#i think he'd notice his father never refers to him by name. or like he thinks of him as carlo.

[grandcovenant]

geppetto is so bold for bringing up that p hasn't inherited carlo's memories from his ergo as a negative point like that's not the luckiest thing that could've happened to him. can you IMAGINE if that puppet had actually woken up with carlo's full aware consciousness running it.

[flashypunches]

( REUPLOAD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT im so sorry )

You're someone who's held great resentment for your godfather.

For your first meeting, for his ego, for his murderous intent towards your father.

For his failure to provide comfort or understanding when your parents refused you as a son, when your friends have left you as a corpse.

You suffer through long years, sticking with him through thick and thin, because he’s the only one like you, the only other Death refused to take.

( The daughter he made, the cousin you mourned, Dani, is gone. She will not return to either of you. It is always his fault. )

Because he’s all you have left. The only one who wouldn't refuse you.

He moves you to a city that matches your dreary state. Vigilantes take residence, closing in on crime. Closing in on your godfather.

Vlad leaves. He doesn’t take you with him.

He leaves you his wealth, a place in a school that makes you miss home, and an order to never speak to the ones who made him run– the Waynes.

He doesn’t return. Never properly. You make due with phone calls and brief visits every now and then. You don’t mind, you preferred this more than his haphazard attempts at providing companionship when it was too late.

Your schoolmates does not like you. That is okay, even if it leaves you longing for friends.

( Sam and Tucker are in Amity and will stay there until they die. They would never come and visit a corpse like you. Not when you desecrate their friend's body, parading it around, like you're him. They know who you really are. They've always known, they just couldn't see sense before. )

But you find someone who could be one.

He is prickly, rude, disliked less, but disliked nonetheless. But he is the only other person who does not care about your worn out shoes, for your scars, your clammy skin, all the things that made your parents refuse you as a son, as sentient— or about you coming in the middle of the school year.

You care not about his attitude, desperation clawing at your mind for any form of socialization not from Vlad or who he calls company.

You make quick work of befriending him, a shared rivalry for an annoying schoolmate pulling you close together.

You learn his interests, his pets, his family. You know his name but do not ask for it. Willful ignorance could be considered bliss. Just for a moment.

He lets you stay at his house for a night, though his siblings push the matter more enthusiastically. You do not see his father.

( “He’s on a business trip.” Daniel blinks, looking up at his friend.

“Who?” he asks, despite knowing there’s only one person that Damian could be referring to.

Damian tsked automatically, “My father, you imbecile. He will return in two weeks notice.”

Daniel thinks of his godfather, of his various excuses over the years to many people, including him. But instead of telling Damian the likely truth, that his father won’t return, never like how his best friend wants him too, an “Okay” comes out in place of it.

Let him bask in ignorance, Daniel tells himself, Let your friend have this. )

His father comes back. You don’t call Vlad when he forgets you. For all he wanted you as a son, now he never tries to treat you as such.

You continue the cycle of avoiding an empty house, of sleep-overs, of waiting for something to happen.

And something does. Your godfather comes back. He lies to you that he won’t leave again. He says that he will stay longer, that the family who tried to run him out won’t succeed again.

You do not think of your best friend. Why would he even care?

Your godfather treats you like he had before, when you still had your friends, your home. Like you are a misbehaving child, and him, the tired parent.

( Shouts of an argument ring from an dead manor, before being shut out to the upstairs.

Daniel slammed the door, not caring if Vlad had heard it or not. Ancients, he'd forgotten how much of an utter fruit-loop Vlad was. He gritted his teeth, rubbing the bruise left on his wrist by the man.

Why'd he expect anything different? Vlad was just going to be his usual nutty self, and go back to treating him like he was still some misguided kid, that he would just come around to playing nice with Vlad.

The wood of the door was smooth, most likely sanded down from any splinters by the past families who lived here. Daniel moved his fingers along the grooves, faintly remembering how he had done this before, when he was better. He bit his tongue, ignoring the bitter taste of ectoplasm it brought forth.

He hadn't thought of who he was before since he'd ran. He hadn't been this angry at Vlad since he ran. He hadn't felt so like himself after he ran.

Daniel would be lying if that thought didn't make him feel just a little bit better.

He let his head fall into his knees, back leaning against the wooden door, limbs sagging. He did not cry, because the Danny from the empty home did not do that. )

It irks you, but not like before. Maybe you were doing something right if he’s treating you like this now, treating you normally. Maybe you’re back to who you were before, before the rejection scarred you.

Damian notices the change in your personality, as you notice his change in costume. He is on the rooftops, in the streets, cloaked in muted colors, not unlike your own old costume, and his family knows your godfather is back.

When you come back to school after a week of Vlad trying to bond with you without success, Damian doesn’t say a word about your godfather.

You don’t either. What even is there to say?

“Oh, I know that you are investigating my godfather, and that you’re a vigilante, surprise!”

You would have been killed ages ago if that was your response.

Your friend does not invite you over anymore. You know why, understand why but it still stabs your core, in the way a butter knife does to wood. Dents it but does not cut.

You repeat the loop of boring conversation, of stilted companionship. You grow tired of it, as you always do.

Vlad's signature is easy to forge. You get to skip your classes under the guise of it being a family emergency.

( Damian is near the gate when he gets off the bus. Daniel's ratty sneakers are hitting the ground, as he walks over to him.

The weight of his backpack feels heavy, the evidence that Daniel had stuffed inside not helping his back. Damian twirls around at his steps, a scowl already on his lips.

Daniel smiles back, readjusts the straps on his shoulders. He whispers to Damian, uncaring of the fight currently breaking out in the front, the fight that Damian is watching, "I'm getting out of school today, wanna come with?"

His friend tears his eyes away from the brawl, looking intrigued at Daniel's offer.

Damian considers the chance. The thought of having to sit through another day of school with only Jon for mild company sickens him.

"I suppose I can, though if this is a trap Masters, then let it be known that—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you in still?" Daniel flashes his (only) friend a cheesy grin, ignoring Damian's eye-roll at his theatrics.

"..Yes."

-

The route to the local park is quick, though slowed by the need to be away from the public's eyes, lest they be caught right away in their venture.

Daniel gasps in a breath, ancients, did he need to jog way more. Damian easily strides beside him, the only sign that he was showing off being the smug gleam in his green eyes. Bastard.

The papers, the records, the flash-drive, all weigh down his back. Vlad has definitely noticed them missing, and he most definitely knows who took them.

But Daniel didn't care, not right now, because right now, he was spending time with his bestest friend in the whole wide world, and he'll deal with Vlad later. )

You drag Damian over to a secluded bench, taking no mind to the mutations Poison Ivy has given the plants near. The backpack is emptied, and you guide your only friend to the path that leads to Vlad's destruction.

The dread fades away, the high of adrenaline taking its place, at the crimes left behind in pieces, put back together in a backpack, and let loose into the hands of your only friend.

It feels good, like something’s been taken off your shoulders. You know that Vlad has anticipated you telling someone about what he’s done. He’s still not leaving.

Your high is running down, as you start to beg Damian not to arrest him, lying to your only friend that Vlad is a better man, and doesn't deserve to rot in a cell. You know that when you take a separate route to your homes, that he’ll tell anyway.

You can’t bring yourself to care. Vlad’ll just weasel out of it, as he always does.

He knows what you did, doesn’t bring it up, with the only sign being a watchful eye whenever you’re back in his grasp.

You get invited to a gala by your friend. You accept, uncaring of Vlad's reaction.

Your friend gets held ransom. No one’s worried, no one feels anything but annoyance. You stay away, not wanting to feel your core straining to help, to protect.

The Bats swoop in to help. You ignore the envy at their luck at having a team of other heroes to depend on.

( Your friend ) The Waynes send people after your godfather. He tries to bribe his way out of the charges, out of the jail cell that cannot hold him. They leave with him in tow.

You start staying overnight at your friend’s house even more. Damian doesn’t say a word about it.

His father does. His siblings do.

They talk about adopting you, they fight about Vlad, about what they are meant to do with your godfather, and what to do with poor old Danny. You don’t listen in much. They remind you of your parents, just a little bit. It hurts.

Vlad is let go. False charges, apparently. You know he just bribed the judge and juries.

He wants to talk to you, intent on having a conversation that lasts more than five minutes without shouting and tears ending it.

I'm sorry for not being there, please, give me forgiveness, are the only things you remember from the conversation. You do not give him what he wants, but the conversation doesn't end in slammed doors and withheld tears.

You sleep under his roof for the first time in weeks, the most civil conversation you’ve ever been with him looping in your mind. You even wonder if he’ll let you go to your friend’s birthday party.

You don’t sleep at your friend’s house as much. There’s not much need to anymore.

You wake up one night, to hear the sounds of ectoblasts and footsteps. They are on the roof, and you know what they’re here for.

You go ghost, going up the roof, watching invisibly as Plasmius shoots at the vigilantes who yell about something. You stay like that for a moment. You almost decide to let him go.

He's the only one you have left, to leave him, to abandon him, is to leave the last person in your corner. That thought is the only reason why you lift your thermos up, capturing Vlad in one fell swoop, before he leaves too.

The vigilantes are not pleased, as the Bat barks out orders to find you. You can imagine Vlad is the same, fuming at your disrespect inside the can.

With Vlad in your thermos, the Bats on your tail, there is no hope in your mind of getting out of Gotham with everything you need.

Oh Danny, what are you going to do?

[zero-and-crew]

Anti!AU :D

So! At least 70 people voted yes on this poll we posted here ! Which means there's a few people who decided they're interested in hearing about our AU idea! Information under the cut!

(Adult) Anti!Irep Reference image!

This was a collab piece with @bubbleberryuniverse ! It did the line art :3 it also has its own au, Petrified!Peri ! You should check that out!!!

Content warnings for kidnapping !

The AU starts during the events of Fairly Oddbaby, when Anti-Cosmo manages to get his hands on Peri— and successfully take him to a second location. (The location is unknown to anyone but AC! And Wanda, Cosmo and Timmy— along with pretty much every fairy in fairy world) search EVERYWHERE they can think of for poor little Peri.

Anti-Wanda is kept there too, for a short time. That way she can't accidentally foil his plans. And, she gets to help take care of the cute little bouncing ball of a baby.

Anti-Cosmo keeps him there to keep him hidden, he doesn't start to drain the babies magic like he does in the original episode— his plans are much more long term. His plans are to raise Peri, who is still called Poof at this time in the AU, to use his magic for evil. (Side note, I'm not thinking AC would torture Peri! I imagine he'd be like an emotionally distant dad or teacher at worst, if that makes sense?)

Peri, still a baby, is slowly turning evil. It's how he's being raised, after all. His mind is being filled with evil thoughts, ideas and beliefs. There's still a piece of him that's nice... deep down.. Somewhere. But he's losing more of it as the days go by. He's never known anything other than this life with AC, and occasionally getting visits from AW.

The specifics of this aren't quite figured out yet, but, after several invasions from the fairies searching for Peri, they slowly start to lose hope. Some probably thinking the fairy baby was never born, some might think he died. Whatever it is, the searching slowly stops.

Then, suddenly, a square anti-fairy baby named Foop is born.

But no one notices. No one cares.

Except his parents, of course!

Both of them are excited to have their own son— just as they are in the original! Anti-Wanda might be a bit of an idiot, and Anti-Cosmo may be emotionally lacking as a father, but they are happy to have him! Honestly! Anti-Cosmo even takes him to meet Peri! But... his son doesn't seem too excited about what he's doing. Maybe with time, he'll grow to enjoy helping out! Right?

Irep doesn't talk about those days, ever. The only three people who truly know what went down are Anti-Cosmo, Peri, and Irep.

Well.. One day, Irep had enough. He was tired of being used to help train his counterpart— it hurt. It hurt him in many ways. But with his limited knowledge of the world, it took him a while. Eventually, he found some fairies who might be willing to help an anti-fairy.

EDIT: We have more for this! We just have to draw up Peri's ref, and wanted to start small. If it gets enough engagement, we might make a sideblog for the au specifically.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

A Father's Love (If you can call it that)

The reader is gender neutral but is John Kramer's child. Kramer's kid and Hoffman have been in a secret relationship that they think Kramer doesn't know about until he decides to cross a line and test Hoffman's Loyalty to you in the only way John Kramer knows how.

Notes: Minors DNI, No smut but not SFW. Gender neutral reader with no major pronouns used, probably a random they/them scattered throughout.

Your head pounded as your eyes cracked open. Your head felt heavy as you raised it up to peer around the room you had come too in. The room looked all too familiar to rooms you had seen in your father's traps.

You felt yourself freeze when an old model tv that you hadn't yet noticed in the corner of the room lit up. A grainy image of your father's puppet coming into view as you were suddenly met with two ugly truths.

Your head, felt heavier then usual due to the fact you were strapped into what your father referred to as a reverse bear trap. Something you had only ever seen in his drawings and models but never seen in action. A trap your boyfriend, his apprentice, Mark Hoffman has also come face to face with a time before that he didn't like to talk about.

The second ugly truth was the fact that you were now front and center in one of your own fathers traps. You thought yourself to be safe as John Kramer's only living child, surely blood is thicker then water, right?.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as the puppet on screen began to talk directly to you.

"Hello Y/n, my beloved child" It started, your own fathers voice echoing through your ears, you still couldn't bring yourself to think he'd actually do this to you.

"For this last year you and detective Mark Hoffman have been hiding something from me. I have given you two all the time to come to me with this so we can sort things out but that offer has come up empty."

Your blood ran cold, your father knew about you and Mark? Where even was Mark? was your father testing him too?

"Therefore I have decided that it is time to test the both of you, so I can see where Mark's loyalties truly lie when it comes to you. Mark has been placed somewhere in the basement of this building and will have 30 minutes starting now to find you and use the key on the inside of the door to set you free from the bear trap."

Your eyes flicked to the red timer over top of the door now reading 29 as the time ticked down from 30. With the bear trap in your mouth you weren't able to scream to help Mark find you. Your father knew exactly what he was doing.

"If Detective Hoffman fails to find you within the 30 minutes, the trap will go off putting an end to your and Hoffman's secret rendezvous and telling me everything I need to know about Detective Hoffman"

You started to sob around the trap, Your hands balling into fists as much as the restraints would let you. Somewhere in the distance you could hear Mark barreling through the house while yelling your name.

The tape clicked off as your eyes focused on the timer steadily ticking down above the door. The image was blurred through your tears but you could make out a 25. Five minutes had already passed as you were trying to keep yourself from panicking.

Your father had told you once, that most of the people he had trapped their downfall wasn't him. It was the fact that they panicked. Your eyes began scanning the room for something you could try and knock over to indicate to Mark which room you were in.

You noticed a rolling cart that was in kicking distance and the fact that your legs weren't restrained. This is exactly what your father wanted to happen you thought. You kicked the rolling cart as hard as you could and sent it into the stand that the tv was sitting on, Knocking the tv over and breaking it.

"Y/n? Baby?!" You could hear Mark yell from somewhere much closer then before, It had worked, Mark was getting closer.

Your eyes quickly scanned for something else you could use to make more noise as you heard Mark's footsteps towards what you could only assume was the end of the hallway. Your flicked up to check the time the clock above the door read 15 minutes left, you had to hurry and get mark here.

Your eyes met an old standing lamp in reach of your chair. Without hesitating you lifted your foot up and smashed it as hard as you could. Knocking the lamp over and breaking the shade and bulb inside of it.

"Y/n!" You heard Mark yell as his footfalls stopped outside the door you were in. You let out a muffled scream hoping to whatever god that he heard you.

Your prayers were answered as with three giant crashes he had broken through the door and spilled into the room. His eyes met yours as the relief of seeing you and anger at your father washing over him. He started to approach you but you shook your head and frantically motioned to the key hanging by the door.

Mark, having worked with your father before, picked up what you meant and turned to look for the key. Your eyes caught a red 10 flash above the door as Mark frantically looked, his fingers finally finding the cold metal of the key to the trap.

The clock red 8 minutes when he finally made his way over to you and slipped the key into the lock of the trap on your head. Disconnecting it from you and throwing it across the room.

Your sobs and the sound of Mark trying to calm you down as he untied you from the chair were the only things heard in the room after the clock had stopped ticking. Once you were untied Mark sat back on the floor as you slipped from the chair into his lap as he held you.

"It's ok sugar I promise" He shushed you "shhh Baby your safe now, I got here in time, You made noise to tell me where to go and I got here in time baby"

You buried your head in his neck as he rocked the two of you back and forth as your sobs died down.

"M-my dad" your voice broke as you talked "H-he was gonna kill me Mark" You brought your head from his neck and your eyes met his as fury washed over them at your father.

"I know sugar, He told me on my tape what he did, How he's known about us for a year and this is what we were getting for not telling him, he didn't tell me what trap you were in so I didn't know you couldn't scream for me and let me know where you were" He told you as he brought his hands up to cup your face and used his thumbs to dry your tears.

You put your hands over top his as you closed your eyes to try and take in everything that had transpired over the last 20 or so minutes. If your dad thought everything after this was just going to go back to normal he was wrong, so very wrong and you were almost certain Mark felt the same.

'What's that?" You heard Mark ask, You opened your eyes to see him Looking at the chair you were strapped to. You turned and followed his line of site to see a tape player taped to a leg of the chair.

One placed just perfectly that you wouldn't have noticed it while you were still sitting in the chair. Mark brought you into him once again, holding you to him with one arm while the other reached for the tape player and ripped it from the leg of the chair.

He leaned back once again and pressed the play button. The two of you waited as you heard crackling followed once more by the voice of your father.

"If the two of your are listening to this tape then that means Mark has successfully found you and disarmed the trap" You shut your eyes and leaned against Mark as he scoffed at your fathers words.

"Now I can reveal to the two of you, that had Mark failed in finding you the trap would not have gone off when the timer ran out. What you are wearing is a prototype that still doesn't work. A simply for show model if you will"

You looked up at Mark as you felt him begin to shake with anger that your father would not only make you think you were about to die but toy with you by using a fake trap.

"I'm sure the two of you are none to happy with my decision to do this. But as a father I needed to test the loyalty that you, Detective Hoffman have for my child. Mark's urgency to get to you and disarm the trap before it went off whether it was fake or not shows not only the respect he has for me and my traps to not for a second think they were fake or a joke but the loyalty and urgency he has to protect my child even if it means nearly costing him his life as in the basement he ran into various traps himself."

"What traps were in the basement Mark?" You asked him, He shook his head running a hand through your hair.

"Don't worry about it honey, worry about whether or not I'm going to kill your father for doing this to you" He said as the tape continued.

"There are a set of keys I placed inside the tv for the front door of the house so you two may leave and come back to the warehouse so we can discuss this further. I want to fully explain my reasonings of why I did this to the two of you even though I do not expect that to quell your anger at all. I will see the two of you when you return to the warehouse" the tape cut off.

Mark jerked his arm throwing the player against the wall and smashing it into millions of pieces of the cheap plastic it was made out of. You curled back into Mark, the last thing you wanted to do was go and face the man who had done this to you even if that man was your father.

"What are we gonna do Mark?" You said quietly.

"I don't know honey, I honestly don't have a fuckin clue" He replied holding you ever so slightly tighter.

"The only thing I do know is things aren't going to go back to the way they were, not after what that motherfucker did to you. No way" He seethed, You nodded in agreement.

Your father had crossed a line tonight. The burning of a bridge had begun and if it was up to Mark it would never be fixed.

[myechoecho]

The Double, Ep 15-16

I loved these two episodes!

Of course they met at the brothel. What's interesting here is that Li is the one to instigate the bit of flirting because she thinks he's here to see her. Which yes, he thought he'd see her in Luyang just not at a brothel. When the Wu Lan interrupts them and deliberately gives Li the wrong impression, Li is hurt and yes, jealous, that he's really there on business and not explicitly there to see her.

The Duke does not know how handle the mess Wu Lan deliberately created and desperately wants to fix it with Li. But the Wu Lan takes pity on him and tells him that Li is jealous. Which gives him pause and hope that Li does have feelings for him.

One thing I love the most about the Duke is how much he believes in Li and respects her intelligence. He chastises his underling when he thinks he is underestimating Li. "You never learn your lesson. Why do you still dare to underestimate her?". He doesn't know what Li will do, but he does trust her to do it.

The Duke knows why Mr Li invites him to watch the "play"at Lizheng Hall. He sees Li there and just waits. Once Li finally makes her move, he really sits up and pays attention. When Mr Li expresses surprise that Li would stand up for the Ye family, he basically tells him in his Duke way to shut up and pay attention. Li hasn't even started yet.

He loves watching her display her intelligence; he's turned on by it. Look at his face when she stats to tear the official apart:

I love their little interaction after the play. Neither want to give an inch. And while the Duke does get tiny, slight upper hand, he relents and asks her "Can you just let me let me win for once?". Which essentially acknowledges the power she has over him. Still, he does explain who Wu Lan is, as much as he's able to. Judging from Li's smile, she is happy with this explanation and that he wasn't at the brothel for carnal reasons.

At the same time, she refuses to let him know that she understood his message so he's left wondering.

I love the drinking scene! The Duke drops everything, though his investigation is coming to a critical point, to go to Li. He at first was going to let her do her thing, but then she asks him to drink for her. He started to reply that she should beg him and before he can finish, she does beg. He's surprised by this. Once he confirms that it won't be on her tab (which lets be real there is no tab where she is concerned despite what he says), she agrees to let him take over the drinking.

I like how the under lord cannot figure out if the Duke is her saviour or enemy. Even more, the under lord has a tie to the Duke's father. Li and the Duke's differing agendas are getting more and more intertwined.

Despite being drunk, Li still has enough sense to realize that she'll need to do something. It did not escape my notice that in her inner monologue she refers to the Duke by his name, Xiao Heng. I'm not even sure knows she did this. She comes up with the plan to use the fireworks and gets the Duke to shake the dice.

He immediately knows that she's has a plan and does it without hesitation. Once he understands what she's doing he's again turned on and proud of her. I think he likes seeing this side of her, the one that is more free. He also takes the time to ask what is most important on his mind - is she still upset with him?

I am so excited for the next episodes.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

37 - The Crows and The Sight

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

Length: 21.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, references to torture/rape/mutilation, trauma flashbacks, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, soft dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, bdsm/bondage

Notes: Jon's brain broke a little during this one, didn't it? Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“I've never seen you down here so much before, I don't think.”

Her voice echoed as she walked towards Jon. The cool air of night was a little less harsh down in the crypts, closer to the ground with torches lighting the whole path. Jon barley glanced to his sister before turning away to where he had kept finding himself. “Never had much of a reason too until I came back.”

But that reason then, was the one buried a few feet from where Jon stood. As Arya came up to his side, she felt strange looking at it as it felt to hear the truth. Neither said a word for a moment, letting the quiet sit between them as Arya did what Jon kept doing. Looking for him in the face of her statue, and finding not anything near what they both once wished they would learn.

