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pastanest · 2 years ago

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Jon Snow x she/her!reader

warning: brief reference to attempted SA

part one can be found here

Yours - Part Two

Tension rose between the two hot-headed siblings as they discussed the plan for their future, where such a plan would take them. Sansa was set on starting a war with Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home, saving you in the process, but having already been aged by the ways of war, Jon stood to his feet.

“I am tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done since I left home. I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch, I’ve killed wildlings, I’ve killed men that I admire, I hanged a boy, younger than Bran! I’ve fought, and I lost.” He was exhausted, in mind, body and soul.

But when Sansa stepped toward her brother and held his gaze, she knew exactly what she needed to say.

“You have not lost, because she is still waiting for you. She will believe until the day she dies that you are coming to save her, because that is who you are to her. You’ve fought, and now you must fight for her.”

Something flickered in Jon then, a spark that only you could ignite. “I have always fought for her.”

“Then do it once more. This time, knowing she is on the other side. If we don’t take back the north, we’ll never be safe. I want you to help me, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.” Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing the fire in her brother’s eyes and knowing that you have succeeded, as you always have, in bringing Jon Snow back to his senses.

It was only then, Sansa chose to disclose the nature of your capture. With every detail, Jon’s blood boiled in his veins. Chained by one wrist to the leg of a bed, forced to live each day and night on the castle floor, in complete darkness, save for when Ramsay Bolton decided to pay you a visit for a regular beating. That particular comment made Jon visibly flinch, fists clenching at the thought of getting his hands on the man that thought he had any right to touch you. While Sansa tried to free you, the door to the room you were trapped in was locked and she did not have time to search for the key, you would not let her, instead you had been shouting for her to go, to escape to the Wall, to Jon.

In that moment, Jon Snow knew he was ready to beat Ramsay Bolton to death. And that was only exacerbated by the raven he decided to send to the wall, addressed to Jon, regarding his sister and younger brother, Rickon, with disgusting threats. There was no mention of you in the letter, but Sansa assured Jon this was a good thing, because it meant Ramsay did not intend to use you as a bargain, he did not think you were important enough, so he would keep you alive as his plaything. Jon did not find that as comforting as Sansa had intended.

Following Sansa’s advice, Jon arranged a meeting with Ramsay Bolton upon gathering his forces. By no means did they have enough men to truly beat Ramsay, but Jon was certain that he alone could blaze through an army, knowing you were on the other side of it.

Naturally, Ramsay arrived late to their meeting, leaving Jon, Sansa, and their accompanying party of Lords and Ladies from the northern houses that had rallied behind them, waiting in the clear field that surrounded Winterfell until Ramsay Bolton approached on his horse with his own display of Lords.

Smiling at Sansa on his arrival, Ramsay addressed her first, then looked to Jon, seemingly bemused by the sight of him as he greeted him with far less respect, if that is what his greeting to his wife could be deemed as.

“Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell - why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy”

Jon smirked at him. “You’re right, there’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men dont need to die, only one of us. Let’s end this the old way - you against me.”

And Jon so wished the bastard opposite him would be foolish enough to agree. He could be the greatest fighter in the history of Westeros, and Jon would fancy his chances, for you.

Unfortunately, Ramsay laughed at that suggestion. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have, what, half that? Not even?”

Jon was thoroughly enjoyed taunting such a petulant child. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?”

Ramsay pointed to Jon, laughing. “He’s good, very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”

It was then, Sansa spoke up. “How do we know you have him?”

And with a nod from Ramsay, one of his men threw the severed head of Rickon’s direwolf in between their respective parties.

Trying her best not to show any kind of reaction on her face, Sansa nodded. “And what of my maid?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Well, dear wife, with you gone, I will have no choice but to turn to the others at my disposal, to…serve me.”

It took more strength than Jon Snow had ever had to conjure up for anything, to not launch himself from his horse and tackle Ramsay from his, beating him into the earth below. With everything he had, he held onto what was at stake, what Sansa had advised him would keep him safest, and held his ground, restricting his visceral response to Ramsay’s words to the slightest clench of his own horse’s reins. “I wonder, will your men want to fight for you when they find out the only women you can keep at your side are your prisoners? A man who cannot please a woman is hardly one to inspire the heart’s of men.”

Ramsay tilted his head to the side, his ego clearly pricked by the notion of being undesirable. “Do you mean to tell me, bastard, that you broke your sacred Oath as well as deserted your post?”

At that, Jon scoffed. “No man would ask such a question, but a boy would. Killing your father does not make you a man, neither does forcing yourself upon a thousand slaves.”

Ramsay composed himself, Jon only picking up on the tiniest flash of a tantrum behind his eyes. “I have heard of your righteousness, bastard. That, I suppose, is the one thing you must have received from your father, and look where it got him.”

Oh, Jon Snow knew he was going to enjoy dragging out Ramsay Bolton’s death for as long as possible.

For the rest of the day, following the conclusion of their meeting, Jon’s mind was spinning with the threats Ramsay Bolton had made against you and your virtue. He hoped to the Gods he had not given himself away in his fists clenched the reigns of his horse, but that was the most he could do to conceal the fury that raged within him. Even during the continued discussions of the battle plan he had formed with his men, thoughts of you tugged at the back of Jon’s mind constantly. Having once again butted heads with Sansa, she began to take her leave from the tent Jon was situated in.

Turning to face him one last time, she held his gaze. “If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”

Jon’s heart sank in his chest, immediately understanding what she was insinuating. “I won't ever let him touch you, or (Y/N), again. I’ll protect you both, I promise.”

In her angered, traumatized state, Sansa seemed almost offended at such a sincere promise. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

He dared not argue with her, but he knew that she was wrong. Jon would protect her, and you, even if it killed him. To die for someone he loved would be a better demise than his first.

That night, Jon Snow laid in the bed of his tent and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed the rest, but could not quiet his mind in the wake of what the dawn would bring. A war like none he had ever faced, with you on the other side. Reaching into the shirt pocket that sat directly above his heart, Jon retrieved the folded, aged piece of parchment that was worn and faded by the countless instances of him rereading it. Huffing beside his bed, Ghost nudged the back of Jon’s hand, bringing a soft smile back to his face as he tore his gaze from the page.

“We’ll get her back, Ghost, we have to.” He whispered, and Ghost breathed deeply in response, agreeing in his own way.

Following suit, Jon took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, folding the parchment back into a neat square and slotting it back into his pocket, feeling a piece of him returning as he did. He envisioned himself as the boy he once was, lying in the godswood, under the weirwood tree, with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. If he focussed hard enough, he could almost feel your fingertips against his scalp. That was the only sensation that could bring rest to his racing mind, on the eve of war.

The next morning, the sun rose high, illuminating the field of battle as Jon rode his men to their frontline. Seeing the army that stood between himself and you, Jon began to doubt whether he really could make it to the other side. That was, until a raven flew from one side of the field to the other. Upon one of the wildlings shooting it down, Jon was handed a small scroll of parchment tied with a torn black cord, a slightly crooked sword charm hanging from it, and a strand of your hair that fell with a wind that slowed time to a stop as Jon untied it with trembling hands. Seeing red, his eyes scanned the page, the words that were written on it, and the heart that he firmly believed still resided with you dropped to the field below him.

“She screamed terribly for you when I tried to take this from her. The bastard’s common whore screamed loudest for me, in the end. But fear not, she won’t be making a sound like that again, or any other for that matter.

I’ll let you watch her rot, if you like.

Come and see.”

The parchment fell from Jon Snow’s shaking fists, landing on the ground atop the hair that Ramsay Bolton had ripped from your head, but the necklace stayed clenched in Jon’s fist. It couldn’t be true, he told himself, he would feel it if you were no longer there, if you were not waiting for him anymore. As hard as it hammered in his chest, his heart felt the same way it did before, that it was not truly with him. It would have returned to him, were you not there to take care of it anymore, he thought. But deep within his soul, Jon knew that his heart would stay with you long after yours had stopped beating, for his heart had been with you when it had stopped beating in his own body. He truly believed that you were what had brought him back to this life in that sense. What would be the purpose in bringing his greatest motivation for winning such a battle, leading him to the field of war and then taking you from him. It did not make sense, Jon thought, and used that to rationalize to himself that Ramsay Bolton was simply lying for the sake of distracting him. Little did Ramsay know, Jon’s mind was solely on you regardless of such a threat.

And as he unclenched his fists to tie the black cord at the back of his neck, icy gaze fixed on the form he recognised on the opposite side of the field, Jon Snow knew that he would make it through any number of men to punish the one that dared to take a single hair from your head.

The short lived hope of being able to save his younger brother, Rickon, only set Jon’s resolve further into stone. Through a sea of arrows, Jon Snow rode his horse until he was thrown from it, and then he stood. Arrows at his feet that stuck upright, having failed in harming him in a way that reassured him the Gods were on his side once more. And as he faced the army that charged towards him, a single man serving as the front line, Jon’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw your smile, and over the sound of horses and men, he heard your laugh, your call of his name. For the briefest moment, Jon swore he could see you standing at one of the windows of Winterfell in the distance, but the version of you remembered so fondly was years younger than the one that he was here to save. The emotional weight of the sword charm at his chest and your first letter to him folded in the pocket over his heart, made it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that this was it. Nodding to himself, he unclasped the belt of his sword and unsheathed it, standing to face the wall of men that charged for him, knowing that regardless of whether Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth, you were still on the other side. If Jon Snow could not save you, he would still fight for the right to rescue what was left of you and ensure you were laid to rest in the way you deserved, with his journey’s end being at your side when this was all over. The fury with which he would fight for you was unchanged, because it was still you he was fighting for, it would always be you.

And he fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, ending more lives than he could count without any regard for the men they were, whether he had known them once. If they were standing on the path that led to you, Jon Snow did not know them anymore.

Before long, the bodies had formed a wall at his rear and a living blockade of flayed-man banners at every other side began closing in on Jon and the men that had followed him into battle. His mind raced, every step and every swing of his sword accompanied by the mantra of your name, his very reason for being. For a fraction of a second, suffocating beneath the weight of his own army, he wondered if dying for you then was the best outcome, if you truly were not waiting for him in the land of the living, it would be his one means of returning to you at long last.

And then, the Eyrie’s horn sounded, with Sansa watching on from afar as they rode into battle for her, for you, for Winterfell. Many had told her the field of battle was no place for a woman, but Sansa would never sit back and let Jon fight for you on his own. She said she would finish this herself if she had to, and she did.

Bursting free from the trap that had been set by the enemy, with WunWun the giant on his left and his dear friend Tormund on his right, Jon Snow charged the field on foot with one deserter in his sights.

At the gates of Winterfell, WunWun took arrow after arrow, but crashed through the only barrier remaining between Jon and his home. Defeated and exhausted, the giant collapsed to his knees with a mighty yell, sharing a long glance with Jon at his side before falling forward. Wildlings rushed to surround him, protecting the giant from any further harm, and the blood soaked Snow stood before his greatest enemy.

“You suggested one-on-one combat, didnt you? I’ve reconsidered! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Ramsay taunted, readying his bow.

And Jon lunged for a shield on the ground, raising it just in time to take the impact of the first arrow Ramsey fired, then the second and the third. None dared to break Jon’s stride before he reached Ramsay and slammed the shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Like a feral animal, Jon Snow jumped on him, the fury of an ancient dragon awaking from an age-old sleep burning in his veins, vision crimson with rage, knowing nothing except for your name, again and again and again, with every crunch of his fists against the red of Ramsay’s face.

It was only when Jon glanced up at Sansa that he was able to regain some composure, his chest heaving as he rose to his feet and stood over the sputtering Bolton bastard.

“You will never touch my sister again. And if you have harmed (Y/N) in the same way, if you have done her any disservice, if there is a fingerprint of yours on her, I’ll know, and I will relive the joy of your death in every dream I have for the rest of my days.” Jon Snow seethed, the flayed-man banner falling from the walls of Winterfell as its children finally returned home.

Running to his side, Ghost began licking at Jon’s palm, and Jon turned to him, crouching down and staring into the direwolf’s eyes.

“Find her, Ghost, take me to her.” He pleaded, not truly understanding how much his companion could comprehend, but knowing the second the beast took off inside the castle that Ghost understood exactly what had been asked of him.

With the spark of you reignited within him, Jon hurried after the white, blood spattered direwolf, your voice in his head calling out to him, growing more urgent with each whisper.

In the darkness of your cell, you rock yourself, your arms wrapped around your knees, attempting to tune out the noise from beyond the confinement of your cage. A large thud against the door sends a shock through your shivering form and you suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut and focussing on the first memory you can grab at, deep in your subconscious.

“It was only a dream, (Y/N), it’s alright.” Jon’s hushed whisper reaches you, both so much younger than you are now.

“The fire, it was so-” Your younger voice was panicked, sobs catching in your throat as Jon’s arms squeezed you.

“You are safe, I promise. I’ve got you.”

Another thud at your prison door pulls you back to the present and you shake your head rapidly, desperate to lock yourself away in the memory of being in your best friend’s arms again, the safest place in the world that you had come to know. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel them around you. Almost hear his soft voice in your ears, comforting you, lulling you back to sleep.

A final thud against the door sends burning light into the room and you squeeze your eyes shut harder, shaking your head and burying your face in your knees.

“It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.” You whimper to yourself, over and over again in an attempt to reassure yourself.

Large hands on your shoulders cause you to snap your head up, eyes wide and wild with fear and anger, but no tears blur them, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“LET GO OF ME, GET AWAY!” You scream, trying to back away from him, but already having your back to the wall beside the leg of the bed that you are chained to.

The hands leave your shoulders and raise in surrender, either side of a blurry, bloody face that your terrified eyes can’t yet focus on.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), it’s me, look at me, it’s your Jon.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and your wild mind halts to a sudden stop, the fog clearing and allowing you to see the face before you.

Jon watches your rigid, frightened expression falter, before it softens completely, his fractured heart at seeing you so afraid, healing at the recognition now in your eyes.

Very slowly, he takes ahold of your hands and brings them to his blood spattered face, gently holding them there and staring into your eyes.

“It’s your Jon, it’ll always be your Jon.” He tells you, relief flooding through him at being able to say such a thing to you, alive and safe again.

And after everything, after the countless days and nights spent surviving in darkness, locking yourself away in memories to avoid being mentally present in the regular acts of torture you were forced to endure, only when holding Jon Snow’s face in your hands and knowing you are truly safe, do you finally let the tears you’ve been burying fill your eyes.

Without sparing a second, Jon shuffles forwards and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and softly shushing you as you sob into his chest. Covering your ears to shield them, not wanting to scare you, Jon yells out for someone, a ginger haired wildling running into the room with wide eyes at the sight of his friend, reunited with the love he had only heard him mention in moments when it wasn’t too painful for him to do so. With a nod, Tormund leaves the room and passes the order given to him by Jon amongst the wildlings, and between them they turn Winterfell on its head in search of the key for your chain.

For the time it takes them to find it, you stay safely nestled in Jon’s arms, cries slowing to a stop, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat, a sound that you had not realized just how much you had missed.

“D-Did…” You sigh, humiliated by your loss of ability to talk after being silent or screaming in an act of survival for so long. Jon squeezes your form gently in his arms, encouraging you to try again, he’ll wait, he’ll wait forever if he has to. Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat.

“Did you kill him?”

Jon takes a moment to reply. “Very nearly. Had Sansa not stopped me, I think I would have broken every knuckle I’ve got before I could have stopped myself.” He pauses. “The two of you should decide what to do with him, but you don’t need to worry about that now.”

Removing his arms from you briefly, Jon moves his hands to the back of his neck to untie the necklace. At the loss of contact, you lift your head from his chest to meet his eyes, and upon him opening his hand out to show you the necklace that had been so cruelly taken from you, you gasp, holding the base of your neck where it had previously resided. Turning away from Jon, he smiles softly and moves the necklace to your front, carefully tying it at the back of your neck. Feeling it back in place, you breathe deeply and settle back into Jon’s arms.

“That was all he took from me, you know.”

Jon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He tried to take more, but I bit him through his trousers, so he has been…out of commission, shall we say, ever since.” The subtle tone in your voice is one Jon is so certain he recognises as smug.

Kissing your temple, he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I am sorry that you had to do such a thing, but I am so proud of you, all the same.”

Sansa enters the room then, Ghost at her side and key in hand. She gasps at the sight of you, running to you and falling to her knees. Taking ahold of your hand and passing the key to Jon, she closes her eyes in a pained blink.

“I am so, so sorry that I left you here, (Y/N). Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes open then, searching yours and seeing only a smile on your face.

Freeing your other wrist from the chain it had been confined in, you twist and stretch it before placing your other hand over hers.

“There’s nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”

Sansa shares a look with Jon, both of them with knowing smiles, as those had been his very words when Sansa had been apologizing for her treatment of him as a child when she had not long arrived at the Wall.

“You really are the best of us, (Y/N).” Sansa chuckles in disbelief. “It’s about time we got you cleaned up and out of those rags, too. I’m sure Jon will see to that, and I’ll get a room ready for the two of you.” With a teasing smile, she rises to her feet and all but floats out of the room, leaving you and Jon with flushed faces.

Busying yourself with greeting Ghost and rubbing behind his ears, you try your hardest to distract yourself from the butterflies that have burst to life in your stomach after so many years of dormancy.

Clearing his throat, Jon taps your leg. “She’s right, y’know, we’d best get you cleaned up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, when you feel up to it.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you shakily bring yourself to stand, Jon’s hands holding your waist to keep you steady. “Who?”

At that, Jon Snow gives you the first dazzling smile that you have seen in Gods only know how long. “All in good time, my Lady.”

In your attempts to take your first steps on wobbling legs, Jon swallows the lump that forms in his throat, seeing the strong person that he adores more than any other, reduced to such physical weakness. If his hands were not on your waist, they would be returning to Ramsay’s face in several more punches for good measure.

Sensing your frustration and embarrassment at your own lack of mobility, Jon doesn’t hesitate to swing you up into his arms, carrying you like the bride he had always wished was his.

“I take it I don’t have to ask you to retract the bedding ceremony from our marriage at this time?” You tease in reference to the thought that the two of you share in being carried through the castle in such a way, bringing a laugh from Jon that he feels he hasn’t heard from himself in as long as you have.

“Even in more ideal circumstances, I’d never let that happen. Wouldn’t be right to break a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” He says, eyes never leading yours as he traverses the winding staircases of the castle he has not ventured since he was a boy, but are etched in his memory regardless.

Giggling and patting his chest, you shake your heard bashfully. “Good to know the Night’s Watch didn’t remove your chivalry, Lord Jon.” You gasp. “Gods! That really is your title now, as Lord Commander, isn’t it?”

Having not had a smile on his face for this length of time in many years, Jon feels an ache forming in the corners of his mouth, but doesn’t care at all. “Aye, I was, for a time, but my watch has ended.”

