#i think this one's worse than the jon one but i had to kind of redo it and i'm tired and

[bartallenweek]

Bart Allen Week will be held from March 18th until March 25th 2024. So you have lots of time to prepare, here are the prompts:

DAY ONE: Impulse '95 Cast or Body Swap DAY TWO: Young Justice or 30th Century DAY THREE: Thad or Neurodiversity DAY FOUR: Mercury or Legacy DAY FIVE: Preston's Home Movies or Lost in the Multiverse/AU DAY SIX: Lightning Rod or Hugs DAY SEVEN: (Flash) Family or Free Day

Guidelines | Askbox (if anything's unclear)

#dc #dc comics #bart allen #impulse #bartallenweek #bartallenweek2024 #the flash #flash family #i think this one's worse than the jon one but i had to kind of redo it and i'm tired and #nobody cares probably #it's functional #has id #id in alt

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 prompt answer

If you asked Danny, 12 year old half-ghost hero of Amity Park, how half-life was going, he'd tell you things were mixed.

On the one hand, he had just spent the last three or four months in family/scientist/'this house is a death trap waiting to happen' therapy with Jazz, and by some miracle, it worked. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of dream as his parents poured over years upon years of research, crossing out lines, rewriting equations, and reevaulating everything they thought they knew about ghosts.

Was the shudders family therapy worth not going over how they'd like to dissect him? he's still not sure. The horror.

Not to mention the attention. Danny was sure he was going to throw up if his parents drag him away for more bonding time, only for a ghost to attack and for him to run off to transform. What made it worse was when the Fentons came barrelling out, guns blazing, alternating between getting mad that he'd interrupted their family time, and asking him questions about "Your suspicious spook culture, if you even have one you dangerous delusional delinquent!"

At least they were trying, but Danny was very much comfortable not spilling the beans on the whole half-ghost situation, thank you very much.

And that's why, when Dad proposed to take him to Gotham to show off their latest invention, he jumped at the chance. The home city of the Batman, one of the greatest heroes known to man (except for Martian Manhunter and Superman of course) and Dad promised to take him to Gotham Observatory too. Not to mention how much he wanted to get away from Jazz's smug looks of superiority. Gotham here he comes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne scowled as he scanned the crowed of scientists with more smarts than sense. Really, a flying toilet seat. For what deviant?

"Maybe they're for people who can fly." Kent piped up beside him. Father had let the two of them run off together, and his company was mildly more appealing than being alone with his thoughts.

"Why would Superman ever need to relieve himself mid-air. I do not believe you would appreciate your father's rear end being on display for all the world to see."

"True." Jon hummed. His voice lowered to a whisper. "You think indecent exposure is what your dad meant by "scoping out any potential future villains?"

Damian gave Jon a flat look. The sooner this convention ended, the better.

The crowded shifted, and the mass of visitors pushed toward a certain corner, where a man large enough to rival Superman's build stood upon a podium, with a boy their age off to the side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the latest in FentonWorks' innovations, the Fenton Ghost Zone Radar, soon to revolutionise the study of ghosts!"

"I thought ghosts were a magic thing." Jon said. "You know, stuff Constantine and JLD deal with."

"They are."

"Mixing magic and science is like, like, oil and water. No way this guy's serious, is he?"

"His name is Jack Fenton. That's Daniel Fenton, his son." Damian pointed to the boy in question, looking like he'd seen this scene a hundred times before, but with that knowing glint that promised something deeper. "They're normally spotted alongside Jack's wife, Madeline. Widely regarded as quacks by the larger scientific community for chasing paper-thin theories about ghosts, they've nonetheless gained funding from the government. This is the first time they've left their base of operations in Amity Park for years."

"Woah, you know your stuff, Dami!"

Damian glared at the young Superboy in disguise. "I read the briefing files. Didn't you?"

Kent looked uncomfortable and looked away. "Uhh, maybe?"

"Typical."

"Well, if he's so crazy, then why'd your dad even let him in." Upon another scathing glare, Kent relented. "Oh right, the whole supervillain thing."

"Enough chatter. We'll zero in on the younger Fenton. I intend to squeeze him like a grape, and make Father proud."

"Dami maybe you should be a little nicer-" Only for Damian to march off without him.

Honestly, inane niceties were above someone of his status. Those things were Superboy's job, and if Daniel Fenton wouldn't crack, then Damian was itching to try a new torture technique.

@impyssadobsessions

#damn that was a good ride guess #we'll die now that's pretty cool #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #dcxdp #dp x dc #damian wayne #jon kent #i don't nkow what im doing #im an amateur writer plz forgive me #inspired by prompt #still dont know how to do this stuff #uhh the only media i've watched with these kids is Battle of the Supersons 3D movie #it was pretty good #but man the fact that the kids just chill on the watchtower as it crashes to earth and they're like and i'm like WHAT YOU'RE 13 YEARS OLD N #unless ur name is Danny i guess since the original show has him be hilariously chill about a lot of things including his parents trying to #bitchslap him with ghost guns #supersons #soup persons

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 4)

Original prompt + parts 1-3

Masterpost

-----

It's not the most awkward dinner Lois has ever had, but only because she's dined with literal supervillains before.  

Danny is poking at his Mongolian beef with his fork more than he's actually eating it.  Lois can hardly blame him; it’s been a difficult few days for her and she’s not the one who just landed in a different dimension from the one she grew up in.  But Danny certainly isn’t up to keeping conversation going.

Jon is making a valiant effort, but he seems distracted.  He keeps shooting looks at Lois and Clark when he thinks they’re not looking, and while he recounts everything he and Damian got up to (not too much trouble, thankfully, although that wasn’t saying much), he’s less enthusiastic than he would normally be.  

Clark keeps shooting Jon worried looks when he thinks Jon isn’t looking.  Lois will have to ask him how that conversation went; it seems like it was rough on both of them. 

Eventually, even Jon runs out of things to say, and the four of them sit around the table, eating their Chinese takeout in silence.  

“So, Danny,” Lois finally says.  “I don’t know how the dimension you grew up in differs from this one, but if you have any questions about anything, please ask one of us.”

“It’s not that different,” Danny says.  “I mean, it is in some ways, but it’s still Earth, you know?”

Lois isn’t entirely certain she does, but this doesn’t seem to be the time to ask.  Maybe when things are less fresh.

Jon has no such compunctions.  “What’s the biggest difference?” 

Danny looks thoughtful.  “You guys have a lot of superheroes here,” he finally says.

“What kind of superheroes did your other world have?” Jon asks eagerly.  

“We mostly didn’t,” Danny says.  “I mean, I guess Phantom kind of counts.  But that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Jon is clearly flabbergasted by this.  Lois fights a smile, and she can see Clark doing the same thing.  Jon has never known a world without the Justice League, but she and Clark can both remember when superheroes were much, much rarer.

“Most people probably wouldn’t even count Phantom,” Danny says.  “The kids mostly did, but a lot of adults didn’t trust him because he was… because he wasn’t exactly human.”

Combined with what Danny said before about that interdimensional portal, this is painting a picture Lois really doesn’t like.

“There are folks like that everywhere, unfortunately,” Clark says.  “And you can’t always change their minds. But I believe most people are better than that."

Judging by Danny's expression, he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Lois couldn't blame him; she has enough trouble seeing the good in people the way Clark did, and the other dimension sounds worse than hers in this regard.  

Danny doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it any further.  Silence lingers for just a beat too long before he speaks.  “Oh, the sun’s yellow here.  That’s different, too.”

-----

The front door slams, shaking the house, and Jon scrambles into the kitchen.  

“Where’s Ma and Pa?” he demands.

Kon mentally says goodbye to his tentative plans for the day.  Not that he minds hanging out with Jon, but he’s clearly upset about something.  Kon’s good at a lot of things, but emotional conversations is not one of them.

“They’re in town for the day,” Kon says.  “You’re lucky they didn’t hear you slam the door like that.”

“Did you know about Danny?” Jon demands.

“Who?”

“Dan-El.”

Clark texted a couple of days ago, telling Kon to call when he had time.  Kon has been putting it off, knowing that Clark has better ways of getting in touch with him if there’s a real emergency.  That’s starting to seem like a mistake.

He doesn’t answer Jon right away, which Jon seems to take as its own answer.  

“Did everyone know but me?” Jon demands.

The thing is, Kon is pretty sure he's not supposed to know about Dan-El. Lois and Clark have never breathed a word about him in Kon's hearing.

He only knows because he spent an afternoon helping Ma go through some old boxes up in the attic and found a box of photos-- mostly of Clark as a kid, but some of Ma and Pa when they were younger.

"Oh goodness," Ma had said, when she'd notices what Kon was looking at. "I keep telling myself I'm going to organize those and put them in an album, but I never get around to it."

She'd sat down next to Kon and looked through the pictures with him, pointing out her favorites and telling stories to accompany them. ("And that one was from just after Clark's tenth birthday-- we had to get a new door because his strength was just coming in and he broke the old one.")

Then Kon had pulled out a photo of a toddler, sitting on the front porch with Pa. He'd thought it was a picture of Clark at first, but Pa's hair was considerably more gray than it was in the pictures from Clark's childhood, and Ma had just told him that the porch had been rebuilt and expanded after Clark broke the old one in tenth grade.

"Oh, that's Daniel," Ma said. She'd gently taken the photo from Kon's hand and ran a finger over not-Clark's face. "He was our first grandson-- Lois and Clark's oldest." She'd gone on to tell him the whole sad story.

There's a small headstone for Daniel Kent in the Smallville cemetery, right next to Pa's parents. Kon thinks it must have been Ma or Pa's idea; there was no body to bury and as far as he knows, Lois and Clark never visit it.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kon says.  “I think it’s just not something they talk about.”  Jon doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “They told you now, right?”

“Only after he showed up!” 

“Wait, what?”  Kon is starting to think he really should have replied to that message from Clark.

-----

Not for the first time, Clark wishes there was a handbook for this sort of thing.  But oddly enough, parenting manuals generally don’t cover how to talk to your long-lost son about his alien heritage.  He’s put this off long enough already; Danny had spent most of the previous day out with Lois, picking up all the necessities he didn’t have.

