#ned is the light of my life

[novaursa]

Hi Nova!!

Could I have a Ned Stark x reader, either mature 16+ or (if you don’t mind) 18+ where the reader is Ned’s second wife after Catelyn and is young and pretty and sweet, and he just can’t stop thinking about how good she would look pregnant with his son? Breeding kink to the max, if it doesn’t bother you! Thank you! 🙇🙇 (if this kink isn’t smth you’re interested in/comfortable with, no worries at all, please delete!!)

Beneath the Wolf's Cloak

- Summary: A story where a wolf takes a she-bear for a wife.

- Pairing: mormont!reader/Eddard Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I hope you like it. 😉

The warmth of the fire did little to ease the strange chill that clung to you despite the thickness of your cloak. Great hearths burned at each end of the Great Hall of Winterfell, casting flickering orange light across the rough-hewn stone walls and high wooden beams above. Snow still dusted the floors near the entrance, melting into dampness beneath the boots of guests just arrived. Outside, cold had not yet sunk its claws fully into the North, but the winds were sharp, and the grey skies seemed to whisper of what was coming. Inside, however, all was wine and song and firelight. A feast of celebration. Your wedding night. Your name now bore the weight of his: Stark.

You sat at the high table beside Eddard Stark, your new lord and husband, surrounded by bannermen and lords of the North. There were toasts and laughter, the clatter of trenchers, and the occasional burst of music from the minstrels near the hearth. But your eyes kept drifting sideways to him—Ned��his profile cast in soft gold by the firelight, his expression as ever unreadable, thoughtful beneath the furrow of his brow and the shadow of his beard. Yet beneath that solemn mask was a warmth he tried, and failed, to suppress whenever he looked at you. You could feel the heat of his gaze before you met it, that quiet kindling that burned brighter each time your shoulders brushed or your fingers neared on the table. He had not spoken much, but neither had he looked away from you for long.

His voice came low beside your ear, rough with wine and desire yet laced with an almost boyish shyness. “You are cold,” he said, his hand gently brushing over yours, callused and warm. “Here, take my cloak.”

You blinked, startled at the intimacy of the gesture in front of so many, and shook your head with a soft smile. “No, my lord, I am warm enough.”

He leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. “You mustn’t call me that tonight,” he murmured, voice just for you. “Not when I would rather hear my name on your lips.”

You turned your face slightly to his, cheeks flushed with more than the wine. “Ned,” you whispered, and he gave the smallest nod, as if the sound of it settled something within him.

Around you, the hall roared with life. Lyanna Mormont, your young cousin, raised her goblet high and shouted your name boldly, fierce and proud. “To my cousin, Lady Stark now, and twice the beauty of the Southron queens!”

The men laughed, many agreeing heartily. “The Lady Mormont may be small, but her tongue is sharp,” Benjen Stark quipped with a grin from further down the table.

“I should say the same of her sword,” you replied lightly, drawing more laughter. “But I thank you, Lyanna. I hope I can live up to the name I’ve taken.”

“You already have,” Ned said beside you, low but certain.

His hand found yours beneath the table, not clumsy, not bold, but firm in his touch. Protective. Possessive, perhaps. You could feel the thrum of something deeper in him, something that stirred not just at your beauty but at the idea of you belonging to him now. He drank you in, from the gentle curve of your throat to the slight shyness in your gaze. And when you turned to look at him again, your lashes catching the firelight, the flush in your cheeks from wine and warmth and perhaps the anticipation of the night to come—he saw it, clearly: you would be radiant, glowing with life, with his child growing within you.

Gods help him, the image rooted itself in his mind. You in this same chair, months from now, with a rounded belly beneath your silks, one hand resting there idly as you smiled at him with that same sweet gentleness. He would give you everything, if he could. He would fight a hundred wars to see that image come to life.

“I wonder,” he said softly, his fingers curling around yours beneath the table, “what color will the eyes of the babe be, if you were to carry my son.”

Your breath caught. You turned to look at him fully, your voice a hush, “Do you think of that already?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking of it,” he confessed. “From the moment I saw you walking down the hall to me this morning. I thought—the gods would be kind to give her a son, and kinder still to let me live to see him born.”

There was no jest in his tone. Just truth. Stark truth. And beneath it, a yearning that mirrored your own.

“I should like a daughter too,” you murmured, heart fluttering. “With your quiet eyes and my wild tongue. She would rule Bear Island with a smile and burn every ship that came too close.”

He chuckled, deep and soft. “Gods help me, I hope she does. But not tonight. Tonight, I want only you.”

The hall spun around you then—not with wine, but with want. The music swelled again, another toast was shouted, but all of it faded into a blur behind the heat in your cheeks and the weight of his hand still grasping yours beneath the table.

And when the bedding was called for and the men rose cheering, voices drunken and jests lewd, Ned stood slowly. He did not let them come to you. His hand stayed clasped in yours, and he looked down over the gathered men with a quiet steel in his voice.

“No one will touch her,” he said. “She is my bride. I will carry her to our bed myself.”

Silence settled over the table. Then, as if understanding something unspoken, they let him pass.

And he did just that. Lifted you into his arms with surprising ease, his breath warm against your neck as he whispered your name again. The Great Hall of Winterfell echoed with cheers and laughter behind you, but you heard none of it. Only the beat of his heart, steady and sure beneath your cheek, and the soft promise he made in your ear.

“Tonight, I will love you slowly. And before the year ends, we will speak of names for the child.”

The chamber was warm, lit by the soft flicker of dozens of candles and the roaring hearth at its heart. The fur rugs muffled the sound of your steps as he carried you across the threshold, cradled close to his chest like you weighed nothing at all. Outside the wind howled, Winterfell groaning against the rising frost, but inside the world was still and golden, wrapped in shadows and firelight. Ned said nothing as he set you down on the edge of the great bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he looked down at you. His gray eyes, so often solemn and heavy with duty, were softer now, tinged with something deeper—reverence, awe, and something that looked almost like longing etched with restraint.

You reached up slowly, letting your fingers brush the front of his doublet, feeling the slow thrum of his heartbeat underneath. “Will you undress me, husband?” you asked, your voice low, a hint of a teasing smile playing on your lips.

His mouth twitched, and he nodded, hands raising to the clasps of your gown with a careful grace that belied the need simmering under his skin. One by one, he unfastened them, his fingers rough and warm against the cool of your skin as the fabric loosened and slid away. He worked slowly, as if memorizing each detail—the slope of your shoulder, the softness of your belly, the faintest curve of your hips. When the gown pooled at your feet, you stood bare before him, lit only by candlelight, your breath soft and even, but your heart pounding like the drums that had played at your feast.

“You are… gods, you are beautiful,” he murmured, his voice caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief. His knuckles traced the line of your jaw, then down your throat. “If I were a younger man, I would fall to my knees.”

“You’re young enough to make me feel like I’m burning,” you whispered, stepping forward, placing his hand fully on your waist.

He kissed you then—slowly, deeply, the way a man kisses when he knows he has you, truly has you, and he means never to let go. His lips moved with aching tenderness, but his arms were firm, pulling you close, holding you tight. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his breath was warm across your lips. “I swear to you, little bear, I will love you as fiercely as any man who ever carried a sword. I will protect you. And if the gods are kind, I will see you swollen with my child, glowing, radiant, as you are now.”

You reached between you, working at the fastenings of his belt, the ties of his tunic, stripping him piece by piece as he had done for you. “You make promises easily tonight, Lord Stark,” you said, voice low and warm. “But you’ll find the women of Bear Island are not so easily tamed.”

His brow lifted slightly, the ghost of a grin returning. “I do not want to tame you.”

And it was true. You could see it in the way his eyes followed your hands, in the way he trembled slightly when you pushed his tunic off his shoulders and leaned in to kiss the hollow of his throat. You drew him down with you onto the bed, and he followed, bracing himself above you. His body was strong, broad-shouldered and scarred with battles long past, and yet he moved with the gentleness of a man who feared breaking something precious. He pressed kisses to your throat, your collarbone, the rise of your breasts, reverent and slow, as if each inch of you deserved worship.

When he sank into you at last, the world shifted. His breath caught against your skin, and you gasped softly, hands clutching at his shoulders. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt him shudder, felt the weight of everything he could not say in that moment. His pace was unhurried at first, deep and steady, as if he needed to feel every heartbeat, every breath between you.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, voice breaking with quiet intensity. “Like something I thought I’d never find again.”

You cupped his face, brushing his sweat-damp hair back from his brow. “Then let me give you more than a home,” you whispered. “Let me give you fire.”

You flipped him then, surprising him with your strength—Mormont strength, wild and unyielding. You straddled him, hair tumbling down over your shoulders, your palms firm against his chest. He stared up at you, eyes wide with something like reverence, something like surrender. You rolled your hips slowly, watching him unravel beneath you, the tension leaving his shoulders, his lips parting in a soft groan.

“You’re not the only one with vows to make, Stark,” you whispered, leaning close to him. “I will not be quiet, nor meek. I will fight beside you, bleed for you. I will bear your children, yes, but I will raise them to be wolves and bears, not caged birds.”

He reached up, cupping your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as if you were something sacred. “Then let them be wild,” he breathed. “Let them be like you.”

You rode him harder now, your rhythm fierce and unrelenting, and he held onto your hips, grounding himself in the feel of your body, your skin, your voice moaning his name. You were fire, and he was snow, and yet in this bed you melted into something molten. He surged up to meet you, his hands trailing to your thighs, your waist, your spine—everywhere he could touch, he did, as though trying to brand you into memory.

“I love you,” he gasped against your shoulder as he reached his peak, his voice breaking entirely. “I love you, gods forgive me, I never thought I’d feel this again.”

You kissed him then, fiercely, your body trembling atop his as your own release crashed through you. And when you finally collapsed beside him, wrapped in furs and each other, your skin damp and hearts pounding in tandem, he held you as if the whole world could fall away and it would not matter. His hand drifted to your belly, bare and flat now, but he kissed it gently, the promise of tomorrow on his lips.

“Sleep, little bear,” he whispered. “And when you wake, you’ll still be mine. And I—gods help me—I’ll be yours.”

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wonderstruck

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which peter wants to liz to homecoming and not you … or so you assume

warnings: single use of y/n (shout out to the old me), villainized liz, dramatic teenager moments, descriptions of physical injuries, very happy ending!

word count: 4.9k

masterlist

I'm back! Starting off 2025 by clearing out my drafts including this beauty that is heavily inspired by Enchanted by Taylor Swift. Thanks for being so patient. It’s kind of bad because I’m so rusty, but practice makes perfect! To everyone who had sent me a request, I promise I am getting to them/ already started! Right now I'm adjusting to a lot of changes in my personal life, but everything is starting to get easier so I hope I can post more often. Love you guys 💜

The air was cold as you stepped out from your rented limo and onto the yellow stripped concrete of Midtown’s parking lot. It was quiet where you stood as the limo pulled away. If you hadn’t been able to see the flashing multicolored disco lights from inside the school building, you never would’ve known there was a dance at all. Maybe it wasn’t too late. You could have a terrible cold as far as your friends knew, all it would take is a quick apology text. If you ran fast enough, you could be out of sight and back home within the hour. You sighed as your spool heels carried you towards the door, arches aching. Stupid high heels. You wish your dad had let you wear your Converse or at least stopped hovering over you for even a second. You could’ve snuck them if he hadn’t been so smothering.

You picked up the sides of your pastry shaped purple dress as you walked to the back door of your school. Low vibrations tingled your hand as you reached for the handle, courtesy of the blaring 80s ballad inside. The melody greeted you as you stepped inside.

People were dancing and laughing all around the gym which was adorned by bright party streamers. It was quite the festive prom, one that you would’ve enjoyed under different circumstances. But as you neared the middle of the gym, the sight you feared most was suddenly dancing right in front of you, a painful reminder of why you didn’t want to be there in the first place. Your best friend, Peter Parker, and his smug chosen date: Liz Allen.

The news broke only days before the date of the dance. You had been hoping Peter would ask you to the dance, seeing as you two were close as close as could be and your mutual friend, Ned, had constantly assured you each moment you were alone that Peter had to feel the same. And you trusted him for there was no one in the whole of Midtown Tech who knew Peter better than Ned. They were the best of friends, how could he be wrong.

“You know how he is,” he would say. “He’s probably just waiting for the right moment. There’s no way he isn’t totally in love with you.”

Three days ago you might have agreed that waiting was indeed worth it. In your daydreams he would ask you during your weekly study dates, some of the only moments where it was just the two of you at his place. Your delusion had grown so strong that when Ned informed you that he had asked someone else last minute, you almost didn’t believe it at first.

“Good one,” you had laughed, only for your amusement to turn sour as you realized that Ned was in fact not joking. As if it couldn't get any worse, you felt sick when he revealed the name of the girl who stole away the only boy you would ever want for the rest of time. Of course it had to be Liz.

It wasn’t her attraction to Peter that made you dislike Liz Allen, or her intelligence, or even how flawless she managed to look when all you could muster up was piled leggings and crewnecks. You couldn’t stand how she treated you, lording her popularity over you like it was a key to the city. She got everything she wanted, popular friends that would help her throw parties at her huge house whenever her perfect, loving parents weren’t around and rumor had it, she was most well known for the things that she does on the mattress. And now she had Peter, even after countless years of teasing and enabling his bullies, she still managed to keep him wrapped around her finger and bind him under her curse. After all she had done to him, how could she steal your happy ending? The wicked witch had stolen your prince. 