It’s then, a confused frown that Jon remembers well returns to your face, years older than he had last seen it, but no less endearing to him. “But...your watch only ends as a dead man?”

Jon nods as he descends the final staircase and kicks an all too familiar door open. “It’s a long story, one for another time.”

You want to question him further, but when your peripheral vision registers where Jon has carried you, you turn your head to look around, your jaw dropping.

Though the room is dark, you recognise every corner enshrouded in the shadows. The large and ancient communal bath that sits atop the hot spring that is Winterfell’s source of heated water, that none use in favor of their own personal baths, but had been your preferred method of cleanliness ever since you and Jon had discovered the dark and “secret” room when you were children. Placing you back on your feet gently, one of his hands on your waist and the other cradling your elbow to steady you, Jon’s gaze stays locked on your expression at his side, remembering this place with as much fondness as you do.

“This is about to be a bath for the ages. I will stay in this water for a week, at least, ‘til I am but a shriveled prune and you will have no choice but to drag me out against my will.” You tell him, tone so serious and words so humorous they pull another hearty laugh from Jon.

“We’d best get that week-long-bath started, then. I shan’t keep you and your heart’s true desire apart any longer.” He plays along, making you smile as you step in front of him, nodding to yourself.

Taking his cue, Jon lets go of you and turns around, expecting to give you the privacy to strip free of the filthy rags you have been kept in and stepping into the water to conceal yourself, until he hears you hiss in pain.

“Jon, I…I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but I do not think I can take this off without help.” You admit, embarrassed for too many reasons to list.

“It would cause me no discomfort at all, but are you certain you are comfortable with me…assisting you?” Jon asks in a soft voice, careful with his choice of words.

“Of course. You could never make me uncomfortable, Jon.” You respond without delay.

Needing no further instruction, Jon Snow takes a deep breath and turns around. With your back to him, you raise your arms and wait for trembling hands to lift the hem of your dress - if you could call a ripped potato sack such a thing - up and over your head. Dropping the fabric to the floor, Jon immediately turns around again, face burning.

“Thank you.” Your voice is meak, filled with shame over your true love seeing you bare for the first time, filthy, bloody and bruised.

All the while, Jon Snow is trying to remember how to breathe while the mental image of your naked form imprints itself into his flailing mind. The dirt had not even crossed his mind. Your injuries, of course, brought him sadness and anger, but the triumphant emotion was one he is not willing to admit, even to himself.

Taking slow and careful steps, you reach the water’s edge and lower yourself to sit on it, slipping your legs into the water and breathing a sigh of relief as the heat envelopes you immediately, inviting you in until your body is completely submerged and at peace. Every ache within your beaten body is soothed and you are quick to scrub the dirt from yourself, to be clean of your days caged and the memories that clung to your skin like the dried blood of your wounds.

Hearing the gentle slosh of the water, Jon settles as he realizes you are no longer standing behind him. Standing up straight, he fixes his gaze on the closed door and decides that he will keep watch. As you raise your head from the water, you see his silhouette standing at the door and smile, unable to withdraw the connection your mind makes between this picture and the one you saw so many times as a girl, of a much younger Jon Snow standing as he is now, shorter then, but just as determined to keep watch while you were vulnerable in the water.

“Y’know, you could do with a wash, yourself.” You note aloud.

Jon chuckles airily. “Aye, you’re probably right.”

Smirking in advance of your devious plan to make Jon blush again, you glide over to the edge of the water and rest your arms on the cold stone. “Join me then.”

And you watch in absolute glee as Jon’s form turns rigid at your suggestion. He does not answer.

“Jon?” You call in a singsong voice.

He clears his throat. “Hm?”

“As grotesque as my body is in its current state, I did not imagine you would ever reject an offer to join me?” You tease, only half joking.

Jon’s reaction is visceral. In a second, he is standing over you with a harsh frown, having had no thought in the effect the sight of you below him in such a way would have on him, too focussed on his emotional response to the ridiculousness in what you had said.

“I cannot even bring myself to say such a word in association to you, the thought alone would be criminal. Do not allow yourself to think that I could see you as anything less than the most beautiful person to ever exist, as you have always been and will always be to me.”

You have never heard Jon so serious in all your life. His words and the sincerity with which they are spoken renders you speechless for a moment as you stare up at him.

“Won’t you let me share such a view, of you, then?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And after a moment’s eternity of silence, as though practicing some ancient dance, the two of you step apart from each other and turn your backs, neither of you able to face the tension a moment longer.

The sound of Jon’s armor hitting the stone floor sends goosebumps erupting across the tops of your shoulders that peak above the water, your heartbeats ringing in your ears almost in unison. Even when you hear the splash of his body entering the water, you do not dare turn to face him. As quickly as he can, he fully submerges himself in the water and scrubs the blood and dirt from a battle won. Then, Jon Snow stands, slowly wading through the water until he stands behind you. It is your turn to take a deep breath as you turn to face him, your eyes drinking in the sight of his clean face, the scars on his chest sitting distorted beneath the water, and to take his mind away from the pain of what you assume are his battlescars, your hands lift from the water to trace the line of his beard with an admiring smile.

“I always knew you’d suit a beard.” You compliment him, easing his nerves as he laughs, gracing you with another charming smile.

Your hands continue their journey around the back of his neck, feeling the wet, inky curls of his hair there and sighing deeply.

“Truly, you have the best hair in the seven kingdoms.”

And Jon laughs the hardest he has in longer than he can remember, throwing his head back and shaking it as though emphasizing the hair that you have never failed to shower in praise, making you laugh with him.

Taking ahold of your hands at the back of his neck, Jon brings them to his lips and places feathery light kisses against your knuckles, holding your gaze.

“I have missed you more than words can say.” He whispers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that your excuse for not writing me any, then?”

Jon sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”

Chuckling, you lift his chin with your finger until you can see into his eyes again. “Considering you won a battle for me today, I think I can forgive you for not having time to read my letters.”

Jon smiles at you gratefully. “I read them all before coming to get you, I swear it.”

“And I believe you, as I always have. I believed you’d read them, I believed you would rescue me, and both rang true in the end. It seems my faith is safe.” You beam up at him.

“Your faith in what?” He questions.

“My Jon.” You tell him, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the moment he hears it, he agrees that it is.

Unable to resist you a moment longer, Jon’s arms wrap around your waist and pull your body flush against his, lips falling on yours in a kiss softer than a summer breeze. Briefly, he falters, wondering if perhaps he has acted on his instincts far too soon, but then he feels your fingers running through his curls, pulling him into a deeper kiss than he had assumed you would be ready for, but you have been waiting far too long for this.

Only when the two of you recall the human need to breathe do you have the strength to pull away from each other. But Jon’s lips chase after you, leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of your mouth to your chin, your cheeks, your temples, your neck, with pleading whispers in between.

“Will you be mine, my wife- my queen, should the north call for a king? I cannot lose you again, I cannot deny myself the dream of us anymore.”

And in equally flustered, desperate whispers, you answer. “Yes to all and yes to any. I have always been yours, Jon.”

For a time, it feels like the two of you are the only people in existence, the world having stopped around you, the Gods having paused time to allow you to hold each other for your own eternity. It is not the time for love beyond a passionate kiss, both of your bodies need to heal and rest after the battles you have fought and won, together, to get back to each other. To simply hold each other, after so many years apart, is the greatest joy either of you can ask for.

But, time cannot be slowed forever. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door of the bath and in a wild panic that has you in fits of giggles, Jon scrambles from the water and grabs his armor, holding it over himself to answer the door to the young squire that has kindly delivered fresh clothes and towels for the two of you to dry yourselves with. Nodding and thanking the squire, Jon takes the pile from him and closes the door, turning back to face you with a sheepish expression and only seeing the humor in it when he finds you wheezing against the side of the bath.

Once dry and dressed, the two of you make your way to the door, pinky fingers intertwined between you out of habit. Until your boot steps on something that does not sound like the stone floor and you frown, bending down to pick up a folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges and ink fading in the handwriting that you recognise to be your own as you unfold it. Turning to face Jon, you meet his gaze and know you do not need to say anything as you fold the parchment back into the neat square in which you had found it and slot it the pocket of his new, clean shirt. Holding your hand over it, you lean up to kiss his cheek and, intertwining your pinky fingers again, you ascend the stairs together and step out into the courtyard of Winterfell. There, your eyes immediately lock onto the sight of the immense form of the hunched over giant, sitting against one of the stone walls as some wildlings watch over him. The child within you gasps, your hands covering your mouth in delight as you look between Jon and the giant frantically.

Laughing endearingly at you, Jon gestures to the giant and walks you over to him. “(Y/N), I’d like you to meet Wun Wun.”

Unable to tear your gaze from the giant, you approach him slowly. “Hello, Wun Wun, it’s…it’s been a dream of mine to meet someone like you, ever since I was a little girl.” Looking over him and his injuries, tears immediately sting your eyes. “I am so sorry that you got hurt, are you in pain? I can fetch you some milk of the poppy, if you like? Or fix up some stew for you?”

Wun Wun watches you with a frown that seems to be etched into his features, curious of you. Taking a few seconds, the giant processes what you have said, looks to Jon and then back to you.

“Snow princess.” His voice is like a tumbling boulder, thunderous and without the human pitch-difference that is associated with asking a question, but Jon understands what he is asking.

“(Y/N) would be my queen.” Jon clarifies, and Wun Wun blinks slowly.

“Snow Queen.” He attempts to maneuver his large form, but roars in protest at his own injuries.

Raising your arms, you attempt to stop him. “Please, don’t hurt yourself further!”

Jon remembers how Wun Wun had acted towards the Princess Shireen and takes a step forward. “You don’t need to kneel to us, Wun Wun, you are our friend, our equal. You bow to no-one, not anymore.”

Your eyes widen in realization of what the giant had been trying to do as he slumps back down with a large thud against the ground.

Breathing deeply, Wun Wun looks at you. “Snow Queen.” He looks at Jon. “Snow.” Then lifts an arm and loosely gestures to both of you. “Friend.”

Jon scoffs playfully. “So (Y/N) is Queen, but I am just Snow?”

You grin at the giant, who acknowledges your expression with a thunderous laugh that is so loud it would hurt your ears, were you not enamored by the creature it comes from.

“If she is not my queen, who’s queen is she?” Jon asks, bemused and hoping to catch out the giant, who considers the question for only a second before responding.

“Wun. Weg. Wun Dar Wun’s.” And despite how long it takes the giant to speak his full name, the impact of his own punchline hits just as hard, sending you into another wheezing fit of laughter while Jon shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, it seems both Wun Wun and I are yours, now.” Jon throws up his hands in dramatic surrender, causing you to laugh harder, the giant smiling at you fondly and Jon watching you with an adoring gaze, so relieved to see you relaxed and safe enough to laugh again.

When Jon asks you if you feel ready to eat, you nod, but request that you eat together, with Wun Wun, to ensure he eats and gains some energy to help his body heal, too. Naturally, Jon does not deny you of the endearing request and the two of you return to the giant with your own bowls of fresh stew and an extra large one for your new best friend. The three of you sit and talk, taking time to listen to Wun Wun’s responses, which take a lot longer than general conversations with a human would, but you don’t mind one bit. With every word he speaks, you are utterly mesmerized, having already pinned the creature as every bit as incredible as the giants from your favorite tales as a child.

Though it is not late in the evening by the time you finish your supper, you are too exhausted from the events of the day to stay awake much longer. Having not walked around for any length of time in so long, your limbs are too weak to stand on your own again, Jon having to help you back to your feet with an arm around your waist.

Waving to Wun Wun, you give him a tired smile.

“Goodnight Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, I wish you pleasant dreams.”

The giant gives you a smile that Jon has not seen him give anyone else. “Friend. Sleep good.”

With that, Jon begins leading you back into the warmth of the castle, walking you along the path to what had been his bedroom as a boy, without thinking of what the room could be now, his direwolf trailing behind the two of you. Thankfully, it seems that Sansa was thoughtful in the room she requested be prepared for you all, as Jon’s old bedroom door is open, displaying the candlelit room and the freshly made bed. The two of you share a chuckle in disbelief as you enter the room, Ghost instantly finding a patch of rug on the ground to curl up on and Jon walking you over to the bed to sit down on it before he leaves you to close the door and draw the curtains.

Falling against the mattress, you groan.

“I think this ordeal has aged me 20 years and perhaps it is time we retire. I could finally let Sansa teach me to sew and you could herd sheep with Ghost, what do you think?”

At the mention of his name and in confusion at your suggestion, Ghost lifts and tilts his head to the side.

Jon laughs as he joins you, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Only, I’m afraid, my Lady, there is another war to be fought.”

You turn your head to face him, seeing the simultaneous amusement and seriousness playing in his eyes. “Surely, you jest. Against who?”

Jon sighs. “An ever growing army of the dead, unfortunately.”

Throwing your arms up and against the mattress above your head in a dramatic display of defeat, you scoff. “But of course! Winter is coming, I should have known.”

Jon smiles at you, having never felt so at ease when discussing the threat that looms over the entire world as he knows it and marveling at the wonder that is you. “Aye, but for now-” He stands to his feet, swings you up in his arms, kicks the bedcover from the mattress and lays you down on the sheet. “-we are free to rest.”

Shuffling to remove your boots and watching as Jon removes his to nudge them under the bed, you use the last of your strength to move over and allow space for him to slide in beside you.

Turning to face each other, you snuggle beneath the bedcovers and share a smile, like the giddy teenagers that had been lost in your memories until now.

“When is the wedding due, then, dear almost-husband?” You ask, amused but genuinely curious as to when the two of you will have the chance to arrange such an event.

“Whenever you like, dear almost-lady-wife.” Jon laughs airily, taking hold of your hands beneath the covers and staring into your eyes. “How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, knowing that the time to set aside your humor would come soon enough. “It is…difficult to put into words. Deliriously happy to be with you and Sansa, to have our home back and to be safe again, of course, but there is still a dark cloud that looms over me and I cannot ignore it. At any moment, I feel as though the rain could start to pour and I could drown in it, lose myself to the fear. In truth, the thought of trying to sleep is terrifying.”

Jon nods slowly, understanding you completely, as he always has. “However dark that cloud gets, however hard the rain falls and however scared you are to sleep, I will be here. To show you the sun again, shield you from the rain and guard you through your dreams, I will be right here, and I will never leave you again. I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

Tears threaten to blur the perfect vision of the candlelit Jon Snow, but you are quick to blink them away, removing your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, until his forehead rests against yours. “And in return, I swear to protect you from whatever horrid memories plague you from the time when we have been apart, to hold you through them and remind you that no matter what, you are a good man, the best man, and the man that I love more than anything.”

Closing his eyes, Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and you do the same, sharing the silence and darkness in a peace that neither of you ever thought you would find again.

“Can it be that this night, I’ll dream of you and wake to find you here?” You whisper.

Jon sniffles, having not let his relief and love for you truly overwhelm him until now. “Aye, this night and every night thereafter.”

Gently tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, you lean forward to close the space between your lips. “To be yours is to live nothing but a dream, Jon Snow.”

And for the second time since reconnecting to the rest of his soul, Jon Snow loses himself to you, falling into you and cradling every part of you with such care, having craved every second of these moments with you that he never thought he could have beyond the land of dreams. The two of you had lived separate lives for long enough, the Gods had no choice but to force you back to each other in an act of fate that defied everything Jon thought he could believe in, except for you. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he would be saving you from something, because he would be doing so from the frontline of your heart. To be yours was the only victory he truly felt.

——————

taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova @nyotamalfoy

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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greenerteacups · 2 months ago

Note

Well on the GOT theme now that we're here... you've written before about how the Black family fascinates you. Are there families or houses in the GOT universe that pique your interest and curiosity in that way? What are your head canons about them?

NOW THAT WE'RE HERE... such a tasty question. The for real answer is that I am Starkpilled forever. Ned Stark worst politician of all time they could never make me hate you. Rob Stark you hot dumb bonnie prince charlie clone they could never make me hate you. Catelyn Stark you gorgeous vengeful bitch they could NEVER make me hate you. Jon Arya Sansa Bran and their feral kindergartener baby brother. Theon Greyjoy somehow serving levels of stepbrother never seen before in a family with a literal bastard stepbrother in it. A boring Stark? Never heard of one. All of them are insane deranged crazy intense weirdos who believe that They are the only Normal One in this crazy-ass family. And they all are kind of right but mostly wrong! The Targaryens are the sexy dragonrider house with a million cool names and dynastic squabbles and that would usually be my jam but. BUT. God damn do I love fucking weirdos. God damn do I love some brunette bitches in fur capes.

The more serious answer is that I think the Starks are one of the best families because not only are all of their characters individually developed and rich, but their family as such also has a really clear identity, which in turn informs how each of the members sees themselves. The Starks are often hinted to have a similar magic/spiritual connection to the earth that the Targaryens do, but because it's not as flashy, they aren't recognized as such by anyone. The children's pseudo-psychic bonds with their direwolves are the first kind of creature "magic" that we see in the story, long before Daenerys's dragons or any dragons are introduced, and I think the parallel is intentional. They're one of the oldest dynasties in Westeros. They're far older than any of the Valyrian houses; they've held Winterfell for so long that living memory doesn't even account for the full history of the castle. They built the Wall! They're a family of greenseers and wargs, children with mystical powers of sight and perception! And they're tied into the history of the land. They're mystical and ancient and old and powerful, and their stories all take the shape of myths. Which is such a fucking cool idea for a curse, right? Because like, what if your family curse was that you were destined to be the heroes of the story, every time? No matter what it cost you, what it did to you, what it asked of you? When the world calls, it's you, Stark, against the slings and arrows of fate. And it bequeaths to you the magic gifts that you need to perform that duty, because it is your possession of those gifts that make you the only ones who can. What kind of a tragedy would that be?

The serious and non-textual answer is that the North is to some extent modeled off the Highland clans — that is, a bunch of really proud, distinguished houses that all predate the unification of empire and maintain their distinct identities subsequent to that unification, and live in an ice-cold highland climate with mountains and rivers and lots of mythology and folklore about magical creatures and ghosts that is basically like the highlands and like okay the North is Scotland, okay, if you've never been to Scotland you just need to trust me on this but it's Scotland, it's fantasy Scotland. Which rules. Because Scotland is fucking awesome, firstly. And secondly, I love that Scottish house is the one house that keeps its shit together and hangs on for hundreds of years while all the bitches down south try to kill each other every 50. I love that the North is its own place, and it's still a little wild and mystical and it scares off everyone who's not from it, but the Stark children all know it and love it and so to them that wilderness feels like coming home. That's my pitch for House Stark.

#greenteacup asks #gotblogging

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raya-hunter01 · 1 year ago

Text

Lights, Camera, Action! Pt.9

Lights, Camera, Action!

