a crime.

It reaches its worst on Christmas Eve. Days of paint piling up to join the remnants that stubbornly cling to his skin, making him to look like a Halloween decoration that was accidentally left out when the others were rounded up. But there he is hair decorated with flecks of white as he stomps his boots on the entry mat, shaking free of the clinging snow. 

He looks ridiculous.

"Quit laughin' at me every time I come in the door," he chuckles, not an ounce of seriousness to his tone as he meanders up to you, rubbing his painted nose against your forehead whilst he draws you in. Some big hug that greedily steals away the heat your body has collected over your cozy day in the house, all for the sake of melting your favorite frosty cowboy. 

"You would be laughing too if you saw yourself," your thumb squishes his cheek, feeling the soft prickle of his facial hair as you wipe away a few red flecks. Only to spot more above his brow, and in his hair, and clinging to the side of his neck. 

No, no, no, you have to look away, or else you'll catch yourself scrubbing him down with the sink sponge. Already in your free hand and drenched in dishwater that you've just run, hadn't quite been expecting him to come in so soon. 

You suppose there's the reason why he's here an hour earlier than usual, because he's hooking his thumb into your belt loop and pleading for you to step away from the sink for just a moment. And who are you to deny him when he's grinning at you with paint-freckled cheeks? Soft blue eyes glittering with an excitement that only appears when he's proud of himself. 

So off you go. Stumbling down the dirt driveway in your pajama pants and the winter coat you'd snatched off the hook when you were halfway out the door. Not dressed warm enough to escape the wind nipping at your exposed cheeks, squeezing between the fabrics of your clothes and wrapping you up in a full-body chill. Snowflakes drift past like tiny fairies, melting on your skin and clinging to Rhett's hair. 

Then you see it.

A bright red sleigh pokes out from around the barn door, paint so pristine that it shimmers. Not a hint of how it once rusted to the brink no return doesn't bear its scars of Perry's fateful wedding joy ride. No, it's wrapped up in a big silver bow, like it's brand new. Brought home from the shop, fresh out of the factory, and certainly not a fifty-year-old family heirloom.

You can see exactly where he painted it earlier; the color a little darker where it's still wet, but it's...perfect. 

"Are you sure this is the same sleigh?" Blinking once. Twice. 

It's still there. Real as you are.

"Y' can't tell where I welded it?" His shivering hand points to a space in the underside of it, but quite frankly, it all looks the same to you. He could have tricked you into believing that this is a different sleigh entirely. 

Your head shakes, a movement that dissolves into a full-bodied shiver, "Not a bit." 

It's perfect. The color. The repair. The timing. Only Rhett Abbott can pull together a monumental task at the last moment, all for the sake of a special day. The necklace of bells catches your eye when you meander back inside, dashing for the blankets that have been warming by the space heater. The necklace won't fit Isabella, but they'll certainly fit you.

Who cares where the jingle is coming from? As long as it's there, then you can't bring yourself to utter a single complaint. 

Rhett's heated glare at the reindeer antlers resting menacingly on the couch suggests that he could definitely complain, though.

 The Christmas tree twinkles in Cecelia's office, just a couple of feet away from the living room, a pleasant golden hue that warms the room with its presence. A tiny addition to the movie playing on the television, only serving to make you nuzzle into Rhett a little closer. His heart beating gently against your ear, scruffy cheek resting against your forehead. 

You're snuggled up in bed when you realize you forgot to finish washing the dishes and now soaking in frigid water with nothing but a memory of soap left. But you can't bring yourself to slip out of Rhett's arms to clean up a few measly dishes. It can be left for the morning. Before Rhett gets up to fetch Isabella and works away with all of the mechanics that go into pulling a sleigh. 

They're the first thing on your mind when you slip out of bed in the morning.

Well...that and bringing Rhett a piece of butter toast that he so politely held you hostage for, refusing to let you free of his arms until you paid his tax of kisses and treats. The downside of marrying a cowboy too strong for his own good.

But you don't make it to the sink before you see it.

White.

A winter wonderland so bright that it hurts your eyes to look at it. Reaching as far as the eye can see, toppling high in the trees, and coating everything with a thick winter blanket until you can no longer recognize the Abbott property. But that's not the problem. No, the problem is how much of it there is.

At least a foot and a half deep, not enough to block you in but definitely enough to warrant breaking out the plow. Piled up outside the barn doors, packed tight by the squealing wind, and stacked high on the roof of Rhett's truck. 

"Rhett!" You call out, voice echoing all across the house. Distantly, you think you catch a grumble that sounds like a response. "Can you take a look outside for me?" 

Feet thunk across the floor overhead. 

And then you hear it. 

A muttered, "Shit."  Clear as day, traveling through the paper-thin walls, down the stairs, and straight to your ears.

He's out the door before the toast pops out, swearing under his breath as he yanks his coat over his shoulders; you're surprised he even remembers to lean in and kiss your cheek before he heads out into the world of white. 

There's no way that the sleigh can go through that much snow, but one way or another, you find yourself fiddling with the edges of your gloves, walking towards the barn, bell necklace jingling every step of the way. Despite the added protection of all these layers, the wind still works its way in. Biting at every centimeter of exposed skin that can be found, heckling you even when you step into the safety of the barn. 

"Rhett?" Calling out into the empty room. He isn't here, and the sleigh still sits where you last saw it, completely untouched. In fact, the only other living creatures in this barn are the horses. Isabella's head pokes out of her stall as if she's confused about this whole thing herself. 

Her ears prick forward. Suddenly interested.

Something cold splatters against your back.

"Rhett!" You're squealing. Spinning on your heels. Just in time for a second ball of white to explode against your chest.

Snowballs.

A third whizzes past your head. Smashing into something that goes crashing to the floor. Spooks a noise out of the horses. You'd check. But you're already diving behind the safety of a barn door. Scrambling to scoop up some snow into a crudely formed ball.

...where did he go?

One moment he was darting toward you. The next, he's virtually vanished.

But he's left footprints. Little tracks that cross yours and venture toward the corner of the barn. You see him now. The tip of his hat poking around the corner. Wavering. Like he's about to burst out and pelt you with another ball.

Except you're quicker. Bursting out from your hiding spot. Nailing him in the shoulder with a ball that splatters up into his face. 

"Shit!" He's pawing at his icy cheek. Snowflakes sparkling, clinging to his stubble. 

"A snowball fight, really?" You giggle, reaching for more snow. Packing it together as quickly as you can. Racing to beat Rhett's quicker hands. 

The sound of your necklace jingling washes over his laugh, "scared yer fixin' t' lose?" 

This isn't a fight you started, but it is certainly one that you will finish. 

Except your shot misses Rhett by a mile. His retaliation narrowly brushes past your leg. He's reaching for another, and so are you. Futilely gathering up bits of ammunition. Scrambling to step away from each other. Fearing the other will charge at any moment. Snow crunching heavily beneath your feet. Powdery and kicking up to cling to your pants. 

Again, you're taking an aim at him. And this time, you don't miss. White scattering about Rhett's messy curls. A perfect headshot.

"You little—" He's making a break toward you like a bull out of a chute. So suddenly that your foot slips out from under you in your efforts to escape. Fighting against your pounding heart and the wicked brace of the wind. Snow still clutched in your gloved hand as he yells. "Come here!"

Shit. Shit. Shit. You've nowhere to go.

You're darting into the barn. Boots scuffing against the old pavement floor as you veer left into the tack room. Spurs jingle behind you. Overjoyed laughter like a haunting squeal that adds a little more fire to your step. Bee lining straight for the hay, past the saddle racks, and out the half-open side door.

Turning. Throwing the snowball right into Rhett's chest. But it's only adding fuel to the already open blaze. 

