#spider man friend or foe

[shinigami-striker]

Quinton Flynn | Thursday, 10.10.24

Same voice actor, different video game characters - featuring Quinton Flynn. Happy 60th birthday! 🎂

2001

Raiden (Metal Gear) - Metal Gear Solid series (video games; 2001-present)

2003

N. Gin, Nitros Oxide, Victor & Moritz, and Chick Gizzard Lips - Crash Bandicoot series (video games; 2003-2005)

2007

Venom - Spider-Man: Friend or Foe (video game)

[it-seemo]

@odditiesnoctobermidnightroad's Promptober Day 24 - Tentacled

<- Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 ->

[lazymonth]

BOLD-JUMPER & WINTER-SPIDER season 2 THE SUPERIOR FOES OF SPIDERS cover

bold-jumper by @bioeiectricity

[huicitawrites]

The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

tw: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark-fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spider-verse.

word count: 6,1 k

status: in revision

Prev chapter

taglist: @zeniiin @aikoiya @caramelcandescence @adamsloverboy @slowlymax @reapersimps @jenniferdixon05207 @superduckmilkshake @ceeesxy-blog @wotterblue

Part II

“Stay still and let me squash you like the spider you are!" 

"I think I'll pass on that one, thanks" you retorted as you moved out of yet another attack which could have pierced through you. You were jumping around, feet and arms in sync as you balanced your body to dodge the snapping metal claws. 

The flow of your body conveyed an effortless image, but the fight was far from over. As hard as it was to admit, you were having a tough time figuring it out. 

"Be wary of those, (Y/n)" 

"Yep" 

The foe before you was good at maintaining his distance and using the range of the metal limbs to his advantage. The claws snapped any web you shot at him and easily dodged and covered from your attacks as well. This metal exoskeleton he had was really bothering you- whereas you were used to the fleshy feeling of the mutant tentacles of the mad bio-engineering scientist you knew, this self-proclaimed Otto Octavius’ tentacles were purely made of metal. And it was quite metal, because your fist hurt like hell when you came into contact with it despite your super-strength. In addition, the metal exoskeleton was purely coordinated with his movements. They were calculated and clean, unlike the brash and wild nature of 'your' Doc Ock. [Thank God this copycat came in with a discount, it would have been worse if you had to deal with eight metal octopi-limbs.] 

In the battle's agitation, something odd occurred. Just when you thought it could not get any weirder, his frame shook violently, and he fell to the ground in a flash of strange colors and shapes. His voice quivered, his shout of pain came out distorted and chopped. 

"What the-? Peter, is he...?" 

"Glitching?” he said with doubt, “but how..." immediately, he began to tap away on the keyboard. 

You did not want to waste your time observing the phenomenon, instead deeming this man dangerous, you took the opportunity to confine him in your webs. The webs surrounded his torso and tied extra-tight around the metal limbs. 

The glitching stopped and you neared him. 

"So… Otto Octavius, right? Mind telling me more about Spider-Man?" You asked, but there was no answer. His head was hanging, and his shoulders were too lax, he seemed unconscious. 

"Um, sir?" You closed the distance between you and touched him briefly. "Sir? Other Dock Ock?" You continued, and just as you were about to check if he was breathing, something cool clamped down on your wrist. 

Immediately you redirected your sight and saw a metal claw on your wrist, it was viciously gripping you. Then you heard laughing, making you turn your attention at a now perfectly conscious man with scraps of web around him on the floor. 

"Ah, shit". In cue with the curse that left your lips, you were thrown at full force against the building. Your head impacted first and your body slumped to the ground, a loud ringing sounded off in your ears, and your sight turned terribly foggy. 

You groaned in pain and attempted to get up, but the metal limb got to you first and lifted you off the ground once more. It pulled you near as you thrashed. To escape from the vice grip, you focused the muscles of your arm and began to open apart the metal claw. The metal screeched and folded, yet your efforts dwindled when another claw came at you. 

This time, it wrapped itself around your throat, cutting the airflow into your system. He hoisted you up to admire your writhing form. 

"I just love killing spiders," he grinned wickedly, "after this, Peter Parker is next".  

The mention of your friend sent the adrenaline in your body rushing and your heart strained against your chest. Your body was urging you to move, muscles tightening to contract and exert force- but your eyes began to fail you. Your vision slowly turned opaque due to the lack of oxygen. 

A final metal claw appeared, and you vaguely made out a glimmering edge at the center of it- a sharp blade. 

"Die."  

You heard the words laced with venom and your friend frankly calling out to you, his voice drowned by the fading consciousness of your body. Was this the end? Is this the way it all ends?  

'C'mon girl, keep it up!' 

Just when the point-end of the blade was about to pierce you, an orange glow painted the scene. An engine roared— the blade never came.  

You were dropped on the ground unceremoniously when the vice grip let go of you. Lips parted for a large gasp for that sweet, sweet air. Still, its sudden intrusion made you cough, and as your back shook furiously you felt a soothing sensation on it. Somebody was rubbing your back. 

"You alright?" Another masculine voice, but this time, it was friendly and caring. There were no traces of animosity in it. 

Even before your sight could clear, your spider-sense was running. It was running even more wild than before, and when you opened your eyes to see your savior, you were left astonished. 

Your spider-sense tingled and evened out, synchronizing up with another spider-sense. 

This man was just like you. 

The web-patterned mask, his lenses, the arachnid symbol on his chest. It was all too familiar. 

"You...are me?" 

"No, and yes. I mean, no, I am not you, but I am like you." He hoisted you up by the elbow and put you on your feet. "Anyway, explanations later, now we have to deal with this guy and put him back in his dimension."  

"In his dimension? What-" 

"Explanations later", a female voice interrupted and reiterated. You glanced at the direction of the voice and your spider-sense picked up the same feeling.  

It was a woman with big, dense curly hair, in a stylish leather tracksuit with a matching headband, and she rode on a motorcycle. She did not wear a mask, revealing part of her brown skin, but she had large, yellow-tinted sunglasses in a shape and proportion you knew all too well. 

The woman flashed you a sweet smile, showing her gapped-pearly whites. 

"Now, let's kick ass" and she roared the engine once more and rode straight at Octavius. She crashed the vehicle into him, pushing him back, and stood up on it. As she balanced her weight forwards on the vehicle, she reached out her hand- five web strings much like your own sprouted from the pads of her fingers. She brought the villain flush against the tire of the running motorbike, and he clutched his face in pain. The man who patted you followed suit, and he too shot web, although out from his wrist, and launched himself against him. He delivered a couple of blows, punches, and kicks, as he used his 'web-shooter' -you guessed- to propel back and forth. 

You just stood there, eyes wide and lenses as big as round plates. 

"Peter, are you seeing this?" 

"Yes, and I'm already coming up with some theories" you heard the fast-clicking sound of a keypad going on. "I can't have anything for sure and it's not like I can track back to any tabs on these guys... The best thing I can produce is for you to stick around and find out, but do not lower your guard" 

"I guess so" you said, simply taking in and accepting what was going on as you took speed and jumped, your legs pulling back and your arms stretching at a sharp angle behind your back. 

Your body flew, and you looked down to see Octavius struggling to stand up as the two new heroes faced him. 

Octavius stood up on all metal fours and he growled in rage, "Spider-Man!" his sights now focused on the blue and red hero. 

"You might want to look behind you, Doc"  

The smirk of the lady on the motorcycle and the cheekiness of the disguised man said it all. The dark silhouette of a shadow cast upon him was growing bigger, and Doc Ock turned his head. 

Your wrists extended and web shot from both. The silk rope attached itself to the upper shoulders of the metal limbs and you grasped the webs to pull yourself. With the help of force and acceleration, you delivered a powerful kick on the man’s back.  

Your attack was not meaningless, for your aim was set on the bright spot at the top near his nape. The power source, the connection of the exoskeleton with Octavius’ nervous system. 

A few sparks blew off, signaling your success in delivering the final blow. Well, that, and how the tentacles trembled before collapsing- dropping the mad man on the ground. 

“You!” he whipped his head, “You little- “his words were cut short by web sticking on his lips, sealing them shut. 

“Not a word more from you, please. I kinda had enough,” you exasperated and slumped your shoulders. Your hand rubbed on your head, a little bit of pain still lingering on the impacted area. 

You were about to web him up, this time making sure he would stay put, but the curly-haired woman halted you with her hand. With the other, she slid a disk across the floor which stopped in front of Octavius. Then, laser-like hexagons formed, one by one until the villain was encased fully. 

“Oh, well that’s nice. What is that?” 

“A portable prison we use to capture anomalies.” 

“Anomalies?��� 

“People that stray from their original dimensions and pose a threat to the cannon.” 

“The cannon?” 'Geez, keeping up with this new information is hard'. Amid your confusion, the woman laughed. She was not laughing out in mockery, more like she had found your confusion endearing.  

She stretched out her hand for you to shake it, and hesitantly you did.  

“I am Jessica Drew, Spider-Woman, Earth-404.” 

“And I’m Peter B. Parker, the one and only Spiderman from Earth-616B” The man took off his mask, showing excited eyes and a warm smile as he stretched out his hand. The physical resemblance he had to your best friend was uncanny, well, he was him from another dimension, of course. The brown eyes and hazelnut hair, but he was much taller, certainly older and you could distinguish the outline of worked muscles below his spandex suit. 

“(Y/n), this is unbelievable...” but you ignored your friend through the comms as you were just as surprised as him, or even more. 

“Spider-Woman, I mean, (Y/n) (L/n), Earth… 

“Earth-699” Peter B Parker filled in for you, and you repeated his words, taking them in your mind. 

“Wait, wait… So, you are Spider-Women,” you glanced at Peter B. Parker, “Spider…people… sorry, from other dimensions?” you asked in disbelief. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” and Jessica Drew hummed in approval of Peter B’s words. 

“And, and you! I know you! Well, I know you in this world. He’s my best friend, and my back-up” the other Peter chuckled. 

“Ooh, the classic back-at-the-chair guy?” his eyebrow twitched in curiosity. “Feels like a demotion though…” 

“Hey!" 

You giggled at his antics, "Trust me, you are very cool in this dimension too. Without him, I would not be Spider-Woman". Your warm smile and noble words caught the brown eyes of Jessica, and for a moment, she stared right at your own not long after her and the other Peter -you will call him Peter. B- shared silent eye contact which spoke volumes between them. Then they both smiled, and Jessica Drew giggled, "This one is yours; I have already recruited a lot. Miguel will bite my head off if I bring in one more" 

"Right, right, you just want to make me be the one to ask him" 

Confused about what they were talking about and who, you were about to ask them before Peter B spoke first.  

"So, we like you- my spider-sense can already tell me you are an amazing hero, (Y/n). Do you want to join us? And the rest of Spiders, a spider-society of our own if you are interested." 

People just like you? Your heart began to beat fast with joy and excitement, this, this was amazing. If there is a whole society of other people, of other You's, Peter B's, and Jessica's, with their own hero journeys, spider-suits, spider-abilities, and voices to be heard- you wanted all in. 

"I'm in!" you exclaimed, physically jumping at the opportunity. The afro spider-woman hopped back on her motorbike, you saw her fiddle with a bracelet on her wrist, a slick white-metal watch of sorts, and the same orange glow from before emerged. This time, you took a closer look- it was a portal, a hexagonal electric-orange portal made of rings.  

Peter B. hopped on behind Jessica, and he looked back behind at you and beckoned you closer with his hand, patting the space left on the leather seat. You smiled wide below the mask and rushed your feet to the vehicle, hopping on. 

"You know it's almost two in the morning and we have work tomorrow, right?" Your Peter's voice sounded. You groaned, "Yes, don't wait for me. Also, didn't take my keys so leave the window open please" 

"Again? Girl, I-" but Peter heard the roaring of an engine and the sound of screeching tires before the loud beep signaling the end of the intercommunication device and he cursed under his breath. He shut down the three-screen PC and kicked his feet to distance the chair from the desk, drawing a large sigh from his lips. He stood up, revealing his pajama set and house coat, and very fluffy set of Spider-Woman slippers you had gifted him jokingly, [wearing unofficial merch of your vigilante best-friend was weirdly hilarious, but they were too comfortable and soft to pass]. He walked toward the living rooms' window, thank God you two were on the seventh floor, and pulled off the lock.  

"One of these days I swear I will lock her out, so she begins taking her goddamn keys", he grunted in between teeth. He dragged the palm of his hand down his features, squeezing down his cheeks and wrinkling them. He glanced at the dreadful hour, led bright numbers making out 1:50 AM.  

'As long as I get in bed before two...' Despite the petty annoyance this occurrence caused, he could not help but crack a smile.  

He looked out the window and observed the city lights, contemplating the night. 

You were incredible to Peter, your best friend. Sometimes he wished NYC were more grateful for the protection your courageous and self-risking services lent. Although he was aware they were out of your heart.  

Peter took a long, loud sip of his mug of tea. It was halfway cold. As he drank and emptied the contents of his cup, Peter wondered. 

"Who is going to protect you when you are too busy protecting others, (Y/n)", his worrisome thoughts were vocalized. Part of why Peter helped you back to the chair was because of this because he was worried about you. Of course, it felt nice and gratifying to put his own grains of sand in the jar of NYC's safety, protecting citizens and loved ones alike, but deep-down Peter felt powerless. 

What if one day someone manages to best you, or you mess with the worst of people? Someone you will not be able to defeat, someone like you? The possibilities, the enemies, could be endless. After what tonight's events revealed the existence stirred something within him, call it his Parker-Sense [turns out there is a Peter Parker who is a Spider-Man as well in another universe- he will have to ask you more about it, tomorrow.]. 

He placed the cup down on the coffee table beside the heater, casting aside his worries along it. Peter knew he could do nothing but help from back of the front lines- he could only hope the gadgets and suits he designed for you would help you in your quest and help you make it back home every night. 

You raised your arms as if you were on the best rollercoaster ride in the world whilst you travelled through the fabric of time and space. It was fast and short, but breathtaking. There was not enough time to process what you had just experienced as you crossed through a flash of light. 

As the flash dispersed, you noticed your surroundings. You found yourself inside a big, big building. Although the design was minimalistic, and the color grey was dominating, you made out figures of diverse colors. 

Not figures, people. 

And not regular people, people like you- spider people. 

Hundreds of them, walking, chatting, hanging around. On the floor, on the ceiling, on the walls, all around the unorganized columns that stretched everywhere in every direction. 

Your spider-sense had already caught up with the gig, because your mind has surprisingly not fallen apart.  

"Welcome to HQ, this is the lobby" Peter B. announced. 

A simple 'woah' was all you could muster as your lenses widened. Jessica hopped off her motorbike and stored it in a pocket-size gadget, somehow but it does not surprise you, and she tapped on your wrist. She handed you a purple bracelet, "It's a one-day pass, it allows you to stay here without glitching. You may have seen it happen to that stray Doc Ock". 

‘So, he was glitching, huh.’ 

You hung the bracelet around your wrist and secured it tight, you guessed glitching was not very comfortable and you did not really want to find out for yourself. Once you put it on, she smiled and turned on her heels, gesturing to you with her head to follow her. 

"We got to go girl, can't keep Miguel waiting." 

"Miguel?" you enquired.  

"Miguel O' Hara" Peter B answered for her as he began to walk beside you "the man behind this society. This-", he twirled around and raised his hands in contemplation as the three of you walked, "-was all his idea. He is the leader, it's thanks to him that we are all able to protect and maintain every dimension stable".  

'Well, he sounds like a cool guy- I should probably meet him if I'm around here, want to make a good first impression’ 

"He can also come off as intimidating and harsh, but he's got no bite. He just has a little bit of fang to show, no more. So don't be scared or feel intimidated".  

'Or not', you gulped.  

Something about the sweet tone in Peter B’s voice, like he had given this disclaimer a couple of times before, slightly unsettled you- but you hid your nervousness behind a small chuckle. 

As Jessica lead the way, or Jess as she insisted you call her, you 'toured' the facilities- a cafeteria with spider-themed food, a gym fit for training the super-strengthen, a villain-confinement area in which you found yourself mesmerized by the different versions of villains you had faced [which was a slightly awkward experience as you tried to ignore the daggers that were coming out from that Doc Ock's eyes and threatened to destroy the barrier that imprisoned him]. You even got to know of a therapy room, which could always come in handy later, who knows. You must make sure to swing by the cafeteria later and try out that Spider-Burger, and certainly try out the super/human equipment in the training center [it is not your usual friendly-neighborhood gym that has a leg press machine loaded with the weight of a train]. 

It was crazy- Peter B. and Jess told you everything about this place. They talked about the multiverse, and how everyone is connected through key moments in their lives as 'Spiders' through cannon events- which were more or less significant events that would shape their paths as heroes, some good, some bad, and some very bad- but all of them necessary. 

The death of your parents. Although you would never get over it, and the belief that you could have done something if you hadn’t been so powerless at that time was still rooted deep within your heart- but the fact that it was destined to happen as part of your life as Spider-Woman brought you some relief, because you felt as if it was not entirely your fault alone. They were cannon events in your life as Spider-Woman, and nothing was supposed to prevent them. 

It was bittersweet- it made you feel understood. Even though you had your own best friend who you could rely on, and you knew you could tell him everything, you also knew he would not understand. There is a great responsibility that comes with this power, and with its burdens, and inner battles that make you feel alone in the struggle, but not anymore. 

You are not alone, you are not the one and only Spider-Woman, and that made you feel you could find other people to bare this struggle with. 

The 'Spider' Peter continued with the explanation, "-- and that's why anomalies are so dangerous, and we have to deal with them, because they can break the cannon and thus destroy the fabric of the dimension that has been disturbed, and with it, millions of lives." 

In cue with the end of his talk, Jess and Peter B. halted their steps. "We're here" she said and pointed with her gaze to move forward. So, you did, you took a step forward. 

Your eyes took in the room, it was dark, and the ceiling was tall. There was a platform in the middle of it, and the orange light was abundant. Atop the platform was a man standing, his wide back facing and disheveled strands of hair facing you- he seemed busy, and too concentrated on the dozens of holographic screens surrounding him. 

There was a loud silence in the room, until Jess nudged Peter B with her elbow, and he blurted, "Okay, okay, lemme’ just" he adjusted the collar of his suit, as if it were too tight on him. He breathed in, calming down his nerves, which made you more nervous because why would he be?  

"Hey! Miguel!" his voice echoed through the room, and he waved eagerly at the man above. It was a slight movement, but you noticed how this 'Miguel' threw his head back and sighed loudly- it was clear that he was annoyed by the interruption. 

"Que ganas de molestar... What is it?!" The first part of his sentence was barely audible, but he made sure to raise his voice for the words that came out in English. His body was now facing the three of you, hands rested on his hips, and body weight slumped on his right leg. 

From that height, he seemed as if he was looking down on you... 

"Give me a minute, (Y/n), you see he looks tough, but he is really easy to crack" Peter B attempted to reassure you, earning a roll of the eyes of Jess which you barely dismissed, and he webbed a corner of the platform and pulled himself up to it. 

Peter B's physical gestures were funny and full of movement, while the man remained stiff and stoic. You could not hear the conversation well, they were meters above you, but you guessed they were talking about you-- 

"C'mon Miguel, she's amazing really, we could use a helping hand and-" 

"There's lots of helping hands already" 

"Yes, but the more the merrier right? I am serious, you're not going to regret it, I've seen her, and Jess too" 

Their talk continued for a few minutes, but then you saw Peter B clinging on to the man's shoulder and you saw him turn his head, mouthing the words 'all right.' 

Proving your guess to be true, you saw Peter B smile widely and he walked towards the edge of the platform, "Y/N! Climb up here!" He called out to you and gestured with his hand, and you did just as he did a few minutes ago. Before you could pull yourself, however, Jess tugged lightly at your mask. 

"You should probably take that off, you don't want to be rude in your first day before the boss, right?" she chuckled. "You're right," you nodded and proceeded with her advice. Your fingers slid under the mask and hooked at its hem, you tugged upwards. Your (h/c) strands cascaded down and bounced on your shoulders, and you revealed a curious set of (e/c) eyes and (s/c) skin. 

Jess ran her hands through your hair, quickly fixing it- after being pressed down by the mask it had a little bit of frizz to it, "You're looking great, now go get that job girl" and she turned you around by the shoulders and patted your back in support. 

You smiled and blushed, a little bit of confidence surging within you, you were nervous. 

[His gaze, something about it, it made you uncomfortable. You did not think much of it, putting the blame on the towering height the platform provided.] 

You twisted your fist around the web, and swung yourself and pulled down with strength, propelling yourself upwards. You made sure to land with grace on the platform, you really wanted to land yourself that good first impression. 

"Here she is," Peter B dragged on the sound of the vowels, as if presenting some grand entrance, he walked behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders. Quickly, Peter B hunched and whispered encouraging words in your ear- 

"You'll do great," he said softly against your ear. You offered a small smile and walked out of his hold, facing the man before you two. 