The sight of them together, standing huddled as one, stung worse than the loss of a good friend, sure to be burned in the back of your mind for all eternity. You knew you would be forever haunted by it. You blinked through glassy eyes as you fought the tears that started to well, stiffening as they turned to look at you and Peter’s brown eyed gaze met yours in a solemn greeting.

“Y/n.” he said, taking in the sight of you in your dress. The very same dress you had chosen hoping to wear it on his arm. He didn’t light up like he usually did when you two were together, as the match that ignited the spark between you had been rained out by Liz’s presence. His lips parted slowly as he tried to speak once more. “You look-”

“Y/n!” Liz interrupted, breaking her hold of Peter’s hand to open her arms wide for you. “You made it!” she leaned in for a hug and without anywhere to run, you let her, your hands loosely holding the emerald, jeweled fabric of her  perfect homecoming dress.

“Yep,” you affirmed with a strained breath so as to not inhale any of her sickeningly sweet perfume. It lingered even after she stepped back, like a never fading gut feeling that hung around even after the danger had passed. “I thought I’d drop by to say hi.”

“You’re not leaving early are you?” she raised a brow. You could feel the judgment radiating off of her from the way she looked down upon you as her stilettos made her slightly taller. “What about your date? You should at least stay for them.”

You looked over at Peter who remained silent, unwilling to break up whatever Liz had begun between the two of you. It seemed as if he understood for a moment just by the way you looked at him, that he was supposed to be your date. But then he turned his head.

“I don’t have a date.” you admitted, gazing up at Liz with a lifeless stare.

“Oh,” she reared back in smugly, rejoining arms with her precious Peter. “No one asked you? Really?”

“A few people did,” you corrected, trying your best to ignore the pang of jealousy in your gut as you stared down at the homemade corsage on her wrist, undoubtedly constructed by Aunt May. Lilac roses and Baby’s-breath, two of your favorite flowers. “But I turned them all down. I was kind of waiting for someone special to ask me.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Peter tilt his head toward you for a second, but Liz blocked your view of him as she stepped over.

“I’m sure you can find someone here,” she smiled, her perfectly whitened teeth glimmering as she pointed to a boy standing by himself in a corner, but he was exactly the wrong person to match you up with. “Flash is just over there. I think he came with a date, but honestly he’s desperate for an upgrade. He had to beg her to go with him. I’m sure he’d leave her in a heartbeat if you asked.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” you glowered at her, ready to counter anymore of her quick remarks until you felt two pairs of hands pulling you away as each restrained one of your arms. Ned and MJ appeared at your side, bystanders to the whole conversation.

“We’re gonna get some punch.” MJ stated.

“You’re pretty thirsty after your ride right?” Ned asked in your direction, though you could tell his question was more than an explanation of anything as he helped MJ drag you away. “She needs to, uhh, hydrate.” 

“No kidding.” MJ remarked humorously, though she never broke from her usual monotone.

“Yeah so we're just going to go over the punch bowl. We’ll be right back.” Ned grimaced, trying his best to gain control of the situation as he and MJ lead you away to a more remote corner of the gym, far away from Peter and Liz and all of the loud hustle and bustle of the dance. 

“I can-” Peter tried, reaching out to follow you, but his offer went unheard as Liz quickly shot him down.

“C’mon Peter. Dance with me!”

From across the gym, you sighed as they released you, falling back into the filled up bleachers behind you. You blinked a few times as you still refused to let the tears fall. You really didn’t want to give Liz anymore fuel.

“Are you okay?” Ned asked, noticing the way your face scrunched up as you tried your best not to cry.

“Not really,” your voice broke as you held in a sob. “Of all the girls he could’ve asked. Why did it have to be her?”

“You want me to knock some sense into him?” MJ offered, entirely serious as she clenched a fist.

“No, don’t hurt him.”

MJ settled for a subtle flip of the bird as she raised her clenched fist and pointed her finger in the air in Peter’s direction, though it went unnoticed as he spun around with Liz.

“I just don’t get it,” you exasperated. “She’s always subtly degrading him. What exactly does he think she has that I don’t?”

“Money?” Ned suggested before MJ whacked in square in the chest, forcing a pained whine out of him.

“That was rhetorical.”

“Sorry.” Ned wheezed.

You sighed, looking past your friends to stare at unconventional couple again.

“She is much prettier than me. And she’s good on Decathlon, as much as I hate to admit it. Maybe this is for the best.”

“Stop it.” MJ shook her head.

“Yeah, don’t talk like that,” Ned agreed. “She’s nothing compared to you. Peter’s been wanting you for way longer, I’m sure of it.”

“Then why is he dancing with her?”

“I-” Ned cut himself short, looking down towards the ground. “I don’t know. I was so sure, I swear he was going to ask you.”

“Maybe I should just go, the only reason I came was to see him, but Liz won’t even let me do that. Now that she's got him, she’ll never let him go.”

“No, you deserve to be here just as much as she does. Don’t let her win…”

“Ned,” MJ warned, sending him a warning look. “She’s miserable here. If she wants to go, let her go.”

As much as she herself wanted you to stay, she understood what it was like to be in your position and she couldn’t want you to be tortured anymore.

“Come check on you later?” MJ offered.

“No that’s okay,” you declined. “I just want to be alone. I’ll see you guys at school on Monday.”

When you arrived home, you weren't sure how to break it to your father that you had retired from the dance so early so you snuck up to your room using the service elevator.

Tony Stark hadn’t put virtually any effort into getting ready for his own dances. His routine was always the same as a teen. He’d put on a nice outfit and maybe a tie if he was feeling really fancy and go dance with his buddies for about five minutes before moving to the parking lot to break open a new bottle of whatever he could steal from his parent’s liquor cabinet.

But when it was time for you, his only daughter, to attend your first Homecoming? He didn’t spare any expense (as long as you didn’t protest).

You had your dress picked out weeks before, custom-made from some international designer brand that owed your father a favor, flown in from Milan along with your matching shoes. He’d spent hours researching the right products and equipment needed to fix up the perfect hairstyle (which was executed flawlessly). And even when he failed to figure out how to do your makeup, he enlisted Pepper who made you look more exquisite than a Vogue model.

You didn’t want him to think all his hard work had been for nothing and Stark Tower was so big that if you memorized the layout and avoided the outdated surveillance systems (Tony didn’t see a point in updating them with the recent construction of the compound), you could move anywhere undetected.

You knew he had scheduled the moving team for tonight specifically because you would be gone so it wouldn’t be suspicious if the service elevator was in use and your room was an easy distance away, just down the hall and around a corner.

When you arrived, the weight of your decision started to feel heavier by the second.

Even though none of your classmates would ever know that Tony Stark was your father (besides Peter of course since he was your best friend), now no one would get to see all the work out into your night.

You slid off your heels, but you couldn’t bring yourself to change out of your deep purple dress or wipe off your face. All you could do was flip on your bed and turn on a mindless movie channel to quiet the screaming voices in your head. All your thoughts echoed his name. You would never understand why he chose her. The lingering question kept you up.

Hours later, you were wiping the snot and tears off your face with the back of your hand and turning off your television. You wouldn’t have watched the ‘mindless’ channel if you had known they were showing Dead Poets Society and you definitely wouldn’t have watched Dead Poets Society if you had known how tragic it was. Now you were a miserable mess of ruined mascara.

At least it had distracted you from your own problems, enough that you had stopped checking Liz’s Instagram story for snippets of Peter. Even when you did check, her page hadn’t been updated since you left the dance, which was more confusing than the EPR Paradox. Liz loved nothing more than rubbing her success in the face of all of her followers and dangling Peter in front of you like a carrot to a donkey.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your window, slow and uniform and so concise that you wouldn’t have heard it had you been asleep. 

You shrieked from the sudden noise that contrasted the melancholy quiet of your room. Carefully, you rose from your bed and peered out your window, surveying the thick glass pane with the utmost caution.

You pulled back your curtains, expecting to find some sort of bird or other city creature that you would have to scare off, only to reveal the face of the boy who broke your heart only a few hours prior. Peter Parker crouched on the rackety stairwell outside your window and beamed like a drunk man when he saw your face. Though hesitant, you reached for the latch locking your window and pushed it open wide enough to stick your head through, cold wind kissing your damp face.

“Peter? What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Peter smiled, his voice shaky and out of breath as if he had just ran an entire marathon to get to your floor. “I had to see you.”

“How did you even get out there? We don’t have a fire escape!”

“Yeah I know. And your building is like 3,000 floors up.” he chuckled lightly, though you were having a hard time finding the humor of the situation.

“What are you talking about? How did you-”

You stopped when you noticed the circle of purple surrounding his left eye. And then his split lips that were still dripping blood. Then several dirty, shallow cuts all over his face and neck. So clear and prevalent, you were shocked you hadn’t noticed them when you first saw him. Perhaps it was the shock that he was there at all.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened to you?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I want to talk to you about…”

That’s when you noticed the biggest change of them all. Peter’s classy suit you had last seen him in was a long time, now replaced by a red sweat shirt and blue sweat pants that were all too familiar. Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Why he was all beaten up, exhausted, and easily hoisting himself up thousands of feet above busy New York streets.

“Holy shit, Peter!” you exclaimed as you came to your senses. He had to get out of the cold. “You-you’re Spider-Man?”

Peter nodded, his smile fading as his injuries caught up to him.

“Yeah and it’d be really nice to get out of the cold now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh shit, yeah. Here-”

You reached to pull him in by his biceps, helping him through the opening of your window and into your room. He leaned against the wall once he was finally safe inside, sliding down to the floor. The metal squealed as you shut your window to cut off the cold and hurried over to turn the lights on as before you had been lonely in the dark. Peter’s dirt ridden face went wry as they flickered on.

“Oh, are you okay?!” you cried as you hurried back over to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter assured you. “Just bruised is all. And … I might’ve broken, uh, a couple ribs….”

“Oh Peter,” you frowned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Throwing one of his sturdy arms over your shoulder, you helped him cross your room to the connecting bathroom. You set him down to sit on the rim of the tub while you pulled out anything you had from the sink vanity that could help him.

“I don’t have much, most of the first aid is in my dad’s bathroom.” you explained, running warm water over a washcloth.

You kneeled before him, your dress bulging around you like the underside of a blooming purple rose.

Peter’s coffee eyes bore into yours and you reached out a hand to his cheek. He winced when you brushed a thumb over his black eye and once more when you held the wet cloth up to his temple with your other hand.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “It’s gonna sting a little.”

You started off slow, gently wiping up all of the dirt and debris from his cuts in soothing strokes. Peter seemed to adjust as his breathing slowed and the pained expression on his face faded into tranquility. He looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be. But you knew better. He was no longer yours to hold.

“How did this even happen?” you asked out of curiosity and a need to be distracted from your thoughts.

“I fought the Vulture. Took him down, finally.”

“The Vulture…” you repeated, having heard the name before from eavesdropping on your father. It all made sense now why Spider-Man was the only hero he refused to talk to you about. He was always up for answering all your queries on the other Avengers, be it the Black Widow’s childhood or Captain America’s most recent cultural slip up (common for the man from another time). But whenever you wanted to know anything about Spider-Man, even if you were sure it wouldn't compromise his anonymity, Tony Stark was radio silent. The habit annoyed you as Spider-Man was the only hero you ever wanted to know something about.

“I’ve been fighting him for weeks -” Peter paused as you cleaned up one of his ugliest cuts, grimacing before diving back into his explanation. “- he runs this crazy illegal weapons business.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’ve heard my dad talk about him. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Yeah, sorry I sprung it on you like this. I really meant to tell you.”

“It’s okay. It makes sense.” you assured him, though the energy between you was off.

Normally when you two were together, it was as if everything about you both moved in sync. You were so similar with nearly the same interests and motivations, revolving around each other like stars before a solar nebula. But now you felt like the two of you had finally crashed together, wrecking havoc upon each other and it hurt to see him knowing he was in love with someone else.

“Have you been crying?” Peter asked, noticing the streaks of dark mascara that stretched across your plump cheeks.

You rose from your position on the tiled floor and returned to the sink to rinse all of the collected dirt from your washcloth and wash away some of the product from your face.

“It’s just been a rough night,” you tried, hoping he would drop the subject. “I’m glad you got to have fun at the dance though. Before your big fight.”

You awaited his confirmation, but instead of affirming your worst nightmare, Peter’s reply sparked a glimmer of hope.

“Actually, I didn’t really get to enjoy it much either. I left right after you did,” he admitted.

Your fingers worked carefully as you thought of a reply, delicately unscrewing the cap to the only ointment you kept in your bathroom and squeezing a pinkie sized dollop onto the back of your hand.

“I thought you asked Liz.” you kneeled before Peter once again and smoothed the ointment onto the worst of his cuts.

“I did,” Peter asserted, his face softening under your touch. “But only because I was too scared to ask my first choice.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks under the makeup that caked them as you felt the first semblance of a smile you’d had in days.

“Your first choice?”

Though you had been avoiding his pitiful gaze, you felt a sudden braveness to meet it now.

He nodded.

“I’ve wanted to ask you since they announced the theme.”

“Student council decided on making it the 80s months ago.” you unpuzzled aloud.

“I know.”

Shocked, you rose suddenly as your heart beat wildly as if to escape from its cavity. How was it that all your wildest dreams were coming true on the worst night of your life. You were having a hard time believing him, but Peter had never lied to you before. Why would he now?