"That ain't fair!" He hollers. In the corner of your eye you can see him bending down, scooping up snow. Not even bothering to ball it up before he throws it at you. Tiny snowflakes stabbing at your eyes and cheeks. 

You yelp, pawing at your face with the back of your hand. "You don't play fair!" 

Where are you going? You have no idea because you're back in front of the barn again. Racing for the house. As if the safety of the mud room will thwart this evil attack from your husband. Feet falling into your old footprints, vying for a quicker escape.

Weight hits your back.

"Rhett!"

The world spins.

"Quit yellin' at me!"

 Your bodies are twisting in the snow. Tumbling like two children. The fall cushioned by the frosty ground but melting, seeping through your clothes with an icy vengeance. All of a sudden, you're flat on your back. Chest heaving. Gasping for frozen air as you peek up at the broad frame above.

Rhett's hair hangs in front of his face, puffs of foggy breath falling from his open mouth. Forearms shivering where they rest on either side of your head. Not quite as strong and indomitable as he was just a moment ago.

"Fine," you pant, blinking back up at him, "you win."

The corner of his lip rises. Pearly white teeth glint in the light reflecting off the snow, growing brighter as he leans down. You can see it even as your eyes fall shut; this bright presence that rivals the blinding sun, warming you with the way his lips melt against your own. 

Perfection is what it is. 

His soft inhale never grows old, has been making you dizzy from day one. Delicate at first, a gentle pressure that deepens the moment your gloved hand curls around the back of his neck. Hardly expect him to be the one who gasps into your mouth with this barely-there grunt that the wind carries to your ears.

His body is lowering atop yours with this wonderfully comforting weight that feels the equivalent of a blanket sent straight from the heavens. Your hands gliding down his chest, pressing against rippling muscle, on their way to wrapping around his waist. Pulling him closer, urging him to settle between your parted legs until there isn't a centimeter of space between you. 

For a moment, you're somewhere else. Cozied up in bed or nestled in front of a roaring fireplace. 

But then the wind is squealing in your ears, and a violent shiver is raking down your back. Suddenly aware of the melting snow, seeping through protective layers and stinging at your skin. One of your hands drops, gathering a loose handful of the powder that has seemingly swallowed up Wabang in its entirety. 

"So much for that sleigh ride," Rhett murmurs against your lips, his voice a soft vibration that warms you like sunshine. 

Your noses bump together as you lean up, so close you can almost hear the thoughts filtering through his head, "I can think of something else that may suffice." 

This close, it's easy to catch the way his eyes flicker, meeting with yours, a hint darker than they were beforehand. He's not on the same page as you, but he's certainly on the right chapter. 

Almost makes you feel bad for smacking that palm-full of snow into the side of his head. 

He yelps, pawing at his frozen cheek. Opening up space for you to roll and scramble to your feet. Darting for the ice-covered porch and through the front door. Uncaring of where your shoes land as you kick them off. 

The door squeals open. But it's not loud enough to wash over the outright giggle that bubbles out of your cowboy. 

"That!" Rhett's kicking at the heel of his boot, shoving them off his feet as quickly as he can manage. "Was mean!" 

Your feet have glued themselves to the floor. Unable to move or cover up the grin etching its way across your wind-bitten face as he steps up behind you. "But you're laughing." 

From over your shoulder, his gaze meets yours. Darker than the first time.

"Yeah," he mutters, in that deep, grumbly fashion that makes your knees weak, "'Cause 'm 'bout to do this." And before he can so much as finish his sentence, his frozen hands dart beneath your shirt. Palms pressing against your warm belly. Firm, even as you yelp. Trapped between his arms, unable to jump anywhere but back into his chest. 

"Rhett!" But you can't get away. Squirming, stumbling in his grasp. Strong enough to force your bodies to stumble forward. Not enough to break free of the frigid fingers danging up your sides. 

"Jesus, why're y' so fuckin' strong?" The only disadvantage Rhett has is the socks clinging to his feet. Unable to gain a hint of traction on this hardwood floor. Slipping, sliding around. "Y' little bull."

Speaking is beyond you. Breathless as your feet dig into the scratched wood. Pushing yourself backward, Rhett's back thunking into the wall. 

He's laughing. 

You're at the end of your rope, and he's laughing.

Scowling, you push back a little further. The soft curve of your ass pressing into his jeans, drawing those chuckles into a guttural groan that tickles down your spine. Weakening the slightest bit at the way you wriggle against him, feeling the way he twitches, hardening until he's straining against the material.

Your name falls off his lips. Hardened arms, now soft, hugging you against him, powerless to do anything else. The brim of his hat bumps against your head as he leans into you, putty in your hands.

He doesn't say a word, but the hot breath on your neck tells everything you need to hear. 

Slow, you spin, twisting in his arms until you're nose to nose. Your hand free to reach down and slip between his legs, cupping him through his jeans. Drinking in that shaky breath, the way he pushes into it, and how his eyes flutter. A pretty show, all for you. 

You know that you shouldn't be tugging on his zipper; Cecelia's van is bound to roll up the snowy driveway at any moment, with food ready to head into the oven and gifts to be opened by the tree, fresh home from their California ventures. There is no time for this, and yet your thumb is popping open his button, too-cold fingers venturing inside. 

That pretty mouth falls open. Jolting as your hand wraps around him, remaining still in that helpless sort of way while you draw him out. Until his cock is fully out, in the middle of this hallway, right by the front door. Growing harder in your grasp, only takes two slow pumps of your fist to get him all the way there. Aching. Yearning.

"Why're you so quiet all of a sudden, cowboy?" You whisper a taunt uttered so quietly that it ought to be poetry. 

His Adam's apple bobs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. But he doesn't say anything. 

No, he's quiet.

Even as you take a fistful of his jacket, haul him off the wall, and back him into the living room. A wordless dance that bumps your noses together but never lets your needy mouths meet. His hands on your hips and yours on his chest, the only sound in the room that of your necklace jingling, an echo of the sleigh ride you were supposed to have. 

Fortunately, you can think of a much, much better ride. 

The backs of his knees bump into the couch, falling backward with an unceremonious thump. Springs squealing, something nameless popping in a fashion that can't mean anything good. 

You don't care.

Neither does he. Too busy leaning forward and hooking his fingers in your waistband, gently tugging your pants down your thighs. All the while, you're unzipping your jacket, dropping it to the floor just as your legs escape the confines of all those layers. Suddenly, all too exposed in this not-so-warm house.

"C'mere," he breathes. 

And oh, you do. Knees settling on either side of his hips, his lap the perfect cushion that you settle into, his hard cock squishing between your bodies, the fabric of your sweatshirt rubbing against it. Soft mouths collide. Hungry. All taking. Rough stubble brushing against your chin, with a kind of tingling burn that you've become all too familiar with. A dizzying clash intensified by the jingling of the cheap bells around your neck.

Blindly, your hand reaches off to the side, feeling about the cushion until the texture changes, suddenly running over smooth fabric and cold bells. Light in your gasp, so nonchalant that Rhett doesn't notice what you're doing until you've slid the headband behind his ears.

"Did you just stick them damn antlers on me?" His eyes remain defiantly shut as if it will help him avoid the festive decor now perched on his head.

"I told you I had something else in mind," your reminder doesn't go without one of his grunts, bordering amusement. 

That pretty mouth opens, tongue lifting with the beginnings of a word that never makes it out of his throat. Silenced into a gasp, all at the way your hand wraps around him again. Thumb massaging directly under his flushed tip, exactly how he likes it. 

"Shouldn't the one wearin' the bells be the deer?" His complaint so weak that it hardly sounds like one at all. Head tilting back to rest against the cushion, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His hands running between your bare thighs, not stopping until his palm cups your sex through your underwear. 