“Still strange to think about. It was her all this time.” Jon nodded, his jaw clenched more as he felt that similar strain in his chest. His heart hurt thinking about it. About how he was even here. He was her son, but if he could take back what it cost to bring him into this world, he would. No one deserved that, let alone his own mother. Arya looked up to him from where she stood, seeing the conflict in how tense he had been. “When I got angry, I didn't mean any of it about her.”

As his voice low and rough, he barley managed to mutter out, “I know.” Arya was finally starting to understand a bit of how Jon must have felt talking to their father about it. Now that he knew the truth, he barley wanted to say anything. He barley wanted to talk about her. But Jon found himself unable to change that.

He didn't want to talk about the worst parts of his life as it was, let alone this.

But what he did talk about, was the one they both knew. “It's not easy to accept. That everything I thought I didn't understand about him, was all beacuse of me. Spent my whole life wishing he'd pay attention to me the way he did Robb.” They both stood quiet for a moment, his voice low enough were it not silent in the crypts none may have heard him. “For a while, I thought he left me to the Wall beacuse he didn't care. Got there and it was worse then anyone had told me, and I thought that meant he thought that's the future I deserved.”

Arya tried to interrupt him, something just as quiet but more desperate in her voice as she look up at him. “He always loved you, he loved all of us.” Jaw even more clenched, he nodded and willed the pressure behind his eyes not to sting.

He still was not strong enough to want to cry in front of his mother, let alone his baby sister. “Lord Howland said what they did to the Targaryean children, they would've done to me if they found out.” Neither of them quite noticed just how separated he phrased that. “The Wall was the only place far enough away that King Robert might not have been able to get to me. That's why he let me go. I asked Uncle Benjen to convince father to let me go, but he only agreed beacuse he wanted me as far away from the crown as possible.”

Her voice still was quiet, more easily full of a heavy emotion then Jon let his. “That's why he wouldn't name you a Stark. He didn't want any more attention on you then there had to be.”

It explained a lot the more he thought about it. Why he refused to talk about his mother, tell him her name or what she looked like. Why he kept Lady Catelyn just as in the dark about it, and put up with the problems between them. But Jon didn't want to think about her either, beacuse then he and Arya would have to face what she had become, what she tried to do. And neither of them were ready for that either.

Jon hadn't once taken his eyes off of Lyannas statue, he was still as much a Stark he always thought he had been, but now it hurt far more then the actual lie ever did. “The last thing my mother did was beg father to protect me. Begged him to promise to keep me safe.” That sting begun and his face twisted almost in frustration over it. “I only ever had a week with her, and the one thing my mother did before she died was beg father to protect me.”

“He did the best he could.”

Jon nodded, his voice just as strained. “He did. I just hope he knows that, knows that I still love him.”

If it were any of his siblings other then Arya, he wouldn't have felt comfortable enough letting something so raw slip out. But she wouldn't judge him for it as he wouldn't had it been her. “Right before Joffery ordered Illyn Payne to take his head, Cersei tried to convince him to send him to the Nights Watch.”

That pain in his heart, just radiated a little stronger in him as she continued. “No one thought he'd confess to treason beacuse he didn't do anything wrong, but he did. To protect Sansa, to protect me.” There was a pause a she considered how to phrase it but came out on the other side with the most simple of it. “And beacuse if he was at the wall, father knew he could still protect you.”

Jon's chest genuinely hurt, the pain growing and growing. He had said that day to Maester Aemon, that if choosing between love and duty, his father would choose duty no matter what. But he didn't. His father chose love in the end, in more then one way. To protect his daughters, and maybe even, to protect him. Jon felt that strange twist of warmth yet agony, knowing he had more of a father in Ned Stark then he ever once previously thought.

But it wasn't quite his father his mind had begun thinking about as they stood there.

The past few days especially, there had been a few boy names running through Jons head. But it was the only easy thought in his head as he looked up at the statue where his mother was buried. That he hoped you would let him give you a daughter. And he hoped you both would be able to raise her the way his mother never had the chance to for himself. He had a few boy names for the father and brothers hes lost along the way. But Jon wanted a daughter too.

Even just one, so he could name her Lyanna.

The night felt as if it were going easy, but the longer it went on the more you thought to what was coming. You both had agreed to it, and discussed it at length. More length then you think you understood it had so much detail given to you, but you agreed to it. Night when little was around, and when the sky was bright and clear so little could cloud your mind if such things were possible.

You did not know Lord Howland well still, but he knew much of you. If just what was possibly happening to your mind, even if neither of you had the proper ways to explain it. All he knew was from what he saw of raising his son, and could only guide you from that as he knew it. No matter how much what you might see continued to frighten you.

It seemed from what you could gather, the people who may have answers more would be the free folk, living with wonders beyond the wall as if normal. But as it stood, the ones you knew, weren't currently here and so it left you and Lord Howland to bond. He knew as soon as you told him you dreamt of that day in Dorne, what that meant.

The Godswood felt even colder then normal, as if the nighttime around surrounded your bones even no matter what you could have done to change it. If any ears were listening, it would make little sense to who was there. “If this wasn't the it worked for your son, why do you think it would me?”

Lord Howland walked calm and quiet beside you, as Ghost followed close on the other. The moon high in the sky, no fire was even needed to see, the moonlight shining against the white snow all around as bright as a sun could. “He was only a boy with dreams, but that is how it seems you started, your grace. It begins with dreams, but in lesser time you have surpassed ever what Jojen was able too.”

It felt quiet, very quiet. As if the time had put everything to sleep but you three in the thick woods surrounded the area. “I thought you said he has the Sight.”

You wondered if this sort of confusion was how it felt when the Reed children showed up to help Bran, the confident calm in the man beside you speaking of things you barley comprehended, but had to trust despite how little your brain was wrapping around it. “The Sight, dreams, they are all things which guide others. They are gifted from one with greater abilities to help aid in whatever goals they need people like us to do. My son was gifted the Sight to aid Brandon Stark, perhaps it has been gifted to you for a greater purpose. If your dreams have become visions this strong, then something much stronger then your mind alone might be needed to understand it.”

As the Weirwood came into sight, you shook your head as the pain increased behind it. “And you think Weirwoods have something to do with that?”

His eyes stretched upwards to look upon how red it shined even now, much like the eyes of the direwolf watching in a protective silence. “The First Men believed that greenseers could see through the eyes of the Weirwoods. That the faces in the trees are involved. Somehow connections to them let those with such abilities see things beyond the world you and I can with our own two eyes.”

Coming up beside him, you found something intimidating for the first time about it. A fear of what your mind could become. But it was not stopping, and you had to do something. If you could understand even a sliver of it, maybe that would help. But you had no understanding of what to do, and Lord Howland could only give so much to that. “So, what do I do?”

Turning with nerves running ragged through your limbs wanting to shake, he merely stepped forward as his hand moved from where he had them clasped behind his back to gesture the carved face. “If answers lay here, your grace, only they know how to do it.”

Turning away, you could see Ghost circling around as if to find a point to keep eyes on you properly at any angle. The face sat as it always did, but the only time you came here wondering why you. Whatever this was, why you, why now, why so sudden and why had it taken over your life without any control?

If it was them, what did they want from you? You were nothing to the kinds of old powers Howland Reed spoke of. You weren't even a Northerner. But you stepped forward. Pulling a glove off, you let your fingertips hovered and traced over the white of the bark and felt nothing but as it always stood. Still no answers came, but you kept on there anyways, hoping whatever could see through the faces weren't laughing at you a foolish Southern girl pretending she mattered to their purpose.

Glancing back, your lips parted as if wanting to say something in doubt but you found nothing but a reassuring nod from the man to continue. He was patient if nothing else. Circling along it's surroundings, you felt nothing and nothing as your hand found itself flat upon the bark. Suddenly, you could hear the barking of Ghost without seeing him, until that barking turned to many and more and even though in the same castle walls, everything was different.

Everything was worse, and you had not the consciousness to know why in your present.

The air was grim, though it always was now. He made sure of it. In the thin dresses given to you, there was nothing but a shift under to hide the rest and only you were lucky if the sleeves were long enough you could hide your hands within them.

He did this often, found ways to make a spectacle of how little you could fight back in front of others, just letting it happen so he would not take it out of them and he knew it. So he instead, always made it a show for no pleasures but him and his hounds. Those same hounds you could hear barking up a storm not so far from where you stood.

Ramsay would starve them for days so they would run rabid and aggressive, these big, terrifying hounds that were trained only for him. You were lucky since reaching Winterfell, Roose Bolton would not allow you to leave the castle walls at all. So you were spared from the terror of him using them to hunt you through the woods, as he would force you and Theon to watch him do to others on the journey here.

He loved that. Bringing his vile mistress with him, and together they would drag you and Theon with them to watch them hunt down whomever they saw fit. Sometimes Ramsay would kill them, sometimes Myranda would, many times though, he'd let his hounds tear them to shreds. At least here, he would only throw you in with them if he saw fit.

You'd rather it be done sooner, then be chased and have it end after thinking only long enough you could escape. Once Ramsay and his hounds chased you, there was no way of escaping him. He'd find you, and if you were lucky, would kill you quick.

But today wasn't about hunting, it was about torment. His favourite past time with his two playthings and it was now your turn to bare the brunt of it. “You look cold, my bride.”

Everyone was looking, you knew it, you could feel their eyes and wished they all would turn away and let you be shamed in private. But you were not so lucky, you were the only entertainment Ramsay saw fit to provide.

“Of course, you're not wearing much. Not that you need too, an obedient little bride you are, giving your soon to be husband access whenever he pleases.” His voice slunk up behind you, into your ear and made you shiver with a desperation to escape it. But he would not let you. Circling around like prey to his hunt and dangling you over the burning fire. “Isn't she so well trained? Of course, what use is being available to me at all times if no one truly sees that?”

Hands slunk over you, running along the back of your neck before grabbing hold of it with a roughness that jostled you, your heart speeding up trying not to flinch but failing anyways. He knew you wouldn't speak, wouldn't say a word. Not like this. You made it worse when you talked and you'd rather save that suffering from pity.

“But we aren't married just yet. And a good little bride doesn't whore herself out to any man who comes by asking for it. A good bride waits for her husband to break her in, but that isn't you is it? If I am to be your husband, why don't I deserve a wife that hasn't been broken in already?”

You weren't his wife, you never would be. You were Robb's wife, you were his. He was your husband, not this. It wasn't allowed to be this, and the sting behind your eyes grew. You would cry the second you were given any privacy alone, but never here. Your tears were only for Robb's memory, not Ramsay's cruelty.

His voice became louder, “Maybe the good people would like proof it isn't my fault I have such a whore for a bride. Show them who she really is, so they understand how much work is cut out for me.” Deep in your ear you stiffened and he grinned. “Tell me, do you miss your precious wolves? Would you like to see them again?”

End it now, you begged. End it now, slit your throat and be done with it so you could see your wolf again. But he didn't, he grinned, and stood somewhat behind you, hands on your shoulders as he spoke louder to the eyes of people with no other choice but to watch. “Were I a generous man, I'd do so right here. Prove my own brides worth, let my hounds out and take you themselves. But it wasn't hounds you loved, was it? No, it was your precious wolves that took your innocence when it belongs to me.”

It belonged to Robb. It still belongs to Robb, it always will.

One hand moved down to his waist before trailing up your front between your breasts now with a blade tracing the path with him. The edge just barley able to be heard tearing slight twinges of fabric as he once more grinned. “If you're a lucky girl, I'll find you a pack of real wolves to replace all your dead ones. Strip you right down,” A tear at your front, the fabric between your beasts tearing to expose the thin shift underneath as he continued to pull it downward. “And throw you in with them. We could all finally see our Queen in the North back where she belongs.” One much more aggressive tear, and the dress split enough he could tear it off.

Only your shift remained and you felt your limbs freezing already, your body shaking but you said not a word. “Just something for the wolves to fuck until I kill all of them too. Would you like that, my bride?”

That time, saying nothing was the wrong choice. A smack was felt across the back of your head with the blunt handle of the knife, before he circled round you. Kneeling to meet your eyes, asking again. “I asked if you'd like that?” Once more, you said nothing and that time his own hand smacked you hard enough you fell.

Freezing hands falling to break your fall in the snow as you felt shivering appear all over. “Speak up now, let everyone hear what a little whore my bride always has been.”

Your mind and the memory connected in one instance as a pair of hands grabbed you by your upper arms in front of you. But Ramsay wasn't grabbing you like that, he was behind you now, knife to your shift hissing in your ear as he tempted slicing the rest of it all open the and there.

An entrancing rasp you never thought would grace your mind ever again floated through the air, and warmth that pulled you into a softness. Until you gasped as they said your name louder then Ramsay did.

Weakly did your hands raise up as your mind returned, hands now sat high on Jons chest, his own cupping your cheeks looking you over, murmuring your name softly before surging forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling back he ran a hand over your hair cupping the back of your head. “Hey, you're alright. It's alright, darling, I've got you.”

If it was just slight fear, he might not have gone against what Howland Reed told him, which was to leave you be in the Sight. But you knew, that Jon could tell what specific terror you were seeing. But you wouldn't say it, not to Jon. Some things about Ramsay he didn't ever need to know.

Shaking your head, Jon helped you stand properly from where you seemed to have found yourself more knelt to the ground as you were there. Turning slightly to the side, his voice a tad louder. “Give me a moment with her.”

Lord Howland leaving with a small bow of, “Your Grace,” before leaving just the cold air between you, Jon and Ghost watching silently close by.

The hand still on your cheek ran back and forth, the warm leather soothing the cold against them as he let the hand at your hair rake through it gently again. His voice a low rasp only for you, “You saw Ramsay didn't you? Wherever you were in there.” Nodding, he sighed out, your hands trailing up so one ran along the skin to the back of his neck. “I don't want you out here doing this, if it's going to make you relive these things.”

Shaking your head, both of you noticed the lack of conviction in your own voice. “Jon, it's important I understand whatever this is.” Letting your other hand run down his chest until it slunk beneath his fur cloak to rest at his waist you pulled him just a tad closer as you felt another shiver. “Sometimes it may mean I see things I don't want too.”

“I don't want you going through all that again, what he did to you? You were finally starting to feel better, but now..” He didn't want your mind going back, neither did you, but you didn't like many places your mind and person were taken now.

Your heart felt heavy at the wide, bright look in his eye of something mixing with a heavy worry with a gentle affection. “Everything I've seen, it has to mean something. Maybe it's trying to show us an answer.” Asking to what, you hesitated before your shoulders dropped as did your confidence. “To a question we don't know yet, perhaps. I need to do this, I have to understand it. It's not going away so we have to deal with it.”

Forehead dropping to yours, he sighed deeply. “The second it starts to be too much, I need you to tell me. I'm not letting you push yourself like this more then you already are. You've done enough.” You'd argue if you either thought you could win, which you couldn't. Or if you disagreed.

It was Robb's memory haunting you in your mind there, but it was Jon who was the wolf in front of you now. He was the one who had done enough, but Jon would never stop doing things, fighting for others as long as someone had too. Maybe, he was right. Maybe your place wasn't a fight anymore, maybe it was something else and you were the one who needed to accept that.

Your purpose couldn't be something risking your life now, beacuse perhaps, your purpose was the man right in front of you. For whatever reason, you didn't know, but you didn't want that reason to trouble him anymore. That wasn't what he deserved.

Pulling him a tad closer, you leaned against the Weirwood as Jon wrapped an arm gently around your waist to pull you in. Your head finding his neck as he pressed a kiss to where his lips landed in your hair to muffle against it. “It's happening to you without your control, I don't want you willingly doing it everyday too. If you're out here, I don't want to find you like this every time.”

There was no true conviction in his order, but you nodded. Wrapping your arms around him more, easing yourself into his comforting warmth. “As my King, commands.”

You felt both a breathy chuckle against you and the smirk he gave doing it. Kissing your hair once more, he pulling you back to look you properly in the eyes, nothing but an affection left. “Since when do you listen to me just beacuse I order it?”

Only a shrug came in response, making him grin more. “Since now.”

Jon shook his head this time, “Good, beacuse my next order is for you to let me warm you up with a nice bath, and find you something to eat for once.” Your smile soft and easy as your tone was light as you asked him if it was in that order. But Jon only narrowed his eyes as he ran his nose over the length of yours. “Call it an excuse to hold you for a while.”

Pulling you very gently to your feet, he kept you tucked to his side without any care of how much the other seemed to cling. It always was like this for a while after your mind did this now. Relying on him, and Jon being glad you let yourself do so. Only with Jon, did you find yourself liking needing his comfort to lean against so much. “I'm your wife now, you can do that whenever you like.”

Perhaps something more playful would've been on his mind, but he still could see the terror on your face. Teasing could come later, for now, his only duty was to make sure you didn't fall asleep that night as haunted as you looked now.

He couldn't bring himself to do it, so easily let you explore such facets of ability when each time he watched it grow harder on you. It was brutal and tormenting, and he refused to sacrifice your well being just to understand what was happening. There were other ways, and he'd figure those out himself.

Constant influxes of reports from the castles guarding the wall, searching for answers on his own, working with what Sam kept finding and connecting things from there as well as building up the defences of the North and training his people. Jon felt swarmed with things to do, but he had to do them and he would happily add taking on what you felt like your responsibilities as long as you didn't end everyday looking as unsettled as you looked now.

But still he thought, why was his family like this? Associated so strongly with something not of this world, why did the blood of the Starks all feel as if something were unique about them when it was not as such for those like his father, like his Uncle Benjen. And why did it now inflict you? The world begged Jon to care about the wars in it's own soils, but his father had told him, he was of the North.

And it was the North that called to Jon more then the running of a Kingdom as normal. His focus has to be on the worst coming and the here and now, and it was a balancing act he struggled with when half of that were things he barley understood. You were good at the day to day things, so that became the focus Jon wanted for you.

Let him do the struggling work and you do the things which laid off on the torment in your eyes at the end of each night. Jon just wished that he could trust you would let it stay that way. But he knew you dreamt strange visions and nightmares too, and as he would lay awake at night, keeping you close in his arms watching you, there was not a thing he could do to stop what was happening in your mind as much as he wasn't able to his own strangeness.

The Winter storms were fast approaching, and they begged answers Jon had not yet discovered the questions too. He just wished the answers didn't seem to lie inside your mind, and yet Jon continued to not tell you of his own dreams. You slept beside him, but he still dreamt of you in visions as if you were thousands of miles away. Your mind was trying to give answers to one thing, Jons the answers to you.

The world was nothing but a mess and everyone in it, but all Jon could do was grab onto those he cared about and hope he was strong enough to keep them close when it all would blow over in the freezing cold.

With a tilt of his head, you could see the pouring amount of petty annoyance dripping from Gendry's expression.

Taking the moment to work over the metal in front of him, you had stopped to see him in the armoury, and Gendry happy to have a distraction. If not with attitude. “You weren't lying when you said everyone in this family is insufferable.”

Of all things, you knew choosing that moment to look away with a smirk only proved his point thus further. So far the only ones who knew who Gendry really was, remained the two of you, Ser Davos, Selyse, and Jon. Gendry wasn't particularly happy at first when you informed him you had told Jon the truth, he had been avoiding him ever since. Not a family in your blood good with facing your problems head on, but in turn you only looked flatly at him. “So which version of him should I have lied to? The part of him that is my husband, or the part of him that is my King?”

He had in turn glared at you with not genuine malice behind it, “You saying you always have told all these Kings you know the truth about everything?”

Many years had gone by since you had any companionship like Gendry. You were far less quick on the tongue with him now compared to your days spent with Renly. Similar they both were, you could see easily the Baratheon charm in his blood, his humour, the ease of how snarky he could be and the degree to which mocking and teasing came at others expense. But he was easier going then Renly, and coming from a life of low birth meant there was nothing about his intentions anywhere you completely mistrusted.

Staring notably as you thanked Olly for something, and who walked off without a word, your head fell to the side slightly, holding a sigh back. Blinking once before turning your attention to the metal work between you both, you felt Gendry's stare as the boy left. Asking what was wrong with him, you shook your head properly before barrelling passed it. It was Olly's pain to work through, and if he wanted to do so in silence towards you, then so be it. But you wouldn't do him a disservice by discussing it with others.

The conversation had mostly turned to him elaborating on the stories he told you that first night in Barrowton, leading to somewhat of a petty disagreement that now sat between you. Mostly, regarding the choice to bring Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrian, with you. He kept no anger from his eyes or voice out here.

“Everything they did to you-”

Turning with a sharp glare, you cut him off quick. “They did not do any of that. Stoneheart did. It was her orders, her choice. I won't blame them for someone else's actions.” You could see there was something else on his mind when you spoke before he could once more. “You're allowed to be angry with them but don't pretend you're doing it on my behalf.”

The silence between you both was stubborn, glares sent the others way before he broke first. “Fine. I'm mad beacuse they said I could stay and be one of them, and then they sold me to the red woman and now it feels like I'm surrounded by all this shit all over again.”

Your face fell almost impassive looking. “Do you think you're the only one surrounded by the things that haunt you?” Gendry's eyes narrowed at you, but your voice was as rough and held back as your expression. “You reached out to me Gendry. I don't want you feeling as if I am forcing you to stay here. If you can't handle them being here then you shouldn't make yourself uncomfortable by doing so. But you aren't the only one here who has to look at the things that caused your suffering every single day.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Quick on the draw, you raised an eyebrow with a tone as even as could be. “No of course not, then who would be there to give Arya those disgusting love sick gazes every day.” It was his turn to go wide eyed, an offensive stammering as if he had anything to negate the notion when you moved towards the main courtyard. “Do yourself a favour, don't get caught staring at her like that in front of the King. The warning he will let you off with won't be quite as cavalier as mine.”

Trying to follow you, a struggle to keep his tone even as noticed easily. “She's a friend, she means a lot to me that's all there is to it-”

Face twisting into an easy disbeleif you looked back at him, “Who are you trying to convince?”

You trusted them little, but you still sat against the wall outside the iron bars. Thoros had most of the answers you sought, or at least he had the interest to do the talking to you. Beric watched in a careful silence most of the time as you were down there. “She served the Lord of Light as I did, it was not my place to assume her intentions.”

Your eyes glared over to him, waiting until he met the gaze before dropping them back down to your lap. Focusing once more away from Beric's stare. “No, it was your intentions to sell him off like cattle with no idea if he would even live through it. Which, if you both were wondering, he almost didn't.”

Legs spread out flat in front of you with one ankle resting gently over the other, you let your head fall flat against the stone behind you, a raise in tone a little more on the edge of condescending. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's beginning to sound as if the charges are piling up against you two.”

Thoros let out a chuckle, coming up more as a hum in his chest as he looked away. “We have been in far worse places then here, your grace.”

Rather short, it sounded from your mouth more angry and dismissive then you had intended. “So have I.” Turning back to look at them both, your voice kept the same but something more sorrowful sat in your gaze then theirs, as you nodded to Beric. “You think those scars are anything? The only thing you lost each time was your life.”

