#now for the self-sacrificing bastards: | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

When “GIF” was named word of the year in 2012, Oxford Dictionaries U.S.A. credited Tumblr for pushing the word.

#now for the self-sacrificing bastards:

dragonsbluee · 1 month

Text

So I've recently been re-reading TCF And chapter 196 is such an excellent example of how Cale interacts with the people around him, how he views himself and how they view him. This is also at the point in the novel where he hasn't really accepted that he is Cale now, not KRS, because he doesn't feel like he can.

So anyway, we start the chapter seeing the people of Rain City react to Cale's shield and they say something important!

"Won't he faint is he uses such a large shield? Why doesn't he just activate it when the northern bastards come?" "Can't you tell? He doesn't want to see us or the territory getting hurt at all."

At first, I thought this was just the regular drama of people reacting to Cale, but then Choi Han, the kids, and Ron tell him he's being ridiculous, and I realize the townsfolk are right.

The Wyvern Battle is only the 2nd or 3rd major battle Cale has been in so far but only as Cale. As KRS, he's done this before, and having read later chapters, we know Cale holds so much guilt over those battles and how he wanted to keep those he cared for away from it all but couldn't. After all, record only gives him information to guide them and make plans; he often couldn't physically protect them. How many times has he defended a shelter or teammates and wished he could have just covered them all with a shield instead of giving commands from the back? We know how guilty he feels over Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk's deaths.

He knows he doesn't have to keep it up, and he's the one who spreads a rumour that it's taking all of his energy, but he's already considering himself a "bad person" for taking military command and only giving orders. (except that's what it means to take military command?) There is absolutely another motive for keeping the shield around the city. Cale wants the opposing forces to view him as weakened, or he doesn't want people to think his power is as strong as it is. However, at the same time, he's absolutely protecting them because, just like the townsperson says, he doesn't want to see any of them get hurt by an attack he could have blocked.

Cale is doing what he can to undermine himself while claiming he's going to make everyone else the hero of this battle, but he won't drop the shield, which means no one can disregard or forget his involvement. It's not intentional! He's just literally made himself the first line of defense as a direct parallel to every time he was the last line as KRS. He wants to stay at the back, he does not plan to get involved unless he has to, but Cale won't let himself stay out of it. So the shield goes up and stays for multiple days.

Meanwhile, all Choi Han, Ron and the kids see is Cale surrounded by paperwork (because taking command of the entire Northeast is a lot of work), keeping a shield up that's known to make him cough up blood (they don't know about it getting stronger or the vitality of heart), and only sleeping 1 to 2 hours a night (thank you crybaby), so they assume it's a combination of work and concentration to keep the shield up. As usual, they're worried and frustrated at Cale's self-sacrificing tendencies.

We haven't even gotten to the actual battle yet, but this is such a great setup of how it's going to go and how the novel goes.

325 notes · View notes

simping-overload · 1 month

Note

Hello! I was just wondering if you could write some angst!!

I was wondering if you could write a ghost x male reader where reader gets seriously injured to the point where it scares the shit out of ghost and ghost lectures him but ends up crying as he's lecturing the reader? 👀

a/n: hurt/comfort my love tags: canon typical violence, gore(??ppl get stabbed and someone gets their throat sliced open) no use of y/n, male reader, injured reader, prob occ ghost??? ghost cries, everyone cries. angst, hurt/comfort

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm/nbmlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You were a sniper. You weren’t supposed to get too close to the fight. All you had to do was hang back and try to offer support, but by the gods do you never listen.

The situation got tight, Gaz and Soap trapped in a room by enemy fire. Captain Price and Ghost were clearing out another building.

You being the oh so self-sacrificing bastard you are ran to help. You went the back way, so the enemies’ backs would face you, unaware of your approach.

You quickly and efficiently took them out, just as you were trained, but—you missed one. A heavy hitter, a fucking Juggernaut.

He didn’t bother reloading his gun, throwing it to the side before he started swinging. The first few swings caught you off guard, and he got you right in the nose, breaking it. This throws you off balance, which gives him the opportunity to throw you against the concrete wall.

You rolled to the side before he could kick your ribs in, quickly standing up on your feet, slightly dazed. You pull out your knife, the one you were gifted to Simon, as using a gun in close combat would be useless.

You circled each other, waiting for the other to strike first. Vaguely out of the corner of your eye, you can see Soap carry Gaz out of the building. You feel a slight relief that now they’re safe.

Your way of winning this fight was to take it nice and slow, bait him into moving so he wears out easier due to all that heavy gear.

You move forward like you’re going to swing, which causes him to charge forward. You sidestep. His armor barley grazes yours.

“Oh? Is That all you got?” You mock, tapping your foot like an impatient child. You’ve played this game before.

He huffed like a big bad wolf, “I’ll fucking kill you,” He growls out.

Charing at you again, he actually gets you. He grabs onto the side of your armor and pulls you on him, securing his arms around your body before throwing you onto the ground with him.

You can feel something crack as your head fits the floor, that doesn’t stop you from squirming and wriggling in his grasp. You use your knife, plunging it into the nearest flesh you can find.

It didn’t go far, but it did make him shout in pain. For just a moment, his grip loosens, you throw yourself out of his hold, trying to dash away to create distance.

He recovered quickly, grabbing onto your ankle. He forced you to trip. Landing face first, you couldn’t stop him from dragging you back to him. He gets on top of you, pinning your arms down with his knees as he starts punching you again.

You black out, head and mouth bleeding. The man cackles, throwing you up against the wall with a cackle. He holds you up, forearm pressed against your through as your feet dangle helplessly in the air.

Your eyes shoot open at your sudden lack of air, you kick at him weakly. Shaking hands, reach for your knife, ripping it out of his thigh. You can’t use it before he rips the blade out of your head and stabs your stomach multiple times.

High off of adrenaline, you grab a smaller knife from your shoulder strap, one that was covered in a fast acting poison to render your opponents immobile. You did the knife under his helmet; the knife meeting his now exposed throat and you slice.

The man immediately drops you, leaving the knife in your stomach as he stumbles back, holding his neck. He slides down against the wall as his body gives up on him.

You raise a shaky hand to your walkie, “Captain-L.T. I need a medic asap. I can’t stay awake for much longer.” You can feel your eyelids get heavy.

“Stay awake, soldier. I’m on my way.” Simon’s gruff voice was the last thing you heard before your eyes seemed to shut for what may be the last time.

You float in and out of consciousness, eyes cracking over just barley as you feel familiar arms pick you up and run to the evac. On the helicopter, his gloved hands holding your face with such gentleness.

The last thing you remembered was being jabbed with one too many needles before passing out completely.

You felt like shit. Your head was pounding, and the rest of your body felt like it was on fire. You crack your eyes open, wincing at the blinding lights of the medical ward.

Your eyes scan the room. There isn’t anyone here. Aside from whoever is sleeping next to you. You turn your head slightly, recognizing the familiar build of the love of your life, Simon.

“Simon.” You try, voice dry and horse.

His head automatically shoots up at the call of his name. His eyes lock with yours. You can see the internal strife within them debating over what he wants to say.

“You’re an idiot.” The insult doesn’t make you wince, as it’s true.

“I know—.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You rush in blind, without a care in the world. You could’ve been killed, and you nearly were.” Simon takes your hand in his.

“I was only trying to help Si... I couldn’t do shit from the bird’s nest.” You interlock your fingers and squeeze his hand.

“What help are you if you ended up dead?” His shoulders drop. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you did.”

You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, “Simon... let me see you.” You nudged the edge of the mask with your free hand.

Simon slips off the mask, his eyes are bloodshot-a result of hours of crying. You cup his face with a shaky hand. “But I am here now, that is what matters, yeah?”

He leans into your palm, tears streaming down his cheeks. You sigh, pulling him towards you. Pressing your forehead against yours, he sighs against you.

“I’ll make sure to be safer next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

#simon riley x male reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #ghost #ghost cod #mw x reader #cod x reader #cod angst #cod x male reader #cod x you #male reader #x male reader

331 notes · View notes

wonx2 · 4 months

Text

Ok I'm officially gonna reread tcf and start that part 2.

Its still one of my favourite novels but unfortunately i kinda lost track of it after catching up to part 1 sooooooo now i gotta start over.

Cant wait to see who else will join in clowning that self sacrificing bastard

#tcf manhwa #tcf novel #tcf #tcf cale #cale henituse #trash of the count's family #trash of the duke's family #clopeh sekka #because i love him #tcf part 2

273 notes · View notes

kurooo-is-here · 4 months

Note

Hi so i hope you dont mind a very angsty request. So you know how MC sent Miraidon/Koraidon to protect Kieran during the Terapagos stuff. For this request, let’s have reader sacrificing themselves for Kieran for drama, im talking throwing themself in front of Kieran to take the blow. An action they didint think it through bc too caught up in the moment kind. Now they arent dead but well that gotta hurt a lot. So throughout the whole fight with Terapagos, reader is just barely holding on. And when they finally caught Terapagos, they instantly faint, finally letting themself to rest. A rest which turns out to be a 2 month coma. When the Mc wake up, they now have chronic pain and now have a hard time walking. Yayyyy :)

So can i request Kieran x reader and Drayton x reader, where the both of them have a crush on the reader but have yet to confess, see the reader back in BB academy after months in a wheelchair and have chronic pain. Like imagine the angst :)

Btw if you want, you can make it to a hurt/comfort. I just want angst :)

(P.S. i just found your blog today and i really like your work! Keep up the good work!)

Omg noooooo 🥹🥹

Drayton would be PISSED at Kieran for allowing this to happen to you. You nearly died because of him and his selfish behavior. He'd definitely drag Kieran aside and give him a not-so-friendly warning.

...Kieran reveals to Drayton that he has feelings for you, which just pisses off Drayton even more. Kieran liked you this whole time, and still decided to act like a complete asshole? Unforgivable. Lacey is halfway out the door with you in the wheelchair before you two see Drayton kicking the crap out of Kieran.

It takes both Lacey and Amarys's combined efforts to pull Drayton off of Kieran, but he finally stops when you ask Drayton why he's doing this.

"You nearly died because of this idiot, Y/N! He's been nothing but mean to all of us, and he couldn't even protect you in the end--"

"That's not true!" You exclaim, tears in your eyes. "It was my fault for jumping in front of Kieran to save him, but he was the one who got me out of Area Zero! He stayed at my hospital bed when I woke up and apologized to me! He's already said he's sorry, so you don't gain anything from kicking him while he's down!"

You ask Lacey to help you get to the cafeteria, which she immediately obliges to. Drayton is left to think about your words as Amarys takes Kieran to the infirmary.

Both Kieran and Drayton are wracked with guilt for different reasons... Kieran feels like shit for treating you so poorly, and even after all of that, you nearly died to save him. He feels like Drayton had every right to get angry at him, but he doesn't know how to feel about Drayton getting angrier when Kieran said he liked you. He doesn't want to lose you, not again. His heart can't take anymore of this regret and self-loathing.

Drayton feels terrible because he had no idea Kieran even apologized to you, and he can't shake the feeling that he's going to lose you if he lets his anger show again. He still has these gross feelings of jealousy... and even wishing that Kieran was the one who got injured instead. That bastard deserved it way more than you, at least. But he feels like a monster for even thinking that way...

I will leave the "ending" for this one more ambiguous, as I don't think there's a right or wrong answer between picking Kieran and Drayton (or picking neither). They both kinda fucked up.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon drayton #pokemon kieran #pokemon drayton x reader #pokemon kieran x reader #kuro writes

186 notes · View notes

dairy-farmer · 15 days

Note

Saw some NICE Reverse Robins Art? And just? Eldest Blood Son Damian Wayne? All the gorgeous of BOTH his parents? A man who never felt his position threatened by these younger children? But still had that oldest sibling "they're talking my Father's love and attention AWAY from me" drama? Grew up. Lost his Tim.

Was BETRAYED by his maternal family, when they brought Tim BACK, mad from the pits, and never told him. The whole alt-timeline. Edgy Red Hood Tim. Red Bird Jason. Robin Dick.

But!

Multiverse shenanigans? Who is THIS?! It's a Cannon-adjacent Tim! He's HEROICALLY sacrificed himself by tackling the megalomaniac of the decade, into the Multiverse Destroying Portal BEFORE it could fully charge! While he, said maniac, held the control panel. Thereby shutting it down.

There had been no other way.

He had expected to be ripped to molecules.

But here he is, on the sort of Shitty Roofing that can only be Gotham infrastructure. So? No time to tremble in the face of near oblivion. Gotta beat this fuckers ass so hard his ANCESTORS rethink their life choices. Tim drags himself up. And makes Gotham proud.

Which is how Darkwing (Damian's edgy self chosen name he's now stuck with until his Father retires.) Finds him. Half dead and beating up a clear Supervillian, wearing Bat gear. Good enough for Damian. He'll get answers AFTER the scoundrel in imprisoned.

Only Tim passes the fuck out.

Wakes up, in the cave, to his own? But slightly different? Face. Two things jump out. One, that God awful skunk strip Jason was permanently stuck with after the pits (that he refuses to admit, is kinda sexy). And Two, either this Tim started Testosterone WAY earlier, somehow managed to keep to all his scheduled shots dispite Superhero Craziness, OR... this lucky bastard is Cis Gendered.

Unless maybe not?

Hey, Me, pronouns. (He/Him.) Nevermind! Bastard it is! Fuck you! Why do YOU get all the luck? I have to take shots! (I DIED.) OH, boo hoo, WE'VE ALL DIED! Ya'aint special! *Tim on Tim verbal violence intensifies*

No one can tell if... they are? Bonding? Or hate each other. Someone should stop them. Unfortunately, it has to be Bruce. Which is how they learn: No, actually, he DOESN'T know what universe he's from. It's never come up before and they don't have the technology. He expected to die.

It was a one way trip.

Now they have a New/Extra Tim. There are Tim Twins. One is An Angry Bad Boy. And the other? Strangely sexy. The competence kinks are developing by the minute.

Worse, for Damian? This Tim seems... almost? Baffled? By his politeness? Seems to expect violence and aggression? And become utterly FACINATED by him, once he realizes its not coming. Damian has never been the center of someone's attention like this. Had someone hang off his every word like this. It's breeding... Thoughts he shouldn't be having.

And RR!Tim is getting jealous. That's HIM. He should be interested in HIM. THEIR shared lives. Not Mr "ooooh look at meee, the Perfect Soooon". Other Tim should be... be like his TWIN. His BROTHER. HIS other half. His!

Bruce? Hates that he sees what could have been, in this Tim. Calm and collected. Not raging and destructive. A good Detective. A perfect Robin. Dedicated to The Mission. Not the unhealing, raging, wounded animal his son has become. He wants to protect this Tim. Hold him close. Cherish him. But he also loves HIS Tim. He feels so greedy.

And Jason? It's like the Red Bird he looked up to is BACK. Not the raging monster that swings between hating him and ignoring him. Even better! This Tim looks at HIM like he's some sort of miracle! So he plays up the spunky, the cute. Crawls into his lap and chats. Gets to hang out. Be the center of his world. He... he's in LOVE. Already formulating a long term plan. Gonna marry this Tim and have a house and kids and a dog! It'll be perfect.

Baby Dick? Robin? Was EXHAUSTED trying to hold everything together. Trying to pretend he didn't notice the tensions. Play the performance of "cute baby brother" to distract and defuse. Then this Timmy came! And FIXED everything. Took Dicks job like he'd been doing it for YEARS. Smiled so pretty and perfect. Told him he didn't have to pretend.

Like he KNEW Dick. Better then anyone else.

So maybe Dick goes... a little crazy. Follows him. Smells his stuff. Wants to crawl into his bed and DO things. But! He's not the only one! Everyone is going crazy! Timmy does that to people, he's decided. But it's okay. They're TIM'S people. So it's okay if they go crazy for him.

And really? It's just a matter of who's control breaks first. Because Tim adores them but doesn't think they'd be interested. Tim is situationally dense as bricks. They love him anyway.

