#house stark headers

[murderloverz]

guess who made headers again... YES ME!!! I'm back with some, I hope you like them <3

[thedragonqueens]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON HEADERS - S2 OFFICIAL TRAILER

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[artstuff123]

These asoiaf headers are made by the amazing @targaryen-dynasty thank you very much 🥳😁

[myriaeden]

Arya Stark Headers

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[thenameswinterfics]

SCIAMACHY

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: Cregan Stark x DragonDreamer!Reader Settings: Season 2 and post season 2 Summary: As the second child of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn, your father arranged your marriage to the young Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark, in the guise of an arranged marriage that would strengthen the bond between your Houses. But you are haunted by visions of a bloody war shaking the Seven Kingdoms, and the seeds of your doubt are sown when your sister's claim to the throne is challenged. Word Count: 4,4 K Warnings: Angst, mention of death, mention of grief, mention of character(s) death(s), mention of child loss, mention of sibling loss, major spoilers from the book "Fire and Blood" (if you're only following the show please do not read this fic). A/N: I'm back! (sadly for you) This is my very first fic I've written for the HOTD fandom and the very first fic of Cregan. I'm nervous, maybe even more than when I posted my first Sihtric fic, probably because the fandom is vast. It came out different of what I've planned in my head and I lowkey hate the last part, but I hope you still could enjoy it! A special thanks to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with clearing my outline and for the title, and for her and @legitalicat for the quick beta reading.

Dedicated to my beautiful Cregan wife @sylasthegrim

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

Sciamachy: (n), a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadows.

An unfamiliar chill ran down your spine as you walked through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, the place you were born but never called home. The soft crunching of the snow under your boots was the only sound you could hear as you juggled in the darkness, the faintest light in the form of rays filtering through the cracks in the walls and allowing you to see a little. 

The sight was vivid, far too vivid, and all you could do was rub your eyes vigorously, hoping that when your vision cleared you would find yourself surrounded by the crackling fire and warmth of your room in Winterfell, the place you were sent against your will but would be forced to call home once you became its new lady. 

But no matter how hard you tried to clear your vision: you would still recognise the long, oppressive corridors you had walked as a child, emptied of the countless soldiers of the Kingsguard that guarded it. Each step became an echo of the memories you thought you had buried with time, but which rose to the surface like a breath of fire from the dragon's jaws. 

You could still hear the voice of King Viserys, the father who despised you from the moment you took your first breath, guilty of stealing your twin brother's life and living in his name. A father that neglected you for not being born as a man.

You could still hear the voice of your sister Rhaenyra, sweet as honey and warm as a mother's embrace you had never known. You were the little sister she always wanted, the glimpse of freedom amidst her duties to the Crown and the relief from the pain of losing a childhood friend. And it mattered not that you were the quietest of her family, avoiding banquets and receptions in the throne room and sneaking out whenever you could, collecting the brightest bugs and muttering meaningless words, flinching when someone touched your hand: you were still her perfect little sister in her eyes. 

And her love was all you wanted right now. 

Your bittersweet thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar from outside, the sound so loud it made your head spin and your stomach churn. You quickened your pace, hoping to find a larger crack in the wall to see what was happening outside. And there you found a vision that made you freeze.

You saw two dragons, an older one and a younger one, chasing each other across a stormy sky, their dragon scales glowing under the lightning and thunder as their bodies pursued each other in a majestic yet macabre dance. It seemed an innocent game between them, but the claws and talons of the older dragon prevailed over the younger, and you watched helplessly as he fell to the ground like a comet from the sky, swallowed by the sea.

You walked on, your eyes never leaving the scene outside, wanting to help the little dragon disappear into the water. But the more you crossed the corridor, the heavier the air you breathed became, and roars of pain, of burning lands and clashing swords filled your ears like a cursed chant. 

You covered your ears and closed your eyes, stopping your journey towards the throne room. When you opened your eyes again, you saw a room far different from the one you were accustomed to: the vibrant and noisy ambience turned into a ghostly one, the faint rays of moonlight illuminating the Iron Throne. A bloody crown, Jaehaerys' crown, lay abandoned on the throne, rivulets of blood running down to your feet, two dragons lying restlessly behind it. Two children stood before it, their backs to each other, holding each other's hands; you could feel their tortured gaze as they watched the bloody chair, and your heart broke at the sight. 

As you approached, trying to touch the crown, soft footsteps made you turn and you heard a wolf howling in the distance.

And then you woke up. 

Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honour must pay its price. 

These were the words that came out from Cregan Stark's mouth as he escorted Jacaerys to the Wall. They were a testament to how the men of the North were bound by his rigid code of values and honour, and how none of them had ever forgotten or wavered from an oath. 

And when the Stark were called upon to renew their allegiance to House Targaryen, nothing would make them waver.

His father Rickon had already done so when he was summoned to King's Landing and bent the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and a few years later it was Cregan's turn to renew the oath by accepting King Viserys' offer of marriage to the new lord of Winterfell. The young wolf had recently been freed from the regency of his zealous uncle Bennard, and an arranged marriage to a Targaryen princess would strengthen the bond between the two houses since the times of Aegon the Conqueror and Tohrren Stark. 

But when he saw the melancholy in your lilac eyes, Cregan realised that politics was nothing more than a sweet lie masking a more sinister purpose: you were no longer welcome at the court of King Viserys, no matter how much your sister begged to keep you under her protection, or how much Alicent Hightower dared to show a glimmer of mercy. You would have been a young dragon raised by a pack of wolves, and as his future wife it would have been his responsibility to look after you.

And now he was called to be sworn to House Targaryen again, on the brink of a civil war that could involve the North in Southern affairs. 

“The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oath sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir,” Jacaerys announced solemnly, walking through the narrow corridors of the Walls, Cregan at his side. The Lord of Winterfell was holding Ice over one shoulder, the sword as heavy as the title inherited from his father. 

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” Cregan retorted, occasionally bowing his head to some members of the Night’s Watch, “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South,” he added, a hint of heavy responsibility in his voice. The threats in winter were much greater than in summer, with the Night's Watch and the men of Winterfell stepping up their activities on the Wall, ready to turn back any outside threats. Furthermore, it was rare to see the intervention of the North in matters concerning the South, but Cregan could not ignore that oaths were broken. And traitors had to pay for it.

“War is coming to the whole realm, my lord,” it was the Prince of Dragonstone’s turn to retort back, “Whilst your men plan to raise guards against wildlings, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. My mother’s claim has been compromised, and little I believe your lady wife could turn her gaze away,”

The words that escaped Jace's mouth left Cregan in a state of astonishment, his brows furrowing and hardening his already stern face. He had never expected the prince to use his wife so cleverly, even though she was a trusted member of his house whom he had sadly never met in peaceful circumstances.

“The Queen has not forgotten the love she has for her sister, and King’s Landing will welcome her again once my mother succeeds in keeping the realm united,”

“My lady wife has her sister's fate very much at heart,” Cregan continued, his gaze softening a bit at the thought of you, “and you arrival put her in a state of worry, my prince,”

The two young men then stood on the Wall, looking out over the untamed land, now covered in white snow. A biting wind whipped around them as Cregan explained how such powerful creatures as the dragons refused to cross the spaces beyond the Wall, highlighting the dangers of the unknown that folded these lands, while he and Jacaerys negotiated the number of men willing to aid Queen Rhaenyra's cause. Cregan himself knew the importance of keeping an oath to a man's moral integrity, and while his duties were tied to the Wall and the threat of the wildlings, he could not ignore the dispute over the king's word. 

“My lord,” one of Cregan’s men arrived, forcing the two young men to interrupt their conversation, “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” 

The Wolf of Winterfell took the parchment in his hands, and from the brief glance he shared with one of his men, he knew the contents were far from frivolous. He let the paper slip from his hands to read the message, and a sense of astonishment struck him like the chill of the North: his lips curled into a grimace, his eyebrows furled slightly as his grey eyes scanned the words printed on the paper. He could have thought it was an unfortunate joke, but the seal of House Targaryen only confirmed what he had read: 

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Cregan lifted his gaze to rest on Jacaerys' brown eyes and watched as the young prince's face contorted in confusion, then grief as he glanced at the parchment in Cregan's hands, and hot tears watered his eyes, streaming down his sharp face until two small rivers crossed their path on his chin. The young lord watched helplessly as the Prince of Dragonstone staggered backwards, clutching his chest in a tight fist as if trying to hold it together; it was a sight familiar to Cregan, for he had also lost his younger brother and remembered the same sense of helplessness creeping through his veins. 

But as Jacaerys collapsed in grief, a new weight hit Cregan's chest, a sense of dread blossoming in the centre of his stomach as he steeled himself for what was to come. 

He would have to inform you and to bring the news of Lucery’s death. And it wouldn’t be easy.

The bright orange sun hid behind the imposing mountains of the North, its last rays illuminating the tops of the peaks and tinting the snow a soft pink. As the light faded, a few amber rays filtered through the windows of your chambers, illuminating them with a soft glow - the gentle warmth of the sun blending with the heat of the great fire in the centre of the room, accompanied by the soft crackle of the wood.

You sat quietly at the foot of your bed, embroidery hoop in hand, watching your son Rickon play with his wooden toys beside you. A few handmaids moved about your chambers, preparing the large table for the dinner you and Cregan would share that evening. Your lilac eyes rested on the small figure of your son, who returned them with a broad smile. But as you raised a hand and gently rubbed his swollen cheeks, you were seized by a sense of unease. 

It had been a long time since you and Cregan had been married, and from the first night you spent in Winterfell your mind had been haunted by dark omens hovering over your family name. Glimpses of what had happened in the past and what would happen in the future passed before your eyes like dancing shadows, sometimes appearing even when you were fully awake. You could still hear cries for help filling your ears, dragons fighting in the sky with claws and breath of fire, and sinister whispers plotting an overthrow of power, the image of your father's bloody crown on the throne still vivid in your mind. 

The people of Winterfell had always regarded you with suspicion, for you were far from the Targaryen princess they had always imagined. But Cregan had never dared to question your tastes, however strange they might sound, and whenever the duties of lordship allowed him a moment's respite, he would gladly accompany you to the far reaches of the North and catch whatever bugs you wanted. In winter, when the temperatures were too harsh and the bugs were nowhere to be found, he would wrap his great arms around your form and listen to your strange rhymes as he gazed into the fire. 

