#jon just needed a smoke

[ibeee623]

So. Fun episode.

[justablah56]

i need to draw some terrick ...

[vilnmelling]

NPMD Digital Ticket details!

Since not every can/can afford to/wants to buy the Digital Ticket for Nerdy Prudes Must Die (and the bonus material that comes with the purchase), for your inclusion purposes, here's a list of fun background details, funny moments and comments made in the track commentary, for you to use however you like!

Ruth doesn't actually need to wear her headgear anymore, but she wears it anyway because it makes her feel safe.

Jeff pitched a Nightmare Time episode about the problematic puppy from Steph's verse of High School Is Killing Me, meaning there is a story there.

In the line, "I learned that at the anti bullying assembly last month, fucknugget!" there's a long pause before "Fucknugget!" which really makes it sound like Max forgot to insult Richie and just threw the word out.

All of the little noises Ruth makes, she makes because she has more she wants to say, but she can't say them (presumably due to anxiety).

In the proshot, you can't see fully how low Richie goes while he and Ruth sneak up on Peter, but Jon is fully crouched down. He then uses Pete's pockets and elbows to climb up like he's climbing a mountain (he mimes using a pick or axe to get good hold).

While Steph is talking, Ruth and Richie try their best to hear through the phone by getting as close as they can to it.

The reason Max and Jason were in the Pasqualli's parking lot is that they were practicing their skateboarding. They do that at Pasqualli's instead of at school/at a skatepark because they don't want the smoke club and skater kids to make them look like noobs. (This was a cut bit from the Pasqualli's scene).

The line, "Some big... dumb... sexy... football star" is expanded. In the Digital Ticket, Grace says, "Some big... dumb... sexy... sweaty... hot... well-spoken... beautifully tall football star."

When they're in the boys bathroom, Steph jumps to see over the stalls.

Richie Naruto runs when they're going to Waylon Hall. Pete slaps his hands down, but after they pause to look at the house, Richie looks over his shoulders at Pete a couple of times before darting away from him, once again Naruto running.

Richie stops in the door at the Waylon Place, so Pete pushes him inside.

Ruth and Richie speak at the same time when they say, "I'm allergic to deodorant" and "I have overactive sweat glands."

Ruth goes straight to Richie to complain after the "pus in my pits" exchange with Steph.

When Steph suggests saying there's a party at the Waylon Place, Pete, Ruth and Richie all react negatively (mostly nervously groaning).

While Grace sings the "He's just a nerd in disguise!" line, Richie can be seen practicing the first move of the Bully the Bully dance.

After Ruth says, "We're gonna cut off his nips!" you can see Steph look confused and ask, "What?"

While Pete and Richie talk in the Waylon Place ("Am I reading as ghost or Lin Manuel Miranda" & "She came all the way out here just for you."), Ruth and Steph discuss and practice Ruth's skeleton moves.

Richie gets stuck in the dangling parts of Pete's costume when he says, "You could just hit it and quit it, bro!" He then aggressively detangles himself.

The line "He's just really fucking brave!" comes from Richie being jealous that he's not that brave.

Richie hypes Ruth up a bit after Max says her skeleton bit was really special.

Grace hides behind Ruth while Max is dying.

Richie rolls his eyes when Grace says "It was an act of god!" (Similarly, Shapiro sighs and looks away in disbelief when Grace later says "It was god's plan!")

Pete gags when Grace says "Hack all his limbs off." Richie can also be seen gagging and holding his stomach several times.

Ruth hands Max's nipples over to Grace after cutting them off.

Jeff Blim is the principal of Hatchetfield High. Not a character of Jeff's, just Jeff himself.

Brenda still seems quite judgmental after the two weeks have passed. She makes a lot of not-quite-friendly faces when the football team's talking about Richie smelling bad.

When Richie struggles to remove the Zeke the Fightin' Nighthawk costume, he accidentally removes his jacket as well, leading to Jon having to put it back on (which he also struggles with) (and which creates a funny situation, since Richie was supposed to go shower).

Richie seems to have hurt his leg by the second fall in Nerdy Prudes Must Die (the song).

After Steph tells Grace to "Leave Ruth alone!" in the principal's office, Ruth tries to grab Steph's hand.

The wig Joey wears when he plays Dan Reynolds isn't Dan's real hair. Dan Reynolds wears a toupée.

Trevor and Angela's drama student encourage each other after they finish rehearsing.

Additional line when Grace is lying to Shapiro: "Suddenly, I remembered a crucial detail that made everything make sense. A picture came flashing into my mind, like I was Enola Holmes!"

"My dad sells women shoe! Shoes!"

Angela misses the chair at Beanie's and falls on her ass, leading to her, Joey and Mariah (mostly Mariah) breaking character.

During The Summoning, Tinky focuses ONLY on Pete. The entire time, he looks like he's restricting himself from lunging out and attacking him. At one point, he points at the Bastard's Box while staring at Pete.

90% of the time during The Summoning, Pokey's staring at his own mask.

Steph facepalms after Max says "That's nasty! ... I like it!"

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt 6

Pt1. Pt2. Pt3. Pt4. Pt5.

Kon could immediately tell something was wrong with the kryptonite weapons firing at them. Another green blur shot at himnand he spun in the air over it. A move to evade the blast and check on his family.

The kryptonite guns had just enough kryptonite for it to be dangerous only if the blast hit them. They'd immediately go down. Another blast entered his field of vision, and he swerved to the side. He tried to use his supervision but was only met with lead. They couldn't get closer because of the guns, and he could see Jon get angrier his eyes glowed red in warning of his laser, and Kon flew up to evade him.

"Superboy! Don't use them it could deflect -" his father spoke from his higher position quite a few paces away from them, but Jon ignored him.

The vision hit the gun, and the metal melted into orange, red, and green mess. Like an ugly Christmas tree. Weird. Usually, Luthor would have more security than this. Something is officially wrong.

The batjet he'd been keeping an ear out for since he left finally arrived just as Jon melted another one. The jet swerved the blasts even though he doubted it could even hurt them at this point. The jet shot st a few of the blaster and destroyed them an even more explosive mess. Kon used his own vision, his glasses held in place below the lasers on his face with his hand. Another gun exploded, and his father finally got the hint and exploded several of his own.

The jet careened around them and expertly angled between the already destroyed guns and landed onto the beach. He continued exploding the guns but kept an ear out for the bats on the beach. The ones closest to him were mostly destroyed, so he joined his father in his sector while Jon landed on the beach.

Good luck.

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

Jason was not having a good time at all. Not to say he expected to have a great time rescuing his little brother, but he was hoping to try to get some of the bubbling green rage under control by demolishing some robots. He may possibly not have the best guns for demolishing these robots, he was handling it of course, he was a bat after all, he'd be an even worse disappointment if he couldn't handle some glowing green robots that remind him heavily of thing he'd prefer to leave in the past. He risked a glance toward Dick and could see him take down several robots in an expert acrobatic movement that sent him soaring off each of their head and switching between crushing or electrocuting them with his escrima sticks. Show off.

One of the robots he was fighting suddenly crackled and burned a smoking trail into the sky before exploding and sent himself and several other robots crashing into the walls and each other. It must have been faulty wiring. He knew he didn't touch that one, Babs was still mostly blocked out, and none of his siblings were running to patronize him for getting hurt. If he didn't know better, he'd say the robots were cheaply made, but that's never been Lex Luthors style.

"Red Hood. Help Red Robin turn the robots off in the central monitor room. We need to manually plug Oracles systems into the computers here." Right. Thank you, Bruce, for always being there at the worst possible times. He groaned and attempted to shake the tweeting birds away from his head.

"On it, Batman." He couldn't bring himself to use any stupid nicknames right now. He cataloged all the other bats just in case. Goldie was still the same show off. Red Robin had knocked out his robots and joined him for destroying his wave. Spoiler and Signal were in the rafters doing... something with his powers and reflective baterangs. He wasn't touching that with a fifty foot pole no way. They had a tendency to make things explode with those things. Orphan and Batman were still outside the burning hole in the wall they blasted to get through, so he couldn't find them, but they were probably kicking ads anyway. Suddenly, Tim launched himself backward through the air using his staff and landed behind him, hunkering down and messing with his wristcomputer. That assshole definitely planted explosives. He quickly got one last hit on the current robot and used it to launch himself past his head. Just as he landed, several small bombs exploded on the robots and collided with each other, creating more explosions.

"Time to go Hood."

"Lead on, Replacement."

----------

Why does Superman always disrupt my plans? Not just Superman, he reminds himself, he'd brought their son and his brother. As well as Daniel's family or Damian, whatever. The bats were the worst destroying his robots and his walls. Okay, maybe he didn't have the best robots here because they might be missing quite a few parts and kryptonite. But he needed for the portal, and both Vlad Masters and Lex Luthor were anything but resourceful.

The monitor beeped erratically. Gods above if Damian was going to flatline again. He technically wasn't flatlining but pumping ectoplasm through his heart instead of blood at that moment, and that messed with moniters, and when that happens, nurses get all hysterical and almost actually flatline him.

It wouldn't be such a problem if Damian wasn't severely lacking ectoplasm. Typically, his blood was made of both of it. All that rest from the medicine induced coma that he put him in certainly helped him fight the corruption and was now creating his own. See, if only Damian listened to him more often. It'd be better for everyone.

The moniter died down again, and he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Whatever am I going to with you?" He muttered with his head leaning back.

"Maybe stop beating me up." He shot up toward the voice. He wasn't supposed to be awake yet, but this was better anyway. He had to get him into the portal before the bats destroyed all the robots. Another litte voice in his brain betrayed him and reminded him the portal was still not done, and they were closing in.

"Little Badger, you know I don't start fights. I end them." He reprimanded.

"And you know I hate that nickname, and we both know you start fights all the damn time."

"Language." Damian stared unimpressed at him. How was he meant to explain this? The supers and bats somehow discovered where we are and are fighting their way in and are currently tearing the main control room apart? Actually, that isn't that bad.

He told Damian just that, and somehow, he didn't seem to like his paraphrasing. Can't please anyone anymore.

"What do you mean my family is here? How could they track us? This isle is supposed to be superproof."

"I don't know, but I don't have some ideas. I believe Susan has betrayed our trust and ratted us out. I will unfortunately have to fire her, and I was just beginning to like her." He sighed. All the best employees turn out to be useless and disloyal. That's why he prefers A.I. Until it started to betray him, too. Ugh. Never get good help anywhere nowadays.

"Vlad! Focus! I need to get to the portal right now!" He winced.

"Well, about that -" Damian shot up and stumbled on his legs from not moving for two weeks, probably. He reached to steady him.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone." His godson growled and scampered past him. He left the medical area and quickly started studying his current readings and calculations.

" I've already checked hundreds of times. I can't find out what's wrong with it." He tried to explain but was forced to watch, and Damian grabbed a random red pen and started scribbling all over his things. He sighed again. Teenagers.

"I've got it!" Oh you've got to be kidding me!

"You're trying to create your fancy portal. We don't have the time or materials for that, but we can recreate The Fenton Portal. Most of the ectoplasm is soda anyway. I stashed some in the fridge around here since you banned me from drinking it while we were working." He explained already halfway across the lab and opening a fridge labeled 'chemicals only'. Why does he even try anymore?

More alerts were popping up. Most of his robots were down now and the last remaining ones were the brainless ones not connected to the central computer that luckily he didn't have connected to some of his tech just in case, including this lab. Which now meant he would need to take control of the robots himself. Unless he wanted them to be defeated in less than a minute. Luckily again, most of the kryptonite he had that he hadn't rerouted into the portal was inside those portals.

"I'm going to attack your family now." He announced, cracking his knuckles and hacking into his own robots easily.

"Don't kill them, or I'd have to kill you." He replied, ripping and welding parts together. He's pretty sure he just watched him weld something together with 7up. Nope. Not today.

-----------

Jon was feeling...off. He, for some strange reason, felt an urge to let himself be hit by the kryptonite. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way, he instinctively wanted to be...with the kryptonite. Something that is incredibly dangerous to kryptonians like him even if he's only half.

For a while, he dodged guns, destroyed guns, destroyed robots, and then the Reds destroyed the main computer, and most of the robots deactivated until... the robots suddenly started to get stronger and smarter.

TV moniters suddenly flickered on and Lex Luthor was displayed.

"Luthor! Return Damian Wayne now to uss and we will consider lessening your sentence." His father spoke loudly, assuming mics were around somewhere.

"Oh really? You've never been able to get those charges to stick before. What make you think they'll suddenly stick now?" He mocked cruelly.

"You won't get away with this, this time, Luthor." Batman threatened.

"Coming from the man who can even get a failed circus clown to stay in prison? I think I'll be fine."

"Luthor, I know that something is going on. If you tell us we can help you." Nightwing spoke masterfully, emphasizing the man who stole his little brother. He didn't trust he wouldn't stare screaming and yelling at the crazy fruitloop if he tried to say anything. Wait-fruitloop? Where did that come from? He shook his head to clear the thought, but he somehow made eye contact with the shadow he suspected to be Orphan. Who is somehow emitting a very concerned aura. He ignored that and focused on the conversation just in time to hear large explosions from the TV.

"Damian!" Nightwing yelled out. Superman glanced around wildly as if trying ti will himself into seeing or hearing through lead.

He was concerned... but he didn't feel as worried as he should be for his best friend. Like he was definitely worried but he had a gut feeling he would be fine. And a little exasperated for some reason.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back to work! If we don't get that portal open before they find us, I'm going to rearrange your organs upside down!" Luthor yelled behind him. He could feel his face heat up, and he covered his eyes just in case.

"Don't you dare threaten him!" Nightwing yelled at the screen. Batman was starting at his wrist screen as if it would disappear if he looked away. The shadow had slunked away sometime. Spoiler and Signal nowhere to be seen.

"What are you gong to do? Reach through the screen and throttle me?" He taunted.

The screen suddenly started to glitch out in green bursts. It reminded him of kryptonite but...

"I've found them. Follow these directions. I'm almost there myself." He overheard Signal from Batmans comms. He repeated them twice, but he had already grabbed Nightwing and saw his dad grab his own bat. They couldn't go as fast as he wanted to because of the tight spaces, making superspeed dangerous to the supports. If they went too fast, the building could go down on them. They went faster than they should have anyway.

They reached the door where Signal, Spoiler, and Orphan were trying to wrench the doors off the hinges using several blowtorches and a misshapen crowbar.

"I've got it." He set Nightwing on the ground and cleared the door off the hinges just to see a large explosion of green. And Lex Luthor shooting powered up kryptonite(?) from his hands.

He dodged the blasts but his father wasn't able to and was sent flying to the wall smoking.

"Dad!" He screamed his anger at him forgotten. He flew over him and he vaguely remembers a yellow blur following him.

There was a smoking crater on his chest. Burns of all degrees decorating his suit.

"Dad?" He collapsed to the floor infront of him.

"It's okay, Jon. It's not that... bad... it looks worse than is. I promise. Go...bakc to the...fight." his dad spoke, his voice cracking, and he knew his dad was completely powered down. He had to get him to the sun.

"I'm getting you out of here." He promised and gathered him into his arms carefully. He was about to laser several random walls down when Signal handed him the closest trajectory to the outside.

"Hurry. We can handle this." He lied. They couldn't handle a powered Luthor, and he's couldn't let his dad die. He nodded and turned his head away, and his eyes lit up in burning pools of red.

----------

The green was mesmerizing. The only word Cass could describe it. Like it was the only thing that could understand her. It reminded her of the Lazarus Pits.

She ran inside with Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman close behind. Luthor tried to shoot at them, but they dodged skillfully. She looked past him and could see Damian typing madly on a computer. His movements were deliberate, and he knew what he was doing, but his body betrayed hum to her. His fingers were still, but his wrist twisted slightly too much. His ankles shifted weight between one another. His head tilted backward like he was physically stopping himself from looking at them.