'Well, damn' you said loudly in your mind. If when you were below this man seemed intimidating, now up close, it was ten times more so. He had a big build, broad shoulders and clear, lined brick muscles under his cyber-punk blue and red suit. His forearms left his hips and were flexed below his broad chest, highlighting the muscles in his arms even more. You looked up to his face and gulped. 

He had a chiseled, handsome, tanned face- his jaw was sharp and so was his wide nose, his cheekbones were high and his eyebrows thick and straight, giving him a mature look. Your guess was that he was somewhere in his 30's, and by the look in his fierce yet tired eyes evinced by the bags under them, you guessed he had also gone through a lot (not like you will pry about it now, that seemed like a death wish for sure). 

Were you staring for too long? You did not notice, at least not until the man before you grunted and shot raised his eyebrows, tilting his face to the side as if granting you the permission to speak. 

You also heard Peter B. cough, not so casually. 

"Uhm, hi! I," you smiled widely, only to earn a slight judgmental look from him, 'oh my god, this is going to be harder than it looks.' To recover from that small awkward moment, you offered you hand to shake it and rephrased, "Hello, I'm (Y/n) (L/n) and I'm Spider-Woman from Earth-699, or so I've been told." 

You recomposed your breath and stance, shoulders and back straightened, trying to come off as confident and polite. "I met Peter B. Parker and Jessica Drew on my night patrol, and it was quite a surprise, but a nice one. They told me everything about this place, and about the multiverse," unbeknownst to you, the glint in your eyes as your excitement began to slip past the professional facade caught his eyes, "and let me tell you I would be more than glad to join the team, it would be an amazing opportunity, and a responsibility I would be more than glad to take over". 

Miguel could tell you were not lying, albeit he could tell you were nervous and a bit fidgety, but your tongue rolled not honeyed words, but ones that were sincere. He genuinely appreciated that. 

Your hand was still outstretched when he called out for his trusted A.I, "Lyla", and with simply calling out her name, it appeared. 

A tiny orange holograph of a person appeared right before you, at the edge of your nose to be precise, like a playful fairy. She wore an oversize coat and fashionable boots, and distinctive pink heart-shaped glasses. 

"Hello!" She greeted, and you were slightly caught off guard. You were about to greet back, but she vanished, and reappeared on your shoulder, and then again, and she reappeared on your other shoulder, and again- this time above you. Your sight tried to follow her, but to no avail as she vanished and materialized, yet you did catch a glimpse of these round devices she had with her which bathed you, in yet again, orange light.  

"Scanning complete!" she announced and appeared for a final time on Miguel's shoulder. "Let's see... Indeed, from Earth-699, and with an excellent track record of ten years! Her cannon remains intact, and if you ask me, she seems to be an excellent candidate."  

"Oh, thanks...?" You were not sure what to say, how could she know all that? It was a heck of an artificial intelligence, nothing you had witnessed back at home, even with Pete's genius, and she even winked at you. She was sentient, that was mind blowing. 

Whatever Lyla, as you recalled, showed Miguel seemed to be some sort of CV. He was looking through a holographic tab, and you managed to see a few mirrored images of you and your New York, recognizing frames and scenes from your life and the people you had come across. As he scrolled down through the screen, he kept taking glances at you, as if corroborating the information, while you just stood there with a bright smile and relaxed features in your face- although you were panicking on the inside. 

The tanned man closed the tab and redirected his gaze on you, his dark eyes piercing right through yours, but his features relaxed and he even offered a small smile.  

"My name is Miguel O' Hara," a smooth, Spanish accent evident on his first name, "and I'm this universe's Spiderman, Earth-2099." He stretched out his own hand, offering it to you and you shook it- his grip was strong and secure, and his hand enclosed over your smaller one. 

He retrieved his hand, but he kept it open, his palm facing up while he showed it to you. A bracelet began to materialize on it. After a few seconds, the materializing process was complete, and you noticed the same device Peter B. and Jess had on their wrists. 

"It's a travelling gizmo, used for hopping to other dimensions without glitching" the A.I filled in. You took it carefully from Miguel's hands, and with the same manner, you slid it on your wrist- it was a perfect fit.  

After the click sound, you admired it for a few seconds before Miguel spoke again, "You are part of the club now."  

His features fell back to a strict, but calm, look on his face, and he continued, "You'll be called for missions through the gizmo, nothing for today but be sure to answer on time. I do not like it when people are late for work", he said harshly, and you nodded. 

"See, I told you it would work out!" the 'professional' atmosphere was cut short by Peter B, who seemed excited as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. "She won't disappoint Miguel, I'm sure of it." He said as he smiled at Miguel, and you noticed how his features fell flat upon Peter B, however you could not help a giggle escape from your lips. 

"Yes, I'll make sure of that", you looked at Peter and smiled, and repeated the same affection with Miguel, who widened his eyes but recomposed quickly, covering for any slip-ups.  

"Well if everything is settled then, I'll be leaving." Peter B. patted your shoulders simultaneously "I have a little girl and a beautiful wife waiting for me, back home." The words that came out of the Spider' Peter made your eyes widen and your mouth dropped open,  

"You are married?! And have a child?!" 

"Yes, they are the most wonderful people on Earth!" he said giddily, then he quirked his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips, he sounded quizzical "Why do you sound so surprised though?" 

"No, no, I'm just very curious- as you are the other version of my best friend. So, who's the lucky girl?" you enquired, still not believing it.

"Mary Jane, I don't know if you know her in your dimension," he said with a warm tone in his voice, you could tell by the way he spoke about her that he was really in love with her. Of course, you knew Mary Jane, or MJ as you called her. She was a close friend of yours, and Pete, and the main subject of your teasing against him. In your dimension, Peter is so in love with MJ but has yet to gather the courage to face her and take her out on a date. 

You laughed, "My Peter would be blushing mad right now. He has yet to take her out on a date and make his move", your words made Peter B remember of the past, and he chuckled. 

"Any advice I could relay to him? I want to be the best wingman there is" 

"Just tell him to be himself, it'll work out. Ooh, but be sure to tell him he must be on time when he arranges any dates! It will save him a lot of trouble!" 

"I'll make sure to tell him", you giggled. Then Peter B proceeded to take out his cellphone and show you pictures of his baby daughter, MJ. You could not help but gush alongside him, she was adorable, with her funny faces, the pictures of her playing around and in little outfits, and as she was doing little mischiefs [you swore right there and then that when the time comes, you would be the coolest auntie ever]

You continued to fangirl over the baby photos until Miguel O'Hara interrupted the both of you, "It's getting late, the both of you. "  

His face said it all- the poker face, and flat lips, he looked tired. Hence you bid farewell, Lyla sat on your shoulder as she helped you with the interface of the gizmo. You managed to open a portal back to your home dimension and bid the corresponding farewells before jumping back home. 

"So, I get that you did like her?" 

Miguel grunted, "Como sea, el tiempo lo dira. Go home Peter, I can't stand you any longer".  

Seeing that Miguel was already switching back to his grumpy humor, Peter B raised his hands in the air. "Geez, Miguel, cut me some slack" and turned around, not before making a portal to his own dimension. With his hands still raised in the air, he teased, "You'll end up scaring the new recruit" and jumped back into the portal before he could face an even grumpier Miguel. 

"Ese insufrible hijo de-" 

"He's kinda right though" 

"Lyla!" 

"See? Geez, you're going to get even more wrinkles..." 

The A.I vanished out of Miguel's clawed swipe, and sticked out her tongue in mockery as the man growled. 

Surprisingly, instead of landing on the hard concrete floor, you landed on the soft surface of what you recognized to be your own bed, and you made a mental note to remind yourself to thank Lyla.  

"Ah, right, the window", you recalled you had told Pete to leave it open, so you went out to the living room and put on its lock. The living room was dark, it had the faint glow of NYC's night. It was a pleasant surprise for you thought you would be arriving at dawn, but it was not the case- you would get more sleep. 

"Five hours of sleep are still better than one" you mumbled and retrieved the used mug left on the coffee table, which you then rinsed in the sink- a small favor for your guy in the chair. 

At last, you took off your suit and after doing your nightly bathroom routine, you plopped on the bed. Sleep caught up with you quickly, it had been a busy and long night- you only hoped you would listen to your alarm in the morning and be able to get to work. 

You shifted in your bed and cuddled into your pillow, your lips parted and let own a drowsy yawn, "I'll have to tell everything to Pete tomorrow" and with that, you closed your eyes. 

Although tired and sleepy, you could not help the fuzzy feeling in your chest- you were so happy for what was to come, hoping for the best. You could not wait to be back at headquarters, but you guess, it will have to wait until tomorrow in the least. For now, you would have to settle for some hours of sleep. 

A/n: EVERYONE THANK YOU SO MUCH! Part I is about to reach 2k notes and I can't believe I now have 1k followers, truly, thank you so much. Thank you to all the people that have reblogged and commented, I can't express how thankful I am truly. I also want to apologize for the delay, I had a hard writer's block as regards Miguel's introduction, I wanted it to be perfect, and it still not is. I also wanted to give reader a good backbone for the story. Anyway, Part III follows suit and with it the yandere! (yes! finally- I know people can get impatient for it bc it happens to me too). Anyways, I hope you like this part, and I am looking forward for your opinions!

Translations: (Btw, I am Argentinean, not Mexican, so I do speak castellano or spanish, but not mexican-slang spanish. I hope my Mexican readers are cool with the way Miguel speaks!) "Que ganas de molestar..." = So bothersome/ so annoying, or literally 'such need to bother' "Como sea, el tiempo lo dira." = Anyway/Anyhow, time will tell. "Ese insufrible hijo de-" = That insufferable son of a-

[loganjameshowlett]

SAME AS IT EVER WAS | ONGOING

pairing: peter parker/reader

summary: a college student with latent mutant powers crosses paths with spider-man in more ways than one, becoming tangled in his complicated web of friends and foes and forging her own identity in the New York world of heroes and villains. mostly, she really just wants to make it to the end of her degree and maybe go on a date that isn't a disaster before she dies. The latter seems more far-fetched than battling the Rhino at this point.

notes: i was picturing andrew's spider-man while writing this but it is not tied to any particular movie or comic canon, so imagine whatever you like!

01: and you may ask yourself (well, how did i get here?) | 4.1k+

02: facts don't do what i want them to | 3.2k+

03: COMING SOON

[james-potter-official]

Baby, won’t you look my way?

Hello! My name is James Fleamont Potter and you’re listening to the marauders.

I sing and play guitar, I am 23, and I use he/him pronouns! I am audhd, and uh, that’s my intro! 💖💛💙 I also can’t spell :p

Likes : Spider-Man, my friends, my fans, my foes, my moms cooking, my mom, my dad, speaking Spanish, dancing, fidget toys, Spider-Man

Dislikes: bullies, mean people, haters, etc etc

Friends!!

@the-starlight-within - Sirius:D

@fame-is-my-game - Dorcas :p

@delicatejustice - themis >.<

@antheablossoms - D’s friend so my friend plz

@theoneandonlyrita - Rita ^.^

Other:

@you-with-the-watercolor-eyes - Regulus :3

@z3ri4h-gr3y - you scare me /pos

@vviolentromance - the silliest man the goofiest goober to ever live yknow him, you probably like him itssss Barty

[hellsburners]

time's wasting, tick-tocking, lip locking

summary: spider-man meets an unlikely friend(or foe) to help him retrieve an important package. pairing: tasm!peter parker x male reader word count: 1.8k warnings: fluff, suggestive stuff, black cat reader, light smut, they're not friends sorta enemies if you think about it. a/n: a request from an anon! btw you could end it to a certain part if you just want the banter and the fluff but yall this is a hellsburners production we're serving smut here

masterlist | more peter parker

The air was quite chilly atop this building, the spandex not warming his body. Spider-man rubbed his gloved hands together for some heat, his legs bent over the ledge of the building, his eyes scanning the dock below. Twenty-four men loading wooden crates into shipping containers with the words Roxxon Energy Corp.

He swung down behind a shipping crate, crawling to the top unbeknownst to the men. His webs thwip across the snowy dock, disarming three men. Their bodies bonded together, and their mouths shut. He swings again, landing next to four other men, their rifles pointing at him.

Peter webs for two opposite poles and slingshots himself to the men, kicking one over while disarming the others; more men come rushing with baseball bats and crowbars. They try to hit Peter, his senses blazing from each attack; he ducks and avoids each blow, pulling on a few webs to tie them up.

Five more men come from inside the shipping container, loaded with pistols and rifles, but before they can come out, a small silver ball rolls from the top of the container, falling down and releasing white smoke.

Peter could hear the men choke and cough as a figure came down and took them individually. He did the same, taking the moment when the men were disarmed to land a few kicks and punches, leaving them unconscious.

He runs to the shipping container as the smoke wears off. The crates were ripped open with bear-like claw marks, the contents of the boxes now gone. He hears footsteps from his far left, the shadowy figure creeping against the moonlight. Peter webs his way to run after it. The cold slowed him down, his feet much heavier and his hands numb.

He shoots a web that lands on the figure's back. He turns to a man wearing a black coat with white fur on the hood and its sleeves. He sees your face, black-masked, dark hair with streaks of silver, a black satchel wrapped around your shoulder. The Black Cat.

You gave him a wink before falling back on the ledge of the building. Peter jumps, finding you at the bottom, waiting for him. He webs down slowly, landing on his feet. Your back against a wall, your clawed fingers wrapped around the clear vial with silvery-purple liquid.

"Need this?" you said, vapor appearing from your lips. "Nice to see you again, Spider."

"I would say the same, but I don't share the sentiment," he said, walking towards you. "Can we skip the small talk and give me that vial?"

"Ooh, you know it's not that easy," you said, putting the vial back in your bag. "Besides, don't you miss me?" you pout.

"I—no!" Peter said, his voice erratic. "Shame," you smirked, dropping another smoke bomb before disappearing from his sight.

"Hey!" he screamed. You were ahead a few blocks. He swung across a few other buildings and tried to chase you down. You grappled down a busy street, your coat blending in with civilians in their winter clothes. "Fuck," he sighed. "Lucky me, I've been trying to test these out," he said, taking his phone out to see the red dot on the city map, a tracker placed on your back when he ran after you.

He traced you down, riding a black car heading out of the city. Peter reloaded his web-shooters and braced for the trip. He swung from building to building until he landed on a truck heading in the same direction. His joints started to stiffen, his nape cold and aching.

You entered a safe house on the city's outskirts, a brutalist bare building with a white car parked outside. Peter found you dealing with—Richard Fisk, the Kingpin's son, calls himself The Rose. You hand him the bag of vials. You await payment before his men point their guns at you. Peter knows you. This isn't something you could run away from easily. Fisk turns away and leaves in his white car, leaving you with six men with loaded guns.

Peter jumps down to your aid, unarming two men before landing a solid blow on the others. You take this moment to kick the other man right across his face. He saw you move with grace and agility, your gymnast background aiding your fight.

The men all ended up unconscious on the pavement. Blood drips down your lips, and no one gets away with scamming you. "So, was it worth it?" Spider-man said.

"Don't piss me off," you said, rubbing the back of your hand against your bloodied lip. "This never happens."

"Well, it just did," he said. "That vial could've helped me to take them down, but now they have it!"

"I'm not a hero, Spider," you snickered. "I don't do this for good. I do this so I can live," you walked towards the door, the metal ice cold. You try to slide the entrance to the side, but the gate does not budge. You snarled, trying to pull it back. "Shit, I think it's stuck."

"What?" Peter said. "Let me see," he tried to do the same, but the door still didn't budge despite his strength. "Fuck, they must've closed us off—the snow isn't helping either." Peter punched the door in anger, leaving a giant dent.

"There must be another exit—or a window," you said. The room slowly turned colder. You tried to wrap your fur coat around your body, your breath leaving hot vapor. Loud bangs from Peter's fists filled the room, but the door never moved.

"I checked before coming in. There isn't one," Peter took off his mark, panting while vapor left his lips. You looked at him. He was older since you last met, the circles under his eyes darker, his face riddled with stubble, his hair longer and messier. The cold fogged your goggles up, so you took them off and left them on a table nearby.

The two of you rummaged all over the safe house, looking for materials to use or food and other things. Peter found an old lab coat to wrap himself with, and you found a box of canned tuna, some old crackers—and one sleeping bag.

Peter tried his cell, but there was no signal. "We're going to be here for a while," you said. "Shouldn't we bundle up and stay warm, like old times."

"Not happening," Peter said, shivering under his breath.

"Your loss," you ripped a claw on the box of biscuits and took a bite. "Ugh, it's stale."

Hours passed with Peter running around the safe house, looking for an exit. On the other hand, you lay on the sleeping bag with your hands behind your head. You took a file from your pocket and filed your claws into peak sharpness. Peter sighed under his breath every time he passed by you. "You're a pain in the ass, Cat."

"From what I remember, you gave me a pain in the ass, Spider," you chuckled. "Kidding, it wasn't all pain."

"I'm fucking freezing," Peter said, rubbing his body to make some heat.

"I told you we should bundle up," you said. "Plus, it's getting late, and I'm sleepy."

Peter rolled his eyes and joined you in the sleeping bag. The two of you were wrapped like a burrito, his face too close to yours. His brown eyes stared intently, his long lashes batting at you. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. His eyes widened, and a soft moan left his lips. "Wrap your arms around me, too," you said. His large arms snaked around you, creating heat.

"Wood sage and Sea salt?" you whispered, smelling his neck. He chuckled and nodded. "I missed you, Spider. Honestly,"

"I missed you too," he said, his voice stern. "Where did you go, Cat?"

"Tried to live a normal life, it didn't end well for me," your gaze trailed away from his eyes, your hand finding his soft brown hair. "I guess this is me forever, running and stealing."

"It doesn't have to be like that. You could work with me, and we could be good," Peter said, his palms rubbing your lower back. "Live with me."

"I'll think about it," you said, your hands falling to his cheeks. It was warm against his cold skin. You inched closer, pressing your lips to his. You closed your eyes and delved deeper into the kiss. His hand snaked underneath your clothes, cold fingertips against your bare skin. You wrapped your thigh around his, his knee hitting your center. The two of you moaned from the kiss, hands searching each other's bodies.

You straddled Peter's waist rubbing your ass on his growing erection. His hands wrapped around your ass, pulling you closer. He whimpers on your lips, shaking from the pleasure and the cold. "Cat—" he moaned. You pepper his neck with kisses, licking and sucking, leaving red marks.

He pulls you back to the kiss, his arms hugging you tighter as his sex rubs on your ass. He rubs against you, moaning and whimpering while you moan from his tight embrace. He grips your waist, fingers digging into your skin. "Fuck—Spider, you good?" you gasped.

"I missed you, and I need you," he said. "Please be with me. I'll take care of you, protect you," his eyes stared at yours. "You won't run ever again."

"I'll think about it," you said again, an ache forming in your chest. Knowing it will never be normal with him.

"Fuck–I'm close," he moaned.

You pulled him in for a last kiss for a long while. Peter finishes under his suit, his face red and his hair drenched in sweat. You later passed out on the sleeping bag, your arms draped around each other, Peter's lips pressing on your forehead as you succumbed to the night.

Peter woke up to a banging on the door. "We know you're in there, Cat! Give us the real vial, or we'll kill you!" a bunch of men surrounded the lot, hands on their guns. He saw that you were gone, a hole formed on the ceiling, sunlight peering in, a black satchel on the spot where you slept. Inside were the vials and a note.

Sorry, I couldn't stay for breakfast. I had to go real quick. I left the vials for you. Do whatever is right. You always do the right thing. And you'll probably not see me again but don't miss me too much. I know I will.

Xoxo, Cat.

[mlmxreader]

The Royal Ranger | Legolas x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Legolas

16 "I know you're watching me" ❞

: ̗̀➛ there is another ranger in Legolas' life, one who happens to be his favourite.

: ̗̀➛ mentions of violence

↳ @thesnowurzikdjinn @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The forest was quiet. The trees barren of leaves as the cold chill of winter began to creep up to its worst, but still bursting with life as the birds fluttered amongst the branches; in a few months, the branches would be adorned with thousands of nests ready for thousands of little lives.

The bushes were scattered with ripe berries protected by small and fat spiders of brown and yellow; they stood guard so loyally and so bravely, using their webs to tell when friend or foe or food was approaching.

Amongst the dark green and harsh yellow grasses, foxes and hares ran and dug through the thick black dirt; bursting and bubbling with life amongst the cold and damp weather. In the night, wolves would howl amongst themselves as they got lost in the dark and separated from one another; their harsh jaws gnashing and gnawing as they chased down deer and foxes alike.

The forest was always bursting with life. It was home, as much as it could be.

True home still lied to the West; across a short sea, there laid a large island made up of three kingdoms.

One, and the furthest to the West, was ruled by a fair and just king who had been chosen by his people; with a red dragon at his side, he saw that his people were always looked after and comfortable.

The King saw that his rangers were trained by the best in Middle Earth; he sent them to the Rangers of the North for training and always saw that they were treated well upon their return.