-🐼🐼🐼

all of them intent on this tim not realizing the tim of their universe will never let them get dibs 😩

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

54 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 5 months

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

27 - The Winter Rose

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, descriptions of blood and violence, mentions of character death, imprisonment, minor self harm, discussions of miscarriage and child loss, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, possessiveness

Notes: I'm sure this chapter title and the last chapter title have no deeper meaning whatsoever. Nope just totally, utterly random. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

You were thankful Maester Pylos was easier going then most, meaning he was quick enough and familiar enough with you to listen when you told him not to ask anything about it. His eyes were drawn right to the scar as he looked over your bruised ribs, but he kept his word and said nothing regarding it. At least for the most part. As he moved on to carefully cleaning the somewhat still bloody wound on your forearm he did however comment in jest, “Should I be concerned if these ones do not heal? That might make acquiring more in battle leave you looking a little worse for wear, your grace.”

You huffed a laugh before wincing. “Don’t, I’m in too much pain to laugh.” Glancing out the open window to the night sky, your eyes narrowed in a weary thought before finding that voice. “Pylos, when did Maester Cressen...”

He pause in his work as he glanced up almost in an apologetic manner. “Not long after the start of the war. He-” Trying to cut himself off before you sat up straighter to look at him did he feel the pressure to continue. “I mean not to speak ill of him, but it was at his own hand. Poison in a goblet of wine, hoping to share a toast with the red woman. It worked on him, but not her.”

Both looking at the other in a dreaded silence, neither were sure what to make of it. Even now, with what you had lived and Pylos had seen. You swallowed heavily before relaxing a bit to let him continue in quiet. “Who else?” His eyebrows raised and your voice found itself lowering in roughness. “Who else is gone? Because of this woman?”

Sighing deeply, Pylos pulled away. Sitting back as he looked sympathetically. “There was your uncles. Lord Renly first, then Ser Axell-” Your head shot up in a confusion for a moment repeating his name as Pylos nodded. “Yes. Your father had allowed the red woman to..burn alive those who did not convert to the Lord of Light, and Ser Axell was amongst them.”

Your heart sunk in your chest, what had you allowed this woman to turn you into father?

“One of your own cousins was to be sacrificed until Ser Davos betrayed his grace’s word and aided the boy in escaping-” You repeated the word cousin with more confusion and he seemed surprised you had not known this information. “A bastard boy of Robert’s. The red woman had need of King’s blood for her witchcraft, and sought out a living bastard of Roberts and brought him here with intent to sacrifice.”

Heart skipping a beat, you heard not the footsteps approaching the door from the winding stairwell up to the top of the Sea Dragon Tower. “Robert had..well he has many bastards in King’s Landing, which one did my father bring here?”

You did not like the pause, the sorrow of something you hadn’t known. “I am so sorry, I did not realize you hadn’t known...” The pairs of feet stood outside the door, one hand holding out in front of the other figure to give a moment for both to listen. “King Joffery..he had ordered..he had ordered his City Watch to find and execute all of Robert’s bastard children. He believed that they posed a threat to his claim should the rumours of his mother and the Ser Jaime Lannister to be true. Only one remains as far as we know..”

You wanted to ask who, but the answer was sickening no matter what, because it was a boy he said. Not the innocent life of a tiny baby girl in the arms of her young, sweet mother who knew none better. What was her name? Barra? That was it, the little girl with already growing dark hair and green eyes that shined up at you when she woke up in her mother’s arms.

Lord Baelish had never specified how many of them were out there, but you could only imagine the truth. You had on more then one occasion come across the outside of his chambers, Ser Jaime Lannister posed morosely outside forced to listen to your uncle with however many women he drew into his bed that time. It was one of the few times in those last few months before Lord Arryn’s death that you and the Lannister had found genuine common ground.

That both of you found it nothing but an insult to force a brother to listen to his King insult his sister, no matter how little love existed in such a marriage. You both had joked how judging by the sounds, you couldn’t tell if it was worse if the number of women he had inside was more or less then the number you had thought of. Watching girl after girl leave and sometimes return or a new one would show, and how many of them had sons or daughters which now lay dead at your repulsive cousins hands?

Before Pylos could speak more of it, the door to his study opened and the tense air was cut short as both Jon and Ser Davos walked in. Pylos making motion to stand only to be stopped by Jon offhandedly waving off the need of a gesture of formality. Yourself however, stood as you and Davos looked to one another, a full volume of regret somewhere behind his eyes. “Your Grace, I came to apologize.”

Were Jon’s head and heart not still racing in something treading close to anger, he may have found the strength in him to laugh at how easily you dismissed that, almost not even having realized there was any slight to apologize for. “Unless you’ve committed a crime in the hours since I last saw you, you haven’t done anything I’ve taken offence with. You've known me my whole life, that allows you to think I'm an idiot sometimes.”

Almost dropping his face a bit more flat as he looked at you, tone a bit heavier but more flat as well thankfully. “What has the world come to, when it’s easier to apologize to Stannis than it is you?” Both of you had a small laugh at such, you stepping forward as Pylos gave more space to those all in the room.

Crossing your arms there was a beat passed between you before your own voice found the right words, “I should be the one to apologize. After what happened to Matthos..being on the other side of it wouldn’t make it any easier, it was the best option we had but that doesn’t change..” Something unsaid between both of you, and it wasn’t your place or anyone's but Davos himself to truly bring it up all on his own volition. “What I’m trying to say is, I am the one whose sorry.”

The room was quiet as was his own voice a little far away with a tinge of amusement. “Don’t imagine it’s good manners to reject a Queen’s apology.”

Only that made you laugh, and laugh hard enough that you had to stop mid way through with a wince at your ribs. “You should hear the way some of my own men speak to me, I’m not what one would call particular with manners anymore.” Your eyes shifted a bit more stern however, a question tinted on your lips to follow. “Dare I ask whats been done with our new prisoners?”

“Most of the Golden Company has been put in the main dungeons, none to happy with how crowded it is but least they’re far enough down we won’t hear them complain.” Nodding, brows narrowing as he read that too. “As for our honoured guests,” a twist of jest in his tone matching his expression to choose his words carefully. “They’ve been put in separate cells for now, Connington requesting one for each of them away from the other.”

All four in the room found something strange in such a thought, but there was little to ponder over it in the moment. Jon had been standing some feet back, arms crossed over his chest with a dark, narrowed anger in his eyes that matched the rough strain held back in his own voice. “If they are willing to cooperate I can work something out with Stannis. Their army in the dungeon, I have no reason to keep them there as well. If they hear us out they might be of some help, if not, I see no reason they can’t at least have freedom to stay here or leave.”

You nodded, having not a clue what such a conversation with your father would look like and yet it seemed most of the reasonable ones anymore were between him and Jon now. Working together in White Harbour was the most you had gotten along with him since he was still in King’s Landing. It was not your place to question that, nor did you feel the need too. As long as whatever he wanted, wasn’t going to push Jon into anything he didn’t want.

All was quiet as the three of you now walked the halls back towards the ground level, you finding specific instructions to Davos. “Gather enough men to check around the curtain cliffs for structural damage. It’s hard enough getting around this place without those paths getting cut off. And tell Amos to start clearing the bay when the rest of it has put itself out. I don’t want our shores turning into a graveyard.”

Making his leave, you found enough drive still flowing through you that you had thought to tun to Jon with something else entirely on your mind only to have him glance down the hall, before his face twisted in a deep irritation. Grabbing you by the arm and all but hauling you into a small alcove just around an empty corner. Crowding you in and instant, hands roughly holding you by your upper arms as he looked you over, the blood and grime he found even more minimal then it was still on himself before letting them fly up to cup your cheeks.

His hold was tender, but the raggedness in his voice certainly was not. “What in Seven Hells did you think you were doing out there?”

If the look in his eyes weren’t such a brightness that yet gleaned with something desperate you may have teased him, but instead your heart only dropped further then it sat within your chest. You noticeably, did not reach out to him in anyway. “We needed Connington to surrender, I did what needed to be done. “

“By putting yourself in danger?” Trying to defend yourself, Jon cut you off with his voice trying to raise but being unwilling to go anything near a yell this close to you. “What happened if you lost?”

You on the other hand, were a bit louder but high pitched in an unsure lack of confidence as he stared you down. “Aegon wasn't about to give up, he wasn't going to go willingly I had to do something.”

This time, something uncomfortable had boiled in Jon’s chest and did in fact, come out as a yell with an anger rushing through. His hands on your face dropped as he tried to turn away, only getting a few feet away before his face still twisted in anger faced you again.

“I never would’ve let you anywhere near this fight if I knew this was what you were going to do.” If he expected you to argue, you didn’t. Deep down he knew you wouldn’t. His voice a little quieter but just as on edge as he ran a hand across his mouth before he turned closer to point at you almost in a lecture. “I shouldn’t even let you within fifty feet of a sword if you think your best chance is to always throw yourself at the enemy first.”

Again, you didn’t fight him in any way. Instead your nails dug into the skin of your other fingertips as your arms sat tensely at your side, jaw clenching as you flickered between his face and the ground beside him.

Your voice far more quiet and unsure then his anger. “I’m the one who actually saw you dead, you know.” His eyes narrowed briefly but you looked away again. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see me at the Twins. You weren’t the one between us who sat there staring at your corpse all beacuse you were a few hours too late to stop it. First time you felt my scar was when I was alive, I felt yours when you were dead long enough down there your skin was turning blue.”

He had barley moved, and your voice hadn’t raised. It wavered in between upset and something darker but you just stood quiet and stiff, Jon trying to gently call your name but your jaw clenched further. A shake of your head before you continued to stare away from him. “You’re so afraid of losing me out there but I know exactly what you look like when you’re dead. You don’t think I hate not being strong enough to be at your side, to have your back if no one else does? Or do you think it’s just easy for me to imagine coming up after a battle and seeing you on the ground exactly like you were that morning?”

You looked up to him finally and found instead all the anger had transferred to your eyes, only a heartbreaking softness left in his, but now as Jon stood there you knew he wasn’t certain if reaching out to you again was a good idea. Not when you were this on edge.

“Do you really think I’m fine with the fact that I’m too weak to protect you?”

He wanted to reach out to you so badly but you’d flinch away from him the second he even twitched in your direction. His grey eyes swimming with that need however and could not hide it from your own eyes distant in a pain. Your name murmured on his lips, “Why do you think I asked you if you wanted to learn how to use a sword?” Your eyebrow raised in confusion, “That night in Winterfell, why do you think I wanted to teach you when I caught you looking at the practice swords?”

It was still one of you fondest memories of that visit. How you had been so caught off guard he swiped at your legs and it sent you knocking to the ground. Looking up in confused anger to see a fourteen year old Jon, that dashing smirk on his lips as he swung his own practice one around in one hand looking down at you. His voice at that point already having developed so close to the deep raspiness it was to this day.

He had teased you about not turning your back on your enemies before helping you up. Accepting the shove you gave him.

Risking taking a step forward, you tensed a little as you looked away but you otherwise did not try and back away from him. Jon’s voice growing softer as he spoke, trying to coax your eyes to his. “I never thought you’d ever need it. Never thought you’d find yourself having a life where you’d need to protect yourself like that. I only asked if you wanted to learn how, beacuse I wanted an excuse to spend time alone with you.”

Your eyes didn’t meet his, but you looked closer, enough that the gaze now trained on Longclaw sat at his side, brows slightly narrowed. “You spent plenty of time with me, in those days.”

Jon risked another step forward, and you tried not to let it choke up inside you how careful he tended to be when he could see whenever you were in a more high strung state. He always knew exactly when and how far to keep his distance until you settled enough. “Not the way I wanted. You spent most of your days working beside my father and when you weren’t there was always something trying to take your time away from me. It was an excuse to spend time with you and no one would be around to interrupt.”

Glancing more up, you found the blood splattered across his chest plate, somewhat covering the direwolves. You more mumbled then anything, not having the ability to argue at the best of times with Jon. “I didn’t learn how to use a bow to set a thousand men on fire, but that came in handy when the time needed it.”

Jon’s hands itched but he kept them to himself. “Never in my life did I think teaching you all those years ago meant you’d be putting your life in danger beacuse of it. I didn’t think you’d ever have any use for it, and I don’t expect you to do it now.”

It was a mistake looking up, his grey eyes were so wide and bright. A shine to them which radiated something so beautiful as it echoed against the rest of his face. How more women didn’t fall madly in love with Jon, you did not understand. Because even now, they were enough to make you melt enough he stepped within a foot of you. You tried to speak multiple times, but ultimately let a sigh out as you looked away from him in your own frustration. “I knew if I could get him alone, I might be able to overwhelm him quicker then he could me.

Looking back up at him, neither of you held any anger anymore. You both hated having to be together in a life full of blood. You hated it with Robb, and you hated it now. None of the lives you ever planned out as a wishful little girl included this much war and death. Jon tilted your head up with a tender touch at your jaw, making you meet his eyes as he leaned close enough you could feel his breathe dancing across your skin.

His other hand reached out, grasping your hand to guide it to his waist before settling his on yours, almost a prompt to tell you to let your other do the same thing. Which you obeyed. His tone was as gentle as he could make it, light and airy as he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead before meeting your eyes again. “And if Aegon had killed you, I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him myself.” The almost loving tone as he ran his hand on your jaw along the skin to your cheek contrasted quite strangely with the dedicated violence of his words. “You’re duty isn’t to put yourself in danger, and it’s my duty to keep you safe. I’m only asking you to stop making my job so hard.”

Finally, he had managed to pull a breathy laugh from you. Him returning one back, leaning a bit more into you with his own mesmerizing smile as he did so. One of your hands on his waist jumped up, going from there right up to dancing your fingertips along his chest plate, not caring much to avoid the blood as he you traced over the direwolves. “I didn’t do it to scare you.”

“I know.” His hand moved to run across the back of your head, his fingers clearly toying with the idea of pulling your hair loose as he was there. “I’m not trying to make it seem like I want to control you, it..I hate that I can’t always be there to protect you. I know you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. And I know I have to work on that, on accepting that.”

Nodding, the air between you both felt much less suffocating then before. Hard to overcome the fact that you found it scary, the idea of arguing with Jon. He felt things deeply and intensely, and you hated the thought that you could ever be the one to set him off in a bad way. Especially in moments like this, his grey eyes so soft and full painted towards you and hands gentle like you were the delicate thing to treasure in his touch.

Letting your hands reach up and cup the sides of his cheek and jaw, he moved with you in an instant as if reading every inch of your mind. Leaning down to meet you half way, the second his lips gently brushed against yours, he moved to grab your waist to steady you against him. Nothing more then a gentle dance without pushing the other too far, and yet Jon’s hands kept growing tighter despite the kiss growing no more heated.

The second a tiny sigh slipped from you as you parted, a light dizziness in your head with a satisfied hum along with it however, was a step too far. Jon’s hands suddenly dropping down to your hips, and the innocence of the moment died out as he, somewhat roughly, pushed you against the wall. His lips kissing you harshly, deepening it the second you grabbed at his shoulders with a whine, crowding you against it before letting one hand slip to the back of your head.

This time, he pulled out the ties keeping your hair up without needing a single glance. Running through the loose strands before yanking your head to tilt up so he could press against you entirely. Biting at your lip only once before demanding you let him slip his tongue inside your mouth, running along yours as the hold on your hair was keeping your lips from being able to part from him whatsoever.

It was the exact same thing as before it seemed, you with nothing but innocent intentions and Jon let it consume him like an inhuman force blinding him with a raw lust. Your hands reached up to let his hair loose but were caught in their path as Jon all but shoved your legs apart, moving a knee to invade the space between. As he shoved that same knee up against between your legs, he used his grip on your hip to grind you down against it, powerless against his strength to stop it.

Biting your lips, running his tongue along yours and tasting your mouth with an increasing demand and greed as he started to guide your hips to move in a harsh but slow grind. Too many layers keeping you from feeling it so directly, but Jon was unfair in how strong he was and he kept you pressed against him as he moved you along until he felt your hands shake against your hold on his shoulders.

Your insides burned as his did, screaming in fire at you, but not to be put out. A pleasure that twisted and turned like a coil to snap at any moment begging him to throw you into the flames at his own mercy, and your heart raced so much those across the castle were like to hear it pounding. It was as if something took over, pulling finally from your lips as his eyes now black as the night outside looked into yours.