Peter wanted to meet you where you were, but as he tried to stand, something twisted in his broken chest and he sank back down in anguish, clutching his abdomen.

“Oh Peter,” you fussed, quick to return to his side. “I should really take you to a hospital.”

“No, no hospitals,” he refused. Bringing his injuries to the attention of professionals was too dangerous. Too many people would ask questions he couldn’t answer. “I’ll be okay with some ice. I heal fast.”

“At least let me take a look then, so we know what we’re dealing with.” you urged.

Peter unzipped his hoodie at your request and you aided him as he struggled to get the thick fabric off his arms. Mud stained and discarded to the side of the tub, you suddenly became very aware of the fact that you had never seen Peter in any kind of naked capacity once he was before you with a bare chest. It would’ve made it easier if he wasn’t a superhero and hiding the immaculate tapestry of musculature beneath his flannels and plain t-shirts. But he was, and now you were fighting to narrow your gaze on the dark bruises on the left side of his lower rib cage instead of taking in the whole view. You failed.

“It hurts the most here,” Peter pointed to the purple swirls of skin that were far too large for him to be so calm about it. He made no mention of your ogling, if he had even noticed at all.

You snapped back into caretaker mode, searching every drawer and cabinet for something that could work.

“I don’t have any actual ice, but I think I have - oh where is it?” you searched frantically. “Aha! Found it.”

You pulled a plastic circle of brightly colored water from the depths of one of your drawers, an adequate size to cover up the worst portion of Peter’s bruise. You knocked it against the nearest counter too, watching as the liquid inside froze instantaneously.

“Here, this should help with the swelling.” you stated, gently covering Peter’s bruise with the ice pack. He shivered when the cold made contact with his bare skin, but after some time to adjust, the pain was clearly relieved.

“Thanks,” he smiled, reaching a hand up to take over your job of holding the pack. “I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

“Anytime,” you promised, and if what he said was true, perhaps Peter Parker would be around a lot more often. “But maybe you shouldn’t make a habit of fighting off giant metal birds.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. He’s the Fed’s problem now.”

There was a beat of silence as you took a seat beside Peter and the sight of your dress reminded you of the impending question that stuck in your throat. Only this time, there was no interruption to stop it from coming out.

“Why didn’t you ask me to the dance?”

“God, it sounds so stupid now,” Peter cringed. “I want to say it was mostly because I wasn’t sure how you would respond, but in all honesty, I was scared of your dad.”

“I thought you liked him.” you questioned, recalling the bewildered look on Peter’s face when he found out your father was Tony Stark. Back then you assumed he had been a fan, but now you surmised it was much deeper.

“I do, so much. But after the ferry incident, I couldn’t risk screwing up again.”

From the bits and pieces you had overheard about Spider-Man from your dad, you already knew much about the split ferry. Though no one got hurt, you knew your father still fumed when thinking about it.

“Oh,” you realized, connecting all the pieces like shards of a broken vase fusing back into one. For the first time since you found out about Liz, you started to feel whole again. Whole and so stupid for ever doubting Peter. And it was all thanks to the dramatic antics of your father. “Oh, I’m gonna kill him.”

Peter shared your amusement, giggling quieter than normal so as to not upset his broken ribs. A comforting silence followed and you were no longer hesitant as you returned his lingering gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter confessed. “I thought I was protecting our friendship, but when I saw you at the dance, looking so gorgeous in your dress, I knew I was wrong. It’s so stupid now, but I didn’t want to risk losing what we already have. I see now how wrong I was and how I almost lost the very person I need the most.”

“You really mean that?” you questioned, touched by his honesty.

“I do.”

Peter always stared at you as if you were the most beautiful person to ever walk the face of the Earth and the occasion was no different. Even with tear stained cheeks and a wrinkled purple dress, you could still see the same affection in his expression. You were exactly who he wanted.

He muttered your name, reaching a hand over to grasp one of yours. “I like you so much. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am that I made you think any differently.”

Squeezing his hand, you shifted closer to him.

“I like you too.”

Peter leaned into you, his hand fluttering to cup your cheek as his thumb traced the line curve of your bottom lip.

“Can I-” he whispered, sweet enough to ask for your permission. However, you had been waiting on this day for years and you couldn’t waste another minute. So you brought your lips to his.

Slow and soft, the kiss didn’t last too long. You were forced to stop before it grew too intense on a count of Peter’s poor ribs.

“Wanna sleep over?” you offered, unwilling to let Peter go in such condition and for your own reasons.

“Will your dad even let me?”

“He doesn’t have to know…” you grinned. “- besides, I’ve been so depressed the past few days that he’ll pretty much let me do whatever I want. I could kill someone and he wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“I hope I can fix it all.” Peter’s regret shone through his voice. His apologies weren’t sufficient and you could tell he would carry this guilt for another decade or so. But he didn’t need to. You two had figured it out after all.

“I already feel a million times better because of you.”

You helped Peter into a set of clean clothes, a shirt he’d left behind once when the two of you went swimming and some shorts you stole from your dad’s closet (though you didn’t let Peter know that to ease his conscience).

Once you were in your own pajamas, the two of you huddled together under the warmth of your duvet, wrapped up in each other.

“This is so nice,” Peter mumbled groggily into your skin, his face close to yours and his eyes nearly shut. You gave a hum of agreement, too comfortable to let any real reply out. Peter’s arms around you seemed to have that effect. “I was so wrong before. I’d much prefer to deal with your dad’s temper over Liz’s any day if it meant getting to hold you again. Tony’s temper is much more manageable than the Vulture.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, jumping up from his comfort.

Peter groaned, reaching a hand for his bruised ribs as he started to retreat mentioning it at all. He forgot you weren’t used to his Spidery habits yet.

“Peter, you can’t just say things like that and not explain.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” he moaned.

“Nope.”

[spxllcxstxr]

Being Eddard Stark’s Second Wife • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: Eddard Stark second wife headcanon? ❤️❤️❤️ -m — anon

Warnings: fem!reader, heavy canon divergence, mention of dying in childbirth (not reader, no other mention of pregnancy/having children), assumed age gap? Ned stark being THE man <3

A.N: I feel like these are a little short but I actually like this one! I love Ned so much so these were also just fun to write…I hope you like them! :) also I always struggle to find more diverse gifs along these romantic lines and I’m so sorry about that, my works are always inclusive

•

You marry Ned Stark after Catelyn dies delivering Rickon, her youngest

Ned certainly did not believe that he would marry again, he was incredibly heartbroken by the death of his wife

Additionally, he now had to look after 6 children and be the Lord of Winterfell

Even though he had servants and teachers and maesters to look after his children and keep them preoccupied, he was still stretched very thin due to stress and lack of sleep

You had been a close friend to the Starks even before Robb was born; some daughter of a lesser known Northern house who had come to Winterfell for a change of scenery

Despite your lower ranking, Ned and Catelyn became close friends of yours

When Catelyn died Ned’s grief almost consumed him; but you were his light in the deep and dangerous darkness that had fallen over his life

While throughout the many years of knowing Ned you occasionally felt a spark, not love, but it certainly wasn’t platonic, you pushed it down, never rushing anything that would harm your friendship and Catelyn in particular

Becoming Ned’s second wife is a gradual process

Ned comes to you almost every day, whether it is due to his grief or to ask your opinion on something, you become even closer than you were before

It takes maybe around 2 or 3 years of mutual pining for the two of you to really acknowledge what’s going on

Robb, Jon, and Arya definitely have a hand in this, they’re old enough to see what’s going on, they certainly drop hints to the two of you

“Tell me, my Lady, why I cannot stop thinking about you…”. He takes off his gloves, just to place his rough palm gently on your cheek. “You are the first thing in my mind when I wake, and the last thing when I finally succumb to sleep.”

“Ned…”

“If you do not feel the same tell me now, before I kiss you,”

The kiss is obviously what starts it, and the wedding comes very quick after that

Ned is very protective of you

With anything

He knows how harsh the Northern wind is, so he makes sure you have the finest furs and the warmest boots

Even if you say you’re fine he will insistently add another layer onto you

He does it with a grin on his face and a kiss on the forehead

Ned loves you so much

He will also teach you how to defend yourself

He is already teaching his children so training you isn’t a problem, he doesn’t like to think about it, but he knows there might come a day where he may not be able to protect you from the evil things of Westeros (or beyond)

His kids are mostly used to you before you end up marrying him

Sansa is really the only one to have a bigger issue with her father taking a second wife but she quickly warms up to you

You know you aren’t their mother and you try not to smother them like you are, but you are protective of them as if they were your own

Ned loves watching you help them with their studies or their interests

He’s seen you sneakily teach Arya how to punch properly

And Sansa’s needlework has improved since you moved into the castle

He adores how you treat Jon no differently than the others, Catelyn always did. He doesn’t blame her, he had to lie to her, but it warms his heart to see you act so kind to him

Ned is a loving husband and he shows that to you every day

He’s always gentle towards you and respects your opinions and what you have to say

He’s truly #NotLikeOtherMen lmao

•

[ladyempty]

Hello. About Yandere Rhaegar and Baratheon(Steffon'sdaughter).And at the banquet. The Starks (Brandon/Ned), Jaime are flirting with the reader. What would Rhaegar's reaction be?

"The cold freezes a dragon"

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life.| ° | pairing: Yan! Rhaegar Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader ° | !English is not my first language!|

The atmosphere was lively, bards and musicians entertained everyone present in the great hall with endless singing. Under the darkness of the night, the only source of light was the countless candles held by metal brackets and a large old chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Laughter and conversations mixed and echoed around the room, filling the large space with ease

The ladies, tired of dancing, were with other ladies, fanning themselves with colorful fans while whispering among themselves like little mice.

It was a great celebration filled with everyone's happiness and satisfaction. But Rhaegar had something else on his mind, determined to be victorious in the battle he has been fighting since a young age. The battle for his heart.

But the irritating Lannister, Jaime, heir to the proud lord Tywin Lannister also seemed determined to have the same achievement tonight. The boy with golden blond hair and emerald eyes who had never, in his entire existence, irritated Rhaegar more than at that moment.

The dragon prince's fingers closed against his cup, so tightly that his fingertips took on a whitish hue. The dark purple eyes, always so lackluster even when he was young, were fixed on the scene that was unfolding like torture before his eyes. The darkness of his pupils consuming the rich purple of his irises with dark intentions.

The Lannister's movements were bold, he twirled a thick platinum curl under his ring finger, admiring the color up close and softness against his skin. An act that seemed so gallant to others, but so despicable to Rhaegar. How dare he be so close? To insinuate yourself so blatantly? Any rational being in this room knew very well of the prince's obvious interest in his second cousin. Was Jaime blind or simply too stupid to see the obvious? The fact known to everyone?

The green poison of jealousy rose in his throat with every little exchange of words between them, threatening to boil over at any moment and force Rhaegar to commit acts he didn't want to do. Or he would like it more than he should.

And the fact that you didn't push him away only served to hurt him deeply. When you were married, would you continue to allow other men to advance? The sudden thought came to his mind and a deadly pain shot through his insides, a pain as fierce as if you were already his wife and had been unfaithful.

Well, that's enough. He thought furiously, standing up quickly as the young lion grew even bolder, lips hovering dangerously close to his as he whispered words that would make any other Lady blush.

Rhaegar's warm hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, making you jump in your seat at the sudden contact, turning your head to study him.

"Forgive me, but I simply have barely had time to talk to you since the beginning of the banquet, dear cousin." He smiled, a smile that never reached his eyes that were still fixed on Jaime. "I hope you don't mind me stealing from her for a moment." And forever and ever, he completed in his mind.

"How could I be so rude as to disturb a family moment, right?" The bold Lannister hummed, a feline, mocking smile on his lips as he rose from his seat to leave the table he was at, not before placing an infuriatingly long kiss on the back of Lady Baratheon's hand.

"I do not like him. I don't want you near him." Rhaegar growled, his tone always so calm that it perfectly hid his anger. "He's the kind of man no respectable Lady should have around." And you are respectable, aren't you my dear cousin?"

Rhaegar quickly stole Jaime's place at the table next to him, his hand cautiously clasped your, which was hidden between the folds of the skirt of your dress, a gentle but not loose grip, sharing the warmth of his hands to the woman.

"Are you cold? Perhaps the very low temperatures are not the most appropriate place for you." He smiled with a small lift at the corner of his lips. His eyes quickly migrated to the figure of Ned Stark standing in the corner of the hall talking to Robert. Rhaegar has already added the man to your list since the beginning of the night, when the hateful Stark boldly, out of character, stole all the dances with you that night.

"It's a good thing the dragon's blood runs through my veins, so I can keep you warm whenever I want. Forever.”

