#Want. What do you want Jon? What do you WANT?

[chaoticwriting]

YOU ARE MARRIED??!!

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Cass is not having a good time. From the Arkham breakout last week all the way to losing a bet with his siblings on who is going to attend the gala with Bruce. And now this annoying lady kept asking her about her preference in men or something. And Bruce can't help her since he is being occupied by those rich assholes about investment or stuff.

Vicky: So, Miss Wayne. Is it true that you have a secret boyfriend?

Cass: No.

Vicky: Then how about that pict-

Cass: I'm already married.

Vicky blue screened as Cass finished her sentence. Cass takes the chance and slips away from her before she starts barraging her with questions. Revealing that she is married may not be the smartest thing she has done but she is very annoyed at people who keep asking her about her secret significant other. If they want to ask, at least use the proper term.

Just as Cass reaches the hallway, she is scooped up by two strong arms and is carried away to the Batcave. Cass looks to her side to see Dick and Jason both holding one of her arms each and looking very pissed. Well, Dick looks very pissed. Jason looks like he is having fun. Cass doesn't struggle and just lets her brothers carry her to the Batcave to have the talk.

They put Cass on the couch and proceed to guard the exit of the cave on the off chance that she decides to escape. Not that she would because she and her husband have been thinking of breaking the news to their respective family for awhile now.

She waited for a few hours while playing on her phone. Her main phone. Not the one she used to contact her husband since this family has a lot of competent hackers. She knows that being married is like a big deal. But she doesn't expect it to be such a big deal.

When she says everyone is here, she means everyone. From all his close family all the way to Selina (Bruce's fiancee), Roy (Jason's boyfriend), Kori (Dick's wife), Kon (Tim's boyfriend), Jon (Damian's bff) and even Harley and Ivy is here. She is also pretty sure that Clark is listening from somewhere but it's not like she is trying to keep it a secret anymore, so the more people there are the less she needs to explain.

Harper: So what are we here again? I would rather be home to polish my new gun than in this cave.

Dick: Since everyone is here, I would like to apologize for calling all of you in such short notice.

A murmur ranging from 'it's fine' all the way to 'I want to sleep' sounded in the room.

Dick: Anyway, let's get to the main topic shall we. For starters, I would like to say that none of us wishes to control who you dated nor who you choose to be your partner.

Some more murmurs sounded in the room.

Dick: HOWEVER! We would really appreciate it if you wish to marry someone, at least notify one of us since being married is a big deal.

More murmurs sounded as all of them have a rough idea on what the topic going to be.

Dick: So, the person in question, would you like to explain yourself?

A spotlight lights up on top of Cass, directing all the people's attention to her. She doesn't even know there is a spotlight installed in the cave.Cass stands up and looks at the crowd. She replies, "No."

Everyone is stunned by her reply. They expect many types of replies but no is certainly not one of them.

Tim: Fuck you mean no?

Alfred: I would prefer this conversation to remain civil and proper please master Timothy. I would also like to express my extreme displeasure at the fact that I am not notified by your marriage Mistress Cassandra.

Cass goes still at Alfred's sentence. Okay, shit is really serious. As much as she loves messing with them, she would rather not have her food burnt on the inside. (No one knows how Alfred manages to do that.)

Cass: Ehem, I'm just messing with you. It is a long story but to make it short, my husband and I met when we were in Hong Kong. We met after he got roped in one of the gangs that I was busting. After we met and a little misunderstanding, he helped me to dismantle the underground drug labs across Hong Kong.

Tim: So he is also a vigilante?

Cass: Ex-vigilante. He has a daughter now so he is taking care of her.

Dick: You get pregnant?!! How? When?

Cass: I did not get pregnant. But she is technically my daughter.

Jason: Like how Lian is with me?

Cass: No. Biological daughter.

Kon: Umm, guys. I think Bruce needs to rest a little. His heart has been beating a little too fast for even him.

Dick and and Tim are closest to Bruce realizing that Bruce's face has been impossibly pale for quite a while now. They take him to an empty couch and let him lay there and rest for a while. Everyone's reactions range from amused to straight up concerned that Bruce's career as Batman might get cut short today.

It takes a while but as soon as Bruce is fine, they continue another round of questions and answers.

Bruce: How long have you been married?

Cass: Next week is our 3rd anniversary.

Duke: Wait. Didn't you plan to go to Hong Kong for some time next week? You even ask me to cover your patrol because you say you need to go somewhere.

Cass: I don't lie. I missed last year's anniversary since there was an Arkham breakout at the time.

Duke: Dude, still not cool. You are going on a date with your husband while I need to spend hours running on top of buildings around Gotham. So not fair.

Jason: Was the present you asked me to send last year also was for your husband?

Cass: Yes.

Jason: I've been your middle man all this time and I don't even know.

Barbara: I found it! This is the registration for marriage between Cassie Cain and Daniel Fenton. You used a fake name?

Cass: Yes. You will know otherwise.

Bruce: Why do you hide it?

Cass: I'm not sure all of you are gonna like him and vice versa.

Dick: Is he a bad person? I will kill him if he treats you badly.

Cass: No. He doesn't trust all of you at first.

Steph: And why is that?

Cass: He thinks the Justice League is working with the government. So by extension, all of you are associates of government to him.

Steph: Why is he running away from the government? Is he a criminal?

Barbara: No. He doesn't have any criminal records in his name. Except for the fact that he is practically nonexistent before he is 18, there is nothing wrong with him.

Tim: Is it a forged identity then?

Cass: No. The government wiped away his records.

Dick: What? Why?

Cass: I don't know.

Damian: I expect you to at least do a background check on someone before marrying them, Cain.

Dick: Did you get married with someone you barely know? Do you understand how dangerous that is? What if he just dipped you after you got married?

Cass: *Rolls her eyes* He isn't a bad person. I make sure of that at least. I know he is some sort of meta tho-

A green portal suddenly appears out of thin air making everyone be on guard except Cass. She expects Danny to come out of the portal to greet her but what comes out baffled her.

A young girl that looks a little like Cass riding on a big wolf comes out of the portal swiftly towards Cass. Everyone is just about to shoot their weapons when the girl's word shock them.

???:Mama!

Everyone: Mama?!!

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Hits Different

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader gets jealous when some women start hitting on Aaron at the bar on their team night out

CW: drunk!Hotch, jealous!Reader, mentions of an unsub and murder, drinking, confessions, makeout, Hotch being handsy, kinda needy!Hotch?