Your prophetic dreams ceased after you gave birth to Rickon, but they returned when a raven came from Dragonstone with grim news: the death of your father the King, the usurpation of your sister's claim by the Hightowers, and the loss of Rhaenyra's only daughter. Fear settled in your heart as you remembered the figure of the young dragon swallowed by the waves of the ocean, and you wondered if even innocent children would fall victim to this dangerous game of power. 

The doors of your chambers swung open and Cregan appeared. The handmaids greeted him with a nod of respect, and you gave him a small smile as you watched Rickon rise and reach his father, who scooped him up with his free hand and kissed his little forehead.

But it was when he looked at you that you realised something was wrong. His eyes, softened by the sight of you, held a pain that seemed to be fighting him. It was as if he were carrying a burden too heavy for him to bear, heavier even than his duties as Lord of Winterfell, and the sight surprised you: you had never seen Cregan so troubled by anything.

"Leave us alone," your husband's voice echoed in the room, once again wearing his mask of severity, "I need to have a few words with my wife in private,” 

The handmaids bowed their heads and quickly left the room, one of them holding Rickon in her arms. There was an unspoken tension in the air as Cregan cautiously approached you and sat in front of you. He had always been an attentive and protective husband, showing a side that differed from the stern image he gave his men.

“You seem quite troubled, husband,” you spoke softly, your voice faltering slightly. Cregan replied with a heavy sigh, covering your hands with his larger ones and rubbing them with his calloused thumbs.

“Dreadful news came from Dragonstone, my love,” Cregan said in a hoarse voice, choosing his words carefully, as if talking to a wounded puppy, “Your sister, the Queen, lost a child again,”

You felt the ground beneath your feet, surroundings had become as muffled as your husband's voice as he recited the contents of the parchment:

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Feeling like you were about to pass out, you rolled over onto your side and gripped the wooden footboard in a tight vice. You immediately covered your mouth and looked down at your feet as your mind slowly processed the news, but the shock was so strong that no tears came. Your mind raced back to the dream you'd had weeks before Jacaerys' arrival, seeing pieces of a puzzle you couldn't quite understand until now: Lucerys was the dragon that fell from the sky, and Aemond was the other one who sank his jaws into his flesh.

You felt Cregan's worried gaze on you as one of his hands moved to your arm, rubbing it gently in a soothing way. “It pains me to see you so devastated, my sweet wife,” he spoke quietly, breaking the wall of silence between you, “but you must know that House Stark will stand against-“

“I need a moment, please,” your trembling voice interrupted him as you found the strength to stand at your feet, your thick robes swooning with every step you took in the room. You paced back and forth, one hand rubbing the bridge of your nose while the other supported your lower back, grief and confusion mixing in your head as you felt like you were about to succumb to madness: for a moment you wondered if Rickon would fall victim to the Dance as well, but no bad omen was attached to him and that brought you a moment of peace.

Your restless walk ended as you approached the large window of your chambers and saw Vermax flying restlessly outside. It pained you to see such a magnificent creature as a dragon so distraught over the loss of his kin, and it pained you even more when a flash of his fate crossed your eyes as you saw the dragon dancing among hundreds of arrows.

“It is said that dragons can feel their masters’ emotions,” a rough voice came from behind, and you saw Cregan looking outside like you, “They feel their pain, their turmoil, and they share the same grief.” 

“He is preparing for his last flight,” you murmured quietly, turning your head slightly and locking your lilac gaze into his grey one. You felt Cregan’s hand resting on your waist, allowing him to pull you closer and join your foreheads together. 

"Winter is coming, my love, and I need my men here to defend the Wall," he spoke softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the warmth of your skin against his, "but House Stark will pledge its support to Queen Rhaenyra by sending her thousands of Greybeards to fight in her name. Your sister's claim will be upheld and your nephew will succeed her," 

"Jacaerys will never be King of the Seven Kingdoms," you confessed defeatedly, looking down at your feet, "the only kingdom he will see is of sea and salt. He will never see his mother sitting on the Iron Throne. I have seen it,"

Your words brought a heavy silence to the room and you both withdrew into your thoughts. You saw how quickly Cregan and Jacaerys had bonded, how they spent their days hunting and drinking together while they negotiated the terms of war. Luke's death would not be an accident, and you hoped your words would reach your husband, that he would understand the destructive force dragons could be once they went into battle.

Instead, Cregan's only words were his arms wrapped around you, sealing your body in a protective embrace. He whispered words of comfort, kissed your temple and promised victory over the usurpers.

But deep in his heart, he knew it would not be easy.

Grief and anger were the emotions Cregan felt as he rolled the parchment in his hands, his eyes darting over the words written in pitch-black ink. He cursed himself for not believing the signs of your dreams, for thinking that fear had created them for you. But even this time you were right.

The Battle of the Gullet had been costly for the Blacks, and the death of Jacaerys Velaryon was a low blow the queen would not forgive her usurpers. It was Cregan again who had the task of bringing you the unfortunate news, and his eyes would forever be haunted by the sight of your grief: he saw you holding Rickon as the news of blood and cheese reached Winterfell's ears, and those same dull eyes came back to you as you leaned against the wall at your nephew's death.

Not even the news that King's Landing had fallen into the hands of Rhaenyra and Daemon could ease the paranoia you lived with, but it only served to fuel your dark prophecies. Few letters were exchanged between Cregan and Rhaenyra, with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms constantly asking for her beloved sister and inviting her to return to court and serve if she wished. But Cregan always refused her invitation. 

For the truth was that you were safe in the great lands of the North, surrounded by nothing but the love of Cregan and Rickon, far from that viper's nest that was the Red Keep. It took time for you to adjust to the harsh cold of Winterfell and the coldness of its people, but your calm and gentle nature opened a breach in the heart of his hardened lord, and with it, the people began to love you. 

The night was cold, and the heat of the fire was not enough to protect them from the blizzard raging outside. Cregan could not sleep, tossing and turning, hoping that the Old Gods would grant him some much needed rest. It was only after tossing and turning on his side for the umpteenth time that he saw you awake too, your platinum curls falling gently to your shoulders and your lilac eyes gazing absently at the small bed where Rickon rested. 

The young wolf wrapped his naked arms around your waist and pulled you close, his chest pressed against your back, the layer of your nightgown the only thing separating your bodies. "Sleep seems to have left you too," he said in a harsh voice, his lips brushing against your neck. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath. 

"I have no reason to be asleep, dear husband," you replied absently, the softness of your voice melting his heart. Cregan knew that your mind was far from him, and he feared that your prophetic dreams had imprisoned it again. He let out a long sigh before speaking again.

"A raven came from King's Landing in the morrow," he spoke quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Rickon, "your sister will be pleased to welcome you to the capital and give you all the honours of a Targaryen princess,”

He felt a small chuckle escape your mouth and lowered his head, resting his newly bearded chin on your collarbone, "If it is your wish to reach her, I will order some of my men to arrange a safe journey south for you." Cregan went on, his voice faltering at the thought of leaving you alone while Rhaenyra dealt with her opponents. But you were his wife and the light of his eyes, and if you wished to regain your lost time with your sister, he would accept it without objection.

But the slight shake of your head surprised him, "It wouldn't change anything. Rhaenyra would be dead the moment I reached King's Landing, and the gods know what horrors await there.”

Cregan's brow furrowed, and for the first time he seriously considered the words of your prophetic dreams: if the Dragon Queen was indeed about to die, what would happen if he left his wife alone in the grasp of the Greens? A shiver ran down his spine, anger boiling in his chest at the thought of you being taken prisoner by Aegon the Usurper. 

"That will probably not happen," the Lord of Winterfell scoffed, tightening his grip as if he secretly feared you would disappear in his arms, "You have nothing to fear, my dear woman. Your sister is Queen now. Once the usurpers and the breakers of the oath have paid for what they have done, there will be a reign of peace and prosperity. 

"It will not be her," you murmured, rolling to the other side to face Cregan. You leaned your hand against his cheek as you looked at him with your melancholy eyes, "Rhaenyra is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but a crown of ashes will adorn her head and a cloak of fire will wrap her body.”

Cregan leaned into your touch, but he could not quite relax at the grim revelation you gave him: he wanted to find comfort in your presence, but your words were as hard as boulders, carrying a heavy weight he wanted to lift from your shoulders.

"I can hardly see it," he murmured, his voice tinged with doubt, "Rhaenyra is a strong woman, gathering as many noble men as she can for her cause. The kingdom will be stable under her leadership."

You shook your head slowly again, your eyes filled with sorrow, "But the Dragonfire is stronger than she is, and what she has built will crumble with her," you paused for a moment before continuing, "A throne of iron swords will give way to a wooden one, and only when the cripple breathes his last will a child step in, wearing Rhaenyra's crown like a burden.”

Cregan closed his eyes and tightened his grip, a mixture of emotions flickering across his face as he slowly digested what you had told him. He had learned over time that your dreams were not mere hallucinations of a daydreaming mind, but a prophecy destined to come true, no matter how hard you tried to alter the course of events. The deaths of Jacaerys and Lucerys were living proof. 

“I swear on my honour that I will keep raising my banners for the rightful queen, no matter how gruesome our fates will be,” Cregan retorted, lowering his head more until your foreheads met again, “What will be of us?”

"You are bound by your honour and will fight for Rhaenyra until your last breath, my love," you murmured, absently tracing circles on his cheek with your thumbs, "The wolf will cry in the dragon's nest, and his wolf will be heard in the darkest hour. And only when order is restored will the wolf return to his pack."

Cregan stood in silence, his chest rising slowly as he held his breath, the realisation dawned on him: the intense activity on the Wall and the organisation of the harvest had always prevented him and his men from making a proper march on King's Landing, hoping that the Greybeards he had sent would be enough to fight for Rhaenyra's cause. But your words have confirmed that his men will march on King's Landing, and he hopes to find a less devastated city than the one his wife has described.

“Cregan,” your gentle call awakened him from his thoughts, his head resting on your hands, “promise me you will come back to me and Rickon. Swear it,”

The young wolf stood silent for a moment, his eyes drinking in your beauty: it would be painful to leave you behind, but if your prophecy came true, he would be forced to honour his oath and fight for his queen. And so he took your head in his hands, closing the distance and sealing the promise with a long, bittersweet kiss, tasting of farewell but full of hope.