The King's dragon, Drygyn, was a pleasant creature, too; towering, with legs like thick branches and jaws big enough to swallow a house in one gulp, was always happy to allow the children of the kingdom to climb upon his great armoured back, and always protected his people when called to do so.

To the East of that Kingdom was another; ruled by an arrogant and ill-tempered king, it was a horrid place. Filled with greed and destruction; the people and their unelected king despised those to the West, and if it had not been for Rohan and the Elves, they would have destroyed it and stolen it for themselves.

So greedy they were, that not even dragon sickness could describe their conditions. Not even the most selfish and covetous of dragons could match them.

But the kingdom that sat the most North was kind; ruled by a king who rode a horse with a singular horn, he was a pleasant man who saw that his people were well off and looked over.

He held elections once a year, and always won them; he had the hearts of his people, and he always aided the kingdom in the West.

The West and North were brothers, as much as they could be without sharing blood; they shared it on the battlefield, and would for ever be close.

Originally part of the King of The West's royal guard, you had been asked if you wanted to become a ranger; the king himself had recognised your skills and talents, and had asked you personally. He would see to it that you would be well looked after during your training, and wanted you to expand your horizons as much as you could.

Six years, he said, and then you would be able to come home; but if you wished to stay in Middle Earth, he would also understand. He would send gold across the short sea to give you your pension; once a month, eighty gold coins. Six years later, when he had written to you to ask, you admitted that you wished to stay.

Your mentor, Aragorn, who was only four years older than you, treated you well and through him, you had met an Elf Prince and fallen in love with him. The King was overjoyed, so much so, that his letter in response was written with shaky hands and littered with constant praise and congratulations.

It made you laugh when you read it to Legolas and Aragorn, and they had smiled and laughed along with you just as much; Thranduil was also the recipient of a letter from the king, and found it amusing how a king could sound so much like a commoner.

He didn't realise that, once upon a time, the king was a commoner.

Within the forest, though, you heard familiar footsteps approaching; you tilted your head, listening closely as you closed your eyes for a moment and inhaled the scents.

Aragorn and Legolas.

You smiled, quick to climb up a tree with efficency and silence; burying yourself amongst the empty branches as you tried not to laugh. They passed beneath you, calling your name loudly; you furrowed your brows as they looked around, unable to pick up your trail as much as they had tried.

Aragorn had taught you well, and your service to the King of The West had taught you even more beforehand. You were a soldier at heart, yet took to a Ranger's life more easily than a dragon to gold. You heard Aragorn sigh as he turned to Legolas, who didn't seem convinced as he raised a brow and called out loudly.

"I know you're watching me! Show yourself!"

You huffed, making your way down and through the trees until you stood beside him. "Is this any better?"

"You were stalking me," Legolas hummed.

"We've been together for half a mortal's life," you pointed out. "Hardly stalking."

"Hunting, then," he argued with a smile on his lips.

"We need your assistance," Aragorn started, "all three of us have been summoned to Lord Elrond."

"So?" You shrugged. "I'm sure whatever it is, you can deal with it."

"No," he shook his head. "Arwen and I took four hobbits to Rivendell. One of them bears the Ring."

"A hobbit? With a ring of power?" You asked with a scoff. "Impossible."

"It's true," Legolas admitted. "I saw them all myself."

"And what are we to do?" You asked.

"I cannot tell you here," Aragorn admitted. "Please. Come with us."

You grumbled as you whistled for your horse. "Fine."

He was a big, towering beast with a short cut and trimmed mane so that it couldn't be snagged upon branches or grabbed by enemy hands either; with his tail short and trimmed as well, he was easy to ride through forests. His massive hooves adorned with a red and green and white painted flag on them, he was easy to spot.

A dragon birthmark sat on his left shoulder, bright red and almost glowing; all horses born in the West Kingdom had that birthmark. Just as all the dogs had it on their chests, all the sheep and goats and cows had it on their left thigh, and all the people had it on their left shoulders. All bright red, and all treated as a mark of pride.

The royal guard, however, were all born with the dragon upon their right forearms; their armour was always engraved with bright red dragons on a half white background that stopped halfway down and was white the rest of the way.

They fought with swords that had triangular tips like spears, mimicking the dragon's tongue and tail, all made with bright red steel; upon their helmets, they always wore leeks of beautiful green and daffodils of bright gold.

They were awed by everyone from every kingdom, and were some of the best fighters in all of the world; they were revered for their just and kind nature, and sought after for their impeccable skills on the battlefield. Seasoned fighters, they could take giants down with just a sweep of their swords.

You got upon your horse, looking at Legolas and Aragorn with a raised brow as you tilted your head; Aragorn gave a whistle, and his horse came trotting along, but Legolas made no such sound and no horse came looking for him either. He looked up at you, smiling as he offered his hand.

"Well?" You hummed. "Get walking, green boy."

Legolas scowled at you, trying not to laugh but failing so miserably. "Let me up."

"Do I have to?" You asked, grabbing his hand and hoisting him up behind you. "You may want to hold on, pointy ears."

"Quiet," he grumbled, his arms around your waist as he drew close to your body. Smiling to himself.

At the Council of Elrond, however, there was an unexpected surprise; sitting honourably near the other men, sat your king.

With his dark skin and dark eyes, he looked absolutely gorgeous bathed in the soft golden light of the council; his white and green armour shimmered, the red dragon on his breastplate shining brightly and the one upon his face seemingly glowing.

The pointed tail rested on his neck, whilst the rest of the four legged beast trailed to the side of his mouth, its head just below his eye.

Beside him sat the King of The North; proud, his armour was thick, and deep blue with a bright white X painted across the breastplate. His brown skin seemed to glisten in the light and he smiled softly as he nodded at you; you nodded back, tears in your eyes and your vision slowly beginning to blur as you felt your bottom lip tremble.

Across from them, however, and distanced from the rest of the council, was the King of The East. His pale white skin seemed dull and slimy as he leaned back; with his bright blue eyes, he scowled at everyone, his lip turned upwards and exposing a few of his white teeth. His fingers were thick and grubby, unwashed for years, and red at the tips. He seemed to sneer as you walked past.

The Queen of the island that sat to the West of all three kingdoms, however, sat beside the West and North kings; she was beautiful, dark skin so gently touched by the golden lights of the council, around her neck sat beautiful light green jewels, dazzling the same way that stars did.

Her dress was orange and white and green, bringing out the shades of green within her hair and painted upon her nails. They called her the Emerald Queen, and she was known to be just and kind as well as firm and strong; she was gorgeous, and her dark green, almost black, eyes caught yours as she smiled.

You smiled back, bowing and bending your knee.

"My Lady," you said softly. "It is an honour to meet you."

She pulled you up, shaking her head. "No one bows to me, nor I to them. We are all equals here, Ranger."

"Ranger, indeed," your king grinned, coming to stand beside you as he patted your back gently. The red dragon upon his face seemed to glow. "My finest. Once my best royal guard, now my best ranger."

The King of The East sneered as he scoffed, turning to Legolas. "This is an insult to me. I have been assaulted."

Legolas raised a brow as he looked at him; his lips were thin, almost nonexistent, and his thin grey hair and his thin grew brows were no distraction from his ghastly looking face.

He seemed to be rotting from the inside, and even his red, white and blue robes would not distract from such a heinous smell; his voice sounded sickly, and made Legolas' stomach churn. He put his hand on the King's shoulder, shaking his head in warning.

"That ranger is under my protection, and under the protection of my father," he hissed. "You shall not look if you are not told directly."

"Legolas, come come!" Your king beamed. "Emerald, my Queen, you must meet Legolas!"

Legolas laughed softly as he walked over, shaking her hand and letting his arm rest upon your waist. "It is an honour, my Lady."

"Your ranger here is lovely," she complimented. "And I must admit that, if you had not caught such a heart, I might have."

"It's a shame we have to meet under such circumstances," you told her.

"Perhaps," Legolas hummed. "One day, we will meet again."

The Emerald Queen nodded as she leaned back into her seat. "Whatever your fellowship requires of me, of my people, know that you have it... but be warned."

The King of The North nodded as he stole a look at her. "Oh, aye. The East Kingdom cannae be trusted with the Ring."

"Agreed," your king agreed, glaring at Legolas in certainty. "They cannot."

"Tell Elrond," the Emerald Queen insisted. "He cannot trust the East King."

"Eva," the North agreed. "They cannae eva be trusted."

"No, never," your king concluded. "They will use the ring to commit terrible acts, they can never have it."

Legolas pulled you aside while the formalities continued; he kept you close, hiding behind one of the many white pillars as he smiled, sighing heavily.

You both knew what would be asked of you, and you knew what would come if you were to fall; you didn't mind, gently placing your hands against his chest as you dared to smile.

"You're almost as warm as a dragon," you whispered. "I fell asleep against him many times whilst on guard duty... Legolas?"

"Yes?"

You licked your lips, sighing as you swallowed thickly. "If I should fall... please, return me to my kingdom."

"Of course," he agreed quietly, nodding curtly. "But I cannot allow that to happen. If you fall, I will, too."

"No-"

"Yes."

[vertigoartgore]

Peter Parker, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man celebrating his 30th anniversary among family, friends and foes. Art by Erik Larsen (soon before the start of his Savage Dragon run at Image Comics).

[shinigami-striker]

James Arnold Taylor (Video Games) | Monday, 07.22.24

Same voice actor, different video game characters - featuring James Arnold Taylor! Happy 55th birthday! 🎂

2001

Tidus - Final Fantasy X (2001 video game)

2003

Ratchet (Ratchet & Clank) - Ratchet & Clank series (video games; 2003-present) (replacing Mikey Kelley)

2007

Spider-Man - Spider-Man: Friend or Foe (2007 video game)

2010

Green Arrow & Guy Gardner - Batman: The Brave and the Bold - The Video Game (2010 video game)

[it-seemo]

Day 10-12: Friends

something something "with friends like these" *studio laugh track*

Anyone else remember Friend or Foe? Well, now you do. Round four of @sciderman's Spider-Month, let's go.

[churino]

Design for earth mode prowl

After Barricade's betrayal, this boy goes through some stuff, barry's reveal left prowl barely clinging to life, and in need of some soul searching, luckily he found it in master yoketron's teachings, when he returns to the autobots a changed man, hes ready to show them why it's his face they wear on their badges

Initially, prowl could be best described as "the fun police" strict and humorless. He trusts no one and has no friends. He has "confidants" in ratchet and barricade sharing many of his secrets with them, secrets that barricade took advantage of.

Prowl suspected Barricade of double dealings, but deep down in his spark, even though he puts on a stoic facade, he really did care for him and couldn't bring himself to face the truth because in his head he fostered the idea that he and Barricade were the only autobots willing to sacrifice their morals for the greater good, and that they were in a way more nobel than the rest, infallible even if others didn't see it that way

But it all blew up on his face

And whole body, Barricade's betrayal, had prowl fall into a trap set up by flamewar with a nuclear bomb the decepticons had stolen, trapped in an unknown location he was only able to warn the autobots to evacuate the sorounding area, while attempting to disarm the bomb, inexperienced with earth explosives he was unable to stop the bomb from going off but was able to limit it's explosive wield using the same substance inside transformer's bodies that stops their energon from blowing up,

The explosion that followed didn't wipe out a city, but it did leave prowl damaged and buried under rubble that stopped the autobots from finding his body. Or at least that's what they thought, in truth they didn't find his body because somebody else got to him first

Nightbird and her lackeys saw a wounded autobot and saw an opportunity for a biology lesson, but first, they took a look inside his mind, finding all sorts of juicy secrets, which allowed them to build their first transforming vehicon, however, they didn't seem to quite understand how the minds of transformers work as they accidentally left a way for prowl's mind to transfer into this new body, it didn't really matter to them as they got what they wanted out of him. so prowl was able to fight his way out of their warehouse with nothing but his entire sense of identity and worldview shattered :D

After prowl escapes capture by the tires of nightbird, runamuck and runabout, he reflects on all that has happened to him thus far on earth and enters a deep depression, the body reflects the mind and he ends up developing gold plastic syndrome, becoming extremely fragile feeling ashamed of himself, he abandons the rest of the crew to wander the earth in search of new meaning in life. In this state, he's stuck in vehicle mode as attempting to transform in this state would have his knees turn to dust, he's weak, vulnerable, and lost. And it is metalhawk and the cyberninjas who find him.

Prowl finds new meaning under the cyber ninja clan, becoming yoketron's brightest student. Now, a skilled infiltrator and spy, knowing exactly how guards usually behave and able to adapt to any countermeasures. he's shrunken, but he's now able to defeat foes 100 times his size.

he returns to the autobots a changed man, but he no longer operates within their hierarchy, similar to a mercenary, but he doesn't actually charge his friends, and he can call them his friends now!, and like that he remains, fighting alongside the autobots till the very end.

Of course, his rise hasn't come without... enemies, the spurn rival road rocket, his ex parther barricade, and after regaining contact with the autobots, he makes an enemy out of a certain spider trying to pick on the little guys

[theopolis]

Harry Osborn is genuinely integral to the thematic fabric of Spider-Man. Even if you don't take into account the way his character foils those of both Norman and Peter, he contributes so much to the dynamic between these two.

Anyone can see that Peter saving people is good and Norman blowing them up with pumpkin bombs is bad, but where the respective core philosophies these two men follow are really magnified and examined is in the way each of them feels about and interacts with Harry.

One instance of this is ASM #122. Peter almost killing the Goblin in a fit of rage after Gwen's death is absolutely a demonstration of how he and his adversary are not only different but alike - yet his attack on Norman is something the audience can sympathize with deeply and feel is heavily justified, considering what he's done.

Where Peter's worst side truly shines, in my opinion, is earlier in that same issue when he coldly abandons Harry, who is suffering from withdrawals and begging Peter to stay, in order to settle his score with the Goblin. It is no coincidence that Norman himself, too, left his son to his own devices despite his fragile state to instead pursue revenge on his enemy in the issue prior. Peter mimicking this action is a stark contrast to his usual behavior towards Harry, whose vulnerability he is (unlike Norman) typically ready to accommodate when push comes to shove, whom he is ready to listen to and be considerate of when he's not too caught up in Spider-Man business to notice a conversation is overdue.

Peter at his absolute lowest is a lot like his greatest enemy - not just in how ruthlessly violent he gets, but in how he dives into his own rage and prioritizes satisfying it over what actually matters most. Peter's responsibility lies not solely in restraining himself from being led to irreversible actions by his own pain, but also in showing compassion and tenderness and humility to the people he cares about. And Norman is his polar opposite in both regards.

This example shows that even when Harry's presence in a storyline is largely passive, his very existence points to the things that define Peter and Norman as foes and as people. It matters that this contrast revolved around Harry specifically, the weakling son Norman is ashamed of, the kindhearted if frail best friend Peter admires. Because Harry's softness is the kind of thing that requires a sense of responsibility entirely removed from power fantasy.

[blushingteddy]

Precious Things: Chapter 1

Plot: Rio visits Westview after The Hex comes down and finds Agnes O'Conner in Agatha's stead. She must team up with an unlikely ally to help get her wife back and confront the past to make sense of the future ahead. (Agathario x Rio/Mrs Hart unlikely friendship)

---

The beep of machines is a reliable monotone to measure the accrual of time to it’s exact and precise end. There was a knack, in her experience. A correct moment that was neither a heartbeat early nor a single beat overdue. The strangely comforting taste of artificial banana pudding felt as good a place as any to ground her overworked thought processes. Rio blew out her cheeks and straightened her criss-crossed ankles, elbows dug into the arm rests, prodding the plastic spoon around with marked disinterest.

She was putting off the inevitable.

Largely, because Agatha had been putting off the inevitable - for such a long, long time. The Scarlet Witch had taken the Darkhold. Agatha finally vulnerable. The dark magic that had shrouded her all of these centuries had lifted like a veil. Rio could feel that Agatha hadn’t run or attempted to evade the inevitable this time.

Perhaps she was finally ready.

“I imagined you differently.”

Rio stopped moving the plastic spoon. 

The ghost of a smile tugged up her lips, because they always imagined her differently, whether she came in one form or another—friend or foe—all of it was subjective, always it was some other version of her they had imagined and built up in their head. Ink black linen shrouds and milk white bones. Deep green aspen leaves ornately woven into clothes with spun spider silk stitching, rust coloured gold, dried sea moss for beading. Rio laughed quietly, amused on private levels, she was never dressed correctly for the occasion. 

Her lips tapered down into a serious expression. “Do you want to finish this?” Rio glanced at the frail elderly man drowning in his blankets and wires. “You always think you know how banana pudding tastes until you’re eating it, and then you realise it doesn’t taste like bananas at all. It tastes like something else. Something pretending to be a banana. Strange, right?” She angled the dessert toward him.

“Will there be banana pudding where I’m going, or…” His voice was a strained murmur - the whites of his eyes a dull cloudy colour. He gestured his finger downward.

Hell.

Rio’s expression gave nothing away.

She said nothing in response and idly scraped the spoon around.

“Not the time or place for that conversation, got it.” He nods perceptively. “Jill. Will she be there?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Kinda hope she isn’t.”

“Trust me, I know that feeling better than you think I do.”

“You do?”

Rio smiles, nodding slightly, and with that the tension breaks.

He draws a laboured breath. “Were you human once? You look…” Rio watches him gesture her up and down.

From the corner of her eye, the hospice nurses offer discrete, confirming nods. The kind that never require further conversation. Rio resists the sudden urge to show him her face—her true face—in response to his prying. The staff all knew when Rio visited. They knew when she left. She was a regular in this neck of the woods, a person they could feel in the air like the scent of perfume - invisible and entirely distinct. She didn’t like to trouble them anymore than they troubled her.

Sometimes, they caused her trouble.

But never the hospice nurses.

“I don’t know if there’s banana pudding. And there’s been a lot of Jills, far too many to remember. And I think you know I’m not here to talk about myself, don’t you?” Rio levels at the elderly man. “I’m here to do my job.”

“Do you enjoy your work?”

There isn’t time for this - the back and forth.

The question amuses her nonetheless.

“Not particularly. I punch-in, punch-out, I do it very well, if that gives you any comfort. Did you…have a job like that?”

“Yeah, I wish now I hadn’t.”

“Well.” Rio pushes out her cheeks, slightly exasperated. “Too late for regrets.”

“Everything…hurts.” He looks at her tiredly. “Can we take the pudding to go?” 

Rio likes that.

That makes her smile. 

“Sure we can.”

A deep peaceful sigh left him - he was finally ready.

Expectantly, the elderly man extends his weathered hand toward her. His fingertips graze against her fingertips, wrinkly and warm, ready to be taken away from this place despite the fear of her never leaving him for a moment, as though with the lightest tug of his wrist he could rise from the bed, light as a feather, and Death will take him for a long scenic walk to the next place beyond this world.

Rio took his hand gently.

“Hold this for me a sec.” Rio precariously rested the banana pudding cup on his collarbone. She took the blade from her thigh, haphazardly tossing it round to catch the handle, then quickly stabbed his chest several times as though jabbing a hot pen knife into butter. “Thanks.” She flipped and holstered the blade - the soul collected.

She let go of his limp wrist, allowing it fall down against his stilled chest in a thud. The alarms bleeted loudly into the echoing long corridor - then the cries, always the cries of concerned family and visitors with no further business that concerned her - Rio left and thought nothing of their distress.

They always imagine her so differently.

Express delivery only, Rio had a busy night ahead.

She had to be in Westview come sunrise.

***

Deep and dark was the persistent endless night. The entire mountain fell upon her in a storm of heavy jagged rocks and unbreathable, thick sharp dust that scraped her skin and stung her eyes as it slowly settled. The stagnant heat of harsh beating sunlight, somewhere out there beyond the persistent constant dark, was how Wanda kept track of the time. In the evenings, the cool air brought damp cold mildew which coated the boulders pressing every inch of her body, and the water droplets struck her forehead from a single crack above in awkward unpredictable rhythms. The first night, she willed her survival.

Perhaps Kamar-Taj would pity her once Stephen explained the condition of her maddening grief. He would save her, of course. He had to save her. He was a hero. The Sorcerer Supreme, the protector of earth, the lone sworn sentinel against magic and mystical threats out there between the darkest shades of reality. And what was she?

Who was she if not a hero? 

A woman relentlessly tormented into madness.

Perhaps this was the condition of all villains, Wanda decided.

The third night came, the sound of scraping rocks and movement disturbing her tomb above finally greeted her ears. She strained into the noise, welcomed it like a friend, then thought of her sons and felt her heart retreat backward in shame. The fourth night, the digging grew louder, and tears carved across her dry scabbed lips. Wanda clung to life like a leech. She hungered to survive. Lame, broken, disfigured and dying, she fought with insurmountable will to save herself—to persevere against the mountain.

Until she heard the faint howls.

The hungry snarls of scavenging pack animals disturbing the sediment above.