a/n: I’m literally obsessed with Aaron Hotchner rn

~~~

“No— I can’t,” you opposed as your coworkers decided to order another round of shots. Cheeks glowing as the alcohol seeped into you. Smiling as Derek put his arm around you and J.J. reached across the table to encourage you.

It was a Thursday night. You all had just gotten back from a week long endeavor in Utah. Local killer had his sight on some local young women. Killing them in some ritual style way that the drinks helped you fuzz the memory of. Luckily after you had addressed the public, he grew sloppy and was easily caught.

And now, back in your home state, you all crowded into a local bar to relax. And when the BAU “relaxed” it usually involved some heavy drinking.

“Shots! Shots! Sh-Shots!” Penelope and Emily chanted to the tune of the Lil Jon song. You laughed, a subtle snort escaping you. Rossi came back with the tray, beginning to pass them out to everyone.

Aaron Hotchner hovered behind him. Already having downed three glasses of scotch and beaming with alcohol on his face. It was a rare occasion that Hotch got drunk. Usually he just sipped at one drink while everyone else got themselves into trouble. But tonight he decided to let loose. Taking two glasses off the tray and squeezing in next to you in the already tight booth. Sitting them down in front of the two of you. Hooded eyes squinted upward in a closed-mouth smile as his eyebrows raised at you.

And you felt your face completely flush. Since your time at the BAU, you had developed a crush on your superior. Even if it was inappropriate and the age gap was a bit large, you still harbored feelings for him. And moments like this did not help.

Completely engulfed by the aroma of his cologne. Trying not to make it obvious you were smelling him. Hotch wrapped his arm around you absentmindedly. Leaning in and holding one of the glasses up to you. “Are you gonna do a shot with me?” His slightly slurred words melted against your skin. His voice somehow deeper and sultrier than ever. Everyone else was too distracted by the giggling of drunken excitement for more drinks to notice what was happening. It was like you two were alone for a moment.

You smiled, nodding slowly as he passed you the shot in his hand. Picking up the other and wrapping his arm around yours. Intertwined so that your hands were back against your own mouths. You were beyond flustered with the contact he was making with you. Hotch began counting down, both of you throwing the alcohol back on three.

Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Hotch blew his breath out. You watched as his nose scrunched up at the taste. Shaking off the strong taste as Hotch leaned in against you. His head bumping against yours for a moment. Lips pressing against your ear in his drunk state.

“Want me to go get us som’more drinks? You like something more fruity, right?” Hotch suggested, deep voice ringing in your ear. The feeling of his lips grazing your skin had you sweating.

“Only if you’re buying,” you pulled at his tie softly. Causing his eyes to lock into yours, corner of his mouth curving up. His eyes scanned your figure momentarily before getting up and strutting over to the bar.

“Oh. My. God.” J.J.’s voice pulled you back from your staring problem you had with Hotch. You whipped your neck to face her, adjusting your posture in the seat. Shaking your head slightly, “What?”

“What was that about?” J.J. grinned brightly, eyes bouncing from Hotch to you.

“We were just doing some shots together,” you felt your face heating up again. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as your mouth ran dry.

“The only other instances of Hotch getting that close to any of us was when we were hurt,” Spencer chimed in with his analytical sounding tone. Still as smart as ever even while drunk.

“Oh God, you guys,” you shook your head and scooted out of the booth. Stretching your legs for the first time tonight. Hands resting on the table as you got closer to the opposing side. Being eye-to-eye with J.J. and Spencer, “You guys know he acts different when he’s relaxed. It’s nothing.”

Spencer and J.J. exchanged a look of uncertainty. Neither of them believing what you had just said. Rolling your eyes at their smirking expressions. Catching on easily to the feelings you had for your boss.

Downside of having friends who are profilers.

“Drop it,” you pointed at them with two fingers. Your friends began snickering and laughing. You could not help but smile back at them. Laughter was contagious when you were intoxicated. You turned to meet your crush at the bar.

You froze.

Some woman was cuddled up with Hotch at the bar. Breasts peaking out of the top of her thin shirt, curled hair falling below her shoulders, and a beautiful face of makeup. Your heart sank down to your ankles. Watching as her hand trailed his chest. Watching how her perfectly glossed lips popped as she spoke to him inaudibly.

Worst of all: his smile.

SSA Hotchner tended to be gruff and stern. Brooding and unreadable. Purely business around you and the other members of the BAU. Stoic and distant. Something you all agreed was so he did not get overly attached, just in case something happened to one of you. Rarely smiling other than seeing his sweet son, Jack.

Guess tonight was different.

Rosey cheeks and perfect teeth painted his expression. Eyes locked in on the woman before him. Your hands began shaking at your sides. If it was not a cartoon cliche, you would have had smoke coming out of your ears. Teeth grinding together behind tightly pierced lips.

Rethinking any hints he may have given you. Feeling like you had fooled yourself into a crush. Angry that some random bitch woman was getting too friendly with Hotch.

Unable to take it anymore. Jealousy brewing inside you, ready to overflow. You marched up to the bar, immediately pulling Hotch’s attention from the woman.

“Sorry to interrupt—“

“Hi, Y/N,” Hotch smiled at you. Causing butterflies to flutter in your intestines. Especially with the casualty of your first name.

God, he was drunk.

“SSA Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to the woman, lip twitching when she shined her perfect smile. Flaring your nostrils and locking your jaw when your hand met hers.

“Hi! I’m Hope,” her peppy attitude made you sick to your stomach. Trying your best to fake your expression. Anger causing a slight shake to your demeanor.

“Right…” you trailed off, looking at Hotch whose eyes had not left you yet, “Hotch—“

“C’mon, Y/N. You can call me Aaron here,” he leaned in and whispered to you. Chills ran down your entire body when the heat from his lips radiated against your skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

Oh, he was REALLY drunk.

“Aaron,” you started, watching him smile at you saying his first name, “Did you get my drink?”

Hotch’s hand came up cupping his cheek as his eyes squinted, “Oh my God. That’s why I came up here. I totally forgot—“

“Don’t worry about it, Hotch,” your frustration took over your attitude. Fists clinching at your sides. Feeling tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. Deciding to storm off without the drink. Heading towards the long corridor to the bathrooms.

“Y/N—“ Hotch reached out to you with a confusion behind his tone. Not caring enough to listen to whatever excuse his drunken self was gonna give you. Trying your best not to make a scene so none of your coworkers would notice and come after you. Really just needing to be alone.

You leaned against the cold wall, hands holding onto each of your arms. Head resting against the brick of the dimly lit hallway. Fighting your eyes that begged to leak with your feelings. And you felt stupid. Did you really think your own boss would be interested in you? Enough to not get distracted by the beautiful woman at the bar? Please.

Feeling suddenly sober at the heartbreak in your chest. Hands coming up to cover your redening face. Embarrassed that you had even toyed with the notion. Knowing it was completely against protocol to fraternize with coworkers. Let alone with your superior—

“Y/N?” Hotch’s somber voice broke you away from the thoughts filling your mind.

You blinked your eyes open. Manually breathing as your shoulders rose and fell. Controlling the water that begged to pour from your eyes. Clicking your tongue as you spoke, “Hotch.”

“I told you, you could call me Aaron here,” he leaned against the wall beside you. Arms folded over his broad chest. Pondering the informality before looking back to him.

“I thought you saved that for pretty girls at the bar,” you half-heartedly smiled. Flaring your nostrils as you contorted your face to hide your frown.

Hotch laughed, bearing that smile that had you seeing stars. Eyes closing for a moment, giving you the opportunity to linger in it. Enjoying him being this casual with you.

“Is that not what you are?” Hotch asked.

You whipped your head to look at him again. Brows furrowed tightly together as your mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

Hotch rose a brow, “Are you not a pretty girl? At the bar with me right now?”

You blinked as you stammered, “I— Not like… I mean— not like that girl at the bar…” You trailed off completely dumbfounded by his statement. Hotch watched you with a smile. His own cheeks still red.

“You think I’m pretty?” You finally formed a cohesive sentence unable to stop your mouth from curving into a smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hotch’s hooded eyes stared into yours. Taken aback by that. Questioning for a moment if he was mocking you. Realizing by his expression he was not.

“You’re drunk, Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “And, yeah I am drunk. But just drunk enough to finally be honest with you about that.” Hotch’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lip. Hand coming up and rubbing his neck at his confession.

“You didn’t have to come back here just to try and make me feel better. You were having a good chat with that woman at the bar. She was so beautiful, and made you smile, and not a part of the BAU, and—“ you covered your mouth getting embarrassed and shameful.

Hotch’s hand caressed your cheek. Pulling you back to him. His brows laid flat against his eyes. Lips pressed firmly together, watching his throat bob with the swallow he took. Thumb rubbing circles into your warm cheek, swiping away the singular line of tears that streamed down.

“I’m sorry— it’s the alcohol, that’s why I’m crying—“

Hotch cut you off by pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. Your eyes flew open. Hand gently resting against his chest as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. Feeling your breath hitch in your throat and heart swell.

“You taste so sweet,” Hotch groaned, both hands gripping your face now. The primal noises he made causing arousal to swirl around your belly. Feeling its residue stick to your panties. His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. Nipping against your soft skin as his hands roamed down the backside of your body. Gasping when his large hands groped your ass.

“I get chit-chatty when I’m drunk. That girl at the bar didn’t matter at all,” Hotch promised against your skin with kisses breaking up his sentences.

“You won’t even remember this in the morning,” you giggled when he took your earlobe between his teeth. Feeling a somberness sinking into your gut.

“How could I forgot this?” Hotch breathed into your ear. Sounding like he was desperate and almost completely out of breath, “Forget about you?”

Hotch pulled back to look into your eyes. Really taking in your face before him. Your eyes kept darting between his and his lips. Smiling when you could still taste him on your lips.

You pressed up on your toes, lips meeting his again. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Sloppily intertwining together. Huffs and grunts coming from Hotch as he pulled your front flush against his. You blushed at the feeling of his bulge.

“What about the team?” You questioned as the weight of the situation became suddenly apparent.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Hotch pressed his lips back to yours. Kissing away any fear or dread that was in your mind. Completely consuming you. Smiling as you both allowed hands to roam the other’s body.

You broke the kiss momentarily, “So— wait— you mean Rossi thinks I’m pretty too?” You teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Watch it,” Hotch smiled with a playful aggression on his tone, capturing you back in a kiss. Laughing together as you pressed lips together.

~~~

[END//?]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m having such a blast writing for Hotch right now. Honestly, I’m think about making a smutty part 2 to this fic if anyone was interested. If you have requests or want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~

[rheitais]

Dc x Dp Fallen Moons

I know the whole danny & damian twin au is kinda over used. So I raise you this. Dan(Dante) and Danny are twins and deaged, stuck in gotham but they manage to befriend Damian and Jon.

I really don't want the twins to get adopted by bruce (even if he tries too). Give them to a rogue or something (tell me who would be a good parent to these chaotic kids) and let it snow ball from there. Imagine how much chaos that would bring. They are Eldritch twins, pretty much pulling the shining moments to scare their teachers. Cue Dick or Bruce picking Damian from school and having the uncanny "something is very much off about them" Fentons trying to introduce themselves and they do it in sync. The uncanny vibes were not on purpose but the in sync was.

I feel like their creep-ish nature should be studied. During lunch one of the other rogues attacks the school. Power was cut off. Damian, Jon and the twins are stuck in the dark but Damian realizes it's not completely dark. No, it wasn't completely dark because the twins way too blue eyes are glowing in the dark. Or when Damian and Jon aren't looking (they are slightly taller than Damian and jon) if a bully is trying to bully them, they would stand perfectly still behind Damian and Jon, staring unblinkingly. The bully swears up and down they saw the void and death in those eyes but there is no proof of that.

Even if they look identical, and can very much play as the other. They do have their moments when they don't play creepy twins. Danny is more quiet, he flinches from time to time at loud noises. Dan wouldn't hesitate to swear at rogues, goons and vigilantes alike. Cue angst here, of before their parental figure found them in an alley way. When they get really emotional Dan eyes glow red while Danny's glows green.

During Bat and birds hour, Oracle and Red Robin try getting footage of the twins but no matter what it distorts no matter how close or how far they are from the lens. Forget recording coming even close to them causes snow and static noises almost blowing up any sound devices they try planting on them.

[Interactions]

[iamverynormalaboutsge]

Ok- wow- hello! Thanks for the tag. I don't know who to tag so uh- anyone feel free to join-?

Do I get prep time? Prep time as in do we immediately just go at each others throat or can I negotiate peace-?

Aric(SGE): I am dead as hell unless I somehow being 'useful' enough for him to try and seduce me and try to get some sort of position of power

Rafal(prequels SGE): Uhhh- no yeah dead. Solver powers

Doll(MD): I am dead. Just- just dead

Regulus Black(Harry Potter Marauders era): Baked✨, one Avadakadavra and bye bye

Jon Snow(GOT): Uh- yeah no he kills me in 5 aeconds. Sword. A dire wolf. A lot of battle skill.

Jacaery Velaryon(HOTD): So. He has a sword. He has a dragon. What do you want from me?

@maryalezoo @exotic-dinostuff (it's me @/ria-the-creator)

I thought of a cool tag game

So first say your favorite book character then if you were to take them on in a fight how fucked are you? Then tag as many people as you can in it.

Leo Vantiz (Heroes of Olympus series): I am probably dead because little boy can turn in to a match in less then thirty seconds!

@bonsai-maze @shroombloom248 @attackweeb @alyxanderthetranskid @aneptunicperson

[lights-at-night]

ik the general depiction of faulkner is with top surgery scars but you cannot convince me he had top surgery before season 2. i know in my heart he was binding with tape and a sports bra for like several days on end because he didnt want to not bind in front of carpenter. at some point he heard about unsafe binding and immediately disregarded everything he heard because he thought it'd be different for him. bastard was gritting his teeth and suffocating at 11pm on the road desperately waiting for their arrival at the next motel so he could take that thing off. and i think if he ever had top surgery at all it wouldve been during the withermark blackmail era of early season 2 as another manipulation strategy from mason, given what jon ware has said abt the nature of crab hrt. like "oh brother faulkner i believe you were on the list for top surgery before your pilgrimage? well good news it's your turn now! are you sure you're okay to go through with the procedure given your shock from the withermark - how is that going, by the way?" i believe in either top surgery or s2 or none at all. if he tried in s3 there probably would have been some internal scuffle about who was worthy enough to do the high prophet's top surgery and he'd never hear back from them. if we go through the faulk never had top surgery route that adds to my headcanon that his high prophet robes give him dysphoria. rane would have tried to make sure he was binding safely/get him to stop altogether so he wouldn't hurt himself. so there was probably a moment when he looked in the mirror, in dress robes and grown out hair and was forcefully thrust back into thinking about himself when he was younger and hadn't transitioned yet and silently questioned how much he'd even changed since then

[annabelle--cane]

i wasn’t here when tma reached the height of its popularity (i only joined last year) so could you describe the Vibes (how bad the drama was, did it feel like there were too many people, etc.)

only if you want to :]

I've said this before, so this may be a familiar spiel to longer term followers, but 2020 tma fandom was honestly not the worst fandom I've ever been in, it was just by far the biggest thing I have ever been actively into at peak popularity and so the 1% of insane people that are found in every fan space were 1% of a much bigger total population. most people were fine and chill, but there were a vocal minority who Weren't.

major ingredients in the discourse pot:

from my observations, tma had a small but devoted listener base for its first few years, then it got a little bump in mid 2018, then a considerable bump in late 2019, then hit proper virality in early 2020, so there were a lot of people with hipster complexes about being Real Fans who were there first and weren't just part of the masses.

at this point I'm not even sure if this part was true, but the above was compounded by the perception that the earlier og listener base were mostly adults and the new wave of fans were mostly tweens and teens. whether the different waves actually fell along those age lines or not, a lot of people felt like the fandom was split into 80% Cringe Zoomers Who Are Here For Ships And Memes and 20% Millennials and Gen X'ers With Media Literacy Who Are Here For Horror. nice dichotomy, idiot, now what lies outside it, etc and such and such. our blessed fandom etiquette vs their barbarous dni lists.

which isn't to say that suddenly having a huge number of people, including young people, become interested in a single piece of media at a time of global stress where everyone had to be much more online and the content of the media itself was at its darkest and most socially relevant had no downsides. oh no. Oh No.

"my headcanon is not only objectively the best headcanon but it actually invalidates all of yours and if you hc something different then it's an act of bigotry against my Correct Headcanon." / "I have drawn up a list of Good Characters you have to like and aren't allowed to criticize and a list of Bad Characters you have to hate and can't acknowledge exist unless it's to make fun of and completely condemn them." / "I saw her username in the kudos of a jonelias fic" "girl what were YOU doing in the kudos of a jonelias fic" / "this latest episode handled a social issue unforgivably badly, I haven't experienced it myself but the vibes were off, everyone demand accountability and boycott the rest of the show" "hey that one was actually based on jonny's personal experiences" "ah fuck not again. well boys let's remember this for next time. this latest epis--"

honestly most of the discourse was down to like two or three friend groups. there was one group of people who you will probably remember if you were there at the time whom I have sometimes seen referred to as the Clown Gang. Clown Gang were ground zero for a good 90% of fan discourse ("hcing melanie as ace is ableist and lesbophobic" "fan content that focuses on jon's asexuality is biphobic. what's pansexuality I've never heard of it." "desolation tim aus are inherently ableist and racist"), but eventually they had a big falling out with Clown Prime and things calmed down. to be very clear I hold no ill will towards any of these people for four year old bad takes, hence why I'm not using any names, but god was it a time.

and this is only about the tumblr side of things. I was barely active of twitter so idk what it was like there but I was on tiktok for about a year during that time and the vibes were wildly different. iirc people there were less confrontational and there wasn't really a callout culture like on tumblr, but the extremes of the takes were FAR worse.

[candyskiez]

jon was the last human being elias ever saw. the last human being he ever talked to. the last human being he ever touched. hes been inside the heads of everyone in the world but jon was the last person he ever saw. and maybe the only person he ever truly saw. anyway hi how are you

Saros I need you to understand I made a Noise at this ask that made my cat run over to check on me. Which i think is maybe a little predictable of me.

I am also thinking about this in the context of how Jonah said that realizing his own selfishness was an awful thing to know, but also incredibly freeing. Thinking about how he again said Jons attempt, that was completely unsuccessful!!!, was nice! It was freeing! He enjoyed it!! Thinks about how Jonahs fear was of losing control, of his chance of survival and safety being taken away. He enjoys being known! He enjoys being understood by someone he thinks deserves it. He likes the idea of being known, of someone realizing that yes, he is a bad person, and seeing beauty in it. He likes the idea of it.

Thinks about how he viewed Jon as...not a companion, but as his in some way. Thinks about how he is completely sure that he understands Jon. Thinks about the way he knows about all of Jons deepest traumas and insecurities, knows exactly what to say to hurt him. Thinks about "I knew it had to be you." Thinks about, again "the freedom of it all." The freedom of it all!

Thinks about how Jonahs response to Jon saying he failed was just "Have i?" Thinks about how Jon tells him he's going to end the world and kill everyone and starving all the fears to death, he just says "That WE serve." Jon just told him he's going to undo everything he ever worked for but he refuses to let Jon think, for even a second, that they aren't the same. Because whether Jon likes it or not, Jonah is maybe the only person at the time who could possibly understand why Jon is doing this. Who could possibly understand every single reason. He already knows why Jon is doing this. He already knows everything that's led up to this point. And if jons going to do it, he knows he can't stop him. That's what scares him. But he won't let Jon pretend.

Thinks about how this is the first and last time we hear Jonah be afraid. Thinks about how Jonah is scared shitless, begging for his life against the person he happily destroyed the life of, and he knows he's fucked! But he doesn't want to die! And he sees the anger and fear and desperation and want of a man he ruined, of a man he made into something he views as beautiful, and it's the last thing he sees!!! Do you think he thought it was beautiful. Do you think he saw himself. Do you think in that moment he thinks, maybe he loves this man. Do you ever think about the fear and then acceptance, that he can't run forever. He's done. There's nothing he ever could've done. But he made something incredible, and nobody will ever be able to ignore the horrible, wonderful mark he left on the world. His last words were wishing him good luck! It's insane! Not "you're no better than me" or calling him a monster or anything. Just. Good luck. Good luck. It's insane. What the hell. I need to analyze it. What do you MEAN good luck.

Jon is the one person he could truly view as anything close to Part of what he was doing or what he wanted, and it didn't save Jon. It actively ruined his life. Do you think Jon saw Jonah gazing up at him with affection mixed in with horror as he died. Do you think it haunts him if/when he escapes somewhere else. I think it haunts him. I think he never manages to forget it. I think sometimes he looks at himself and understands why Jonah was so fond of him. I think that scares him more than he'll ever be able to explain. I think it's the one thing he'll never tell anyone he'll meet. I think Jonah ended with Jon, and Jon carried him with him for the rest of his life, and he wishes he didn't. I think Jonah would like that. I think Jon knows that, and he hates that too. (I think Jon wonders, would Jonah have even remembered him? If the roles had been reversed?) (I think he knows the answer.)

Anyways my days been great how's yours.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Every season Jons were in dire need of a kitten thrown into their lap to care for, but I do believe S2!Jon and S4!Jon might have been the most fixed by getting one.

Now, don't get me wrong, S1 Jon might be nicer to Martin faster, but he would still be firmly in denial that he's being watched whenever he reads a spooky statement, Prentiss would still happen, etc. S3!Jon HAS a cat, sort of, at least for a moment, in so far as the Admiral and him hang out, but he doesn't have the responsability of a cat, and might actually be more worried about the poor cat if he did so, because his life consists of being burnt, almost killed, and kidnapped during that whole season. the kitten MIGHT still help for the Trauma post-Nikola that he can't acknowledge beyond making a sad joke at his not-quite-boyfriend, though. S5 Jon would have a kitten who is probably not quite a kitten anymore. Now, he would still love it to death, but Martin might get uneasy, and it might bring more tension, and we don't really need that.

S2!Jon though?? I mean, yes, he MIGHT bring the cat with him on his sneaky adventures to spy on coworkers, but what if the cat gets lost?? and it would mean he has to come home to feed the little thing in general. which means being away from the institute a bit more, which means away from the influence of the eye and not!sasha slightly more, which means the paranoia might be eased SOMEWHAT. Harder to believe your friend Tim Stoker, who had zero reason to kill Gertrude Robinson, actually killed Gertrude Robinson and also wants to kill you, if you're safe at home at cuddling a little kitten and Tim Stoker just sent you the heart eye emoji after you grudgingly sent him a pic.

I trust I don't have to explain why S4 Jon needed the little kitten. OBVIOUSLY S4 Jon needed the little kitten. By GODS someone gives S4 Jon a little kitten.

[emotionalhottiee]

Whole Again ❤️

Jimmy Uso/ Jonathan Fatu

This is the conclusion to Broken

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.

Warning: 18+ (This content may include explicit material).

Before i knew it we were back at Jon’s condo. And ever since we stepped out of his car, we have been inseparable. Our lips only coming apart to press elevator buttons and open doors. I know that this sounds crazy… But i feel whole again now that we are together. He was made for me.

We reached his door FINALLY. Our lips came undone to allow Jon to unlock his door. He seemed as if he was a bit nervous the way he was fumbling with his keys. It was honestly so cute to watch.

As he held the door open, i walked over towards his leather couch. As much as i missed him, there needed to be a conversation.

Jon was standing by his front door messing with something before he made his way over to the couch. Walking right in front of me, he bent down so he was literally hovering over me. He leaned forward to kiss me again, but i put my hand up abruptly stopping his lips from touching mine. A confused look arose of his face as he moved over to the right of me sitting on the couch, but turning his body so that he was facing me. “We need to have a conversation about the infidelity before we can just move on as if nothing happened.” I stated calmly. Trying my best to get through what was going to be an emotional talk.

You can do this.

“I hadn’t imagined being able to forgive you. Because watching you fuck someone else, in the same bed you fuck me. That killed me inside Jon”. I murmured avoiding eye contact. “And then where’d you go? Chasing a new piece of ass, instead of calling me”. “Your future wife” i threw my hands up doing a very aggressive air quote. Because that is what he always called me. “You cheated and then you moved on as if i meant nothing to you.”

I came undone. As much as i tried to hold back the tears, but they couldn’t be contained any longer as they were steadily falling down my face.

No longer being able to avoid eye contact Jon placed his fingers gently under my chin, lifting my head up until i our eyes met for the umpteenth time tonight. “What happened with that girl meant nothing to me”. My heart was pounding out of my chest. “I made a mistake that i have regretted ever since” he stated his eyes looked past all of my tears, deep into my soul. Sending a wave of chills down my spine.

It is insane how this man, can make me want to apologize to him for the things he did wrong.

I hate to admit that he had the kind of power over me. But he simply did. And then came those words that i had longed to genuinely hear for 5 agonizing days. “I’m Sorry”. He stated his voice deep, but soft for me. He kept lookin into my eyes, pleading to me without saying another word. Crazy how two little words can mean so much. Causing you to forgive even the most hurtful things imaginable. With a simple apology. The pain and hurt and betrayal i had been feeling for the last 5 days, slowly started to vanish.

God i hate how much i love this man.

But he is my true weakness. How can i stay angry at the person, who brings me so much happiness? Why would i? Life is all about forgiveness right? Aren’t you supposed to forgive those who hurt you?

Throughout my internal conflict Jon never took his brown eyes off of me. I saw all the sincerity i needed to see in those eyes. He reached his finger up to my eyes wiping the last of my tears. Before returning his gaze to mine. “I never meant to hurt you Kenzi. I promise it was a terrible mistake that will never happen again”. He said lovingly while he pressed his forehead against mine.

Bringing my hand up to his beard in awe of those facial features that adorned his face. “I forgive you Jonathan” i said calmly again, because i genuinely did. Nobody will understand why it is so easy for me to forgive this man. And it’s simply because i need this man perhaps more than i need my own supply of oxygen. As unhealthy as that sounds my obsession with him is truly that deep.

We exchanged a few more passionate kisses. Whispering sweet nothings to each other in between. As Jon got off the couch first. His towering 6’3 frame bending down in front of me once again. But this time he was scooping me up into his arms as if it were nothing. Our faces coming back together as he carried me into his bedroom, with my legs wrapped around his waist.

I noticed the brand new bed set on his king sized bed. And a small smile crept up on my face. “Im glad he changed the sheets”, i thought to myself relived that he didn’t have those same sheets from his past transgressions.

He laid me down on the king sized bed and he placed a trail of kisses from my cheeks down to my neck. “I love you so much, little mama” he whispered into my neck know that would send me into a frenzy. “I love you too baby” i whimpered back softly. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he took his large hand gliding it down my body, until he came in contact with my the silver button of my boyfriend jeans.

Sitting up on his knees, he freed up his other hand to slide my jeans down to my ankles, before tugging them off of my body completely. He did the same with my crop top shirt freeing my bra-less boobs from them. I sat myself up on my elbows to watch him. As he stared at my almost naked body, biting down on his bottom lip allowing me to only see the top row of his pearly white teeth. Rubbing his hand over my Fenty boy shorts he smirked feeling the wetness he had cause through my panties. “You missed Daddy didn’t you?” He asked his smirk never leaving his face. All i could do was nod my head, as he inserted his middle finger into my center. I let out a whimpering moan. As he knelt down only nesting his face in my neck to slowly pick up the pace. “FUCK” i let out as my hands tried holding on to the sheets. He placed kisses on my neck knowing his was going to insert another finger. I squeezed my self ever so tightly feeling the added finger. He kept a steady pace as he bought his face up to mine. Telling me he loved me before placing a kiss on my lips.

He knows what he’s doing to me.

I let out a barrage of my moans, as i came on his fingers. He just looked at me grinning from ear to ear. As he pulled out his fingers now covered in my juices. He stood up from the bed, stripping himself of his clothes until he was left in only his boxers. He came back down to me kissing me as he slowly pushed my body flat onto the bed. Planting a trail of kisses as he made his way down to my thighs.

He was unusually quiet, which to me was a sign he was focused. He finally removed my panties after what felt like an eternity. Coming face to face with the pussy that belonged to him. He kissed me on the insides of each thigh before he kissed my vagina. My hands found their way to his hair that was brushed into a bun. Taking out the rubber band that kept it together, so that i could run my fingers through his beautiful curls.

He made out passionately with my vagina, moving back and forth between my opening and clit never missing a beat. At this point my hands embedded in his curly hair pushing his face into my glistening pearl, as i did that Jon took it as a sign to insert his tongue into me. Bringing one hand up message my clit while sliding his tongue in and out of me. feeling me near the edge. He removed his finger from my clit, going back to using only his mouth. He moaned into my pussy instructing for me to cum for his and i gladly obliged.

Making sure to clean me up, with his with tongue, he bought his face back to mine. Kissing me passionately with what was left of my juices that remained on his lips. He slowly rose back to his knees, then off of the bed to his feet to remove his final article of clothing, his boxers. Freeing that big beautiful brown dick of his that was swinging back and forth.

He climbed back in bed, coming down to me, until i felt his entire frame over me. Kissing me once more. All this passion he was giving me had made my knees weaken. He looked me in my eyes in between kisses as he inserted his fully erect penis into me. Both of us letting out of moan of pleasure. Him from feeling my warmth tighten around him. And mine from feeling the dick that i was in love with, enter me again after what felt like forever. I bought my legs up to wrap around his waist as my arms wrapped around his neck. As he feed my pussy stroke after stroke. I dug my nails into his skin as he move one arm to separate my leg slightly allowing him to dig his deepest so that his dick could kiss my cervix.

Trying not to make him bleed from my scratching i opted to move my hand back to his luscious curls, that were now all over the place. While my hands were roaming through his hair he placed his forehead against mine. Signaling to me that he was inching closer to a finish. As was i. He whispered another sweet apology followed by him confessing his love for me again.

Locking our eyes together again. Was enough for me to release all over his member as he groaned against my lips. Waiting for me to ride the last wave of my orgasm. He released his load inside of me mixing all of our juices together inside of me. While getting out his final strokes. He laid on top of me trying to catch his breath. I slightly turned my head towards his as i ran my fingers across his soft back.

He planted a soft kiss on my lips as he rolled off me. I took this as an opportunity to go to the bathroom and get myself together. Before finding one of Jon’s large tshirts to put over my naked body. Laying back in bed, he pulled me to him so that we were skin to skin leaving absolutely no room in between us. He softly let out one last “I love you little mama”, before shutting his eyes. I stared at him while caressing his face. Simply responding with an “I love you too Jonathan”. He smiled eyes still shut as we held each other before drifting off to sleep.

This is where i belonged.

[strawberry-daiquiris]

trying to recover from the jondo + 26 that took me out at the knees and greedy as I am, if that's anything, a jondo + 24 would probably be the last nail in the coffin 🙏🏼

a top reader, a top prompt 💕 this could either be seen as a continuation of edging jon and lando ooooor, just another version of them where jon gives lando what he needs because it's safer than letting him try to find someone else who might not be so trustworthy

jondo | oral fixation/mouth play | warning for gagging, choking, being a bit dangerous with plastic objects

for the kink generator ask game

****

It’s boring, when they have to wait around for the rain to clear. Lando’s hit over a hundred in a row playing keepy-uppy against the wall with his padel racket and one of Andrea’s stress balls.

Boring. Like Oscar when he refuses to rise to the bait of Lando’s challenge to try and beat him, retreating to his driver’s room to call his girlfriend, or something shit like that.

For the last five minutes, Lando’s been trying to get his mouth around the plastic of one of his water bottles.

He’s just about made it past the spout, the hard rim of black popping through the straining red sides of his lips. It stings, but in a good way, his eyes starting to water as he feels the smoother plastic start to slide in, the bit you suck on with your mouth poking at his uvula. He must be past the markings now, slipping down the 1000ml to the 900ml. He got to about 850 before, once, but the bottle was smaller. Thinner.

When Jon wanders in, right on time for his scheduled lunch, he doesn’t look as shocked as Lando wanted him to. Just rolls his eyes, chucking a plate of chicken wrap and badly cut vegetables onto the table.

“Lunch. Looks like that might hurt,” he comments. He cranes his neck, looking for Lando’s crotch. “Ah, maybe not.”

Lando smiles, or tries to anyway, the plastic suddenly feeling too hot in his mouth. He tries to tell Jon to fuck off, stop staring at his willy if he’s not going to do anything about it, but the only sound he makes is muffled, like he’s getting choked.

That’s when the panic starts to set in, a bit. He tries to pull at the bottle, but it’s not coming.

It’s stuck, he mumbles, but it just sounds like a hum.

“You bloody idiot,” Jon snorts, leaning close to Lando’s face, peering through his stupid big glasses. “Can you not get it out now?”

Lando tries to plead with his eyes, blinking out tears. Jon leaves it just long enough that he’s starting to feel his heart beat painfully against the shell of his chest before he gently puts a hand behind Lando’s head.

“You’ll have to relax,” Jon tells him. “Or it’s going nowhere.”

Lando tries, he really does, but it’s no use. He can feel himself going a bit faint, forgetting he can breathe through his nose.

He’s going to die with a big fuck off plastic bottle plugging his mouth. The photos of the crime scene will be all over the internet. Someone will leak them.

“I have to do everything around here,” Jon grumbles, as he steadies Lando’s head a bit firmer and hooks his finger in next to the plastic. “Stop moving.”

Lando grabs at his hand, because it fucking hurts, and the whole point is that his mouth is splitting open, so why is Jon sticking more in?

“Stop. Wriggling,” Jon says, teeth gritted, and his fingernails are digging into Lando’s scalp now. He can feel the bits of dandruff flaking off him. “I’m trying to help you, you muppet.”

The air Jon lets out through the corner when he pulls his finger out is enough to break the seal, and the bottle comes free. Lando breathes in deeply, coughing and retching as Jon pulls it out, the plastic covered in spit, bubbling in some of the deeper grooves on the lid.

“What was that about?” Jon asks, wiping the bottle on the expensive jacket Lando wore into the paddock that morning before he chucks it onto the pile to go to the hospitality dishwashers. “If I hadn’t been here you’d have had it, you idiot.”

“Knew you were coming, didn’t I?” Lando counters, picking up one of his crudités and sticking it in his mouth. It feels impossibly small after the bottle, and he clashes his teeth when he bites down too hard. The carrot chops in half, hitting against the swollen mess he’s made of the roof of his mouth before he can swallow it. “Wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Jon puts two of his fingers back in Lando’s mouth, but gentler this time. He feels around the bits that are red, pink, in danger of bleeding or already well past that point. Lando can taste the metallic twang when he smacks his lips together, like when you pick at a spot on your lip, or have a nosebleed.

“You have to be more careful,” Jon says quietly, soothing his fingers along the inside of Lando’s cheek. It tickles, sensitive, and if he was hard before, he’s harder now. “It’s one thing wanting this-“

Jon flips his wrist over, and slides the rest of the fingers from one hand in until the bent part of his thumb bumps against Lando’s lips. It takes him by surprise, even though it’s what he set all this up for, eyelids fluttering at the intrusion.

“And another doing whatever that was.”

He jerks his head at the bottle, and Lando tries to make sure his eyes look understanding, sorry.

When he pulls his fingers out, Lando rasps it out too, to really hit home.

“Sorry Jon, I didn’t think it woul-”

“Fuck off,” Jon snorts, plugging his thumb into Lando’s mouth and waiting with it resting on his tongue until Lando accepts the peace offering, closing his mouth and sucking on the digit. It tastes a bit like peri-peri, like Jon’s already had his lunch. “You absolutely fucking did, you weirdo.”

Lando feels his cheeks go a bit pink, and there’s actually a bit of shame that creeps in. Wanting weird stuff comes naturally to him, but acting on it takes a bit of confidence. It’s the same in racing - he knows he’s good, he knows he can take it.

He just needs it to go well to kick him off.

Jon sighs, using his free thumb to swipe the tear on Lando’s cheek, and then he leans in.

“Since you got started, d’you want to finish off before you eat?”

Lando nods, so eagerly he moves Jon’s hand. It’s like they’re shaking on it.

“Idiot,” Jon says, but not unkindly, ruffling Lando’s curls. He pulls his thumb out with a pop. “Go on then, trousers off.”

They always do this before Lando eats, if they can, just in case. He’s never, not really, but he’s gagged a few times when it’s been too soon after a meal, or he’s downed a big glass of water.

Jon gets him to sit on the side of the bed, legs hanging off. They swing about, miles off touching the floor. Lando works himself up a bit, first, spitting on his hand and sliding it along his dick until a bit of pre starts to collect on his tip.

“Eager,” Jon comments, as he comes up beside him. “Open up then.”

They do two things in this position. Sometimes, Jon adjusts his neck, gently pressing it from side to side to work out a knot, relax a muscle.

And sometimes, he loops an arm around Lando’s head, holds it to his shoulder and sticks his full fist in his mouth, until Lando chokes, feeling fingernails brush the sensitive parts inside.

“That’s it,” he says, as he uses his free hand to slap Lando’s own off his dick, taking hold of it himself. “Good boy.”

Lando wishes he could see what he looks like, his dick red and leaking and Jon’s arm disappearing into his mouth at the wrist. The metal of the band for his whoop keeps bumping cold against the tip of Lando’s nose, so he knows he must be that deep. There’s a mirror on the wall, but it’s just a bit too far away.

Still, Lando points at it, even as his eyes roll back in his head, breathing as heavily as he can out of his nose. Unlike the bottle, he trusts Jon not to hurt him, not to push too far.

“Hmm?” Jon asks, following Lando’s finger, and then laughing. “Jesus, really? Fine, just… careful when you jump down.”

Between them, they manoeuvre him off the table, his legs shaking as Jon helps him across the room, still working over his dick. Lando closes his eyes, not wanting to see the full picture too soon, like not paying attention to the start of a reel and seeing the punchline before you get the set up.

“Look,” Jon commands, when they get in front of the mirror. “Come on, you wanted to see, didn’t you? So fucking look.”

Lando opens his eyes.

“What do you think?” Jon asks. “Do you like it?”

Lando nods, slurping around Jon’s hand. His mouth is full of saliva, bubbling out the corners like an overflowing bath.

Jon squeezes his dick, and spreads his fingers at the same time, and Lando loses it, coming into Jon’s hand, lightly splattering the mirror at the same time.

”Oh fuck,” Jon says, with a cheeky smile playing on his lips, the one he uses on the engineers when he’s doing the whole isn’t this one annoying thing like he doesn’t like shit just as weird as Lando does. “How fucking messy are you, mate?”

Jon steadies Lando’s head as he pulls his hand out, positioned over the sink to let him dribble and spit whatever he needs out into the ceramic, tap running to wash it away. He splashes Lando’s face with water, washing away the crusty bits at the sides of his mouth, and the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Outside, the rain has stopped.

“Let’s see you,” Jon’s voice is kind as he tilts Lando’s head up, using his phone torch to check the back of his mouth, like some kind of fucked up dentist. When he’s done, he leans in and kisses Lando. Just a peck. That’s all he ever does. “I think you’ll live.”

He looks to the window, a high rectangle angled so you can’t see through it, and smiles. The sun is starting to reflect on the bright white of the walls, making the room lighter, like a new dawn.

Over the walkie talkie in the corner, Andrea’s voice carries.

“Session will start in twenty-two minutes, everyone back to their places, please.”

Jon grins, nodding his head over the mirror, the drops congealing against the glass.

“Guess you’ll need to clean that up later, won’t you, mate?”

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

see im gonna be real w u but i dont think that the ppl pitting arya and sansa against each other have siblings bc 1. theyre kids and 2. the idea that sansa is some big bully abusing arya at every turn is just silly. ppl oft use game of thrones arya I as an example but all we see in it is an insecure 9 year old girl comparing herself to her 11y/o sister whos seemingly more talented in whats expected of her! and its fine its nothing new for there to be jealousy but sansa isnt unkind to arya there either. arya spends the first few paragraphs sulking, upset that in arya's eyes, sansa got better treatment or was more lucky, be it at being better at needlework, being more lady like or even getting to sit with the handsome prince during the earlier feast.

"We were talking about the prince," Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss. Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally. "Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful." "He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm." Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment. "Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She looked at Arya. "What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He's very gallant, don't you think?" "Jon says he looks like a girl," Arya said. [...] Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. "What are you talking about, children?" "Our half brother," Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today," she said. Septa Mordane nodded. "Indeed. A great honor for us all." Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment. "Arya, why aren't you at work?" the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. "Let me see your stitches." Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa's attention. "Here," she said, surrendering up her work.

this isnt an example of sansa mistreating arya either, its just a child being insecure and being upset at her sister because its the easiest thing to do in a kid's mind! ppl oft forget that its not just cersei whos an unreliable narrator, its arya and every one else too and just because she thinks one thing doesnt make it true

[vitaminkenjoyer]

follow-up posted to ao3.

He was grateful that his eyes were dry by time the knock came. A holy brother entered, looking them over with pious disapproval as he dropped a clean set of clothes on the table. When he took his leave he kept the door to their hut cracked open, and the cold stream of air helped rouse them both.

Jaime sat up on his pallet and kept his eyes properly averted while the wench got dressed, staring down at her bruised feet. The pale hair on her calves glittered in the cold light. When he stood to shed his tunic he caught a glimpse of himself in the small looking glass tacked to the wall. He was mottled black and blue and yellow all over from the Northman's kicks and he had been freed of two of his bottom teeth. One of his eyes was swollen, both were bagged. Dirt and grime stuck in the lines of his face, and his hair and beard were wild and unkempt. Jaime Lannister looked a hundred years old, and felt a thousand.

When Brienne tried to assist him in dressing he shrugged her off and refused her stumbling apologies. "It's done, wench. Leave it be," he snapped as he clumsily pulled on a fresh pair of breeches.

The wench looked almost wounded at the rebuke. Though her frown was partially obscured by her bandages, it was so ugly and sad as to almost be comical. Jaime brushed his knuckles tenderly over the cloth covering her cheek. "This was no wolf, was it?"

Brienne's eyes shuttered and she shrunk away. Outside the door a brother clanged a bell strewn about his neck, making his circuit around the neighboring huts. They startled at the sudden noise and Brienne pulled on her boots. "That's the supper bell. We have must slept for so long..."

Jaime made to grab her arm but she stepped out of his grasp, her cloak billowing behind her. Stop running from me, he wanted to say, but his stomach interrupted him with a low growl, and he followed her out the door instead.

They made their way along the stone path and up creaking wooden steps, past long grass weeping with ice and through the narrow paths carved out of snow. Far down the slope the laughter of children could be heard as they pelted each other with snowballs. A pair of holy brothers knelt, their brown robes flowing in the wind, as they built a crude white structure in front of a small audience. "I'll get you, Jon Penny!" one of the girls shrieked, chasing a boy down and tackling him into the bank.

Past the low barn a shepherd was making a clumsy attempt at wrangling a few wayward sheep back into their pens. The brother rolled up the sleeves of his roughspun robe, turning to gather up a rowdy ewe and cursing all the while.

Brienne stopped in her tracks to gawk at him."Gendry?"

When the brother turned Jaime had the queer sense that he was being faced with yet another ghost. The lad was of a height with him, built like a bull, and looked as if he had room to grow still. His eyes were as blue as ice and his dark unkempt hair brushed his shoulders, hanging in greasy tangles.

"Robert?" The word escaped Jaime's lips unbidden.

Gendry furrowed his brow, ignoring him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been here before. Why aren't you at your forge?"

The lad scoffed bitterly. "It's all ash now, along with everything else."

Brienne stared. A fresh bout of snow started coming down and flakes landed upon her head, melting in the tangles of her hair. "What?"

"Do you need me to repeat myself?" He shoved off a ram chewing at his robe, huffing. "Some of the little ones had caught sick so I went out to get some coltsfoot syrup. The nearest apothecary shop was in Harroway Town. Except when I got there the old man said most of his stores were ruined in the floods a few moons back, so he sent me further up the Trident. Took me about four hours to find some damned syrup, and halfway through my trip back I started seeing smoke in the sky. The cloud only got bigger and blacker as I rode and somehow I knew... All the children were standing around crying in the mud outside the gates of Riverbend when I returned."

Jaime pushed past the pain in his jaw to ask, "A kitchen fire?" At the same Brienne said in a hushed tone, "Who set it ablaze?"

The boy glanced between them both. "Men in grey cloaks, Willow said, and a few in green. Three dozen of 'em, all armed and armored, looking for outlaws. She said they turned the whole place over then burned it on their way out when they couldn't find any."

"This Willow, did she see any frogs on the green cloaks?" Jaime asked.

The boy looked at him queerly, his gaze flicking briefly down to his stump. He nodded, brushing the hair from his eyes. "On a lilypad, she said."

Lord Vypren's failure to apprehend the outlaws at Fairmarket must have incensed his goodfather, if he thought this show of force was worth risking his men for.

Brienne crossed her arms, pulling her cloak tight around her front with shaky fingers. "How did you all find your way here?"

"That shoeless septon you visited us with. He came back to the inn after you... When we - " His eyes lingered on the bandage over Brienne's cheek, then he glanced down at his boots, scuffing his foot in the snow. "He tried to get some of the villagers to take some of the children off our hands, but no one would. They all said they didn't have enough food. A few threatened us as well." He frowned, shaking his head. "Children from Riverbend and Nutten used to come around to play with all of ours and Old Dorthy took measure of our hands so she could knit us mittens before she fell down her cellar steps."

Her eyes were round with sorrow. "I'm so sorry."

Gendry flared and she flinched. "Are you? I'm not stupid, I know the lions and Freys are friends. Did you come here with your high lord lover to burn this place down, too?"

Jaime stepped between Brienne and the boy. "It's not her fault your inn burned. Those men were moving under Lord Walder's command, not mine, and you'll notice that we came here with no men of our own. We're here to heal, nothing more."

The boy's fists bunched and unfurled at his sides as they stared each other down. Their cloaks rapped in the wind, clapping in a mocking, uneven beat.

Jaime could only be thankful that there were no stray red cloaks spotted, or the squire and the hedge knight would be strung up as soon as word reached that dreaded hole in the ground. Ser Addam Marbrand and Ser Dermot of the Rainwood had been given leave to search along the Red Fork for the Blackfish, but were given stern commands to tread gently with any smallfolk they spoke to. The whole thing stunk of Black Walder; he had no qualms about putting the people of Hag's Mire to the question after Merret's hanging at Oldstones. Ryman's demise at Fairmarket would only harden him further. Jaime was starting to feel sick of this whole business; this dance of lords and broken men.

"... I'll see you at supper, Jaime," Brienne said with a voice full of hurt. She stepped around him and stomped her way down the path to the great wooden sept. She'll share her tears with a statue before she'll ever share them with me. They watched her go in silence as the chickadees whistled their honeyed goodbyes in the trees overhead.

Jaime grit his teeth, sighing. "How do you and Lady Brienne know each other?"

Gendry's eyes flittered over his bruised and battered face, and his features softened for half a blink. "She and her friends came to stay at the inn when the Brave Companions came down on us," he said reluctantly. "She took them all on herself."

"By herself? Where were you?"

The lad worked his jaw as if chewing on cud. "I was at my forge. It was dark, and raining... when they rode up I thought they were ours. They wanted to rape Willow, but she ran back in for help and the others joined the fight. That fat monster would have killed the lady if I hadn't shoved my spear through his head. He nearly did her in with the fever that followed."

A chill came over Jaime. Fat and monstrous as he was, biting was never Zollo's work. Nor was it the work of a wolf, apparently. Stupid lying wench. "How many were there? I've heard it said that there's been somewhat of a split or two."

"Seven."

Seven. Jaime felt his anger building. "And you captured her after she saved your lives."

Gendry's nostrils flared. "I had no choice in the matter. Lem and Harwin wanted her taken, and Jeyne and I tagged along. She was as good as dead by the time we reached the river so I headed back to the inn."

"Good that you did, since the rest of your merry band was too busy hunting down Freys and performing black magic to protect their own."

The lad stepped forward as if to hit him. "And what has your merry band been doing? All those children would have been at home with their mothers and fathers if you high lords and kings hadn't torn the lands apart. Jeyne and Willow said it was your lot who hanged her aunt. The others aren't perfect but they're sure as hell better than you."

Jaime had to laugh. "Then why aren't you with them? I didn't see any boys built like boars at my farce of a trial."

Gendry blinked. "The lady gave you a trial?"

"At the red priest's counsel, yes." That reminded him. "It's said that the lightning lord is dead for good and all, is that true?"

"Lord Beric passed his fire onto the lady... it was R'hllor's will," he said hesitantly, reaching down to pet the sheep at his legs.

"And what became of the rest of his loyalists? Where have they gone?"

Gendry's eyes turned to stone. "Why do you want to know? So you can hunt them down and kill them?"

"Use your head," Jaime snapped. "Do you think your precious dead lady let me escape the noose because she was feeling particularly charitable?"

"I don't care why she let you go, I have sheep to milk." The lad rolled his shoulders and turned away from him, brokering no further argument.

Jaime's head was starting to ache and he was content enough to leave the boy to sulk. He made his way down to the stables despite the grumbling in his stomach, his fingers itching all the while. Tiny pins of snow pierced his cheeks and the cold hard ground crunched underneath his boots as he approached Honor's stall, passing by a droopy eyed donkey dozing off in a bed of straw. On the blood bay's second handful of oats a crash on the other end of the stable rang out and the donkey stirred, braying obnoxiously. Jaime grit his teeth at the commotion and furrowed his brow as he came upon a stallion throwing a tantrum in his stall, massive and beautiful and black as midnight.

The days past were too surreal, and for a moment he was convinced that he must be dreaming up the absurdity.  

"As quarrelsome as he is handsome." Jaime startled at the voice behind him. The Elder Brother gave a nod in greeting, eyeing the war horse with a certain fondness.

"He's as familiar as he is handsome," said Jaime. "How did Sandor Clegane's destrier wash up here?"

The beast gave another kick and upended his water trough. The Elder Brother looked up from the trickle of water pooling at his feet, nonplussed. "I admit I had a similar question in mind when you stepped off the ferry last night. You and your," he scratched at an ear and gave a brief frown, "friend arrived so late, we didn't get the chance to speak properly."

My whore, you mean. "I'm not in the habit of giving confession if that's what you're after."

"And I am not in the habit of receiving confession, ser. This way," the Elder Brother beckoned him with a flap of his wide bell sleeve.

The faintest of red streaks painted the sky as Jaime followed up a steep set of winding steps and past gnarled barren trees, feeling like a little boy all the while. By the time they reached the top of the slope his bruised calves were aching, but the Elder Brother was wholly unbothered by the exertion. The man's hands were just as calloused as Brienne's, not the soft sort Jaime was used to seeing in those purporting to do the Seven's work, and the rest of him was broad and square and corded in muscle.

At the end of their trek was an ancient door set in the side of a hill. "In here," the Elder Brother shook the snow off his robes and removed his sodden boots and socks, revealing feet as hard and cracked as stone.

"You look as weary as I feel," he placed two crudely carved wooden cups on a long table strewn with books and parchment papers, clearing a spot to sit. "I'm afraid we have nothing stronger than cider to wet our lips."

"Pity," Jaime took a sip and savored the sweetness on his tongue. Not enough to get him drunk and send him back to sleep, but it would have to do. "You aren't the usual sort of septon I meet."

"I am no septon, my lord."

Jaime frowned down into the amber liquid in his cup. "As a boy I had the tendency to doze off during lessons with my septa. What are you, then?"

"A penitent. Like all the other men here, only with a longer list of duties and a much later bedtime."

"And I suppose Sandor goes to bed with the chickens like all the rest? I confess this is the last place I'd expect to find the man."

"Some might say the same of you, my lord."

Jaime downed his cup in one swallow, reaching for the tankard. "Don't fret, I'm not looking to get a tonsure any time soon. I'll only sully your sanctuary as long as necessary." He was overzealous in refilling and cider pooled on table, leaving a ring. "You're quite the slippery septon when questioned."

The Elder Brother's lips pressed together in a tight white line. "If you mean to take Brother Sandor to justice for his crimes, I would ask that you reconsider. Though I would not oppose you if you decide to apprehend him."

Jaime lifted the cup back to his lips, pausing. "You've went to all this trouble to harbor the man yet you'd give him away so easily?"

"You are Tywin Lannister's son. You have all the power of your house and the throne behind you. As loath as I would be to do it, I cannot risk the rest of the isle. We have more to lose than ever." The Elder Brother took the first drink from his cup. A faint sheen of sweat could be seen on his tonsured head. "Every man who takes sanctuary here knows that I cannot guarantee them protection should the hand of justice come knocking. This is an isle of peace, and I am sworn never to kill again. You would not be the first man come to our shores seeking retribution."

Jaime found the man's resignation irksome. "I'm not here to burn down your septry, you can unclench your holy arse."

"What are you here for, Ser Jaime?"

"My salvation," he laughed into his cup, then put it down to scratch at the angry scars on his stump. "I had my suspicions regarding Sandor's involvement at Saltpans. It seemed unusually cruel, even for him."

"You were right to. Sandor has softened some in his time here, but then... I shudder to think of what he would have become if he had not accepted my help. The blame for the slight to his name is mine. When I found him dying on the banks of the Trident I had to strip him of his armor, else I would not have been able to carry him. Whoever came upon his possessions..."

"Took his helm." A part of Jaime was glad to have been proven right for Sandor Clegane's sake. He raised his cup in a toast. "To a sinner reborn. May Sandor live and die on this isle, churning butter or whatever it is that you do. A lifetime of tedium is surely punishment enough."

The Elder Brother was not amused. "I would have your word, ser."

That took Jaime by surprise. He hiccupped and his jaw throbbed. "The word of an oathbreaker?"

"The word of a man. The word of a knight sworn under the light of the Seven."

Nigh twenty years basking in the light of these so-called gods, and yet I've never felt so cold.   

"The Seven can fuck themselves." The Elder Brother didn't so much as blink at his blasphemy and Jaime shifted under his gaze. "You have my word.  Should Sandor ever set foot off this isle again, it won't be my doing." He lifted his stump, waving it. "I'm in no fit state to be dragging the dog around by his tail anyhow. I may get bit." And it hardly seemed just to apprehend the man for desertion, considering his own predicament.

The Elder Brother nodded. "I thank you, Ser Jaime," he said sincerely, and took a modest sip of cider. His chair creaked as he leaned backward. "How is it that the Lady Brienne is back in our company? Last she was here I beseeched to her to return home to her lord father. I fear the third time she washes up on our shores I'll have to hand her body over to Brother Sandor to burn and send her ashes along to Tarth. Corpses still come up on the tide, and the ground has grown too hard to bury them."

That the man thought Brienne could be strong-armed into anything made Jaime want to laugh, but his premonition wasn't far off. That the Maid of Tarth could be reduced to a chest of ash sitting in Lord Selwyn's halls made his guts twist. Arise, Ser Jaime, her voice came back to him, when she had used Oathkeeper to slash through his bonds. He downed his cup once more and refilled it again. "How much time do you have?"

"As much time as your pain will allow." He handed him another portion of crushed up sourleaf. Jaime let the plant do it's work for a moment, then spat into his handkerchief and began his tale. In fits and starts, and in between the time it took to let out the occasional stream of red spittle, he recounted as much as he could. He started at Pennytree, when the wench first stumbled into his tent, and ended at their escape from the dreaded cave she led him to. And the price they paid to walk away with their lives. The price that poor Podrick Payne and Ser Hyle were still paying as they spoke.

Was a castle on a river worth two meager innocents? He wondered. Was treason? He knew the answer Brienne would give.

The Elder Brother had a dismayed look about his face when he was through. He shook his stubbly head in disapproval. "I admit that in my darkest hours I share your own skepticism towards the Seven. I had hoped that with the war winding down and so many brigands captured by Lord Tarly, that these lands might see peace soon. A fool's hope, I know. Bad blood is not washed away so easily. As sad as it is to say, these outlaws would be far from the first to harm innocents in the pursuit of justice."

"The pursuit of vengeance seems more apt."

"Even still, as foul as this brotherhood is, vengeance cannot take root without the seed of justice. Dondarrion and Myr began their journey as King's men."

The words pricked Jaime's anger, and he was starting to wish he hadn't indulged in so much drink on an empty stomach. "Am I about to be lessoned in the ways of broken men? Perhaps I should be asking if you're about to apprehend me instead, if you're so taken with these outlaws and wretches."

The Elder Brother's voice grew stern and his eyes narrowed. "Such accusations are beneath you, ser. We are nearly of an age, and I have seen as much strife and battle as you, if not more. My sympathies lie with all men, friend or foe. And I despair when I hear of any person who chooses to cast aside all that is good and decent to live a life lower than that of beasts."

"Do you think I don't despair as well?" Jaime demanded.

"I see your despair writ on your face, ser," the Elder Brother said hotly. "I do not envy your position. Though a lord enjoys many comforts, his work is hardly pleasant if he has half a heart."

Small wonder my father so enjoyed his work, then. "What would you know of a lord's work?"

"Enough to forsake it in pursuit of another vocation. It is said that your cousin felt the same as well."

Jaime frowned. "Lancel? What of him?"

The Elder Brother gave a rueful smile. "The former Lord of Darry. Though I never met the girl, I rued to hear of the dissolution of his marriage to my niece. Especially when I learned of what he traded it for. Would that Lancel had ridden north instead of south." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Secluded though we are, I do try to stay privy on new developments throughout the realm. My proctors often venture across the Trident for food and supplies and return with whispers in tow. On rare occasion I am heartened by a piece of news, but most times I am left angered or saddened. Saddest of all are the reports from my former home."

Jaime stared at the man, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He recalled his supper at Darry moons ago, when he had spoken with Lady Mariya. They have the same eyes. Kind, yet shrewd. "You mean to tell me that the Lord of Darry has been hiding away on some ghastly little isle in the Bay of Crabs?" He gave a laugh in dismay. "You do know your house is on the brink of extinction, don't you? Worse, that it's being overrun by Freys?"

"I do," the man's tone was grave. He said nothing more.

His finality was baffling and infuriating. "You and my dear cousin share the same pigheaded stubbornness when it comes to vows, then. You could claim your seat, find a wife, have children. And yet you're content to just... give sermons and pick apples all day?"

The Elder Brother rumbled out a laugh of his own. "You paint quite the idyllic picture of my life, Ser Jaime." He downed his cup of cider then rolled up his sleeves, revealing coarsely haired arms veined with muscle. "I could go back any time, it's true. I've thought about it many nights, most especially when I heard what became of Raymun, and his little boy soon after. Raymun always had a thirst for adventure, like the rest of us. Benam and Braddish were the first born, and after my birth came Mariya and Jeyne. There were five years between Raymun and I. My sisters doted on him, and we boys fed him stories of war and battle and great knights, and hoped that he would grow big and strong to fight beside us all on the same field. We got our wish in the end, though our dreams quickly soured once Braddish took a sword to the belly. He bled out in the mud while stag and dragon alike trampled over him. Benam and I were showered with arrows. He took his clean through the eye and I took mine to the leg, then I was kicked into the river by another man's horse.

The next ten years of my life I spent in silence, ignorant to the realm at large. When the last Elder Brother died it fell to me to take his place and his duties. I had to regain knowledge of the world in order to keep a proper peace here. The last seven years are all I know of what became of my house, and of my baby brother. The temptation to forsake my position here and cross the river for good grew stronger with each new revelation, but no sooner did the thought appear that another broken man would appear on our shores with naught but the clothes on his back, crying like a babe, with nowhere else to turn. Raymun had my father and a castle to inherit. My men only had me.

I had hoped, after hearing that he had wed and sired a trueborn son, that my brother's thirst for battle had been quenched. It takes much to change a man's nature, though. And so he died by the sword, just as he swore he would the day we all rode out for the Trident underneath the banner of the dragon."

"He died riding against the Mountain," said Jaime. "I'd have thought you'd find that a noble death in the pursuit of justice."

"Certainly there needed to be recompense after the calamity Ser Gregor visited upon these lands. Would that his overseers had brought him to justice instead of the Red Viper. But Wendish Town would have been better served if my brother had stayed within his domain to rebuild it. Though there were no survivors of the raid, it still lies barren and trampled. If rebuilt so many others could have taken refuge there instead of fleeing south."

And my cousin took his vows before he could address the matter. The call of the Warrior had always been more seductive than the Smith, where boys and men were concerned. Jaime shook his head. "Casterly Rock will fund the rebuilding of it, along with Sherrer and the Mummer's Ford. It was my father's dogs who did the pillaging, no one else. I'll find a way to get a hold of our coffers."

"You are still of the Kingsguard, ser. You have sworn off your inheritance."

He shrugged. "And my cousin is Warden of the West. And another cousin is castellan of the Rock. The word of Tywin's trueborn son holds more weight, they can be swayed to bring forth the gold I need."

The buzz of the cider had him speaking with more confidence than he felt, but it was better than his earlier despair. Daven was one matter, but Damion's appointment to castellan was his sister's doing, and he knew whose orders the old man would obey should the Lady of the Rock refuse to fund such an effort. Cersei had never been the charitable sort and she grew spiteful when slighted. She was still awaiting the High Septon's justice, and if the whispers of her being forced to walk were true she would never forgive him for failing to heed her call. He would have to act fast should she prevail in any trial. Knowing his uncle, he'd have her take up residence at the Rock soon. The stag queen no longer, his sister would live out the rest of her days a lioness. Her rage at being knocked down after reaching such heights would be terrible and beautiful to behold, but it was the best she could hope for after the mess she made of things.

If his kin could not be persuaded to aid him then he'd find another way, and damn anyone who would deny him because of the white cloak. His lord father was dead, House Lannister had lost it's guiding hand, and new rules would have to be forged.

"I wish you luck in such an endeavor, ser," the Elder Brother said with equal parts doubt and hope. "Masha Heddle's inn had become something of an orphanage in the past year. I heard it from the boy Gendry that sparrows had taken to dropping off wandering children there. Since it is no more..."

"Your isle has taken up the load. Those villages will stand again and you'll be able to breathe easier in time. On my honor as a knight," Jaime swore, then leaned back in his chair and smiled. "A sage septon such as yourself would make a decent lord. Perhaps peace would break out once and for all if you took your seat amongst the great council of Riverlords. Castle Darry certainly has room enough for a couple hundred whelps and penitents as well." And House Lannister might have one less enemy...

"You jest, ser, but we both know my return would not be without cost," he responded dourly. "The Freys would not take kindly to losing such a boon as Darry. And as loath as I am to leave what's left of mine own kin to sort out the situation, I'm more loath to rekindle the spark of war. I know the blackness of my heart, and I would not be content to sit out the battle. I would be the first on the frontlines, and soon after, drunk on the frenzy of war, I would find some clever reason to soil my honor. Or worse, someone else's."

Jaime snorted. "Afraid you'd bed a maiden or two?"

"No. Worse."

Jaime's mirth was killed at once. "I see..." He picked at the last remnants of sourleaf clinging to his teeth with his tingling tongue. "There was a man I had picked up at Harrenhal," he found himself saying, "one of the Mountain's soldiers. He tried to rape my washerwoman and I had his head taken off."

The Elder Brother nodded his head. His eyes said nothing. The wind picked up outside and the cave door set to creaking softly on it's hinges. It's squeaking song was strangely sweet.

"A child was crippled by my own hand," he whispered into the silence. "And I almost butchered another one for..." Jaime swallowed. For Cersei, for love, for sex, he might have said, but he could not disclose that. He stared down at the table, searching for an answer in the grains of wood. For no good reason, he really wanted to say, but the words were lodged in his throat.

"I see," the Elder Brother said gently, and stood. "Will you allow me to change your bandages before you leave, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime nodded, and said nothing else.

After, the Elder Brother sent him on his way to the common hall for supper. "So many children about, we've had to start taking our meals in shifts. There should be something warm for you still." He laid his hand on Jaime's shoulder, hesitant. "You'll want to consult Mariya for the rebuilding of Wendish Town. She was made Lady of Darry when she was no more than ten years old after our mother died. Now that she's back from the Twins I know she'll wish to return to her duties. It's been said my niece is more of a frivolous creature."

"It will be my first stop on the way back to Riverrun. Do you have a rookery here?"

"We do."

Three ravens took flight that night, their wings flapping like great bats, traveling north, and west, and further west. All marked with the humble seal of a seven-pointed star, and signed Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

The humble hall was still teeming with life by time Jaime made his way in the door, stomping the snow off his boots. Children and holy brothers flitted about, setting a motley assortment of cutlery and cups and serving bowls on the tables, and driftwood chairs were shoved into empty spaces wherever the long benches could not suffice. A silent brother with a stooped back and a long white beard made his way around the room, spooning portions of fish stew into bowls while the young, rail thin boy trailing behind him poured sheep's milk into cups. The baskets of freshly baked bread in the center of the table were quickly descended upon by a mass of small, pudgy hands, and the children brandished their rounded knives like spades to carve out the hills of butter nestled inside the crocks.

Jaime crammed himself awkwardly into one of the last remaining seats along the bench beside Brienne. She glanced up briefly in acknowledgment, her eyes puffy.

"Did you have a nice talk with the Mother?" He asked.

"No," she said dully.

"The Father?"

"No."

She had shed her bandage from last night, allowing the wound on her cheek to breathe. It was a ghastly sight; a pit of gnarled, angry pink flesh where a full, smooth freckled cheek had once been. The corner of her mouth was taut and stiff, pulled upward from the shoddy mending job she must have gotten, giving her a sort of permanent crooked smirk. I once thought she would never smile...

It made him murderous. His phantom fingers itched for a spear.

The old septon stood at the head of the table, clasping his wrinkled, leathery hands together. The hall quieted at once and the children sat in rapt attention. Down the long row of chairs a boy fidgeted in his seat and a holy brother glared at him, pulling down his cowl to reveal his marred and angry face. The boy gulped.

Sandor adjusted his hood and locked eyes with Jaime, his hand freezing on the hem of his cowl. They stared at each other for a long moment. It was on his lips to come up with some clever jape, but he remained silent, and Sandor was more like to hit him than laugh with him. In all the time Jaime knew the man he was so dour and lonesome that Brienne seemed a ray of sunshine in comparison.

When Lord Tywin assigned Clegane to his daughter's guard after the sack of King's Landing he had been scarce more than a boy, only a few years older than Tyrion. For a time he and Jaime had taken to dancing in the yard together. The boy had been as a big as an aurochs even then, and was one of few in the Red Keep who could be regularly called upon to match his speed and give him a challenge. For all his gruffness Sandor took well to instruction, and each night their swords clanged was a night that Aerys could be forgotten.

Despite the occasional spark of jealousy that flared when the man became Joffrey's sworn shield, they had managed to get on decently and share a few laughs together over the years. Usually at the expense of some green knight who made a fool of himself in the lists or at Robert's drunken antics at feasts. And once more, when they rode beyond the gates of Darry to begin their hunt. Sandor had come back with his game in tow, and Jaime didn't. They had both gotten drunk in the supper hall that evening, and were late to rise the next morning.

He raised his cup of sheep's milk and gave a brief nod in greeting. Sandor gave a nod of his own, his mouth twitching briefly as he donned his cowl again.

Jaime kept his eyes open and his head unbowed as the septon droned out a prayer of thanks for the meal. Sandor did not. Brienne stared glumly down at her plate beside him, unaware of the little girl blinking up at her expectantly in the next chair over. He felt a sticky hand grasp his stump from the right, and glanced down at a ratty haired girl, even younger, silently mouthing pieties. A chorus of small voices rose in unison, singing 'The Mother's Hymn', rounding out the evening prayers. The children unlinked their hands and dug into their food in a manner that was almost feral.

All these whelps, Jaime gave one last glance around the hall, alive and unmolested.

He looked back to Brienne and took her hand in his. A stray tear fell from her cheek.

i'll probably never finish this fic that i'm working on so here's a little drabble. post-stoneheart, jaime's trauma, the quiet isle, etc.

They had ridden in a quiet daze, stopping only for the briefest of moments to piss or shit or redress their wounds. Jaime's blood was still singing from their bout, but he felt no jubilance for his victory, and Brienne's sullen silences only helped to set his teeth on edge.

The girl called Long Jeyne had stitched and patched their injuries before the brotherhood allowed their leave, but it was shoddy work at best. When Brienne had to be coaxed from her mare to sit against the trunk of an oak she insisted they ride for the Bay of Crabs instead of risking any inns or keeps. Her adamancy pricked his anger once more.

"Why, so you can lure me into some other trap?" He paused dabbing up the blood from the cut on her arm to sneer.

"No!" Her eyes widened in dismay. "It's the only safe place I know, ser, please. The holy brothers will heal us - "

"I've had my fill of getting kicked around and my men are waiting for me. I have no time to be lectured by a bunch of tonsured eunuchs on the state of my honor." He threw the bloodied cloth down in the dirt and stood. Every word magnified the pain in his jaw twofold, coming out in a hateful slur. "No doubt you'll be welcome among such pious company, deceitful righteous bitch that you are."

Brienne lurched to her feet and grabbed him by the collar with her good arm, hauling him close. Her nose nearly brushed his. "Honor or no, you still would have found yourself in that cave, and with me behind you. Now we are both soiled."

Jaime clutched her bad arm with his hand and she winced, but did not pull away. Their breath mingled, hot and rank, and for a moment he was certain they would come to blows. A purse of the lips would be all it took to close the space between them...

The muscles in his back tightened, sending a fresh stab of pain beneath the skin where the arrow's shaft was lodged.

"Lead the way, my lady," he wrenched himself free and mounted his horse, sparing her not another word or glance.

The sun had just set when they led their weary horses off of the ferry and onto the dock. A group of men in robes greeted them, silent and somber, and took their mounts off to the stables. Through a maze of steps and stones they walked in a dour procession to the maester's chamber.

Finally, stumbling and crusted in blood, they stopped before a heavy oaken door. One of the holy brothers rapped his knuckles on the wood and the surprisingly brutish healer within widened his eyes at their entrance. "My lady, I had not thought to see you again. Please sit, both of you. Brother Narbert, fetch some more candles, will you?" 

Their wounds were deftly tended to by a pair of hands that looked more fit for killing than healing, and Jaime found his eyes drooping as he sat, though the agonizing withdrawal of the arrow in his back soon woke him. By time they were through he and the wench looked a matching pair; the Elder Brother had stinted his jaw with cloth wound around his head, then cleaned and applied a salve to Brienne's cheek, advising her to keep it covered for the night. "To better soak in, my lady, though you'll want to air this out soon..."

"And you'll want to stick with mashes and stews for some time, my lord." He placed a bowl of crushed sourleaf in his hand. "This will help with the pain. So will holding your tongue as much as you are able."

Jaime would have laughed if he were the man of a few days ago. He let the leaves melt on his tongue and scrunched his nose in distaste. "That may prove difficult," he spat red into a handkerchief. "What say you to giving my commands for me, wench?"

Brienne's big weary eyes flitted about his face and she turned away in guilt, saying nothing. The less she said the more he wanted to shout, but he was much too tired to start a fight, and it wasn't her that did the kicking besides. And how she screamed when the blow landed...

The Elder Brother looked between them then braced his hands on his knees, rising from his seat. "I'm certain you will overcome the adversity, my lord."

He and Brienne were sent off with a dose of milk of the poppy then hastily placed in a small hut on the eastern side of the isle. "Normally we would not permit a man and woman to cohabitate unless they were wed, but circumstances of late have forced us to forego some rigidity," the Elder Brother said as a pair of novices hauled a spare straw pallet in and dumped it on the floor.

His eyes were just starting to shutter when Brienne whispered, "Jaime, can you hear me?" He laid still, slowed his breaths, and waited. And waited. And waited. She said no more and rolled over. The sniffling of her nose lulled him into a restless slumber, and he dreamt he was in the Whispering Wood again, the wind riffling through his golden hair as men fell dead at his feet. The sun warmed his skin and he laughed, but a cloud passed by and blotted out the light, making him shiver.

Enemies surrounded him, faceless and hateful, and he was without a sword or armor, naked. Claws punctured his arms and he was dragged through the muddied field and back into the wood at a tortoise's pace. His felled horse squealed in the distance. "Kingslayer," the shadows spat, and he spat back, laughing. "Oathbreaker," they hissed, and he kicked out his leg, smiling at the sound of teeth cracking on his heel. "Freak," a foul hand pulled at his manhood and twisted, and he screamed like a woman. "You must never do that again," a voice whispered from the trees, full of sorrow and hurt.

Corpses dangled overhead like perverse ornaments, drained of blood and shrunken, their skin turned to leather under the sun's harsh rays. Dwarves, he thought, but that wasn't quite right. Children. Rhaenys and Aegon, aye, and the Stark boy as well. And the girl called Tysha, with tears still wet on her plain but pretty face. Jaime peeled his eyes for Brienne's squire, for Lady Catelyn's daughters, but the sun blinded him, and he was pushed ahead.

Finally, he was brought to the black mouth of a cave. His toes were cracked and bloodied. Pebbles and twigs had dug into his flesh, pushing deeper with each attempt to plant his feet. Desperately, he glanced behind him, searching, waiting. Brienne! he wanted to shout, but no words would leave him. Brienne, where have you gone? He squeezed his eyes shut. They cannot hurt me if I do not see. Wood splintered and scratched at him as he was tied down to a pale chair. "Goldenhand," they jeered, mocking. The more he struggled against his hempen bonds the more he bled, and soon the crude throne he sat upon turned from ivory, to crimson, to rust.

"Goldenhand the Just!" They chanted with false merriment, dancing around him in zealous ecstasy. "Goldenhand, Goldenhand, Goldenhand!" A thousand nails pinched and tickled at him cruelly, and he woke up breathless, the cold echoes of their cackles seeping into the walls around him.

"Ser?" A big hand rested on his shoulder, heavy and warm. Brienne towered over him even as she knelt at his bedside. Her eyes were wide with worry. A girl's eyes, he thought, and shuddered. She palmed his forehead, checking for a fever. "Ser, are you well?"

No, he wanted to say, and to hell with you all, but he only closed his eyes and whispered, "My name is Jaime," as salt trickled coolly into his ear. He turned his head away.

"Oh, Jaime," Brienne gasped, and she trailed her fingers through his hair.

[thateclecticbitch]

What if I was obsessed about stories about trauma preventing us from accessing our authentic selves. What then?

[lmaowh-at]

Lanns n Starks lineups/costumes sketches that I will probably add other houses to. Tywin and Joff & the rest aren't here because I was lazy and Cerseis dress took all of my energy. Don't ask me about inspiration or historical basis for these

[candyskiez]

Thinking about the whole "Jon is very similar to how Jonah was when he was younger." idea. That shit makes me go crazy. Here is the most selfish person ever who will leave anyone to die if it means he stays alive. And here is someone who is on a dangerous path to becoming exactly this, and the biggest difference between them is whether or not they're fine with sacrificing people. Like Jon is willing to hurt people to help himself. He will be horribly ashamed but he will do it and enjoy it. Jon will hurt so many people and it will make him feel safe and powerful and like he's finally not the helpless little kid watching someone die. But Jon will not ever let one of his assistants get hurt, no matter how horrible they are to him. Being in a position where there are countless people he cannot save is literally the worst nightmare the apocalypse could give him. He would steal someone's autonomy and humanity to save them, because they made him feel better once years ago. Thinks about how this is what Jonah tries to get him to stop doing specifically. Using an example of his own decision to leave someone behind in the lonely? Which. Idk, something about the idea of Jonah seeing himself in Jon makes that idea very interesting to me. It also makes "Do you want me to go in after him." "No, YOU want you to go in after him." Very interesting. I don't have coherent thoughts right now but like. Do you get where I'm going with this. Do you see it.

[nakanotamu]

Oh lmao I'm friends with both of the two (2) people who have wrangled wrestling the past four or five years now, so I'm not 100% sure of all the policies this is just stuff I've seen them talking about. Before them, all wrestling was unwrangled, which led to a lot of mess and bloat that's not 100% fixed, and before that the person wrangling it made a lot of decisions that ended up not being very practical based on a very different idea of how this stuff should work, but became "policy" and is difficult to change now. I would ask one of them to weigh in but I don't really think either of them want the potential heat associated with people knowing they handle the ao3 tags for all of wrestling but I'll do my best:

Ao3 has very specific rules for when and how to canonize tags, and they fit wrestling extremely poorly. It's two people doing their best to apply a system that is designed for cataloguing and permanence to the unbelievably ephemeral world of wrestling.

They both have very much more than a passing familiarity with wrestling, but that's not to say anybody knows every wrestler. Neither of them follow WWE. They both know how to do research and will spend fic writer amounts of time looking up every wrestler they don't know.

Nothing is automated. Every tag has to be dealt with manually. There are also rules about how many tags they're supposed to change all at once to not overtax Ao3's servers, so it's a balancing act of when to do big renames. Every time a WWE wrestler, especially a big one like Saraya or Edge, goes to AEW, it's a nightmare for them.

It's not based on who uses a tag first and it really shouldn't be. Like think about it, how many people do you know who would use the | format for a tag that wasn't already there? Also, think about how often wrestlers change their names. Do you think no one is writing fic about Jon Moxley | Dean Ambrose and using the names interchangeably on the same dude? Do you think those fic should all be kept 100% separate based on which name they used? How about Io Shirai | Iyo Sky, are those separate characters who shouldn't be findable in the same search?

Canonization is based on Rule of 3. Something is up for canonization once it has 3 uses, I think it has to be 3 separate uses I don't remember the exact details. Then, once canonized...

Synonymisation (synning) is when two tags are linked as, well, synonymous. This is the purpose of canonization, is having a canonical tag to syn them to, because the intent is that someone searching for one character can go to that canonical tag and find all of the works relevant to that search. So go ahead and use whatever tag for whoever you want, it'll get synned to the wrestler's canonical, that's the important part. Bc of the way Ao3 is set up it only recommends canonicals to you while you're filling them in but very few people actually write their tags like that.

Again bc wrestling is such a unique beast there isn't a hard and fast rule as to how that should be done. They're doing their best to sort through a combination of what is the nature of the characters vs how are people using the names.

Neither of them really loves the way wholly different characters played by the same wrestler get synned, but the precedent was established before them that they should be and there's significant enough writing for most examples like that that does treat them like the same person that they kind of have to go with that.

To specifically respond to the examples above, Swerve Strickland & Isaiah Scott are the same dude. Like that's one character. There's also a significant chance anybody searching his old NXT name would still want to see Swerve stuff too, or that people searching Swerve could be interested in the old fic that never originally got tagged that. So they get synned, even though probably everyone writing fic about him now just uses Swerve. Killshot probably doesn't have enough usage to warrant his own canonical, and also ambiguously is or is not kind of Swerve, so it probably got wrapped in and updated when the Swerve tag was canonized, but didn't have enough usage to just stay as Killshot. The Chuck Taylor one you're free to use but it would never get canonized because a) it's too long and b) nobody is using most of those names. It would get synned to the Chuck Taylor tag. Luchasaurus is not synned to Austin Matelson, I checked, it's synned to Judas Devlin, which was his name on the indies & in FCW pre-Luchasaurus. My guess would be there were tags used pre-AEW that included it and/or there's enough fic about him where they call him that that it warranted inclusion even if like 99% of the time it's just Luchasaurus.

Also it's two people with other stuff going on they just make honest mistakes sometimes.

Anyway I hope that helps, I may have some of the details a bit off bc I don't work on it myself I've just seen them talking about it like I said. If it really bugs you you're free to volunteer with ao3, anyone can and they need the help.

I love the way wrestlers gimmicks get sorted on ao3 bc it ends up being up to the discretion of the first couple ppl who write them what tag ends up being common. Half of wrestlers arent even marked the same guy as their name on the indies but according to ao3 canon the 64 million yr old dinosaur IS the same guy as that one big brother contestant that had an affair on the show