“I swear it.”

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Cregan Stark Taglist: @sylasthegrim @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

A corporate barbecue that R brings her godchild to (as they just lost their respective best friend/mom) where reader runs into Bucky. She introduces them to one another, and her 12 y/o anti-wingman watches reader and Bucky flirt with each other (pathetically). Her best friend’s kid has always been incredibly perceptive, especially about other people (it’s a trait inherited from reader’s best friend). When they turn and leave the conversation, the kid asks “So when’s your first date?”

Bucky overhears the remark and realizes that it’ll be very soon. While the tween wasn’t R’s wingman, they sure were his.

IDK, just a thought lol 🩵🩵

Little Matchmaker » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader with goddaughter Lexie

Summary: Your goddaughter plays a little matchmaker to get you and Bucky together.

Warnings: Fluff, language, flirting (pathetically), nicknames/pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

A/N #2: The reader works at Stark Industries in this.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

“Remind me why I have to come to this.” Lexie, your goddaughter says.

“Cause all you did this Summer is scroll through your phone and it’s nice to get out of the house.” You say.

You’re at a corporate barbecue for your work and you took your goddaughter with you. Lexie lost her mom, your best friend, almost a year ago and she was left to you.

“That’s not true!” She said. “I went to the beach last month!” She states.

“Point made, but I was with you.” You say.

Lexie made a grumbling noise and continued to walk next to you.

“Is Iron Man and the Avengers going to be here?” Lexie asks.

“Tony Stark has to be here cause it’s his company and as for the Avengers, I don’t know if they’re going to be here.” You answered.

You greeted your coworkers and introduced Lexie to them. As you were talking to them, you couldn’t help but notice a guy staring at you a few feet away. Lexie noticed it too and smirked to herself, coming up with a plan in her head.

“Y/N, I’m going to get something to drink.” Lexie says.

“Ok. Get me something to drink too please.” You say.

She nodded before walking away to the drink table. She did get something to drink, but as she was walking back, she walked up to Bucky.

“Sir?” She says, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?” Bucky answers.

“Not that I’m being nosy or anything, but I couldn’t help but notice that you’re staring at the woman over there.” She says.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” He apologizes.

“No need to apologize.” She replies. “I can introduce you to her if you want.” She suggests.

“Oh, that’s ok. I don’t want to intrude.” He says.

“It’s ok.” She says with a smile.

Lexie motioned for Bucky to follow her, in which he did after a short hesitation.

“She hasn’t been on a date in a while so go easy on the flirting.” Lexie tells him.

“Oh ok.” Bucky says.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why a 12 year old is telling him this. You excused yourself from the conversation with your coworkers when Lexie walked back to you with the guy who was looking at you.

“I thought you were getting something to drink?” You say in a quiet voice.

“I did.” Lexie hands you your drink. “I also brought you a guy.” She tells you. “Sir, this is Y/N.” She introduces you to Bucky.

“I’m Bucky.” Bucky introduces himself to you, holding his hand out for you to shake, which you did.

“Now that you two know each other’s names, I’m going to let the two of you talk.” She says.

“Stay where I can see you.” You tell her.

Lexie nodded and walked away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You gave him a polite smile, trying not to make anything awkward between the two of you.

“Is that girl your little sister?” Bucky asks curiously.

“No. She’s my goddaughter. We get that a lot.” You answered. “Her name is Lexie and she’s 12. Her mom passed away almost a year ago and I’m all she has.” You explained.

“I’m sorry to hear about that. No kid should go through that.” He says sincerely.

You smile softly and nodded in agreement.

“Lexie mentioned that you haven’t been on any dates in a while.” He says.

“She shouldn’t have said that, but she’s not wrong.” You say.

“So…” He starts. “What do you look for in a man?” He asks curiously and upfront.

“You’re pretty straightforward, aren’t you?” You chuckled. “That’s part of what I like in a man.” You admitted. “I also like when men are sensitive and buy me flowers.” You tell him. “Those are just the basics of what I like in a man.” You say.

“Well, lucky for you, I can do both of those things.” He says with a flirty smile in a flirtatious tone.

Meanwhile, Lexie was sitting at a table where you can see her. She had some chips and a soda while she watched you and Bucky flirt pathetically with each other. She couldn’t hear what you two were saying so she just watched the pathetic flirting. She was also curious to know if Bucky was trying to ask you out on a date.

“What do you look for in a woman?” You curiously asked Bucky.

“So you’re the one who’s being straightforward now, huh?” Bucky playfully jokes and chuckles softly. “Everything I like in women is everything you have, doll.” He says softly and moved a piece of your hair from your face.

“Even if I have a godchild?” You asked.

“Yes.” He replies with a smile.

“If we’re going to see each other again, that means we’re going to have to exchange phone numbers.” You say with a hopeful smile.

“Fine by me.” He says, taking his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you.

You put your name and phone number in Bucky’s phone. You handed Bucky your phone and he did the same thing. Lexie came back at the same time you were giving his phone back to him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Lexie chimes in, looking from you to Bucky.

“You’re not. I have to get back to my friends. It was nice meeting the both of you.” Bucky says before walking away.

You gave him a smile and Lexie waved bye to him.

“So when’s your first date?” Lexie curiously asks you with a grin on her face.

You couldn’t help but blush and softly giggle when she said that. Little did you and Lexie know that Bucky heard her say that. He smiles to himself and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, knowing that yours and his first date will be very soon. Sooner than you think actually. Little did you know that Lexie was playing matchmaker and was Bucky’s wingman.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

[airbendertendou]

bts ft tokyorev !! jus something small to get me back into posting <3

[including : mikey, kokonoi, mitsuya, inupi + yuzuha]

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— MiKEY! ♥︎ "me from the moon, you from the stars."

there you were again, as you always were. sipping from the sweetest drink you could stand, lips pursed around the straw. as you watched everyone else, mikey watched you.

this is where he first saw you before, too. before kazutora - before kanto - before all the tragedy. when he was still lingering on the cusp of sanity, mikey spotted you.

things were different now - he was different now. a nudge to his arm - takemichi nods in your direction with his chin. "now's your chance. like you always wanted."

a deep breath, and then he's standing in front of you. blinking at the stark white boots in your vision, you gaze up. like a halo, the sun shines around him, bouncing off of the grin mikey sends your way. you gulp down your drink, "sano. hello."

mikey's breath hitches in his throat as he stumbles out his own greeting. "what are you thinking about right now?"

you were starstuck, truthfully, seeing the boy you wanted to talk to for ages standing in front of you. you couldn't say that, though - it'd be embarrassing to admit your bashfulness of him.

"right now?" you purse your lips again and mikey hopes you don't see the trickle of color on his cheeks. "that... you look nice when you smile, sano."

"mikey," he corrects you. with another deep breath, he takes a seat to your left. "call me mikey. i'll call you [first name]."

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— KOKONOi! ♥︎ "all i know is how to love you."

being related to sanzu came with strange rules. you always had to stick by his side - always had to reassure him you were safe and happy. why he chose you and not senju - why he forbid you from speaking with takeomi - you'd never know.

maybe it had something to do with mikey preferring you over them as well.

whatever it was, it led you here. in a stormy, darkened apartment as your brother went in search of the haitani's. mikey was peering outside of the window longingly - he did that a lot, these days.

"want something to drink?" the voice causes you to stiffen, chills covering every inch of you. kokonoi glances your way, "it's chilly in here. want something warm?"

your body was on fire the longer he kept his attention on you, actually. shaking your head, you look down to break his gaze from you. koko shrugs as he stands, "suit yourself. want somethin', boss?"

everything after that echoes. being around kokonoi hajime was the biggest obstacle you've faced. seeing him around town was bad enough. now that he was at your brothers side? you were going to scream.

a steaming, pastel mug is held in front of you. koko sips from his own charcoal gray cup. "your fingers are shaking, liar."

gulping, your shaking fingers take the mug from koko with a shy, quiet thank you. even though he's still looking out of the window, you can see a smirk on mikey's face in the reflection. you wanted to throw the stupid mug his way.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— MiTSUYA! ♥︎ "i want the you that wants me again."

a stalemate. that's where your relationship curently fell. he spent more time at work than with you - more time with everyone else. biting your lip to prevent tears, you dial his number again.

"i can't really talk right now," mitsuya says instead of a greeting. you remember when he would grin down at the phone when you called. remember when he would all you cutesy, almost cringey pet-names so often you'd forget your own name. he lets out a sigh, "did you need something?"

you forget everything you'd prepared to say. every accusation ; every fear ; every inch of begging to get him to stay. your lips part, "should we end it here?"

"huh?"

you look around the house you'd created together. the pictures you'd taken, the couch cushions and blankets you bought together. half-empty candles that hadn't been lit in months. your bottom lip wobbles as you speak through tears. "should we break up? this relationship doesn't seem happy anymore."

mitsuya stays silent. that seemingly answers for him. you nod slowly, wiping the tears that have trickled down your cheeks. "okay. i'll have my things packed before you're back." whenever that will be.

"don't," he sounds out of breath. mitsuya heaves in a breath that sounds like a sob. he lets out a cough, rustling in the background that he speaks over. "don't say that. don't do that. i'm- i'm coming home, okay? stay right there."

you decide over the dial tone if you'd still be home or not when he arrives.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— iNUPi! ♥︎ "just one day, just one day."

jade eyes trail after you endlessly. you nod along to the beat of the song you're listening to, dusting here and there. catching his reflection in the tv, you smirk. "when you volunteered to help, seishu, i didn't think you'd mean just sitting there."

blinking, inupi shrugs as if he wasn't just imagining a sweet, domestic life with you. "you won't let me help."

you turn with a crinkled nose, "you don't clean things right!"

"that's not possible." his voice trails off so he can watch you again. your hips are movng to the music now as you shrug him off. inupi sighs, his chin falling to his hand as he gazes lovingly.

he could see it now. you'd both be a little older, in an apartment that didn't quite fit two people. you'd share the bathroom and the bed, helping wash each other's face and sharing soap when you ran out. you'd make dinner and breakfast together to complain about work or talk about the wild dreams he knew you had.

it was something he did and would probably always yearn for.

a press to his cheek causes his entire face to flame. you tap his nose with a mischiveous grin, going back to your cleaning. a galnce to your mirror shows a sticky residue on his cheek - one that matched the lipgloss you were wearing.

inupi blinks, "did you kiss me?"