For a moment, your resolve wavers, "Do you want to wear the bells, too?" Taunt shaky. Struggling to keep that same tone. 

The glint in his eye suggests a strong, absolutely not.

You're rapidly losing ground here. For every stroke of your hand on his cock, his fingers stroke the meet of your folds, separated by that tiny bit of fabric. So close to pushing inside, fucking you nice and slow on them until you whimper for him to stop. 

The rational part of your brain expected him to pull the fabric down your legs, much like he had with your sweatpants. But that's not what he does. No, he's dipping a finger into the band and pulling it off to the side, bearing your wetness to the not-so-warm house. 

"Fuckin' drippin'," he muses, all to himself, thick fingertips stroking up to your clit, swirling gently, "'n I ain't even done nothin' to ya."

It's hard to think. Thoughts coming to a screeching halt. Only able to focus on the hammer of your heart and the delicious drag of his fingers as they nudge into your entrance. Two sliding in with surprising ease, still open and stretched from how he woke you in the middle of the night. Cock sliding between your thighs until you had reached down to ease him in, drifting in and out of sleep as he fucked you nice and soft. 

The memory is as fuzzy as a dream, the soreness your only indicator of it ever happening. Did you ever hit your peak? Did he? You don't remember. 

"Fuck," he grumbles, fingers bottoming out so easily that your vision sparkles at the edges, "did I stretch ya out that much, baby?" 

"Don't get too full of yourself, cowboy," but your threat is empty, not a shred of seriousness to be found. Even your hand can't muster the strength to squeeze him tighter than necessary, a little warning that would make him jolt.

Instead, you're stuck lazily stroking him, some repetitive movement that hardly keeps your mind off the devilish fingertips running along the inside of your dripping cunt, searching for where you're more sensitive. His thumb lazily pushing between your folds, nonchalantly nudging against your clit. 

Your breath catches. 

"There it is," Rhett's grinning, rubbing against that soft bundle of nerves in loose circles that damn near make your eyes cross, "'s that feel nice?" 

The wriggling of your hips is enough of an answer. Grinding down into him, chasing more of those deliciously thick fingers, can't think about anything else. Just him and the sickly, wet sound he's drawing out of you with every thrust. Thumb working your clit in loose tandem, so good that you can't even move your hand over his cock anymore. 

"Wanna," gulping, you try again, "wanna ride you."

His smile widens, already beginning to draw his hand away, "All y' had t' do was ask, darlin'." 

Your knees ache as you move to sit up, digging into the broken-down cushion of the couch, a poor cushioning that's remedied by the nudge of Rhett's cock against your cunt. Blunt, dripping tip dragging through your wet folds, kissing your weeping entrance. 

His palms settle on your hips, fingers tracing loose circles into your chilly skin, a soft guide that leads you down onto him. An ache blossoming as you stretch to take him. Can never seem to grow used to how thick he is. Engorged veins and dripping like a goddamn faucet, so good that you don't mind the waddle this will surely put in your step.

"Fuck," his breathing growing heavy, squeezing on your sides. Sweat already beads at his forehead, loose strands of hair sticking, a beautiful sight that ought to make you faint. 

That fat tip finally slips inside, dragging against your walls as you sink down onto his lap. Has you pulsing and fluttering around him from the fullness alone. Filling you until your chest feels too tight, panting for breath that you can't hold onto for more than a second. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, head dropping down until it knocks against his. 

Eye to eye, panting into each other's mouths in the golden light of the Christmas tree. Sinking lower and lower until your ass meets his thighs, pussy so full of him that it's almost too much to handle. 

"God," he grunts, "y' take me so goddamn good." 

The bells on his antlers jingle as he shifts his weight, leaning back to get a better look at where he disappears into you. Two thick fingers dip between your shivering thighs, feeling the space he's spread you the widest. Absolutely enthused. 

Your first movement is marked by the sharp jingle of bells. Chiming their song as you lift your body about halfway, only to sink back down. Eager to feel the caress of his cock against those spasming nerves, so good that you have to remember to shut your mouth before you begin to drool. 

It's not quite as rhythmic, but it sounds like the bells Isabella was meant to wear. Punctuating the motion of your body as you work up a comfortable pace. Leaning forward into Rhett's warm chest, your arms still looped around his neck, mouths clashing in a too-messy kiss that leaves your lips shiny. 

"My cock feel that good in you?" He's speaking into your mouth in between wet kisses. Already a thin trail of saliva connecting your tongues before they can even meet, tangling with a lewdness that ought to make a sinner blush. "Talk to me, doll."

You're not even thinking about what he's saying. Already have an answer resting at the forefront of your mind. "Always."

The cushions are digging painfully into your knees. Hasn't been meant for this kind of activity since the early 2000's. But you're powering through, desperately chasing the fullness of every meet of your hips. Sucking in your own sounds in favor of drinking in Rhett's sharp inhales, faint little noises that send a wave of heat between your legs. 

So good, so good, so good. You want more, but your thighs can't keep up. Aching worse than your overstretched sex, protesting the rise and fall that you can't get enough of. 

"Look at you," he marvels, nose bumping into yours, nudging impossibly closer to your bouncing frame. "Already outta breath 'n ya just started." 

You don't know if it's his voice or the twitch of his cock that sends a shiver up your spine, spasming involuntarily around him. Rips any shred of annoyance from your words as you pant, "Riding you isn't a walk in the park, cowboy."

His hips jerk up. Snapping into your pussy with a wet smack, downright smug as he drinks in your cry. Too sinful of a noise to echo through the halls of his childhood home. 

"'s that better?" God, you could wipe that wicked smirk right off his face. But he's doing it again. And you're helpless but to shudder and take it. Sucking in a breath just before he punches it out of your lungs. Bells jingling like a proper fucking sleigh ride.

Your head feels too heavy for your shoulders to carry, falling into the space between his neck and collar, weakly hanging on as he fucks up into you. Running your burning tongue across the protruding vein there, drinking in his breathy moan. 

But just the slight shift in your position has him striking something new. The kind of thing that makes your vision sparkle and your body spasm.

"Right there," whimpering into his ear, barely audible over your necklace, "please—Rhett!"

"Yeah?" He's trying it again, but he barely misses. Feet slipping across the wooden floor, struggling for the leverage he needs to buck up into you. Falling into weakened rolls that grind his cock in your pussy. Gentle rolling of hips that leave your nails biting into his shoulder.

All of a sudden, the room is spinning. Rhett's weight surging up to swing you to the left, your back bouncing against the ratty old couch. Impossibly remaining deep inside of you, his hips never once slipping from between your warm thighs. Necklace singing its shrill tune in your ears as he refinds his rhythm.

Now, he can hit those frazzled nerves. Drilling into it with a fervor that makes you worry about how you'll get up the stairs later. A price you're so, so willing to pay. Back arching off the cushion, legs squeezing those muscular hips as he fucks you deep. Long strokes that squelch with every inward thrust. 

"Oughta ruin this lil pussy," he's growling into your ear, a threat he's certain to follow through on if the squealing springs are anything to go by, "fuckin' droolin' 'round my dick."

Drooling is an understatement. You're drenched. A slick mess that has run down your shivering thighs, staining the front of his jeans and glistening on his cock. An obscene sight for every withdrawal of his hips, and that alone is enough to have your skin prickling. Crying high in your throat as your head thumps back against the couch, nails biting into his shoulders until you're certain the material may rip. 

You're close. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're close, but it's not enough. No, it's not, it's not—

Rhett's rough thump presses against your throbbing clit. It's hardly even moving, and yet your mouth is falling open with a stuttered moan. You're right there. So close to the edge that your heart stutters in your chest, and your head is beginning to spin.

