#DO YOU THINK “THANK YOU FOR THIS” WAS HIM REALIZING JON CARED. I THINK SO

[candyskiez]

God I'm thinking about Tim and losing my mind. He put so much effort into his job in the beginning. Because it was his one shot at finding out what happened to his brother, at actually understanding why someone would do that, at why it happened to him of all people. But also, more than that, he cared so much about his job. He checked in on his coworkers frequently. He threw the guy he didn't think deserved the promotion a birthday party. He checked in on them! He took care of them! He said "when we're all old and sick of each other", he expected to still talk to them when they old. He expected to have time to grow sick of them. He felt safe with them, he felt comfortable again. Elias hired people without strong connections to other people or people who would miss them. They mightve been his first friends in a very, very long time. He finally thought things would get better. That he'd have a life outside of his brother. And when his bonds with the archival staff crumbled, he had nothing left to fall back on. He had nothing left. All he had left was his anger. "This was always how it was going to go." He was always going to get attached to people that whatever the hell was out there wanted for themselves, to people who didn't care about him, to people who he was second priority to. He was never going to really matter. He's just the side character in a tragedy. He's the distraction. I need to eat my own hands.

[luludeluluramblings]

I see no one talking about the repercussions this will have on the JL. It's a general consensus Bruce's getting a heart attack but I think you all overlook how this is going to be reflected on how he behaves with the team members whose protégés messed with his daughter.

There you have Superman. Clark Kent. Man of steel practically invencible who could've lived without knowing about his son/brother/clone of himself's love life. Now he's sure Bruce implanted Kryptonite in his eyes by the way his gaze would pierce his skull if the Dark Knight didn't look away.

(Secretly glad to have a grandson/nephew/technically son/daughter new addition to the half-Kryptonian family)

Then there is poor Oliver Queen, Aka: Green Arrow, who has no idea what Roy's doing 70-80% of the time but who would sit next to Dinah and far from Batman because the man's daughter is pregnant and the guy has no chill about it.

Shout out to The Flash and GL for directly skipping the JL meetings (None of them were even aware that Batman had a daughter but they prefer not to risk triggering a contingency plan. Barry for Bart and Wally's sake. Hal because he secretly supports the theory that Batman is a vampire and doesn't want to be dragged by association into Kyle's mess)

–🦎 (saw someone do this and thought it was cute)

Bruce would be composed during JL meetings, he's had too much practice on his poker face. (Suppressing that shit.)

It's going to be those 0.2 seconds after the meeting where he pulls the corresponding League member aside to talk when everyone else realizes shit must be going down.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Clark wouldn't run, but he'd approach with same amount of caution one would give a rapid wild animal. And, if needed, he'd play dumb. He's play so dumb. (Completely pretending that he didn't just go dig out all his and Jon's old baby furniture and clothes, and that Lois is planning the baby shower possibly with Luthor's help.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Oliver, would run. He would literally run. He stays out of Roy's business, and he'll stay out of this. He'll spoil the kid when they get here, but he is staying out of firing range. No thank you. God speed to Roy, but hell no. (Will pat Roy on the back though, because the kid's gotta have some massive balls to do this.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Barry will not run. Barry will probably pull the lovable goof card and talk about how exciting it is that their going to be grandparents and already be coordinating holidays and family visits. And, you know what, Bruce will take it. Planning for the future is his hobby. But, he'll definitely make sure Barry is distracted while he gives whichever Speedster is was to knock Reader up the shovel talk.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Hal will fucking laugh. He will laugh at Bruce like he doesn't have a gun of yellow holi powder in his pocket. He will actually laugh at Bruce's face without care and so hard. Kyle's not his kid, but god damn will he feel so proud for him making Batman a grandpa.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

[emotionalhottiee]

Broken 💔

Jimmy Uso/Jonathan Fatu

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise stated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events in this fanfic are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

just a quick oneshot until i get over this writers block. Hope you enjoy.

Heart Broken…

Doesn’t even begin to explain how i feel. How could he do this to us?

Thoughts of frustration and brokenness ran rampant through my mind as hot tears poured down my face. After all i had been through with Jonathan how could he throw away everything we had. My mind ran back to walking into his condo, opening his bedroom door to be met with an image of some ig thot, bent over while the love of my life was behind her. My heart shattered had into a million pieces.

Now the tears I’ve been crying out, for the past 30 minutes have blurred my vision. Thinking about that day against my will. But seeing him tonight made the memory pop up. Even though i knew there was a slight chance he would be at our friends birthday party. Actual seeing him, just felt like another knife being jammed right into my heart.

“Kenzi, are you alright in there?” “You’ve been in this bathroom a long time” my friend Kiara screamed through the door.

I hadn’t even realized i had been in here that long, but i just couldn’t stop crying. Watching Jon strut up in this party with some new girl on his arm. As if the last year and a half meant so little to him, he could move on within days. LITERALLY 5 days ago i caught him in bed with another woman.

And now it’s saturday, and he bought a whole other woman with him. Damn, How many others were there? I thought to myself as i wiped the tears from my bloodshot red eyes. Trying to cover up the fact that i been in the bathroom of a mutal friend of ours,sobbing over this man. What did i ever do to make him be so cold & callous towards me?

I have to pull myself together! I tried to tell myself encouragingly, i am not going to let him see me, so vulnerable. For what? He doesn’t seem to care in the least bit. Too busy fake laughing at the girl with her ass hanging out of her shorts.

He’s knows her ass ain’t that funny.

As i finish up wiping my face, one last time. Before i could even get myself all the way out of the bathroom Kiara yanked my ass into a tight hug. She knew i needed this that’s why she my friend.

“Girl don’t let him make you sad. Fuck him, you deserve so much better.” She calmly stated to me rocking us back & forth. This is exactly what will make my ass start crying again. But i am so thankful for my friend, trying to keep me from being sad.

Against Kiara’s advice i decided to stay at this party. This was one of Jon & I’s mutal friend, I’m not gonna let him feel like he has won (Even though he totally has won).

I put on my bravest face to go back and chill, before our friends pull out a game of taboo. We had split up into two teams and of course i end up on a team with Jon & his whore of the week. It was almost as if God was punishing me for still wanting to be around him. But truth be told i was obsessed with him. I loved him more than the air i breathed.

And as much as i can possibly lie to myself, i know he loves me too.

*some time later*

The party winded down, Kiara & I were helping our friends clean up. Jon’s little girlfriend ended up leaving. I thought they would’ve rode together but i guess not. And I’m honestly kinda happy about that. He’s been staring at me all night. Now that he’s alone i know where this night will take us. Especially since i rode with Kiara.

Jon asked me if i needed a ride home, knowing damn well i don’t like driving at night. I tried to act like i had to go back with Kiara, she gave us a shrug letting us know she didn’t mind. She knew me too well. As much as she wanted me to stand up for myself, she knew where my heart was. And wanting to be there for me she wasn’t gonna fight me on it. I appreciated that. Giving her a hug goodnight she gave me eyes of pleading, but with a hint of be careful. I rubbed her arms up & down letting her know i’d be okay.

The ride back to Jon’s house was quiet at first nothing but low 90s R&B playing. But he eventually turned the music off. He grabbed my hand while holding the steering with his other and apologized for his actions within the last week. My eyes filled up to the brim before a tear rolled down my cheek. I couldn’t even respond. I just held onto his hand, he bought my hand up to his mouth still holding it kissing it ever so gently. This is the soft, caring Jon i feel in love with. For a quick second he looked at me our eyes staring into one another. Until he turned his eyes back to the road.

This is going to be a great night.

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Seven - Back in the Red Keep, you and Jon face a new set of challenges. Note: I think R + L = J is soooo boring and basic, so I'm throwing in a theory that's been floated around online for a hot minute

Ch 8

“He saved me cousin, he could have left me to be assaulted and killed by the crowd, could have escaped with his traitorous family members, but he stayed and saved me.” You add, lowering your eyes submissively, you hate this, hate playing this role, but you cannot lose Jon.

Joffrey looks at your aunt then grandsire who nods. “Very well, you may keep your dog, cousin.”

You curtsy, thanking Joffrey over and over again, spilling out platitudes that makes bile rise in your throat. Dog, he called Jon a dog, your Jon, your champion, your defender, the one who chased after you instead of his father and sister.

“But I want him kept on a leash, if I see him sniffing around, his head will substitute for his father’s on the spikes of the gate.” Joffrey warns, that cruel smile spreading across his face once more.

You nod and thank him again, before taking Jon by the wrist and dragging him out of the throne room.

Once you both are safely in your chambers, you collapse onto the rug near the fire, Ghost getting up and trotting over to Jon.

Jon buries his hand in Ghost’s fur, letting out a shaky breath.

“I am so very sorry, Jon.” You look up at him from your place by the fire, feeling completely in disarray.

“I am still alive.” He says, unable to look at you, the tension clear in every aspect of his very being.

He stands stiff, his chest rising and falling as he forces his breath in and out to calm himself, his eyes stay locked on Ghost, his head bowed, his inky curls falling forward shielding his face.

“But you are separated from your family, and you had to endure Joffrey speaking of you as a dog.” You say softly as you begin to remove the pins from your hair, letting it fall free.

Jon settles down beside you, holding his hand out for the pins. “I have endured much worse than being called a dog.”

You both sit in silence for a while as you undo your intricate hairstyle, the one your aunt favored, the one you thought would endear her to you. Jon takes each pin from you, setting them in a neat pile on the end table. This is routine, something you and Jon have done time and time again, and while it is calming, you know it is not normal. That sworn swords do not sit beside their charge and help them undo their hair, that they stand guard outside their door while the servants undo their charge’s hair.

But you had seen your Aunt Cersei and Uncle Robert do it once, when you were very young. And though he was not her sworn sword but her husband, as a child you found it hard to tell the difference, husbands were supposed to protect their wives, as sworn swords were it seemed so similar. It was a good day, they were getting along, and as he escorted her back to her chambers you spotted them.

Your aunt, heavily pregnant with Myrcella, pulling out the pins, your uncle taking them, helping her detangle the stubborn ones. He was smiling, and she was too, a small one, her expression soft and open, thanking him quietly when he gently ran his fingers through her hair. For a moment you believed the act they put on in public, for if this is how they acted in private, surely it was true? It was not until you were older that you realized you were wrong.

“Is what your father said true?” You ask Jon, detangling your hair with your fingers, careful not to pull too hard.

He sighs and leans forward stirring the fire with the iron poker, his armor now fully discarded and set aside against the far wall. “I believe it to be.”

“If Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are bastards, ones born of incest they will never be able to inherit Casterly Rock, and Uncle Jaime cannot because he is a Kingsguard, my grandsire would not be able to give it to my aunt since she is the one who had the bastard children, which means…”

“After the death of your grandsire, you will be heir.” Jon says, completing your thought, speaking the words you dare not speak.

You lay down on the rug slowly, shocked. “I have never even dreamed such a thing.”

“Lady y/n Lannister, heir of Casterly Rock. A fitting title, you would do well as heir.”

You hum in response, staring up at the vaulted ceiling of your chambers. You can imagine it, you a golden heir, ruler of Casterly Rock, Jon by your side, perhaps a child or two with his curls and your eyes. He would do well there, shaping up the guards, playing with your children in the Hall of Heroes.

“Do you not wish to be heir?” Jon asks, leaning on one hand, his head tilting to the side, resting on his shoulder.

He looks tired, you are sure you do as well. “It is not that, I just…I am the daughter of a third child, a second son, a disfigured, scorned son. My mother was no one, the eighth daughter of the third brother of Lord Hawthorne, I could not even claim anything from her. It is my lot to marry some old man and bear his son, not rule Casterly Rock. I am not important in the grand scheme of things.”

Jon lies on his side facing you. “If the people of Westeros believe my father’s words, then soon the only trueborn Lannister grandchild of direct descent will be you. That will make you very important in the grand scheme of things. ”

You shift to face him, running your fingers over the plush rug beneath you both. “I guess you are right.”

“And if they do not believe his words—Jon reaches out and his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek—you are still important to me, I know it is not as grand, but it is true.”

You want to kiss him, you have never wanted to kiss anyone in your life as badly as you want to kiss Jon, but you will not. You will not put him in such an awkward position, and your father’s words ring in your head. Not a husband. A lover, or a guard, but never a husband.

Instead, you close your eyes and lean into his touch, featherlight as it is. “It is grand enough, my champion.”

Jon laughs softly, more an exhalation of air than a laugh, his breath stirring the hair around your face.

“You are important to me too, Ser Jon, I do not wish to lose you.” You admit, keeping your eyes closed, not wanting the moment to shatter. “I forbid you from fighting in any other tourneys.”

“Then how will I present my lady with her crown?” He jests, his hand settling on the side of your face, his thumb resting just below the corner of your lips. “Surely the one you have now will wither beyond repair soon enough.”

“I care more for your safety than a crown.” You say, finally opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

His eyes are the color of a gathering storm, dark storm clouds rolling in, shot through with streaks of lightning, the air alive, the taste of rain. The depth of them going on for leagues and leagues until you feel you could be lost in them.

“I would give you the crown, the throne, if you asked it of me.” He breathes, his eyes searching yours, his spoken words of treason slipping from his lips so easily you cannot help but reach for him, anchoring your fingers in his tunic.

He is a man of eight and ten, you a woman of seven and ten, you are not ready to be queen, not yet, but his words, his words make you believe you are.

“That is treason you speak of.”

He gives you a wry smile. “Will you turn me in, My Lady?”

“Never, I trust no one else with my safety, I would die before you are taken from me.” You say, tightening your grip on his tunic, panic coursing through you at the very thought of Jon being taken from you, of being alone in Joffrey’s court, of being without Jon ever, in any place.

His smile fades, that solemn, serious look returning. You have spoken at length of Joffrey’s cruelty, of your fears if your father was ever not there to protect you, what vile men wished to take you for a bride, the things they have said to you. “I would never let that happen. Do you hear me, y/n? I will never let anyone separate us.”

You nod, warmth flooding your veins, washing away the fear at his words, at the sound of your name and your name alone coming from his lips. He says it so perfectly, wrapping each syllable in his rough Northern accent. It is unlike any pronunciation of your name you have ever heard, and you adore it.

You wish to ask him to stay, to share your bed, not in a carnal sense, but to sleep beside you, to ease your fears, but you know you cannot.  You and Jon already act far more companionable than most sworn shields and their charges, and with Joffrey’s eye on him, it is too risky.

Your father calls you to his solar for evening meal, Jon your ever-present shadow is ordered to wait outside the door, and not to enter until he is called for, but he does not move until you give him a nod. Once the door is closed, and you take your seat, your father laughs. “You have him trained well.”

You bristle at his words but calm yourself, this is your father, he has been insulted all his life, he would not be so cruel, not to Jon. “He is my champion.”

“Yes, I am well aware, seems we picked well out of the Stark lot.” Your father says, beginning to cut into his food.

You do the same, waiting for a moment before you speak. “Do you know who set Lord Stark and Sansa free?”

“Stannis most likely, or Renly, either stand to gain from the North backing their claim, though Renly less so now. Though they did make my plan flow much smoother.”

You chew thoughtfully, then take a long drink from your wine. Of course, your father had been a part of the plan to free Lord Stark and Sansa, he was a good man at heart, and the death of Lord Stark would mean war. “And the rumors? Of my cousins’ parentage?”

Your father sets down his knife. “I have seen Robert’s bastards, and while it sickens me to think my siblings could be engaging in such…I do not think the rumors are false.”

“So, will we be named heir of The Rock? There is no one else, besides one of Grandsire’s brothers, but I doubt he would be willing to give them control.” You hope your father will tell you yes, yes, he has been named heir. Then you will take Jon and run, run all the way to Casterly Rock, and hide with him there until the realm has forgotten of your shared existences.

“I think it is more important to focus on the current heir problem, little lion.”

Your shoulders slump, but you nod. “Of course, Father.”

He sighs and reaches for your hand. “Y/N, my darling girl, I know your life has been upheaved ever since we left Winterfell, but I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you with what?” You ask, though of course it matters not the answer, he is your father he will always have your trust.

“Renly will fall, Stannis is declaring himself king, and the Tyrells will soon move to set one of their own beside Joffrey.” Your father explains, picking up serval cubes of cheese and setting them on the table strategically. “We shall send Myrcella to Dorne to shore up allies, and for her own safety, I would send you as well but—”

You cut him off, horrified. “I will not go to Dorne.”

“Yes, yes, I know, which is why I am not sending you along with her.”

“Thank you.”

“I have spoken with Lady Olenna Tyrell, terrifying women, intelligent beyond all others, if she were not so old I might suggest she take the throne herself. And we have come to an agreement that relies on many moving pieces, ones which I am delighted to say do not involve you and Jon until later plays.”

“Go on.” You are already making mental notes, attempting to see the connections before your father speaks them aloud.

“Joffrey should not be king, this is well known, and while I do adore Myrcella and Tommen, neither are fit to rule, they are sweet and innocent, too easily taken advantage of.”

“So, the Tyrells?”

Your father shakes his head, “not entirely. The Tyrells and the Starks.”

You digest the information, about to speak when your father continues, his voice lowered to a whisper. “I spoke with Ned Stark when I helped him and Sansa escape, he revealed something quite interesting to me about your dear champion.”

You lean forward, eyes darting towards the door.

“You know of the tale Rhaegar and Lyanna, the horrid tragic downfall of the Targaryens.”

“Yes, of course, all the realm does.” You say, trying to hurry him along, your curiosity growing with each moment.

“Jon Snow was born of a Stark, but not the one the realm believes he was born of.” There is a conspiratory smile on your father's face, as if he is not speaking madness.

“Are you—Lyanna, Jon is Lyanna’s son? He is a Targaryen?” Your own voice drops to a whisper, shock seizing your muscles, keeping you frozen to your chair.

“Gods no, though that would make our lives much easier.”

“Then what is he? Do not tell me he was born of incest.” You say, your hand going to the hollow of your throat, stomach churning at the very thought.

“He is a Dayne.” Your father says carefully, watching your reactions. “Son of the Sword of the Morning.”

“He is in line for the seat of Starfell? Rhaegar’s closet companion slept with the women he assisted him with kidnapping?”

Your father shrugs. “The ways of men are odd little lion, we cannot know how it all came about, only that the blood of Dorne runs in his veins.”

“But Arthur Dayne is dead, and Lyanna Stark is dead, there is no one who can prove this claim.”

Your father smirks. “Is he?”

You massage your temples. “Father, please do not drag me about, tell me the truth.”

“My apologies, allow me to elaborate. Lord Stark said he believes Dayne to be dead, but he did not deal the final blow himself, he and Lord Howland left with Jon before Dayne had taken his assumed final breath.”

“And unless you see the body cold before you, there is no assurance of death.” You say, remembering a pearl of wisdom your Uncle Robert had impressed upon you once.

Your father nods. “We must presume Dayne is dead unless proven false and act accordingly. A marriage must take place to secure a more profitable future.”

“You will not marry off Jon, he is mine.” You snap, pushing back from the table and standing, your face like stone.

“He is not yours; truly he belongs to House Dayne, his family.” He says, raising one eyebrow at you.

“No, he does not, they do not even know he lives.” You argue, clenching your fists, anger bubbling up inside you, a fire sparking, kindling, snapping to life.

“If you do not wish him to marry, we could send him home to Dorne with Myrcella.” Your father suggests.

The flames jump, climb, scale the walls of civility built within you and consume your rational mind. Your actions are no longer your own as you seize the nearest thing you can—an apple—and throw it at your father, who easily dodges it.

“Y/N, you are acting like a child, stop this at once, you cannot keep Jon from others forever.” He demands, his voice cold, colder than you have ever heard directed towards you.

It hurts, his words, the truth of them, the idea that someone else would take Jon from you, will warm his bed, bear his children, will get to love him as you long to. But you are a Lannister, you do not feel grief or sadness, you feel rage.

“He is my sworn sword, my champion, my Jon.” You grab another thing to throw, a plate, it crashes against the wall. “I will not let you or Lord Stark auction him off like a breeding stud.” Plates, fruits, silverware, even your napkin has been thrown in a fit of rage until you have nothing left to throw but the heavy chair you were sitting in. Which you do not have the strength to throw far enough, that it will make you feel better. “Jon swore his life to me, no one else, he is mine.”

Your father’s solar is a mess, and you are breathing hard, angry tears in your eyes as you stare down at him.