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

Okay. I know the general consensus is not this, but if Catelyn had been told the truth about Jon from the get go, she would have treated him better. Relatively. Like, she wouldn't have gave him shit for being a bastard or been ice queen bitch stepmother to him, but uh. there would have been other issues. Just think about how having Catelyn aboard the hide-Jon-train would go for one second. For one second. Okay? We are talking about Catelyn fucking Stark nee Tully. And we are also talking about Catelyn fucking Stark nee Tully before the other four kids came along. Just her baby Robb and Ned and Ned's nephew. (and if you don't think that Ned saving Jon from under Robert's nose on a promise to his sister wouldn't make I-released-the- king-slayer-to-bring-back-my-daughters-Catelyn fall so hard in love with him her head is still ringing fifteen years later you are LYING to yourselves) So think mother gothel. She would have micromanaged the shit out of Jon's life and upbringing. Ned is pretty lax so as security measures go in terms of Jon, but Cat? Winterfell would get turned into FBI headquarters. Vibe checks at the door and retina scanners and Jon and Robb have a praetorian guard on their cradles. Yeah she'd be cool to Jon in public as he grows but in private she's frantically brushing his hair every night looking for whites. Holding him up to the light to check for hints of purple in his eyes. As they get older she namedrops bastard a lot but secretly actively fosters a relationship between Jon and the other kids because Catelyn-Sansa-will-be-queen-of-the-seven-kingdoms-Stark nee Tully knows about the pact of Ice and Fire and having one of the last Targs bouncing around is tickling the politician in her. That being said she institutes a book ban on Targ history and is always on Ned's ass about them playing dragons. When Arya is gets old enough she makes it a point to put her and Jon next to each other at all times. Jon getting a direwolf are goddammed holy blessing to her. When Robert's dump ass comes to visit she's having a conniption about Jon being recognized and nearly locks his ass in the crypts until he decides of his own free will to sit in the cheap seats before she blows a gasket. She hates the Wall idea because who the Fuck is going to watch this kid as well as she's been doing for the past fifteen years? WHO? If she had found out about Aemon being up there she's have blown up castle black. Jon, who has had to deal with this shit since attaining spatial awareness tries to get Benjen to let him take his night's watch vows at Winterfell's weirwood. Man wants OUT. He can't deaal with tiger mom ass no more. When he comes to visit Bran she slips and says something cryptic and weirdly affectionate and it puts his ass in a tailspin all the way to the Wall.

Like, I know people think it'd go more downhill if she knew about Jon but why? Boring. Uninspired. Booooo. Get fun with it.

[syndrossi]

Hi! I think there's was already an ask similar to this one, in which case sort for repeating myself, but... So in your Resonant and various aus of it, how does Jon handle going from "the honorable Ned Stark's only shame" to "the Rogue Prince's greatest pride and joy"?

I mean the two men are mirror images of one another in ways that Jon probably notices. He might not know it, but Daemon also lied for him just like Ned, but unlike Ned, he is very committed to consistently choosing the twins as priority, while Ned was too weak willed to choose between Robert and Jon and by allowing Jon to the Wall and never saying anything of the truth would even say he chose Robert.

I mean, saving a baby from certain death is not a hard decision especially when it is your sister's, but sometimes it might feel as a duty. An honorable duty, but still. Meanwhile, Daemon had all the outs but he still careened headfirst into most devoted fatherhood. Its funny that the kind of person Ned would look down on for his overall reputation does a better job than he did... (for the record, I am not anti-Ned)

I think Ned shows himself in the best light in Restoration AU in terms of risking a great deal for two children that, as far as he knows, are entirely unrelated to him (but might be Jon's uncles). A lot of what he's risking is for his Jon, because their presence/existence would bring a lot of dangerous scrutiny to Jon if he doesn't provide an alternative explanation. ("Uh...they're my bastards too!")

But it also gives r!Jon a fresh window into what it was like growing up as a bastard, scorned and treated differently. Yes, it was to save him, but it still hurts. I've said it before, but there are two different kinds of bravery, and Ned shows one of them in risking his family's safety to take Jon in. But the other is emotional vulnerability/bravery. He could have let himself be more open in his love for Jon (albeit at the cost of hurting Cat)--or even told him the truth when he was old enough to keep quiet about it. I don't know how much of it was Ned still struggling to face the trauma of that dark period of his life (father and brother essentially tortured to death, his sister kidnapped for what he assumes is rape and then dead in childbirth, and then at the end of the war, his best friend celebrating the atrocity of Elia's, Rhaenys's, and Aegon's murders).

Jon is a constant reminder of that. Every day Ned must look at him and see both Lyanna and the rest of Jon's murdered kin. So I think he kept a distance as much out of self-preservation as protecting Jon.

So r!Jon has a better understanding of Ned's bravery and his avoidance by getting to witness it almost as an outsider.

In Restoration and the other AUs, there's a lot more distance between him and his childhood/Ned, so it's hard to hold a candle to Daemon's inferno. And Daemon is working from an entirely difference set of circumstances! He has desperately wanted sons of his own, and although they have a connection to a family he has no love for, he happily ignores it. He doesn't having the looming threat of Robert swooping in, discovering the truth, and ordering his son(s) killed. The only thing he has to hide is their bastard status, and like you said, Jon doesn't know about that, since he addressed it so effectively!

So Daemon's baggage is entirely unrelated to his children. It's mostly with his brother, which you could squint and find some parallels with for Ned-Robert (foster brothers, Robert also as king), but again, Viserys has no beef with his sons--quite the opposite! So Daemon is free to be ferocious in his love, and that's also his personality, hence the inferno.

I doubt Jon is going that deep in his comparisons, though. He knows the Ned loved him, but at a distance. And he knows that Daemon will scour the world to find them, and leap onto a boat to skewer a man trying to kidnap them. I do wonder if he, on some subconscious level, equates the openness of Daemon's love at all to not being a bastard.

As far as how he handles it...we see some of Jon's struggle sprinkled throughout Resonant. His thoughts that he doesn't deserve it, that he's not a child, the pangs when he sees how loved and accepted Rhaenyra's sons are by Laenor and Rhaenys. He tries convincing himself he's not desperately thirsty as he drinks it all in.

(And then we have Rhaegar, and the way that Jon can idealize what being his son might have been like, based on Resonant!Rhaegar's personality. Ned as "what was," Daemon as "what is," and Rhaegar as "what could have been." Jon's fury at Robert Baratheon is something that we joke about a lot, but it's very real for him.)

I think it will take testing the boundaries of Daemon's love for him/them repeatedly for Jon to finally accept it as unconditional. Saving them from a would-be kidnapper is one thing--showing that he still loves them through tough times is another. Does he have to be the perfect son, the way that Jon Snow tried to be the perfect bastard (and it was still never enough)?

[shawnxstyles]

Omg! Panty stealer pt2 is sooooo gooood! Cocky and dom Peter absolutely blew my mind! Your writing is awesome!

Pleeeeease tell me that it will be third part to fulfill the panty trilogy! As humble suggestion maybe reader find out that Pete is SpiderMan and he will finally get head from her while he is in his spidey costume? Or maybe more than just blowjob?Hehehe Am I very bad and naughty that I'm typing this to you? 🥵🤤

Anyways love ya darling! You're smashing it!

in the suit

words: 3k

warnings: smut; (m- receiving [oral], dirty talk), language, and fluff of course. barely edited.

note: panty!peter blurb #1 coming up :D also, this is the way i believe y/n would have found out about spider-man, but i have another request for the same thing so i’ll probably do an alternative version!

—

you couldn’t stop thinking about it. how?

how does peter manage to get into your room every night? okay, not every night, but most nights.

most nights, peter magically and mysteriously sneaks his way up into your forbidden bedroom with ease. sometimes, you even wait and watch outside your window to try to get a peak at what he’s doing. but you never see him.

he’s just so slick. how does he do it?

you and peter have been together for over a month now, if you’re counting the day he broke in. the feeling isn’t necessarily new in your heart. you feel like you’ve known him your whole life. like he’s always just… been there.

through this month of stability yet craziness, you haven’t gone back to the frat house since the halloween party. you thought that after you guys got together you would stay there more often, but peter doesn’t want you to be ‘attacked’ by the guys. meaning, he doesn’t want them to ask a million questions when you guys are supposed to be private. you thought his excuse was dumb, but he was also just being a bit protective.

in reality, peter just didn’t know how to get you into the frat house without anyone seeing you. you both had agreed that your relationship was going to be kept private, very private. people could spread rumors and assume you two were together, but you weren’t going to show each other off. you guys liked it this way, it made your relationship more special because it was just for you two.

peter had a sixth sense, sticky fingers, and webs. it was pretty easy for him to crawl up into your room especially because you didn’t have security cameras (maybe you guys should get some at some point though…). you would constantly ask him how he does it since you live on the second floor and it was high up. but peter responds by not responding and instead laughs and kisses you. god, he was too good at distracting you.

but tonight, you were determined to find out.

peter had already texted you earlier and said he wouldn’t be able to stop by tonight because of overbearing homework. you completely understood, and sent him a good luck and goodnight to me then message. but truly, you were sneaking out and heading towards the frat.

you put on your sneakers and a hoodie, pulling the strings tightly around your head. the early december weather was no joke in massachusetts, and your thermal leggings were barely helping to keep you warm. as quietly as possible, you leave through the back door, making sure not to alert anyone or anything. not like you have a system to alert though.

you cut through some of the hedges until you’re in the front yard and the frat is staring at you from across the street. taking a deep, chilly breath, you cross the road with your frozen fingers tucked in your pocket.

all the lights in the top rooms were off, except one. you’re not totally sure which one is peter’s, but what other frat guy would stay up until 11 p.m. working on homework?

maybe ned, but he sleeps downstairs.

you walk until you’re under the window, the yellowish light taunting you. there was no latter, vine, rope, or magic hair to get you into the bedroom. the houses were built very similarly, and you know he doesn’t bring a latter with him.

so how does he do it?

you take a glance at your surroundings. the biggest difference of your houses was that the guys’ didn’t have large garden hedges. they just had a shit ton of messy bushes that they should probably trim once in a while.

having no ideas, you try to jump towards the window. great, that’s totally going to help you. maybe you’ll get some super jump that can spring you up and inside.

you feel stupid. yeah, peter may be the smartest person on campus and going to mit on a full academic scholarship, but how does he sneak into your room? with geometry? you didn’t think so.

wait.

what if… he’s hiding something from you?

that would explain why he’s so weird about it. letting the impulsive decisions take you over, you throw a rock at his window. hopefully, you’ll get his attention and he’ll come down, so you can see how he does it. or he’ll just go through the front door… whatever he does, you need to ask him this question right now. or else you’ll never be able to sleep again.

when throwing the rock gets tedious and noisy, you quit. just as you’re about to drop to the ground in annoyance, you hear a distant whipping sound. you hold your breath as if the person whipping will hear you.

fuck. it wasn’t a good idea for you to go out at night.

suddenly feeling anxious and scared, you slowly creep towards the sorority house. you don’t get too far before you see a body flinging through the air. the whipping noise gets closer and closer to you with every web on the streetlights. what the…

there’s only one person that could possibly be doing the impossible.

spider-man.

but what was he doing in your little neighborhood? this was one of the safest places in the area, so he didn’t need to check up here. there were so many more places in massachusetts that needed saving. feeling beyond curious, your feet scatter to hide you behind one of the untrimmed bushes.

you watch through crowded leaves as spider-man swings through the neighborhood, getting towards you. it’s like he can sense you and he’s coming for you. your heart thumps wildly in your chest, nervous about seeing him. you’ve never seen him before, and at least not in person. he was popular on the newspaper and television screens, but never on the street. unless you lived within the city.

with one long and final thwip, spider-man flings himself towards the frat house.

what. the…

you place your hand over your mouth, just in case your breathing is too loud. you intensely watch as the spider crawls up the white wall and towards the only lit window in the whole house.

no. fucking. way.

before you could fully register what you were seeing, you felt the gasp leave your mouth. you slap both of your hands on your face to shut yourself up. you nearly fall back on your heels as spider-man halts his movements. he scans his surroundings before jumping down the wall entirely.

your eyes are wide and your hands of shaking. you’ve never felt your heart beat so unbelievably fast, but you’ve also never been more afraid. what does he do to people that find out? what is going to happen to your relationship?

the body of blue and red stocks closer to the bushes with careful steps. you try to scoot away, but your back hits the fence. the wood creaks, your actions not quiet enough. his footsteps pick up speed as they rush to the bushes with determination.

spider-man jumps over the plant with grace, hoping to see a wild animal of some sort. but when he sees his girl with the most shocked and terrified expression in the world, he immediately falls to his knees.

“y/n,” he calmly says, slowly inching to you. he doesn’t hesitate to comfort you as peter. you don’t move, you just listen. “it’s okay. i promise.”

now that he sensed you, peter could hear your heartbeat overbearingly in his ears. he could hear your muffled breaths under your palm, and he just wanted to soothe your fear.

“baby,” he wanted to cuddle your body until you stopped shaking. you weren’t crying, you were just in shock. peter takes a quick glance at his surroundings before yanking off his mask and kneeling, so you could see his face reflecting off the moonlight. “it’s just me.”

“i…” you whispered as your hands fell from your face. peter doesn’t hesitate to grab them gently with his gloved ones. “…knew it.”

“you knew i was spider-man?”

“well… for like five seconds,” you flusteredly laugh while trying to recover. you still haven’t gotten used to this. well it’s only been a minute. “i knew you were hiding something.”

“what are you doing out this late anyway?” he stares straight up at the moon as it shines vehemently over you both.

“uh… well,” you start, “i was kind of curious as to how you always snuck into my bedroom without a latter or something, so i went to see? i don’t really know what i was looking for.”

peter chuckles. “but you found your answer, yeah?”

“yeah, i did,” you smile with sweetness as peter helps you up from the grass floor.

—

“it’s different breaking into your room rather than mine,” you say as you sit on the edge of peter’s bed. you watch as he tosses his mask inside of a box labeled books. “so that’s what was in the box. not dirty magazines.”

“surprise?” peter laughs and you giggle at his shyness. his cheeks and nose were red from the cold, but also from the slight blush that crossed them. you made him feel all warm and tingly inside, and even a little gooey.

his hand reaches for the button on his chest. it deflates, instantly becoming huge around him.