"maybe!"

he springs up from his seat within a second as your laughter rings around the room. his own smile covers his face as he chases you. "shouldn't i reciprocate it? hey, get back here!"

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— YUZUHA! ♥︎ "to see you? to meet you?"

passing letters through her younger brother, secrets pressed in places you both passed - that was how you spoke with her now. since taiju knew - once he figured it out - he forbade his sister from any and every relationship.

especially if it was with you.

hakkai pants as he stops in front of you, creamsicle envelope in his hand. you could already smell yuzuha's perfume wafting from it - could envision the kiss marks she'd left on the pages. hakkai places his hands on his hips, "this is exhausting, you know?"

you glare his way, "tell your stupid brother to give yuzuha her phone back."

"you tell him!" hakkai looks around with wide, terrified eyes. "don't call him stupid, though."

scoffing, you peel the letter from his sweaty palms. "i'll end him if i need to. he's never met a scorned, pissed off lover before."

hakkai shivers, taking a miniscule step back away from you. "...you could take him, probably."

you dismiss him with a grin, ready to read every word yuzuha couldn't say to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

this was so fun i luv writing to music <3 thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! if you’d like to be tagged, untagged in any tokyorev content, let me know ♥︎

🍓FOREVER TAGS : @star2fishmeg ♥︎

🍓 TOKYOREV TAGLIST : @night-shadowblood-writes2 @chrofeisnightmaregf @natsumesakasakisupremacy @emperorsnero

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[cosmicalily]

"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

4. "attention" | lee minho x fem!reader

I'm tired of tearing you apart, know your heart has had enough, it's obvious, you're starved for affection, and you need more, and you need more, you need more attention

author's note: okay so fun fact the left photo in this header is actually a pic of a picnic i went on with my friend that i took off my pinterest (ee if you wanna look at it here's the link! my pinterest is my pride and joy). i've had this fic in my drafts for ages, i adore this song and it feels SO undeniably hyunjin, i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: reader suffers from nightmares, overall angst, anxiety, minho is kind of a dick and can't express his feelings but dw everyone is happy in the end

“Do you want a pudding?”

You didn’t reply, staring into space from where you were sprawled across the couch. Minho shrugged, picking his own up and rifling around the drawer for a spoon.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you stated.

Minho stopped in his tracks, the spoon he’d grabbed clattering onto the tiled kitchen floor almost comically, a stark contrast to the emotionless look on your face.

“What do you mean?” Minho picked up his spoon and ran a hand through his hair, walking towards where you were lying on the sofa. He moved to sit beside you, then thought better of it. He sat on the floor, looking up at you the way Soonie did when he wanted attention.

A tear rolled down your cheek, startling the both of you. 

“You’ve been out of the house before I wake up and you’re tired and go straight to bed when you get home. Half the time you don’t even spend the night here. Felix’s joking about staying over here when you’re at theirs, so he can get a nice bed and some quiet to himself while you pay the rent.”

Minho’s breath caught in his chest. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's subconscious, or some shit. It’s not fair, though. I’m your best friend, and your roommate. I’m still doing your fucking laundry for you while you’re gone, even though you’re not here to cook for me, like our deal was. It’s so cold and quiet at night, and my nightmares have been worse. You know they get worse when you’re not here, Minho.”

He did know. He knew all of it. He knew what he was doing, he knew it was hurting you.

But why did he keep letting himself drift from you?

He knew why he did that, too.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk to me, I’m going to bed. Enjoy your fucking pudding, Lee Minho. Turn the lights off when you’re done, and hang up your own laundry. I’m done.” You stood up, storming off to your bedroom, slamming the door.

He’d fucked it all up.

Three hours later, still in the same position on the living room floor, Minho heard crying.

It was quiet, and sounded muffled, which could’ve been the door, sure, but he was certain it was because you were trying to conceal it. Maybe the work of a pillow or your fluffy blanket, the one his cats were almost always perched on. He knew why.

The reason you’d found a roommate in the first place was because of your nightmares. You couldn’t sleep most nights, interrupted every few hours by vivid thoughts, a tight chest, and tears streaming down your face. Thoughts that wouldn’t fade, no matter how many TikToks you watched, how many cups of tea you sipped. Minho was your best friend, and he knew. He offered to move in. He comforted you at night.

He sacrificed a peaceful apartment on his own with his cats, enjoying his own company. He did it all for you, although he’d protest that it wasn’t a sacrifice at all.

But recently, since he’d been away so much, your sleep had been worse. In fact, you were pretty sure you were running on negative hours of sleep at this point. The worst part was, he wasn’t even busy. He just found excuses to be out of the house, out of your sight.

Minho knocked on your door.

“Are you fully dressed? Say something if you need to like, put something on.”

You didn’t reply, trying to suppress the hiccups that were slipping out of your throat.

“Alright, I’m coming in-oh, God.”

He’d never seen you cry like this before. Your cheeks were puffy and red, eyes glistening, still trickling with tears. Your breaths were uneven and shallow. He wanted to scoop you up and kiss every single part of you, even after the tears stopped, and then hold you forever.

“It’s not…a…nightmare,” you whispered between gasps. “I know…what…you’re thinking.”

“What's the matter then, baby?” Minho sat down beside you, rubbing circles into your cheek softly. He felt the way your cheeks burned at the nickname, biting back a smile.

“Missed you. I’m not good at being angry…I’m just sad. I can’t sleep, and I don’t want to rely on you so much…it’s not fair to you, and I feel bad-”

“Who said it’s not fair?”

“Well, I just thought-”

“I offered to move in with you. I knew what I was signing up for. I’m not sick of you, Y/N.”

You swallowed. “I thought you were fed up. That’s why you…kept avoiding me.”

“God, no. I preferred it when you were angry and blaming me earlier, Y/N, it made me feel less of an asshole, weirdly. I just…my feelings towards you have been a lot lately, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“That sounds like a very polite way of saying ‘Wow Y/N, you’re driving me fucking insane and I don’t want to be near you’,” you pouted. “Just tell me what’s going on, Minho-”

“I like you.”

Your heart thumped so hard you were sure he could hear it. Your hand moved on its own, pulling him down beside you. He landed awkwardly, then shuffled his limbs so he was leaning on his elbows, face above yours, eyes locked.

“I like you too,” you whispered. “That’s why I was scared I’d lost you for good.”

“I thought I’d lost you too, when you yelled at me earlier. You don’t usually cuss so much, baby, it scared me.”

“You called me that earlier. I like it.”

“Yeah? I’ll keep calling you that, baby, as long as you slap the shit out of me if I ever so much as ignore you again. I’m here, you know that right? No matter what. I’ll always be a friend.” he paused, biting his lip, not wanting to push further.

“Definitely not as a friend. You can’t just confess like that and play it off. No, say it properly,” you scolded, scrunching your nose playfully.

Minho rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, but you didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink. “I’ll always be a friend, roommate, the best pasta chef in the univers-”

“Lee Minho.”

“-and yours.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts - comment, dm or send an ask to be added!

[murderloverz]

HI ‼️ this time I brought some random ones, but after this I'm going to do one just for ewan mitchell.... it's inevitable I love him sm....

If you liked it, tell me! and leave suggestions, my head works well alone but not so much 😵 and follow me on twitter! let's go crazy together @jacestorms

[lokis-dark-queen]

Even in the Dark, I Feel your Resistance

Avenger Loki/Avenger Reader Fluff

Summary: You are terrified of the dark and all the scary things that could be lurking in it. After recalling a special memory with Loki, you go to him once again for comfort in the form of cuddles and deep conversations.

Warnings/Notes: Rated E for everyone! Loki tried to act cold and mean for a millisecond but he breaks pretty easy. This was an old request that I couldn’t see until now thanks to my inbox being practically nonexistent for me *rolls eyes*. But the problem is solved so we’re all good!

Request By: @lokihiddleston4

Word count: 2.3k

*header from Pinterest*

You stared silently at your bed as you prepared to turn the lights out, fearful of the inevitable darkness that would soon consume your room. You were ashamed of your fear, you were an adult! Not just any adult but an Avenger, you lived with them in their highly guarded tower that housed literal super soldiers and gods! Yet here you were, afraid of the dark of all things. 

You had fought villains and monsters, victoriously living another day to tell the tale. The dark wouldn’t hurt you, would it? Maybe it was what could possibly be lurking in the shadows that scared you. And after your most recent mission that involved hunting down mutilated alien monsters that were straight out of a nightmare, sleep seemed unreachable. 

You never told anyone about your fear, well, no one except Loki. The dark, brooding god who many feared somehow got that information out of you. 

–

It all happened one stormy night when the team arrived at the tower well after dark, soaking wet from the rain. The tower was dark, every corner hidden by a shadow. Tony claimed that the generators had failed and the elevators were down, therefore everyone would have to climb the dark stairs to return to their rooms. Damn Stark and his iffy technology, perhaps he should properly test it against harsh conditions instead of immediately making it the prime source of power for the tower which housed and employed hundreds if not thousands of people. 

Everyone found flashlights or used their phones to find their way back. You, however, forgot your phone in your room that was many stories above your head. Everyone departed quickly, the only person who you could ask for help was Loki as he used the glow of his sedir that he had manifested into a ball of light in his hand. He seemed to stay behind for longer than the others, to this day you don't know why. 

“L-Loki?” You recalled stuttering his name, trying your best to hide your fear. 

“Yes, agent?” He asked. 

“Can I walk with you? I forgot my phone and I couldn’t find a flashlight. I mean, we're on the same floor so it shouldn't be an issue I hope.” 

You couldn’t see him well until the room lit up with a flash of lightning, causing him to tense up, “Of course, agent. Don’t fall behind.” He turned around to continue his journey back to his room. 

You remembered your struggle to keep up with him amongst all those flights of stairs, his long legs carried him significantly faster than yours could. Eventually you tripped on a stair in your attempts to catch up, letting out a small yelp as you fell to your knees. The darkness wrapped around you as you stayed there, too scared to move. 

The darkness soon drifted away as an orb of light came towards you and a hand reached out to you. 