Jey Uso x Black Female OC! (Shantell)

Roman x Black Female OC! Tangela

Solo x Black Female OC! Sofia

Jimmy x Trin

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; oral, sex, fluff, defloration (Virginity) masturbation

Words:

Summary: How do you keep it together as Smackdown’s production director and navigate your life as the girlfriend of Mr. Main Event Jey Uso. Follow Shantell as she navigates her life as a girlfriend, sister, and confidant to the bloodline. Follow her on her journey to self-discovery of love and happiness.

Fatu Family Home

Joe’s POV

I think this family gathering was a horrible idea as I’m watching Mama Tanya and Aunt Sandra look like they are about to kill each other. “Mama, get Aunt Sandra,” I whispered as she shook her head in defiance at me.

“No, Joe I ain’t getting in it, and neither are you. She opened her mouth and looks like she bout to catch the fallout,” my mom said shrugging her shoulders. Sighing in defeat, I turned around to look at the disaster before me.

“Why you gotta bring up old stuff, I’m trying to make it right!” Sandra screams at Shantell’s mom.

“I don’t want my daughter and grandchild mistreated,” Tanya replied getting in Sandra’s space. “I think you just mad Shan and I had got so close, and she wasn’t flying out to Ohio to see you as much. We were her new family, and you know I would never hurt that baby,” Sandra says smugly.

“No, I’m mad because you harassed my baby, interfered in her relationship. You overstepped your place as a mother and caused my child pain! Then had the nerve to be mad at Shantell because that Taraji character played your whole damn family,” Tanya said without fear.

“I wanted my grandchild to have a family and a name of legitimacy!” Sandra exclaimed, getting frustrated at Tanya for not understanding her point of view.

“Please make them stop,” Shantell whispered as Jey took her hand trying to calm her down. “Ma, I think we need to stop and calm down,” Jey said trying to stop the drama before it got worse.

“Boy, I’m yo mama, shut up! The grown folks are talking, finish what you were saying Tanya,” she said firmly as Jey backed up towards Shantell knowing everything was about to get messier than it already was.

“ I said in the end you looked like an asshole, the trollop wasn’t pregnant, and you almost lost your son because of your need for perfection,” Tanya said smiling at the angry look on my aunt’s face.

“You just gotta keep pushin don’t you? A true bitch till the end,” Aunt Sandra said frustrated as Tanya laughed at her.

“Damn right I do, now you gotta live with the fact that the girl you wanted to push outta his life is actually pregnant with your grandchild,” Tanya said without missing a beat.

You could see she had touched a nerve, as my aunt jolted back like she has been burned with hot coals. Then without warning, she slapped Shantell’s mom; it was like everything stopped. Ah, shit it’s on, and ain’t no stopping it.

Shantell’s POV

“Mama are you ok!” I screamed, not believing what was happening. I tried to go over to her but Joe and Jey held me back. “Stay right here baby,” Jey said trying to block me from the drama.

“I ain’t stayin’ nowhere! You need to get yo damn mama!” I yelled as Joe held me tighter. “I know yo temper, you stay yo lil ass right here. We don’t need you getting hurt,” Joe said as I stopped fighting against him.

“Dis shit gon’ be bad,” Jimmy said to Trin as he pulled her close to him. “Maybe you need to step in, Jon before somebody gets hurt” Trin said, her expression matching mine of pure shock. This was a hot ass mess and how quickly everything went downhill has me stumped as fuck. Thank God Solo, Sofia, and Tangela aren’t here yet to see this.

Trin’s POV

“Thank you for that, Tanya whispered looking at Sandra like she was about to snap at any moment. “What you mean?" Sandra started questioning but was cut off by Tanya punching her dead in the eye with such force it made my eye hurt. "Sweet Jesus!" I yelled cringing at the sound of her fist connecting with her target.

“Oh shit!” Jimmy screamed, running towards his mom to check on her as she was nursing her eye. Welp, this escalated quick as hell, I can’t believe this shit. “Thanks, for provoking me,” Tanya smirked looking at Sandra moaning in pain as Jimmy is holding her up trying to make sure she was ok.

“Dad you ain’t gon’ do nothin!?” Jey yelled as Papa Kish waved him off. “Nah, they need to settle this shit. My grandbaby gon’ need both of them, so they need squash this. let’em fight,” he said honestly as Jey and Jimmy looked at their dad like he was crazy.

“Pops this is crazy!” Jimmy exclaimed as his dad cut him off. “Move out the way Jonathon, let’em go,” he responded calmly without any room for argument. The minute Jimmy let her go, she ran at Shantell’s mom, tackling her into the pool. “Oh my God!” I screamed, not believing what the hell I was seeing it was truly grandmas gon’ wild.

Shantell’s POV

“Mom stop it!” I screamed as she clocked Sandra again but this time with a right hook.

“I’m going to kill her!” my mom yelled, it almost seemed like a dance. They were trading blows, grabbing hair, bobbing up and down in the pool literally trying to kill each other.

“Not if I kill you first!” Sandra yelled as all of our faces were glued to the water looking at them trying to tear each other apart. “Somebody please stop them!” I pleaded as my mom grabbed Sandra by her hair and dunked her head under the water.

“You need to be baptized! Cleanse yo evil ass, all the shit you been doing!” My mom screamed as Sandra was fighting to come back up. “Come on pops break this up,” Trin pleaded as he let out an exhausted sigh. “Please papa somebody gon' get hurt," I pleaded trying to get past Jey as he held me in place.

"Alright boys break it up," Papa Kish ordered as Joe and Jimmy jumped in the pool finally breaking up the fight.

“She started it!” my mom yelled as Joe picked her up sitting her on the edge of the pool. Meanwhile, Jimmy was trying to get his mother under control, finally sitting her down a few feet from Tanya.

“Now I hope ya’ll got that all out yo systems because that was the first and the last time ya’ll do this. We are family whether either one of you likes it or not,” Papa Kish said looking at them both drenched and trying to catch their breath.

“Everybody let's go inside while these two work this mess out,” he said giving them one final look before walking inside the house with the rest of us following closely behind trying to give them some privacy.

In spite of all that had just happened, I couldn't help but smile seeing Solo come inside the house holding Cameron close, leading Sofia inside. “Hey, sis what we missed?" He asked giving me a kiss on the cheek before walking into the living room.

“Bro, ya’ll missed everything,” I whispered to myself, closing the door behind me, shaking my head at all that had happened today.

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

Dinner

Shantell’s POV

I can’t help but feel nervous as I’m sitting in the lion’s den, I mean the Fatu family home. The tension is so high in here you could cut it with a knife.

Then the fight between my mom and Sandra left me stumped, confused, and a little angry. I still can't believe it as I'm looking at their disheveled faces and Sandra's eye that seems to be turning colors.

“Shantell, I’m so happy you and your mom came,” Papa Kish said as I smiled. “Thanks for having us,” I said looking at Sandra trying to get a feel for how this was going to go. “I say we don’t eat, she may try to kill us all,” my mom whispered as I gave her a pleading look to chill. “So, Tangela did you get cleared for your new building?” I asked her as she smiled.

“Girl, they gave me the run around, but we finally closed. Joe being home these next two months will definitely help me get things up and running,” she says excitedly as he kisses her hand. “I’m so proud of you baby,” he whispered as I smiled at them.

The silence was thick as we were grasping at straws to have some sort of conversation. “Sofia how has work been?” Sandra asks as Sofia looks at her in shock. “Um, it’s been busy,” she responds looking at Solo as he smiles at her encouraging her to talk to his mom.

“Uh, I think we need to address the elephant in the room. I heard about it earlier and I’m guessing you and Ms. Tanya have settled everything. I just wanted to address the sudden change of heart,” Sofia said looking at me and then Trin.

“Mrs. Fatu, you invited us here, which I’m thankful for but Sofia’s right. What made you want to turn over a new leaf,” Trin added as I shook my head in agreement.

Taking a deep breath, she began explaining herself. “I said some things that I shouldn’t have out of frustration, and don’t call me that. You know I love all ya’ll girls, it’s Mama Uce or just Ma,” Sandra said putting down her fork, looking around the table at the somewhat judging eyes.

“Shantell, you and I were very close, then Taraji came along saying she was pregnant by Joshua. I know I was wrong to tell you to leave him, but I was protecting my family,” she said as I felt Jey’s eyes on me as I was focused on his mom.

“What about after? Why keep making snide comments, I have never done anything but love your son and respect this family,” I said honestly really wanting an answer.

“I felt you were taking him away from me, all ya’ll were taking my babies away. It’s always been me and my boys. They were all I had while their father traveled the world, now I’m here alone,” Sandra said looking around the table at everyone wiping her tears.

“Mama we gon’ always be your babies but we have our own lives,” Jimmy started but was interrupted “Son, let your mama finish,” his dad said encouraging his wife to get everything off her chest.

“In my family the women always took care of the children, stayed home and I always wanted more but I never had the courage to step out,” she whispered. “So, you have resentment towards us?” Trin asked looking at her with tears in her eyes.

“No! Envy maybe but never resentment. I love all you girls even though I got to work on a better way of showing it,” she said wiping her tears, looking at my mother.

“I know me, and you had had it out earlier, we needed that. I also think it's agreeable to assume with everyone this is going to take time,” my mom said trying to voice her opinion without getting anyone upset. “Yea, I think baby steps are good,” Sofia said as several of us nodded in agreement.

“I agree," Trin and I said at the same time causing a light laughter to bounce throughout the room. “Hey, baby steps are all it takes,” Papa Kish says raising his glass. “Let’s toast,” he said raising his glass as we all joined in.

“I’ll do it,” Jey said taking over the toast as his dad smiled. “To new beginnings and family,” Jey said with a small smile as we toasted. I hope it truly was a new beginning ahead because this isn’t healthy for anyone.

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

Shantell’s House

Jey’s POV

“Good night, Muhammad Ali,” Jey joked as my mom rolled her eyes at him before going inside. “Good night son,” she said closing the door, giving us some privacy. “Today was insane,” Shantell sighed as I pulled her into my arms.

“Yea, it was but at least we are in a better place than we were before,” I whispered trying to point out the improvement. “Josh, our moms beat the shit outta each other today,” she groaned as I chuckled.

“Girl stop being modest, yo mama whooped my mama’s ass. Even tried to damn drown her ass. Remind me to never hurt you again, Ma may kill me and hide the body,” I said trying to lighten the mood.

“You are terrible,” she laughed slapping my shoulder. “I wish I could stay over, but I know your mom is here,” I said gently kissing her as she melted in my arms.

“You make this so hard,” she whined against my lips, grabbing me by my shirt. She pulled me closer reclaiming my lips in an even more powerful kiss. “Mmm, baby don’t start, I got three weeks before I can have you," I groaned nibbling on her neck.

Shantell’s POV

“Don’t you start,” I moaned as his hand began to roam under my shirt. I was under his spell until the porch light came on. We jumped apart like teenagers, both of us quietly snickering at the situation.

"This is all your fault," I whispered as he smirked at me. "I'm innocent, I just wanted a good night kiss, yo ass was trying to seduce me," he said as I playfully slapped his shoulder as he pulled me closer.

“Shantell, I know ya’ll ain’t out there giving the neighbors a show,” my mom accused us as Jey removed his hand from under my shirt trying not to laugh.

“No ma’am we are just saying goodnight,” I lied snickering as Jey laid his head on my shoulder shaking with laughter.

“Girl, gon’ tell that man to cut that car off, and get in this house. Hell, the baby already been made, and it ain’t like ya’ll can do anything right now anyway,” she said bluntly as Jey ran to cut off his car.

“Well, she didn’t have to tell you twice," I teased as he scooped me up in his arms. “Nope, you heard Ma, she invited me to stay,” he said as I laughed laying my head on his shoulder as he carried me inside…Yea, I'm definitely falling even more in love with this man every single day.

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

Family Meeting After Smackdown

Jey’s Bus

Jey’s POV

I can’t believe I’m standing here practically listening to Paul beg Shantell to give him some ideas to fix the shit they did at SummerSlam. They had Joe and Jimmy do a gaslighting promo on me. After snapping on everyone, I quit the WWE and walked out through the crowd.

“We wrote Jey out to give him a couple weeks home with you while you’re under doctor’s care. That also gives us time to decide where to go from here. I’m just saying, give me a couple ideas to take to the table with the writers Shantell,” Paul begged as Shantell continued to stare a hole through him.

“I told you I wasn’t talking to you,” Shantell said irritated rolling her eyes. Well damn, this is a first and I hate it because Paul is like a big brother to her. I hate to see them fighting because they make such a great team.

“Shan, come on I’ve apologized a thousand times, I’m trying to fix it,” he pleaded as she cut him off “No! You want me to fix it, and you get credit for it,” she accused as Solo snickered at the look of distress on Paul’s face.

“I told you the old man was just wanting to throw his weight around a little bit,” Paul said as Shantell covered her face with her hands and screamed. “ You didn’t stand up for them, this was their story and you let him dip his nose in it. Fuck him wanting to throw his weight around, you lied to them and to me,” Shantell said standing up, pacing in front of the bed.

Just when I didn’t think I could love this woman anymore, here she is in front of our boss, setting his ass straight about his failure to lead. She’s my ride-or-die and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Shantell, give him at least a starting point, you know I have been counting on this vacation. They could try to cancel it with all this goin’ on,” Joe said looking at Shantell with pleading eyes as we all sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Ugh…Fine, I’ll send him a couple ideas later this week,” she whispered as Joe ran up to hug her. “I owe you,” he whispered holding her tight. “You just enjoy your vacation with Tang,” she said hugging him back.

"Oh, and Levesque, you need to be planting the seed that Tamina needs help to fight Rhonda and Shayna. That will help bring Trin in next month," Shantell said shooting Tamina and Trin a smile.

Shantell’s POV

“Tonight is about trying to salvage the guy's storyline, not our upcoming one,” Tamina says looking nervous. “Girl, ya’ll are the bloodline, and it will help further the story because when Joe comes back, he was supposed to be trying to sway ya’ll to come over to his side and betray Jey," I said explaining the previous plans to her.

"He wants gold in his bloodline, that gives ya’ll the spotlight. We know Jey is coming to protect ya’ll even though he’s on the outs with Jimmy," I said as Trin smiled in understanding.

"I got ya, then Jimmy is going to be trying to stop me from joining or it could bring him back into the fold trying to keep us safe under Roman’s thumb," she said following my lead.

"Then when we are about two months out from mania, pull the trigger and let Jey and Jimmy feud. That alone will lead them to their dream match at Wrestlemania,” I said smiling as Jey and Jimmy did their secret handshake seeming to like the idea.

“I actually like it and have an idea since you brought that up,” Paul said looking at Heyman who wore a gleam in his eye that let me knew we were back on the right track.

"We need to call an emergency meeting with the other writers, Paul said coming over to hug me. “I guess I will hug you", I laughed as he hugged me tighter.

"Get some rest munchkin I’ll call you Monday," he said moving so Heyman could give me a hug as well. "You know we are going to fix this I promise, because we have all put in so much hard work. This isn’t going to be in vain,” he reassured me as I nodded giving him a kiss on the cheek as he smiled.

"Good night you guys be safe and enjoy the house show tomorrow," Paul said as they walked off the bus. Hopefully, everything could get back on the right track, as I looked at the comments online. Some fans seem to believe Jimmy, and others think he’s gaslighting Jey so I guess we shall see what happens from here.

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

Taraji’s POV

“I hate her, I swear to fucking god," I muttered to myself watching Jey’s SummerSlam vlog. This bitch is all over it, look at them looking so happy as they walked down the ramp before SummerSlam taking in the building and set.

“So, if I win I’m bringing yo sexy ass in the ring no questions asked,” Jey said smirking at her as she blushed. “I ain’t getting in there, you comin’ over to me,” she said laughing as he kissed her. “Why does he keep touching and kissing her, he was never like that with me.

“If I lose, I’ll give you the signal to go get Sam and get the bus running, we’ll haul ass and we’ll hit up McDonald's,” he said snickering as her eyes lit up. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she said as he held her hand, kissing it as they walked down to the ring. “I really hate this bitch, wait what did he say,” I whispered to myself, rewinding the video.

“I got yo cravings locked in my brain baby, I gotta make sure you and lil Uce good,” Jey said leaning over to kiss her. She’s pregnant……Nah, I didn’t hear that," I said out loud continuing to watch the video.

“If I may ask, What did you pray for?” Stu asked Jey as he got up off his knees. He seemed anxious as he paced back and forth, wringing his hands. Finally, he stopped and looked at the camera.

"In a couple months, I’m gon’ be a daddy man, continuing my own bloodline. Ain’t nothing betta than that Uce,” Jey said seeming to get emotional as he continued pacing waiting for his entrance.

“ So to answer your question, I prayed for health and strength; I prayed for my family. So, I'm bout to head out there and put on for my bloodline," Jey said spraying water on himself before hitting the curtain, heading to the ring.

"No!!!" I screamed throwing a bottle at the TV and breaking it. This bitch is pregnant. PREGNANT! That was supposed to be me!" I screamed in frustration as I knew now there was never a chance of Jey coming back to me.

---------

OBGYN' Office, Pensacola, FL

Jey’s POV

I hate hospitals and after what happened to Shantell. I cringe whenever we drive by one. I can honestly say this is a good doctor visit though. "Shantell everything is looking good," Dr. Borden said as we both let out a sigh of relief. "Ok, so no complications," I asked looking at my son on the ultrasound machine.

" Mr Fatu the baby is fine, and if you’d like to know the sex we can draw blood to be sure," Dr. Borden said as Shantell smiled. "I told him we should be surprised, but he said he already knows it’s a boy," she said holding my hand as I couldn’t control my smile.

“I know because a reliable source told me,” I said smiling, kissing her hand. "Well we also need to talk about all this stress you’ve been under Shantell, it’s not healthy," he said giving her a stern fatherly look.

"I know Doctor Borden, I’m going to take it more seriously and avoid stress. Our child is our first priority and I will leave any situation that is causing me stress," Shantell said with determination as her words kind of really stuck with me as the doctor printed out a copy of the ultrasound.

"Good because I would really hate to see anything happen to you or this baby. You deserve to be happy and have your dreams come true," Doctor Borden said giving her a hug and shaking my hand.

"You ready to go, baby," I asked as she nodded, kissing me before she got dressed. I'm glad the doctor had good news for us but I still had some worries.

Shantell’s POV

“You’ve been quiet since we left the doctor,” I said as Jey grabbed my hand, placing it on my lap as we drove home.

“Would you ever leave me? I mean after what the doctor said about taking care of yourself, and stress he started as I gripped his hand tighter. “Josh, I’m still here, aren’t I?” I asked trying to drop the subject but he continued.

“If something is causing you stress, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving he said glancing at me with a sad smile. Even if it’s me that’s causing the stress, I would understand baby," he said, his voice sad and full of emotion. “Josh, can we drop this?” I asked as he pulled me into a kiss as we stopped at the red light.