His lips red and swollen as he hadn’t pulled from you enough to break the small strands of saliva his kiss brought between you. Lips parted he breathed heavily until he looked down, keeping you against his knee as one hand now flew to find just enough room at the edge of your pants to slip down.

Jon’s mind aggressively thinking about how much he wanted to be home. Bring you home to Winterfell so he could go back to you having the freedom to walk around in your beautiful dresses and there would be not a thing in his way but your tiny layer of fabric that he could soak you through in seconds.

Teeth almost gritting as he hissed, finding your clit as the rest of your core was shoved too tightly against his knee, still moving you against him only now his fingers pushed more. Running harsh and tightly over the sensitive spark before almost twisting it as if it were the small buds on your breasts he would roughly yank at, twist so cruelly but on something now that made you cry out.

His mouth covered yours instantly, brows furrowed as he did so as if he was angry someone might have heard you. Running your covered core along his knee and his fingers rubbing, twisting and playing with your clit as he licked his way back into your mouth, keeping you unable to moan out loud or catch your breathe. Tensing hard in his arms, Jon pushed his knee up firmer and forced your hips down as much as he could as he ran his fingers tightly and twisted the core in you so suddenly.

But you tensed up, gasped into his kiss and then nothing. He pulled away. Again. His hand, his knee, even his lips. He stood almost a foot away from you, hands now steadying you by your upper arms again as you felt so stinging you wanted to cry. Three times now, and it was starting to be painful each time he refused you. Husking down at you, accent so thick only you could understand it from being so close, “Please, don’t ever put yourself in danger like that again.”

Almost unable to speak through the thick fog in your head you nodded, but he pulled you by a hand at your chin so as he spoke his lips brushed yours. “I want you to promise me, darling. Promise you’ll never do anything like that again.”

You weren’t in the right mind to guess which, but you wondered far off if he had done this on purpose or not. Put you in such a desperate state to get you to agree to anything he’d ask, or was this just out of his own worried panic over your safety fighting with some darker need he held for you?

Either way, your hands ran along his chest plate again as you nodded,“I won’t. I won’t do it again, I promise.” Looking to his eyes, they were almost seen as water hidden behind their depths as he looked at you almost heartbreakingly. “Jon..” You bit your lip almost nervously to ask, it sounding too innocent in your airy tone for such a request, “Could..we...”

But Jon only kissed you again, one last bite to your bottom lip as his tongue ran gently over the marks his teeth left and pulling back again. His hand cupping the back of your hair once more, the other now gentle on your waist. “No.” Your eyes squeezed closed in frustration as he kissed your forehead again, speaking against the skin there too. “But I want you to start keeping track of how often I don’t let you.”

Your brows furrowing as your heart still beat loud in your ears, “Why?”

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, this time more gentle and loving. Resting his own against it as he curled the hand on your waist around your lower back to pull you more into a gentle embrace. “Because however many times I take it away from you, I’m going to double. Give you twice as many to make up for it whenever I fuck you. You’re looking at how many? Six? Eight?”

You actually laughed, and so did he. Your head falling onto his shoulder as you shook with an exhausted laughter. “Remember that day in the wolfswood when I admitted I didn’t know what having one feels like? I’ve decided I regret ever telling you that now.” He asked why and you could hear the grin, “Because you only let me have one after doing this exact thing three times then.”

Jon didn’t respond right away, but it wasn’t even in lust he retorted. Almost just enough in a dry tone that you would smack him for being a smart ass, were you still children. “If I’m adding those three, then we are up to at least twelve.” You sighed, and he grinned more. Pulling you against his chest with both arms, one more around the back of your head now as yours were at his waist. “Keep talking, darling. I’ll keep adding them. I’ll be between your legs sun down to sun up at this pace.”

Sometimes it was hard to tell if your fathers men gave a hard time just to see how long your resolve would put up with it. You had been going back and forth before the man finally accepted the orders and made his leave.

The deep rumbling of a familiar voice came up to your side as you stood watching the men around the main gates working to clear and clean of the dead. “I’d throw them off the sides of that cliff before I let a lanky shit talk to me like that.”

Glancing up to your right to find Tormund watching the same as you did before glancing to you with an amused raise in an eyebrow. You turned back with little expression, voice as flat and done with this night as before. “I grew up here. Known most of these men my whole life, they talk to me like that because they know I let them. They certainly wouldn’t speak to my father that way.”

You tried not to glance to where he was in the distance. You felt a bit conflicted on how to handle things. On one hand, you were greatly thankful for him in just the blood spilling hours before and yet Pylos’s words rung in your mind and you couldn’t stop thinking of it. You didn’t know about your uncle, he was your mother’s own brother as well how much had been burned to dust and bone on these shores?

“You did well.” Glancing back up at him with curiosity, “On the cliff. You did well, not an easy climb that kind of rock but I was impressed. You and the Greyjoy.”

Smirking you shrugged a shoulder before crossing your arms over your torso. “Should I in return congratulate or apologize that your daughters husband lives to see another day?” He chuckled deeply, and it brought a smirk out of you. Taking a moment to let it simmer before you turned to something more on the side of quiet. “Would you have it in you to do more of that, or was this a one and done sort of deal?”

Turning to face you with an amused interest, he played just as coy. “Depends on the pretty crow’s offer.”

You however jumped right to the point. “The mines we’re here for, there’s tunnels all under the island but the easier ones to access are still mostly untouched. I have a few I know that I’ve worked my way through, but before I bring any of the others down there, I need to make sure I have everything in place so I can at the least have people get down to the main surface floor without scaling untouched walls in the dark. Would be nice to have someone who knows what they’re doing down with me.”

Tormund smirked, “Not even a challenge, between you and me, we could have those tunnels ready in a few hours we leave early enough.” You nodded appreciatively, back to looking at the winding stones some now had worked to wash the blood from. “I’d ask how early we should start tomorrow but I have a feeling it won’t be so easy convincing Snow to let you out of bed, to go spend time in a confined dark space with another man so soon.” Your eyes narrowed in confusion as he laughed. “Your fancy castle is large, but it doesn’t hide as much as you think.”

Your voice cracked as you suddenly hoped the earth would open and drop you into the sea. “I’m not sure I know what you are implying.”

Tormund leaned in, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and dragged you into his side without care. “All the advice I’ve given him, and he didn’t even let you cum.” Perhaps you could climb to the top of Dragonmont and dive into the molten liquid if you ran fast enough. “Could join you, let me teach him by example, how to treat a woman right if he’s that fucking cruel. Show him what he’s missing out on with you.” The grin in his voice was so thick as you knew your face was flushed and mortified.

Barley finding the confidence to mumble out, “You’re getting closer and closer to me shoving you off the edge of the mine, Tormund. Right at the very top.”

There was no noise except for the echo of footsteps as they walked down the corridor. Much torchlight hung by the walls and there were enough in each heavy iron door that you knew at least he would be sitting in more then darkness. As the guards opened the door, you nodded at them pointedly. “Leave us.”

The door closing behind with a loud clang keeping you in the open space of the dungeon cell, and a thick set of metal bars adorning the second half of the room keeping him apart. Sat on the ground with one knee bend up towards him and the other splayed out on the ground, the heaviest of his armour having been taken off him and he now looked quite like an ordinary man.

His eyes met yours with a curiosity. Your voice was low and even with nothing to give away in tone or even your face. “Do you know who I am?”

His answer at least was simple in response of your name, ending with Baratheon before he paused and corrected himself with little effort in him put forth. “Or, I suppose it’s Snow isn’t it? If we are being proper, that is.”

It made sense you supposed in your mind. Jon Snow was King in the North, and you were Queen at his side and most would presume so due to marriage. But it wasn’t anything worth the effort to correct him on. You didn’t come down here to discuss Jon.

Looking at Jon Connington you could see the shorter dark orange of his hair that gave his face more youth then the lines and exhaustion blessed him otherwise. “You requested to be away from your men, may I inquire as to why?”

Glancing up at you, his own eyes narrowed trying to sense the double agenda in your question but you knew he would find none. You played no games now. He sighed deeply, looking back at the adjacent wall with a morose tone. “I led sell swords here, not an army. They aren’t too forgiving of failure, even less so with being forced to surrender. It was safer to put me and him on our own, and I knew you wouldn’t let us together.”

Giving him one nod before inhaling deeply as you looked at him now with more curiosity. “The Golden Company has never successfully taken anything in Westeros before, they will come back around from this. We out numbered you, more than you suspected we would if I am guessing correctly.”

Laughing with nothing behind it’s meaning, “That you did. Lord Varys’s little birds were wrong. About many things it seems.” You raised an eyebrow and the silence sat between until he realized this was not a back and forth. “Either he didn’t know about Stannis Baratheons army or he didn’t tell me. Also tried to spook me, saying your husband was some dead man. A walking monster stabbed in the heart. Looks perfectly fine to me.”

The walking monsters of undead nature were that of cold and ice, not flesh and blood. But the knife in the heart was all the same. “He isn’t here, Lord Varys. Why?”

Connington barley moved, “I don’t know. Left some days before tonight, had business to attend to elsewhere and said no more on it. He isn’t a man who gives away his secrets,” You agreed and it had him hesitate and turn to look up at you. “How would you know that?”

Stepping closer your posture loosened a little bit, making him relax as well. “My father and I both served on the small council for some years. Spent much time around Lord Varys, so yes my lord, I know exactly the kind of secret’s he is capable of telling. Or not telling.”

Oh the glare Connington gave you almost was enough to have you laugh. “So, how does your father being King work? He claims to be the Protector of the Realm, but his daughter and heir is married to an independent Northern King? Things sure seem to have changed since I’ve been gone.”

“By change you mean there’s more freedom to rule outside of your beloved Targaryeans?” His eyes shot over to you, and while there was no malice on your face there was something unsettling in your eyes deep if he searched hard enough. You stepped closer again. “There was only a Seven Kingdoms because those people flew in with dragons and scorched the earth and it’s people. So you can imagine I am not quite convinced on Aegon’s claim when this country is only just beginning to find footing on it’s own once again.”

Sighing deeply, Connington’s jaw clenched as he stared harshly at he wall but his voice spit out in a hiss, “So this is who rules now? The Targaryeans fought against you Baratheon’s and Starks and now you get to be the ones who are in charge?”

Your voice was non confrontational however, you didn’t come for a fight but you knew you hit a sore spot. “For the Iron Throne? It’s a three way tie currently. The Lannisters sit on the throne, my father fights for it and apparently the remaining Targaryean still alive ,wishes to come back to seek it as well.” You came close to the bars, him still a number of feet away even if you were to press right up against the cold metal. “The Starks want nothing to do with the Iron Throne. We have bigger fights in the North then for an ugly iron chair.”

That you didn’t realize, was just almost enough to get a smirk out of the man. He turned his head lazily to look up at you, “Thought you were a Snow not a Stark.”

If he was trying to be clever, you saw through it. “You and I both know that Lord Varys has told you exactly who Jon is. Who his father is.” That made him clench his jaw harder, turn away with a rigid uncomfortable look in his eyes in an instant. Crouching down to see him more at his eye level you narrowed your eyes at him. “Let's not play word games. We both are aware of who exactly you were fighting against out there.”

Connington sighed, an arm coming to rest against his knee and hold his face in his palm before flying it back down to whip his neck around to you. “Is that why you are here? To discuss Eddard Stark’s bastard son?”

If he was on edge before, he paled now as you whispered into the silent air. “I’m here to discuss his aunt. Lyanna Stark. I’m sure your familiar with the name.” He said not a word, and you felt it seep heavy into the very air you both breathed. “I am going to be perfectly honest with you, my lord. Neither me nor Jon care about Aegon’s fight for the Iron Throne. He asked one thing of you in peace and you and him all but declared war for something on this island you didn’t even know was there. I don’t care if Aegon is fighting for the Iron Throne, what I want to know is how he’s even here in the first place.” Leaning forward you lowered your voice to something a little more annoyed with him. “Do we both know what I’m referring to or do we need to refresh our memories about the end of the rebellion? And how every single person in the Seven Kingdoms assumed Aegon died as a baby when Gregor Clegane smashed his face into a wall so hard it was unrecognizable.”

That did not sit nicely on his face. At all. He swallowed had with as much horror swimming in his eyes as you always felt imagining such a monstrous act. You let him sit in the quiet for a good few minutes, and you sat patiently waiting. “He was already two when they brought him to me.” Your eyes narrowed but otherwise remained entirely impassive. “Lord Varys and this associate of his, they approached me with this whole thing. I- I didn’t even know Aegon had survived...I had no idea...but then there he was..the only thing left of him right in front of me and them pleading me to help.”

“What did they want you to do?”

“Raise him. Take care of him, help make him ready. Train him to take the Iron Throne when he’s ready and hide with him until then. As father and son. Out of everyone in the world I had thought, me, Rhaegar trusted me with his son.” Your eyes grew dark and sharp but said nothing. There was a distant affection and lightness in his voice that was so far away you knew it tinged in a present pain. “I had lost him, but I had his son. Rhaegar’s own blood trusted in my hands to raise..I don’t know why he was smuggled out..or why she wasn’t..”

Rhaenys he meant. Why what sounded like nothing more than an innocent, sweet girl was left behind to be slaughtered.

He swallowed heavily, and his voice shattered to a waver. Not once did he look at you. “I spent his whole life waiting for him to become Rhaegar. The day I would wake up and see him, in his face, his eyes, anything. But..I’m still looking. I spent Ageon’s whole life waiting to see when he would turn into his father that sometimes...I feel like I missed his life..the life he had when he was just..my son. I failed his father, and now I’m failing the son too.”

Whatever was choking him on the inside, wrapped its tendrils around your throat and squeezed until something rough was forced out. “You didn’t fail. Rhaegar was the one who failed.” Connington’s eyes met yours, and it was a sorrow you rarely saw on people. “I don’t know Aegon, I didn’t know Rhaegar, but I knew the damage he left behind. I spent half my life growing up with a family that his actions led to their deaths before the war was over, and that pain has never gone away. I saw that pain live and fester in Robert’s eyes until it was so strong it almost killed what good in him was left. Good men don’t leave pain like that behind.”

Deep blue eyes and dark curls in your mind were clear as if he were right in front of you. Robb being gone was agony, but he left no pain behind. Only the agony of loss, and the desperate love of so many who knew the truth that he was the best of so many of you. Good men are like Robb, not Rhaegar.

Connington was quiet for a long time, but never asked you to leave. A quiet solace as you both thought to men you loved and lost in your own ways, but one was tinged in more guilt then the other until it spilled over as his head fell back with a thud against the dungeon wall. “For a long time I saw him everywhere. In my head, my dreams, would pass someone with just the right shade of hair that I’d trick myself into thinking there he was. I wanted to see him in Aegon so badly, but I never could. I thought I never would again, and..it wasn’t until..I suppose now I realize that maybe I don’t actually want to see him.”

“Until what?”

He looked to you with a doubt, and then he huffed a laugh. Shrugging a shoulder in a genuine amusement as he sat there behind the metal bars. “For a good minute out there, fighting your husband felt like I was back in my prime. Sparring with Rhaegar in the training arenas, getting overwhelmed by his intensity too.”

Tilting his head to you, “Damn near spooked me. Was like looking at Rhaegar how intense he was, but..he was also far better then him. I’ll give him that, your King is a skilled swordsman like I’ve ever seen. Had all of Rhaegar’s intensity and more, and I realize now that maybe I’m relieved I’ve never seen that in Aegon. I don’t know this Jon Snow, but for your sake, I hope there’s more to him then what I saw out there beacuse otherwise?” He whistled out and your face fell flat.

Your voice however had an edge to it that cut him like steel. “And you think Rhaegar was a better man?” Rhaegar thought he was better then everyone else, and that it made him untouchable. But Jon is a better man then anyone you know anymore in your current life, but he would never think that of himself. He’s a good man because that’s who he is, not beacuse he’s trying to make everyone else think so too. Leaning forward there was a real vitriol there, “Jon’s never abandoned his wife and two young children to kidnap an innocent teenage girl at the least.”

Connington’s face paled almost sickly. “Is that why you’re down here? Mock me about what he did?”

You were honest but no less hostile even in whispers. “She was Jons aunt, his fathers own sister and everything he’s heard about what your beloved prince did to her only got worse the more he was told. But he won’t ask you about it. So I will.” You leaned in as much as you could. “Why kidnap her? She died because of him, her father and brother died trying to save her. Why take her, why keep her from her family. What did he do to her that killed her so far away from where he, himself died?”

Connington’s voice was rough and you had no sympathy. “You’ve heard the story.” Asking why he did it, he said nothing. So you asked again to more nothing. Only the third did he raise his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t know why he did it. He never said what about the girl he wanted with, just that he needed her. But he had his Kingsguard keep her locked up and no one saw her until after she was already dead. He never said what he wanted with her, never told me why. And I was exiled by Aerys before I had a chance to find out.”

Leaning back, your nails dug into your palms at the guilt on his face. “Tell me one thing. The rumours of what he did to her, were those true? Or was that just the angry ramblings from Robert without any merit?”

His silence was deafening and you felt ill. Lyanna deserved better then to have men thirty years after her death, mourn the man who kidnapped and raped her until she died alone in the Dornish sands.

You backed off from him, and your tone lightened up a bit for his sake. Already struggling to look you in the eye. “Sometime soon, Jon will offer you and Aegon a peace. But I’d think long and hard, Lord Connington. Think if the man you really want Aegon to be is Rhaegar, beacuse there is none here who is on his side. But they might be on yours. You have time still. He doesn’t have to become his father, you can let him be ready at his own pace.”

“No I can’t.” You head tilted in question. “I don’t have time. Aegon needs to be ready to take the Iron Throne now or I- he can decide who he wants to be when he’s crowned but I need to sit him on the Throne as soon as possible. I...I have to do this one thing for him. I can’t fail the father and the son both.”

Your whisper was far away, “Why? Why rush into this after spending almost thirty years leading to it?”

But he shook his head. Clearing his throat before pulling his knees both up to his chest to rest his arms over them. For a while he said no more, and it wasn’t until the tense quiet of you walking towards the heavy door did he speak up. “He looks like her.”

Your head whipped around to look at him, Connington’s face more pale once again. “Jon Snow. You said he’s Lyanna Stark’s nephew? He looks like her. Suppose he looks like Eddard Stark too, but it was like looking at a gods forsaken ghost seeing him for the first time.” He laughed to himself. “Spent thirty years trying to see Rhaegar and avoid thinking about all the horrible shit he did, and in one night I feel like he, Lyanna and Robert have all come back to haunt me between the two of you.”

In only a small voice, you knew he heard you even if he didn’t acknowledge it. “You’re the one who raised him. And you surrendered for his sake beacuse you love him, not beacuse he’s Rhaegar’s. Don’t allow Rhaegar’s shadow to get in the way of that. Aegon’s not him, and he needs you for you. Not beacuse you are waiting for him to become someone else.”

As you walked out of the dungeons, all you could see was deep blue eyes against grey eyes.

For only a moment, you let yourself sit on the steps leading back to to the main floors of the castle as the night sky loomed over. Your hand traced the scar along you, and you realized maybe you weren’t the only one making that very mistake. You had been adamant to ensure your love with Robb was about him and not the guilt of Jon, and it led to a love between you both that was more then you could’ve ever imagined for the tearfully short time you were allowed to share it.

So you couldn’t do the same in return to Jon. You would always love Robb, always love the child you almost had together, but you couldn’t only see them when you looked at Jon anymore. You always said he deserved better then what the world gave him, and that included what you had been doing up until now.

The path was less treacherous then you recalled. Recently having passed your eleventh name day, you had still been small when you did this last. Your room too, it felt smaller then you remembered, cramped and uninspired with little personality. Much of you had been taken to King’s Landing where none of it existed anymore, but hidden behind a cabinet under the rug was still your spot to have searched on Dragonstone.

The path along there felt long as a girl. Long and the loud tides were frightening as if the gods telling you to stay away but each time including the fifth now, you had to pass the fear by. There was something you had to do, one last act and this time you felt horrid it was done so late.

Hopefully not only will The Mother see your beg of reason, but Robb would understand you hated not being able to do anything sooner. Whatever gods answered you now, you needed to send his son to Robb once and for all. Robb deserved that, he deserved more then that but this was all you could do.

As you came upon the clearing however, you felt a weightless sink in your stomach that almost had you drop. What more had he let her do? Your steps were suddenly slow, a painful realization that not only could the old gods of Robb not hear you from here, but perhaps the Seven of your past could not either anymore.

The statues had always sat tall and proud on the shores, close to the sept but a worship all on their own that felt closer to the earth. Four times you had come here like this, lighting a candle in the middle of each and finally to The Mother you would light all seven before beginning.

But now, only shadows remained. Burned statues of the Seven that you could hardly recognize what even had stood as what before. Burn the false idols, that was what he had let her do. You prayed in a peace to the old gods now, but not even the sliver of your life following the Seven was allowed here now. Only her fire god, as she burned any and all for him.

Now, as you stood with the torch in your hand and wind blowing your hair around with it, you only felt the pull North more intensely. Dragonstone was slowly taking away everything that was once a home with a family. Death and destruction was left.

Your hands brushed along each statues remains, and tried to recall prayers long unspoken in your mind and hoped they would accept your only offer. You knew where The Mother stood, and for once you felt a sting behind your eyes as you approached. This time it was not brothers you lost, and not your own mother by blood that you prayed for. It was you who was the almost mother praying to let the gods forgive your unborn son and pass him to his father and find peace together.

Carefully, you stuck the torch deep into the sand in front of her, and let your hands trail over the melted insides that were left. Wind blowing your hair and cloak far and wide as you begged for any hope that someone not shrouded in fire could hear you and protect him. He was your son, and you failed him and so you needed to pass him on.

You had made your way to your old bedroom earlier, shutting the door behind you sealing you alone as you pulled out the deep blue box with ornate foxes etched into it. Four hand carved toys sat inside it, four toys for your four brothers to remember by.

You had done what you did for them, written out the blessings septon would anoint a child with as they were named under the Light of the Seven. Only this time, the house sigil was that of a direwolf, and the name you called to them at the bottom had almost been enough to make you cry. The memory of horrified blue eyes looking at you with blood soaking his hands as your final memories together.

Eddard Stark

Now the burned remains sat in a small pouch along with the dagger. Pulling it out you held both ends with a choke so high in your throat were you to let it out it would sob. But the tears fell the same. You had nothing of them, nothing of either of them. Only this.

You had nothing of Robb but a scar and a dagger. His body was desecrated. He was given no funeral rites, he would not rest beside his father in the crypts of Winterfell with a faithful direwolf to guard him.

Robbs bones were lost somewhere in the Riverlands.

You could only give him this, and the tears fell as you cared not to hide them. You had a life to find now without him, with a man you truly loved but you would never find it in you to move past this kind of pain. You would always be scarred in heart with his loss, and the son you failed to give him. But you did have to accept it.

No shatters or thunder or noises to fear came about. The Mother had seen you cry and heard you in agony for the love of your life and the son you both lost, and she was allowing you to do one final thing for them.

You like four times before, stepped out into the middle of the shores, and with no wince this time, carved the dagger deep into your palm. The blood of you, Robb and your son all dried on it and now you let it twist as much as you could needing some of all three to soak your hand as you and your sons had soaked Robbs.

Letting it sit back in it’s sheath, you gently pulled out the pouch and poured it into your bleeding hand and letting the material fly elsewhere. Hand tightening around it you let your blood together soak as this was all you had of your son. Robb and you could only give him this to send him and you needed him to find his father, that was all they had of each other.

Stepping into the watering tides, you knelt down into the ground, the water surrounding you a few inches all around. Your hand sat deep into the sand as your eyes closed, kneeling down on your calves, with both hands braced beside you. The winds and tides blew around you as you saw not the blood.

Just the memory of a moment to find any joy. The memory of how scared you had been to tell him, only for Robb to haul you up into his lap and arms, the happiest you had ever seen him and the loving press of his lips against you like you gave him the world.

Eventually, your hand opened and the remains and blood all washed into the sea. You stayed there for a good long while. Eyes open looking to the stars in the night refusing to remember the pain. Only the deep love you found with him and the dreams of a family you couldn’t give him.

You hoped this far away, Robb Stark could hear you tell him you love him. Now and always.

It was more time you had planned on being away, by the time you had made your way to the room that was to be yours for a time, Jon was already stripped down from his armour and everything. Both of you having taken the time to clean the blood and grime from you before finding the other at that point as Jon now sat perched against the ledge near the open window, slight breeze flowing through his loose curls as he was cleaning the remaining blood from Longclaw back to it’s shining state.

Grey eyes soft as they looked up, you gently pushing the door closed behind you before letting your back rest against the heavy surface. A fire softly crackled in against the wall along the rooms clearing with a soft rug covering the cold stone of the floor. It was hard to tell if it was something unsure or worried in his eyes as they looked gentle but with a furrow in his brows at the fragility you stood against the door in, as if struggling more then normal to find the words.

Calling your name, but when you didn’t respond he set Longclaw aside. Standing to make his way over to you and only on the second attempt did your eyes snap back to the present as your name sounding in your ears. He stood close, but not invading your privacy and yet that sorrow in your heart melted to something that left a bright love to bleed in your gaze. “Talk to me.”

As Jon’s hand reached up to run his fingers through the hair at the side of your face, you grabbed it instead. Pulling it, and by proxy him, closer to you as you held it more over your heart as the other free hand of yours traced over his jaw, facial hair scratching at the skin. His other came to rest at your waist, both quiet as he waited for what was behind your eyes to make their presence spoken.

When you found that, it wasn’t what he expected. “I used to think it was my fault my mother lost my brothers.” His eyes narrowed at you but you had not the strained hurt in your voice, but something more gentle and easy. “She stopped speaking to me after the first, and then the night after she lost her second my father told me I was being sent North. I thought it was a punishment.” Your hand begun to trace back and run through his curls as he watched you closely. Your own eyes not meeting his as they trailed innocently over what you could see of him from such an angle. “Used to think boys were meant to come first, and by me being the firstborn I had screwed it all up, and my mother kept losing them beacuse of me.”

The hand holding his over your heart slowly slid downwards, his eyes following intently until he led your hands and reached where the scar sat under your clothes. Letting his palm almost slide across the whole thing and his eyes never looked away from it as if he wanted to see it through the material. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Nodding, you moved both of your hands to rest along his chest close to his collarbones. “I thought I was cursed. Eventually, I stopped thinking about it. It had been so long I forgot what it ever was like to be afraid I was the reason she couldn’t have them.” Your voice lowered however, and you felt him tense drastically in your touch. “At least, I forgot until I lost my own. And then I felt like a failure. I didn’t even have one before he too was gone.”

Jon tried to move, wanting to pull you closer but your hands on his chest pushed back a little to keep him at bay. His voice low and rough trying to contain something in him. “Robb would never blame you for that. Never.”

You echoed those words, not realizing as he had said them about himself that you understood exactly what that felt like. “I thought I failed Robb, and I was terrified he would hate me for failing his son too.” Jon never moved his hand from your scar, his shoulders holding a visible weight on top of them as he stood close to you. “But I realized something tonight. That if I keep holding onto that thought, all I am doing is pushing you away with it. I’m doing exactly what you had told me not to do when I married Robb. I’m letting my pain of losing them get in the way of what I should be having with you.”

His other hand not on your scar moved to run over the back of your hair as his grey eyes were bright and conflicted as he looked into your willing ones. “I’m not asking you to choose me over Robb, I’d never ask you that. I know you two loved each other and I’ve never wanted to get in the way of that-”

It didn’t matter how quiet your voice was, it to Jon sounded as if it were a yell from above. “He said I was fine.” His eyes shot up to yours sharply. “Wolkan. He said I was fine. That..he doesn’t think I should have any reason to suspect I can’t..or that we wouldn’t be able to..”

His touch was still and his eyes were wide in almost shock. Lips parted slightly as he looked you over gently before meeting your eyes again. “He said that you can..” His hand on your scar increased the pressure and he almost could lose it at how you seemed so gentle looking up at him.

You leaned back against the door more, a relax in your posture. “I thought that if I failed to give the last King in the North an heir, I didn’t deserve to fail with the second. Thought you should’ve just moved on, made me leave and find yourself a better wife that could give you all that and more. That letting you be with me was a mistake, and you’d end up hating me for wasting your time.”

Something deep in Jon’s eyes hurt, something painful cut at him hearing such a statement that there was a redness tinting behind the grey that threatened to pool out were he to let it. In an instant he moved to cup your cheeks, resting his forehead against yours as he crowded you against the door, your hands coming to his waist. “I don’t care about if you can give me a heir, I care about you. I care about how much it would hurt you not to be able to have children, and if I was pushing you for something that was impossible..but..”

The ease in how lovingly you looked into his eyes made him choke up. And the tenderness in your voice made that all the worse. “I’m not trying to influence you one way or the other, I just..thought you ought know the option is there..should you decide you want that..”

You suspected there was a lot he wanted to say but little ability to speak them into the world. His voice still a whisper as he looked at you, but a playful small smile on his lips. “I did always think your name would sound better with Snow than Stark.” You both just laughed, for a moment before he tried inhaling shakily before speaking again. “We don’t have to plan anything right now, but,” One hand started to trace down your arm, as his eyes followed, “We could always practice.”

His eyes flickered up to you, and a weight held your voice and breathe down. Maybe keeping the tears at bay too, but you swallowed heavily. Hands on his waist tightening as you slowly nodded. Jon leaned in, hovering close to your lips before glancing up to your eyes, you nodded once more before nervously shutting them as he closed the gap himself.

Jon tried to be gentle, he truly did.

His kiss was soft at first, a gentle brushing of his lips to coax more from yours. Hands on the other were both light and firm enough just to keep the other in front of them, but it was the shaking in yours as they rose up the length of his chest that made him weak. His touch back up to cupping both of your cheeks as he gently let you find a slow, sweetness in the harmony, your hands continuing their journey up to dance along his neck and wrap around the back of it, almost too gently for him to handle.

Your touch when that soft and innocent, made his blood race.

He tried pulling away a few times, wanting to at least take the heavy layers off of you, but each time he was pulled right back to your lips on his own desire, kissing a little harder each instance and getting worse at pulling back every return. The hands on your cheeks tightened ever so slightly when Jon gently nibbled at your bottom lip and you tried to gasp. He would return to a soft kiss, bite your lip harder and then kiss it soothingly before biting and repeating.

Each bite you got closer to a whine at the pleasure from the stinging he gave you, and your nails unintentionally dug into the skin of his neck as you felt yourself getting lightheaded. One of his slipped behind your own neck, keeping a firm hold cupping the back of it as if to force you not to move as the other hand left your cheek as well. Blindly working away at the laces and straps keeping your light armour still attached to your upper body as if he needed no sight to know how to take it all off of you.

As soon as it was loose enough to pull off you, he let it toss down anywhere he could throw it, biting your lip harsh as he jumped to your bottom half. His tongue now soothing over the bite mark before slipping into your mouth. His invading kiss and calloused hand running along the skin by your hips undoing your pants almost impatiently had you arching a bit into the touch and a gentle whine he caught in your mouth with his greed.

Instead of shoving them down though, his rough hand slipped in between the fabric and your skin, and suddenly it was just as it was in the castle halls earlier that night. His fingertips dancing down to where you burned for him, and his own knee suddenly shoved your legs apart to once more rut in between you. The hand slid just inside only coming back up to grab what he could of your pants and roughly yanked you down onto his knee as much as he could manage, you much more freely moaning into his kiss.

The entire time, Jon refused to let your lips part from him. Refused to loosen his grip on the back of your neck and you felt more and more like it was a wolf really in front of you. A rough hold on the scruff of another wolves neck to keep them subjugated and you let him without a single thought on the matter. There were no thoughts of anything in you that wasn’t letting him do what he wanted.

Jon’s own head screamed at him over it. This was exactly the kind of thing that led to the way he took you that night in Castle Black. In your early days together, slowly exploring one another at the same pace it was never this bad. He never felt this barley in control. Yet as soon as his eyes opened once more in the body belonging to him, as soon as his mind settled and he understood the truth of what he had experienced, it started and never stopped.

