#now I just need to invest in an iron so that I can iron out the little wrinkles and then it’ll be perfect

[shyvioletlife]

finally got the hardware needed to hang my dungeon meshi tapestry (designed by @alexsiple) in my family room!

[alongtidesoflight]

so here's my honest thoughts on dragon age: the veilguard, after ~40 hours of playing. i finished the main quest after having finished all companion quests and major faction quests. just to clear up what content i saw, i played as an elven transmasc rook who is a member of the lords of fortune. he romanced lucanis (although after finishing the game i'm now leaning towards taash). i don't know what's happening in playthroughs that have a different race, gender identity, romance or faction going on.

full spoilers ahead, i mean it. don't read further if you want to avoid them. i don't want complaining about it in my asks.

oh and also, if you're worried because of a few negative reviews online i can comfort you by saying don't give a fuck about a certain big name youtuber who is very much tied to bethesda franchises giving this a negative review. i'll explain why.

i'm starting off with the things i liked

the game looks really pretty. i was worried it wouldn't feel like thedas anymore (with them trying to "focus on northern thedas only" i thought they'd make a clear cut in environmental design. they do and they don't. it's complicated. i'll elaborate on it when talking about the negative stuff). anyway it does. minrathous feels like kirkwall. treviso enchanted me like the winter palace did. the hossberg wetlands reminded me of the hinterlands and a couple other inquisition maps. arlathan looked like... arlathan. the crossroads were different, but familiar. overall i like the way it looks and feels. it's thedas, with a twist. it's a good one, and gives everything a solid but unique feel.

combat is top tier. if you're a hardcore dragon age player you WILL miss the tactical aspect of it for a bit, but i promise you, once you're used to the way the combat works, you will be lapping that shit up. and once you get to ability combos you'll mourn the control you used to have over your companions in battle a bit less

the MAIN quest and its story. i expected worse, way worse. and for a while the game even had me tricked (harr harr you'll get it in a second) it is Really That Much Worse. but holy shit was it good. i walked away satisfied ngl.

your choices have SOLID weight. there's consequences, good AND bad. i got minrathous blighted, ruled over by venatori, and the leader of the shadow dragons ultimately died because of my decisions. i made those at the beginning and throughout the game. he died at the end. DAVRIN died because i didn't expect what i was saying to have that much weight. i thought i was in the clear. he had hero status. well turns out, your choices can still get your companions killed even if you do everything right. i fucking love him. he shouldn't have made that sacrifice just because i told him to do everything it takes once.

the inquisitor, morrigan and dorian being there, surprisingly. there's also negatives to this though, see below.

speaking of companions dying and the inquisitor playing a bigger role: the final quest feels like me2's suicide mission. i was blown away by it and the fact that i got to see the results of all my efforts playing out in front of me.

bioware are NOT trying to redeem solas. they love him as a character yes, but i wasn't forced to see any good in him. he betrays you. he fucked my rook over twice. he fucked him over right back, for good this time (the veil wasn't torn down, i anchored it by binding him to it, he's doomed to uphold it). but solas really lives up to his name as the trickster elven god. rip to all the people who grew really attached to him over the years.

varric died. if you like him that's probably as hard reading it as it was watching it. varric died and the game lies about it until the very end. when the realisation hits, it hurts. but in the very best way.

the amount of care they put into gender expression and trans identities this time around. (i'll add onto this with negative points as well too).

rook feels very much ingrained in the world of thedas. he doesn't ask questions that expose the player to lore through dialogue as if he's stepped foot into thedas for the first time. those conversations feel very solid and good. i hope other faction players got as much joy out of this as i did.

and the things i didn't like and boy there's a lot unfortunately

the music. let's just get that out of the way holy shit. it doesn't feel like it belongs in this universe. it gets so incredibly sci-fi-y at times you'd think it's taken straight from mass effect andromeda. there's not a single song unique to veilguard that i really enjoyed. it broke my immersion, real bad. hearing a busker play the tavern songs from inquisition on a lute right after i killed some venatori with wobbly bass songs playing in the background is just odd. weird tonal shift. don't like it. it's made for people who like flashy light-weight cinema.

tevinter nights is required reading. the podcasts are required listening exercises. the game is so fast paced, especially at the start, that there's no time to introduce you to characters and how much weight their names carry in-game. i would not have known who half these people are if i hadn't skimmed over tevinter nights. i'd care even less about them than i already did. there is no time to get properly attached to them. people will act as if you're talking to a legend personified and you'll be thinking man goddamn which chapter of tevinter night were they in again and what did they do???

there's a weird mismatch with the animations. you'll have beautifully fluid ones, like emmrich casting spells. and then you'll have rook's face animating in the most unnatural manner that's sorta reminiscent of mass effect andromeda's "my face is tired" addison, when their emotions SHOULD be landing with the player rn instead.

i'm not vibing with the art style. sometimes it works. most of the time it doesn't. at points i felt like i was watching tangled.

that also brings me to some of the dialogue. same issue. i am watching frozen. i am watching tangled. someone on the writer's team really likes the adorkable trope. bellara is its victim.

for all the talk about identity, bioware sure doesn't like theirs. the grey warden armor got a redesign again and it just makes them look like a generic army. i hate it lol

in general, i don't like the armor design. the wardrobe/appearances system is fine, but it's just not helping if all the armors are just... kinda bland or downight bad looking? and don't get me started on the lords of fortune armor. that is orientalism personified.

the world states should have been carried over, full stop. i know they said they didn't because they want to separate what happens in the north from what happens in the south, which... i could have lived with that. but the inquisitor sends you letters that keep you up to date on... the south of thedas. you learn that there's a blight again, that people are standing strong but it's difficult, denerim's fallen, the rulers are taking care of it, orlais is fighting and they're successful for a while, etc etc. what's good bioware. i thought we don't care about the south this time around. why are you feeding me so much boring generic information. if you're not gonna show any of it and just write letters, then carrying the world state over should not have been an issue. i have a game dev background. those few lines of code would not have broken your budget or pushed your engine's limits. fuck right off.

this gripe of mine carries over to all the cameos. as a lord of fortune you have to deal with isabela a lot. it's fun. i missed her. you get to go drinking with her and taash and bellara! also my hawke romanced her. she's not mentioned once. they had the opportunity to put a sentence or two about her in there with not a lot of effort, trust me.

when varric dies, all she has is a single line about it. for gold, for fortune, for varric. she only says it if you interact with her on your way to the final push. that's not mandatory.

morrigan is there. kieran isn't. the old god soul that mythal and then solas absorbed? who cares at this point, the gods are dead now and solas is locked away for eternity. i suppose? why is morrigan there. she feels unneeded. i wish they'd just left her down south, at least that way i wouldn't have had to witness her god awful redesign.

dorian at least feels as if he belongs in this story. the shadow dragons are a crucial part to protecting minrathous. he's also weirdly underutilised. isabela and morrigan had more lines than him in my playthrough.

on the topic of romance: bro that was underwhelming. no, genuinely. you know when romance picked up a bit? after the point of no return. i heard maybe two lines of companion banter about it before that. maybe i missed something which i honestly doubt, but romance did not play much of a role in lucanis's storyline. i saved his grandmother as he wished me to (and if you read tevinter nights you know she was rather abusive and their relationship not the healthiest) and told him to focus on his family. a reunified family my rook wasn't even introduced to as a partner at the end of all that.

really, do not buy this game if you're only in it for the romances. others might be better, lucanis's basically gave me nothing. except for an outing (the second coffee date i had with him, it was getting repetitive) all of it played out once i committed to the final quest. the sex scene was a fade to black. annoyingly right after davrin died. if you're looking for well paced and good spice, pick up something else. the sweet talk and the final goodbye were nice though.

for all the good the ever-presence of gender identity does, it is brought up in such a disruptive manner too. it doesn't even play out naturally if you CHOOSE the lines that are meant to be said. hearing the words trans and non-binary in this setting doesn't feel right, and i'm saying this as a trans guy. i think it could have been handled more gracefully. the amount of times my rook went "i'm a MAN" as if he's about to start drumming on his chest and roaring any second now got super nerve-grating. "i'm so glad you're into me... the me who is trans. remember?" just. tell me one trans person who'd talk like that to a person they've grown close with and are trying to romance. this game doesn't handle sexuality well, so all this hey my body might not look like the way you're expecting it to look talk amounts to nothing anyway. i feel about this the way i feel about krem: this is partial exposition to trans experiences... packaged up for cis consumption. the ONLY exception to that is interacting with taash. holy shit was all of that heartwarming and bro did it feel good and natural to talk to them about theirs and rook's gender.

rivain and nevarra are new locations added by veilguard. they're also incredibly underwhelming, small and constricted maps. rivain is a coastline with a few ruins. the hall of valor is a partial ruin nestled into a cave on a beach, with a fighting pit. isabela is there in her skimpy outfit commentating your pit fights. that's it. i'm sorry if you were looking for a bustling pirate cove or whatever. you're not gonna get it. the nevarran crypts btw are a long ass dungeon crawl. that's it.

speaking of maps. i thought people were being dramatic when they said you're gonna be fighting the same enemies on them again and again. i thought they were figure of speeching it. they're not. you WILL fight the same amount of enemies. in the same spot. every time you reload the map. best to stay on a map and clear out the enemies and do as much questing on that map as you can before leaving, because you WILL have to do it all over again once you return.

the three choices i made for my inquisitor didn't matter lol she didn't have to face solas and therefore couldn't stop him at any cost as she had sworn (maybe because my rook tricked solas into binding himself to the veil, there was also an option to fight him. would she have stepped in? who knows). blackwall wasn't mentioned. and either her using a small amount of her forces in the final fight was the reason the civilians of minrathous fared so well..... or it just didn't matter. ultimately i think she had very little impact on anything

[izvmimi]

cw: this is so goofy. selfship-coded. izuku has a subtle breeding kink (i wrote this what's new). pregnancy mention. condom use. suggestive, minors dni.

you sit warily on the toilet seat, your fiancé right outside the door, and your foot tap tap taps as you wait for the little piece of plastic in your hand to decide your future.

ironically, you don't have the energy for trepidation anymore because you feel like by now you're at this literally every couple of days.

but baby it doesn't feel good?

but don't you want me to feel all of me?

i promise i'll pull out better this time.

just the tip is fine, right?

izuku's outside the bathroom door, giving you privacy as though he wasn't nose deep between your legs just last night, slobbering all over you like a starving puppy presented with a wet meal. for a moment it occurs to you that if you really are pregnant, even if you can clearly handle it financially and emotionally, you'll shove that stick so far up his ass that-

your timer goes off and it's negative.

you sigh.

izuku bursts in at the sound of your voice, immediately uttering a supportive "is everything okay baby?" the shine to his emerald eyes makes you wonder if he actually, deep down, does want you pregnant.

"perfect. no baby."

he grins and kisses your forehead as you adjust your panties up and stand to wash your hands. squishing your cheeks as he has trouble getting his hands off of you, he promises that he'll actually invest in some condoms.

you don't believe him, but you consider making that appointment to your ob-gyn to get an intrauterine device you've been thinking about sooner rather than later.

---

another night comes and he's looked at you like that and he continues to be built like that and you have no choice but to let him do whatever he wants with you, even if it is to drag you not really kicking and not really screaming from your work, going from holding you around your midsection to lifting you up effortlessly so that your crotch is pressed against his face. he sniffs you like an entire dog and you're both terribly embarrassed and terribly aroused by his sheer want for you. izuku is already pressing kisses to your mound through your yoga pants as he carries you to the bed.

"izuku, i still have shit to do!" you argue, but you're holding on tight to his head to keep your balance, as if he would ever let you fall.

"you've worked hard enough," he says, muffled by your legs around his face. "i'm asking politely. may i please have some pussy?"

the fact that he's asking this, just as you land on the bed with a practical bounce is almost offensive. you sit up.

"are you even asking?"

he leans in, grinning as he gets on all fours to descend upon you.

"i mean yeah, of course," he replies, knowing full well that you won't say no as he pulls off his shirt. you shake your head, but your shirt goes over your head as well. he catches your lips in a kiss first, and you sink into the bed under his weight as he practically smothers you in kisses. wet, sloppy, silly, you laugh against each other, groping each other with your hands, and then it occurs to you both at the same time.

condoms.

you pull away, his teeth still grazing at your lower lip.

"izuku, do you have any?"

he blinks for a moment, sitting back on his heels. then his eyes widen.

"yes!"

izuku sounds a little too excited just for condoms, and your eyes narrow, but he practically leaps off the bed and is burrowing through his workbag for something, and you squint, expecting a box.

what he comes up with dries you up so fast you'll need iv fluids.

his grin is wide as he presents to you, proudly, a string of pristine looking condoms, all printed with all might's million watt smile right on the packaging.

"see, i didn't forget!"

a moment of silence passes as you beg the heavens above that your adonis of a partner is not fucking serious about fucking you sideways with his mentor's brand of contraceptive rubbers.

"izuku."

"what?"

"..."

you walk out of the room, immediately, so irate you can't speak.

"WHAT?!" he asks, following you out immediately. "come on!"

there's no way you are coming or cumming anywhere in the next hour. not like this.

you find your seat back at your desk and crack open your hardback textbook as hard as you can, doing your best to ignore the whine his voice has taken. he can actually die of blue balls for all you care.

"come on, it's not that bad!"

you snap your head at him and give him a look, and he immediately recants.

"okay, i'll go out right now and get normal condoms, i promise."

you lick the tip of your index finger and turn the page of your book.

"please, my dick is literally so hard right now, don't you care if i die?"

"perish. let me see," you reply, without turning your head.

"wow!" you can't' help but stifle a laugh at his disbelief. you hear him shift upwards and turn, not even realizing he had been kneeling.

as he stands, you do get a look at his... impressive member. maybe he could die like this, the way that thing is rock hard and waiting desperately for you.

you blink, look at your book, then look back at him. he's looking at you with the puppy dog eyes, and he still looks the way he does and he's still built the way he is, and...

...

moments later, you're folded into a jackknife because your pro hero fiancé somehow always gets his way, but at least, mercifully, his mentor's condom isn't wrapped all over what's pumping in and out of you.

right before your eyes roll back in your head, you can still see all might's smile, and maybe you should have just stuck with the damn pregnancy tests after all.

[euthymiya]

part one ; office mate! gojo ; company heir! gojo ; female intern! reader ; fluff ; pre getting together

Satoru is good at getting things he wants. It’s not because he’s spoiled (although he’s that, too) but rather, it’s because he’s persistent. Annoyingly so. Persistent in that way where he doesn’t necessarily earn what he wants, but scores it just because the other party is tired enough to cave for the sake of some peace.

Case example: you.

You sit across from him as he happily sips on his excessively expensive coffee from all the extra syrups.

“How can you have that much sugar?” You cringe.

He raises an amused brow as he hums, “Because I don’t choose to be miserable. You should try it sometime.”

Glaring, you roll your eyes before taking a sip of your own coffee. Satoru is at least nice and chivalrous enough to pay for your coffee—although, knowing what you do now, it’s not exactly as though he can’t afford it. You’re pretty sure being the heir to the company you intern for means he’s loaded in enough money that a simple iced coffee isn’t too much of a dent in his pockets.

You give him an unimpressed frown before getting to the heart of the matter. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns the company?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I’ve been passive aggressively calling you a lazy asshole for two months!”

“Do you change your mind about that?” He asks infuriatingly calmly.

“No,” you admit. You take a long look at him before nodding in confirmation as you repeat, “No, I don’t.”

He pouts a little at that, still cute and aggravating at the same time. “Hey,” he says, only a little wounded and a whole lot excessively dramatic. You can tell he didn’t get a lot of attention growing up with the way he pulls theatrics. Something about the psychology of unmet emotional needs as a child from your one semester of psych in college comes back. “You don’t have to say it so condescendingly.”

“Well, you are lazy,” you point out. He shrugs because…well, it’s a fair point. “But now I know why.”

“So what, if you knew my old man was our big boss, you’d be nicer to me? Is that it?”

You crinkle your nose and give him a look of disbelief. “No,” you say—it’s almost amused. The first ounce of humor you’ve shown around him at all. “But I wouldn’t have wasted my energy caring that you’re a deadweight in the office.”

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I bought the coffee machine on our floor!”

“It’s getting rather faulty,” you hum, “You should consider investing in another one for us.”

Satoru likes that about you. You’re interesting. Interesting not because you’re exceptionally smart or all that impressive—not that you’re bad by any means. Being accepted as an intern here must mean your resume has a degree of prestige to it, but you’re just like any other person in the building. Except, instead of shrugging off his bratty, obnoxious self, you seem to care a great deal about what he does.

It greatly amuses him enough that you’ve sparked his interest.

“You’re fun,” he chuckles, “I like you. You’re not boring.”

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” you bat your lashes, sarcastically giving him a dreamy sigh, “Not boring. How charming of you.”

He grins wider, and something in your heart does a little bit of a clench. It’s so…pretty. Everything about him is pretty. The clean, pristine button down with perfectly ironed pants. The soft, messy hair that somehow adds to his expensive look rather than take away. Those bright, piercing blue eyes that feel like you’re lost in infinity when you look into them.

He’s pretty. Pretty annoying, too—but pretty all the same.

“I’m working on it,” he murmurs.

“What? Your manners?” You snort.

“My charm,” he corrects.

“We might be here for quite some time then,” you tease. You don’t know what it is. Falling into a bantering back and forth with him is so easy—so amusing and, if you’re honest, a tiny bit exciting.

Maybe a background of wealth and fortune makes a man appealing like that. Or maybe he’s just likable. You’re not sure yet.

“You’re saying you’ll be here waiting for me to get there?” He raises a brow, winking as he adds, “So maybe you’re charmed after all.”

“That’s a stretch,” you pretend to scoff. Nevermind the hardly hidden smile on your face—that means nothing. “I just want to watch you fail, that’s all.”

“And if I succeed?” He challenges, looking at you expectantly.