“wait,” you stop him before he undresses himself. he looks towards you. “can i just… look at you for a moment? in the suit?”

a small smirk creeps up his face. peter clicks the button again and his suit encloses on his body, outlining his muscles perfectly. every ridge and curve of him was being shown off by the spandex. you felt a spark of lust fire inside of you at the sight.

“like me in my suit, baby?” he teased as he trudged over to you. you stood up from the bed to meet his buff chest. you nodded with a bite of your lip.

he nearly growls before attaching your lips. it’s barely been a day since he’s last kissed you, but that’s too long for him. his gloved hand grips your jaw to deepen the kiss while your hands explore his messy hair.

the heat between you was undeniable. you were getting worked up over peter in his suit, and that’s something you never thought was possible. because you didn’t think peter being spider-man was possible.

is there a spider-man kink?

you take your shirt off after breaking the kiss, but resume it in no time. as he pushes you onto the bed, you stop him, having a new idea in mind.

“peter,” you sigh, spandex body hovering over yours.

“you okay?”

“yeah, yes. i just…” you swallowed, “can i…”

you didn’t really get your question out. you just slithered your body off the bed until your knees were digging into his carpet. peter’s eyebrows shoot up as he stares down at your figure, submissive below him.

“fuck. you want to touch my cock?” peter was already growing hard at the idea of fucking you in his suit. he found it hot that you found his suit hot. everything seemed to be a turn on right now. but now you were on your fucking knees like an angel and damn near begging to touch him?

how could he say no?

“go ahead then, sweet girl,” peter allows, but you stay still.

“how do i take it off—?”

“right—”

he unzips a zipper that you swear wasn’t there before. you barely take him fully out before you’re drooling at the sight. he was big and thick, and you don’t think you’d ever get used to looking at and feeling him.

your thumb drags over his weepy tip and he winces at your freezing touch.

“sorry!” you exclaimed with a funky smile. he forcefully laughs while you spit warmth into your hand.

“it’s okay, baby.”

your delicate hand wraps around him as you shift up and down. he sighs into the air, eyes fluttering back. your other hand scratches his thighs lightly. then, you fondle his balls until he’s groaning above you.

“fuck, darling,” he moans as his rough hand rests on your head. with his grip on you, you feel inclined to put your mouth on him. you’re barely an inch away, so what are you waiting for?

your lips pucker as you kiss his veiny shaft. you see from the top of your eyes how his face floods with pleasure, and your ego rises.

“if you look at me like that again, i’m going to explode, baby,” peter husks with his fingers laced in your hair for support.

with a hummed chuckle, you finally place your mouth on him. you suck on his leaky tip as a deep groan elicits from him. his noises always give you a bunch of reassurance, so you hum against him in satisfaction.

“takin’ me so well,” peter forces himself to stay still and let you do all the work. although, his hips just want to break free and ram into the back of your throat until you lose your voice. for another time… “love when you’re on your knees for me.”

you vibrated a moan against his cock as you took him deeper, a little more than half way. you were never the best at giving head because you couldn’t go that far down without gagging atrociously, but after peter showed you a better technique, for breathing and comfort, he thought you were a professional.

“you like being on your knees for me? or for spider-man?”

a groggy moan rippled around his cock from your filled throat, confirming his suspicions. you were definitely turned of the idea of peter as spider-man, and because of that, he was too. every time you were horny, peter was too.

you released your hands from him and braced them on his thighs. you focused and remembered the small notes he’s given you before. you take a long breath before sinking his cock deep in the back of your mouth. your thumb stabs your palm to eliminate your gag reflex, and it works. your nose nudges the base of his cock and you can see up close how his abs contract tightly.

“fuck! doing so good for me. going to make me come, sweet girl.”

hearing this, you bob and twist your head with a goal. your tongue swirls exploring around each ridge like it’s never tasted the plain before. peter was delicious; he was sweet with a pinch of saltiness that made you a fan of giving head. you would get on your knees any day for him.

his cock twitches in your mouth, warning you that he’s coming. you feel his hips buck into you as he strongly yanks your hair. you groan as he lets himself go.

“where do you want it? on your face? chest? or are you going to swallow it like a good girl?”

even when his dick twitches again, you don’t make an effort to move. you lick the underside of him, which sends peter over the edge.

a string of hushed groans fall from his pink lips as his muscles clench. ropes of his orgasm spurts down your throat, and you swallow every drop like a champ. well, almost all. parts of his come drip from the corner of your lip as he slowly pulls out of you.

the second he exits you, your jaw is instantly sore and achy, but it was worth it. to see the flustered and breathless peter above you was worthless everytime. peter was nearly disoriented by how fucking incredible your mouth was. how you were.

he tucks himself back into his suit as you remain on the floor. he leans down and helps you up, your knees popping in the process.

“how was it this time?” you croaked, voice cracking horrendously. peter tries not to laugh as he wipes away the nearly dried sperm on your face. you open your mouth without a thought, and he sticks his thumb in your mouth for you to lick it clean.

“it was good. fucking amazing. impeccable. exceeded expectations. outstanding performance—”

“okay, okay i get it. you’re a nerd!” you brokenedly laugh as you shove his chest. you got a sudden wave of chills because you were starting to get a bit cold. your body was still running hot because you were still, well, turned on.

“nerds are awesome, okay? they know everything.”

“like what? impress me,” you challenge as you throw your leg on top of his lap and get yourself seated. he smirks, feeling his cock chuff up a bit already. you were beyond soaked in your panties, and you just couldn’t wait for peter to destroy you.

peter knows you didn’t actually want him to say anything nerdy, so he made it a bit sexual. as always.

“they know how to… kiss.”

“you’re probably the one nerd that knows how to kiss.”

“okay, fine. i know how to kiss,” his hand cups your face as it leans closer towards his. he places a soft, longing kiss on your swollen lips before pulling away way too fast for your liking. “i know how to touch you, i know how to rile you up. right? i’m doing it right now. and you’re probably soaking.”

a warmth wave floods through your body at his words.

“i know how to talk to you too. bet these dirty words are going straight to your little clit, huh?”

“peter,” you whimper. he was right. he was beyond right.

his hand trails down your bare stomach and hovers over your clothed cunt. he can feel the heavy heat radiating from you through your leggings, begging for more.

“i can feel you. i can smell you, too. a perk of being spider-man,” he smiles, “guess this nerd is pretty great.”

“peter!” you shook his shoulders in desperation, but he didn’t move. you had a love hate relationship with his teasing. he indeed got you riled up, to the max, until you were begging him to touch you. he just dragged it on and on and on. he loved hearing you beg for it.

“okay, okay, sweet girl,” peter chuckled as his fingers fumbled down the waistline of your leggings. they were thick, so you helped him get them down. “just want to hear you say how awesome nerds are first. how do you think i made these webs?”

“you’re the hottest, super-nerd i’ve ever met in my life. now can you please fuck me?” you begged as your cunt ached.

“aw thanks, baby,” all he did was laugh at your misery with a smirk. “all you had to do was say please.”

—

note: not my best work, but i hope you enjoyeddd. literally posting this at 1 am :D

taglist: @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz

crossed out= not able to tag

[pendragonsclotpole]

help, i just got slapped in the face with the existence of WILL. be still my beating heart as i write an essay on this man, will of ealdor

firstly, i adore the silent and implicit trust hidden in the first joke that introduces will’s character. like merlin’s been aware his whole life that if his secret is ever found out, he will be hunted down and persecuted, but here comes will with a jab that they both inherently understand is a joke in the macabre style only true friends can lovingly master. the smile they share almost immediately gives me ned stark and robert baratheon meeting again in the courtyard of winterfell in season one of got. there’s also something so normal in their interaction that speaks of a familiarity borne from their equal status and years of friendship. i know merlin’s friends in camelot tend to skew to the non-royal/non-noble, but when you tally it up, those closest to merlin often hold some title that’s greater than merlin’s role as arthur’s servant. gwaine is a knight implied to be of noble blood; lancelot, percival, and elyan are also knighted and esteemed members of arthur’s court; gwen is the lady morgana’s maid and close companion long before she is ever queen; gaius is a physician and long time member of camelot’s court; morgana before her betrayal is literally uther’s ward. i feel like when placed among them all, merlin has a tendency to fade into the background offscreen. obviously the audience knows how important merlin is to the overall story given how much of the storyline focuses on him, and the characters regularly acknowledge merlin’s importance to them or arthur, but all of them still regard merlin as merlin the servant from camelot and few of them are privy to the plots we as the audience see firsthand. and even when they acknowledge him for his merits, his role as arthur’s close friend and confidante takes precedence. look at leon’s reaction in the later seasons when merlin is bewitched by morgana. merlin literally makes a comment about plotting to kill arthur and leon barely even blinks before quipping back, “driving you mad isn’t he?” or something along those lines. except for a few instances with even fewer characters, they never get a chance to know him as merlin the sorcerer from ealdor.

will does! and more than that, he got to know merlin as he is without arthur. we all hype up their status as magical soulmates but damn if i wasnt living for how jealous of arthur will seemed to be in this episode. call me crazy, but it makes me desperately headcanon a realistic past in ealdor for merlin, full of hardship and strife, but never without it’s moments of happiness. furthermore, will’s lone appearance in season one shines some real light on the unfairness of the fate that has been bestowed on meelin. the moment that will points out why he’s been so obstinate with arthur really strikes a deep chord. sure it could be just jealousy, but more compellingly, i choose to read it as a deep sense of care for merlin. everyone merlin has met within camelot, (or reunited with in the case of his own mother) has continually pushed him closer and closer to arthur. will presents a crucial exception. he knows exactly who merlin was before camelot, and who merlin is completely separate from arthur.

will is staunchly in merlin’s corner, and that position allows him to identify a key characteristic of merlin’s series’ long arc: his complete devotion to arthur. will even points it out himself: merlin could singlehandedly defend their home if he just used the full extent of his power. merlin doesn’t, and actively chooses not to because of his desire to stay close to arthur. it’s such a small moment, but i think it demonstrates how much of merlin’s decisions become motivated by his desire to stay close to arthur and to always put arthur first, even at a detrimental cost to himself. merlin understands and readily accepts arthur as his destiny, but this acceptance does not come about independently, instantly, or of merlin’s own volition. it does so eventually, but initially merlin sticks by arthur’s side because of the encouragement of everyone around him. “arthur needs you, merlin” or “arthur is your destiny, merlin” or “arthur is a good man, merlin. he has the potential to be a great king, he just needs the right people, merlin.” its codependent as hell.

sure, merlin originally does not tell arthur about his magic because they do not know each other and as far as merlin knows revealing his magic would lead to his death, but eventually the reasoning changes and becomes so focused on doing what’s best for arthur. merlin can’t tell arthur because then arthur would have to kill him and then who would look after arthur or ensure his fate? merlin can’t tell arthur because if arthur chooses to defy uther’s law, merlin is then forcing arthur to turn against his father and how could he look after arthur then? merlin can’t tell arthur because another betrayal from magic would ruin everything and truthfully, he wonders how would arthur react? merlin comes to fear what his magic might do to arthur and what it’s reveal might mean for his place in camelot more than the laws of camelot and their verdicts.

by this logic, merlin is a magical solar system orbiting entirely around the celestial body known as arthur pendragon. eventually merlin cared more about his relationship with arthur and what arthur thought about him than his own life. in retrospect, it’s so sad that will died so early on, because it strips merlin of a person solely in his corner. will’s death is the first in the series’ long pattern of loss that merlin endures and that eventually comes to define him because people either find out about his magic and their knowledge is directly tested against his loyalty to arthur, or he cannot allow them to know about his magic because it will unravel his relationship with arthur.

will, freya, balinor, morgana, mordred, arthur.

also the fact that will covered for merlin’s use of magic in his last moments just adds to the tragedy AND the growing pile of moments merlin could have told arthur about his magic but didnt. and also the fact that will literally died to save arthur. like tell me that just doesn’t prove my point. tell me. will never stood a chance. tell me every aspect of merlin’s life does not get consumed by arthur pendragon.

i’m all for merthur being soulmates, but god the original series is rife with the unbalanced mess of merlin being wholeheartedly aware of arthur’s great potential and destiny leading to some intense devotion and faith that yes, arthur earns and pays back in full measure but can never fully reciprocate because he just does not know anything. by the triple goddess, it can get so toxic. i wish will had lived if just for that. and like the jealousy arthur gets whenever merlin has other people. because i 100% live for possessive arthur and protective merlin dynamics.

[claymoresword]

Come Out And Haunt Me

Cersei Lannister x Catelyn Tully Stark

Summary: When her raven goes unanswered, queen Cersei Lannister decides to pay the Starks a visit herself.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Disclaimers: omegaverse, alpha!cersei, omega!catelyn, cheating, angst & fluff, robert baratheon does not exist

Note: hi! so i initially only planned to post this on Ao3 but I've decided to share it here as well

honestly not sure what this is i just had a random burst of energy one night and decided to write it lol

to all 2 of you who clicked on this, welcome! hope you enjoy <3

The parchment clutched tightly in her hands, Catelyn skims the letter once more. As though dwelling would make a difference to the words already etched into the page.

An egregious insult.

Nine years; Catelyn had been forced to wallow in the harsh and cold North. Nine years and she had just managed to find a sort of peace amidst her sorrow.