“So…” Danny says, kicking his feet a little.  He’s sitting next to Clark on this skyscraper, his feet dangling over the edge.  It makes Clark a little nervous, seeing how Danny can’t fly yet, but he also knows he’s fast enough to catch Danny if he were to fall.

"Lois said you're an alien?" The words are softened by the blatant curiosity in Danny's tone, and Clark remembers Lois recounting how excited Danny was to meet J'onn and to see space from the Watchtower. 

It's a sentiment Clark can understand. He's traveled through space and met aliens both hostile and friendly. He regularly meets with his colleagues on an orbiting space station. And yet, seeing his adopted planet from space still fills him with awe.

"When I was born, my parents— my birth parents— already knew our planet, Krypton, was dying," Clark begins. It's not an easy story to tell, but the grief is old. Not gone, but distant. It's a place and a people he will never know except through stories and the archives in the Fortress— but those, at least, he can share. He tells Danny this, too, and promises to take him to the Fortress soon. It would be easier if Danny could fly, but he'll make it work. 

"You should talk to Kara, too," Clark adds. 

"Who's Kara?"

"My cousin. Right now she's in space, on a Justice League mission, but you'll meet her when she gets back. She was a teenager when Krypton was destroyed; she has firsthand memories."  He’ll save explaining the part where she got caught in suspended animation for later; he’s dumped a lot of information on Danny already.

“You said something the other night about yellow sun radiation?” Danny asks.

“It’s what gives Kryptonians our power, here on Earth,” Clark says.  

“And what powers are those, exactly?” Danny seems more hesitant than Clark would usually expect of a teenager finding out he’s going to develop superpowers— but then, they already know Danny grew up in a world where that sort of thing was feared and looked down upon.  

“Enhanced sense, enhanced strength and speed, flight, invulnerability— there are others, but those are the main ones to expect.”

Danny nods thoughtfully.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #superpham au #fanfic #dc x dp fic #the continuity for the supers gives me a headache so I'm sticking with the origins I know best #slightly less angst this time #slightly more setup for Shenanigans

[sad-drake-lyrics]

what my 65yo father has to say about antis:

let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.

so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.

and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.

so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.

then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.

i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."

i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."

and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"

queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.

and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.

my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"

and i said, "it's worse with anime."

and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."

... ... ...

... i can't ...

i can't end this post better than that.

#anti anti #anti harassment #proship #proshipper #proshipping #pro ship #pro fiction #pro shipper #pro shipping #profic #comship #proship safe #comship safe #proship positivity #anti censorship #ship discourse #fiction is not reality #fiction is fiction #ship and let ship

[darkmajesty-xo]

Ready Player 1 ? - Shigaraki x reader

18+ MDNI | masturbation, praise , video chats, crack-humor

most would consider it unwise for a girl like you to be in these chat rooms due to the questionable discourse and rather infamous patrons, but girls just wanna have fun right ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: saw an old couple today, could be me and shig but he’s playing ☹️

user2345: i think you mean planning* as in planning world domination and torment of quirkless losers like you.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh sweetheart you’ll never get any pussy if you keep acting like one

user3333: damn bro, you gonna take that ?

user2345: who gives a shit about some villain groupie ?

user2345: she keeps her mouth so full of cum that it’s starting to affect her whore brain.

user2345: do you really think the true leader of the new world would make time for some dumb cunt like you ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: there’s probably a higher chance of tomura shigaraki and i living happily ever after than there is of ANY woman even looking in your direction.

this was a normal friday night, you simping over shigaraki in the forums and clapping back at the misogynistic incels that hid behind their keyboards in their mothers’ basements. but there was one guy that always stood up for you whenever the idiots got too out of hand. he was also a moderator so he had no problems blocking them.

the two of you would dm off and on about life , thoughts on hero society, hobbies , etc. from your chats you gathered that he didn’t walk that straight and narrow but that didn’t mean much to you. he would sometimes tease your about your crush on shigaraki and your general taste in men.

finalboss: honestly, what kind of girl likes a criminal?; who knows what kind of twisted shit the guys into— you’re not even a villain.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you know nothing jon snow

finalboss: that reference just confirmed btw

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i’ll have you know that my beloved is a certified otaku fantasy nerd.

finalboss: oh yeah ? and how’d you obtain such info ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i run 3 stan accounts on twitter and i belong to a shiggy fan club 🥹

finalboss: 😃

finalboss: seek help

finalboss: 😃

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you wound me ☹️

finalboss: i’ll just leave that too your Prince Charming lol

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh lord , did you see the footage of his latest attack ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: he was dressed like a whoreee 😩😩

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: tits just out for my viewing pleasure

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: shigaraki is my shepherd, he know what i want.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: wanna suck on those sugar nips and call him mommy

finalboss: you get weirder and weirder every time we chat

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: that means we’re becoming besties ㅤ♡ ︎

finalboss: ♡ ︎

it was nice having someone to talk to about your secret obsession, it’s not like your “real life” friends would understand. the two of you had carved out your own little piece of the internet to goof around in. he never disclosed much information about himself and typically kept the conversations focused on you, but you still felt an undeniable bond to this faceless stranger.

then he ghosted you.

weeks went by without a word from your friend. he no longer defended you in the forums and he didn’t respond to any of your dms. you’d started to get worried that he may have been arrested or worse. and at the three month mark you’d finally given up hope that you’d ever hear from your friend again. but then the unexpected happened.

finalboss is requesting to video chat.

this was completely out of character but after months with no word, you were desperate to hear from your friend.

you were prepared to chew him him out for abandoning you. thinking of all the ways you could insult him while simultaneously expressing your need for his comfort and company. but your mind went blank when the grainy screen loaded into the pixelated image of your companion.

whispy tendrils fell from his bun, framing the sculpted planes of his handsome face. his lips were dry, slightly chapped, with the only lubrication being the sheen of saliva left by the slow drag of his tongue. bloodied eyes bore into your own leaving you breathless and dazed.

“hey bestie”

his voice was low and raspy, almost like a whisper. a deep rumbling that echoed in your ear drums. it was oddly hypnotic. he was absolutely mesmerizing.

tomura chuckled into the camera, showing flashes of perfectly white teeth. he leans back into the chair, a hand on the back of his neck showcasing a broad chest and toned abs.

“didn’t expect you to be this quiet, bestie. is my outfit not slutty enough for you ? i could always take these off…” his hand fell from his neck to rest and the waistband of his black jeans.

you remained speechless, eyes glued to the light dusting of hair below his belly button.

more laughter and shifting. now you were met with the glorious girth of shigaraki’s cock clenched tightly in his fist. the darkened tip oozed a sparkling trail of pre that spilled down his length. his thumb swiped the fluid to spread over his veiny member.

“c’mon , doll. don’t leave me hanging” he teased, squeezing his fist upwards to produce more pre. “i thought you wanted to be my ‘mc’ ? seems more like an npc if you ask me”.

“y-you’re him” you stammered, eyes following the slow drag of his fist. “you’re tomura shigaraki”.

“in the flesh” he teased, shooting a wink that went directly between your legs. “well kinda, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. sorry i’ve been away so long, but you’d wait forever for me won’t you , perfect girl ?”

your nod was automatic. robotic even. you’d moved closer to the screen, completely engrossed by his ministrations.

“anything for you beyon—shiggy”

you both laughed at that. he appreciated your humor, especially with all the drama in his day to day. even in def con simp mode and being ghosted didn’t stop you from being undeniably you. that’s probably why he was as obsessed with you as you were with him.

“i know we probably have alot to discuss but todays been kind of shitty and i’d really like to explore our final fantasies”.

you snorted, “that was really bad , shig”.

he shrugged, “i’m a villain, not a comedian, beloved. “now show me that perfect little pussy”.

#yandere shigaraki #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #mha shigaraki #mha smut #shigaraki x black reader #shigaraki x chubby reader #mha x blackreader #mha x chubby reader #mha crack

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

To Dream of Home | D. Targaryen

▹ Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff with mentioned Angst

▹ Words: ~2.5k

▹ Summary: A storm at Dragonstone brings you and Daenerys together and allows for confessions of love to slip.

▹ Note: I am very gay, that is all. My love for the Targaryen's has returned and y'all are gonna be sick of me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A storm raged on the island of Dragonstone. 

Charcoal skies were dappled with thick silver-black clouds that brought the heavy rains that shook the keep. Roaring thunder and electric blue lightning. Treacherous seas and a storm that could rival the vengeance of a god. The inhabitants of Dragonstone seemed acclimated to the severe weather.

You, however, were used to winter winds and thick snowfall. Not devastating rain and earth rattling thunder. Sleep eluded you which led you to where you were now. Locked away in a small room near your chambers, you made a makeshift altar upon your arrival to Dragonstone with your half-brother Jon.

“You spend an awful amount of time here.” 

The voice cut through the silence, an intrusion of your time of peace. Kneeled before the makeshift altar you’d created, a half dozen flickering candles illuminated the center of your face and carved shadows on the contours of it. Wordlessly, you finished the final verses of your prayer before lifting your lowered head and turning to face the intruder. 

At the doorway, not daring to cross into the room without permission, was Daenerys. Her hesitance to intrude was strange, seeing as Dragonstone was her keep you were a guest in.

Her hair was loose, waves cascading over her shoulder and down her back. The curls and creases left by her braids were the only reminders they’d been there. She wore dressing robes in hues of blue, embroidered flowers and designs following the curve of her body. She was beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. It was the type of beauty you half expected to be a facade, that one day you would wake to find Daenerys had only ever existed in your mind. 

“I find the prayer soothing,” you responded, slowly standing. Your legs were sore from kneeling on the hard stone too long. There was a crick in your neck that tinged painfully if you turned your head too far left or too far right. Yet you did your best to keep a grimace from your expression. The last thing you needed was Daenerys thinking it was her presence you found unpleasant and not the needling pain in your body. 

“Do you pray often?” She shifted her head, causing tendrils of silvery hair to move from over her shoulder to rest along her back. Violet eyes stared at you curiously, lips pursed in an almost grin. She hardly seemed to smile, the oppressive halls of Dragonstone mimicking the impending war for the Iron Throne. 

“I do, yet I do not believe the gods are listening,” you muttered the last part quietly, followed by a deep breath. 