You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge him in whatever petty games he has going on. “In what, being charming?”

“Yes,” he nods, “What if I succeed in being an irresistible dreamboat of an office neighbor?”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” you bite your lip in an attempt to fight back a large, dimpled grin. It’s funny, you think—just up until a few hours ago, all he ever managed to do was pull your lips into a scowl. Now, it feels like it’s impossible not to stretch them into a smile. “But, if it does, I suppose I’ll eat my own words.”

“No,” Satoru shakes his head, lips curled into a serious, unsatisfied frown, “No that simply won’t do. I need better than that.”

“Okay,” you finally laugh. It’s radiant. It comes from your belly and vibrates through your chest. He’s somehow good at it—just one coffee grab during your lunch break, and he’s already managed to earn the sound of your joy so easily. Something about that tickles a weird, unfamiliar spot under your ribcage. “Lay out your terms.”

“You have to be my girlfriend if I manage to make your eyes turn into hearts over my handsomely unbeatable appeal.”

It’s cheeky, his grin. Wide, confident, and still boyishly hopeful. You start to wonder why you ever disliked such an easy to fall for smile.

“That’s pretty bold,” you note.

“I’m bold about the things I want.” You pretend that those words don’t make your heart do a helpless flutter.

“Okay,” you nod, agreeing as you take a final sip of your coffee and hand him the empty cup, “I’ll agree to these unlikely terms. You can start by bringing me another coffee.”

“You got it, boss,” he salutes before doing a giddy little jog to the counter and ordering you another coffee. It’s cute. It has your heart in a scarily fast chokehold.

Somewhere in the heat of the moment, as you watch him fumble over his wallet and almost drop his card while he goes to pay, you think he may have already won the terms to this ridiculous agreement.

But you won’t tell him that, you think. Just to drag out the eager, hopeful look in his eyes that dart over at you and shoot you a sly wink.

———————————

here is part two as promised for @enyathedrakaina bc they sent me cat pics

[syluslnd]

Request~

Ok so I remember a while back reading a post about slyus with a bimbo/ hyper fem reader and it was so cute (I can't remember who did it tho 😔 ) and as someone who has that aesthetic and can be a bit um clumsy I wanted to ask if u could something like that.

sylus with a hyper fem gf

────୨ৎ────

(i hope i did it justice i know what you’re asking for but im the complete opposite so it was super hard for me to get creative with the scenarios im sorry bae so i made a bunch of small scenarios i hope u like it kisses <3)

when you regret your shoe option

You're wobbling slightly as you step out of the car, your heels clicking on the pavement.Sylus, as usual is there to offer his hand his expression half-amused half-concerned.

"kitten take it slow" he says, eyeing the narrow sidewalk ahead. "Don't need you toppling over."

You roll your eyes playfully. "I got this sy,i can handle a little sidewalk !”

But after two careful steps you start to feel the instability of the gravel beneath your heels and Sylus instantly closes the distance between you his hand firm at the small of your back.

"You're going to break your ankle" he says seriously, though there's a teasing smile playing at his lips. "Maybe we should invest in some flats, huh?"

You pout. "Flats aren't cute and I like how tall I am next to you with these."

He chuckles, eyes softening. "You're cute enough without them, trust me. But l'd rather you not fall on your face kitten."

crop top issues

The air conditioning in the coffee shop is blasting and you're sitting there arms wrapped tightly around yourself shivering slightly in your crop top. Sylus glances over from his coffee shaking his head.

"You cold, sweetie?" he asks with a smirk, knowing the answer already.

"A little.." you admit through chattering teeth.

"I told you to bring a jacket." He leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying this moment.

"I didn't think it would be this cold inside! and besides”you tug at the hem of your crop top "I wanted to look cute."

"You do look cute kitten” he says, his tone softening. "But you're freezing. Here." He shrugs off his hoodie and tosses it over to you.

You snuggle into it immediately, your nose peeking out of the oversized hood. Sylus chuckles, reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Better?"

You nod, feeling warm-both from the hoodie and the gesture. "I guess you were right this time."

"I'm always right sweetie " he teases, raising an eyebrow.

hair frustration

You're standing in front of the mirror, trying to curl your hair for what feels like the hundredth time. Every curl seems to flop or frizz and with each failed attempt, your frustration builds. Eventually, you throw the curling iron down with a dramatic sigh and slump onto the bed, tears forming in your eyes.

Sylus walks into the room, looking confused but concerned. "kitten what's wrong?"

"My hair!" you cry, waving your hand at the mirror. "It won't curl right and it looks awful!"

Sylus steps closer, eyeing your hair as if trying to understand what the problem is. "It looks fine to me sweetie"

"Fine isn't good enough!" You huff, the tears starting to spill. "I wanted it to look perfect and now it's ruined!"

He chuckles softly, sitting beside you on the bed. "You're crying over your hair?"

You nod, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "I know it's dumb but it's just so frustrating!"

Without saying a word, Sylus gently runs his fingers through your hair, smoothing it out.

"It's not dumb sweetie" he says quietly. "But you're adorable when you get all worked up like this."

You glance at him, pouting. "You're not taking this seriously."

"I am, I swear" he says, holding up his hands in surrender, though there's a playful glint in his eyes. "I just think you look cute no matter how your hair turns out."

You sniffle. "Really?"

"Really." He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "and if you want, I'll help you figure it out. But I promise, you look perfect already kitten."

The spider emergency

You spot the spider from across the room a small, barely visible dot moving along the wall. But that's all it takes. You let out a gasp and immediately scramble up onto the nearest chair, pulling your knees to your chest.

"Sylus!" you call out, voice a little shaky.

"There's a spider!"

Sylus appears from the hallway, looking mildly concerned until he sees the tiny culprit. "kitten..that little thing?"

"It's huge !!" you exaggerate wide-eyed, pointing dramatically toward the wall. "Get rid of it!"

He sighs, walking calmly toward the spider.

But before he can even approach, you reach out, arms extended. "Wait! Carry me first!"

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "sweetie,you want me to carry you because of a spider?"

"Yes!" you demand. "It's going to crawl over here and-ugh-I don't even want to think about it!" Without hesitation sylus bends down and scoops you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back.

He carries you to the other side of the room, all while you cling to him dramatically, face buried in his shoulder.

He sets you down gently on the couch and smirks. "Safe enough now sweetie?"

You nod, peeking out from behind your hands. "Yeah, but... make sure it's gone." Sylus shakes his head, amused but indulgent and deals with the spider quickly.

"There, crisis averted."

You sigh in relief, settling into the couch.

"You're my hero."

He rolls his eyes playfully but ruffles your hair. "I think you could've handled it without the theatrics."

"Not a chance" you say with a grin. "That's what you're here for."

[rose-maidenn]

Pac : Who are your spirit guides

Hii loves hope you're doing well , chose with your intuition and take what resonates .

Pile 1-2-3

Pile 1 :

Your spirit guide is a family member who was alive in the 50s , they connect to your via amethyst crystal best , help you in money and health matters, connect to them during the time of sunrise, they love soft drinks so you can offer them sometimes . Another spirit guide of yours looks kinda foreign to me like a higher dimensional spirit all I can say is they help you with mental health and you can connect to them with the help of metal like iron or creepers or vines in the garden . Call upon them whenever you're sad they're always here to help you .

Advice from them : keep your relationship private, keep your plans private. Water your plants , work on the dream that you truly aspire for , this is worth a change. Change is the only constant . One can find themselves in many forms go on a journey to discover yourself all again, this time be assured you're going to discover something new and love yourself for it . The colour mauve is prominent or auspicious for you. Go to nearby parks to be around nature.

Pile 2 :

Your spirit guide is a very youthful or a child spirit , probably someone who passed away really young in your family line or a friend , they connect to you via skies like you can call upon them by looking at the clouds. Another spirit guide of yours is someone who is very related to your career field , for example you're a mathematician , your spirit guide is also a mathematician or a deity associated with the field , connect to them by paper , idk how but maybe write on it or hold the paper in hand to call them . They generally help you with your career and decisions regarding it . 3rd spirit of yours is a maiden quite young but not too young they watch over you and give protection to you , they're a creature of the night , dogs might be significant, it could be hekate in her maiden form . I was sitting outside and a crow sat beside me so crows might be significant to you .

Advice: Let it go , run into the water let your emotions take hold , you need to process and grieve sometimes. Open your heart to new possibilities. Handle your temperament , talk to someone if you're having an issue . Whoevers bday is coming up next , give them something meaningful you won't realise now but in the future this bond will definitely be one of your favorite. Take care of your eyes , less screen time, wear glasses and put eye drops .

Pile 3 :

Your spirit guide is a water spirit they're kinda old and show you signs by sparkling things . They're more like an emotional support system. Ngl you have a whole spirit team like I hear ashthavasus ( eight elemental gods that represent aspects of nature and cosmic natural phenomena) . This could also mean that elemental spirit connect a lot you , you might be an earth angel . You're powerful and your guides give you power and protect you .

Advice : look into your finances and buy things what will Pay you back later like an investment , maybe gold or a Birkin whatever fits. Let your heart flow again don't stop searching for love just because some things didn't work out . Give yourself the chance to be better you're more phenomenal than you can even think about. Consume dairy if you're not allergic to Pay respects to the moon and venus. Get yourself a personal prayer to pray to your deity .

Thank you so much for reading💖, if you need a personal astro or tarot reading dm me to book 🥰

[meanbossart]

I have another intense ask about bhaalist AU drow...

Would drow be “forced” to procreate? And how would Asatrion take that information? If Astarion is his consort, would he be jealous of concubines? Would this also contribute to his overall dissatisfaction during his time trapped at the bhaal temple? Or Would he be happy that his lover has distractions, so he can have time alone - maybe plotting his escape?

I’m overall curious about how drow and Astarion’s relationship falls apart in your AU

I don't think so! Not that I care about biblically following canon or anything like that, but there was nothing throughout the story that made me think procreation was a requirement in Bhaal's plan. If you take the scrapped ending into consideration, it seems to be more of a punishment first and foremost.

Not to say I don't believe it to be a part of the man-made gospel in some form or another. Sarevok seems fairly invested in this idea of generating bhaalspawn that are pure of blood, and this is an agenda that he subtly pushes onto DU drow throughout their years operating the temple: that said, like it often is, Bhaal is silent on the matter.

There seems to be a lot of conflict within the cult about what Bhaal wants and how he wants it, and I choose to interpret his failure to clarify as part of the Murder God's nature, as well as a fun nod at the (dys)functionality of real-life cults where you have several people claiming to have a direct connection to a god.

But back on topic, there IS the heavily implied Dark Urge To Multiply. A few instances where durge or someone around them suggests that, eventually, having children will be an irresistible biological necessity. There are a few ways to interpret this! But I can't help but notice that this theme is absent in a route where you do willingly become Bhaal's chosen - maybe its a failsafe Bhaal cooked into The Dark Urge in case his child became a weenie? To possess them with the need to spread their seed around until SOMEONE down the family tree stepped up to the role?

This definitely turns out to be the case in DU drow's redemned route, where he is plagued with bouts of breeding-related mania and depressive episodes that come and go as a result of a nest remaining empty, But I hadn't really considered this for his Bhaal-embracing self He definitely harbors an obsession with procreating in that AU - but... I'm not sure that's Bhaal's doing anymore. I think he just wants for there to: A) Be more of him around. B) Create a tangible, undeniable connection between himself and Astarion that cannot be severed.

A theme with DU drow is that he is aggressively monogamous. This remains constant in every possible iteration of him and it's a pillar of the character - he is devout to a partner until the end whether they want him or not, and so, Bhaalist DU drow would be violently opposed to the idea of being sexually involved with anyone besides Astarion. If Sceleritas or members of the temple insisted otherwise, he would balk and them push them off into a Chasm. If Bhaal demanded him do it, he would jerk off into a vial and hand it to whoever he deemed pretty enough to mix up with, and then probably kill the child as soon as it was born, anyway - because it's not right.

DU drow (again, in all iterations) almost believes there to be a magical component to true love that affects a person's life beyond just their choice in long-term partners. Just like he once decided that Orin was his forever-mate, he's now decided him and Astarion are intrinsically linked, that they are stronger together than they will ever be apart again. And It is particularly romantic to him (a matter of ironic fate, really) that the Murder Prince's true love would be undead. In DU drow's mind, and SPECIALLY in his Bhaal-embracing version, this is simply the universe's plan for him, and to divert from it in any way (by, for example, procreating with someone else) would be blasphemous.

Now, obviously him and Astarion can't have biological children for a plethora of reasons. But this is fantasy. Bhaalist DU drow would simply not stop until he found the best way to create someone that could be, spiritually and physically, considered their functional blood-offspring. Through Alchemy, magic, ritual, whatever it may be - as long as it works and works according to his high-standards. I suspect he would have specialists shipped in from wherever they may be in the realms to look into the issue, and probably someone who's sole job is to research the matter, though I'm not sure he would ever be satisfied with the results.

I think Astarion would be utterly checked out of the matter.

[yanderes-galore]

Hi would it be alright if I request yandere Leo (Rottmnt ) with a reader who got sucked into the show /movie and tries to help the gang deal with villains/kraangs please if that’s alright with you please 💗

also good luck with your request and make sure you take breaks ! 💗💗

short story or hcs please (can reader be female please if possible ) I’m fine with platonic or romantic 🥰

I haven't done much Isekai stuff but... let me spill my thoughts ^^; I'll try to do female for you.

Yandere! ROTTMNT! Leonardo with Isekai! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Forced companionship/relationship.

The whole experience would be... disorienting for you.

Especially if you're isekai'd into the world as you are.

No training, no powers, you'd be so damn vulnerable.

You're in a world of mutants and crime with no real way to defend yourself.

I imagine by the time you get in the world, it's after the movie.

They're all older now, still playing hero to defeat enemy mutants and keeping order in the city.

At first you wander this fictional version of New York... confused.

You aren't quite sure where to go—?

You're not only trying to find out why you're here, but what to do to survive.

Somewhere during your journey you no doubt meet the turtles.

Or if not all of them, at least Leo.

Leo, now a little less cocky and bratty than his younger self, encounters you when rounding up some criminals.

At first he thinks you're someone who was being attacked by said criminals, just a young woman in New York whom he just saved.

So, with a charming yet playful smile, he comes over to you while leaning on his sword.

"Hey! You're welcome, by the way? I just saved your butt. Feel free to call me your hero~!"

Seeing one of your favorite characters up close... intimidates you a bit, actually.

Leo no doubt notices your stare, chuckling.

"Sheesh, lady... you act like you've never seen a Mutant before. Do you even know how often we've saved the city—? You from here?"

Leo then pauses, grinning more as he leans forward.

"Ohhh~ Or maybe you like what you see, huh?"

Leo just means to be playful, still having a bit of an ego even now.

This is your first encounter with Leo, who offered you help upon seeing how lost you looked.

Leo no doubt wants to help since you lack fighting skills.

Since, let's be honest, unless you took fighting classes in real life... you're defenseless here.

So, the good news is Leo is eager to help.

The bad news about having Leo be so close comes up later when he starts acting weird.

Leo would no doubt suggest you take a hotel room, although hesitates when he sees you have no money.

Your lack of personal belongings confuses him, he may even feel a bit bad.

Explaining your situation is a whole different story.

He struggles to believe you for a moment.

But... he and his brothers have their experience with other dimensions, aliens, mutants...

He most likely accepts your origin as it isn't too far-fetched.

"Wow... you really are lost. Seems like you need help... good thing I'm here, yeah?"

Leo doesn't focus on getting to know you until he knows you have somewhere to stay.

He can't let a mysterious woman like you just roam, right?

It most likely starts as a hotel room, then he allows you to meet his family later.

When he sees you situated, Leo then starts asking more about you.

You struggle but tell him how his world is a TV show in your world, that you've been invested in his journey.

He finds it odd at first... yet you inflate his ego when you say he was one of your favorites.

"Ohh, so you like me, huh? How sweet... even if it is a little bit odd."

What he says is ironic considering what he ends up doing later.

You start your time in this world relatively defenseless.

But as you get to know Leo, perhaps even meet his family, you learn to adapt.

You're taught self-defense with the others and even make friends.

In return for somewhere to stay, you promise to help them take on villains.

It's... fun when you get used to it.

Yet you know you want to get home soon... this isn't a dream... you really did come here somehow.

Leo, the first to know your past, forgets about this too.

He was actually quite... used to you.

Attached, even.

Throughout the months he felt you belonged here.

He loves to hang out with you... He likes impressing you.

The idea that he's your favorite makes him happy.

You're well protected by him and his brothers... even when you're taught to defend yourself he follows you everywhere...

Both in sight and out of sight.

He's only snapped out of his fantasies when Raphael or Donatello remind him that you do have a home, right?

You can't stay here forever....

Even April suggests they all find a way to get you home, after all, you must miss your own family....

The thought makes Leo clench his fists.

He... doesn't like the thought of you leaving.

When you leave... Will he forget about you...?

Will... Will they all forget about you?

Regardless of the type of feelings, Leo is devastated at the thought of losing you like this.

You miss your family...?

Aren't... Aren't they your family now?

Do you even want to leave?

In theory, if you could get to their world somehow, there's a way back.

The others are willing to help you out.

But, surprisingly to you, Leo keeps looking for ways to keep you all off track.

Even though he's older now, he still acts like an entitled brat at times.

He's willing to sabotage your attempts to go home if it means you stay with him.

There's countless times he tries to convince you to stay.

"Hey... are you sure you want to go home...? You... may not see us again, y'know... well... like this, I mean—"

You're always adamant on going home.

You liked your time here, but you'd rather go home.

It's way less dangerous there, anyways.

I don't doubt Leo would drop his maturity to go to extreme measures.

Perhaps he realizes he can't keep you willingly.

He hates to do it... but force may be necessary now....

His own family don't believe his reasons.

The young woman should go home... not be kept in a dimension where she could be in danger.

Leo is alone in his endeavors, sneaking up on you during your journey before dragging you away.