Not much could be said, they heard as much as any else did that night. There was little which refuted that the two of them didn't have any legs to stand on. Beric's tone was quiet as he finally found his voice from where he sat. “And what has your King seen?” The only indication you heard, was your eyes slightly flickering up forwards but did not commit to finding his face in return. “The true fight we are here for. He understands death, he understands returning to life as we do, but does he truly understand what we are up against? How much more important it is then-”

Closer to something akin to a growl as you felt your nails tense in your own palms, digging deeper by the second. “He understands better then you two. Better then any of us.” Finally seeking their gaze, taken back themselves with the darker colours painting your eyes in a seethe. “Whatever your god has shown you is nothing compared to what we are really up against. But what do we have left if we sacrifice everything and everyone we have to stop it? What's left in the world if we treat the people we care about as that creature leading you? What are we fighting for if we let ourselves become as bitter and hollow as she?”

Beric's voice was a whisper, only heard in the echo of the dungeon. “Survival alone isn't enough?”

Your lips parted to answer, but not your voice which spoke out in the darkness. That one was holding far too deep and rough of a rasp to come from you. “No. It isn't.”

Nodding for the guards to wait outside, Jon moved in between them as the door closed behind him. Were you the one in the cell, you would've said he looked rather intimidating this way. Fur dark and broad over his shoulders and the only light in the fire making the blacks in his clothes, hair, eyes all shine in a shadowing way as he approached. Voice low as he stared down both of them you sat on the other side of. “If I let people like you do whatever you want in your gods name, what's going to even be left for us to care about if we win?”

Motioning with barley a twitch of his fingers at the sudden gesture of you moving to stand, Jon came before you, now in between you and the bars as he now blocked part of their view of you, your eyes only able to see the fur and cloak draped down his shoulders, and his hair up and back.

Beric this time was the talker, and Thoros found it in him to be quiet. It seemed both men had their targets of conversation in mind beforehand. “And I would say it's on the side of selfish to think we are the ones who matter. The world we live in matters, not the whims and wishes of the people in it.”

You'd be willing to wager Jon's eyes were growing in a painting from grey to more of a black as the tensity in his shoulders increased. “Have you ever known what it feels like to think you have no one in the world who cares about you?” Heart in your chest twisted as did his, like you both could feel the pain wrapping around the same vines tethering you both to one another as he looked down at them. “I have. I know what losing everything and everyone you care about feels like, it didn't make me feel as if I was doing the right thing. Just made me feel angry. And alone.”

Both men had lost much and Beric more in himself but still, you knew they didn't understand. Not the way you did. Your foot by his just barley shifted to lean against what you could reach of his ankle as if that sensation over all that blocking your skin to his, still was enough to send a shiver up Jons spine. Your voice behind him was equally as quiet, but more breathless in a knowing. “You don't give people a selfish reason to keep going, and they just won't. They'll give up and let winter take them instead of fighting for the nothing they have left.”

From where you were, you couldn't see Beric as Jon likely intended, but you could once more meet the eyes of Thoros. And that feeling chilled in your mouth swallowing down to your lungs as he watched you through Berics words. “We are the Lords servants. You, me, all four of us. We serve him and that is why we have all come together. What we want beyond that no longer matters.”

It was morose. A dreary thought full of no life or love being asked of you and yet that deep love is what drove every action Jon chose. It was what kept him going better then everyone else you'd ever know, Jon was made of something different then any man you had ever met and without that need to protect and love, there would only be the darkest parts of himself left. And he didn't deserve that.

“What would you have me do, walk you out to my people, the ones who lost their loved ones beacuse of your men and tell them their grief doesn't matter?” They wouldn't know Jon well enough to pick up on the edge, but something of a nerve was struck. Something you didn't quite know how deep it was rooted, and yet you felt it ping in your own chest as if your pain. “Or that it shouldn't matter to them if they'll ever be happy again? You two put me in a position where keeping you alive is the right thing to do, but not beacuse you deserve it.”

If Thoros would stop looking at you, maybe you would have found it in you to stand by Jons side to try and even that anger but you felt pinned to the wall with something unnerving. You were truly starting to hate these priests and priestesses of this bloody fire god. They all looked at you the same, as if they knew something you didn't when none of their knowledge ever meant anything to you.

Jon gestured back to you with that edge only sharpening like a blade. “You're alive beacuse of her, and only her. I'd have executed you for what you did, what you almost let..” He struggled to find it in him to call her who she was supposed to be as much as you did. “Almost let that woman do. You can speak to her when she comes to you, but I'm not letting you try and convince her everything she already died for doesn't matter.”

Beric had no emotion in his voice which was different then the last. “And what did you die for, your grace?” If he thought he had Jon on something, he was wrong.

Jon didn't hesitate, but you did feel the weight in his tone heavy as it always was whenever someone was brave enough to bring it up, which was uncommon. “I died for her. She was being kept prisoner here, and escaped. So I tried to go after her, to find her and protect her beacuse I love her.” Don't let them see the clawing at your chest you told yourself, don't clam up now at how freely he could say it any and everyone when in this very home years ago you two were too scared to share those words. “I didn't die for any fight, I died beacuse the men who betrayed me didn't want me to protect the woman I love.”

Finally, Thoros peeled his eyes up. A pale blue that begged a small ask which had not the intentions in his companion. “And where are the men who betrayed you, for betraying the cause you swore your life too?”

Jon, had the only answer that mattered. “Dead. And they didn't come back, one way or another. Not beacuse your god didn't need them, but beacuse no one cared about them enough to even try. If you died, my lord, can you say there is anyone out there who would bring you back?”

Thoros didn't argue that Beric would, nor did Beric speak up for him. And in honest, as Jon stood there that made him feel a bit unwell. There was not a thing any could do to stop him from bringing you back if Jon lost you again, and he knew without any doubt that you would be the same for him. If bringing Beric back to life tethered their fates together like Jons to you, it was tiny in comparison.

Jon had a purpose to protect the North and his people, but he had just enough room for that purpose to also be you. His cause was helping the North survive and fight before the army of the dead could destroy anything South beyond them. But Jon knew, the only reason he wanted to do any of that was beacuse he had people he cared about.

He had many he cared about, Ghost, Sam, Tormund, Edd, but now he had more family then he ever imagined once upon a time. He had you, the woman he loved more then anyone else, more then he could love any other person. But now? He also had Arya again. And Jon too, would not hesitate to kill anyone who tried hurting her, wouldn't hesitate on anything if someone tried to take his baby sister away again.

Jon fought for a purpose, but he lived for you all. Ghost and his girls, that's what Jon lived for. His direwolf, his wife, his sister, and his mother. Jon would never consider her life a casualty needed for something else.

He had been speaking more and more to Howland Reed. Of Rhaegar's actions in the rebellion, and from what he had figured out on his own. He knew some from his son Jojen, but they were always spoken in confusion, not understanding what he saw without his father painting the picture. And perhaps that's why this idea made him sick. That you needed to sacrifice everything for one purpose and damn the people in your life or what happens to them to get there.

The rebellion, the lives lost and ruined, Jons grandfather and uncle burned alive that started it all, none of it was really about Lyanna. It was about Jon, and he felt that burning hatred grow. All Rhaegar needed was to pretend he could fufill some delusion. Once he had raped Lyanna Stark enough to know she was pregnant, he left for war beacuse Jons existence was all that mattered.

Noble knights, skilled Kingsuard and valiant men like the Sword of the Morning did not fight his father and six other men to the death to hide a dying teenage girl from her brother. They had fought to keep the Last Dragon's third child, last living child, from being taken away from whatever destiny the crown prince had thought was his.

Jons father by birth created him from blood and violence beacuse he thought destiny was all that mattered, but the father Jon lost, the father Jon missed everyday? He had taken Jon in as his own son, beacuse he knew what mattered was loving him.

To Jon, as he stood there staring down Beric Dondarrian, he thought to himself, this was exactly the kind of dangerous mentality that Rhaegar had ruined the Seven Kingdoms with. And Jon refused to lead like that into the storms of winter. He wasn't special or a hero, he was just a dead man who had to fight beacuse the innocent deserved someone who stands up for their right to live.

It wasn't until he felt a slight pressure near the fur across his shoulder blades did he realize you had stood up. Breaking his dark glare at the man, he turned to you and the grey returned far softer then before in a split moment. His name soft on your lips like a sirens call that calmed him instead of crazed his mind, that was all it took to bring Jon back down.

Men like this, like Rhaegar fought for fate and destiny. Jon though, looked at you as you held that narrow eyed concern, that silence gazing at him begging him to let you take care of him instead and felt impatient inside now. Turning back to them, Jon let his arm drift across your waist to pull you into his side ever so carefully to not jostle you. His gaze back on the two men as his tone was short and rigid and what came out of it was so unexpected you almost let a laugh burst you. “By the way, I wouldn't let her come down here, but Arya wanted me to tell you both to burn in hell.”

Jon dragged you along with him to leave, and as soon as the door closed behind him did a smirk find its way onto his lips as a breathless laugh did yours. Your side leaning more comfortingly into his as Jon adjusted his grip to keep you against him while walking. “They are behind bars, I presume she would be safe enough.”

Muttering just as low in your ear, Jons eyes brightened watching your own laugh grow at his next words. “It's not her safety I'd be worried about.”

He was trying to keep you away from things, you were sure of it. Taking so much of it onto himself and hide the worst from you, but it left you feeling on the side of rather useless. Trying to do things to ease the amount of weight on his shoulders without going against his words or wishes. But Jon didn't make that a simple task, not with how well he paid attention to you.

Always meeting with someone or another, having to handle this and that and go over the running of a kingdom with trying to save it and everytime you offered your help, Jon would pull you to him with a hand gentle at the back of your head to press a kiss, murmuring he was handling it.

Jon's mind always running around something, even now curls loose, dressed down and settled he stood by the fire in his chambers, a hand braced on the stone above as you could see his mind unable to stop. Likely he barley even heard you, coming up quietly behind him until your palms ran flat up against his back until you were mostly pressed against him. Voice soothing as you leaned up closer to his ear, “Jon.”

Sighing out, Jon let his free hand reach behind him, grabbing at one of your arms to pull it around and wrapped by his front, your other hand willingly doing the same as he grabbed one of your hands, holding it there as best he could from that angle. Rasping low, “We haven't been together since our fight.”

It wasn't anger nor judgment, yet you suspected the trace of insecurity seeping through the doubt you could detect. Leaning your front more against him, you pressed a kiss where the back of his head you could reach first, mumbling against his curls. “I'm sorry.”

Jon shook his head, but there was something else attached to it that weighed on him. His brows furrowed and from what you could see, something more upset on his face then he wanted you to know about. “Don't be, it's not your fault. I just can't figure out if it's only about Ramsay..or if it..” Prompting him to continue, murmuring his last words with an ask to continue, Jon sighed deeply again. That time his voice was certainly insecure. “If it has to do with you learning the truth. About me.”

Were you strong enough, you'd have turned him in your arms to face you instantly. Rather you even tried slinking from his grasp as you gently murmured his name, “Jon,” But he kept you in place, and it pained you. He didn't want you to see how upset the thought made him. As if you cared about that sort of thing. “Why would that have anything to do with us?”

Forehead resting more against his shoulders, as if trying to nuzzle as close to him as possible. Were you not right there, you wouldn't have heard him so clearly. “Being in love with Eddard Stark's bastard is one thing, but it's a whole other to say you want to be with a son of Rhaegar Targaryean.” Oh you knew that stiffness in his body was a desperation to keep that resolve as together as he could.

How long has that been a fear? How long has he been worrying that was it?

Head dropping to what you could of his neck, you left a long but tender kiss to the skin until you felt him relax even the tiniest bit. “Jon, I've suspected this since our first night on Dragonstone. And not anytime after did that ever cross my mind as something against you.” You pressed another, and a third trying to reach his jaw, barley scratching your lips to his facial hair. “Who your blood is has nothing to do with wanting to be with you. I've wanted to be with you since I was a girl, and I'm not about to change that now. You are not someone's son to me, you're Jon Snow. You're my King, and the man I love. No one else is allowed to have a say in that. Not anymore.”

Head dropping a little, he held your hand tighter before taking the hand braced on the stone to grab your other free one and bring it up to his lips. A kiss long and almost needing left on the back of it before he held it more against his chest. It took him a good moment to find any words, and you let him take whatever length of time he needed. “Ever since I came back, I'm always worried I'll scare you. I've never wanted anything more then the way I want you. And it scares me to think I'm too much for you..or you'll realize where that comes from and want nothing to do with it.”

Your heart beat too painfully, you needed to tame this now before it broke you or him. But it was the small smile you saw forming on his face as you spoke that said choosing the lighter path was the right one. “I hate it to be the bearer of obvious news, Snow. But you've always been like this, bringing you back didn't change that. It just means sometimes we add more inappropriate things to what we do, now.” Voice whispering softer, you rested your head somewhat against the side of his. “And it isn't anything. It isn't a Rhaegar thing or even a Ned Stark thing. It's just you. This is how you and I are and no one else has anything to do with that.”

Finally, you felt Jon turn his head just enough to the side he pressed against you a little easier as he muttered roughly, “No, I know it's different this time. Something changed when you brought me back, every moment I'm not with you feels like hell.”

“I don't see anything wrong with that so far.” Jon called your name in a bit of a sternness, finally breaking the hold between you both as he turned to face you. Only, you reached up first. Cupping both of his cheeks, letting your thumbs run gently along his jaw as you felt his hands settle instantly on your waist to pull you closer. “We spent six years trying to not go too far. And now after everything that's happened, we're back here. Together. Maybe this is just our way of making up for lost time. Beacuse I have no complaints about the way you care about me. So if you are not going to let me talk down about myself to you, I will not let you do the same about yourself.”

Running his hands along your waist, you found yourself unable to look away from the bright shine in his grey eyes. A sight you'd never get enough of, as well as the entrancing husk always so deep and rough attached to his voice. “I'm not trying to pressure you. I miss you, that's all.”

Exhaling, you looked up at him quietly for a moment. In some moments Jon was just as insecure about things as you were and it made sense why he fought against that noise so loudly in your head. Jon shouldn't have worries like that, and you felt none of the panic that stopped you before this time.

Leaning up, Jon took over to close the gap between your lips himself as soon as he caught on. Your hands drifted behind him, running through his curls as he reached up to keep your lips in his kiss, hands holding your cheeks with much more urgency then you had his.

Soft and memorizing, but still needing and harsh. Deepening his kiss with every breathe from you he stole, and easily begun to pull small high pitched sounds from you. Gifting the noises into his kiss as it all made him rumble deep in his chest. Pressing himself much more firmly against you as his teeth just barley nibbled your bottom lip. You of course, granted him permission with a shameless ease.

Licking into your mouth, Jon brushed his tongue against yours. Coaxing you to follow ,to explore him as much as he adored doing to you. Your nails scratched along his scalp, and a deep growl came from his chest. His hand tilting your head up more to be at his mercy, keeping you at a perfect position to taste each time he let his tongue slip back to brush along yours.

His other hand moved to trail down your neck, thumb running along the middle of your throat and down, wasting no time nor having the patience to play nice. A rough hand sliding into the collar of your dress, finding your breast and groping with a rough greed. Your insides twisted almost right away and you gasped as his fingers roughly twisted the small bud peaking for his touch.

Almost as if Jon was kissing you in the same rhythm his hand and fingertips teased you, his other joined finally, gently pulling your dress's collar down indecently until he pulled away from your lips with a bite. Frustrated at the fabric Jons eyes flew down to gauge what he had to work with, and instead choosing to yank it down with a tear in the fabric, exposing your breasts to him and the cold air of his room.

Eyes black as the night sky outside, Jon's face was harsh and close to stern should you not know better as he just stared with no guilt nor shame. As if you were on display for him, Jon suddenly grabbing your hip and guiding you further into the room, the back of your knees hitting the bed. Not letting you fall back onto it, he gathered the material of both sides of the skirt, finding nothing underneath of a shift he exhaled, almost pausing before taking it all off.

He let it drop wherever it landed as he guided you to sit, but you had nothing but eyes for his black, harsh ones all over you. Kneeling down however, his touch was gentle when his gaze was pure greed, grabbing at the sides of the only fabric left covering you and pulling it down slowly. Giving you the chance to lift your hips to left him, his head dropping to carefully take it off from each leg.

But then he stayed knelt there. The fabric clutched tightly in his hand as Jon just stared at you, at what was between your legs, before trailing up to your scar and staying silent as he looked to it just as long. Your eyes so focused on his intense ones, had you entirely miss Jon not letting your underwear join what was to be a continued pile of clothes, rather he shoved it in a pocket of his own knowing your gaze was too distracted to see.

Finding your eyes once more, your own hands reached out in an instant, unlacing the middle of his shirt with more care then needed considering how bare Jon had you. Pushing it gently along his shoulders and tossing it more purposely somewhere safe in the distance, Jon was entirely silent as you did the same reaching for his pants. One hand of his cupped your cheek, leaning in enough to nudge your nose with his as his other helped make the process move quicker.

But you however, had other ideas sneaking up in your mind. Prompting Jon to stand up so you could pull them off, the second he stepped out of them Jon had the intention of kneeling between your legs once more to finally taste you as he was so desperate too, but you were quicker then his slower mind was feeling looking at you.

The warmth between your legs grew wet at the sight, as if it were possible to forget, your lungs hitched only for a moment as you looked at him. Cock was long, and despite being with him you swallowed almost nervously at how thick he was. You could feel the sting already and yet, you only craved that more and more. Hard as he could be, tinged slightly red as it begged for attention and you knew Jon would deny it in your favour. Too bad.

The moment your hands gently grasped his hips, one of his hands found your hair, raking through it as he looked down at you with eyes wide and bright. His akin to a frown while your expression being a genuine ask of permission. It wasn't his favourite, he preferred anything else he could do to you, but Jon was weak to the hopeful ask in your eyes. As if the politeness you waited for him to approve of with made his cock throb more then if you were greedy and debauched.

You wanted him to give you permission.

Running through your soft stands, Jons gaze softened, his voice barley audible as the heavy accent murmured through the weighted desire in his veins. “Go on,”

Nodding in his touch, Jon let out a shaking breathe just as your eyes slipped closed. You wanted to focus, only on him only what felt good. Jon so rarely let himself be the one receiving, he wanted to give and give he wanted to do the work but he deserved to be worshipped, and you wanted to be the one giving the offering before the idol. But all you could offer, was your mouth.

Only grasping his thick cock enough to guide you, your hand couldn't even wrap around him properly, a gentle lick along his tip and you instantly felt his hand tighten in your hair along with a hiss from above in your ears. A hum left your throat without notice, the thick taste of what seed already leaked from him as you tasted it like it was there just for you. Jon gave another shaking breathe, trying to control himself as you finally pressed a kiss like any other. One to his tip, and many more so gentle down his entire length. Never gripping him tight in your hand or stroking him, just a gentle hold so you could kiss and leave tiny licks to properly soak him better.

You trailed down one way, pressed a kiss at a tough angle along his lower hips, face brushing against the coarse, rough black hair at the base of his cock before moving kissing and licking down the other side. A light grip the whole way until you unwrapped your fingers, trailing them tenderly along his hips back to hold yourself steady against him.

Jon's hand in your hair adjusted, a sturdier grip as he, himself, contained the desire to ask you to look up at him. But he let you work, and as soon as you licked the tip of his cock until you gently took just that in your mouth, Jon realized how much you with your eyes closed, just enjoyed it as you tried to sigh around him.

You felt the stretch, but continued. Letting the saliva accumulate to properly soak him each inch you let him slide deeper. Only part way before you pulled back and sunk your mouth back on him. Back and forth did you suck him only half, Jon tensed under your hands but said nothing. He rarely did here, words didn't come easy to him normally let alone with this. You could hear his breathing pick up as you soaked his cock more and more, easing yourself into taking more of him at once.

You knew you could but gods he was long and merciless how thick he stretched anywhere inside of you like this. Fingertips flexing against his hips, Jon muttered inaudibly under his breathe as you got closer to taking his whole length. Not once did you pull off, the heaviness on your tongue, the salty taste of his seed as thick as he was coating your taste buds as you had to relax yourself.

Just as you came close, Jon's other hand moved. Grasping at one of your hands on his hips, trying to hold whatever of your fingers he could tightly and in that same instance did you whine as you took the rest of him down throat. “Gods..” Nose brushing against the hair at his base, you felt that overwhelming sensation of panic but yet you still slid almost all the way to the tip and then slowly right down all the way deep once more.

A hum in your throat, each time you pulled closer to off, your core twisted between the fight of needing air and reprieve, and craving the feeling of taking him deep again. Jons hands gripped your fingers and hair tight each time you sunk deep on him, the later trying desperately not to pull you down himself at his own pace.

Sucking and licking any and every sort of way on his cock, you almost made more noise then him, even in just tiny sounds deep from within at wanting more, wanting to taste everything he could spill down your throat with, wanting to feel him let go. Jon's head fell back, jaw clenched tight as he tried to contain every growl and groan trapped in his mouth. Throbbing in you, he raked his hand through the strands once more before dropping back down to look at you. Your eyes still closed, but Jons were wide and blown out in need. Mouth parted as he watched your head bob up and down on his cock, only ever doing what he knew was for his entire pleasure, wanting him to get the most out of it.

If his younger self could see such an image, Jon knew he would've lost his mind.

Deep husk against his voice in the air was harmonizing with the crackling of the fire, and the soft, wet sounds of your mouth around him. Jon wished he could make this exciting, make it filthy and vulgar just to be different but what slipped out was far too entrenched in affection. “Darling, fuck- look at yourself. You shouldn't enjoy this as much as you do, I know it's a lot for you to take,” Jons hand once more ran smoothly down your hair at the back of your head, subtly shifting your pace a little more shallow and a little deeper.

It was a strain on you, taking him so deep so consistently but gods did you hate pulling off him. As if it got harder and harder to stay away, Jon himself kept pushing you forward to take more and more of him as the whine in your chest rose up, fingertips flexing tightly against hips as you eagerly took him deep. You wanted to taste him, wanted Jon to spill down your throat so badly, you wanted him to enjoy something only for him.

Closer and closer did you feel him throb in your mouth, did the rambling grow through the thickness of such a deep Northern accent. “You are so beautiful. Don't deserve such a sweet, beautiful girl taking me like this.” You tried to argue back, but barley got anything passed the minor sound of nonsense protest. The hand on your hair slid slightly to hold closer to the side of your face, thumb running along the skin against your cheeks.

Your eyes closed, but Jon could see the tears slipping down he was so deep in your mouth, for so long with nothing to be your salvation. You would find only that once his seed was in your stomach. He wished he didn't groan your name so deeply, hold you tighter and throb more intensely at the sight but he did. Overwhelming such a small mouth so easily with his size and he wanted to fill it more and more until you had to swallow his every drop just to breathe again.