"This what you need, hm?" Rhett's egging you on, no doubt, can feel the way your pussy pulses around him, fluttering like a butterfly as he works you closer and closer. "Come on, sweetheart, cum 'round my cock for me." 

You don't need any further coaxing. Orgasm hitting you so hard that you've barely got time to register it. Spine arching off the couch, heels digging into Rhett's ass, squeezing him so close that he can hardly draw out of you. 

"That's it, baby, that's it," he's talking you through it, lips brushing against your cheek, but you can hardly feel it. Too wrapped up in a spiral of bliss. "Just like that, shit." 

Weak, your legs loosen, freeing him to start moving again. Jerkily thrusting into your pulsing heat, moaning low in your ear as he works himself closer and closer, and all you can do is hang on. Biting down overstimulated squeals in favor of gasping into his ear. 

"Cum in me, Rhett," you coax, shaking fingers clutching the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. "Please."

Those deep noises spur up an octave, pitchy as he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. He's almost there, so close that he's begun to shiver from head to toe, erratic breath fanning out against your skin. Weak, you clamp down around him. 

And that's all it takes.

Hips snapping into you one last time, cumming in you with a fractured nose, torn between a grunt and a desperate cry. Twitching deeper inside, punctuated by short little groans that nearly make your eyes roll into the back of your head. His spasming cock filling your pussy until you become vaguely aware of the new wetness. Marked from the inside out, sure to run down your thighs like a symbol of what belongs to him.

For a moment, the room is quiet—nothing but heaving breaths and indescribably faint noises, your cheeks squished against each other. Until you find the strength to tilt your head and press a kiss to his jaw. 

Even this close, it's hard to miss Rhett's smile as he leans over to reciprocate the peck, "I love you."

"I love you more," you giggle, squeezing him a little closer now as if the centimeters of space between your chests is too much. 

He could argue with you. Hell, you're certainly expecting for him to, and it seems that he gives it a moment of thought, before surrendering to the after-glow and letting you get away with it. He'll surely get you back for it soon. Start a contest you're rarely able to win.

But for right now, all you can do is snuggle into each other, his comforting weight settled on top of you. With wordless kisses and nuzzles of cold noses, his big hands roaming beneath your shirt to stroke the soft skin there, stubble scratching your cheek in the softest fashion he can manage. There's an ache blooming in your legs from being wrapped around his hips for so long, but the idea of him pulling out feels even worse. 

"'m still takin' you on a proper sleigh ride," he grumbles into your ear, some soft-spoken promise that fills your belly with frosty butterflies. 

But you don't get to formulate a response because all of a sudden, his phone is ringing. Cecelia, ten minutes out from the house, her careful voice backdropped by Royal's snoring from the passenger seat. She's wrangled a friend into plowing the quiet strip of road leading to the house, making room for the old car to crawl past. 

You're cleaned up and on the porch, before the drive is even plowed. Snug under Rhett's arm, feigning clinginess to disguise the wobble in your knees, sore between the legs, and waddling like a festive penguin. 

Nobody notices, too thrilled with the idea of presents and warm dinner to look into the finer details. Except for Rhett, that is. A smug, irritating grin plastered upon his pale face for the entire afternoon. Proud of his handiwork.

The sleigh bells were in Cecelia's trunk. Had accidentally landed there when she had taken the harness to the tack repair shop back in October, and in her rush to get everything packed for the trip, she forgot to take them out. 

As the sun begins to set and you're helping Cecelia put away the dishes, Rhett's head pops around the corner. Snowflakes clinging to his hair, nose red as can be, asking to steal you away for the rest of the afternoon. 

And outside the house stands his beloved mare. Her mane was braided, and her bells chiming proudly in that festive fashion exclusive to Christmas. She's rusty at first, taking a moment to remember what Rhett's asking of her, but she's perfect. Content to make her way down the snow-white driveway, jet black tail swishing from side to side. 

"Is this the sleigh ride you've been dying to take me on?" You giggle. Your chin propped on his shoulder, peering over at his grinning, wind-bitten face. 

"Mhm," his head tilts to rest against yours, "but I think I liked your idea a little better." 

It takes an hour longer than usual for you two to return from the barn that night.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #oneshot #outer range #x reader #a lew magoo christmas

[neoninky]

The TWST Therapy Rabbit AU continues!

Part 1 see here

Introducing two new buns: Toffee and Snowball

Toffee is a sweet, sweet baby sunshine boy who makes sure all the students of Royal Sword Academy stay nice and mentally healthy, never hesitating to lift their spirits if they ever feel weary or have an off day (this includes all y'all's RSA OCs, he welcomes you all - looking at you @nuitthegoddess). He is often gifted little hats and outfits from Neige and other crafty boys from RSA. The boys of NRC find him terrifyingly cute as if imbued with some unholy power they probably aren't wrong. Snowball is a very well-to-do lil' man who makes sure the boys of Noble Bell College stay on the straight and narrow, awarding good students the opportunity to feed him treats and give him pats and cuddles (depending on his mood). He is found cleaning his face often as he likes to stay very tidy. Fun fact: he is named after Claude Frollo's terrifying black horse from the original Hunchback of Notre Dame film I shit u not that is the horse's name look it up lol Also due to recent events cough cough, Rollo has been spending more therapy sessions with Snowball to avoid any other...outbursts cough. Snowball appreciates Rollo's overall disciplined nature but finds his ability to cover himself in flames very unnerving. He too is not sure about that Malleus Draconia fellow. In regards to Inky of NRC, Toffee adores her and always aims to treat her as his BFF any time their paths cross. Snowball is a bit stand-offish but that is not unusual for him. The two rabbits, at the very least, have an understanding of what the other has to deal with frequently. Inky is cool with both of these bucks and doesn't favor one over the other. If nothing else, it's refreshing to be among those who can understand the stress of trying to comfort magical teenage boys who occasionally try to blow up the planet and or murder someone. Toffee has yet to experience this but is always there to support poor Inky and Snowball to the best of his ability lol. I honestly got the idea and just wanted to make a silly lil' sketch of these boys. I hope y'all enjoy them lol.

#neoninky #twisted wonderland #twst au #twst therapy rabbit au #night raven college #royal sword academy #noble bell college #magical therapy bunnies #inky art #malleus draconia #rollo flamme #neige leblanche #magical boy chaos #overblot gang

[devildomwriter]

The Side Crew Get a Puppy for Christmas Headcanons

Solomon

• He’s delighted and amused by your choice “how did you know I was looking for a companion?”

• He thinks the puppy is a little funny looking with its long face but that makes him all the more endearing to him

• Names him King after his own monicker King Solomon the Wise

• Trains the dog not to mess with his potions and doesn’t let him in the room he does experiments in. He takes more breaks from work so the puppy won’t feel alone or bed sad

• Let’s the dog in the bed, doesn’t have any rules for him involving furniture

• Takes the dog on mission, has a little backpack full of his things

• The dog won’t touch his food which makes him a little sad but is a relief to everyone else.

Thirteen

• She’s so freaking excited. Shouts “Yes!” over and over again

• Likes that it’s a wolfdog and hopes some people will get scared and mistake him for a wolf

• Lets him run around freely in her home, especially the grassy planes on the top level

• Gives him a name as ridiculous as her inventions “Wolfie the Wacky Wolfdog” says his full name every time, no nicknames like Wolfie, but she does call him “Baby”

• Trains the dog to bark loudly and scare people

• When to dog is outside the home, he howls a lot as a warning to visitors and she loves it so much as she didn’t even train him to do that

• This dog lives the life of luxury and has its picture taken by her ALL the time

• Has it trained to charge Solomon “Take this you bastard sorcerer! Wolfie the Wacky Wolfdog, go!”

Simeon

• Is delighted by the surprise. It’s so tiny he can’t believe it’s supposed to become so big

• He names the fluffy little creature, Snowball

• This dog copies it’s owner in every way, it’s a very calm angelic dog with a bit of a free spirit

• Simeon always feeds it Tuna sandwiches, all the animals seem to like it for some reason

• He always invites the dog into bed the bed to cuddle at night

• The dog is the only thing reminding Simeon to take a break from work time to time, so he’s a good healthy distraction for Simeon

• Simeon loves the slobbery dog kisses. He thinks it’s funny and feels strange

• This dog is living the life being allowed to stay in the celestial realm and play with the angel dogs to keep them company until their owners join them in heaven

Raphael

• He’s surprised and gives one of his rare smiles as he cuddles the puppy trying to lick his face

• Thinks Saint Bernard is just fine as a name. Simeon teases him about “Saint Bernard the St Bernard.”

• The dog likes to chew on clothes so he’s always having to repair his clothes and hide his fabrics

• He makes the dog capes and fake angel wings among other accessories

• The dog acts much like a Support animal, it does tasks around the house for Raphael and brings him his spear on command

• Raphael enjoys taking him on walks, especially when the dog becomes bigger and a tad intimidating due to its size. No one would dare mess with the hitman angel’s precious dog

• Due to Raphael’s weird taste in food, the dog never eats his scraps which worries Raphael enough he takes him to the vet who suggests his just feed him regular dog food. Raphael obliges but only the top brands from the celestial realm

Luke

• He’s sooooo excited.

• Names her Muffin because “she just looks like a Muffin”

• When he realizes how big the dog is going to get he’s absolutely shocked and begins organizing his room immediately in preparations for the dog’s growth

• He always let’s the dog lick the batter bowl once he’s done and has to scold the dog always easily reaching the counter to eat his ingredients and mixing food

• Luke has a hard time walking him but feels a little safer no matter where he is with the Great Dane

• Mammon teases him that the chihuahua finally has a friend the right species, etc

• Gets a lot of “Muffin is taking her dog for a walk” comments and he sicks Muffin on them and secretly laughs

Mephistopheles

• He’s more of a horse person but he loves the surprise especially since the dog breed has “a good image” he’s picky about those things

• Doesn’t really care that it’s a human-world dog and even names it after it’s origin country—Francis

• The dog has its own servants and vet who clean up after it. Therefor Mephistopheles can be “the fun parent”

• he will give this dog anything and certainly has the money for it

• Takes the dog on horse rides and gives it its own riding hats

• Has professional photography done for the dog as well as hiring top-tier painters like the famous Dantalion

Barbatos

• Laughs in amusement and thanks you, he’s quite delighted by the surprise

• The dog is very sweet, loyal and obedient. Appropriately Barbatos names him Steward.

• He tailors the dogs own Butler uniform and trains it to help serve Diavolo

• It brings dirty dishes to the kitchen, opens the fridge and dishwasher, turns on and off lights, uses the toilet, and entertains Diavolo when he’s bored or lonely

• Barbatos is pleased to always have the dog at his side and only trusts Lucifer with the dogs care when he is away on a mission or in meetings

• The dog is trained to bring a handkerchief to Barbatos when he starts drooling, he’s quite pampered in a way that is mutually beneficial

• If you even look at this dog the wrong way, Barbatos will be after you for it. Despite the dog’s sweetness everyone is scared of it due to its protective owner

Diavolo

• This man laughs so loudly in pure excitement and joy at the tiny little thing

• Gives it the expected name, Spot.

• This puppy goes with him literally everywhere, Diavolo will not leave the dog at home even for missions and diplomatic meetings

• Similarly to its owner, the dog is loud, energetic and unpredictable

• Diavolo is so excited to always have someone to play with

• Is glad the dog is super loyal and won’t crush his spirit by running away like the Flame Salamander did

• The dog has its own room and an elite staff to care for the dog in the seconds it’s away from Diavolo who insists on doing all the care himself including the very difficult baths

• The dog doesn’t like baths so Diavolo gets soaked and covered in bubbles a lot and he just laughs about it despite Barbatos insisting the dog be trained properly

• The dog can tell when his owner is in a more serious mood and will stand still beside him or pose regally

• Diavolo’s most recent professional painting included the dog and it looks like a renaissance painting

#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me solomon #obey me thirteen #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me raphael #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo

[block-toad]

SDMP Modlist

u/GalaxyCole wrote down all the mods on the server, shown by Lark on his stream!

direct link to the list, i'll put them also under read more

Forge 1.18.2 Grabby Mobs Copperized Beautify Player Animator Extra Trades Content Creaotr integration Not Enough Recipe Book Rubidium Mod Name Tooltip Looot Bow Infinity Fix Villager Names Duckling Golems Are Friends Not Resources JRFTL Placebo No Angled Brackets YUNG's API Another Liquid Milk Mod Extra Zombie Drops Customized Dungeon Loot Skeleton Horse Spawn Fakename Snow! Real Magic! Path Under Gates Chat Heads YUNG's Better Nether Fortresses dragonfight mod Cloth Config v4 API ChoiceTheorem's Overhauled Villages MmmMmmMmmMmm Despawning Eggs Hatch The Twilight Forest Hexxit Gear 2 Konkrete FlytreLib Farmer's Delight Curious Armor Stands Chefs Delight Ender's Delight Biommes O' Plenty Simple Shops Do a Barrel Roll TexelsPaintings Edibles SuperMartijn642's Core Lib Pop! Fairy Lights Bendy Lib Fish On The Line Highlighter Mystical Oak Tree Curious Lanterns Curios API Splashy Oculus Naturally Charged Creepers Collective Camera Mod StrongerSnowballs Villagers Sell Animals (by NoCube) Eating Animation Twilight Delight Architectury Name Tag tweaks Chimes Custom Window Title Camp Chair Detail Armor Bar FastLeafDecay CodeChicken Lib WaterFrames GeckoLib Nekos Enchanted Books Dark Paintings Sky Structures Dangerous Stone Cutter Better Advancements Drip Sounds Majrusz's Accessories Kiwi Notes Double Doors Torch Slab Mod Dice Watermedia Villagers Drops Emerals on Death Pitch Perfect DeathKnell Just Enough Items Captcha Contact Sooty Chimneys Falling Leaves Structory Silveroak Outpost Dual Riders Tumbleweed Nature's Compass Artifacts Smarter FArmers Jumpy Boats Configured CatJammies Skinned Carts Dungeon Crawl Obscuria's Tooltips Snow Under Trees Snuffles Rare Ice Food Effects Book Fishing Toast Control JEI Tweaker Blueprint Boatload Craft Tweaker Forge Passthrough Signs TheDirtyStuff Chalk Curious Lights Emotecrafft Wool Tweaks Selene Infernal Mobs Useless Sword Carpet Trapdoors [Forge] Simple Voice Chat Sound Physics Remastered TerraBlender SwingThroughGrass ExtraGore Mouse Tweaks Night Lights Emote Tweaks MMajrusz Library Creative Core Nethers Delight Chicken Chunks Special Drops Farming In Rain Iceberg Walking Canes Sit Goblin Community Backpacked Flower Patch Ambient Environment Neon Craft 2 Just Zoom AquaCulture 2 CHA&S Heartstone ExpandAbility Snowballs Freeze Mobs

#sdmp #sleep deprived multiplayer #op also said that they'll probably make it a modpack and link it later! #toad.txt

[kristinamae093]

Dashing Through the Snow ❄️

Everything else can be found here.