“Just let me finish before I lose my nerve, if things get stressful let’s just promise to talk to each other and make the decision together, please,” he pleaded as I kissed him again. "Josh, we will be ok,” I assured him as we continued our journey home.

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

R&B Brunch Club

Joe’s POV

This little club is amazing and never disappoints as the DJ is walking in the crowd giving people a chance to sing along, finishing the lyrics when they cut the beat. I had invited Jey and Shantell to come out with us to get outta the house and have a little fun. We all needed it, and it was good to see them so carefree with everything that had been going on.

"I see you jammin', sangin' to yo man over there!” The DJ said pointing at Shantell. She was singing, swaying to the music with Jey. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, cheesing, and nodding in agreement with the words she was singing.

I got to admit it’s a vibe up in here right now, as I kissed my wife. She blushed, before laying her head on my shoulder. They were playing My First Love by Avant feat. KeKe Wyatt and the crowd was singing along at the top of their lungs.

I saw the DJ making his way over to our table with a spare microphone offering it to Shantell as she smiled taking it out of his hands. I swear somebody gon' have to surgically remove Jey's smile as he's waiting to hear her sing.

“You better sang that shit too!" I said hyping her up as she smiled at us, before turning back to Jey and began singing.

Times keep changing

Come sun or rain

Tangela’s POV

I couldn’t help but smile, I didn't know Shantell could sing and she was singing the hell outta that song. She had Jey entranced as she wrapped one arm around his neck as he bit his lip slightly showing off his grillz, pulling her closer as she serenaded him.

Kill the beat!," The DJ shouted as Joe smiled, pulling out his phone, going live on his Instagram.

“Let him know what it is sis!”I shouted as she gazed into his eyes and began belting into the microphone.

Long as I live (long as I live)

You will be

My first love (and my only love)

It was amazing hearing the crowd singing the chorus, backing up Shantell. “Yea, you betta sang that shit, you my first love too," Jey said throwing a one up in the sky before leaning down kissing her neck holding her close as they swayed to the music.

“You gotta make sure he know that shit baby girl,” Joe said as Shantell gently pushed Jey to sit down. He was devouring her with his eyes as she leaned down singing to him, making sure he heard her.

Long as I live (long as I live)

You will be my first love

And I choose you again

Shantell leaned over to give Jey a kiss as he pulled her into his lap deepening the kiss as Shantell without looking passed the microphone back to the DJ. "Ok, I got to send Trin a picture," I whispered as I took a picture of them.

"No pictures, I look horrible," Shantell said laughing, seeing the flash as Jey turned her attention back to him taking her in another passionate kiss. "You look beautiful," he whispered to her caressing her face lovingly. "That’s what the R&B Brunch is about! Let’s keep it goin' ya’ll," the DJ said as Why I love you so much by Monica began playing.

" Come on wifey, let’s dance," Joe said as I looked at him in shock. "You….You want to dance," I asked as he smiled leaning over to kiss me. "Yea, can’t a man dance with his wife," he asked leading me out to the dance floor.

Shantell’s POV

"See cuz can dance, I don’t know why he so shy bout that shit," Jey said looking at Tangela and Joe on the dance floor looking like their gliding on air. "It’s in the blood, ya’ll all smooth with it," I said smiling at him as he blushed slightly.

"You know I never heard you sing before," Jey said caressing my face. "Well, I gotta hold some things close to the vest,"t I said as he kissed me again. "Well, your my first love too," he whispered as I blushed laying my head against his neck as he held me close.

"Always and forever," I whispered caressing his beard as the chaos of the club seemed to not exist as it was just me and him. This date night with Joe and Tangela has been truly fun. We definitely need to do this more often as life is moving so fast. I also knew I needed this time off to reset.

-------

Smackdown one month later

Gorilla

Trin’s POV

"I can’t do this," Trin said pacing as Jimmy and I looked at each other smiling. "Girl! Yes you can this is what we’ve been waiting on," I encouraged as Jimmy took her in his arms. "Hey, we here, and it’s gon' be great baby," he said kissing her as she relaxed.

"You on in one minute Trin," I said looking at Tamina getting jumped by Rhonda and Shayna. I could feel her mind shift as she focused. "That’s my girl," Jimmy smiled moving away from her as he came to sit beside me. "Go kill it, girl!" I shouted as her music hit and she went out into the arena to a hug pop.

"Is that Jimmy’s wife Trin!" Cole shouted as Trin cleared house. You know it is Cole, only one person can jump that high in the women’s division and I’m personally glad to see her back Barrett said as Rhona and Shayna ran off.

"Camera five get a close-up of Trin then phase back out to Rhona and Shanna," I ordered as the crowd began chanting “welcome back" as Trin was overcome with emotion. "Hard camera focus on Trin for a minute, then camera seven I need crowd shots" I advised.

"Shan, you know I got you, and it’s good to have you back," Stu said as I smiled. "It’s good to be back, Stu. I really missed ya'll," I said into my headset.

"Look at her out there," Jimmy said almost in tears as Jey rested his hand on his shoulder. "It’s official, she's, back in the fold," Jey said smiling at me as Jimmy nodded looking proudly at his wife.

The crowd was so amped they wouldn’t let her speak as she tried to control her emotions. "Yeah, I’m back!" She shouted as the crowd roared louder." Camera eight I need a shot on Tamina," I said as I saw her tearing up.

"My sister ain't by herself no more, she's got me and we coming for those WWE Women’s tag team championships! Your days here are numbered just like they were in the UFC" Trin shouted dropping the mic as Tamina stood beside her.

"Camera two and Nine I need a pace between the ring and the aisle, I need a good shot of this stare-down to take us off the air," I requested.

"The war is on, Tamina has some help now!" Cole screams as Smackdown goes off the air. I watched Trin and Tamina celebrate as Jey sat on the other side of me. Trin was finally officially back on the roster and tonight was my first day back.

If this past month was any inkling of what's to come, I can say these next few months should go by fast and bring us all closer together.

Nowhere left to go but up from here......I hope.

Taglist:@reci24 @southerngirl41 @vebner37 @jeyusos-girl @melaninsugababy @romanreignkisser @bebesobrielo @arination99 @2-muchsauce @empressdede @alyyaanna @jeyusosgirl @christinabae@hennyyybarb

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wiihtigo · 13 days ago

Note

………i would like to hear your thoughts on Earthspark starbee….

help. ok. VIEWER BEWARE YOURE IN FOR A SCARE bcuz the reason we call it the starbee 900 parter is bcuz we kept adding side plots and getting lost

and also agent schloder is really integral to the whole thing

suddenly got self conscious so i will readmore this one

ok so the two key players. are hashtag and agent jon "no H" schloder.

hashtag is hacked into ghost security cams bcuz she wants to record footage for her B roll in some movie shes making (not important cuz it gets thrown out in 2 seconds here) and accidentally sees a tension filled interaction between starscream whos still in ghost jail and bee whos with agent schloder (who is deeply deeply in love with bumblebee) (important) and star is acting all haughty to see bee like look whos come crawwwling back after all these- who is that. (Starscream doesnt remember the faces or names of fleshlings unless theyre inconveniencing him on a deeper level than just being in his way when hes trying to walk) and starts acting weird abt bee and schloder and bee is like Oh gross does he think we're........ew. WAIT. I CAN USE THIS TO FUCK WITH STARSCREAMS EMOTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOOOOOORAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!

(pictured above: skywarps germaphobia being activated thinking about an organic lifeform and a cybertronian dating)

so bumblebee goes along with this misunderstanding because its making starscream really mad and its funny to see him get so upset. all the while the real victim here is schloder whos getting led on by this yellow car he actually is in love with and now thinks he has a chance with (very played for laughs, schloder is comically ignored and fighting 1000 battles by himself in the background of starbees tense and steamy interactions)

we pan back in at the malto base and see hashtag slack jawed having witnessed all this. Could it be...no.....really? NO.....REALLY? BUMBLEE....AND STARSCREAM? TOGETHER? NO. (her fujo mind picked up on the vibes immediately while schloder remains comically oblivious to whats going on with them)

her initial boring movie plan is thrown out the window as her new project takes priority: A DOCUMENTARY ABOUT THE REAL LIFE LOVE AND LOSS OF A RELATIONSHIP CROSS FACTIONS (if you remember frommm season 1, one of the movies she was super into was on this very topic- forbidden romances excite her..) and in doing so she believes she can FIX THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!!!!!!!

from there the episode splits into the hashtag plot and the schloder plot of self discovery

star and bee are still at ghost arguing their hearts out and occasionally hashtag will pop in with some different movie making style or invasive question to ask before one or both of them tell her to GTFO (she tries an interview section where bee gets up and leaves immediately after she brings starscream up, she tries narrating over their fight like a nature documentary, she badly dubs over their muted screaming faces with dialogue of her own of them making up, things like that)

and while that goes on schloder (under the impression bumblebee wants him and he needs to lock in fast so he doesnt mess this up and lose his chance with the coolest autobot around) wanders aimlessly stuck in his own head until he wanders right onto the maltos property. the kids ask him whats wrong and he says vaguely he needs to get ready for a date because he has someone he REALLY wants to impress....

the kids do a dress up montage with schloder at the barn dressing him up in all sorts of wild ways and give him an array of bad and weird advice for his date

dorothy finally catches wind of what her kids are doing and comes in like agent schloder..take off the hot dog costume. listen to me. just be yourself and whoever youre trying to impress will like you for you. and if they dont its their loss. and schloder is like my god youre right. thank you mrs malto ill be sure to get bumblebee now!!!! and then her and all the kids after hes run off are like ".....BUMBLEBEE?" (scene end)

he bursts into ghost with a bouquet of roses ready to claim his love and hashtag is like oh hi agent schloder do you wanna check out what i have of my movie??:) and he sees all the pink heart edited filters around footage of them screaming at each other and the YTP audio mixed STARSCREAM I- love, You! sentences hashtag edited together to make them say and falls to his fucking knees in despair and heartbreak.

hashtag oblivious to how she just ruined this mans life, doesnt notice as he shuffles away sadly with his head hung and feet dragging. he goes on a montage journey of self discovery, climbing mt Everest and meditating under a waterfall at the peak. he smiles and lets a single tear fall watching the sunrise and you know hes achieved inner peace.

he comes back and that hes emotionally moved on and is so happy for him and his ugly fucking boyfriend hes serious. bumblebee snaps out of it for a second and realizes what hes been doing and the autobot guilt hits him and hes like aahhh. im sorry for how i was acting that was really jerky of me. you didnt deserve that. and starscream is like "its about time" and bees like "dumbass i was talking to schloder"

so schloder and bee get ready to leave and starscreams like whatever im not even mad WHATEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!(still fuming at him about to leave with the human ) and bee riding this high of apologies is like "By the way, i was never with schloder. stupid" before leaving ss to process that. (who just goes What the HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! at the door angrily after him)

a rare moment of kindess from bee to starscream....marking..a slight shift in their relationship? change is ahead...?

hashtag is like Huh. well i guess they worked it out without my help?

also forgot to mention brief joke is that megatron has been cooped up in the security room watching this over the cams for hours because he thinks its hilarious

so the moral of the episode for the kids is to not do what hashtag did this entire episode.

from then on...we saw it like.....youll occasionally see starscream and bee talking in the backgrounds of things or mentioning each other or exchanging a few words here and there. basically it happens off screen and in the background them getting back together LOL

"but what about their terrible g1 breakup...did they ever talk about that again..? ;_;"

basically....thats not important anymore to them. theyre old and tired and the war is over they kind of just silently agree to Lets just step over that and move past it fresh

and also starscream has done 100000 things worse since then during and after the war so.

bonus drawings of this beautiful world

after that. in a perfect perfect world. wow. imagine . we get the starbee wedding 29 parter at the end of the series.

thats. yet anoher episode we played out in our minds. its like a blend of earth and cybertronian customs to appease their human friends

but the main course event is the kids putting on a play reenacting how starscream and bumblebee MET DURING THE WAR. directed by hashtag who never learned to mind her own business. but the joke is that none of whats written in the play is true because they dont actually know how it happened or anything so its just completely based on guesswork which leads to a very evil and strict optimus played by mo who grounds bee for life in the basement for daring to be in love with a decepticon. leading the real optimus whos in attendance to go "NO...THAT NEVER HAPPENED...I DIDNT KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'"

many such jokes like this play out. and at the end of the episode we get to see in a flashback how it all really happened and a peek into some of their more genuine intimate moments g1-ified. because we as the viewer arent supposed to know how all that happened either. i just told you in a tumblr post earlier cuz i was asked and none of this is real.

ok. thats our earthspark starbee vision.

(takes my final breath)

#good god this was long #asks #leave a like comment and review

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marichive · 6 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Jon Snow in A Clash of Kings , the second book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ Have you been here all night? ❞

❝ You didn’t break your fast with us, and your bed hadn’t been slept in. ❞

❝ Is it morning? Down here there’s no way to know. ❞

❝ You’re a sweet fool. ❞

❝ You’ll miss that bed when we’re sleeping on the cold hard ground, I promise you. ❞

❝ If I had time to search . . . everything’s a jumble. I could set it all to order, though. ❞

❝ This vault is a treasure. ❞

❝ The books will still be here when we return. ❞

❝ You’ll be as safe as if you were back in your father’s castle. ❞

❝ I was never very safe in my father’s castle either. ❞

❝ The gods play cruel jests. ❞

❝ Someone has to help me keep him humble. ❞

❝ We’re all scared. We’d be fools if we weren’t. ❞

❝ There’s no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it. ❞

❝ Some men want whores on the eve of battle, and some want gods. ❞

❝ The Seven have no power beyond the wall, but my gods will be waiting. ❞

❝ What do you make of them? ❞

❝ They smell of summer. ❞

❝ You’ve heard these tidings of your brother? ❞

❝ He will make a good king. ❞

❝ He was never the same after he put on that crown. ❞

❝ Some men are like swords, made for fighting. Hang them up and they go to rust. ❞

❝ May the gods go with you on the morrow. ❞

❝ More stairs. I hate stairs. ❞

❝ Put them here. I’ll have a look at them later. ❞

❝ The command should be mine. ❞

❝ I do not mean to send you after them and sit wondering how long I must wait before I give you up for lost as well. ❞

❝ Stop wasting my time. ❞

❝ Do I look frail? ❞

❝ Don’t cozen me. ❞

❝ Was this all you could find? ❞

❝ If you have something to say, say it. ❞

❝ A man must believe his eyes. ❞

❝ I have seen the dead walk. ❞

❝ “Give me a man for every vow I’ve seen broken and the Wall will never lack for defenders. ❞

❝ A lord’s one thing, a king’s another. ❞

❝ Tell me none of this troubles you, and I’ll name you a liar. ❞

❝ And if it did trouble me, what might I do? ❞

❝ I’d like to take an axe to the bloody thing myself. ❞

❝ My father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The Old Gods know when men are lying. ❞

❝ Much can change in a year’s time. ❞

❝ We might camp here tonight. ❞

❝ I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, I might never open them again. ❞

❝ Whatever enemy waits out here will not find us so easy to deal with. ❞

❝ We’ll find them, I promise you. ❞

❝ So long as he gives us a hot meal and a chance to dry our clothes, I’ll be happy. ❞

❝ There’s a cold smell to that one, there is. ❞

❝ The men are to mind their hands and speak to these women as little as need be. ❞

❝ Truth be told, I never once missed him. ❞

❝ These are bad times to dwell alone in the wild. ❞

❝ Better to die free than live a slave. ❞

❝ We’ve had no such troubles here. ❞

❝ I’ll thank you not to tell such evil tales under my roof. ❞

❝ I’m a godly man, and the gods keep me safe. ❞

❝ I could use a sharp new axe. ❞

❝ More beer, and be quick about it. ❞

❝ No trouble from the dead, but what of the living? ❞

❝ What of your king? ❞

❝ Any man lays a hand on my wife, he loses the hand. ❞

❝ He has the look of a Stark. ❞

❝ Man wants to bed a woman, he ought to take her to wife. ❞

❝ He won’t hurt you. ❞

❝ Are you one of his daughters? ❞

❝ That wolf’s looking at you hungry. ❞

❝ You’re scaring her. ❞

❝ I know all the names. ❞

❝ Save your breath. ❞

❝ Is he as savage as they say? ❞

❝ So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. ❞

❝ Just take me with you when you go, that’s all I ask. ❞

❝ I’ll be your wife, if you like. ❞

❝ He never gave you guest right, so you’re not bound to him. ❞

❝ It’s for the baby, I have to go. ❞

❝ I don’t even know your name. ❞

❝ Is it him who frightens you? ❞

❝ For the baby, not for me. ❞

❝ What color are the eyes? ❞

❝ Blue. As bright as blue stars. ❞

❝ Your babe would not be safe with us. ❞

❝ I do not choose the road I ride. ❞

❝ Keep a good edge on that sword of yours. We’ll be needing it soon enough. ❞

❝ I know what it is to be afraid. ❞

❝ She’s going to have a baby. ❞

❝ Have you taken leave of all your sense? ❞

❝ Why do I feel so ashamed? ❞

❝ She was frightened and wanted help. ❞

❝ The wide world is full of people wanting help. Would that some could find the courage to help themselves. ❞

❝ My father once told me that some men are not worth having. A bannerman who is brutal or unjust dishonors his liege lord as well as himself. ❞

❝ We could scarce hope for better. ❞

❝ What’s wrong with you? ❞

❝ Maybe there are ghosts here, the spirits of the First Men. This was their place, once. ❞

❝ How did you fare today? ❞

❝ I will not lose more of my men. ❞

❝ I mislike the man, but I do not think he lied to us in this. ❞

❝ Shall I bring you supper? ❞

❝ Did your wolf find game today? ❞

❝ That’s not for me to say. ❞

❝ I dread that as much as you, but we must admit the possibility. ❞

❝ Rest will serve me better. ❞

❝ Was the hunting so bad? ❞

❝ Dragonglass. What the maesters call obsidian. ❞

❝ Send two hundred wolves against ten thousand sheep and see what happens. ❞

❝ You have your father’s look. ❞

❝ I am no lordling. ❞

❝ It is said that a direwolf runs with you. ❞

❝ I had begun to fear for you. Did you meet with trouble? ❞

❝ There are worse ways to die than warm and drunk. ❞

❝ I’ll not be going there, I promise you. ❞

❝ I was not meant to hear that. ❞

❝ It was just empty talk. ❞

❝ They are cold and afraid; we all are. ❞

❝ The unseen enemy is always the most fearsome. ❞

❝ It must have been buried for a reason. ❞

❝ What is you will in this? ❞

❝ Fire is life up here, but it can be death as well. ❞

❝ No better time to start than now. ❞

❝ I wish I had a tenth part of his courage. ❞

❝ Do you have a name? ❞

❝ You are my captive. ❞

❝ I never knew my mother. ❞

❝ I want to hear this tale of yours. ❞

❝ A steel kiss will keep her quiet. ❞

❝ She yielded herself to me. ❞

❝ You must do what needs to be done. ❞

❝ You don’t need to do it. ❞

❝ Aren’t you afraid? ❞

❝ Strike hard and true, or I’ll come back and haunt you. ❞

❝ I can’t stay brave forever. ❞

❝ You never asked me how it went. With the girl. ❞

❝ They have no discipline. ❞

❝ You know? ❞

❝ Tell me why you spared her. ❞

❝ I know she was an enemy, but there was no evil in her. ❞

❝ To lead a man you must know them. ❞

❝ You ought to be sleeping. ❞

❝ I like it in the dark. ❞

❝ It’s always pretty women in my dreams. Would that I dreamed more often. ❞

❝ Dead men walk and the trees have eyes again. Why should we balk at wargs and giants? ❞

❝ Does this mean my dreams are true as well? ❞

❝ He can keep his mammoths, I want my women. ❞

❝ I want to see them with my own eyes. ❞

❝ Eagles have sharper eyes than men. ❞

❝ It will be good to feel warm again, if only for a little while. ❞

❝ Sometimes a man forgets how pretty a fire can be. ❞

❝ Did he ever love a maid or have a wedding? ❞

❝ He has a different part to play. ❞

❝ Do you remember the words of your vow? ❞

❝ I am not afraid to die. ❞

❝ What do you mean? ❞

❝ If we are taken, you must yield. ❞

❝ No. Never. I won’t. ❞

❝ You will. I command it of you. ❞

❝ You must not balk, whatever is asked of you. ❞

❝ Do as they bid you, but in your heart, remember who and what you are. ❞

❝ I do not want to play the oathbreaker, even for a good reason. ❞

❝ I’ll do whatever you ask. ❞

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay memes #inbox memes #rp prompt #[memes ; mine]#[memes ; general]#[memes ; literature]#[memes ; for muse]#[memes ; sentence]

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hisgxrlfriday · 9 days ago

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RR fans and their scary parasocial ways

So I've been thinking about this for a little while and with the WWWY announcement a lot of attitudes have been re-emphasised online. I love Ryan and I honestly just feel bad- I don't think ruined is the right word nor am I trying to speak on his behalf. A lot of this is my opinion, but also, I'm really not making stuff up I'm just using them to justify my viewpoint. I'm gonna try and break it up into paragraphs, i know i said an essay but I'm in the middle of exams and theres nothing i want less than to write another damn essay.