That was when his hand tightened, his voice dropped roughly. “Let me control the pace, alright?” Not an order, but Jon didn't like that anyways. He liked giving such gentle commands and waiting for you to agree which you always did.

Trying to relax as much as possible, Jon decided to return to your earlier pattern. Pulling you almost all the way off before pushing you all the way down, only his pace was faster. His pace was less kind and your moans and whines only made his cock harder. You were now just along for the journey, and you wanted no other use for your mouth then right here.

Faster and faster did Jon move you along his cock, his ramblings sometimes made sense, sometimes didn't but they were always mumbled or slurring as if he had no control of what the words were. “Fuck, you feel so good, doing so well- Taking me like you were meant too, mouth, cunt, everything made for me..let me spill down your throat, and I'll make you feel good. I promise darling, you just- just have to swallow everything I give you,”

Calling your name at attention, you moaned against him. A vague sound of your name before Jon more gentle then he ever had, carefully pulled your head down to take his cock deep as you could. Your nose pressed tight against the black hair, and Jons hand caressed the back of your head as he held your hand without failure.

Muscles tensing under your fingertips greatly, so did the strain in his voice and pain in your jaw as his cock stretched your mouth. Snapping, Jon finally came. Thick spurts of his seed poured down your throat deeply, spilling more and more as you swallowed around him, only making it worse. It was a taste you teared up at wanting to have had again, and your hands tensed tightly as muffled gagging came as Jon's seed was so copious in how much he fed you.

Not looking away from you the entire time, Jon kept you close as his mouth agape groaned your name like a quiet plea and kept you gently pressed against him while his cock was filling your mouth with him and his seed both. He wasn't even finished yet when he started up, breathless as anything, “Let me taste you, darling. I want- I need to taste you, I've missed you so much. You going to let me between you, make you feel good?”

A nod as you still swallowed him, milking every drop you were allowed to have until Jon hissed, pulling you off himself. Your mouth dripped as you gasped with the remains of your saliva and his seed, but did Jon not care. Grabbing both your cheeks, he leaned down finally, capturing your lips. Hands running though your hair, you felt his cock still just as unbelievably hard as he pressed you back into the furs of his bed, your legs spreading to accommodate him in an instant.

Barley pulling from your lips, Jon brushed against them as he spoke, “You're perfect, everything about you.” You shook your head, but Jon tilted your head enough he could rest his forehead against yours, both your eyes squeezed shut tightly, you could feel him frowning. “I love you, alright? I'd do anything for you, now let me do this one thing.”

You bit your lip, but Jon soothed it with a soft kiss, one to your lips, then forehead then finally trailing downward along your neck. “Jon,” Ignoring you, the needy high pitch of your voice giving away the blatant want, you had no other words. Neck with gentle kisses and brushes of his tongue down to your collarbones, Jons hands reached up to grasp tightly once more at your breasts.

Groping tightly with this thumbs running over the buds before pulling at each, your back arching up with a gasp. Hands grasping at his curls, and your hips moved to meet with his pushing into yours, Jons length now soaked from your mouth and just as hard brushing against your inner thigh. One bite after another and suddenly, with the yank of his fingers did Jon bite and tug at the other with his teeth, the core inside of you burning hot and nowhere to let it out but writhe against his touch and tighten hands in his hair.

Bruising the skin as your muscles tightened trying to contain the gasps in you, but Jons mouth was unforgiving and rough. Marking you up and this time the more you so eagerly moved against him the rougher and rougher he got, the more growls in his chest came out as his hands left marks of his fingertips as well as indents of his teeth.

If Jon was anything it was currently greedy. Yanking his mouth from your breasts, you felt them sting in the air as Jon grabbed a hand in his curls. Placing it up and beside your head against the fur below, he bit at your lip all the same. “Stay just like this, I'm going to take care of you.” You almost whined his name not even knowing what you were trying to ask when he kissed you gentle, hand now cupping your cheek and pulling back. “No, relax and enjoy yourself. That's a command, darling.”

You'd laugh if he didn't have you so worked up, so heart poundingly overwhelmed at how good his bare frame felt against yours, how soft his lips were and how much he changed to rough the second he grasped and bit at your breasts before returning to soft and slow. Trailing his lips along the scar, Jon hovered over it for a moment longer then you knew by until he slunk down on the bed.

Prying your legs wide, Jon moved one to sit with your foot flat as far as he could push it, while wrapping an arm around your other thigh, holding it up and wide closer to his head. You felt his warm breathe hovering over your clit, as if contemplating himself which way he wanted you, but he chose the path he couldn't keep up.

Small, gentle brushes of his tongue along your clit, he would then trail it along your thighs, kissing the length and back to your clit with his tongue and then once more to the other thigh. A pattern until he pressed his tongue wider against you and dove right in.

Flat against your core, Jon licked down to to drink up everything already there as he groaned. Pressing his forehead against your mound for a moment, “You get this wet just having my cock in your mouth?”

Pushed up on your elbows you looked down to see his dark curls rise up just enough to catch his dark gaze as you bit your lip with a nod of yes. Jon practically letting his eyes roll into the back of his head, he yanked your hips more up to him, leaning his head down to properly taste you. His tongue sinking deep inside as he could reach, the cry leaving your mouth nowhere to be stopped.

Hands clutching at the furs your head flew back just as much, his tongue brushing against something sparkingly sensitive, and refusing to come back up for any air as he growled into your soaking cunt at the taste. Drinking from you as if the only thing you were made for, was to spread wide for him, his mouth, tongue, cock. All of you made for Jon alone.

His hold on your thighs tightened as you arched your back up into his touch, one hand flying back down to pull at his curls and it only made him more aggressive in his greed. Which in turn gave you the same reaction and round you both went. Driving the other wild, but Jon was the one twisting that feeling inside you with licks now ensuring he let nothing go anywhere but his tongue.

Yanking your thigh up in his hold higher, Jon made a deep sound vibrating against you. The shiver running up your spine and leaving through your lips in a soft cry. Already you could feel sweat starting to drench your hair against the heat around you and building white hot from within. Drawing you closer and closer to that edge and just as your hand grasped tight, and your back arched with a plead of his name a mantra did the feeling get ripped from you.

Eyes flying shut tightly as you tried to contain your protest, as did the air in your lungs hold. Jons touch did not leave, pressing further more his lips along your thigh as he grew bolder with indenting his teeth to leave his mark for only him to see.

Returning to feast only once he could feel you relaxing in his touch, and no longer bothering to build up that time. Tongue flat against your core running up to work purposely over your clit, letting his facial hair rub raw against your sensitive skin and burn you outside as well as in. The twisting inside you screamed hot and fast, less begging able on your lips and just as Jon let his teeth barley scrape along the bundle of nerves, you almost flinched from him.

Jon knew you however, grabbing you by your hip with his other hand and holding you tightly against his mouth. A pattern switching in his licks just as you were able to catch your breathe and then all over once more until he felt you shake around his touch once more. And once more thus, it was taken from you.

Trying to call his name weakly, Jon shushed you quietly. Pressing a kiss to your clit and then your mound as he ran that hand along your hip to waist and back comfortingly. Murmuring low as his dark eyes peered up at you, your hands barley moving other then tight fists in the fur below and his curls as your eyes sealed shut trying to contain your breathing. Trying not to just beg.

Beacuse Jon didn't want you to beg, he wanted you to trust him to know when to take care of you.

You dared not look, but you felt his eyes watching you, his touch trying to bring you down as you felt his breathe warm against your wetness as he rasped, “Do you want to cum?” Your brows furrowed, not quite grasping the question as your heart raced in your chest. A kiss pressed once more to your thigh just above a more sensitive mark already bruising, “I asked you a question, do you want me to make you cum?”

Your mind was foggy in the feeling and the ones too torn away, you couldn't tell if it was trick. If there was a proper answer, or if he was testing you. “Whatever you want,” You felt Jon tilting his head slightly before he pressed his lips to your thigh once more. Pulling it up off his hold before he hauled himself over top of you. Bracing a hand beside your head, he nudged your nose with his to look up at him.

Eyes dark and you swallowed harshly despite how little you had a chance to see your own wetness still on his lips before he kissed you. Tongue only barley brushing against yours as he kept you deep in his touch. Barley pulling back as his kissed down your jaw to just below your ear. “Well I want what you want, so you need to tell me what that is.” His lips barley stopped moving along your skin, his other hand sliding down to grasp at your breast, still sensitive it had you gasp even louder ending on a cry.

You tried turning your head away from him, a flush finding its way up your chest passed his touch, not wanting him to make you say anything about it. You were never good at it on your own, speaking so blatantly free like that. Jon only murmured your name before another kiss that time to the side of your head despite his other hands stinging, addicting touch.

Only a nod, he pushed more up to hover over you, trying to take away your ability to look away from him, “Is that a yes?” Your brows furrowed, an embarrassed feeling flooding your veins but he took none of it in jest, wanting you to meet his eyes. “We can keep going, but I don't want to be inside you until you've cum for me.”

A small voice, you reached up. One hand running through the dark curls loose around him before scratching along his scalp. Eyes fluttering shut as was the exhale he gave a bit shaking. The hand beside you head curled into a fist as Jon tried not to just rut into you. “Please, Jon. I'll be good, I'll cum for you I promise.”

Eyes staring harsh down at you, his expression seemed to be unmoving as it was intense in how focused it was. “You promise?” As if confused almost if you didn't want him thinking you'd disobey. It shouldn't have made his blood boil in such a obsessing way, but it did. You wanting to behave for him.

You weren't trying to be seductive, but it worked out that way regardless just by way of how little Jon knew he could resist anything you wanted like this. “I do. I'll do anything, I just want you inside me, filling me, anything you want for it, I'll do it.”

He almost flipped you over onto your hands and knees on the spot.

Instead, Jon stared down at you hard, the muscles in his limbs screamed at him to take you like an animal, over and over at how easily you'd let him do anything. You couldn't realize however, just how filthy that anything was which Jon could come up with. He spent far too much time thinking about ways to take you, he'd do them all if you'd let him.

Not another word trusted in himself to leave his mouth, Jon surged down. Capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, biting down against your bottom lip he swore he almost drew blood before making the same greedy path right back down to your soaked core.

There was no grace or teasing this time. The moment Jon got between your legs, he hoisted your thighs up over his shoulders and dove in. Licking up everything you gave him while he was away before sucking at your clit enough you cried out, louder then you realized. A wolf devouring the prey laid about at his utter mercy, and Jon had little patience for that very concept. Not here, not when he would sooner kill someone then let anything take him away from having you here in his bed.

Reaching something inside of you, he kept you grounded by your hips,refusing you even let you move from exactly where he needed you to be. Jon left not a shred of tease as he soaked you with his mouth as much as you soaked him in return. Unable to stop the thought in his head, at just how unbelievably smooth sliding his cock inside of you was going to be tonight, he groaned into your cunt while his nails dug into your skin.

Your insides twisted and turned and washed over you like wave along the shores in an instant as Jon pulled you right into an orgasm. Attached to his mouth, you cried his name out once more like a mantra and yet Jon did not let you go. If you even hinted at moving away from the shock of how much more pleasure his mouth was hurdling you towards, he tugged you right back closer.

“Jon, please, I can't-”

Barley detaching himself from you, and even more humiliating in your mind, was how he couldn't even bring himself to look anywhere but your soaked core as he rasped out, “You can, and you will.” Not wasting his time and tasting you all over again, you felt that sharp pain growing as it sat atop the pleasure and only he could make you want more.

You felt a sting in your eyes as he pulled another and another from you, maybe three, it could have been four. Your mind was hardly in the present other then just him. Only as what might have been a fifth clawed it's way to flooding his mouth with your taste, did tears also fall from the corners of your eye, was your lungs in agony.

Soaking you more, sloppy kisses pressed to your clit and up the path between your breasts before he hovered over you. A hand pulling your lips up to his instantly, his tongue invading your mouth as it had your cunt and making you taste yourself exactly as he loved. His free hand yanking your thigh to rest up on his hip as he refused to let your lips go.

Barley feeling anything beyond how shocked you felt between your legs from the amount you came, you could not sense anything until you felt the thick tip of his cock press against your cunt. A hand grasped at his shoulder while the other held tight in his curls, Jon growled as he pushed inside you.

Just as he thought, you were soaked. So soaked he slid inside you as deep as you could accept him without any resistance. Tight and warm around his cock but you were so wet it hardly mattered how much his size could overwhelm you. Keeping you close, Jon only let his lips leave yours enough to look down at you as he slowly slid out of you.

Not quite leaving your warmth before he just as smooth and slow filled you right back, the gasp on your lips captured by a quick kiss before he kept his eyes on your face. Lips parted in an awe as your eyes were closed trying to keep calm, trying to not look so needy but that's what he wanted.

You didn't know how long he kept you like that, ever so slowly sliding his cock in and out of you and each time he pushed forward you felt yourself soaking him even more. The sound of it almost made you turn away from him, humiliated, but his grip on your hair turned you back to meet his eyes. His jaw was clenched tightly as he watched you, but each thrust almost made you close your eyes at how much it tore at your insides.

Burning hot you grasped tightly at him while your other let matched how he was holding up your thigh on the other side of his hip. Letting him almost push deeper at the angle, a grumbling of swears falling from his mouth as he dropped his head more into your chest. Slowly trying to thrust harder but not wanting to sacrifice the pace. But you knew he felt the second you clenched around him with a whine, did he kiss you once more. Speaking between each breathe he didn't let you take, “Come on, darling, come on,”

Tears falling you came hard around him as it paralyzed your nerves elsewhere, nothing more then what Jon could slide his cock inside of, you held onto him only willing to take. Give him what he wanted to take and you'd do that the rest of your life if he'd keep you right here. A biting kiss pushed into a deeper one as Jon groaned your name, shaking above as he hitched your leg higher to barley thrust shallow as deep as he could.

The warmth filling inside of you had you gasp, so much more warm then anyone else and you knew his seed spilled thick. Your other hand grasping his cheek as he thrusted to fuck more and more of him inside of you, not willing to let any of it go to waste anywhere but there. Shifting up onto his knees, he kept the same hold of your hip but now he leaned more over you.

His hand leaving your hair, making sure your eyes stayed on his dark, penetrating ones as he reached up to grasp the headboard behind you. Lips parting you kept your legs up by his waist as he nodded, knowing he was trying to tell you without the ability to speak, he needed leverage.

Jon, was not a man who did not fulfill such a promise. Struggling himself to keep his own eyes open, he pounded far harder into you. Trying to keep slower, trying to make sure he didn't overwhelm you in every way but you felt so good around him. “Fuck..” Like each thrust of his cock inside of you was rougher then the last, the resounding smacking of his skin against yours could deafen a man if it didn't sound so beautiful mixed with your cries of his name. Your hands grasping what you could of his waist, but Jon held the power. Jon was the one choosing the pace, how rough he was and you melted to his needs as if that was enough for your pleasure.

Considering how fast he got another orgasm out of you so soon, you wanted him rough as much as his clawing animal deep inside of him tried to beg for despite how locked away be kept it. When he opened his mouth, he rambled without thought, an entrancing husk you moaned out for. “Fuck, I want to keep you here. Right here, fill you again and again, make sure we don't leave until I've filled you with a child-” Jons head dropped as he lost some of the roughness and picked the pace up, not letting that loud echoing slap go away in any manner. “I should've kept you down in that cell with me until I put a baby in you, that night in Castle Black. Should've kept you from all of them until I filled you enough that it took.”

Leaning up, your hands pressed against his chest trying to get him to lean down to meet your lips, but Jon could only watch how rough he jostled you with each pound and growled.

Tightly grasping the back of your neck did he lean down to meet your lips, biting and leaving your bottom lip bleeding that time no question. But it didn't deter him, and he refused to let your lips get away as his other hand cupped your cheek. His cock was making you feel dizzy, how thick he kept filling you with no chance of escape.

Lightheaded as Jon fucked you, before he shoved you down by your sternum onto the furs once more, a few shallow thrusts as he watched you carefully. “Stay just like that,” You winced as he pulled out of you, tears falling once more as you bit your tongue not to beg so pathetically for him to come back.

Only moving off the bed long enough to grab something from his pockets, he climbed back up before shoving your legs wide. Snatching both of your hands and raising them up high near a post on the headboard. The sound of something tearing you couldn't see hit you as you watched Jons eyes go dark and possessive at his work. Using your own underwear he tied your wrists to the bed above your head as he leaned down to your lips. “You can escape those if you need to, darling. But I really want you to stay just like this, you want to be good for me, but you don't let me take care of you. So let me make you cum, and I'll fill you as many times as you want.”

Your head was not clear, but you didn't want it to be, all you saw and felt was Jon and so you nodded with your stuttering breathe trying to regain control. But Jon slipped back inside of you with no resistance once more. Capturing your lips, he fucked you slow once more.

Twisting and burning your crying core as Jons cock was slow, smooth and you felt every inch of his length run right along something sensitive inside you that had his name now turn to prayer on your lips.

Hands flexing trying to reach up to his hair only to be met with the restraint, melting more into his touch at how much you trusted it. He could take every bit of control away from you, and you'd still trust Jon blindly. You wanted him to do everything he dreamed of to you, and you'd never resist him.

It was hard to tell if you had already cum once by the time the next one hit you so suddenly, Jon left you utterly lost in his touch that you felt nothing in the world but him. His cock slow and thick inside of you, sliding in and out all the entire length and you could clench and shake around him each time you thought he'd leave your warmth again. But he kissed you gently, reaching a hand up to hold at your clasped hands, fingers intertwining best he could as he kept your thigh once more up by his hip.

Voice hoarse but dripping with a deep affection you whispered against his lips so simple, “I love you.”

Fucking deep inside you, he kept himself there for a moment. Dropping his face into your neck when he nodded, picking his cocks pace right back up as he fucked you. Rasping low in your ear, “I've always loved you, since I laid eyes on you I've loved you. You- fuck, you're everything to me.”

Moving you prompted him to look up at you, but it was your turn to lean forward to kiss him. Without much warning once more, Jon felt you clench tight around him, his cock pounding harder and faster to make up for it. Whispering into his lips, you kept your legs high on his hips wanting to keep him as deep as he was. “Cum inside me Jon, please.”

Nodding, it took little less then a few more slow thrusts of you shaking around his cock to spill inside of you once more. He'd keep you on his cock for a while, the other not ready to let the other go, not willing to stop feeling the others bare skin sweating against the other, as he fucked you. But he still struggled to stop.

Jon struggled to leave your cunt, his cock angry if he'd think about it. But your eyes were asking to pass out, having used your body so thoroughly he knew you were losing steam, yet the wolf inside of him wasn't satisfied. But your whisper, ruined him. “Take me as long as you need, whatever you need, I want you to have it no matter what, even if I'm asleep. Take what you want from me, Jon.”

His mind wasn't sound enough to ask questions, but his heart was dark enough that he kept his cock sliding smoothly in and out of you. Only when your eyes slipped closed proper did Jon slow his pace, untying you before turning you onto your side, hitching your leg up properly to keep himself deep, his mind was a cloud of you and only you. Jon wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he did so, with his cock thick and deep inside of you as you both slept in the others arms.

He knew you trusted him with everything, leaving behind that fear that he'd do anything Ramsay did, and you wouldn't scare him with that anxiety ever again. He took what he needed from your cunt beacuse you wanted him to have it, anytime or anyway he wanted. But you knew he'd refuse such a selfish pleasure otherwise.

But it was as you two slept so pleasurably connected together, did your mind fall somewhere else without notice.

You had never been aware of it like this before. Standing in a memory you were always in something of a haze, trapped in the mind of another. The first time, watching Hazzea in the fields you had not understood you were not there, it felt as real as the ship you were on. But this, you knew where you stood and that you had been in bed with Jon.

But now, awake and dressed you stood in the middle of a corridor in Winterfell, the air much warmer then it was now. You looked around at the windows of the main hall only to see not even snow sat on the ground. Steps forward was when your ears picked up too, the sounds of music. Chatter, life, carefree laughter and yelling on top of the music that made it sound much more populated then it did in your waking life.

It was far from winter whenever you stood. Finding your feet, maids and servants passed you by without a notice. No one looked, no guards acknowledged your presence. It was like you walked these halls a ghost, unseen and unheard. But you had not the wherewithal to figure out why you were returning to dreams for such unknowns.

It was not hard to figure out just when you were, and it turned out, the when hurt more then the why most of all. Life was in the main hall and you recognized the sights. Peering in through the door as if a child spying past her bedtime, you first saw the main table high at the back of the room. Cersei Lannister sat there as miserable as you recalled her being in the North, only now you had the vision to see her watching a naive Sansa from across the way.

Next to her, your heart twisted. No longer the brittle white hair, the clawing down of her cheeks and throat slit open with hate in her dreadful eyes. This was not a creature of vengeance, just a woman, a mother who you stood watching as if you forgot she could appear this human. Her hair long and a striking Tully red, wearing a shade of blue that always looked so beautiful on her. This was the Catelyn Stark which had died a mother to you. And the feast around spoke that in over a weeks time, she would be by law.

Some you spotted, some hurt less, some more. Theon stood younger and full of life. A cocksure attitude in his eyes as he smirked at whatever Southern girl had struck his fancy, back in the years when he found such prospects in said venture. Jory and Ser Rodrick looked alive as ever, in both their faces and in body. You had not seen Ser Rodrick's end by the very man across the room from him, but you had seen Jory's.

Jaime Lannister with a dagger shoved into his eye as you shoved one into the necks of one of his own men, a cruel end to a good man who had much love in his heart for the family he served. But the man who he fought to defend? You felt that dagger plunging into your heart.

Ned Stark stood tall as ever, and with the same sternness he always held no matter what. It was that which moved your feet, stepping into the hall. Carefully you walked to avoid touching or bumping into a soul, as if you even could, but you saw something troubling on his face that had lived there the entire last months you spent with him.

The closest thing you had to a true father, and he loved you like one. If you could have dragged him to safety then and there, you would have. Don't die for these people, you thought. The south will not remember you, they will all call you a traitor years after you're gone. But this was not in your control, it was a dream, not a chance to restore the wrongs done to this family.

A figure with darker hair, longer that sat flat against him slunk up to the side of him and you knew you had not seen him since that visit. “You at a feast, it's like a bear in a trap.” Benjen Stark was too much like many Stark fates, lost and unknown. Much like Bran, he was out in the far North and no one would find him.

He and Ned discussed something you hadn't quite caught, catching the laters words only at the tail end, “Said the Others slaughtered his friends.” It was warm in the hall, but you felt that chill once more. As early as that night was this darkness looming before you all, and still, none knew it and would not for years to come.

Benjen adding to his brothers words, “The two he was with are still missing.”

Both Starks were quiet for a moment, a look shared between them that was as knowing as it wished to be unknown. The Northerners always believed such things more then you all in the South, and the Starks understood better then any and all of those who did. But the answer of the question unspoken was not confident, nor did you think he meant it to be. “A wildling ambush.”