Book/Universe - TRR

Pairing - Liam x F!OC (Kyla)

Summary - A new festival commences at the palace, and the terror twins get creative to ensure their victory. (HCTS AU)

Word Count - 2500

Warnings - two bad words, a lot of fluff, shenanigans.

A/N 1 - I am using the following prompts-

@choicesflashfics prompt number 3, which will appear in bold.

@choicesflashfics holiday prompts numbers 10, 17, 18, 46, and 97, which will appear in blue.

@choicesholidays prompt its tradition, which will also be blue.

@choicesficwriterscreations holiday prompt snowball fight.

Please excuse any errors, and thank you in advance for reading and sharing!

Most characters belong to Pixelberry.

The palace was alive with activity, as it usually was on a Saturday afternoon, but today was a special day and called for additional hands. What would now be named Winterfest would soon open; a plethora of holiday-themed activities and competitions lay ahead, the most awaited a snowball fight with participation from both nobles and commoners. Despite the snowstorm from the day before, the projected attendance was still substantial.

Constantine banned the unofficial tradition long ago after Liam suffered a harmless injury, but Liam wanted to resurrect the idea. The holidays were near, and Liam saw an opportunity to strengthen the bond with his people and start the new year on a positive foot. 

Liam lingered in the foyer, observing the commotion beyond the window. The elated smiles of the growing crowd mimicked his own, as he anxiously awaited the start of the festival. 

Constantine emerged from the hallway singing, bundled in multiple layers and a thick hat. “Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open–” 

Liam was a patient man, but could withstand only so much; Constantine had been doing this for weeks. “I swear to God if you sing another damn Christmas carol…” 

“It’s fitting!” Constantine protested. “Seems like someone wants to be on the naughty list this year…” 

“Ha! You want to talk to me about who’s naughty?” Liam snickered. “You’re getting coal this year… No doubt about it.” 

Constantine’s mouth fell open. “Why? Give me three justifiable reasons–” 

“Halloween alone gives me plenty.”  

“You’re not Santa — you may be the king, but that doesn’t mean–” Constantine stopped as Liam arched his brow. “You know what? Forget I said anything…” He nonchalantly grasped Liam’s bicep. “... Have you been working out?”

Before Constantine could respond, Kyla appeared in the doorway. She traded out her usual scrubs for jeans and a coat and let her long, luscious locks flow freely. Liam couldn’t help but admire the pep she held in her step as she bounced over; the smile on her face stretched from ear-to-ear and Liam momentarily swore he was staring directly into the sun. 

“There you are!” Constantine exclaimed. “I hope you’re ready for a day of fun!” 

“Oh, I am.” Kyla beamed. 

“Good! We have a lot to accomplish today.” 

Kyla furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?” 

“Since I am forbidden from participating, that means I shall live vicariously through you.” 

Kyla’s eyes widened. “Me?” 

“Precisely! Since the Grinch over there believes that my health won’t allow me to toss a snowball.” 

“I stand by that statement,” Liam interjected. “And that’s Mr. Grinch to you.” 

“I have to agree with him, sir…” Kyla timidly spoke, but threw her hands up when Constantine glowered at her. “I’m not the one being a hard ass about it — I just gave my professional opinion.” 

“Hey!” Liam cried, the creases on his forehead duplicating. 

Constantine chuckled. “You’ve got a point there — his rear is solidifying as he ages.” 

“Really…” Liam placed his hands on his hips, glancing back and forth between the pair. 

“Perhaps we should venture outdoors while we await the first contest?” Constantine spoke to Kyla, completely ignoring Liam. “It’s a hill race, but we can explore the vendors in the meantime.”

Kyla’s stomach rumbled. “Does that include food?” 

“As far as the eye can see,” Constantine laughed. “Let’s go find something to munch on and we can discuss our plans…” He quickly cut his eyes over to Liam and smiled brightly, but soon directed his attention back to Kyla and whispered, “Let’s talk elsewhere…” 

Kyla clenched her lips together to conceal her laughter. She nearly broke when she saw the feigned offense etched in Liam’s features, but could tell from the playful glint in his eye that he wasn’t upset — actually, he looked as if he were fighting the crack in his stony facade.

The pair quickly exited, leaving Liam alone in the entryway. He watched them disappear and couldn’t help but grin. However, his father glanced over his shoulder with a distinct glint in his eye that Liam recognized all too well, causing the hair on his neck to stand at attention — he didn’t know what it was, but the terror twins were up to something. 

The day was enjoyable for Kyla; she survived an exhilarating sled race and placed third in an apple bobbing contest with Constantine cheering from the sidelines. The pair bounced around at a steady pace, visiting the multiple booths and sampling the offered delicacies. Liam was scarce as the center of attention, but made it a point to smile and wave whenever he spotted them.

After Kyla made a snowman that resembled the former monarch — much to Constantine’s delight — they retrieved some hot chocolate. Kyla's hands practically froze in the brisk air, but the warmth of the cup soothed her icy fingers as they sat together on a vacated bench.  

Constantine took a swig of his drink and observed the crowd. “It would appear as though the finale starts shortly…” 

“Seems like it…” 

He reached into his pocket and dug out a trinket, handing it out to Kyla. “Take this — it’s your secret weapon.” 

Kyla’s brows furrowed. “... What is that?”

“You know what it is, Kyla.” 

“Okay, but — how is this a weapon? And for what?” 

Constantine snickered. “The last person standing is victorious, and that is going to be you.”

“Me?” Kyla reiterated with wide eyes. 

“Yes, but we have to get creative…” He lowered his voice. “Here’s our plan — Liam will eliminate most of the competition because he’s competitive by nature, so you need to stay hidden until the playing field dwindles.” 

“… Then?” 

“Then you’re going to catch Liam off guard, and victory shall be ours!” 

Kyla’s confusion intensified as she stared at the object in her palm. “But I don’t see how this will –” 

“You know what to do with it, Kyla…” Constantine suddenly stopped. “You don’t have to actually do anything, but act like you intend to…” 

“That seems kind of… mean…” Kyla unsurely answered. “And I still don’t see how–” 

“Just play along — distract him — the rest is taken care of…” 

Before Kyla could respond, static from a microphone peeled through the air. Atop the stage was Liam, wearing a vibrant smile. After the crowd roared for a moment, Liam held up a hand to silence them. He detailed the past traditions that were being honored, as well as his intention to continue the festivities annually, which everyone in attendance was receptive to. He thanked the vendors and the staff for their service, but everyone listening was patiently awaiting the commencement of the last activity. 

“Alright, let’s get to business,” Liam started. “Our last event will be the snowball fight. Remember that today there are no titles — everyone playing is engaging as equals, myself included. In order to win, you must be the last one standing when the bell rings, and that person will receive this plaque, along with substantial bragging rights.” He held up the item and the crowd erupted, eliciting a chuckle from Liam. “I will see you on the west grounds in five minutes.” 

As Liam vacated the stage, Constantine addressed Kyla. “Alright — you’re ready for this.”

“I am?” 

“Yes! Follow my instructions and you’ll be fine.” Constantine reassured while leading Kyla to their destination.

Kyla nodded and before she knew it, they'd arrived. The country came out in full swing; there wasn’t a patch of snow-covered ground that didn’t have eager feet on it. The area was transformed into a makeshift battlefield, including ridges to take shelter and piles of pre-made balls scattered around. 

A loud horn sounded and chaos ensued; most ran to the nearest stockpile to arm themselves while others dropped to the ground to form their ammunition. Within seconds, Kyla’s vision neared completely white as snow sailed through the air. She recalled Constantine’s instructions and hid in a bank away from the brunt of the commotion. She fended off a few people on her venture but made it to her spot safely.