Without further ado, here's my commentary on fan culture and how it how seems to have impacted Ryan Ross.

To clairfy, I'm assuming he's a bit done wiith the whole fame thing based off how little we see of him- compared to like, Jon.

Initial reception-

Obviously Panic blew up massively very early on, when they were very young. And fans treated them really gross. As a band they were harassed- if someone said to their favourite artist today "I want to lick you" they would get torn up. But there's a video where they talk about these kinds of comments being made to them at shows, and the interviewer laughs. These kids were young. Jon wasn't old enough to drink. And the behaviour was considered totally fine. Was it because they were a bunch of teenage boys, why wouldn't they want hot chicks all over them?

I'm not going to evaluate the effects harassment has. I am, however, sure you can understand. Yes that is just one example. But theres no doubt it happened plenty of times and people did not care. I'll go more into the sexualisation of the members later as well. But yeah. This was the treatment people dished out to Panic, its kinda obviously not cool! This is certainly more general than the rest, btw.

That fan who pretended to be Brendon Urie-

The sheer extent Chelsey Lynn went to in order to catfish Ryan is literally incriminating.

Here are the details: https://www.tumblr.com/pathetic-at-the-disco/171916782926/the-time-that-ryan-ross-was-catfished-by-a-fan

Brendon and Ryan's friendship, according to this, had officially fractured in 2010 and Chelsey wanted to rekindle it. We'll never know the genuine intent and that sucks- not too mention that you could begin to believe that it was driven by a sickening desire to prove 'Ryden'. It sucks that this fractured any chance of Ryan and Brendon hanging again- because Ryan clearly wanted that. And of course, he was so embarrassed. Why would he trust fans, why would he want to interact with anyone after that?

I think its clear that this did have a lasting impact, because Ryan clearly wasnt interested in rekindling the friendship after it occurred, personally I would never want to look at Brendon again after those messages leaked, its just a very personal thing and it sucks. We know that it was awkies between them because of that video from c2016 (made up time based on his hair) where Brendon explains that yeah, they saw each other somewhere and the conversation was super awkward the kind of thing you get from someone you literally toured the world with.

That instance in itself would have been enough for me to flee the country personally, but maybe I'm projecting.

The Milk Fic-

If Brendon Urie knows about it and Gerard Way read it, everyone ever knows about the milk fic. And theres two ways you can address this. I read the milk fic when i was young and it was gross. and then I read it again when I was older and that shit isnt just gross- its like. abhorrent. appalling. offensive. I think the issue with this isn't that its RPF- it's the fact that it is disturbingly vulnerable, highkey is romanticising abuse, and was (and kinda still is) the punchline to too many jokes. Aged 10 I proudly watched 'emo bands on crack' and other videos of the sort a lot, and the milk fic was mentioned a lot. Literally today (october, 2024) I saw a TikTok about it.

I think if i was a celebrity I would want people writing shit about me. Yay for a bit of fanfic. But when the work that is associated with you so broadly on social media is that... blegh. Its like, violating. I love CrankThatFrank, always did, but I'm telling you if Ryan Ross knew anything of CTF's content, which I assume he did based off the interview, Ryan totally knew about the milk fic. And that is no hate, Franks content was banger, and he wasnt the only person who contributed to it. So. I dont know, I dont see why fans would write that, but obviously the only people who would write about celebrities are fans. Its backwards.

[Edit] just proving my point, the photo at the end was posted on Halloween in 2024 and it’s soooo off putting that I’m not even blocking out the user

Conclusion-

I was gonna do a chunk about all his dickriders online but. I hope for their sake and his sake he doesnt see any of it. It's unfortunately embarassing. I'm going to pretend that he is completely unaware of them therefore it cant impact the relationship he has with them.

Anyways. Unsure if the tone of this is perfect, I've not really done a grammar check and I very well could keep adding to this post. Thank you for taking the time to read this all <3 happy to explain my thinking

#ryan ross #panic at the disco #wwwy #when we were young festival #a fever you cant sweat out #afysco #patd #dcd #decaydance

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asongofstarkandtargaryen · 9 months ago

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Jon Snow: Blood of Winterfell

Qhorin Halfhand, Jon's mentor and superior officer is the first person who refers Jon as the blood of Winterfell. He's reminding Jon who he is: a man of the Night's Watch and a Stark ( despite lacking the surname). According to Halfhand, these identifications are enough to make him trust Jon to make the right decision when it comes to dealing with the Wilding they have captured ( aka Ygritte).

Jon's throat was raw. He looked at them all helplessly. "She yielded herself to me".

"Then you must do what needs to be done", Qhorin Halfhand said. "You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night's Watch". He looked at the others. "Come, brothers. Leave him to it. It will go easier to him if we do not watch".

ACOK, JON VI

We know that Qhorin was testing Jon, wanting to find out more about his character. And the fact that he let Ygritte go instead of executing her, spoke volumes about Jon's gentle heart.

The second time Jon is referred as blood of Winterfell it's Ygritte the one who calls him so. It makes sense for her to parroting what she heard from Qhorin's earlier speech because by that moment she didn't really know Jon herself.

"Get him up". Rough hands dragged him to his feet. Jon did not resist. "Do you have a name?"

Ygritte answered for him. " His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark's blood, of Winterfell".

ACOK, JON VIII

Ygritte highlights Jon's connection to the lord of Winterfell in her attempt to save him from the death. And it's fitting that the girl who he saved, tried ( and succeed!) to save him in return.

Fast forward a book, and Jon has fallen in love with Ygritte but leaves her in order to defend the Night's Watch ( and Westeros) from the Free Folk attack.

While he has a fever due to his injuries he dreams of her.

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins until she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not.

ASOS, JON VI

Jon refuses to give in Ygritte's charm in his dream since his father is watching.Jon looks up to his father, puts him on a pedestrial and he's always afraid he will not be prove to be a worthy son of him. Could he be a bigger disappointment than abandoning his oath and bedding an enemy instead of defending the realm and his home? His father here symbolises everything Jon believes sacred, everything he fights for.

Make no mistake, Jon is still deeply in love with Ygritte - and he will continue to be for a long time, even after her death. He doesn't reject her out of lack of love. He rejects her because his love for his family and his new brothers ( the people he protects as a Night's Watch brother) wins . He rejects her because his desire to prove he's a worthy son of Eddard Stark wins.

#jon snow #jon snow meta #house stark #asoiaf meta

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medusapelagia · 10 months ago

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Harringrove - The Book

This is the third chapter of the @harringrovestorychallenge

1st Chapter by @harringrovestorychallenge

2nd Chapter by @lorifragolina

(coming soon 4th Chapter by @mymisfitsbabe)

CHAPTER 3

TW: blood, mention of domestic violence

“Let’s get inside.” Steve said, dragging Billy inside. Their clothes were dripping on the floor while Billy was shivering in Steve’s hold.

The rich boy had so many questions, but the most urgent was “Are you hurt?”

Billy stared at him, confused, then he lowered his eyes and saw that he was covered in blood. “Not mine.” He replied, still shaking. “There was… there was something. In the woods.” He murmured, while Steve gently guided him toward the big shower in his ensuite bathroom and opened the hot water before getting under the shower with him. The water rapidly turned to a shade of dark pink that slowly faded while Steve kept washing Billy under the warm embrace of the water.

"Do you want to strip? You can borrow something of mine." He asked, not wanting to push the blond-haired boy.

Billy nodded but he didn't move, so Steve stripped him gently, leaving him with a pair of black boxers and a pair of wet socks stained with traces of blood; when he felt that the boy was warm enough, he turned off the shower and dried him with some fluffy towel, always whispering praising in his ears, then he guided Billy back to his room and gave him a sweater and a pair of joggers.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asked, studying his face with attention.

The boy nodded but he remained silent, and Steve didn't know what to do: he didn't want to push but Billy was covered in blood when he got to his place, and he talked about the woods...

"Can you tell me what happened?"

The blond haired boy snorted, finally looking like himself for the first time since he got to Steve's house. "You won't believe me."

"Try me." Steve replied with a stern tone and Billy turned toward him, studying him for a long moment before looking away.

"I got home the other night; Neil was angry because I was late, but I wasn't! I mean, he told me to get home before midnight and I did and he was screaming, trying to get to me, but I was still close to the door, and I knew I had your bat in the trunk, but he is still my father so I... I got in the car, and I drove to the quarry. I thought I could sleep there, in my car, and come back in the morning. Sometimes I do that, you know? I sleep in the car and come back in the early morning after he leaves for work, but tonight... Tonight there was something that was watching me, I swear to god! I felt his eyes on me! I thought it was Hagan or some other guy from school doing a stupid prank, so I got the bat, I just wanted to scare them but... it wasn't a boy or an animal! It was..."

"A monster." Steve concluded for him, and Billy turned toward him so quickly that his neck cracked.

"How do you know?"

"Why do you think I have a nailed bat, uh? Not for playing baseball." Steve replies, taking Billy's hand in his. "There are monsters in Hawkins." He tried to explain, "They come from a parallel dimension or something like that."

Billy pinched his nose. "Great. So now I must pay attention to my dad and to those fucking monsters. Absolutely great!" He complained, then he turned toward Steve. "But if they are real... if they didn't come from my imagination, we must warn everyone!"

Steve shook his head. "Can't. The government is keeping an eye on everyone who knows something and if they find out that we talked with anyone I'm sure it will not be pleasurable." Steve insisted but Billy was not going to listen to any of this.

"You don't get it, Steve! If I hadn't had the bat with me, I would be fucking dead!"

"Do you think I don't know?!" Steve yelled, standing up abruptly. "A girl died in my fucking pool last year because one of those monsters got her! Ok? And Nancy and Jon barely survived because I was there! Do you think it’s easy living knowing that a girl died and I was right here and I didn't do anything? Do you think it's easy going to dinner at the Holland's with Nancy? Because it's fucking not! But I do what I must do: I pretend! I pretend that everything is fine, I pretend that what happened didn't affect me, and that I'm a normal teenager attending high school, like getting up and going to school wasn't the hardest thing I have ever done! And I keep an eye on the people I care about! Nance, the kids, you."

"What about the others, Harrington? What about the ones that are not under your protection, huh?"

"I can't save everyone, Billy, I have come to terms with it."

"And that's all? Who do you think you are? God? You can't choose who lives and who dies!"

"I'm no god, Billy! And that's exactly why I can't save everyone! But now you know too, so there will be two of us keeping an eye on those... things." He replied, offering Billy his hand, "I swear this was not a burden I wanted to share with anyone, especially with you, but maybe we can help each other. What do you say?"

Billy glared at Steve, ready to lash out against him, but then he thought about a curious red-haired girl who was very good at getting in trouble and shook Steve's hand. "I'll keep my eyes open, and you will keep an eye on my shitbird." He told him, staring at him with his ice-blue eyes.

"Who?!"

#billy hargrove #harringrove story challenge #steve harrington #billy x steve #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Harringrove #Billy x Steve #Stranger Things Fanfiction #Harringrove fic #medusapelagia fanfic #medusapelagia #my fanfic

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askgametime · 5 months ago

Note

🐜 Recommend a fic that makes you laugh! A crack fic, or something that's just really funny!

okay, i actually generally don't answer asks on this blog, i create/reblog ask games to be used by others since i'm not really open for prompts right now and this blog isn't fandom specific. however, i guess i could provide a rec/recs, but since there's no fandom listed it will be random. and since i don't normally do these i'm going all out with a really detailed answer.

...alright, briefly traversed my bookmarks for fics i remembered being hilarious, and ironically, this is not at all indicative of the fandoms i spend the most time reading in, especially like, currently, but it's a small variety and they were all memorably hilarious so:

still alive but i’m bearly breathing by thessalonike (starblessed) / @julies-butterflies

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms; Rating: T; Categories: Gen, M/M - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

So, Julie's got a possessed teddy bear. “It was just a flash of light, like a lava lamp exploded, and then, whoomph —“ Reggie mimes what, presumably, is a person getting sucked into a stuffed animal’s body. It involves a lot of flailing, a weird mermaid wiggle, and a moonwalk. “Alex was a bear.” CAN WE PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT, sings Alex — or Bearlex — into his plush microphone, with his tiny robotic voice. The sound box inside of the bear isn’t designed for speaking, only warbling… so every time Alex has something to say, he sounds like robot Freddie Mercury attempting karaoke. ALEX IS NOT A BEAR. ALEX IS INSIDE A BEAR. IT’S DIFFERENT. “Yeah, man, it sounds worse.”

Rec Notes: This one makes me cry laughing. Every single time. It's so funny. I believe after I watched JATP and binged a bunch of fics I read every single one of this person's works and they were all great. God, I need to rewatch that show, it's been a hot second.

Smoke Break by OrangeGaytor

Fandom: Disco Elysium; Rating: M; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

Shivers– Miles away, a young teenager takes his first ever hit of a joint. He inhales too deeply, and spit flies from his lips as he falls into a coughing fit. Pitifully, his friend pats him on the back, an embarrassed grimace on his face. Just as far away, a woman is locked to her couch, paralyzed by the 10 mg edible she took an hour and a half ago. The recommended dosage was half of a gummy, and yet, the chemicals overpower her, merging her into the cushions. Time passes as a dripping faucet, inconsistent, and runny. And here, in Martinese, a police officer has rolled the worst blunt known to all mankind.

Rec Notes: Great grasp of game's format/feel, incredibly funny. I just love how it's worded. The summary is a great example--the pacing and punchline is just. chef's kiss.

No Speak, Only Batman by hitthedeck

Fandom: DC/Batman/Justice League; Rating: G; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1) (Part 5 of a series of oneshots)

Batman doesn't use words, those prehistoric, plebian things. Instead, he stares deeply into your eyes, waits for you to absorb his meaning, and leaves. Either that or he fights it out like a normal person. Or, in which Batman's unique communication style is spectacularly unhelpful.

Rec Notes: I don't even go here, but Batman produces so many excellent, excellent crack fics. This is one of the best. Honestly, this whole series is completely iconic. Please read them all.

Filet-O-Fish by moopyjoopy

Fandom: The Magnus Archives; Rating: T; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

Someone throws a Filet-O-Fish at Jon’s front door. Paranoia ensues. (rated teen for a few swears)

Rec Notes: Okay, I'm really not gonna have a lot to say for any of these other than "help please they're so fucking funny" but I cannot impress on you enough they truly are all so fucking funny. I don't even really go here, either and YET. Also, I just love this author. Master of humor, truly.

œuf ouch owie by miraculousunflower (ominousunflower)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug; Rating: T; Category: F/M - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

Chat Noir enlists Rena Rouge's help to create an Aspik illusion. Absolutely nothing goes wrong. Ladybug smiles. “I wanted to drop by and welcome Aspik. I know it must be a little intimidating, being surrounded by so many veteran heroes…so, welcome! We’re glad to have you on board.” “I look like an egg!” Aspik announces, T-posing. Chat turns to Rena, feeling like he has been punched in the solar plexus. What the hell? he mouths. Rena grimaces, her eyes wide with panic. Stomach sinking, Chat remembers one of the first things he learned about the Fox Miraculous: that if Rena Rouge isn’t focused, her illusions go haywire. Oh, no.

Rec List: cannot emphasize enough this one makes me cry laughing every time. I don't know what it is, man. It's just so fucking funny. I haven't watched this show in years and still I go back and reread this when I remember it exists.

Sam Green and the Strange, Perplexing, Almost Bad, Very Confusing Night(s) by pukner

Fandom: Stranger Things; Rating: G; Category: Gen, M/M - No Archive Warnings Apply - WIP (1/2)

"'M I bein' kidnapped?" asked Harrington. "What," said Sam, alarmed, "No!" "Okay," said Harrington with terrifying agreeability, considering the words he was saying, "But like. If you were? It's cool, I've been kidnapped before." "Wh—" "It was, uh. A bunch of twelve-year-olds," said Harrington, sounding strangely pensive. Then, sadly, "They stole B'lly's car." Sam actually could not process anything being said right then. He started the car. "Hey, Harrington?" he said, voice strained. "Yeah?" "Let's stop talking for a while, yeah?" "'Kay." Or, in November 1984, Sam Green (or Freak, if he's at a gig) sees Steve Harrington stumbling home looking like roadkill. He drives him to the hospital, and never quite manages to get rid of him. In July 1985, Eddie Munson is very confused about this.

Rec Notes: Every work by this author is so, so good. I don't even go here--god, why is that a pattern on this list?--but I'm always excited to see them in my inbox. I only chose this particular one (a) by virtue of it being the most recent and therefore the one I remembered best and (b) Mall Goop.

The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Epistolary Bullying Campaign by viramine / @mvshortcut

Fandom: The Mysterious Benedict Society; Rating: T; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

"To LD Curtain (I refuse to believe you actually earned your doctorate): When I opened the newspaper over my nutritious breakfast this morning, I was greeted by the most terrible and disgusting sight in the world (your face). Now I am going to take several moments of your time to express my displeasure." Or, how did Curtain know they called themselves the Society, anyway?

Rec Notes: Iconic as fucking always. Top-tier author, top-tier comedy; have my hand in marriage, etc. Constance terrorizing Curtain is always wonderful but this is probably the best version of that. Great characterization, deeply hilarious and so so funny, always worth rereading over and over. The best, ♾️/10 stars

Geoffrey M'Benga: Vulcan (Love??) Guru by WerewolvesAreReal

Fandom: Star Trek (TOS); Rating: T; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

Post-Amok Time. “The only conclusion M'Benga can draw, based on all McCoy's questions about Vulcans, is that the man is enamored with Commander Spock. Someone should really tell him that pigtail-pulling stops being cute when you're eight.” Misunderstandings, genfic, humor.

Rec Note: Yet another author I always and without fail am absolutely thrilled to see in my inbox. And this fic? Regular reread. Absolutely incredible.

A dis-ass-ter by normal_thoughts_official / @normal-thoughts-official

Fandom: Shadowhunters; Rating: M; Category: F/F, M/M, Multi, Other - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

Simon and Maia find out what the Mark of Cain is in an... Alternate way. Namely, they can't get their spanking session on. The squad is called in to help.

Rec Notes: [announcer voice] FROM WRITING GENIUS NORMAL-THOUGHTS-OFFICIAL IT'S!!!! THE POLYCULE SPANKING ASS PORTAL FIC!!!! Truly so funny and from one of the best authors on this damn site, wonderful characterization, on point comedy, and impeccable taste as always. Blowing you a kiss. Tossing bouquets. Firing confetti cannons. Etc.

A Way Things Should Be by LullabyKnell / @lullabyknell

Fandom: The Hobbit (Movies); Rating: T; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (16/16)

In the Shire, hobbits say, "What lovely weather we've having." They also stir their teacups for four and a half clockwise rotations, place their left elbow seven-eighths down the way of the arm rest, and sniffled pointedly, which roughly translates to: "This tea is over-steeped and bland, your furniture is both uncomfortable and horrifically tasteless, and you're a twit of a host." And I think that's beautiful. ~ Hobbitish is a language of manners and etiquette, the dwarves don't even know that Hobbitish is a thing, and Bilbo is trying to keep a straight face and his peace of mind while the Company unintentionally keeps sexually propositioning him and challenging him to pie-eating contests to the death. ~ Actions speak so much louder than words.

Rec Notes: Truly a stunning fic. An absolute masterpiece. Hilarious, touching, perfectly paced. Incredibly long and well-thought out, great characterization, and again, I cannot stress this enough, hilarious. I once recommended this to a person out loud irl in real life on purpose. A person who had never heard of fanfiction. Admittedly I was a high-schooler at the time, so it's not like I had much sense (not that I have any now), but I still didn't normally do that. He thought it was hilarious, by the way. Read some excerpts out loud at lunch and had them howling. Wonderful fic, cannot recommend enough; so fucking funny and the premise is just. so good.

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

And now, because I'm selfish, here's a few crack fics I wrote, because. why not, am I right? I'm already putting way too much time into this probably.

-- -- -- -- --

Rupert Mannion Is Batman (He Isn't)

Fandom: Ted Lasso; Rating: M; Category: M/M - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (13/13)

A series of bizarre, loosely related events occur, all kicked off by Trent absently mentioning that he may or may not have once hooked up with Rupert Mannion.

Author Note: I had so much fun with this one. It's not my most popular crack fic--even my most popular Ted Lasso crack fic--but it amuses me.

dreams of falling

Fandom: House MD; Rating: M; Category: M/M - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

House and, among other things: green couches, being kissed by Wilson, lightning-fast overthinking, and talking to himself.

Author Note: My first time writing House, and entirely on an impulse. I really like some of the lines in here, like Chase's brief appearance.

gemini schmemini

Fandom: The Mysterious Benedict Society (TV); Rating: T; Category: Gen - No Archive Warnings Apply - Complete (1/1)

"You're his clone?" demanded Kate loudly, looking between Mr. Benedict and Curtain. His what. There were a lot of answers he could give to this. No, who in the world told you that, we're twins, being the main one, or perhaps he could just turn to his brother and say, did you seriously fucking tell people you cloned yourself instead of owning up to not being an only child?! But looking at his brother, who was keeping his face utterly blank, Nicholas made a split second decision. "No," he said, looking his brother directly in the eyes, "Actually, he's my clone."

Author Note: I had a harder time choosing between my MBS crack fics because I think they're all hilarious. No false modesty here, if there's one thing I am occasionally good at it is being funny as fuck. Not reliably, but, you know. Anyway, I asked my friends to choose between three random ones I think are the funniest and this was the unanimous (of the two people that responded on incredibly short notice) vote!

And now...

#you could try sending more of these if you want yall but i dont know a LOT of fandoms/dont read for a lot of fandoms + am familiar enough to #rec off the top of my head with a pretty narrow span of fandoms so #anyway im sorry because im sure ive forgotten some excellent top all tiem crack fics but these are the ones i remembered + had marked #i have a terrible memory and that includes remembering to mark things #not an ask game

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jackoshadows · 2 years ago

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Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick - Jon, AGoT

For a 9-11 year old Arya Stark’s level of analytical intelligence in the books is truly impressive. The way she adapts, evolves with new information and is quick at problem solving. I believe her analytical intelligence is even better than that of Jon Snow’s and had Arya been at the Wall, her keen observation of the mutineers would have quickly put an end to their plotting.

There’s just so many little bits here and there right from AGoT, which points to Arya being quick to observe, analyze and come to a logical conclusion. In fact there’s just too many examples to cover here.

For instance, Arya having observed enough of Cersei to know that she would target Nymeria for what happened and she was right.

“We had to throw rocks,” she said miserably. “I told her to run, to go be free, that I didn’t want her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she’d have deer to hunt. Only she kept following, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at me and I felt so ’shamed, but it was right, wasn’t it? The queen would have killed her.” - Arya, AGoT

Or when she accurately reads her father’s emotions (This is in AGoT, way before she is training with the Faceless Men) and moods in KL:

Her father had been fighting with the council again. Arya could see it on his face when he came to table, late again, as he had been so often. - Arya, AGoT

“The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord,” Jory said as he resumed his seat. “They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King.”

Arya could see that her father was not very happy about that. “Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?” Sansa’s eyes had grown wide as the plates. “A tourney,” she breathed. - Arya, AGoT

Arya’s a naturally curious child. She is thirsty to learn, to absorb, to try new things. She wants to learn about the different kind of flowers, she wants to be a king’s Councillor, she wants to learn how to use a sword. When Sansa wants them to travel with the Queen, Arya’s objection is that there are no windows for her to look out and observe.

“I don’t care,” Arya said. “The wheelhouse doesn’t even have windows, you can’t see a thing.”

“What could you want to see?” Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she’d feared. “It’s all just fields and farms and holdfasts.”

“It is not,” Arya said stubbornly. “If you came with us sometimes, you’d see.” - Sansa, AGoT

Then to Sansa she said, “When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion.” - Sansa, AGoT

Arya cocked her head to one side. “Can I be a king’s councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?” - Ned, AGoT

She tries natural remedies from Mycah to treat her rashes and highlights all the workers who Ned spends time talking with including Mikken the blacksmith and Vayon Poole the Steward:

Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. Sansa would have thought that might have taught her a lesson, but Arya laughed about it, and the next day she rubbed mud all over her arms like some ignorant bog woman just because her friend Mycah told her it would stop the itching - Sansa, AGoT

At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories. - Arya, AGoT

Arya is good with numbers and managing a household, is fast becoming adept at several languages ( Braavosi, Pentosi, Lyseni etc.) and has demonstrated having sound logical judgment. Her ability to connect the dots using what she has learned and based on information she has is what helps her make quick decisions and even escape places like KL and Harrenhal.

She had been avoiding the Lorathi since Weese’s death. Chiswyck had been easy, anyone could push a man off the wallwalk, but Weese had raised that ugly spotted dog from a pup, and only some dark magic could have turned the animal against him. Yoren found Jaqen in a black cell, the same as Rorge and Biter, she remembered. Jaqen did something horrible and Yoren knew, that’s why he kept him in chains. If the Lorathi was a wizard, Rorge and Biter could be demons he called up from some hell, not men at all - Arya, ACoK

She used her cheese to point. “That way.”

“But there’s no sun. How do you know?”

“From the moss. See how it grows mostly on one side of the trees? That’s south.”

“What do we want with the north?” Gendry wanted to know.

“The Trident.” Arya unrolled the stolen map to show them. “See? Once we reach the Trident, all we need to do is follow it upstream till we come to Riverrun, here.” Her finger traced the path. “It’s a long way, but we can’t get lost so long as we keep to the river.” - Arya, ASoS

For instance look at her train of thoughts when she is trying to escape the Lannister guards in KL, juggling different options and then deciding right each time.

For an instant she froze. Up or down? Up would take her to the covered bridge that spanned the small court to the Tower of the Hand, but that would be the way they’d expect her to go, for certain. Never do what they expect, Syrio once said. Arya went down, around and around, leaping over the narrow stone steps two and three at a time.

Moving between buildings and over walls, keeping stone to her back wherever possible so no one could surprise her, Arya reached the stables almost without incident.

-----

If they thought she was a boy, perhaps they’d let her … no, they’d have orders not to let anyone out, it wouldn’t matter whether they knew her or not. But there was another way out of the castle …

-----

When she saw the guardsmen on the third pier, in grey woolen cloaks trimmed with white satin, her heart almost stopped in her chest. The sight of Winterfell's colors brought tears to her eyes. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship Father had hired to take her home … still waiting! She’d imagined it had sailed ages ago.

Look with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper. Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. - Arya, AGoT

Even with the names she gives Jaqen - something she is very often criticized for - Arya acknowledges the childish nature of her wishes straight out of Old Nan’s stories and recognizes how her third name has to really count.

Jaqen still owed her one death. In Old Nan's stories about men who were given magic wishes by a grumkin, you had to be especially careful with the third wish, because it was the last. Chiswyck and Weese hadn't been very important. The last death has to count. - Arya, ACoK

And then using the last wish to force Jaqen into helping free the Northmen.

The entire escape from Harrenhal which includes manipulating Gendry into leaving, getting the Bolton’s stable boy to saddle their horses, deciding on their escape route, taking the map and dressing right, knowing that the guard was not a Winterfell guard but a Northern one and hence no ally of hers, tricking the guard and killing him - is a display of her ability to strategize and make a quick and efficient escape with her friends.

The way she connects the dots when training with the Faceless Men showcases how quickly she thinks on her feet. The cat sees the Kindly Man with the stick from the rafters the next day and Arya then quickly connects him to the person who has been hitting her.

"Not there," the voice said. "Are you blind?"

She did not answer. Talking would only muddle any sounds he might be making. - The Blind Girl, ADwD

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor. The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. - The Blind Girl, ADwD

And it’s not enough that Arya is already highly observant, analyzes, evaluates and then acts. Now with her blind girl training, Arya can observe with her fingers and her sense of sound and smell. Not to mention being a skinchanger and using Nymeria and the cats.

"You have five senses," the kindly man said. "Learn to use the other four, you will have fewer cuts and scrapes and scabs."

She could feel air currents on her skin now. She could find the kitchens by their smell, tell men from women by their scents. She knew Umma and the servants and the acolytes by the pattern of their footfalls, could tell one from the other before they got close enough to smell -The Blind Girl, ADwD

The way her memorization of small clues is so good that she is able to figure her way out of a maze when men fail with actual eyesight!

Under the temple was a maze of vaults and tunnels where even men with two good eyes were often lost, but the blind girl had learned every inch of it, and she had her stick to help her find her way should her memory falter. - The Blind Girl, ADwD

And we are not even getting into the TWoW sample chapter where she manipulates and leads Raff to his death, using what she knows of him.

Arya really belongs at the top with the other smart and political players. With Jon Snow and Arya Stark combining their talents and 3ER Bran peeking everywhere using the weirnet, I suspect House Stark and the North is going to be a formidable foe in terms of political game playing the next two books. A Time for Wolves indeed.

#Arya Stark #asoiaf

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hislittleraincloud · 7 months ago

Text

(Mature, NC-17, Cairo Sweet/Jonathan Miller, Jairo, student-teacher, age gap, angst, language, sex/smut (Chapter 2 & 3 are the explicit ones), etc. This fic begins at the very end, where the film left off.)

Note: I'm publishing [this first chapter only] here in advance of its publication on AO3. I'm growing tired of the blackouts. I don't publish there often enough to not be affected. Just please, if you liked it, go to AO3 once it's published there for the blah blah. I'll let you know when it is. // I'm still working on Chapter 3, it's 90%. Homestretch. And yet I want more Jairo....

Summary: Judgement day in front of the school board has come, but Jonathan Miller had something more than a fancy lawyer to get him out of trouble. Can he and Cairo escape a dangerous situation and work out their differences? Maybe after some fancy bourbon and a cigarette. Or two.

Tags from AO3: Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, Age Difference, Seduction, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Mild Cock Worship, Mesophilia, Somnophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, detailed sex, Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Literary Fucking, Consenting Adults, Erotica, Drama, Dramedy, Erotic Thriller, Fluff, Fluffy, Dialogue-Driven, narration, Southern Gothic, Canon Compliant, Miller's Girl, Definite Amber Heard references, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking

Chapter 1: If You Asked Me To

Opal County Board of Education

“I came.”

“That you did.”

Jon shook his head at her smirking satisfaction. “This…this is your last chance, Cairo. Last chance to come clean.”

“Have you come clean, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I have come quite clean about your d —” he stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. It was hot enough outside without abandoning decorum (with his accuser, no less). “Your midterm and the circumstances around it. I'm just hopin’ against hope that in these last few minutes before this very public hearing, you will too.”

“It isn't public, is it?”

“It's public enough.” His eyes suddenly lifted to the attention of someone in the short distance beyond Cairo’s head, and he waved as the footsteps clacked up the stairs. “Speakin’ of hope.”

“Hey Mr. Miller!”

Cairo’s jaw clenched when she heard the sing-song voice of Winnie Black, but when she turned towards it, she was dumbstruck by how different Winnie looked: her usually untamed mane was combed back, the length of her long, bushy tresses held at bay with a baby pink hair band. Her light grey and pink argyle cardigan complemented her pleated knee-length skirt, which was far too tight on her curvy form. She looked like a completely different person, and if it weren't for the careless, open-mouthed way she gnawed on her gum—and her white faux fur tote bag that looked like a yeti’s nutsack—one might believe that she was.

She yelped as she almost fell into Jon, snagging the toe of her black Mary Janes on one of the steps.

He steadied her with his hand. “Oo, careful there —”

“I'm just so eager to help you that my feet got ahead of me,” she cooed, her trademark flirtatiousness as incapable of being contained as the breasts that were almost bursting through the white dress shirt underneath her sweater, which she pulled down and adjusted as she righted herself.

Jon spoke to her, but his gaze remained frozen on Cairo’s bitter countenance. “Okay, well don't — you don't wanna git yourself hurt now, Miss Black.”

“We sure wouldn't want that now, would we,” Cairo blurted, staring at Winnie’s profile. Her words cut fast like a bullet, killing the cordiality between Winnie and Jon instantly.

Winnie finally turned to acknowledge Cairo’s presence. A sly grin peeled across her lips as she checked her out from head to toe and back. “Well look who showed up lookin’ like her dog done stepped on a bee.”

Jon’s internal seismometer could feel the impending quake. Cairo’s eyes hadn't left Winnie’s face. He dipped his chin and picked up his bag, backing away. “I'll let you — I'll give you some space.”

“See you on the other side, Mr. Miller!”

Winnie snapped her gum as she watched him purse his lips and turn up the stairs, hopping up each step towards the doors. She languidly turned back to Cairo with a sigh, her judgmental eye scanning her former friend up and down.

“The preppy look don't suit you.”

“That suit don't suit you.”

“Looks like two can play at this little cosplay game, sweetheart.”

Cairo’s brow remained deeply furrowed. She could feel her breathing start to tighten. “What're you doing here?”

“I'm here to testify against you…like I told you I would.”

“And like I told you, your credibility —”

“What credibility? I haven't told any lies, Cairo. I may’ve flirted heavily with a teacher, that's my cross to bear. I've already written it all down, just like you did,” she said, sliding a manila folder out of her bag and holding it up, fanning herself with it. “I don't know Your Honor —”

“It's not in front of a judge, you —”

“I was just bein’ a lil’ aggressive with my platonic affections for Coach Fillmore,” she continued, uninterrupted and undeterred. “You see, young people can get a little crazy sometimes…,” her voice faltered. She looked down at Cairo’s shoes, then looked up, a tear falling from her eye, her lip quivering. “Cairo made me send that photo to him —”

“You fucking bitch, I'll —”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Winnie had shut off the water works as effortlessly as Cairo had, and Cairo’s small stature jolting forth didn't even make her flinch. “Oh honey, I know you don't care enough about me to trade Yalie blue for prison orange. If they'll even have you after this.”

Jon leaned against a pillar base, watching Cairo’s face fall from the top of the stairs, her heart-shaped lips dropping open. Broken. The turn of her chin towards him in her crestfallen disbelief lasted a lifetime.

Winnie turned and hopped up the stairs. She pat Jon on the stomach, causing him to huff.

“Almost showtime, cowboy,” she said, turning around and walking backwards. “I mean…Mr. Miller, sir.” She winked at him, but her eyes widened as she stuck her fingers in her mouth and plucked out her gum, flicking it into the trash bin behind the pillar before she stepped in through the building’s doors. She waved at him with the same fingers, and he waved back.

When he turned his head, Cairo was slowing her steps to the one right underneath him. His heart leapt from his chest to his throat, then to his gut: her brow had relaxed into a neutral position, but she still looked terrified.

“It's too late, isn't it.”

“For some things, maybe.” He watched her frown deepen, and she moved to continue into the building. He was able to grab the crook of her elbow, but upon her nasty glare, he let go, hands up. His own brow softened. “Maybe not,” he offered, his concern thickly coating his words. “You'll get destroyed in there, Cairo.”

“Too late for that,” she grumbled, attempting to continue on.

“Hey,” his abruptness startled her still, and he was able to cut in front of her path. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but instead, stuffed them in his pockets. “I'm here. Not for me, my fate’s already decided. I'm walkin’ in there on suspension. I'm here for —” he sighed through his nose. “I know you didn't want this. Nobody does. But I understand what I did, Cairo. Now when you walk through those doors, you'll understand what you did too, and no one’s —” he swallowed, shaking his head and averting his gaze. He lowered his voice and his lips to her ear.