He's careful when knocking you out before running off to find somewhere to hide you.

Once he does, he restrains you and waits.

His family doesn't care what he thinks... that's fine... he doesn't want to share anyways.

When you wake up, he's sitting beside you cross-legged in some abandoned warehouse within New York.

He explains to you his reasons for not letting you go when you wake.

He loves you, he's attached, he's scared to lose you...

The confession no doubt scares you into shock.

He expresses distaste that his family was so determined to make you leave.

They must've wanted you gone... but he doesn't.

Now you'll never leave him...

Now you'll always need him... after all, isn't he your favorite?

"You're better off here, right? Now you'll never leave me.... I'm still your favorite, right? I think you're my favorite...."

[justheblueberry]

handbinding of A Study in Scarlette by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

this bind has been in my head since i first read the fic like, three years ago. i dreamed up so many ideas for it, for so long, and now it's finally done! the typeset was actually done in early 2022, back when i was still using google docs, but it went through a few iterations because i was just. so. fiddly. with every aspect of this book. it needed to be perfect (as close to perfect as i, an amateur bookbinder out of my depth, can get) and it had to be absolutely over the top, to reflect the insane amount of love and care that the author put into the fic itself.

the first time i read this fic, i barely knew what detective conan was, much less all of the intricate plot details; i was just along for the ride, but by the end i was completely invested. i went back and watched through the anime as well as a few movies (it took me six months) and then read the fic again. and then a few more times. kaishin and the world of dcmk has utterly gripped me. it's 100% this fic's fault and i love it so, so, much.

i went through a few iterations of visual designs and i'm really happy with the little details i managed to squeeze in.

the entire color scheme is based around red, because 1) it's a murder mystery, 2) for scarlette shinamoto (and the title of the fic as well as the original holmes novel it references), and 3) the irony of "lady red" actually being red. the secret fourth reason is that i think red/gold is a super sexy color combo.

i sewed the textblock with red thread to reference holmes' "scarlet thread of murder".

another detail i love is the five yen coin bookmark, it was one of my first ideas and it turned out even better than i thought.

i wanted the endpapers to evoke a sense of the white marbled floor of the ballroom, with the glow-in-the-dark kaitou kid caricature being the luminol on the floor, and the little pops of red looks like blood that's been mixed in. i lucked out in that the other side of the endpaper was like a lavender-purpley color, i like to think of it as a little wink wink nudge to the color of the actual Lady Red.

the chapter pages got a few reworkings, but i'm happy with the illustrations i ended up doing for each of them. the chapter titles are one of my favorite things about the fic, each one has so much meaning packed into it and flows so beautifully, and i wanted to put as much care into making them pop as possible.

the cover was a linocut carving i designed and carved, which i then printed onto the bookcloth, and ironed on htv on top.

i also threw in a couple of my drawings of my favorite scenes.

this is getting way too long, so i'll end it here. i'll have a separate post detailing the process every step of the way, if anyone wants to take a closer look. this fic is kind of directly responsible for getting me into fanbinding, so it's safe to say it altered the course of my life. i now spend way too much time (and money) looking at book stuff.

kittebasu, if, somehow, you see this and would like an author copy, i would be honored to make one and ship it to you; i would be overjoyed to gift you with any art i have the ability to make, because the fics you wrote have irreversibly altered my brain chemistry, and being able to give back in any capacity would be a dream. (thank you.)

a few postscripts:

i am not selling any copies of this fic. partially because i believe in the gift economy of fandom as well as firmly keeping fanbinding a hobby that will stay unmonetized, but also because it took me months (years, if we are counting when i first finished the typeset) to finish this and i do not have the strength.

however, if you are also a fan of this fic and would like a copy, i honestly, fervently, encourage you to give fanbinding a try! renegade publishing and its discord server are an absolutely wonderful and free resource. i knew nothing about bookbinding and had zero materials when i first started, but i've learned so much thanks to the lovely people there. if you're still apprehensive about getting started, i'd be willing to share my typeset of this fic as well as answer any questions about the making of this book if you DM me.

[notgilderoylockhart]

Interview with the Vampire | faux rebind

When my copies of Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat and Queen of the Damned arrived I was shocked to discover that every single one had a sticker on the cover. Except it wasn't a sticker. It was PRINTED on the cover. Who does that?

And after finishing the first book I wanted them to match the vibe of the show. So I do what I always do when I love a book. I rebind it. Not a full rebind, I still wanted to preserve the cover after all, but a faux rebind, a protective book jacket that would look great on my shelf and keep the book from getting even more roughed up. I'm using the tutorial made by bindrebindery on TikTok or on Instagram . I love her work, she's incredible.

The first thing we gotta do is measure our book. It needs to be extremely exact, since we'll be working with millimeters here. The width of my copy is 10.4cm, and its height is 17.5cm. As per bindrebindery's tutorial we'll subtract 5mm from our width measurement and then add 3mm.

10.4 - 0.5 + 0.3 = 10.2cm

For the height we'll just add 3mm to the bottom and the top, so 6mm each

17.5 + 0.3 + 0.3 = 18.1cm

And for the back, we just copy the height measurement of 18.1cm and simply measure the width of the back which for my copy was 2.3cm.

I'm using 2.5mm thick cardboard and I would also suggest investing in a box cutter and a self-healing mat to not damage any of your surfaces. Now that we've got our pieces cut out, we can draw where we want to glue them to the book cloth. The space for the hinge in between the cardboard pieces depends on how thick your cardboard is. It's the width of the cardboard times 2 plus 5mm.

2.5mm x 2 + 5mm = 10mm

So the gap in between is 1cm wide.

We're also leaving a 2cm gap all around. I also like to invert-round the corners, to make it easier for me to fold it down later, but it's also possible to just trim off the excess on a straight line.

Now it's time to cut and glue everything down. I'm using bookbinder's glue for this and folding down the long pieces first. While the glue is drying I'm cutting out 2 more pieces with the measurements of our cover. These will be the sleeves that will hold our book in place.

I'm folding it and making sure it's not too tight on the book so it can slide in and out easily and then I'm cutting off the excess, a little more than 2cm in this case.

I also spent a hot minute designing a few embellishments. I got a few sheets of vinyl to play around with, to test my new cricut and ironed them onto the velvet, which worked fine for the bigger pieces, but those pesky little letters just did not want to stick. It took me a hot minute to iron each letter on individually. But it was totally worth it, I think. I love the look of it.

Look at that shine. Gorgeous.

Now all that's left is glue on some decorative endpaper, turn it over and go over the hinges with something (I like to use the bow handles of my scissors) and add our sleeve-pieces. I also like to slide in some paper just to make sure the glue dries properly and doesn't seep out and (God forbid) glues the sleeves shut. And that's it.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Across Time (1)

A/N: Okay... I got a really good ask (found here) that inspired a whole new story. I promise I can write one shots..... long stories are just so much more fun.

I decided to give Adar the name Eruviel, meaning Spirit of the One, or Soul of Creation. I thought it was appropriately heartbreaking, as he was once a reflection of divine light but has since been twisted into the dark, scarred figure we know as Adar. But don't worry, he will eventually become the Adar we know and love.

Pairing: Adar x Former Elf! Reader

Word Count: 2K

______________________________________________________________

The firelight flickered across the cavern walls, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters. The deep, rhythmic chanting of the Uruks filled the air, their voices guttural and raw as they awaited orders. You watched them with disinterest, perched on a ledge high above the throng. The Uruks—Morgoth's twisted creations—were hulking brutes, but they served their purpose. You had no love for them, or anyone, really. Not anymore.

Not after him.

Morgoth had broken you, twisted you into something else—something unrecognizable. You had once been one of the first elves, a scout with sharp instincts and quick feet, but those days were long gone. Now, you were something far darker. He had seduced you, dragged you into his grasp with promises of power and freedom from the suffocating light of the Valar. You had followed, willingly at first, and then... not. The torture had come later. And with it, madness. Or perhaps that had been in you all along. It was difficult to tell after all this time. 

The others—your former kin—wouldn't understand. They had all been too blind to see what you saw. That the world was nothing but chaos, and that chaos was freedom.

"Still watching from the shadows, I see."

The voice cut through your thoughts like a blade, low and cold, and you tensed instinctively. You hadn’t heard him approach, which was rare. You prided yourself on knowing when someone was near.

You turned your head slowly and saw him standing at the mouth of the cave, his form half-draped in shadow, though his presence was undeniable. His face was gaunt, as if he hadn’t slept in years, and his dark hair hung in wild strands around his shoulders. His eyes, though, were sharp, penetrating—too sharp for your liking. He didn’t look like the other elves anymore, either.

Eruviel.

You’d heard whispers of him. He worked closely with the Uruks, overseeing them like a father would unruly children. It made his name all the more ironic- "Soul of Creation" Though, from what you’d seen, he was far too invested for something you knew Sauron saw as battle fodder.

His presence unsettled you. There was something about him—something that mirrored the darkness inside you, the thing Morgoth had planted and Sauron had cultivated.

“I prefer the shadows,” you said, your voice dry. “People tend to forget you, lost in the shadows.”

His eyes narrowed at that, and he took a step into the cave, toward you. “Morgoth values those who act, not those who hide.”

You grinned, though there was little humor in it. “Morgoth values power. Chaos is power. That is what I bring.”

It was true. Your methods were... erratic, unpredictable. You acted on instinct, on the whim of the moment. Some said you were mad. They were right.

Eruviel said nothing at first, merely observing you with that cold, calculating gaze. You hated it. You hated being looked at like you were something to be figured out. A puzzle to be solved. You didn’t need anyone looking that closely, leastwise the father of Uruks. 

“So,” you said, hopping down from the ledge with a fluid grace that belied the tension in your limbs, “they have sent you to oversee the Uruks, then? I heard you were a great battle advisor. I thought child rearing below your station.” Your words were pointed, meant to provoke, but Eruviel’s face remained impassive.

“I do what is required,” he said evenly. “As do you.”

“Do I?” You took a step closer, feeling the wild energy crackle beneath your skin. It was always there, just below the surface, threatening to erupt. “And what exactly is it you think I’m required to do?”

His eyes flickered, something almost imperceptible passing behind them. “To serve Morgoth. As we all do.”

You barked a laugh at that, the sound harsh in the quiet cave. “Serve? Is that what you call it?”

His jaw tightened, but still, he did not rise to your bait. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to serve him.”

The truth of it stung. You had wanted this, hadn’t you? The power, the freedom? You’d chosen Morgoth’s path willingly, but somewhere along the way, it had twisted into something darker than you’d expected.

Your grin faded, replaced by something colder, more bitter. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment to let the chaos consume me.”

Eruviel’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the tension in his frame. He didn’t trust you—good. You didn’t trust him either.

“Do what you will,” he said after a long pause, his voice softer now. “But know that Morgoth doesn’t forget. He doesn’t forgive.”

You snorted. “Who needs forgiveness?”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with unspoken things, heavy with the weight of your shared darkness. You could see it in him, the same scars Morgoth had left on you—on your mind, your soul. Eruviel had been broken too, though in a different way.

“You’re reckless,” he said finally, his voice almost thoughtful. “But not without purpose.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Are you studying me now?”

“Only observing.”

You let out a sharp breath, pacing a few steps away from him. “You’ll find nothing worth observing. I do what I want, when I want. There’s no plan, no strategy.” Your words were laced with bitterness, and something else—a twisted sort of pride.

“Perhaps,” he said, watching you carefully. “But you’re still here. That means something.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at him. “And what do you think it means?”

Eruviel didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost contemplative. “That you’re searching for something. Even if you don’t know what.”

The words unsettled you, striking a chord you hadn’t expected. You turned fully to face him, eyes narrowing. “And what about you, Eruviel? What are you searching for?”

He didn’t answer, not directly. Instead, he looked away, his gaze drifting toward the Uruks below, who were now moving in tight, disciplined formations under his orders. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Redemption.”

It was such a soft word, so fragile, and it startled you to hear it from him. You hadn’t thought there was anything soft left in either of you.

Redemption? You didn’t believe in such things. You believed in chaos, in destruction, in power. But you didn’t argue with him. Not now. There was something about him that felt... familiar, in a way that was both comforting and unsettling.

You didn’t trust it. You didn’t trust him.

But you didn’t leave, either.

And that, perhaps, was more telling than anything you could have said.

As you fell into step beside Eruviel, the silence stretched between you, thick with tension. Neither of you spoke, both unwilling to break whatever strange, unspoken accord had settled in the wake of your bitter exchange. The rhythm of the Uruks marching below became a distant hum, and for a fleeting moment, it almost felt as if you were back in the time before—before Morgoth had dragged you both into his orbit.

But it wasn’t long before the stillness was shattered by a sensation you had learned to fear more than any sound.

A pressure began to pulse at the back of your mind, like a hand squeezing tightly around your thoughts. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The cold, dark presence of him—Morgoth—was unmistakable, like a shadow consuming all light.

Eruviel, too, stilled, his eyes darting to yours. He felt it as well. You knew that he did.

“Go,” he murmured, his voice flat. There was no sympathy there, no concern, only the hardened acceptance of one who had also been summoned countless times before. "He is waiting."

Your skin prickled, and you felt your control slipping, the madness simmering beneath your surface rising to meet the command. You hated how quickly Morgoth could strip you of your autonomy, how his mere will could bend yours. Your lips curled back in a snarl, but you turned on your heel, not sparing Adar another glance.

The cavern grew darker as you moved deeper into its labyrinthine passages, where Morgoth held court. His presence pressed down upon the earth itself here, warping the very stones with his malice. The air grew colder the closer you got to the center, until you were nearly breathless from the oppressive atmosphere.

And then you were there, standing before the vast, empty chamber where his form lurked in the deepest shadows. In the dim light of the chamber, Morgoth’s form seemed almost radiant, like a fallen star given shape. His face, framed by silken hair darker than the void, was ethereal—carved by some divine hand that belied none of the cruelty he wielded. His skin, impossibly smooth and pale, gleamed faintly as if lit from within. Every feature of his was too perfect, too exquisite to belong to the master of such horrors.

When his eyes met yours, they were not the burning pits of malice, like you had been warned of since you were a child—they were clear, crystalline, like the deepest pools of untouched water. They held no rage, no fire, only a terrifying stillness, as if nothing inside him had ever been touched by warmth. It was this cold beauty, this haunting perfection, that made your blood chill.

He was not the monster you had once envisioned in your mind, grotesque and twisted by his power. No, Morgoth was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at him. His allure was suffocating, an inescapable magnetism that drew you in even as every instinct warned you to turn away.

But you couldn’t.

You could never look away from him.

"My servant," Morgoth’s voice rumbled, soft yet echoing with the force of an avalanche, and his words wrapped around you like silken chains. The beauty of his form only made the terror underneath it more unbearable. It was both terrifying and intoxicating, every word sinking into your bones, demanding obedience.

You dropped to one knee, bowing your head. It was a reflex more than anything. The act of defiance earlier with Adar had already drained your rebellious energy, and now you felt the weight of Morgoth’s will bearing down on you like a tidal wave.

“I have a task for you,” Morgoth continued, his voice sliding across your senses like ice. “The elves move against me, gathering in secret. They think they can hide from me, but they cannot.”

Your heart quickened at the mention of the elves. The remnants of your old life stirred, long-buried memories of kinship and light. But that was a lifetime ago. You no longer belonged to them.

“I need eyes on their movements. Go to their strongholds, their camps—see what you can find. They are clever, but you are cleverer still.”

You lifted your head slightly, looking into the shadowed void where his voice emanated. "What would you have me do, my lord? Gather intelligence, sabotage—"

"No." Morgoth’s voice cut through your words with finality. "You are not to engage. Not until you have something to report. You will bring their secrets to me when you know they are prepared to act against me. But do not return until you have news to report. Do not fail me."

The threat in his voice was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had seen what happened to those who failed Morgoth. Torture was not just a tool for him; it was a form of entertainment.

“As you command,” you said through gritted teeth, lowering your head again.

There was no response. Only the heavy silence that signaled you had been dismissed. You rose slowly, your body tense, and turned to leave the chamber. The weight of the task ahead pressed down on you, and for a brief moment, the madness within you threatened to spill over.

But you swallowed it down, tamping it deep inside. You would complete this mission—if only to avoid Morgoth’s wrath. But even as you walked back toward the entrance of the cave, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching you—dark, predatory eyes that had always been drawn to your chaotic energy.

Eruviel's eyes.

You weren’t sure whether you hoped to see him again, or feared it.

Either way, the first step toward the elves had already been taken. You would walk the path Morgoth laid before you, for now.

[ghost-bxrd]

ANOTHER DAY another cool au by the ghstbird community <33 Eldritch Jason Todd u are gorg <3, random question for brainstorming since I'm too invested now

How did the adoption scene take place? The same crime alley thing? Catherine todd? Willis? AAAAA or just local eldritch being that steals car parts (he's emulating human behaviour in crime alley, maybe he just tosses them later to kids???) maybe he just has immense compassion towards humans (although he doesn't fully understand them) (all Jasons need to be made out of bleeding compassion FOR ME BUT!! depends on what characteristics we're pulling for) (AND. IF HE'S DYING FOR SHELIA? gotta be compassionate. HE'S ROBIN, he is full of love towards these fleshbags. Though... uh... nonhuman... and having messed up emotional responses)

Nonono, because Robin Jason with his bleeding compassion is so important to me as well!!!

So basically (because I’ve put too much thought into this little au as per usual) the bullet points for eldritch Jason and the things you mentioned are as follows:

Jason spontaneously came into being. Eldritch things aren’t usually born in the way humans are, and Jason used to be a concept that suddenly gained consciousness.