“Are you hurt?” Loki asks, placing his hand on your shoulder. 

“N-no, I don’t- I don’t think so.” You didn’t mean to cry in front of him, you couldn’t stop. 

“Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?” His deep voice went soft, a deft finger met your cheek as he wiped a tear from your face. 

Shame flooded you, how could you tell him such an embarrassing fear? 

“I just don’t like the dark.” You choked. 

“You are afraid of it?” He asks. 

You nod, confirming his words, “Terrified.” 

“Come here.” He reached his hand out, offering for you to take it. You gladly did so, needing the support of another. He helped you up and pulled you close to him. You recalled his scent, the wet pieces of inky hair that framed his face. He was normally so well kept, not a hair out of place. He looked so raw, so vulnerable. “Hold on to me, okay? I promise to walk slower.” 

“Thank you.” You croaked, your arm now locked with his. 

He walked you all the way back to your room that night. You recalled how his muscles would tense underneath his shirt at every rumble of thunder or strike of lightning. You didn’t think too much about it as you firmly held his arm, every thought of your fear melted away when you were with him. It was a feeling that no one else had ever made you feel. 

–

You pulled yourself out of your head, remembering where you were right now. The thought of Loki’s support gave you the strength to turn off the light before you ran and jumped into your bed, taking cover under the sheets. They gave you a fleeting moment of safety before you looked at the dark room surrounding you. Pale moonlight seeped through the small cracks where your curtains failed to meet, flooding small pieces of your room with the subtle light. Was it your head or did you see something move out of the corner of your eye? You had no pet or other living thing in the room, so obviously it was nothing… Right? 

Your eyes were wide as they stared at the shadows caused by the little slivers of moonlight, you recalled every piece of furniture in your room trying to comfort yourself, they were only shadows. You counted your dresser, your couch, your television, inanimate objects that were harmless. The shadows stared back at you, at least you thought they did. If you stayed here you knew you would not be sleeping. 

You didn’t think twice as you shot out of bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you ran out your door, using the flashlight on your phone to light your path. After that night, you never forgot it again. Your feet led you somewhere safe, to someone safe, someone who understood you. And you prayed that he was awake to hear your knock at the door. 

Sure enough, the door opened after you heard muffled footsteps on the other side. 

“It is late.” He states the obvious. 

“That’s the point. I can’t sleep, the shadows-” You began to explain before he moved aside, inviting you in. 

“I know darling, come in.” 

You carefully walk past his tall frame, turning your head to hide your blush. You had no idea he slept shirtless. 

“I apologize if I woke you, I can go back.” You take it back. 

“Well, we can’t let those pesky shadows get to you, can we?” He leans down slightly, brushing a tangled strand of hair behind your ear. 

You smile and shake your head, “No.” 

Loki walks back to his side of the bed as you stay frozen in place, your stomach feeling as if it were a butterfly cage. Only a lamp lit the room as he pulled the green comforter back, patting the empty spot next to him, motioning for you to join him. 

You walk over to join him, still wrapped in your own blanket from your room. Loki gave you a soft smile as the bed dipped next to him from your body meeting his mattress. He reaches out for your blanket that covers your body. 

“May I?” He asks for permission to unwrap it from your body. 

“But I need it!” You protest, holding it tighter. 

“No you won’t, not with me here. I’ve got you, nothing ever will harm you.” He promises. 

You take his word and loosen the blanket as his hand takes over to remove it and place it aside on the bed. You wore a loose tee with short cotton shorts to bed, his eyes lingered before looking back into yours, your heart skipping a beat as they met. Surely he noticed the pink tint on your cheeks, you noticed he had it too. 

“Get comfortable, my dear.” He says before turning around to turn off the lamp at his bedside. 

“Loki?” You cautiously warn him. 

“It’s okay, just close your eyes.” He softly demands. 

You do as he says, jumping slightly at the slight ‘click’ of the lamp turning off. You couldn’t stop yourself as your eyes came open once again to meet the darkness around you. There was something in the darkness this time, however, It didn’t scare you. Loki moved next to you, wrapping his arms around your form next to him. You buried your face into his chest, his familiar scent filled your lungs like a drug. 

“What did I tell you? You didn’t keep your eyes closed.” He laughs smoothly. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” You apologize into his skin. 

“Don’t worry darling, nothing will come to harm you.” He assures you, playing with your hair against his pillow. 

“I know that but I’m still scared when the lights go off and I don’t know why. It is so childish.” You shame yourself. 

Loki pulls you up to him, your faces so close. You can feel his warm breath in tandem with his gentle touch that slowly calmed you to a state of fearless comfort. 

“It is a fear, my love. We all have them, not just children. Some of us may grow out of them, some of us may not. It’s just an inevitable part of living.” His deep voice seeps into every pore of your skin. 

“What are you afraid of, Loki? If you don't want to tell me it’s fine.” You tell him, not wanting him to feel pressured. He is doing more for you than you ever thought he would. 

“Thunder.” He describes his fear in one word. 

You stay silent for a second, not expecting such a quick response from the god. “But your brother-” You begin before he cuts you off. 

“I know. I had to grow up with rumbles of thunder shaking the palace walls as my brother discovered his power. Sleep constantly escaped my grasp at night. I was too ashamed to tell him to stop, instead I told my mother who scolded him properly.” He gives a little laugh as he recalls the memory, “I’ve gotten over it, mostly. It still gets to me sometimes.” 

You remembered the night that he walked you back to your room, when he would jump slightly whenever a clap of thunder shook the walls. “You hide it so well, I would have never known.” 

“It helps when I have you by my side. I suppose that night we were helping each other face our fears.” He grins in the dark, inching his face closer to yours, so close that your noses were now lightly brushing against each other. 

A comfortable moment of silence was shared between you two. He brought his hand up from underneath the covers and placed it over yours that was tucked by your chest. He wanted to make a move, you could tell. But he was so scared, so cautious, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Little did he know that in this moment, it was the most comfort you had ever felt in your life. You inched even closer, your lips ghosting against each other. 

Loki could only ignore his feelings for you for so long before they would come to a head. He felt so strong that night that he helped you, despite the storm. Having someone rely on him and trust him, it was a feeling that he had never felt before. 

“Do you want to know why I stayed behind that night, even after everyone else departed?” He reminds you of that night once again. 

“Why?” You ask in a hushed tone. 

“Because I wanted to help you. And I wanted you to stay with me so that I wouldn’t be alone.” He confesses. 

“Why me specifically?” You question him with flushed curiosity. 

“I wasn’t sure at the time. You just had this presence that comforted me, I didn’t understand it.” Your fear of the dark is nearly forgotten as you listen to him speak. 

“Do you understand it now, the feeling?” Your fingers intertwined with his hand that was resting on yours. 

“If I'm not mistaken, I think we both do. You are… different. In a good way, of course. I’ve never been this comfortable, this honest with any other person, not even my own family. I’m drawn to you, my love, if I may have the pleasure of calling you that?” He lifts your hand up from beneath the sheets to give it a soft kiss. Even in the dark, you can see the sincerity in his beautiful eyes. 

Your smile is hidden by the darkness surrounding you two. Instead of instilling you in fear, it wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The dark made the perfect background for such a deep and intimate conversation as his warmth surrounded you, protecting you from the outside world. You didn’t answer, no words could describe what you were feeling right now. You didn’t need them anyway. Instead you confirmed your feelings with a light kiss to his lips beneath the cover of night. It was short and sweet, he barely had time to process what just happened as he silently gasped. 

“Does that answer your question?” You grasp his hand tighter. 

Loki groans in content, moving his body to settle even deeper into the mattress. Your legs tangled with his and your face found a home in the crook of his neck, his black strands of hair tickled your forehead before he leaned down to kiss it. 

“It does.” 

It was there, in the arms of your god, you drifted into a peaceful sleep. A deep sleep with no frights or nightmares. The darkness, the one thing that you feared the most, surrounded your bodies and enveloped your space. Your old fear turning into your closest friend, making it seem that the whole world melted away and the two of you remained. He was the only thing that mattered, and to him, you were his whole world. A world with no fear or darkness, only love and peaceful nights, forever.

[ladygreywritesstuff]

Stardew Valley:

Dig Deep -- Farmer/Marlon -- 12/12 Chapters

Stargazers -- Farmer/Marlon -- a sequel to Dig Deep -- 1/? Chapters

Just Enjoying the View -- Farmer/Marlon -- smutty one-shot

Other one-shots and drabbles

Game of Thrones/ASOIAF:

What Storms May Blow -- OC of House Frey/Barristan Selmy -- 25/29 Chapters

A Promise Broken -- Tywin Lannister/Joanna Lannister -- drabble

Elevator Music -- OC/Tywin Lannister, Modern AU -- one-shot

Kissing Roose -- various/Roose Bolton -- drabble collection

Wrong Address -- Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Modern AU -- 3/3 Chapters

True or False -- OC/Roose Bolton -- 26/26 Chapters

Not Today -- Arya Stark/Jaqen H'ghar, Modern AU -- 3/3 Chapters

Therapy -- Roose Bolton/Fat Walda Frey, Modern AU -- one-shot

Protégé -- Roose Bolton/Arya Stark (aged up), Modern AU -- one-shot

LadyGreyWrites on AO3

Header by @saradika-graphics

[legitalicat]

Here are some WIPS with no context but their headers and ships.

Gale Dekarios x Alisanne the Druid (my OC)

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark!Reader

Jacaerys Velaryon x House Seaver Reader (kinda OC house)

Abraham x Reader

(Abraham board done by @zaldritzosrose)

[withgreatpowercomesmyfuckingdick]

i am just here to talk not very a ask because if i can't say it, i will probably destroy someone house.

i have been thinking what was going on in cloud's head before tifa went in and put him back together ?

Like i think that we all could see how cloud talk about the nibelhiem accident. Even if he was just putting himself in place of zack that is to much. it dosn't fell like the zack from crisis core you know ?

i think that cloud brain creat memories by taking a vag felling of how the things went and use the emotion accociate with it, then fell it what is left of it with the " first class soldier, friend with sephiroth like you know zack ". wich give that hell of a fanfiction. cloud was next to his idol, so he must have quite the happy emotion, and sephiroth acted that way because in the logic of " cloud being zack" it wouldn't make any sense for sephiroth to not act on it even it may have been a little bit exagere by the feeling of that time.

and then there is that wierd felling that it dosn't stick with the rest of any implied memories. you know. i don't know how to explain it, maybe it's final fantasy 7 ( 1997) that is influenced me here. please tell me that i am not the only one who can see a 180° change in atmosphere when it's about that memory ( i know that they did it this way for the lovely fan we are but dang it's destroying my view of cloud. seeing cloud with emotion on his face has actually wierd me out, his the one wtih the stoïque one, you know ? )

plus has anyone ever ask what cloud remember in between the memory of tifa and being a first ?

and why does cloud shoose zack or not tifa or hell sephiroth himself ? plus he seem to remember zack before that little discour of his. what if when zack said to cloud that he would be his legacy, cloud broken mind took it literaly and for the event to have sense ,zack as a person had to go. it's why ex-first claas cloud do not have zack personality :"]

it's probably extremely wrong, i am still stuck with ff7 ( 1997 ) and can't get myself aroud the remake . like at all. stone face cloud, stays my favorite boy .

ooooooh this is a very interesting ask/ramble this might take me a sec to break down.

edit: this was in my drafts for a few days and ended up very lengthy, but I promise I didn’t forget you LOL. I’m going to give a header for each question for ease of reading. Thanks for the ask, and read more should you be interested in the rambles you set off for me 😂

What was going on in Cloud’s head before Tifa helped put him back together?/What’s with the tone change in his memories of Sane!Sephiroth?

The mind is very fascinating. The closest real life experience i’ve been able to relate to Cloud’s situation is friends I’ve had with dissociative identity disorder (DID). the mind on its own is very much capable of twisting events and compartmentalizing them between personalities. Cloud’s case is an extreme case in that 1) there’s a fucking alien involved and 2) the effects were basically amnesiac. He literally couldn’t retrieve the memories by himself because of how well his brain did in compartmentalizing his trauma, which is fucked up, since all it really did was leave him with the effects of his trauma without knowing the cause. So. Yeah lol.

I get what you’re saying with the memory thing and the gap though. The change in atmosphere IS stark.

I think the big thing to remember here is that Cloud’s brain isn’t just casting itself as Zack. He is Zack’s legacy, what Cloud interprets as being what Zack represents. Seeing as Cloud sees Zack through some rose-colored glasses for sure, there’s plenty of room for error. And who of us doesn’t look at our friends and think, “Everyone should love you like I love you”? Like you said, part of it could certainly be Cloud’s personal of bias of “how the fuck could someone not like Zack?” and it skews the memory.

However, I have a theory I personally prefer: The addition of Jenova cells in the equation. The lines between minds affected by Jenova cells is evidently thin, there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be even thinner between Zack and Cloud considering their trust in each other and everything they’ve been through. Couple that with Zack constantly telling Cloud past stories and you have falsely constructed memories all over Cloud’s brain. Maybe Cloud heard those stories and the ‘memories’ we see are his brain taking creative liberty. Like you said, taking what he knows and just filling things in based on how he assumes they would act. Maybe those are actually Zack’s memories, somewhat transferred due to their joint prolonged exposure to J-cells and each other, glorified a bit thanks to Zack trying to filter the stories for his paralyzed friend. We probably won’t get the full scope until Rebirth, but I’m pretty sure we’ll find out.

What does Cloud remember in between the memory of Tifa and being a First?

I’d say very little if any at all. There’s evidence in Rebirth that he hadn’t even remembered their promise on the water tower, a very important motive behind his wanting to become a SOLDIER in the first place, until she’d mentioned it. In fact, I’d say his memory of her is pretty much gone, and looking at it from the “I’m Zack” standpoint it makes sense.

Everything in Nibelheim is attached to a very heavy feeling of shame for Cloud. He wouldn’t even take his helmet off going back because he was so ashamed about talking shit he couldn’t back up. Tifa is the main person he feels he let down by not getting into SOLDIER. Reread that: Tifa is the main person he feels he let down by not getting into SOLDIER. The very existence of her memory is a threat to his alternate personality as a First SOLDIER. That shame and his fabrication can’t coexist, so it makes sense to me that Cloud’s brain pretty much eliminated Tifa before he sees her again.

There’s also evidence he doesn’t remember his time at Shinra at all aside from his ‘Zack’ memories. I don’t remember if it was in the OG, but the Remake makes it very pointed when Cloud runs into a soldier that recognizes him and he has no idea who they are. So this alternate personality thing pretty much erased his life aside from very basic knowledge, from my understanding.

(Which is why playing with his character is so fun for me because, technically, for all of FF7, Cloud is OOC. Crisis Core Cloud is the more accurate rendition of him. Smacking them together into one guy is the closest to Cloud’s true post-trauma personality we get. But that’s a rant for another day.)

Why did Cloud choose Zack and not Tifa/Sephiroth/someone else?

First off I’d like to say, and I think people forget this: Cloud thought he was the only survivor of Nibelheim for years. Cloud thought he was the only survivor of a genocide. That shit is heavy. And who was there after all of it plus all the bullshit with Hojo? Zack.

Sephiroth was his hero, but he turned to a villain. Tifa was his goal, but as far as he knows, she’s too dead to care what he does now. But Zack was Cloud’s friend, and that never changed. Zack was everything he had left.

And here’s another thought: I said earlier that Jenova cells in the both of them probably excaberated Cloud’s mental break. Cloud’s brain probably didn’t consciously decide “Oh, I’ll be Zack now.” What it did was replace his trauma with the safest option. If the majority of his trauma and grief is tied to Zack then, boom, we take Zack out of the picture. It was probably even convenient, since his memories of being paralyzed and experimented on are also inextricably tied to Zack. So naturally, they have to pack it up too. Zack is the one that got wiped out of Cloud’s memory because losing him is apparently where Cloud’s brain drew the line for trauma capacity. Even though Cloud went through a shitton with Sephiroth and Hojo, it was ultimately Zack’s death that pushed him over the edge. Out of everything that happened, Zack dying is what his brain decided Cloud couldn’t handle. Zack’s request for Cloud to be his legacy, as sweet as it is, probably didn’t help.

(Clawing at my hair because Zack, you could’ve said literally anything else. I know it’s symbolic in his approval of Cloud and his trust in his friend etc etc but couldn’t you have said something with LESS emotional and psychological damage? Goddamnit, Zack.)

Naturally, logical vacancies are left. Who’s the First SOLDIER that helps Nibelheim? Hm, must be Cloud. But if he helped Nibelheim, then who discovered Sephiroth in the Manor? Must be Cloud. If he talked to Sephiroth in the Manor, then he must’ve known Sephiroth, and how does one know Sephiroth? You should be a First SOLDIER. In Cloud’s head it comes full circle because there’s a SUBSTANTIAL gap that used to be filled with Zack. We could say that either 1) J-cells made his memory fucky and having some of Zack’s memories in his head accelerated his faulty logic or 2) the memories we ‘see’ aren’t even real and are just wallpapers Cloud’s brain hung over the holes in his memory.

Enjoyed breaking this down, but overall you’re very correct! And I mean, it’s fair to favor the original over the Remake! I think we all subconsciously default to the 1997 canon, because I certainly do. I’m literally using the 1997 canon and just nabbing little details from the Remake because I like the world building and the NPCs and the new visuals we have for battle and magic and what not. Thank you so so much for this ask and I’m sorry if my text wall was a little much in reply 😂

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @trout-scout​

Chapter 15: A Changed Man

The first of the lycans made their appearance halfway down the misty mountain path that led to the village. Green glimmered between the trees, darts of movement, low snarls through the wind. Rose kept her hand on her sword, but Dimitrescu just smirked.

"Let them have their fun," she said. "I'll show them I haven't forgotten when they cowered at my feet."

Donna led them down the path, a long, winding road through lonely forests and over a ravine, so dense with mist only the distant sound of rushing water told Rose it had a bottom at all. Before she left the house, Donna had hidden her face behind the black silk of a mourning-veil, and as the wind blew it fluttered behind her, a dark flag against the stark white and gray of the landscape.

The rickety rope bridge juddered and swung as they crossed it, but Donna stepped from plank to plank like she was walking down the sidewalk, even in her high-button boots. She must have crossed this way hundreds of times in the past, so much it became second nature.

"Here," she said, suddenly, stepping off the path and heading toward a rocky outcropping beyond.

Rose's heart gave a hard knock against her sternum. She clutched her sword strap tighter as she crunched through the snow and joined Donna on the ledge.

Before her spread the village.

What was left of it, anyway. She'd seen glimpses of it in Heisenberg's memories, had hundreds of times imagined what it must have looked like, sometimes a nightmare of blood and crooked houses and horrors behind every door, sometimes a strange fairy-tale place, vines growing over walls, the land trapped under some strange enchantment. A village of shadows, lost in the forest.

The reality was neither. This...this was devastation. Vast, calcified constructs of mold, like crystalline trees, sprouted from the snow, twisting over houses and churches, courtyards and streets. The broken towers of a red-brick fortress rose through the constructs, one side of them blackened and twisted, facing a crater in the landscape.

It looked unreal: a huge burned hole in the world, its edges crumbling stone crusted with ice, circled by crows that at this distance looked like nothing more than scattered scraps of ash thrown to the breeze.

"The bomb," Rose whispered. That was where Ethan had died. That was where he'd be, if Ouroboros was right and his remains were still intact, in some way.

"Indeed," said Dimitrescu, her voice dripping with loathing.

Rose tried to make out more detail in the crater, but they were still too far off. The castle rose beyond, spearing into the low gray clouds, cast in blue at this distance. Against the backdrop of the snowy mountains, its windows dark, it looked like some great, ancient beast laying down before the ruins of its den.

"Oh, no, no, no," Dimitrescu breathed. "What did they do to you?"

"It looks all right from here," Rose said, squinting.

"No." Her voice dropped into a snarl. "No. Something is wrong. I am certain of it, now. Something is terribly wrong."

She turned on her heel and stalked off. With a glance at Donna, Rose hurried after her, breaking into a run to keep up with Dimitrescu's stride.

The mist thickened on their descent. They passed through graveyards, through thick underbrush, through snowbanks heaped higher than Rose was tall. Her pulse strengthened with each step. Growls split the silence. The lycans were coming. Eyes glimmered; teeth glistened. They hung back, still not descending on them. Dimitrescu, her claws half-unsheathed so they looked more than ever like the talons of some vast bird of prey, had to be a pretty strong deterrent, but Rose couldn't get her proclamation out of her head, that something was wrong.

Past an ancient, half-collapsed gateway, a moon-and-sun sigil affixed to its apex, the path opened out into a kind of arena, its rocky walls so thickly knotted and entwined with crystallized mold-vines that it looked like tree roots bursting through the cliffs. A stone pedestal in its center showed a place that must have once allowed something to be mounted there.

Rose's nerves stung. Dread mounted. A baby's cry echoed in the back of her mind.

My Eva...

"She resurrected me...there..." Rose murmured. A pathway led off through the mold-vines, its limits lost in shadow. Still, Rose saw it in her head. The statues of four kings encircling the ceremony site.

The great stone chalice, ancient thing, bubbling with liquefied mold.

And in its depths-

She pressed the heel of her hand to her head as the memories came thick and fast, rising to the surface as if through water. She'd been so close...so close...reaching out, grabbing hold...leaves scars, tears pieces-

Then, of course, she'd been distracted by a magnum shot to the face, her lycan army torn apart by Heisenberg's metal soldiers. That was about where her memories ended. Heisenberg would have taken her, then, or been given her, and that was when he'd fled.

The others were already a ways on. Donna had paused, but she kept darting glances at the circle of lycans, closing in.

One gave a snarl, leaping down from the root mass higher up. Rose drew her sword in a slash; the monster skittered back, snapping, a weapon made from a horse jawbone lashed to a stick clutched in its hairy hand.

"And stay back," Rose spat.

She backed after Donna and Dimitrescu, down a slope. The smell of rot hit her as she approached what through the mist appeared to be an irregular gated archway spanning the path. She faltered as it came into her view. A vast arch of animal parts, rotting or desiccated, lashed together into ghastly form. Antlers and limbs stuck from the arch's upper edge, spikes and juts of broken bones, glistening.

A couple lycan heads were impaled on the points, eyes picked to jelly by the circling crows.

Black flesh dripped gobs of rotting matter onto the gate below, wrought-iron with a pattern in animal bones tied onto the struts. A circular pattern, Rose realized. Six-winged- real crow wings torn off at the joint- and fetal, curled up as if sleeping.

The lycans must have made it. Rose saw that it stretched to either side, forming a crude fence that must encircle the entire village. And they must add onto it with frequency- some of the pieces looked downright fresh.

"Facilis descensus averno," Dimitrescu said.

"Huh?" Rose tore her gaze away from the archway.

"The descent to hell," Dimitrescu translated, "is easy."

Rose wanted to grumble wow, high school English class, much, anything to steady her nerves, but Dimitrescu's description was way too apt. These lycans weren't attacking. They were just letting them walk right in.

Easy. More like too easy.

There was no time to turn back now. They crossed beneath the lycans' archway and into the village itself.

The mists rolled away before them. If it had looked bad from on high, then at ground level, it looked like something from some alien landscape. The crystalline growths- the remains of Miranda's mold constructs- burst from the ground, the walls, the houses, some demolishing buildings, sprouted straight through their foundations and arching over the streets. They formed tunnels, thickets of glittering growths, the houses so deeply trapped within their translucent, milky boughs they looked nearly fused together.

From most hung long charms made of bone and scavenged shiny objects, clacking and chiming with each gust of wind. More evidence of the lycans lingered- the rotting ribcage of a deer or other large animal, detritus dragged from a house to form a kind of lean-to or nest in a hollow between two growths, scratch-marks in the crystal as if to mark territory.

Only near the entrance, though. As they delved deeper into town, Rose saw less and less until they were gone altogether. The carrion crows retreated, circling high above. Nothing was left but the treelike growths, crystal gleaming in the thin daylight.

Even Dimitrescu looked unsettled, her eyes bright, tendons standing out on the backs of her hands. This was her home, Rose reminded herself. The place she'd lived since before her transformation, the place she'd been reborn as the powerful monster she was now.

"Mother Miranda did all this?" she said as they began further down the pathway. They passed the statue of a young girl holding a sword and shield aloft, strangling tentacles of calcified mold twining round her throat and wrists. "Her power was so great?"

"Yeah," Rose said. She paused to duck under a calcified branch. It snagged at her hair, pulling a few silvery strands loose. "Chris told me it was your deaths that allowed her to get so powerful. Your biomass plus all the slaughtered villagers...well, I guess it gave her lots of play-doh to mold into whatever she wanted."

She glanced sidelong at Dimitrescu. "She wasn't your mother. She just wanted to use all of you. You know that, right?"

"I would have done anything for her. Anything."

"Why?"

She smirked. "She made me into this. Would that not be enough for you?"

Rose considered, clambering over a root-growth that burst over the street itself, forming a barricade. "Yeah, I guess you have a point there."

Dimitrescu turned her attention to the castle, stepping over the barricade that Rose had just climbed. "She gave me that. And with it...truth. Of who I was. A legacy, settling upon my shoulders like wings. The means to mold the world at my command. There is something in that castle I need, child, if I am to fight a war for what is mine."

"Oh?"

"My armor," Dimitrescu said. "In antiquity, I learned, the leaders of the great House Dimitrescu would ride into battle at the fore of their army. They never quailed in fear. They defended what was theirs. And they wore the ancestral armor of our house while doing it."

She made an elegant movement with one hand, talons singing against the wind. "As shall I."

"Armor?" Rose's mouth fell open. "No freaking way-"

Dimitrescu lifted her head. "Indeed. Made to fit."

She glanced sidelong at Rose, the edge of her lip lifted from one incisor. "Drenched in blood, I shall cut an...intimidating figure, I think."

Rose did think. Still, she glanced around herself again, watching the lycans as they circled them, leaping and scrabbling from rooftop to rooftop, staring down at them but not advancing.

"I don't like this," she said.

"Mm." Dimitrescu eyed her in turn. "Curious."

"What's curious?"

"Perhaps they smell you."

"Oh, come on," Rose said, in a rush. "They-"

"Stop," Donna whispered.

Rose faced front, lifting her sword. Dimitrescu's claws slithered to their full length. A figure stood in the mists ahead, swathed in a robe, bare feet squelching in the icy mud. Their hands were lifted.

Rose narrowed her eyes. Those fingers didn't end in claws.

"Not a lycan?" Dimitrescu muttered.

"Oh!" The voice wailed forth. "Great ones! You have returned to us once more!" The stranger tottered forward, hands still lifted- in...exaltation? Rose's frown got deeper. "You...you have been away for so, so long...so long...this place has...suffered, yes, suffered without your harmony providing balance to the land-"

"Stay the fuck back!" Rose ordered.

The stranger stumbled with an 'oh!' and collapsed to their knees. Their hood fell back, revealing a woman in her late twenties with a fine-boned, almost starved-looking face. Her head was roughly shaved, covered in tufts of hair and bloody scrapes. She wore a heavy collar of small bones and rocks; it jangled as she knelt there in the mud, her hands and feet blue with the cold.

"I beg your forgiveness," she cried. "Please, please, I am merely the messenger..."

"Messenger for what?"

"To invite you!" One arm swung back, pointing up toward the castle. "To my Great Lord's holy dwelling."

"Your great lord's?" Dimitrescu strode forward, lifting her claws. "I will show you who is the great one among-"

"Wait, wait." Rose hurried in front of Dimitrescu before she could slice the strange woman into lunch meat. "Wait. You live here? In the village. With the lycans?"

"Oh, yes. Since before! Before the Cataclysm." She nodded, her huge, pale green eyes glistening. "I cleaned the blood from the cells in the dungeons. Up in the castle. I was just a fool-headed child. No one paid attention to me. So when the dying started..."

She let out a little giggle. "...I hid, and watched the flames light up the skies, the Black God consumed! Devastation! And then, afterward, when the dark flooded in, I was found, and I was saved. By my Great Lord. He saved many of us. As many as he could wrest from the lycans."

Growls rippled through the darkness around them. The lycans had followed them. Rose's eyes darted from side to side; everywhere she looked shone eyes, teeth, fangs and crude weaponry.

In the distance-

A huge bellow shook the air, echoing through the mist. That sounded a hell of a lot bigger than the other lycans.

"Is your lord keeping them back now?" Rose asked quickly.

The other girl nodded. "It takes much of his power. But yes! He wished for you to be safe during your travels through his village."

"And if we don't accept your invitation?"

Those pale eyes widened. "Oh, please don't do that," she said.

Rose took a slow breath. The taste of rot, barely masked by the cold, burned in the back of her throat.

"Fine," she said. "Take us to your leader."

"He'll be so excited!" the stranger cried, scrambling ahead with a loping, stumbling gait that gave Rose the impression she was about to fall onto all fours. "There haven't been any new visitors for...for a long time! Just the lycans."

She giggled again. "And they aren't very good conversationalists."

Up the path, past the ruins of a tiny, ancient church. Rose blinked at the ornate stone gateway that had once heralded the entrance to the castle, had once borne the carvings of the warrior maiden and a demonic beast.

Now, the entire thing was swathed in a thick coating of glutinous green slime. It pulsated slightly, frog-spawn and membranous tissue, the smell bringing tears to Rose's eyes- worse than the rot, it smelled like when she'd pilfered a fifth of cheap whisky from Heisenberg's stash and chugged it all at once. She'd thrown up for what felt like hours until her mouth tasted like acid and regret. This was that, magnified.

A barrier of the stuff stretched over the gateway, but as their guide approached it melted away into a hissing, writhing pool.

Beyond the gateway-

The entire castle was covered in the stuff. What had once surely been a stream was now choked with the slime, the drawbridge caked in it, the castle walls dripping with a seemingly-endless coating. Through a gatehouse, up a long, curving path hemmed in by sheer stone walls- all was warped under a sea of green slime, plumes of steam rising from its surface to obscure the pale sky behind a muggy layer of clouds.

Inside was even stranger. Through a vast pair of bronze double-doors, shuddering wide at their guide's push, a once-gorgeous entry hall now flickered and hummed with the static from countless televisions.

Rose thought of Heisenberg's workshop under their apartment building, the dozens of televisions there, but these were stuck together with yet more slime. They cast their cold glow over gilt and Baroque fixtures, broken windows and parquet floors. A couple bore not static, but- Rose looked, incredulously, closer- old movies. Black and white.

Ooh, that one wasn't so old.

"Is that-" she started, then let out a laugh. "Holy shit, is that Fifty First Dates?!"

"Impossible," Dimitrescu said.

"I, I mean, unlikely, but-"

"Not that," she snarled. "This. This ruin."

She seemed to crackle with a kind of seething rage. She broke away from the group, approaching a huge painting set beneath a gilded arch. Even through the damp stains, Rose still made out the three young women on it, pretty brunettes dressed in 19th century gowns, their hair curled and set with ornaments.

Now, a particularly large television was shoved in front of them, blocking them from view.

"No!" Her howl echoed through the halls, scraping at Rose's guts. She turned and stalked away, ripping open one of the doors from the entryway with such force it cracked off its hinges.

"Wait!" their guide cried, wringing her hands together. "Wait- please!"

They hurried after her, through dark hallways encrusted in mucus, shattered picture frames and mauled furniture, the walls smeared with dark fluids for which Rose had no name. The stench of stomach acid, rot, and bile grew stronger as they wound deeper into the castle, at last emerging through a set of carved double doors and into a vast hallway.

Dimitrescu stood in its center, between four angelic statues now overgrown with slime, barnacle-like growths sprouting like extra eyes from their pale marble. She breathed hard, staring up a sweep of steps, at the thing waiting for them above.

For a heartbeat Rose thought it was a part of the slime that surrounded them, some mutant mass that had grown straight through the walls, busting open the gilding and gorgeous wood panels to become half creature, half architecture. Great tumorous swells of flesh and goo. Long, ropy tentacles, twisting and writhing slickly against the marble floor. Gills fluttering in random places, exposing incongruously-delicate interiors. What looked like fleshy sacs, pinkish and translucent and webbed with veins, inflated and deflated, and orifices gaped, expelling spills of radioactive-looking liquid that hissed on contact with the floor.

It towered over them, and past them, a vast, ever-moving, ever-twitching wall of fleshy matter, and Rose wondered for a lightheaded moment whether it extended back into the castle, taking up rooms like some fungal growth, propagating itself wherever there was empty space.

Eyes rolled within the mass, gleaming iridescent gold like a squid's, their U-shaped pupils contracting at the sight of Rose and Donna and Dimitrescu at the bottom of the stairs.

"You...you came!" The voice sputtered from one of the thing's orifices, along with a spray of green fluid. "My family...I thought...I thought I would never see you again!"

And Dimitrescu, who for the first time looked like a gust of wind would knock her down, said with blistering incredulity-

"Moreau?"

***

"Yes," Moreau said. "I look a little different, I...I know, but it's me! Are you not...are you not happy to see me?"

"No," Dimitrescu said. "I could never be happy to see you, you...you misshapen wretch, what have you done to my castle?"

She advanced on the thing at the top of the stairs, lifting her talons, pure fury in her eyes. "You've spread your foul rot and filth over my home! You've stolen what is rightfully mine! You've desecrated the tombs of my daughters!"

"Dimitrescu," Rose said, holding out her hand. "Don't- this isn't...this argument isn't worth it right now-"

"You dare," Dimitrescu screamed, drowning out Rose. "You dare to make a mockery of my castle!"

Rose glanced over at Donna, who'd retreated back toward the angel statues. There was another door there, stout and metal. Maybe they could get through it, if all this went to shit, if Lady Dimitrescu attacked Moreau.

But shadows rose from the slime- robed figures, like the girl with the shaved head, who'd gone to stand by the mass of flesh Moreau had become, one hand set lightly on his side, just over a set of gills. The others- worshippers? Devotees? Moreau-cultists?- all held weapons, ancient, corroded broadswords and battle-axes and maces, probably scavenged from the guts of Castle Dimitrescu when Moreau had taken it over.

Rose's hands were slick with sweat on her own sword, her mouth dry as she turned, looking for another way out, some way there wouldn't be a fight, but there was nothing.

They were surrounded.

"You...you aren't the queen bee here anymore, Alcina," Moreau said, from a different orifice. The voice from this one was lower-pitched, more slurred, vibrating in Rose's guts with a sinister note. "It's my turn now. You always hated me. All of you!"

One of the massive tentacles- its suckers barbed, Rose noticed with a white-hot jolt- heaved into the air, then slammed down, shaking the entire room.

Rose stumbled against Donna, clutching Angie, her too-quick breathing audible even through her veil.

"Every! Single! One of you!" Moreau shouted. "Always looking down on me, always making fun of me...I was the one who made the varcolac! I did! I figured it out! And I invited you here, and I was gonna be nice, I was gonna give you cheese and crackers and cookies and tea-"

"What do we do?" Donna whispered, her voice shaking.

"I don't- I don't know-" Rose hadn't planned for this. Salvatore Moreau was supposed to be dead, blown into sashimi and seagull food. How the hell had he survived? Had he regenerated like Dimitrescu? Not important questions right now.

Could they kill him? Maybe Dimitrescu could, but- but that stuff dribbling from him looked like acid, and Rose didn't know, with Dimitrescu's lack of fresh blood, how long her regeneration would hold against that. Without her, against the massive beast Moreau had mutated into, they wouldn't last a minute.

"Can you make him see stuff?" she stammered. "With your hallucinations?"

"No- there aren't any flowers- and it might just make this worse-"

There came the wet sound of blades in flesh; Dimitrescu had thrown herself at Moreau, tearing into the closest part of him she could reach, a blinding storm of blades and anger, snapping black hair and pale flesh and eyes ablaze.

Not for long.

Tentacles lifted, whipping through the air and slapping wetly against her, the ropy masses swiftly winding round her limbs and torso. She roared and slashed out, carving great, pale gouges into them, but they kept coming, and coming.

A tentacle snagged one wrist, then the other, wrenching Dimitrescu's arms straight out to either side. Her muscles bulged, veins standing out against her skin, but she was held in place, completely immobilized.

Donna screamed. Rose whirled as tentacles lashed around her, too.

"Donna," she gasped.

"Go-" Donna shoved her backward as a tentacle struck out, aimed to close around her own wrist. Rose sliced it in half; the pieces tumbled to the ground, splatting into goo on impact.

She dodged another tentacle, another, then tore her hand through the air, summoning a seething mass of mold around her that kept back the worst of Moreau's onslaught. She clenched her teeth against the strain, like supporting a weight over her head; sweat beaded on her forehead, her whole body shaking.

She couldn't hold this for long.

"Moreau!" she yelled. "Moreau, stop! We aren't here to hurt you-"

"Everyone says that," Moreau rumbled, somewhere in her periphery. His slime slithered toward the distant, painted ceiling, closing over the tangle of classical figures, transforming the entire castle hall into a cage of goo and bizarre aquatic growths. Acid seared down Rose's throat with each ragged inhale. White spots swam in her vision.

"Everyone always comes to hurt me," Moreau went on. "Always. Always. Mother said she needed weapons but she was lying, she just wanted...you. Her special child. And she was gonna hurt us all to get you. Ethan...Ethan wasn't ever meant to...he was supposed to be trapped, I was gonna eat him up and then he wouldn't hurt anything anymore-"

"He got out, right?" The strain was unbearable; red crackled in the corners of her eyes, muscles screaming for release. "He got out and he hurt you too?"

"I only wanted to do what Mother said. To protect the flask! But I wasn't important. I...I should have died rather than let her down-"

"No, no," Rose said quickly. "No, you deserved to survive, to...come back, look at all this you made- you were so smart to keep yourself safe in here so the lycans couldn't get you and all these people you helped-"

"And now you." This was the deepest voice yet, a subsonic rumble that ached in the back of Rose's teeth. There came the slick crackle of tearing flesh, and to Rose's horror, a split opened down Moreau's front, widening as she watched with wide eyes into- oh, god, into a mouth. A sawblade tangle of sharp teeth glistened within, broken-glass teeth, tiger shark teeth, dripping with acid and saliva, going down and down the maw forever.

"Mother's special girl," Moreau went on, a mocking twist darkening his childlike tone. "You came back to be like your nasty father. With my family, making fun of me, saying I don't deserve anything."

"No!" This time the word was a scream. Her whole body was on fire; she had seconds, if that. "Moreau, I came back to help you, to help you all, to save everything that was lost all those years ago- I just want to save you-"

"Liar!" Moreau howled. "Just! Like! Mother!"

The tentacles crashed in. Rose had no time to protest, no time to react, no time to cut herself free with her sword before a tidal wave of goo cascaded over her, sweeping her under and in, straight into the toothy maw of the monster itself.

[universe-of-heart]

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood

Jae Briarwood has been an advisor of the Iron Throne longer than anyone else could know. It is seemingly up to them to keep the realm and their pledged house from diving into a freefall. In a way, it reminds them of their first home. Old Valyria. Fallon Lannister despises how her family views her as a piece to play with. She despises the act of a lady her mother puppets her as. At ten-and-nine, she takes charge of her own life and it completely changes her previous trajectory. Years later, Raylen Stark finds herself in King's Landing to attend a celebration for the king and then unity of a once fractured house. Companionship is found in the least likely of places for the Northern girl between her, a prince, and the only other girl brave enough to know them both. Come along as we discover how the lives of these characters could have gone and how everyone around them can affect the narrative.

Cross-posted on AO3 under Finn_leyy Banners, headers, and dividers used in each chapter: The moon phase border by @samspenandsword MDNI banner by @cafekitsune, house dividers by @aemondtargaryenonlyfans

Chapter 1: The House a Dragon Built

Chapter 2: Heirs to the Iron Throne

Chapter 3: Two Proposals of a Different Kind

Chapter 4: Pain in Repeating Cycles

Chapter 5: Growth of New Beginnings

[lord-eddard-stark]

Hello,

This blog is only for Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, and Lord Regent. I won't post anything else. The main is @flyingkoalaandsloths

I already have hundreds of posts queued and will reblog many more. I usually go into one blog and like/queue everything Ned-related. You might get serial likes but the reblogs will be sporadical since I randomize the queue.

Everything is tagged. Also, there might be some nudity, they will be tagged "not sfw".

This blog is book-focused but since Season 1 was mostly book-accurate I might also reblog some GOT.

The profile pic is by Amok and the header is by Mariusz Gandzel.