You glanced towards the candles and the altar, recounting every moment you’d spent kneeling before ones just like it. The years had been unkind, the horrors only growing worse as the years passed. It had shaped you into the woman you were today, hardened by deaths you never should’ve witnessed. Yet there was a part of the ten-year-old girl that still lived within you, that believed the gods were listening and that if you prayed hard enough, they would grant your wishes. 

“I never did much praying as a child, my brother didn’t see the point.” Her eyes moved past you, staring at the makeshift altar. Lit by the dim light of the room, you could see a hint of melancholy that tinged her violet eyes blue. Your gaze lowered to the ground at the mention of her brother, her upbringing so different than yours had been.

Northerners were as harsh and cold as the winter winds they grew up in, but beneath all the cold, austere facades your family was as warm as the hearth in the great hall. You’d grown up with a family who loved and cared for you. Whispers of Viserys’ anger reached even the North, his grief twisted into madness. 

Both parties may have passed, but at least you had your family's love to hold onto during the darkest nights. Daenerys had no such thing. Nothing but the hope of reclaiming her family’s stolen valor as a light in the night. 

“If you want, we could pray together.” Her attention returned to you. “It may help you sleep through the storm.”

Daenerys pondered your offer for a moment before accepting with a single nod. She crossed the threshold into the room, her gown following her like a cloak. You returned to the kneeling position you were in before, Daenerys taking her place beside you. 

“Some people believe there are specific words you have to use, that then have to be said in a specific order or the gods won’t care. But I don’t believe that, I allow my feelings to guide my prayers. Perhaps that’s why the gods aren’t answering me, but I feel better that way.” 

Daenerys nodded, watching you with such attentive eyes you had to look away in fear of the flush that would appear on your face. “Do you say them out loud?”

“Sometimes, but mostly I just mentally recite them. It feels like it's my own secret that way.” There was a hint of coyness in your voice that made a smile appear on the corners of Daenerys’ lips. 

Silence fell over the room, only the roar of thunder and the patter of rain to be heard. The candles continued to burn, the wax melting and staining the stone flooring. There was a single window in the room, a flash of lightning filling it with pale blue light. Subconsciously, your eyes moved to Daenerys’ side profile. 

Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. She looked so soft and innocent, and you wondered if this was who she could’ve stayed if not for the rebellion that harshened her worldview. What would she have become if she didn’t have to fight tooth and nail every moment of her life just to survive? The quiet of the room and the soft curves of her face allowed you to imagine just how different she may be in a different lifetime. 

Your eyes had lingered on her too long, you knew, but you couldn’t look away. Your heartbeat had sped up, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. She’d always made you feel giddy like a child, but now that there was no chaos to distract you. It was easier to hone in on the feelings she elicited from you. And perhaps you shouldn’t entertain them, but a small sliver of hope kept you holding on. 

The weight of your gaze must’ve been heavy because Daenerys lifted her closed eyes from the floor and met your gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but you could’ve sworn her eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your eyes. 

“What did you pray for?” The words fell from your tongue before you could consider how invasive they could be. But she didn’t seem offended, a small blossoming on her face as another streak of lightning filled the room. It made her skin glow, making her look even more otherworldly. 

“I prayed for home.”

Her answer sent a pang of sadness that was surely reflected in your eyes. She brought dragons back to the world and freed the slaves of Slaver’s Bay while uniting the Dothraki under one banner and making them cross the sea for the first time ever. So many fantastical acts were done because of her, it was easy to forget behind it all was just a scared girl. She could make herself of steel and ice, but underneath it all would always be flesh. 

“I pray for home as well,” you uttered. 

She raised a brow, non-verbally asking you to elaborate. Her expression was so attentive, like a sponge ready to soak up whatever information you may present to her.

How could you possibly ever deny her?

“I very much wish to return to the North. The short days and long nights, the air that was sharp with a bitter chill. Grey skies and white grounds. Snowflakes that fell into my mouth as Theon and Robb chased me to the edge of the woods. The sky was bleak and void of color, but the hearths in the Great Hall made light dance in the keep, mead keeping everyone warm and merry.”

The smile on your face was tinged with melancholia, the grief making your body lock up and freeze. Those days were long gone, and you could never return to them. That didn’t stop you from wishing for it, however.

To hope that one day you might wake up and find this had all been a terrible dream. Your mother and father were still alive, Robb was preparing to become Lord of Winterfell; Arya and Sansa would continue to bicker and Jon would join the Night’s Watch to make something of himself. Everything would be right and war wouldn’t cast a shadow far darker than that of the worst winter storms. 

But those were the wishes of a naive child, the life you were in is the life you’re stuck with. But perhaps in another lifetime, you got to live out every fantasy and forgotten dream.

“That sounds beautiful.”

Daenerys’ voice pulled you from your reminiscing, your eyes wandering back to hers.

“It was.” 

“And yet you left Winterfell to come here with your brother?” 

You swallowed thickly. Winterfell had become a bittersweet place. Walking the Great Hall felt as if you were in a haunted house. The ghosts of past memories lingered in every corner, the echoes of laughter you’d never hear again filling your head. The relief being home had brought you had been short-lived, the weight of the betrayal of Theon and the Bolton’s tainting it. 

Winterfell wasn’t home anymore. 

“I--” you stuttered, unsure of just how to put your feelings into words. How do you tell someone that your home doesn’t feel like home anymore? How do you explain everything you had fought for felt empty in the end? It didn’t lift your pain or mend the scars of the past years. Instead, it ripped over the scabs and left you bleeding in the snow. 

“I don’t know if Winterfell is my home anymore.”

Daenerys hummed, nodding her head. Her expression was solemn and in her eyes, you saw understanding. She knew all too well the conflicting sentiment of fighting for something you may not want in the end. 

“When I was a girl, Viserys and I lived in a house in Braavos with a red door and lemon tree outside my window. It was the closest thing to home I’d had.” 

Subtly, you scooted closer to Daenerys, eager to unravel more of her elusive past. She hardly spoke of her life with Viserys, most of the memories too painful to reminisce on. And maybe, just maybe, her vulnerability was a sign that your feelings weren’t so unrequited. 

“What was it like?” You prod for her to speak more on her time in Braavos, enraptured by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“It was a beautiful house and so large, at least it seemed large at the time. There was even a room with a wooden beam with animal faces carved in it. I had my own room and a window to peer outside. I’d sit there for hours, watching the sunrise and the sunset.”

Her hand rested on the floor, and tentatively, you reached over and placed your hand over hers. You half expected her to brush you off, but instead, she leaned closer to you. Shoulder to shoulder, you could smell the floral oils her hair had been washed with. 

“What happened to it?” 

She sighed, eyes wandering back to the altar. “Our patron passed and the servants sent us away. But even after all these years, I still long to return. To escape to the innocence of my youth.”

A beat of silence passed, Daenerys longing words hanging in the air. 

“We could always return.”

Daenerys turned, meeting your gaze. Inches separated your face from hers, and this close up, you could see the faint freckles that created constellations on her skin. 

“And if it’s no longer standing?” 

Your heart stuttered as you hesitated on your next words. It was now or never, the time to lay your cards on the table and learn if your hope was delusional. 

“We could build a new one with a lemon tree just outside the bedroom. I’m not much of a widdler, but I could try to carve new animal faces in the wooden beams in all the rooms.”

For a moment Daenerys doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Her eyes are locked with yours, wide and unblinking. Nerves begin to create a thousand cuts in your mind, perhaps you’d been too forward in your confession. 

“And you would stay with me?”

She wanted to hear you say it, to verbalize you’d never leave her side, not willingly. 

“I’m not much for the heat, but I could learn to love it to never leave your side.”

She exhaled a small puff of air, a smile lighting up her face. The apples of her cheeks were rounded and rosy, violet eyes twinkling like the stars in the sky. The sudden impulse to run your fingers through her hair came over you. And you acted on it, gently carding your fingers through the silver-gold strands of hair. 

“Then perhaps we meet in the middle and build our house with the red door in a more temperate climate.” 

She leaned closer, the tips of your noses brushing. 

“We could make our home on the mountainside? It would leave plenty of room for the dragons,” you suggested. Daenerys smiled, the whisper of a laugh leaving her mouth. The sound was the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. You’d never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“And direwolves?” 

“Maybe one or two.” 

You cut off whatever Daenerys may have replied with, placing your lips against hers. The kiss was gentle as if to seal the promise you’d made. She smiled into it, her hands weaving themselves around your neck. You pulled her closer, practically pulling her into your lap; you’d wanted her as close as possible. To bask in the warmth radiating from her body and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 

Perhaps things would’ve been different in another lifetime, where Daenerys got to be the princess she should’ve been and you the daughter of a very much alive Ned Stark. But perhaps in those lifetimes you and Daenerys would never be more than passing acquaintances. She'd be the princess of the kingdom and you the lady-daughter of the Warden of the North. 

This lifetime felt like trying to sail through a storm and Daenerys was the lighthouse guiding you to the shore. The death and loss had been painful, but it all led you to this moment with Daenerys. It nearly made the events of the past years worth it.

"Let's win this war so we can build our silly little house," you muttered against her lips, eliciting another laugh from Daenerys before she placed her lips on yours again.

You would give Daenerys her house with the red door and the lemon tree outside, no matter the cost.   

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys targaryen x reader #Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!reader #daenerys x fem!reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got #got imagine #Daenerys targaryen x fem!reader #game of thrones oneshot #game of thrones fanfiction #Daenerys x Stark!reader

[chvoswxtch]

Hi,

I had a request… I’m currently obsessed with Frank Castle (he’s just so 🥵) and had an idea, it’s not super original so I understand if you don’t want to write it!

A non-binary (they/she) character who is plus-sized and younger than him (in their mid-20s) taking him home to meet her family for the holidays. And she is very insecure and worried about how their family will react. Maybe while there, a family member says something hateful about her weight and/or being non-binary, and Frank goes to comfort/reassure her, and maybe even gets mad and defends her to her family?

Can be smut or just fluff (or both!)

I just thought it would be cute to see his more protective/caring side, mixed with his possessive and angry side. I love that dynamic (:

hello my love!

so i'm not sure if you've watched the bear (i'm still working through it myself) but there's a scene where jon flips a table and goes on a rampage and I just thought that was super fitting for this prompt so I drew a lot of inspiration from that & I hope you enjoy!