Just as the younger Stark spoke, your eyes found a figure passing in the crowd. Tall and broad with dark hair and a long face. You had no reason to notice them, but you did. Making their way from his place in the crowd slowly towards the door you now stood near. “Maybe. Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the Others, and my brother might be the next Hand of the King. Winter is coming.”

Just as the figure without a care in the world walked passed both men, you found a force compelling you to follow. But it wasn't the figure your eyes were focused on, and it wasn't the stranger which clawed at your heart until it beat harsh from your chest.

He looked so much lighter, that weight on his shoulders hadn't burdened him just yet and the bold blue in his eyes shined the way you remembered so vividly. Greeting his uncle, Robb Stark was not at that time the man you loved, but looking at him in such a memory you felt the scar under your dress burn in agony to go back to it.

Not a clue what he would become, what he would lose to get there, and..you dared not. You couldn't, not here, not when he was right in front of you. Speaking with a smile to his uncle, Robb was animated and laughed, smiled and joked and it was only alone with you did he do that by the end. He was still happy here, he had more family and hope then you and an unborn son named for the father standing next to him.

Eyes stinging, you needed to leave. You still felt a force calling to you, the stranger needing to be followed for why you were here but why leave? Robb was rarely happy in the end and you wanted to keep him here, keep him safe. The last you saw of Robb made you ill, even now you felt a sharpness in your mind to strike it from your eyes.

A weight in your chest formed as your hands unconsciously moved to your stomach. Weeks before a marriage he was forced into, he had no idea what lay ahead for you both. He should have stayed here, in this memory where he was happy. And alive. The tears watered and just as they fell you had to move away.

Lingering made the burning under your clothes worse and feeling nothing but the scar under the fabric made it worse. This memory was not about him, no matter how desperate you begged yourself to stay for just that. But you turned away before the tears could grow worse, as if Robb would see them. Follow the figure, not the loss that haunted.

The figure knew where he was going. Quick to catch up knowing Winterfell well, but they knew it well enough you had to run across the courtyard to catch him. The crypts, that was where he moved towards.

Looking around, none but your unseen shadow watched him, and you felt as if the feast was the perfect time. Escape and sneak just when all eyes were on the Kings company. He knew these people, and he was smart.

Stepping down the main stairs, you did not have to walk much to find where the stranger had gone. It was not far or deep or a mystery what he was looking for. It was one of the tombs long passed which he went towards. He knew what he was looking for, and he knew where to find it.

Approaching him slowly, you could not startle him but it felt eeiry in the crypts with such a stranger, like he might turn around and become the danger. But whatever he was searching for, was not there.

A hidden spot within the statue was pulled out and exposed nothing inside of it. The stranger, reacted little but wider eyes and an even wider frown. Standing abruptly, he looked from statue to statue but still nothing was as right to him as here, but it wasn't right. Whatever was hidden, whatever he snuck away from the feast to take, had been taken before him.

Looking right at you, he did not see you. Pulling the hood of his cloak up, he retreated the crypts as swiftly as he made his way to the steps. Your eyes could not see from here, where any you knew stood, they were in another stretch of hall, but you looked anyways. The only one who was in here now, was her, if this was any other sort of dream, you'd take the time, but you had to leave.

The air was so cold when you stepped from the crypts. The snow around your feet was deep and untouched, save for the path you stood at the beginning of. A figure in black knelt in a snowbank only feet from you. No one but a horse was around, and the dark hid the depths of the lands from what the moonlight could not touch.

The same dark hair, still long on him but now sat a fur on his shoulder painted in black. Coming behind him, all alone in the far North, Benjen Stark knelt down in the snow. A black bundle being placed in a hole with a heavy sigh. The symbol on the rock he covered it with, you did not know, but the rock looked old. The bundle, was something wrapped in a Nights Watch cloak.

Piling snow on top of it, Benjen stood on his own. No companions this far, and nothing to indicate why he had come all that way to bury something and hide it as such. Standing beside him, the wind blew against you both as he looked to the far North even further. Wherever Benjen was, you wondered, was the fate you were about to watch look the same was whatever Bran had found in this place?

The wind was cold as you both stood there, but as it blew, it grew stronger. And with the stronger winds, did it grow cold. It grew too cold, plummeting down that could freeze in seconds and the fear built too strong. You knew as Benjen did and fear was the only response.

Mists of snow were clouding the sight already smothered by darkness. Sword and blades all on his person, but it wasn't that which the man reached for, it was a glass like dagger that you recognized even in the windy darkness. Benjen knew what happening and he was prepared. Turning to his horse you moved to follow. Benjen being the compelling force drawing your attention, but it was not with him that you found your sights on.

Nor was it the approaching shadows that came with the winds in the far North. No, something else stood in the distance. Someone stood in the distance, and it wasn't the Others, nor Benjen Stark they watched. It was you. Far enough you could see little beyond the darkness, but you felt a shiver creeping up your spine not from the winds approaching.

Your dreams begged you to follow Benjen, but the man watching you turned and ran into the darkness opposite that. No one knew what happened to him, and the weight in your chest felt guilt and shame choking you for not finding out. But you needed to know this more. So away from the fate of a Stark none knew, you ran into the snowy darkness as the cold winds did not come with you.

Barley visible as they ran, a flowing cloak your only indication as the wind did not die around you, but yet grew warm. Warmer and warmer until the figure jumped from a cliff and as you followed it was not the north you found, but a hell surrounded in flames. The man was nowhere in your sights, but there wasn't anything in your sights but fire and lava, surrounding you as you felt your blood burn within but it did not consume you as it should.

At the mouth of a volcano, men all stood in a language you did not recognize did they chant. The fire burned brighter and the heat grew more unbearable as they shouted and shouted until a boom shook from deep within the earth below you. They did not run, standing brave and unchanging did the rumbles grow to crackings beneath your feet and spouts of lava shot up all around. Bubbling like a cauldron did the red heat grow.

It was as it came for you, this burning end did an arm grab you. Pulling you back, you knew there was nowhere to go so deep in the volcano. You could not run, but you were pulled back regardless. A gloved dressed in a fine silver steel tugged you back and with your stumble did you find fresh air and the brightness of day light in the surroundings. Rubble sat around you, smouldering and lifeless there was nothing of the sight you saw but one.

The man pulled his hood down but you still did not know him. He was not the stranger in the crypts of Winterfell, this was a man who looked with unsettling and bright shining blue eyes right at you, speaking your name.

Backing away many steps, you found your footing loose. Gravel falling from under your feet, turning to steady yourself found much of the ground in utter ruin. Skies tinged in red and buildings left in tatters of what appeared to be a broken stretch of nowhere. Not even the remains of corpses scattered about more then bones, but the smouldering made the air heavy and the vision of any darker then normal.

The sea surrounding you from the scattered, broken lands now crust and dirt looked like they were as fatal as the waters of Dragonstone once you had set it ablaze. Not green in this case, but an orange tint that looked like acid. Miles and miles the only thing was ruin that none could traverse, but yet you stood here in the blighted land.

Finding stable footing, you turned to the man watching with a glint, his eyes almost smiled something sickening at you even without the mouth forming up to match. Lips that were shaded in the vaguest of blue, a stain that was marked into them without care. Longer dark hair and a beard that was styled rather intentionally. Standing quite tall with armour scaled in black. Patterns you could not make out, glyphs and arcane symbols etched into it with the metal work just as ornate looking as the metal on his gloves.

His voice a vile sound that reminded you only of the whispers from Ramsay Bolton. Sharp in a painful way that set your hair on edge at it's very tone. He spoke with a purpose and candor only the danger was outright on this one instead of hidden behind a smarmy smile.

“It has been a long time since I've been in such a place. A truly long time, you have graced me with a rare opportunity.” A step was made towards you, but you made one backward. Your insides screaming to keep him away as you demanded to know who he was. A chuckle was what followed. Another step made closer and you circled around each one, keeping many feet between you. “I am the storm, little girl. The first storm, and the last.”

Shaking your head in the slightest, your voice was little more then a muttering. “That isn't an answer.”

You hated his laugh as much as you hated Ramsay's. Arms spread wide he looked to the ruins beyond and back to you with his blue eyes once more shining in a manner you distrusted. “Do you like games, we can play if you wish. I will tell you who I am, if you share how such a small girl like yourself survives a butchering at the hands of House Frey.”

Your scar burned, but you did not dare blink. You didn't speak either, he wished to talk then let him.

Bringing his arms up to rest across the ornate armour, he propped his chin up by his fist as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Or you could tell me exactly what you did to raise your precious bastard to life. I would accept either answer as the correct one, should you be a smart girl and not lie that is.”

The earth rumbled, winds blowing in the distance as if trying to reach you but couldn't flow passed miles beyond the man. One more you circled far away from him, finding any way to turn and run as if this was merely a chase to escape like waking life. “You shouldn't believe rumours. I was never dead, and neither was he.”

A lie, and he knew it. The grin on his lips would have been described as handsome, had it not once more reminded you of another just like him. Only this man, scared you more then Ramsay. A feat you did not think a mortal man could be capable of.

“We both know that isn't true. I have been from the furthest stretches of land and seen it all and more. From one end to the other, there is nothing I have not witnessed except for you and your King. The old ways can do much, but returning to life in such form like you? Not something I have seen. Tell me how, and I will tell you who I am.” He moved with a swift confidence, but you were quicker. Jumping from a crumbling rock to another before he could think to reach you once more.

Your voice was as even tempered as your stone still face, unmoving and unblinking trying to seek an escape from a dream with no ability to know how. “You must keep searching then, my lord. You will find no answers in me.”

The grin grew darker, “Lord.” A huff of a laugh left him with a grin knowing something you couldn't care less to be in on. “On the contrary, I will find much in you. I have not been here in so long, I've tried and searched and had no answers to take back what that old fuck took away from me. But here you are, all on your own in the world and I finally have a way back.” He jumped to a shaking rock just as you jumped to another in the ruined terrains. He liked the slow chase, a predator who played with his food.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Voice shouting louder, it echoed as buildings crumbled from the impact. “Our dear friend has touched you, I know you know what I am speaking of, you can't not. Do not play stupid with me, little girl. It doesn't suit those like us.” You shook your head once, you didn't have any answers but even if you did, you wouldn't give them to whatever this man was. “We don't need to dance around each other. You can tell me the truths you have seen, I know what it feels to be so knowing when others around couldn't possibly understand. It's freeing, like being able to fly when all others call you a fool for it.”

The earth rumbled under your own stance but he seemed not to notice. Whatever this was, it was his control now and you could only jump to find ground that belonged to you. Stepping backwards more, you could turn somewhat and see flat earth that might not break open to the earth. You only needed a few more feet to jump away to find land and run. “I don't have time for this, I don't have time for any of this. Let me walk away-”

Laugh was condescending if any man could be the most. “Walk? Where do you think you are? In the ruins, hoping to survive what only I have done? No little girl, we both know not even you could survive this. You're likely asleep aren't you? Tucked away in your bastards arms like a good whore would, dreaming of another man beacuse a Snow is nothing compared to a Crow.”

You didn't play word games, but you didn't spill secrets like water. So you stayed silent, letting it fester in anger in this stranger. You felt eyes watching you from deep within these ruins, but you could not see past the smouldering to spot them, even though the feeling crept closer as the man did.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he smirked once more. “We're here for a reason, I have searched for someone like you for years. Imagine my joy upon finding a thing like you to be it rather then the old one who stole it all from me. We are here to work together, you need only come to me. I'll even tell you my name, little girl.”

Land was close, but you couldn't get there fast enough. “I don't need anything from you.”

You felt as if you were beginning to hate every single pair of blue eyes that didn't belong to Robb, they all looked at you like something to torment, lesser then. Only his were the ones who deserved to look at you anymore, and you'd do anything to make this mans stop.

“The old man cannot help you as I can. He's touched you, but rest assured mine is far better. Let me in, and I can teach you whatever you want. How to control it, how to fly. Wouldn't you like that? Leaping from a tall tower and feeling the wind like a bird does? No man ever truly knows he can do it, unless he dares to leap. But I can ensure you will soar right along side me. Just come to me.”

Backing away and away, you refused to let him near. You knew such offers and smiles, that charm which was nothing but a lie waiting to strike. The other blue, the pale ones that still caked your skin in a dirt you couldn't clean tried to sound just as this one did. They were all the same and they were too blind to know you could see through it.

You suspected he hated that you barley reacted to him. Words can only hurt so much, you thought and you had suffered more then words for a year and came out on the other side. It will take more then this to manipulate you by now. “You speak as if you think yourself of a god. I can assure you, my lord, no god would dare waste his time on someone like me. You're just a man.”

Oh that did anger him. His voice growling as if tearing the earth around you as it cracked, booms following each raise of his voice. “I am more then a man. I am the godliest man to ever raise sail, girl. You serve a mere seven gods, but I served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray.”

Roars surrounded you as he came close, and quickly you found yourself running out of time. You had no where to go in his control and the moment you felt him grab you, the only blade sat at your side came up in an instant to slash at him. Cutting through the fabric of his hand below the metal he yelled out, only the leap you turned to make found yourself slamming to the ground with once more fire screaming around you.

This time you could see the men in the volcano standing without faces, blank spaces where they should be and no mouths to speak. Only voices from above that sung in your ear one after another as the flames flew around and shot out to the lands with screams above.

“Brave men kill them, terrible evil beasts.”

“You crows with your swords and your cloaks and your bloody fires. That won't help you none when the white cold comes.”

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

Eyes closing roughly, as you tried to force yourself up to your feet. Telling yourself it was a dream, the man had said himself, it was a dream and you could run in a dream and escape. Just as the fire burned around you did you turn to see him once more standing across from you. “Make this easy girl, if you run, I will take from you the likes you've never been had.”

Inhaling deeply, you stepped back and back further. Nowhere to go he would have you believe, but as your foot felt the edge to the lava below, you found a confidence. It wasn't his dream, he had said as much. It was yours. And your dreams followed that of your life. You chose ice not fire. The moment your feet stepped over the empty air it was not Jons bed you woke in, but landing backwards in the daylight of snow.

Where you had seen Benjen Stark, but no sign of him was left. Your dreams had always been vivid in such nightmares but you never had any consciousness within them like this, and that terrified you of when you'd ever come out of it.

Scrambling up to your knees, your head whipped around searching for the spot which Benjen had buried whatever it was he left here. As if the snow was untouched around you, it didn't move when you'd brush it away despite feeling the cold on your hands. You had been shown this for a reason, you couldn't leave without the answer you were forced away from by the blue eyed stranger.

But he was not yet done with you. The feeling of eyes came upon your back, and slowly you turned around still braced mostly on the ground did he approach looking large and terrifying. Voice a shout that echoed over the snowy mountains, “You had a chance to make this easy, girl. But the Crow's Eye will not be bested by a little whore.” The blade had flown from your hand as you fell into the North, and was too far away.

This was a dream, and he was not Ramsay. So why did you feel yourself fill with the same paralyzing terror of the nights he came to you? Why did it feel as real as it ever did?

But the moment he got close, the moment he reached to drag you to him, did a figure leap from nowhere you had seen. Something large and white flew past your vision with a growling snarl, and blood splattered into the ground with a painful cry from the stranger.

Ghost had appeared, and tore into him with little fight back to loosen the grip. Hands weaponless could only try and grab at the direwolf who then growled and snapped towards his neck but was thrown back slightly in the entangle.

You looked at the blade, and the stranger looked at you. You went for it, and so he went for you. Ghost once more tore at him but he was resilient and not even the direwolf could penetrate the ornate armour when teeth found steel. You didn't need to strike his armour though. This was a dream, but the stranger was still a man.

He tried going to you, and as Ghost stood barrier between you both did you grab the blade. Turning up and grabbing onto the direwolf enough to steady yourself. Hands stung painfully as blood splattered across you and the white fur but you sunk the blade deep into his left eye. A violent scream came as he bled and bled, but just as you heard a deep voice in the sky rasping your name did you wake up.

Eyes flying open, you gasped in an overwhelming dizziness sitting up. Not for a moment though did you question the touch behind you. Jons warmth pulled you back into him desperately as he seemed just as out of breathe as you.

Gentle shushes in your ear did Jon calm you with, but you grabbed his arms around you and he found your hand tightly. Neither of you spoke, hell, you both were still as you fell asleep, as bare and connected as before but now your hearts pounded with something terrifying.

As it was not only a dream you had, and it was not Ghost who came to you in it.

[lynnlovesthestars]

What do you think each companions’ favorite flower would be? Other than Shadowheart’s being night orchid

Ohh, i love this question..

Characters: Astarion, Wyll, Gale, Lae'zel, Karlach, Halsin. (+ minthara, Jaheira and minsc at the end)

Astarion wisteria: he never noticed it grows in the cemetery where he was buried. The night he died and came back to life, the wisteria was not in bloom yet, so he didn't notice, but after the absolute ordeal he came back a few times and in one of them, the wisteria was beautifully in bloom. It was magical to walk underneath the cascading pinks and purples, and in a way it felt like one of Tav's hugs. After seeing it, he finds a book about wisteria in Gale's stack of books, and it took him a second to steal it.

Every time he'd read more about this flower, his interest in it only grew, and along with it, he found himself growing pretty fond of the flower.

He could see himself in the delicate white petals: wisteria has different meanings in each region of Faerun and all of them were, in a way, parts of him.

Longevity, immortality, but also melancholy and a life cut short. It's new beginnings and self-reflection over the past.

♡♡

Wyll likes poppies. Maybe it's the simplicity that catches his eye right away, or maybe the beautiful vibrant colors, nevertheless he makes sure that there's always a pot of poppies at home. He mostly takes care of it, cause he doesn't want to put the responsibility on someone else, but you bet he will water his poppies with a precision worth of the blade of avernus.

His first memory of poppies, he holds it very dear, cause it was one of the last truly happy memories with his father.

Wyll worked with his father briefly before Ulder had to depart for Elturel. They took their horses and traversed along the Chionthar to make sure it would be safe for Ulder and the fists to cross. Tough as they were riding, they stumbled upon a stunning yellow and red poppy field. It reminded them of the flaming fists, of their home, of their mission, but lastly of the sunset that would await them after Elturel was safe. Though they didn't actually say it out loud, they knew Wyll was going to treasure the moment.

♡♡

Lae'zel loves snapdragons. First because they remind her of the might of githyanki's, then because she found them particularly relatable. Snapdragons can survive in the harshest temperatures, just like she was able to endure her whole life being turned upside down.

It's not easy to make her smile genuinely, but if you show up with Snapdragons, she will melt inside. (Though she'd never admit it)

♡♡

Gale likes hyacinths. He's mesmerized by their structure, their colors, their smell. They are just so intriguing. He started growing hyacinths to practice his weave control, but over time he really grew fond of them.

Gale definitely has a name for his pots, and refers to them as his children. One time he was rambling about the flowers, and everyone believed he was a father and forgot to let them know.

"I cannot believe you all" Gale exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "do you think i'd really choose to be stuck here with you, rather than at home with literally my children?!"

"Yes" everyone answered in unison.

♡♡

Karlach LOVES SUNFLOWERS. They just make her smile. She is a naturally outgoing and sunflowers just remind her of herself. Also she spent so long in Avernus, away from the sun, that when she came back to the surface, she followed it like a sunflower.

It wasn't easy to find them near Baldur's Gate, in fact the closest she's ever gotten to one was near Rosymorn monastery. The field was clearly blesses by Lathander, cause those sunflowers were breathtaking, even if she had to see them from her horse.

♡♡

Halsin loved every flower, of course. But one that always made his heart swell was the four o'clock flower. It was something so unique: a flower that would bloom only at dawn. It was like a secret only for those eyes that stayed vigilant in the dark. It was a flower for those lonely souls that couldn't sleep. Although he always had nature by his side, he did feel lonely at the end of the day. Through the decades he had many lovers, but no one could fill that emptiness, and that flower passed unnoticed until everyone went to sleep, just like he would pass unnoticed as he guised as a butterfly.

♡♡

Jaheira peony

Minsc marigold

Minthara black dahlia.

[adanmwere]

spn au thing! I took this from my notes app

Less or more I'm unsure if I can cw this with anything? I don't think anything in it is triggering and if it is I am terribly sorry

destiel as hell and it kind it starts to read like a fanfic.

A spn au but instead of the "world ending" and them saving the day. it ends. dean accepts Micheals offer from day one. Unlike Sam who doesn't accept Lucifer's offer and never does. this creates tension and micheal gets impatient, the war does happen in fact its hell. Armageddon happens, cas is the only hope for sam and bobby. He is powerless though until..He comfirms something he is in fact god. this causes.. Massive tension because why was he doing this? He had a lot to explain but sam nor bobby wasn't gonna listen to a word he said. if he was god why couldn't he stop it? Wasn't god their father? What the fuck (hes a demi god but he is GOD. just a different one not THE THE god.) he is a human now hes useless as he could ever fucking be. he goes into a depression and still has hope that maybe dean is alive or at least his soul. hes unsure though for many reasons snd who wouldn't be? He was partially used as micheals shield. he'd be lucky if he had made it out with all of his fingers and toes. cas hunts everywhere, he cant teleport so this looking turns into a hunt for years. too many to count he experiences the horrors of humanity and realises how truly fucked this planet was. it disgusted him but he was once again powerless. He was also loosing hope because it was months and years he had been looking for dean for hope that maybe he was alive. just when he was about to give up, he finds himself in a bar a small one and notices a man.. Who seems familiar this was only added on to when the name "dean" was called. It echoed through his ears and rang in his head like a bell. there he was, alive and in the flesh; dean fucking Winchester. He had evidently aged a bit more he was before havibg almost a head of grey hairs but he wasnt that old, he was surely older then castiel had come to remember but he was wearing a pair of sunglasses. He didn't seem to remember cas and castiel was wrecked because he had come so far just to be brought back to square fucking one. he was basically a stranger to dean now... dean took off his sunglasses and he was...blind ? God castiel felt sorry for him.

dean was blind. It was evident the whiteness covering his irises, castiel couldnt help but stare and he knew he was getting weird looks they probably thought he was some weirdo. dean would drink down his beer and speak up, asking the man (castiel) if he was having fun looking at him and if he had never seen a blind man. castiel felt embarrassed he apologized, dean shrugged it off not taking offense to it. But cas...he kind of just gave up. Because what was he to do? he left the bar, he felt emptier then usual maybe it was because he lost two of his best friends. one to His ignorance and the other to just being powerless because he nearly killed himself to help the Winchesters. he shouldve been pissed, mad even. Why wasn't he? why wasn't he mad at them? for making him suffer. it had to be a deeper reason to why, right? He leaned against the wall of the alley way as a figure caught his eye and deans voice once again echoed through his ears. Like fine wine made his ears tingle at the rasp in his voice. he called out castiels name. cas was unsure if he was referring to him. someone else must've had that name too, right? Cas noticed deans slight limp and the... cane dean had, god maybe dean was older then he thought. cas looked around nervously not talking because well he was blind. not to be mean or anything... "castiel novak" 'dean' called out. that wasn't even castiels last fucking name. It was his vessels last name. Jimmy novak, poor guy...But that wasn't important, taking a closer look at "dean" he had a uhhh...fake leg?..what were those things called...God that, battle must've taken a tool on him. But how was he even breathing? he was supposed to be dead, that was the plan that was the fucking mission not to kill dean but kill Lucifer and Sam was meant to be his vessel but Adam took that role soon after they figured out that Adam was Winchester blood he was the closest thing to Sam. Micheal was an angel he obviously had to have a vessel. god forbid. castiel began to feel a migraine form, he rubbed his temple. he would never get used to being a human. he missed being who he was. being able to help, defend. do something, He could barely hold a gun properly. what use was he? "stop thinking that way, hun" dean said. the words made his throat sore cas turned almost red. maybe it was because dean was blind. hopefully dean didn't.. mean to talk to castiel like that, right? fuck. (This turning into a fanfic lol HELP.) cas shook his head and groaned out the pain he was feeling. His head was throbbing like it had a heart beat of its own. "There's something, they..wanted me to give..or back yeah. give back" dean uddered as he hastily walked over to cas. pressing his pointer finger and middle finger against castiels temble. rubbing and sliding them down with a slight touch to it a beam of white light emerged the alley way he had been standing in. it gave the night a light. it was like a beam. the same ring that dean heard when castiel first tried to communicate rang through castiels ears... his own voice

[lost-walmartbag]

Stan x Reader S2 Pt 5

Warning: N/A

Background: Sarah and you have a conversation before bed

Status: Ongoing

Previous part

Next part

Do you?

"Where's Papa?"

You pause for a moment, looking down at Sarah's soft features. It had been a while since Kyle left without saying a word. You knew what he was doing of course but it didn't stop you from worrying. Stan was unpredictable sometimes. Not that he would ever hurt anyone, but you were worried he'd hurt himself.

"He's just making sure one of his friends is ok." Gently brushing a strand of her hair out of her face and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Adults do that a lot. Say something that's supposed to comfort, with little detail to shield their kids from the harsh truths of the world. And as you look down at Sarah you can tell it didn't work.

"He's ok I promise."

"He was really mad before...when that man was here."

Stan. Of course, she didn't know who Stan was but hearing her refer to him as only 'that man' killed you inside. What if that was you? You could only imagine the pain Stan would feel if he heard that. He was her father and yet here she was not even understanding who he was.

"That man was...he's a friend."

"Why were you yelling at him?"

"It's hard to explain, but I'm so sorry we scared you." You whispered, gently stroking her hair.

"Was he bad?"

"No honey he wasn't bad, he was just...angry." Maybe not the best choice of words but you knew they were the only ones Sarah would understand.

"At you?" She asked furrowing her brow. You knew she did this when she didn't fully understand something and as much as you didn't want to say it you knew she was old enough to know the truth.

"Yeah. At me." You whispered looking at the headboard behind her rather than her face. "Mommy...Mommy did something that hurt him and he didn't understand why."

"Why did you?"

Children were naturally curious. Asking you what the meaning of life was at least once a day was normal with Sarah and you loved that about her. Couldn't help but hate it now though.

"His name is Stan. He was friends with me and Papa Kyle when we were in high school."

"Before me." She said not as a question but as an observation. Sarah had an interesting way of understanding time. There was before her and then after her and that was all she knew.

"Yeah before you." You said gently shaking her leg. "Well, when we were friends...he did something. And it hurt a lot, and we stopped being friends."

"Did he mean to?"

"Hurt me? I don't think so, honey." And you meant it. Stand didn't leave to hurt you but that didn't stop it from hurting.

"Do you forgive him?" She asked, making you ponder on her question.

She was a smart kid. She understood a lot more than you ever did. You couldn't read people the way she read you.

"Yeah. I forgive him."

"Does he forgive you?"

Does he? Can he? You got to spend Sarah's entire life with her and all he got were an Instagram post and 4 seconds watching you comfort her. And it's your fault.

"I don't know, sweetheart. I want him to, but what Mommy did was bad, and if he can forgive me it'll take a long time."

"Like five days?"

"Maybe a little more than that."

"That's a lot." She said in a serious voice that made you chuckle.

"Ya it is, but sometimes it's ok to give people time."

"How much time would you need for me?" She whispered, looking up at you with those sparkling blue eyes she got from Stan.

She was so much like him. People wouldn't notice. Kyle didn't. But you did. You spent years hating him and then weeks loving him more than anything before he was nothing again. And every time you look into Sarah's eyes, kiss her soft face, watch her happily sing in the living room. It makes you fall in love with him all over again for giving you such a wonderful person.

"I wouldn't need any time for you. I could never feel anything but love for you." You whispered making her brow furrow again.

"You can love someone and not forgive them. I loved Papa Kyle even though he ate my cookie." She said with a small pout.

You loved Stan even after he left. Even after he broke you and left you to glue and tape yourself together again. But you didn't forgive him. You loved him even when you went through the pregnancy alone. And you love him even when you look down at your daughter indirectly telling you how much smarter she is.

"You're right. You can love someone and not forgive them."

"But you do."

"Yeah, I do forgive him."

"No. You love him?"

You pause before taking in the way Sarah looks at you. It is way past her bedtime. "Yeah, I do."

"Does he love you?"

"Who knows." You said softly before kissing her forehead. "I love you, sweetheart. Get some rest ok?"

"Night night Mommy." She whispered, with a small yawn.

"Goodnight my star."

A/N: Hey guys sorry I haven't been uploading it has been a long few weeks. I hope you enjoyed this chapter I still love ya'll thank you for reading 🩷🩷🩷

Taglist: @jessiegerl

[clairelsonao3]

Aveline

TW: Slavery, technically lady whump and minor whump (this is a flashback to when the POV character was 14, but there's no physical whump at all), dehumanization, drug addiction, mild references to and suggestions of past and present noncon touching, mild flirting/attraction/romantic feelings (it's a teenage crush, basically), light angst, some emotional hurt/comfort I guess. It's quite tame all in all.

This is a companion piece and prequel to my ongoing original whumpy romance story, Good Slaves Never Break the Rules. But it stands on its own, I think, so you can still read it even if the main story isn't your thing.

This was originally intended to be part of Whumptober but ended up not fitting. I guess you could call it a sneak peek at No. 30, and an experiment in posting a full piece of my writing on Tumblr for the first time (please let me know what I fucked up in terms of formatting, etc). 😅

And for those familiar with GSNBTR, a glimpse of a couple of secondary characters you might recognize, including one never before seen in person.

Ever since she was sold when she was four to pay her father's debts, back before her name had been replaced by the number engraved on the chain on her wrist, she'd been told no one need ask permission of her anymore. She was property now, an object to be touched, displayed, prodded, and paraded as others saw fit. Even Master Phillips, one of the "good ones," if that were possible, would lightly flick her hair or tilt her chin admiringly to show her off to guests. She hardly felt it anymore, or so she told herself.

But she must have felt it. Because if she didn't, she wouldn't have noticed that Master Ethan was different. Miss Louisa's older brother was always a perfect gentleman. A rare breed, and a dangerous one. The kind that got a slave girl believing in all the stupid fairy tales she was supposed to have outgrown. She still remembered that one Saturday, home and behaving himself after his first rehab stint, when he'd offered to help her paint one of the downstairs bathrooms in matcha green, just because he "liked painting," so he claimed, then spent the afternoon trying to make her giggle with jokes that fell just short of wildly inappropriate. She expected an ass grab any second, because in her world, that was the natural progression of things like this.

Instead, she got: "Hey, can you turn around for a second?"

She did.

He had a splash of green paint in his loose chestnut curls, the ones that spilled over his forehead and bounced when he shook his head. He reached out one long, tanned arm hesitatingly. "You have — can I — "

She'd blinked uncomprehendingly into his gray eyes, until she'd realized he was asking her a question. Asking for permission. Permission to touch her. Dazed, she nodded, and he brushed a finger over her face slowly and meticulously as if wiping something away.

"There. Much better," he said, nodding with finality as he turned to help her gather up the trays, brushes, and rollers and wash them all off in the utility sink. It was only later when she looked in the mirror as she was cleaning herself up that she realized he'd drawn stars on both her cheeks in matcha-green paint.

He'd stayed scarce after that, relapsed soon after, and now she hadn't seen him in six months. She didn't think anyone in his family had. So much for the fairy tales.

Except late at night in the narrow cot in her windowless room, she still repeated her name in a soft, slow voice, wondering what it would be like to hear it in his.

Aveline.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 19: Awakening

This picture is of course horribly misleading because the vegetables are all wrong. It's very difficult to get a good picture of this kind of thing though, because Wheel of Time takes place somewhere with a rather restricted set of vegetables. If you don't know that - or literally everything else about the series including all the books published after this one - you probably shouldn't keep reading.

This chapter starts with a brand new icon: dice! They're our exciting Mat chapter indicator.

Somewhere rich, then. Somewhere with money.

This is what Mat notices first because he is above all else an addict to creature comforts.

Chunks of conversations drifted around in his thoughts, talks with his father, with friends, with Moiraine, and a beautiful woman, and a ship captain, and a well-dressed man who spoke to him like a father giving sage advice.

The beautiful woman and well-dressed man are eyebrow raising. Elayne and Hurin might be who he means, but you'd think he'd consider Elayne a girl and Hurin is not normally mentioned in reference to his attire. Lanfear hasn't met Mat yet and neither Min nor Verin are beautiful. If Mat remembers Moiraine, he'd remember Lan's name (and anyway he's not well-dressed) and Thom wears a shabby cloak. Perhaps, much as Mat assumes the Ways and Portal Stones are dreams, these are dreams or past memories that seemed real.

They must win here or die. He was known as a gambler; it was time to toss the dice. In a voice that carried over the tumult below, he gave the order as he swung up into his saddle.

This is clearly a memory of a past life of Mat's (no Finn gifts yet), which will be enforced much later on in the last book when the Heroes call him "Gambler". It's not quite proof that Mat was the king of Manetheren at the end, but he was clearly somebody... and I think it's plausible that this was his most recent incarnation as well and that he hasn't been around since the Trolloc Wars. Like I said last time, I think this memory is here because his loss of memories from the dagger's taint pulled something out of the void - though for the most part it's just empty space. Mostly.

“Crazy,” he said roughly. “It probably isn’t even the Old Tongue at all. Just gibberish. That Aes Sedai is crazy. It was only a dream.”

Mat, just like Rand, Perrin, and even Nynaeve, responds to his plot appropriate power-ups with denial. Like all the others he'll zigzag the rest of the stages of grief in his own weird way.

He twitched aside the cloth, revealing two large silver pitchers and dishes of thin green porcelain. He had heard that the Sea Folk charged its weight in silver for that porcelain. He had expected beef tea, or sweetbreads, the kinds of things invalids had pushed on them. Instead, one plate held slices of a beef roast piled thickly, with brown mustard and horseradish. On others there were roasted potatoes, sweetbeans with onions, cabbage, and butterpeas. Pickles, and a wedge of yellow cheese. Thick slices of crusty bread, and a dish of butter. One pitcher was filled with milk and still beaded with condensation on the outside, the other with what smelled like spiced wine.

One of the things that marks the Tower as a flawed but not irredeemable organization is how they're pretty generous with their riches towards the sick. Like Mat notes, patients can usually expect rather miserable meals if anything, but instead he gets a feast on rare china and I doubt he's the only one.

You can turn the worst that comes to your advantage if you only think, his father always said, and certainly Abell Cauthon was the best horse trader in the Two Rivers. When it seemed somebody had taken advantage of Mat’s father, it always turned out they had gotten the greasy end of the stick.

It's rather fortunate for Mat that he remembers this particular exchange! It is of course awful to lose any memories, but everyone does that all the time and as we'll see Mat never actually lost anything he needed.

What he remembered of his time with Moiraine, and later with Verin, was not much to go on. He could not recall either of them doing anything really terrible, but then he could not recall a great deal of that time at all. Anyway, whatever Aes Sedai did, they did for their own reasons.

Though, just because we know Mat's got everything he needs doesn't mean that he does. I don't know that having a perfect memory of things would have made him any fonder of the Aes Sedai though. Moiraine is sketchy and Verin is clearly non-indicative of the general group.

Thinking about Aes Sedai made him remember a little about them. The seven Ajahs: Blue, Red, Brown, Green, Yellow, White, and Gray.

This is almost certainly something Mat learned on the journey and it's still something he can recall, which is pretty impressive even without the memory loss. The boy is much, much smarter than he lets on, even before he gets the magic upgrades.

“Egwene and Nynaeve want to be Aes Sedai.” He had not really remembered that until he said it aloud. “Rand is following Moiraine around and calling himself the Dragon Reborn. The Light knows what Perrin is up to. He’s been acting crazy ever since his eyes turned funny. I have to look out for myself.”

Mat will spend exactly 0% of the next dozen books looking out for himself.

He remembered the dagger in only the fuzziest way, but even that was like remembering a terrible injury. His insides knotted up, and sharp pain dug at his temples.

Frankly this stuff makes me doubt that Mat killing Fain was anywhere near what Jordan had intended, since this reads almost exactly the opposite of the immunity Mat will claim to have.

And the thought of owning the largest farm in the Two Rivers was no longer as exciting as it once had been. Once that had been his biggest ambition, that, and to be known as his father’s equal as a horse trader. Now it seemed such a small thing to want. A cramped thing, with the whole wide world just waiting out there.

This is rather similar to Egwene's motivations really. The two of them are definitely the fastest in not merely coming to terms with not going home again, but looking forward to life beyond it.

He would go; that was sure. A visit with them, a day to see the city, perhaps a game with the dice to pad out his purse, and then he would be off for somewhere where there were no Aes Sedai.

1. Mat couldn't even make it to the end of this chapter without going "I wanna see my friends again". The boy might say "every man for himself", but his sense of self is incredibly generous and has, in emergency situations, covered entire cities.

2. His certainty that he could win a game of chance in this town is a strong indicator that while he's never been "every toss of the dice is always the best possible roll" lucky until now, he's certainly always been ahead of the game. He is the Gambler, after all. It's just that now he's the Gambler, he's ta'veren, and his head is an empty void to boot.

“If they ask,” he said grimly, “I never even touched it. If they know. . . . If they know, I’ll . . . I’ll handle that when it comes. Burn me, they can’t want anything from me. They can’t!”

The one bit of luck Mat doesn't seem to have is that he can't ever fully extricate himself from trouble, and the one bit of stupidity that's a constant is that he always assumes he can get out of the mess he's in even though he's probably been in some kind of mess since the day he could walk. Though it's rather silly of me to say this in response to him worrying about the Horn of Valere, which will (due to luck on his part) rapidly become someone else's problem. Just, unfortunately, someone Mat will care a hell of a lot about when the time comes.

But that's it for this chapter. Next time: Remember when I said Mat hasn't met Lanfear yet?

[deusluxuria]

random doppio headcanons from the trenches because i have like a billion fanfics but doubt i will ever post them anywhere

( Content Warnings: Drug use, stalking, gaslighting, abuse, torture, pregnancy. )

-The priest who adopted him in his infancy was named Gianni. The two had a good relationship. Gianni was an extremely compassionate person who loved and cared deeply for Doppio, and in turn, Doppio saw him as his own father. Doppio would even argue with anyone who referred to Gianni as an "adoptive parent," because he was more wonderful than any other father he could have had.

-Doppio learned a lot of skills in Gianni's church community. Singing, piano, carpentry, fencing, archery, self-defense. He is a sharp-shooter, and learning this from archery evolved into knife throwing and various other skills around weapons. Learning how to fight was his main hobby and he didn't do much else with his free time, which he had a lot of.

-Knows his way around a Christian bible, but doesn't really subscribe to such beliefs. If you wanted to be involved in the community and have a social life at all in Doppio's hometown, you'd have to go to church. It's really all there was. Doppio was a very friendly and loving soul to everyone in town, even gregarious, but he never fit in. He always found Christianity to be strange and hypocritical, but fortunately, Father Gianni was very open-minded and always encouraged Doppio to think for himself.

-Doppio's natural hair color is jet black.

-He has been smoking cigarettes since maybe age 14. He tried to keep it a secret from Gianni, but Gianni knew. Doppio started using much harder drugs in his young adulthood.

-Donatella was the one person he would regularly get high with. They would stay in the same room for days on end, not knowing which way was up or down.

-Doppio and Donatella are both transgender. Doppio was the one who carried and gave birth to Trish. He had never been so scared in his life when he found out he was pregnant, and he kept it a secret -- he was not close enough with Donatella to have a child with her, nor did he feel he could take care of a child. He started going into labor when the great fire started that wiped out his town. All he could do was walk down to the shore and hide in a cove, where he gave birth to Trish. The two were down there for three days before Doppio had no choice but to go back to the ruins of the town.

-Donatella's home had been mostly unaffected by the fires. Doppio left Trish on her doorstep, and his next move was to run away from Sardinia. But shortly after leaving Trish, he lost consciousness from internal bloodloss, and woke up in the hospital.

-The moment he was discharged, he ran away from Sardinia, with absolutely nothing but his bloodstained clothes. On his way to the middle of Italy, he could swear he kept seeing glimpses of someone who looked eerily like him.

-Diavolo is not the same person as Doppio, although he did brainwash Doppio into thinking that. Diavolo's real name is Livio Una, and he's Donatella's brother. He'd been completely obsessed with Doppio since before Doppio had met Donatella. After the fires in Sardinia, Diavolo had cosmetic surgery, dyed his hair, and copied the tattoos to look as much like a copy of Doppio is possible.

-Diavolo very effectively brainwashed Doppio into worshipping him and being obsessed with him. This gaslighting and abuse was largely the cause of Doppio's poor memory recall (in addition to other traumas). Diavolo made him forget Trish and Donatella.

-Diavolo first assigned Doppio to the assassination squad. Nobody seemed to like him there and were actively rotten to him, except for Risotto, Pesci, Sorbet, and Gelato. Risotto would note that he never saw Doppio use his Stand, though he was amazingly skilled with ordinary weapons.

-Risotto grew to like Doppio quite a bit. Perhaps even fell in love with him. Diavolo noticed, and out of malicious jealousy, dragged Doppio into being his informant, where the two of them would always be attached at the hip. Diavolo would then rarely allow Doppio out of his sight, and if he did, he always had to know what Doppio was doing.

-The first time Doppio saw a photo of Trish, although he didn't remember that she was his daughter, he had this overwhelming and painful feeling of loss. He asked Diavolo what he planned to do to her, and Diavolo was sure to punish him for even asking, saying it was none of Doppio's business and that Doppio must do what he says with no comment or question.

-The energy between Doppio and Diavolo is so potent that others can sense it when the two are in the same room. The two absolutely reek of toxic codependency, and it's very obvious they're frighteningly obsessed with each other. It makes everyone uncomfortable to be in the same room with them when they're together, and the same when one of them is on the phone with the other.

-Risotto was worried about Doppio. Always had been, since the first time he saw him with Diavolo. Risotto had already hated his boss, but knowing he was hurting Doppio made it that much more intense.

-Really, anybody who was around Doppio and cared enough to notice was worried about him, because he was very visibly not okay.

-Emporio is the son of Doppio and Pesci. Doppio survived the events at the colosseum, and after recovering, he ran away to the U.S.. He had briefly been in a secretive relationship with Pesci shortly before Pesci was killed by Buccellati's group. Doppio was arrested and confined in the Green Dolphin Street prison due to a misunderstanding that could not be cleared up due to his lack of identification, and how he couldn't connect to anyone from Passione at the time due to their massive personnel change after Diavolo's defeat. Doppio gave birth to Emporio in the prison, and used King Crimson to help hide him for years. Eventually, because of his Stand, Doppio was approached by Pucci. Feeling threatened by him because of his history with the very manipulative and abusive Diavolo, Doppio lashed out at Pucci to protect himself and Emporio. All Doppio was able to succeed in was protecting Emporio, but he himself perished.

[tehuti88-art]

11/1/24: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Herr Ehrhard (last name--I think?--never given). (I say that as I can't recall at the moment if Ehrhard is his first or last name. 😳 ) He's the old chief of Louis Dobermann's help staff, and has been with the family since before Dobermann was born. He's deceased by the time of the main story but obviously plays a big role in Dobermann's formative years. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, he's a Rottweiler.

TUMBLR EDIT: All righty, well...I'll work under the assumption that Ehrhard is a first name. I seriously can't remember which I intended it to be! :/ Given that Dobermann most likely refers to him by first name rather than last, as he's so close to the family, that's why I'll go with that.

Herr Ehrhard already makes a brief appearance in a piece of writing: "Dobermann In Heaven," the afterlife scenario from Dobey's character profile:

Dobermann nods, rubs his eye. Another soft knock comes at the door; he lifts his head, looks at it, then at her. "Are you ready?" she asks; he steadies himself and nods again, and they both stand and walk toward the door. Ilse opens it, just slightly at first; someone brushes past her into the room. Dobermann's father smiles from ear to ear--"Louis"--and gives him a hard, quick hug. Then, suddenly, his uncle Ewald, beaming up at him and patting his arm, and his brother Horst, hugging and clapping him on the back--"Knew you'd end up here!" He's so caught up in all their greetings that it takes him a moment to notice another person standing back in the hall, looking on; his face lights up when Dobermann looks at him.

"Herr Ehrhard," Dobermann exclaims, recognizing the old chief of his help staff, who passed away some years previously. He's a bit surprised to see him there...but recalls the farm workers and washerwomen he saw outside, people who presumably once worked on the estate long ago, why should Herr Ehrhard not be here as well.

His family take a step back to give him space as he approaches Herr Ehrhard. He holds out his hand and the older man clasps it, tears springing to his eyes; he'd never been particularly emotional, good old steadfast Ehrhard, taking control of the estate whenever Dobermann wasn't able to, never complaining once, loyal to the end, but he's emotional now. Dobermann squeezes his hand to let him know it's all right. Still, "Why are you here...?" he asks, "You have family, ja...?"

Herr Ehrhard sniffles and nods. "Ja...I've been here so long, I could never say it, obviously, yet I always felt your family was my family. I was here when your father was young...and then you...and Fräulein Adelina...I wish only I could have stayed longer. I'm sorry you're here so soon, Herr Dobermann, yet I'm glad to see you. This is where I belong, if you'll have me."

"Of course," Dobermann says, his throat hurting; Herr Ehrhard did as much work raising him and Horst as did their parents. "You're my family as well," he adds, and Herr Ehrhard gets a look that helps him understand; he may have been a simple servant, toiling doing nothing hugely important, just simple servant things, things that would never seem to matter in the grand scheme of things...yet they mattered to him, and to Ehrhard, and that's enough.

He lets go of Herr Ehrhard's hand; Herr Ehrhard takes a step back.