(There was a short period of time where the brainstorming went into the direction of “eldritch jason found a dead street kid and assumed his appearance/inhabited the body”, but this seemed a bit dark so I had to come up with an alternative)

Jason watched humans for a quite a while and—alone from the very beginning— became enamored with the concept of family and love and happiness and belonging

One way or another (no specifics as of yet) Jason ends up with Catherine and Willis. Willis isn’t too shoddy in this au, he’s just… pretty neglectful. And a criminal. He does his damndest to stay well clear of wherever Jason is because that kid— he’s not normal. Maybe he’s a meta, Willis doesn’t care, all he knows that the sense of doom he feels around him is unnatural and he’d rather make his home in prison than around Jason

Catherine loves Jason. She can’t see beyond the surface layer of humanity Jason wears, partly due to her substance abuse, and Jason… knows that humans can’t last long like this. He can see her organs failing, her brain activity dimming, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. And he’s too busy basking in the love he’s finally feeling for the first time

Jason loves being human. If he could lock everything that isn’t human about himself away, he would. He thrives on witnessing strangers showing compassion to one another, to see them struggle and overcome hardships. They’re just a blip in the cosmos, in time, but they’ve got so much to offer. But likewise, he loathes witnessing injustice

When Jason ends up on the streets he’s just a big ball of sad. No home, no love, nothing. Nothing left. At least he needs neither food nor shelter to survive, but it still sucks. He loses some of his blind eyed wonder for humanity during this time, but not enough to give up on it. He adapts, he overcomes, and like you said, he starts emulating other street kids. Collecting scraps and handing them out to the young ones. And when he sees the Batmobile just standing there… well, that’s a week’s worth of food for ten of the kids he knows

Hitting Batman with the tire iron is a knee jerk reaction borne from cautionary tales about adults. He’s not actually scared of Batman

(Batman may be a little scared of Jason. Especially when he ends up buying him a burger and, out of the corner of his eye, thinks he sees Jason unhinge his jaw only to reveal five more jaws and and an abyssal void and—)

Just… eldritch things. And the tribulations that come with pretending to be human. Wanting to be human.

[blueishspace]

Hero Villain God 6

(Prev) (Next) (First)

Chapter 2

*Grian's pov*

It was Mumbo to suggest putting Ariana Griande online, something about the internet having more reach. He even offered to provide you with equipment... you know he's hoping to use your income to fund his villany... you don't really care for money but you find it weird he's investing so much on your "career", did the song you sang to him really entranced him that much?

Technically you know how it works, the internet is ripe for your domain. Phisically though? You are the god of chaos ...not technology and you never really cared to learn too much about it before this moment... You though it would be like making that meme of HotGuy but no... Video and Audio Editing is so extremely tedious.

You also finally build the persona of Ariana Griande, by telling Mumbo you are her you have limited your form to a variation of "Grian" ... Still you have fun with it and Mumbo looks like he's having a great time looking at her too.

Your first video as Ariana is nothing worth talking about, just the cover of soldier poet king that you have already sung to Mumbo a few days ago... It gets 5 views by the end of the day... You could push it along with a bit of divinity but that's not nearly as fun as letting the channel grow organically. You do get one comment: "Oh lord, your voice is divine!" which is very ironic... And amusing.

Your second Ariana Griande video is another cover, at this point an orginal song wouldn't make sense. It doesn't do much better but Mumbo seems to enjoy it... Perhaps you did put too much divinity in it because Mumbo takes a minute to recover after listening in... hopefully the effects will be less intense when viewing the video at a later date.

You distract yourself from the channel for a moment as Mumbo interrupts you. He is as anxious as ever and stumbles on his words but you can understand the gist of what he's trying to say. He's going somewhere and was wondering if you wanted to join in, you don't have much to do right now anyway so you easily accept.

The coffe shop he brings you is pretty small but it surely has a certain cosiness to it... It isn't that which attracts your attention though. There is a familiar presence here, you can feel it. Hotguy is here, what are the chances?

You get up under the excuse of going to the bathroom and walk toward the man that your divinity tells you is Hotguy... without his uniform yes, but it's him nonetheless. You approach and- he turns suddenly and accidentally spills his coffee on you...

...

...

..Calm down, Grian. Do not smite the mortal. Do not smite the mortal. Do not-

"Oh! I'm so so sorry! Are you ok?!"

"I- *breathe in breathe out* yes. Just didn't expect it"

And that is true, you didn't... somehow.

"Do you need something to clean yourself with-"

"No no, calm down, It's fine"

You say it to Hotguy as much as you say it to yourself...

"Are you sure -uh...?"

"It's... Grian" Then you remember about human identity, you are leaning. "... He/Him"

"Oh! Well Uh I'm so sorry about this Grian, uh wait, I should introduce myself too! I'm Scar! Uh- He/Him Nice to meet you... Well not nice since I dropped my coffee on you but-"

Oh you can't stay angry at him if he's going to act like that. You just can't.

"It's not your fault...and It's nice to meet you too"

This too isn't a lie, after all you still don't know how you managed to not notice the coffee was going to fall on you.

You turn to Mumbo, he must have seen what happened because he looks like he doesn't know wether he should get up and help or to stay in place and mind his own buisness...he's just kind of half standing?

You'll have to cut this meeting short but perhaps...

"I have to go now but if you really want to make it up to me you can buy me coffee sometime in the future"

You put your hand in your pocket and generate a piece of paper with your number on it. You then take it out and offer it to him before going back to Mumbo.

"Grian?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you fllirt with the guy who spilled coffee on you?"

Uh? Did you? You don't think so at least.

"I have no idea what you are talking about mister Mumbo Jumbolio"

"... That isn't my full name??"

"Are you sure?"

"Y-Yeah???"

"If you say so Mimbo Jimbo."

[veritas-scribblings]

date - @jegulus-microfic - words: 709

[wrote this late at night | can't stop thinking about turning it into something a bit longer, because the concept intrigues me]

Regulus Black isn’t what James expected. And that’s a problem.

DCI Crouch had prepared James well. James could tell you Regulus Black’s birthday, where he was born, the school he went to, the friends he kept there (Barty Crouch Junior, DCI Crouch’s only son, ironically), the school subjects he took, the grades he got, the course he’s studying, what time his classes are, what his hobbies are, which lovers he’s been connected to.

He knows that Regulus Black wakes up at 6 o’clock every morning and goes for a run. He knows that Regulus Black drinks espressos and doesn’t have any sugar in his tea. He knows that Regulus Black is allergic to shellfish, wears cashmere jumpers, loves football, doesn’t drive a car for whatever reason.

In fact, if James wanted, he could probably also find out what positions Regulus Black enjoys in bed, his kinks, how recently he’s been tested for STIs and the last time he had a blood test.

He meets Regulus Black for the first time at a function where he’s posing as a Fund Manager for Greengrass firm. It is there, at the Greengrass Manor, when James sees Regulus Black in person for the first time and learns that…well, Regulus Black is fit. He’s more than fit. He’s beautiful. James knows that from the photos he’d looked at when studying him. He had very much been prepared for that. He just hadn’t been prepared for the fact that Regulus Black is so much lovelier in person. There’s a crispness to him. An elegance. 

James has watched him all night. He speaks clearly, confidently, eloquently. There’s something reserved and a little bit stand-offish about him, a little bit holier-than-thou and James loves it. Regulus Black radiates class, cleverness, intelligence. He’s refined in that ‘upper-class, wealthy, nobility’ kind of way. 

And now James is conflicted. He’s worried, because he needs to keep a level head about all of this. Because he’s been tasked with ‘getting close to Regulus Black’, which he knows is code for ‘seducing Regulus Black’ to find out what he can about the Black family’s involvement in investment fraud and whether Regulus Black or his family are connected to the murders of the Prewett brothers.

But there’s something about Regulus that is so very alluring. Something that says to James, ‘Yes, I’m probably very capable of murder,’ while simultaneously saying, ‘Isn’t that so very, very sexy?’ 

And James agrees. It is so very, very sexy. Looking at the silver rings on Regulus’s slender fingers, the way his black curls shine and fall elegantly around his face, the way his lips pull into just a little bit of a sneer…James thinks he really wouldn’t mind being murdered by Regulus Black.

And that he is so very fucked.

‘James,’ James says, handing Regulus a glass of champagne. 

Regulus doesn’t take the glass. He looks away, a bored expression on his lovely, lovely face. ‘It’s actually Regulus,’ he says in a tone that’s entirely disinterested. 

‘No, I meant I’m James. I just didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself earlier, Rodolphus and Bellatrix and Dolohov were monopolising you and I thought…well, I’d…introduce myself?’

‘I see. Hello, Just James, can I help you?’ Regulus finally takes the glass of champagne when James keeps sliding it across the banister towards him. There’s a small smile tucked away in the corner of his lips that suggests he finds James very amusing. 

‘No, I’ve just been watching you,’ James says, distracted by the way Regulus holds the champagne class in his lovely, long fingers. He pauses, realising what he just said. ‘Not in a creepy way! I just—well, you’re just lovely and. Well, I noticed you and this function is so boring and.’ He cringes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m terrible at this.’

Regulus raises a single, delicate eyebrow. ‘At flirting? I would say so. Luckily for you, I’m awfully bored as well, so please. Proceed. If you succeed at your terrible flirting, I may also let you dance with me.’ 

This time when Regulus smiles, it’s a proper smile. Dear God, his smile is exquisite, a little bit playful. And James knows, is sure from the very pit of his stomach, that he’s absolutely fucked.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

57 - Forcing Past our Saftey

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

Length: 19.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mental duress, unspecified illness, illusions to cheating/infidelity, self inflicted self harm with a sexual basis, dark themes of sexual nature, references to past rape, mentally unstable originated toxic behavior, smut, oral (m receiving)

Notes: Just a pre warning that the reader does something in this chapter that is a form of self harm with a sexual basis for the act, that also acts as a trigger to Jons own trauma as a consequence. It's a complicated situation that happens very fast but I thought some forewarning was necessary. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“Well over a decade he’s been positioning himself close to the Iron Throne. Why change his plans now?”

Palms braced against the table before him, Jons expression twisted downward with his jaw set tightly. He didn’t work in this manner, playing the games which other highborns all were so deeply invested in, but now he was at quite a disadvantage. He was up against an opponent who knew far more then he ever could about all over the realm, and Jon could answer the whats and hows all day. It was the why he had no idea of.

Likely just the way Petyr Baelish wanted it. How is one supposed to pin down the crimes of a man whom presents himself with no clear motive? One which used every filthy trick he could conjure up in order to deceive any who was finding out. Or worse, trick until he watched the ones in his way make their way to the executioners block. It was far easier to get what you wanted if you send those in your way to their death. And Jon knew without a doubt, it was attempted with you. Killing a respected and beloved Queen of a kingdom thousands of miles away had to be done in a complicated manner, especially as to not trace its sources back.

He had manipulated Ned Stark to the point it led to his head being taken while right in his proximity the entire time, but this was not Kings Landing. He did not have an in of power within the North, nor Jons council and closest men. The man desperately needed his key to the North to lay with Sansa, but the power of the North lay beyond one person. It lay in the responsibility of many now, and all whom knew not to trust a single word out of that mans mouth.

Jon had been back for less then a day, but already he felt the stress mounting on his shoulders as long as Petyr Baelish roamed free within his lands and home.

But silent frustration would not lead Jon to an answer, not really. Narrowing his eyes to the spot of the wooden table he happened to be trapped on, he gave the simplest start to the previous posed question by Lord Howland with your name to start. “Me and her were gone for months, he tried to get rid of her before. Now without either of us here, he thought it was a perfect time to get his hands on another land he doesn’t deserve.”

The group in the room was as small as Jon could bring together, dividing his closest allies between he and you to ensure at no times were his own people in a position to be manipulated by whatever this was. Arya stood closer to his side, her own knowledge of the man much closer then himself as she piped up. “If he didn’t know about Robb’s will, then he would think he’s right in pursuing the North through Sansa, but he isn’t. So why is he still here, he has nothing.”

Theon however, had the quickest answer with the solution closest to what sounded accurate as he gestured across the table to Jon. “Because of you.” Heads turned to Jon and then back to Theon as Jon watched with a patient silence for him to elaborate. “He’s born from a minor House, but according to most of Westeros, he’s still higher up then you. If he can find a way to delegitimize you in the eyes of the North because your a bastard, then he can push Sansa’s claim front and centre. A highborn girl with her closest advisor being a man from a minor house who used to be on the small council in Kings Landing sounds more plausible to him then not being able to overthrow one bastard.”

Arya beside him tried to argue that no one here was going to turn on him, and Lord Howland at least approached it with a little more calm then her clear growing agitation, not that Jon blamed her. “He may think he does not even need to do as much, only that he needs to cause enough instability that will cause the people to doubt your capability.”

For once, Jon didn’t feel the insecurity of doubt following him all his life. This time was different, he knew he could do this, and he knew these people better then Petyr Baelish ever would. Only this time instead of using Jons father to manipulate his way into getting what he wants, he was using Jons little sister. How much Sansa was in on these plans, he didn’t know and he wouldn’t if she was not yet willing to confront Jon.

He knew why, it was a strange position for her to be in. She expected to be welcome here with open arms to be crowned Queen, only to find her bastard brother had her crown and in the laws set by Robb himself, she had no rights to any of it no matter what. She was always a bit difficult for Jon to deal with when they both were younger, but the five years spent apart had not made that any better. It only drew them further apart, and too Jon knew he needed to tackle this in a way that was just, but also would not drive her away. What of the Starks left were all here where they belonged, together.

What she needed, was a way to be reminded she was still one of them, and yet the ones left were the siblings least equipped to handle it. Arya and her had not picked their relationship back up on anything close to a good note, Bran had been so far removed from the events of her life that on top of what was happening with him this was the least of his concerns. And Jon was the bastard brother who had taken her crown.

Only one person in Winterfell was equipped to handle Sansa, but it was the one person Jon refused to throw into such a mess yet. Afterall, Jon was not the only one who had only been home for less then a single day.

Sending you off to deal with his little sister, was the opposite of ensuring you were getting proper rest.

You were fairly certain if Jon could’ve gotten away with ordering the guards not to let you leave the room, he would have. Instead, he was far more clever then that. Send people your way after you were awake, which would entertain you enough that wanting to leave and wander become unnecessary. Currently you were sitting by a small table near the side of the room, gently picking at the food in front of you watching with a barely hidden grin at the sight.

He would argue that Olly was still technically considered your steward and he was simply ensuring someone brought you up things you needed. You had not yet considered what Jon had been doing at first, distracted too much by how swiftly you both went to hug the other.

It had not passed either you or him, how motherly it felt to pull back and instantly begin commenting on how much he had grown since you were gone. A small twelve year old boy the day he came in confused and devastated tears at the gates of Castle Black with the story of what the wildlings had done, and now at half fourteen he was closing in on your height, and the starting in his voice deepening no longer like a child.

It was odd to think now, that how he came into your life had distantly begun with a horrific day where he had been the sole survivor of a massacre. The way he told it to you that day in Castle Black when he confessed to what he had done, what Ser Alliser had used against him to manipulate him into that crime. You could recall realizing in his descriptions that Tormund had been part of that band of wildlings, but yet he was the first person you had met that morning who so quickly made you feel as if you had a true ally on your side. And how that trusting feeling had never stopped.

Though, you almost didn’t want Tormund to come to Winterfell, you imagined very much that his reaction to learning about the baby and what happened? It no doubt would be as loud and boisterous as the rest of his personality. Unlike the sweet and gentle sight before you.

Carrying him as he paced him around the room a little to settle him, little Eddard was taking to Olly rather well. Looking to the baby then you, he asked in a bit of curious wonder, “Is it normal he’s this small?”

Shaking your head lightly, you swallowed the liquid you sipped down before tilting your head a bit as you explained in the least detailed of terms. “He was born quite early. We had expected to already be in Winterfell when my time was near, but we were still a week away from Castle Black when he came into the world.” Your own eyes were soft looking at the wide green eyes on your son, dressed in oversized clothes as Maege and your mother had ensured you one of today's tasks would be having clothes made to fit him personally.

Turning to look back at you, Olly clearly looked surprised. “You gave birth out there? How?”

Not quite a shrug came over your shoulder as you slowly made your way through the food still, knowing you’d hear it the moment either Maege or your mother returned that you hadn’t even made it half through yet. “Women of the free folk gave birth beyond the Wall for thousands of years.” Olly though, was clever in pointing out that he presumed they would have people and help around, and your head dropped a little. “I’m sure they did, but, there was no where we could go for help. We could only pray to the gods that at least the little one there was born safe and alive, if nothing else.”

Ollys brows narrowed, he was too clever you knew. Picking up on the lack of emphasis on your own survival, but in the moment it was true. It was Jon and the baby you feared for, not you. Coming a little closer, it was not meant to be argumentative but likely it came out as such regardless. “His life isn’t more important then yours.” You didn’t react, nor even blink, but as Olly did it shook out the tone he had hissed out as he came closer in a higher pitched grovel. “I’m sorry, your Grace. I didn’t mean it as-”

Cutting him off gently, you gave a small smile. “I know what you meant.” Nodding for him somewhat to take the empty seat still across from you, a feeling of guilt came about. The ease which he shifted the baby to not jostle him as he sat down, you had no doubt were he given the chance, Olly would’ve been a wonderful older brother.

Sighing out, his tone balanced between his proper attempts of formality and a pleading more of reason to explain himself away, even though you both were aware you did not need him to. “I only meant that your life was not less valuable then his, or anyone's.”

Eyes flickering downward, they were a tint of heavy as you once more attempted to push away the thoughts which derived from thinking too strongly back to that day, the pain and blood not something that you could so easily discuss. Perhaps that was how you truly knew now that something had gone terribly wrong. You feared even thinking back to it when every mother you had known could speak of their own with no pain in the memory. “It isn’t a situation which has never happened before. Life or death, choosing to save the mother or send her life away to safely birth her unborn child. The gods do not often give women in that sort of pain, the gift of both.” In the ensuing quiet, did you stumble across a ping in your mind which you would’ve hated to forget.

Hidden away down in the tightly wound laces of your waist, you pulled a folded piece of paper, reaching across the table to sit it down in front of Olly, as you explained. Peeking nearly unnoticeably at the door as you did so. “When you make your leave, I need one more thing of you. Find Dalaric for me and give him that, tell him I need it to be to those exact specifications.”