Ned no longer insists on sharing her bed and her children, aside for Rickon, have all outgrown her attention.

She is finally comfortable.

Perhaps even happy.

Now the queen intends to summon her to King's Landing– like a dog.

The alpha is as bold as she is cruel.

I am not meant to be Hand any more than Cersei is fit to be queen.

Catelyn traces the crimson seal with the pad of her thumb, a war raging within her.

It is a cruel jape, even after everything, she still yearns to be in the alpha's presence once more.

To thread her fingers through golden curls, look upon delicate features in which time has certainly only made more beautiful.

Catelyn scoffs at her own feebleness, she harshly wipes the tears that have already began drying upon her cheeks.

This is all folly.

The omega allows her eyes flutter shut for a moment; she banishes Cersei from her mind.

Wringing the letter in her hands as she rises from her seat, Catelyn storms towards the hearth, eventually feeding the crumpled parchment to the fire.

Cersei Lannister; ever delicate and enchanting. The worst person Catelyn has ever met, once the love of her life.

This is what it has come to; for all of her sins, the Gods see fit to mock her.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

A month has come and gone since the queen sent a raven, and Catelyn is content with the knowledge that Cersei has taken her silence for an answer.

She will not go to King's Landing. She cannot set eyes on the queen once more– for the omega is certain she will not survive it.

"Brandon Stark! How many times must I tell you? No climbing." Catelyn exclaims, she watches her son descend clumsily from the roof.

Bran appears unfazed by his mother's warnings, as always. A genial expression covers his features; the careless joy of a young boy.

"I just saw hundreds of people riding down our road." The boy exclaims amidst a grunt, hoisting himself off the parapet before finally landing on his feet in front of his mother. "I saw a large wheelhouse, with horses.. and men in armor."

"It must be your uncle Benjen and his men who have come to visit your father again." Catelyn decides, but her son pays her no mind as he continues.

"They were carrying crimson banners, with a lion–” Catelyn's expression falls at his son's words. Suddenly she senses a gnawing in her belly, as though she might wretch.

"What did you say– about the banner?" The omega asks as she grabs her son by the shoulder, urging him to look up at her.

"It was crimson, with a yellow lion." Bran repeats as he stares at his mother.

"–Lannisters." Maester Luwin emerges, overhearing their exchange. "Is it possible the queen has come to Winterfell?"

The man asks as he searches Catelyn's expression; she has gone quiet, all colour drained from her face.

"My Lady.." Maester Luwin then attempts to coax a response, with a light hand on Catelyn's forearm.

It restores Cat to her senses just enough to muster a single sentence. "Please, inform my Lord husband. Tell him, the queen is on her way."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Catelyn smooths out her gown for the dozenth time, not having been given much option or time, she was forced to don a dark blue gown, one that her Lord husband often insists match her eyes.

Although the dye on the fabric has now faded, and the sleeves wrinkled– but it matters not. Most of her dress remains covered by her sheepskin cloak.

Nearly all of her dresses always are. The weather in the North does not warrant beauty, only practicality.

Catelyn breath catches in her throat as she observes the queen's approach. Cersei leads the assembly on a gold and white palfrey, she halts infront of the gates before dismounting her horse with grace.

It is no secret that the years have since done its work on them both. The queen is no longer the young woman she had served at court, the same way Catelyn is no longer a girl of ten and five.

Cersei wears a few wrinkles around her eyes, yet, her beauty remains as ethereal as Catelyn remembers it to be. More than anything, the sight of the alpha makes her ache; she has no choice but to focus her gaze elsewhere.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” Ned declares after placing a chaste kiss on the back of the queen's hand.

He remains kneeling on the ground as Cersei studies him. She regards him with a piercing emerald stare before instructing him to rise.

“I hope you can forgive my sudden attendance, I have rather urgent business with your wife.” The queen avows, not appearing to be sorry at all.

Whilst Ned is visibly taken aback by Cersei's declaration, any doubt or query he may have on the matter– he keeps to himself.

The Lord of Winterfell steps aside as the queen swiftly turns her attention towards his wife.

“My queen.” Catelyn greets the golden haired woman with a curtsey. The omega only manages to hold Cersei's gaze for a heartbeat before once again, willing herself to look elsewhere.

The alpha moves to reach for Catelyn's hand, but as though just only recalling the importance of propriety, she stops herself.

Cersei is not given a chance to do much else before her wife falls in next to her.

Taena smiles brightly as she envelopes Catelyn within her embrace, without much warning. “Cat, it's been far too long!” The Myrish woman exclaims.

Catelyn feigns a smile of her own, out of courtesy, she embraces the queen consort in return.

“You are just glowing.” Taena states as she breaks away to look at her. Catelyn soon feels a hand upon her cheek.

The omega wears a bashful expression; one that is just as contrived as the other woman's attempt at a compliment.

She gently pries Taena's hand away from her face. “You are far too gracious.. you look well yourself, Your Grace.”

Taena sighs, as though she wishes for Catelyn's words to be true. “Oh, please, I look a fright.”

“We have been travelling for weeks.” She adds, and the glare Taena throws at her wife calls attention to the barely concealed asperity within her tone.

Yet, Cersei only smiles in return, no doubt her way of retaliating to Taena's grievance is to simply ignore it entirely.

She addresses Ned instead. “My Lady wife and I hope to lay in a proper bed tonight.”

“Of course, Your Grace. We have rooms enough to accommodate you both.. and your children, if it please you.” Ned states curtly as he ushers the queen through the gates.

“Good, I look forward to seeing your castle.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

After a busy morning, Catelyn had decided to lock herself away in her solar for the remainder of the day. In truth, aside for a desperate solution to escaping the queen and her lady wife– solitude was also the only way Catelyn could avoid Ned's incessant questioning.

Of course his confusion is warranted, and her husband means well, to be sure, Ned always does– but Catelyn cannot stand to lie to him anymore.

-

As the lady of Winterfell sits by her window, she manages to get a view of Bran and Arya, currently playing in the yard; their direwolf pups by their feet.

The queen’s children have since joined them. Tommen and Myrcella are no doubt every bit like their mothers, both with emerald green eyes of the Lannisters and olive skinned like their Myrish mother.

The sight of their children playing together strikes Catelyn as something that was painfully ironic. In fact, it was nearly amusing, in a rather bleak way.

Lost in her thoughts, the omega fails to hear the latch on the door behind her.

The oak doors open, and soon shuts. It is only when Catelyn notices shuffling behind her that she turns around to inspect the cause.

“Are you hiding from me?” Cersei asks. with her question, she tilts her head slightly. The same way she used to when they were mere children together.

The sight unsettles Catelyn in a way she does not care to acknowledge. She scrambles to her feet, hugging her robe around her slender frame.

"Your Grace. I- no, I'm just not well." She tells a half-truth and she prays for a miracle.

Catelyn hopes, stupidly, that the other woman will decide to leave her alone, without much interrogation.

"Are you ill?" Cersei asks, as expected, approaching her.

The alpha's tone of genuine concern only makes Catelyn want to weep, but she shakes her head, forcibly suppressing the urge. "It must be something I ate." She lies.

"Oh, then you must rest.” Cersei suggests in response, a smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth.

The omega's brows furrow at the sight. She mocks me. Catelyn observes.

The lady of Winterfell decides she no longer possesses the will for feigned courtesies. All she has the strength to do now is stare at the other woman, unamused.

This works to unnerve the queen slightly, as though thrown off balance, Cersei clears her throat.

The alpha averts her gaze before resting her hand on the hilt of her longsword, assuming a confident stance once more.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Cersei finally states it plainly, and Catelyn scoffs in response.

The alpha possesses just enough audacity to appear confused by the other woman's reaction. “What?”

“Stop that. Don't pretend as though you have given me a choice.” Catelyn hisses, and she watches as Cersei opens her mouth to retaliate, but she swiftly cuts off the attempt.

“If that was true, you would not be here.” Cat challenges and Cersei merely shrugs, unconcerned yet dignified.

The queen always does so in a way that managed to make others seem small, inconsequential.

It was infuriating.

“Come to King's Landing, serve as my Hand.” “and you should take Sansa, our daughter will do well in the capital.” Cersei renders aloud as she advances forward.

Now standing close enough that Catelyn can smell the lavender oil in her hair.

“Such beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here.” Cersei continues, reaching up to caress the omega's cheek.

Catelyn stiffens and then sighs involuntarily against her touch. Once again she feels the urge to weep, to scream. The omega wants to lean in and kiss the other woman, to feel her warm embrace.

Instead, she slaps her hand away, bristling. “Don't. do not do that.”

“and don't call her your daughter.. as if you have ever been a sire to her.” She mutters, a scowl covers Catelyn's features as she tries to slip past the alpha.

Although Cersei quickly catches her by the arm before she can go far at all, forcing a proximity between them once more.

"You know that I regret– I regret how it all ended between us.” The queen utters, her voice low, only for Catelyn to hear.

The sincerity in which Cersei speaks her sweet words does nothing to douse the rage within her.

Years of longing and wanting for a woman that has no regard for her honor, no respect for her feelings. Cersei has been nothing if not careless with her; with her heart.

Catelyn does not believe a word the alpha says– she cannot allow herself to.

“Do you?” She challenges, her jaw clenched in anger.

“Nine years without a word from you.. not so much as a raven.” She adds with a raised voice, though Cersei appears entirely unfazed by it, this time her arm slips around Catelyn's waist.

“Don't touch me.” She tries, attempting to wriggle out of the alpha's hold, but it is no use.

"I missed you.. I wanted to write to you, I truly did.” Cersei reveals, cupping the other woman's cheek once more.

“I just thought–”

“What?” Catelyn provokes, unsatisfied.

“You thought what?” Despite herself, she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“You told me you loved me... I gave myself to you, and then you chose her.”

Cersei own expression shifts at the other woman's declaration. She wipes away the omega's tears with the pads of her thumbs tenderly.

“I had no choice.” The queen insists, her tone gentle and sincere– almost vulnerable.

“I assume you are happier.. with your husband.” Cersei alleges, and Catelyn feels the urge to laugh in her face.

“How could you possibly think that?” She questions, and Cersei acknowledges the mistake she had made, at long last.

“Forgive me.. I never meant to hurt you.” The queen articulates, threading her fingers through auburn locks.

Catelyn allows herself to lean into the other woman's touch, her brows still furrowed as she speaks. “Well, you did. You broke my heart.”

The omega attempts to shove Cersei away once more, but still, she refuses to budge.

The alpha is stronger, and far more determined.

“I know, I am sorry.” The queen says again, this time she boldly kisses the shell of Catelyn's ear.

As the omega continues to try and fight out of her hold, Cersei kisses her again, this time further down, her tender lips meeting her jaw.

Catelyn shivers at the sensation, just as instinctively, she rests her hand on the nape of Cersei's neck.

“I'm sorry.” The alpha mutters once more as she kisses the corner of Catelyn's mouth.

This time, she does not fight the urge. Catelyn turns her head, capturing the other woman's lips with her own for a real kiss.

As their mouths moved against each other with aching familiarity, Cersei's hand shifts to the small of the omega's back, causing the other woman to lean further into her.

They kiss for what feels like an eternity; only breaking apart when both their lungs clamour for air.

Catelyn's face burns from the intensity of the moment, she soon wraps both her arms around the other woman properly, concealing her face in the crook of Cersei's neck.

“I despise you.” The omega mutters, almost petulantly.

Cersei merely lets out a light chuckle at that. A kind of acceptance and forbearance; a quality she truly only finds less of a challenge to display around Catelyn.

“I know.”

[amuseoffyre]

Got pondering today on the baseline for Ed's experience and life up until he arrives at the Revenge, based on the various fragments of backstory and implicit history that are scattered throughout both seasons.

"we're just not those kind of people"

recurring violence - his mum's black eye and the kraken flashback, which carries over into Ed's instinct to recoil from anyone touching/coming near his face (except Stede)

"Remember how he stabbed us?" "He treated us like dogs. Like worse than dogs" - introduction to a world beyond his family and it's even worse and relentless

"his name was Felix and he was a really nice guy" - his peers being killed slowly and painfully as punishment in front of him

"It's poison!" / "I got the gift you left me, in my glass" - not even food or drink were safe

"that's what you fucking get" - a system of anticipated and constant violence

"cutting off a bloke's toes and feeding them to him for a laugh", "love a good maim" - inured to doing violence to others without question

"I don't wanna go back to the old days, drinking all the time" esp. after Jack's condescending "I didn't know I had an audience with the fucking pope" when he tries to refuse rum - twice, Ed comments on two of his friends about their drinking and twice, he gets scoffed at and then takes a drink from their bottles himself

"I was gonna kill him and burn his face off" - Anne and Mary (his peers from his youth) nodding in agreement that this is normal

"Run me through" / "Whip my balls!" / "Six inches of steel right in you" - violence and brutality as foreplay (And ohhh this puts a whole new light onto his extended freak out about Stede and him sleeping together straight after the Ned Low incident)

Knife Parade - finding it silly and funny and utterly unaware that he was terrorising people because he'd grown up surrounded by that kind of behaviour with Jack, Mary and Anne.