--Dobermann In Heaven

Ehrhard's biggest role in the background story so far occurs while Dobermann is recovering in the military hospital and the Spanish flu is tearing through the country. Dobermann's never been the best at writing letters, so it's been quite a while since the family has heard from him, and given Germany's precarious position--rumors are rampant that they've pretty much already lost the war--the von Dobermanns (Dobey drops the "von" while serving) are increasingly worried whether he's even still alive or not. Horst and Ewald, Dobermann's brother and uncle, return from a visit to the city...within days, the entire von Dobermann family, and many of the help staff, have fallen ill with fever and coughing. Horst and Ilse, Dobermann's mother, hold out the longest, but finally admit they're too sick to remain at home; they load the delirious Ewald and Rudolf into the car and Horst drives them off to the city, an hour-long trip. Ehrhard, as chief of the help staff, is left in charge.

Those servants/workers who have family elsewhere are released from service to return to them, while those whose entire lives revolve around the estate are allowed to leave to seek medical treatment where they wish. Despite their former noble status, the von Dobermanns have always been generous to their help; Ilse departs with the stipulation that the estate and its property be left open and accessible to those of the staff who need it. There's plenty of food, resources, and lodging available, so that's no concern. The von Dobermann estate has no on-staff doctor, so Ehrhard calls the nearest country physician he knows to come see to those who have nowhere else to go. The physician is already haggard from visiting the neighboring estates; this strange new illness is simply everywhere, it's frighteningly fast working (Ewald, for example, fell horribly ill within a day), and unlike previous flus, it's mostly targeting healthy younger people. The doctor's work is simply never done. He comments on how Ehrhard is doing--Ehrhard isn't sick at all despite his proximity to everyone else, though by now he's getting worn out--and recommends that he wear a mask to protect himself going forward. He gives all the sick staff members what help he can, tells Ehrhard which are likely to pull through and which aren't, and heads off on his way.

Ehrhard heads to the laundry and fetches a stack of Frau Ilse's linens. Takes to them with a big pair of shears. Calls all the help staff and laborers who are healthy enough to be up and about to come to the front entrance and line up, spaced apart. He and a couple of maids hand out the makeshift masks he cut out, making sure everybody has a pair--"Wash and switch them out every day! Clean mask every morning! Cover nose AND mouth as long as you're in another's company! Come and see me if you ever need a new one. Cough into your arm--wash your hands--no spitting! If you have a fever or cough, leave your work to someone else, and you'll be put up in a room to recover. Together, we defeat the germ!" Ehrhard orders--and the spread of the virus wanes. This comes too late for the von Dobermanns, however; Ehrhard receives word from the city hospital that they've all succumbed, with Ilse going last, still crying out for "my boy, my baby boy in the army."

Ehrhard waits until he's alone in his quarters before he collapses, weeping. He's not given to crying or emotional things...yet the von Dobermann family has been his whole life for decades. An orphan, he served on the estate farm as a boy, as an adult was promoted to the in-house staff, and eventually made it up to chief of the help staff. He served Herr Rudolf and Herr Ewald his entire time there, and Frau Ilse when she came to live in the household, and helped raise sons Horst and Louis from the very start. They may be...may have been...Junkers, while he's just a servant, yet they've always been kind to him--especially the charming, sweet-mannered Ilse, who was always grateful for Ehrhard making sure she felt welcome when she married into the family--so now, he literally feels as if he's lost his own family. He spends a brief while shut in his room, cries himself out, washes up and puts on a brave face, pens letters requesting information on Louis's whereabouts, heads back out to mail them and see to the estate. It's all he can do for now.

Ehrhard admittedly has little hope left. He keeps his ear to the ground, and knows that the "Flanders fever" is ravaging the troops just as hard as the civilian population. Louis may be lousy at keeping in touch but surely he would have written by now. He's always been the odd man out in the family, quiet and withdrawn and aloof compared to his much more sociable and expressive relatives, and for this reason Ehrhard always tried to give him his space, sensing he needed it; as a result, the two of them have never been especially close, and Ehrhard can't say he really even knows him well. He actually feels a bit resentful, having seen Ilse's worry firsthand, that Louis hasn't kept in better contact. And he feels guilty that he feels resentful, because who even knows what's become of Louis?--he could be lying dead in a trench, or coughing his lungs out in a hospital cot himself. Every day Ehrhard waits for news, is increasingly discouraged when none comes, and keeps looking after the estate.

At last: Two telegrams arrive. Other members of the help staff gather anxiously as Ehrhard looks them over. He's confused: The first, from the family attorneys, informs him of two large monetary donations they've approved from the family's funds; a formal letter explaining the situation will be forthcoming. The second telegram is addressed from a military hospital. Everyone holds their breath as Ehrhard silently reads it; he lets out his own breath, eyes growing wet, and says, "He's alive...Herr Louis is alive."

The help staff ripples with relieved gasps and murmurs. Ehrhard reads the telegram aloud; it explains that Louis Dobermann was severely injured in a shell blast and is currently in hospital, but he's expected to fully recover. He received the letter from Herr Ehrhard regarding the family's situation. A telegram from the family attorneys should arrive as well; he'll return home as soon as he's able. The second telegram is signed L DOBERMANN.

The message is typical Louis Dobermann: Terse, to the point, emotionless. Still. It's confirmation that he's alive, and that's all Ehrhard was hoping for. He sits down as the rest of the staff disperse, and drops his head in his hands, nearly overcome by both relief and sorrow.

A letter arrives from the family law firm. The donations, to the city management and to the local hospital--both of which have been overwhelmed by the pandemic--were requested by Louis Dobermann; another donation will be made to a town in the nearby mountains. The von Dobermann family has a long tradition of charitable acts, especially toward the city and the mountain town which they often visited; they even had their family burial plot set up in the latter. It's no surprise that Louis should follow in their footsteps. Another telegram then arrives, stating merely that Dobermann is being released from the hospital and is on his way home. Ehrhard sets to work immediately, overseeing the staff as they get everything in order for his arrival. He sends off the family chauffeur and car to pick Dobermann up, and everyone waits, barely able to contain their anticipation.

Quite a while later, the car returns...except Dobermann isn't alone.

Ehrhard greets Dobermann--limping and leaning on the strange woman's arm--warmly, clasping his hand, eyes brimming with tears. Apologizes profusely for his loss, but welcomes him back. Then casts the strange woman--who seems barely able to conceal her own confusion--an inquiring glance, then back to Dobermann. "And...this is...?" he ventures, since nobody is explaining anything yet. Dobermann introduces Inga...his wife. All eyes promptly go wide; the help staff's jaws drop. They just as quickly recover themselves, though Ehrhard is briefly at a loss for words. Aloof, asocial, standoffish Louis--with a wife? He never even mentioned a wife in his telegram--how long has he known her? Who is she, even? Ehrhard shrugs off the hundred questions he has; Dobermann asks to speak with him privately, which catches him a little off guard, so he instructs a maid to show Frau Inga to the parlor for a drink or a snack, and Dobermann says he'll get back to her soon. Ehrhard follows him to the study, leaving Inga behind, looking just as perplexed as he feels.

Once in his study, Dobermann dismisses the last few of the staff hovering nearby, leaving only Ehrhard and himself. He then lets out a breath and leans over his desk, hand pressed to his middle. Ehrhard hastens around the desk, gently grasps his arm--"Here, here"--and helps him sit on a nearby couch. Fetches him a drink and waits as he sips at it a little. He'd barely paid mind to the way Inga held firmly to Dobermann's arm the entire time they spoke; it's obvious now that he's still weak and in quite a deal of pain. Dobermann lifts his head and says to Ehrhard, "Tell me. About my family."

Ehrhard hesitates, uneasy; "You can speak freely with me," Dobermann says, "I'd like to know what happened." So Ehrhard quietly, haltingly explains how the illness tore through the household, sweeping the family before it; he mentions how the city doctor who treated them described Frau Ilse's last days, how she died still calling out for her boy in the army. "They thought she was delirious," he murmurs, "your brother was there, in another room, yet she insisted he was in the army. She wasn't delirious, though. No one there even thought of you." It's true--Dobermann has spent his life in the background, unnoticed, easily forgotten--so of course nobody at the hospital remembered him. As Ehrhard relates this, he lowers his head, looking vaguely crestfallen; at first Ehrhard assumes he feels hurt to be overlooked, yet Dobermann simply says, "I should have written," and he realizes that Dobermann doesn't care what everyone else thinks, he just wishes he had been there for his family.

Dobermann pulls himself together after a moment of awkward attempted reassurances from Ehrhard, and starts asking questions about the estate--the finances, daily household management, whether his father left any directives or not. After answering a few, Ehrhard understands what's happening: He's trying to figure out how to run the estate, from scratch, all on his own--something that, as the younger son, he's never had to deal with before. On the one hand, Ehrhard is touched, that he can set aside his obvious grief to deal with practical matters so soon...on the other hand, he's skeptical that Dobermann is up to the task. Even Herr Rudolf had Ehrhard and his own veritable army of lawyers and servants and whatnot to deal with daily affairs; honestly, the von Dobermanns spent most of their time socializing. Granted, this had a practical function in that it means the family has lots of connections...and Dobermann is definitely NOT skilled at socializing. The estate's already started receiving letters, telegrams, and calls concerning Dobermann's return, and they're only bound to explode in volume soon. Ehrhard tells him he doesn't need to worry about it all just yet, he's only just come home, he's not expected to do everything at once, just try to rest and recover--and spend time with his new wife--first. Dobermann asks that he continue handling things while he does so; Ehrhard promises.

Dobermann fetches Frau Inga from the parlor and they head off to his private quarters. Ehrhard finds some of the help staff huddled in the hallway whispering excitedly; the maid who'd been seeing to Inga is telling them how she had no idea that her new husband is a former noble, and very rich. Seems Dobermann was withholding info from just about everybody. The servants express their own doubts, not about Dobermann, but about this interloper--who is she, how did she end up here, what did Dobermann see in her, why did he never mention her, how can they be sure she's not some sort of huckster trying to wheedle him out of his money? While Ehrhard shares some of these suspicions, he admonishes the others over such unprofessional behavior, tells them to stop gossiping--no matter what their opinion of her, Frau Inga is now Freifrau Inga, and their boss--and get back to work. Whatever Dobermann or Inga requests, it's their job to do it, same as before. The estate is to return to its previous functions now that the war is over and its owner is home.

The next day, a deputy to the city mayor arrives for a visit with Dobermann. Ehrhard sends a servant to fetch Dobermann, as he's still in his quarters, presumably sleeping late; yet it's Inga who comes out to speak with the visitor; she asks the servant a few quick questions about the man as she straightens her dress and hair, then heads into the parlor to meet him. Despite his surprise and confusion, he talks with her instead, and when he departs, he confides in Ehrhard how impressed he is with "that charming young lady Herr Dobermann's brought home with him!" Ehrhard hadn't known until now that Inga, not Dobermann, met with him, and cringes inwardly; she's no Junker, she must have no idea what she's doing, why is she presuming to take Dobermann's place? He heads to the parlor, rehearsing a painfully gentle rebuke in his head, yet all he gets to say to her is "Frau Dobermann..." before she stands up with clasped hands and addresses him.

Inga: "Herr...Ehrhard, ja?"

Ehrhard: "Ja."

Inga: "You're the head of the help staff?"

Ehrhard: "I am."

Inga: "I wished to apologize if I was presumptuous. Herr Louis is sleeping late and I didn't wish to wake him."

Ehrhard: "I assumed."

Inga: "While you're here, I wondered if perhaps you could fill me in on a few things...? I'm not sure how long my--my husband is going to need to recuperate, so it might be best for me to be prepared to meet whoever else might visit."

Ehrhard: "You...wish to handle the visitors?"

Inga: "I'm sure Louis is more than capable of handling letters. I could at least shoulder some of the social calls. From what I understand he's...never been quite the best at social things, has he?"

Ehrhard: "Ahmm...nein, chatting with others has never been his strong suit."

Inga: "Well then. Perhaps I can make myself useful. If Herr Baer or any others wish to speak with Louis, you could have them meet with me instead for now--? At least until Louis is back on his feet."

Ehrhard: "Herr Baer--?"

Inga: "Ja...the mayor's deputy, that young man I just spoke with."

Ehrhard leaves his little meeting with Inga, feeling immensely befuddled. He'd fully intended, despite his orders to the help staff, to tell Frau Inga to stay in her lane and let the men handle the important things...yet she's so well spoken, and has such a charming smile and demeanor, and seems to know exactly what she's doing--she even remembered the deputy mayor's name while Ehrhard forgot it--that all such plans fled his mind and he forgot everything he meant to tell her. He actually feels a bit like she bewitched him, almost. He tries to shake off the feeling; no matter what his own opinion, she really does seem good at handling people, which Dobermann is not, and he'd rather she take on this chore while Dobermann is recovering; maybe afterward she'll recede back into her place and all will return to normal.

That never quite happens. Even following Dobermann's recovery from his wounds, he insists on keeping Inga at his side, asking for her input and advice on almost everything; even when he resumes meeting with officials, she's always there, with her winning smile and modest demeanor and carefully chosen words. For a while Ehrhard and the staff have seriously mixed feelings; he learns that the suspicion that Inga must be some sort of witch or enchantress runs far deeper than just his own silly superstitions, and some of them are a little resentful for her presuming to speak in Herr Dobermann's place. Still...Inga goes out of her way to treat the servants and laborers with kindness and compassion, deferring to them on matters about which they know better, and it isn't too long before she's won all of them over. Ehrhard realizes that what they'd all mistaken for witchcraft or duplicity in the Dobermanns' interactions is in fact simply love; Dobermann trusts Inga in everything, and Inga would do anything for her husband. Nothing else matters.

Ehrhard notices that Inga does have another side...not a mean streak, but a sort of steeliness right beneath the surface. She may come across as gentle and polite, but she's not to be messed with. Ehrhard gets word of a visiting official harassing one of the maids one day; she claims he threatened to extort her if she told on him. Inga happened across the two and asked what was going on; the official gave his version of events while the maid was quiet, then Inga asked for her version. When the official attempted to interrupt her, the maid recounts, "Frau Dobermann gave him such a look," said she was speaking, and nodded for her to continue. The maid says she was going to lie and insist everything was fine, yet ended up pouring out the entire story; Inga looked at the official again, and "It's like he was a weed just withering away under that stare," the maid says. Inga told the official to leave, and that he was no longer welcome on the estate. When he attempted to appeal to Dobermann, Dobermann simply repeated Inga's comment, and threatened consequences if he returned. Ehrhard gets the chance to see Inga's withering stare--it's nothing overtly threatening, not even a disapproving glare, he can't describe it even if he tried--literally all she does is lower her eyebrows a fraction and refrain from blinking or smiling. Rather, it's something in her eyes that conveys such a deep sense of disapproval and contempt that no words can capture it. She doesn't use this look often, but Ehrhard knows better than to try anything when she does.

Another, similar thing Ehrhard notices is that Inga is perfectly capable of, and willing to, manipulate others--namely, men--when need be. She just naturally seems to have an effect on the opposite gender without even needing to try; men will fall over themselves to accommodate her, whether she hints that she'd like them to, or not. And far from being ignorant of such knowledge, Inga is fully aware of this, and occasionally makes use of it. This bothers Ehrhard a little at first--he worries that she will use, or has already used, this technique on Dobermann himself, and indeed, an unintentional use of this is likely what won him over so quickly. Ehrhard never catches her intentionally manipulating her husband, however; she always includes him in anything she plans, requests his advice, and defers to him in important matters. If anything, it appears that Dobermann enlists her aid in influencing male visitors when suitable; Inga's charming demeanor easily disarms and puts people at ease, making it much easier to negotiate with them. It's rather fascinating watching the Dobermanns collude in such a manner, like two spiders conspiring to trap a fly. They seem uninterested in using this tactic for any particularly ill purpose--Dobermann appears most motivated to simply avoid having to deal with the slew of social interactions his family were known for--so Ehrhard sets his concerns aside; as long as Inga isn't using Dobermann without his knowledge, he has no real concern in the matter.

For a while, Ehrhard is more concerned about Dobermann's run of the estate. Although he helped raise the von Dobermann brothers, he was never especially close to Louis, who mostly kept to himself while his brother got the attention. Indeed, Ilse ended up spending more alone time with Louis than anyone else. He always avoided interacting with everyone at the lavish parties and gatherings the von Dobermanns were famous for, hiding in corners or behind his mother when young, keeping to the side of the room or retiring altogether when older; no wonder nobody at the hospital could ever remember hearing about him. He never stood out, never established himself as a von Dobermann, before joining the army and practically disappearing; Ehrhard wonders sometimes if he enlisted just to get away from his family obligations (Louis dropping the "von" from his name feels almost like a slap in the face). He isn't so sure that Dobermann has what it takes to run the estate and pick up where the family left off.

Yet slowly, bit by bit, Dobermann pulls the estate back out of its torpor, and starts to get things running again. He hires new workers for the manor and for the farmland (Ehrhard noticed how grief stricken he looked when informed of how many of the help staff had died), puts craftsmen to work fixing up sections of the manor that have fallen into disrepair, orders certain parts of the farm to return to production. Inga takes over the old solarium, Ilse's former pride and joy, which has been abandoned since her illness and passing; using Ilse's old diaries, Dobermann orders seeds and seedlings, and within months the once lush gardens are budding anew under Inga's care. The farm never returns to its fully functional state--it hadn't been used even under Rudolf's ownership--but it does start producing enough small goods such as eggs and dairy that the Dobermann estate can sell or trade them with neighbors. The social connections that had withered in the family's absence are restored, largely due to this trade, Inga's diplomacy, and especially Dobermann's continued donations. The von Dobermanns were well known for their generosity with charity, and Dobermann is no exception, as his initial offerings to the hospital, the city, and the mountain town proved. The estate receives numerous letters and visits; once he's recovered from his wounds, Dobermann doesn't turn them away as Ehrhard had rather expected, though Inga is the one who does most of the talking. City officials present Dobermann with honorary titles, including Watchman of the City, and an accompanying cap (Dobermann privately grumbles to Inga about having to wear "that f**king hat"); Ehrhard overhears when one shows him plans for a memorial statue of him in the city square, to which Dobermann bluntly replies, "You will not build that statue as long as I'm alive." He still maintains his distinctly asocial attitude, yet successfully balances it with managing the family estate; Ehrhard finds himself pleasantly surprised by just how well he manages to step up and assume responsibility.

The Dobermanns take in a guest, Gunter Hesse, who Dobermann had rescued from the battlefield during the war; like Dobermann, he was released from military service after the Armistice, and left to recover from his injuries. Unlike Dobermann, he's poor, and had no money or home or people waiting for him. Inga met both men in hospital and convinces Dobermann to bring him back to the estate to continue his recovery from morphine addiction. Ehrhard has mixed feelings about their new guest, and senses the same from Dobermann; Hesse's recovery is slow, but he manages to get clean. When Inga becomes pregnant, then falls seriously ill as she goes into labor, Dobermann hastily--and inexplicably--puts the estate under Hesse's control, and leaves with Inga for the hospital. Hesse and Ehrhard are left befuddled; Ehrhard actually feels a bit resentful about the snub, until Hesse admits he has no idea why Dobermann left him in charge, he doesn't know what he's doing. When Ehrhard dares to suggest that Dobermann acted purely out of haste and lack of thinking, Hesse says, "Probably true," and suggests in turn that, as the actual chief of the help staff, who's been left in charge before, Ehrhard should continue with this, and Hesse will defer to him. Caught off guard by his honesty, Ehrhard offers to let him deal with visitors and letters for now, and the two reach an agreement.

Dobermann and Inga return some days later with a newcomer, baby daughter Adelina. Looking just like her mother, she's the first girl born to the family line in quite a while, and everyone is immediately smitten with her. Ehrhard hasn't dealt with an infant since Louis's childhood, so feels rather discouraged that he has no idea how to help Inga out when Adelina becomes colicky and cries constantly; Dobermann is busier than usual handling all the estate's social matters without her, and also doesn't know how to handle the situation. Oddly, orphaned, unmarried, childless Hesse is the one to come to the increasingly frazzled Inga's rescue; more than once Ehrhard comes across him taking the squalling baby for walks around the manor when he can't sleep at night, singing her lullabies. Ehrhard notices Dobermann's discomfort at Hesse being better at handling his child than he is, though he doesn't interfere, knowing Inga needs the rest. As the child grows older, she comes to refer to Hesse as "Uncle Gunter," and only he and Inga refer to her as Lina.

Dobermann briefly loses track of toddler Adelina on a family visit to the city. He hadn't been a particularly affectionate father in the first place, yet following this incident, he starts to withdraw, putting some distance between himself and his daughter. Inga and Hesse notice; so does Ehrhard. None of them are able to convince him that his fears of putting Adelina in danger are unfounded; Ehrhard privately stands up to him to protest his behavior, something he's never done before, but is dispirited when Dobermann curtly dismisses him afterwards. Dobermann's never been one to act hastily or irrationally, so Ehrhard can tell that the incident rattled him badly, and no amount of reasoning can talk him out of it. Ehrhard and the others can only look on sadly as an invisible wall goes up between father and daughter, with little Adelina unable to understand why her father suddenly keeps his distance.

Ehrhard quietly continues his work running the household behind the scenes, though he can't help but feel that a sort of barrier has arisen between Dobermann and himself as well. He feels like he's failed the family, in being unable to help patch up the relationship between Dobermann and Adelina. He witnesses as Adelina, unable to get closer to her father, and sometimes overlooked by Inga as she helps her husband deal with estate matters, turns to Hesse for the attention she needs. There's no duplicity on Hesse's part--he too seems concerned that Adelina's parents aren't focusing on her enough--yet in lieu of their attention, he looks after Adelina for them. She runs to "Uncle Gunter" with every problem, after every upset, with everything she wishes to share, and he's always there to answer. And so of course, when Hesse--still bitter and disgruntled over his treatment by the army following the war--latches on to ideas put out by the rising party of the National Socialists, Adelina latches on as well. Hesse is actually mortified when Inga requests that he refrain from sharing such ideas with Adelina; he hadn't actively done so, she was really just that observant. He promises to keep his opinions to himself.

Ehrhard is unsettled by the increasingly tense political situation. Although a good, devoted, traditional German, he doesn't care for the growing hateful rhetoric, and is left aghast by the description Dobermann gives one evening of a nationalist rally he and Hesse encountered on a city visit. He tries to take some comfort in the fact that Dobermann appears just as disgusted as he is--"F**king Nazis!" he fumes, "What's this point of brushing off half the population as not German enough?--dig deep enough in their family trees and I bet they're even less German themselves, get rid of all the non-Germans and you end up with nobody!--sounds like an EXCELLENT plan!"--though their opinion seems to be in the minority, and it's getting dangerous to speak out against the regime. Ehrhard has to admit, when Dobermann asks him, "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" that no, he's seen the old nationalist German spirit of course, though never anything quite like this. He inquires, when Dobermann falls silent, what he's thinking; Dobermann replies with great reluctance, "I'm thinking history repeats itself...I can't help but think war."