Liam bobbed and weaved the multiple projectiles flying in his direction. He hadn’t had this much fun in years and although the preparations were draining, this moment was worth it. He laughed and regardless of his frozen fingers, he never stopped even for a second. Liam took out anyone who dared to provoke him and as he watched them fall, his confidence skyrocketed. 

As the playing field lessened and only a few contenders remained, he didn’t even try to seek coverage; Liam felt ten feet tall and bulletproof, and nothing was going to stand in his way. Usually, he would have to compete against Drake or Olivia, but the storm impacted their travels; nobody was blocking his path to victory. 

Kyla could tell from the dwindling voices that people were bowing out; she carefully raised her head and saw very few contestants left. Liam stood in the open firing at anyone he saw, and Kyla couldn’t help but smile at the pure elation etched in his features. The moment was short-lived as she watched Liam force yet another participant to concede; she knew her moment was now.

She dashed to the closest shelter near Liam. “Hey!” Kyla exclaimed, just loud enough to grab his attention. “C’mere!” 

Liam jogged over, but kept his ammunition in hand. “Well, well, well…” 

“I come in peace!” Kyla proclaimed but knew it was a lie. 

“You know you’re supposed to be throwing these…” He trailed off while holding up his snowball. 

“I know… But… Well, I have this — thing that I wanted to show you…” 

“Now?” 

“Yep…” Kyla unsurely answered, suddenly realizing how blatantly obvious this ploy was. But Constantine was trusting her, and she was going to see this out. She dug the object he’d given her out of her pocket and held it over their heads. “Look, there’s mistletoe. We have to kiss, it’s the law.” She bluntly stated, but instantly flushed and scolded herself. 

Liam smirked and was tempted to succumb to her — oddly timed request, but it faded as he pieced things together. “So… You’re just running around out here with mistletoe in your pocket?” 

“Don’t you? I thought everyone did.” Kyla nervously chuckled. “You know, Romans believed that mistletoe brought about peace, and they hung them over their doorways for protection.”

“Is that so?” Liam asked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. 

“Yep.” 

“Okay, then.” Liam dismissively agreed. “I’m going to have to take a rain check on your offer, but don’t worry — I’ll be back to collect.” He winked. 

“What–” Kyla stopped as two people appeared behind Liam, poised and ready to strike. It didn’t take long for her to figure out that the first was Trent, the other Bastien. However, Liam instantly thwarted their plan as he sensed their approach. He wasn’t a monarch at that moment — he was a predator. 

Liam spun around in true action hero fashion, hurling projectiles in every direction; despite his blind reaction, he landed a few critical hits. As Bastien and Trent retreated, he launched his ammo with precision, intently focused on his targets. “You think you’re sneaky? HA! Better luck next time!” 

Kyla watched and knew Constantine’s plan must be failing; on instinct, she took matters into her own hands. She quickly crafted some artillery and rose with her arm cocked, expecting Liam’s attention to be on Trent and Bastien but they were gone, and Liam was staring directly at her with a smug grin. 

“If you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war,” Liam emphasized. 

“Kyla!” Constantine yelled from the sideline. “Do it! Finish him!” 

Liam saw Kyla considering it. “Don’t — you will regret it.” 

Kyla’s brow arched. “Is that a threat?” 

“Nope…” Liam snickered. “It’s a promise.” 

Kyla contemplated her options for a moment before she lowered her arm with a sheepish smile. “Sorry… I guess the battlefield got to me for a minute.” 

Liam smiled. “No harm, no foul.” 

“Yeah… Perhaps it’s best if we hugged this one out.” Kyla suggested, trying to buy herself time. 

Liam’s grin faltered. “... Truce?” 

“Truce,” Kyla agreed. She hugged him, taking a moment to bask in his scent, but knew she had to think of something. 

Liam held Kyla closer, relishing in the added warmth from her petite frame, but noticed she was tense. The thought was short-lived as a brisk chill started at the base of his neck, slowly traveling downward and creating icicles in the wake of the snowy path. 

He recoiled away from Kyla, shuddering and dancing to vacate the sensation freezing his skin. Kyla giggled, and that’s when Liam recognized her deception. A newfound sense of determination washed over him at this sudden betrayal but before he could react, an icy projectile landed on his chest, followed by another, then another. 

“Throw the snowball like you mean it!” Constantine hollered. 

Kyla did as instructed and wildly launched snow at Liam; she wasn’t crafting balls anymore but hurled anything in his direction. Liam returned fire, but Kyla proved to be precise. Regardless, he snuck his way back to her. He secured his arms around her waist to subdue her, but Kyla wasn’t willing to go down without a fight; she squirmed and kicked up snow as he lifted her and spun in circles. The sound of Kyla’s infectious laughter filled his heart to the brim, but Liam's deep rumbles joined the symphony of her joy. 

He eventually stopped and Kyla stilled, but Liam kept his hold intact. He stared down at her, admiring the elation sparking behind her doe-like eyes. A force beyond himself took over; he inched closer, never once breaking their intent gaze, but he could see the anticipation coursing through him reflected in Kyla’s vibrant orbs. Just when he was about to make contact the concluding bell sounded, startling them apart. 

The crowd invaded the field again to congratulate those remaining, and Liam made a small statement to finish the day. People surrounded him after, but he politely deflected their attempts to get his attention; he had a prize to collect. 

He quickly located Kyla, his father, Trent, and Bastien together. “Ah, so I’ve found the circle of treason.” 

Trent’s jaw dropped and he stuttered something, but Constantine rolled his eyes and snapped, “Compose yourself, boy. You’re safe for now, even if you failed miserably.” 

Bastien laughed. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got your back.” 

“And you,” Constantine scowled. “I expected better out of you.” He went off on a long rant about honor and dignity, causing Liam and Kyla to chuckle. They quietly slipped away from the commotion, but kept Constantine in their line of sight. 

“So…” Liam started after a period of comfortable silence. 

“Yes?” 

“I believe I was promised a — prize — of sorts…” 

“You weren’t the only winner, thank you very much.” Kyla confidently stated. 

“Then consider it a reward for both of us...” 

As she took in Liam’s smirk, realization swept over Kyla. “Oh…” She bowed her head with flushed cheeks. “You want…?” 

“It’s tradition, Kyla, and I always honor traditions…” 

Kyla giggled and softly pecked his lips; it was so fast and sudden that neither was sure it truly happened, but the jolt of electricity told both it was very real. However, Liam needed more — a little taste of her simply wasn’t enough. He brought her closer and kissed her properly, cradling her face in his palms as they savored the tranquility of the moment. Butterflies swirled in their chests as their lips softly curled together, but Liam eventually pulled away wearing a bright smile that mirrored Kyla’s. 

“Now that’s a prize...” Kyla playfully swatted his chest, eliciting a bark of laughter from Liam. “Thanks for coming today, Kyla… I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Me too.”

“Do you think Lancelot failed Arthur, such as you have me?” They heard Constantine bellow over the crowd, as he laid into Bastien and Trent. “Yet, there are two of you, and you still couldn’t manage a simple task–” 

“Should we rescue them?” Kyla asked Liam. 

Liam considered it a second before he shrugged. “Nah. They can consider this punishment for their treason.” 

“Aww… Is William butthurt that his men turned on him?” Kyla batted her lashes with a toothy grin. 

Liam rolled his eyes. “Always with the 'William'…”

Tags (let me know if you want added or removed) - @ao719 @queenrileyrose @angelasscribbles @tessa-liam @kingliam2019 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @bascmve01 @busywoman @belencha77 @mysticalfangirl @nestledonthaveone @lovingchoices14 @lunaseasblog @malblk21 @sfb123 @emersyn-in-cordonia @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys

[crackinthecup]

Throwback Thursday Tuesday

Tagged by the incredibly lovely and incredibly talented @gardensofthemoon and @cilil <3 Thank you so much!