“He did, which is why we will not marry him off, we will marry off Robb.” Your father says, unfazed by your display of rage. “Ned Stark was declared regent, there was no mention of who should be heir, assumptions could be made.”

You slump into your chair, tears slipping from your eyes. You are not Joffrey, not a full-blooded Lannister, Hawthrone blood lessens the lion’s rage and allows you to cry. “Why did you not say that first? Why would you allow me to think—”

“I needed to be sure you wished to stay by him, and so did you. This will not be easy, little lion; many things may change once the truth is revealed. The Daynes may call for his return, or seek retribution for the deceit, if deceit was at play.”

You wipe under your eyes with your sleeve, the anger draining from you, leaving you hollow. “Why can I not simply flee to Casterly Rock and hide with Jon there?”

Your father walks over to you and embraces you tightly. “Because you deserve more, if Lady Tyrell is correct, you could control the Westerlands, you could marry a man you love, and the realm would have a good king through Robb.”

“But what if that does not work? Stannis has a daughter, does he not? Could we offer to betroth her and Tommen?” You ask, wracking your mind to try and recall the age and name of Stannis’ only child.

“If the Tyrell’s plan does not work then I will convince my family to extend the offer, then you and I will lock ourselves away in The Rock and let Cersei and Stannis eat each other alive.”

You laugh, the sound watery. “Or perhaps we shall run to Dorne and try to install Jon in the line of succession for Starfell.”

“That may prove more difficult, but it is always an option.” Your father laughs, the sound eases the remaining unrest in your heart.

You rest your chin atop his head. “Alright then, I will trust you. But who will tell Jon?”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo

[coffeebooksrain18]

I've seen some comments that Condal and Hess (I think mostly Hess) have drop a shadow over Catelyn because Rhaenys accepted Corlys' bastard, unlike Catelyn, who hasn't loved Jon all her life. What do you think?

No i haven't but I'll give my thoughts anyways.

People need to keep in mind something with Catelyn. She wasn't supposed to marry Ned, she was supposed to marry Brandon, Ned's older brother. So when he died she and Ned married even though neither wanted it. But Ned did the right thing and kept his families word and married Catelyn so she would he Lady of Winterfell.

And then he left for war, she had Robb with her. She's terrified for her and her son. But she believed in Ned, believed he wouldn't have an affair because he swore he wouldn't and a Northern keeps their oaths. So when he comes back with little Jon, refusing to say who his Mother is or why she couldn't raise him. It pissed her off. Also for the time frame of the war and Robbs birth we don't know if Ned was there. So she is alone for her first birth, scared she will die and if she doesn't then what about her and her baby after this. There is no Ned to congratulation her and say how strong she was after the birth, she is alone, scared, and the next time she sees Ned so excited for him to meet his son he introduces her to his bastard.

And then instead of trying to find a way to give him to a family who can't have children Ned insists on Jon staying with them and being raised by him. And in her mind she's wondering if Brandon would've done this to her. If he would've embrassed her in front of all of Winterfell.

If I was in this situation I would also have a level of resentment to a little boy. And we know from Book and Show she doesn't want to have it, we know she hates herself for feeling that way towards Jon. But she can't help it.

Now onto Rhaenys. Her reaction in show to me seemed iffy. Like I felt like she wasn't looking at Addam or Alyn as bastards but as her dead children. But I also felt like she should've had a moment of realization and flinched back and glared at them. I mean we're made to believe Corlys loves Rhaenys. That she is the love of his life. She even acts that way about their marriage. So it didn't make sense to me for her to just not care.

But I will also point out, Rhaenys wasn't forced to watch Addam and Alyn grow up. She wasn't forced to help raise them. She wasn't forced to watch her husband dote on them. But who was? Catelyn.

So people saying Rhaenys is a better person because she accepted Addam and Alyn truly can't understand putting themselves in someone else's shoes. Because did i like how Catelyn treated Jon? No. But I understood it because I thought about what I would feel in her situation.

Thanks for the ask Anon!

[ribread03]

Dance Party! M.Sturniolo x Reader

Bread talk: I came up with this idea while writing my Nick Sturniolo head cannons.. so yeah. I hope you like this... A HUGE thank you to @6ix9inewiturmom with helping me pick out songs for this. ILY thank you. Also this is a LOOOONG one.

WC: 2597 [just stick with it]

CW: Smut, cursing, unprotected sex [wrap before you tap], idk what else honestly. let me know if I missed anything important..

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"Don't ya wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" Nick sings loudly with the music.

"Don't ya wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?" You're singing the next line of the song.

"Dont Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls plays loudly in the kitchen of the triplets house. Me and Nick dancing our hearts out not having a care in the world of what we look like to the outside eye.

Dancing and laughing with Nick and you spin around the kitchen, bumping into him every once and a while. Rolling your shoulders to the beat of the song. Moving your hips in a sexual way not thinking about anything but you a Nick.

"I probably be just as crazy about you if you were my old man" Both of you singing this line together. While you point at Nick with your finger.

Laughing as the song ends and the next one comes on. You look over the the couch and see Matt sitting there on his phone. Looking over at Nick you now see Chris behind him.

Cheering as the next song starts because it's one of your favorites. "Get Low" by Lil Jon feat. Ying Yang Twins comes on. You start to sing the song. Getting low when it says to get low still singing.

"Till the sweat drops down my balls!" You sing loudly in the house.

"Let me see you get low you scared you, scared you." Chris now singing the part of the song. Dropping down to the floor at this point you bounce back up shaking your ass.

Still singing the song still you move your hips to the left and to the right when that part of the song comes on, wiggling when they song says so.

"To the window, To the wall!" All three of you sing. Pointing to to the window and the wall.

You now feel someone behind you. Knowing the only other person that could have joined you guys would be Matt. The lyrics "Bend over to he front touch toes back dat ass up and down and get low" come on and you do that as you have been with the rest of the song.

Not realizing how close Matt really was to you. You end up hitting his crotch. Him immediately grabbing your hip so you don't rub against him, but you do anyway. You know what you are doing to him. You and Matt have always had a flirty relationship, agreeing that you guys where just friends. Everyone knew that you both kinda liked each other or thought the other one was cute.

Plastering a smile on your face when you feel Matt grip your hips tighter when you directly rub up against his growing boner. Backing up a little more when the same lyric is said again.

The song now ending you step forward going to make away from Matt but his hands are still on you. He quickly pulls his hands away from you and moves them to cover the small bulge that is now in his pants.

The next song starts with some whistling. "Moves Like Jagger" is now playing over the speakers. You start to jump up and down to the beat of the song. Spinning in a circle as you sing the song. Nick and Chris in their own world dancing with each other.

You feel hands on your shoulders stopping you from dancing. You huff and turn your head seeing Matt's faces close to your ear. You can feel his hot jagged breath on your neck as he talks.

"Wanna see my moves?" He pauses for a sec, but continues when you don't move. "They're just like Jaggers."

Now spinning to face him, he winks and walks off to his room. Leaving you there to finish dancing thinking about what he has just said to you.

~~

Knocking on Matt's door it quickly opens and he pulls you inside. Gasping at the sudden jolt you lose your balance falling right into Matt's chest. You are thinking about whether or not it was a good idea to come down here.

Matt chuckling, he looks at you. You now realize how long you have been standing holding onto his shirt in silence. Stepping back from Matt you look up. "hi." You speak at almost a whisper.

"hey." He says back almost as quite as you.

The tension in the room is so thick you could see it. The dim lights of Matt's room not helping. The mood seems to be set, his bed has silk sheets on it, paired with a matching quilt.

You finally decide to speak up about what Matt had said to you 5 minutes prior. "What's with this 'wanna see my moves' thing?" You question, seriously not knowing what he was talking about.

Matt sits and stares at you for a few seconds before finally taking two steps towards you, grabbing your face and planting his lips on yours. You are shocked at his sudden action. You slowly start to kiss him back when you realize what is happening. Matt pulls away from you lips and looks you in the eyes.

"That help?"

You answer him by kissing him back, this time he is the one that is caught off guard. Pulling away you answer with a breathy "yeah" and a quite giggle. Matt pulls you closer to him with his hands on your waist.

You cant stop smiling. You never thought this day would come when you would be able to kiss Matt. Not wanting to push Matt to do anything you just put your arms around his neck and wait for him to make the next move.

Matt without any warning picks you up, walks across his room and places you on his bed. Standing in front of you he bends down to be level with your face "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He whispers in your ear.

His hot breath fanning your neck sends shivers down your spine, making you let out a low whimper. Chuckling Matt moves his face so now he is making eye contact with you. Deciding hes not going to do something about the obvious tension in the room, you kiss him again.

This time it gets heated. Your back is pushed against the bed, Matt on top of you. Matt's hands are on your waist. Your hands rest on his chest, playing with the fabric of his shirt. His grip is strong making it so you cant move. He is leaving wet kisses down your jaw and neck, then moving back up to your face.

Matt's hands are traveling up your sides, making you squirm at his touch. He pulls away and lifts his shirt up and over his head. You've seen Matt shirtless before, but you cant help and stare right now, taking in every detail of his torso. Matt clears his throat becoming nervous under your gaze.

"sor-." You go to say. Matt cuts you off by kissing you again. His hands playing with the bottom of your shirt now. Taking the hint you break the kiss and slide your thin top up and over your head. Matt is the one staring now, as your chest is now only covered by your lacy bra. Giggling quietly "My eyes are up here silly." Grabbing his chin and bringing his eyes back up to yours.

"You're so beautiful." Matt is kissing you again not giving you time to even say anything back. Smiling in the kiss at the compliment. You go to toy with his belt. Matt pulls back from the kiss looking down at where your hands are, so close to where he needs them but so far away.

You drop your hands as quickly as you can thinking that he is uncomfortable with what you're doing. Matt quickly grabs them and puts them back, letting you know to keep going. You quickly unbuckle his belt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. Still kissing Matt you feel his hands at the waist band out your pants. Nodding yes to let him know it's ok to take them off.

Matt rips your pants down your legs, along with his own leaving you both in your underwear. Your arms go to wrap around your waist to hide from Matt but he stops you by holding your hands above your head, interlocking your fingers. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before moving down to your jaw and neck.

Your breath hitches when he kisses your collar bone. He looks up at you, making eye contact. "Can I take this off?" He ask playing with the strap of your bra. Shaking you head yes. "Words now please." He says. Instant butterfly's enter your tummy.

"Yes, take it off Matt." You say slightly moaning his name when he kisses the top of your breast.

Matt takes your bra off and his mouth quickly finds your nipple swirling it around with his tongue. Whimpering as he does this you can feel him smiling onto your skin. Hands flying to his hair to try and push him down to where you need him the most. "Matt."

"Hm" He responds not taking his mouth off of your body traveling farther down. "What do you need sweetheart."

"I need y-you, Matt, I need you so bad." You confess.

"All you had to do was ask." He starts to move down your body, now at the top of your panties. He loops his finger under the top of them and looks at you once again in the eyes asking for permission to take your final piece of clothing off.

"Matt, just take them off already." You beg slightly, becoming needy. "Please, I need you inside of me already." This makes Matt's cheeks turn a slight shade of pink as if his not undressing you.

Ripping your panties off Matt stares at your naked body laying in front of him. "How did I get so lucky?" He ask himself. He's now face to face with you pussy. You feel his warm breath on your heat. You can feel you heart rate pick up, this is something you never thought would be happening to you.

Gasping when you feel his tongue lick a strip through your folds. You can feel him smirking against you as his tongue moves at a fast speed now. You are becoming a mess from just his tongue, how would it feel when he is pounding into you, his dick hitting the right spot every time.

"M-matt" His name comes out of your mouth louder than you thought because he stops his movements and puts his finger to his lip tell you to be quite. His chin is covered in your juices.

"shh. Wouldn't want them to hear." He says nodding his head towards the door implying he was talking about his brothers.

Quickly nodding your head Matt gets back to work. Your legs start to shake not to long after he starts again. Your hands are pulling on his hair. "Matt-I ug- Im close." You manage to moan out. Matt quickens his pace when he hears this.

"Cum for me, let it all go pretty girl" Hearing his words you cum all over his face. Your legs are shaking, your thighs squeezing around his head as your organism washes over you.

As you are trying to catch your breath Matt's face comes out from in-between your legs. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he comes up to your face and gives you a quick little peck on the lips. His lips travel from your lips to the top of your breast.

His hard on presses against your thigh, pressing your thigh up into his cock. He whimpers at the feeling when you do this, lightly biting down on your chest. You do this again, this time earning a moan from Matt. Smirking at what you do to him, you quickly flip so now you are on top of him.

You loop your fingers in the waist band of his underwear and he takes the hit and pulls them down. You can't help but stare for a second, thinking about how it will fit. Matt clears his throat and you bring your attention back to his face.

"Are you sure about this?" Matt ask you.

"Yeah." You tell him. "What about you? Do you want this to?"

"Most defiantly."

With that you kiss Matt. Pulling away Matt flips you guys over again so he is on top once again. He lines up his tip with your entrance. He slowly pushes into. You wince at this pain as he stretches you out. He slowly starts to thrust into you.

Little sounds escape your lips when the pain becomes pleasure. Matt starts to move his hips. You feel over the moon right now, never in a billion years would you think this would be happening, all because of a stupid song.

Matt's lips reconnect with yours. His hips are moving slowly still. "Mhp- Matt." You let quiets moans and whimpers of his name leave your mouth, pushing Matt to move his hips faster.

"You're so pretty." He lets out. "I hope you know that." Blushing at his comments his name slips past your lips again.

Matt hits the spot that makes you crumble every time. You can't hold back your moans anymore, letting the whole house know what is going on. Matt is quick to put his fingers in your mouth. Picking up his pace as his rams into you.

You're close to cumming again, you can tell Matt is as well. His thrust are become sloppy and uneven. "C-close." is all you can mumble out.

"Me to, me to." He tells you as he takes his fingers out of your mouth wanting to hear the noises he causes you to make. "Cum with me y/n?"

Before the whole sentence leaves his mouth your cumming, him not far after you. Matt pulls out and falls down on the bed next to you. You look over at him, his face slightly sweaty from the events that just had happened. "That was..." You start but trail off.

"Yeah it was." He knows what you mean, you just smile at the fact he thinks that same. He looks over at you, making eye contact with you. He leans over and gives you a quick peck on the lips before getting out of bed and walking into his bathroom. He walks back into the room with a washcloth.

Walking over to you he drags the cloth all over your thighs being careful around your more sensitive parts as he cleans you up. Peppering kisses all around your body as he does this.

Once he is done he throws the cloth in his dirty clothes bin and grabs you a sweatshirt and underwear from his dresser. After helping you put them on, and his own pair, he climbs back into bed with you. Snuggling up close to you, you can feel his hot breath on your neck.

"Soo-" you start before Matt cuts you off.

"Can we talk in the morning? I just want to cuddle right now..." Matt shamelessly admits.

Laughing lightly at his small confession, "Yeah." You answer. "I like that idea" Snuggling back into his chest. Slowly you start to drift asleep, in arms you're used to sleeping in but this time it's different. A good difference, one that you like and could get used to.

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

ANpt2.: I hoped you guys like this. This took me forever to write but I really enjoyed it. this is so long so thanks for reading the whole thing. OKAY BYE LOVE YOU <3!!!

[wondersinwaynemanor]

here i go again with "big brother dick grayson strikes again" prompts.

thinking of Dick probably helping his siblings on their first dates and offering to take them to the location.

Dick to Jason: Hey, Little Wing. I know you can take one of your motorcycles, but let me take you. You can just focus on being pretty.

Jason: Shut up, Dick. But, are you sure? I don't know why my hands feel a bit numb-

Dick, takes Jason's hands on his to warm them up and untighten the nerves there: It's okay. I got you. You're okay. It's going to be okay. Don't stress yourself out.

Jason: I know I fucked up many times, Dick. I don't want.. I don't know what to do if I fuck this up.

Dick, brings Jason closer: Shh. You won't, Jay. You're very smart and strong, and so so caring and you don't even realize it it. Ask the kids at the Alley, they idolize you. Roy adores you and everything you do. He knows who you are. And trust me, I'm not that bitter anymore of one of my best friends dating my younger brother.

Jason smiles which warms Dick's heart, making him smile too.

Dick: Plus, we wouldn't want Ollie to think that a Wayne cannot dress up and be romantic right?

Jason grins this time.

Dick to Tim: Timmy, I have a great idea! I'll drive you there. I know you're tired from work already. Just let me know which restaurant then you can rest a bit when we travel there.

Tim: It's okay, Dick. You're also tired from your shift. I'll just let Kon know I'll be late for a few-

Dick: No, no. If you want to rest first, let him know, he'll understand. But I'll still take you.

Tim: But, Dick...

Dick: Nah-uh. I didn't drive you to prom, remember? Let me do this, Baby Bird. And for me to also look out for Lex, just in case he bothers Conner again. We don't want that happening in the middle of your date.

Tim, laughs: Well, Kon will just have to drag Lex's ass to space.

Dick laughs with him.

Dick to Cass: Aww, you look beautiful, Cass. So where you going? Where will you meet Steph?

Cass, fixing her necklace: By her house.

Dick: Great! I already know where that is. I'll drive you there. We don't want to ruin your beauty. I mean, that's totally impossible, but I want you to just relax before the date.

Cass, blushes: I can do it.

Dick: Of course, you can. But I want to. Pretty please, pretty please. I'm a little protective over my sister.

Cass, rolls her eyes fondly but smiles: Of course. Thank you.

Dick: You're most welcome. And tell Steph if she does something extreme like set some fireworks, tell her to lay off with those energy drinks she started on her diet.

Dick to Duke: Little D, Little D! Don't even try to say no cus maybe your brothers and sister have already told you, but this is kinda my tradition now. I'm taking you to your first date.

Duke: They did tell me. But, Dick.. I don't want to be a burden. Weren't you injured-

Dick: No, no. That was like last week. I'm good. As long as you're good with me to take you, right? Now, I don't want to be the burden.

Duke, smiles: Never.

Dick, smiles and gives Duke a side hug: Then you're never a burden too, Little D. A big bro has to look out for the younger ones. Plus, I can say that you dressing up nice comes from my influence.

Duke, chuckles: Who else am I looking up to, right?

Dick to Damian: Shush, Dami. I know you're dating a super, and he can come and get you without a minute to spare, but tell Jon I'll be taking you.

Damian: Richard, please. I'm already at the right age.

Dick, puts a hand on his little (not so anymore) brother's shoulder and he refuses not to tear up (he fails ofc): I know, you've grown up so much, Dami. So much, since I made you Robin. But please, it will make me really happy to do this. It will give me peace, in some way. It sounds ridiculous, but yes.

Damian, doesn't even try to hide the fond he has on his face: Alright, Richard. I'll let Jon know.

Dick: He's not taking you somewhere out of Gotham or Metropolis, right? Cus then we'll have to take the Batplane.

Damian, chuckles: It's in Metropolis, don't worry.

Dick: Phew. I was as nervous as the time I took Tim on his date.

so....

maybe after a few years on Dick and Wally's wedding day, Dick's younger siblings will be walking with him on the aisle by his side and Bruce, their Father, on his other side of course. and they're thankful that the aisle is wide enough to fit the whole Wayne kids. Dick is a crying mess and he hasn't even reached Wally yet by the end of the aisle. because he's genuinely happy to have his siblings take him to the love of his life this time.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

71 - A Stag Against a Dragon

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

Length: 17.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, blood and violence, disturbing imagery, animal death, mild smut, mentions of bondage, sexual activity in a public setting

Notes: If I am not mistaken, we are back on schedule. I cannot thank all of you enough for being so patient with me, but I am excited to start writing back regularly and posting regularly. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

These halls Jon hardly recognized in the dark of night. He had a little, but what scant daylight this place got was what he had been used too. Hardly anything but the light of torches gave a single shred of break from mostly complete darkness. But it was not silence which followed, nor the sounds of winds, nor rain, nor water of the seas surrounding the island. They were muffled from behind the grant stone walls, but they were distinct.

Metals and clanging and yelling. The sounds of war raged outside these walls and Jon scarcely could think what it was occurred in his own memories which he could be walking through until it all came to him in an instant. The sight of you came into his view, hair simple pulled back behind you but shorter then it was now. Blood covered you as much as what looked like grime and dirt but you didn’t look as if most of the blood belonged anywhere near close to you. The armour on you he knew, as did the look of everything else.

Walking with careful but guarded steps down the corridor your sword was missing, in it’s place two daggers held in both with tight fists took your weapons place as you reached the a corner. Pressing yourself against the wall to peek beyond what Jon could not see, he heard more muffles from the front of the castle as well. All the same fighting if not much louder from there, and the small sound of voices much closer and clearer.

Pacing beyond where you were perched, Jon wound around to look more at you. Eyes narrowed and dark, there was something Jon knew he had rarely ever seen within them. Something truly angry, something full of hate, and more importantly, something full of an intention he had not known to exist within you, let alone on this night. As he knew the situation around him, and as he heard the familiarity of one of the voices you seemed to be creeping up upon, he realized what memory he was watching.

The night Jons forces fought Aegons on the shores of Dragonstone.

Your steps nearly took Jon off guard, his eyes having turned to the main hall where you were watching did you suddenly move up beside him without a sound. Silent as the grave you moved up and up. Jon could only follow, seeing what you watched beyond, a gold armoured man closer to you and further beyond with a sword in hand did he recognize the blue.

Hair still dyed in those early months of his time here, the blue was similarly covered in grime and blood as your own did he, and subsequently you, hear the man of the Golden Company speak in something of confusion. “Your Grace, I thought we were here to obtain secondary forces.”

Shaking his head, he looked up at the doors long since locked away before the battle had ever begun. Aegon’s voice full of something he also wasn’t used too, something which sounded as hateful as your eyes glared. “The King in the Norths forces are pushing right up to our front gates. I go out there now, I’m all but handing myself over to him in front of my men. Is that what kind of King you brought your men all the way here to follow?”

But the man didn’t answer, because he couldn’t. Jon could do nothing, only a pair of eyes in a memory not his he held no physical power here. Sneaking up behind did the struggling sounds reach Aegons ears as he whipped around. Two daggers reached up and around to the front of the mans neck, and before anything could be done did they slice through, blood pouring out onto his person and through the air splattering to the ground. Your eyes looking to Aegons with your hands gripping each dagger firmly standing behind the mans bleeding out body until no sounds came out. Aegon spoke first, but not with a suspicion as if he had been snuck up on. As if knowing he had goaded you in here. “Baratheon.”

Stepping around the body, your eyes darkened and narrowed. Sliding down to the black armour with a three headed dragon painted ornately across the chest plate and flying back up with no words to accompany you.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed off the high walls as sounds of yelling and clashing metal muffled through both sides of the room. He continued, but Jon realized too that you did not look in any surprise. It was as if both of you expected to be here in this moment, alone. “You here trying to convince me to surrender?” You only circled around to him more, as Aegon lifted his sword into place as you both approached the other slowly near the stone throne. “After everything your family did to mine, do you really think I’m going to hand myself over to you?”

Again though, it was as if Jon watched the two of you speak in a language he did not ever realize you both knew, despite knowing each word. As if you both knew what was coming. But then you shook your head a slow, knowing motion of no. That was the plan, you convince him to surrender, and you did, he fought you for it but you convinced him, that’s-

Jon looked between you both as he realized, that wasn’t just what you told him. That’s what both of you told him. That’s the story Aegon and yourself repeated, that he was brash and fought against surrendering but you convinced him and dragged him out into the front battle to do so. But you both circled around the other in that dark hall, the only light coming from the moonlight shining in through the ornate high glass window above the stone throne.

“That throne is all I have left, your family ruined what was left of mine.” Something felt strange in Jons heart, it was true, not even before was there denying that. The Baratheons were long since known for it, crushing the Targaryean dynasty. But there was something else, not just in the sympathy of growing up without a family, but perhaps something more in common then Jon had before. Not even in the blood he wasn’t saying, but a mother he never knew and lost to such violence in that very crushing war.

Jon knew you of all people would not hold that against him, but Jon too had a feeling that there was only one person in either of your minds against the other. Both gone, both dead, and both neither of which were either of you that much like but it was all the other could see.

Aegon continued, but Jon felt that time the pain hit too deeply. He had struck something with his words within you, that he had not an idea the anguish it would remind you of, and Jon could only suspect that was your final straw. “You have no idea what that’s like. To lose everything like I have, and I won’t lose any further. Not to the likes of you.”

Jon knew exactly what you felt, something alone and isolating that no one knew what it was you truly understood of what Aegon had said. That loss ran deep, so deep within you that it left you with a fatal scar carved into your stomach that never would go away. One that left you alone with such little hope, Jon knew for nearly an entire year did you wish you could return to death instead of that lifeless existence.

But you had one now, even the now in your own memory Jon walked through, but you would not stand for someone telling you otherwise, and certainly not from him. Within an instant, your two bodies came close as did the weapons, and Jon realized with something strange inside him that Aegon didn’t just blindly fight against your reason.

His own anger, had goaded your anger into instigating the fight in the first place. Before even a word of truce could be attempted.

You were fast, just as Jon had taught you to be. Two daggers up against a strong sword was not an easy task but you used both with the same swiftness and speed. Drawing Aegon off guard by not being so easily able to cut down a woman with knives as a man with a long blade. At first, Aegon could only block. You knocked him off his advantage with an aggression. You’d knock his blade one way, then duck under it’s low length and twist to suddenly push against him at the other side before he even had a chance to steady himself.

Disorienting him, you ducked around his swings and blocked as much as you swiped back but thus far neither of you came close to a hit. Aegon reoriented himself, and came back with a vigorous lunge that you had not the strength to push off, sending your back into the edge of the stone seat up against the small set up stairs.

Coming right back up to you, you wouldn’t have been able to dodge his attack by the time you could get to your feet properly. Instead your eyes flew to the metal light fixture. One on each side of the throne, taller then yourself and heavy as anything but you used a teeth gritting strength with your foot to knock if off it’s stance. The heavy metal slamming down into Aegon, raising his arm to block his face as it pushed him back with a bruising force.

Yourself circling around him again. Aegon with more of a seething anger took the brunt of the action that time, coming at you once, twice, pushing you far enough away to more of the middle of the room with nothing to throw at him that time.

It had happened to Jon before, what came next. He so often in the far North would be sitting or standing or walking somewhere and he could see perfectly fine what was right in front of his eyes but then you would appear to him. He could see both at the same time and retain what was going on in each, as if his mind split to focus.

Around him as much as the dark walls of the main hall of Dragonstone was in front of him, so was lush green. A field with water rushing not so far away, blue sky above and war around Jon all the same. The men all ones he did not know, but the sigils were clear. There too Jon watched as nothing but a ghost, but that scene he recognized. The one he dreamt of and did not know. That scene played before his eyes as your own memory did.

The situations were familiar, but Jon hadn’t yet put together why. As you and Aegon went for the other, his sword clashing against your daggers, both trying to push against the other. His upper strength far superior, but your stance with strong legs could fight back against him more then the man expected.

But too as Baratheon and Targaryean clashed weapons in force as a battle waged around the, did he watch another. Instead of the more dark and muted simplicity of you and Aegon, the others matched the brightness around them.

Both stood tall, one much more fierce looking similar to Aegon against you. More muscle behind them under the armour, with a golden yellow painted across. The helmet worn of them with the metal workings of stag antlers atop them and with impressive strength did a great war hammer hold in their hands. The same one Jons dream would always see come down on him.

His opponent though, not black and painted as Aegon, but the silver of the metal was adorned with jewels, the red of rubies most prominent. His own helmet with metal workings of his own like the wings of a bat and a red cloak flowing behind with a three headed dragon.

In one push against him did the cloaked man swing around the more fierce warrior. As his sword struck into a weakness in their armour did he swing the hammer around and push him back. In the same instance, did Aegon taller and fiercer then you, push you off him before lunging at you. Barley able to dodge did a slice against your leg connect, tearing into the fabric and cutting out but you turned in stance to face him without letting it deter you.

In both instances, it was as if the images mirrored each other. Your stance lower but Jon could see your face clearly, green eyes in an unblinking determination of anger, just as Jon too saw the face of the other man mimicking your side of the battle in speed against strength. He was the opposite, no dark hair but it was long and a silver so fair it tinted white, but the anger in his own eyes showed themselves to Jon as a striking violet before the second image left and all that remained was the fight between you and Aegon.

Too much played before him and Jon did not really exist in either memory, as if unable to put together both as he watched one, but Aegon and you fought became his only sight for now as his mind struggled to piece its mystery. His focus, his fear was for you in a fight he knew hurt you, but only now realizing the violent extent as to why.

More and more you fought around each other and your speed was enough to strike against Aegon in either skin or denting the perfectly painted armour in stretches. He hit you more then once, and each time something heavy felt in Jons veins like a liquid metal as you got slower each strike either blade into your skin or his simple strength normally against your ribs.

In one instance though, it happened again. A flash of here and there and in both times the stag and the dragon switched places in who was where. As you managed to get close enough to drag one of your daggers through an opening against his side, did Aegon manage to drag his sword at the right angle to bring it up along your knee and your upper thigh, forcing you to back away as your blades both tore roughly at the skin as you parted.

The faster man held less of an injury to himself, the one with the hammer smashing his shield from his hold as he let his own blade take the moment to jab itself into the same opening against the stag’s armour in his side. Both being tossed from the other in reaction, but again, eyes found the other.

Where Aegons glared to yours, did a green Jon knew too well glare with a passionate hatred back, as your own green ones watched in dark place of the violet ones that were suddenly becoming something which Jon felt unwell looking into.

But it didn’t go away. Both fights played themselves out around no matter how much Jon wished for himself to wake, but he didn’t, he was forced to watch with no control to make it stop. One cut the other, and you bore the brunt of it as you wore thin against such strength the way the other with violet eyes did.

In the same instance through, did Jon feel something at his heart that was a clawing like the wolf within the man came out. In an instance of an upper hand, Jon forced to watch as Aegon drew his sword to your right arm, clawing through as blood dragged out and the blade dropped from your grip. The force and agony in the wound send you to your knees. Your left hand barley managing to grasp at the wound before Aegon had summoned the remainder of his strength and against your front with a mighty kick sent you hurling down to the ground.

The other vision, one hand of the fierce warrior managed to knock the sword from the others grip and used a swipe to slam him down against his back on the grass. The other warrior finally circled enough Jon put a face to eyes like yours, the stag, the eyes, the hair, the place.

He wasn’t watching one battle and another, something flashed him between the first time in thirty years a Baratheon and Targaryean fought, and the last one in the thirty years prior. His dream was him of the man against the grass with a warrior above him with a great war hammer as he approached. The same way that you against the stone floor did Aegon circle around you, a great sword ready to come down all the same.

Jon didn’t want to watch this, any of this. One vision showed him a dream he kept having, putting Jon in the dying place of what he now knew was of Rhaegar Targaryean, but in this vision, you were the one on the ground against his son, Aegon ready to deliver the blow. Jon had dreamt himself in Rhaegars place and he could see two sights, but a memory of his own dream where he lay where the dragon now lay.

The hammer rose, and just as he knew Rhaegar opened his mouth to speak a name in his very final moment, Jon was not forced to watch that or his dream, but the first sight before him. Aegon about to cut down into you, but, you were not any of them.

You were not Robert Baratheon nor Rhaegar Targaryean. Just you, and you were taught by Jon how to avoid this exact thing time and time again when he taught you all this in the first place. Subtle without him seeing did you pull a smaller dagger from hidden within your boot, allowing your right arm to bleed as your left with all the skill and strength within it suddenly turned to slice deeply at Aegons ankle.

The moment he was sent to nearing the ground you nearly flipped on him to yank him onto his back. Now, you the Baratheon were over the wounded dragon on his back, but with so much less in you, you could only jump over him. Pinning him as much as you could to the ground. He was about to kill you, and you and Aegon fought against your own dagger desperate and shaking to sink into his throat.

Neither of you ever had said it, you both kept the others secret. There was no fight in misunderstanding of a surrender. Aegon had tried to kill you, and now you were the one trying to kill Aegon. And it took months and months until a strange fog of a dream Jon did not belong in for him to learn you both kept this a secret from everyone.

But Jon knew that wasn’t where this ended. And something in him went from a strange twisting that you would hide this, to knowing why. Your eyes in the struggle found Aegons, and the longer you both stared at the other in this final struggle against the others life, did each of you fight less and less.

The knife sat between you both but neither of you moved to push against it or sink it down into his throat. Eyes met eyes and suddenly did as you nearly forced yourself to the ground beside him, did Aegon simply push you off him.

Both of you sat against the ground, and neither spoke a word, but neither of you attacked. Aegon and you had tried to kill the other with purpose, and both of you stopped, because neither of you were the vision Jon watched. Neither of you were Robert nor Rhaegar, and killing the other would not fix what was long since broken.

It would not fix what happened to Aegons mother and sister shortly after that battle on the Trident, and it would not justify the pain caused by a war that ended two years before you, yourself were even born.

Neither of you said it, because neither of you in the end wanted to go through with it. But that wasn’t all that Jon knew he watched. Baratheon against Targaryean, but in a sickening twist of fate did the roles switch the whole battle. Tormenting Jon, that his dreams placed in in Rhaegar’s dying place, but you nearly lost your own life in a mirroring fashion.

But before Jon had a single clue what any of it meant, before he could see anything else he never should’ve known, did a loud cry echo through the air, and suddenly Jon opened his eyes in his own bed. The comforting sensation of the scent of the oils used in your hair bringing him some level of comfort as his face was buried in their depths. Your front tucked against his chest with your own hands now shifting somewhat as you too awoke, to what Jon could only hope, was not the same dream that he had.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound filling the quiet of the room, but before your mind could fully awaken, did you then hear the deep grumble heavy with sleep in your ear. “I’ll go, you stay here.”

Still not quite awake, did you somewhat nod with a furrow in your brow that Jon seemed to catch. Tilting your head down a bit to press a kiss to your forehead before he untangled himself from you, throwing the fur off his front and perching against the edge of the bed. Your arms slunk up against the pillow beneath you, your eyes settling somewhat as the moonlight filled the room.

Throwing on whatever breeches he found laying near, you felt the heavy sensation in your limbs struggling to want to attempt to get up with him, against the silhouette of him leaning down to little Eddard’s cradle. Mumbling low enough to him you couldn’t quite yet make out words, but there was enough light in the room to showcase the outline of Jons handsome and bright smile looking down to him as the crying begun to ease up.

Inhaling deeply, you pushed up enough to prop yourself against the headboard, dragging the fur up with you to cover your still bare frame as you watched father and son. Only just making out the mumbling given towards him, a playful tone whispered down to the baby. “I know, you’re mother has bad dreams too.” You hardly even registered the words, only able to find a smile in you at how easily he found it in him to talk to the baby, and how much a happy sound always rang back, his son always trying to respond right away.

Barley finding a crack in your voice from how heavy your limbs still felt, were the room not so quiet now, Jon may not have even heard you. “Is he alright?”

Looking over at you, wide grey eyes with something behind that that felt as if Jon had somehow been much more awake and in thought when you were, when you were sure you felt Jon jolt awake at the sound of crying as much as you did. Nodding, Jon turned his attention back to the baby. Running a hand over his front before leaning into the cradle to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Let your mother get a few more hours before she has to feed you.” Only a small babble of a noise responded, pulling an even wider smile from Jon in return. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be a menace when you’re big enough to start climbing into our bed?”

A gentle laugh left you, covering your mouth to keep from being too loud but it caught Jons bemused attention regardless. A few moments passed until no doubt he watched his son drift back to sleep, before pushing up to stand at full height. Glancing to the edge of the bed, Ghost remained blissfully passed out from the world. Making his way back over to you, Jon carefully climbed back it, without words he just pulled you down to lay back properly on your side, not yet curling you into his arms but facing one another as he pulled the fur back up over him and you comfortably.

A hand drifting to the side of your face, Jon brushed the hair laid about behind your ear, thumb running back and forth against your cheek. The feeling of sleep drifting back into your bones, there was enough in you to match his own motions. Your fingertips brushing gently along the coarse scratchiness of his facial hair, occasionally toying with what of his loose curls brushed against the back of your hand as you did so. “Are you alright?”

The emphasis of your ask put on him specifically this time, Jons face twisting a bit into something akin to a frown before he could stop it. The moment it turned your own expression into a worry of your own, Jon instead pulled you into his chest instead. Wrapping an arm around the back of your hair to run his hand down it soothingly, keeping you in the warmth of his chest. His answer more mumbled from such a position as you felt him nuzzle into your hair. “Sleep, darling.”

It wasn’t an answer, but as your mind begun to drift off, you suspected he did not want to give you a real one. Likely relying on you being too asleep by the time it registered in your mind, that you’d have forgotten you asked it by the time you awoke anyways. Too did it slip from your mind quickly, that just like the night before, the way he muttered your name right before waking as if whispering it strained and afraid, he spoke the same as you woke up. The same whispering, laboured, but fearful tone, but that time of his mother’s name.

You supposed in a way, you both were unusually prepared for this type of duty. The same lesson you learned when you begun to sit in on small council meetings, seemed to be the same lesson Jon had learned when he became Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. How to handle the painstakingly tedious and aggravating without letting it get to you.

On Jon’s side of the main table, you could tell with a quick glance that the younger three Starks were not as ready for it. Arya had dealt with this duty for the months yourself and Jon were gone, but when not the one in direct charge you could tell her patience was wearing thin similar to Sansa and Bran.

When the people and Lords of the North would come to the Winterfell court to state an issue or plead for some assistance, many got right to the point. Yet there naturally were some which drolled on for far longer then they needed to. Not quite the self awareness yet to realize that perhaps at some point it was only fair for the others patiently waiting to get to the point, so they could also have their attendance with the King in the North.

“The stones were last mortared in the time of King Robert, and I'm afraid the masons today are not fit to carry their fathers' hammers.”

Perhaps to you, it was a unique skill developed specifically from listening to any words spoken by Grand Maester Pycelle. He was many things you did not appreciate, but the worst offence was how long and drawn out it took him to make his point to the degree many would simply interrupt him to end the discussion themselves. But here, you nor Jon would do such a thing until the Lord before you at least had stated his case, despite both of you well aware where it was going.

“When I was a boy, I remember seeing them put up a new tower at Torrhen's Square in a summer. Men worked back then. Today, my Holdfast looks like it was built by drunk children. At night you can hear the wind howling through the gaps. And the Gods forbid it rains. Why, I might as well sleep beneath a waterfall.” The glances between the younger Starks all spoke the same thing, but with the knowledge that whatever was on their minds would no doubt be spoken in a voice less patient then what they knew Jon would take.

Sometimes though, it was a bit of a battle between yourself and Jon on the opposite. His own personal wish more then once that you would allow yourself to speak up more. Teachings over many years having taught you that in such occasions, it was not often welcome that you voice your opinion over the higher authority of a man. In your mind it was no different here. Jon was King, and could handle things without you, but too did you always hear him in the back of your head prompting you in the quiet of night that he wanted you to feel comfortable speaking up more.

Your expression fell more into something flat, if not a bit of a stern scowl as you had a distinct feeling what the response was going to be if you said it, but you knew instead of letting it slip from the voice of one of the three teenagers beside you both, it would come out more flat and thus less condescending then it the impatience of one of them said it. “Maintenance of a Holdfast traditionally falls to the responsibility of the Lord of that Holdfast. Including the competency expected of it’s workers.”

Those less familiar with you however, you supposed you should’ve expected the tone to be taken as a negative nevertheless. A bit of an indignant expression as if insulted so directly, his eyes flickered between yourself and Jon, who much to the mans dismay, simply expected him to address you and not default to himself, not moving to say a word. The tone matched the perhaps taken back look on his face, “Generally yes, but I’ve got all the young men either in training or focusing on defences around the villages-”

You could feel Jons eyes flicker to you, in what very likely was only something you would be able to sense was a tinge of amusement, how quickly you said it. “Would you say here my lord, that your Holdfast’s high stone walls are more important then the far less reliable homes your villagers live in now?”

A pause came out him, were you to glance around the amusement of those around the room begun to pass around in silence. “My Queen I only meant-”

Your voice speaking up just a tad more, if only to cut him off of your own accord. “Your working men were sent to help assist your villagers in that when the winter comes, they are prepared as much as any of us lucky to live behind castle walls are. An arrangement I do believe you had agreed too.”

A wider eyed look as if being found accused of something, when truly it was the flatness of your tone and unchanging expression that seemed to accomplish the weary expression. His voice projecting from beside you however, Jon took the simplest path without fuss to a conclusion. “We can spare four masons for a week. Will that be enough to repair your walls, Lord Overton?”

Glancing between you both, settling on Jon whom held the softer expression no doubt, nodded with a small bow. “I thank you, my King. I believe it will be.”

Making his way from the hall as the quiet sat for a moment, did your eyes flicker to the side to meet Jons. His own holding that glint speaking of an amusement in what he said in a tone flat and quiet for only yourself, “You do know I didn’t mean you only had to handle the boring things.”

Barley a smirk passed across your lips before you allowed it to be smothered, enough to be seen by his quick gaze. A small tilt of your head to the side as you glanced back to the main hall, also only as loud as for him to hear. “I’d rather they waste my time, not yours.”

Only muttering beside you, his own gaze returning forward, albeit more on the slow side taking his time from watching you with that not so hidden amusement still present. “If you’re beside me, it’s our time.”

Serious or teasing you had many of thoughts of what comments to reply with, none of which you thought Jon would accept, as stubborn as he was about certain things. Regardless, as the next person came forward, you thought little that it was someone you did not immediately recognize. Clothes a little more simple made and an accent unrefined as was their slight nerves did it not take an expert to know this was but a nervous villager struggling to look properly into either of your eyes. “My King, my Queen.”

Standing far back in the hall, Jon gestured out to him. “Come closer.” A wider look up with an uncertainly, Jon only affirmed it was alright, yet the nerves within him had the man shuffle forward slowly without the confidence to feel any calmer then Jon had hoped.

Glancing back to the door open to the outside, the man swallowed before finding his voice, just as unconfident as he looked. “I run a small outpost in a village along the Stoney Shore. Seen lots of strange men come in and out of there, seen even stranger things trade in and out.” Swallowing roughly as if a nervous tic, he looked up to yourself then Jon as his hands wrung in front of him. “Even when the Ironborn came and raided our lands, had knives to my throat more then once, but you live through as many winters such as myself and it’s hard to find something to rattle these old bones. But-”

Cutting himself off, it was becoming obvious that something was drawing his eyes from keeping looking down to back to Jon then down once more in something even more nervous each time he did so. Jons voice projecting through the hall but as low as could come to comfort. “Speak freely. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear from speaking your mind.”

That it felt, comforted the man little. Eyes now struggling to even entertain meeting Jons, the man continued after a deep exhale, bracing himself to say whatever it was on his mind. “They came on an unmarked boat. No banners, no nothing. Just came in my doors and threw them on the table in front of me. Didn’t recognize either of the men, dressed as common as me and my sons but the swords on their sides looked like they’d seen more battles then none, your grace.”

“What did they want?”

As if every word, every question posed by Jon only further encased the older man in something which looked as if he would crumble should he be spoken too with any vitriol at that point, but his gaze only looked up enough to glance towards you and his head dropped right back down. “First they gave me a bag of silver. Said it was mine if I brought something all the way here.” Both your eyes narrowed in question, as he stumbled his way through his words. “If I brought the Queen a gift.”

Coming up behind him, a younger man whom clearly had accompanied him, held the strength to carry inside with him what appeared to be a hefty chest. Sat only a foot in front of where his companion stood, whatever was in it was substantial and dropped with an echo against the walls. Following with it, something heavy and unpleasant filled the air which you suspected certainly was not following the smell of the men themselves. But it was the older mans next words that caught the distrusting attention of all in the room.

“A congratulations they said, for the Queen and her new baby.”

Whispers were faint throughout the room as your eyes found the strange chest with something caught in your own throat feeling as if trapped between an unidentifiable feeling of anxiousness but too curiosity fighting for their own prominence. The moment you even twitched somewhat as if to stand from your seat did you feel the subtle sensation of a gloved hand from Jon sit firm against your thigh right above your knee. A warning to stay where you were as he glanced behind him somewhat.

Picking up his silent request, did Allard step forward with a voice meaning to attempt to put the room at ease. “I carried cargo in my time more unpleasant then you can imagine, your grace. Allow me.”

Instantly did your eyes fly up to Jons, a wonder yet worry which would’ve been heavy with a hypocrisy. If it was something felt like a scare of any kind, you’d not wish to send other men to open it for you, and yet with every understanding you gave him a look asking no doubt to allow you to do it yourself, no matter how much Jon wouldn’t allow it, in case of whatever danger it might have held.

Instead, Jons hand against your leg tightened, a single but firm not to Allard as the man made his way to the front of the table. Kneeling down in front, faced away from you but to the rest of the room it was clear the twist in Allard’s expression the moment the smell came into his nostrils so directly. Glancing up to the man, he jested, “I have any reason to say my final words opening this?”

He shook his head fervently, but the fear never left.

Silence, there was only silence after the creaking noise as the chest was opened. Those not even right in front could see inside, but the manner which the old man had had turn his head away even further led none of a faithful conclusion. You could hear Arya asking what it was, but as Allard turned partway around, he only met eyes with Jon.

A twisting in his face that spoke of worse then you could imagine, as little as you even could try. Jon only stood from his seat, making his way around to the front of the table but not before a hand pressed down against your shoulder as he passed to make his point that you were to stay put. Allard stayed knelt glancing up to him, but Jons shoulders even through the fur you could see were sitting tense and the whispers around only increased at an expression you only could guess was full of a seething, and silent anger.

He barley glanced back to your face, wide eyes twisting in an anxious, but curious apprehension but with only a nod to Allard, the chest was slammed closed before you or any else could lay their eyes on it. Looking up to the man, speaking so close did not help in his own nerves as Jon asked. “These men, they never gave you a hint who they were or where they were from?”

Shaking his head, he looked as if he wanted to shift on his feet but was near terrified to even twitch in the King in the Norths presence, whatever this was, had scared him as much as it put Jon instantly onto a sharp edge. “No, your grace, I swear it. You can keep the silver, I meant no offence-”

Jon held not even a moment of hesitation, the projection in his voice working as if to mask the emotions laying just under their surface. “There’s no need for that. You were paid to bring this here, you brought it. It isn’t your blame for what somebody else gave you to bring here.” Before you could even find a single word as you pushed to stand from your seat, did Jon swiftly have it taken from the room up to Maester Wolkan’s study to be looked at closer.

But as much as he could keep himself together looking at everyone else, the moment Jon turned to you there was another wave of something indescribable in the fear held within you at what possibly it could be he had seen, and the narrowed gaze of Allard towards you spoke nothing promising either.

The air never healed, and as bodies emptied the hall, the whispers never ceased nor did eyes fail to glance over to you as their voices spoke sombrely to one another in secret. Word of the assassins had yet to breach outside the lands of Winterfell but even those travelling here would have heard it by now, and leave with another rumour of something about you and whatever darkness seemed to follow no matter your path.

As bodies around begun to speak to one another close by, you stood behind your seat, hand wrapped around the tops of it so tightly that you felt the strain sit in your knuckles, any harder you pressed and you’d possibly feel the sting of pressure from your splintered skin from the day previous against newly bruised wounds trying to form at your own hand. It felt as if it were impossible to keep track of the things happening around you, to you, because of you.

A haunting you were suddenly and you had no idea what the antidote so such a poison of mysteries was from which all came from or surrounded you and you alone. The one causing the peace to remain broken and fragmented.

Voices all spoke around you and none to you, again it felt as if that became the common scenario which you found yourself in. The topic of discussion but none wished to dare tread to the source too closely dare they catch whatever it was you infected wherever you went, none but Jon. Having spoken quietly before Maester Wolkan parted ways, Jon spared no more time pulling you with a hand at your waist closer.

Eyes scouring for something beyond your sight before looking down to you with a tenseness in his jaw that no doubt would ache should be leave it be. His voice only matched that appearance. “The people are starting to talk about what happened the other night.” A gloved hand running down the side of your face before settling more on your jaw, giving him the advantage of turning you to meet his gaze, softer towards you then before at others. “And now this? The whole Kingdom’s going to know in a fortnight.”

“Know what?” Your eyes wide, whisper more urgent and with a frustration not towards him personally, nor did you fear he’d take it that way. “Jon, what was in that chest?”

His face twisted, disgruntled but almost a gentle worry about you did the hand on your jaw slip back down to your waist, turning you towards one of the doors. Pushing you gently to walk forward, but Jon kept right your back. Not missing your notice that the moment you and Jon moved, did Allard much more obviously from where he spoke with Theon, gesture for the two of them to follow without a single hesitation.

A hand never left your lower back the entire walk, nor did you get left alone even with Jon by your side.

Wolkan looked particularly grim the moment the door to his study opened. You felt your feet pick up their speed the moment you were in the smaller room, but pulled back as soon as you made way by Jon grasping around your waist, his strength stopping you with ease as he muttered your name almost in a warning.

Turning to look up, the frustration was much more distinct then before. “Jon.” It was not patronizing nor even what some may refer to as coddling, but the worry and instinct to protect you felt as such when everything kept mounting around you, the way he gently muttered that maybe you shouldn’t see it, but you pulled more firmly from his grasp. No care left in your racing heart for how impolite it must have been. “They sent it here, because they wanted me to see it. Not be told what it is, and have you all downplay it to me.”

Stepping closer to Wolkan, his voice was a truthful as possible within a reason. “Your grace, I’m not here to keep secrets from you-” But you had him at a loss, saying he would if Jon had been the one to tell him to keep it from you.

Whatever knowing look shared between the men was not paid any mind as you circled around. Eyes darting up sharply to Wolkan, whom once again seemed to wait for a nod from Jon. Stepping aside, both men stayed close as you felt Allard and Theon both hover somewhere behind you with as much overbearing concern.

The stench it turns out, bothered you less then others. For what you could only assume as the same reason Jon had little reaction to it as well. Once you tasted war and battle, it was hard to find anything that could overpower that sort of rotten, toxic smell like hundreds of dead laid to waste around you. It was similar to that even, not as powerful or even the same form of rot, but it did not pass you by as your hands reached up to unhook the clasp, that it reminded you of death already.

The creak of the chest rang in your ears, it was old. Quite old. The smell told you yet perhaps the wood sat rot inside, from whatever created such a stench you were about to find out, but nothing was what you had imagined it would look.

Your eyes were narrow, almost unmoving as you looked at it’s contents. First one would see was blood, and a heavy amount of it. More then would be warranted for the context of the insides, as if once placing the so called gift, more blood was added, to what kind you almost did not wish to bother inquiring. Human or otherwise, you doubted that answer would make it better.

There were two things inside, not one. A gift he said, for the Queen and her newborn. Two gifts, two people. But how you couldn’t even comprehend. One was more obvious what it was, and it was the one that twisted your stomach, hands around the lid of the chest held tight this time with no care for the wrappings on one hand asking for a gentler touch.

It was too a newborn, but a wolf pup. This young, it would’ve been taken directly from it’s mother whom you could only imagine too was dead. It looked whole, save for its tiny middle. Flatter then it’s already small body as it crushed, but the eyes were the most stand out, save for the rot around it all. It’s eyes were red, but not by nature. Reaching down, your hand only hesitated for a moment before looking up to Wolkan whom too was seeing it for the first time.

A hum sung through his chest before turning to rummage through his things, a small set of pliers he took one out. Stepping beside you, “May I?” Nodding, you nearly chucked the lid so it fell as backwards as it’s hinges could allow. Without disturbing not the body or maggots writhing within, plucked one of the objects in question from the pup’s eyes. Lifting it up, you felt the other three approach more around you. “A ruby.”

Eyes were red, but carved the poor pup’s real ones in what you begged was after it’s death, and put in place, shattered shards of rubies as if smashed to bits. Your eyes met Wolkans as he placed the pliers down carefully as it held the tiny shard. Rummaging around more, he beckoned you to give him the space to take the other out. It was the less obvious of the pair, but you had an idea anyways.

As Wolkan slowly removed it, your mind felt itself jolt. A current of energy in your mind as a long since passed dream spoke words to you once more in an echoing voice that had been long since gone.

“Tough old beast.”

A dream as your hand pulled a blood soaked Stag antler from the neck of a large direwolf in a strange dream you could barley recall beyond the words around you, and the final days it reminded you of. But, it wasn’t you alone who even heard those words, dreams, in memory of a dream, or otherwise. Jon stood beside you, his expression twisted into something both frowning yet angry as he looked at it. The same memory in his own mind, but not to your knowledge, the true one.

The day they found the direwolves, first Jon had spotted a large dead Stag off the path by a bridge. One of it’s antlers had been snapped off as it laid there, it’s stomach clawed open and it’s innards rotting onto the ground as covered in maggots. They had found that broken, bloody antler shoved into the neck of the mother wolf that the trail of blood and insides led towards.

Was it the wolf pup laying in the chest, and the antler giving such an image his memory? Why did it come to him then? Why to you? The rudimentary idea was easy. The antler in the chest was small, a deer. A doe even. And a small wolf pup, likely torn from it’s likely just as dead mother. The Baratheon Stag birthing the Stark wolf pup. The Queen and her newborn.

As Wolkan placed the heart inside of a glass container, some liquid he poured on the inside you could only imagine was to preserve it before further decomposing, you could tell in it’s size. In a Wolkans hand, or most men’s hand it could fit comfortably. Perhaps a bit large for your smaller ones, but the size made sense with the antler. The wolf pup was the gift for your son, and the heart for you. The wolf the baby and the heart the mother, the deer.

“Who would send something like this?”

Your eyes had yet to turn from either sight. Back again to the wolf pup, you felt your stomach twist. This was something else, this was something from someone who had something very angry and violent to say. As Jon spoke up from behind you, you hadn’t even realize he was nearly so close if he stepped a foot closer, you’d feel his breath across your neck. His own voice felt less like something ill sat inside it, but had spent the time between first looking into it and now, letting that ill be turned into nothing but a motivated anger.

“I imagine the same people who wanted her dead in the first place.” Theon jested in a rather morbid manner, that such a thing would be a long list but you didn’t even have it within you to sense Jons glare towards him over it. It was not wrong. The question next posed, would how they have found out so quickly and organized something new in that time, but Jon already had his mind racing far many more steps head of you. “Either someone in Winterfell or in Winter Town is spying for them and told them the night it happened that it failed, or this wasn’t meant for her.”

Eyes all turned to him, yours included with something tense behind them almost feeling like they strained in place. “But they said-”

Interrupting, his voice lowered only a tad towards yourself, as opposed to the rest of the room. “He said it was for you, because you were alive to give it to.” You may not have spotted the manner which one of his gloved hands curled into a fist as he gritted it out, but the others certainly did. “Maybe it was meant for me. Sent it thinking by the time it was brought here, you’d be dead.”

Your voice was hardly even audible in the faint, meek whisper behind it. “And the baby?”

Voices all spoke up around you, Jons eyes trained on you without even a blink, but behind the disturbed feeling in your heart, you barley recognized what his were saying. Jon though, read yours without issue. A silent fear, as if unconsciously begging for him to not let that worst fear come true, that fear you felt time and time again in the far North, not to come true when you both had him safe in his true home finally.

Suggestions passed around, that the baby may be targeted next, only for Theon to assure without room for question that the castle was secure. No door, gate, or path underground could lead to someone getting within their walls that they did not know, or were not welcome by invitation. Wolkan had commented that he thought that the assassins had not come for the baby, at all.

Slowly you felt Jon reach closer, a hand wrapped back around your waist pulling your back firmly into his chest, hand tight as he kept you against him, his other running over your upper arm through the fur around your shoulders. Looking to them but with his hands firmly against you, did Jon give the one detail you begun a drop in your heart realizing he had kept from you until now.

“Olly told me that the men said they were only getting paid for a Queen. Not a baby as well.” Your voice barley was heard, even if only Jon heard it, you didn’t have the strength in the sudden shock in your heart that you even had to ask the question he was leading the answer towards. That if they were told to kill Eddard as well, why didn’t they. Jon though, was confident in one thing, leading you to the answer he had tried to protect you from originally. “They were told to murder you both. But they didn’t think they got paid enough to kill him too. So they didn’t bother when they had the chance.”

When they had the chance you knew, was when the larger one had you pinned to the ground as he sliced through your clothes. The other one could’ve gotten up and stopped the crying you were terrified they’d stop anyways. They were dead. You saw they were dead. Ghost tore the large one into shreds by the neck, the other barley put up a fight long enough to even blink before Jon had let his knife slice through his own neck as well. Yet the fear radiated through you, as Jon pulled you tighter into him.

Maybe you thought, he was right not to tell you that. You didn’t want to know that. You didn’t want to even think that was a possibility, that were they any less greedy, your son might’ve been dead before Jon and Ghost even came through the door of his chambers.

Your hand had reached up to Jons sat at your upper arm, and he didn’t spare a single second before he grasped yours tightly, his arm wrapping even more around your front across your stomach that time and keeping you as close as possible.

Allard had a pint of his own though, which too, made you feel no better. “Or they couldn’t do it. Killing a fully grown woman, Queen or no, is a large difference then putting an innocent child to the sword.”

Jon felt the same as you however, a hiss more akin to a growl as his own stance behind you was tense. “That didn’t stop them from agreeing to it in the first place.”

Gently asking what were you even supposed to do, Wolkan luckily could see Jons intentions rather quickly. “Gather information. I will see what I can learn from these..specimens. If I could determine perhaps where the animals or even the rubies came from, it may lead us closer to knowing who is behind all of this.”

Without any prompt nor care for how it looked, Jon all but hauled you in his arms to turn towards the door as he rasped out, “Anything you need Maester Wolkan, tell me.” Looking to Theon and Allard both, Jon let the commands spill out without any need to even consider his next steps. “I need both of you to learn anything you can. Whatever the guards around Winter Town have seen, heard, whatever the people in the village are saying about any of this. We can stand here and come up with theories all day, but I need answers. Real answers.”

Theon nodded with as much of a stern determination as Jon spoke with. “If they’re out there, we’ll find them.”

Were you not in something of a numb feeling, you may have jested to Jon that he was skilled enough to restrain himself long enough that he reached an empty stretch of corridor before turning you in his arms. But you did not have that in you, nor did you want too. Cupping both your cheeks, Jon pulled you up to meet his lips and he leaned down.

Harsher then you expected, Jons grip on your tightened just to prevent you from stepping back from the force in instinct. Choosing to all but push you into the wall, his large frame made even larger by the fur around his shoulders all but hid you from any view but his own. Your hands grasped at his waist, only along for the journey as he refused to let you leave or even part from you enough to give you air. One hand slipped behind your head, running down your hair in a smoothing manner before he pulled back.

Using his grip to tilt your head down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before settling finally on resting his to yours, never letting go of you for a single second. His rasp the only comfort outside his warm touch that you had to cling onto, while your racing mind desperately attempted to ground itself. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, either of you.” His grey eyes nearly bleeding out and sinking into your own, entrancing you to not even blink away from his gaze. “I promised you, from now on I’ll always protect you.”

You knew what he meant, and Jon was kind enough not to feel offended by your meagre need to hear it out loud for your own anxiousness. “And our son?”

Another kiss pushed you into the wall, but not nearly as long lasting. “Both of you.” The very second your lips parted to even speak, finally did a small smile crack from Jon. His hands on you lessening their grip as he did so. “Don’t.” Muttering in a more gentle manner that you hadn’t even said anything, Jon let the smile grow just the slightest. Pressing another kiss to your forehead before meeting your eyes again, less demanding but still not letting your gaze escape anywhere not entirely him. “Like I don’t know you, by now.”

Resting more against the wall, you sighed looking up at him. Your hand sliding from his waist to grasp at the hand still at your cheek. Drawing it downward, and one by one you slowly peeled his glove from his hand until just the bare, calloused fingers were exposed along with the large expanse of his palm for your own to run through.

Jon though, had other ideas, suddenly twisting his hand to grasp at your wrist, tugging it close with a playful yank before doing the same to your own glove. Gentle along the other did your hands and fingers toy with the other as your muscles relaxed. Despite it, something in your face hardened, something without any kind of jest or laughter filling your eyes and before you could talk yourself out of it, did you already say it into the open air between you. “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t really left behind that idea. That I’m cursed.”

The sigh was not in judgment towards you, but something within Jon that knew where this thought was headed and wished it was the opposite. “None of this is-”

Raising an eyebrow at him, your tone dropped to something more flat as it was quiet. “It certainly feels like it. Everything we are trying to do, and it keeps getting stopped because of something I did during the war coming back to haunt me. Haunt us. As if I’ve never stopped being in the way.”

The hand in your hair slid back firmly to your cheek, leaning down Jons face twisted right away into an angry frustration, your name almost hissed in a warning. “Nothing you did then has anything to do with now. I don’t care what the rest of the realm thinks of you, of us, or our son. We’re here, fighting to keep our people alive. That’s what matters. We find whose trying to hurt you, then we move on with our lives.”

Eyes glancing away as if there was anywhere to look beyond the pillared walls on either side of you before sliding back to his grey ones. No less frustrated in your own tone, but not quite as defeated as before you supposed. Shaking your head almost mindlessly for a moment. “We have a real war to fight, and at every opportunity we have to stop because something from my past comes back and wants to drag us back into a fight you didn’t even have anything to do with.”

Closing his eyes, Jon let a deep exhale out before looking back, almost a tint more bemused then before. “I’ve never known anyone to be so stubborn about admitting her husband should be upset someone tried to kill her.” That time if your expression could fall even more flat, you may have ended up with your eyes rolling into the back of your head, a chuckle leaving Jon as he again tugged you closer to his frame leaning over you. Running his thumb over your cheek. “We find out who tried to hurt you, so that they can’t try again. If winter comes for us all, I’m not losing you before that.”

Finally, a smile cracked genuinely on your own face. Jons bright in return. “Rather optimistic.”

That time, Jon was the one who let himself not hold back. Rolling his eyes for only half a second before leaning back for a much more gentle kiss. Your other arm leaving his wast to gently wrap around the back of his neck. Stepping forward, Jon leaned down more to hover over you, holding your other hand against your front, the feeling of his thumb running back and forth over the skin he could still feel.

Barley pulling back, each warm breath of his brushed your skin as his lips danced across yours with each word muttered so close. “I’ve never wanted much, and I still don’t. Keep my people alive, protect my family. I’ve never had a better chance to do both of those at the same time then now.” Muttering his name, Jon softly ran his nose down yours, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation, nuzzling back ever so slightly. “I risked your life dragging you north of the Wall for months, let me make it up to you now and protect you from the everything south of it too. I won’t let anything happen to you or Eddard.”

Leaning back to find your eyes with a question in his face, you gave a small nod. Pulling your head back so he could be at the perfect angle once again to leave a kiss there. Jon pulled you properly into the corridor with him, a hand pressed once more firmly on your lower back as he guided you back down the halls. Your own voice still quiet glancing up over to him, a mixture tied towards him between soft and lost with a deep thought wrapped around it. “Do you have any idea who might be behind all of this?”

You were not sure if you were meant to pick up his uncertainty, but you did. His brows furrowed as his hand at your back curled slightly into the material of your cloak. “Too many.” How many of those too many did the so called gift of today narrow it down to, he did not say. But you knew Jon had more specific ideas then that, but was not going to jump into throwing the accusations around until he was far more confident.

The stares continued throughout to the meal once evening came. Everyone even just on your way to the hall as food would have begun being sat out, you felt eyes everywhere you glanced. A small whine huffed out of Ghost as he walked beside you, your gaze turning down to look at him with a more gentle gaze. Hands occupied by the half asleep Eddard, Ghost took the sign that you couldn’t yet reach down to pet him, his large head instead choosing to nuzzle into your side as you stopped.

What of your hand you could reach, finger or two brushed against his soft fur, the direwolf accepting what little of your pet he could at the moment. Jon had been called away for something else, and nearly as soon as he parted ways did Ghost come in his place without even needing Jons eyes to guide him there. You had jested once or twice that it could feel in Winterfell as if wolves surrounded you, but now, and even with a tiny pup in your arms, it was even more true. Wolves prowled the halls of their home, and stalked at the side of a small stag whom never seemed to fail to find herself at the mercy of predators every direction.

You were simply lucky that the wolves considered you precious enough cargo to protect against the other predators always searching to sink their teeth into the stag whom was one of the few to live through a war that most would’ve preferred you stayed dead at the end of.

Slinking down into a seat, you thoroughly ignored the manner which conversations dimmed to a halt as eyes found you. Preoccupying yourself with fussing with the blanket covering the baby, his little arms loose from their swaddle for you to now grab at and toy with, much to his much more awake delight. The blanket around him had become his favourite, and it was fitting beyond belief.

The grey was light around most of it’s fabric, but darker around it’s edges, small tassels on each knotted end which very occasionally the little one managed to grab a hold of and you’d always have to convince him to let go of it, normally with a strand of your hair being chosen by him as the replacement to drag close to his mouth as if a form of comfort. In a grey matching the edges, all over were direwolves stitched into the fabric. Some full, some large, some small, many the simple direwolf head of the Stark sigil and it was both warm and soft as anything.

Little Eddard knew he was a wolf in his blood even before he could understand what any of it meant, what being so acclimated to being a Stark, when his true name was Snow as his fathers, would mean to Jon. What it meant to him even though he didn’t say it. Raising his son as a Stark regardless of what his family name was, and how you gave up multiple strong Houses to do this with him. To raise a Snow when you were as far from a bastard as highborns could be in terms of status.

Never for a second did you not correct any whom dared not associate Jon, or now his son, as part of the Starks. But yet when any dared call you something in proper but a Snow, you corrected them on your own name’s behalf. In the South, they likely thought you mad and unseemly. But here as you sat in the North, a smile over your face as you whispered quiet nonsense back to the babbles being directed towards you, none of that complication mattered.

And maybe as long as you sat there with your son, with Jons son, waiting for him to join both of you as well, you could too forget the way everyone else kept trying to pretend they weren’t staring at you. You could just for now, pretend that the little pack of your own making was all that mattered. The brush of Ghost barley against your feet as he happily lay under the table as well, knowing were you to playfully nudge at him with your boot, he’d gently nip at your boot and then ankle before nuzzling the spot in return, it was one of the few moments of peace you felt you had in days.

Only surpassed by a warm hand running over your hair, and a just as warm body sitting down next to you with his rasp low in your ear, not having registered he had spoken to the others already even. “Do you want to feed him first?”

Sharing his time between getting food for himself, Jon liberally just made a plate for you at the same time, not even a question or ask of what you may want or how much. Neither of you even thought much of it, how he did so without thought. Water poured for you, and then wine for himself and all without even looking as if you two noticed he did it for you.

Months out there together, and only a month home, yourself and Jon still found it easy to forget that this kind of closeness in front of others, was not where you both left as acting together. Not even a scrap of a hint of a King and Queen as you both sat at first, just a man and his wife in a circle for the moment where you both could forget other people were even there watching.

Were you to ask Jon though, in only a promise of complete secrecy, he’d be honest and admit that after a month, he still hated being back to sharing you with the rest of his life. That a large part of him missed having you to himself every hour of every day, and no one could even come close to taking his time away from you, or taking you away from him.

With the occasional free hand did you pick at what was on your plate, between carefully holding the baby in the other. Bran was the first to speak up, something not quite what you’d call impatient, but certainly not without something wondering and frustrated. “Are we not going to discuss what happened earlier?”

Jon answered swiftly, and to the point. “No.” A follow up from Bran of why not, and the explanation given served mostly to deter the conversation for now from leaning too far into the subject. “It’ll be better not to speculate until I know more about it.” Arya voiced her concern next, the ask if they could at least know what was in the chest brought to court. Jon paused mid bite, swallowing roughly before answering low all the same, not quite looking at his siblings properly. “Not here.”

The narrow eyes all wore the same matching expression between Bran, Arya and Sansa as they watched the pair of you act as normal as possible for what earlier seemed such a drastically serious situation. The temptation no doubt grew to ask about the other night, if that had any developments but luckily you suspected the sensed if today’s events were not going to be a topic of discussion here, then that night certainly would also be off the table.

For the better, you hoped. The less you focused on yourself, the better.

“Explain to me how the fuck she’s in more danger here after everything that happened out there?” Sighing deeply, Jon let himself down a large amount of the bitter ale in his mug. It didn’t quite burn down his throat the way something strong would, but it didn’t leave anything pleasant behind in it’s wake either.

Not jumping right away to answer Tormund’s question, Jon let his elbow sit propped up against the wooden surface beneath it, hand running over his mouth as Benjen leaned back against the wall somewhat beside Jon. Thankfully, finding a simple answer in his nephew’s place for now. “Everything that wants to kill us out there? It isn’t personal. Down south? That is a different matter.”

Letting the hand covering his mouth drop down against the desk he sat at, Jon finally found it in him to elaborate as best he could. “She was in a war for years. Was considered a traitor to two different crowns and has more then her fair share of enemies between everyone else down there.”

Sam across from where Jon sat leaned forward, the most similar looking degree of frustration in his own face as if taking Jons upon his emotions as well. “She’s been in the North for years now, though. Whatever it is they’re doing, it has nothing to do with you or her.”

The door opened and closed all as a voice chimed in with a grimness that seemed unbecoming of the near stranger it came out of. “They don’t see it that way.” Tormund asking without hesitation who he was, as your name came from the mans mouth. “Was her personal guard many years ago.”

“Maybe you should’ve stayed her guard.” Raising an eyebrow, Allard made himself comfortable pouring a mug for himself before leaning back against a table adjacent to where most of them sat seated themselves by. Tormund only clarifying with an amused huff. “Seems like soon as you left, she couldn’t stop getting herself into trouble.”

Inhaling deeply, Allard’s eyes trained up to the ceiling before dragging them to his mug where he muttered into the ceramic as he drank. “I assure you, the thought crossed my mind more then a few times after the raven showed up that night.” Only for a moment did he meet Jons eyes.

Jon didn’t even need to ask what he meant, he knew that look. That dark look full of loss and grief which still didn’t quite know what to do with itself now that it’s pain was no longer needed. Breaking the short stare, Jons brows narrowed as he looked too down into the liquid sitting in the mug of his own. Everything that happened before the night at The Twins, and none of it compared to after, the amount of it all and how it never ceased to spend an entire year haunting Jon no matter where he went or what he did. “Did you find anything?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Allard glanced towards the window on the other side of the room as if to distract himself from what he was saying. “Maester Wolkan confirmed it was a deer heart. Not that any of us were expecting otherwise.” Jon’s head tilted somewhat to the side with a sigh leaving his lips, eyes following to look at nothing of the wall he stared at. “As for the pup?” Jons eyes darted up, just a tad darker in colour then before if too a bit more full of an anger held behind them. “He said it was as if someone had crushed it’s body with a rock. If there is any consolation, he also theorized that the crushing and it’s...eyes...all was done after death. It’s neck was broken, could only hope it was quick.”

“Anything else?” Allard only shook his head no, Jons dropping back to something more on edge. Few in the room knew what to say to him, verging on none of them. That weight mounting against Jons shoulders was only growing each day it seemed since he returned, and he knew it was starting to become obvious how on edge he was growing to be.

Sam at the very least to Jons relief, knew that fact better then most, and how to divert attention with a question out of nowhere to change the subject. “How long were you in her service? You know, before..everything.”

Eyes squinting, Allard inhaled sharply in thought as he muttered to himself. “Seven hells..tiny doe must’ve been three? Near four when I was assigned to her?” Glancing back to Sam with something more amused in his look as he said as such. “However long that was until the day Lord Arryn died.” Benjen was quick on the draw, asking why only then. “I was her guard, but her father was a Lord, called near all of us after Lord Arryn passed, and told us we were to all accompany him back to Dragonstone the next day. Said that the Kingsguard and Lannisters guards would be enough while they all came up here.”

Jon tried to push it down, his eyes a bit brighter and wider as they only briefly caught Sams. If the other three in the room noticed the tiny shake of his head, they didn’t say anything.

Tormund however, caught what plastered a smirk over Jons face right away in what Allard said. “Tiny doe?” His own face found a delight the manner Jon had hearing it for the first time as Allard explained it. And the rumble of laughter deep in Tormund’s chest gave the impression he was going to hold back on that knowledge far less willing then Jon was attempting to do. Glancing to Jon with a knowing grin, “He’s going to regret telling us that one.”

Jon could only try and fail to hide his own smirk into his mug as Allard continued. “What I was getting towards, is that it isn’t shocking all this is adding up now. Things south are tense, have been for years and it’s only getting worse. Last I knew anything, King Aegon’s been gathering support against the Lannisters, and neither side is fond of our Queen in the North.”

Despite knowing what Sam meant in Jons defence, part of him wished the subject never came close to it, but it did. “I thought he and Jon had an agreement? At least to be neutral if not allies.”

But before Jon could get a word out himself, the quick spoken Allard beat him to it. “The Targaryean made an agreement with him.” Nodding his hand holding the ale towards Jon. “Not with her. Targaryeans can only go so far with their issues with the Starks. That anger can go a lot further against the Baratheons and with what the rumours all speak of about her? Reputation has not helped her name in her enemies eyes.”

He knew what the next question was, and before any in the room had a chance to think did Jon raise his voice more to project, effectively cutting any and all continuances off from asking questions further. “She’s safe, for now. There’s too much else to worry about for all of us to spent thinking about the same things.”

“Jon’s right. We all have more then out fair share of problems to spend figuring out.” Barley turning to catch his uncle’s gaze, Jon only nodded subtly once, and Benjen back in return.

By the point more time had passed and more ale shared, the strange group had found plenty of new things to direct their attention towards. Presently, Tormund had turned to face Allard with questions now bordering on interrogation. “How come you don’t act like any of these fancy highborns?”

Allard gave a small grin. “That would be because I’m not a highborn.” Tormund’s face twisted in a curiosity. “I mean, suppose I am now in a way. But, I wasn’t always. I was born in Flea Bottom. The city west of the Red Keep in the capitol. Or, most of the city. Nothing but poor and hungry there, never thought I’d come anywhere near places like this.” Tormund jested it couldn’t have been that bad, but did Allard smirk right away. “All the way up in the Red Keep, the shit that poured from their privy pipes flowed all the way down the side of Aegon’s Hill, down Tanner’s Row, and right in front of my front door.”

Out of all the men in the room, Allard was the only one with any experience anywhere near Kings Landing. Tormund had been in the south as much as Jon, and that only included the short time they spent on Dragonstone. He hadn’t come anywhere near the mainland, nor did Jon think he wanted too.

“How the fuck you go from that to serving a Queen?”

Jon knew little of the story, nor did he get the sense Allard was the one wishing to tell much of it. “My father and I were smugglers, was decent money and got us out of Flea Bottom more often then not. During Robert’s Rebellion, my father helped King Stannis out of a bind, and he rewarded him by chopping off his fingers and granting him a Lordship. By the time his first daughter was born, he needed someone to watch her so she didn’t go wandering off into the woods alone.” Muttering mostly to himself with a grin, “Not that it stopped her.”

Catching Jons eye, for a moment a grin on his face almost matched the bright amusement on Jons. Certainly he knew that, always you were good at getting yourself into trouble or danger, only now the danger was far more terrifying, but at least Jon could do something about it short of locking you in his chambers so he always knows you’re safe and where.

The amusement though, faded near the moment the thought struck Jons mind. Or rather, the image. He could only ever imagine it, what it looked like. But he knew enough, and it spiralled his nerves through every inch of his bloodstream, tensing almost every muscle it passed through. Locking you away so no one could harm you, but too you couldn’t run and hurt yourself.

The words spoken around him felt as if they disappeared. It wasn’t the same, Jon knew that. It was a jest, a joke, a figure of speech. An exaggeration of Jons need to protect you, not something genuine. He didn’t want to keep that connection in his head, he couldn’t. It wasn’t the same, he wasn’t him. But in Jons dreams he was.

He hadn’t known until the night before, what he was seeing. The green field he kept imagining his death upon, but he knew now. Jons dreams forced him to lay where Rhaegar had in his final moments, every night forcing him to die as he did, as if he were to have the same fate for the same reasons. He hadn’t said it to you, how often he dreamed of it. But it had been for days and days.

The moment Jons mind had made the connection, of Sansa’s distrust towards him about you, did Jon begin having that dream. Blending with everything else he saw, it was there too always before he awoke. As soon as the splinter of doubt was pricked of what kind of man Jon truly was in others eyes, did he not realize until now, he begun to dream each night drawing himself closer and closer to reliving the final moments of that mans life no matter how much Jon wished to rip himself away from having anything to do with it.

But he had said it himself, hadn’t he? In a twisted cruelty, the world kept forcing you to fall to the same fate as Lyanna Stark. In some, Jon thought it was a strange bitter irony that the role he played in these versions of events, was not unlike Robert Baratheon, the man who would’ve considered Jons life forfeit in the first place. But he wasn’t, Jons blood was the man who started that violence and hell in the first place.

You two weren’t that. Jon knew it. He already comforted you from such thoughts before, that you two together were more then anything either had at the hands of Ramsay or Ygritte. But now the gods were mocking Jon far worse. Taunting him, which father did he truly grow up to be?

Did Ned Stark look down on the son he raise in disappointment? A life’s work of ensuring Jon grew up as good as a Stark as a bastard Snow could get, how much did it fill his father with regret to think Jon might have more of Rhaegar in him then he thought? How much of that was Jons fault? This wasn’t that, it couldn’t be.

This was love, Jon would do anything for you. Jon wouldn’t burn the world and leave you dead and soaked in blood for anyone elses sake. Jon had you because you both were supposed to be together, and fight to keep other people alive.

Jon could faintly hear the muffle of voices around him, but he seldom paid attention to any of it. All he could think, was his blood boiling inside of him wanting to just find you. Find you and prove that he wasn’t him, and you weren’t her. The thought felt horrible in his head that this was even something he suddenly feared, but Jon knew it was too late to prevent it from festering.

That Jon needed more then anything to prove that he would never hurt you the way Rhaegar did his mother. That irrational fear that if such a thing was how Sansa viewed him as treating you, how long would it take for you to finally think it as well, no matter how hard you worked to convince Jon you never feared it.

Or, the worst thought yet came, of how long until you should fear it?

Your eyes were stuck on the sight, unable to look away wishing that you could hear what was truly your place to listen too. Overlooking the courtyard, you tried to ignore the shiver blowing through you as you watched. Your mother had suggested being given some time with little Eddard, and bringing your father with her, to give him some time with his grandson.

He only interacted with him a little, and you wished it didn’t hurt. Your mother was fine, her smile bright when she’d look down to speak to the warmly wrapped up bundle, but your father struggled to interact with him. You had no idea if it was normal. Barley any time with Shireen he had after she was born, and you knew nothing of what he was like with you as a baby. Was it similar?

Did you look up to your father and wonder why he didn’t give you that attention? It was the complete opposite to how Jon interacted with his son. Every chance he got, Jon would take care of him hold him, comfort him, talk to him. Even better in Jons eyes, if you could both do it together. No one looked at Jon and thought he would become a distant father, it wasn’t in him.

The first hours of his life, Jon was the one he had. Not even you. Through a frozen wasteland, Jon kept him alive trying to find you when you hadn’t even a clue if your son was alive or dead, or far worse. You were the one who failed him, Jon never gave up for a moment on his son and you could only watch your own father act the opposite and wonder.

Is that what your son looked at you like? The mother who twice abandoned him? How quickly did he want to reach out for you, and finding you were not there, felt you were as distant as your father acted now? Did he see you in the face struggling to bond with him? But just as your thoughts reached a peak, a sigh leaving you deeply as your breath followed as visible in the cold evening air, did a voice rasp in your ear with the opposite surrounding it. “Is that what he was like with you?”

Turning partially to look at him, it was as if Jon picked up on how cold you had not realized you were getting standing out here. Pushing you more against the barrier between the landing and nothing, Jon wrapped an arm around your stomach as his other grasped at one of your hands and wrapping it around your front just below his other arm.

Head leaning back somewhat to rest partially against his, you felt light in how you spoke, hoping the uncertainty did not bleed into it. “I don’t know, I can only imagine he was though. I don’t presume children with distant mothers or fathers grow up to have the closest of relationships. A Baratheon trait I think.”

Jons brows furrowed as he looked over your shoulder, your eyes barley catching a glimpse of the trouble brewing in them when you took a peek at him, only to fly back towards the night scene around Winterfell. Sighing deeply, his breath danced across your skin as he leaned more against you so his lips sat closer to your ear. “It isn’t like that with him.” Your brows furrowed, and Jon read the words in the silence. “Eddard. He adores you, you know that.”

It was meant more as a light hearted jest, but perhaps you should’ve known it may not come out as coherently as such in such a melancholy. “Do I know that?”

Even in the cold, Jons lips as they pressed to your neck were warm. A comforting softness as he pressed once, twice, and a third before muttering in your ear, his hand holding yours tucked firmly under both of his gloved ones. “He doesn’t even like it when I kiss you.” Your chuckle came easily, as did his so deep in your ear that it gave you shivers he mistakened for the cold. “Come inside.”

Pulling against him a bit, you turned to look at him. Leaning against one wall now pulling at Jons hand to follow you. A hand on your hip, he let you hold his other in between you as you looked up brightly at him. “He’s only like that, because you are like that.” Leaning slowly forward, Jon pressed his forehead against yours, slipping his other hand from you as he let it run gentle through the hair he could reach at the side of your head. Your own hands slinking up his chest and hiding somewhat in the dark fur around his shoulders.

The grin on his face brightened his features in the moonlight in such an unfairly handsome manner. “Well, tell our son he can be protective on his own time. I want to kiss you whenever I like.” You only laughed gently, commenting that he still could do that, but there was a playfulness in the greys as he looked down at you. “He’s with his grandparents, means I can do whatever I like to his mother.”

Something about the way he said it, the deepness of his tone, the entrancing rasp only accentuated by such a strong northern accent as he called you that. Your own hardly a whisper, as Jon crowded you against the wall more and more, hovering over you with an unblinking, darkening gaze. “And what did you have in mind?”

But Jon didn’t respond, not with words. Dragging the hand in your hair down, the leather tracing along your neck before running down your collarbones. Slinking under the white fur which used to be his, you felt him move lower. There wasn’t pressure, not really. His touch gently but firm enough you couldn’t mistake it, he followed the curve of your breast before finding his hand still the perfect size to grasp it. A high, sharp gasp came from you as Jon suddenly leaned down. Running his nose along yours with gentle shushes on his tongue. “It’s alright, darling.” Your swallow pointed that you felt otherwise in more way then one, but still he allowed his other hand to follow that very path of your opposite breast.

Just barley did his thumbs run up, brushing over the fabric against your nipples and your muscles tensed, thighs standing tighter together as your eyes fluttered. Your hands grasped at his waist, but he didn’t linger. Moving one back up the path to cup your cheek and pull you into his lips, rasping low against them. “I know they’re sensitive.” Capturing your lips with his, your hands on his waist tightened as he let this other hand still gently run his thumb along the fabric.

Pulling back, his eyes narrowed a bit in concern, picking up the hesitation in you right away, his voice gentle murmuring an ask of what was it, but you hesitated. “I just..” Narrowing his eyes more that time in a playful manner, was trying to prompt the words from you as you stammered them out in a bit of embarrassment. “I only meant, isn’t it uncomfortable? For you?”

Truthfully, if he didn’t have you in such a risque position out in the open, Jon came close to laughing brightly. “You’re the sensitive one, and you worry I’m uncomfortable? About what?” More stubbornly, you managed to stammer out the very short and obvious detail which you were feeding your son from your breast but Jon didn’t react. Just looking at you for more of an answer, but you felt too much a fluster in you to come up with the words so directly as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “It doesn’t bother me.”

The fluster was clear in your sudden wider eyes, bringing Jons grin out bright and adoring as he laughed gently, pulling you by his touch at your cheek to come back to looking at him. “How does that not bother you? Most men-”

You cut yourself off that time, you knew what he would’ve said if you finished that and Jon was thankfully merciful enough to let you off easy for catching yourself before finishing. “I pulled our son into the world from you, with my own hands, darling. We don’t have much in the way of secrets left between us.” The way your head tried to drop and hide, had Jon not move his other hand, but gently run along the sides of your breast as his hand on your cheek drifted down back to your sides pathing a way to your hip. “I’m not going to do anything, but you shouldn’t be embarrassed that I still want too.”

Slowly did he begin to ever so slightly drag up the skirt of your dress. Your wide eyes looking up at him, but the playfulness in Jons darkened away. Looking down at you, his face was much more serious, leaving your breast to join his other hand. The moment your dress gave him an opening, did Jon slip both hands underneath, grasping at your bare hips, stepping a bit closer to you.

Tightly he held you, only to not bother even giving any warning before both large hands slink back, grasping rough handfuls in each hand of your ass. Your hands pressed high up against his chest as you stifled a gasp, meeting his eyes in a silent command. Each hand was rough, groping freely as you felt his fingers mould bruises into your ass as he kept touching you. Pulling almost indecent to the point you felt a sting, Jons eyes didn’t even shift slightly.

He watched you with a dark, black gaze before both hands left. Yanking his gloves off before once again pulling a tiny whine from the back of your throat as he continued his rough assault. Fingers sinking into the furs around his shoulder, you felt yourself writhe a bit in his touch before one hand slunk down to glide through your folds.

Jaw tensing instantly, Jon nearly glared down at you, head tilting just the slightest to emphasize what you already knew. Firmer he ran them through what was clearly a soaking wetness before Jons brows narrowed down at you. Were you anyone else, one may have thought the look to be judgment or disapproval, yet Jon did not take the route to say that.

Instead, with two thick fingers Jon slid them both deep inside of. That time he allowed your head to drop into his shoulder. No easing you into it, Jons hand on your ass held tightly, almost pushing your hips up into his, as his fingers dragged along your sensitive walls no doubt soaking him further despite how little you had let on you were this worked up.

Were there not fabric hiding you away nor the sounds of the evening and colder wind, there would’ve been no hiding that each time Jons fingers pushed deeper, you’d be able to hear how much you soaked him. How embarrassed it made you feel how instantly his touch did so, and how Jon clearly knew it. Leaning down finally breaking your gaze locked onto his, Jon kissed a path up your neck before pressing a final one to just below your ear, only to roughly drag it into his teeth to nearly growl at you. “You can’t always be this ready for me.”

But you were honest, nodding as Jon grunted. Fingers sinking in and out of you faster, his other hand toying with you as if slowly hinting towards sinking somewhere else too. “Always..for you, always...”

Sinking inside you more and more, pulling out less each time, Jons palm was rough as he dragged it along your clit, leaning down the moment you gasped to press his lips needingly to yours. Deep his kiss was, teeth sinking into your bottom lip almost without cause or pattern, but the heel of his palm was so rough against your clit, but too he was so deep inside of you that your hands wrapped around the back of his neck.

Pressing you further into the wall, Jon ran his tongue along your lip as you nearly too eagerly parted so he could slide his tongue into your mouth. The hand on your ass almost grasping to push you upwards, his touch burning inside of you at the angle.

Overwhelmed by how his tongue ran heavy along yours, as his thick fingers dragged in and out of you, the twisting in you was white hot. Arching into his touch, you gifted cries into his mouth that Jon eagerly accepted. Deeply he kissed you, refusing any air for you to pull from him, but as he did so, closer his fingers crept to your ass.

Hands around the back of his neck tight, but never did he push any further then teasing ever so close to sinking inside you there as well.

Instead, he graced you with a third joining as he slipped deep inside of you again and again. Only pulling back to mutter against your lips as he spoke, “I won’t do it here.” Your hands relaxed almost instantly, Jon responding without sparing a moment even as he continued to thrust three fingers in and out of your warm walls clenching tightly around him. “Not with all these people around, I promise.”

Nodding, that time you leaned up to press your lips to kiss, and Jon met you in the middle with a sigh of his own in a relief the moment you had. Muscles in your legs relaxing a bit, his hand slid from grasping tight at your ass to replace the heel of his palm. That time both hands worked you over, three soaking deep in and out of you as his other hand let his fingers rub harshly and tightly against your clit. Pressing you more into the wall, his actions were not so obvious, but his lips parted and eyes black as anything it was clear how worked up alone Jon was.

It came quickly, your end. Flying through you did Jon hide your cry with his kiss. The coil within you snapped, burst, unwound and with it came your orgasm that heated your blood, arching into his touch as Jons fingers refused to slow down for you. Dragging every single inch of pleasure he could, he kept your lips to his. Pushing you as tight into the wall as possible.

Shaking thighs around him, your nails dug into his skin before he eased up. But only in his kiss at first, slowly did Jon spare you mercy. High pitched, broken stammers of air trying to catch in your lungs, as he gently pulled from you. His eyes darted to the side not even long enough for you to check with him, before Jon dragged his three fingers up. Soaked to an embarrassing degree, but they danced across your lip, leaning down to rasp in your ear as he prompted you to part your lips for him. “Just a taste,”

Nodding, Jon watched with eyes still black and needing as to the knuckle did he suddenly fill your mouth with his three fingers drenched in your own wetness. But he didn’t spare you yet, sinking in and out it was if he was teasing you. He wouldn’t give you this now or for any foreseeable future, but he controlled how your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The pressure within you at how deep and wide he was so soon, but yet something in you was debauched.

Letting him shove in and out as if you were some toy, but your eyes closed with something of a moan you didn’t even realize you let out. Not something often said from Jon, but his rasp so perfect so close and heavy it made you whine around his fingers. “That’s my good girl.”

If you could’ve felt how painfully hard his cock throbbed at that moan, or how much Jons head howled at him to do everything he did last night all over again. Drag you to his chambers, tie you to the bed and this time, pound into you until the slapping of skin was heard by everyone in the castle. Fill you again and again, take days if he needed to, to give you another child here and now if he could.

But he had to control himself, the more eager Jon let the animal within think about tying you up, the closer Jon got to wanting to genuinely just leave you there. Sink inside of you whenever he walked in, breed his beautiful mate every single chance he got and nearly dragging his fingers from your mouth Jon kissed you with a bite. Your arms wrapping around him as he did around your waist, Jon was as conflicted as ever.

What was him, what was this wolf feral in his blood, and what was the lingers of a father he never wanted, it felt like the line was blurring. As if he was losing sight to what any of it meant, or how to stop it as long as Jon had you. He had you, and his son with you, and it was as if ever since that night you gave birth, did Jon feel like he was losing his grip on the part of him still a man.

The clawing wolf within the White Wolf could be controlled, but too did Jon pull you even closer in his kiss as soon as he thought it. What it Sansa’s fears were right, even if she didn’t know why. What part of Jon came back new and desperate for you, and what part of him came back possessive and addicted to you because it was always somewhere deep down within him.

The part of Jon that wished he never brought you home, and just stayed with you out in the far north where he never had to share you again. Jon was growing more and more confused to who that part of him truly was, who it ever was. Jon loved you more then anything he could comprehend, but that didn’t stop that part of him that wished to mount you atop the furs of his bed, and never do a thing again but sink inside you again and again until you swelled once more with his child.

He wished he never knew what his dreams had been showing him. Now all Jon could do, was fear that the wolf within him was accompanied by something else entirely.

[roomsofangel]

IN THE ABSENCE OF EVERYTHING, I PROMISE TO KEEP YOU WARM . . jeong yunho

“you’ve ruined me for anyone else, i don’t think i could ever stop loving you even if i wanted to.”

pairing idol!yunho x fem!reader

one sided dislike/hatred. sunshine x grumpy. could be seen as an enemies to lovers but it’s all one sided on y/n’s end and she just doesn’t like him in the beginning while yunho is completely oblivious, but still matches her energy.

genre angst, fluff, smut, fic.

synopsis ateez are on a much needed break after their recent comeback — traveling overseas for a short-term vacation, yunho desires nothing more than just to ease himself and let go of worries.

but with a run in with someone he deems an angel in human skin, yunho learns she doesn’t know who he is and pretends to be someone else.

filled with secrets and a burning romance, yunho learns that no matter what you do or how hard you try, life just isn’t fair.

and he only had himself to blame.

warnings mature themes, mainly due to language. a lot of dishonesty. hurt without comfort if i’m being honest. nsfw later on. arguments and miscommunication. reader and yunho don’t have a good first impression at all, and they both don’t use the most nicest words at first. a lot of talk of mental health, exhaustion, and being overworked.

notes this is told in past tense, yunho’s pov. think of it as you are listening to him tell the story after it all ended, only knowing his side. this was also going to be a one shot, but i instead have changed my mind and went with original idea when first planning this, and this will be a fic.

a/n this is a repost! so if it sounds familiar i originally posted this with my old blog mothworked!

status ongoing

started 05/06/23

completed n/a

reblogs & comments are very appreciated and also help out a lot! thank you for reading and giving my work a chance ^_^

. . . # chapters !

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | to be continued. .

PREVIEW BELOW. . !

yunho hasn’t been happy in a while.

he doesn’t know when or where this sudden realization came into place, nor does he know when the feeling of numbness even decided to pop in for a chat as if it was a distant relative who came over for the holidays and refused to be put to bed.

he just knows he hasn’t been the same person after their comeback — assuming that he was only overworked, this will cease.

it didn’t.

his hands shoved his clothes into the oversized suitcase, hearing the zipper tug and close his belongings all tightly knit together, yunho let out a huff of air, allowing himself to pause for a minute, take in everything while staring blank at the pompompurin keychain he had setting on his nightstand with the mental reminder to hook it onto his bag to match with mingi — “will this actually do anything?” he voiced outloud, grumbling before pulling and rolling the suitcase off his bed and down the hall, “i’m here.”

the first person to lift their heads towards him was hongjoong who smiled in response, eyes showing he was just as exhausted and eager for this break, “does anyone know where we’ll be going?” he asked

“california — not so bad, huh?” seonghwa acknowledged, a light tone to ease the tension created from just the lack of care to their needs that begun to radiate off of then in their tones and actions

and yunho wanted to believe him, he really did.

but the feeling in his chest was yelling at him otherwise.

“san’s birthday is coming up,” yeosang mentioned one night while he and yunho unpacked, the two sharing a room together after losing a game of rock paper scissors

yunho could recall the shade the walls were painted, green lily. mingi was the one who mentioned the color by name and it had made them all erupt in fits of giggles on how — and why, he knew something like that but thanked him nonetheless, san announcing the dorms should be painted the same shade before getting a pillow aimed towards his head by a sleepy jongho

and now, yunho was scurrying around downtown LA, attempting to find a good present for his friend. why was gift shopping so hard? would san even like it? no, scratch that, san loved anything given to him — he was just a big ball of sunshine.

it was yunho who wouldn’t deem it good enough.

maybe coffee would help, yeah, that would. just something to distract his neverending nerves so he can think better. he should’ve asked seonghwa, he thought to himself.

the sky was clear, the sun being bright and reflecting on his freshly dyed scalp, it was his mind that was clouded and unable to steer in one set direction — not fully processing where he was going, only aware he was aiming towards that coffee shop he noticed. oh, if he knew then, he would’ve turned around.

colliding with a body, soft gasps and cold drink being spilled on his warm skin, “fuck,” he cursed out loud at the sudden temperature and new situation

and that’s when his eyes met yours.

but with the way his day and emotions had been, he didn’t intend for his next words to be come off so harsh, “i’m sorry”

you looked at him with an annoyed expression, brows knitted tightly together, “just watch where you’re going now i have to deal with a day without my drink.”

scoffing, yunho shook his head, “i wouldn’t be talking if i were you, you basically were fucking naurto running into my chest,”

you let out a huff, “naurto running?!” running your fingers through your hair, you shook your head, “if i wasn’t so mad, i would have laughed.”

“i can get you another one,” yunho tried to compromise, not wanting a feud with a stranger over a drink

plus, he wasn’t sure if you knew he was an idol and if you did, he didn’t have any desire to end up on an article, his thoughts broken by your scoff

“no fuck you, i wanted that one,” you folded your arms over your chest, eyes darting to the floor before you started getting napkins to clean up, yunho unaware of why he followed behind

“are you this uptight all the time?” yunho blurted, earning his chest to hit your back before you turned with raised brows

“only to dumbasses who make me spill my drink.”

“touché.”

he finally convinced you to let him get you another drink, taking a seat by you while the straw was between your lips and your fingertips tapped the cold plastic cup that had water droplets decorating, “you can leave now,” you said

“don’t flatter yourself, i ordered something too,” yunho shook his head

you sneered, “your presence just annoys me.”

yunho leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbows as he looked at you with a mocking grin to tease you more, “is that any way to talk to me after i got you another tea, which may i add, at a coffee shop?” he paused, looking at you taking a bite of your cake pop, “plus that cake pop.”

“yeah.” you shrugged

yunho ordered hot chocolate, his intentions were to get an iced americano but with the day he was having, his taste changed for today, his hands holding the warm wrapped brownie he hoped to enjoy if not giving it to san later

you teased him about it which was fair, he did so about your tea.

“what’s your name?” he asked

met with silence.

“hello, are you deaf?” he titled his head in response, you looking at him with a teasing grin

“for you, yeah.”

ignoring what you had said, yunho straightened his posture, “i’m yunho and you are?”

and yet again, met with your silence

“you’re making this really herd,” he huffed

“that’s the goal.” you replied

yunho didn’t know how much longer the two of you sat in silence, eating and drinking before you began getting up to clean your area, he remembered how the strands of your hair fell in front of your face and you harshly moved them aside in annoyance, jaw clenched while you got your bag that he didn’t realize you had with you — eyed landing on a specific dangling keychain that resembled the one he had connected, before he could make a comment about coincidences, you spoke

“y/n.”

“huh?” he questioned

you dusted yourself off and laughed, “my name is y/n, you asswipe.”

that was the first time he met you

and sometimes he wished he would’ve left you alone after that

maybe the two of you would have been better

maybe you wouldn’t hate him this much

and maybe he could’ve done things differently if he had another chance

but you won’t give him one

and he knows he doesn’t deserve it after what he did.

it was almost fate.

the situation and timing could come off as such — at least, yunho wanted to believe the two of you were starcrossed lovers destined to get it right either in this life or the next one.

he didn’t expect to see you there, polished and composed, the opposite of who he met the day prior. you radiated something that he knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of.

and he couldn’t.

even now, he found himself drowning in your memory and wanting to be swept under permanently — it nearly sounds as if he was praying for a fatal outcome, but he did not want to die. he just wanted his heart back.

the same one that still stayed in your hands while yours was forcibly removed from his

[waterfallofspace]

Hello! Just wanted to say that reading your fics has reawakened the t/m/a hyperfixation in me. I am loving it so I must thank you for that XD

Since you asked for prompts, would you consider writing J/on trying to push through a massive dust allergy in the archives? Maybe he forgot to take his meds and is still trying to quietly tackle the monumental task of organizing G/ertrude's hellscape of an office by himself. Unfortunately for him, it doesn't go to plan ^v^"

Have a good day/night! 🧡

I'm glad!! it's such a hyperfixation for me too haha~ thank you for the prompt, I hope I managed to do it some form of justice!~ this is early days though, so do be warned that Martin and Jon will not have the uh, more friendly vibes we know of them from later!~ <3 which did actually hurt a little to write ;-;

Malfunctions

The one in which Jon experiences some... bodily malfunctions.

Word Count: 3.5k Characters: Jon, Tim, Martin

“Boss?” 

Jon waves a hand for Tim to enter, barely glancing up from the paper he’s scouring. If he’d have known what kind of state the archives was in when he was offered the position… well he’d still have taken it, but he might have negotiated a better pay. 

“-about it, right?” Tim says, seemingly the end of a sentence, not the beginning. 

Wearily, Jon looks up, groaning softly as he realizes Tim has definitely been talking this whole time. “Apologies, I was… a bit preoccupied. Would you mind repeating that?” 

Tim simply shrugs, giving Jon a winning smile. “It can wait till later. What’s got you so distracted? Another case not workin’ on the laptop?” 

“Quite. It’s frankly unbelievable, the state Gertrude left these archives in.” Jon starts, clenching the paper slightly in his hands. “Boxes and boxes of files and paperwork, all scattered and randomized and don’t make any sort of sense- You’d think someone with such a meticulous system of numbers would bother making it a usable one!”

There’s a slight chuckle from Tim, but Jon hardly even registers it. 

“And then the fact some won’t even record- Not to mention the fact they’re mostly just rubbish fiction, it’s starting to feel like her entire existence was aimed at making my job as difficult as possible,” Jon finally trails off, slightly out of breath. 

Tim chuckles at this, giving Jon a playful smirk. “Much as Gertrude may have been a bit of a waste of an archivist by the end, I don’t really think you can blame her for your laptop not recording properly.” 

“I can blame her for whatever I damn well please…” Jon finds himself muttering under his breath. Tim’s raised eyebrow proves he heard it, but neither of them acknowledge this. Instead Jon simply nods, letting out a long sigh.

“Anyways,” Tim continues, gesturing to the file that- Jon didn’t even notice he was holding. “Found another one fallen behind a shelf, figured you’d want to know about it.” 

Another weary sigh, followed by Jon nodding for Tim to leave it on the nearest pile of boxes. What Jon meant was for Tim to set it on top of the boxes so he could go check it out once he was finished here. What Tim did, however, was drop it on top without a care in the world. 

A plume of dust rises from where the file hits the box, drifting around into the office air. Tim immediately coughs a few times, waving a hand in front of his face in an attempt to clear a bit of it. Jon, on the other hand, winces visibly, fighting the urge to pull his shirt over his face. He settles for running a knuckle under his already twitching nose. The slight itch that he’d been fighting since this morning spreads into a burning tickle, and it takes everything he has not to sneeze. 

“Woah,” Tim exclaims, still coughing slightly. “Bloody hell there’s a lot of dust around here.”

“Seems cleanliness was hardly one of Gertrude’s strengths either,” Jon replies, each word bringing him one step closer to the brink.

Mind over body, he does not have to sneeze. He’s not allergic to dust, and his eyes are not beginning to water. He’s a professional, damn it. And professional archivists, head archivists, are not taken down by something as simple, and common, as dust. 

“I mean I knew it was bad in storage,” Tim continues, seemingly oblivious to the struggle Jon finds himself fighting through. “But I figured at least in your office it would be a bit cleaner.” 

“I haven’t had a chance to get a deep clean done,” Jon retorts, feeling annoyance start to creep into his tone. “I’ve been quite busy, if you hadn’t noticed.” 

Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, “Right, right, wasn’t making a comment on your work ethic or anything. Honestly I just figured Elias would have sent someone to do it for you or something.” 

“I know,” Jon offers, softening his tone. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit…”

“Yeah,” Tim replies. His smile is back, but it seems a touch more genuine this time. “We’re all pretty stressed. Gertrude left us a hell of a mess to clean.” 

“Quite literally,” Jon says, giving a small smile of his own. “And yes, Elias did offer, but there’s hardly been a reasonable hour that I haven’t been here cleaning up hehh– her mess.” 

It’s only for a second, but Jon feels his entire body go slack as the sneeze begs to be released, teasing up the edge of his nose. He manages to turn away from Tim enough to pinch his nose for a minute. It does nothing against the deep itch that’s beginning to creep up into his ears and eyes, but at least for now it stalls the sneeze enough for him to turn back. 

Tim, for his part, doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he’s standing in the doorway, holding up one hand with the other hovering in front of his face. At first, Jon can’t for the life of him figure out what the hell Tim’s doing. Is this some form of practical joke? 

It takes him right up until Tim gasps, with Jon nearly jumping to his feet at the sudden noise, before he realizes. 

“hiehh– hiH’YIESHh’ooo!” 

Jon finds himself damn near envious of Tim. He always seems so carefree and unashamed. Those were never qualities Jon shared, even with something as trivial as this. His own nose throbs fiercely in response. 

“Wheew,” Tim sighs, lowering his hand with a dramatic sniff. “Sorry ‘bout that, not normally that affected by dust, but I guess if there’s enough it’ll get to anyone!” 

There’s a beat of silence, Jon finding himself physically incapable of response. The tickle’s damn near unbearable. His entire being is aching for the release. He knows there’s no point in fighting, it’ll just make it worse when it finally breaks free, but still. A boss should be able to control themselves. The Head Archivist should be able to control their own body. 

“What, no blessing?” Tim mocks playfully after a moment of silence passes. He pauses slightly when Jon still shows no sign of response. Finally, Tim seems to get bored, waving a hand in front of Jon’s face as he chuckles out, “Boss? You still in there?” 

It’s barely a breeze, but the movement is enough to stir the dust in the air around Jon’s face again. Imperceptible to anyone else, but Jon sees the particles begin to swirl. It’s just enough to break his focus, and he hardly has time to pinch his nose before the sneezes begin to break free.

“hh’nGT–! ah’gNDt–!” 

“B-less you boss! See, that’s how you respond when someone sneezes-” Tim begins, trailing off slightly as Jon shows no signs of stopping. 

“ah’gNT–! gNNT’ch-! hh’gNDTchh-! Good lord... h-hehh– ah’dNGT–iuh!” 

“Bless you some more, wow you really-” 

“hH’NNGT-iuh! ah’knDGT-dhh!” 

By this point Tim has the decency to look concerned, reaching across Jon’s desk and pulling the tissues closer. Jon blearily grabs a handful, pausing for a series of desperate sounding hitches before ducking into the pile for a few more tight stifles.

“Damn, boss,” Tim says, seemingly a bit lost for words. If Jon’s misery wasn’t the sole cause, he might even find that a bit entertaining. It’s hardly a common occurrence for Tim to be speechless. 

“‘Scuse mbe. I’b fide-” Jon begins, noticing Tim wince at the congestion in his voice. Can’t really blame him for that. 

“You certainly sound ‘fide’,” Tim mocks gently, moving the tissues closer again. Jon blushes slightly at this, taking a few and turning away politely to blow his nose. Tim, for his part, seems unfazed by this, simply waiting until Jon finishes to resume his taunting. 

“That was a hell of an attack, never knew you were so allergic to dust!” 

“I’m not,” Jon starts, almost by instinct. Tim’s immediate raised eyebrow confirms there’s really no way out of it this time. “Alright, maybe a little, but it’s usually not nearly this bad. I juhh… hehh– eh’GNDt–iuh! Excuse me. Just forgot to take my medication this mor- enGT-uhh! Excuse me. This morning.” 

Tim looks a touch taken aback, staring at Jon with a face Jon can’t quite place. Almost… concern, but with a bit of respect? 

“How do you function like this?” 

“It’s not normally like this,” Jon replies, massaging the brink of his nose gently. “That’s the point of the medication. I simply was in a rush this morning, and it slipped my mind to take.. t- take… hH’ENGT-dhh! ah’kNDt-iuhh! Excuse me. To take some. Then with your little file incident-” 

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” Tim interrupts, giving a bit of a smile. It’s equal parts sheepish and mocking. “If I’d known you were so allergic, I’d have been a lot more careful.” 

Jon fights back his lecture about ‘carelessness in the archives’, and instead settles for a deep sigh. “It’s alright. No way you could have. Like I said, it’s usually quite manageable.” 

“Well,” Tim continues, “It’s still quite early. You could run home and grab some medication, I’m sure the archives can survive without you for a quick hour or so-” 

“I appreciate the suggestion,” Jon cuts him off, “but I’m fine. I am perfectly capable of running my archives.” 

Tim simply shrugs. This is obviously a battle he doesn’t feel like fighting. Jon gives his nose another rub, shivering slightly at the lingering tickle that’s steadily only growing worse. 

“Ihh.. If there’s nothing else?” 

“Nope! That was all. I’ll leave you to it,” Tim replies, starting to exit the room. Just before he leaves though, he turns on his heel and gives Jon another winning smile. “Oh, and I’ll be sure to tell Martin to pick up some more tissues.” 

Jon just grimaces, half certain Tim’s simply trying to get a reaction out of him. But knowing the man, he’ll do it just to get some entertainment. Still, telling him not to would just be ensuring it happens. There’s really no winning here. 

Thankfully, Tim closes the door as he leaves, and Jon finally has at least enough privacy to let out another small fit without prying eyes. 

“hH– enGdt-iuh! eh’gNT-uhh! ah’ngxT–! eiH’ZSHhhuh! Good lord…” 

The last one breaks free, and Jon silently hopes Tim was far enough to not hear it. It’s mortifying enough that Tim’s witnessed what he has, he certainly doesn’t need to see or hear anything further. 

Sheer power of will carries Jon through the next two statements relatively uneventfully. Sure, the recording has to be rapidly paused once or twice, but that’s simply a slight malfunction that he quickly corrects. On audio you should hardly be able to tell. 

One such… malfunction, however, does manage to slip onto a tape. Of course it had to be one that would only record on the damn tapes. Jon internally (and perhaps externally) curses the  statements for refusing the digital plane. A slight hint of editing could remove this error in mere moments, as he perhaps did with a few others. Instead, he sighs deeply, ignoring how damn itchy that sigh was, and rewinds the tape. 

“Statement of Elyse Williams regarding unusual activity in her attic. Original statement given March 21st, 2011. Audio recording by Johh…” 

Jon pauses for a second, collecting himself and stalling off the impending interruption. 

“Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Mahh… hH- h’nDGxt–dhh! Christ.” 

The tape clicks off again, and the whirring sound of it rewinding sets Jon’s teeth on edge. Head archivist of the damn Magnus Institute! What kind of archivist, head archivist, can’t even control themselves long enough to record a statement. 

With the next go he manages to make it almost halfway through before another interruption.

“It was then that I saw them, crawling all… all around my… hihh– eh’knDgt! ek’nGDt–dhh! Good lord.”

This time he doesn’t even bother rewinding, settling instead for grabbing a new tape entirely. He’ll record over this tape later, but with so much to rewind… it would simply be a waste of time to do it now. 

“Statement of Elyse Willaims regarding unusual actihh… activity in her attic. Original statement gi- hh’nXGt! given March 21st, 2011. Audio reco- eh’ngDT–dhh! Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head… hhh– Head Ar… Archivistofthe- hk’ZSHHieuhh! Goddamn it!” 

There’s a timid knock at the door, and it takes everything Jon has not to throw something at it. Letting out a low groan, Jon clicks the tape off and calls out, “Come in, Martin.” 

As expected, the door swings open to reveal Martin with a collection of boxes stacked in his arms. He seems to hesitate slightly in the doorway, futilely attempting to control the concern and worry lacing his features. 

“S-sorry to bother you, I was just looking over some of these files and had a few questions about the research you asked me to do- oh, but you’re recording and I should have checked and I’m-” 

Jon sighs loudly, cutting off Martin’s rambling. “It’s fine. I was… taking a break. What are the questions?” 

Martin starts off on them, most of which are fairly trivial and Jon finds his headache beginning to grow. He manages to sneak a couple of silent stifles, passing them off with a light cough or simply timing them when Martin’s preoccupied. 

“Martin-” Jon finally interrupts, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He can pass it off as the headache that he does have, but he can’t help but admit it might have more to do with the blooming tickle. After a pause he continues, “make a list of the questions. Tim and Sasha can handle most of them, and the ones they can’t I’ll answer or pass on for Elias to answer.” 

“Oh, r-right!” Martin stutters, gathering up the boxes into his arms again and heading for the door. He pauses, once again lingering at the entrance. 

“Is there somethh… something else?” Jon asks, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The tickle is growing unmanageable, and he has mere minutes to get Martin out of his office. 

Martin’s still standing, fidgeting with the boxes as he seemingly builds up the courage for something. Irritating at the best of times, of which these are decidedly not. Jon can’t help but sigh, though he does notice a slight shudder run through Martin at the sound. 

He can’t linger on this however, as the sigh pushes his nose over the edge and he finds himself ducking into his wrist for a tightly contained- “hk’nGDT!” 

“Oh, bless you Jon!” Martin says. Apparently able to form words now. Perfect timing. 

“Thank you, do excuse me. Now, are you just planning to wait in my office for the remainder of the workday?”  

The tone is harsh, and he knows it. There’s a pang in his chest as Martin’s face falls for a moment, but Jon quickly crushes it. He’s wasting time, and lord knows they don’t have enough of that to spare. They should both be working. The tone is warranted. 

Despite this, Jon finds himself softening slightly when he speaks again. “Is there anything further I can help you with, Martin?”

“N-no, not really, just the questions, I’ll make the list like you said,” Martin rambles, still not moving towards the hall. Jon raises an eyebrow, not missing the way Martin blushes slightly. 

“O-okay… well… yes, there is… well-” 

“hk’gNDt–dhh! Excuse me.”  

“Bless you, that’s actually- that’s uh, that’s actually what I wanted to…” Martin trails off, setting the boxes on the ground and rummaging through one of them. He produces a box of tissues along with a handful of travel packs, and Jon curses Tim under his breath. 

“So I take it Tim told you to… t-to… hk’nGT–dh! Excuse me. Tim told you to bring those?” 

Martin mumbles a blessing, but lets Jon finish his sentence otherwise uninterrupted. There’s another awkward silence as Martin stands frozen, eyes wide as he seems to be running through a million possible answers in his head. 

“He- he did mention something, yeah,” The answer finally comes, Martin blushing slightly again as he places the box on Jon’s desk. “But um… well, you’ve also been- it’s uh, it’s not exactly been… subtle?” 

The tone pitches up towards the end, and Jon feels the heat begin spreading over his own face in return. He wants to say something, make some form of denial, but… he’s not an idiot. And at this point, denial might be a bit out of reach. 

Case in point, Jon finds his breath catching again, his mouth falling open slightly. Martin takes notice of this, and timidly holds out a travel pack, offering a warm smile that Jon merely glimpses as his eyes begin to flutter closed. He accepts them, weighing the embarrassment of accepting help with the mortification of letting this fit out into his hands. 

“Thankyou-” Jon manages, breathy and high, before he ducks into his stapled hands, tissues pressed in them. 

“hH’nDGt–dhh! hk’gnDXt–uhh! Excuse me. Oh god… I’m gon- gonna… hH’DZSHHhuhh! eh’zzZSHhhh’oo! hH’DZSHhhuh!” 

The last of the fit breaks free, and Jon finds himself blushing behind his hands. 

“Bless you a lot, Jon, Christ. Are you alright?” 

“I’b fide-” Jon starts, still from behind his wall of tissues. There’s no point in attempting any discretion now, and he gives Martin an apologetic glance before swivelling in his chair and blowing his nose. It barely helps the itch, but it does help reduce some of the congestion before he speaks again. 

“I’m fine. Please do excuse me, that was-”

“Quite the show!” Martin interrupts, laughter beginning to seep into his tone. It doesn’t feel cruel, nor does it even carry the tone of mocking Jon had grown so accustomed to from Tim. This laughter feels… almost light. As if he’s included in the joke, instead of being the subject of it. Despite himself, Jon feels the hint of a smile ghost his face. 

No. It’s unprofessional, and… he has to be mocking him… just, he’s better at hiding it. That's worse than Tim's blatant lack of respect. At least he doesn't pretend to... to care.

“I suppose. Now, back to work,” Jon says, letting the ice dip into his voice. 

Martin blushes a bit, beginning to stammer again, “R-right, of course, well I just- I mean, I didn’t mean- I’m just- I don’t want to pry but… I wasn’t- uh, are you sure you’re fit to work right now…?” 

The question is almost whispered, Martin’s voice dropping off in what might be… concern? Jon finds himself biting down the urge to reply. To tell Martin that no, he’s not fit to work, he needs to go home, and that he just feels… miserable, to put it frankly. But no, it isn’t concern. It’s… pity. It has to be pity. 

“I am fine,” Jon begins, standing from his chair. “I am more than fit to continue my work, and more than that I am capable of continuing to act as your boss. This is nothing I can’t hahh– hH’NdXGt–dhh! Nothing I can’t handle.”

Martin whispers a blessing, but goes a bit pale while doing so. Jon feels that familiar pang start in his chest, the one that says… maybe you went too far. Honestly, he’s not even sure why Martin brings that out of him. Tim mocks him all the time, Sasha even can cast a glance and throw a joke but… somehow when it’s Martin it just… 

“S-sorry, you’re right, I’m sorry-” Martin’s rambling cuts through Jon’s thoughts just in time for him to see Martin beginning to walk into the hall. 

“No, I’m sorry Marti-” Jon starts, but finds it comes out merely a whisper. The door closes, and he hears Martin’s footsteps retreating down the hall. 

Well, that’s that. Jon grabs a handful of tissues, choosing the box Martin had brought for… well because it’s closer. That’s why. That’s the only reason why. 

He blows his nose a few times, letting out another stray “hH–dnGt’uh!” into the soft folds. After a few rounds of this, he clears his throat, and finds the quality satisfactory. He still sounds a bit rough around the edges, but on such an old device you should hardly be able to tell. 

Clicking on the tape again, Jon starts the statement over from the beginning. Again. He pointedly ignores the guilt beginning to fester in his chest, devoting himself entirely to the recording. He was merely being the boss, doing what he needed to do. Martin was speaking out of turn, and had to be reminded of such. 

Still… he makes a mental note to thank Martin for the tissues next time he sees him. Suppose maybe he’s not entirely useless after all. 

“Right, now then,” Jon says, grabbing his papers and placing the recorder in front of him. 

“Statement of Elyse Willams regarding unusual activity in her attic. Original statement given March 21st, 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.”

[th3overthink3r]

I bring you another dream I remember! Mostly.

The first one

Context: Sometimes I dream up random episodes about media I am obsessed with at the time with proper animation and dialogue and stuff.

So this is TimKon, which is less surprising bc I was reading Timkon fanfics before going to sleep.

The animation style is Teet Titans.

The dream is blurry, but I can fill in the gaps. Mostly.

There was no intro this time.

The scene opens with Dick, Bruce, and Damian talking to a nervous looking Tim Drake, who's in a white tux with golden accents. He looks nervous as Dick fits a golden flower crown on top of his black hair.

"You okay, chum?" Bruce asks.

"I'm nervous. What if he leaves before we can do this?" Tim asks, fiddling with the sleeve of his button up shirt. Damian batts his hand away, currently doing Tims makeup.

"Kon is a good man, Tim. You two are good for each other." Dick says.

"And Todd is armed with cryptonite bullets, if he does leave." Damian adds as he finishes off, closing the makeup kit.

"Damian!" All three say in unison, with disbelief. He just shruggs.

Fade to black, then to another room. Kon is admiring himself. He's wearing a black tuxedo with silver details. Jon is excitedly rambling off about all the fun stuff he and Damian will do after the ceremony. Clark is going over Conners confession or whatever while Lois fixes up his makeup.

"He's not going to come." Conner says, sounding dissapointed. Jon frowns.

"He's a bad man. He would surely ruin the whole thing." The boy says.

"I know, but he's still my bio dad, too." Conner says.

"It's Lex Luthor. I would be surprised if he did come." Clark sighs and patts Conners shoulder. "Focus on your husband, son, don't let Lex ruin this for you." Conner nodds, we fade to black.

Wedding music plays, we open to rose petals blowing in the wind. Conner and Tim smiling at each other as they walk down the aisle. Batfam, superfam, and all of their friends are there, cheering. Even some rouges were invited. (Harley vipes a tear in the background, while Ivy is the one contributing the petals. This was strangely specified.)

Jason Todd is the priest.

The ceremony goes on, when the doors open and Lex stepps in.

"I ob-" Before he can say anything, Jason pulls a gun on him.

"Sit down." Lex sitts down. Tim and Kon let out a small giggle.

They say their vows, and all I remember from that is the love in their words. It was warm and nice.

Anyways.

The only other thing I remember is the kiss scene. Tim pulls Conner in, and hey kiss, and then they break apart and touch foreheads, and they are laughing and crying while everyone is cheering, and Harley even lights up some fireworks.

There was also a speech Damian gave, and everyone cried. Damian talked about how he came to care about Tim and how the man helped him realize that his place in the family was his ever since he arrived. He also threatened Kon.

I think Jason and Stephanie also gave speeches, but I don't remember what they said.

This is it. Thank you for tuning in. This was a really nice dream.

Here I made some art for it:

[thispersonistired]

Anchorage (Landoscar)

Woke up to 3 notes on the other one. Thought I was still dreaming. Thanks guys! <3

So here's another one...

AU where Lando dies in an accident in ad 2022 so he and Osc are never teammates but somehow his existence still haunts him.

>---<

The mechanics and engineers still mention his name every now and then.

When Oscar gives feedback on the car, a mechanic says offhandedly, “Lando mentioned that earlier, yeah.”

When Oscar has a particularly bad result that came down to nothing but driver error, he's come to expect the inevitable, “Do you think Lando would have done better?”

Even when he got his first podium in Silverstone, and in the heat of the moment, Will, on the radio, had called him by the Brit’s name.

"That's P2, Lando! That's a podium, mate! We did— oh, sorry, Oscar, I—"

"It’s alright," Oscar had said, because he really didn’t care. And because, most of the time, it couldn’t be helped.

Everyone — the team, the sport, the world— had lost someone who should still be here.

In 2022, the world lost Lando Norris, the man who was loved by all.

Oscar never truly met him. And yet, months later, he is still haunted by the ghost of his presence.

And maybe that’s what’s driving him crazy.

Because there is absolutely no way on earth that Lando Norris is sitting in his driver’s room right now, curled up in the chair by the corner, napping like he belonged there.

Oscar freezes in the doorway, still gripping the handle.

Curly hair. Slight frame. Those familiar sleepy eyes he'd only seen a hundred times in McLaren youtube challenge videos, blinking up at him.

But they don’t see him. Rather, they're looking right past him.

"Oh, Jon, it can’t be race time yet. I’m just so tired!" The voice is unmistakable.

Oscar’s breath catches in his throat. His heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his fingertips.

Then— A hand lands on his shoulder.

"Spacing out, are we, bud? That’s what happens when you stay up doing God-knows-what all night." Jon’s voice is casual, amused.

Oscar flinches, his entire body stiff with tension.

"I—" He starts, but is cut off.

"I slept before ten like you said, I swear!" Lando groans, stretching in the chair like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Jon, as Oscar notices, doesn’t even react. Doesn’t turn his head. Doesn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he raises a brow at Oscar. "You?"

Oscar barely hears him. His attention is still stuck on Lando who swings his legs off the chair, standing up.

He’s walking toward them.

Straight toward Oscar who instinctively flinches, bracing for impact, but—

But Lando doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate.

He walks right through him.

Cold. It’s cold. A chill spreads through Oscar’s chest, his arms, down to his fingertips.

His stomach churns. He feels lightheaded, dizzy. This….this isn’t happening, he thinks.

He must be tripping. Maybe he took something bad without realizing it. Maybe he’s sleep-deprived, overstressed, hallucinating.

Because the only other explanation is that he’s completely, utterly losing his mind.

Jon, oblivious, claps a hand against Oscar’s back. "Actually, I think I’ll go grab you some aspirin. You seem a bit out of it."

Oscar doesn’t answer. He can’t.

Because Jon clearly hadn’t noticed the ghost that was just standing in the room and had just walked through the both of them.

When Oscar looks behind him, he sees just the retreating form of his trainer and no one else.

>-----<

A/n_ thanks for reading! I crave validation :3

[twwings]

so I spent the last few months just marathoning The Magnus Archives??? I was curious and I have a long-ish commute that I need to fill with audio, so I went for it. I was somewhat spoiled by fanart I saw randomly over the years but not entirely spoiled, and I quite enjoyed it. Some thoughts (both positive and negative thoughts below) because I wanted to write them down as I chew over the show. Also my ramblings might be pleasurable to folks who are big fans and enjoy hearing about people listening to their thing for the first time?

Spoilers for all of TMA, but as I haven't listened to The Magnus Protocol yet (I'm sure I will) no spoilers for that.

thoughts in no particular order:

didn't know that my trypophobia could be activated aurally! thanks, season one. it's good to learn about yourself

because I had seen lots of fanarts around, I knew that Jon/Martin would eventually be a canon thing, so I just spent the early episodes making fun of Jon whenever he was mean about Martin. Jon would be like "ugh, Martin, amirite?" and I'd yell at the car speakers like "lol you're gonna MARRY that guy"

sometimes I found the show a little boring or too expositiony (like the episode where Leitner shows up) and it made me think a lot about the conditions of production, like, having fans who were super into the show and red stringing it up clearly made them want to explain things sometimes in a way not necessary to the story - or, at least, it didn't feel necessary to me as a casual listener who was coming in after the fact and not part of the fandom. maybe it felt necessary for other folks, or to the cast and crew at the time.

relatedly, oh god, I did not keep up with all the plotlines and stuff. like it took me a WHILE to realize that the show was not just gonna be standalone/anthology stuff and would have an overarching plot so I did not pay attention early on to repeated names or plots. and because I was listening on my commute I was like "welp, can't google it, gonna let it go" and I did. I'm here to tell you that the magnus archives is still enjoyable even if you don't care that much about what's going on

when I did really start to care was the end of season four/season five. absolutely love that they went there with the end of season four (I thought it'd just be a buffy-style "now we fight a BIGGER big bad at the end of this season" escalation forever, but no, they unleashed hell on earth, baller move, A+, loved it

so I was spoiled that Martin (and Jon? I wasn't sure) died at some point, though I didn't really know where or how. I also saw someone post something like "oh TMA, great show, too bad it ends after five minutes into episode 160" so from that I kind of extrapolated that Martin died in episode 160? so my experience of listening to that one was REALLY on tenterhooks because the first five minutes was Martin going for a nice walk! and then Jon getting taken over by the statement! so while listening to the middle bit of 160 I was convinced that when Martin came back from his walk Jon was gonna kill him (while possessed, obviously) as part of the ritual thing. so really the following 40 episodes of Martin being alive were pretty sweet to me. Every episode after that when Martin was alive I was like, score, bonus, love it, I'm glad Jon didn't stab him three seconds after they got into a relationship

kept listening for a physical description of Jon to match all the fanart and never got one? I guess the fanon of what Jon looks like is just super consistent for some reason?

hated Tim, I can't disguise it, I hated Tim and I was glad when he died and I was glad he didn't come back, sorry Tim fans, live your truth and I will live mine

wish there weren't so many cops on this show, tho the show did seem to recognize that a little in S5 and try to do some things about it

I'm just a huge sucker for every genre experiment in S5. omg I loved it. Terminus gets a coroner's report, The Unknowing gets slam poetry, The Flesh gets a gardening manual?????? mwah. it made me excited for the format of the statements again when they'd gotten stale. so many smart and interesting genre experiments in S5! and I, like Jon, don't even like poetry (just write some prose! I've never identified with a character more), so you know I'm impressed when I'm exclaiming about some poem

seriously! the genre experiments!!! so good

"queer couple navigate their new relationship and also The Hellscapes" = amazing, ty, also ty for doing it twice

somehow I managed not to notice the line about Jon being asexual at first and then I saw some tumblr post about it and I was like, wait what? my brain had gone pretty far down into some non-asexual fanfiction stories before I got that bit of canon and had to record-scratch freeze-frame. anyway I am pleased by the ace rep and hope to go read some non-sexual D/s for them in the future, please tell me if you know some good stuff

please also tell me if you know about fanfictions where Martin consensually feeds Jon his own memories and it's weird and intense

saw a cute fluffy domestic fanart where Jon was blind (ie had blinded himself to escape the eye) and I laughed and laughed that this is a fandom in which the happy fluffy AUs are the ones where the characters have violently blinded themselves. not to say I'm not gonna read the fluffy AUs where they've violently blinded themselves, I am, I'm sure they're lovely, it's just funny

don't think I wasn't thinking about Crowley and Aziraphale in the episode where Jon is like "what if we ran away together" in season four. When Jon is like "What if we ran away together, you and me, we could do it, what if we did" and he absolutely knows that Martin is not gonna say yes and maybe he doesn't want Martin to say yes but he wants to ask him anyway, he wants to try it anyway, because the fantasy of escape, together, is overpowering. anyway don't think I didn't think about Crowley

also laughed and laughed at the like four episodes at the end where Jon is like "maybe I should . . . . . . . . . . . become the Torment Nexus? From the classic scifi novel, Don't Become the Torment Nexus?" and first Martin and then everyone else is like "Jon, don't become the Torment Nexus" and it's really clear that you should not become the Torment Nexus but then later Jon says fuck it and becomes the Torment Nexus

I say it's really clear but the idea that you should strand and isolate and burn out the powers is not a bad one. I did like that the second to last episode was just a debate on morality with no clear resolution. that's a lovely way to send off your characters. tho it didn't matter a lot to the end plot? but still.

Jon "I think I'll just become the Torment Nexus" Simms, istg

THE TORMENT NEXUS

Sue Simms' voice is incredibly hot, Gertrude Robinson is absolutely deadass smokin, love how the Legend of Gertrude just built up over the seasons until by the end she was this like powerful callous avenging angel, no notes, might build a shrine in the woods with pictures of Gertrude in little jars

Gerry and Jurgen were both madly in love with her and she didn't notice or care because she was too busy kicking ass, no notes AT ALL

I really like the bit at the beginning of S5 where Jon is depression-listening to old archives tapes, like it's really effective to do the birthday party flashback just there when the world's just been apocalypsed, but I can't stop thinking about how Jon is listening to that tape and, in retrospect, being like "did Elias/Jonah use his all-powerful knowledge and vision to find out that there was cake in the office?" idk it really feels like Elias's motives in that flashback are like "eat cake" and no one else realizes that he's used his monstrous evil eye power to locate cake. anyway I imagine that Jon had all of these thoughts during his depression

Basira made me laugh ALL THE TIME, the voice acting was so good and she was so over everyone's shit. but at the same time there's this real softness to her at the end of S5 after she's killed Daisy, like she's still tough and grounded in her own perspective but suddenly more compassionate or sympathetic. she has such a good journey over the show

were Basira and Daisy a thing? I could not tell. maybe I should not ask. maybe I am not meant to know. maybe even asking shows how little I know, because their intense and murderous bond exceeds traditional relationship categories

I had a really nice time!!!

I will need to read fanfictions

I will need to watch animatics

I will need to seek out fanarts

the end

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Jonelias day 3! It's when people start to realize that, wait, I truly do have an endless recurring theme, huh. Setting: sick // Prompt: confessions

This... was not what Elias had expected. The goal, of course, had always been for Jon to be marked by the encounter in some fashion, and Elias had been eagerly waiting for it. This was to be the first stepping stone to his grand and final plan, after all, the apotheosis of centuries of work -- And yet, as Jon laid down on the ground, worms burrying into his skin, there had been no satisfaction whatsoever.

Hours later, Jon trembling with fever in Elias's bed, Elias still couldn't make out what had gone wrong -- or, rather, he feared he understood too well, but the idea was so ludicrous it was hard to entertain.

Half gone from both the sickness and the medication he'd taken for it, Jon was murmuring under his breath bribes of statements, mostly from the Corruption, his voice regularly shifting to the pitch of Jane Prentiss. Elias sat next to him, running a fresh wet towel over his face and neck, and kept staring, and staring, and staring.

Jon was going to be better in the morning -- he was too tied to the Institute for a few worms to claim him, and even if he hadn't, the spiders were protecting him; a few had slipped under his tongue a couple of hours ago, no doubt to devour the last remains of the unwanted parasites. Elias ought to let them to it, ought to let Jon to it, have him fully take in the encounter so that he may wake up stronger, changed, more beautiful still than he'd already been --

But he couldn't. Just as he hadn't been able to stop himself from bringing Jon home to him, ignoring Jon's fervent and exhausted insistence he was going to be just fine on him own despite having fainted mere minutes before, while finishing to interview Martin. Just he hadn't been able to stop his arm from pulling the handle of the fire sprinklers much earlier than first planned.

"I didn't think you'd care," Jon had muttered in the car, shivering, annoyed and quiet and still painfully grateful not to be alone after all this, no matter what he said out loud.

"You almost died, Jon," Elias had retorted, voice tight.

"Maybe you'll believe me next time I tell you a supernatural monster is hunting us," Jon had snarked, before slouching a little bit more into the car seat, eyes half closing. "You saved me, though. I guess I haven't said thank you yet, have I?"

"Rest," Elias had ordered, but Jon had fumbled to grab his arm, very briefly.

"Thank you," he'd whispered.

"What have you done to me, you terrible thing?" Elias asked now, at last, very softy. His hand brushed against Jon's cheek, who unconsciously leaned into it with a gentle sigh. "The Mother wouldn't have given you to me if they didn't wish for the same thing I do," he continued, all too aware of how tender his tone was. "If you were always meant to distract me, then why let Prentiss attack us at all? Is it all you, Jon? What do you have than none of the others had?"

Had Elias underestimated his own loneliness those past decades, that he would be so taken by this new young man to forget what truly mattered? Had it been easier to discard past lovers because they weren't made of the same ilk he was, or because he'd been then surrounded by many more people to fall in love with next? Was this a fancy, a midlife crisis, as it were, two centuries in the making, or was it just that Jon was everything Elias hadn't thought he would find one day? A mirror; a potential equal; a true partner, at last.

"I suppose I do truly love you," he confessed, slowly. The truth, not quite agreeable, seemed to be fearsome enough that Jon's eyes suddenly opened wide to look back at Elias. Elias shivered and considered killing him, right there, right then. It wouldn't be hard to explain away, after today, and Elias would not even have to fake the heartbreak.

But no. Just because it wasn't what he had expected didn't mean that it couldn't be interesting in its own right. Just because Elias hadn't wanted it didn't mean he wasn't curious about following another path, one closer to Jon and less focused, at least for now, on ending the world properly.

"Let's see together where this lead us," he told Jon. "It's been a very long time since I prioritized love, if I ever did at all -- this ought to feel novel for the both of us."

It seemed appropriate, then, to lean forward and kiss Jon. To make a proper vow out of it.

"Elias?" Jon mumbled, vaguely, against his lips.

"Shh," crooned Elias, now quite decided. "Sleep. Tomorrow is going to be full of surprises for the both of us, my love."

[devine-fem]

(D+J) The Valentine's Day I’ve been thinking about.

I’ve been thinking about Jon and Damian having been together for a fair amount of time, just enough to make Valentines important. Damian doesn’t try to go out of his way a lot but he wants to this time. He’s been planning something for Jon, something he thinks will make him very happy.

He’s been trying to learn kryptonese with the help of Kara. She was not a good teacher so much at first but he was a good student. At night if she wasn’t available he’d shovel through his Dad’s files on Kryptonians and study the alphabet and vocabulary.

He wants to surprise Jon with all his hard work and be able to speak his language. He knows he only picks up kryptonese from Chris and his Dad but beyond that, there are few people who he can share that with.

When they meet, Jon’s the one who thinks he’s surprising Damian with a haul of clothes he’s been gawking at and his favorite vegen dishes he suffered through cooking up. He’s dumbfounded when Damian thanks him in Kryptonese, actually he even thought he misheard him.

When he realizes what’s happening he throws back an “I’m glad you like it,” as a joke but when Damian understands and replies casually, his mouth gapes open.

He’s so happy, so purely happy, he can’t sit down anymore - he practically flew to him, berating Damian with questions on where he learned it from and how his punctuation is so good.

Damian’s proud of himself but less proud when Jon sheds a tear, then another, and then his smile just fades. So does Damian’s and now it stops being so proud.

Jon just cries and cries, Damian asks why he’s crying but he keeps saying “I don’t know,” all he can do is hold him tight till it passes.

If he was honest to himself that was the truth, he didn’t know, he was just as confused as Damian when he couldn’t stop himself from shoking on his own spit. Maybe, it had something to do with how at home he felt, or the way it felt so cared about and respected, like sometimes it’s easy to forget that you belong to the Earth as it’s easy to forget some people belong to you. He thought it couldn’t possibly affect him like the others - thought he’d be the one to break the cycle but alas, there still was pain that almost flowed in his blood.

Damian asked him if he didn’t want him to do that anymore but no, Jon insisted that he did and asked if maybe he could do the same for him sometime.

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 2 (+18)

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: SA | Family death | Fluff

Word Count: 1233

As your days passed you mostly read books about nature, biology, and adventures. you hated being stuck in that place knowing that your father would soon make you wed some lord just out of political interests. You saw Clegane almost every day since your father made sure you made your presence known to the king and his visitors. He didn't really like acknowledging you, but you didn't care and always looked at him whenever something ridiculous happened and you knew he wouldn't be able to fully hide his emotions.

One day while you were reading in the gardens, he came to you.

"The king requests your presence at once." He stood there waiting for you to accompany him.

"What is the matter?" You were confused since the king never addressed you without your father around.

"Your father..." He tried to sound less harsh than usual.

You followed him to your fathers chambers, where the king and your step mother gathered around the bed. Your father laid there, lifeless. You ran to him, as tears started running down your eyes. You held his face, it felt so cold.

"I will be leaving for The Eyrie with Robin in the morrow." Lysa announced.

"You won't be staying for the funeral?" The king asked.

"No, Robin wants to go home, he is very fragile at the moment." You rolled your eyes. Robin had no fault that his mother babied him so much, almost in a sick way, but you still felt complete detachment from your half brother.

"Don't worry Sabrina, you will stay here. I promised your father I would help you find a good man to wed you off" The king thought he was doing a great favor. In reality you didn't want to stay, but you didn't want to be with Lysa and Robin either.

You wanted to go back to taking care of your dogs. Walking on the hills of the Vale with your pack of loyal pups. Laying on the grass fields reading a book while they played and ran around. It was freedom. That's what you were missing.

"Thank you, your grace."

"I will however leave for Winterfell soon, would you care to join us?" You considered going, but since most of the king's family would be leaving, you thought staying there would be a better way to heal.

"I appreciate the invitation though I think it is better to stay, your grace." You thanked him thinking you would enjoy your days of freedom in the castle.

The king left a couple days later in the beginning everything was fine, but then you realized the King left the wrong Clegane to look after you. The Mountain was not like Sandor. He did not have boundaries or ideals. It was just brute force and cruelty. One night as you were walking into the library Ser Gregor followed you. He didn't say anything, he got closer and you knew something bad was about to happen.

"Ser Gregor what-" You were interrupted by his hands grabbing your neck and pushing your back to the wall. You tried to scream, but you couldn't breathe. You were able to scratch his eye with your nails and he backed up. You gasped for air and tried to run, but he grabbed your wrist and slapped your face so hard your bottom lip started bleeding. He wanked you toward the table and as you were struggling to get out he was pulling up your dress trying to get access to your ass. You screamed for help, but heard the horns meaning that the king was back.

"No one is gonna hear you now My Lady." He was right. With the King arriving everyone would go back to their working stations or to the front of the Red Keep. You started to cry as you heard him unbuckling his pants.

"You might want to consider joining the other knights at the main room to welcome your king Ser". Lord Varys stood at the door. Gregor let go of you and walked away angrily. Varys approached you.

"Are you alright my dear?" He helped you stand up.

"N- No..." Your legs were shaking. "Should we inform the king, my lord?" Varys sighed.

"Lady Sabrina, unfortunately it is more likely that the king sends you away. After all, you're only here as a favor to your deceased father." He was right. You knew the king did not want to deal with extra tasks especially related to someone who is not really important to the court now. It is obvious that Ser Gregor wouldn't try this with anyone with an important title, but right now your title was almost meaningless.

"Go on My lady, if you would like I will send a maester to check on you." You thanked him and walked to your chambers, as you got to the door you noticed you didn't bring the book you wanted from the library. You made your way back to the library trying to keep your legs from giving in. You went inside swiftly, grabbed your book and on your way out a huge man appeared. Your legs give in, you drop the book, fall to your knees and start hyperventilating.

"P-Please Ser Gregor d-don't." You begged quietly.

"What are you talking about girl?" The familiar grumpy voice made you look up. Sandor kneeled down to grab your book and noticed the bruises on your lip, and then on your wrists and neck. He took out a little cloth and cleaned the blood off your lip. You could barely look at him. You felt so humiliated. He helped you up and you suddenly noticed that your dress was ripped, more loose, falling off your left shoulder and almost exposing your breast.

"My brother did this to you?" he asked. You nodded and as you looked at him your tears rolled down. Your legs started shaking again and you felt like you were about to fall. Sandor gently placed your arm over his shoulder and grabbed your legs to carry you. You took the opportunity to hug his shoulders and bury your face on his neck, crying over the trauma you experienced just before.

"It's alright, you're alright now" His voice was soothing and you felt completely safe in his arms. It was actually a long way until your chambers, but it felt so short. All you wanted was for that man to hold you for the rest of the night, but clearly that was not an appropriate thing to ask of him.

He took you inside, sat you down on the bed and handed you the book. He didn't know exactly what to say. He grabbed the falling piece of dress and put it back up on your shoulder. You flinched when you felt his fingers brushing against your skin. The softness and warmth of your skin surprised him. He cleared his throat and left.

You heard him talking to some of the maids outside, soon later two maids and a maester appeared. The maids prepared a bath for you and helped you get out of your dress. The maester instructed you to drink a suspicious tea and take some milk of the poppy to sleep better. After your bath you chose to not drink the tea, but the few drops of milk of the poppy made you fall asleep very quickly.