Wanda went slack, still, quiet and madder than her body could contain. Nobody was coming to save her. She closed her eyes, summoning her scarlet, imagining herself provoking wefts of bright glorious red from her palms, how the dust and sheets of rock would explode outward around her. She would rise in a tide of chaos, fire and glorious red—bright, burning scarlet.

But nothing came.

And Wanda wept and finally wished for Death.

“I have waited so long to say these words to you…” A woman in a crown of obsidian black glass laid beside her as though she had always been there. “Hello, Wanda Maximoff.”

She is there but not there. She is contorted around the jagged rock, her body stretched like ribbon strewn around each obstacle, more viper than woman—more creature than person. A dull green light exudes from her, bright enough to make Wanda wince and turn her cheek, but she feels sharp nails slip along her belly, her ribs, calling back her attention. She smells petrichor and…

Fermenting fruit, rotting cherries, the kind her step-father would stew and seal tightly in jars stacked neatly under the dank kitchen sink, and how the pungent smell of spoiled black cherries and sugar separating into alcohol would puncture their home as the jars were filtered months later, how she would slip into bed with Piotr and cradle his ears when their step-father drank to much of it, how their mother would place herself in front of the bedroom door like a barricade and bear the brunt of it.

A voice rumbles low like an earthquake, “Look at me.”

Wanda obeys instantly, terrified and without other choices to make.

Her fear delights Death.

Wanda’s voice frays with inactivity, “You came. I imagined you so…”

“Differently. Mhm. The name’s Rio.” She cranes her neck to get a better look, assessing the damage. “Your hips are shattered. Pretty nasty cranial bleed. Traumatic amputation at both knees, yuck. Your elbow is broken in…three places? That must be”—her eyebrows go upward in amazement, her head nodding enthusiastically—“Pretty painful, huh?”

“Please make it stop?”

“I will.” Rio smiles. “In time.”

Wanda watched in horror as the faint dull green smog begins to fade like the flicker of a dying candle. “Where are you going!”

“You took something special from me.” Rio stares down at the Scarlet Witch. “Somebody I have loved very, very much for centuries, Wanda. I don’t like it when people take my things.”

“Don’t leave me here!” 

“Then tell me how to lift the spell?”

“The spell?”

“The nasty little hex you trapped her in for the last nine months!” The woman rears forward with maddening grief in her eyes. “Give her back to me and then we can talk about your mortal soul.”

There is no further explanation needed, Wanda understands perfectly well, knows exactly who Death is referring to. Agatha Harkness. She doesn’t know how to admit the truth—how to tell her the only answer she has to offer.

“You don’t know how to lift it.” Rio closes her eyes. “Well, Wanda, until we figure that out? I’ll know exactly where to find you. That’s what you said to her, right?”

“Please don’t do this.” Wanda lurches forward. “Please! Please take me with you, I’ll help you! I swear. Please…please you have to take me from this place!”

“I said I would take you, didn’t I?” Death plays with the tip of an ornate knife. “You just have to suffer for a little bit first. Agatha would like that. Let’s circle back in a few days. You’re not going anywhere, I’m sure you’ll be available,” her voice and light fades away.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

38 - A Brewing of New Mystery

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

Length: 18.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, descriptions of blood and violence, execution, past familial-parental abuse, past character deaths, exploration of trauma, mild smut

Notes: If any of the discussions about the lore leave you confused, do not worry it's confusing our protagonists even more. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“You have many enemies in Castle Black. Have you considered sending Alliser Thorne elsewhere? Give him command of Eastwatch by the Sea.”

Stannis had been conflicted in that room. He wasn't going to sit there and force Jon Snow to join his cause, nor was he going to argue about it if his made was made up. He was a grown man, he could make his own decisions but that didn't mean it felt like the right one to watch play out.

The Nights Watch was an institution Stannis believed in, he would never have come to their aid if he didn't. It was a mere coincidence, or perhaps the Lord trying to guide him to the right path when in the aftermath of overpowering Mance Rayders army, did he come face to face with his late daughters best friend from childhood. But it gave opportunities, to both of them.

He had given Stannis suggestions of where and how to move about the North instead of a straight march through Winterfell, and in return Stannis had attempted to give guidance to someone he could tell was bursting at the seams to be given the freedom of leadership, whether Jon had known that was in him or not. But he sat in that office hearing his offer being turned down, that his place was at Castle Black and Stannis wasn't about to show him the disrespect of telling him he was making a mistake.

Parting ways however, it was a thought which came into his mind as he and Ser Davos approached the door. So he turned back, asking about Ser Alliser. Jons answer though, was interesting. He was sure of himself and there was no fault in that, “I heard it was best to keep your enemies close.”

Stannis gave only one last thought on that matter, not knowing if it would be something he listened to or not. “Whoever said that didn't have many enemies.”

Whatever Ser Davos had stayed behind to discuss, Stannis did not invade the conversation, but he had much to consider in the aftermath anyways. He had paid close attention to the dynamics going on here, and it was very curious the things which were playing out. There was a divide amongst the men and it was split between two people in particular. The vote for Lord Commander had brought that rivalry into the daylight for all the men to see.

One single vote from the old Maester had swayed the course of their leader. But half and half, that was a very tough place for the new Lord Commander to be put in.

Not from those who didn't vote for him, if the finite details of every mans personal opinions mattered as heavily as the other then there would be endless chaos. No, the only thing which mattered was those in authority who could stand in his way. Thorne was one of them, the biggest problem. The men who all stood with him were another problem. He would not be able to sway other men to his side, but he would be able to strength his position by boulserting his place amongst Jons opposition.

It was a problem Stannis knew too well. He had lived in Kings Landing for a number of years, and there it was the root cause of wrongly surrounding yourself with enemies. It was why he was fine with being disliked. He didn't need to be liked, he simply needed to not allow himself to make such direct enemies.

Of course, one man made such a task increasingly difficult.

Spies were that problem. Cersei's were less of a care, many of hers towards his family were used in her strange need to spy on his daughter, only to fail in swaying you to her manipulation. Lord Varys he trusted not one bit, but he wasn't an enemy. Spiders weren't foes but pests to be on the watch for should they come creeping up on your shoulder without notice. No, Stannis only had one enemy and he had the misfortune of staring him in the face half of his days.

It was why he begun placing you in the position of doing his work dealings with Petyr Baelish. Stannis did not tell you his underlying motives or plans, and thus you had nothing to give away to the man when forced to cooperate with him. You were young, and a maiden and the Kings niece, you naturally would draw his interest to keep a close eye on which left Stannis free to distance himself and act without the man knowing. By the time he had outlawed prostitution on Dragonstone entirely, crippling his ability to spy on Stannis in his own home, Petyr Baelish had been blind sighted by its occurrence.

Stannis knew which of his men were loyal, and from that point on information was kept on a very tight knit basis between each other as he continued to use you as a distraction, which worked. You were combative with him, only causing him to watch you further and watch Stannis less.

He did not keep his enemies anywhere near close.

So, it was an interesting afternoon when he heard the commotion. Moving out to the landings in Castle Black in time to see a barrage of black come out of the meeting hall, and a group of men in particular holding another as the yelling begun. Janos Slynt sounded as egregious as he always did, only now as Stannis watched where they were dragging him did he begin to suspect that Jon was indeed, a better listener then Stannis was giving him credit for.

“Get your hands off me. Stop, all of you. If the boy thinks he can frighten me, he's mistaken. Yes, very mistaken.” Dragging the man out to the courtyard did he stop yelling for only a second as another on the platform close by, slammed down a block.

Stannis only grew more focused. His advice had been sending one of his biggest adversaries away, but it seemed the new Lord Commander's first decision was far more bold then that, and sent a much more striking message to the rest looking to pick up the mantle.

Continuing to yell, Janos Slynt assumed his position once in the world mattered here. His command of the City Watch of Kings Landing did not matter here, and here as a man of the Nights Watch he did not matter to the rest of the world. But he yelled regardless. “A disgrace, I have friends. Important friends in the capitol, you'll see.”

He grew much more quiet when the one behind, which normally could be found in the group closest to Jon, slammed him down onto the block. Emerging from the hall last, Stannis begun to pace along the landing with sharp eyes watching as Jon grabbed his sword from his steward. Making his way through the crowd and he could see the intensity even from where he stood up above.

Whatever had occurred in that room, had pushed Jon Snow one step too far.

Still he thought, there was time. He could take this all away in a second by not committing to his own authority, and it was that slip of weakness which Stannis was watching for. Leaving here with that still within his morals would be a mistake. Stannis would have to burn that out from Jon should he see that weakness show, and he knew those very enemies keeping close would take every advantage of it before Jon could fix it himself.

So he watched as Jon stepped up to the man, pulling out that sword with a pommel which seemed to match him perfectly. Wondering who had gifted that to him, knowing such a lavish thing would not have come into a bastards hands of his own making. Someone else it seemed, had seen exactly what Stannis was trying to foster in Jon right now.

He was intense as he approached, but he was as calm and even toned as the father he reminded Stannis of so much. “If you have any last words, my lord. Now's the time.”

Like so many before him, Janos Slynt begged for his life with lies. Thus far, they had not impacted Jon, who stood with both hands across the top of the hilt, sword blade tipped to the ground. Had Mace Tyrell not surrendered that day in Storms End, Stannis guessed the image of execution would have looked identical then to father and son now.

But, Jon begun to raise his sword, when the final test came. Yelling out the word mercy, a crying plead for his life came about like all cowards do who cannot face the consequences of their sins. “I'm afraid, I've always been afraid.”

No words came from Jon. He had waited until Janos Slynts crying had turned his gaze from the Lord Commander and within a mere second, the sword swung and Jon Snow took his head. Handing the blade to the man next to him, Jon took a moment looking over what he did before the unexpected occurred.

Glancing to the side, right up to where Stannis stood. Seeking out his gaze, and despite his actions that of a nod, he could say with every truth there was pride as well. Jon did not shy away from what he needed to do, and did it with his own hands to ensure the statement was made.

Stannis still, was not sure what would convince Jon Snow to leave Castle Black and enter a fight within his own home, but he did know one thing with certainty. Stannis would not make the mistake of seeing him as an adversary if he did. He would be a formidable foe.

That was until the day in the lands of Deepwood Motte did you stand across from him in his tent, telling him the truth of why the North would never support Stannis's claim. And when word had been received, Stannis stood across from Ser Davos reading the raven scroll unable to stop that same feeling of pride.

So Stannis cleared the remaining Ironborn out of the Northern lands, as Jon now ruled in Winterfell as King in the North unifying the Northern Lords as one. Not a scattering of people fighting for what side to scramble too. One army, a real army. Uniting behind one leader, with one purpose.

At least that time Stannis had been the one to learn the hard lesson that he indeed, needed an ally more then he needed Jon as a subject. The one lesson he should have learned back when it was Robb Stark offering him the same deal, but only realized after the Stark had been murdered, and you and Stannis's unborn grandson with him.

“If you were a gambling man, your grace, I'd be curious to know how long you'd guess it'll take them.” Ser Davos knew exactly what Stannis was thinking, it seemed. Handing him back the raven scroll with a dismissive tone.

“I don't gamble, Ser Davos you well know that.” Before he had exited the room however, Stannis had turned his head to the side just enough for the man to still hear him. “Six months at the most.” By the time Stannis received word on Dragonstone, none saw the smirk on Stannis's face as he read the letter.

It had indeed taken Jon Snow exactly six months to marry you.

Theon Greyjoy was not blind to the manner in which he was perceived. In fact for most of his life he could likely pinpoint exactly what that image was when and by whom. Being the youngest of his father's children, he was cared about but was never quite old enough to gain the attention he wishes he could have had. Rodrik was the eldest and the favoured. If any of Balon's children were the most of what an Ironborn was made of, it was him.

And if Theon were to be honest, he cared little for him. Then and now. Violent and loud, and always was the one to push Theon as a boy to be tougher. It didn't get much better in his memories of his brother Maron either.

But if his little love for his brothers spoke of anything, it was that which stemmed from his father. A boy striving for the acceptance of his father, wanted him to see his youngest son as worthy, but it was never close to the attention Rodrik and Maron got. Theon was only a boy, but could never do enough. He hardly even saw his father for his earliest years. Theon spent much of his youngest ages with his mother, as his brothers had grown long since to be men and Balon considered that more important until Theon too was old enough to be a man.

Then he was in Winterfell. And no matter what he'd tell himself, it still was the best years of his life.

Scared at first or not, it was home. Was he a prisoner? Yes. But did he really feel like one? No. He never truly did. Winterfell was welcome to be his home, and he found no grime nor shame in his duty acting as Ned Stark's ward. He used to feel fear that one day, the cold Northern Lord would bring Theon out to the clearing and Ice would take his head one day. But that was only at first, whatever coldness was in him, was nothing compared to what he endured from his own father. His own family.

Theon was raised and trained in Winterfell alongside both eldest of Ned Starks sons, and some days it still hurt to look back on. Theon now could stand outside looking to the training yard, and hear his fathers voice shouting at him enraged about Robb.

“No, not here. Not in my hearing, you will not name him brother. This son of the man who put your true brothers to the sword. Or have you forgotten your own blood?”

But in truth, he did in a way. His brothers were his blood, and he'd never forget them. But that didn't mean he missed them. He didn't care that his brothers died not loving him, but he did care, he did hate, that the brother who meant everything to him, died hating him. Robb died thinking Theon was a traitor, and he was, but he died thinking Theon did it all to hurt him, to scorn him and his family. Robb died thinking that Theon didn't see him as his brother and it never stopped bothering him.

Ironic it was, that the man Theon truly saw as his brother, died to the sword of what became Theon's captors. And yet the brothers Theon didn't miss, died to the sword of the man who became Theon's captor. The man whose son became a brother to him, the man who Theon saw as the only father to him that mattered. And Balon Greyjoy knew it.

Theon had rationalized to him that Lord Stark was dead, and the first he saw of his father in almost thirteen years was as he asked him, “And how do you feel about that?”

What's done is done, that's what he said. And it wasn't an answer. Not for a second did Theon belong back on Pyke, but it all was too confusing in his head. Not a single one of them respected him, it was the worst light any had ever seen of him, and Theon made it all the worse by trying to impress those who didn't care.

But he was a Greyjoy. His blood was salt and iron, yet he still burned the raven scroll that day. Stood in the room that had been his once for over a decade, and upon reading the first words he had heard from his blood family in two years, he burned the scroll and never regretted it. The only one who may have been something of family to him had reached out. Had learned of the Boltons defeat, had learned Theon served in Winterfell as his own man once more and reached out to him.

Come back. Don't die so far from the sea.

Yara was the closest thing to someone he might have considered returning for. She didn't like him, or respect him, but she still cared. In her own way she cared. Tried telling him to return to Pyke instead of staying in Winterfell, and she tried coming back for him when she realized what happened to him.

But there was a difference in how she cared. There was one thing that kept Theon as a free man, from making his way to Pyke and finding Yara. It was beacuse she wasn't the sister he loved. You were.

Yara rallied men, came to find him, tried to fight for him. But in Theon's most broken moments couldn't figure out if Ramsay was tricking him. He had done it before. Tricked him into thinking a rescue was being made only to find his circumstances even worse. He was beaten and tortured, but the last time a rescue was made for him, it walked him right back into an even worse torture that left him mutilated and his own manhood, root and stem cut from him. What would this trick lead to that was worse, he hadn't wanted to find out.

So she left. She saw what was little more then a frightened boy, and abandoned him for being too traumatized to see she was there in honest terms. But you? Theon felt you had every reason to hate him. To treat him as cruel as everyone else had under the Boltons. But you didn't. At every opportunity, you found what little scrap of a voice Ramsay would leave you with and remind him who he was, and that he didn't deserve this. Would remind him that no one from his old life, not even Robb, would have wanted this for him.

You didn't want Theon to feel abandoned as Yara had actually done, without even knowing that day occurred. Theon knew the reason you lasted as long as you did, was beacuse of him. He knew the small, pathetic moments of genuine connection you two could have was the only thing keeping you from ending your life and he knew one day that resolve would run dry. Had Theon not helped you escape that night, he wasn't even sure you would have let yourself remain alive come morning.

You didn't give up on him, so he didn't give up on you. And that never stopped. The last time Theon felt like he had a purpose was at Robbs side, but now he found his new one. Serving at yours.

The only reason the people here had slowly accepted him back, was beacuse you demanded they respect him. You refused to let anyone slander him, or question his presence and freedom. You would not abandon him, you wanted him to have life, to have purpose and people. You two hadn't always been that way, but there was no other place in Theon's life for you other then what Yara had tried and failed to be. The sister who still cared.

So he burned the raven scroll. Yara had reached out to him. Begging him to return. Their father was dead, Balon Greyjoy was dead. Rumours that a storm had thrown him from the windy bridge to his death. She wrote of the Kingsmoot. The first in centuries. Trying to implore him to come home, if not serving at her claim for the Salt Throne, then that of their Uncle Victarion. He had burned that raven scroll after a few hours of debating if he wanted to tell you about it.

He burned the second one right away. Once more she tried. Their gruesome Uncle Euron had returned, and she spoke of his terror and the things he had done that day. That he had been chosen as the Salt King and his grandiose claims and delusions of conquering the lands. All Theon could think, was that if it was a plea for help, it was for a family who never respected Theon.

And if it was to ask him to join them under their new King, then she was as delusional as Euron was.

His place was here. His place was supporting the one person who he felt was family, serving the only rulers that had any worth in this shit hole of a world which was left. But you had been through enough, and Theon didn't want you in your state to think he might leave.

So instead, he told Jon. Neither of them wanted to keep things from you, but they were both worried. And the worry of Theon finally leaving, was not one either wanted you to have. As the two of them stood there that night, high up on the walls of Winterfell in the night sky looking out to the quiet woods, he didn't quite know why Jon was in the strange mood he was, but he was glad that not once did he question Theons intentions.

The two men were still figuring out where they stood in the others life, but at least, trust was there and it no longer had any doubt or question behind any of it. Even when talking about what Theon had done in this very place. Jon stood next to him, both men finding something of company in the other the past few nights a bit easier on their own. Neither of them actually wanted their interactions to only be comfortable if you were there to act as an in between.

They weren't close the way each had been with Robb, but that didn't mean Jon meant nothing to Theon. So he was glad he found it not difficult to be honest. “All he wanted me to do was raid fishing villages. He didn't trust me. Said the Starks had made me theirs, but I was given a choice. Prove myself or prove he was right. And I chose wrong, beacuse I thought, I could never be a Stark. Maybe I shouldn't try to be anymore, felt impossible to be standing next to Robb.”

He could see Jon just barley turn his gaze somewhat in his direction, a question no doubt on the tip of his tongue but Theon half shrugged at him. “His life fit him better then his clothes, and once I was on Pyke, it was hard to remember none of that really mattered to him.”

Voice low and rough, Theon felt the weight behind Jons words. “I know. I was jealous of Robb my whole life, was always everything I wished I could be.”

And yet, as the two stood there, one thing came to Theons mind. Catching Jons attention to look over at him, face twisted in a confusion, Theon almost huffed a laugh. “Funny thing to hear, when I'm the one standing here next to you.” Glancing at Jon, Theon tilted his head almost to implore him to see. “Think about it, I was born a Greyjoy. I grew up with as much as Robb ever did, true born son of a Lord, famous name, was stupid enough to think my father would win the rebellion and I'd have everything else I ever wanted. Then I came here, raised by the Starks. Spending everyday feeling as if I was like them, but not one of them.”

Both men stood there, raised by Ned Stark, but not a true part of the family. Both a little on the outside in their own ways and yet their directions found in drastically separate paths. Continuing, Theon found the path to the worst of what he had done. “I thought, Ironborn..that's what I was born to be. So I paid the iron price for Winterfell. And now two boys are dead beacuse of me. And beacuse of what I let them do, Robb died thinking I murdered his brothers.” Head dropping a bit, Theon filled with not jealousy or envy but a bit of a defeat in the truth. “But you? You've always known what was right. Even when we were all young and stupid, you always knew. Every step you take it's always been the right one.”

The weight in his voice, a lifetime Theon would know nothing about and yet he felt in his bones what kind of guilt and shame sat within it's tone from Jon. “It's not. It may seem that way from the outside, but I promise you, that's not true. I've done plenty wrong.”

Where it came from he wasn't sure, but perhaps it was the most honest he had been about it in his life if he thought about it. “I never felt like I belonged next to Robb, but maybe if I stopped lying to myself I'd have realized it was you I was jealous of. Whatever you regret doing, you still did it a better person then me. I didn't do the right thing until it was almost too late.” Your name didn't need to be said for both to know what that right thing really was. “Always felt like there was an impossible choice I had to make. Greyjoy or Stark.”