"Didn't apologise for shit" - no apologies, no admitting mistakes, no awareness of doing something wrong (and once he realises, he promptly apologises to Fang and then, awkwardly, stiltedly to Izzy the next episode)

"Your friends are very troubled" / "Yeah. Well, they're pirates" - the self-awareness there that this isn't a normal, healthy way of behaving

No wonder having a glimpse of something different with nice clothes and good food and marmalade and well-meaning friendship opens a door he never knew was even an option 😭

[novaursa]

Hi,

Can I request Ned Stark x reader where she’s was once one of his brother Brandon’s ex-lovers. Brandon had an affair with both of the younger Ryswell sisters, Barbrey and reader, at some point while fostering with their father. Lord Rodrik thought his daughters were dishonored, and he managed to get a marriage for at least one of them to a Stark. Reader is made to be Ned’s wife and she’s still hurt by what Brandon did, him making her into another one of his conquests. While this just furthers Ned’s feelings of being second to his brother in everything, even now in his own marriage he’s second to Brandon. Would you be able to try and make it where they both try and make their marriage work? They’re a little awkward around each other, but it’s cute.

Thanks.

To Be Chosen

Requests are closed

- Summary: A story where you learn to love another wolf and find peace.

- Pairing: ryswell!reader/Eddard Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

The hearth crackled in the corner of the bedchamber, the orange light casting slow-moving shades across the stone walls of Winterfell. Snow tapped at the narrow windows, a gentle hush that softened the cold beyond. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of pine resin and the faintest touch of lavender from the oil Maester Luwin had left behind, as if he hoped to tame the discomfort between the two of you with a fragrance. It had been a moon since your wedding, and still your hand hesitated before reaching for your husband's. Eddard—Ned, as you were meant to call him now—sat near the fire, polishing the pommel of his sword with a cloth that had seen better days. He had taken to this ritual every night, perhaps because it gave him something to do when words failed, or perhaps because the silence between you both still made him feel as if he were a trespasser in his own marriage.

You watched him quietly, curled beneath a thick quilt on the edge of the bed. Your nightgown was soft, of fine-woven wool dyed with the lightest touch of blue, a gift from Barbrey that had arrived without a note. She had not spoken to you since the wedding feast, not properly. Her silence cut deeper than she knew. Or perhaps she did know. Perhaps that was why she wielded it so well.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ned said suddenly, his voice low but kind, his northern accent shaping each word like it was a careful offering. He had noticed your gaze, and you looked away quickly, embarrassed to have been caught studying the curve of his mouth, the way the firelight softened the hard line of his jaw.

“You didn’t,” you replied quietly, fingers plucking nervously at the edge of the quilt. “I was just… thinking.”

He nodded once, not pressing you, not prying. That was his way. Where Brandon would have laughed, teased, pushed, Ned stepped aside. Where Brandon had swaggered through life and into your bedchamber with cruel confidence, Ned moved with quiet respect, almost apologetically—as though you were some wild creature he didn’t dare spook.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” he offered after a long moment. “I had them lay new furs across the mattress. The ones here were old.”

“They’re very warm,” you said, managing a small smile. “Thank you.”

Ned turned his gaze back to the fire, and the silence returned—but this time, it was not sharp with awkwardness. It had grown softer. You adjusted the blanket around your shoulders and said, carefully, “I know this isn’t what either of us expected.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes met yours fully. Grey, like the frost that coated the stones outside. “No,” he agreed. “But I’m not unhappy you’re my wife, Y/N.”

Your name sounded strange from his lips—soft, reverent, as though he were tasting it for the first time. You hadn’t shared a bed since the wedding night, both of you dancing around the expectations of what should be, what your fathers wanted, what your pasts had ruined. You remembered Brandon’s touch, fast and greedy and golden with victory, his laughter ringing against your throat when you cried and he whispered things he never meant. You had loved him. He had made sure of that before discarding you like old furs after the hunt. And now you were here—his brother’s wife. His quiet, gentle brother who hadn’t even kissed you since that night, as though he feared to remind you.

“I know I was… his,” you said softly, eyes fixed on the hearth, heat rising to your cheeks. “I know what people say. I know what you must think of me.”

Ned was across the room in two strides, kneeling beside the bed so quickly it startled you. His calloused hand reached for yours, hesitant for only a second before he touched you. “I don’t think anything ill of you,” he said, voice firmer now. “Brandon—he never thought of the hurt he left behind. I did. Every time he boasted, every time I saw you try to hide your face at supper. I thought of it then.”

Your breath caught. He had seen. He had always seen.

“I don’t want to be second to him in your eyes,” he whispered, as though the admission shamed him. “I’ve been second to him in everything else. I just want—” He faltered. “I want to be good to you. That’s all.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest, unexpected and aching. You let your fingers twine with his slowly, inch by inch. “You are good,” you whispered. “I don’t know what to do with that yet. But you are.”

He smiled—barely, a flicker of it. It was the first true smile you had seen on his face, and it was as beautiful as the snow in the godswood, soft and quiet and entirely real. “Would you mind,” he asked, almost bashfully, “if I stayed here tonight?”

You didn’t answer, only opened the quilt and made space for him beside you. He shed his tunic and boots in silence, slipping beneath the covers like a man entering sacred ground. When he lay beside you, neither of you touched, but the warmth of his body radiated through the small space between. He smelled of leather and snow, of woodsmoke and something clean—honest.

And when sleep came, it was the first time in many moons that it did not come with tears.

The godswood was blanketed in snow, soft drifts gathered between the twisted roots of the great weirwood tree. Crimson leaves clung stubbornly to its white branches, shivering in the northern wind. You stood beside the black pool with your hands clasped in front of you, cloak drawn tightly around your shoulders, the fur-lined hood brushing against your cheeks. Winterfell's stillness settled into your bones, not cold but quiet—a silence you were slowly learning to live with, to find comfort in. The red eyes of the heart tree gazed down at you, unreadable, and you wondered if it remembered all the Stark brides who had stood here before, whispering their hopes and worries into the icy air.

Behind you, the soft crunch of snow signaled his approach before he spoke. "You always come here in the morning."

You turned, unsurprised, and met Ned’s eyes. His cloak was a darker grey than usual, trimmed in white wolf fur, and his hair was damp from the snow. There was a dusting of it on his shoulders, and he hadn’t bothered to shake it off. He looked very much like his namesake, a Stark born from the frost and silence of the North.

“I like the quiet,” you said softly, watching his expression. “It’s easier to think when no one is watching.”

He stopped beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him through the layers of your cloak. His breath fogged in the cold between you. “I thought you might be avoiding me again,” he said, not unkindly, but with something almost playful in his tone. He had begun to allow himself that, little by little—gentle jests that never pressed too hard.

You glanced down at the reflection of the tree in the black water. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

It was true. You had stopped hiding. The walls between you had been built by old wounds, by whispered memories that curled like smoke around the edges of your heart. Brandon had stolen something from you, and you had carried that wound like a secret scar. But Ned had never tried to peel it open or force you to speak. He simply remained—steady, warm, present. In the evenings he read by the hearth with you curled nearby, and at night he would rest a hand lightly on your back as you slept, as if to remind you he was there, and always would be.

“You’ve been… kind to me,” you said, words exhaled like mist. “I didn’t expect that. I didn’t know what to expect.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and it struck you again how different he was from Brandon. There was no hunger in his gaze, no fire meant to consume. Only a patient, enduring kind of affection. “I didn’t want to frighten you,” he said after a moment. “I still don’t.”

“You don’t frighten me,” you murmured. “You make me feel like I belong here. That’s… more than I ever thought I’d have.”

A silence stretched between you, but it was no longer filled with unease. He reached out, slowly, and brushed his knuckles against your gloved hand. You didn’t pull away. Your fingers found his, threading together.

“You could have refused me,” you said, voice quieter now. “No one would’ve blamed you. After what Brandon did. After what I was to him.”

He was silent for a long time, and then he said, “You were never his. No more than a storm is anyone’s. I only wish—” He paused. “I only wish I had spoken sooner. I remember you, you know. Even then.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “You do?”

He nodded. “You were always the quieter one. Barbrey was bolder. She made sure everyone knew what she wanted.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth, but his eyes stayed soft. “But you… you listened. You watched. You spoke only when you had something worth saying. I admired that.”

Your heart fluttered, unsure what to do with such tenderness. You leaned into him slightly, shoulder against his, and felt his arm come around your back with cautious affection. The weight of him was reassuring, not possessive, not demanding. Just there. Like the snow. Like the godswood.

“I’m glad it was you,” you whispered into the quiet. “I didn’t think I would be, but I am.”

He turned his face toward yours, snowflakes melting in his hair, and said, “So am I.”

Later that evening, as the fire crackled in your chambers and your hair dried from the snow, Ned came to your door with a book in hand. He paused, half-laughing when he saw you already curled in the chair by the hearth, your own book unopened in your lap.

“I thought I might read aloud,” he offered, a little sheepishly.

“I’d like that,” you said, and he crossed the room to sit near you.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, not exactly. But you remembered his voice, low and steady, telling some old northern tale. And you remembered the warmth of his hand around yours, even in dreams.

[maisiestyle]

"Ned Stark's Precious Little Girl"

Arya is a mix of both her parents. But as her story unfolds, with every new chapter and book, Arya has moved beyond her parents and into a far more dynamic character.

Ned was a role model to Arya, she loved him more than almost anyone (she loves Jon most of all). She holds on to Ned's memory now more than any of his children.

Ned is stubborn, quick to anger, loyal to a fault, and deeply devoted to his family to the point where he sacrificed his honor and died for his children.

Both Arya & Ned had a dislike for Southern culture. Which is double odd considering Ned was fostered in the South: That was never truly his place. Whereas Cat and Sansa are very much creatures made for the South.

Treatment of the smallfolk and not judging those lower than their station... That says a lot about their character, something Ned, Lyanna, Arya & Jon have all shown in the books.

Arya & Ned are similar but different as well. Where Ned was lacking, his ability to not see the truth in the lies around him - Arya has developed beyond that point. Ned was too slow and unyielding until it was too late and he died. Cat was to heedless, prideful, and emotional - that cost her life. At the beginning Arya was a mix of both her parents BUT her journey so far has made her grow and develop where her parents had not. By Book 5, Arya is extremely artful and considerate, patient and willing to face the truth in all its ugliness, adaptable and fluid like water - a changeling. That's how she'll survive where her parents did not.

While Sansa is learning how to flirt, organise a glorified party and remain passive and isolated.

Arya lives out in the open, has escaped death and captivity by her own wits, travelled all over Westeros leaving her memory imprinted on the people she met along the way, and her unyielding desire to never be helpless again which brought her to Braavos. The Sealord of Braavos stood up to a King and his dragons and won - all he did was whisper the "faceless men" and King's Landing yielded - that is true power. Arya will return to Westeros having grown in many ways. But like her father and mother, her family will always be her guiding light.

I love how the Northmen constantly connect Arya to Ned and want to fight for them both:

When White Harbour (a place Arya has visited twice with Ned) hears of "Arya Stark" marrying Ramsay.

“Was ever snow so black?” asked Lord Wyman. “Ramsay took Lord Hornwood’s lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity…and the Lannister notion of king’s justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark’s little girl.” - (Davos, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

As "Arya" suffers in Winterfell, they connect her to Ned:

"The bride weeps," Lady Dustin said, as they made their way down, step by careful step. "Our little Lady Arya." ... What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." ...

"Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears.

~*~

The northmen want to fight for Arya:

“Even ruined and broken, Winterfell remains Lady Arya’s home. What better place to wed her, bed her, and stake your claim? […] Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton…but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you. - (Reek, A Dance with Dragons)

[…]

Lord Arnolf shoved himself up, a vulture rising from its prey. One spotted hand clutched at his son’s shoulder for support. “We’ll take [Winterfell] for Ned and for his daughter.” - (The Sacrifice, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." - (Dance with Dragons)

[eruherdiriel]

Dreams and lies

Jon POV, post-canon, book!jonsa ficlet. AO3 link.

~*~

“Who will you say the child’s father is?” Jon asks.

She looks away, closing her eyes and letting the wind hit her face as if it holds the answer. When Sansa opens her eyes, she does not look back at him, but toward the wolfswood, green and dark with the thick spring growth of trees, mosses, and grass.

“Someone I loved. Someone who died.”

He would laugh if there was any air left in his lungs. I am hollow but for my regret. 

“May the old gods give you a son for your grief,” he says. Not only the grief of losing what was between them, but for all the questions to come her way when her condition is discovered. 

Their marriage beneath the heart tree in the Winterfell godswood can never be known beyond their witnesses—Ghost, Brienne of Tarth, and Jeyne Poole. Not even Bran or Arya know, though Jon suspects one or both will be able to work it out for themselves. Either way, the secret will leave Sansa’s babe a bastard to the outside world, unless she claims to have married the nameless dead man she will say is the father.

And what if the child is born with the Targaryen look? Jon fears that most of all.

“I pray only for a healthy child,” Sansa says.

“I shall hope for the same.”

And for her health and safety as well. She is older than his mother was, but he still fears what the birthing bed can do to a woman.

He is leaving Lyanna Stark behind, too, in a way. All his life, his mother was closer and further away than he ever knew, her bones and statue in the Winterfell crypts. Ned Stark’s lie kept Jon alive but his mother a secret, and now Jon will lie to keep his own child safe from their parentage.

Someday it must end, this cycle. But not today.

He shifts on his feet, unable to walk away from Sansa despite knowing he must. How does anyone say goodbye to the person they love? He wants to run a sword through all that has torn them apart—the ghost of his father and the entire Targaryen legacy, and Dany’s destruction that reminded all of Westeros how deadly dragon rule can be.

In the end, the truth of Jon’s birth both gave and stole from him the greatest thing he has ever known.