It seems like an unbelievable prospect--Germany is still recovering from the last war, how could another come so soon? Yet that's exactly the direction things seem to be taking; once Dobermann makes his comment--and Ehrhard knows he would never suggest such a thing lightly--Ehrhard keeps his eyes open for signs, and starts seeing them. All the little pieces fall into place; the Reich begins annexing its neighbors with the help of the Soviet Union, yet then makes the abrupt decision to invade the USSR itself. Ehrhard, Hesse, and the Dobermanns listen silently as the attack is described on the radio; Dobermann says simply, "This is it."

The USSR and the Reich turn on each other, and a battle front opens in the east. Hesse decides to reenlist--not in the army, but in a relatively new paramilitary group called the Waffen-SS. Ehrhard, as secluded as he is on the Dobermann estate, has never heard of them, though Dobermann has--and has a very poor opinion of them--while Inga seems very ill at ease with Hesse's involvement with the group. Most concerning of all, though, is Adelina's reaction: She's heartbroken at the thought of losing "Uncle Gunter" to the war, and can't be consoled. After Hesse's departure she falls into a deep depression, spending much time alone in her room; she's never had any friends of her age, and is schooled at home by tutors, so Hesse was the only actual friend she had. The two good things that come of this are that, firstly, Adelina is no longer inadvertently exposed to Hesse's political beliefs; and secondly, Dobermann, noticing her fragile state, finally puts in the effort to get a little closer to her as a father. He takes her out with him when he inspects the estate and the farm buildings, and even shares some of the old stories his mother once told him as a child. Ehrhard feels a bit of relief, which he shares with Inga, that father and daughter manage to at least slightly repair their damaged relationship, even if it took a war to do so.

By now, Ehrhard is quite old; he'd started his job as chief of the help staff while Rudolf was still young, was there to witness Louis's entire life, and now Rudolf's granddaughter, Adelina, is close to coming of age. Although his job consists mainly of supervising the other servants and advising them what to do, he's grown tired and has slowed down. He doesn't need to ask for a respite, which would be too humiliating for him anyway; Dobermann lightens his duties. He recognizes that Ehrhard has served the family faithfully his whole life, giving them everything he has, and he's earned a rest. Ehrhard would be too embarrassed to retire completely--serving the Dobermanns is his entire purpose--so he continues in his capacity as help staff chief, albeit with limited hours. Dobermann, uneasy about repeated requests from Nazi officials for access to his property, ends up taking an unusual step that bears on Ehrhard's position: He hires a handful of soldiers from among the ranks of the Wehrmacht and puts them to work moonlighting as guards on his estate, his single stipulation being that they're not registered members of the Nazi Party. It's an odd solution, but seemingly effective; the Wehrmacht guards are more loyal to Dobermann, who houses, feeds, and pays them well, and treats them better than the army, than they are to the Wehrmacht itself, and do a decent job keeping the Nazis at bay. Ehrhard has to admit, Dobermann has learned the arts of diplomacy--and subtle manipulation--quite well; turns out money is still just as great a motivator as always.

One evening, Ehrhard wishes the Dobermanns goodnight, and retires to his room early after supper; he's more tired than usual, and hopes to get a decent sleep to get him started early the next day. He doesn't appear at breakfast the next morning; by noon, the maid who typically cleans his room approaches Dobermann, anxious that he won't answer her knocks. Dobermann goes to Ehrhard's room himself, knocks, then advises that he's coming in. He and the maid find Ehrhard still in his bed, appearing asleep, though when Dobermann reaches down to gently shake him, he withdraws his hand a bit abruptly, then presses his fingers to Ehrhard's neck. The maid notices the way Dobermann's shoulders sink; he stands straight and quietly instructs her to tell Inga to contact the nearest doctor who comes to serve their household when necessary. "No hurry," he murmurs, which tells her all she needs to know; her eyes filling with tears, she hastens off nonetheless, to pass along the request and let the others of the staff know the news.

Everyone on the main staff--both Ehrhard's fellows serving in the manor, and the farm laborers outside--grieves the loss terribly; he's been a staple of the estate for so long, it's difficult to imagine the place without him. Even the Wehrmacht guards are subdued. Dobermann is hit hardest of all; Ehrhard may have always felt that there was an ocean of distance between them, yet Dobermann grew up with him always there, Ehrhard always respected his space, and he had a far bigger impact on him than he ever knew. The most painful thing of all, Dobermann confides in Inga, is that Ehrhard felt like the last real connection he had to his family even after they were gone, as Rudolf and Ilse practically considered him a member of the family themselves. He decides that, as Ehrhard was an orphan with no relatives of his own, he should be interred in the von Dobermann family plot in the mountain town, near the Junkers he served for so long and so faithfully. It's the only decision that makes sense. Ehrhard is buried not far from Rudolf, Ilse, Ewald, and Horst. Dobermann, Inga, and Adelina attend the funeral and mourn him just as he once mourned the von Dobermanns.

Back at the estate, Dobermann calls the house staff together, and offers the position of chief to one of the older Wehrmacht guards, Sergeant Alger Holt; Holt, caught off guard, thanks him for the offer yet declines, so the role goes instead to a newer, younger soldier and Junker, Private Konrad Helmstadt. As the staff disperse, Dobermann takes Holt aside to speak with him privately. He says that, although from the same social class and already quite efficient and devoted to his work, Helmstadt feels a little bit off to him; "I know you prefer to work from the background," he says, and asks Holt to keep an eye on Helmstadt for now. Holt nods and gives his word.

[Herr Ehrhard 2024 [‎Friday, ‎November ‎1, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:32 AM]]

[elpida]

At first all Eden could really think was that it was so refreshing to see Angelo laugh easily and smile so brightly, she'd always liked seeing him at ease that way and love seemed to flood into her eyes when she was looking at him. She was so incredibly soft on him that it showed even in how his presence near her seemed to ease her tensions, that she'd lean into his touch and allow the comfort of it to flood into her muscles, into her bones too.

She'd been trying to learn Italian, even the basics but... she was in no means fluent, she really just knew the odd word for something and whilst that was still a great progress, she couldn't keep up with anything they'd say to each other, so the ease in how he swapped to English for her was very noticeable and greatly appreciated. He was happy, he was excited and she didn't want to squander it with her anxieties, her worries... she felt them silly even because this was someone he trusted. It was something she'd touched on in therapy, that she was finding the uncertainty of new people, difficult. The girl that'd once blindly trusted anyone, that'd offer her heart on her sleeve was... wary. What if her heart was crushed again? What if the warmth of her kindness was once again squandered and abused?

He spoke about her, that's something she couldn't help but notice because... well he'd never mentioned her name to her, from what she could recall. When hi hand dropped to her growing belly she almost felt like asking him to rub his others hand along her lower back where she felt the most pressure of carrying the growing weight. She couldn't imagine how it'd feel in a few more months however, she knew if she did ask he'd have sat doing whatever she needed for any length of time, it was something she'd taken a lot of comfort in, learning to lean on him a little bit more, each week. She was learning to trust him all over again but loving him had never stopped, even now as she leaned into Angelo's side briefly, her own hand brushing along the back of his shoulder briefly. She swelled with so much flattery to hear him refer to her as his Eden, his.

The way Viviana took her face in her hands really did startle Eden, she didn't know whether to yank her body away or run or- she wasn't Sam. Nobody was like that, he wasn't the norm... she had to keep trying to remember that so for a moment Eden's green hues stared and seemed to stammer on what to do or say, she just.. needed a moment to adjust. There was one thing at least, she was proud. Proud to be his, proud that she'd make him a Father and she just knew he'd be great at it. Just being told she'd be wonderful left her wondering... would she? She might not have had a great example from her own but from how sweetly Eden still, to this day, spoke of her Grandmother, she had one woman that'd taught her exactly what to be, the way to do things right.

"Well, any advice is always welcome. Please, do come in, I was just making tea do either of you want tea or- please feel free to go for something stronger don't feel like you need to succumb to tea because of me or anything! Tea and tomatoes are the uh, current cravings. Oh and as of this morning apparently peanut butter too. The funny thing? I've never liked peanut butter until this morning." she took the opportunity to move to the kitchen, her little safe haven, only now her own hand came to rest under the curve of her belly, fingers soothing along the bump. I'm trying, she thought, wondering if he could see that she was giving this her best shot. She hadn't forgotten about making tea for Lawrence to so she was thankful for giving her hands something to do, something to tinker with. She'd been feeling brave today, she'd wanted to go face something she'd been putting off but now she didn't want to intrude on time with his friend so she put out some plates in case they wanted anything she'd baked this morning and moved to Lawrence to whisper a very quiet. "Am I doing okay? I'm not messing this up?"

She still couldn't shake that feeling of awe, taking in just how beautiful Viviana was. A friend. He said this was a friend so... should she feel threatened? She wasn't even aware they'd seen each other once upon a time. Of course he was allowed to have female friends, she'd never deny him that but if she knew the history she'd feel... well, very much inadequate. Eden didn't feel like she'd ever been gracious like this woman before her, she'd never been and never would be as breath taking or even that classy. She was just common, that's what she thought and part of her worried in wonder, if Angelo had ever seen her as just.. common too. "Angelo? I'm going to go get some things from my apartment do you.. need me to bring you anything back? Viviana do you need anything? I always forget something when I've travelled so if there is anything you need I can get it, no problem at all." she offered sweetly.

Angelo had noticed the small ways Eden was trying to reclaim her life since returning home. Her hovering presence was a quiet testament to the guilt she carried, though he wished she could see that there was no need for it. He watched as she made efforts to help, wanting to ease her burden by allowing her space to heal. Cooking for her felt like the least he could do, slipping her meals and snacks in a way that felt natural, without pressure, and adding his touches that knew made the meals savour best. Seeing her enjoy even a few bites reassured him, a small victory in the long road ahead. Lawrence watched everything unfold in his eyes and while he carried the tasks at their home, feeling a sense of relief wash over him over Eden's improvement.

The nights were hardest for Angelo. He didn’t have to ask to know she was suffering from nightmares, even if she didn’t vocalize it. He could feel the tension in her body when she trembled in his arms, the silent way she sought his comfort after waking from the awful memories. Every time she clung to him, it broke his heart a little, but he held her tighter, knowing that his presence was the only thing grounding her. He promised himself, time and again, that he would protect her from now on, never letting anything come close to hurting her again. The week Eden started therapy, Angelo felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. He supported her decision, knowing she needed it, but part of him feared what memories might resurface, what truths she would face without him there. She never spoke of the sessions, but he trusted the process. He could see it in her—how, little by little, she was reclaiming herself. Her strength, her focus, the spark that was Eden. She wasn’t just a victim of her past; she was rebuilding.

Angelo watched Eden from across the kitchen, his heart swelling at the sight of her, even as she tied her hair up with a quiet frustration. She had been craving tomatoes lately—he couldn’t help but smile at that. Caprese salads had become a staple, the acidity somehow soothing to their growing baby. He didn’t mind, though. In fact, he loved indulging her cravings, seeing her find small comforts in food again after everything she’d been through. It was a sign of progress, of life moving forward. He could see that she was adjusting, albeit slowly. The way her clothes no longer fit properly was something she hadn’t quite embraced yet. He could tell by the way she fidgeted in her sweatpants and baggy jumpers, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. She’d glance down at her growing belly, a mix of annoyance and awe, as if still coming to terms with the changes happening to her body. Angelo found it endearing, though. He couldn’t care less what she wore. To him, she was beautiful in anything—and her comfort and the baby's came first.

Angelo hadn't expected to hear from Viviana after all these years, let alone have her announce a visit to the States. When she reached out, there was no hesitation in offering her a place to stay. Their history ran deep, a connection that began in their teenage years during long, sun-soaked summers in Positano, Angelo's birthplace. They had been young lovers, blissfully unaware of how life would pull them apart, only to reconnect briefly before Angelo’s life took a drastic turn, and he ended up in prison. Despite everything, Viviana had found him, tracking him down and reaching out as if no time had passed. He wasn't sure how Eden would feel about having another woman in the house, but he hoped that the presence of someone like Viviana—someone with grace, poise, and a wealth of experience—might bring Eden a sense of comfort. Perhaps Viviana could provide a kind of companionship that would ease some of the struggles Eden was still facing. They were both strong women, after all, and in Angelo’s eyes, that was something they could bond over.

When he went to pick Viviana up from the airport, it was as if the years melted away. She was as stunning as ever, her elegance undeniable despite the weight of the three divorces and a life that had seen its share of ups and downs. Viviana had a son now, over twenty years old, which made Angelo feel the time that had passed between them even more. Their lives had taken such different paths, but there was a warmth in their reunion, an understanding that came from shared history. On the drive back to his home, they caught up on everything—her glamorous but tumultuous life, her career in fashion, the pain of her divorces, and the pride she had in her son. Angelo, in turn, updated her on his life, the hurdles he'd faced, and the love he'd found in Eden, and how they were expecting their first child. He spoke of Eden with deep affection, describing the challenges they were overcoming together. Viviana listened intently, her sharp, knowing eyes studying him as he spoke, an admiration hidden beneath, and more so, happiness for him.

As they walked into the house, Angelo couldn’t help but laugh along with Viviana. Their shared memories of youthful recklessness and the warmth of their carefree days in Positano brought an almost nostalgic lightness to the air. The bodyguards quietly carried Viviana's suitcases inside, but the real weight in the room was carried by their laughter and the flood of memories that followed. "Ti ricordi quando tuo padre era così convinto che fossi vergine quando parlava con me?" ["Do you remember when your father was so convinced you were a virgin when he spoke to me?] Viviana laughed, her voice full of mirth as she shook her head. Angelo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck at the memory. "Sì, lo ricordo bene." ["Yes, I remember it well."] "Se solo sapesse che suo figlio era riuscito a sedurre tutte le giovani e le donne più grandi di Positano. Oh, eri proprio una bestia, Angelo!" [If only he knew that his son had managed to seduce all the young and older women in Positano. Oh, you were such a beast, Angelo!] Viviana teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Angelo smirked, his laughter deepening. "Non esageriamo adesso," ["Let's not exaggerate now,"] he replied with a wink, though the truth of her words wasn’t entirely lost on him. Back then, he had been wild, free, and very much living in the moment. It was hard not to be in Positano, with its sun-drenched beauty and endless possibilities. Those were the days of long summer nights and stolen moments with women who had been as captivated by him as he was by them.

As the sound of laughter filtered through the house, Lawrence stood near Eden, his usual composed demeanour softening with a warm smile. "Tea would be quite lovely," he replied to her offer, his voice gentle, as always. Soon after, Angelo appeared in the doorway, a wide smile on his face, with Viviana following closely behind. "Honey," he greeted Eden, the shift to English effortless, his voice carrying a note of excitement. His arm slid around her waist, drawing her close as he began the introductions.

"Viviana, this is Lawrence," Angelo began, gesturing to the older man who stood by Eden. "He's family, not a butler. He's been with me for many years." He then turned to Lawrence. "Lawrence, this is Viviana Coppola. You remember I spoke about her." Viviana’s eyes sparkled as she stepped forward, gracefully taking one of Lawrence’s hands in her own. "What a delight to finally meet you, Lawrence," she said smoothly, her English polished with a slight Italian lilt. "Angelo has been speaking wonders about you. Thank you for taking care of this marvellous man. You are marvellous yourself, I take it." Lawrence, always gracious, smiled gently at her, bowing his head slightly. "That’s quite kind of you, Mrs. Coppola."

With the formal introductions made, Angelo turned his attention back to Eden, sliding his hand down to her growing belly. "Honey," he said softly, "this is Viviana Coppola, an old friend I’ve recently reconnected with. Her visit was a surprise, and I had to pick her up. Viviana, this is my Eden... and our son." His voice softened with pride as his hand rested protectively over Eden’s belly. Viviana’s expression immediately softened, her eyes filling with emotion as she stepped closer to Eden. "My darling, look at you," she said tenderly, cupping Eden's face in her hands as though they had known each other forever. "You have such an angelic face. I can now understand how you managed to tame this man." Angelo chuckled lightly at the remark, shaking his head. Viviana’s gaze never left Eden, and with a smile full of warmth, she added, "My, my, you're going to be a wonderful mama. I’m so eager to give you advice on it."

[detachedfacade]

Steve had tried it before, the tinted chapstick and eyelash curler. He had liked it, a lot. Especially with his hair grown out, the blonde highlights an extra treat he had got for himself after he didn't get into college.

He had spent so long waiting for college, waiting for a way out of Hawkins, waiting for a place he could become a completely different person. Where he could experiment and feel pretty and kiss boys and figure it all out. Older queer people had always told him that's where the magic happens, college, when high school isn't there to stomp you down and you don't have to pretend anymore. But then he didn't get in.

But in his sadness, in his anger, in his spite for his father cutting him off, he thought fuck it. He'd actually bought a ton of makeup, and a coat that tied at the waist in the best way. But he didn't put on anything but the tinted chapstick until after he and Robin had become closer.

She had invited him as her prom date, he was sat on her bed, his regular two piece suit and tie, the same one he'd worn to his own prom. Boring really, but he blended in. His hair was shorter than it had been the previous summer, at his fathers insistence. He hated it.

Robin entered her room, the zipper on her dress undone and the strappy sleeves cascading down her shoulder. She stood in front of the mirror frowning. "My mother bought me this...I'm grateful but, its so pink and girly." she said. it was, Steve would have never picked it out for Robin, it was a simple cut but covered in baby pink sequins . He couldn't stop staring, the way it shimmered, the way it floated down her body.

"I think its a really pretty dress." he said, grasping his knees close to his chest, aware that his voice was beginning to wobble, as conflict grew in his mind.

"Maybe we should swap outfits then" Robin laughed. Obviously joking, as she continued attempting to pull up the zipper. But Steve's eyes didn't leave her, boring into her soul, and he didn't say a word or laugh. And so Robin added "You can. Try it on, I mean. I won't tell anyone."

Steve felt frozen. He wanted to, so very badly, but he felt himself refrain from admitting these desires, even from Robin. These desires he'd had since a young boy. These desires that were shaken out of him by life. These desires that lingered painfully still.

"Steve, I'm serious." Robin added, already pulling the dress off. She threw the dress on the bed beside him and said "Well I'm going to raid my mothers closet anyway, I'll be right back." she pulled a bathrobe around her body and left the room.

When she returned, Steve was standing in the mirror, the dress pulled on, fully zipped up and the straps sitting perfectly on his shoulders. He didn't even notice Robin come in, as he stared at the mirror, looking back at himself from over his shoulder, tiptoeing to see how it would look with heels, brushing his hair back with his hand and holding it as if it were in a pony tail.

"You look really good, Stevie." Robin finally said. Steve blushed looking down at his feet but then he remembered where he was, who he was with and he looked her in the eye and said.

"I like it...when you call me Stevie."

"Yeah?" Robin said. "Is...is Stevie...a girls name?"

All at once tears began to well in Stevie's eyes, "Yes." She said. "I am a girl."

Robin nodded slowly, taking it all in, and then all at once jumped across the room and pulled her best friend into a hug, letting Stevie's tears fall against her shoulder, staining her mothers dress. They didn't go to prom that night, they stayed home, doing eachothers make up and taking polaroids of each other in their prom dresses. Stevie kept one photo of herself in the inside of her closet door back home. Though she wasn't ready to tell the world, though she would still present male and have Robin refer to her as such in public, she knew her best friend knew who she was now. And the true version of herself grew stronger within herself, with every truth she got to speak aloud.

[stranger-rants]

Hey 👋

I've seen some recent anti posts where they're like "Dacre did SUCH a good job making us hate Billy" which is... just so wrong lmao.

They act like Dacre didn't put his heart, body, and mind into making Billy a sympathetic character (in contrast to the Duffers wanting another Henry Bowers).

Also... saying Billy is like Bowers is laughable tbh.

Henry targeted each and every kid in the losers club. He didn't have a sister that his father made him watch, like Billy did.

If anything, Bowers is closer to Jason Carver than any other character.

Well, Troy from s1 (and his pal, I think his name was James), too.

But I guess they were forgotten as well *sigh*

I saw someone say that Billy saying "it'll all be over soon" felt r*pish. He was possessed, and that same person also said that he'd told this to Max.

Seems to be a common theme in which some antis haven't actually watched the show.

Some die hard Steve fans who are antis, have even told me they either haven't watched s1, or they just straight up ignore s1 Steve.

As a survivor myself, I really wish antis would stop throwing around words like r*pe and abuse.

When they mention abuse, all they ever mention is Billy being the abuser. They don't talk about Neil, they don't talk about Lonnie, and they don't talk about Brenner (or Vecna).

Another thing I've noticed is that outside of our corner, the only other time this fandom mentions abuse is really just to further prove that a certain ship is canon.

Hey 👋🏻

It is funny, because Dacre has been very vocal about Billy having “flaws” but not being inherently bad or evil. He advocates so hard for imperfect victims, which is what I love about him. Billy would be nothing without Dacre, and I wish more actors had the guts to fight for better writing lol. The Duffers keep making shallow references to Stephen King’s work, and it makes me really wonder if they understood any of the major themes in his books. Granted, King was doing a lot of drugs when he wrote IT, but the story is still solidly inspired by real homophobic and racist violence in a small town as well as the general disregard for children and their safety. Stranger Things is based on conspiracy theories and government experimentation on people. Why they act like these two medias are comparable or need the same kinds of antagonists is just weird to me.

Henry Bowers was abused, too. Like, his father was a racist cop who antagonized Mike’s family for years and he was also violent towards his own son. Obviously, that had an impact on Henry who developed antisocial behavior. On the very surface, that seems similar to Billy. However, there is a big difference between them in terms of agency and the degree of harm. Billy’s violence was mostly reactive. There was a clear trigger (usually his dad). Henry sought out his victims to antagonize and he was very much addicted to the violence. IT was able to weaponize Henry because Henry wanted that power. He ended up killing his father without remorse. In order for the Mindflayer to weaponize Billy, it had to take over his mind and his body completely leaving Billy with little to no agency. Billy was consumed by guilt over what the Mindflayer made him do. His personality and reaction to trauma is nothing like Henry Bowers.

Henry is representative of the fear and hate prevalent in his small town, which is similar to Jason’s role last season in that regard. Their respective roles expose the prejudices of their communities. Billy’s role didn’t really do that. I don’t think the Duffers really thought about his purpose beyond being a “human antagonist” and a source of conflict for Max and Lucas (which…why was this necessary if they were never going to address it again?). There are obviously bigger bads whose entire shtick is Remorseless Abuser, and I’ve said before that this show *could* be about systematic abuse and fighting against it (including government/institutional abuse) but the Duffers hate survivors too much to explore that with any authenticity. So, we end up having to do that for them. This show and its fandom at large really are so shallow. All spectacle and trauma as decoration without critical thought.