“People don't look too kindly on manipulators, even in this day n’ age, even in the thick of #MeToo. That's all I'm sayin’.”

“I don't have anything more to say than what is in my written complaint, so I politely decline to take – to make any further comment.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Don't need ‘em.”

“Well, what about your lawyer, or advocate, anyone?”

“Don't need one.”

Principal Joyce Manner was nonplussed. “Miss Sweet —”

“Don't I have the right not to testify?”

“Well, you were the one to bring the complaint….”

Cairo couldn't mask her disgust at the female lawyer Jon’s wife had hired as her parting gift to him. She was a celebrity lawyer with the capacity to render any liar lie-less within minutes of interrogation, apparently, and she was pricey; much pricier than even Cairo’s parents.

And she was gorgeous, just like each of her parents.

In another timeline, the lawyer and the lawyers' daughter might be related; both flavorful, petite, dark brunettes, the chestnut undertones of their hair were particularly visible under the natural light pouring in from the windows of the hearing room. There was little difference, how the sun touched their skin and clothes, but their individual posture was telling as Cairo sat forward in her seat while the lawyer relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands before speaking softly.

“Miss Sweet. Thank you for showing the courage to be here. You're a very brave young woman.” Her voice was mellow and comforting, emphasized by her upturned, pitying brow, but Cairo knew better. Same look, same vocal tone as Mama Sweet whenever she was doing the same thing during her own trials to butter up the hot lobster she was slow-boiling on the stand. It appeared that this lawyer could sense from Cairo’s silent defiance that the tactic wasn't working, as she quickly flipped off the heat. “Please tell us in your own words what happened between you and Professor Miller. Starting from when you first entered his classroom.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn't a criminal trial, Miss Sweet.

“Then why do I feel like you're treatin’ me like a criminal?”

“That's not our intention today, Miss —”

“Isn't it?”

“Miss Sweet. Can you just proceed to tell us what happened?”

“And I have stated quite plainly that I have no desire to do that. Everything I had to say is in my complaint.”

“Let's move on, then,” the lawyer didn't miss a beat, nearly clipping the end of Cairo’s sentence. “You had a conversation with your classmate about Mr. Miller. Miss Winnie Black?”

Her gaze automatically flickered to where Winnie sat just behind Jon. She was unreadable, but then, Cairo had hardly stopped to read, her eyes quickly turning back to the podium.

“I’ve had several conversations with Miss Black about Mr. Miller.”

“Will the board please look to Exhibit 7B, please,” her strike was swift and hard, as if she had been anticipating Cairo’s calculated caginess. She approached the stand with a thin packet of papers, placing it on the ledge next to Cairo's water bottle. “Apologies, Miss Sweet, here's a copy for you, please review it.” To observers, the time that the lawyer gave to Cairo to look over the documents seemed far too short, but they were also so far unaware of the conversation’s brevity. “Does this look like a conversation you had?”

“Looks like one. Coulda been edited,” she half-heartedly suggested, carelessly dropping the transcript back where the lawyer had put it.

“I assure you, it's not edited. In fact, this is a transcription of an audio recording provided by Miss Black in Exhibit 7A, which I will play for the board in just one second —”

“Hey, I object to my bein’ recorded without my consent —”

“Tennessee is a one party state, Miss Sweet, or did Greg and Ivy not tell you that?” The expressed familiarity with her parents had its intended effect on Cairo, with her turning to Joyce for support that wasn't there. The lawyer dropped her eyes, shuffling her papers. The unkindness of her rhetorical question stung, the board members shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the lawyer reached for a small remote.

Cairo shot up out of her seat. “Then I wish to withdraw my complaint —”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Sweet. The matter is out of your hands. Now sit down,” Joyce spoke up and tried not to show her annoyance. She waited until Cairo slowly sank back down, defeated. She nodded at the lawyer, whose thumb was poised but patient on the remote. “Play the recording, please.”

What're you doin’ to Mr. Miller?

I'm testifying against him. In front of the school board.

Why?

He underestimated me. I overestimated him.

Are you okay?

I'm inspired.

That's not funny.

It is. A little.

Please don't do this.

Why?

You're gonna ruin his life. And for what? To avenge your rejection? To punish him? Because he didn't want to [bleep] you?

He wanted to [bleep] me, Winnie.

Huh. Yes. But he didn't leave his wife for you. …I'll testify against you.

No you won't.

Excuse me?

I'll show them the evidence I have against you and Boris…and not only will your credibility be shot to [bleep], but you'll incriminate him as well.

Cairo abruptly popped out of the leather seat and sprinted past all of the scrutinizing eyes towards the double doors.

Two teachers can lose their jobs. Oh hey, maybe we can double team.

Jon had shifted in his seat the moment she started objecting. Not a single person moved to chase after her. Not one, until it was almost compulsory for his feet to start flying down the same path.

Winnie: “how's it feel?”

“Fuck you!” Cairo cursed aloud at the text.

Winnie: “knowin that I'm gettin that rec that you so desperately wanted? 😘”

Jon called out, slightly out of breath as he chased her down the barren sidewalks. “Cairo! Cairo, stop! Don't do anything stupid —”

She whipped around, her face contorted in a pathetic anguish. “It's too late for that!” She turned back to her phone, hyperventilating.

Cairo: “FUCK OFF!!1”

She typed quickly, her hands shaking, even as she screeched the words in real time. Her phone hit the pavement as hard as she threw it; it bounced against Jon’s shoes as she sobbed and continued ripping her way through the sidewalk in her Keds.

Winnie: “right back atcha, bb 🖕🏽😎🖕🏽”

He scooped it up, glancing at the shattered screen and their conversation before pocketing it and struggling to keep up with her quick strides.

He had almost reached her. It surprised him how briskly she could speedwalk on those little legs, and he was already panting. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away. “Cairo —”

She turned again, her face reddened and tear stained. “Just fuck —”

She squealed in terror as she was suddenly weightless, his body a blur to steal her tiny form from the path of the oncoming SUV that hadn't seen her. She hadn't even heard him scream her name to warn her. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else.

Whatever it was, it stole her breath, and she fell limp like a ragdoll in his arms, fainted.

“Cairo? Cairo,” he said, holding her up. Jon looked around, struggling to keep her upright. There were a few uninterested people around the street corner; the other few people who had passed in their cars seemed to slow down until he backed onto a bus bench, heaving her onto it lengthwise with her back to the street. He slid her phone out of his pocket—its shattered screen was almost chipped in one corner, flashing on and off depending on how he held it. He dropped it into his jacket pocket before his trembling hands found their way to his own. Still panting, he glanced at Cairo’s form on the bench, scanned the area for the nothing that it was, and cursed.

Boris pulled up to the curb in his black sedan as Jon waved him down. Jon’s sweaty, thankful face filled his passenger side window as soon as he lowered it.

“I didn't know who else to call…or text.”

Boris grunted in his irritance, leaning against his steering wheel. “Where is she?” Jon moved aside, revealing her body on the bench. “Is she dead?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in his disbelief. “Wh — no, she's not dead! She just — she just fainted. And now I think she’s sleeping. I don't know — she's breathing, but not wakin’ up.”

Boris sighed, craning his neck to look up and down the street. “I don't think I need to tell you what this looks like —”

“Then don't — we're beyond looks now —”

“Maybe you are, but I ain't drivin’ no unconscious student back to their house! Alone! With you! Wake Sleeping Beauty up, we gotta get ‘er home.”

Jon looked back to the bench where she lay, her body quietly breathing. He looked back at Boris, a withering shake of his head telling of his desperation.

Boris slow-blinked into a rolled eye, acquiescing to Jon’s pleas and putting his car in park.

“God damn it,” he pointed his finger at his face while unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You owe me bigtime for this.”

“I know.”

Sweetland Manor, Lovell Hill

“Just set her down there, right there on the settee —”

Jon led Boris inside, and his instincts could've led the good coach to believe that he might've previously been inside her house for an extended period of time, even when he hadn't. Boris’s wide eyes drank in the darkly opulent hallways and decor until he was directed to set Cairo down on the velvet couch near the tall windows of the parlor.

“God damn. Didn't know Miss Cairo was rollin’ in the dough.”

“You didn't?”

“I told you before. I know where the line is —”

“And that's why you're still teaching and I'm not —”

“That's exactly right. Now let’s get the Hell outta here before that line gets stomped on any more,” he turned, trodding back down the hallway towards the colonade. Jon followed, but with a different type of urgency as Boris’s keys jingled in his hand.

“I can't leave her alone.”

“That's for damn sure —”

“That's not what I mean,” he stopped in his tracks at the front doors. “Boris.”

He threw his head back and turned. “Man, you can't be serious —"

"I'm very serious, I haven't been more —"

"You're in enough trouble already —”

“And I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to her! I'm already never gonna forgive myself. But this…it’s the least I can do for her now.”

“For her or for you?” He stabbed his car key so hard in his direction that Jon could feel the wind of it on his face.

He swallowed. “Are you askin’ out of concern or curiosity?”

Boris huffed, nodding as he watched the tip of his key scratch into the center of his palm. His anger vanished, replaced by guilt. They both listened to the white noise of it before he softened, and looked his friend in the face. There was genuine concern written into his brow, and genuine fear as well. “You really think she'd do somethin’ to herself?”

“She's all alone.”

“Is she?”

“Did you see anyone back there with her? Or here?”

“I take it Miss Black —”

“Testified for me, remember?”

Boris put his finger to his lips, looking like he was going to be sick. He shook his head, hard. “God damn it!” He continued to his car, incensed and alone. He whipped open the car door and stabbed his key at Jon again before dropping into his seat. “Next time, call an Uber.”

Jon hurriedly approached close enough to plead for one last thing. “And uh…please don't —”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind. Like Helen Keller,” he said as he turned his key in the ignition.

“Drive safe, Helen,” he waved.

“Who's that dumbass talkin’? I don't know who the fuck he is, never seen him before in my life.”

It was a blended storm of frustration and consternation as he stood over her, watching her shoulder rise and fall as she lay dead to the world, but thankfully not dead. She came pretty damn close, though.

Goddamn, Little Ghost. What am I supposed to do with you now?

The pressure in his bladder that he felt so strongly in the hearing room had returned—it had been driven away by the tightening he felt the second he pulled her away from the path of the SUV; a miracle considering the situation should've called for instant release—so much so that it overpowered his reluctance to let her out of his sight. At least she was home, and there didn't seem much incentive to run.

Run to the bathroom, maybe grab a drink of water or juice if she has any, then come right back was the plan.

Of the Greek Revivals in the South, Sweetland Manor, a.k.a. Lovell Hill, most closely resembled the Thornhill plantation house in Forkland, Alabama, and Jon knew this after some midnight Google stalking the day that Cairo told him where she lived. Still, he’d been drinking the night he looked at the floor plans, so his mind’s eye was bleary when it came to what was where.

Across the hall from the parlor was a bedroom, but his urgency sent him down the hall and past a—a library!—that he would have to check out after he was done with his business. As he started to breathe deeply in his attempt to avoid incontinence, he smelled an oddly sweet scent in the air, wherever he stepped: it was a dichotomously light and heady fragrance that reminded him of the tropics. The Bahamas. Bimini, in particular, where he and Bea honeymooned so many years ago. It was a strange combination of floral and…fruit? He stopped, his body temporarily forgetting its need to piss as he wracked his brain trying to place the scent. Pineapple? No, it's not that sharp. It smelled just as sugar-savory, though, and it was coming from all directions. He thought for just a moment that perhaps it was a Glade Plug-in, but those things were never as pleasant or subtle. A minor stabbing in his abdomen woke him out of his enchantment; he pinched his nose to rub out the obsession as he peeked around corners, finding the dining room, the rather modern kitchen, a large back patio that had an absolutely gorgeous Edwardian wrought iron and glass table, and finally, the bathroom. Or, a bathroom, since this one seemed to be a mere water closet off of the kitchen.

He glanced at himself in the mirror after he was done. He looked awful—his normally bagged eyes were even baggier from lack of healthy hydration and sleep. His reflection couldn't blame him; ever since Cairo turned in her midterm, he hadn't been able to sleep much. Obviously from her current state, she hadn't been able to, either. A splash of cold water against his eyes and he was headed back to that kitchen to quench his thirst after all of the stress and activity of getting the little tired ghost back home.

It was odd to see such a modern kitchen in an old mansion like this, but it is what it is, and perhaps her parents were foodies—Greg and Ivy Thompson, as he was informed by his own entertainment lawyer, hobnobbed with their rich and famous clients on the regular, so surely there was a celebrity chef amongst that lot. White with black and gunmetal furnishings, the decor was minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and the cabinets, plenty; Jon’s breath caught at the sight of them. Not the cabinets themselves, but what sat on the shelves behind the glass panels of the doors.

Row after row of staggered row of hard liquor: vodkas, tequilas…whiskeys. Not just any whiskeys, either, as he’d discovered after his beeline to the row of beautiful golden browns behind the cab right next to the fridge—none of that Crap Daniels gasoline—but celebrity whiskeys and bourbons. Decent ones, at that. Bob Dylan’s Heaven’s Door Small Batch, Lagavulin Offerman Edition Charred Oak Cask, Sassenach Limited Batch Blended. A lonely blue bottle of David Beckham’s Haig Club Clubman in the back, untouched. His hand twitched and went straight for his favorite, a mostly full bottle of Sweetens Cove Blended Bourbon. He opened it, deeply inhaling the notes of toasted oak and brown sugar, his mouth watering for the sweet taste that reminded him of a densely alcoholic Almond Joy. He found himself a crystal lowball glass and poured it halfway full before replacing the bottle in its place, taking a moment to thank the cabinet for its fine spirits before gently snapping its door shut.

He checked his watch as he briskly headed back down the hall—How long had he left her for?—but not without almost spilling his Cove all over the front of his shirt when his feet stopped on his recent memory—the library. All of those leatherbounds, hubbed spines, gilt letter volumes of classics, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling shelves packed full and equipped with sliding ladders on each for the ghostly occupant of the house who might be a little too short to reach. He could already see where she’d deigned to, from the empty spaces on the highest of shelves…and lower shelves where he, but not she, could reach. It tickled him to imagine her attempting to reach for one of the tomes and failing.

He set his glass down onto a lower empty shelf and reached into one of those high hollows of darkness next to a ladder, the gilt of “1905” on the foot of a spine catching his eye. “NOVELS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË | THE PROFESSOR” it read in gold between the raised bands of its fine, red Moroccan leather. It had been moved, possibly read, but lazily left behind against others that were too thick and obscure for a busy young girl. He flipped it into his hand and reached for his glass, pausing for a moment to appreciate the little finger marks in the dust on the edge of the shelf that he’d missed before.

His anxiety was quelled once he wound his way back to the salon. She was still fast asleep, huddled in a little ball against the velvet and pillows, her bowed lips in a frown as she breathed through her nose. Her normally kempt bangs were clinging to her forehead in sweat, but there was a slight shiver to her breaths. He glanced around the room, the afternoon daylight still spilling in to illuminate its quiet sanctuary, but there was nothing else besides more pillows and books, so he put his treasures down on the book-crowded coffee table and skipped over to the bedroom across the hall.

He winced when he found it, but it was the only thing light enough to tote around quickly without cumber: a Denver Broncos woven throw, from their 2015 Superbowl win against the Panthers. Jon was a Titans man through and through, but he also had great respect for the Panthers (at least, he had great respect for Boris’s Carolina fanaticism). He was there, in San Francisco with Boris, thanks to Bea and her highfalutin' connections. Also thanks to Bea—and Boris—his own collectible throw lay unused in its bag in a closet back at the house, after he was convinced not to burn it in the parking lot after the game.

He draped it over her body as carefully as he could without waking her, his only fright being a soft murmur from her throat as it settled around her shoulders. He seemed to be incapable taking his eye off of her very safe and secure form, even as he pulled one of the salon chairs up to the coffee table, where he relieved a spot of its books for his bourbon. He sat, Brontë book in hand, but was reminded of his pocket heavy with their phones when the bulk jabbed into his thigh.

Cairo’s screen was totally fucked. She had thrown it with such force that it rendered her neon green case useless against the hot, solid Tennessee pavement. It turned on, but there was no use trying to access any apps. He laid it face up next to his glass and checked his own phone, which should’ve been thanking its lucky stars that it hadn't met the same fate as hers. A message from Boris and a shit ton of messages from Bea.

I oughta block her.

The obsequient in him merely steered his brain towards ignoring the messages as they came, and instead checking what Boris had to say. The problem was, Jon didn't know what to say back. Just as he couldn't admit his feelings to him that day in the bleachers, he couldn't admit to them now. But now, he was just angry about it. Angry at himself for being so gutless, but also angry at Boris for pretending like he hasn't done worse.

Yes, damn it, yes, I'm in love with her. She's—you don't get it, she's eidetic, I'm eidetic. To the same photographic degree! Fuck man, don't just look at her face, her body, that's all bonus! I'm talking about her mind. Her mind. It's overflowing with talent and knowledge and…and feeling. That g…that woman knows things. She is…exceptional. And I went about this the wrong fucking way. I know that.

But fuck, Boris. Fuck you and the lesbo porn you're jackin’ off to, with her n’...her n’ Miss Black! Don't you get it? She wanted you to show that shit to me. God damn! Fuckin’ self-righteous asshole. Don't gimme any of that goddamn line shit either…like you ain't after Miss Black. You gave her your phone number, dumbass! Imagine what would happen if fuckin’ Cairo turned you in, too. She's got those photos hangin’ over your head now, we're brothers in arms. Don't you fucking abandon me.

Jon reached for his glass and took his first sip of the Cove, the nutty Neopolitan dessert notes blanketing his tongue and granting a little calm and clarity. He punched in a simple emoji and left it at that, pocketing the phone and getting comfortable to read, his eyes flickering up to keep watch on the girl who seemed to have no idea that he was there. Or that she was there. Something pretty hard must've hit her in that moment she wasn't hit, but Jon would keep vigil regardless. It was the least he could do.

That, and without his car, he was pretty much stranded there.

But, you're only really stranded when you don't want to be where you are, and his acceptance of that fact quickly dispatched the excuse to another sip of that sweet, sweet bourbon. He sat back into comfort and slipped his reading glasses on, prepared to keep company with another English professor and a girl who was much more demure and diplomatic than the little wrecking ball at his feet.

“Cairo? Cairo!”

Jon popped up when he realized he’d fallen asleep. He nearly tripped on the Broncos throw at his feet when it hit him that he must've been asleep for more than ten hours, and that in ten hours, a lot could happen with a broken-hearted young girl whose life had crumbled before her eyes. He thought he might start to hyperventilate when he caught wind of it again.

That smell. That weird, tropical scent of flowers and something. It was stronger, somehow. It felt damp, and this time was accompanied by a very faint and muffled 90's power ballad. Celine Dion? He followed his senses, and they led him down the hall and up the stairs, where an acrid cloud of fresh cigarette smoke was wafting out of a room at the top. The cloud swallowed the pleasant scent, but at least now he could breathe.

The music had stopped the second he stepped foot into the room. He found her on the window seat across from her bed, cigarette in hand and laptop in her lap. The ashtray on her little table stand told of her chainsmoking, since it clearly needed to be emptied.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Left, right, left, soldier. Or didn't you get the memo?” Her eyes followed him as he stood to lean against her footboard. “I left you a note.”

“I didn't — I didn't see a note.”

“I knew I shoulda stapled it to your forehead. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you.”

He was snoring when I woke, his open book on his gut, threatening to slide off onto the floor on the next inhale. I slipped it carefully from under his slack fingers and placed my blanket over his form, along with one of my mama’s decorative pillows under his cheek. Gets cold at night in this old house, and a crick in the neck’s made worse by it.

Kissing him for the first time was a lot more tender than it was in my imagination. It was the feel of his beard on the backs of my fingers that was unexpected. Softer than it looked, even with every other hair deciding to grow at an angle unconducive towards neatness. The funny corner of his open mouth was all I could get from him in his state, lest I wake him from his exhausted slumber. I can still feel the hairs poking into my lips, even as I tried to keep it brief.

I could've pet that beard forever, though.

I left it propped up on the coffeetable. I thought for sure you'da seen it. “Left, right, left, soldier. Come and find me.” Written in red and punctuated with a stupid little schoolgirl’s stupid little heart…because goddamn —

I still love you.

“But that begs the question, why did I wake up to find you sleepin’ in my house, and why haven't you gone?”

“Those are two separate questions —”

“I believe they have the same answer.”

“...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Do I look alright?”

He pursed his lips. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing an oversized flannel nightshirt over floral silk shorts. Blush over black was somehow fitting, and aside from that odd mismatch and the redness around her eyes, she looked cleaned up.

“You look like you been cryin’. Have ya?”

She took a long draw on her shortened cigarette, shortening it further down to the filter. “I vomited so hard I was up in tears, does that count?”

“So you're not alright.”

She crushed the end of her stub into a pile of ash next to the other butts in the ashtray while at the same time reaching for a new one.

“I'll manage,” she said as she struggled with her low-fuel lighter. She checked the end and twisted back to her laptop, taking a big drag and exhaling slowly as she started to close tabs on her browser. She glanced at him, dismissive with her cigarette hand. “You can go. I know you don't wanna be here.”

“Now what on Earth gives you that impression?”

“So you do wanna be here?”

He eyed her cigarette, and her pack. “May I?”

“You may.” As he bent back from taking the cigarette, he looked around for something to sit on. “I got a chair by the vanity,” she gestured.

He humbly thanked her and dragged it over, close enough to reach the ashtray if he needed it. He lit up, his first large stream of smoke directed towards the ceiling.

“Tell me why you wrote it,” he said, his eyes watching the smoke drift. He turned his head to see her slightly confuzzled countenance.

“I told you why —”

“No. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me —”

“ ‘ — coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit-droppin’ seagulls above’?” She watched Jon chuckle, smoothing his hand over his eyes and then his mouth. Her second recitation from Apostrophes and Ampersands had its intended effect on him, just as the first one had before, but she remained guarded. Coy. Lovestruck. “Because I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“B’cuz I wanted you to take my virginity.” Her words came forth a little deeper now, her voice exuding a husky quality that he hadn't heard before. It could have been the cigarettes, or more likely, her conscious denial of the present tense.

He shook his head, but his nervous chuckle betrayed the disbelief of his position. “I'm twice your age.”

“More than twice.”

“Cairo, please.”

“You're askin’ me why…why I wanted you to take my virginity.”

“That's exactly what I'm askin’.”

She finally looked away, taking a drag with a big sigh. “If you have to ask, you can't afford the answer.”

“Please, Cairo, I'm already under suspension —”

“Well I guess that makes two of us then, doesn't it,” she sniped, busying herself with her laptop.

He blinked. “What?”

She turned her laptop towards his view: there was a .pdf file letter with the Benson Agricultural Wildcats seal in the center at the top on the screen, but that was all he could read without his glasses. “Two weeks out of school suspension with a permanent note on my record,” she announced with a defeated acceptance. “For ‘severe violations’ of the Student Code of Ethics.” She shut the laptop and set it aside on a pile of books, sliding her legs off the seat to hang over the edge and ashed. “I checked my email when you were sleepin’.”

He swallowed. Something like that ain't gonna get ‘er into Yale.

“Surely your parents can take care of that —”

“I don't want them to take care of it. I want to take responsibility for my mistakes. That's the adult thing to do, isn't it?”

“Cairo, honey, you don't have to —”

“ ‘Honey’?”

“I may be makin’ another mistake by continuin’ to treat you like a friend, but that's all we are right now, isn’t it?”

“Are we? Friends, Mr. Miller?”

“Y’aint in my class anymore.”

“That’s ‘cuz you ain't teachin’ it no more. Right now, at least.”

“And whose fault is that?” He watched her brow rise, and he swore he could hear her breath catch whatever it was she was going to say. He put his fingers up, his perpetually nervous smile diffusing his heat. His voice sometimes wavered under such stress, and it was stressful to look into her big brown eyes. “I didn't come—I didn't stay here to argue.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I didn't wantcha to be alone right now —”

“Why?”

“God, you ask too many questions! —”

“Just the same questions you're askin’ me. ‘Why?’”

“Can you just — please. I got nuthin’ right now. Between the suspension n’ the divorce, I just —” he pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Please.”

She hadn't taken a drag on her cigarette in more than a few moments and had to ash. Her large eyes were heavy-lidded in her search of his face for his intent. “You want me to make you feel good about yourself, is that it?”

“Nothing about this is ever gonna make me feel good about myself, Cairo.”

Don't be too sure about that, she thought as she took a long drag. “What was the question again?”

“You know what it was.”

She sighed. “ ‘Tell me why you wrote it. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me, coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit droppin’ seagulls above.’ ” Satisfied with the subtle shake of his head and his smiling eyes, she crushed the long end into the ashtray. “That's exactly why I wrote it.”

“But…why?”

“That ain't good ‘nuff reason for ya?” She watched as he struggled to comprehend his station…and her. “Well, why not…”

“Because I'm too old for you.”

“I wasn't finished.”

“My apologies.”

“Why not you, is what I been askin’ myself for weeks. Once I was around you, that is. Your captivatin’ lil’ words on the page of your one and only book —”

“You mean those mediocre words?”

“I was mad when I said that, I'm not mad right now at least not yet,” she snapped.

“I'll stop interrupting you.”

Her gaze flickered away in shame, but just for a missed moment. “No, that wasn't right, and I apologize. In case you haven't noticed, sometimes my temper matches my height. I don't mean to slight you as hard as my stature.”

“Yeah, you are a little…a lil’ shrimpy,” he smirked.

“ ‘A little shrimpy’?”

“Just a little,” he teased, holding his fingers up to almost pinch the air. It drew her grin back, and she blushed.

“You really wanna know why?”

“I do.”

She inhaled deeply, as if to answer with a defeated affirmative. He had finished his cigarette, and upon her offering the near-empty pack, he obliged, slipping one out and nabbing the lighter so that he could light hers as well.

“Lookit us. Just like old times.”

“It can't be like old times.”

“It has to be, since it's the answer to your question.” Her curtness indicated a self-righteous sensitivity, but she softened as smoke made its way out of her nose. “I wanted to save myself for someone with whom I had a connection. And I don't connect with boys my age. Never have.”

“You've connected with other, uh, older —”

“Why Mr. Miller, you do sound jealous —”

“I'm not jealous —”

“Good, ‘cuz you shouldn't be. You’d be the first one. Hence…vir…gin…i…ty.”

It was the first time in a while he’d seen that neon smile. It was the first time in a while it came to the door, following her favorite person into the shared fresh air and the sunlight of his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me now, Mr. Miller. I know you felt that connection too. Otherwise you wouldn't be here.”

He looked away. He hadn't sat back in his chair after reaching for the cigarette, instead twisting his body to lean against its solid arm rest as he stared at her while she talked. His gaze swept over the piles of books and papers next to her on the sill, and her laptop’s energy light flashed red, then stopped.

He picked at his fingernails, the cigarette hanging carelessly between his fingers. “Still got your sights on Yale?”

“What's it to you? It’s not like you can write me a recommendation.”

“I could still get my wife to write you one.” He erased at an invisible chalkboard with his finger and pointed. “Soon to be ex -wife.”

“Now that…is a gargantuan feat I'd love to see.” The soft neon glowed in amusement.

“Barbaric,” he chuckled. “But she’ll do it, if I ask nicely.”

“Anything to get the little homewrecker outta sight, outta mind?”

“No, that's — no. But she'll have to, if she wants me to sign the papers.”

Her brows raised. “I'm not sure how I should feel about such coercion, Mr. Miller.”

“No one’s askin’ you to feel anything about it. Just take the rec. It's what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Fair ‘nuff. Then what is it that you want?”

He could see that she was chewing on her inner lip before answering.

“I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I still want you.”

His hands lifted up off his thighs, gesturing at himself. “This?”

“That.”

“I'm too old for you.”

“You said that already. But I think that’s up to me to decide.”

“Cairo —”

“Mr. Miller. Jon. May I call you that?” She took the ashtray and emptied it into the little trash basket by her feet. She set her cigarette into one of the grooves to let it burn. “I told you why I wanted you, yet you seem to be fishin’ for more. Do you really need me to elaborate —”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need a damn good reason for why I'm even here, in your room, in your hou — your mansion, alone with you when just a few hours ago, we were sittin’ in an academic courtroom watchin’ our lives get blown to smithereens!”

“Or maybe you just need some reassurance that what you're doin’ is right.” He balked, but she hit a nerve. One of many she’d been battering for weeks, and her grin of awareness turned neutral. “I can assure you, it's alright. We’re both legal adults, ain't no crime here —”

“Maybe no crime, but ethically —”

“Not every romance is ethically sound, Mr. Miller.”

“Romance. Is that what this is? You – you wrote that it wasn't.”

“I did, but that was your line in the context of fiction and right now that's neither here nor there.” She watched as he stammered through whatever it was he wanted to say, shredding the words with his teeth. “I know how I feel about you.”

“And you think you love me.”

“Don't you feel the same?”

“I — this isn't about how I feel —”

“Then what is it about, Jonathan?”

“Please —”

“Sorry. Mr. Miller…sir.”

“We could've had this talk before —”

“We’re havin’ it now.”

“I shouldn’a done what I did, but you shouldn’a done what you did.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda…three of my least favorite auxiliary verbs,” she blew a small raspberry at them to emphasize her annoyance.

“And why’s that?”

She blinked into deep thought, as she would often do around him during class and office hours. The intensity of his stare always gelled her thoughts to completion.

“Hesitance for the weak,” she nodded. “And the negatives are often rooted in fear and regret.” She quickly plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette up for a drag, but it was already done. She watched its frayed end scatter its burning tobacco bits as she pushed it down against the gray of the previous ash. “E.g.: If I had thought…it’d make you fall out of love with me…I wouldn’a done it —”

“It didn't make me —”

“So you are still in love with me?”

“...I never said that.”

“You never say anything. You write it. But you haven't written anything in…what is it, decades now?” She didn't mean to sound so derisive. She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “I mean, why can't you just adm —”

“Alright! Alright,” He put out his cigarette and stared, his knuckles at his lips. “If I have felt anything for you —”

“Come on, Jon —”

“This won't work. It can't work.”

“Why not? If two people like you n’ me are in love, why can't we just —”

“Because it's inappropriate. It's always been inappropriate. And that was my error, my mistake. I led you on —”

“Did you? You said no bullshit. Yet here you are…”

“You sayin’ I didn't lead you on?”

He watched as she slid off of the seat and approached his chair without breaking eye contact; or at least, he believed it to be eye contact. However, she stepped over to him with eyes glassed over, not focused on anything but the wholeness of his presence. She leaned her thigh against the armrest as he sat, stricken by her proximity. The last time she was like this, she emasculated him in a manner not unlike Beatrice had several times before; but this time, Cairo's expression was less than furious. Her eyes finally focused on his, which reflected a similar fear and impuissance of which he reflected before; however, once their glances touched, contact dissolved the discomfort into reassurance.

“You led me to where I wanted to be,” she shifted against the armrest and casually lifted her hand to his beard. It hadn't been a day and she missed the feel of it on her fingers. “And now you're here. Where I want you to be.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “Cairo —”

She wrested it free, pushing it away as she continued to pet his beard and stare into his eyes with hypnotic determination. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here.”

“I'm just — I was just —”

“Just what? Concerned about me?”

“Yes that's exactly it —”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you never wanted me the way I want you. No bullshit.” She was leaning into him; her hand had migrated to the nape of his neck, the soothing scrape of her fingernails having done their job. He looked her in the eyes and, when he said nothing, she pushed herself upright. “That's what I thought.”

“What now, then? What do you suppose happens now?”

Her eyes trailed over his head and features, roaming around until they settled on his lips. He felt like a slaughter steer, and she was checking him for quality.

“Sleep with me,” she shrugged.

“You — I mean that's —”

“I didn't say fuck me. I said sleep with me. You remember what sleep is, don't you?”

“I haven't gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well then. My suggestion must sound pretty damn enticing, doesn't it.”

He insisted on turning around before she got into bed, despite the fact that she was wearing the exact same thing she’d been wearing since he found her. They had agreed to keep their clothes on, and thus Cairo saw no problem in him watching her get into bed; Jon, however, knew better than that.

He was still reeling from the day’s events, but their conversation made it pretty clear that they were on the same page of the dirty fantasy that she’d written for him. Same page, same paragraph, same sentence, same words, same word, same letters, right down to the crossed t and dotted i. But he couldn't risk excitement, or even a hint of desire, especially when it could have been objectively stated that she was scantily clad: her shorts barely passed halfway mark down her thigh, and her shirt hung almost as low as the hem of her shorts while she was standing. She might as well not be wearing anything down below, but that was another idea that sent him mentally scrambling for distraction.

If only he remembered the existence of the vanity mirrors. Or, insisted on sleeping on the right side. But the right side was her side, as she so firmly informed him before dipping out to her bathroom for a minute while he stripped and got himself settled in.

Dumbass. Boris’s voice rang in his head. Dumb. Ass!

Ripping the covers over his head would’ve been far too childish. He lay on his left side while watching her kneel onto the bed behind him, a particularly sly grin on her face.

The grin was only there because she’d caught him staring at her reflection.

He quickly dropped his eyes, but it was too late. She unbuttoned the highest buttoned button on her top, slowly, paused— Was she tonguing her cheek? —and then lifted the covers, wedging under the sheets next to him, about half an arm’s length away.

Neither faced the other, but he still felt the need to pee—even though he already had.

“You know you can face me. I won't bite.”

Her voice had become tinged with diffidence while Jon’s breathing had gotten heavier, but come Hell or high water, Cairo was going to have her heaping Big Spoon somehow. “I just think it’d be warmer if one of us faced the other. And my back is cold.”

At once, Jon rolled around under the covers to face her back, and that's when it really hit him: that sweet, intriguing fragrance from before.

It was her, obviously. But that still didn't answer the question of what its tantalizIng scent profile was, or from what or where it came.

Could be perfume. Or the scent of her laundry detergent. Her hair. He resisted getting close enough to be sure, and instead stared at the dainty flowers of the floral pattern of her pink flannel nightshirt, visible between strands of her hair.

She, on the other hand, dared to scoot just a little closer, jutting her behind towards him as she made herself comfortable. He looked down into the gap between them; her shirt was pulled tight to the front, exposing the small of her back and its concave dip of her spine into the blackness of the crack of her silk shorts. He moved back a little, with ample room for the covers to hang low enough to shield his sinful view, but unfortunately for him, her body wriggled with him, and he sighed.

They were hardly settled for one minute before she turned her chin to speak over her shoulder.

“I never said fuck me, but you can if you want.”

He had closed his eyes in an absurd attempt to think his way out of the room and into sleep. Maybe if he couldn't sleep soon, he could go raid the kitchen for some more Cove. The image behind his eyelids of her head that had been there a minute earlier when he closed them remained almost exactly the same, except now he could see her shiny gold ear cuff on the helix of her little ear, as she had drawn her hair behind it. Everything about her was little, and adorable.

Save for those giant eyes that’re too large to be proportional to the rest of her face and features. Those things were big…and dangerous. And right now, Jon really wanted to read them, since he was pretty good at finessing her sincerity with just a quick skim.

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

“Sure, Jon,” she taunted. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. It was the same feeling she got whenever she sat in his class. He was watching. Always watching. The way it thrilled her. The way the thrill terrified her, making her hope that someday it would become more than a stare. More than a shared cigarette, or biscuit. More than an argument that ruined their lives.

“I haven't slept much either, you know.”

“Yeah?”

She turned her chin further, then twisted her body around to face him, his hand in the shortened space between them unsure of where to go before it retreated to rest by his belly. The light from her lamp behind him created a halo around the silhouette of his hair until her eyes adjusted; his doleful eyes exuded concern. Pity, even.

And she hated that.

She reached towards his face, and he flinched.

“May I?” she asked, her voice as small as she looked. He nodded, and she reached her fingers along the edge of his jaw, scratching her black fingernails through the hairs along its line. She bent to touch her forehead to his chest, humming in bliss.

His stomach twisted in knots, a terrible contrast to the feel of her fingers on his face and the heat that radiated from her little body. His eyes trailed over the sheet covering her shoulders; her hair splayed over it in loose strands, and he was tempted to run his fingers though it. The temptation translated to something else, and he moved his hips back at a safe distance from her under the guise of adjusting the covers.

“Well, Little Ghost. Looks like you got your way,” he whispered, cupping his hand over hers to cease the scratching.

“Not quite.” She shifted back a little, tilting her head up. “Can I tell you somethin’, Jon?”

She trapped him in her gaze, her brows knitted up in earnest. He exhaled, not conscious that his fingers were tinkering with one of the rings on her fingers, the pad of his index scraped by the prongs of its jewel setting.

“What it is.”

As they lay locked in their stare, her brow crumpled, her expression caving to her emotions. He watched the faint muscles of her face contort, her lips pressed together to hold back what she could, however futile to fight against desperation. She choked out the words as the tears flowed freely, rivulets of regret and adoration.

“I'm sorry,” her voice keened into sobs as she withdrew her hand from his jaw to join it with her other, clutching at his t-shirt. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Miller, please don't — hate me. Please don’t leave me. Please, I'm sorry, you don't—know—how sorry —”

“Hush now, Cairo,” he held her to his chest, his heart aching with every tremor and hiccup. He smoothed his palm over the back of her hair as she cried it out. “You're okay. You’ll be okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”

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