I've gone with what might just be my favourite bit in Yield to the Moment (Angbang modern AU). NSFW under the cut.

Tagging @elevenelvenswords, @tarmairons, @sauron-kraut, @gerardspuppy, @markedasinfernal (only if you fancy! no pressure)

*

The days roll on. Snow falls down from leaden clouds, draping the landscape in white.

They go out walking, kicking up sprays of glittering snow, Melkor with his cane, bundled up in shirt, jumper, scarf, gloves, and Aulë’s thick sheepskin coat, while Mairon floats about in a thin top and an unzipped puffer jacket.

They take the horses out for hacks through the fields and woods. A bright, silent world. A world that feels newly made, all theirs to explore, to mark with footprints in the snow and say I am here where no one else has been before. They kiss under bare branches glistening with frost. They laugh and laugh, endlessly, like children, the cold air making their lungs ache. They ride for hours, until the sun sinks down into the west and the snow burns red-gold with its passing. Mairon tells Melkor what to do, when to pull on the reins, when to tap his heels against the horse’s flanks; Melkor listens.

They have snowball fights.

They find big daddy longlegs chilled into near perfect stillness in dark corners of the house. Melkor screams when he sees the first one. Mairon doesn’t quite manage not to laugh, but he does so while trapping the offending spider inside a glass and relocating it to the barn.

They take their meals with Aulë and Yavanna, all together round the kitchen table, like a family. Yavanna is a talker, chattering away like wind through leaves, easy on the ears. She tells Melkor about the patterns of farm life: the secrets of the sheep, the joy of a crisp apple plucked right off the branch, a feeling like new life in her old bones when she wakes up with the first shivering light of dawn and she looks at her land, her animals, the seeds planted by her hands grown tall and made eternal. Aulë, on the other hand, remains as quiet as the day Melkor met him. His thoughts are thoughts of stone, slow in their forming but sturdy, unshakeable. One night, during dinner, he asks Melkor to pass the salt. Pass the salt, son, that is what he says. Son. Melkor half-convinces himself he didn’t hear right.

Mairon takes him to his father’s workshop. Puts on gloves, a thick leather apron. Pulls out a chair for Melkor to sit, and watch. Metal hisses, sparks fly, and they bathe Mairon in a deep-red glow, the colour of blood, of coals flickering in the belly of a fire. His hands work, deft, strong, wielding the power of creation. Unmaking, remaking.

Melkor falls to his knees. Willingly, helplessly, he falls. Lust burns in his heart; worship trembles in his fingers. Mairon’s cock cage clatters to the floor. The door is unlocked, so they must be quick, they must be stealthy, silken flesh across Melkor’s tongue, filling his mouth, nudging down his throat; Mairon’s hands so large in their gloves clamped to the back of his skull; desperate, half-stifled moans, and Melkor’s own wet slurping sounds, and then, then—

Mairon comes with his name like a prayer on his lips, and Melkor swallows, sucks him dry, laps at him till he’s twitching, whimpering, maddened by his taste, by the glory of his pleasure.

Every day, Melkor falls in love all over again.

#memes #crackinthecup's writing #angbang #melkor #mairon #sauron #YTTM

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think rollo would like mlp

I'm going to assume gen 4 MLP (Friendship is Magic) in my response to this question! That's the one I'm most familiar with. I don't think so, just because so many of the conflicts (whether minor issues or major power struggles) in the show involve magic. It'd be a constant reminder of the troubles magic can bring and how the masses are happy with magic in their lives anyway. he fact that friendship = magic in the show just adds another layer of disdain. MLP generally frames and presents friendship--and therefore magic--positively (I mean, look at the main character who studies it and ends up ascending to princesshood because of those efforts), and that definitely doesn't seem like something Rollo would approve of or endorse. I don't think all the talk of friendship and its value sits well with him either; Rollo is a very private person and prefers it to stay that way. To top it all off, MLP: FiM tends to end its episodes by preaching a good moral to the audience. Rollo seems like the type to be the preacher than to be preached to or to consider other options.

... That aside, I do think it would be hilarious if he rode a horse with a ridiculously out of character cutesy name 🤡 (like how Frollo's horse is canonically named SNOWBALL...) and it will, of course, never not be funny to picture Rollo as an intense yet closeted MLP fan. Him scowling as he tells you with a straight face that his favorite pony is Pinkie Pie or something... 😂

#twisted wonderland #twst #Rollo Flamme #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #MLP FiM #my little pony friendship is magic #Pinkie Pie #Twilight Sparkle #Frollo

[sexilydrawn]

know nothing about dragon age but your art has bewitched me, love the fond expressions and the fluidity of the motions, am still trying not to read the ship name as "pavlovian" . if you dont mind, would you tell me a bit about dorian and trevleyan? in any case have a lovely day

No one ever asks me about them lol

Well first of all def play Dragon age. All of them but Inquisition above all, it's way better if you're experiencing it first hand.

To begin with the game's version of Dorian and mine are the same, he's a very talented mage who made little mistakes in his youth that snowballed into big ones, he's very cocky, very charming and emotionally shy.

My Inquisitor Max is kind of his opposite, 0 magic, his only expertise are horses and fighting, an open book emotionally.

Together their relationship journey is about discovering ways to better relate to each other and themselves. So far I've mostly concentrated on Dorian, getting him to a place where he understands himself much better and no longer fears his own emotions and being committed. Max's journey will be about becoming independent, not so attached to his significant other for approval. They trip and fall sometimes, but in the end they're irreversibly in love that's really all they're about.

[delopsia]

I saw this post today abt how all the best horses go to heaven with no tail because their person couldn’t bear to be without them and cut the tail hair off to remember them by. And it’s got me emotional because Rhett is totally the kind of man that would go to auction and find horses that are really old/not doing well and he would give them all the love and care for the rest of their lives no matter how long or short their time is with him. And he would 110% keep every horses tail because every horse deserves all the love

And now I’m crying over this

You cannot do this to meeeeee 😭 Rhett and having a whole wooden box of tails, with their little nametags and photographs to remember their faces by. He begged his dad not to sell the old ranch pony, Peppermint, when he was little because they all knew she would wind up in a bad place and had to work extra around the ranch to pay for her feed as a result.

It's an odd little snowball effect; after Peppermint, he finds an old mare that wandered up on the property and keeps her when nobody claims her. She only has six months left in her, but she's the sweetest little thing, and one way or another, she's referred to as Sweetie until her last day.

Then there are the two donkeys that Royal brought home from an auction. didn't know they were sick until that weekend, and the vet's only suggestion was to end their suffering. They didn't have names, but Rhett kept their tails anyway.

He bids on a horse with a broken leg that the owner tried to conceal and makes sure to call the vet that the sheriff uses after he wins. It's expensive and the longest night of his life, but he doesn't regret sitting with that little two-year-old until the pain finally left their veins for the last time.

When he has ranch space of his own, he starts taking in old ranch horses from the surrounding area, giving them a nice pasture until their time comes. Collects binders of pictures and memories and talks about them like he'd known them since they were born. If he's lucky, he'll move up near a tourist town and open up a small business that lets visitors spend time with the old fellas. Sharing their stories and making sure their memory will live beyond their last breath.

#tw animal death #rhett abbott #delgato's asks

[aryastarksource]

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories. Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. -- Arya II, A Game of Thrones

#arya stark #canonarya #aryastarkedit #gotaryastark #asoiaf #asoiafedit #gotedit #literatureedit #eddard stark #with ned #agot