I also hope you're having a wonderful day or night wherever you are and that the holidays are being kind to you 🖤

warning: swearing, frank being frank word count: 1.5k

dessert.

It was so quiet in the cab of Frank’s truck, you swore you could almost hear the delicate noise of fresh snowflakes carelessly colliding with the windshield over the dull roar of the heat coming through the vents. The holidays were always a complicated time for you with your family. In the earlier months of the year, there was a welcoming sense of freedom to be exactly who you were without judgment. But when the colder weather started to seep in, so did the impending dread. All you had wanted to do was introduce your family to the man you had fallen in love with, and celebrate your first holiday together in a special way. You had anticipated a little bit of uncomfortable tension, prepared yourself for a few tasteless passive aggressive comments, but you didn’t think it would be this bad.

Bringing Frank home to meet your family hadn’t been the mistake. It was underestimating his protective nature and forgetting the caliber of his restless temper.

Things had already been off to a rocky start as soon as you walked through the door. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be shamelessly sticking to the way your outfit clung to the soft and full curves of your figure. The same outfit that had Frank nearly pulling over to the side of the road impatiently because he couldn’t keep his eyes ahead was currently the topic being whispered about by your aunts. However their attention was quickly stolen as soon as Frank walked in behind you. Their hushed gossip rang loudly in your ears, causing the confidence Frank had built up within you to fizzle out into insecure embers.

He’s so…normal looking. What’s he doing with her?

She’s not a her, remember? She’s…oh I forget what it’s called. Another complicated thing these kids have come up with. I swear it’s something new everyday. I can’t keep up.

He seems much too old for her, and look how fit he is. They seem way too different, there’s no way they’re actually dating.

It only got progressively worse from there. By the time everyone sat down to have dinner, it was like you weren’t even there. Everyone asked Frank a million and one questions, but no one asked you a single thing. No one asked how you were, or how the new job was going that you were so excited about. No one asked how you and Frank met, or how long you had been dating for. Everyone seemed to be trying to figure out the puzzle of what Frank was doing here with you, and eventually, you found yourself trying to solve that exact same riddle. It was almost incredible how your family managed to ruin all the trust and love that the two of you had built up over the past few months. All the promises of reassurance that flowed so easily from his lips seemed to vanish from your memory, and the quieter you got, the angrier Frank became.

He was polite at first, answering the simple questions with appropriate responses, but the more they tried to exclude you from the conversation, the more he tried to aggressively incorporate you into it. His frustration was evident in the way his voice became more rough and coarse, a detail only you were able to pick up on. That should’ve been the first warning bell in your head. But you were so wrapped up in your own insecurities that it didn’t occur to you to reach for his hand under the table to calm him like you normally did when he got worked up. Frank was doing his best to contain his rage at the way your family treated you, but one hateful comment from your alcoholic of an uncle about your weight caused him to erupt.

It all happened so fast, that you were stunned. Your uncle was in the middle of following up his weight comment with an insult about your non-binary identity when Frank suddenly stood and flipped the table out of his way so he could rush forward and strike his fist across your uncle's face. In a split second, everything had descended into chaos. Your mom and aunts were screaming, your father and uncles were trying to pull Frank off your drunk uncle, but they weren’t a match for his strength and tenacity. It wasn’t until you fought your way through them and tugged at Frank’s shirt in a panic that he finally relented and let you drag him out of the house.

For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in his truck where it was parked in front of your family’s house, both of you attempting to calm down. Frank was trying to quell his anger while you were coming down from the shock of what had just happened. The longer you sat in silence watching the waves of snowflakes caress the glass of the windshield, the more uneasy Frank became. Letting out a deep exhale through his large nose, he finally couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

“Look I…I didn’t…m’sorry, alright? Can you just…will you please say somethin’?”

“I can’t believe you flipped a table.”

Frank blinked in dumbfoundment a few times, his dark brows pinching together in the center of his forehead. He was expecting you to yell, to go off on him, maybe even break up with him right then and there, but not to hear you sound so amused about his explosive behavior.

“Huh?”

“That was ‘real housewives’ of you.”

When you finally turned to face him, he noticed the faint smirk on your lips, and that one little gesture eased all the anxiety that had been building up within him for the past fifteen minutes. He let out a puff of air through his lips, looking ahead as he shook his head slowly and glanced at his side mirror while trying to fight the crooked grin that threatened to spill across his lips.

“Yeah well, dinner was dull. Thought I’d spice it up a bit.”

“I’d say you spiced it up a lot.”

Frank turned his head to look over at you, and you could see a faint apologetic twinkle in his eye from the glow of the street lamp above.

“You mad?”

It was your turn to look at him in dumbfoundment. Arching one of your brows, you let out a soft laugh while tilting your head to the side in slight curiosity.

“Am I mad that you stuck up for me?”

“I coulda handled it better.”

Scooting over to the middle seat of the cab, you brought your hand up to gently caress his jaw while staring into his warm brown eyes with a soft smile.

“No Frankie, I’m not mad. I promise.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, letting him feel the sincerity behind your words. You weren’t mad at all. No one had ever been so protective or defensive of you before, and while some would’ve thought his reaction was a little extreme, you knew it was just Frank’s way of showing you how much he loved and cared about you.

“Thank you.”

“For ruinin’ the holidays with your family?”

“Baby, they were ruined before we even got here. And honestly, this is the best holiday season I’ve ever had, thanks to you. You made it special for me. It was probably a bad idea to come here, but I just wanted to show you off. Show them all how happy I was. I thought they would be happy for me-”

“Hey, to hell with ‘em. They don’t deserve to see that pretty smile after the way they treated you. That asshole’s lucky I don’t go back in there-”

“Frank.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you redirected his angry glare from your family’s house back towards you as you pulled him in for another soft kiss.

“Let’s just go home. We can order something in.”

Frank took one last irritated look at your family’s house, letting out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Goddamn chicken was dry anyway.”

For some reason the frustration coveting his sharp features and the grumpy tone of his voice just made you laugh. Giving his thigh a gentle squeeze, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and smiled adoringly at him.

“We can have something else for dinner.”

Frank turned his head to look at you, his gaze wandering slowly up and down your figure before settling on your eyes once more. The ravenous look reflected back at you simultaneously sent a shiver down your spine and filled your lower half with a sense of heat. He reached out to place one of his large hands on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze as his voice dropped to a husky whisper.

“Think I’m ready for dessert, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x nonbinary!reader #frank castle x nb!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher fic

[luveline]

omg i was in such a sad mood last night and I cried myself sick for no reason and I was wondering if I could make a request for some comfort from maybe Jonathan. Please only write this if you want to or have time ❤️ love you Jadey <33

I hope you're feeling better my love ♥ thank you for ur request, I hope this is OK!

"It's alright," Jonathan insists, looking at you with a mixture of surety and worry. Steadying you, but worried at the same time. "Take a breather."

You try to do what he asks but nothing feels right, lately, or maybe it does but the breathlessness taking up all the space in your chest wants you to think otherwise. He can see it on your face, the thought process, the dawning panic. 

"Hey," he says gently, your joined hands between you, standing in the middle of his room. 

Of all the places you could've broken down, neither of you were expecting it to be in amongst his socks and books. 

"Hey, hey," he says, softer each time. "It's okay. I'm right here." 

"I think it all might be really bad," you say. You laugh but the laugh doesn't last, it cracks down the middle. 

"It's not all bad," he reassures you.

You hang your head. You hate crying in front of him, especially this sort of sobbing, the helpless kind like a little kid poking at their scraped knees. You can't stop thinking about the things that are upsetting you. 

Luckily, Jonathan isn't easily dissuaded. He had to grow up fast, you know that. He's looked after everyone who needed it for years, and he's adept at calming people down. 

"It's okay," he says. 

Jonathan ducks his head, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He's handsome in an understated way, what with his dark eyes, his pert nose. Hair you'd convinced him to let you trim in the name of keeping cool in California curls sweetly under his ears. "Tell me what's wrong?" 

"I just don't feel very well." It's a white lie. You're crying is making you feel sick. It's starting to feel worse than what upset you in the first place. 

"You're not gonna throw up. I know you won't. Here," he walks you backward into his desk chair, "sit down." 

You sit and Jonathan pushes the chair toward his window. He opens it as wide as the hinges will allow to let the breeze kiss your warm cheeks, cooling tears in tacky trails down the slopes of your face and the ridge of your jaw. Jonathan strokes your hair so gently it barely feels like he's touching you at all.

"Sorry," you say. 

Jonathan wipes your cheeks with the side of his hand. He doesn't lift it from your face: careful, he rests the back of it flat to your skin, the short nail of his index finger smoothing against your puffy undereye. You focus on that small sensation, eyes scrunched closed and a pounding misery at your temple. 

"There," he says, taking your face into his palm. "Good job, honey. You really wound yourself up. You scared me." He abandons your damp cheeks in favour of your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the sides of your neck. 

"Jon, you have to stop touching me for a second," you say regretfully. 

He holds up his hands. 

You suck in a big breath and hold it, wiping your face and your snotty nose with your sleeves, brushing baby hairs displaced by sweat back into place. For a few seconds, you sit and try to look less like you're one strong gust of wind from falling over. Jonathan watches anxiously.

You rub your eyes. "Will you hug me now?" you ask.

He kneels at your feet. "I would have hugged you before."

"Didn't want to get snot in your hair," you say, groaning as he wraps his arms behind your back. 

"Ew," he murmurs, the cadence of his voice lilting, like he might sing under his breath. His lips brush the shell of your ear. "I'd let you."

You shiver in his arms, completely collapsed, face digging deeper and deeper into his neck. He doesn't complain, only readjusts his hold to make you more comfortable. 

"It's okay if something's getting to you. You can tell me." 

"What if… I'm upset for no reason?" you ask tentatively. 

Jonathan gives your shoulders a little squeeze and a bigger shake. "That's okay too, duh. Just tell me what to do to make you feel better instead." 

"This is fine," you say, lips pressed greedily to the slip of skin just above his collar. "This is good." 

Jonathan stays there for ages, so long his knees must burn from the position, but he doesn't say a word. He hugs you for as long as you need him to, and then a little bit after that.