Theon wouldn't know, but that cut a little too close to Jons heart. Far too close, and it came out rough and rasping as Jon forced the words out before it overtook him too much in his own mind. “Our father was more of a father to you than Balon ever was.” Only a nod with a heavy swallow in Theons throat as Jon spoke. “But he's still part of you like he's still part of me, beacuse you're a Greyjoy and you're a Stark. It's not my place to forgive you for all of it, but what I can forgive you for? I did that a long time ago.” Your name slipping from Jons lips, “She did too. And I know she wouldn't blame for you if you choose to go to them. Especially now.”

“No. But you would.” Becoming Theon's turn to be quiet, it almost reminded Jon of his admission to you of what he tried leaving Castle Black after his fathers death. The quiet guilt and uncertainty in himself. “Right before Ramsay's men came in, Maester Luwin tried telling me to run. Told me there were tunnels he could get me to, and when I told him I didn't want to go back to Pyke he told me to go North. Join the Nights Watch, and I'd be beyond the reach of the law.”

Looking to him from the side, there was enough calm on Jons face that it felt almost strange to say, but Theon knew anger was something else once it became over Jon. But he still said it. “I almost did it, came close to agreeing to it. But in truth? I was too scared of you.” That caught Jons attention, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he looked Theons way. “I knew what you were like, and I knew for everything I had done, you'd have slit my throat in my sleep if I showed up. If I were lucky.”

He appreciated that Jon was as honest as he was. Watching the Greyjoy close as something only slightly closer to an anger was hinted at in the roughness in his voice. “That morning, when you two rode through the gates. If you came through without her? I might have done worse then slit your throat.”

“Wouldn't have blamed you if did. Wouldn't have blamed you if you hung me alongside those two men of yours even after bringing her to you.” But Jon didn't. He didn't do anything, and only continued to trust more and more in Theon with much bigger responsibilities since then. And Theon still didn't quite know how to thank him for that without coming off as awkward. The change of subject however, was welcome for both. “You think Lord Howland's right? About what's happening to her?”

Jon shook his head slowly. “I don't know. I don't know what it is, or how to help her.” But Jon did know, was that he did not like the sort of path it was leading you down.

Theon looked just as unsettled. “First you both come back from the dead, then you and Arya can control direwolves, now this? Didn't think winter coming would mean all of this shit was coming alongside it.”

Gloved hands braced against the stone in front of him, Jon only wished whatever was coming still would keep you out of it.

Some days if you thought about it, it was never winter which House Baratheon had dreaded, not in the way many did. In each home they lived within the lives of those you knew, the worst of the hardship from the cold was never quite as prevalent. From your girlhood home of Dragonstone, and the shores of your families ancestral seat Storm's End, to the vast harbour of King's Landing the last many generations of Baratheons always lived right by the sea.

Come the cold winds, it was food that was always the biggest concern and it was food which was not at a risk of running short when living by the waters of the Narrow Sea. It was cold, and fish was served more days then anything else, but it was easy when you could have the freedom to set out to the waters and catch what you needed. And raised with the resolve like a man such as your father, winter was simply more work but nothing dire.

Yet it was what every other place of the Seven Kingdoms dreamed off, that your family found in a lack of appreciation. Spring was what the Baratheons looked forward to the least. It had been the result of an event years before you were born. Your grandfather and grandmother had been returning home after a trip taken to Essos, if you had ever been told why they were there you hardly recalled it beyond the things which your father had told you, which was of it's end.

Spring brought harsh rains and winds to Storm's End and it was in a terrible one which Stannis and Robert had stood and watched what caused a horrible end to the ship returning their parents home. Steffon Baratheon and his wife Cassana had perished in the crash. Renly was too young to remember but he grew up without a father and mother both, it had thrusted Robert into responsibility far before he thought it would be his, something which sat almost like an omen to come. And it had left your father bitter, and without any faith left in the Seven.

Each time winter came to an end, it was never a prosperous feeling in your family. Spring had taken your chance to know your grandparents, and yet perhaps in your own mind, that may have been for the better. You had the advantage of foresight of course, to look back at your family and know what was a mistake and what had led you to the feelings you held. You too, knew that you were far too much like Robert in some ways, to think you could have ever seen the good in your grandfather.

There was only one thing which you needed to know, to come to that conclusion. Who your closest friends are is all too telling, and your grandfather's closest friends were that in Tywin Lannister and Aerys Targaryean. Both became cruel men who committed horrific atrocities never to be forgiven and it was difficult in your mind to move passed that.

A a girl, you would look to the waters when visiting Storms End and wonder, would your grandfather have sided with the Mad King? And now, in the home of Winterfell, you wondered if Steffon Baratheon would look down to the world, and realize that Tywin had organized a slaughter of what was once his oldest now dead friends own granddaughter?

Your family was nothing but scattered conflicts all caring about the wrong things compared to the rest of the world. So perhaps it was why as the days grew shorter and the dark of nights grew colder, did it feel strange to watch as preparing for winter continued to make Jon and Arya's bond grow stronger. Not that it had much stronger it could be, but they would somehow manage it. Or how Jon could discuss much of the far North with any in knowing better then you would ever grasp it.

He was a man truly of the North, and you were beginning to feel more out of place then you had in a long time in Winterfell. You were not raised with the hardships of Northern winters, you were not raised to work with those of your family as such a seamless ease the way the people around Jon all did together. There was nothing you brought to the table which helped better then others, all you brought was strain and confusion now.

A mystery had presented itself before your very eyes, but you had nothing to present to Jon, Sam, Lord Howland, or anyone which was helpful. Just more questions you didn't have enough understanding to even phrase. Some watched you with weary eyes waiting for you to snap, others looked with a pity that was too similar to how they looked at you under the hold of the Boltons, nor did you know what to say to anyone.

There were a few days things seemed fine, more then fine. But as soon as that last good night was over, it was as if Jon spun himself deeply right back into something more weary then before. And it only got worse now as the days since that dream of the stranger reached well over a week passed.

Quiet you had been all day, and for once you simply did not want to walk into the room and again see that deep rooted fear in Jons eyes as he looked to you. He'd watched you like a hawk since whatever it was that night and you didn't know how to make it stop. The looks, his fear, the dreams, any of it. Your mind was as much of a mess as your priorities, and so left. Moved to go do something, anything, to occupy yourself and stay out of everyone's way and worry. They didn't have to worry about what was happening with you if you weren't there to remind them.

Telling them where you would be, you had requested your guard leave you alone. “What dangers lay in the glass gardens so much, you need follow me in there?” No doubt they'd stay somewhat nearby, but if you didn't want to see them, you didn't want to hear them either. The dark of the sky made the reflections through the glass appear in a blueish tone with the moonlight against it, and you had gone over what was there in what numbers more times then any needed to.

It was an excuse, not many would look for you here and it was close enough to the crypts that perhaps you could find the courage to retrace steps you had seen. Your mind though, was too much still of a mess. More then usual. The pull to a self loathing tempted you at your uselessness and many times over it left you frustrated that new life had forgotten to grace you with what once made you a leader.

Now you hid from your own ineptitude at your Kings side, hoping you'd find an answer to something, anything, before more questions hurled themselves before your eyes. If you weren't helping run his kingdom, you were only adding to the mystery of the North before true answers were found.

Winter now was important, but you dreaded handling any of it the way your family dreaded the memories of Spring.

Eyes flickered up curiously to the main entrance as a smaller figure made their way inside. Looking in the dark until their shadowing form found your direction did you realize who had sought you out this time, though you said nothing. Let him come to you, you weren't one to push the subject onto others when it was their issues to work through.

Olly stopped a good few feet from where you sat, watching in as much trepidation as his stiff posture spoke of before pulling something small from his pocket. Wrapped up he glanced around once more before finally crossing the few feet to where you sat, he held it out instead of making eye contact. It was a slow exchange as you opened it to see he had brought you something to eat. The small grin was formed along your mouth before you could smother it. Flickering your eyes back up to him, you raised an eyebrow.

“Dare I ask how you knew I was all the way out here?” He shrugged still without making eye contact, and the uncertainty in his shoulders grew. The dark cold between you was quiet for a moment until you spoke between bites before you found it in you to grant a shred of mercy. “You don't have to stay if you don't want to.”

Surprisingly, his head shot up to see yours. “No, your grace that isn't-” The unchanging expression on your own face likely caught the boy somewhat off guard. It seems you weren't the only one whose mind inside their head was a bit of a mess. Glancing to the side, Olly tried finding the right words and failed to a degree. “I only- you shouldn't keep skipping meals. It isn't good for you.”

A lightness came over your heart enough to raise an eyebrow, tone softer then his as to not startle him more. “And you're going to tell me you're eating properly, yourself?” He didn't return the his gaze just yet, it had been a number of days since he had said more then a few words to you at a time. Reaching your arm out, the motion was enough to have him flicker his eyes only to what you held out to him, part of what he had brought you. That had him turn confused, as you stayed soft spoken. “You don't have to sit with me and eat, but if you're going to pester me about it then I assure you I can pester right back.”

He was quiet right until a more dramatic sigh left him, and you bit your tongue to hide the chuckle within your throat. Grabbing it he stood for only a second before sitting next to you, slowly and with an awkward hesitation but he sat next to you on a stones edge all the same. Luckily, he was used to you enough to know that no conversation at all was not an indication of uncomfortable in your eyes. He when in a good mood could talk away, but he didn't take your silence as the same the way you did his.

Only, for Olly, it was the few times he wished you would talk. The air around him stiff only after you had stopped filling the chilly air with a light degree of jest towards him. You could feel him peeking at your side profile before scurrying back before you could notice, but you felt it all the same. A mutter even quieter then the last as you gave him the privacy to not be forced to make eye contact, the gardens growing in the darkness was view enough. “Did you know it's a rare talent for a steward to know when and when not to pester those they serve constantly?”

Making no sound of reaction, you did feel him shift ever so slightly beside you, the only indication the boy was listening as you continued. “Truly it is. Now, most of my time in Kings Landing I had hand maidens but the roles function mostly the same. Attending to a lord or ladies need, only I had around five at any given time and there is only one of you. But trust me, those girls could find any and every reason to never stop talking.” Speaking between bites, you allowed Olly the grace of not feeling obligated to respond, you simply took it as a step that he was even still here. “About this, that, boys they fancied, girls they were jealous of, whatever gossip found them, they spoke of it. Eventually I got to the point I would start telling them to simply leave me alone beacuse I couldn't stand the hen chatter. Had to make it a rule that they weren't allowed to be near my chambers first thing in the morning or after dark beacuse the first and last parts of my day I did not want them to fuss over everything.”

Muffled through a bite of his own, Olly managed to summon the willingness to speak anything. “Did you have handmaidens during the war?”

Huffing a small laugh, you leaned back a little bit with a shake of your head. “Heavens no, an army camp is no place for them. Five pretty young girls, twenty thousand soldiers? Nothing but trouble. I did have a squire though, between myself and Robb. Came to us as part of a deal with Walder Frey to cross the Twins.” You said it so casually, but Olly looked over properly wide eyed.

Everyone knew The Twins and House Frey was where part of your story ended.

But you pressed on, the start of the war was painful in many ways, but none that dared not thinking about like three years onward approaching the bridge from the other side. Your voice was still light, and if not mistaken, hinting a bit of amusement. “He was to be Robb's squire. This young boy Olyvar, a few years older then yourself. Was to expect a knighthood in some time.” You chuckled to yourself, and you knew without any glance that Olly now was looking attentively at you. A sound these days almost no one heard, was anything like laughter from you.

“He was loyal, worked very hard, a bit on the airy side and it took almost two years for him to get the hang of knowing when to leave without being ordered too, but he was a hard worker. Robb had no bloody idea what to do with him, never wanted a squire, preferred either doing a lot of things himself or he knew he had me. But, I was used to giving handmaidens orders, so I started being the one Olyvar would go to. He'd listen to Robb, but he knew Robb wanted him to answer to me and to just leave him to his work.”

Surely this was the most you had spoken in one go, in close to months by now. You think, it too, was the most easy and casual tone you had heard on Olly since Barrowton. “The King didn't like being around servants?”

Shaking your head, there was a small smile on your lips. Not dark enough it was hidden, but it sat there soft and only for Robb, only for you. Not lost on Olly, that you never spoke of the late King in the North in such a personal manner in front of, to him, seemed like everyone. “Not that, he was the heir to Winterfell all his life, remember. He was used to being around servants, but the Starks weren't raised to be spoiled. Not the first born son that is for certain.”

A narrowed look in your eye only you could catch was a teasing mocking, “Lord Stark's first born daughter, now that is a different story. Sansa was a spoiled in her first few years, she was used to maids and servants. But Robb? He was fine delegating some things off, but he knew the pressure was always on him. To one day take over Winterfell, to be Warden of the North and he didn't want to do so having other men doing his work for him. Olyvar was eager to do more then Robb wanted him around for, and so he became more like my own squire just so he didn't lose his patience at the boy.”

You were quiet for only a moment before finding an honesty. “He'd like you, though. Robb. He would have enjoyed a steward around like yourself. Quiet, smart, quick, not afraid to show you care about who you serve without seeming pandering. Probably too, why Jon chose you.”

The easy quiet turned to a guilty quiet, but you knew the guilt for some things went both directions. It only was better to set it up as an even balance to put you on the same grounds as the boy. His voice hardly a murmur, “I wasn't a good steward to him. He explained why he was bringing the wildlings south of the Wall. I knew why, he and King Stannis would talk about those things in front of me beacuse he wanted me to always attend his meetings. But he came back from Hardhome, and he let the wildlings through and I let it get in the way. Barley said anything to him I didn't need to after that.”

Your voice held no accusation, “Can't imagine what that feels like.” You sensed him jumping to speak up, but you painted his own defence for him. “That wasn't a judgment, Olly. Just pointing out that if you have any plans on stabbing me anytime soon, I'd at the least prefer a warning beforehand.”

Sneaking a glance, Olly's face has twisted into a defensive frown before he caught the barley held back smirk at the side of your face looking more to him. Rolling his eyes, it made that smirk come out much more naturally. “If that was supposed to be a joke, your grace-”

“The sad thing, is that it was.” Olly laughed for the briefest of seconds before he shot a hand up to stop himself, but it only let you laugh much more easily. “I have many strengths, but humour is so far from the top of that list it's already sailed and landed across the Narrow Sea.” You felt his tensity, relax slightly as he let himself lean back against the flat stone beneath you both more comfortably, as your voice softened to match. “My point though Olly, is that you're good at this. You're a good steward, and that isn't easy to come by. Anyone here would be glad to have you at their service if you want to.”

Finally, his young eyes met yours properly. Something confused washed over with a doubt, “Your grace-”

“I know why you're upset with me. Truly, I do. But I'm not one to make you sit here and forgive me just beacuse it's easier that way. If you would be more comfortable serving someone other then myself, I'd rather you do that then force yourself to stay here beacuse you think you are obligated too.” He didn't blink, or even shift his expression but there was something bordering bright and upset there. Yours however, was only soft. “I like having you by my side, but not if it's only going to upset you day in and day out.”

His eyes flickered to there and nothing before he sighed and let them fly down to the ground. His hands now clasped tight together in his lap, likely to keep them from fidgeting too much. What he said though, quiet with something wishing to crack behind the tone, was not quite what you thought he would approach it with. “My mother told me to run and hide the same way you did. So I did, and she was killed right behind me. You told me to run and hide, and it got you kidnapped.”

You still recalled the way he recounted that day, how painful it was to get through and you knowing what it looked like was no doubt worse then what you could imagine, especially for a child. Looking gently at Olly, your voice was quiet. “You could have had sword and shield in hand, and she still would have told you to hide. Wanting to protect her is normal, but so is it for a mother to refuse that if it puts her child in danger. You living without her meant more then you dying to protect her.”

His silence hung in the air, struggling between looking your way and looking off to the distance of a memory. If he was about to speak though, you interrupted him.

“And I did what I did to protect you, I don't regret it and I'd do it all the same if we were to go back. I'm not asking you to like it, but that's how it is. I took you with me beacuse I know you didn't want to be left behind again, not so you could step in between myself and danger.” He was quiet for a good while, and you didn't blame him.

For his sake, you said nothing and looked away as he wiped what tears were wishing to fall. He inhaled deeply, nodding before finally moving to stand up. In the stillness of the night, you only watched him take more then a few steps towards the door before turning back halfway to face you. “I-” He exhaled deeply before coming back with a more stable confidence. “I don't want to serve anyone else. I'm only here beacuse you gave me a second chance and I don't want to throw that away.”

A small, soft sort of smile was given Olly's direction, he was a complicated boy and perhaps it made sense he was attached to someone as complicated in their own rights like yourself. You gave a single nod, softly muttering, “I'll see you bright and early then.”

“Your grace.” A small little bow before Olly left you be in the quiet and dark.

It took you a good while to return to the inside of the castle walls. At the very least, on a long list of things very wrong in your life you could say one of them was handled rather smoothly. The rest, not as simple to know where to start, and you weren't the only one.

Jon was worried about one thing, but you were busy looking out to where the crypts led down towards. If you checked, you'd have to find out one way or another if that dream itself was real, and if it was, you had a whole new question on your mind to add to Jons list of concerns. An unknown man who came here seeking something, and the question of how was the long since missing Benjen Stark involved with it?

Later into then night then he should still have been working, Jon was busy wracking his brain trying to figure out how his visions, your dreams and what now was happening to you all connected. It had to somehow, it had to mean something, but he kept coming up short on reasonable explanations. Much of that evening he had been with Sam, going through what he had translated looking for a single thing that might explain it all.

But the old powers ran deep and ancient, and some spoke of riddles Jon couldn't possible figure out the answers too even if he wanted to try. His visions of you years before were one thing, but this was something else entirely, and Jon didn't understand what about you meant you had to be dragged into it. Stark blood ran deep in ties to the North, so why was it bringing you into it by force?

Eventually, talk turned to what it always did. The storms coming for them.

“Maybe someone put it there a long time ago.”

Shaking his head, Jon looked over the shard of dragonglass in his hand. Most were close to a black, but this one sat a little closer to purple if he had held it up in the sunlight hours ago. “I don't think so, the way it's sitting down there looks like it was made naturally.” Your name slipping from his lips in thought, “She says it was from when the volcano flowed underground and when it cooled, it formed this.”

Sam had managed to come as far as learning the Children of the Forest used to hunt with obsidian, but how that connected to the rest of it, they couldn't figure out. “But if it's formed naturally, why call it dragonglass?”

“Because it's found in areas the world associates with dragons.” Both heads turned to the door of the study to find you, gently closing the door behind. Pacing ever so slowly as your eyes looked over the work scattered about the desk. “The dragons preferred to live in very hot places, and most of the time it lined up with where volcanic activity sat.” Grabbing a separate piece sat on the desk, you slowly sat down with eyes squinting at it, on one side of the table separate from both of them, Ser Davos not far near the other side of the room. “The Targaryeans didn't build the castle of Dragonstone, ancient Valyrians did. Could have chosen anywhere more mainland, even Driftmark but they built it by Dragonmont. I think, beacuse they thought their dragons would need the heat. The Valyrian Freehold was built all around volcanoes.”

The flames sat plainly across your eyes, the screams so faded from the world outside it and the molten fire spitting and flying as it boiled like a cauldron. Quiet for his own moment, Jon found a path of thought in his words. “That's why they chose there when they fled, they thought they needed it to hatch dragon eggs.”

Ser Davos spoke up in the same wonder you were following, “So why is only one out of the three things that can kill the dead, man made when the others aren't?” Now that was the true question, wracking your mind. It felt as if something connected a multitude of missing pieces, but the image was not yet even clear what or how much you were not aware you were still missing.

Sam proposing that possibly Dragonglass has something to do with Valyrian Steel but you shook your head. “You can reforge Valyrian Steel if you know what you're doing, but you can't reforge dragonglass. It's brittle and cracks easily under enough pressure. Even heating it up, you smash it with a hammer and it'll shatter.” Your eyes drifting to nothing trying to connect the image of molten lava and the thing in your hand. “They used spells and blood magic to make Valyrian Steel. Dragonglass has nothing to do with that.”

Both Sam and Jon glanced to the other, shatter was the precise word they would use to describe what happened when they killed one of the Others respectably.

The night was long and as many suggestions of truth came up in as many droves as questions which followed. For all of what you collectively knew, it seemed as if it was nothing in comparison to the storms they were all surrounded by. Come morning you hadn't let any of it go.

Looking through the books in Wolkan's study, your palms braced either side of the wooden surface outside the edge of a rather old book. This was the third you had gone through, and still none matched the image you had tried to recreate when searching for answers. Perhaps if you knew what the symbol meant, you'd know why Benjen Stark was hiding something where ever it was.

It was not easy, and you had on multiple occasions looked to him in doubt that perhaps you had recollected it wrong or drawn it incorrectly but Wolkan did not seem deterred. “It may not be as simple as a word.” Your eyes glanced up from how long you were squinting them down at the texts, “If it is a combination of words or phrases, a rune combines it into one symbol when condensed on space. We only have so much of what they left behind, it could be a combination of what we already know.”