“Dalaric, you mean the-”

Cutting him off shortly, you affirmed such details. “Yes. As soon as you can and that I’ll need it brought to me specifically once it’s finished.” Olly did not look to what it was he was delivering but you knew the curiosity was there, regardless of how you knew he would not presume to look nor ask. For now, it was a small project you preferred to work on in the quiet.

A small noise coming from the baby caught both of your attention as it brought out the grin in Olly quickly again. Both of you standing up in knowing, “I think, your Grace, he’s had enough of me for one day.” Lifting him up easily, still wrapped even clothed in a soft blanket, you knew until he was grown to his full proper size, keeping him warm was more important then most newborns. Draping little Eddard across your front, cupping the back of his head as you leaned down to press a kiss gentle to the top of his head, an even smaller sound almost like a satisfied hum left the baby.

“He hasn’t spent much time around any sort of crowd. I imagine getting him used to so many new faces will take a bit of time.” Olly only jested in return that with how many faces would want to see the babies, he hoped that time was short. A chuckle came from you as you shifted the little one to lay more comfortably against you should he once more decide to retire to sleep. “You are not wrong there, Olly. I’m almost shocked there isn’t a line outside my door to meet him.”

As if on a cue, the guards outside announced the return of Maege and your mother, nodding down to the paper on the table. Hiding it away, Olly gave you and both women now behind him as he turned, a small bow before leaving the room to you three.

Almost right away you yearned for him to come back, recognizing the direction both their eyes drifted towards and the lack of satisfaction found in their proceeding gazes. “What is it? I can’t take my time eating at my own pace?”

Your mother was quick as she walked further into the room, placing whatever it was in her hands down onto the furs of the bed with a shortness of a lecturing tone you were all too familiar with. “At such a rate, if we relied solely on you eating at your own pace, you’d have starved to death nearly a year ago.” The flat fallen expression was not seen by her, but you and your mother knew she could feel it as she had for most of your attitude riddled life.

Maege attempted to offer to take him to free your hands, but both of the women’s stubbornness was increasing your own as you sat down with him still. “He’s resting, he wanted to be close. I can eat with one hand, you know?”

The sheer degree of stubborn, snark, and attitude when the three of you were in the room together was almost astronomical. Clearly, the two of them had spent much time together in your absence and their individual motherly natures have now focused in on you alone, much to your dismay. Maege at the least, sat down across from you with words less lecturing. “You may be under orders to rest, but we’re under orders to make sure you rest. I’m guessing the last thing you want is to add the King into this room of lecture you.”

Your mother turned slightly with a raised brow only to notice the held back amusement in both your faces as if having a form of staring competition until you broke. Continuing to work your way through the food, you mumbled as you swallowed it down. “One could be mistaken in thinking I’m the infant in need of watching, not him.” Gesturing handlessly down to the bundle before turning to look at your mother. “What is it you are even doing over there?”

Not bothering to turn to you, she continued to put together, what you could now see, fabrics in front of her. “I took the liberty to have some of your dresses made with alterations. If you decide you wish to keep feeding him yourself, you will have a far harder time in what you normally wear.”

Your brows narrowed at her phrasing, but let it pass by. It was still too early for a back and forth with your mother of all people, let alone whoever’s side Maege was going to take. Which could be either at that point. Though you had a keen instinct as to what was going to be coming your way, and you had little patience in you that morning to tackle it.

Though, that did not stop something from slipping out, much to Maege’s amusement. “If I am to be shackled to my bed for the time being, I’m not quite sure dresses for public wear will be needed.” Your mother turned sharply, returning back that it was not her orders, you turned away with a mutter which still managed to cut her off as you spoke down to the droopy eyed Eddard laying against you. “Tell me if I begin to sound this bossy with you before it becomes a habit, alright?”

Still you thought, you could get rest and wander about the inside of the castle. You were not quite sure what it was which was making Jon want you to be hidden away. Or from what he was doing. The darkness in your stomach grew at the instance the thought entered your mind, and you begged for it to go away. Only it didn’t, it festered there as you ate. Mocking you for what you weren’t. You had hoped this fog had passed, but it was as if you woke up that morning back in a full force. Whispering things you didn’t have the awareness yet to see through as lies. And so they ate away at your anxiety.

Perhaps you didn’t want to know what Jon was hiding from you.

If judging by the frustration on Theons face, Jon could tell this day was going to go as well as he anticipated. Closing the door behind with with an exasperated tone, “Next time someone wants me to bring him all the way here, I’m gagging him.” Jons eyes narrowed in question but it was the deep set sigh on Theon that gave it away. “Loves the sound of his own voice, asking dozens of questions trying to get inside my head.”

Jon however, felt as tense as he no doubt looked. “What was he asking?”

Circling more around the table to where Jon stood, Theon begun listing many off to the point Jon wondered if the mans head was about to implode. “Then he starts asking me about how she survived that night.” Jons brows narrowed suddenly, focusing back in on the conversation he asked who, and felt even more on edge when realizing it was you the man was asking about. “How she survived at the Twins, how did she get away.”

“What did you tell him?”

Shaking his head, Theon was less aggravated as the more quiet of the study eased. “I didn’t tell him anything. Last thing I want is for him to pry into what happened to her.” That at the minimum was something Jon could agree with. Though, the phantom sensation of knives plunging into his own chest was something he at this point was sure was a story heard by many.

Lord Connington knew because Lord Varys’s many spies had word get back to them no doubt. Petyr Baelish had spies too, and Jon could only wonder what he has heard. If he had a clue what sort of place he truly had walked into. The North was a harsh and unforgiving place with little mercy, and it’s people were raised to endure as much as the lands around them. Death had only increased such a resolve in Jon.

Asking where he was currently, Theon gave an answer which Jon did not like. Though by the time he approached there, once more he noticed his little sister was nowhere to be found. Jon knew Littlefinger had come inside the castle walls to talk to Sansa, but he did not like the feeling he was getting. Arya kept track of where she was, but since he arrived back, as long as Petyr Baelish was here, Sansa seemed to avoid Jon and he couldn’t help but consider why.

He had nowhere near the closeness with her as he did Arya, but she was his sister. Jon though, was a man. Which meant he knew the sorts of things which run through mens heads, and not for a second did he like the feeling of how close Littlefinger had gotten to her. Or at least, the kind of closeness a man his age had no right having around an eighteen year old girl. A girl he’s known since she was a child.

Jon knew what you had told him, and he had not a clue if Littlefinger knew what he knew. But as he approached, the only sounds around him were that of footsteps along the crackling fire. He hadn’t been down here since arriving back, but it couldn’t be about that right now. He had to focus on what was right in front of him.

And right in front of Jon was Petyr Baelish, standing in front of the burial statue of Ned Stark. His voice spoke out loud, the echo bouncing along the walls and down into the abyss beyond them with a deep toned authority and a lack of patience. “You don’t belong down here.”

Unperturbed by his abrasive approach, Littlefinger turned with a bow and a smile that made Jon want to force off of him with something strong enough to leave a mark in its place. “Your Grace.”

Jon though, did not waver as he repeated himself. Just as firm, and his voice still projecting in the crypts as if to warn the buried members of House Stark that a rat had invaded their peace. “I said you don’t belong down here.”

A small wave of his hands as if to make a gesture lacking of ill intent, but Jon knew that smile and that glint in his eyes. He had seen that look on men who looked down on him before. It was the sort of way that Lord Janos Slynt looked at him. Though, the man before him did not yet realize such irony. “I was merely paying my respects. I had ordered the delivery of his bones myself. I presented them to Lady Catelyn as a gesture of goodwill from Tyrion Lannister during the war.”

Did Jon dare confront the issue starting now? Perhaps, he thought, if he came off abrasive at the start, he might come across as quick tempered but slow minded. For now Jon thought, that was fine. Let him think he was the smartest man in the room. “A war you sided against my family in.”

He almost looked amused, which made Jon angrier. He within seconds, was beginning to understand why his Uncle Brandon had so easily accepted a duel. It must have been satisfying. But Littlefinger merely stated a simple defence. “I already served the crown before the war, to act otherwise would be treason. I didn’t see the purpose in following your father to the grave. I’m a practical man.”

“But not a loyal one.”

The two facing one another, Littlefinger was as quick on an aggravatingly clever reply as you once had made him out to seem. “And who would you have me be loyal to? Your fathers corpse?” Jon said nothing, letting him speak for himself despite the rising anger to have the audacity to speak that way about his father in front of his own burial. “I was sorry when he died, truly I was.” Jon doubted that. “Your father and I had our differences, but he was a good man. Deserved a death better then what a boy like Joffery had given him.”

It was small, but Jon had spent years in the Nights Watch. Picking up small details in the eyes of men anytime a girl was mentioned always gave something away. “My sister, Sansa. She was there that day?”

There was no egregious change in his expression, but that was the detail wasn’t it? That glint in his eye at the story of a little girl watching her fathers beheading should have elicited something far more sympathetic then what he gave. “Joffery had his Kingsgaurd hold her back to watch. I’d even go as far to say he enjoyed her pleading for him to change his mind.”

Jon kept his words short. “And you didn’t?”

“Joffery was King. I’m not a fighter, only a man of business.” Letting him stand in the silence, Jons eyes merely narrowed but spoke nothing. Forcing Littlefinger to speak all of his own admissions. “I was on your fathers side. Robert named him protector of the realm and I begged him to seize the moment and take control before it was too late. And then it was. Pardon my surprise, but I would have presumed your bride would have told you these details.”

Blood running hot, a screaming as if needing to see you here and now as the memories of the last time a man would refer to you in such a specific term. But Jon could not tell if he knew, if he called you it on purpose. How much did this man know about you? Only saying as much to not allow him to presume to demean your position in any capacity, even alone. “She is my wife, my Lord. Not my bride.” Voice rough as it forced itself through the pain which accompanied the words all over again.

“My apologies. Your wife. How did such an arrangement come about? A man in the Nights Watch, yourself. And the realm had known her to be dead for well over a year.” Prodding his mind about you, just as he had tried with Theon. It was not the direction he was going to let this take, Jon was not about to drag your name into this after everything.

Instead, Jon without hesitation, shifted the discussion back to the previous. “I’ve heard lots of stories from her. About Kings Landing, about the war. About you.” Repeating only to clarify himself, Jon gave but a single nod. “A few, none of them good.”

He seemed unphased by much of this conversation, and it only made Jon grow angrier. “You may have heard false reports-” Jon cut in, a demanding ask if he was to call you a liar, but then did he backtrack. A wider eyed look as if realizing he had taken a step which would not go in his favour whatsoever. “Not a liar. Merely mistaken. She has been through much I presume, memories can become a bit unclear after suffering a great deal as she has, and it was so many years ago. Almost as if a lifetime ago.”

If he thought Jon didn’t know what this was, he was not nearly as smart as he thought. It was a lifetime ago, for you and Jon. But this was the last person he would open up to about it. “So you’re innocent. You didn’t betray her and my father, didn’t trick Lady Catelyn into betraying her and Robb?”

Lowering his head a little as if to present himself more agreeable. “A misunderstanding, your Grace. After all, if I had betrayed so much of your family, why would I have gone out of my way to bring Lady Sansa back home safe and sound?”

Not yet, Jon told himself. Don’t press him on that yet, he told himself. As little as Jon liked hearing his sisters name coming from such an unsettling voice. His person now looking to face his father once more, but what Theon said was right. This man talked far too much.

Continuing on as if they were now chummy. “She wasn’t very fond of you, was she? Lady Catelyn. A shame, since she seems to have vastly underestimated you. Your father and brothers are gone, and yet here you stand. King in the North.”

Jon however, let part of that tenseness within him snap. Jaw clenched as he turned somewhat back to peel his dark eyes into a glare. “Why are you still here?”

His answer only made Jons glare grow even more. “We have never spoken before. I’ve known much of your family, but not you. I wished to remedy that.” It was not quite a lie, it was dressed in true clothing but what lay hidden underneath was a vast cavern of question and demands and anger which begged to be let out, as Jon gritted through his teeth that he had nothing more to say to him. “Not even a thank you? Were it not for me, your sister would have been found guilty for Jofferys murder. I would have been bringing her remains here instead of her living person.”

Attempting to placate him, Littlefinger chose a path which unbeknownst to Jon, was all too familiar from so many years ago. Playing his hand at honesty and wit far too close to a bordering edge of a wolf with a hot blooded temper. “You have many enemies, your Grace. But I swear to you I am not one of them. I care deeply about Sansa. Just as I did her mother.”

Playing the wrong hand was one thing, but playing the hand confirming exactly what Jon had feared was really behind the mans intentions was another. The exact thing Jon knew was really going on, brought out into the light for him to see. Everything his little sister had been through, and it all led to her thinking this was the only man she could put her trust in, just the way Jon knew Littlefinger wanted.

Turning on him in an instant, before he had a single chance to grasp what was about to happen, did Jon let a hand grab at the front of the mans throat. Using his strength easily to slam him against the adjacent wall enough that Jon had to readjust his grip when Littlefingers head slammed into it roughly. But not nearly as rough as the ease in which Jon blocked any path of air to come from his lungs.

Useless at trying to pry the one hand Jon was all but strangling him with, the stutters of sound trying to crack out were as pathetic as a man like him was deep down. Only catching his eye properly did Jon loosen his grip. The roughness in voice all but a growl, as he now knew exactly what it was he really wanted. That Littlefinger had put the pieces in place to trick a thirteen year old girl into thinking he was the only one who had her well being in mind, and spent the next five years keeping her as close as he could to him.

So Jon was blatantly honest for the first time since meeting the man, and he knew it. “Touch my sister, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Shoving off from him by the hand at his throat Jon turned to leave, any second longer alone and he’d do something he would regret. Leaving Petyr Baelish behind leaning against the wall trying to regain air as he realized that Jon Snow wasn’t going to be a mark the way his father was. Ned Stark had done nearly the same, but with a condescension in his voice for hiding Catelyn away in a brothel.

“You’re a funny man, huh? A very funny man.”

But then it was the appearance of the woman in question poking her head out to grasp his attention, swiftly leaving Petyr behind to pull himself together. The way which the Stark had glared at him as Cat promised they could trust him, not unlike the very glare on the son here, himself. Or the one many years before when it was Brandon Stark overlooking him with a sword to his throat, before Cat had pleaded to spare his life. But there was one thing that Jon Snow was which Ned nor Brandon Stark were not, he realized.

The Starks he knew before were violent and quick tempered, but Petyr Baelish stood there glancing up to the stern statue of Ned Stark and thought to himself. Jon wasn’t violent and quick tempered alone, he was a truly dangerous man.

Nothing but Jon Snow’s own self control spared Petyr’s life.

If you were being perfectly honest, you knew that you should have been far more mature then this. But it was too late to take it back, and the agitation was so obvious on your person it was like water clean enough the fish could be seen swimming along under its surface. Only the fish here was an insecurity marred in a stubbornness that you couldn’t make go away.

You didn’t even have a clue Jon was anywhere nearby when it happened, considering hardly a few minutes of quiet had been found before he walked in. Holding your son up high in a soothing rocking up and down to lull him to sleep after it was all said and done, knowing you likely looked somewhat a mess when he walked in, you almost felt embarrassed for how not put together you looked in front of him.

Not put together was one way to phrase it, the darker pit in your gut called it what it was. How unattractive you looked was a far more honest description, the darkness hissed at your insides. Jon though, seemed to pretend for now as if he didn’t care when you knew he did. Gesturing to the hall as he closed the door with an amused glint in his eye. “Is there a reason the wet nurse came up to me upset saying you were shouting at her?”

A hesitation in your movements, wide eyes coming over before smothering it all by returning focus back to the still falling asleep one in your arms. Just a murmur with a pinch of knowing shame of how immature it had been. “Likely because I shouted at her” Jons ask of why as calm and simple, but now you could add erratic to the list of things making you so unappealing to him. “I don’t need her help, I can feed my son perfectly fine on my own.”

Sensing Jon walking closer, you willed yourself not to tense up at the gentle hand smoothing out the more messy strands of hair down your back. His rasp was warm and amused as it was affectionate but it was all an act, it had to be. “She’s also here to help you, you know? Take care of you while you’re recovering.”

Biting your tongue, you looked down to the slumbering Eddard with a softness on your voice not often heard towards adults that day. “She was insistent they could feed him while I slept. I didn’t want that, I’d rather get little sleep and feed him myself then hand him over to someone who doesn’t know him.”

It was very difficult to figure out what Jons tone was, you felt as if the fog from days ago on the journey to the Wall had returned today and in front of Jon it was stronger then ever. His gentle mutterings followed with one hand holding you at your hip, as the other smoothed up and down your upper arm as he pressed himself somewhat behind you. “Alright, no more wet nurses.”

Nodding a small bit, you still hadn’t looked at him. But did you want to ask yourself why? No. So you spoke while still not looking away from his son. “We got him this far together, as long as he has us, that’s all he needs.”

Your heart begun to race the second the thought came to you. Did that sound as if you were trying to beg Jon to be here? Begging him to play a role he didn’t want? Forcing him into something against his will, but when you glanced up at him, you almost talked yourself out of it. Hair still up, everything he wore in place, weapons all still attached, looked not like he had not done anything your fogging mind was scared of. But in truth, he had been busy all day. Jon had plenty of time to get himself back together.

And you couldn’t even grant him the sight of a pretty, calm wife at the end of his first day back in Winterfell. Pulling you comfortably into his front, Jon playfully nudged the side of your head before pressing his lips to mutter in the same spot. “We all need each other.”

He was playing along. He didn’t need you. He needed you to raise his son. Not that you blamed nor judged him. It was your fault you had let yourself look and act so pathetic, not Jons for disliking that about you now.

Pressing a kiss now to below your ear, he rasped in a way you had suddenly wondered if any other had got to experience today. All you could hear were the things Cersei had told you to the point it took you a moment to register Jon had even said anything. “Did you want to come down to eat, or do you want me to bring you something so we can eat together up here?”

Neither, you wanted him to do what he wanted not placate your pathetic needs. So you lied. “Olly brought me something earlier, you go eat. I’m fine here.” Jon asked if you were sure, but you bit your tongue so hard you almost flinched as you nodded. An unpleasant warmth behind your face and stinging eyes, Jon tried to tilt you with finger gently under your chin likely for a kiss. So he still wanted that. You had something. Cupping the back of your head caressingly, Jon captured your lips in a deep yet still somehow chaste kiss. Pulling away only so much you felt his lips and breath warm on yours with every word. “How about I bring something up here that you can pick it, at least? So we can eat together.”

You had not a clue the degree to which Jon was picking up the very insecure manner which you were trying to shove him out the door. “It’s fine, Jon. Other people want to spend time with you too.”

But you didn’t look at him, and with one more kiss and a tender murmur that he loves you, Jon left the room. Leaving only the crackling fire behind, and a hunger in you which had not eaten since that morning. He didn’t need to have people see you at this side looking and behaving this way. And Jon was too nice to tell you, he was grateful you weren’t forcing him to. Eddard would be long asleep and gone to the world by the time Jon would return tonight.

Hopefully it would give you enough time to get ready. At least try to appear like a girl he still wants.

The advantage Arya had at this stage in her life, was that she still was far more quiet then most gave her credit for. At least in terms of sneaking up upon someone, as she was now. Hiding away on one of the more remote landings above the courtyard, the blacks and greys adorning her person were nothing like Arya had seen Sansa dress in before. It looked as if she wished to be perceived as intimidating, as was the scowl which sat upon her face more often then not these days.

The entire look reminded her too well the way Littlefinger did, and was dressing. One influencing the other, and even the style which she recognized her sisters hair in was much like ones she had seen time and time again on Cersei during their stay in Kings Landing. Nowhere even on her did see even a hint of anything even remotely looking like the Stark sigil, not even the fur around her shoulders was right. She could tell in an instant it wasn’t one made here, but whatever they would’ve used in the Vale.

Arya hadn’t recognized Sansa the last time either. By the end she dressed and wore her hair like every other proper southern girl in the capitol and not a hint of it reminded Arya of home. But even now, still as they both stood there, it still didn’t feel as if she came home. It felt like a stranger had walked in wearing Sansa’s skin. The thought would’ve felt amusingly ironic to Arya had she not been too distracted in the contrast.

For years, Arya felt like the one who did not fit in. The years Sansa would call her ugly, saying she was so hideous only Hodor would marry her. The manner in which she and her friends would look down at her and call her Arya Horseface as long as no one else was around. Arya never felt like she looked as beautiful as her mother was, as Sansa was and the later always was sure to remind her of that. Arya felt as if she never fit in, but yet, this time Sansa was the one standing out in the wrong way.

She looked out of place everywhere she went and made few attempts to reconnect or introduce herself to most of the people here. But things were not last time, Arya did not approach her sister in silence hoping to demean her or insult her, there was no use in that anymore. They did that as children. But she would not hold her feelings back, no matter how aggressive she knew she was to come off as.

“You haven’t spoken to either of them, have you?”

With almost a gasp, Sansa spun around in a startle. Looking down to Arya with wide eyes turning narrow, “What are you doing here?” Only a flat expression on her face she simply replied rather obviously that she lived here too. Sansa’s eyes dropped from their wider stance to something more annoyed right away. “I meant what are you doing sneaking up on me?”

Only a shrug came to her as Arya approached. Standing beside her sister resting her forearms along the wooden railing before finding her voice, still as jesting as it was knowingly a tone which annoyed Sansa every time. “It isn’t my fault you’re oblivious to what’s around you.” Whatever glare was sent her way, went unacknowledged for a moment. Giving her the chance to respond on her own, but the sounds of distant talking and yelling were all down below not between the two of them for a good minute.

By the time she found her words, Sansa had already started to put up excuses as if Arya had not learned to see right through them. “They only just got back, I’m waiting for them to settle in first.”

Quick though, she didn’t let that one stand. “You haven’t seen them, either of them for years.” Your name slipping from her mouth in a rising frustration. “We all spent what? A year? Two? Thinking she was still dead. You haven’t spoken to Jon since before we left for Kings Landing and after everything you refuse to go see them. Why?” Sansa tried to implore that she had just said why but Arya took none of it. “Are you too afraid to face them or do you just not care?”

That it so happened, set off something within Sansa’s own anger. Turning to her with an edge behind her raising tone. “Of course I care, Arya. Do you think I was happy thinking everyone else was dead?”

Facing her as well, even the height Sansa had grown since she last saw her, Arya was nowhere near that but did not let it intimidate her. “I don’t know what you think, you haven’t said anything to any of us about it. Any of it. You haven’t told anybody anything about you. Ask what happened to us.” The next word came from her mouth with a thick layer of spite to coat them in. “Or is Littlefinger the only one you trust now?”

“Don’t call him that-”

Twisting her expression into a disbelief, Arya almost felt herself scoff. “That’s what you got out of everything I just said. That I called him a nickname you don’t like. Instead of explaining at all why you trust a man who betrayed father, who betrayed all of us, more then once.” Her voice was raising, and knew Sansa’s too would raise with it.

“He helped us, he helped me escape Kings Landing. Whatever you think he did, it was because he had to, did things to survive to help me survive.” Jon had only been able to speculate a truth, but Arya then heard the truth that put something in her on edge. “Without him, the Lannisters would have found me guilty for murder.”

The question came out of nowhere. “Did you?” Sansa’s head jolted back a bit at the sudden change, Aryas eyes narrow but penetrating in an unnerving manner. “Did you kill Joffery?”

Yet Sansa’s answer was not what she was expecting. “Do you think I did?” Arya at first, said nothing. The girl she once knew was a firm no. That Sansa was not a killer, but she did not yet know about this one, and when this version possibly became someone capable of it. Sansa though, had inadvertently found the root of something Arya had long dug deep inside of her. “Could you have done it, if you had the chance. Would you kill Joffery?”

Arya however, for a brief moment, did not see the stranger wearing her sisters name. Nor the sister who bullied her for their entire childhoods. She only saw the sister who at some point as young girls, still felt like her sister. The one who when very small, would clamber to your side because back then Sansa so strongly adored you. The one who would remain attached to you all day long if she could. Back in the years sometimes you three could all feel like sisters together. For even just that moment, thats who Arya felt as if she was speaking too, and she was honest the way she would’ve been then. “I wanted to. Ever since that day at the Sept of Baelor, I wanted to kill him. Everyday I thought about it. Killing him, Cersei, Illyn Payne. I’d say their names before I went to sleep. Like I wouldn’t be able too until I did. He murdered father and got away with it, and I wanted to make sure father got justice, to get justice for what they all did to our family.”

With no way of knowing, Arya had not a clue that Sansa stood there in silence, remembering her own want to do just that. How close she came to be willing to throw her life away, to just push Joffery from the ledge of the walls and watch him plunge to his death the day he forced her to look at her fathers head. She knew that feeling too well, and how the only thing which brought her out of that moment was the sudden snatching from Sandor Clegane, stopping her from doing something stupid for her own sake, then covering up for what she was about to do.

Before her, Arya continued, and she was sure she hadn’t spoken any of it out loud before. And yet here she was for the first time, saying it to Sansa of all people. “When I heard Joffery was dead, part of me was annoyed. Every night for years I spent saying his name because I needed to give our family some kind of justice for what he did to us, and that was taken away. But really, it didn’t matter anymore by then. Because it still wouldn’t have changed that I thought everyone was gone.”

She refused to go back to that night, the sights, the horrors, the blood and the nightmare which outside of the tears falling as Arya and you hugged, she refused to recall. Arya stood there knowing the feeling, and did not allow the sights and sounds come with it. “I wanted it to make me happy that he was dead finally. But I just felt...empty.” Your name once again coming out without noticing the strange doubt in Sansa’s gaze toward it. “She was dead, Robb’s still dead. Joffery had finally died, but they were too. What did it matter?” Looking back up with something as held back as it was genuine in a distant pain she told Sansa, “Maybe once I could’ve killed Joffery. But by the time he died, what was the point in getting justice for a family I’d never see again.”

Something was brewing in the gaze behind her older sisters eyes, but Arya could not so easily detect it outright. It was hard to read on someone she barley knew anymore. A confused distance at within her voice as much as it was hesitant in her eyes. “Why do you keep saying she died?” Aryas brows narrowed in question, and Sansa clarified further she meant you. “You keep saying she was dead, but she’s not dead. The Lannisters lied about that. Why do people keep saying that she was dead?” Her voice dropped into something she was clearly even more confused about, which Arya realized she knew she did not have the answer to. “Why do I keep hearing people talk about her as if she brought Jon back from the dead?”

Arya still could see at least once. The sight of your corpse so bloodied, and mutilated that it was not only you which was drenched in your blood, but those who mindlessly tossed your body to lock it away and do what Arya feared she would not wish to know too. The unsettled manner in which neither you nor Jon wanted to talk about his death or how he came back. Not in a way as if he could not back up such claims as they were lies, but a memory he dared not look back on because it was still too fresh.

Arya had known you were dead, and had confirmation from more then one source that Jon had been too. Everything she learned in Bravvos, but none answered that question. She did not understand it when Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr spoke of it to her, and she still did not understand it when watching in a gut wrenching horror, the sight of what became of her mothers corpse walking with an angry vengeful spirit within it.

All this knowledge, and Arya did not understand a single bit about it. But she was still honest in the only true way she could say. “Because they were dead. Both of them. They were both stabbed to death, and now they’re not.” Sansa it sounded as if she did not believe it, but not in such an accusatory way of calling her a liar. It was more as if Aryas genuinity made the lack of beleivability of the claim come off as eerie to her, only asking how that would be possible. “I don’t know.”

Sansa had yet to really have a reaction, almost as if her mind did not know how to react as opposed to keeping such a feeling only internal in front of Arya. “Then how do you know that’s true?”

But Arya only looked at her. She should have realized what so many of them did by now. Something about them was different, it was why she could accept such a thing like what she saw from Beric Dondarrion. It was in Arya, it was in Jon, it was in Bran. They all knew it, but why would Sansa not realize the world was not what she once thought? If was as if her sister still walked the world not knowing that something in their blood was making them different, was allowing them to do things no one else seemed to be able too. Still she thought, Sansa deserved some explanation.

So she told her. She had not a clue how you returned to life, but that she did know without a doubt, that you were the one who brought Jon back. “I don’t know how she did it, or if she even knows how, but she did. And I know that they both died to get to where they are, but you haven’t even spoken to them once. Why? Beacuse you can’t see passed that you think Jon stole your crown.”

A defence begun to come up in Sansa, a mixture of anger and half exasperation. Arya could not tell if it was what she solely thought, or if it was simply an excuse for her confusion. “Jon was in the Nights Watch, he couldn’t inherit anything even if he wasn’t a bastard.”

Arya felt no need to yell anymore, just something in her expression twisting in almost a disapproval as well as her tone. “You still don’t get it, do you? You still can’t see passed that about him, as if it matters, as if Robb didn’t leave the North to Jon because he was his brother. Jon’s your brother too, but you still can’t just treat him like it.”

Whatever words Sansa tried to speak, Arya did not allow them to come into the air. “If you cared about Jon, you would’ve gone to see him already. It’s been five years Sansa. He wanted you to come home as much as I did, and ever since you got here, you’ve let a man who betrayed our family into our walls, and ignored the only Starks who are left.”

Her own voice dropped as well, neither sister quite knowing where the other stood, or even what they felt within themselves. “It’s more complicated then that Arya.”

Shaking her head, Arya was quiet. “It really isn’t. But you’ve let Petyr Baelish of all people convince you otherwise and you come home trusting him more then your own family.” Arya could still hear her fathers voice that day in her chambers, pulling her close to his side with his comforting voice saying what he knew she needed to hear, hoping if she said it now, it would be the same for Sansa. “We’re Starks of Winterfell. In the winter, we look after each other. Protect each other. But all you’ve proven since coming back is you don’t want to really be part of this. All you came here caring about was getting a crown, and now that you learned it doesn’t belong to you, you’ve avoided all of us like you aren’t still one of us.”

A held back weight notably sat in Sansa’s throat as she tried to let her words out without interruption of her own doing. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

Arya though, only told her the same truth as before. “And you have no idea what any of us have been through. Because you really still haven’t come home, have you?”

Words not spoken between them for a moment, Sansa had found the discussion to circle back around to one of her first questions before the shouting match between them. “You never answered me, do you think I killed Joffery?” Arya that time, did not hesitate to say no. And neither sister could tell if that made them feel better or worse. Almost walking away, Arya held back whatever she was going to say which would only reignite the anger between them.

Instead she turned half around to meet Sansa’s eyes again. “I wanted you to come home because your my sister. I just wish you would try and remember that for once.”

Swiftly did Arya make her way indoors to the warmth, but leaving behind the watchful gaze of her sister with a confusion still in her mind and heart. Turning to the courtyard as she had been watching out on before, did Sansa see Petyr in the distance. But with everything he had said to her that morning, the only thing Sansa could convince herself to do in that moment instead of what he said, was to follow in Aryas footsteps.

Walking off without acknowledging him any further.

In truth, the contrast of conversations was almost amusing were Jon aware of the discussion previously held been Arya and Sansa. The seriousness between them then, and yet as Jon walked beside his sister now did he find her much more energetic and enthusiastic attitude mixed with an annoyed bit of a whine familiar as if no time had passed. “I didn’t say I want to get in the way, I just want to know when I’ll be allowed to see her and the baby.”

Running a hand over his mouth, Jon felt as amused at her as he did unsure of what he should say. He didn’t want you to feel ambushed by people, not now of all times. He knew the next morning you and the baby were going to see Maester Wolkan, and Jon had begun to think he might push certain things back to the late morning to accompany you. Hear and see with his own eyes if you two were where you needed to be physically, and stay behind after you leave. A few questions of his own before it got out of hand, but he couldn’t tell Arya all of that.

In a hesitant manner he hoped his baby sister did not pick up on, Jon kept it simple. “If everything is alright in the morning, then tomorrow probably.” He could see from the side of his vision, Arya looking at him confused, asking what he means by that exactly, but Jon only muttered an honesty which he did not know how to elaborate on. “I’m not sure.”

Regardless, he parted ways and swiftly made a path towards his chambers. Hoping that he could easily persuade Maege and Selyse to leave politely. The evening was long without you, and Jon wanted to see little Eddard off to bed before finally being able to just spend time with you the way he needed.

Telling the guards that unless it was a dire issue, not to disturb he and you until morning as he stepped into his chambers. The sight though, was not the one he thought he’d be faced with.

“How long has he been down for?”

Head rising up from where you had gently been watching the baby as he finally slept soundly, you felt your nerves pick up. It thus far had been the longest amount of time you and Jon had gone not having one another in any capacity since Dragonstone, and it almost could be mistaken that you were brand new at this all over again. Murmuring quietly as you kept your eyes glancing down to your slumbering son one more time, “Not long, but he should be asleep for some good hours.”

Hearing him walk into the room, you willed yourself to turn around. The long, silk like robe draping along the floor gave not much away that you had a short, dark shift on underneath and nothing more. It would not be much, but it was the best you could do. Long before Jon was to come back did you spend attempting to put yourself together. Look the opposite of the more chaotic state you had been in prior, so he could enjoy the sight this time.

Or more truthfully, bracing yourself for what pain might you need to hide when you finally gave Jon what he actually wanted. You weren’t healed enough to be ready without physical pain, but you wanted to convince him you still were of worth, so you’d let him take you, and hide the pain for his sake.

Jons warmth engulfed your back as he wrapped an arm around your front to gently tug you close, head dropping to look over your shoulder as he rasped in your ear. “What’s this?” His free hand gently tugging at the robe while his deep, low tones sent familiar shivers down your spine. Muttering just as quiet but in a much more jesting tone you flatly told him it was a robe. The chuckle along with his breath dancing hot across your skin made those shivering feelings for once, almost feel as if they were overtaking the nerves. “I meant I’ve never seen this before, it’s fancier then what I’m used to.”

Your eyes flickering to the side as the question slipped out a bit breathless in nature. “Is that a bad thing?”

Instead, Jon chuckled again. Smoothing that free hand up and down your waist leaning down to seek past your hair and press a kiss to your neck. “Not at all. You look beautiful.” At least it worked, you thought. Only Jon couldn’t help himself, pressing another light kiss then another all to the sensitive spots along your neck. “But it’s like you said, darling. There’s nothing you could do to make me not think that every time I see you.”

The huff almost like a laugh which left you elicited a smirk from him as you somewhat leaned your head back to rest against his. “You already have me, you know. You don’t need to try and flatter me into things.” Jon pulled back a little, likely to get a better look at you as your hands gently rested along his forearm at your front. Asking a bit confused of flattering you into what, you bit your tongue for a brief second before guiding him into a safe version of your answer. “Whatever you want.”

For a moment, his tone husked rougher and deeper just the slightest. “And what do you think I want?”

You knew you could’ve answered, but Jon also didn’t like outright forward and pushy, at least not on you. Choosing instead to turn suddenly in his grasp, you barley gave him the chance to look you over as you kept close to his front. Hands reaching up to begin undoing everything, as he accepted your silence for now. You always were quiet with him doing this, starting with the belt keeping Longclaw strapped to his side, and walking away enough to place it carefully along his desk.

Moving slowly onto everything else, you realized in a moment of clarity in your mind how much you missed doing this. It had been months since you both could stand in his chambers and take your time undoing the heavy layers on him from the day. One step then the next, everything coming off always dutifully put to the side for him until only his much more soft final layers remained. The trace sensation of a hand possibly running through strands of your hair was mostly lost as you continued with his boots until only articles of clothing remained on him as yourself.

The moment you moved to stand upright, Jon gently leaned down to guide you up to your feet. A hand on your waist and the other reaching up to let his thumb rub back and forth along your neck and jaw, his forehead pressing gentle against yours as you let yours rest on the final layer on his torso. Reaching up behind him did you without needing to even look, free his dark curls. His breathing growing a tad harsher as you ran your fingers through to tame them from the days tension before returning to his chest. Almost so slowly part of you wondered had he even noticed, did your hands drop to the laces down the middle of his shirt.

Only the tightening of his hand on your waist indicated he knew what you were doing at first. Half way down did you feel him inhale deeply before moving. Not enough to interrupt your work, but his head leaned down again into your neck, leaving much more noticeable kisses against the sensitive skin. Brushing your hair out of his way before both hands slid down to hold at your hips.

It was a feeling rushing alive through your veins as if for that moment did the fog fade further and further away from your mind. Eyes fluttering but refusing to stop before you undid the laces. Palms sliding across his chest, the scars littered about you had memorized long since exactly where they were and what they looked like in detail. Tracing a small few you could reach before gently beginning to push off the material, prompting Jon to free his hands so you could get the rest of it off.

Instead though, of allowing you to turn to put it down, Jon tugged you back to his front. Keeping his lips pressing lingering kisses to your neck, only using one hand to grab the shirt from you and toss it wherever it could have landed. Rising his head up, Jon barley met your eyes for even half of a second before slinking a hand up again to grasp one side of your jaw to tilt you up. Only a glimpse of his dark eyes before yours flew closed as he captured your lips.

Slow moving his kiss was, but long lasting and deep to the point he tilted you up more to his angle, stepping closer to match it so he held much more of the power in urgency. Soft and guiding, your hands smoothing along his torso much more freely, up to his shoulders before moving back down. It felt familiar, the scars, they felt like something you could always focus on.

Refusing to let you leave his lips, Jon licked your bottom lip and wasted not a second in gliding his tongue to brush yours as soon as you parted your lips for him. The hand on your hip wrapped around to your back, pulling you closer into his front as Jon kept you where he needed to kiss you. Tasting inside of your mouth as it slow but still somehow something which made the air feel raw between you both.

Jon would pull back, but never enough to disconnect the kiss before chasing the taste of you once more and guiding you to follow him and explore him back. Thumb running what it could reach along your cheek, your hands finally dropped lower and lower. Even slower then before. You hoped Jon was distracted enough that he hadn’t noticed. Loosening the laces of his breeches, you had leaned up more to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, Jon eagerly meeting your lips with something even more needing and rough.

It was as at the same time, you pushed passed the increasing beating of your heart to slide your other down under the fabric did you feel Jons brows furrow before pulling away from your lips. First snatching your wrist tightly, yanking you just enough that your fingertips danced across his lower hips. Brows narrow with something more you could describe as angry or disapproving did he tilt his head at you a bit. Your breathing begging to catch up with the air stolen from your lungs, eyes wide meeting his so dark and grey, you could’ve let him speak first. But you played your hand a bit too out of character, Jon knew you didn’t normally play dumb. “Is something wrong?”

Expression twisting into confusion now, you swallowed down a weight of nerves telling yourself not the time, not now you had to stay on track. Jon rasped out as the disapproval was strong within his tone as well as the lecturing to follow. “You know we can’t-” Your attempt of an innocent ask of you both can’t what, did his eyes narrow more. “I can’t take you to bed like this, you’re still recovering.”

Excuse you thought to yourself, you spent time coming up with an excuse, so say it. “Maester Wolkan said I’m mostly healed in that way, it just might some discomfort for me at first-” You cut yourself off that time. Jons head jolted back at bit, no doubt as his eyes trailed what he could of your figure from here, attempting to figure out what you were doing. Tune dropping to more of a whisper, nearly in a defence as the nerves returned now dripped into a lake of embarrassment. “Only at first..”

Jon was short and to the point as his disapproval did not make him grow angry but also did not allow you to move in any capacity. “Did he tell you you’re completely healed?” Shaking your head no, he pressed again. “Did he say it would be safe for you to let me take you like that?” Another shake of your head no, dropping from his gaze more that time. “Then we’re not doing this.”

In truth, Jon had swiftly let go of your hand to drop at your side and from your cheek with the intention to both grab your hips, but all you felt in that moment was a lurch in your heart. The sudden throwing you away from where he touched you felt as if he was trying to cast you back from his personal space, not at all understanding why when you took a bigger apprehensive step back did he look at you with such wide and bright eyes doused in more confusion.

This already went a lot worse then you had planned. “I didn’t mean to presume-” Cutting yourself off once more to exhale, eyes fluttering closed to regain your breath and heart for if only a second before attempting such words in a different fashion. “We don’t have to do that, I wasn’t attempting to pressure for it.” The longer he watched you in the quiet, the more the foot between you both grew within your mind as many feet into miles away. The lack of any words spurning on the nerves to fill the air with even more rambling excuses. “It’s been so long since we’ve been together, and -”

Not anger again, but he spoke each word slow and with careful purpose as if trying to convey a point to your irrational mind. “That’s because you gave birth to our son. You’ve only just stopped bleeding.”

Was it guilt? Shame? Embarrassment? Or all three blended into a poisonous well of violence telling you that if you did not have one use then to provide another. You knew it would hurt, that it was still too soon, but you were willing to not care in order to give him that. But Ramsay had taught you one lesson you still remembered, if not one way, you had use for men in another.

Eyes softening as you looked at him, returning back to his presence you sighed out. Fingertips running more innocently along his chest as the painting in your eyes matched. Voice gentle and sincere not wanting the night to end like this. “There are other things we can do, that I can do.” Looking at you in thought for only a second before Jons expression morphed into a doubt, your name muttered low as you continued to now rest your palms higher up along his shoulders, his hands instinctively returning to your waist. “We’ve never gone this long without...something...and you still have two ways you can take me.”

Hands again tightening on your waist, his now black eyes boring into yours as dark as his voice. “I never wanted to do that as an alternative-”

But his chest moved more as his breathing grew heavier, the more your fingertips danced upward to toy with his curls as you kept the opposite end in your person. “There’s still another thing I can do. It’s like you said, we can’t do the things you normally like,” Jon attempted to interject that he never said that but you continued on knowing he wasn’t sure if you interrupted him on purpose or not. “But there are some, and you deserve to feel good.”

That was unfair, trying to be soft with him. An innocence that he could not hide worked him up, the twitch of his cock between you such a symbol. “You deserve to feel good too.”

If Jon thought something about the way you dismissed it so easily, he kept it to himself for now. “What will make me feel good, is giving you something you deserve. For everything you’ve done.” An even rougher tone as your left hand drifted downward along his torso again, asking specifically what. “For being the one to bring our son into the world,”

“I think you had something to do with that more then me.”

Again you kept your lightness in voice knowing he might not be sure if you kept meaning to not acknowledge such small comments. “For keeping him safe, for coming to protect me, for getting us all home safely. Trust in me, Jon. There is plenty you deserve to be thanked for.”

Eyes fluttering shut, Jon blindly pulled you closer with a few fingers under your chin. Capturing your lips with his only for such a cruelly short time before nudging your nose with his, muttering low. “This is what you want, right?” You didn’t answer at first, thinking the obvious answer of silence was yes but you truly should’ve known Jon better then that. “Answer the question, darling. Is this what you really want?”

The nod you gave was certainly not enough. Jon pulling back enough to narrow his eyes at yours, your shoulders deflating a bit. “I want this, Jon. I promise.” The warmth of his body so comforting and yet overwhelming so close, you felt lulled into a calm where the truth was far easier to understand within your head.

Turning you so your back faced then bed, as you went to sit Jon tilted his head with a knowing look to listen to him properly. Letting him slide the silky robe to pool at your feet, drifting hands toying with the edge of the dark shift with a raised brow. The very moment you moved to slide the thin straps down your arms though, Jon took over such a task for himself. Letting it too fall before kicking it all off to the side, staring down now with eyes dark as a black night sky. The rasp so low it almost husked like a growl as his hands toyed down your arms to your hips. “Seven hells. How am I supposed to get anything done knowing you look like this?”

Another rough swallow unsure what to say, part of you, unsure if he meant it no matter how much the clearer part of your head shoved that darkness back down. “You’re King, you can make me do whatever you want.” Not said in any sultry nor seductive manner but it made Jons cock throb more that way. Finally meeting his eyes you sat down gently, one of his hands running along your hair, fingers raking through the strands before finding a for now, gentle hold at the back of your head.

Steady as you had been all day were your hands as Jon allowed you to finish what caused the debate in the first place. Slowly pulling his pants down and off his legs, you felt now two hands properly gathering your hair in an easy hold. Your hands sliding up to rest at his hips, eyes wide looking up to him without looking as if you wanted to stare at his thick length. Dark eyes with such a tenseness in the remainder of his face as he caught you off guard. His tone as desperate as his cock was but the words not what you thought. “You said whatever I want, does that mean I can command you to keep your hair this long?”

It did not occur to you, despite how much it stood out to Jon, you smiled brightly for the first time since he had gotten you back. “Only if you don’t also force me to wear it in those ridiculous southern styles.” Jon nearly grinned himself, assuring you that would never happen. “Then whatever you want, I promise.”

Only a fortnight and already you had forgotten. Lips parting with your wider eyes once more taking in his size, his thick cock hard and begging for you to take care of it. The nerves this time flowing faster and faster the more you considered the girth of his cock, heart asking to race along with the nerves inside you. Taking him into your hand, a shaking exhale left you not quite quiet enough for Jon to not catch it. Your hand couldn’t wrap around him properly, but that was fine, that wasn’t the act he wanted.

Only guiding enough for you to lean towards his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed a gentle kiss to his length, and another, and another. Only small and fleeting presses of your lips but you trailed them up his length and down then back again until the faint trace of saliva had begun to coat him, making your touch against him a little smoother, but just as light. The second your kiss had left it’s mark against his tip did Jon give out a hiss the same instance his hand in your hair already tightened.

Slowly, you refused the idea of skipping right to things. Another kiss with a small brush of your tongue and again, his hand tightened in your hair, muscles under the hand still at his side tensing. The small coating of seed already finding it’s way onto your tongue as you licked at his tip in small motions with your lips always to follow.

Your hand finally leaving him to grab at his side once more, Jon tensed heavily at that sensation alone, yet nothing compared to his strength grasping tightly as you took him into your mouth. Barley moving passed still his tip, such a sensitive spot should your eyes have opened, would’ve seen it was making his free hand clench and unclench over and over trying to give you the room to go at your own pace.

The stretch you had forgotten, the feeling of your jaw taking something of such size had trickled in a phantom ache. Tongue slowly moving along what you could reach but hardly moved yet, allowing the saliva to build before easing more of him into your mouth, only another inch and you could hear his rough exhale.

Inch by inch did you let his cock further into your mouth, only reaching halfway when you felt that feeling arise. Heart beating faster but you would refuse it access, you promised it was about him. Easing your way back only to once more take half of his cock, and a pace most men would call insufferable was what he still allowed you to go at. Mouth taking him half down your throat, a hum adding to the feeling as you moved up and down his cock with something still at ease.

But you were not yet done, you still had much to go, much to take, and he deserved a wife who could take all of him no matter what. Another inch further, the lurch in your heart returned but it did not overpower the feeling of such a thick length already so deep. Only the tip left before taking him all the way down just before last few inches remaining as you sucked his cock. Small growling sounds deep within Jons chest were let out but never did he say much.

Not with this he ever did, but the hand in your hair was tight. Very tight. And you knew he needed more, you took it slow. The pace meant to ease you into taking his size but also to flow the racing of your heart, the panic building of something being so deep despite how little you wanted to disappoint him now. Still, you knew you could take him, but you were gentle and too much fighting such an internal feeling to do it yourself. You thought little of the manner which the thought arose in phrasing or what it could mean behind the fog as it grew more again.

You needed Jon to just force you to do what he wanted.

Blindly did you grab at his free hand. Uncurling his tensed fingertips into an ease as you pulled him back behind you, allowing him to curl it around the back of your neck under where his hold on your hair was. Jon gritted out your name in warning, but you squeezed his hand and Jon could read you better then you could’ve hoped as you let yours return to his hips. His voice but a rough husk full of such a strong desire, such a thick northern accent already now as thick as his cock. “Darling, please. I don’t want to force you-”

But you nearly whined around his length, and the following swearing curses from his mouth had spoken to how desperate you were for it. Once more, it hadn’t yet dawned on you what specifically Jon could truly pick up on, but your mouth so warm and wet around him he was weak to your gentle asks. It wouldn’t be until much later would Jon realize what it was he picked up on exactly.

“If I get too rough,” Another whine vibrated around his cock and pulled a grunt from him at the sensation. Don’t finish that sentence you could beg him, be rough. Be too rough. Ignore the blood flowing fast in your veins warning of a panic following and be rough with you, you wanted.

Grasping your hair in a firm hold, Jon pulled you almost all the way off his length before sinking you right back down, only this time he pushed you passed where you stopped. The second you could feel the coarse hair around the base of is cock though, did Jon pull you off almost all the way again. Over and over he dragged you down his cock but each time he fed more of his cock to you did he go faster. Not a shred of air to be had in mercy as he bobbed your head up and down his length with such an ease behind his grip in your hair did the hand behind your neck slide somewhat. Resting more along the side closer to the front of your throat his hand moved, and tight in grip still.

That time, your head stayed in place, it was Jon who thrusted his cock as deep into your mouth as he could go, which was every thick, agonizingly long inch. Fingernails tensing into where they dropped by his thighs as if to hold on for him, and a muffled sound of need barley making its way to Jons ears. He pulled you on and off his cock quickly, but now that he moved inside of you as if a toy for his making, he was less kind.

The hand in your hair cupped the back of your head, forcing you forward to meet his cock as it slid down your throat. Soaking him as he stretched your mouth but the growling sounds of need now erupting from Jon told you he needed this. He needed to treat you roughly. Cries leaving you as did the tears fall behind your eyes still closed, the feeling washing over you of a mixture.

A warmth which you felt low in your blood but refusing to travel to where you once wanted it. But the other part didn’t want it to. Jon was rough, rougher then you think he noticed as he all but was using your mouth as a toy for his pleasure. As if you only existed here and now to feed his cock into when he needed. Moans or cries, need or panic it felt hard to differentiate if you didn’t want to stop or if you liked it. Either way, the darkness took over instead to whisper that he’d hate you if you made him stop now.

“Fuck, how were you born so perfect to take me?” He thrusted down your throat as he also begun to move you to follow his path, offering him pure obedience every single inch he shoved into your mouth. “You were born for this, for me- born to take all of me..” If that was a nod, you gave whatever little of it you had.

Feeling his cock throb hot inside your mouth, you refused to let it happen now. He needed your mouth this deep, this rough, this mean and you did what you could. Sucking his thick length in the small moments of control you could offer to his cock even more. Your jaw hurt, your lungs burned as did a racing in your heart and blood speak another story that you told to be quiet despite something in your heart telling you to stop, and stop now.

Rambling lost as Jons head fall backwards as he just pulled you down, your nose pressing against the coarse hair and Jon would barley pull out of you before shoving you back down over and over. “Can you take all of me?” You could barley understand him, his voice a slurring husk with his accent so thick you couldn’t really comprehend his words over the sound of blood racing in your own head.

Forcing you back down, Jon this time held you there so deep in your throat he nearly let the hand on your neck tighten. “Yes or no, will you let me spill down your throat?” No, don’t ask. Don’t give you the option, you wanted him to force you to take whatever he fed you.

Only an indiscernible nod he caught before his head dropped. Eyes dark and wide as his lips parted watching you barley able to move as he thrusted so shallow deep in your warm mouth. He spoke, he said words, but none which registered.

Jons cock throbbed until he moved your head roughly all the way down, holding you there at the back of your head as a mighty growl of your name left him like a true animal. The hand at the side of your neck however, moved to your throat in anticipation.

His seed spilled deep down your throat, even against his warm figure it was hot, and thick. So thick you struggled to swallow it, muffled gags high pitched and desperate as he refused air. Only when you drank all of his seed could you breathe. The hand around your neck tightened at your throat, each swallow he could feel under his hand, Jon seemed as if it made him give you more. Feed you more of such thick seed as if in this cold outside the only sustenance you needed to stay warm and fed was his seed.

Jon came more then usual, thick spurts of his seed painted your mouth and the back of your throat all pooling in your stomach for him. Letting you ease up but not yet moving you. Your own instincts took over, gently bobbing your head up and down his cock, licking and sucking every which way you could to ensure every drop of his seed was brought out in his pleasure. Hissing against you finally, did Jon have nothing left and dragged you off of him.

His breathing heavy, but nothing of yours. Hands tense at is sides, your head dropped gasping for air you felt deprived of for so long and faint traces of his spend mixed with your saliva. Hand cupping the back of your neck now, massaging the area more soothingly as his voice still as deep rasped gentle down to you. “Look up at me, come on darling.” Guiding your eyes to meet his, yours were hard to read beyond something overwhelmed and exhausted. Jon shook his head to a thought of disbelief in his own head. “Gods, you’re so beautiful.”

A flush travelled through your body at that one, but Jon just knelt down to your level. Cupping your cheeks, he pressed his lips to yours with such a tenderness that you almost thought he wasn’t even breathing. But slowly guiding your lips, sliding his tongue into your still warm mouth the second you gave him a sliver of access did you whine into his mouth. The sound gifted as music to his ears as his much more deep gutted groan had him crowed you more as he kissed you rougher and deeper.

Only tearing away when it was him who needed air, Jon tilted your head down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

You still let him move you at eye level, his nose brushing against yours almost playfully as you struggled to touch him so affectionately back. “And I love you.” Prompting you up onto the bed, Jon turned you into his chest. Cradling the back of your head as you reached meekly onto him but snuggled into his warmth as a cat does a blanket.