#jonathan byers fanfiction #jonathan byers x y/n #jonathan byers x you #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers fic #jonathan byers x fem!reader #jonathan byers drabble #jonathan byers fluff #jonathan byers hurt/comfort

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Robb doesn't have his own pov chapters but it's obvious through various other pov chapters that he truly loves his brother and best friend, Jon.

There was a time, when he parroted his mother's hamful words towards his brother (something that it's not unusual for little kids to do)

That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell."

His older version we meet at the beginning of AGOT, would never say something like this. In fact, he's aware of the unjust treatment his brother gets by his mother and he shows his empathetic side on the matter:

Robb knew something was wrong. "My mother …" "She was … very kind," Jon told him

I do wonder at which age Robb realised that the way his mother treated his brother was not okay. Did he remember that he once also hurt his brother by repeating his mother's poisonus words? I can't say for sure because both boys were too young and Jon only remembers this incident bc it was a very painful one, while for Robb was just another day they played as kids. But if he in fact, remember the incident, I believe that older Robb would feel guilty about it. Just like he feels worried that his mother once again mistreated his brother on the quote I shared above.

I know that Jon had it far worse as he was the one who received emotional abuse by an adult and he couldn't feel safe on his own home. However, thinking about Robb and the Catelyn-Jon situation, I realized that he was also in a tough position (although, in a far better one than his brother).

Robb loved his mother and how could he not? When Catelyn was a doting mother and always there for him. But he also loved his brother, they were inseparable at Winterfell and he knew that his brother was a kind soul. He also knew that his mother was awful to his brother for something that wasn't Jon's fault (the circumstances of his birth). It's not easy loving two people, who are very important family members to you, while knowing that one of them is awful to the other. That's why I believe that he was in a tough spot. Idk, I have a lot of feels about Robb...

#a post of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #house stark #robb stark #jon snow #robb and jon #catelyn and robb

[froot-batty]

Since I absolutely ADORE your Dork Squad (but let's be real, everyone else is equally amazing), I've got to wonder: of the three Dork Squad members, which one takes the BEST care of themselves, and which one takes the WORST care of themselves? (And do they have anyone who actively reminds them to do basic things like eat or sleep?)

You think ANY of these fools take good care of themselves?

But for realsies, I don't think there's one that's worse or better than another. They're all good in some aspects and terrible in others, and a lot of that is because they all help remind one another!

Jon and Ed are both bad at remembering to sleep. Ed because they're usually stuck in GO GO GO mode and Jon either because he's out scaring all night or working. Jervis is GREAT at sleep. She loves sleep. She WILL drag them off to bed if she must

All of them are kind of terrible at remembering to feed themselves, but Jervis and Jon definitely will remember to feed the others! Ed can't cook, so his version of encouraging the others to eat is just to annoy them into making him food, and then they may as well make themselves something in the process, too

If I had to pick one that could be a contender for the worst out of the three of them, though, it'd probably have to be Jervis. Simply because he just...tends to forget a lot of that kind of stuff. He's all good on sleep, but he can go days neglecting hygiene and eating because it'll slip his mind

But, I mean. Jon chain-smokes and busts his old man bones being creepy, and Ed will lock themselves in a basement for a week working on puzzles. NONE of these idiots know what self care is

#i wanted to make more doodles but i am bone tired im sorry :( #frootverse #edward nygma #the riddler #jonathan crane #the scarecrow #jervis tetch #the mad hatter #doodles

[devine-fem]

As someone who likes Damijon as both platonic and romantic…I don’t understand the obsession of certain antis bring up whole age gap thing when it comes to Damian and Jon. It’s getting really old and pissing me off at this point.

I can’t recall a fandom I’ve been in where antis kept bringing up an age gap between two characters.

Idk if I’m talking out of my ass but it sounds like as if antis think the fandom puts Damijon in sexual situations 24/7 when that’s not the case.

Jfc no one is forcing you to ship them if you don’t (it’s not even canon!) but don’t go around accusing the fandom as p*d*s just to make a point. ( I know in fandoms there some weirdos too but it doesn’t make up a whole)

Let the Damijon fandom enjoy whatever crumbles they are getting right now…because it’s really just crumbles at this point.

If those antis also consist of those who are our rival ships (they know who they are) like yall are getting canon content rn from DC if you’re upset with the quality of it speak with your wallet idk…???

Sorry for the rant it’s just for the most part Damijon fandom has been pretty chill (excluding Twitter that’s another can of worms) and I hate the accusations parts of the fandom love to make.

Yeah… people don’t talk about how Jon had to be 11 to Damian’s 13 before he left for space because they only read super sons, they never really look at any other source or think about their ages as more than that because tom taylor said out his mouth that they were 3 years apart when dissing the ship BUT he admits himself to not know their exact ages and that it could be a 2 year age gap.

So I just think of it as two years, and with two years I don’t really care because personally even in my youth I’ve been with people who are two years older with no issue because age alone doesn’t determine whether or not someone is taking advantage of you for obvious reasons. Age gaps are not tangible things, to some people what you consider weird is normal to someone else.

Then there’s the fact that neither Jon or Damian have birthdays. Damian was aged up for teen titans which people don’t seem to care about. Among other things like how Jon and Damian are the same age in most other universes… did you know that? Also, people like to say theres a maturity gap but forget that Damian was the immature one that picked fights. Plus, when characters grow up beside each other then it’s less ‘weird’ cause then they are expierencing similar traumas. It’s probably lots smaller then we think.

When I talk about them with a three year age gap then its probably platonic but sometimes romantic, two years then its sometimes platonic or romantic, one year, platonic or romantic and I stay between these because their age can slightly change their dynamic. It’s for fun, its exploring their platonic dynamic if it had elements of romance to it. Its interchangeable to me but for the most parts its two.

They are barbies that I play with at my own free will. They are not real people, they may imitate life but they do not infact replicate it.

So yeah… when they are young I only ever have really seen or interacted with media where J and D have not done more than maybe peck. Its just supposed to be cute and sweet.

Do people not understand the concept of the fact Jon and Damian should not be getting into a serious relationship while they are young or else it would go horribly wrong? Do they not understand that a lot of the ships appeal in the childhood friends TO lovers factor?

It kind of bothers me to be having to put the fact that I l hate Jonjay and like Daminika in my bio so people can get a feel for the type of person I am. And “rival” ships? there’s no rivalry, I don’t feel threatened by other peoples ships at all… especially if they’re canon… unless its like jonjay where the origin of the ship is inherently problematic, substanceless and built on character assassination… but we hate damijon and praise THAT? We say that damijon is worse than that? I’m sorry but jonjay to jon kent is jayroy to roy harper to me.

Twitter is very strange, very very strange people on that app to which this morning I had to uninstall because I KNEW that they would feel threatened by damijons today and hate profusely in response to it.

Although, you guys gotta put that age gap shit to bed…

Dami look 14 here to you? If Damijons are the ones who don’t read comics then how do we know that they are well in their 20s and 30s here. They are both consenting adults in main continuity that can do as they please here. You simply cannot say anything. No arguement can be supported now because now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.

There was no point in hate the age gap really in the first place since time was always gonna heal it anyway???

But part of me kind of understands hating it if you experience fandom through twitter which is not a fandom app at all. Damijon stans are annoying and gross on twitter, I get it but not everyone is inherently horrible for obvious reasons.

#please read #asks #super sons #damian wayne #jon kent #supersons #jonathan kent #dc comics #superfam #batfam

[dissolving-mansion]

I love shipping Jon in the TMA fandom because his potential love interests are this:

Guy who was only marginally worse at his Job than Jon was at his own (because he let an animal into the archives). Whenever he sees something he doesn't like he embodies the "I do not see it" meme. Man who is against crime until he personally dislikes the person the crime is being committed against, then it's fine. Bonded with Jon via shared trauma. Thinks Jon is incapable of making his own decisions. Spent most of his life lonely and bitter and without any 0 external or supernatural causes for this. Makes nice tea tho.

Guy who hates Jon because hating Elias would be even more pointless. Was stalked by Jon. Went from expressing fair negative criticisms and Jon not listening to expressing unfair negative criticisms and Jon listening too much. Lost the people he cared about to the thing that eventually destroyed him. More qualified for archival work than the rest of the team and simply because his publishing career gave him the mystical ability to spot errors. Only interaction with cops was sleeping with them for information so he took one look at Jon and Basira and was like "getting a lot of sleeping with cops for information vibes here". Heartbreaking last line before he went on his kayaking trip.

Girl who tried to murder him even after he thought he had tried to talk her out of it. Spent like a year looking at him and thinking "prey". Knife. Was a cop. In the camp of "Jon shouldn't have an opinion, actually, he should shit up." Often held up in comparison to Jon to make him look bad but she just honestly wants to do better. Has traumatic things on common with Jon. Werewolf. Presumably hot tho.

Not-a-guy that has stabbed Jon. Gives good advice in extremely cryptic ways like some kind of fortune teller. Has the skin texture of leather, apparently. A liar but honest about it. Has saved Jon and company on multiple occasions but did so in the creepiest and most villainous ways possible. Wanted to kill Jon. Had revenge fantasies that only involved Jon because he was Alive and There. Also wanted to be Known by Jon, a factor that may have contributed to its death. Died for wanting something clearly and without deceit.

Man who is way more dramatic and evil than he pretends to be. Makes puns that are only funny weeks later when you finally get them. Owns evil contracts. Hired the two people he knew would be most incompetent at archival work for archival work. Gave Jon a bed?? When Jon is stressed he concludes that the solution is More Work. Thinks being human is overrated. So terrified of being a victim that he victimized literally everybody else. "Grinning freak". Lying liar man. Same sense of humor and communication style as Jon tho.

Goth who comes across like a protagonist. Burns cursed books. Could have esaily been a bad person but chose to be good instead. Loathes saving people but begrudgingly does it anyway. Spent his entire life following the orders of old women who scare people. A book appraiser who would be shocked and upset by Jonathan "I only ever read a book once" Sims. Deserves a nap. Unfortunately, he died before Jon could meet him.

Jon is suffering.

#tma #Jonathan sims #jonmartin #jondaisy #jonmichael #jonelias #jongerry #tma ships #tma spoilers #08 #chats 08 #08 tma #jontim

[apomaro-mellow]

Part 6

When Nancy and Robin returned to his house, he told them that Jonathan had found Eddie. The two of them, along with Argyle, spent the night in case the two returned.

Neither of them showed their face.

The next day, Steve was alone in his house, waiting for one of them to come by or to call and explain what happened with Eddie. When it got past noon, Steve called Eddie's home. No answer. He held it together long enough for an hour to pass before calling the Byers-Hopper place. Joyce answered but said she hadn't seen Jonathan at all today.

Honestly what was worse than the not knowing was being confused on who he was more worried about, Jonathan, who had just kissed him for the first time, or Eddie, who had seen them kiss.

Steve busied himself with cleaning and exercising mostly. He thought about talking to Robin, waaay too much to have not called her at this point. But he didn't know where to start.

The day after Jon and Eddie went MIA, Steve officially out of things to clean and he was contemplating getting some kind of gym membership when the doorbell rang.

He answered it and Jonathan was there, asked if he wanted to go on a drive and Steve accepted.

It was rare that he was a passenger. He got to watch the town go by. It was five minutes into the ride that he realized he didn't even ask where they were going.

"We're doing this whole thing, because you don't wanna date anyone, right?", Jonathan asked.

"It's not because of that. I just didn't want Dustin hounding me about not dating Robin. And then it was about getting him to stop setting me up with anyone."

"So why did you choose me? Was it just because I walked through the door? It could have been anyone, right?"

Steve thought of who else could have walked through the door that he would claim to date on the spot just to trick Dustin. The list was short. Not Robin or Nancy. None of the kids. Argyle he had just met.

......Maybe Eddie?

"Whoever you just thought of, you probably should have picked him", Jonathan said.

"I don't regret choosing you", Steve said. "Or kissing you", he added quickly.

Jonathan bit his lip. Eddie and driven them back to his place the other night and they had talked until dawn. It was just before the sun rose, when the sky was its darkest that Eddie confessed.

"I've got the hots for your boyfriend, man."

A guy in a normal situation might show offense, or possessiveness, or something. But Steve wasn't his boyfriend. He shouldn't feel that way. Like he actually wanted Steve. Because that would be crazy, wouldn't it?

"I think you and Eddie should talk."

"Did he tell you why he ran off?", Steve asked.

"Yeah. But that's not for me to say."

Steve slouched a little in his seat. "Where are you taking us anyway?"

"I have no idea. I just couldn't talk in your house, man."

------------------------------

Nancy knew something was up. But she was also quite sure it was none of her business. Her two ex-boyfriends coming out as gay and dating each other was a shock to her system. But only because it had appeared to her that Steve and Eddie were the ones getting closer.

It was none of her business though. But whatever was going on was making things tense. It had been a couple of weeks since Eddie ran off in the night and he was acting like he hadn't.

It was probably no harm, no foul. He was safe and this wasn't a symptom of the Upside Down. But Nancy was never one to let things go.

And the New Year's party she was throwing was the perfect opportunity. Nancy had the house to herself. Mike was at his friend's party, her parents had gone to an office party and Holly was at a sleepover. She bulked up the guest list with some of her old girl scout buddies and some of then teens from her church (that lot could drink you under the table).

She enlisted the help of Argyle and Robin. It wasn't a complicated plan at all. She just needed Robin in on it so that she didn't release Steve at the slightest protest.

"Are we ready for this?", Nancy asked at around 11:15.

"As I'll ever be, shit", Argyle sighed.

"Nancy, you're sure this is going to work? Because it sounds like torture instead", Robin said.

Nancy looked at their quarry. Eddie, practically guarding the punch bowl, then across the room to where Steve and Eddie were sitting a respectful distance on the couch.

"This right now is torture."

So in a process that was quite surgical and precise, the three of them managed to get Steve, Jonathan, and Eddie into a closet and kept them locked in. The sounds of the party in the living room were a distant muffle.

Hopefully they could all ring in the new year as a group of friends refreshed. Instead of the stagnant air that had been around them.

Part 8 FINAL

Tag Team

@freddykicksasses @itsfreakingbats @thatrandombatgurl @loguine-linguine @cecinestpasunblog @aliea82

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddathan #steddie #stonathan #eddathan

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Tea - a Magnus Archives one-shot

"You must be Martin. Jon used to go on about you a lot."

In MAG 149, season 4, Georgie recognized Martin the moment she saw him just from Jon's descriptions, but we didn't get to hear that.

Have a glimpse into my mind-palace of how it could have happened.

Notes: none. This is just fluff. Spoilers thrugh season 4.

AO3

------

“And then Martin—would you believe this—let a dog into the Archives! A dog! ”

“A whole-ass dog, eh?” said Georgie, sipping her tea, trying not to sound dubious.

“It took him all day to get that thing back out of my Archives. Ridiculous.”

“So… you didn’t fire him?”

“No, I didn’t fire him! Elias put him there for some reason, and I… well, I thought it might be more suspicious if I got him out of the way. The next spy could be worse.”

Spies. Dogs. Evil bosses. “Are you still not going to tell me whatever happened at your weird cult workplace?” she said.

He glared over his coffee. “No, I am not going to tell you what happened at my weird cult workplace. Just. He also makes good tea. That’s all.”

“Bully for him.” She left to go to work.

#

“And then you wouldn’t believe… Martin insisted on ice cream for his birthday. Like we were all children!”

“Oh, no,” Georgie said, pencil posed over her crossword puzzle. “Whatever did you do?”

“Well, I ordered ice cream, of course. No need to rock the boat,” Jon said, leaning on his Oxford English drawl. 

“No, no need to do that,” said Georgie. “What kind?”

He huffed. “Rum and raisin. It was serviceable.”

She knew him too well. “You talked about emulsions again, didn’t you?”

If Jon had feathers, they would have ruffled. “Yes, I talked about emulsions! They’re an important part of modern food theory!”

Georgie laughed, filled out wiseguy for a seven-letter know-it-all prompt, and called it a day.

#

“Martin insists on tea. Insists on it. If I don’t have a hot cuppa, he just… he…” Jon gestures.

“He what?” said Georgie, who really wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“Well, he gets all… big-eyed, and sad, as if I somehow did it at him,” Jon mumbled, looking down. “I have drunk more tea in the last two years than in my entire life.”

“With your grandmother? I doubt that,” said Georgie, who had come into the picture early enough to meet her before she passed.

“No, she insisted I make tea. She never truly cared if I drank it,” Jon mumbled into his empty cup. “Martin cared.” And then he stared at the leaves at the bottom as though offended they were all that remained.

“Well, I’m sure my tea-making skills hardly compare,” said Georgie.

“They don’t,” said Jon, who did not mean cruelty by it.

Georgie spoke fluent Jon. She understood he wasn’t saying, You suck. He was saying, I miss Martin’s tea. “Are you sure you can’t reach out to him? Maybe outside of work?”

Jon went deep red. “I can’t do that.”

“You sure? I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

“No,” Jon said softly, looking now at the floor. “I can’t talk to anybody. It isn’t safe.”

“Safe?” she said.

He seemed to realize he’d said too much. “I… excuse me.” And he closed himself in the guest bedroom to make another of his weird tape recordings.

#

“I’m telling you, Martin might be sending them!” he said, holding up another batch of suspicious documents.

Georgie was fuming. “How could he be? Did you tell Martin where I live?”

“I… no, I didn’t.”

“Then I doubt he’s sending them.”

“I just thought… no, you’re right. I doubt he misses me at all,” said Jon, hangdog supreme.

Georgie threw her hands in the air. As Jon’s ex, she didn’t really think she had the right to push it further.

#

“Martin made me take his jumper home, and it… well, I never returned it. It’s so very comfortable! I feel oddly safe in it. Isn’t that odd?” A confession, wide-eyed, over breakfast. 

“Martin hates oolong,” said Jon over lunch and oolong. “I’m not sure why. Something to do with his mother, I think.”

“Martin always smiles. It’s suspicious,” Jon declared over dinner.

Georgie began to tune it out.

#

“He was terrible at research,” Jon mumbled late as they both sipped some brandy. “But he always tried so hard. He brought in a jar of worms once, did I tell you that?”

“Uh, no?” said Georgie. “Why would he bring in a jar of worms?”

Jon waved his shot glass. “Reasons,” he said like the grim reaper.

Georgie shook her head and threw back the last of her shot before going to bed.

#

Later, much later, Georgie went to the Magnus Institute, trying to find Melanie. She hated the place; it gave her the creeps, and not only because of what she now knew about Jon. It wasn’t even proper fear. It was just yucky, like something slimy between her toes.

Finding no one, she wandered downstairs, into the Archives, and spotted a man at a desk. He was tall, kind of cuddly-wide; his hair was curly and red, and his freckles were bright. His eyes were, intriguingly, the same color Jon had wistfully described as spring green one very late night.

Like Jon, he had a tape recorder going. She was really beginning to hate those things.

He did a double-take. “Oh, you can’t be here. It’s not allowed.”

“Sorry, Melanie told me to wait for her here,” Georgie said.

“You’re here for Melanie?” the man clarified, standing (good lord, he was tall).

“Yeah. I’m Georgie.”

And out came the smile (which Jon had described) and the awkward aw-shucks body language with one hand behind his head (which Jon had also described). “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize! I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”

She knew. He could’ve been conjured from Jon’s imagination for how perfect he was for that man. “You must be Martin.”

He blinked. “Has Melanie been talking about me?”

“No, um. Jon used to go on about you a lot.”

Martin brightened like the sun shining, and then Georgie had to go on for minutes about why she wouldn’t help Jon anymore.

Which Martin insisted she should.

Hell. Jon had no chance. They both had it so bad.

She still didn’t like this place. She still had issues with Jon and everything Jon was doing; but this… she could see this.

Martin and Jon, Jon and Martin. It worked in her head. They fit. 

She hoped it worked out. 

She hoped Jon didn’t drag Martin with him to the grave.

#tma #tma fic #one-shot #jmart #jonmartin #teaholding #georgie barker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma spoilers

[istumpysk]

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Lemongate

TIER:

People's Choice! I swear to god, if you guys screw this up...

Under Consideration: These theories haven't garnered strong or extensive evidence, but they're worthy of discussion.

vs.

50/50: These theories are complete toss-ups.

vs.

Low Probability: While not impossible, these theories are unlikely based on the current evidence.

vs.

Long Shot: These theories are largely speculative, based more on wishful thinking or obscure hints than on solid evidence.

vs.

Debunked: These theories have been directly contradicted by the text, George R. R. Martin, or other authoritative sources.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

What is Lemongate?

That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. - Daenerys I, AGOT

The theory argues that lemons can't grow in Braavos, therefore something about Daenerys' childhood has yet to be revealed.

What could it be?

It depends on who you ask. The problem with this theory is that it serves as the foundation for many other theories, making it extremely difficult to cover.

The possibility that Daenerys never actually lived in Braavos has led to various speculations, including but not limited to the following:

The big house with the red door was in Dorne.

Daenerys Targaryen isn't really Daenerys Targaryen, and has false memories of her childhood with Viserys Targaryen.

Daenerys is the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Daenerys is the daughter of Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne.

And that's just scratching the surface.

For the sake of my sanity, we won't delve into all that nonsense. Instead, we'll focus solely on the question of whether lemons can grow in Braavos and, if not, what the hell is going on.

Okay, do lemons grow in Braavos?

Maybe? Daenerys seems to think so.

That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. - Daenerys I, AGOT

But there's some issues.

For starters, trees don't really grow in Braavos.

Beyond the harbor she glimpsed streets of grey stone houses, built so close they leaned one upon the other. To Arya's eyes they were queer-looking, four and five stories tall and very skinny, with sharp-peaked tile roofs like pointed hats. She saw no thatch, and only a few timbered houses of the sort she knew in Westeros. They have no trees, she realized. Braavos is all stone, a grey city in a green sea. - Arya I, AFFC

x

The stony maze of islands and canals that was Braavos, devoid of grass and trees and teeming with strangers who spoke to her in words she could not understand, frightened her so badly that she lost the map and soon herself. - Samwell III, AFFC

Braavos is built on a lagoon at the northwestern end of Essos.

(map!)

It is often described as foggy, with a damp, cool, maritime climate. It draws significant inspiration from the city of Venice, Italy.

The day looked to be a rare one, crisp and clear and bright. Braavos only had three kinds of weather; fog was bad, rain was worse, and freezing rain was worst. But every so often would come a morning when the dawn broke pink and blue and the air was sharp and salty. Those were the days that Cat loved best. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

"Winter is nigh upon us. The day I left Braavos, there was ice on the canals." - Jon IX, ADWD

It's not an ideal climate for growing lemons, as the text humorously notes.

"Seven hells, this place is damp," she heard her guard complain. "I'm chilled to the bones. Where are the bloody orange trees? I always heard there were orange trees in the Free Cities. Lemons and limes. Pomegranates. Hot peppers, warm nights, girls with bare bellies. Where are the bare-bellied girls, I ask you?" "Down in Lys, and Myr, and Old Volantis," the other guard replied. He was an older man, big-bellied and grizzled. "I went to Lys with Lord Tywin once, when he was Hand to Aerys. Braavos is north of King's Landing, fool. Can't you read a bloody map?" - Mercy, TWOW

It's nothing like Dorne, a more suitable place for a lemon tree.

Anguy shuffled his feet. "We were thinking we might eat it, Sharna. With lemons. If you had some." "Lemons. And where would we get lemons? Does this look like Dorne to you, you freckled fool? Why don't you hop out back to the lemon trees and pick us a bushel, and some nice olives and pomegranates too." - Arya II, ASOS

x

There children frolicked naked in the sun, music played in tiled courtyards, and the air was sharp with the smell of lemons and blood oranges. - The Captain of the Guards, AFFC

And to the author's credit, he appears to fully understand the conditions under which lemon trees can and cannot thrive.

Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more. - Alayne I, TWOW

So you can see why it's a bit puzzling.

Has anyone ever thought to simply ask George about it?

Of course. If you had the opportunity to ask George R. R. Martin anything, why wouldn't you waste your moment on something as stupid as this?

George was asked about the discrepancy, and surprisingly, he was uncharacteristically forthcoming. He acknowledged that it's very perceptive to pick up on a detail like that and playfully hinted that it points to something else.

Dany remembers a lemon tree outside the house with the red door in Braavos, but citrus trees shouldn't really grow in Braavos's cold, foggy climate. Is this discrepency significant? Does it point to future revelations about Dany's past? Thank you so much. Very perceptive of you. Yes, it does point to . . . well, that would be telling. - George R. R. Martin

In that case, is Lemongate confirmed to be real?

No, not exactly.

Despite what he said, there's really no hints in the text concerning any secrecy around Daenerys' upbringing.

Ser Willem Darry was in Braavos, a fact that could be confirmed by several people.

"It is a secret pact," Dany said, "made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and myself away from Dragonstone before the Usurper's men could take us. Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness." She handed the parchment to Ser Barristan, so he might read it for himself. - Daenerys VII, ADWD

And while trees are rare in Braavos, they do grow in the gardens of the wealthy, where you'd expect Daenerys to be. It's not out of the question that a lemon tree could grow there. Lemon trees can also grow in Venice, Italy.

Trees did not grow on Braavos, save in the courts and gardens of the mighty. - Samwell III, AFFC

Compare one questionable lemon tree to how the author handles Jon Snow's parentage, and you can see why the theory has some issues.

Then what the hell is going on?

I believe one of three possibilities exists.

POSSIBILITY #1

Daenerys lived in a nice big house in Braavos with Ser Willem Darry, and there was a lemon tree outside her window. Nothing weird is happening.

POSSIBILITY #2

We have another instance of an unreliable narrator, who is rewriting a past event that never existed.

Daenerys is chasing a red door and a lemon tree that were never truly there, and she'll never reach her destination. It's a commentary on the futility of her entire objective.

POSSIBILITY #3*

(*also known as the real reason)

At the last minute, George changed the location of the big house with the red door from Tyrosh to Braavos, resulting in a humorous inconsistency in the story.

Yes, it's really that simple.

Blood of the Dragon was a novella published in the July 1996 issue of Asimov's Science Fiction magazine. It is based on the Daenerys chapters from A Game of Thrones and was released before the book itself.

Here's an excerpt:

That was when they had lived in Tyrosh, in the big house with the red door. Dany had slept in her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever. They had wandered since then, from Tyrosh to Myr, from Myr to Braavos, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place.

Whoops! Something's different.

The big house with the red door originally being in Tyrosh isn't surprising, given that ✨ we know ✨ Daenerys speaks with a Tyroshi accent.

The merchant must have taken her for Dothraki, with her clothes and her oiled hair and sun-browned skin. When she spoke, he gaped at her in astonishment. "My lady, you are … Tyroshi? Can it be so?" "My speech may be Tyroshi, and my garb Dothraki, but I am of Westeros, of the Sunset Kingdoms," Dany told him. - Daenerys VI, AGOT

You'd have to spend many of your formative younger years in Tyrosh for that to be the case.

As Irri and Jhiqui helped her from her litter, she sniffed, and recognized the sharp odors of garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone in the alleys of Tyrosh and Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. - Daenerys VI, AGOT

Amusingly, this now-deleted part of her history was somewhat alluded to when her mirrored image twin from Tyrosh was introduced to the story.

The Tyroshi sellsword was not a good man, no one needed to tell her that. - Daenerys V, ASOS

x

"Is it Daario? What's happened?" In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. - Daenerys II, ADWD

Many inconsistencies and discrepancies are present throughout the series, but they are especially noticeable in A Game of Thrones.

Lemons grow in Tyrosh, but they don't typically grow in Braavos. It's a detail the author overlooked when making the simple change, and I guarantee you this is him poking fun at himself (and the Lemongaters) for the error:

"Seven hells, this place is damp," she heard her guard complain. "I'm chilled to the bones. Where are the bloody orange trees? I always heard there were orange trees in the Free Cities. Lemons and limes. Pomegranates. Hot peppers, warm nights, girls with bare bellies. Where are the bare-bellied girls, I ask you?" "Down in Lys, and Myr, and Old Volantis," the other guard replied. He was an older man, big-bellied and grizzled. "I went to Lys with Lord Tywin once, when he was Hand to Aerys. Braavos is north of King's Landing, fool. Can't you read a bloody map?" - Mercy, TWOW

So, we can probably put it to rest.

But George himself said it was pointing to something??

Aww, adorable.

If you've been paying attention to George R. R. Martin for any amount of time, you should realize that if there were something truly significant about lemon trees not growing in Braavos as part of a secret plot yet to be revealed, there's no way in hell he would ever answer that question in that manner on LiveJournal.

Allow me to finish his sentence for him,

Dany remembers a lemon tree outside the house with the red door in Braavos, but citrus trees shouldn't really grow in Braavos's cold, foggy climate. Is this discrepency significant? Does it point to future revelations about Dany's past? Thank you so much. Very perceptive of you. Yes, it does point to . . . [my changing the story and overlooking a minor detail, like an idiot.]

Fine, but why did he switch it from Tyrosh to Braavos?

I don't know why, but you should stop overthinking this, and we should move on.

(because of arya.)

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

I'd like to think Lemongate has been debunked, but I'll leave it to the people to render their verdict.

Does Lemongate amount to nothing? Absolutely. Do lemons grow in Braavos? Not really. Is the house with the red door a symbol of an idealized past she'll never be able to replicate in her future? I don't doubt it.

Many things can be true here, but one thing that's not is that she lived in Dorne, and Lyanna Stark is her mother.

VOTE:

NEXT THEORY:

Oberyn poisoned Tywin

[Main menu]

#operation iceberg #asoiaf theory tier list #theory 11 #lemongate

[zalrb]

Speak!

Link to part 1: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/164720175550/trust-jonsa-one-shot Link to part 2: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/181817838525/an-entirely-different-way-pt-2

Link to part 3: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/182562584780/passion

Link to part 4:https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184333793460/survival

Link to part 5: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184637430325/the-happening

Link to part 6: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/627229549053214720/nothing-has-changed-everything-has-changed

Link to part 7: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/695978201342672896/agony

Jon Snow was dead. With each step he took toward the altar, he’d buried another piece of himself until he stood, waiting, for his bride as not much more than a hollow husk. Truthfully, he’d already been dead for a while. Since his conversation with Arya. 

            He’d been dressing when she’d entered his rooms, fastening his vest with leaden, sombre hands and when she’d walked through the doorway, he’d turned to grin at her somewhat morosely.

 "Let me guess,” he said. “You're here to tell me what a fool I am for agreeing to this wedding. It's a little late. I’ve already asked Tormund to say the first words."

Arya shook her head. "I'm not here to tell you anything." She’d smiled, her eyes softening a bit. "No one can tell you anything, Jon."

"I don't know about that,” he said. “Sounds more like Sansa."

Jon briefly closed his eyes -- how quickly his thoughts turned to her, how eagerly his tongue spoke her name. It was a problem he needed rectified and an instinct he never wanted quelled and a threat he relished to a peace he longed for. It was a multitude of conflicting emotions. It was Sansa.

"That's why I'm here."

Jon turned around to face her completely, raising his eyebrows. 

Arya paused. "She'll never forgive you for this, you know."

Oh, did he. "So, you came as her ambassador."

"I came for you, to see if you're prepared for that loss."

He wasn’t. He couldn’t think of anything worse except for what would happen to his home, his countrymen if he went back on his word. And the fact that Sansa refused to see that, that she would severance herself from him, leave him, made him angry.

"Sansa thinks she knows better than everybody else,” he said gruffly. “But I am doing this because--"

"Jon, your Queen?” Arya walked up to him, her tone getting firmer. 

“Our Queen, Arya.”

“I know a killer when I see one. And if somewhere she knows about..." She looked at him pointedly and his lips parted. She knew. He knew she knew. But she wouldn’t say it out loud.

"Then Sansa is a threat to her in more ways than one  and that's something I will have to deal with."

"Don't speak so dangerously," said Jon.

"I’ve never been afraid of danger.” She kept her gaze steady. "Sansa will never abandon you but tonight you will lose her, do you think you can survive that? Do you think we can survive that?"

He rubbed his eyes. Why was everyone being impossible? "I have to choose what's best for everyone, regardless of how I feel or what I want. We don’t have the luxury of following our … we have a duty … we … I gave my word before I even knew that I’d---” 

Jon couldn’t even finish the sentence. It physically pained him 

Arya continued to look at him. "I know you think you've made your choice. But don't be surprised if there comes a time where you might have to choose again."

*

Sansa couldn’t recall the last time a wedding had been a joyous occasion. Tyrion had been kind in their marriage but she hadn’t known what to expect beforehand and the trepidation and unease of that ignorance had made her nervous and fearful the entire ceremony. The night she’d married Ramsay, she’d thought she was going to be sick, walking through the godswood she’d walked through many times as a young girl but with Bolton banners everywhere and toward a family who had slaughtered hers. Upon seeing Ramsay’s face her own became a mask of impassivity while rage and disgust and fear roiled within her. Before either wedding, her mother and brother had been slaughtered at one, ripping out a large piece of her that she would never, even if she’d attempted to, get back. The only glimmer of joy had been when Joffrey, her tormentor, had died an agonizing death at his wedding but that demise had not been the liberation she’d prayed for. 

And now, this wedding, between this man and that woman. This wedding that’d had the entire castle in a frenzy of preparation for days. This wedding was plaguing her with a keen, aching sorrow that made it impossible to speak, near-impossible to breathe. In the midst of dressing for the occasion, she would sometimes stare at her own hands, wondering who they belonged to So much had been taken from her over the years, but this loss was something she couldn’t have imagined because she couldn’t have imagined Jon in the first place, of what the two of them together awakened in her. She couldn’t imagine passion. She couldn’t imagine…

Sansa closed her eyes. Stop it. Stop.

It was done. They were done. Before they even started. She had to let it go. There was no other way. Her heart had been broken a thousand times before this, and loving Jon Snow would be yet something else she’d survive. She knew how to endure, she knew how to rebuild, she ---

Suddenly, she heard a creak and felt something inside of her ignite. That spark, it was only triggered by one person’s presence. She turned toward the door, looking at it with such concentration as if that was all it took for her tear-brimmed eyes to see through to the other side, to see through to who she knew, in her gut, was standing in the corridor. She willed him to come in, to knock, to whisper her name, to yell in anger, to do anything to let her know he was there, he was hers.  

Jon stood outside Sansa’s door, poised to walk in. He wanted to hold her and yell at her all at once and his hand trembled with the urge to push open this barrier between them and take her in his arms. Soon, his entire body thrummed with the desire to see her, to go to her. His mouth moved wordlessly, and he furrowed his brow, conflicted. It felt physically impossible to stay on this side of the door, everything in him strained to see her, yearned to touch her. The desire was overpowering, transforming into an uncontainable force that made him agitated, made his breathing ragged, he was going to come undone -- 

And then it was gone. He’d buried it all at once, removing himself from how he felt, shrouding himself in a numbness so complete, it was as if he belonged to himself. He was gone.

He murmured, “Goodbye” and we walked down the corridor, making his way out to the godswood. 

Sansa sank onto a chair, her hand suddenly splayed on her chest as the spark died as quickly as it had flared within her and something in her body shifted. Something that told her, it was all over. 

*

The knock was unexpected. It wasn’t Jon. Sansa already knew that. But it surprised her when she opened the door to find Daenerys in full wedding dress.

Sansa blinked. “Your Grace. I… I was making my way to your rooms---”

“That’s alright,” said Daenerys. “I move at my own pace.”

“Evidently.”

Daenerys walked into the room and glanced around. “I wanted to give this to you before the ceremony.” 

She handed Sansa a scroll that she unfurled and began reading. 

“It will say that as my prince consort, Jon will have another title as King in the North, which is what Tyrion had explained  when discussing the political aspects of this union.” 

Sansa remained looking at the piece of paper, sensing Daenerys was waiting for some sort of expression of gratitude but she did not give one. 

Daenerys prompted her. “It is exactly what we discussed.” 

“Well, what you and Jon discussed,” said Sansa, putting the paper on her desk. 

Daenerys’ face became steadily less congenial.  “I have compromised a lot, Sansa. I even conceded to the Northern customs for this wedding.” 

“Which was smart as you’re in the North and want to the favour of our people,” said Sansa simply with a shrug. Every move Daenerys did was calculated and she was rather bored with the assumption that she didn’t know when her strategies were simply common sense.  “A Northern wedding and a title with no power.” 

Daenerys scoffed. “It holds considerable power.” 

“Just not sovereignty,” said Sansa. “He bends the knee to you, we bend the knee to him, nothing changes. He’s just the Warden of North except he’s not in the North and has a fancier title and you’re counting on our loyalty to Jon to quell any idea of a rebellion as he would be by your side.”

Whatever congeniality Daenerys was putting on had now evaporated. “The Seven Kingdoms are my birthright, the North is my birthright and I love this land like---” 

Sansa clasped her hands together. “What is it that you love about the North in the short time you’ve been here?”

Daenerys blinked, taken aback by the question. She tried to recover. “I discover something new about this place everyday. Each discovery more beautiful than the last.” 

“Mm.” Sansa nodded. “But do you love the conviction we have in our beliefs? Do you understand our beliefs? Our wilfulness and loyalty. The passion with which we uphold our ideals, which may be very different from your own? Our might, our---”

As Sansa continued to speak with more and more feeling,  Daenerys got the distinct impression that she was not only describing her country and countrymen. And when she finished, she took a deep, shuddering breath as if her own words moved her to breathlessness. 

Daenerys cleared her throat and patted down her dress.  “I am marrying him when I am in no need of a husband,” he said. “That is proof enough,” she said, opening the door. “It’s time.” 

“Your Grace,” said Sansa.

            “How do I look?” 

            Sansa gave her a once over. “It’s a dress fit for a Queen.” 

Jon couldn’t feel the chill on his bare face, he couldn’t feel himself within his body, couldn’t even feel worn or tired, or detached, he felt … gone. Tormund, who stood next to him, was more nervous than he was. He could see Arya looking at him curiously but couldn’t even bring himself to pretend. He just … was. He’d snuffed it out -- the spark that had enlivened him since the Red Woman brought him back and now he was nothing more than an animated corpse and that was all he would be. That was the choice, the sacrifice he’d made.

            He saw them approach but his vision was unfocused, saving him from seeing her, from noticing her, keeping his heart dead.

Sansa, once again, found herself in the godswood. Her feet, once again, propelling her toward her heartbreak.  They passed by soldiers, passed by faces she knew until they stopped in front of Jon and she felt as though she’d shatter on the spot. 

Tormund glanced awkwardly at Jon who gave an encouraging nod and then he spoke, his voice raspy. “Who comes before the gods?” 

Sansa didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. If she did, her voice would break and betray the depth of her pain and she’d already bled in front of Jon enough for a lifetime. She willed herself to swallow her sadness and relax her throat and once she did, she answered.

“Daenerys of the House Targaryen.” Sansa paused before saying the words that had shackled her to a man she’d despised. “A woman trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who … who comes to claim her?”

Jon hesitated and then stepped forward. Even in such a state, he was drawn to her. His eyes shifted to Sansa’s and when, after a few seconds, they locked, the furious pain that made hers shine with unshed tears lanced through his chest and catapulted him into an internal free fall. He didn’t feel rooted to the ground he was standing on. Nothing about the wood seemed real or possible, it wasn’t possible that he was where was, watching himself stare at the woman, at the two women in front of him. This body wasn’t his, this life wasn’t his. He was aware everyone was waiting for him to recite the expected answer. 

He opened his mouth. He paused for a second, an eternity and then ---           

Commotion in the near distance. Clanging. Shouting. Everyone turned to look toward the distraction. Voices could be heard.

“Assassin! Assassin!” 

Everyone started moving. Jon and Brienne rushed toward Sansa, Brienne standing in front of her, Jon crushing her to him, cloaking her. Greyworm rushed to protect Daenerys, joining her with Missandei. Arya, readied, had her blade drawn, covering Bran. A few soldiers ran toward the commotion. Everything was happening so fast. 

In a manner of seconds, men entered the clearing with the severed heads of the apparent would-be assassins. 

“What has happened?” 

“They opposed the union.”

Daenerys’ head snapped toward Sansa and then her eyes widened near-imperceptibly at seeing the way Jon held onto her.

His stomach plummeted. “No,” he whispered. “Daenerys---”

She addressed Sansa. “Did you know about this?”

Sansa remained silent, her eyes narrowed in fury. 

“Speak,” said Daenerys. “Speak!”

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