“Or don't know.” Sighing deeply, you looked back at the page before flickering them up to the image once more. “I could be searching for something that doesn't even have an answer.” It had been a while, and your eyes felt strained looking at rudimentary drawings over and over again for as long as you had been in here and still no answers came. And you had too, come to closer to revealing the question flooding your mind either.

Sitting down, a huff released as your shoulders relaxed not in relief, but exhaustion. Wolkan took a quiet seat on the other side, eyes still just as sharp as yours no longer felt. Silly it had felt coming to ask him, but in truth, you supposed there was enough from the first day you met to tell you the man was more then willing to extend what was once more limited understandings of the world anymore. Much of that was going around now.

Wolkan was calm as he was reassuring, “Far more unusual occurrences have happened then this, your grace. Everything has an answer, but sometimes we ask the wrong questions first.” Your brows narrowed with a glaze over your eyes of curiosity mixed in confusion. Leaning a bit forward, you once more found yourself grateful that the Maesters you have known in your life never treated your knack for the bizarre with dismissal.

Drawing your focus for a moment back to the symbol you tried to recreate, you wondered if you could go back to it. See it properly once more, but without the understanding of if it came with the same risk you doubted how much any of it was even real. It was real enough Jon shared the same dream, but did that make the stranger real, you didn't know either.

Interrupting your stoic silence, Wolkan asked with a genuine prompting. “Do you know what the last task one must do before he can vow himself as a Maester of the Citadel?” Shaking your head, Wolkan pulled a candle perched not far off to sit between you both. “We spend the night all in darkness, with only one task. We must light three black glass candles. We are given no tools nor hints but what we have learned and we will sit in the dark until the sun rises trying to figure out the answer. Do you know how many I have known to do this?”

Once more you shook your head, nails somewhat digging into the wood as you glanced at the flickering flames as he continued. “None.” That got your eyes to whip up to his, your expression must have twisted more then you assumed as he chuckled at the sight. “None I have ever known has lit one of those candles, beacuse lighting it is not the purpose. It is not a test, rather one last lesson all men of learning such as myself must acquire. That no matter how much knowledge one gathers, no matter what reading and practising and work you do, there will be some things that are impossible. That you cannot force yourself to accomplish the impossible beacuse you want too, sometimes we must accept that we have our own limitations. Even if some do light them, it doesn't matter, beacuse it will not change that I do not have that ability myself.”

The silence was not uncomfortable, but it was heavy as your eyes drifted away into the distance against the flames once more. Still nothing. Only when you found the words to speak, did it flow so softly between you two that he wouldn't have heard any further away. “Presuming the lesson you are trying to tell me is not in fact, I should know when to give up,” Finding his once more, Wolkan was always quiet and in as much thought as you it seemed. “But rather I should stop trying to solve every riddle all on my own before going to others about it.”

He nodded once, but let you sit for the quiet between you, nails tapping at the drawing and your eyes drifting away again. Only once something of tension fell from your shoulder did he speak up to more then your muttering level. “I will bring this,” Reaching for the drawing only to pause as you realized in a moment he wanted you to let go of it. “To Samwell, see if it is something the boy has seen in any of his readings.”

Right as you were to leave his study, you turned back with a more lightness in your tone. “You really believe me? What I saw, what I've seen?”

“Eventually, the Starks are always right. Winter always will come. No reason to doubt what you say, more absurd things have come with the winter storms then visions and dreams, your grace. In comparison to what is said is coming for us, this is nothing.” It wasn't quite a smile he got from you, but a brightness in your eyes along with a nod before parting ways.

Telling yourself to focus one at a time, look first at what was right in front of you.

Only, you routinely were very talented at finding yourself focusing on things that made your head scream at you more and more the longer it went on. Though, you were all too well aware that such a side effect, was indeed the result Maege Mormont intended. It had to be how her daughters grew to all be a thick skinned as she was, a lifetime of growing up with this relentlessness would toughen anyone's resolve.

“This is why you never belonged in Kings Landing, you still cannot lie for shit.”

Face burying itself in your palms, elbows propping you up on the table in front of you. Every answer you had given her was dripping in a held back diplomacy as if she would take that at face value, which she didn't. And it only made her poking and prodding worse. Eyes peeking up to glare at her, you only muttered, “What possible reason would I have to lie about this?”

The look she gave you, were you not flustered, would have been priceless. Eyebrow raised as she tilted her head, a smirk forming slow to boot with too much knowing and far more teasing. Her voice matched all the same. “Because you're uptight.” That got your head to shoot up almost in protest as she pointed at you. “Oh, do you have a defence against that, beacuse gods be good I'd love to hear you talk your way out of that accusation.” The staring lasted all but five seconds before you turned your attention away from her as she continued without prompt. “I've known you good many years now, your grace. You genuinely care about the people of the North, and I know that means you're worried an honest answer would turn our opinions against you.”

Mumbling mostly to yourself, you still didn't look her way, embarrassment still fresh in your system from how much she was trying to call it up to the surface, the truth. “You made him King, you all still called me Queen, it was a logical decision.”

If a tease was on Maege's tongue, the tactic switched at the last moment. “I don't know what Ramsay Bolton did to you, nor is it any of my business. But I know what he said that day the King took his head, we all heard it.” Your jaw clenched, muscles in your hands tensing as they felt a fleeting need to expel such energy somewhere. “You are worried if we think anything other then it was only politics, that it means we will think that bastard was right. That you're some whore who jumped from one King to the next just to stay Queen.”

The air had gone from teasing to heavy to painful between you both. You valued Maege's company much but you also despised how quickly she would find the root of what you were not saying. Hardly a breath uttered between your whispered words, held back in any real emotion. “That's what everyone in the South would presume.” Maege quick to comment that this wasn't the South yet you found little comfort in it. “Why does it even matter? I married him, there isn't anything else to say about it.”

The quiet remained for a moment before she stood, moving towards a cabinet by the edge of the kitchens which remained thankfully quiet in the early afternoon. Two mugs she pulled out as you watched her speak while having one of the servers fetch her wine, her voice as serous as yours just had been. “I've had a lot of bad days, your grace. Being given leadership of Bear Island, all beacuse my nephew disgraced himself and ran away, knowing the rest of the North all looked at us as if we helped him escape. Learning my brother was murdered by a bunch of cowards beyond the wall. Worst of them was learning I was thousands of miles away from where my Dacey died. Not knowing if I could've done anything.”

Pouring the wine into the first, you looked away the last of your memories of her as clear as all of them you never saw again. Maege continued, not expecting you to speak quite yet. “Then all I could think of was, could I have even saved her? Or would I have been killed that night too. You never love your children quite the same way you do your first born. And all I could think, was that maybe she wouldn't have to die alone if I fell with her.”

Whenever she had walked back over, you barley heard it. There was so little about that night you still knew, and didn't want too. Your eyes unfocused as she put yours in front of you, voice thick and heavy as you could still see those mornings, almost something akin to a glint in your eye she could barley see as you watched nothing but a memory.

Breathless almost in tone, your chest tightened. “When we were still in Riverrun, I was ill almost every other morning. Like a ritual, I'd wake up far too early, make it down to the edge of the river and let it all up.”

If your memory searched back hard enough, you might have recalled an even earlier one. Ill for the first time, Maege and Catelyn both had been as comforting as they were amused. Drenched with sweat from how much energy it took from you, you looked back to both of them asking. “You did this five times? I'm ready to surrender before I've even had one.”

But you were in a different memory that time. “Dacey was always there. Always knew when to find me, knowing I didn't want Robb too fuss about it, so she ended up fussing about it with me.” Hands barley grasping the mug, you felt that almost smile come creeping a bit closer. “She was one of the last people who felt like a friend. Not a solider, not a subject. But she'd sit with me, make fun of me. Tell stories to distract me on the worse mornings. We felt like little girls sneaking about getting into trouble.”

Missing entirely, the brightness in Maege's own eyes. Her face, did not feel the need to hide nor smother down a hint of a smile on one side. Her tone as quiet, leaning forward. “Like I said, had a lot of bad days. But do you know what my first good day in a long while was after that? Seeing you standing there in my own damn home after more then a year knowing you were gone too.” Still more your chest tightened as you struggled to look at her. “I saw you alive and well and the first thing I noticed was how much Jon Snow was looking at you as if he didn't know what to do with himself the moment you walked away. Not once has he ever tried to hide what he feels for you. And not for a second did I want you to reject that beacuse you were worried how it would look.”

Things were different after that first night on Bear Island, between you and Jon. Not really for your insecurity. That has hardly changed a fraction. Taking a long sip before finding her eyes, yours hesitant and unsure. “I know you heard what she said, that night in Moat Cailin. That's what everyone else thinks of it, and why shouldn't they? Robb had been gone but a year and a half when Jon and I..”Putting it down roughly you shook your head. “Me being ready to find myself with another doesn't mean others think I should have. And I don't expect them too. I have their respect, I should be grateful with that alone.”

You weren't ashamed to be with Jon, or to be married too him. But perhaps you still had too much on your plate, still trying to take too much on at once, beacuse the longer the silence sat the more you felt lost as to what your point was in the first place. Maege however, sensed at least a little bit of that.

Standing up finally, a comforting hand ran over one shoulder as your gaze tilted up to look at her. Voice quiet for none but the two of you in the room to hear. “To keep the record straight, your grace, I wanted to know when things had happened between you two, beacuse if you were going to tell me it was when you were in my home, I would've been damn proud.”

A smack in a playfulness to your shoulder as she passed you by, you felt torn between laughing and feeling that unsure dread fill you once more. Why did your head feel such a mess lately?

Quiet in the moments alone until you sensed that feeling all too easily. Turning your head barley to the side as you called into what looked like nothing, “If you're going to spy I'd rather you do it to my face.”

Slinking around the corner, an indignant look sat upon Arya's face, twisted in annoyance as her voice raised in pitch, “How did you know I was there?” Your head only tilted with a flat look and an eyebrow up, pulling a sigh from her. Approaching the table, she sat in the seat beside you easily. “I went through all this work to be quiet as a shadow and you still can always tell when someone's watching you.”

A light chuckle ran through you, sipping at the water still before you. “I've known you since you were a babe, Arya. I know when you're watching me by now.” Watching in quiet for only a second before coming right to your point. “So would you like to tell me why you're listening in on my conversations, or am I going to have to guess until I find the right answer?”

Jaw ticking, she clearly debated in her mind what she would approach her answer with until settling on a path not quite direct as you asked. “I caught you and Jon in the stables once.” Your brows furrowing in confusion, she looked a mixture between bashful and somewhat amused at the memory. “It was years ago, you two thought you were alone but I was still there and I saw Jon kiss you.”

Perhaps once the nerves would have set it, instead an unusual stiffness in your muscles left you tense but your eyes narrowed at her in a hesitant look unsure where she was going with it. You weren't at all sure you even knew what she was talking about, despite how easily she recalled it.

A shrug in her shoulders, Arya toyed with the handle of the mug sat by her. “He never actually told me anything when I asked him about it. We both knew I knew, we agreed to never talk about it. But I knew.”

Once you would have felt the dread, you had felt it even just in the conversation prior but yet sitting next to Arya of all people, you felt something of a lack of nerves. Voice rather steady for what you had only just been feeling. “Which means you understand why we didn't tell people, or why things still aren't quite as simple now.”

Arya however, was somehow ever more blunt then she had been years ago. “It can be, if you stop being stupid.” Your head tilted, as your face fell more flat looking at her. A lecturing gaze that only she could so easily get away without feeling the effects of as she continued. “You two don't always have to make everything so complicated.”

Your initial quiet was not was she was expecting but was what she got for a moment regardless. That feeling deep in your blood that switched between freezing over in stillness and burning in too much at once a constant since that night. You came back and there was nothing and nothing until him and unravelling the why wasn't as easy as it was being told to you.

What you lost to get here wasn't simple, and so being here would never be either.

“You don't understand the luck you had, Arya.” Her brows furrowing, but you only glanced at her with a lightness in your eyes as they were far away. “Growing up with your mother and father, to you it's all easy. Love is easy, you always knew no matter what people said, what they had was real. No matter what was said about your father, none ever questioned it's strength. My family isn't so lucky.”

Your hands found one another on the wooden surface, trying to wring together as faces you long hadn't thought of properly passed you by in your mind. Arya watching with a curiosity as you continued. “Robert and Cersei hated each other. Slept with other people, just to spite one another. Renly was bedding another before he even shared one night with his own wife. My father was never unfaithful, but he and my mother have never loved each other.” Tilting your head your eyes widened just a bit in an exasperation. “Add living in Kings Landing on top of all that, and you begin to conclude that I've never quite been around many married couples at all that love one another, or are even faithful.”

Renly may have had somewhat of a reason, but it still was unfaithful. Attracted to her or not, Margaery Tyrell was still his wife and any and all rumours which reached your ears in the war told you that there was not a hint that Ser Loras had ceased his part in Renly's private affairs. Everyone of course, knew about Robert.

Your own father and mother may not love one another at all, but at least it did not complete a trio of infidelity that acted as if it plagued many Baratheon men in your lifetime. Your voice quiet as it muttered out, “The last thing I'd want anyone to do, is to think what I had with Robb was anywhere near as unfaithful or untrue as the rest of my family. And I know it looks like I've moved on as if keeping my title was what mattered.”

It was odd to Arya, not that you would have known. She knew of you and Jon, but not once did she ever look at you and Robb, or what she heard of you and Robb and think it wasn't real. The way the men here still talk about his late memory, it always involves you. You and him were always at each others side by the sounds of it and it seemed preposterous that any would question that.

But then again, Southerners it seemed, did not look at love and marriage in the same dedicated manner. She could recall her short time with the Brotherhood, hearing Edric Dayne tell her that her father fell in love with his aunt, before trying to speak of some woman he claimed was Jons mother. She remembered telling him angrily that her father only ever loved her mother. And it was true.

If she were younger, maybe she would have believed what he said about Jons mother in those days, but she was thirteen by then and far smarter then to believe this outlaw knew more of her family then she did. Her father didn't love some other woman, then marry Catelyn, then sleep with some wet nurse too, that wasn't what her family was like. They didn't see love and marriage as something so fleeting like these people did.

She knew that now better then any. That on top of everything her father was, she could strike out ever being unfaithful to his wife as part of him. The truth only made him even better in her eyes.

But she could tell, you worried that everyone else would think you saw your love and marriages in such a fleeting manner. Something about you now was different, but Arya didn't have the words to figure out why.

Some days were easier then others, and in that moment, it seemed you had found a happy medium between stress and amusement. Truly you told yourself there was nothing to laugh at. When you were a novice at something there were bound to be times frustrations rose especially in comparison to others around with more experience. A smirk was bitten back against your tongue trying to remain neutral but not for a moment did your eyes hide quite as well.

If he weren't up against a thirteen year old, it wouldn't be as difficult. Gendry had argued it wouldn't be as hard as it looked to learn the basics of archery, and yet you, Theon, and other spectators had given a multitude of advice and many times repeated it. Beside him, for every shot Gendry missed, Olly had gotten quite close to perfect.

Everytime they gave one another a glance, Gendry wondering if he was too old to get snarky with a child, and Olly sparing glances at you already knowing what mockings were on both your minds.

“Your spending too much time getting into position.” Gendry had turned back at that, looking at Theon like he was ready to just throw the bow at him. Despite Theon not at all finding any threat. “Most cases when you're out there, you're not going to have time to focus on your form you just have to expect by the time you get your aim locked you'll already be there.”

Gesturing beside him, arguing, “He's spending all his time on his form before he aims.” Theon however, just pointed out Olly hadn't been the one missing his shots and once more you glanced away save you get caught trying not to laugh at the expression on his face at such an observation.

The air around was cold, but it was an uncommon feeling for you there to feel any sort of genuine enjoyment in the middle of the day. The three of them bantering back and forth and taking easy jests towards one another, the dynamic of boys remained no different when or where or who they were. You get enough in one spot and eventually it seems they all begin to torment the rest.

Some moments you could trick yourself enough into thinking you were enjoying it, other times all eyes seemed to be off you and trickling in were the piercing eyes and bone chilling voice which made you shiver more then the outside cold. One thing at a time you were to focus on, but every few hours the stranger would crawl back to you and demand you shrink in at the fear.

Still, only Jon knew about that. How else would you say it to another soul, you'd be seen as out of your mind more then you already were. Lord Howland telling you what this was called did not make it that much more comforting.

What would you tell people? You have the sight, but there is no true explanation as to what it is, and what it means? You may as well tell your people you were but a fair maiden, weak minded and broken down into hysteria by the world around you. Talking of someone you saw in a dream you do not know as if they were real, wasn't the ramblings of someone with a firm grip on their sanity.

“Some days you remind me far too much of your father.” Your heart startling in your chest, you turned to the side where you had been perched to see your mother standing close. Voice a more quiet mutter just for you, but her eyes watching narrowed and curious at the same scene before you. “When you're troubled you both have this look, staring into the distance as if you're anywhere but here.” Glancing at your stilled gaze she added, “It would be intimidating if it came from anyone other then you.”

A deep hum in your chest came out in some sound as you looked away to the three of them once more teasing the other more then teaching and learning. “Once many years ago I might have considered being called unintimidating, an insult.”

Smooth and low her voice always was, a contrast to your weaker cracked tone the louder you'd speak sometimes. “Unlike Stannis, being intimidating doesn't suit you. I'm not sure I could ever imagine thinking he would look so natural being over here laughing and joking with these boys.”

Your that time slowly turned to her as your eyes squinted. Lips parting slightly as you let a bit of a smirk fall over your face. A smirk which caught on and found it's way too onto your mothers. “I'm not sure I've ever heard you make fun of father, before.”

Selyse however, only shrugged one shoulder. “You weren't around for those years. Your sister saw plenty of that.” Once the air would have been heavy between you at her mention, but it was less of that and more something simple charged between you both going unsaid. But did not threaten to suffocate either anymore.

A sigh left you, gazing back to the yard only to drop as you looked more to the ground. Voice low only for her, ignoring around you. “It's bizarre isn't it?” She could see your eyes flicker over to Gendry before returning back to her alone. “Whenever I used to try and imagine what Petyr would look like, it always ended up something like that. Only, he looks even more like one of us then I once thought.”

Her own silence thought for a moment, with Maester Cressen gone, she now was the only one remaining who knew the names you gave your brothers. Like you however, her gaze to Gendry didn't last long but it was narrow eyed as it was critical before coming to yours. “The only cousins you thought you had looked nothing like Robert, you had no way of knowing any proper children would take after the two of them so strongly.”

Lightness came over you as you could recall it, it had been a long time. “The last thing Jon Arryn had said before he died was the seed is strong. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what that could have meant until I saw him.” As soon as your mind put it together it was so obvious that day. “We spoke perhaps a few minutes before Lord Stark and myself realized who he was. How couldn't we, he stood there looking just like me.”

“No one knows?” Answering that besides Jon, no one else knew but the three of you and Ser Davos. A quiet moment she spent watching as if normal when what she said was not the direction you expected at all. “Part of me wished I could have hated Jon once we had arrived at Castle Black.” Quite good you both were at staying right where you were looking as if no conversation of meaning was taking place whatsoever. “The way your father looked at him, it was like watching for the first time him interacting with the son he never had. And I wanted to hate him for it, beacuse my husband could only find that in someone who wasn't even his by blood. In a boy I didn't give him.”

Silent you remained, not quite sure what she was getting at.

“Imagine how strange it is, looking at a boy who in every way is what you imagined in your own sons appearance, but the only one you actually have, is one by marriage that your father admired in such a way.” Your brows narrowed a small bit, eyes not truly looking at anything anymore as the cool breeze passed between you both. “Everytime I think our family couldn't get any stranger, you show up with a way to only add to it further.”

A small shrug on your shoulder, with little voice to follow. “I have a knack for it. How is that going by the way?” The smirk it seemed, returned just the slightest. “Having a son in law.”

Oh the flat expression of your mothers face only had you smother a smirk even further as you both looked away from the other in amusement. “Slowly. It takes time, getting used to seeing you married to someone so different then the sort of match I used to have in mind.”

It was your turn to twist in expression, “Dare I ask what kind of match you used to envision for me?”

Her face seemed to feel a doubt, as if trying to find words other then what she was thinking by the time she opened her mouth. “Simply put, someone a little more..” Eyes sharp towards her, you watched those same cogs turn once more.

Head tilting to the side a little bit, you let some audacity sit in your tone. “If you are about to respectful mother, I swear-” Claiming instantly that wasn't what she about about to say you jumped right back into it. “Then what word were you going to say?”

The pause lasted a few good moments before settling on, “Someone a little less rambunctious.”

She gazed at you from the side as you eyed her with a judging jest. “That is not what you were trying to say and we both know it. Besides, if you think Jon is too wild, I dare not imagine what you would've thought about the man my father married me off to in the first place.”

That time Selyse looked at you in a stern wonder but you merely looked away to the group once more ahead of you. No doubt whatever suitor she once had in mind, was incredibly boring in contrast to the two wolves which held equal sides of your heart.