"Damian!" Nightwing vaulted over a blast.

Damian froze for a second but willed himself to continue with new determination, painting his body. Something wasn't right. He should be running to them. Telling them he had a plan they ruined but would pause for enough time they knew he was struggling if they asked for it.

"Damian? We're here to save you!" Nightwing dodged another blast. She could see his plan. Distract both Damian and luthor. It was working, too. Luthor was occssionly shooting her, but he'd all but forgotten about Batman and Spoiler in the rafters.

Damian wasn't at all easily distracted she could tell from his headtilt he was watching them. He sped up the computer. The large portal machine expanded, and greens swirled around.

"Shut it down, Damian!" Nightwing shouted, attempting to rush luthor but failing. She launched herself using the distraction to take luthor out. He is somehow stronger than she can remember flung her off rough enough she hit the wall. She saw stars and failed to rise. Her vision was blurring, but she could see Batman's blurry figure attempting to subdue luthor and succeeding. Where's spoiler?

There she is! Spoiler kumped down on top of Luthor and put meta cuffs on him using the elemnt of suprise. Nightwing reached Damian just as the portal exploded, adding unfamiliar purples mixed in. Nightwing was thrown back, but he recovered and ran back. Batman and Luthor struggled in vain for control. She blinked, and Spoiler was a purple blur at her side.

Her body riddled with worry. She reached out and gently prodded her for injuries.

"Fine. Help little... brother." she tried to say, but it was mostly slurred from the blood loss. Spoiler glanced at her nervously and took out her field aid.

"No. Fine." She attempted to convey, but she just shushed her quietly. She turned back to the fight just in time to catch Damian slip through the portal. Nightwing didn't hesitate to run after him.

"No!" Her father's voice and anguished growled after watching two sons slip through. He tried to follow them, but Luthor got free and broke the computer powering. Just as Batman reached the edge, he hesitated, and the portal fizzled out.

She tried to stay awake but the gentle shushing from Spoiler lulled her into the embrace of darkness.

---------

Dick Grayson hit the strange glowing bluish snow and rolled to a soft stop. He looked around frantically and spotted Damian kneeling on the ground. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Damian!" He ran to him and kneeled by his side, hesitating to grab his son if he was injured but wanting to scoop him up after being missing for two months now.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured but he leaned against him heavily.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. We almost thought you were dead." He gave up looking for physical injuries apart from the maybe a mix between 1st and 2nd degree burns and clutched his son to his chest.

"It's not...safe for you...here."

"And it is for you?" He gathered him in his arms best he could, minding the burns on him. Neither of them were wearing clothes meant for the storm.

The strange snow was colder than any snow he's ever seen before, and it had an otherworldly component to it. Another point for the interdimensinal portal. Behind then sharp hissing screeched behind them and the greens snd purples disappeared. Shit. That was their way out.

"Who goes there?" A large voice echoed from the trees and he cursed himself for not studying his surrounding more. A large...yeti? Emerged from the pine trees he wore armor and had a ice prosthetic hand. He looked mean and rugged.

"Frostbite!" Damian yelled from his arms and started struggling. He gripped him tighter. Like hell, he was letting him loose after everything. Even if he somehow knew this kinda of cool looking yeti. The yetis eyes lit up in what he thinks his recognition.

"Great one? Have you returned to us? Who is this?" The yetis voice was softer but still dangerous he kept his mouth shut and hoped Damian knew what to say.

"My-baba? We need to get your village. I need some help." Wow. Damian had never acknowledged he was anything other than his older brother before. If he wasn't a bat and damn good at compartmentalizeing, he'd probably start crying. Or pass out. Probably both.

"All right then, Great One. Any family or friends of his is friends of ours. Follow me."

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of an entire town of yetis getting scrutinized by Frostbite(?).

"So how did you meet our King? I've never seen you before." He questioned curiously. What the actual fuck did he get into now.

[jeyneofpoole]

theon and robb and jon are in the stark family basement playing cod theon’s trying to get robb to smoke euron’s crazy weed strain named like kraken pussy or something but robb’s so scared. of the kraken pussy. jon needs no convincing he is actually dying on a beanbag two inches from theon who doesn’t care. robb is so paranoid that he gets up every two minutes to crack open the door and check that ned and cat are still at their boozy axethrowing date night. robb tries to smoke but they quickly discover his latent asthma and one very panicked call to sam (experienced asthmatic) later theon and jon are coaching robb through deep breathing exercises. when ned and cat come home they think there’s a teen pregnancy moment happening in their basement NO it’s just jon and theon doing birthing breath control with their honor roll teenage son huddled over a baggie of weed called kraken pussy.

[usomads]

Slow Burn // Jimmy Uso x Reader

Author’s Note -> Hiiiii :) had this sitting in drafts so I decided to finish it… and I’m– 🤤. Will be working on more stuff in the coming days, so stay tuned! Also, my lovely friend @zyvngi made this clip and I just… yeah there was no way I wasn’t using it lol. As always, happy reading y’all!

Pairings -> Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings -> Fluff (if you squint), Cursing, Drug Use (Weed), P in V, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 4.4k

You enter Jon’s house as you always did, swinging the door open without knocking and waltzing right inside– your body collapsing on his living room couch. Media had kicked your ass today, more than usual, and you were definitely feeling the effects of it. Jon happened to have a day off today, one that was hard to come by, especially with the work you two did at WWE– him being a talent and you a producer. That’s how the two of you met 4 years ago, and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Well, good afternoon to you too, princess.” Jon teases, as you shoot daggers at him. 

“I don’t know how much more I can fuckin’ take. Paul’s driving me crazy, the work is endless, and absolutely nobody seems to appreciate how much work I’m putting into this to make shit happen every show. I’m about to fuckin’ lose it.” You groan, flopping down onto the couch and rubbing your eyes.

Jon leans against the island countertop, grinning, clearly amused by your frustration. “Sounds like you’ve had a day… wanna vent or just keep it low-key?”

You sigh dramatically, sitting up on the couch. “No, no, I should probably let it all out. I swear, I’ve been busting my ass, and every time I think I’m ahead, something else gets thrown on me. And everyone thinks I’m this superhero that can just fuckin’ fix it,” you pause, rubbing your temples. “I just want a break, but I feel like there’s no time to take one.”

He nods sympathetically, then walks over to the end table and pulls something from the drawer. “You really need to take a break though, you keep goin’ like that, you’re gonna burn yourself out.”

You laugh bitterly, half-glancing at him. “I know, I know. It’s like I don't even know how to take a break anymore. It’s always work, work, and more work.”

Jon takes out a joint from his pocket and lights it casually, raising an eyebrow at you. “You want some help with that?”

He takes a slow drag, exhaling slowly as you stare at him– shocked.

“You… smoke?”

He laughs, shrugging nonchalantly as he continues to puff on the joint. “Yeah, ‘s not somethin’ I bring up, but yeah, sometimes it helps me unwind. And you look like you could use a lil’ somethin’ to take the edge off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I just… I never thought you’d be the type to do… that.”

“What, smoke?” he chuckles. “Well, you never really asked. Trust me though, a little bit won’t hurt. It’s just us, Y/N. No work, no stress…” he grins, taking another drag then passing it to you.

You’re hesitant, but also curious. You take the joint from him, your voice getting soft.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done… this before.”

Jon smirks at you, sitting down and leaning back on the couch as he grabs another joint– one for himself. “First time for everything, right? No pressure, ma. Just take it slow.”

Nervously, you take a drag, coughing slightly. “Oh my god…” 

He laughs softly, leaning closer to you and offering you a reassuring smile. “Yeah, it can be a bit much at first. Just breathe through it, you’ll get used to it.”

You exhale, giggling nervously and shaking your head. “Okay, okay, I’m definitely not used to it. But… this actually feels kinda nice.” 

You’re growing more confident by the second, taking another drag. Jon watches you intently, a gentle smile on his face.

“That’s it, you’re doin’ great, ma. You deserve to feel nice, just let go of all that stress, you know?” he soothes you, his voice dropping lower than usual. 

As the night goes on, you both start to relax, the conversation flowing more freely. The effects of the joint take hold, and the atmosphere shifts in a way that has allowed the two of you to open up in a way you hadn’t before. You lean back against the couch, your eyes a little heavier but more relaxed. 

“You know, I never realized how much I needed this… to chill. I feel like I’m always runnin’ around, doin’ everything for everyone, and never doin’ anything for myself.”

Jon nods, a softer tone to his voice as he responds to you, looking at you intently. “I get it. You’re always taking care of other people, but you forget about you. You deserve to slow down. You gotta take care of yourself, too. Not everything’s on you.”

You turn to look at him, the weight of his words hitting you deep within your chest. “I don’t know why I feel like I have to do everything. It’s like if I stop, everything’s gonna fall apart.”

He softens, his expression growing more serious. “You don’t have to be everything to everyone, you’re enough just as you are. But I get it, you don’t want to disappoint people.”

A moment of quiet rushes in between them as the room feels more intimate, the casual chatter fading into something more profound. The connection between you feels intense, a shared vulnerability settling in. 

You look down, almost embarrassed, as you speak softly. “Maybe I don’t know how to stop being so… perfect. Like, I always have to keep everything together. I don’t know how to let someone help me.”

Jon reaches over and tilts your chin to face him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to always be perfect, Y/N. With me, you can just be you, no pressure.”

The mood shifts. Your eyes lock, and there’s an undeniable charge between you, something unspoken but deeply felt. The air is thick with tension as you unconsciously move closer together. Before you can even process it, Jon leans in and kisses you, slow and unexpected. It’s not rushed, but full of emotion, a silent acknowledgement of everything you’ve both been feeling. The kiss deepens naturally, your mutual desire growing, and in that moment, the world outside fades. Reality hits you after a moment and you pull back slightly, eyes wide in shock as your breath catches in your throat. 

“Wha–?”

He pulls back quickly, his own eyes growing wide, clearly panicked. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to– I just– I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have–”

He stands up, pacing slightly, his hand running through his hair. After a beat you stand as well, still in shock as you move towards him and gently place your hand on his arm. 

“Jon…” 

He turns to you, his eyes pinged in fear and nervousness as he looks at you. You step closer, looking at him with a soft but intense gaze. Before he can utter another word, you reach up, gently pulling him back down to you, kissing him again– this time with more certainty, as if you had wanted it too. You pull away slightly, breathing a little heavier as his eyes search yours, his expression mixed with relief and surprise– then, a smile starts to form on his face. 

Jon leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours as that signature smirk of his plays on his lips. “Damn, Y/N… You got me over here thinking I messed up, and then you go and kiss me like that?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something deeper laced within it—something raw, something real.

You exhale a soft laugh, still feeling the warmth of his lips lingering on yours. “Maybe I just wanted to shut you up,” you tease, running a hand through his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Jon’s grin widens, his hands still resting on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. “Oh, word? That’s how you feel?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, Y/N. I think you’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You raise a brow, playing along. “And if I have?”

His gaze darkens, his fingers tightening just slightly at your waist. “Then I’d say we got a whole lot of catching up to do.”

Before you can respond, he reaches over to grab the joint resting in the ashtray nearby, taking a slow drag before bringing it to your lips. “Here,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something dangerously smooth. “Relax a little. We got all night.”

You hold his gaze as you take a hit, the smoke curling between you as he watches you, his eyes flicking down to your lips before dragging back up. The tension between you thickens, wrapping around you both like a slow burn.

Jon leans back slightly, exhaling, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “You always look this good when you’re high, or is it just ‘cause you’re sittin’ here with me?”

You smirk, handing the joint back to him, your fingers deliberately brushing against his. “I don’t know, Uce… Maybe it’s just you.”

His laughter is deep, rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “See, now you just gassin’ me up,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies you. “But I ain’t mad at it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip as you watch him. “You like the attention, huh?”

Jon leans in again, this time close enough that his nose nearly brushes yours, his voice nothing but a husky whisper. “I like it when it’s from you.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of music in the background and the sound of your own breathing. The world outside doesn’t matter���right now, it’s just you and him, the air thick with smoke and something even more intoxicating.

“Say the word, Y/N,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing up your arm, slow, deliberate. “Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze, your pulse pounding in your ears. Then, with a small smirk, you whisper, “What took you so long to figure that out?”

Jon grins, and before you can say another word, his lips are back on yours, the kiss deeper, more urgent, as if he’s making up for lost time. He groans softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the lingering haze of smoke in the air, and the way his fingers tease at the small of your back all send a slow-burning heat through you.

“You tryna drive me crazy, huh?” he mumbles between kisses, his voice husky, dripping with amusement and something deeper.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to the side as you let your fingers trail up his chest. “I think I already have.”

Jon exhales a slow laugh, shaking his head before taking another hit of the joint, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Oh, you definitely have,” he murmurs, exhaling the smoke lazily before slipping a hand up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin back slightly. “But I ain’t mad at it, baby.”

Your breath catches as his thumb traces along your bottom lip, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver straight down your spine. You hold his gaze, letting your lips part slightly, teasing him just enough before you take the joint from his fingers and bring it to your lips. His eyes darken as he watches you, his expression shifting into something unreadable but entirely consuming.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” you murmur after a slow exhale, the smoke curling between you both, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want me.”

Jon chuckles, shaking his head as he licks his lips. “Oh, I been wantin’ yo’ fine ass,” he admits, his voice dropping lower, thick with something almost possessive. “Just been waitin’ for you to catch up.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, at the weight behind them, at the way his fingers are still tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the pull between you both magnetic, undeniable.

“And what happens now that I have?” you ask, arching a brow, challenging him, teasing him.

Jon grins, slow and knowing, his hands sliding down to your hips before he pulls you onto his lap, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Now? Now I finally get to show you how bad.”

His words send a spark of electricity through you, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly just to hear the way his breath hitches, the way his grip on you tightens.

“Damn,” he chuckles, his nose brushing against your cheek as he tilts your head, lips ghosting over yours but not quite touching. “You really been holdin’ out on me, huh?”

You smirk, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “Maybe I just wanted you to work for it.”

Jon lets out a deep, satisfied hum, his lips finally capturing yours again, this time with even more urgency, more fire. His hands roam your body, fingertips grazing exposed skin, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Mm,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours. “I don’t mind puttin’ in the work, baby. Not if it means I get to keep you right here.”

Jon’s grip tightens on your hips as he tilts his head back slightly, looking up at you with a mix of amusement and hunger. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns along your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his hands, the faint burn of the smoke in your lungs, and the deep pull of his gaze make your head spin in the best way possible.

“You really got me like this, huh?” he murmurs, his voice husky, rough around the edges. He smirks, exhaling a slow breath as his fingers press just a little harder into your waist. “Sittin’ on my lap, lookin’ at me like you already know what you doin’ to me.”

You bite your lip, dragging your nails gently down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “Maybe I do,” you tease, tilting your head slightly, watching his expression shift. “And maybe I like it.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his hands slide up your thighs, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Oh, I know you do,” he says, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “You playin’ it all sweet, but you been wantin’ this. I can feel it.”

Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Maybe he is. The heat between you is thick, the air electric with the weight of everything left unsaid. But right now? You don’t need words.

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against yours, teasing you, making you chase the kiss. “Damn, baby,” he murmurs, smirking as he pulls back just a little, enough to make you whine softly. “You really gonna make me work for it?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully as you drag your fingers up the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips barely touching his. “I thought you liked putting in the work?”

Jon groans, shaking his head with a laugh before finally closing the distance, kissing you with a deep, slow intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach. His hands explore, memorizing every curve, every dip of your body like he’s wanted to do this for far too long.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “You taste too damn good, Y/N.”

Your heart pounds as you smirk, brushing your nose against his. “Must be all that smoke.”

He grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Nah… it’s just you, baby.”

The way he says it, low and smooth, makes something flutter deep in your chest. You were just playing before, flirting for the fun of it, but now? Now, you can feel it. This is more than just a moment.

Jon studies you for a second, his gaze softer now, a little more serious. “What you want, Y/N?” His voice is still deep, still teasing, but there’s something genuine underneath it. Like he’s really asking.

You hold his gaze, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “You.”

He grins, slow and satisfied, like he just won a game he was always meant to win. “Then come here, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “Let me give you what you been waiting for.”

Jon’s lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, like he’s savoring every second. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady on his lap as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your head spin. 

His hands wander, sliding up your back, tracing along the curve of your spine. His touch is firm, possessive, but there’s a tenderness beneath it too—like he’s memorizing you, committing this moment to memory. When he pulls back, just slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his breath is heavy, his eyes dark with something deeper than just desire.

His lips find yours again, this time slower, deeper, his fingers gripping you tighter like he’s afraid to let go. And you melt into him, letting yourself get lost in the moment, letting yourself feel everything.

He leans back slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in, his expression smug but soft at the same time. “So you admit it,” he murmurs, tilting his head, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip. “You been wantin’ me too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t hide the smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe,” you tease, dragging your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “What? You need me to spell it out for you?”

Jon lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, baby. I just like hearin’ you say it.” His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you even closer, making you feel just how much he’s enjoying this moment. “Say it again.”

Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your jaw, his voice like honey and smoke, smooth and intoxicating. “Say what?” you whisper, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, your pulse racing.

His grin grows against your skin as he places a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your neck, his tongue just barely teasing you. “That you want me.”

You let out a soft laugh, biting your lip as you slide your hands up to his shoulders, gripping them just enough to make him hum in satisfaction. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression smug. “Oh, hell yeah.” He licks his lips, his gaze dark and hungry. “But I’d enjoy it even more if you quit playin’ and told me what I already know.”

You take a deep breath, your body fully pressed against his, the heat between you undeniable. “Fine,” you murmur, dragging your fingers up the back of his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “I want you, Jon.”

The second the words leave your lips, his grip tightens, his hands sliding down to your thighs before flipping you onto the couch, pinning you beneath him. You let out a surprised gasp, but it quickly turns into a soft moan as his lips crash against yours again, this time more urgent, more possessive.

“You have no idea how long I been waitin’ to hear that,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips trailing from your mouth down to your neck, his hands roaming every inch of you.

Your head tilts back against the cushions as you breathe out, your heart pounding. “Then why the hell did you wait so long?”

Jon lets out a low laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “’Cause you play too damn much,” he teases, nipping at your collarbone. “Had to let you catch up.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his hair just enough to make him groan. “And now?”

Jon lifts his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. He smirks, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in so close you can feel every word as he whispers, “Now, I ain’t holdin’ back no more.”

Jon’s kiss is slow, deep, and consuming, like he’s savoring every second of finally having you in his arms. His body presses against yours, his warmth sinking into you, making it impossible to focus on anything but the way he feels—solid, strong, right. His hands explore, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something deeper than just desire. Possession. Affection. Something real. His thumb strokes your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the heat burning between you two.

“You sure you ready for this, baby?” he murmurs, his voice husky, his breath fanning against your lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but there’s no more hesitation. The tension, the teasing– it was always leading to this. To him.

You nod, looking into his eyes with a level of certainty that surprises even you. “I’m sure,” you say, your voice soft but filled with passion. “I want this. I want you. Now.”

He groans against your lips, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants, undoing them with a practiced ease. Every touch sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to think, harder to breathe. You tug at his sweats in return, eager to get him closer, to feel all of him, and when the last barrier is gone, the world outside completely fades away. 

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, and you can feel him, feel all of him, as he enters you. Moans fall from your lips as your walls adjust to his length, entirely consuming you as he slides in deeper. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, and it leaves you breathless as you both adjust to the fit.

You move together, the rhythm natural, fluid, as though you’ve been doing this forever. His groans match your own, every snap of his hips intensifying the connection between you. The way he touches you, the way he kisses you, it’s all so much more than physical. It’s about something deeper, something you both have been unknowingly craving for so long. There’s tenderness in every touch, urgency in every kiss, and beneath it all, there’s that deep, undeniable love that’s starting to take shape.

“God, Y/N,” Jon groans against your skin, his voice strained, as if it’s taking everything in him to keep control. "You feel so fucking good. So perfect.” He presses you closer, if that’s even possible, and you can feel him, feel every inch of his body hard against yours, as if he can’t get close enough. Each touch, each kiss, feels like an explosion of raw, unfiltered emotion, and as you move together, there’s an undeniable sense of belonging that wraps around you both like a cloak. His hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of your body, pulling you closer to him with every breath, every movement.

Your lips are caught in a feverish kiss, hungry yet tender, each one of his caresses sending waves of electricity through your body. His lips leave your mouth only to graze your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, making you tremble beneath his touch. There’s something about the way he kisses you, something intimate and all-consuming, that makes you feel like he’s not just touching your skin—he’s touching your soul.

"You feel so damn good," Jon murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His hands slide down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he's completely consumed by this moment, this connection. His lips find the soft curve of your neck again, pressing kisses there that make you tremble, and you can’t help but moan softly.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, your voice shaky, your body vibrating with need. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve alive with the sensations he's stirring within you. You want him, need him, and there's no turning back now.

He looks at you then, his eyes dark and filled with raw emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” he breathes, his lips hovering near yours. “You’re mine. I’m all in. Always have been.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his words, at the vulnerability he’s showing you. The intensity of what’s between you both only deepens, and you can feel the truth of it, settling between you like a promise.

"I’m all in too, Jon," you breathe, your voice steady now, filled with the certainty of everything you've been feeling. "Always have been."

His lips meet yours once again, and this kiss is different. It's softer, more intimate, filled with everything you’ve both been hiding—desire, love, longing. Every part of you is connected to him now, body and soul. You move together, slow and steady, savoring every touch, every kiss, like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

You can feel him, feel the depth of his affection, his love for you, and you respond with the same intensity, giving everything you have to him. The world outside doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just the two of you, here, in this moment, and nothing could ever compare to the way he makes you feel.

“Fuck, Jon…” you moan, your head falling back. “I’m–”

“I know, baby,” he groans in the crook of your neck, “I know.”

And as you move together, your bodies becoming one, there’s a sense of completeness, a feeling that you’ve found exactly where you belong. And when you finally reach the peak of that all-consuming desire, it’s more than just physical pleasure. It’s an emotional release, a release of everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been too scared to say.

When you both collapse into each other’s arms, breathless and sated, you can’t help but smile. There’s no question anymore. What you’ve shared tonight is only the beginning. This is only the start of something deeper, something real. And you know that with Jon, you’ve found exactly where you’re meant to be.

[garpen]

Batfam’s opinion on weed? Do they smoke?

Bruce= No. He doesn't mind other people smoking/eating edibles/etc. But it's not for him. He's too paranoid about /getting/ paranoid while high. Plus he doesn't want to get called in for an emergency or something and has to show up high. He did smoke a bit in his high school years though with Harvey.

Kate= Not until she was 30. She grew up with a strict father and joined the military at 17 and had a long career there and they did drug tests so she never could. She uses it medicinally to help with her anxiety/PTSD when she leaves the military. (She also goes to therapy, don't worry).

Luke= No. Was always too scared of what his father would think if he found out, and didn't want to disappoint him so he never touched it. Recreational smoking also wasn't legal in NJ until 2021 so he doubly wasn't gonna risk it.

Barbara= Smoked in highschool/early college mainly to help de-stress, but doesn't anymore as she's developed new ways to deal with her stress over the year. Very rarely (maybe once or twice a year) she'll have one of Jason's edibles.

Dick= Occasionally. Not until he was in his 20's and mainly to help with any pain he has. Every once in a while he will recreationally when he's with a group and they're doing a sesh.

Jason= Yes. He's invited to the monthly sesh with the rogues too. He prefers edibles though and likes putting them in the brownies he makes. He's the go to edible guy in the family/his friend group. His brownies are GREAT.

Cass = No. Never has and never will. Not for any particular reason, she just doesn't personally find the appeal (and there is nothing wrong with that).

Steph: Yes. Actually got caught smoking in the school's bathroom for the first time in 8th grade getting herself suspended for two weeks. Promised she'd never touch weed again, which was a lie. Heavily smoked in highschool, and slowed down after she turned 18. Smokes at least once a week. And LOVES Jason's brownies and will nab some whenever she gets the chance.

Tim: Yes. But he has to smoke with other people. For whatever reason if he smokes alone he gets super paranoid. He needs to be surrounded by people he trusts to comfortably smoke. Doesn't like getting high in front of his family (even if he knows they won't mind) so only does so with his friends.

Duke: Tried once with a friend when he was 16 but it was laced with something else and he had a BAD trip which completely turned him off from it. His family and friends have offered to get him weed and ensure themselves that it isn't laced with anything, but again his one experience has completely turned him off from it. Maybe when he's much older and removed from the experience he'll try again.

Damian: No. He's thirteen. When he's older though and his family/friends offer him, he still refuses. He thinks he's "above drugs" which makes the rest of the family roll their eyes at him. He sees that his father doesn't, so he refuses to as well. (In his last year of college Jon convinces him to smoke just this once, and he relents. He will never admit he enjoyed the experience)

[dipperscavern]

jon snow brainrot rn.

like imagine finding him after the whole thorne execution, post-death and post-revival

i need to hold him so bad🙁🙁 in spite of the horrid crawl of his skin, hair at his nape standing on end, urging him avert his gaze as you approach, he can't help but seek your soft stare, his own eyes weak with feeling, brows curved with vulnerability. and his heartbeat is quickening, and his breathing grows sharp

his hand trembles and no matter how desperately he tries to hold fast, he crumbles when you near, raising a hand to his cheek; warm and soft and tender. his breath hitches violently in his chest and his head falls to the crook of your neck, his silent sobs disrupting the quiet with small soundless gasps

and you hold him close, with a gentleness he deserves that he'd never before recieved, a hand in his curls and the other a firm warmth on his back as he helplessly leans his weight on you to finally release the overflow of agony he'd all but drowned in 🙁🙁🙁

SWEET BOY, I NEED TO HOLD HIM💔💔

SONGBIRDS — JON SNOW

pairing: jon snow x fem!reader, 3.1k words

synopsis: the ask above <3

authors note: ouh this was a rough one! i did in fact steal sentences from this ask, so thank u anon!! i love u!! become a writer!! thank u to my febu frongers @useralba & @eldrith for helping me not lose my sanity over this, love y’all!! enjoy i guess 🙄(if possible) (i’m gonna be quiet now)

SNAP

you’re brought out of your thoughts with a jolt, startled so badly you near fall out of the tree you’ve found sanctuary in. that doesn’t sit well with you, you’ve always been steady.

so was bran, a small voice whispers. so was he, another part of you agrees — and the one it mentions has naught to do with climbing.

was, your mind echoes bitterly. it seems like everyone who once surrounded you is only that anymore, a was. a whisper of the past, faces seen nowhere but in living memory; and now, he has joined them.

fresh tears roll down your cheeks, and you wipe them as soon as they join the conversation of grief. bitterness — mourning — desperation, all cradling you at once.

you readjust your form, limbs beginning to fall asleep from the tight position they’re in. if only you could do the same. it seems the gods have deemed you unable, as every time your eyes droop, you see the face of the lord commander.

the mere thought of him is paining, and the sight of him was entirely too much to bear. so much so that you fled, the memory squeezing uncomfortably at your chest.

his eyes, once ever-expressive, dulled to nothing but an expressionless saccharine blur. lips parted, yet no air being brought in to fill his lungs. the snow beneath him was stained a bloody crimson, and you can almost feel the familiar cold of the icy ground beneath your knees as you kneel beside the form of the man you love.

at first, you had cried. whispering pleas to whomever would listen, clutching any part of him you could reach — you had even attempted to stop the bleeding. stupid, stupid girl.

then, it seemed to occur to you that you were touching death. slowly removing your hands, looking down at the lifeless body of jon snow. and just like that, repulsion had entered your veins. no — rejection.

you rejected this. you rejected death, you rejected the finality you had been dealt. you had stood, clutching your bow, arrows lightly jostling from the movement. hunting.

you had been hunting while jon was dying.

if only time had dealt you a mercy, perhaps you would’ve made it back in time. to save him, or just to say goodbye, you’re not greedy in your wishing.

you glance to your hands, still stained with his blood. suddenly, your eyes flutter shut as you see the image of his body again — his wounds smoking in the cold nights air. it feels like a lifetime ago. rejection has long since abandoned you, leaving bitter acceptance in its wake.

you blink, eyes threatening tears, and your gaze finds the white and red blur of a weirwood tree. you return to the woods to escape, yet the gods find you anyway; what cruel mockery.

how could they, yet again? don’t they see all you lose? they must, you think, as they’re the ones who keep taking. is that the only joy a god may find? maybe now, that’s why you hunt; to send them a life as sick compensation for the one they took. what an acidic dance.

CRACK

this time, when a twig breaks, you are not so foolish as to think it only by coincidence. you aren’t the only hunter out here — yet you did not think to find yourself as prey.

whatever stalks you is enough to bring you out of the cynicality of grief, snapping you into a different mindset. though previously unsure how much more you can withstand, your body proves otherwise, flawless in its transition and execution.

you heart increases its rhythm, surefire in its performance, allowing extra blood flow and oxygen to be pumped to your aching muscles. your breathing changes, now quick and rapid breaths to take in more air which prove effective as you shift yourself from your sitting position.

you had chosen not the tallest tree, but the thickest and most concealed. it gives more room for stability, allowing you to exercise your position; a small decision you now are thankful for as you move forward, outstretching yourself on its thick limb to try and catch glimpse of whatever it is that seeks you.

unfortunately, the concealment that hides you does its job too well. you try to peer through the branches and leaves for what feels like ages, but they prove too thick. you curse under your breath, withdrawing from the branch to retreat back to the trees trunk once more.

closing your eyes, you listen. the gust of wind, the rustling of leaves, a raven cries in the distance. you wait.

there — your ears are graced with the light chirp of birds, in your own tree and in others nearby.

“If danger is near, the birds don’t sing.”

ned starks voice rings through your ears, so loud and clear that for a moment, you almost lose concentration. if asked why, you’d never be able to directly say why your eyes didn’t snap open, why your head didn’t swivel around, looking for the source of the voice you’ve heard. can you and the gods share a secret, if it’s one they decide not to include you on?

as the melody of songbirds continue, you shift to begin your descent.

in any other scenario you would stay in the tree, concealed by its branches until the threat was certainly gone. but things are different. jon is dead — you seek a fight. (do you, or do you refuse to allow the stranger your soul as well?)

the decision made, even in grief, isn’t a rash one. whatever it is isn’t nearby enough to silence the singers, and this may be your only window of opportunity to flip the coin; restoring yourself as predator, not prey.

your feet hit the ground, and you wince at the noise made. it’s midday, so you cannot hope for nightfalls rescue of concealment.

you pause, peering around you while you allow yourself a moment to think. your hunting grounds have always been the forest that surrounds castle black, and you had retreated to the very edge of it. your hunter has come from the north — funny enough, from the direction of castle black itself. if you’re careful, you can make a loop back east, foregoing your usual trail. swallowing your nerves, you begin to move your feet.

your senses are heightened, alike to how they are in battle, but this is different. instead of blood pulsing in your ears, they’re attuned to every sound, no matter how minuscule. the smell of blood and death is replaced by nature, the scent of oak & pine leaves fighting to not be smothered by the cold.

you don’t make much progress before you turn a corner and yelp in surprise, being met with a hulking figure, red eyes boring into you.

“Ghost—!” you shout; in surprise, frustration, and relief all at once. your breathing heavies, heart now beating wildly, ready to supply you should you need to run at a moments notice. then, somehow, you’re smiling. you smile at ghost, at the birds, who didn’t notice him enough to quiet themselves, and the childness of it all. you kneel, shouldering your bow and outstretching an arm.

ghost seems like he’s been waiting for your action, stepping forward immediately. you register his willingness — had he been searching for you? or did he find jon dead and left, as you did, finding you accidentally? if only he could speak; the phantom of a thousand words.

he’s soft under your hands, a small comfort parading in the wake of sad relations. and suddenly, you feel guilty. how long has ghost been by jon’s side? how fierce, the loyalty the direwolf has shown him? how fierce the devotion jon had shown him in return? he mourns alongside you, grief arguably more substantial, as he was given no explanation. how could he understand such matters?

an idiot thought, you're quick to push it away. you both have every right to grief, there is more than enough to go around.

eventually, ghost pulls away, and begins padding in the direction to castle black. you think he means to be solitary, but after a few paces, he stops, turning to look back at you. expectant.

though your breath hitches and grief nags at you once more, you swallow it down, and begin to follow the only remnant of jon snow — a piece of him that the gods saw fit to leave you. what cruel mercy, coming from the same hands of injustice.

though content to wallow in your anger, your disbelief, you refuse to allow the direwolf to return to castle black alone. strangely, the farther you follow him, the more you get a sense of deja vu. it can’t be more than a few minutes before you see a tree with bark missing, torn off and left bare its left side, which is now your right. a mark you had left to remember your trail. ghost has tracked your scent from castle black.

with the realization arises conflicted feelings, as if they can’t agree on how you feel. loyalty rings faintly in the back of your mind, the things done for love.

you forcibly close your mind, numbing yourself as to be fully in the present. you’ll have the rest of your days to dwell on it; but only now are you here, in the company of trees and wolves and birds, oh how they sing.

and suddenly, the melody is quiet.

time itself has been stopped, halted in its tracks. there’s no rustling of branches, of leaves, no sound of birds, no sound at all — the world has become inaudible.

you and ghost mirror each other in the ways you both lurch to a halt. a sick feeling infects your gut, hairs rising on the back of your neck, and the instinctual need to flee almost takes over. but something keeps you there, rooted to your spot, feet unmoving. what anchors you, is another secret between you and the gods; another peculiar joke that you stay the punchline of.

then, after a moment, a gust of wind graces the forest. it blows your hair, rustles through the trees, and almost hesitantly so, the birds begin their song again. ghost looks back at you, surveying as if this is the first time he’s seen you.

he begins to lead the way once more, but a thought still lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re unable to shake off the unease in your gut. what has dismantled the harmonious balance among living things so?

━━━━━━━━━━༺✰ ━━━━━━━━━━━

he wakes with a gasp.

━━━━━━━━━━༺✰ ━━━━━━━━━━━

it must be hours later when you approach the gates of castle black. one of the guards on watch takes notice, shaking the other awake. as they both stare down at you, you wonder.

are they close enough to see the mourning that rests forefront on your face? were they the same men who opened the gate for you upon your return last night, only to do the same thing minutes later after you found jon? do they feel guilty? should you?

the wooden gates protest opening, loud creaks and groans as it gives you access, and at first, you don’t see it.

at first, you walk in, and your gaze is trapped on the ground, lost in thought. you’ve come back empty handed, as you came back to jon — or rather, his body. but you don’t think anyone was expecting a stag draped across your shoulders. amidst the unexpected.

when you finally do look up, you’re startled for the ? time today. four men hang in the middle of the courtyard.

you stop in your tracks, but this time, ghost pads on ahead of you. he stops not for anybody, curving them all to fair left. the direction to jon’s chambers.

you don’t have long to dwell on the wolfs mistake, as peoples eyes find your frozen figure. among them, friends; edd, grenn, pyp, others you don’t recognize. some, not dressed in black. wildlings. you begin to walk forward, and a tall, ginger bearded figure spots you. tormund walks to meet you, an expression on his face unreadable — unable to be identified by your tired eyes.

confusion — surprise — apprehension — curiosity; all fight for their seat at the forefront of your mind, but they’re forced to share.

as you and tormund find each other, you glance past him at the hanging men. then to your left, expecting to see ghost still scratching at jon’s door — but he’s not there. was he shooed off? did you misread his intention?

“I don’t— what’s…” you start, but don’t finish. how could you even begin?

tormund reaches for you, hands settling on your biceps. whether he’s keeping you in place or checking for injury, you don’t think you care. the weight and warmth of the gesture is welcomed.

“Tormund, you’re scaring me—” your admission wouldn’t usually come so easy, but you can’t be bothered to guard yourself. you’re exhausted, your muscles are stiff, you’re confused, and you hurt.

he only turns you toward jon’s chambers, pointing, a hand on the small of your back. “In there, little bird.” he says, and you wish to tell him what a help he is. but you don’t. for some reason, you bite your tongue, sparing a last glance at him, before slowly making your way over.

all of the eyes on you make you nervous, and frustrate you all the same. why do they all act like they’ve seen the father?

it doesn’t take long for you to reach the door, curiosity guiding your step. you see ghosts muddied paw prints on the wood, but they don’t turn left or right — ending at the chamber door. your brows furrow almost instinctively. you can’t help but linger on the thought, setting your bow & arrows to lay nearby; your shoulders welcome the reprieve. with bated breaths, you push on the wood, stepping inside. what you find is beyond even your wildest imaginations.

what you find is jon’s head turning to look at you, and you can’t help the sharp inhale of air you take.

his bottom half is clothed, but his upper is uncovered, torso wrapped in bandages; covering the stab wounds that you know took his life.

you think him a hallucination, mind willing his fate to change so desperately it has conjured up its own delusion. but you glance to ghost, dutifully curled by his feet, and shift to turn, looking at the paw prints that led you here.

you turn back to (jon?), closing the door behind you. while your own flickers to ghost once more (an affirmation), jon’s gaze remains fixed on you. you inch closer, surveying him.

his eyes, now encasing life — not quite the same as you knew, but life nonetheless. lips, parted, as to suck in air to fill his lungs. lungs that in return, work in correspondence with his heart, beating to keep him alive.

no. this can’t be…

but it is.

he’s rigid — uncomfortable, yet a part of him fights to relax in your presence. how can it all be so unbalanced and so right all at once? you’re here. you’re all he’s ever wanted. but a part of him keeps him withdrawn, fighting him on reaching out for you.

perhaps it’s the horrid crawl of his skin, urging him avert his gaze as you approach. even so, he can't help but seek your gentle stare, his own eyes weak with feeling, brows curved with vulnerability. you see it as you close in — the turmoil within himself.

a different part of him wins, and he reaches for you. you’ve been waiting, it seems, and reach for him with equal fervor. his hands are cold on your waist, strikingly so. your eyes widen, disbelief written on you like ink on parchment.

you had not expected to feel him. no, you expected for him to vanish underneath your very fingertips.

one of your hands find the bare skin of his torso, experimentally reaching out. jon is hungry for your touch, offering any part of himself for your taking. he has craved you desperately ever since he awoke.

he watches, patient as you register the warmth underneath your hand. there’s blood circulating through his veins. your pupils blow wide in the realization.

you’re anxious for more assurance, your right hand moving to his forearm to keep him in place (jon wouldn’t dare to move), as your left finds his chest. specifically — the part of his chest that keeps safe his heart. you feel it beat underneath your palm, and your reaction is immediate, eyes fluttering shut.

if he didn’t want to be touched, jon would’ve shied away from you by now. but he hasn’t. no, his eyes bore into you with the attention only divine beings receive

jons breathing heavies in anticipation, expectant. he gauges every ounce of your reaction, waiting for your evaluation of him — as a sinner would their god. is he worthy? do you deem him so?

when your eyes open, something clicks into place. jon is here, in the now, alive and breathing; your fingertips said so themselves. you don’t know how, but you can’t find it in yourself to care much in the present, not when you finally have him in your hold once more. what you would’ve given for this, hours ago in your tree. what wouldn’t you have given?

and now, your eyes roam over every part of him, drinking in all that you can. your gaze trails fast, mapping the expanse of his shoulders, down his arms, to his torso, across his bandages again.

your hand removes itself from his chest, only momentarily, but jon chases your touch all the same. you can’t bear to leave him wanting, sliding a hand up his shoulder, feeling the lithe muscle beneath it. you’re desperate to ground the feeling of him, to commit it to memory — and jon seems equal in his need.

you hand stops it’s ascent when it reaches his neck, cradling the juncture of it, thumb smoothing over the soft skin of his cheek, as you meet his gaze. your touch is warm and soft and tender, and in an instant, his eyes are watery. the hands on your waist tremble, and his breaths turn shaky in an attempt to hold himself together. his brows pull together, and his breath hitches violently in his chest. something stirs in you at the sight, the expressions of a broken man.

jon has passed your test of realism with flying colors, and when he realizes, he crumbles.

his head falls to the crook of your neck, closing the small distance between you. you’re quick to wrap your arms around him, and jon’s immediate in pulling you closer — as close as you can get. the tears begin their flow easily, releasing the buildup of emotions harbored from death snaring & absolving him; akin to poison swallowed and retched before fully digested.

your touch is gentle, a hand in his curls and the other a firm warmth on his back. he leans himself into you, almost helplessly so, as if he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. you accept his weight with open arms. if jon was asked why he fights so desperately, even in times it seems hopeless, he would say to repay the gods for their gift to him; you.

the only things that disrupt the steady quiet that surrounds you are his silent sobs, accompanied by the small soundless gasps that flow from his lips as a river of melancholy.

his grip is tight; he drowns in a vast sea of agony, and you alone are his anchor.

[red-archivist]

TMAGP 23 SPOILERS!

i heard those lines and was immediately inspired to make something sad lol

~

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

It’s not enough to just stop, the shakes and the headaches nip at him constantly, and he reluctantly concludes that bad habits need to replaced by better ones.

That’s where the cycling comes in, to start with.

It’s exercise, it’s eco-friendly, and he can pretend he is literally leaving his cravings behind him as he pushes hard on the pedals.

He does his homework first, researching what is the best option for city cycling, for his budget, for someone that hasn’t ridden a bike since they were nine.

He plots out his paths to the office, the shops, and the nearest puncture repair centre, just in case. He even makes a spreadsheet to keep track of them.

He is sure Tim would poke fun at him for it, if they were still talking, but the organisation keeps his twitching fingers busy and his roaming mind away from the half-finished box of cigarettes in his desk drawer that he promises he will throw away any day now.

What all that planning fails to account for, as soon as he actually gets onto the road, is the rest of the world moving around him.

Every stereotype he has heard about antagonistic drivers is proven ten-fold as he dodges swerving cars and gets sworn at for whizzing past stalled traffic. He soon learns to sneer through tinted windows.

Pedestrians are almost worse. They seem blind to him, stepping out directly in front of his wheels and making him wobble as he overcorrects. As if a bike can’t still do some damage if he were to actually hit someone. Once, he clips the edge of a pram and stops in the street to shout some sense into the careless father pushing it.

He bitches openly about this during his lunches and his coworkers only roll their eyes at him sometimes.

The cycling becomes a bit of running joke in the office when they spot him coming in with his bike shorts and change of outfit, but he ignores them. The shorts are practical. For some reason, telling them that only makes them laugh harder.

He takes the fastest route into the office and a scenic one home. It winds through quiet well-off estates, before opening out to one of the less well-known urban parks. It’s calming, almost meditative, to roll through the cool shade the cluttered trees offer after another meaningless day of data entry.

In those times, he doesn’t think of his empty flat or his dead-end job, he forgets his sniggering coworkers and his ever-dwindling contact list. It’s just him and the wind.

The only thing that could make those moments better, he admits to himself, is a smoke.

The problem with this particular path is how hard it is to see around corners in the park. There is some national re-wilding initiative in the works and the foliage looms over the roads in a way that block his line of sight.

He checks every turn, even though it is rare to encounter a car in this area. Better safe than sorry.

The night he dies is warm but overcast.

He follows his usual route and cranes his neck to see around the overgrown corner he is approaching. A drooping branch grazes his head and something falls from the tree onto his neck.

It could be a leaf, or a twig, or a ladybird, but Jon feels the whisper-touch of something small at his throat and his only thought is: spider.

He has been afraid of them since he was very young and terrified instinct immediately beats any reason. One hand flies up from the handlebars to bat away at his collar. He swerves. Fear makes him pedal faster and the bike speeds onto the junction.

He is so scared of the potential at his throat that he never even sees the delivery truck.

The bike is sent flying from the impact, Jon falls under the wheels.

The driver, to his credit, calls emergency services immediately, distraught.

The ambulance is there within five minutes, but they needn’t have bothered. Jon is declared dead at the scene with a broken neck.

What few friends he has left comfort each other with that fact.

At least it was quick.

~

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

This is a good thing, Martin reminds himself, more than once. It is Good that his mother is alive.

It doesn’t matter that the nurses need to attend to her around-the-clock now. It doesn’t matter that the care home bills have skyrocketed. He is grateful that she is still with him.

He starts looking for a third job. The admin work during the day and the shelf-stocking at night barely covered his previous bills. He’ll have to look for some flexible positions to cram into his schedule.

In the meantime, he cuts back. Eats cheaply, eats less. Cancels overdue check-ups and doesn’t touch the heating.

His days are a current of constant worry, occasionally breached by a wave of panic that he tries to quell by hiding in the office bathroom and digging his nails into his legs.

Panic won’t pay the rent or keep the lights on or remember to call Mum every Sunday. He smothers it deep in his chest and ignores the spasm of pain he gets whenever he forces it down.

He has been getting those more often; sharp, sudden chest pains, numb fingers, dizzy spells, an aching back, shortness of breath.

He had been going to ask the doctor about it all before he cancelled the appointment but. Well. Needs must.

He has his first heart attack on the evening shift.

Pulling a box of washing up tablets from the top shelf in Aisle 4 causes such a rush of agony in his chest that he dares to ask the manager to take his 15-minute break early.

He doesn’t make it to the back room before he collapses.

In the hospital, after he wakes, the doctors ask if there is a family history of heart problems.

If he didn’t feel so weak he would laugh.

He has more in common with his mother then he likes to admit. Of course they share a bad heart.

Or maybe it came from his father. Mum always said he was heartless. Maybe there’s a hole where Dad’s DNA should be.

When the medical team leaves him to rest, all he can think is how much this will cost him.

The NHS is no charity no matter what their marketing says, not to mention how much money he will lose by recovering. He can’t afford six weeks of not working. His first job doesn’t have that much sick leave and his second doesn’t have any.

He runs the numbers in his head, tries to find what else he can hack out of his life to keep his head above water. Occasionally his thoughts swerve, self-recriminating and barbed. He is so stupid for letting this happen at all.

It’s all his fault.

Mum is going to be so angry with him.

His heart pulses in keen pain, bitter and broken.

Somehow, he drifts off, counting figures instead of sheep.

The second heart attack kills him in his sleep.

~

They die on the same day, at nearly the same time (Jon rushes ahead, always too eager, Martin follows inevitably after him).

Their death certificates are filed away alphabetically by a bored clerk in the dusty management system of the General Register Office.

Twenty years later, Samama Khalid exhumes them and examines them, with more curiosity than sense, only to be disappointed by the mundanity of their ends.

He returns them together, heedless of any organisation.

Jon and Martin meet, in the quiet and the dark.

The filing cabinet is a shared headstone, their names rest side-by-side.

~

Also on AO3

[incorrectbatfam]

Damian is the warmest person in the family. Can you give me a list of times where people used him as their personal heater? Or something like that lol

Steph: Dang it, the toaster's broken.

Damian: *doing his homework in the kitchen*

Steph: Hm...

Steph: *puts bread on Damian's head*

——���————

Damian: Father said to stop smoking on patrol.

Jason: He's not the boss of me.

Jason: *plucks one of Damian's hairs*

Damian: Hey!

Jason: Relax, it's just one hair. You might wanna stand away 'cause of the smoke though.

Jason: *strikes the hair like a match and lights his cigarette*

———————

Damian: *sleeping*

Duke: *roasts marshmallows above him*

———————

Cass, laying on Damian: Mmm, heated pillow.

Damian:

Damian, on the phone: Jon, I'm going to have to take a raincheck.

———————

Bruce: Damian, can you clean the snow off the driveway?

Damian: Yes, Father.

Damian: *walks around until the snow melts*

———————

Dick: It's freezing out there. I can't feel my fingers.

Dick: *sees Damian*

Dick: *squishes Damian's face to thaw his hands*

Damian: Tt.

———————

Damian: *sticks his finger in Barbara's mug*

Barbara: Damian!

Damian: It was getting cold.

Barbara: Oh, thanks.

———————

Kate: And if Renee asks why you're coming to the drive-in theater with us?

Damian: Tell her the truth.

Kate: Which is?

Damian: Your car's heater malfunctioned.

———————

Alfred: Master Damian, I need to make a quick call. Can you make sure the water is ready for tea? m

Damian: Of course.

Damian: *holds the teapot*

*teapot starts boiling*

———————

Selina: Ooh, it seems like you're running a fever.

Damian: No, I am always like this. The doctor says it's the pent-up rage inside a pint-sized body.

———————

Tim: You're like a microwaved Hot Pocket—burning on the outside, ice cold on the inside.

Damian: Thank you for the compliment. I think you do a splendid job of having teeth.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

Steve’s bedroom door is open. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, pretty much everyone else wedged in here with him. Rob is on the bed too, leaning against him. Jon and Nance are sitting at the bottom. All the kids are sitting on the floor.

Everyone's quiet. Waiting. Straining to hear.

El and Eddie are next door.

And Steve has no fucking idea what the hell is going on.

The gates are all closed. Hawkins is a mess, but within the first twenty four hours there was a big push to start repairs. The government is probably pouring cash on this to tidy it up, clean it up, cover it up; make sure everyone knows it was an earthquake.

Gas main damaged in the quake leaked; if anyone saw anything weird, they’re already convinced it was a hallucination. So there’s that.

Everyone got out of hospital within hours; the worst off was probably Steve himself. His wounds from the bats, from their first run in with Vecna, still hadn't healed and one of them had been growing steadily more infected. He has fresh injuries from this time around; all of them inflicted by Eddie. Steve has two broken ribs, and he sounds like he's been smoking 100 a day for sixty years from where Eddie nearly choked him out. He needed twelve stitches in the nasty gash he picked up on the back of his head, but luckily no concussion this time. He's covered in scratches and bruises, but the hospital were happy to let him go with antibiotics and firm instructions to rest.

Eddie, surprisingly, has a clean bill of health. He was filthy, and the scars were bad but...otherwise, he didn’t have so much as an open scratch on him. Everything healed up completely. Which makes...no sense. Steve literally saw him die.

But that also means while they were preparing...planning...working to take down Vecna...he had Eddie the whole time. Potentially, that was nearly a week. The shock they had all had, seeing Eddie again. Obviously they hadn’t planned for that, hadn't factored it into their plans, and it completely and utterly fucked everything up.

They were done for. They were all going to die, no question. But something happened. Something changed. Steve was convinced he was about to get choked to death by Eddie, or maybe impaled on that ridiculous sword but...no. Eddie had blinked awake. And then he’d cut Vecna’s head clean off...which, unexpected, but still a win.

Eddie had dropped the sword, stumbling along after everyone else to get out before the gates closed on them.

Since then, Eddie's been silent. Going where he's told, stumbling through the examinations, sitting on the periphery of the group, staring into space. He looked broken, even to Steve, who realistically didn't know Eddie that well. Eddie had the vacant stare of someone who's just been though something traumatic.

When Dustin had tried to hug him, even, Eddie had flinched away.

No one tried to touch him after that, giving up talking to him pretty quickly. Eddie wasn't going to answer. Steve could practically watch Dustin getting more and more distressed over the state of Eddie. Everyone was aware; all they could do was sit and watch it happen.

Once they were out of the hospital they could look after him; try and figure out what the fuck was happening.

Eddie had disappeared pretty much the moment he had opportunity. He’d mumbled something about finding a bathroom, pretty much the first words he;d spoken, and as the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly obvious that Eddie wasn't coming back. The hospital was a mess, and they were supposed to wait for Owens.

Obviously the kids weren’t willing to let him out of their sight that fast. Vecna’s done something to him, controlled him somehow, that much is obvious. Just...nobody knows what.

When Owens finally showed, it was done and dusted fast. They confirmed Henry/One was dead. Owens had a lot of other shit to sort out; they were no longer his priority and they knew it. Dustin had been ball of barely contained anxiety the whole time, clearly wanting to track down Eddie but...by some sort of group mutual understanding...no one mentioned Eddie was alive. No one said he'd come back with them.

In the confusion, no one seemed to question it. Owens clearly hadn't bothered to look at the hospital's records, or whatever it was he could do. They left as fast as they could without raising suspicion.

The kids had found Eddie again pretty quickly, more through luck than anything, but finding Eddie sitting on the porch of some random house, nursing a bottle of vodka was...well. Everyone’s got their own coping mechanisms, Steve guesses.

Eddie still hasn’t spoken about what happened, but he was pretty quick to pass out on the spare bed.

El’s got that look on her face when she comes back, like she’s thinking big thoughts.

“Is he okay?” Dustin asks first. Obviously there were concerns. Vecna had Eddie for days, there could be anything in Eddie’s head. What if there’s something...lingering...from Vecna? Could be a risk.

El shakes her head, “he is very sad.”

“Sad about what?” Nancy, this time.

“When Eddie was…” she makes a face, she doesn’t have the words, for a moment, to convey what she wants to say, she puts the fingertips of both hands together, making bars, “Vecna put Eddie’s mind in a cage, he doesn’t remember what his body was doing, I don’t think.”

“So Vecna had him as a kind of puppet? He couldn’t get out of the cage?” Robin clarifies, “that’s good right, he didn’t see himself hurting us?”

El tilts a hand from side to side, “he did not want to leave the cage. Vecna made him…” she purses her lips, “love. He was in love. They had a baby, she grew up, she was going to college.”

“That makes no sense, he was there less than a week?”

“Time is different in dreams.”

“Yeah,” Dustin chimes in, “even if a dream feels long, it actually happens really fast.”

Steve huffs, “right, but he knows now, right, that it wasn’t real? So it doesn’t matter, right?”

“It matters to him,” El tells him so firmly Steve feels like he fucked up, “it was real to him.”

��Steve,” Nancy turns to him, “imagine if you got married, had...I don’t know, six kids and a Winnebago,” Steve winces because, yeah, okay, he might have deserved that, “and you come home after years and years of living that, being happy, only to find out it wasn’t real, how would you feel?”

“It’d be like they died,” Robin says next to him, suddenly gasping and making a pained noise, “oh that’s horrible. Poor Eddie.”

El’s nodding, and everyone else is silent, clearly letting that sink in.

And, yeah, Steve figures...that’s got to be pretty awful.

The kids have gone home, but Nancy, Rob, Jon and Argyle have all stayed. They promised the kids they would watch over Eddie, which wasn’t hard since Eddie’s been asleep pretty much since they got back. Steve doesn’t know if is the most of a bottle of vodka Eddie had downed, or the week he’s had but...he’s still asleep.

They take it in turns to check on him, every half an hour, someone comes up. Just to check.

Steve doesn’t know what woke him, but he needs to piss. Robins passed out next to him, snoring her wheezy little snore. Steve gets up and goes to the bathroom, figures he should check on Eddie.

And Steve finds himself suddenly very awake at the sight of an empty bed and an open window.

They split up, heading for likely places. Nancy, Argyle and Jon pile into Jon’s car, heading for Wayne first and then with a vague plan to work through town on the way back if he’s not there.

Steve and Robin strike out in the opposite direction.

“Lets head for the place the kids found him.”

“You think he would have gone back there?”

Robin shrugs, “why did he go there in the first place?”

“You think it means something to him?” A horrible feeling starting to form in the pit of Steve’s stomach, even as Robin shrugs ‘maybe’ at him.

They can’t see Eddie, but Robin insists they check it out. Steve’s glad Robin has half their brain, because she was dead right. There’s smashed glass on the porch and the door is open; someone has broken in.

Part Three

@autumncrocusandladybug @duckyreads @neonfruitbowl @slv-333 @starlight-archer @skys-archive @justdreamersdream @moomkin77 @prazinos

[eternal-sunflowers]

Sunbaked

AO3 | written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event | prompt: sunshine | rating: t | wc: 2.6k | cw: language, minor child abandonment allusions | tags: established relationship, platonic soulmates stobin

“Hey! No running, shitheads. I’m really not in the mood to go to the hospital today.” Steve’s got one hand gripping the door frame, the other on his hip, as he yells at the gaggle of teenagers absolutely ignoring him as they run around his pool. Well, his parents’ pool, but they haven’t been here in, like, 2 or 4 years or whatever, so it’s Steve’s, and they just told him as much on the phone, said a bunch of paperwork would be over in the morning,along with a big injection to his bank account with a promise of steady flow for the foreseeable future.

Turns out, life’s a lot more interesting outside of Hawkins. Who’d have thought? 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters to himself, drags a hand down his face before stepping outside, shutting the door behind him. He walks down the patio, over to where a laughing Jonathan is working the grill, chatting away with Argyle, making their lunch. “Hey, man.”

Jonathan smiles up at him, turning from his conversation. “How’s it goin’, dude?”

Steve shrugs. “The usual.”

Jonathan nods, a somehow stoic smile plastered on his face. “Ah, yes, the usual. A very clear way to be goin’.”

“Fuck off, Jon.” Steve chuckles. “You know what I mean. Just, usual bullshit.”

Jonathan squints at him. “Like, usual bullshit as in parental bullshit or usual bullshit as in you’re too deep in your head bullshit?”

Steve ducks his head. “Both, I guess. Mostly the first.”

Jonathan hums, clicks his tongs. 

“‘S no big deal. I just–”

One of the kids screams then, Steve’s head jerking immediately to the sound to see Mike where he’s splayed on the concrete.

“Shit, Mike! Are you okay?”

Mike waves him off as he stands up, brushing his hands down his swim trunks. “I’m fine.” He then takes off running after Lucas, a big smile on his face. 

Steve scrubs his hands down his face and groans. “Jesus christ. These kids are going to put me in an early grave, I swear. Watching them running around the pool makes me want to scream.”

“Those lifeguard instincts kicking in, huh?” Jonathan nudges him.

“Somethin’ like that.” Steve chuckles.

Argyle nods. “I got you, man. Shit’s dangerous.” He turns then, cups his palms around his face, and, before Steve can stop him, raises his voice. “Hey, lil dudes and dudettes! Chill the running out, alright?”

The kids, surprisingly, stop and look at Argyle, sheepish smiles on their faces, call out a variety of sorry, Argyle’s as they shift to a walk. Some of them sit instead, their laughter and conversations picking right back up.

Argyle nods, drops his hands as he turns back to Steve and Jonathan. “There you go, my man.”

Steve’s mouth is slightly agape as he stares back. “Yeah, uh, thanks, Argyle. ‘Preciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jonathan knocks his shoulder, gestures with his tongs to where Eddie is laid back in a pool lounger, talking animatedly with Robin. “Go relax, man. We’ll smoke you three out after food’s done, alright?”

Steve smiles, pulls Jonathan into a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Jon.” He turns and hugs Argyle. “You too, Argyle.”

“Of course, my dude. We gotta take care of each other.” Argyle nods, pats Steve on the back.

“Yeah, we do.” Steve smiles, pulls back. “Let me know if you need any help with the food.” He’s got one hand shoved in the pocket of his swim trunks, the other gesturing to the house. “Or need anything–”

Jonathan shoves him back slightly, tongs pointed at his face. “I know where everything is, and if I don’t, Robin or Eddie does.” He snaps his tongs. “Go chill.”

Steve laughs, holds his hands up. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

He turns then, walks over to where his boyfriend and his best friend are curled up in their loungers, talking a mile a minute. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Eddie smiles, immediately makes grabby hands at Steve, to which the latter chuckles and acquiesces, sits on the side of Eddie’s lounger, lends back against his propped up knees. 

“Hi, dingus. Took you long enough.” Robin grins at him. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s been a day.” Steve sighs, offers an apologetic smile.

Robin’s eyes quirk up, a million questions floating through them as she scans Steve’s own expression. She must find what she’s looking for, because her eyes soften. “Your parents called.”

Eddie leans up, whispers out a quiet, “Oh, shit.”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it.” 

Eddie snakes his hand to grab Steve’s own. “You sure, sweetheart?”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Yeah, I just–” He sighs, rakes his free hand through his hair. “I’ve been done with their bullshit for ages, so it doesn’t really matter anymore. Just always throws me a little off when they make their quarterly phone call or whatever.” 

Robin sits up, swings her legs over the side of her own lounger so they’re pressed up against Steve’s. Steve smiles at her, grateful for the contact. It’s grounding, in a way, to be surrounded by the people he loves most, their physical proximity soothing the aching fissures inside of him. “Any…developments?”

“Robbie. I just said–”

“I know, I know. But, like, this isn’t the usual time for their call, and we both know that, so don’t try to even dodge that point.”

Steve grimaces, drops his head, because yeah, she’s right. 

She carries on, seemingly unfazed. “So, that must mean something’s changed, and it’s clearly bothering you. Are they, like, starting a corporate cult? Or moving to Norway?” She snaps her fingers. “OH! Maybe they’re–”

“They’re giving me the house.” Steve sputters out, stares at their knees knocking together. He drops his voice. “They’re…they’re actually done with it.”

Eddie shifts behind him, gently props Steve forward as he swings himself so his legs are curled around Steve’s body, his chest pressed against Steve’s back. Eddie snakes his arms around Steve’s chest and leans forward, cheek pressed to Steve’s shoulder as he presses a soft kiss there and squeezes tight. Steve wraps one of his own arms atop Eddie’s, laces his fingers through one of his boyfriend’s hands. 

“Steve?” Robin reaches out for his free hand, which he easily lets her have. He nods to her, presses his finger once to the back of her hand. 

“Just give me a minute, yeah?” 

She nods back, starts rubbing tiny designs into his palm.

Steve thinks about the phone call with his parents, about everything that is being thrown into his lap now. He’s not really upset about it in the way people would expect him to be. He’s not upset that he’s not going to see his parents anymore, or that they won’t come back to Hawkins. He’s not upset that he’s now going to be a homeowner at the ripe age of 21, and will have to deal with all the management that comes with it – though, at least his parents said they’d be sending a couple lawyers and other officials over, so Steve assumes they’ll just be putting his name on all the contracts for the people who manage everything. 

Steve’s always felt really fucking weird about having people constantly in and out of the house to clean and primp it. He didn’t really see much of a need considering he was the only one who was ever there, and he cleaned after himself well enough.

Like, do they really need someone to cut the lawn twice a week? It doesn’t even grow that much. 

All the workers were always kind to Steve, and for that he’s incredibly grateful. They were some of the only real human interaction he had for years, after all. He decides maybe he doesn’t need to sign all of the worker contracts. He’ll talk to them and give them fucking massive leaving bonuses for dealing with his family’s bullshit for years. He’ll offer up himself as a reference and put in calls to make sure they get other jobs if they need him. As much as he despises it, the Harrington name holds a lot of weight. Might as well use it to help people, unlike his parents.

Steve shakes his head, earning a look from Robin, but he just presses his finger to her hand again, so she keeps her mouth shut for now. He does the same to Eddie, squeezes his hand to let him know everything’s okay. 

Steve’s mostly upset that his parents took this long to do it. That they danced around not coming back here, always talking about business trips and mergers and corporate bullshit. Steve could’ve dealt without the years of aching for his parents to return, the hope always kind of there. The ache settled and dissipated after meeting everyone here, but that last bit of hope only died the second he hung up the phone, like, 20 minutes ago.

But, now Steve owns this place. Or, well, he will tomorrow. He doesn’t have to tiptoe around anymore. He doesn’t have to keep up the god awful decor. His parents made it clear they’d send people to pack up what belongings they wanted, and the rest Steve could do with what he sees fit. God, is he excited to actually make the house feel like a home. To make it feel lived in.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feels some of the last dregs of his parents’ bullshit come flying out with it. 

“I’m fine, really. Just – I actually, like, have this house now. I’ll own it come tomorrow.” Steve lifts his head to look at Robin, her face impassive as she scrutinizes his own. “I’ll have this house and will be able to do whatever the hell I want with it.” He laughs. “Holy shit, we can cover up the wallpaper now. I never have to see that plaid again.”

Steve feels Eddie’s laughter deep in his chest. “Oh, that’s absolutely the first thing we’re doing, Stevie. I’ve been itching to tear it down since I first stepped foot in your room.

“Me too. It’s atrocious.” Robin shudders. She squeezes his hand, offers him a kind smile. “You sure you’re really okay with this, though?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Like, I’m a bit pissed, but mostly relieved? Excited?” He turns to look at the kids who’ve now migrated into the pool, splashing around and laughing. He looks up at Jonathan and Argyle, a laughing Nancy now with them. He smiles as he continues. “It’ll be mine and then I can really make it a space for everyone, you know?” He turns back, squeezes both hands he’s holding, levels Robin with a hopeful look. “I can make this our home.”

Robin’s eyes widen. “Steve?”

“I’m being serious, Robin. You’re practically living out of that room anyway. I can actually give it to you now. If you want it, that is.”

“Are you – if I want it? Dingus, I have been dying to move out since the second I graduated from the hellpit of Hawkins High. Of course I’ll move in.” She launches herself forward, arms clumsily wrapped around him and Eddie, the latter of which chuckles again. 

The laughter, and double hugs, and the sun, and the everything around him in that moment fills the pit in his chest that’s now no longer holding on to that tiny sliver of hope that his parents cared enough to come be parents – that pit fills with warmth and love, swirls around and coats every surface it can reach. 

Eddie lifts his head off Steve’s shoulder. “As much as I’m happy for you, Buck, and really, I am – I can’t help but be a bit offended, though not entirely surprised, that my beautiful, amazing, wonderful boyfriend here asked you to officially move in before me.” 

“Oh, screw off, Munson. You live here already.” Robin pulls back, plops down onto her lounger again, knees bracketing Steve’s as she leans forward.

“And so do you! But not officially, since our beautiful Stevie here was trying to be respectful of his shit parents and not cross that bridge yet.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Sorry, babe, but, you know–” He gestures with his free hand to Robin, then back to him, then back to Robin, back to him.

Eddie chuckles, disentangles himself, moves to sit beside Steve to better access the conversation. He reaches over and grabs the hand Steve is gesturing with, links their fingers together. “I know, I know, platonic soulmates before romantic soulmates.”

Steve blushes, knocks his shoulder against Eddie’s. “Will you officially move in with me, Eddie?”

He’s met with his favorite, blinding grin of Eddie’s. “I thought you’d never ask, sunshine.” Eddie leans in and kisses him, ignores the gagging sound Robin makes in response, before he turns to face her, his grin turning manic. “Now, we have so much to discuss, Buck. First being, what should cover the currently – sorry, sweetheart – atrocious walls of my new shared bedroom?”

Eddie and Robin launch into a conversation as Steve turns, tosses his shirt off to the side, lays back in the lounger to finally relax. Feeling the warmth of the sun seep deep into his bones, blanketing over the lingering coldness left by his parents, filling the marrow with a burning ache that makes Steve sigh in contentment. He’s always favored summer, and now he gets to enjoy it, gets to let it bake into his skin without the biggest stress of his life looming over him. 

Steve vaguely picks up on the conversation beside him, but he’s not particularly up for joining it, and he’s grateful that they understand that – that they’ll let him rest or tune out when he needs it and will pull him in only when it’s necessary, mostly. Eddie shifts sideways a bit, then lays his hand on Steve’s thigh, starts tracing soothing patterns up and down his leg. 

Steve melts into the lounger a bit more, some of the lingering tension leaving his body at the gentle touch. He smiles lazily up at Eddie, watches the expressions crossing his face as he talks to Robin. The words romantic soulmate float back through Steve’s head. He really thinks about it for a second, thinks some sort of panic should come with it, but all he’s met with is a tingling warmth radiating through every nerve ending in his body. His heart thumps a bit faster. 

Eddie turns, smiles at Steve and squeezes his thigh, before turning back to his conversation with Robin. Steve blinks once, twice, as a realization floods his body, hotter than anything the Indiana summer sun can offer. 

He wants to marry Eddie. 

Holy shit.

Or, at least as close as they can get here, which he guesses is really just living together, having that conversation and committing to each other, maybe a small service in front of their family, just as a showing of their love for each other. Maybe they could even exchange rings, or some token to symbolize all of it. Steve swallows hard, feels a bit of anxiety – okay,  a lot of anxiety – bubbling up inside of him, but it feels good? It feels right?

Fuck, he’s going to propose to Eddie. 

The feeling washes over him, exploding beneath his skin, everything turning prickly, vibrating in intensity. The biggest, most bone-deep happiness radiates throughout his body as a massive smile takes over his face.

“You alright, sunshine?” Eddie squints down at him. “You getting too much sun?”

Steve laughs. “It’s been, like, 10 minutes. I need at least another 3 hours before you can ask me that.”

“3 hours?” Eddie shakes his head. “Your ability to bake in this sun is unnatural.”

He grabs Eddie’s hand, runs his fingers over the rings that never leave it. He thinks about what kind of ring he’d buy for Eddie, where Eddie would wear it if he said yes. Would he wear it on his ring finger? Would he switch off his current rings and only leave that one? Would he alternate rings around the one Steve gave?

“Better get used to it, roomie.” Steve smiles, soft and fond. Eddie matches it, a fierce intensity bubbling in the current of his gaze. 

And it’s there, with the summer sun baking down on him, with the laughter of the family he built ringing out, with the smell of grilled meat and veggies carrying on the air, with the touch pressed against him of the two most important people in his life, that Steve knows he’s going to be okay.

That his life can finally move forward.

Tags (open): @sunshine-daydreams0809

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

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[undyworld]

the spine and his humanity : a very unorganized deep dive. this will be split into different paragraphs, each with a different topic, just to try and make things easier to digest.

The Spine, as we know, was the walter robot that was built to look the most human. named after his spine, which used to be a smoke stack, before he his spine was rebuilt out of titanium alloy. before a lot of the war stuff was retconned, he was built to look more human to do special ops - so they could send in the spine instead of risking human lives.

throughout their albums, The Spine has several songs in which he’s the lead vocalist that talk about how he feels the need to apologize for being a robot, or talking about how robots cannot feel the way humans do, both physically and emotionally ( hot on the trail, wired wrong, electricity is in my soul, a life of un-delightment, etc. ) and he seems to be the walter automaton that hates being a robot the most ( save for the jon, but that’s a completely different topic altogether ). he talks to humans, sure, but when he has the choice - he holes himself up in the hall of wires and stays on the computer. it’s almost as if he doesn’t believe he shouldn’t to talk to them because he’s not human enough.

this brings me to my next topic of stage bits. now, a lot of these are played for laughs ( and are improv ), but an overarching character choice i’ve noticed for The Spine is how he interjects things whenever the topic of them being robots comes up. the one that sticks most in my mind is the 10 year anniversary show, where Hatchworth tells them the goldfish they ripped up were made by a third grader. Rabbit says that they’re monsters, to which The Spine replies “we’re robots, we’re almost monsters.” now, this could mean a lot of different things ─ but it all comes back to the fact that The Spine does not see himself and, by proxy, his siblings, as people. they’re living things, sure, but by referring to them as monsters, he’s saying they’re something to be wary of. something to gawk at, or even something to fear. ( there’s also the whole phone conversation in which they say that The Spine hates The Spine more than anyone else, which i could also write an essay about ). 

the topic of stage bits also ties into his relationship with food, eating, and drinking. during some performances of brass goggles, they have tea time, where the walter workers come out and serve the robots tea. while the robots’ reactions to the tea vary from show to show, The Spine is the only one who consistently never drinks it - either dumping it on himself or throwing it over his shoulder. he also consistently never eats anything, and even goes as far as to tell the other robots that robots can’t eat. no matter how much he tries, they usually disregard him and go on eating anyways. now, he’s also the Rule Follower of the walters, with both Hatchworth and Rabbit having snuck out of the manor unaccompanied using disguises ( rabbit wearing a fake mustache and hatchworth wearing a fake mustache on top of his mustache ), so he may not be eating simply because he doesn’t want to gum up his gears. but, it could very well be that he refuses to eat because he doesn’t want to make himself feel more human than he actually is.

my final point : the spine distances himself from humans and his humanity far more than the others do, and i think that’s because he wants nothing more than to be human. but because he can’t, because of the metal he’s made out of, he refuses to allow himself to indulge in the things that humans do. he doesn’t see himself as human enough, so why act human? why allow himself to enjoy the thing he so desperately wants? instead, he folds in on himself, repressing his deepest wants, desires, and even his emotions.

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Reader Forbidden Love (fem)

Poll story!

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, unhappy marriage, cheating, p in v, unprotected sex, angst

1.9k word count

💔

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At 2 am you wake up and head into the shower. Today is your last day home before your seven-month deployment and you hate to admit you’ve been looking forward to it. While other soldiers might love their time home, you don’t. It’s all stagnant, the same mundane life you try to run from. You step out of the shower to see your husband, Jon, standing there brushing his teeth. He looks over at you and smiles.

In an attempt to hide your body you snatch your towel off the hook and wrap it around yourself, giving your husband a weak smile in return. You quickly walk past him into the bedroom, gathering your uniform while leaving behind a trail of water. Jon pokes his head into the bedroom to watch you, assuming your attitude is just nerves.

“Jon, can I get some privacy?” You say stomping over to close the door in his face.

Once you're dressed and your hair pulled back in a bun, you go to the kitchen with your bags. Jon sits there smiling weakly at you while he watches you sit to lace up your boots. He hates to see you go, being your highschool sweetheart, he’s never spent time away from you before you joined KorTac.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Me too.”

You stand and so does he. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug, making you feel guilty for your lack of feelings. Being forced to marry him from a young age, you feel as if you’ve grown out of him. He was what you needed when leaving your abusive childhood home, but now that you’re stable you realize it was never love; simply survival. Yet, here you stay. There is an odd sense of loyalty, as if you owe him for helping you get to this point.

“I should go.”

“I love you.”

“Me too.”

The fifteen-hour flight seemed to drag on, putting your feet down on the ground was a welcomed feeling. Out of the corner of your eye you spot König, looking at you through the eye holes in his sniper hood. For a moment the gaze lingers before you turn your head and continue on your way.

It’s the middle of the night as you toss and turn in your cot, unable to sleep. The first night in a new place always gets to you. In the darkness you look over at the woman that is sharing the tent with you, she’s fast asleep. Letting out a deep sigh, you get off of the cot and leave the tent.

The moons brightness is dulled by a cloudy night, a few shining stars peeking through. Tall grass sways in the wind as your eyes roam. Unconsciously you turn and look towards König’s tent before looking away and letting out a deep breath. After a second thought, you walk away and head back to your tent.

König takes a deep drag of his cigarette watching you walk away from his tent with a smirk. He pushes off of the tree and begins to walk towards you, letting a puff of smoke slip from between his lips. His eyes trail over every inch of your body as he approaches you.

“Can’t sleep, Liebling?”

“Jesus Christ!” You jump and turn around when you see him, letting out a small laugh.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” König chuckles lightly.

You watch as he tosses the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it before walking closer to you. “I saw you were looking for me.”

“I—”

“I was waiting for you, follow me.”

König grabs your hand and walks you to his tent. While he tries to appear relaxed, his heart is pounding in his chest. It’s been too long since he’s seen you, since he’s been able to taste you. He scans the area to make sure no one sees the two of you together, standing guard as he opens the flap of the tent and lets you in.

You enter his private tent, but before you can say a word König scopes you up into his arm and lifts you up. He pulls his hood off and tosses it to the floor, leaning in to kiss you deeply. He holds you ass cupped in his hands, squeezing the supple flesh as his tongue slips into your mouth. Your lip’s part, accepting his tongue as he carries you to his chair and sits down.

“I’ve missed you.” König says as he pulls back, letting his hands rub circles over your hips and rear.

“I’ve missed you too, König.”

“Why did you ignore me earlier today?”

“There were a lot of people around.”

“Ja? That doesn’t mean we can’t talk.” His hands slip underneath your shirt and begin to touch your warm flesh. “I was a little upset, I won’t lie.”

“I’m sorry.” You move your hands to cup his strong jawline.

“Don’t be sorry. I have you now.”

König lifts your shirt up and pulls it over your head, he begins to kiss your neck down to your cleavage. His hands slowly wrap around your back, unhooking your bra and allowing it to fall off your body slowly. He takes a moment to look down at your breasts before leaning in to kiss them, his mouth eagerly finding your hard nipples.

While his mouth suckles at your breasts he continues to undress you, undoing your pants and letting his hands slip underneath the waistband. He stands you up to pull your pants down, his lips leaving your breasts and trails down your abdomen. The strong smell of your wet cunt hits him as he pulls down your black panties.

“You look even better than I remember.” König says as he leans back in the chair and pulls off his shirt, undoing his pants to release himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“Since when do we use condoms?” König tilts his head as he stares at you curiously.

“I- like just in case.”

“I don’t have any. I only have sex with you, and you said we won’t use them.” He reaches out and grabs your arm pulling you to him.

You go willingly towards him and straddle his lap. The heat from his erection adiates underneath your lap as you rock your wet pussy back and forth on his length. He’s right. You said no condoms because you wanted children, but now you’re second guessing it. Could you really break up a nearly two-decade long relationship?

“Where’s your mind?” König whispers as he kisses your neck.

“Right here.” You lie.

You adjust yourself and reach between your legs to position his cock right up against your entrance. His lips linger on your neck as he waits for you to lower yourself, his cock throbbing slightly with need. After waiting, you sit down on him; sinking down slowly but completely on his long shaft.

“Oh, fuck y/n.”

König’s hands move down to your hips, assisting you in your bounces. His eyes lower and lock on to your breasts as they jiggle with each little motion you make. The sounds of pleasure that leave him come out in a melody matching your rhythm.

“Whose pussy is this?”

You don’t respond as you continue to move, your hands on his shoulders with your nails digging in and leaving red marks behind on his pale skin. All you want to do is focus on how good he feels stretching you out, closing your eyes and just trying to tune his voice out. That is until he grabs your jaw in his massive hand, forcing you to open your eyes and face him.

“I asked, whose pussy is this?” His voice is more of a low growl when he asks the second time.

“Yours.”

The usual blue color of his eyes is replaced by his blown-out pupils, completely lost in the moment with you. “Gut, good girl.” König lowers himself in the chair and leans you forward against his chest as his hands grip you. He thrust up into you, rapidly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You gaze back into his eyes as your eyebrows pinch together, your body becoming overwhelmed with the need to orgasm. The sound of your sopping wet pussy swallowing him up radiates in the small space of the tent. König’s body quickly becomes sweaty, his breathing heavy as he tries his best to hold off on his own release until you do.

“König.” You whimper.

“Oh- y/n. I love you fucking pussy.”

“Please, harder.”

König stands, shocking you. Your eyes open wide as he quickly turns and places you on the chair. He grabs the back of the chair and use it to balance himself as he slams into you, watching your face as it slowly crunches up.

“Cum for me, cum on my cock!”

“Fuck!”

You squirm, each thrust of his cock sends a powerful burst of ecstasy throughout your whole body. The begging and whimpers turn into a mumble of nothing as your pussy clenches around his cock. König closes his eyes for a split moment before looking back down at you, pushing himself all the way in causing you to cry out softly. He throbs, releasing deeply in you.

König tilts your face up so he can kiss you, keeping his cock inside of you while he calms down. Every time he cums inside of you, he uses his cock as a plug. In his mind this only ups the chances even though you haven’t been pregnant yet. Yet.

Once you both clean up and get dressed, you reach down to pull your boots back on. He hits on his little nest on the floor, he’s too big for a cot so he works around it. You’re distant, more than usual. It worries him, but he’s trying to act calm.

“Where are you going so quickly? Don’t you want to snuggle?”

“I’m tired.”

“So? Sleep here.”

You look up at him and let out a soft sigh. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We could get caught.”

“So?” König leans forward, not used to this defiance from you. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, König.” You snap at him.

His eyes widen, not expecting you to get so angry at him. For a moment he just waits and watches you. He stands and walks to you, grabbing your waist, and pulling you back to sit on his lap on the ground.

“König!” You sound annoyed with him as you try to stand up, but he won’t let you go.

“Please, please talk to me. Don’t act like this after all this time apart.” His voice sounds defeated in that moment. He can’t bear to speak out loud that he’s fearful of you growing tired of him, of this. You’ve become the most important person in his life. Losing you isn’t something he’s ready for.

“I don’t know. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Talk to me. I will try to help.” He’s desperate to not be rejected.

You turn and look at him with a small frown. If only it could be that easy. There are a million thoughts rushing through your mind. Is a future with him even realistic? “Not tonight. We should really sleep.”

Reluctantly, he relaxes his hold on you. Logically he knows that he can’t force you to open up or stay here with him. While he wants to, he can’t. He watches with sad eyes as you stand from his lap without so much as a goodbye kiss.

“I love you, y/n.”

“Me too…” You say softly to König before leaving his tent.

[katethetank]

40 Year Old Virgin

Chapter 4 - My Heart Has Thawed and Continues to Beat

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: The boys spend more time together and Eddie isn't sure how to handle Steve's affections CW: Smoking the devil's lettuce, oh no there's only one bed, Eddie is clueless Pairing: Virgin!Eddie x Divorced!Steve Word Count: 3k

(Chapter title from “June on the West Coast” by Bright Eyes)

Chapter 3<<Masterlist>>Chapter 5

Steve keeps his promise.

It’s been about two weeks since the night on his deck, and not a day has gone by where Eddie hasn’t heard from or seen the man. He’s stopped by the shop a few times and brought lunch. Subs, burgers, and Taco Bell. It’s been a nice change of pace from his microwave meals. 

A couple nights a week they meet at the Hideout for beers when Eddie gets off of work. He hates that he’s still in his coveralls when he sees Steve. The most he can do to feel less like a working stiff is to shrug off the top and tie the sleeves around his waist. Steve eyes him each time he does it, and Eddie tries his best to shake off the feeling that he’s being judged. He knows that Steve isn’t the superficial jock he was when he was a teenager, but having the man’s eyes on him like that makes Eddie feel self conscious.

Steve tells him about everything he’s doing at his parents’ house. He started with their room. He’s gone through their closets and bagged up tons of clothes, donating them to the local Salvation Army. His mom had a bunch of jewelry that he’s setting aside to pawn, because bills still need to be paid, right? And he’s planning on donating all the furniture to Habitat for Humanity. Further proving that he’s not who he used to be when he was a kid. Eddie knew that, of course he did, but hearing how freely Steve is just giving all this stuff away makes Eddie’s heart grow even fonder.

He moved on to his own room after that, saying that most of it was just trash. All the things he really cared about went with him when he moved to Chicago with Robin. So other than that godforsaken insanely tight Hawkins swim team shirt, it seems like everything else worth salvaging is being donated as well. The only thing remaining in there is the wallpaper.

Eddie was only ever in Steve’s room a few times back in ‘86, but that plaid insanity is not easily forgotten. And apparently not easily removed, either. Thirty year old wallpaper glue, he’s learning, is a bitch to remove. He offered Steve his help since he’s not really doing anything of value on the weekends anyway. So here he finds himself scraping away at the walls and going cross-eyed from all the vertical and horizontal lines.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington. Can’t we get Supergirl out here to pull this shit off with her mind powers?”

Steve snorts like a goon as he continues to scrape away at the section he’s working on. “That’ll be my plan B if we can’t manage this ourselves.”

“What’s she up to these days, anyway?” Eddie was never exactly close with El. He always had mad respect for her, though.

Steve smiles fondly like a proud father. “She’s in Michigan, not far from Joyce and Hopper. Works with an adoption agency finding homes for kids with special needs. Whole new definition of a superhero, if you ask me.”

“Shit. You’re not wrong.” He hesitates for a moment, wanting to know where everyone else has gone off to, while also grappling with the pain of knowing that they never kept him up to date on their lives to begin with. His curiosity wins out in the end.

“How‘s the rest of the gang?”

Steve stops his work for a moment, likely realizing how big it is that Eddie’s even asking. “They’re good. Nance and Jon are still in Boston. She works for a paper out there. Investigative journalism. Shocker, right? Jon does some freelance photography for the same paper. But mostly focuses on artistic stuff.”

“That’s cool. I didn’t talk to them much after they left. They ever pop out any kids?”

“Nah. Nancy is super into her career. That wasn’t anything she really wanted, even way back when.”

Eddie nods like he understands. “What about Argyle? We only had that summer to hang out, but he was fuckin’ cool. Weird as hell, but I loved that about him.”

“Oh for sure! We didn’t keep in touch, really. Last I heard he owns a pizza chain in southern California.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Of course he does! Bet there’s fucking pineapple on everything.”

“No shit. Mike and Will are in Cali, too. You think Robin and her girlfriend owning a bookstore in Portland was cliché gay? Those two settled down in San Francisco…Will has an art gallery, Mike manages a drag bar, and they’re working on a gay comic book together. Not to say that the comic book is gay, but like…literally it’s gay superheroes and shit.”

Eddie stops what he’s doing and is just staring at Steve. He had his suspicions about Will back in the 80’s too, but Mike? “How fucking many of us were queer, Steve?! Fucking Christ, was there something in the water here?!”

He snorts again and Eddie will never get enough of that stupid sound. “I don’t know, dude. Maybe. I was just as surprised when I found out. I guess Will came out in high school, and that made Mike start to realize some shit about himself. They kept it pretty quiet for a long time because…” Steve just shrugs and Eddie absolutely gets it. 

“Nuff said. How um…how is Max?” She was the only person who came out of that final battle worse off than Eddie. It took months for her bones to heal, and lots of physical therapy. Her eyes never fully recovered, but enough for her to be able to see with some thick glasses. She was a fucking warrior through all of that and Eddie respects the shit out of her for fighting so hard.

Steve gets that proud parent look again. “She’s great. Her and Lucas settled down in Nashville. She’s a child psychologist, and Lucas is a pediatric nurse.”

“Shit, that’s impressive. Looks like El’s not the only superhero, huh?”

“Definitely not.”

They work in comfortable silence for a while after that, until the last of the wallpaper is scraped off. It gives Eddie plenty of time to soak in all the details of everyone’s lives. Surprisingly, instead of feeling sad or bitter about their accomplishments…he feels really fucking proud of all these kids who went through so much shit and came out on the other side making the world they saved a better place.

Standing back with his hands on his hips, Steve surveys the room. “Drastic fucking improvement. I hope I never see plaid again. Thanks for helping out with this, Eddie.”

‘Yeah, no problem. I can help you paint in here too if you want.”

Steve reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “I’m definitely not going to turn down spending more time with you.”

Eddie has no idea what to do with that. The casual touches alone are a lot to process. He doesn’t remember Steve being so tactile before, and every time he squeezes his shoulder, or pats his back, hugs him, leans into his space…it kind of throws Eddie off kilter. Almost as much at Steve saying he actually wants to hang out more. 

He awkwardly chuckles and tries to brush it off. “Yeah, you just like my free labor. I’m off on the 4th, actually. The shop’s closed for the holiday, so. If you want to celebrate the birth of our nation by slapping some paint on the walls, I’m happy to help.”

Steve kind of cringes and looks away. “Shit, I forgot about the 4th. Ever since Starcourt, fireworks kinda freak me out.”

Eddie remembers hearing all about that battle. He doesn’t blame Steve, or any of them, for having some fireworks-related trauma. “How about this…I can come over during the day, we get a couple coats of paint on, then we head out to my place. It’s far enough outside of town that you don’t even hear them. Maybe grill some burgers? Get stoned? What do you say?”

The smile on Steve’s face is radiant. “That sounds great, Ed. Let me bring the stuff for the burgers, though? Least I can do to repay you for all this.”

Eddie agrees and before he knows it, he’s got Steve Harrington in shorts and a t-shirt, flipping burgers on his little Weber. The sun is shining down on him, and bringing out these natural gold highlights in his hair. He’s so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at him.

It’s a hot day and Eddie ties his hair up in a bun to get it off his neck, and sets out the burger fixings. Steve also picked up some potato salad, and Eddie’s surprised to see it’s the vinegar kind. He fucking loves that stuff. “I thought you liked the other kind of potato salad, Harrington. The mayo shit.”

Steve looks over his shoulder and gives Eddie a small smile. “Yeah, but you like the vinegar stuff.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, and Eddie is once again surprised that Steve would remember something so insignificant. Well. Maybe not all that surprised considering he remembered what kind Steve likes.

They fix their plates and relax on the deck, enjoying the peace and quiet. As night starts to fall, Eddie notices that Steve keeps looking off to the east, in the direction of where the town fireworks will be going off. Eddie was serious when he told him you can’t hear shit out here, but he wants to put the man’s mind at ease and just let him unclench.

He gets up and takes their empty plates inside, tosses them in the trash, and packs a bowl. He brings that out with his acoustic and settles into his chair. Lighting the bowl, he takes a big hit and passes it off to Steve. He can’t stop himself from glancing over at his lips as he blows out a big cloud of smoke. They pass it back and forth for a while until Eddie can literally see Steve’s body relaxing. He starts humming along to a song that’s playing on the radio nearby and Eddie picks up his guitar and lazily plucks at the strings. 

The high has him feeling all slow and syrupy. The sky fades into darkness, and not a single burst of pyrotechnics can be heard. He chances a glance over at Steve to make sure he’s still doing alright, and startles a bit to see that he’s already looking back. His eyes are half lidded and there’s a soft little smile on his face. He looks content and Eddie mentally pats himself on the back for it.

“You look really good.”

Eddie fucks up a chord. “Huh?”

Steve snickers a little and raises his eyebrows. “I said, you look really good. With your hair up like that.”

Ah. Less of a rat’s nest, Eddie figures. “Oh. Thanks I guess. You know I chopped it all off a while back? Fuckin’ hated it. I didn’t feel like myself at all so I grew it out again.”

“Seriously? I cannot imagine you with short hair. Wouldn’t want to.”

Yeah, even Steve can probably tell that Eddie would look stupid like that. Eddie just keeps playing and staring out at the land around them bathed in moonlight. It’s probably just the weed, but this is the most relaxed he’s felt in a long time. And it’s really nice having someone else here with him. He’s trying to soak it all in before Steve has to head back home at the end of the summer. He doesn’t even want to think about that. Being alone again. Not having anyone to talk to or kill time with.

Steve pulls him out of his thoughts once again. “I forgot how good you are at that. Talented fucking fingers, man.”

Eddie snorts and keeps playing. “Right. Perfect for strumming a beat up old guitar and working on beat up old cars. Fuck…I really don’t want to go work tomorrow. I’m gonna have to turn in soon. You ok to drive or no?”

“Nnnnnope. Your weed kinda knocked me on my ass. Mind if I sleep here?”

Eddie’s heart does a little flutter. “Nah, that’s fine. I uh…cleared out Wayne’s old room though, so there’s just the couch.”

Steve groans as he sits up and gives Eddie a look. “We’re way too old for couch surfing, Ed. Can I just crash with you?”

Eddie’s heart falls out of his ass. “Uh…” Steve Harrington is asking to sleep in the same bed with him. He’d be fucking crazy to say no, but Jesus Christ this is going to kill him. “Sure. Or um…You can take the bed and I’ll have the couch.”

Steve stands up, takes the guitar out of Eddie’s hands and sets it in his chair. “Don’t be stupid. You’re even older than me.” He grabs Eddie by the hand and pulls him up to standing, and Eddie almost collides with that broad chest. Steve just…looks at him for a moment and then reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Yeah, Steve is going to kill him. This is so not fair. He’s being so sweet, and he’s so touchy, and Eddie is already jealous of whoever gets to have that. He just hopes it’s too dark for Steve to see the blush that has to be raging on his cheeks.

They head inside and clean up before going to Eddie’s room. It’s just big enough to fit a queen sized bed, thank god, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if they had to be pressed together on a smaller mattress. He offers Steve some pajama pants, but the bastard tells him it's too hot for that and just…takes his shorts off. Right there. In front of Eddie. He does his damnedest to avert his eyes so he’s not caught starting at Steve’s boxer briefs. Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his-

“Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“Yup! Yeah, lemme go find that.” Eddie bolts out of the room and frantically digs through his bathroom drawers until he finds a spare. This is fucking insanity. It’s like the gay gods are punishing him by dangling this fucking Adonis right in front of him. Maybe he never did make it out of the Upside Down and he actually died and has been in hell this whole time.

They get their teeth brushed and Steve climbs into his bed - Steve is in his bed!  - and Eddie shuts off the lights. He gets in and makes sure to stick as close to the edge of the mattress as possible so it’s not weird. His heart is fucking racing and he has no idea how he’s going to fall asleep like this. 

Steve shifts beside him and before anything can get even more awkward, or before Steve just asks him to sleep on the couch instead because this is too strange, Eddie just blurts out, “Goodnight Steve.”

Steve stills and after a moment, Eddie hears him take a deep breath. “Yeah. Goodnight Eddie.”

He doesn’t know how he manages it, honestly he can probably thank the bowl they smoked, but eventually Eddie does fall asleep. When his alarm beeps in the morning, he’s face down in his pillow and reaches over to smack at it until it shuts up. That’s when he feels it. An arm draped over his lower back and Steve’s head on his shoulder. 

Eddie is wide awake now. Steve must have rolled over in his sleep and not realized that Eddie was there. Now he’s got to figure out how the fuck to get out from under this man’s arm without waking him.

“Hmm…g’morning.” 

Too late. Steve doesn’t launch himself away from Eddie like he expected. He actually gives him a little squeeze before slowly rolling over and yawning loudly. 

Eddie needs to just play it cool. It’s no big deal. Just a couple friends crashing after getting stoned. Just a normal day and totally normal way to wake up. He sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Morning. You want some coffee?”

Steve groans while he stretches and Eddie looks over his shoulder at him. How dare he be so beautiful right when he wakes up. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll just have a quick cup and get out of your hair. Don’t wanna make you late for work.”

Eddie stands up and walks at a totally normal pace to the kitchen and gets the pot going. While Steve is in the bathroom, he slips back into the bedroom and quickly changes into his work clothes. When he comes out, Steve is perched on his counter looking sleepy and adorable and sipping black coffee out of one of Wayne’s old mugs. 

“You sleep ok?” Eddie pours himself a cup and adds too much creamer.

“Like the dead. Thanks for letting me crash, there’s no way I could have made it home in one piece.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

They sip their coffee in silence as Steve clicks away on his flip phone and Eddie puts together a sandwich to take with him. Once they’re outside and saying their goodbyes, Steve hesitates before getting into his truck. 

“Hey…Eddie?”

“What’s up?”

He chews on his lip for a second and Eddie tries not to stare. “Could I make you dinner on Friday? Maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

Ha. Like Eddie has anything else going on. Plus, when would he ever turn down a chance to hang out with Steve? “Yeah, that would be great. What time do you want me?”

Steve beams at him, and Eddie swears it’s brighter than the morning sun. “How about 6ish?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

They get into their cars and head out on the dirt road, and Eddie can still see the smile on Steve’s face in his rearview mirror.

Chapter 3<<Masterlist>>Chapter 5

*********************************************

Our boy...is an idiot. But fear not, he will smarten up soon. Mostly.

Taglist is open!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite @stedestielfrattficlover @hiei-harringtonmunson @micheledawn1975 @anaibis @dreamwatch @thewickedkat

[somaliapearls]

Of Ash and Snow

Game of Thrones masterlist

🗡️ jon snow x fem!reader

genre: Slow Burn Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Found Family

wc: 2.7k

summary: After the fall of the Iron Throne, Jon Snow vanishes into the far North — a man haunted by war, death, and the ghosts of kings and queens. You, a healer who fled the ashes of the South, live quietly among the Free Folk, offering your skills to those untouched by the Game of Thrones...

warnings: Emotional trauma, Light medical detail (fever, injury treatment), grief and references to past war, Slow-burn emotional tension, Introspection, mild language, Near-death experience, Storm and survival themes, Mild injury, Internalized grief/guilt, Protective Jon

a/n: in honor of the direwolves…

PART ONE: The Ghost in the Woods

⸻

The North didn’t offer kindness.

It offered silence. Wind. Stone. Snow that fell so thick it swallowed sound and memory alike.

You came to it for peace. You found only truth.

The kind of truth that bites through boots and bone. That whispers in the hush of a pine forest and reminds you how small you are. How mortal.

But it was still better than the South.

Better than ash, than burning, than the screams of a kingdom cracking under the weight of dragons and mad kings and broken dreams.

So you stayed.

And in time, the Free Folk let you stay too.

⸻

You were a healer. A traveling midwife’s daughter who had seen more death than birth. You’d wandered after the war, offering your hands to whoever would take them — soldiers, starving towns, orphaned keeps. Eventually, the pull of the North grew stronger than your fear.

There’s still life up there, someone once told you in a smoke-filled tavern. Still wild things that haven’t burned.

They were right.

But they hadn’t warned you about him.

⸻

The first time you saw Jon Snow, he didn’t look like the stories.

He looked like a ghost.

Tall, quiet, eyes black as ravens, mouth set in a line like it had forgotten how to bend into a smile. He came with a wolf the size of a small pony and a silence that followed him like a shadow.

He wasn’t warm. He wasn’t welcoming.

But neither were you.

So when he brought in game for the cookfire one morning and sat by the edge of your healing tent, you didn’t ask questions.

You just nodded.

He nodded back.

That was the start.

⸻

It took a week for him to speak to you.

You were grinding fever-root beside the fire when he finally asked: “What are you making?”

You didn’t look up. “Tea for Gredda’s son. The fever hasn’t broken.”

A pause.

“You need snow thistle,” he said. “There’s a patch south of the old birch grove.”

You turned your head then. Met his eyes.

“You know your herbs.”

He shrugged. “I’ve spent time in the cold.”

You didn’t ask what that meant. You just stood.

“Show me.”

⸻

He didn’t smile. But something in his eyes shifted.

You walked side by side through snowdrifts and silent trees. Ghost padded behind you like a silent guardian. Jon said little, but he moved with purpose — pausing to point out bear tracks, brushing frost from leaves to reveal the tiny, blue-spiked thistle.

He knelt beside it. “Here.”

You knelt too.

“Thank you,” you said.

He looked at you.

“I don’t sleep well,” he said quietly.

You didn’t know what to say. So you said nothing.

But you remembered.

⸻

He started coming by more often.

Sometimes with pelts, sometimes with herbs. Once, with a wounded raven clutched gently in gloved hands.

You stitched its wing. He stayed the whole time, watching your hands like they held secrets.

“Why did you come here?” he asked once, after a long silence.

You hesitated.

“Because the war took everything else.”

He nodded. Like he understood.

⸻

You began to learn his rhythms.

He rose early. Never ate much. Spoke only when he had to.

He helped others in quiet ways — splitting wood for the elder woman who lived alone, carrying water for the young father whose wife had died birthing twins.

But he never asked for anything.

He never let anyone close.

Except, maybe, you.

⸻

A week later

The boy with the fever stopped breathing during the night.

You were called too late.

You tried everything. Rubbed his limbs, poured hot tea down his throat, pressed your lips to his and breathed. But his little body had gone still in a way you recognized.

And you sat by his mother’s side as she wailed and ripped her own hair and called to gods who no longer answered.

You stayed there until dawn.

Jon found you at the edge of the camp, your hands trembling, still bloodied from trying to save him.

“I couldn’t—” you whispered. “He was just a child.”

Jon didn’t speak.

But he knelt beside you, took your shaking hands in his, and held them tight between his own.

“You tried,” he said.

And somehow, that was enough.

⸻

After that, something shifted.

You began to eat by his fire.

He walked you back to your tent each night, Ghost trotting at your heels like the three of you had always moved as one.

You never touched — not yet — but the space between you shrank.

And in the quiet, you both started to heal.

⸻

A month later

The sickness began with coughs.

Then fevers. Fatigue. Nightmares.

You’d seen illness before, but this one was different. It came fast and took strong men down in days. You worked tirelessly, boiling water, mixing tinctures, washing bedding with snow and ash.

Jon helped you. Always.

He fetched herbs. Sat with the dying. Carried water in his arms when no one else could.

But people were afraid.

And when the fourth man died, the whispers began.

“It started when she came.”

“He brought the curse back with him.”

“The South’s poison.”

⸻

One night, someone threw a stone through your tent.

It hit your bowl of fever salve, shattering it.

You stared at the mess on the floor. The herbs you’d gathered. The medicine that had taken hours to make.

And your throat burned.

When you stepped outside, Jon was already there.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at the mark the stone had left on your tent flap.

“I should leave,” you said, voice hollow. “Before it gets worse.”

He turned.

And for the first time, his voice was sharp.

“No.”

You blinked.

“Jon—”

“No,” he said again. “You’ve done more for this camp than anyone. You’ve saved lives. If they want to turn on someone, let it be me. Not you.”

His eyes burned like coals.

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

Your breath caught.

And something in your chest — something long buried — stirred.

⸻

Later that night, you found a small bundle outside your tent.

Inside: dried snow thistle, clean bandages, and a strip of smoked venison.

No note.

Just the quiet way he always said: I see you. I care.

⸻

PART TWO: Beneath the Ice

⸻

The sickness was spreading.

Faster now. The elderly. Children. A mother whose lips turned blue before dusk.

Your medicine was no longer enough.

“I’ve seen this before,” you told Jon over the fire one night. “Back in the Riverlands. A fever that spread through a whole valley. It wasn’t magic—it was the water.”

Jon frowned. “The stream?”

“I think it’s fouled. Something upstream—animal remains, rot, maybe worse.”

He nodded. “Then we go upstream.”

You blinked. “We?”

He gave you that look again. The one that softened only for you.

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

⸻

The Journey Begins

You left at dawn with packs, furs, a hunting knife, a flask of broth, and Ghost trailing at your heels.

You walked for hours. Into denser woods. Up icy slopes.

The wind howled through trees like ghosts screaming.

Jon walked beside you, close but not too close.

He never asked questions he didn’t need answers to.

But sometimes, he looked at you like he already knew the ones that hurt.

⸻

You found the river near dusk. Thicker here. Slower. Choked with snowmelt.

And not far from the banks—a mass of rot.

A dead elk, half-frozen in the current. Bloated. Split open.

Jon cursed under his breath.

You covered your mouth.

“This is it,” you whispered.

He nodded. “We’ll need to burn it. And warn the camp not to use the water.”

“I can distill snow for drinking,” you said. “But they’ll need to haul it for miles…”

“We’ll manage.”

You turned toward him. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

You didn’t look away this time.

“I’m glad you came with me.”

He paused, snowflakes catching in his hair.

“So am I.”

⸻

The Storm

You set up camp in the lee of a rock face just as the wind picked up.

What began as light snowfall turned into white fury.

The sky howled. Ghost whined low and pressed against the rock wall.

You and Jon huddled under your tarp, knees touching.

“This won’t pass soon,” he said.

“How long?”

“Maybe all night.”

Your fingers ached with cold. Your breath steamed between you.

“We’ll freeze,” you said quietly.

He looked at you. Really looked.

Then he reached out, pulled you close, and wrapped his cloak around you both.

You went stiff.

But only for a moment.

Then you leaned in.

Pressed your cheek to the soft wool over his chest.

Listened to his heartbeat.

⸻

The wind screamed outside.

You felt safe.

His arms stayed around you.

Not tight. Just… present.

“I don’t think I ever told you thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?”

“For helping me. For trusting me. For staying.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, softly, “I don’t trust easily.”

“I know.”

He hesitated.

“But I trust you.”

You looked up.

Snow drifted past the edge of the rock wall, glittering silver.

And Jon Snow was looking at you like he wasn’t afraid anymore.

⸻

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Anything.”

“Why did you come here? Really?”

His jaw tightened.

And then—he told you.

About Daenerys.

About King’s Landing.

The ashes. The fire. The screams.

The betrayal that broke him.

You didn’t speak.

Just reached out and took his hand in yours.

He didn’t pull away.

⸻

You fell asleep like that.

Wrapped in furs. Ghost curled against your legs. His hand in yours.

For the first time in years, neither of you dreamed.

⸻

Morning

The storm passed. You were alive.

Jon broke camp while you tested the river’s edge for signs of contamination. The carcass was already stiff with frost, and you made a rough plan to burn it with oil once back at camp.

“We’ll need the council to help,” you said.

Jon nodded. “They won’t listen to me. Not all of them.”

You met his eyes.

“They’ll listen to me.”

⸻

Back at Camp

When you returned, the sick were worse.

You worked through the night.

Boiled snow. Burned all the tainted water. Gave medicine to the ones who could still take it.

Jon stood beside you the entire time. Silent. Watching. Guarding.

Later, when a council of Free Folk gathered to discuss what you’d found, you stood before them — not Jon.

You told them what had happened. How he had helped. How he had risked his life.

And when a man named Rurik stood and accused him of bringing southern death…

You stepped between them.

“If you want to blame someone,” you said, “blame me. I’m the one who found the rot. I’m the one who treats your sick. And I’ll be the one to walk away if I’m no longer welcome.”

The crowd fell silent.

Rurik looked away first.

And no one challenged you again.

⸻

Later

You sat outside your tent, exhausted.

Jon brought you tea. He didn’t speak.

You drank it in silence.

Then he said, quietly:

“You didn’t have to defend me.”

You looked at him.

“Yes,” you said. “I did.”

He nodded.

And then he sat beside you and let your head fall to his shoulder.

⸻

It happened that night.

Not with ceremony.

Not with firelight or music or stars.

Just two people who had been broken and bent and finally found something worth holding on to.

You had just finished binding his arm, where he’d caught it on the elk carcass.

Your fingers lingered longer than necessary.

He looked down at you.

You looked up.

And he said, softly:

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel anymore.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek.

“You’re allowed to feel this.”

Then you kissed him.

And he kissed you back like it was the first breath after drowning.

Like winter couldn’t touch you.

Like fire still lived in his veins.

⸻

It was slow. Careful. Tender.

You didn’t rush.

You didn’t need to.

When it finally ended, he leaned his forehead to yours.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispered.

You smiled.

“It’s real.”

He breathed out.

And for the first time since he crossed the Wall-

Jon Snow smiled.

⸻

PART THREE: The Thaw

⸻

Winter was cruel. But it could not touch what had begun to warm.

You and Jon became… something.

Not loudly. Not quickly.

But steadily.

He brought you herbs each morning. You left tea at his door each night. You stitched the cuts on his palms. He sharpened your knives when your hands shook with exhaustion.

Ghost began sleeping at the threshold of your tent.

The camp noticed. But no one spoke.

And for a time, it was almost enough.

⸻

The Trouble Brewing

But peace was never meant to last.

Rurik — the wildling who had opposed Jon since his return — began to gather others.

“Too much sickness. Too many southern ghosts. We followed a king once, and it led to fire.”

The words spread like frost.

You heard whispers at the well. In the tent where you treated the sick.

Some wanted to return south — to old ways, old lands. Others wanted Jon gone.

You told Jon. He just nodded.

“They’ll do what they think is right,” he said.

You slammed your cup down.

“And what do you think is right?”

He looked at you.

“I think I’m tired of running.”

⸻

The Confrontation

It came on a moonless night.

A group of five men. Faces painted for war. Knives drawn.

Jon stood outside his tent — unflinching.

Ghost bared his teeth.

You stepped in front of them. Again.

“Leave,” you said. “Or bleed.”

Rurik sneered. “This isn’t your war, healer.”

But before you could speak — Jon did.

“It is,” he said, stepping beside you. “This is her home. And mine.”

The tension broke like a snapped bowstring.

A scuffle. Quick. Brutal.

Two of Rurik’s men went down fast — not dead, but humiliated.

Jon didn’t kill. He didn’t have to.

Rurik fled into the trees.

And no one followed.

⸻

He came to you with blood on his sleeve.

You cleaned the wound in silence.

Then, quietly:

“I should’ve stopped this before it started.”

You looked up.

“You’re not a king anymore, Jon.”

“No,” he said. “I’m something worse.”

You touched his chest — over his heart.

“No. You’re a man who chose to stay.”

He stared at you.

“You’ve always had a place here. But now… I think you know it too.”

He leaned in.

And this time, the kiss was softer. Familiar.

Like something already written into the air between you.

⸻

Confessions in the Snow

Later, beneath furs and lantern light, he told you everything.

About his real name. Aegon Targaryen.

His birthright.

His exile.

“I killed her,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Because I thought it would save the world.”

You pressed your forehead to his.

“You saved yourself.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe it.

But he held you close anyway.

That night, there was no war. No name. No fire or throne.

Just warmth.

And a hand in yours.

⸻

Spring’s First Thaw

Weeks passed.

The river ran clean again.

The sick recovered.

Children laughed in the snowmelt.

You and Jon rebuilt the garden tent together. Started gathering spring roots. You caught him humming, once. You pretended not to notice.

⸻

One night, over fire and stew, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

A flicker of a smile.

He cleared his throat.

“I want to build something. Here. With you.”

You blinked.

“Like a—”

“A life,” he said.

Simple. Quiet. Ours.”

You stared.

Then nodded.

And for the first time in either of your lives—

That sounded enough like peace to believe in.

⸻

The Hearth

The hut you build is small.

Warm.

A wolfskin rug. A pot over fire. A place to hang herbs. A window just large enough to watch snow fall.

One bed. Two cups.

And the man who once killed a queen, now holding your hand in the early morning light.

Jon leans into your shoulder.

“You’re not afraid?” he murmurs.

“Of what?”

“Of ghosts.”

You look at him. Soft.

“They live here,” you say. “But they don’t win.”

His eyes close. His brow presses to yours.

And outside, the snow begins to melt.