With his warmth around you, and the exhaustion of such a racing in your heart still not yet simmered, but despite it all, you found a calm and did you fall asleep in Jons arms without issue.

But that was just it, you fell asleep without issue. Jon remained awake realizing the issue. Red flags had been all over the encounter with you, but it was one thing which had Jons arms around you tighten and keep you so much more protective in his chest. He knew you liked when he took control, you had never all but begged Jon though, to just force you to take him. You wanted Jon to force you down his cock, force his cock down your throat roughly.

It took Jon a very long time to finally even allow his eyes to close, to attempt sleep. Realizing exactly what had happened, but also, the same realization that you had not a single clue what you did. He never told you, it wasn’t your fault. But it was there all the same. Chest tight and nerves flowing heavily through his mind which now could not stop filling his head with such gut wrenching thoughts, that comparison had startled him truly.

By the time he fell asleep he knew. Enough was enough. He had to handle this soon before it got any worse. He refused to let you force yourself down this path that he was sure, you weren’t even aware you were setting yourself on.

Something dark in your head was afraid Jon didn’t want you anymore, and were desperately about to start offering anything you could, your safety or well being be damned to try and hold onto his love a little longer. Jon despised that even in motherhood, the world refused to ever let you catch your breath.

Because, you had been clearly very confused, not understanding why Jon didn’t want to hurt you.

A good part of you felt bad, but it was something you wanted to do without him. It wasn’t the same for him and you didn’t truly have the words to explain it, nor did you know if you should. Already it was nearly a miracle that Jon did not awaken as you slunk from his grasp. Slowly and surely you managed, wrapping something warmer around your person as you dressed before peeking back to the dark sight of the room. First, the baby awoke to your gentle touch. You wanted to feed him before you did this, and a quiet as a baby boy could be, not a sound was made.

Finally, both Jon and the baby fast asleep, you crept the door open quietly to slip out. A gentle small smile to the guards who respected the quiet with only but small gestures back as you made your way down the corridor. You knew it must have been quite late into the night as hardly a soul was to come across your figure as you walked through the castle and out the doors. Not quite dressed for the snow outside, but you had a different destination then out here regardless.

Spotting the glass gardens in the distance you had the certainty that you were indeed alone. Not a soul would be out and on this side of the yard so late. Thus, you easily made your way passed and to the steps which led and down and down into the ground eventually revealing the crypts. So many generations of Starks, so many of which stood tall with direwolves by their side as it went on and on.

A family so long existing just as this in the world, it felt minuscule to imagine your families, the contrast of here to the tombs of House Baratheon on Storm’s End. Only three hundred years did they go beyond. Another existed there before you, but you knew not what happened of their remains. Only that when your House came into existence, so did the remains of the last get wiped away.

Step by step and you could hear the faint sounds of strings as you thought of it. The dark, horrible screaming nightmare within your mind hearing the music as you considered perhaps a House only disappears from the world should the ones which ruled after be cruel enough to wipe them away. There was not a scrap of memory for House Castamere aside from a morose song which sung of their doom and lingered in your mind of an attempt at the same.

Perhaps your family was not that different. Perhaps it was why walking through the crypts here did you feel as not belonging as you did in the tomb of Storm’s End. Not enough of either to be a person whole on your very own. Just scattered fragments of families making up a malformed figure in the shape of a woman. But you already knew that, that you were merely shards of a broken person.

After all, you had a father. Living and breathing to fight the same fight in the North, but you had not even attempted to write him or ask your mother if she had. You had a son, your father had a grandson this time who had lived long enough to be born into the world and you had not thought to inform him of it. Even now, you did not know what you would even say. But there was a father you walked towards, and it was him which you went to see.

There his statue stood, tall and stern as he ever was. The sword carved into his hands tall just as Ice was, as if to symbolize that in death if not life, Ned Stark stood guarding Rickon who was buried beside him. It felt so long ago that you stood in that very spot, knowing that you would have to step forward and begin the process of making a burial spot for him. As fresh as the wound was for Jon especially, you now could look back and almost be thankful that you and him both came to the same agreement to bury him that night. The last memory of his little brother would be one not of rot or decay. He in the cold air, had remained and as if the gods could only do one thing for him, not have his body lost or desecrated in the battle which erupted around him.

You hoped he knew. That Rickon knew that in his death, Jon had not hesitated to charge towards the man who did it. That he had not wavered in what he was going to do, and that as finally Jon descended on his home, had beaten Ramsay bloody for what he had done. That the time they saw one another was so short, but that everything of that battle was for him. That Jon took what forces he had to Winterfell as soon as Shaggydog’s head arrived at Deepwood Motte. That he did not hesitate to shut down suggestions of gathering stronger forces when his little brothers life hung in the balance.

Rickon was only a boy of six when you last saw him. His hair more red like that of his mothers, so small that you could so easily pick him up to move him as if he weighed nothing. His voice still high pitched with wide and bright eyes. He had not taken it well when you had returned to Winterfell only for you and Robb to leave soon after for war. He was angry and felt abandoned even though Robb and you both tried to assure him otherwise. Bran had said the free folk woman you met, Osha, she was trustworthy. That she cared deeply about them both, and when Bran knew he had to go beyond the Wall, he trusted no one more then her to keep Rickon safe. You knew it was not her blame how it ended.

Looking to where the lay, you recalled him then. By present day he would have been eleven. His hair darkened more in their curls just like Robb and he looked so much as he did at that age too. But you felt the guilt. A dark looming feeling making your head feel as if it was suddenly filled to the brim with liquids turning to metal to weigh you down. Rickon still would’ve been too young to understand it was you fault, but as your eyes returned to the statue of Ned Stark, you knew he would understand that.

The wind against your skin as Robb spoke beside you, you could hear him speak so clearly. Standing at the border of the bridge at the Twins, knowing that you all had not the time to fight your way through, watching two riders approaching, as the time ticked away.

“Father rots in a dungeon. How long before they take his head? Father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took.”

But you didn’t do that. Did you? You fought beside the men fighting for the same cause, but you did not do whatever it took to secure Rickons safety. Jon had known you would’ve left. Would’ve given yourself back to Ramsay in order to barter for Rickons safe return. Jon could still fight for his home, but you wouldn’t have an eleven year old boys blood on your hands. Ned Stark did whatever it took to protect his daughters. He had confessed to a crime he did not commit, hoping that his admission would at least give Sansa and Arya some safety with his compliance. He risked and lost his life to protect them.

Who have you protected? Ned Stark was dead. Robb was dead. Robbs unborn son was dead. Catelyn is trapped in the body of a vengeful creature pretending to be the woman who you once saw as a mother. Rickon was dead. Shireen was dead by your own hands. Renly was dead. Barra was dead as was every nameless bastard cousin you never had the chance to know.

Bringing him back didn’t change that Jon was murdered trying to protect you. Arya survived on her quick intelligence. Bran survived despite every single odd being stacked against a crippled boy his age. Sansa survived no doubt using her perception of naive kindness as a shield to protect her. You protected none of them. You protected no one ever.

Looking up to the man you had missed more then when you thought your real father was gone, you could not help but think that you didn’t belong down here. You weren’t a Stark in any way that mattered the way they all were. You stood before him, symbolizing so little. You did not matter in this place or to it’s people. You were what you were always told you’d be.

A wife to breed her husband sons and daughters. You would fulfill that duty until Jon no longer had use for you, and you would never resent him nor your children for it. Cersei had told you that no matter what, no matter how bad it got, she had her children. That they kept her alive. You loved little Eddard dearly, and you knew your purpose here was Jon. You loved them both, but you thought perhaps you should stop pretending as if you were the exception to the life Cersei warned you about.

You hoped tonight you had proven at least some pleasurable value to Jon. It was hard to say what you felt. Part of you liked it, you always did with him. But the other part of you? The panic overwhelming of what if none of it would be enough to make him still want you, and you had to play into the lie of how much your mind and heart hadn’t filled with panic and anxiety. He needed it clearly, and so you wouldn’t dare deprive him of it. But your mind the whole time screamed at you that Ramsay had been right. This was all you were good for.

Even with your son here, Jon was your life, your purpose, he was truly everything to you. But you weren’t to him, and you’d do whatever it took to at least keep this false image of love he holds for you as long as you could. Your mind had made your time together that night complicated in your heart every single time you worried about what you will do when he doesn’t even want this from you anymore.

The fog in your head promised it would happen, and you listened to it. And in the subsequent fear in your mind, forced yourself to just endure what you knew you normally, would’ve felt good doing. If not for the heart twisting fear that he already was casting you aside for a woman who he could enjoy himself with properly. At least if you let him do whatever he wants, he had reason to keep you in his bed. The fog in your head promised you after all. Promised that if you didn’t just give him what he wanted, he’d set you aside and it was difficult in that fog to tell yourself otherwise. It wasn’t Jons fault he didn’t want you. It was yours.

“Scary how well I know you.”

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to the side with wide eyes and a gasp of shock at the sudden intrusion of self hatred. Hands holding out as if to tame a spooked horse, did they apologize for scaring you. Catching your breath as your heart raced, you shook your head dismissively. “No apology needed. I simply didn’t notice I wasn’t alone anymore is all.”

A nod of understanding was given, and then you both stood there. More guilt ate at you, but you also knew, guilt sat right in the bright eyes Theon had. Taking a few steps closer he didn’t close the gap much, but enough he could lower his voice to a more appropriate level. “Fine, but I will apologize for the way I spoke to you. Our last conversation before you left.”

Closing your eyes with a sigh, you let your hand drift up to pinch at the high bridge of your nose. “Theon-”

But he took another step, that time with not the hesitant waver behind his tone. “No, I need too. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Not as my Queen, and certainly not as my friend.”

Your arms dropping back down to your sides, you looked from his gaze for a moment. Recognizing at the corner of your eye, him more closing the gap. Following his lead you sensed, you both stood side by side before the statue of Ned Stark. Not the only one you were, who felt as if he did not belong down here. Theon spoke once more before you could gather your thought. “I know you don’t like being told this, but it isn’t your fault how we left things. I didn’t know how to handle you leaving, and I took it out on you instead of just saying that. No matter how close to everyone else we are, they will never get it. What being Ramsay’s prisoners was like. How he could make us forget we were even human. Only you understand that, and I was mad you were leaving.”

The silence was heavy, as was your gaze with stinging eyes looking towards the statue before you as your voice found itself. Quiet for only him to hear even in the empty halls all around. “We didn’t know if we were ever coming back.” You could see from the side of your vision, Theon nodding a little in an understanding. “It was more important to give everyone the hope that they knew we were coming back, instead of the worrying question of if. I thought I was sparing you the pain of thinking that was the last time you were ever going to see me.”

Theon for the weight bearing down on both of you, actually let out a chuckle. “You didn’t come back to life too bright, did you?” As if no pain was in your heart, your head whipped to the side with a scowl and glare he knew all too well. “You two were gone for months, you didn’t think eventually I was going to start worrying about that very thing all on my own?”

The nearly jesting glare subsided slowly, as you once again looked forward. Your tone easing a little from the far more withheld place it took previous. “Having some hope for a little while felt better then giving you none from the very beginning.” Theon however, only pressed. Asking why you didn’t just fight him on the way he dismissed you before leaving for what you feared could be forever. But there wasn’t a grand array of complicated emotions attached, you knew the truth was for once, very simple. “I didn’t want to potentially leave forever on an argument. Robert and Renly both died with our last real talk being an argument, and never being able to take that back feels horrible. I thought at least even if you were mad, I could avoid souring your last memory of me.”

Theon smirked though you did not see it. “Do you remember the day you threw a rock at my head?” Brows furrowing, you almost said no until the memory slipped in behind your eyes. Though he didn’t see it, you too begun a small smirk as you nodded once. “If someone told me then, that we’d be standing here fifteen years later saying this sort of thing to each other I might have thrown a rock the size of your head at you to avoid it.”

Hardly what any could call a laugh, but between you what was left out was all you both had in the moment. Silence came over you for a bit until it felt safe enough to broach. “Do you ever worry he’s disappointed?” Neither of you had to ask whom you were referring to. “That he looks at what you’ve become and wonders where did he go so wrong that’s led to you being on this path?”

Of all people, there was not a single point of contention between either of you that Theon felt exactly that. No matter the work you did to help him come away from it, there was no doubt he would look back and feel the same guilt that he had for months once you both were gone from it all. Not answering directly, Theon somewhat shifted the discussion to elaborate in a much more personal way. “Do you know what the first thing was my father said to me when I got to Pyke?” Shaking your head no, Theon could still hear it clearly as you did the strings earlier no doubt. “Said that Ned Stark had me just as long as he did. Took me away as a frightened boy, and what came back. So I said what I thought was true. A man, his blood and his heir. And without even looking at me he said, we shall see. Already he doubted me being there. Saw right through me the whole time and still I wanted to impress him. I didn’t have to fake who I was here. Told you and Robb to convince you both to let me go, that Ned Stark raised me to be an hourable man and I did everything he tried to raise me to not become. Of course I worry he’s looking at me wondering how I ended up this way.”

Theon never belonged back with them, you knew. He left with good intentions and Balon Greyjoy twisted him into thinking he wasn’t a man for it. But when asking what would he be disappointed in you for, your throat became dry like sands in the deserts of Dorne. All of it you thought, he should be disappointed in all of it. You knew you had many times been a disappointment to your true father, and even in his death you knew you too were a disappointment to the father who actually showed you love.

Your lack of an answer wasn’t pressed. The one which you spoke was a work around that real one you dared not speak out loud. “At least we are disappointments together.”

It was some time before either of you spoke. A long time before either of you found the courage too, but once again through the fog it was not you who was collected enough to find the words. “My sister tried to rescue me once. From Ramsay while we were still at the Dreadfort. She took a group of men to get me out of there and bring me home.”

You already knew this story, but broaching that subject was one Jon had said he wanted to tackle himself, since he did the most damage. In his words. Prompting Theon with reasonable responses, “Why didn’t she?”

Already you knew the guilt and shame she felt, but too did you know Theon had no reasonable way to know any of that. And the bitterness was evident. “I was too scared. Didn’t know if it was a trap. So she left. Came all that way and left.” Just as you wished to say anything of comfort, did Theon come to his true point. “But despite that, despite everything else that came after. I’m glad I didn’t go with her.” Why was all you could ask as he left your heart a bit strained. “Would’ve meant leaving you behind. No matter what Ramsay put us through, I’m glad the only time I escaped was when I was able to bring you with me. The night we left, I was worried come morning you would’ve just killed yourself to avoid marrying Ramsay and I had to do it or I’d lose you for good, and you were all I had left. We were all each other had left.”

Voice but a whisper, you barley would register to any ears were they not as close as Theon. “Would have spared you far more pain then you deserved though.”

Theon was as strained in voice as you, but the weight was more sure of himself through it. “My actual sister abandoned me. But you’re the sister I chose, and I wasn’t going to do to you what she did to me. And if Ned Stark is disappointed in me for that, I’m going to just have to live with it.”

The fog in your head was so heavy and so hateful, you almost felt like you truly were trapped with Ramsay still. The only moment you were a person being what little brevity you and Theon could fine, before you ascended those steps and returned to a fog which you were lost in all alone. For even just moments down here, it was a reminder of what being you felt like.

Still so late into the night, by the time you returned to the cold air of the courtyard Theon had since left to try and sleep. Asking if you were fine getting back on your own, but your answer of yes did not include that it was a lie. You weren’t sure you could handle returning to a bed you didn’t know if Jon truly wanted you in. It would be a few hours still anyways before the baby would wake in need of you again.

Standing in the cold as snow lightly fell all around you in the empty courtyard, your breath was the only sound heard as it exhaled cold in the air, beyond the night around in nature. It was beautiful beyond belief, Winterfell in such a wintery sight, and you felt unworthy of it as you stood there.

What you would do until morning dawned in the peak of the sky, you had not known. Until one single step was taken, when a voice spoke out behind you. Your name being called softly and hesitantly from a voice you had not heard in five years. Turning to see from where she had been hiding by the glass gardens in the dead of night, you almost didn’t recognize her as a woman, from the girl you left her as.

In kind without doubt, in your more whispered surprise, returned the gesture right back and spoke hers with something just as soft.

“Sansa.”

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

do you mind if i ask what the workout program you've referenced finishing and restarting is? i am looking to get into more of a routine and your program sounds cool!

i have been working out with caroline girvan’s stuff for almost two years now! her long programs all involve weights (i have a pair of adjustable dumbbells which are pricey but a good investment and don’t take THAT long to be cheaper than a gym membership) but she also has a playlist on her youtube channel of bodyweight workouts she’s put up. the program i’m (now re)doing is her epic heat series, which is all 30 minute workouts. fwiw when people on her subreddit ask where to start people usually say you can technically start anywhere because the workout is a guide you meet at the level of challenge appropriate for you (i am still years away from being able to match her for weights OR reps and there is the occasional move she programs that i straight up can’t do and i just switch or do my best even if it’s like… “do a 40 second push up” ok well i can do like an 8 second push up, lol. i also take a lot of mini mid-set breaks when i need them and also pause the video if i like REALLY need to catch my breath) the typical recommendation is (1) the ultimate beginner 6 week program on her app which is worth a month or two subscription if you’re new to strength training and you can swing it (i did this last year when it came out and it was really helpful both bc it’s slower than any of her other programs and builds up starting at 3x a week and bc it’s the only program where she talks you through the moves) (2) if not, iron because it’s slower paced than her others or her 24 day advent calendar because it’s got the shortest workout durations (that was the first one i ever did bc the app hadn’t launched yet and i really liked it even though the first full body day left me so sore i couldn’t walk for like 3 days and it took me much more than 24 days lol. i also redid the first couple workouts when i finished and it was cool to see that my body was already adjusting and a lot of stuff had gone from Am I Dying? to a mere Incredibly Fucking Hard, lmao). she has a 1-week program called beginner epic on youtube but it’s like, an intro to her style more than for true beginners. ofc i have no idea what your experience is i am just trying to be thorough and cover all my bases!!! lol