“Your Grace,” he says with a nod to Sansa, intending to allow her to dismiss him.

“No,” she says, louder and firmer than she has spoken thus far. Then, softly, “Please. I am not your queen in this moment. This is our last—”

Their last moment to be something more, perhaps. But behind her is her queensguard, garbed in grey cloaks with blue undersides, the edges rimmed in white fur with red weirwood leaves for clasps. Jon and Sansa’s last moment was days ago, when he kissed her tears in the godswood, late at night, Ghost a guard at the entry. There will be no long embraces, no lingering kisses in this farewell.

“Sansa,” he says, for her guards are far enough away and cannot hear him. After her name has passed through his lips, he finds once is not enough. A hundred times would not be enough, but this is all they have left to share. “Sansa. My love.”

“I would have made you my equal, Jon,” she says. “My partner. My king. If it were possible, I would have done it.”

Her words make pride bloom in his chest, but he tamps it down. A title is nothing compared to the most precious dreams he is losing. They are slipping away, like water draining through cupped hands.

“You will be a fine lord,” Sansa says. “As you would have been a king.”

It is a cruel reality to achieve half of your desires, only to find it is the half you could have lived without.

“The North has you,” he replies. “There could be no one better.”

She lifts a hand and tugs off her light leather glove, then touches his face. It is a motion that could pass as sibling affection from a distance. Up close, he feels the tenderness and love that goes far beyond kinship, to the kind of touch they were only able to share too few times. The love and passion between a man and woman, a husband and wife.

A queen, and a king.

Clenching his fist, Jon closes his eyes and banishes the thought. That life is impossible for him. He opens his eyes and takes her hand off his cheek, holding it in his burned sword hand, then presses a kiss to the back of it.

Beside them, Ghost is still, not even scenting the rabbit smell that the wind has pushed their way. Spring has come, and prey is plentiful as the animals breed and recover their numbers after the long, hard winter and too many years of war. The direwolf will eat well tonight, and on every night of their journey to Queenscrown.

It will be wasted on Jon. He has found little enjoyment in the taste of food in nearly a moon, when his fate was sealed. Aegon was not Dany, yet the mob hunted and strung him up all the same. The smallfolk’s revenge.

It’s past time for him to leave. Sansa has duties she must attend to, and he has many leagues to travel. But the next time Jon sees her could be years. She promised to visit or to summon him to court at Winterfell, but he cannot bear the thought of pretending she is only a queen and half-sister to him. He cannot bear the thought of seeing a child of his blood grow and change in a million ways between visits, to know that child will forever be as fatherless as Jon himself was motherless.

This is the end for him and Sansa, for the life they should have shared and the family they should have made. Their babe is hers alone now. Jon dips his head, then drops her hand, turns, mounts his garron, and nudges the horse into a walk.

Don’t look back, he tells himself. If you look back, you will never leave. 

But he has always been weak when it comes to her, and after several paces, Jon twists in his saddle. Sansa is standing there, eyes closed again as if to deny what is happening. Tears are streaking down her cheeks. He faces forward again and kicks his horse into a trot, listening to the animal’s hooves thump against the wet grass and squelch in the mud.

The hills dip and rise as Jon rides up the kingsroad, Ghost plodding silently next to him. Flowers bloom alongside the road’s ruts, the new season bringing long-promised life to the North. Despite the growth and beauty, the spring air tastes like a bitter lie instead of the sweet hope he expected.

On the fourth rise, he turns once more. She is still on the hummock where he left her, though Brienne is standing beside her now instead of behind. When Sansa sees he has turned, she raises a hand and waves.

Jon lifts his own hand in farewell, then drops it and regrips the reins, leaving all promise of the life he dreamed of behind him.

[azurefaire]

> watches an entire video rant on how chibiverse is a online content farm created by disney (id say there is some good things or at least an attempt in those early parts and i do like the art style actually but yeah it is), and lowkey messes with your mind cause disney has screwed over many of the shows they featured and they have free range to use any characters they own without the involvement of others (hailey's, woy, toh etc)

> disney releases a new episode of said show that literally pays homage to older/forgotten shows picked from a bag and puts them underground in a cave

> finds clips on youtube

> pepper ann is there my baby!!! seemingly portrayed in the best light compared to bonkers, billy dilly, maggie etc

> they GOT pepper ann

> remembers the time i thought about a month ago "what if pepper ann nicky and milo were in this show, that would be impossible especially since the chibiverse thing is all a tiny land of modern series. they are probably in a distant land, or somewhere underground"

> reminds me of the time i had an idea of cartoons qliving a double life when they arent airing, within a multi channel cartoon crossover called "under the airwaves" sort of like wreck it ralph but cartoons from tv. literally would incorporate so manyy real shows into this idea, including this shit cause it has facinating implications and i remember a glitch when it first aired lol

> enough of my garbage au/crossover shit!! oh wow shes so cute though!! my baby!!!

> THEY GOT PEPPER ANN'S BABY CLONE IN A CAVE UNDERGROUND EATING DIRT WITH CLAMANTHA FROM FISH HOOKS??? IN THE UNDERVERSE??? SHE'S EATING DIRT??

> BUT FISH HOOKS HAS BEEN relevant out of all these shows especially on tiktok and specifically shellsea. so i guess clamantha. sure. certain comic relief characters people dont care about. has anyone truly cared for clamantha when jocktopus exists? really...

> penny and kim were very lucky to have continued relevance. they could be eating dirt! not all up in disney's weird ass fantasy living neighborhood gen z ifed

> now realizing this is when many characters havent spoken for literal years return... and how thats kind of cool in some aspects. but i think ppl wanted more animated version kim possible years ago...

> realizing if they didnt pick the funniest characters to do this, they could literally piss off so many fans of like motorcity or like randy cunningham maybe. i mean they probably did with penn zero for like two people.

> who picked them and why. also vince from recess took me a while to get why cause he didnt seem like the lead. but i'm assuming he's the most "underrated" or underutilzed one

> bonkers, spitting image of "obscure disney cartoon" - even watched a video on that... has a line where he says chibi. maggie the fly that everyone loves to hate has lines. i dont know why everyone hates her, she's self absorbed or something.

> i dont care about star vs but star is so cute in this and her dynamic with vasquez is funny...

> the primal desire for crossover content and the joy it brings is real. the uncontrolled desire to say "i didnt know i needed this" is real. i didnt need this! in some ways i hate this! in some ways i dont want this! but i like it anyway. and i cant stop it!

> chibi pepper ann also implies the existence of a chibi moose or a chibi cissy or trinket or gwen or alice kane or the teachers or trinket or lydia or steve the cat or mark hamill or alex trebek or effie shrug... chibi stewart waldinger....

> no cartoon is safe. chibi nightmare ned. chibi weekenders. chibi fillmore.

> watch them acknowledge house of mouse very soon in a very tongue in cheek way that will piss everyone off cause this show and that show are often mentioned together online. they probably look online to get script ideas idk maybe. something something ppl might say about tarnishing legacy of older cartoons cause every ip (😔) is at risk here. but they lay one finger on hom?? people are very protective of that show. carnage.

> hurt/comfort nickyann 500k fanfic in the underverse nicky going "i miss my family pepper ann. i miss them a lot."

> gonna watch the whole thing now.

[glowettee]

Hi Mindy! (can i call you Mindy?)

It's me again.

I have loads of projects i desperately need to do, but the thing is, they're all online! And whenever i do online work, i go down the usual rabbit hole. Tumblr, Tiktok, and more!1 I ned ways to stay FOCUSED!!!!!

And also, any shifting/manifesting advice from the mother herself? I've manifested small shit, but nothing HUGE, like LIFE-ALTERING, funnily, because that's the ones i really want.

TYSMMMMM!!

how to stay focused on online projects (without falling down the rabbit hole) ✧˖°

hey angel, i totally get it. online work is a blessing and a curse. one minute you’re deep into your project, and the next, you’re three hours into a tiktok spiral or reading conspiracy theories on tumblr. it happens to the best of us. but let’s break the cycle because you deserve to get things done (and actually feel good about it).

let’s get into it.

so sorry this reply was late, i constantly have new messages in my tumblr inbox and lost track of this message you sent 'til now. love you <3 - mindy

(and yes, you can call me mindy!)

✧˖° romanticize your workspace

okay, first things first: make your workspace too cute to abandon. i’m serious. if your desk feels like a productivity oasis, you’ll naturally want to stay there.

➼ light a candle (bonus points if it’s a scent that reminds you of libraries or coffee shops)

➼ add a few aesthetic sticky notes with motivational quotes or little to-do lists

➼ keep only one drink on your desk (water or coffee/tea), so you’re not tempted to wander off for refills

➼ use a cute, minimal desktop wallpaper to set the mood. something calming, not distracting

➼ put your phone in a different room. i know it’s painful, but trust me, it’s a game-changer

mindy’s tip:

try using an app like forest that plants a virtual tree when you focus. seeing a cute little forest grow while you work feels surprisingly rewarding.

✧˖° digital declutter before you start

seriously, babe, open tabs are the death of productivity. if you’ve got pinterest, tumblr, and three youtube videos lined up, you’re practically begging to get distracted.

➼ close everything that’s not directly related to your project. be ruthless.

➼ bookmark important tabs so you don’t feel like you’re losing something by closing them

➼ use a distraction-blocking extension like stayfocusd or cold turkey to limit your time on distracting sites

➼ (biggest tip) create a separate user profile just for work. log into your school/project accounts there and leave social media behind.

mindy’s tip:

make a shortcut to your “work” profile on your desktop. just clicking that instead of your usual browser can trigger a more focused mindset.

✧˖° trick your brain with a “study/work starter pack”

sometimes, your brain just needs a little ritual to know it’s time to work. create a pre-study/work routine that you actually enjoy:

➼ 5-minute journal entry to clear your mind

➼ stretch or do a quick yoga flow to wake up your body

➼ put on a lo-fi playlist (i love anything that feels like a rainy day in a cafe)

➼ set a specific goal for the session. just one. keep it simple and achievable

mindy’s tip:

make your study/work starter pack feel indulgent. choose a cute notebook, pick a special pen, and make your coffee or tea just the way you like it. romanticize it.

✧˖° micro goals and mini rewards

sometimes, the problem isn’t just the distractions. it’s feeling overwhelmed. break your project into bite-sized tasks, and reward yourself for every little win.

➼ write a checklist, but make it pretty (cute doodles are a must)

➼ give yourself tiny rewards: a piece of chocolate after 20 minutes of focused work, or a quick dance break

➼ keep a visual tracker. a progress bar or a flower you fill in petal by petal works great

➼ switch locations if your energy is dropping. just moving from your desk to the floor can give you a mental reset

mindy’s tip:

when you’re deep into a task, leave a small note for your future self to come back to. something like, “you’ve got this. pick up from here!” it keeps the momentum alive.

✧˖° manifesting the big stuff: life-altering magic

you’ve already proven you can manifest the small things... now it’s time to scale up. the biggest secret? act like the version of yourself who already has it. (LOA)

➼ visualize your desired outcome daily. be super specific. what are you wearing? who’s with you? how do you feel?

➼ create a vision board, but make it interactive. add notes and affirmations next to your images. say them out loud when you look at it.

➼ talk about your desires in the present tense. instead of “i want to be successful,” say, “i am successful, and i’m attracting new opportunities every day.”

➼ detach from the outcome. manifesting isn’t about obsessing over results. it’s about embodying that energy and trusting it’ll come to you.

mindy’s tip:

make a manifestation jar. write your desires on little slips of paper, fold them, and put them in a cute jar. every time you doubt yourself, read one aloud and remind yourself that you’re capable of attracting it.

✧˖° romanticize the process

the biggest secret to staying focused and manifesting big things? make the process feel beautiful. even if it’s the way you set up your desk, the affirmations you say, or the playlists you choose, let every part of it feel special.

you don’t have to be perfect. you just have to be intentional. i believe in you.

💌 let me know how it goes. i’m rooting for you!

if you need me to make a longer manifesting post, let me know.

[rynnthefangirl]

You know I of course love my boy Ned Stark, but it was honestly so fucked up of him to let Jon join the Nights Watch. Jon was FOURTEEN, and clearly had an overidealized view of what the Nights Watch was like. Even if the NW was everything he imagined, that is still way way too young to make that kind of life changing decision, that can NEVER BE TAKEN BACK.

“Well he’s a bastard so he doesn’t have that many options in life” the only thing he is barred from is the life of a noble lord. The vast vast majority of the realm are not lords or ladies and do you see them jumping at the chance to take the Black? Nope. The NW is so undesirable that it’s offered as an alternative to death! Jon could have worked a trade, been a hedge knight like Dunk (also likely a bastard), hell even something prestigious like Kingsguard when he is old enough (there have been bastard kingsguards in the past). A bastard has even been the Hand of the King! And as the bastard of a great lord, he has way more of a head start in life than most people.

What was Ned thinking?? He let his own son (well nephew, but basically his son) throw his entire life away and for what?? Because it was convenient? To appease Catelyn? Jon goes off to Castle Black and the world becomes a bit simpler? I understand Ned views the life of a sworn brother as very noble, but Jon was still a child. There’s no deadline on joining, he could have lived his life and then joined when he is old enough and worldly enough to understand what he is giving up. Maybe he felt that the NW was safer if the truth of Jon’s parentage should ever come to light, but as it’s JON’s life it should still be HIM to weigh that risk and make that choice.

The one thing I’ll throw hands with Ned about.