Nights had a pattern these days, where you would end up and with whom. Any looking to find you or Jon only need search the study being used by Sam. The quiet of the night made it easier to focus on what was needed, and yet it also was more unnerving. At least now it was, the closer to night it got the more you couldn't avoid having to sleep. Ever since that night on the ship, you tossed back and forth between dreamlessness and horror before you and there was no control of it. But this was the first night you had properly delved into the Northern part of what you had seen in that dream.

“It's been a long time, but I'm sure of it. Those were the same ones.” Sam insisting that the symbol you had dreamt of was carved into a rock at the Fist of the First Men, where underneath it sat the cloak hiding the dragonglass. Pulling a scroll he had been in the middle of writing out, you moved to stand beside him. Hand braced on the desk as you leaned over with squinting eyes.

Jon however, hovered more by the window. Arms crossed over his chest you could tell that somewhere he was lost in thought but you didn't know what. You didn't blame him. It had been a very long time since someone other then himself had mentioned Benjen Stark, and it clearly was an untreated wound inside him that still hurt.

Leaning down to look at the writing closer to the flames you started to eye the translations Sam had worked on since Wolkan came to him. Muttering under your breath, “How do we go thousands of years and still not understand these?” Your other palm moving to join braced against the desk in thought as on the other adjacent side Sam watched closely.

His answer was easy, and with a confidence that you were thankful for. “Most Archmaesters at the Citadel question all of it.” Your head rising up to find his in question. “The oldest histories we have were written after the Andals came to Westeros. Once they came in, they established their own writing system and most things we know about the Dawn Age or the Age of Heroes were written by septons thousands of years later. By the time anyone thought to look at the runes used by the First Men,”

You finished his sentence as your eyes trained back on the paper. “No one was left who knew how to translate them.” It seemed like the markings you saw were a collection of words or phrases. As if what appeared as one rune, was really a collective of words which painted an image that meant what written language could say in a paragraph. Many looked like the other and it was clear Sam had spent much time trying to narrow it down. Muttering mostly to yourself as you looked it over, “I am not normally one in favour of shaming other cultures, but it sure is bloody inconvenient trying to figure it all out now.”

Jon, still further away faced your direction as his voice rasped out, “Maybe it wasn't meant to be read in Common.” Both you and Sam looked up at him, but there was already an answer to the question posed on both your tongues. “They spoke seven different languages north of the Wall. These symbols might be an combination of Old Common and something else.”

Narrowing your gaze back at them, you couldn't help the image in your head from coming up. One made in the snow in blood and bodies. Whatever connections your mind was trying to make, still felt as if you had a long way to go. Glancing back up, Jon once more looked away distracted.

Something other then your dream of his Uncle was bothering him.

It was agreed it couldn't have been a coincidence that Benjen would leave the dragonglass under a rune rock at the Fist of the First Men. It couldn't mean nothing, that didn't even make sense. He planned on going much further to the Frost Fangs, but made a stop by the Fist to bury dragonglass?

Why not leave it all at the wall, or take it with him? With every new answer, it felt as it it swirling in your mind until it stretched thin and split off into multiple new questions you didn't know even once connected. Planning a war felt like a tray of cakes next to this.

In truth you think he barley noticed by the time you came up behind him. Palms gently sliding up his back and digging somewhat into the tense muscles, until you felt Jon relax with a shaking exhale to follow. Your voice low as you stood more on your toes to try and lean over his shoulder, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Silent for a moment, instead Jon chose to reach behind him, beckoning you to stand in front of him to the night sky. Back now up against his chest, one hand holding firmly at your waist as the other wrapped around your stomach to pull you firmly into him. One of your hands grasping at his fingers by your stomach and the other pushing the material on his forearm up to run over the skin there.

Jon pressed his head against the side of yours, rasping in a low mumble in the now empty room of only the two of you. “Do you know what one of the first things Mance Rayder said to me was?” Shaking your head no, he sighed deeply. “Right away he knew I was Ned Stark's bastard.” Your mouth parting ever so slightly, an unsettled chill in your blood as their was his. “Being a Snow doesn't mean anything north of the Wall. Knowing my name shouldn't have..the second I walked into his tent he already knew who I was.”

Very little Jon liked to talk about his time beyond the Wall, a lot you suspected he didn't want to hear, didn't want to say. It was hard to get an actual answer but you grasped at what straws you could. “Benjen was First Ranger, if he knew him he might have heard-” You could feel him shake his head against you though.

Hand on your waist smoothing up and down the warm material covering you, you could feel him looking a bit more down at you from where he stood. “He knew who I was because he'd seen me before.” Asking where, Jon gave only one word that made your body freeze. “Here.” If anything, Jon pulled you closer, his forehead resting against the side of yours as he leaned more down into your leaning back touch. “The man in the crypts, in your dream, the night of the feast. It was Mance.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

You felt him look somewhat behind for a moment, as if struggling to decide moving you both or staying right here but he ultimately found the fair strength. Turning you slightly so the arm around your stomach slunk to your lower back guiding you to one of the chests near the corner. Keeping you there, Jon knelt down as he moved to unlock and rummage through it. “Qhorin Halfhand said Mance was having groups of Free Folk dig around the Skirling Pass. Looking for something. When I met them he they claimed he had what he was looking for but I doubted it.”

Arms crossing so your hands could smooth over the other as the chill of the night felt just a bit worse when not pressed close to Jons warmth. “And what was he looking for?”

Standing up, still wrapped in a Nights Watch cloak, you both moved so he could rest it against the table. “When Sam found the dragonglass, it was wrapped in this. But that wasn't the only thing with it. If my Uncle hid this, I don't think it was the daggers he was hiding. I think it was this.” Unravelling it, some kind of horn sat inside.

Ivory in some places, but most of it was made out of bronze, dark runes carved into it with a delicate care. Not much bigger then the size of any normal dagger. To most it wouldn't have stood out but for where it was found, it certainty was. Trying to ask what this had to do with Mance, Jon turned it in his hand gently as he rasped deeply. “I think he was looking for this. I think he came south of the Wall to find this, but the night of the feast, my Uncle got to it first. So he lied, and said he had it to convince his people to listen to him.”

His eyes looked over the runes, but yours drew up to look at him with a wide gaze. “That's why he knew who you were. Why he knew where to look in the crypts.”

Grey eyes shining bright found yours, and only an unsure silence sat between for a moment as Jon attempted to find a muttering voice. “The Free Folk called it the Horn of Winter. Something that could bring down the Wall.”

If only a small mumble, your eyebrows raised a bit as you looked back down at the bronzed artifact laying limp once more. “Seems a little dramatic if you ask me.” Not expecting the chuckle coming deep from Jon next to you, you found yourself leaning a bit more into his side, as if drawing closer to the rare sound. His arm wrapped around, pulling you close as if sensing the second you moved.

His face twisted trying to think it through as you were, “I don't know if I believe it can bring the Wall down, but it's important enough that everyone was looking for it.” He didn't need to elaborate, and you didn't ask him too. “Sam had this on him when they were attacked out there, and they left him alive. Killed two hundred of my brothers but they walked passed Sam and let him live.”

Despite all the war you had seen, it was hard to envision the kind of battles Jon had seen. Two such drastically different fights that you both found yourself in for so many years and yet his was inconceivable in what it must have looked like. “You think they knew he had it?”

Inhaling, he didn't pick it up, but turned it slightly over with his free hand. “Or they could sense something. Old Nan used to tell stories about how the Wall is protected with magic. If her stories about The Long Night are true..”

Hesitating, you came to as blunt a conclusion as one could. “I'm beginning to feel rather sick of this, everywhere we turn now something else has to do with magic. Who knew fighting a war in enemy territory was going to be the most simple part of my life.”

Wrapped back up and locked away, your palms were braced against the wood behind you as you leaned against it. Looking up at Jon as he stood somewhat before you, head just as loud as yours. “If what Lord Howland says about your visions is right, something was trying to lead you to the answers. Whatever is giving this to you, wanted us to know my Uncle hid those before he disappeared. Just not why.”

It was a risk of a suggestion, but you gave it anyways. “If I learn how to control it..” Jons gaze shot up narrow and a blatant disapproval on it as you continued. “I might be able to go back to that vision and learn something..” Saying your name in warning, you shook your head barrelling past him. “It can't be a coincidence, too much of what I'm seeing feels like it is supposed to connect maybe the gods are trying to help guide me to give you the right answers..”

Jon repeating your name, the second time a hand tilting your jaw and cheek up to meet his eyes, a brightness in them that begged to be listened to with a sorrow. “It's not safe, letting you do that.” If he expected a protest, which he didn't, Jon let the opportunity come and go before continuing. “What if he shows up and I can't protect you? What if this gets worse, Lord Howland said these things took a toll on his son..I'm not going to let anything happen to you for any of this.”

Your eyes didn't meet his for a moment as they drifted. Hands tensing and relaxing against the wood before slipping your eyes shut. Exhaling deeply almost as sigh before finding Jons grey eyes once more. Unfair it was, how easily your shoulders dropped in strain at such a close sight. Lightly, you let your hand run along his wrist, pulse strong as it always was. “You don't want me to fight, but you don't want me to even help you here. If I didn't know any better, a girl may start feeling like she's not trusted.”

A step closer to you, Jon tilted his head with an almost jesting sharp look as if to challenge you on that one. “I can't trust you. You're too selfless sometimes for your own good, and now I can't trust you to not throw yourself on your sword for me.” There wasn't malice or judgment, but almost a deep affection. His other hand reached up to pull you into his chest as he stepped up close to you, your own hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders as he helped you stand against him straighter. Voice low and rasping but close that you could feel his warm breathe dance across your own skin. “You might be the only girl I know that makes taking care of you difficult. Aren't Queens supposed to be waited on hand and foot?”

Raising an eyebrow you took Jon off guard, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he could get much more snarky. Whispering gently, “Says the King who refuses to let his wife do any of the hard work no matter how much she tries.” Running your hands down the leather across his chest, you wished it sounded more sultry from you voice but really it only dipped back into a rough sincere tone. “You're good at this, Jon. Being King? You're great at it.” Finding his eyes, he trusted your intentions, to not interupt with what normally is a dismissal in insecurity. “But I don't want you doing everything on your own. Not when this time I know where's things I can do to help.”

Still, it felt as if Jon was holding something back but you didn't want to press it. He had more then what he deserved weighing on him and pushing him didn't make that better. Instead, you simply followed his lead as he leaned in to close the gap between you both.

His lips pressed gently against yours in a mere chaste kiss, both of your hands wrapping around the back of his neck. His hair all pulled back it let you scratch gently along the skin there, pulling a deep rumbling from within Jons chest. His hands cupping your cheeks, he pulled you up to tilt to his mercy but didn't deepen it in any way.

Light tracings against your lips was all he gave, both of you savouring how soft and warm you felt wrapped up with one another as such. Pulling away, Jon gave into weakness, pressing one more small kiss to your lips, then your forehead before resting yours against his. Thumbs running along the skin of your cheeks. “We'll talk to Sam about it, see if he's found anything. Tormund's back in a few days, he knew Mance a long time. I'll see if he knows anything about the horn either.”

Nodding absentmindedly only for a moment before you stopped. Nails stopped scratching and your eyes opened with an amused jest in them. Glancing up as you pulled back slightly, still in his hold you opened your mouth but Jon knew your attitude far better then that. Cutting you off before your first breathe with a rough, “Don't.”

Your laugh had him smirk in an instant. But your only comment in return, had Jon almost haul you out of the room with a brute strength as if about to pick you up and throw you onto the bed the moment he got you to his chambers for that one. “What? Afraid distance has made my heart grow stronger?”

Only, his hands on your hips as he leaned into you, did the door open and a loud voice shouted out with as much amusement as it had disgust. “Seven hells, you do know you both have a bedroom to do this in, right?”

Glancing over, both you and Jon with a matching narrow eyes glare towards Arya as she leaned in the door frame looking as if the parent and you both the caught children. Jon spoke flatly at her with as much jesting attitude, “Or you could turn around and close the door.”

A roll of your eyes found it's way fondly onto you as just as quickly, Arya playfully snapped right back with not a care in the world. “Other people live here, why can't you go be disgusting somewhere private?”

Both Starks now trapped in their own game of see who will give each other more snark first, it was likely neither of you were making it to the bed as quick as Jon previously intended. Once he and Arya got started bantering back and forth, there was little which could stop it, and having you in the room only made it worse. Not quite the picture of stern, formal members of the ruling North you three were.

There were many things Jon didn't yet know how to tell you, but the one he was thinking of now, was undoubtedly the dream he had.

One that felt real and yet strange as if he walked in lands he should know. The cold wind blew around Jon as steady as it was far too cold. Air flying through his hair and feet touching the snow and ice below. Yet he felt none of the pain which should come with such a sensation. Around him was ruins, but it was more then that.

They sat beneath a great cliff which sat just below dark cave mouths. Around it so high was charred trees, half living most merely statues of black wood which remained in what used to be. The scattered wilderness which could survive this far north was overgrown in such beyond. Expanding far and wide with no sign of life around such high peaks. Yet down below where he stood spoke a story vastly different.

Buildings once stood here, he could see their remains as well as the bones which were littered about from one end to the other. The stench of death was long gone and yet he felt felt it all around even in the empty dark. Some places looked new yet abandoned still. Cabins of fresh wood and yet it sat as if none would touch such a haunted place. Leading down to the freezing waters, a small spot like a dock sat where ships and boats once may have existed.

But they too, sat empty. This used to be a settlement, one Jon could envision with such activity and yet there was something about the cold and dark that drew people away. Or was that really it? Did it chase its villagers off, or did they get up, and walk away?

Beacuse if it wasn't a striking cold that set him off, it was the kind of dark that oozed around him.

Walking forward, the signs of life continued to hide. What was once here echoed as a ghost that no longer could be seen with easy eyes. Spots in the snow and ice sat black and he knew were a light to be shined upon it, it would sit a deep reddish brown in that of once blood. There was much of that. Weapons sat scattered around all in the same states and yet not enough to explain what seemed to once be carnage. But there were no bodies. At least, not anymore. What was once here, had stood up and left.

Hardhome had not looked like this when Jon left it, but in this strange otherworldly version of it, this was all which remained.

A darkness drew his grey eyes up to the night as he approached the docks. As if the skies shined with a greenish tint. Not overtaking, but wavering like they were painted into the night and moved along with the winds they blew. If one flew close to it, the green felt not bright like the sights of wildfire. This green was dark and memorizing, as if any could reach out and touch it, it would overtake him and simply draw him into their depths.

The black of night sat around the moon and stars but they, themselves, were hardly visible against the green. Shining like it was the reflection of the waters the sky sat above, green was like it poured into it and begged to draw one in. It was not a green to fear, but one to marvel. Only the kind of green he had ever seen before, sat within the colours of your eyes. But it was shimmering in the sky like milk poured into it.

Not bright and striking, not wild and terrifying, but a subtle green which only sat to exist and nothing more, but it was what drew Jons eyes wide none the less. Never before did such a shade colour draw his attention, when not you. The red comet had flown over the lands of Westeros many years ago and not once did it captivate him like the green over this far Northern land now. It appeared to shimmer in some places, but it looked as if the sky had been this way for thousands of years.

But the sea did not freeze over, some waters did but it sat open to the world as if begging him to jump in and see. Yet Jon guessed the water while not frozen over, would indeed freeze a mans blood as good as it would any. Something had taken over this place in this dream. Hardhome was empty in the real world, but in this dream, someone else occupied it.

Jon looked up to the green in the sky against such unusual cold and it wasn't until his eyes grew heavy and on edge, did he turn half way to look. Up right at the top of the cliff, not many, not even some. Just one stood on a horse so high he could barley see but a shadow. But it was tall, and glowed against the cold night and a weapon sheathed against the horse was like a crystal of ice.

The creature looked down to Jon, and it felt shivering. He had seen this one the last time he was at Hardhome. This one had looked him in the eye, and with the raise of his arms, all of the dead rose with him. He watched Jon from a high edge now, in a dream, as if they shared it together. As if this creature could share Jons dreams, the way he was learning he shared yours.

Did he bring this dark and cold, Jon did not know. But he did know, it's kind was why none lived here anymore. Half of the people once here, lived in settlements in the North he ruled, the other half walked with blue eyes and no mind of their own in a never ending army.

One more thing Jon didn't know, was why in the far distance, could he hear the cawing of a crow.

[henrysglock]

Local Man Uses The Cyclical 27-Year Torment Nexus To Try And Change His Fate [EPIC FAIL COMPILATION]

You probably guessed that this is the time-travel post I've been slaving over. You'd be right. This is the newest and most formal iteration of my long-standing time loop theory (I have drafted flowcharts back from February that actually predicted a dimension/time fuckery event in 1943 in relation to Brenner, which was made canon by TFS). So...Let's just dive right in. Note: I'm planning to keep calling TFS Henry "Henry" here just for simplicity's sake.

Now, fair warning: There are a few big "bear with me"s in this post. I promise they make sense, I just need you to hear me out.

It all started with Henry's self-proclaimed superhero name: The Stardust Spider.

Some of you may have seen my original post about The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars (here).

Before anyone says "Oh, but that album didn't exist yet", a reference in 1959 about a Bowie album that wouldn't be recorded until November of 1971 is in keeping with TFS's habit of directly referencing things from the '70s that "don't exist yet".

However, all that aside, there's a specific piece I want to return to, because it bugs the living daylights out of me.

There was a cut song that was meant to go on the album The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars titled "Shadow Man":

For obvious reasons in relation to Henry in The First Shadow, this song already stuck out.

Specifically, though, these few stanzas hit me weirdly:

You should call and see who answers For he promises to come running Guided by the truth For the Shadow Man is really You Look in his eyes and see your reflection Look to the stars and see his eyes He'll show you tomorrow, he'll show you the sorrows Of what you did today You can call him foe, you can call him friend You should call and see who answers (see who answers) For he knows your eyes are drawn to the road ahead And the Shadow man is waiting 'round the bend ('round the bend) Shadow man is waiting up ahead

The Shadow Man is you from the future. He's waiting up ahead to show you the the truth/the consequences of your actions.

Considering that the TFS version of Young "Henry" has a direct connection to both the Shadow and Dimension X from a young age, and he also experiences what seem to be Vecna-type visions, this becomes particularly interesting to me...Especially seeing as said fates are not only possible for future "Henry", but also canon for future "Henry". (See: Vecna guy vs Mindflayer guy)

So, when I see an almost comical number of lines in TFS relating to rewriting known, undesirable endings (here are a few of my favorites):

And when we revisit some of the on-film classics:

I start to think it's time we revisit the concept of time-travel and trying to change your own fate.

It's always hard to know where to start with posts like these, so I'm going to kick things off with the technical aspect: The Cycle.

Something I've talked about in the past year, mostly on Discord, is this concept of a time loop. Not just any old time loop, though. A 27 year cycle, specifically.

Not 20, not 30...

Now, we all know the TFS timeline is messy as hell and doesn't actually align with anything that's possible in filmed canon...or within its own time span, even.

For example, the attack on Mr. Newby happens both some point after October 1st, 1959 and before November 20th, 1959...but the papers for the incident report it on March 20th, 1958:

The timeline we're given also largely fabricated, as I pointed out in relation to the newspapers with dates that don't actually exist.

However, much like NINA, the sequence itself being fake doesn't mean the events didn't happen. It's just not happening in the time frame we're told it's happening in:

It's a set of real events, just portrayed on a different time scale.

So, with all that in mind, I want to lay out a timeline, starting from Season 4 and moving backwards in time:

— Vecna opens the rifts, and El opens a gate to Dimension X in NINA, both in 1986. The March 1959 Creel Murders occur exactly 27 years before the Rifts and NINA's Dimension X gate open in 1986...at which point the Mindflayer is shown to be active.

— Mothergate opens through to Dimension X at some point between November 1983 and October 1984, this being somewhere between 16-28 months prior the Rifts opening. The paper about the attack on Mr. Newby, dated March 20th, 1958, is released exactly 610 days, or 20 months, prior to the Creel murders on November 20th, 1959. It's not necessarily the exact dates that are important here (again, these dates are relatively unreliable), but the gap between the dates.

When put in accordance with filmed dates (i.e. setting the release of this paper exactly 610 days prior to March 22nd of 1959), the paper for the attack on Mr. Newby would have been released on July 20th, 1957. This would be in line with Edward Creel's move to Hawkins in the spring of 1957...while also occurring 27 years before July of 1984, at which point Mothergate is open, and the Mindflayer is active.

This July date is especially funny to me considering we get "throwaway" lines like this...with shots in filmed canon from summertime:

Top: Joyce and Jim beginning their investigation into the attic attack. Hopper Sr. is questioning why Joyce and Jim are investigating, rather than attending school. Bottom: Alice and Henry with the rabbit death scenes in filmed canon, the setting showing full foliage and both children in summer clothing. "Is it summer break?" I don't know. You tell me, Chief.