Something dark and clawing in his chest begged him to keep you all for himself, and the way you melted to his touch so willingly and so naturally made that stronger. It partially scared him, having something so intense and addicted find it’s way about you. Worried that he was too much now, he would frighten you with his need for you in his life but you weren’t. You were the one in fact, scared of over staying your welcome.

That darkness was stronger then it had been in his entire previous life, and it was that same darkness that had him take you that night. Hoisted against the cold wall in his arms, Jon had slid his cock deep inside you for the first time and he knew there was no going back. Shoving you onto the ground and fucking you deep as soon as he already came once. Waking up with you bare in his arms and you had only even just tumbled out of sleep as Jon yanked you up onto his lap.

Barley opened your eyes before he roughly bounced you on his cock and him sitting up to mark your breasts up with this teeth because you gasped so beautifully in the air whenever he did. He filled you twice that morning without ever stopping how hard he fucked you onto his cock and he didn’t understand why he wanted more and more. Couldn’t understand why he suddenly was so desperate to fill you in a way that once terrified him when he was nothing more then just a bastard boy in love with a royal highborn girl.

But now? Jon was King in the North, the King his brother, his brothers people and his home all wanted and not a thing would stand in his way from keeping you with him. He was still honest about not wanting to pressure you into thinking you had to marry him, but he wanted it. Wanted you in a beautiful ivory dress, even more elaborate then the last. Pray with you in front of the Weirwood, drape his own fur over you in that beautiful ivory dress and kiss you before finding one last string of tradition in him, and hoisting you in his arms to the celebration to follow.

You could be each others and there would be nothing anyone could do to change that. Jon would never force it, or even press for it, but nothing would be in his way. And now? He thought too, nothing was standing in his way of getting you pregnant and suddenly his blood almost boiled him alive.

Hands finally having enough, you started to push up the soft material of Jon’s shirt until he got the message, pulling from you to let you take it off him, and letting it drop much more gently then he was treating your things. Looking down at you with wide eyes and lips parted as he breathed heavily, he stopped. Running his hand back down your cheek before just as gently taking everything from your top half off of you.

A shiver running over your chest as you were left with nothing covering you but Jon’s dark, greeding gaze. But he didn’t overwhelm, not now. Keeping a hand steady on your hip as you kept perched right over his knee, but his other explored your skin. Running flat along your jaw and neck thumb firm as it trailed down the middle of your neck to your collarbones before circling around to grasp at your breast.

His eyes were narrowed and his breathing heavy through his nose as he stared in silence, hand suddenly rough as he groped the plush skin he found. Thumb running over your nipple already perfect for him to grasp and twist. Grey eyes so dark they were near black as they flickered between his touch and your arching back and high pitched gasp you tried to keep low.

It only made Jon tug and twist at the small bud more roughly, and your gasp turned to a small cry before he finally moved to the other hand from your hip. Both hands rough and calloused and leaving bruises of his fingertips as sparks shot through your chest, pumping from your heart down between the legs trapped on either side of one of his. Jon leaning forward, pressing only gentle kisses down your neck. Nothing like his selfishly rough touch, only feather light presses of his lips making his way up to your ear before leaving another gentle one just below.

His lips only giving a peck before his hands came to slid everything left on you, off. Keeping everything in a tender touch until he rose back up to your level, you now bare before him.

Three fingers danced between your legs and grazed the growing wetness before trailing up to your clit with a touch that never really got committed. “Will you lay out for me? Let me taste you?” You bit your lip, still the act somehow making you nervous. It wasn’t something you even knew about until he was already doing it, and still it made you self conscious, but the need was deep in his eyes. “You’re safe with me, remember?”

That made you nod, and you let him gently move you to the soft carpet close to the fire. Still something nerve wracking in you, realizing you had no idea how to make yourself look alluring like this. Gently kneeling down on your calves with your hands in weak fists sat in your lap as if anything else would look like you were trying too hard. Jon however, just exhaled deeply as he looked back at you.

Grabbing your hands with both of his larger ones before leaning close, placing them along his shoulders around the back of his neck until you continued the path yourself, fingertips running what you could reach of his curls. Moving next to guide you to lay out for him, your knees somewhat bent with feet flat on the soft carpet as Jon settled partially above you.

Instead of moving you more, Jon leaned down and kissed you again. A soft brush of lips that this time never picked up, one of his hands running along your hair splayed out under you as he pulled away, after giving one final small kiss. Nothing else was spoken in the air as he moved down your neck, kissing a path just as soft and just as gentle the whole way.

Your hands slipping to his shoulders the lower he kissed, your chest already with a slight heave as your breathing picked up, but he never let up. Never let his lips press anywhere but gently along your skin. A muttering against you when he had to reach up, and direct a hand into his hair, mumbling into his path, “Keep that there.” You nodded even though he couldn’t see it.

The lower he got the more your nerves and heart raced, unsure as to why it made you so nervous but it also was something you simply never knew existed before him. Much of what you had always discovered with Jon made you nervous. He paused as he got to your scar, and just as you had his, kissed a path all the way down it and further.

Shifting to lay between your legs, Jon confidently draped your thighs over his shoulders, once more grasping your hips as he kissed along your upper thighs. Moving your hips slightly up closer to him, you felt the gentle brush of his tongue along your clit, enough to have you gasp. Would have jumped too were his hold not keeping you so strongly tethered right where he wanted.

Small, gentle licks along your clit that had your core awaken suddenly. Just a tender touch, working you up at the sensitive spot with only his tongue until he felt your thighs around him begin to shake, only then did Jon finally run his tongue flat over it much more soaking. Sucking your clit before just barely grazing his teeth over it as you tried again to jump at the spark of pleasure but he kept you in place.

Jon refused to let his mouth trail his mouth anywhere else, licking and sucking your clit with hands holding your hips tight until you felt that build up inside of you. Almost bracing yourself, knowing he was going to take it away again, you tried holding it off. Tried keeping it at bay as your free hand curled into a fist and biting your lip, but the pressure inside refused to stop.

But just as you felt the weakness, just as you felt inside tightening, Jon instead moved to grab at your upper thighs, and pushed them far. The instant you were sure he was going to pull away though, Jon moved to lick right down your folds with a deep hunger. A loud cry left your mouth as the second that feeling snapped, Jon used that hold to yank you into his mouth more. Tongue tasting every bit of wetness you were gracing him with before trailing back to your clit and down again.

Legs shaking and your breathing airy as your orgasm ripped through you but he didn’t pull back, only held you close. His tongue making his way deep inside of you, and your cries were loud and free by then. Unable to stop, as your hand curled into his hair with a beg of his name which meant no other words.

Jon grunted into your cunt, licking and tasting you with greed at the feeling and sounds you made above him. Hands pushing your thighs wide and off his shoulders, and instead as he run his tongue against something sharp and sensitive inside of you, his hands slid down your thighs to pull you again closer. Not realizing you had arched away from him the more your head fogged with pleasure rolling around your veins. Hands almost grasping now tightly at your ass, fingertips leaving deep bruises already as his mouth drank from you with his own need.

His own sounds vibrating through you and up leaving as cries from your mouth. Soaking his tongue and yet Jon didn’t back away for a second, his own need refusing to let go of you as suddenly that wave of pleasure shocked. Back arching for him, as your hand tightened in his hair. The sensation causing Jon to growl into you and his hands on your ass holding tighter as your orgasm rippled through you, babbling need saying words you heard not in the snapping pleasure burning your insides.

Perhaps it was so close to your second that it made it simple, but Jon so quickly drew a third. Not letting himself simmer down to a gentle coaxing as he started, instead keeping the desperation in how deep he tasted inside of you and how much he drank everything you soaked him with. You almost rolled right into a third as you begged this time, “Please- I can’t, don’t..” Nothing was close to a sentence and Jon didn't stop until he could will himself to leave by force.

Your eyes stung as it almost was too much between you did Jon kiss a path to your clit, and instead of marking his way back up, he all but leaped to your eye level. Pulling you in by the back of your hair as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Making you taste what he was addicted too as his covered cock rutted into your soaking bare cunt. His hands held your waist as he rolled more into you with intention, breathing growing heavy and the second he pulled away from your lips a snarl almost formed on his face before he bit your lips into another rough, deep kiss.

Your hands attempted to reach down, but a soon as you got to his pants, Jon leaned up again. Saliva still pulled from both your panting, swollen mouths and now yours was as shined with wetness as he was giving you the mess you let him drink from. Eyes black as he watched you, taking over for your hands and pulling the last of his own clothes off. Trailing down to look at you, yours shyly looked down to him.

Hard and thick, slightly red with need and his own seed already leaking as he looked at you. Pulling your legs wide as he moved back to you. His cock brushing against your soaked folds had him shudder and you whine, hands at his shoulders. Eyes still on you, his voice was strained, accent strong as he rasped down at you, “No matter what happens,” One hand drifting to your scar as your eyes stung, “We’re family now, we’re together.”

You swallowed, nodding yes before Jon kissed you gently. But the kiss was a distraction.

The pressure as his cock slid inside of you, your nails dug deep into his shoulders and Jon kissed you harsher. One slow, gentle glide inside of you and he slid as deep as your cunt could let him go. Stretched thick around him you burned and cried, tears coming from your closed eyes. Hands running through his hair, Jon kept your lips on his too.

He was slow about it, savouring every inch of you around him so warm and tight, your own walls being pressed against as you wanted to cry at the pleasure it stabbed you with each inch. His cock slid in and out smoothly, you utterly soaking around him as Jon would pull out almost just to the tip before just as slowly, sliding right back. Making you feel every moment of his cock filling every inch of you, his tongue brushing into your mouth as he did so, and the gentleness matched.

Your lungs were no more as he fucked you slow. Every gasp you tried to have, Jon would steal it with his kiss and refuse you any air that he didn’t give you. He wanted everything you were to be at his mercy, trust him to keep you right where you were and you did. Legs falling wide around his hips, the coil inside of you twisted and cracked as you held his kiss even closer with your hands raked deep in his curls.

His hands on your hips kept you in place, making every thrust of his cock had you shake, but the pace so you were to feel every second as you clenched so tightly around him. By the time he drew another orgasm out of you, you had tears genuinely at how overwhelmed you felt with his slow pace inside of you.

But then he pulled from your lips, looking down to watch his length disappear into your soaking cunt, Jon didn’t notice his hands on your hips grew tight the longer he watched his cock slide in and out of you. Teeth gritting, he started only to realize how much you were scratching at his insides when you cried his name out. “Jon- fuck, please, gods, please, you feel so good,”

Then, Jon picked up. Not the speed, still mostly just as slow but his hips suddenly skipping past a gentle increase and moving right to a hard, rough thrust inside of you. Looking up to your closed eyes as your back arched, hands now splayed in the carpet around your sweating hair. Jon fucked you rougher, stuck hovering over watching you. Each slam of his hips making the sounds between you slap, a rough smacking of skin that had him growling and holding your hips in place. As if he needed to control just how rough he fucked you at all times.

He had once dreamed of being kind and gentle with you in such a manner, but now he could see your overwhelmed pleasure, watching how well your soaking cunt let him pound deep inside like he was destined to fit with you, and the obscene sounds of his skin against yours and how wet you were every thrust. Part of him still wanted to be gentle, but something else that had only awakened when he came back, made him feel like he was a wolf destined to take his mate.

“I hate every second I’m not with you.” His accent so strong you could barley hear its low rasp through the rough slap of each time he pounded inside you. A hand coming to press right beside your head as he looked down at you, almost speaking in tandem with every pound of his cock. “Hate every second I’m not inside you, not filling you fuck after fuck. That’s all I can think about, should lock you in our bedroom in Winterfell, keep you tied to my bed and never leave. Do nothing the rest of our lives but fill you deep with my seed,”

His head dropped as he hissed, trying to control himself but the roughness was going to leave you good and sore and it made you beg for more in yielding. “I- anything, fuck Jon I’ll do whatever you want, you’re so good..” Pulling you up by the back of your head to meet his lips in a rough kiss, Jon thrusted only a few more rough times into your cunt before he shook above you with a groan into your lips.

Cum unusually warm as he spilled inside of you, and thick as he spread your legs as wide as they could go on the ground beside you as he kept going. It was a lot of thick, very warm cum and he bit your lips with every heaving breathe or snarl inside him at the feeling of you so deeply taking him, and keeping all he spilled inside of you.

He wasn’t done, almost as if it made him harder. Grinding deep inside you did you cum before he was even done though, coating his cock in your wetness and forced to take his cum deep as you cried his name. But Jon, only got rougher. Fucking into you with pounding slaps that would have echoed through the castle halls by that point, any passing close by would be able to hear the slap of skin from the ground, or even the sea.

Burying your face in his neck as your hands wrapped around and into his curls, Jon almost pulled you closer, pressing your bodies as close as he could as he pounded into you. You didn’t know if keeping each one slow was meant as torture or not. Because you couldn’t tell if you needed him to go faster, or you might cry and beg for him to slow down if he changed his pace at all. Your voice was breathless and muffled in his neck, “I love you, fuck, Jon I love you so much,”

As possessed as Jon felt, the almost tearful genuity in your voice made him bury his face in your hair, hands tight holding you to him.

“You, gods- fuck, you deserve better, better then this, better then me.” Jon tried to protest, begging you not to say that but you clenched tightly around him and made him groan just as loudly into you as he fucked you. “Tell me what to do, please, fuck tell me what to do for you. I want to give you anything-everything, tell me what to give you to let me stay.”

If he wanted to cry before, Jon certainly did now. His cock screaming to cum deep in you again, and the sound of his hips slapping against yours were music if he’d ever heard it but you had begged him. Hand running along the back of your hair, Jon mumbled into your ear, voice wavered and shuddering with his own breathless desire. “Marry me, let me take you home and marry me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted,”

He knew he felt tears hiding in his neck, but he also felt you orgasm around his cock and he yanked your watering eyes to kiss you. Keeping you pressed to his lips, only pulling back to brush against them as you were jostled hard under him, asking as if he hadn't already. “Can I fill you? Will you let me spill inside you?” Nodding yes, he kissed you with a biting sloppiness to it before pulling back as his muscles strained the closer he got and the more your orgasm shocked around him like a sparking fire. He was barley comprehensible, so close to his own orgasm he slurred against your lips. “Fuck, fill you with my seed, fill you with a son. Give you my son..”

His hips left their rough, slower pace, as Jon lost all control. Fucking fast into you, the slapping pounds turned to obscene speed and smacking as he roughly kissed you, your hands tight in his hair. Jon sped towards filling you once more, and you managed to pull away enough, voice high pitched and crying in loving need, “Anything, Jon, anything you want, I promise.”

That time, your final, sudden and flooding orgasm snapped in your veins with an almost painful wave of pleasure, as Jon shook against you, and thrusted deep inside you, and you felt his thick cum spill inside of you. Cum almost as warm as the fire burning hot next to you, sweat covering both of you.

Jon cupped the sides of your face, and you did his. Both knew there was something not normal about how blindly desperate you both felt for the other when he was inside you, but neither were sure anymore if either of you wanted it any other way.

You hadn’t been in this room in a very long time, many years. The painted table was a long wooden table that was constructed to map out all the known lands of Westeros from Dorne to the Wall, and raised and lowered depending on the structure of the lands, all painted in accordance to how such an area around it looked.

Just by walking in you could tell what the pieces came from, your father’s own collection as opposed to whatever Aegon and Connington brought. Planned out acts still set partially to what you now knew were your fathers own organizing.

While it had been years since you had stepped foot in the room, it wasn’t unusual when you were on Dragonstone to appear in here. In only a few hours the sun would begin to rise from across the Narrow Sea, and yet you found your mind too worked up to sleep any longer.

You had woken up with a panic, a gasp for air as you came close to jostling Jon from his peaceful sleep, from the force it awoke you with. The dreams had gotten out of control. Dreams of fire, and wolves and roars that you couldn’t identify had finally bled into something that you didn’t understand but found to be compelled to.

This time, the green fire exploding from the torches in the Winterfell crypts were not followed by a burning flame roaring across the ceiling. Instead this time the direwolf which jumped from the statue of Ned Stark had ran behind you, and when you turned around you were standing deep within the sandy lands of Dorne. Sun blazing above and a tower standing tall in the distance with the red mountains looming in the background of it.

A direwolf stood with many at his back. A small lizard short to the ground, what looked like ten small wolves at their backs, a black horse with a bright red main and scattered across the lands like rubble were two crossed long axe’s with dark black handles, a silver gauntlet curled to a fist, and three buckets scattered and all but the wolf and lizard were coated in blood.

Standing across from them was a cluster of nine black bats all flying to hide the sight of a white tower crowned with grey smoke and burning flames as a lilac falling star crossed it, the tail almost in the shape of a white sword but just as the star fell across the morning so did everything but the Dornish tower behind it all, and a bloody direwolf and lizard.

The tower however, begun to bleed as well. The wolf on the bed in the crypt had melted into the sheets and painted it with the red and blues of it’s fur and the tower begun to bleed such colours as well and suddenly as you looked around to any, the animals were gone.

The closer you stepped to the tower, the more you heard a high pitch of crying. Something that was not an animal but also sounded too young to even be an adult, it sounded that of a baby until the crying morphed into the tiny growls of a young sounding wolf. Little growls and howls came from the tower as it continued to bleed.

You took only a step forward more, and the tower had enough of your watchful eyes. From the ground it was ripped from the sands, and in it’s place roared that which followed fire. From the place which the tower had stood, came out a great dragon in it’s place flying high in the air swirling the lands with it’s fire. It’s scales burned your eyes with a pure white colour as it’s own eyes and flames from it’s mouth shined that like blood. But the roar it gave out was not one you imagined of a dragon.

The white scaled dragon had flown to the top of the red mountains, perched high and what was supposed to be a roar, was a mighty growl of a wolf. A powerful growl that sounded like one’s you’ve heard on many direwolves now before.

And just in the seconds before you had been startled awake, a gentle, dainty hand grasped at your shoulder covered in blood. When you turned, the figure was nothing more then a mist as if covered in vines of blue roses wrapping around your limbs. Just as the cold, blue roses came to wrap around your throat, the dragon behind roared like a wolf’s growl and a gentle, desperate voice of a young woman came to you from above.

“Promise me, Ned.”

You had startled awake, at that point and now found yourself here. In the room your sleepless nights on the island commonly found their way too. Walking to the side of it, your eyes narrowed as you spotted something tossed on it’s side carelessly.

Reaching forward you grasped the wooden figurine and found it that of a dragon. Walking to the main seat you had many years watched your father sit at, you sat down gently. Leaning your forearms on the painted table, your hands held the wooden dragon with sharp eyes watching as you turned it in your hands.

The dream was that of many you had before it, and your mind swirled without your permission to put it together of what you were being shown. Only, it wasn’t just the dream it connected too. It was the words of an intensity seen, it was the sight of a ghost. Your mind raced and flew words and images around in your head all staring at that dragon figure.

When it connected, you didn’t know why. But it all screamed and cycled together into a blend coming into a painted image that was clear as day and suddenly your entire body felt as if it had fallen fifty feet in place. A shocking jolt in your mind and a twisting in your heart.

Your face morphed from that of a squinting thought, to a wide shock. Mouth slowly opening agape as your eyes widened in a sight only you were seeing in your clues. Many secrets scattered across the lands of Westeros, but your dreams had led you right to the heart of a secret none knew even existed.

None perhaps, but one. One who went to the grave without telling a soul and you felt something faint inside you, realizing, now the other person who knew this secret, just might be you, and it shocked your heart into a stunned quiet until the sun rose in the outside behind you. Your hands had dropped the wooden figurine.

The only dragon on the painted table, and you had dropped it right at the Prince’s Pass, as the wooden figurine fell, it cracked right down the middle.

Splitting the dragon into two even halves, in the sands of Dorne.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine

89 notes · View notes

liquidluckandstuff · 10 months

Text

Did you know Harry can't swim?

Tom had never seen Harry as anything less than a Gryffindor. Always the hero, always self sacrificing, always kind and noble and smiling and he hated it so god damned much.

How was it that Harry Potter could stay so perfect all the time?

Bastard.

Harry had come out of nowhere. He showed up in the middle of the year with his shy smile and perfect eyes that lit up whenever he learned something new in defense and narrowed in total hatred whenever they looked at him.

Tom couldn't for the life of him figure out why, but that didn't mean he was going to take it.

It was supposed to be a harmless prank. Harry was perfect after all. He wasn't scared of anything or anyone and it irked Tom to no end. So, when the opportunity miraculously presented itself and he found Harry alone by the black lake...

He pushed him of the small cliff he had been standing over and he fell straight into the water.

The initial splash was so satisfying Tom found himself laughing with an unrestrained joy he hadn't allowed himself for a while.

But then that was it. No shouts of anger, no sounds of Harry swimming to shore. Nothing.

Tom looked over and waited for Harry's head to resurface.

And waited.

and waited.

And suddenly he realized that he had no idea if Harry could swim or not. What if the water was more shallow than he realized and Harry had hit his head on the way down.

"Damn it," Tom said as he took off his cloak and jumped in after him.

He found Harry quickly; limbs kicking awkwardly, eyes wide in panic. Tom grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the surface where Harry proceeded to cough up lake water the second he was pulled above the surface.

"Relax," Tom demanded. "You're just going to make yourself tired if you keep moving like that."

Harry, who thought Tom was here to finish the job, pushed him away out of self defense. "Go away!" Was the only thing he was able to get out before his head went back under the water.

"Oh for fucks sake," Tom usually didn't curse but Harry always seemed to bring out something different in him. He grabbed Harry tightly and refused to let go no matter how hard Harry fought him. "I'm trying to save you, idiot!"

"You tried to kill me!"

"I thought it was just funny! I wasn't trying to kill you! I didn't realize you couldn't swim.'

"Let me go!"

"No, you'll only drown yourself. Now would you - STOP!"

Harry was in a full panic once he looked down into the water and saw how deep and dark it was. He shook as he struggled to control his breathing even though Tom held him above water.

"I got you, come on. Just hold on i'll take you back..."

Tom pulled Harry close to his chest, their warmth quickly sinking into one another as he carefully backstroked toward solid ground. He made a point to remain as calm as possible as Harry had a fixed look of wide eyed terror on his face.

He couldn't deny that he enjoyed Harry relying on him or his hands clutching tightly to his shirt. He almost considered teasing Harry and keeping them in the water just a little longer so they could remain as close as they were.

For no other reason than to prove how much better he was than Harry of course.

Yet, they made it back in one piece and Harry still did not seem to calm down even when his feet were on solid ground.

"Um... here," Tom said awkwardly as he cast a spell to dry them both off. "I.. uh..." He didn't do apologies very well. "I won't do that again."

Harry turned to him, a ghost of fear still behind his eyes and said nothing before storming off back to the castle.

_________

@i-dream-of-libraries See? See? Vacation brain.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #Harry Potter #Tom Riddle

168 notes · View notes

writtenontheport · 9 months

Note

Hey, would you write Anthony Lockwood x reader, in which George and Lucy are fed up with the reader and Lockwood arguing and lock them in the basement for the whole night until they reconcile, and at the same time profess their love for each other. Thanks in advance

Skeletons in the Closet but it’s Actually Just Us

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) reader

Warnings/Tags: Romcom levels of fluff, You’ve Got Mail level of romcom, no suggestive content, Lucy and George friendship, They are deeply fed up, ‘Locked in a cupboard until they confess’ trope, Lockwood is a silly guy, confessions, Reader is a bit of a grumpy person, Valid tbh when the love of their life is some self-sacrificing bozo, A bit of angst given the nature of the Problem, mentions of death,

Notes: Just reviewed all the romcoms I’ve watched these past few weeks so this might be extra cheesy. Also I am rereading your request, anon and I am so sorry but I misread it so BAD 💀But also I changed the time a bit from it being night to it being right after a case! I’m so sorry this isn’t how your request put it 😭 I have terrible reading skills VERY LOOSELY EDITED AND SHORT

Summary: You and Lockwood are unable to voice your own feelings for each other, which frustrates Lucy and George enough to take action. An argument, locked storage, and a heart to heart about the nature of your world later, you’re setting up… a date..???

Anthony John Lockwood was an annoying prat who strutted about like a peacock in desperate need of a slap. Now this frustration is usually the result of something smaller; minute, you might even say, but today— oh, today.

“You ran straight into danger—“ You repeat yourself for what must be the 4th time the past hour. Anthony is sitting across from you in the kitchen “—even though George and I had specifically warned you—“

“Lucy went in too!” He blurts, throwing his shoulders up.

“Keep me out of this,” Lucy hisses, narrowing her eyes at him, “I actually brought iron chains with me.”

You gesture at her wildly, nodding in vindication as you turn back to Lockwood, “Exactly. Lucy knew what she was doing, you were just being reckless! I basically had a heart attack when that Visitor nearly ghost-touched you because you—“

“I didn’t need you to push me aside and put yourself in danger, though!” He hissed, just as frustrated. “I knew what I was doing. I’m very well aware of how it looked like, but I swear I knew what I was doing. Even if… I did need your help getting out of the trouble I put myself in after.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, frustration and worry laying under tension so thick you could it with a knife. You look away first with a defeated huff. Lockwood raises a brow and his lips split into a wobbly smile, the charming bastard. He lounges back into his seat and rests one arm on the table in front of him— a gesture for your hand. The look would have been more impactful if a bruise wasn’t already forming on cheek and there wasn’t blood drying on his brow. Still, you make your way over to him to fix his tie (which had gotten caught on banisters during the case) and push his collar up. He beams at you when you pat his jacket neat, but you’re still upset.

“Reckless… stupid prick…” You mumble, brushing his hair with your hands.

Under you, Lockwood’s grin grows just the faintest bit soft as he lolls his head back just to watch your frown.

“I think, hear me out, this is just because you’re worried about me,” Lockwood hums.

You scoff, tugging his tie down harshly, “Someone has to with how little you seem to worry about your own life. Like, seriously Anthony? Our lives are on the line—“

“Want to go on a date?” He asks, interrupting you. You choke on air and quickly let go to swat at his chest. Even if he meant that jokingly, something blazing seemed to unfurl in your chest and stuttered your breathing. You’re usually warm around Lockwood, human heater that he was, but this was a feeling that had your palms clammy and your teeth burried into your lips.

“Now is not the time to joking, Lockwood,” you grit out.

“Well I’m not. I really mean—“ he starts, but the sound of a clang startles you both. Lockwood springs up and takes your hand in his, putting himself between you and the basement door. You look around to find Lucy, but her chair’s empty and pushed in. Worry seeps into your bones with a familiarity like the hand holding yours.

“Lucy? George?” Lockwood calls out, stepping closer to find the door ajar.

Distantly you hear both of them call for you and Lockwood, sounding distressed. You push yourself in front of Lockwood into the spiral staircase down, dismissing the small click of his tongue from behind you.

“You’re being reckless now,” He whispers harshly, which you ignore.

It’s a quick trip to the bottom (with Lockwood likely frowning the whole way down), as you rush into the basement. Lucy and George are standing by the ‘high security’ storage room, something unreadable and determined in their expressions. You rush forward, checking on both of them and giving each a hug after.

You flutter about them both, brows furrowed in worry, “Are you two alright? Are you hurt? Is everything—“

From behind you, Lockwood’s hands rest on your shoulders then rub up and down along your arms in a soothing gesture. “What’s happened?”

Lucy gives George a look, and he clears his throat to say, “We found something in the storage. I couldn’t see it that well, and Lucy—“

Lockwood, the absolutely reckless prick, was already making his way inside. You take a breath through your nose and follow right after him, sending reassuring smiles to Lucy and George as you step in. You whip back to glare at Lockwood’s head, ever the reckless hero he was.

“Lockwood don’t just walk in without even hearing about the situation.” You check a shelf for the sources you keep locked away, Lockwood taking the opposite. A quiet moment passes as you run a hand along the line of the shelf, trying to sense for anything out of the ordinary.

“Probably a Visitor took a break from being in one of our… usually foolproof containers.” He looks over a small, see-through box to check for any cracks or breakage.

You whip back to glare at him, feeling not only worried, but frustrated as well. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have just waltzed in, Anthony. This is exactly what I mean when I say you’re completely reckless sometimes—“

The door to the high security storage clicks closed, and you both startle. You make your way over to push the door open, but the lock is keeping it shut.

“Shit,” Lockwood rasps out. Yeah, that’s fair.

When you got home from the case that day, you didn’t think the rest of the night would be spent being locked in the basement storage for the next morning. After a quick argument with Lucy and George (who promised to be back whenever ‘you two (you and Lockwood) had stopped arguing and acting like idiots’) where they had insisted they wouldn’t be too far and to just yell for them if anything went wrong.

Now, Lockwood sat beside you with your backs to the door. Lucy had had the foresight to leave you behind with medical supplies, and you found one of George’s sticky notes on a tray of quick snacks. Messily scrawled in the way only George ever could, was Get yourselves together, thanks.

If getting yourselves in order and making up looked like awkward silence and Anthony’s self-soothing stretching and everything you did to self-soothe, then it was looking fantastic. Lockwood had yet to say anything but a few curses when he tried to open the door, though he’d given up half an hour in. Now it was just you two munching on biscuits in a semi-awkward silence.

“I meant it, you know,” He says suddenly, as you’re patching him up and cleaning his wounds. His eyes don’t mean yours when you look up, but you know what he means.

“It was a terrible time to suggest that kind of thing, Anthony,” You bite back, careful to dress his wrist properly.

“I meant it though.” He says sincerely; challengingly. He was always like this, baiting for you to fight back or ague for more, even if you could never tell why.

“Then we’d go on a date, do whatever it is people who like each other do, then I…” you rest your fingers over his open palm, and he slides his own in the spaces between yours “… I watch you throw yourself into danger— into sure death and just wait for either our talents to dry up or for either of us to die?”

“No,” he hums, peering at you through his long lashes, “Well, sort of, just—“

“What else, Anthony?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.” He squeezes your hand and you purse your lips. Here you are with someone you love dearly wondering if the next time either of you go out there someone dies.

“Then how would you word it, Lockwood?” You want to hope, voice cracking under the weight of your need. Your soft heart lurches from the thick walls of your chest— through the ribs and the muscle and whatever the fuck else was there— reaching with its sharp claws for a scrap.

“We… go on a date. Because I like you and you like me, and because even without the problem hanging over us, we could die at any minute. I, for one, wouldn’t want to waste any of it I could have with you, now or after.” Like a ray of hope, the twinkle in his eyes. Like a ray of hope, that punchable, kissable grin. Your heart lurches and your breath stutters.

You take a free hand to tuck loose strands of his hair out of his face, humming, “How are you so sure I like you, Lockwood?”

“I don’t,” he admits sheepishly. He’s boyish like this, whispering and grinning at you with something not so cocky and infuriatingly cute. “Just a guess really.”

“George told you.” Even though you never told George.

“George did tell me he had a theory, yes… Backed it up with evidence and everything”

You glare at him for a moment, this ray of hope your heart has chosen to cling onto in these times and troubles, and find yourself faltering.

“One condition. Then we can go on however many dates you want for however long you’ll have me,” you offer, dropping your hands down to look proper into his face.

“Anything,” he says easily, shuffling closer to you.

“Try not to be so reckless. We can’t have you dying before even the first one— or any of them, understand?” You pinch his nose lightly, earning a gentle swat back from him.

“You have to try, too. I can’t lose you either.” He brings your hands to his lips, pressing kisses along each knuckle.

I love you goes unspoken, but he sees it in the way you smile so warmly at him, and you see it in the way he holds your hands like it’s the world. Not today, but maybe someday you will tell each other. Today you yell for George and Lucy to finally let you both out and face the world hand in hand.

A/N: I’m such a fan for the “couple who’s not yet a couple bicker endlessly with each other over every little thing” cause I find it so cute. I am a ‘love at first argument’ girlie to the core. Some of my most major crushes have been people I argue with near constantly. Also, because you didn’t anon specify I flipped a coin and it landed on (gn).

Side note: This is especially short because I’m still thinking on how to go about a few things I’m writing. Been having ideas for an angst fic for either Lockwood or Lucy (x reader, ofc) and continuing George’s series because I am deeply in love with him

#anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #portie writes fanfic

126 notes · View notes

tinemilk · 8 months

Text

HARWIN LITERALLY JUST A MAN

I have wanted to make this post for some time now, I just didn't know how.

Everywhere I have been engaging with the daemyra, f&b, and hotd fandoms, there seems to be this synonym agreement that Harwin is a goodie golden boy. Yet that description never fits from what little we can assume and know. It also bothers me how so many points at Rhaenyra in regard to their affair but not at Harwin.

Talking the book, we know his sisters are Rhaenyra's ladies and his father is the hand. He has been in King's Landing since Rhaenyra was a child. It is unrealistic to suggest they haven't been in the same circles at court, HIS FATHER IS THE HAND AND SISTERS HER LADIES. People love to point the finger at Daemon but praise Harwin for being this self-sacrificing man. But what is he sacrificing? He becomes the lover of the girl he watched grow up. He fathers children on her, he becomes her sworn shield. He gets both soft and hard power over her. This man takes so much from her, and what does she get in return?

If the fandom is going to give Daemon malicious intentions with his relationship with Rhaenyra, why give Harwin a pass? Harwin has everything to gain from being Rhaenyra's lover. And it isn't as if he will face the wrath of society for his deeds. He is just the lucky man who gets to fuck the Realms Delight. If Daemon is a man of his time, then so is Harwin. Because he does nothing to help Rhaenyra in regard to the bastard allegations, he never removes himself, marries, or does anything helpful. Why? Because he is a man, and having bastards is totally normal for men in Westeros. He has grown up knowing that is unfortunate, but 'oh well it happened'.

Just because he stayed beside her when she gave birth, means shit nothing. He was decent about that, good for him. It is the same as Laenor being beside her, even though he couldn't care less about her. That doesn't make him a saint for being at her side.

It is funny how she chose the son of the hand as her lover. There were surely others, let's not pretend there wouldn't be. One could argue that Harwin had Rhaenyra's trust and that she had known him for years. He has also been in close proximity to her since she was 8 years old. He could have easily positioned himself well because as she aged she became a beauty, and he being a man wanted her. Harwin had every opportunity to manipulate his way into her bed, and that trust he has as her sworn shield is giving Criston Cole vibes just played better. It is also worth mentioning that Rhaenyra was vulnerable at the time. She was forced to marry, threatened with disinheritance, had to deal with Alicent, and her Daemon was sent away by her father. Harwin was just being a friend, bffr. He saw an opening and took it, nothing more to it.

Harwin's actions reflect that he may have cared for Rhaenyra but in a selfish way. If he wanted to truly help her case and his own, he would FUCKING MARRY SOMEONE. So if Daemon is being treated as this evil power-grabbing person, so should Harwin. Sorry, not sorry.

Also check out @sydalelys01 post about harwin and criston, it's really good.

Let's see if i get hate for it. Can't wait.

#rhaenyra targaryen #harwin strong #I will not be taking criticism today maybe tomorrow #HE ISNT A GOD AMONG MEN #anti harwin strong #daemon targaryen #team fire #sad otto got back tho

115 notes · View notes

csilis · 6 months

Text

Five nights at Freddy’s William Afton x F!Reader

A/N: The movie got me back to my FNaF era, so I thought I write a oneshot with my favourite guy.

Note: William gets springtrapped. What a surprise indeed.

Your mother would be disgusted if she would see you now. Marrying the insane serial killer who ended your own sister’s life. But just like Cassidy, you were onto vengeance too. And to avenge the sister you have lost, you were willing to do anything. Even if it meant sacrificing your beliefs and becoming a monster just like the one before your very eyes.

So in the abandoned backroom of the Freddy Fazebear’s pizza you stood, holding his hands and waiting for an uncertain future to come.

“We are gathered here today in this beautiful place to witness the joining of two lives” came the prerecorded voice of a priest from the tape player which stood on the chair between you and him.

“Beautiful place? What a joke” you thought as your eyes were focused on the black-white floor tiles. He did just rid himself from the last of the old animatronics whose parts were splattered all over the floor. But it mattered not to him, he simply ignored all the destruction he brought upon himself and all the souls he enraged.

You weren’t paying any attention as the feeling of your revenge being so close started to consume every part of your whole being. You wanted it so bad, couldn’t wait to finally do it. But unlike him you had self control. You knew you had to wait for the perfect moment to get through with your plan. Or else you fail, becoming a ghost of the past just like your sister.

“You may kiss the bride” this was when you came back to your senses. It was time. Finally.

You then let go of his hands and swept the tape player from the chair with one swift move. You then stepped on it to be closer in height to this bastard. To clearly see the pain in his eyes as you take your revenge.

He was in that damned bunny suit just like you asked.

“The children will fear you this way. You will be invincible” you whispered into his ears this morning as you two were laying in the bed. Sweet lies. That’s what they were.

What pulled you back was his wet lips on yours as his hands roughly grabbed your waist. It was time…

Some part of the suit was exposed, showing how old that thing actually was. You knew that the springs were the only thing keeping him from being smashed. But it was about time to be changed. You knew from him that those springs were delicate and easily triggerable. That’s why you were standing in the middle of the mouldy backroom. You could see the wetness forming on those exposed wires and springs as you carefully wriggled out the knife which you sew into your bridal dress while he was out, destroying the animatronics.

In the meantime you tried to keep the act of the woman madly in love with him. You let his hands grab your breasts as he moved onto your neck to put kisses on. Your stomach churned in disgust. You wanted to vomit. But once you freed the knife, you felt finally relieved.

You gripped the knife tighter and stabbed him in the side. Your sudden act made him stumble a few steps backwards as his mouth was wide open. But he didn’t even had a chance to mutter a word out as the springlocks immediately snapped from the impact of the knife.

His blood spilled onto your white dress as he tried to scream but couldn’t as the metal stabbed through his lungs. You could only hear him drowning in his own blood as you stepped down from the chair with a mad grin on your face. As he knelt down because of the immense pain, you had time to notice the ghosts who seemed to be the only witnesses of your cursed wedding. The few moments of eye contact you shared told them everything they needed to know. It told your sister everything she needed to know.

Then you looked back at him. Anger radiated from him, your betrayal carving into his soul for forever. You knew he will come back. He always comes back. But until that day, you will thrive in the pain you caused him.

While picking up the headpiece of the suit next to your right foot you knew what you had to do. You walked towards him, lifting the headpiece higher.

“Until death do us part, William Afton!” you angrily yelled, pushing what you were holding into his head and hearing the springlocks inside that also snap.

It was what he deserved. It was all he will deserve. Endless pain and torture.

Word count: 781 Characters: 4188

It now has a continuation called Back to me.

#fnaf #william afton #x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #fnaf x y/n #william afton x reader #william afton x you #wedding #fnaf cassidy #springtrap #springtrapped #The_Revenge_Saga

129 notes · View notes

popatochisssp · 7 months

Note

Apparently I haven't been checking here enough because there's so many new boys I didn't recognize in the sibling post!!! And they all sound so cool and interesting!!

Thank you! But you’re probably not as out of the loop as you think—I’ve been a little shy about sharing my stuff lately, so I actually haven’t posted about any of those guys before!

If you want a quick rundown…

Transcendtale: The result of a never-ending cycle of RESETs with a No Mercy sort of human. Monsters gradually became aware and eventually resorted to extremes to put an end to the cycle, sacrificing themselves to create one single vessel powerful enough to kill the human for good. In the aftermath, most of monsterkind is gone…physically, but still persist as consciousnesses recorded digitally instead. (Sort of a cyberpunk aesthetic answer to Dusttale.)

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): The unlucky bastard who got tapped to pilot the ultra-powerful human-killing vessel and one of only a few physical monsters remaining. His new body is entirely robotic but similar to what he had before—the only thing missing is a soul. He’s coping in the aftermath of Everything about as well as could be expected, but pretty heavily dysphoric and doubting his identity and his personhood as…whatever he is now.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): A virtual consciousness, a snapshot of the previous ‘original’ Papyrus, his thoughts, his feelings, his memories, his entire sense of self… AKA, Papyrus, just detached from a physical body and soul. He considers it a major upgrade, really—he’s eternal, everywhere, everything… Maybe a slight god-complex about it, but can you blame him? He can interact with the world directly via hard-light projections of himself if he chooses, so it’s hard for him to see a downside to his new state of being.

Ascendswap: Another never-ending cycle of RESETs with No Mercy to be found, but after a bargain is struck with an entity beyond mortal ken, a small inner-circle of monsters is granted awareness of the cycle, and access to deeper, older, more powerful magic in order to put a stop to the human’s reign of terror. Most of monsterkind is only peripherally aware of all that happened, but a select few have been Elevated beyond what they once were.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): He’s the one who struck the eldritch bargain and consequently gained power and magic, as well as the ability to share it with anyone he chooses. It’s come at a significant cost and large swathes of him have been lost, dissolved into pure magic. He’s also now one who’s seen beyond the veil, the ant who has perceived the circuit board so to speak, and he’ll never be quite who he was. Still, he’s happy, and far more attuned to souls and magic and energy than he ever was before, so he’s not complaining.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): One of the beneficiaries of his brother’s meddling, a newly-minted boss monster with full awareness of RESETs and much stronger magic—including an ability to push intent into his words as he speaks them, making their influence stronger. Due to the nature of its source, there’s only so far that little trick can go, but between being far more persuasive than he ever hoped he could be, his increased power, and more than a few timelines of experience, his confidence is through the roof and stress over what people think of him is a thing of the past.

Underfell Fruition: The Royal Scientist is never erased from reality. He continues his work as planned, without interruption and continues experiments which produce marvelous innovations for monsterkind’s eventual conquest of humanity. Two of his most impressive achievements are a device which allows the user to produce magic seemingly limitlessly, from thin air without drawing on one’s own energy, and a war machine that attacks on command—both of which are frequently lent out to the Emperor and the Royal Guard to serve the crown’s purposes. …Until a bit of poking around uncovers some…moderately…alarming monster rights violations, amongst other charges, which lead to the Royal Scientist’s conviction and execution.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): Captured during his attempt to escape from Gaster with his brother, and due to a consistent pattern of disobedience, locked away—permanently. Altered to produce magic at a significantly higher rate and used as a magic battery, he’s got plenty of energy and a whole lot of living to catch up on now that he’s out of the (barely metaphorical) box. What he lacks in worldly experience, he makes up for in luck, intuition, and a cocky can-do attitude, all too ready to make up for lost time.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): ‘Raised’ alone by a cruel ‘father’ whose only use for him was as the pinnacle of his project to create a perfect living weapon for the war against humanity, he is extremely new to a lot of concepts—making decisions, having opinions, being a person… None of that was allowed while he was being developed…er, growing up, so in spite of being tall, intimidating, and built like a truck, he’s hesitant around new people and situations where he needs to do any more than just follow orders. Tentatively starting to branch out and discover what being a monster (instead of a monster-shaped weapon) is all about now that his creator is out of the picture and the brother he thought he’d only imagined is back in it.

Swapfell Fruition: The Royal Scientist is never erased from reality. He continues his work as planned, without interruption and continues experiments which lead to the development of a black ops division for the Empress, a secret service of sorts to serve the interests of the crown and to do the unsavory dirty work involved in maintaining an empire whose citizens are prone to corruption and violence. Espionage, blackmail, and quite a few assassinations are carried out by the unknown team managed, equipped, trained, and modified by the Royal Scientist. …Until one day, he happens to turn up dead and it’s uncovered that the ‘volunteers’ for the program were less willing participants and more lab-grown experiments who were given no choice otherwise. Bearing in mind what’s come to light about the circumstances, the black ops program is disbanded.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): Stopped during his attempt to murder Gaster and escape with his brother, and because of his clearly duplicitous nature, far more tightly controlled and observed and forced into obedience to his creator after. Used primarily as a handler to debrief, control, and monitor the real asset, he developed a keen eye for detail and skill in fact-finding, being secretive, and lying…which was probably a tactical error because he devoted himself wholly to playing the long con and waiting for the perfect opportunity for another attempt to free himself and his brother. A little late…maybe too late…but better than never.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): The asset and field agent, a thoroughly trained and heavily mentally conditioned assassin, operant on a small library of trigger words and phrases which compel him to follow directives and alter the functioning of his mind and body. He’s extremely competent when working, charming and ruthless and efficient, but off the leash, impertinent, impulsive, and impossible. He does as he pleases whenever possible which, now that his boss/creator/dad is dead, seems like it’ll be all the time. On some weird footing now with his erstwhile handler—his brother—who was apparently less complicit in said boss/creator/dad’s bullshit than he’d thought, but y’know. He’s out of the cage either way and can chase his whims wherever they take him.

Descendtale: A Horrortale variant, a human’s passage through the Underground has left monsterkind without their king, without any of the human souls they’d gathered to break the Barrier, and without a handful of citizens. The long-lost queen returns to lead her people and pivots toward survival, weathering the long-haul trapped Underground with dwindling hope and resources. An alternate food source is the highest priority as monsters are already starting to go hungry in the wake of the chaos, and one is found…though not without its…side-effects. Light sensitivity, slowed metabolism, darkening of extremities, thorn-like growths on the body, and some mental changes and personality drift among other metamorphoses. The Underground takes on a deep-sea quality—slow, cold, dark—monsters subsisting on what they have and waiting patiently for the next whalefall to swarm.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): The human’s disappearance has left him more than a little bitter (betrayed, though he’ll never admit that). His opinion of humans (or anyone new) is quite low after what the last one did to them all and he’s not keen on trusting or believing in any, anytime soon. He’s chilly, selfish, and reluctant to engage—though he does have a slight mean-spirited streak, and is greatly amused by creeping out or otherwise agitating humans by his presence. Coping with the changes they’ve all gone through and settling in to his new normal, but very stubbornly digging in to the small pleasures that his altered biology makes more difficult. Determined to live much in the manner of a cockroach: through just about anything and regardless of the opinion of those who’d prefer him not to.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): The human’s disappearance has left him confused and hurt. He’d thought they were friends, but well…then they did all that and left, never to return. There’s…a lot of conflicting emotions in there and he probably shouldn’t try to unpack it all—he’s just focusing on being the best friend possible from here on out! He’s a little bit clingy with new friends and people he’d like to become new friends but as much as possible, a perfect gentleman, host, and conversationalist. Some strong emotional outbursts from time to time, and his tendency towards unintentionally unnerving statements do make that a bit difficult but he’s very amicable and unlike his brother, only creepy on accident, so…he can still be popular, right? …Right?

If anybody’s interested in a full lore dump for anything, I can draft something up, but that’s the gist of all the brand new ones!

Sorry for all the words! 😅

#anonymous #headcanons #transcendtale #ascendswap #descendtale #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #t!sans #t!papyrus #a!sans #a!papyrus #d!sans #d!papyrus #uff!sans #uff!papyrus #sff!sans #sff!papyrus

111 notes · View notes

jackoshadows · 1 year

Text

Jon Snow has different dynamics with the different siblings of house Stark and yet I notice in fanworks and meta there is an uniformity applied to these relationships and to House Stark in general compared to other houses and characters. He’s Robb’s best friend, the protective older brother for Bran and Rickon, the best brother ever for Arya and the distant bastard she grew up with for Sansa. Fans complain that Jon Snow is boring and bland, noble and self-sacrificing and then strip away the anger, indifference, envy, bitterness and giant chip on his shoulder i.e everything that makes him a complex and well rounded character in the books.

For example, Tyrion’s relationship with Cersei and Jaime is very different in the books and justifiably treated very differently by fandom. The Baratheon brothers have different relationships with each other as do the Tully siblings. As do the Greyjoy siblings.

And while Arianne is not close to both her younger brothers, again, she thinks differently of Quentyn and Trystane and loves her bastard cousins, the sand snakes, more than she does her true born Martell brothers. The strengths of these different relationships are organically fostered and nurtured in the narrative by the emotional bonds formed while growing up.

Arianne loved all her bastard cousins, from prickly, hot-tempered Obara to little Loreza, the youngest, only six years old. Tyene had always been the one she loved the most, though; the sweet sister that she never had. The princess had never been close to her brothers; Quentyn was off at Yronwood, and Trystane was too young. No, it had always been her and Tyene, with Garin and Drey and Spotted Sylva. Nym would sometimes join them in their sport, and Sarella was forever pushing in where she didn’t belong, but for the most part they had been a company of five. They splashed in the pools and fountains of the Water Gardens, and rode into battle perched on one another’s naked backs. She and Tyene had learned to read together, learned to ride together, learned to dance together. When they were ten Arianne had stolen a flagon of wine, and the two of them had gotten drunk together. They shared meals and beds and jewelry.The more she thought about her cousins, the more the princess missed them - The Princess in the Tower, AFfC

In contrast, she does not think too highly of Quentyn and disparages him as a possible heir. She feels guilty about resenting him. If she had to choose between her bastard cousins and Quentyn, we know whom she would choose.

The same is true for house Stark and the sibling dynamics there. Theon Greyjoy has different relationships with Robb and Jon and vice versa. Robb has different dynamics with Jon and Bran. Arya has a different dynamic with Robb and Jon. Sansa thinks more highly of Margaery Tyrell and wished Margaery was her sister rather than Arya.

We don’t even have to infer this, it’s on the page in the text in Jon Snow and other Stark pov chapters. We form these interpretations of these sibling dynamics through the emotions Jon associates with the siblings he misses. We read it in Jon’s memories of his farewells:

He remembered the day he had left Winterfell, all the bittersweet farewells; Bran lying broken, Robb with snow in his hair, Arya raining kisses on him after he’d given her Needle.

We read it in his nostalgic memories of childhood

Even the thought made him feel foolish; he was a man grown now, a black brother of the Night’s Watch, not the boy who’d once sat at Old Nan’s feet with Bran and Robb and Arya.

Playing, Jon thought in astonishment, grown men playing like children, throwing snowballs the way Bran and Arya once did, and Robb and me before them

We read it in his desire to talk with them again and his agony at being unable to help them

That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont’s permission. It would be good to see Arya’s grin again and to talk with his father.

He remembered Robb as he had last seen him, standing in the yard with snow melting in his auburn hair. Jon would have to come to him in secret, disguised. He tried to imagine the look on Robb's face when he revealed himself. His brother would shake his head and smile, and he'd say … he'd say …

Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place.

“I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you.” Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton’s throat as easily.

The three most important Stark sibling dynamics for Jon Snow, story wise and in terms of narrative themes, are Arya, Robb and Bran Stark. Arya for that unconditional love and support, Robb for that sibling rivalry/best friend/brotherhood dynamic (In AFfC/ADwD, Jon compares/parallels Sam Tarly with Robb Stark) and Bran for that little/big brother dynamic. These are the Stark relationships the author has nurtured, for their narrative importance, over four books worth of Jon Snow POV chapters.

Robb is important for Jon to battle with his bastardy, his Stark identity and desire for Winterfell and will most probably conclude when he hears of Robb naming him heir to Winterfell and the North and the truth of his parentage. Bran is important in terms of Jon’s ultimate destiny, the awakening of Jon’s inherent warging powers, and his role in the fight against the Others. Arya is important for Jon’s conflict between love and duty, underpinning his ADwD plot of straddling that line between wanting to save her and wanting to do right by his men and the Night’s Watch.

While he mentions Robb, Arya and Bran the most, read the passages where he namedrops all the Stark siblings. Sansa is always last with Arya getting that special mention at the end.

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. - Jon, AGoT

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night's Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell ... I want my bride back ... I want my bride back ... I want my bride back ... - Jon, ADwD

And for Arya:

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. - Arya, AFfC

The reason for why Jon and Arya quantify their mention of Sansa with an ‘Even’ is that they are surprised to be missing her, given they have a contentious (In Arya’s case) and a non-existent (In Jon’s case) relationship with her. However, they do associate her with Winterfell and family and have similar visual memories of her

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit, I smell hot bread baking, I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf, I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. “I don’t smell anything,” she said, to see what he would say. Arya, AFFC

He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. - Jon, ADwD

It’s just that they don’t have the same relationship with her as they do their other siblings. [And just a point to note here: If their relationship with Sansa has to change then it’s up to Sansa to change it, not Jon and Arya. It’s Sansa who has to experience character growth and stop seeing Jon and Arya as being less than her simply because of her prejudices against them. As of book 5 that still has not happened]

So just as every house and every character in it have different sibling dynamics so does House Stark. No house is a monolith and characters are not automatically showered with love and affection simply for belonging to a house. For Jon Snow in particular, his love and adoration is reserved for those who loved him enough to overlook his bastardy and foster a relationship with him. As is only natural, just like Arianne loves and cares for her bastard cousins after growing up together.

#Jon Snow #Robb Stark #Arya Stark #Bran Stark #House stark #Arianne Martell

207 notes · View notes

relatableblorbopoll · 5 months

Text

Round 1 of preliminaries, group 5

The first two places get a place on the bracket

Little reminder: there will be 2 more rounds of preliminaries, the losing blorbos of this poll still have 2 chances of getting in the official bracket

Propaganda under the cut

Melissa Chase (Milo Murphy’s Law)

"Her self worth is entirely based on her grade point average and getting straight As. She can’t remember anything, ever (specific examples include forgetting her maths book regularly, her student pass for the subway, and how many days are in February). However, she CAN remember the blood type of every president. She is terrible at throwing She gets visually upset when she realises that a plan was changed last minute, and that an academic event she expected to do well in was combined with a sporting event, giving no time to prepare for the new event She freaks OUT when she thinks she’s going to disappoint her headteacher- she doesn’t seem to expect to be given any actual punishment, just that the headteacher will be disappointed and think that she’s irresponsible She has a whole conspiracy room in her house dedicated to researching her best friend’s medical condition- Murphy’s Law being an interest that she is clearly very passionate about and interested in. she does all of that and still can’t remember her maths book. relatable queen her ambition in life is to be a “journalist, and queen of the universe” "

Candace Flynn (Phineas and Ferb)

"A ball of stress and anxiety. She's always angry because nobody listens to her, cares about her feelings, or believes her about anything, which tbh is like the quintessential teenage girl experience. Secretly just wants her parents to recognise and appreciate her."

V-Flower (Vocaloid)

"they believe that people only care about them when they are in pain"

Ciaphas Cain (Warhammer 40k)

"Don't let the sharp jawline and the mutton-chops fool you: Ciaphas Cain has no idea what he's fucking doing and would very much like to not be here right now. He is a high-ranking Commissar, essentially a walking morale boost for Imperial Guard soldiers and one of the only symbols of hope in the grimdark Warhammer 40k universe. He also has no idea how he got the job or how to get the hell out. Commissar Cain spends all his time accidentally doing magnificent bastard things while trying to run away from danger and dying inside. Over the course of his books, he's named Hero of the Imperium, has a hot mommy inquisitor fall in love with him, and saves hundreds of planets per panic attack he has. His cowardice and impostor syndrome are second only to my own, and that's why he's just like me fr."

Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson series)

"he's got big no thoughts head empty energy! he loves his friends and girlfriends SO much (more most YA characters, i think; he would have no qualms about sacrificing the world to save the people he loves, which goes against the typical hero). he is almost always ready to fight a bitch. he has adhd and accidentally says things he shouldnt all the time (but this has made him good at problem-solving, bc he creates a LOT of problems for himself)"

MK (Lego Monkie Kid)

"Oooooh boy where do I begin. MK the Monkie Kid is the protagonist of the story but he has *so many issues*. He wants to be a good person but has a whole lot of impostor syndrome and is convinced he will only hurt people the more he tries to save them. He is convinced that every major villain in the show is his fault, even as far as misremembering/changing up some events to put blame onto himself He also has an absent mentor figure that was supposed to help him but guess what he had to figure out all his powers on his own so abandonment issues go brrrr. He has so much anger toward his mentor Wukong but he just *bottles it all up* (common theme) Also he is so trans and adhd coded. First, MK is a nickname. We don’t know his real name, but it is v much implied he used to go by something else. He and his friends also puts a lot of emphasis on manly stuff like ‘I’m a big boy!’/‘he’s a Monkie *Man*!!!’/‘im the smartie boy, the plan man!’ He also has trouble focusing and listening to other people, is sometimes blunt and he is VERY interested in Sun Wukong and the journey to the west (Chinese classical novel that the show is based on) and just in general always needs constant reassurance and support from his friends. He is often compartmentalizing his feelings and internalizes a lot of fear and blame is also suppressing a part of himself that scares him. (Which, same) He loves his friends so much and tries so hard to keep them all safe, even hiding his own problems and worries from them as an attempt to protect them. He wants to go back to season 1, back when each episode was a villain-of-the-week kinda story, with no world-destroying threats. But nope, he saw the horrors, and he can never go back to the bubbly Monkie Kid from the beginning. Also he is terrified of spiders :>"

#melissa chase #milo murphy's law #candace flynn #phineas and ferb #v-flower #ciaphas cain #warhammer 40k #percy jackson #percy jackson series #mk lmk #lego monkie kid #tumblr polls #tumblr tournament #character bracket #character tournament #preliminaries

35 notes · View notes

melanieathene · 6 months

Text

Suptober 2023 Day 10 - Close Shave

It was raining, Raindrops wove crooked tracks down the motel's windowpane, the weak light of a streetlamp casting their shadows on Dean's face: phantom tears, that he refused to shed.

Cas had almost died this afternoon. Dean had almost died trying to save him. Sam had almost died saving them both. It had been one hell of a day.

Dean raised the bottle he held clenched tight in one hand and took a swig. A trail of fire burned its way down his throat: the echo of a sob, that he refused to utter.

Bone weary, yet unable to sleep, he kept a silent, lonely vigil: watching lightning fork its way across the sky; trying to convince himself the only storm was the one raging outside.

Sam was okay. He was safe and sleeping in the bed behind him.

Cas was alive – though god only knew where he had flapped off to in such a hurry.

“I'm fine,” Dean whispered, and took another long swallow. The whiskey – and the lie – slipped down his throat with the ease of long practice.

It was easier to numb the pain than it was to confront the truth behind it. Cas had almost died this afternoon, and if he had... well, let's just say Dean would have preferred death too, rather than a life without him. That Sam had saved them both left Dean's head – and heart – in turmoil. When had Cas become so important to him? What was he supposed to do with the sudden realization that he had? He felt his world tilt on its axis; unbridled emotion struck him like a thunderbolt. Nothing would ever be the same.

“I'm fine,” he repeated, gritting his teeth.

“You are anything but fine,” a low voice murmured.

“Cas,” he breathed.

“Hello, Dean.”

He could hear the smile in the fond tone. Could feel the tension in his body easing with the familiar presence at his side.

“You're back.” He set the bottle on the table and turned to face the angel.

“I always come back.”

“You always have so far... But you almost didn't today.”

Castiel frowned. “And you almost died as well. I didn't ask for you to save me.”

“You didn't have to. Just as you didn't have to throw yourself away to save my life.”

“I had no other choice.”

“Neither did I.” Dean expelled a shaky breath that was closer to a sob than it was a sigh. “Self-sacrificing bastards, aren't we?”

“It would appear so.”

“Not the first time we've had such a close shave... and it probably won't be the last.”

“Probably not.”

“Why do we do it, Cas? Why do we find it easier to die for one another, than we do to face the fact that we – ”

Castiel's head tilted to one side. “That we what, Dean?”

This was it. This was the moment to set himself free, to spill his newfound truth and damned be the consequences. But the words stuck in his throat. All he could manage was: “You know. You have to know. You can't be that stupid.”

“I know. I just need to hear you say it. It's an angel thing, Dean. I can't possess a vessel without its permission. I can't say what you want to hear until you say it first. And believe me, I long to say it. I've waited what seems to be an eon. I've despaired time and time again, but still I cling to the hope that someday – ”

“I love you,” Dean said quietly, the words at last – at long last – bubbling to the surface. And, oh, they were easier and sweeter than he had imagined they would be. “I think I'm in love with you.”

“I love you too, Dean. And I am definitely in love with you.”

There was no telling who made the first move; whose hands reached out to hold and caress, whose mouth was first to claim the other's. There was no you or me, no what ifs and lost yesterdays. There was only here and now and us, and it consumed them.

“So, where do we go from here?” Dean wondered, as they surfaced from a searingly hot first kiss.

Castiel met his stare, lips red and puffy, blue eyes wide and wild with desire, dark hair ruffled as if a strong wind had blown through it instead of Dean's wandering hands. He was, quite simply, the most gorgeous sight Dean had ever seen.

“May I suggest you go book another room?”

“That might be the smartest thing you've ever said, Sam,” Dean laughed, and grabbed the angel – his angel – by the hand. “C'mon, Cas. Let's not waste another minute. Whatever time we have left on this planet, I want to spend it with you.”

“Finally!” Sam sighed as the door slammed shut behind them. “Those two idiots finally got their act together. I just hope their room isn't right next to mine!”

#suptober #suptober23 #suptober23 day 10 #destiel #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester

41 notes · View notes

afreakingdork · 1 month

Note

READER STAN DROPPING IN FROM A HOSPITAL BED AND BOOOOY THIS CHAPTER IS FEEDING ME SO MUCH BETTER THAN HOSPITAL SANDWICHES GYAAAAAAHHH. He said it!! he said it!!

Everything Leo's done and he's outclassed by SANDWICH /j but oof. I knew Leo must have an understandable miff against Reader but seeing him admit just how deep that jealousy goes?? Because of course. Because Donnie's his *twin*, because they've had this song and dance of being at eachother's throats and in spite of that Leo still yearns for some sort or connection or an excuse to sever it completely.

It lowkey makes me remember the discussion if how WS!Donnie would react to his close-canon self/Crush too much self. How would *Leo* react to seeing a version of him that got into Donnie's space freely and without worry? A version of himself that got to wholly have Donnie as family,as a full fledged twin brother with no hard eggshells to walk on?

READER STAN, YOU ARE HOSPITALIZED?!?!?! I HOPE YOU'RE OKAY!!!! I'M SENDING HEALING VIBES!!! 😭😭😭 IM WORRIED ABOUT YOU!!!

This Leo reveal is so momentousness because I've been sitting on it for years and you've summed it up so nicely here! If we think about the timeline first in Weak Spot, though scary, when the bastard's three are introduced, we seem them as a little scary, but Leo is trying to do this bit in the midst of it and it doesn't fit and it feels wrong. Then when reader really meets Leo, he's bitter and paranoid and nothing like that person and so knowing what we know now, you see the aptly named song and dance was Leo's only source of connection. As bitter and cruel was it was, as lethal, it was the only one he had and that worked, but then we piece in more such as how Leo talks about how Donnie was finally gone, how they finally beat him back and there's such a bile there, like that's not something he wanted and then Donnie reappears, with some human, and he's different, he isn't playing the game and by all accounts he's wrong. Donnie is new and not the person Leo has known almost a lifetime and this upset Leo so so very deeply. Then, then, we place a recent piece about how reader said they understood Leo's banter comment from chapter 60. That's Leo comment about how they always do banter from chapter 19. In 60, Leo laughs. Leo laughs. Why laugh? Just because of the callback or because of something else? Because Leo then specifies he's lost his mind. Because reader doesn't get it. Because reader has made a critical error. Reader interfered.

I don't know! That came from somewhere where I've been sitting on this for WAY WAY too long!!! Thanks for letting me expound on it!

Oh DOING THAT WITH LEO!? THAT'S DELICIOUS, LET'S SEE: WS!Leo would need to talk to CTM!Leo. He would need to hear the story, just seeing it would not be enough for him. Hearing this other Leo talk about being the ultimate wingman and how he sacrificed for the team and all he did would bring WS!Leo to absolute tears. CTM!Leo would be sort of embarrassed like, hey big guy, it can't be that bad right? And WS!Leo would clamp a hand on his shoulder and try to suck it back up and tell him he did a good job which would surely water CTM!Leo's eyes from that (older) adult and self approval! For canon, he'd watch it like he were watching the TV show and just smile.

#me #weakspotfic

17 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

staycutebae-blog

J A G S E Y

satyriacs

Untitled

summer-sphinx

FR Blog

pinkyqil

PINKY

offshorerecruitment

Untitled