Per TFS, Henry went missing in a cave system near his home town of Rachel, Nevada (hold that thought) at some point in the year prior to the attack on Mr. Newby. We've been told that Dimension X was involved in this event in Nevada, something happened there that left "Henry" altered physically. He was also flayed at some point around this time.

This all coincides with Henry's dramatic mood shift from a "normal and good" boy to one suffering from Mindflayer-induced psychosis. This change happened in tandem with the Nevada incident, dating back 10 months prior to the attack on Mr. Newby:

If we set Henry's initial disappearance in line with filmed canon like before, it becomes September of 1956, which is just over 27 years before Will's disappearance in November of 1983, at which point we know at least one gate is open.

We also have 1952, at which point TFS Henry would be 7 per his age as a 14 year old/freshman in play canon. This exists in a 27 year interval against 1979, when El opens the original gate that sends One to Dimension X, where he subsequently shapes the Shadow into the Mindflayer.

Here comes the first "hear me out".

My questions are:

Since Henry/Vecna/The Mindflayer/etc. in general don't show any capability for opening gates before 1986, then how the hell is the Mindflayer possessing anyone in 1959?

How did "Henry" get involved with Dimension X in Nevada in the 1950s?

Unless, by some chance:

Dimension X exists all the time simultaneously (i.e. it's a space outside time)

The gates exist simultaneously across time and space in the Right Side Up in 27 year intervals. By which I mean: A gate that opens in, say, 1983 would exist simultaneously in 1956, so on an so forth.

There's the disappearance of Captain Brenner and the USS Eldridge in 1943, which would, interestingly enough, align with 1970, the supposed year of El's conception.

Then, 1952. Now, I'm not sure what's special about 1952, when TFS "Henry" was 7, because they don't actually say what happened to make that year important! They make a point to show it to us, though, meaning something happened...we just don't know what. All I can say is that 1952 does exist in a 27 year interval against El's 1979 gate. Hold that thought.

Those addressed, let's fast-forward 4 years: 1956/1983.

Now, to be fair, there is some uncertainty in my mind about whether this specific gate incident stems from Brenner's involvement with Project Rainbow in Nevada pre-1957*, or if it stems from Mothergate in 1983, or if they created some kind of wormhole between the two locations 27 years apart...but that's a concept I need to explore more thoroughly in a another post.

In short, though: Did a singular El open a singular Mothergate? Did El open mothergate? Did Mothergate actually open on November 6th, 1983...or are we just supposed to assume it opened the same night Will went missing/the demogorgon came through? We're never given a concrete date for when Mothergate actually opened.

* In TFS, Brenner claims he's dedicated his life post-1943 to Project Rainbow with the goal of finding Dimension X, and that he's doing so in pursuit of knowledge regarding the circumstances of his father's death in connection with the Philadelphia Experiment. The USS Eldridge, Brenner Sr.'s ship, disappeared into Dimension X briefly on October 28th, 1943. "Brenner Sr." was the sole survivor. "He" returned to the Right Side Up with a completely unique blood type, supposedly altered by his travels into Dimension X. This is what ultimately led to him succumbing to his injuries, due to his body rejecting all forms of blood transfusion. Brenner Jr. tells us that about 10 months prior to Henry's first stay in HNL, a scientist from Project Rainbow escaped Brenner's lab carrying a container of a dangerous material, and ended up near the same Nevada cave system Henry disappeared into. We don't know how or when this material was collected, or what it was, but we know they found Henry's Captain Midnight spyglass next to a body (identity unspecified) with no trace of that dangerous material. We get no further detail about the Nevada Disappearance.

Anyway, someone opens a gate in the fall of 1956 and/or 1983 (my money's on it being directly linked to an El in 1983 either way). No matter who did it, though, someone opened a gate at both time points, showing us this 27 year link between the 2 dates, 2 key locations.

"Henry" goes missing in Nevada in 1956, and ends up involved with Dimension X...Which aligns with the choice of song surrounding this version of the Creel family while they move into their new home:

Coincidentally, 27 years in the future, so does Will, in Indiana. Their experiences are linked across those two spaces via that 27 year period.

We know that regardless of the gate in Nevada...Mothergate, at least, stays open until from fall 1956/1983 to fall 1957/1984. That covers exact time frame that the adjusted dates for both Henry's accident with the boy in Nevada and his accident with Mr. Newby fall in (as well as Will's time between his disappearance and his flaying).

The closer we get to Will's flaying in 1984, and the closer the Mindflayer gets to crossing through Mothergate, the more TFS Henry sounds like One (post-1979) while he's possessed in 1957, the more strangely he behaves in general (almost as though the Mindflayer is more enmeshed in his everyday life/closer to the surface), and the stronger the possession attempts seem to become overall. He begins giving nightmare visions to other people, namely tormenting Virginia with spiders and her past. He has his final and most powerful "Vecna" vision on the night of the attack on Mr. Newby.

Any kind of reciprocal gate irt Mothergate in the '50s would have gone unnoticed, since the papers in TFS indicate that HNL wasn't established until Brenner showed up to take Henry in.

Mothergate closes briefly, only for a gate to open in July 1958/1985 in the underground location of the future Starcourt Mall. This, in 1958, is during our unaccounted-for 20 months between the attack on Mr. Newby and the Creel murders. (Something rattles about this and the scene where Henry nearly makes full contact with the Mindflayer, when he has a handful of duplicate lines re: his 4.07 monologue self, but I don't have sufficient evidence to make that claim with any certainty.)

That gate closes, until Vecna opens gates in Hawkins in March of 1986, and El opens a Dimension X gate briefly and simultaneously in both Hawkins/Nevada in September of 1979 (September of 1952) and Hawkins/Nevada in March of 1986 (March of 1959) during NINA, concurrently...at least one of which may have gone unnoticed, since the Rainbow Room and the surrounding labs seems to have been abandoned entirely after 1979, and HNL as a whole has once again been abandoned after the events of 1984 ("unnoticed" and "abandoned", I say as if the building isn't still being surveilled by Brenner/Owens et. al...I just mean that the building isn't in use by the government at that point in time.)

We're shown the Shadow activating all the way in Russia due to one or multiple of these events. 27 years earlier, in March of 1959, the Mindflayer once again becomes active, per TFS's adjusted dates. Chaos ensues.

At this point, "Henry" starts swapping between sounding like his young self and sounding like his 4.07 Monologuing Adult self again, doing that kind of "I've seen the future" foreshadowing talk with Joyce that his visions did with him:

Here, he also sounds distinctly like ST3 flayed Billy, specifically in the way of the scene with El in the cabin when "Billy" outlines the Mindflayer's plans for her, her friends, and all of Hawkins while crying.

The rest is, well...history. Whatever fuckery went on, it doesn't seem to have made much of a difference. After all, TFS is a "canon event", meaning it had to end the way it did.

Remember those thoughts I asked you to hold?

TFS being a "canon event" means it had to end with Henry in the lab alongside baby El...thus completing our loop, which starts again with the events of 1979/1952. A 27 year loop. TFS may be indicative of a time loop.

Hence:

Out of place dates from the 1970s start to bleed into the 1950s: - A town like Rachel, Nevada, which wasn't established until 1978, now exists circa 1952-1959 after El opens a gate to Dimension X circa 1979 in Nevada circa 1986 via NINA, which exists...about 40-50 miles from Rachel.

- An album like Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars (November, 1971) or a song like "Chuck E's In Love" (April, 1979) gets referenced circa 1957-1959. - An article about a "younger, more handsome" alien clone of Elvis appears in a 1959 Weekly Watcher paper about the Creel murders, despite Elvis having been 24 at the time...making this an article more likely to have appeared in the '70s or later, likely sometime around Elvis' death in 1977.

2. The Shadow is always depicted as the fully formed Mindflayer circa 1956-1959, despite the shaping event happening in the 4 years between 1979-1983:

3. Henry has Vecna-type visions, despite being the only vision-giver we know of circa 1957-1959.

4. 6 different guys later in the HNL massacre: 2 with the original baby El, 2 with teen El via NINA, and 2 in an as-of-yet unseen product of NINA's Loop (see: the final scene of TFS).

All this laid out, some questions remain:

Why do Henry's visions show him the genuine, terrifying reality of his future?

Why are these visions generally lacking in coercion?

Why are Vecna chime sounds heard before the major supernatural events that deal with visions, even though we never actually see the clock? (They're heard before Virginia in the attic, before the attack on Mr. Newby, before the Creel murders, and in the basement when Henry monologues at Joyce while viewing the corpses of his family.)

Why don't these chimes play when the Mindflayer alone is present, e.g. when no visions occur? (See: Henry contacting the Mindflayer in the lab)

And we don't really get an answer to any of these. Not an easily spotted outright answer, anyway.

But what's really fascinating, which I mentioned just a second ago and takes me back to the top of this post, back to the "Stardust Spider" and Shadow Man, is the fact that despite occurring concurrently with the possession attempts...none of these visions contain an ultimatum. There's no "If you don't obey me, I'll hurt someone you love", no "I'm showing you what's going to happen if you don't obey me", nothing of the sort.

The closest we get to coercion is the bathroom vision, when Henry fights off a possession attempt in the school bathroom and ends up in a vision regarding Patty. When "Patty" starts to talk to him about his future, about how Henry's going to kill her and so many others, Henry says "you're not Patty...what are you?" Then he gets into a physical brawl with her, which is surprisingly well matched. Vision Patty encourages him during that fight, saying things like "That's it!", "We want the same thing!", and "We can have her!"

Those seem like pretty straightforward "the Mindflayer's encouraging Henry to kill" encouragements, right?

Yeah, at first glance. However...lets read that back right quick, but with Moral Objectivity Goggles on this time. Henry openly, verbally identifies that Vision Patty is "not her, not Patty", but is, in fact, something else. He does this multiple times before he lunges at "not Patty", and he is subsequently encouraged by not-Patty...who tells him they want the same thing. That's not suspicious at all. The motives here are definitely crystal clear and totally aren't conflicting in any way.

There's the straightforward surface aspect, and then something else piggybacking on it, complicating it. Hold that thought.

Other than that instance, the negative parts of Henry's visions are all just...information. They're showing him what will come to pass...almost like they're motivating him to fight the Mindflayer. Hold onto that thought too, it buddies with the previous one.

Henry's freaking out about Prancer because he's getting close with Patty, and he's worried he'll hurt her?

His vision informs him that he's going to kill more, that he's going to hurt things, that he's going to kill Patty if he stays around her and/or gives into the Mindflayer's desires. And then it happens. All of it. He kills more animals. He hurts things and people, the pets and lab animals, Mr. Newby, and Inmate 58361 being prime examples. He gives in to the Mindflayer's desire to kill and kills Virginia. He does, by the extent of his perception, kill Patty in the accident.

The same goes for his vision in the attic. Henry's up in the attic using his powers to find someone/snoop on them, fearful of opening himself up for a possession attempt?

The vision version of Patty's mother catches Henry and tells him she "wants to tell him a secret" while his body is being puppeted to attack Mr. Newby. The next time the curtain rises to show us the inside of Henry's mind, he's seeing himself as Vecna, strung up on the tentacles and strangling people with them...just like the end of Season 4. Once again, he's seeing the future that will come to pass...should he fail to fight the Mindflayer off.

We can tell it's a vision, not what's physically happening in reality, because: a) Henry's watching himself in the attic from the stage below. b) It's got the messed up red lighting c) They show us reality just moments before, not a tentacle in sight and without Henry on the stage there observing:

d) The ending of the vision doesn't match with reality:

At the end of this vision, Henry passes out both in the void and IRL, while the vision version of Henry remains crouching. That is a different guy, entirely separate from IRL/Void Henry. There is at least one other person in the visions who is not a product of the vision itself.

Remember those thoughts from a bit ago that I asked you to hold?

Well. This also happens to be the sequence where we not only get Vision-Patty repeating Henry's own words from just after Prancer's death ("It's not real. It's not real. It's a nightmare") back to him, a phrase IRL Patty has never heard, but we also get:

Visions Patty telling Henry how to fight and evade the possession, as if she knows what she's doing ("It's your dream, remember? Anything is possible").

Vision Patty telling Henry she loves him as the last-ditch effort when his "good dream" memory of the real Patty fails to save him from the possession.

These are both things IRL Patty wouldn't know or think to say, since IRL Patty fully believed that Henry attacked her of his own volition out of malice, and she needed to be shown a drawing of the Mindflayer by Mr. Newby in order to abandon that belief.

IRL Patty's behavior is not the behavior of someone who a) knows the ins and outs of Henry's situation with the Mindflayer, and b) coached him through overcoming a possession attempt a little while earlier. It's just not.

Just like before, we're seeing contradictions and complications between vision-selves and IRL selves, along with a sense of piggybacking within possession attempts, wherein the vision serves as motivation for Henry to fight harder in resistance to the Mindflayer...while the Mindflayer is possessing him.

It's starting to become my favorite thing in the world: A pattern of behavior.

In summary:

Henry's are visions are visions of his future, and they're being shown to him by someone.

They are separate from, but piggybacking on, the Mindflayer's possession attempts.

The purpose of the visions isn't solely to torment Henry or coerce him into doing the Mindflayer's bidding. In fact, the content of the visions seems curated to make Henry fight harder in resistance to the Mindflayer.

So if, for example, Vision Patty ≠ IRL Patty, but she's acting against the Mindflayer's best interest/in support of Henry...then...

I think my answer to the questions of "who", "when", and "how" should be at least somewhat clear by this point:

Someone...from the future.

Specifically, someone from 1979-1986 who has access to the gates from the Dimension X side, someone with both vision-giving and time-related abilities who's directly connected to the Mindflayer/the Hive Mind, but who has a vested interest in countering the Mindflayer, saving Henry Creel, and trying to change the course of the future.

A traitor. A spy, if you will.

"A spy...from the future?"

[gestures at the Signs] Yeah, you heard me.

A spy from the future.

So, on that note: The point in this section wherein I ask you to hear me out.

I get the feeling TFS Henry is being told and/or shown what will come to pass in the future by himself...the Mindflayer.

And you're probably going "How do you figure that one, James? Isn't the Mindflayer a villainous force?"

I mean, yeah. Of course it is. However...

There are clearly multiple forces at play within the Mindflayer (hive mind!), and TFS shows us that Henry Creel wouldn't choose to be a villain.

Thus I think the visions in TFS are situations where, as in the 4.07 rabbit scene, things look really damning on first view. They play on our empathy using small, visibly-frightened, helpless victims and shocking, violent circumstances to guide us into making the assumption that everything about the situation is inherently malicious.

We're shown this poor little guy, "Henry". He's 14 years old, he clocks in at 5'5", he's skittish/scared of (ha) his own shadow, and he's geeky to the nth degree about comic books (just LOOK at that Captain Midnight salute? What an cute little nerd). He's immediately lovable. He's also, we find out rather abruptly, plagued by horrific visions and murderous fits of possession.

The immediate response is to go "He's being psionically tortured by some sick, sadistic son of a bitch who hungers for nothing but blood and control", just like Nancy and the ST fandom collectively did with Young Henry's rabbit scene...only to be proven wrong about Henry's intentions via TFS.

I mean, does anyone (anyone who's able to read this post, anyway 🤭) look at TFS Henry, filmed Young Henry, or even Orderly Henry and go "Yeah. He totally wanted what he got, and if he had the chance, he definitely wouldn't try to save himself from that fate"?

No.

TFS Shows us that "Henry" was a terrified, traumatized boy who wanted it all to stop. He's kind, brave, and stronger than he seems. We're also shown that he's capable of overcoming the Mindflayer to issue warnings to people he cared about (i.e. telling people to run, or prophesying dangers he'd seen via the visions). He was trying to survive with next to no help while causing as little harm as possible. He was a good kid, and he certainly wasn't evil.

So, all that said...I think that, via the Shadow's hive-mind capabilities, Henry's "fronting", in a manner of speaking, in order to show this version of himself the future. Probably as a warning, probably as motivation to fight the Mindflayer, and all with a nice side-dish of "here's how you fight this thing off so that my current future doesn't become our future" before someone else tapes over the figurative laptop camera.

[coughs, drops this Brenner-Mindflayer collage on the table in front of you, and then scurries away]

With that said, I'd like to loop all the way back to the top of this post: The "Shadow Man" may be Henry from the future. He's waiting up ahead to show his younger self the true outcome of his choices.

We all know how TFS ends, though. Hence:

[EPIC FAIL COMPILATION]

This brings me to my final "bear with me" point: The matter of the strange double-agent vibes from the UD in every season.

I'm not sure if anyone else outside the unholycule has noticed this, but in every season there's at least one instance of the UD just...offering up information.

"It does?"

Yup! Let me explain.

On first glance, we look at things like Nancy's vision and even El's vision with Billy in the cabin, and we go "Oh, it's because [insert "the bad guy's cruel/he wants to scare her/his hubris will be his downfall/all serial killers want to be known for their crimes" etc here]"...but maybe that's not the case.

For example: Vecna told Nancy his backstory, and then he immediately went

"Oh hey, so not only am I revealing my identity (Which may help you find out more about me via lab records later on, things like...maybe a list of my abilities, or my weaknesses, like the fact that I have a nut allegry. Allegedly.), but I'm also gonna give you a sneak peek of my apocalypse plans. For free. As a treat. Don't use these to prepare or anything. I'm totally not giving you a head start".

Terrifying, yes. A taunt and a threat on surface view, yes...but also showing his hand. "I want you to tell Eleven everything you see" Why. Why would he want that. He may be confident in his plans, arrogant, even...but he's not that stupid.

I'm serious, though. Check it out in comparison to Henrys visions of the future. The pattern is patterning:

We can track that back to El's cabin scene with Billy, wherein he tells her she shouldn't have looked for him, warns her that they all can see her, and that they're going to be coming after her...and he cries about it. That's vision Billy. That's someone else who piggybacked into El's mind from Billy's mind. That's not real Billy, just like how Billy in Max's vision wasn't the real Billy. The person giving El that vision warns her. Why on earth would he tell her that they can see her, that they're coming for her? That's sensitive information! It would be smarter to let her think she's safe and use that false sense of security to catch her off guard.

In fact, this pattern patterns so well that I'd like to argue this: Henry's TFS visions, Nancy's vision, and El's vision are all the same type of behavior displayed in NINA's chess scene, just in different contexts.

Henry ("Henry") gives some kind of scary prophetic information ("He and the others are going to attempt to kill you", "I would very much like to show you where I am going", "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"), and then we're left to question if it's a scare tactic, manipulative misinformation, or helpful inside information.

It's not that the Mindflayer or Vecna can't hide things from people (see: "Somewhere he didn't want me to see")...like, say, the fact that the Mindflayer is now able to see El, or that Vecna's planning to open 4 gates with his 4 kills.

It's always this miraculous "Huh! Weird info-dropping behavior from the UD's side. Shouldn't look that gift-horse in the mouth though. It's probably just a writing oversight or a shoehorned exposé, so really there's no need to question it." situation where it's just...information that's offered up with no real explanation.

Some of my favorite examples:

...and it's all topped off with Max's line:

"He's been telling us his plan this whole time".

That is to say...You're telling me:

The first message from the Upside Down isn't any of the messages that are concretely Will's, but instead it's the one that's a repetitive Henry line...and it's conveyed in a distinctly not-Will style? A message that saves Joyce, something that's definitely not in the UD's best interest given her tenacity in finding her boy...but is definitely coming from the UD nonetheless?

Will, who fell total prey to the Mindflayer in less than 3 days, was not only able to figure out how to defeat the Mindflayer, but was also strong enough to convey it in Morse code? The Mindflayer, who is able to keep secrets (see below), just...let that information slip?

El, who acknowledges that the Mindflayer is more than able to hide things from her, is suddenly released into Billy's memories and allowed to find the source unimpeded?

The Mindflayer, as Billy (Remember: not actually Billy, because Billy can't give visions or invade minds), is telling El that because he's able to see her now, she shouldn't have looked for him? The Mindflayer, which was supposedly building the Fleshflayer to track El down and kill her? Suddenly he's telling her she shouldn't have done the thing that allowed him to find her more easily?

Vecna's giving up all the information about himself and his plans before he's even gotten the 4th gate open, despite him being so secretive about it up until that point?

Henry's visions in TFS are going to scare him into resisting the Mindflayer, making it less likely that he's going to upgrade to killing humans, i.e. the very thing the Mindflayer wants him to do?

None of that makes any damn sense...until we hit this last point:

Orderly Henry is known for giving inside information about "Papa" to El with no clear motive other than getting her to leave the lab.

Now, if you know my page then you know Em's been talking about double meanings in phrasing recently (see: this post about "who"s and "what"s).

So, with that in mind, I'd like you to chew on this:

"He's been telling us his plan this whole time." vs "He's been telling us His plan this whole time."

By which I mean: "He's been telling us some other man's plan this whole time."

[Mike voice] Superspy.

As a parting thought, I made it all into a nice, neat set of collages:

Not to mention this final, parting bit: