#though if it came down to it and he was in a position where he could let eggman die?

[julymusings]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. ��Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[whokilledsamara]

Could you please write a mr scarletta x afab reader smut 🙏🏼 high key based on all the art of his umbrella being his member or it brings him pleasure when rubbed. Maybe where reader is riding the curved handle of rubbing it between her legs 🫣 if not thank you for taking your time to even just read this!

UMBRELLA

a Mr. Scarletella x afab!reader fic. {an: ooo when i tell you i think about this NIGHTLY}

warnings || misuse of an umbrella, humping, riding an inanimate object, public {for Mr. Scarletella}, afab reader, smut, indirect sex

he always made sure you had it- his umbrella. it was his entire heart and soul, literally him as a being. he trusted you enough- enough that he would leave you with it at all times. he could feel every touch from it, every time your fingers grazed the mesh. you were his human, and he would do anything to mark you as his. regardless if you gave him your name or not.

honestly, you never realized how much it really affected him. you thought all the times he would flinch as you opened the umbrella was just him being, well, him. the way his face would flush and eyes would widen as your hand held the handle, seemed normal to you. though, the more you thought about it, it all started to make sense. Mr. Scarletella was known to be weird and unsettling, but you didn't mind too much. he scared off any creatures that posed a threat to you, plus he was kinda hot-... in his own, creepy way.

it was late at night, or so you assumed- there really wasn't any way to tell time here.. but as you grew restless, tossing and turning on the makeshift bed you had, an idea came to mind. though it was rather risky,, and rather lewd, you couldn't help it. there was really no action here, and all this built up sexual tension definitely didn't help.

your eyes glare daggers at the umbrella that was perched next to your bed. a long stare at that. your thoughts kept debating whether to take the risk or not, until you finally sighed and grabbed it.

he was busy at the time, doing who knows what, but his actions paused when he felt your hands on him- his umbrella. you're supposed to be sleeping, why are you awake? his eyes narrow but he decides to carry on with whatever he was doing.

you on the other hand, were too busy shimmying off your small red panties, still debating your life choices as you rub your fingers down to your entrance, lubing your whole pussy up before shifting in a sitting position, umbrella underneath you. the stick of it was long, and slightly thick. there was a curve at the end for the handle. sighing softly, you lower your cunt on the stick part of it, rubbing your clit on the long pole. your breath instinctively hitches, a hushed whine leaving your lips. your hips move faster and faster, eyes clenching shut.

his heartbeat speed up, so fast he could hear it. his back hits the wall near him and his face turns red, hand coming up to cover his mouth. eyes still wide and staring off into space, his legs slightly trembling as he stays pressed against rhe wall.

oh.. so thats what you're doing..

meanwhile, your small moans grew heavier, pussy lubing up the pole and making it slide easier. one hand was places on the mesh of the umbrella, while the other was on the side of it, keeping you held up. your cunt was so desperately humping it, seeking as much friction as it could. unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

when he feels the pressure be pulled off, he sighs, having a hard time catching his breath as he processes what just happened. his boner was noticeable even through his raincoat, so prominent that it was impossible to cover. his eyes clench shut and he lets out a shaky breath, attempting to catch himself, his eyes widen with shock and a loud groan suddenly escapes him as he feels you actually slip onto the handle of the umbrella. his fucking cock. he drops to his knees and clenches his stomach, eyes wide and a grin that stretches ear to ear. his teeth sunk into his lip, blood seeping out. shaky breaths and whines spill from him, hair somewhat covering his face as his eyes stare off. you were gonna be the death of him.

your breath hitches and you let out a loud, pleased moan, the handle of the umbrella hitting just the right spot so deep inside of you that you almost came as soon as you started. you couldn't get enough, both your insides and clit were being stimulated from your frantic riding. your hips shuttered, moving at an impossible pace, head thrown back and mewls slipping freely from your lips. you needed it so bad, wanted to cum so desperately that you didn't care how you got it. nor did you care that you were riding a fucking umbrella.

the handle hits a perfect peak. your eyes roll back so far into your skull and you let out one last loud moan, hips sputtering and an orgasm crashing though you. the handle was still deep inside, a bit of drool sliding down your chin. your eyes dart down at the sight- a messy umbrella covered in both your juices and orgasm, but also.. semen?

oh shit.

embarrassment covers your face, realizing your mistake. you hopelessly forgot that his umbrella was practically him as a being, and you just rode it, let alone came on it. you slowly pull it out of you, an unwilling whimper leaving your lips at the feeling.

how could you possibly get out of this one..?

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[peachdues]

rejoice everyone, my sex drive as returned with a vengeance.

MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

Inside your apartment offers little relief from the suffocating heat and humidity.

The air is thick with the scent of sex, musky and heady. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead, slides down the side of your neck to join the thin sheen coating the rest of your skin. Above you, Sanemi fares no better, the ends of his hair having turned a muted gray from the moisture that’s gathered just above his brow.

The coarse hairs around his base are matted down against his skin, soaked from a combination of your cum and his. Still, the faint stimulation his groin offers against your clit with every feeble turn of his hips makes your thighs twitch and spasm where they lay draped over his.

One last, shallow thrust later and Sanemi stills. You hardly notice the shock of cold left behind as he pulls out and collapses next to you in a sweaty, panting heap. His little finger sneaks across the mussed blankets and interlocks with yours. It’s the only contact either of you can tolerate now; he knows it’s too hot for anything more.

“Jesus,” he pants, his voice hoarse from exertion. “That was fuckin’ incredible.”

Two weeks into your relationship with Sanemi and the novelty of it hasn’t worn off.

Despite the exhaustion sitting heavily in your limbs, you can’t help but smile. It’s what he says every time after you’ve finished, and it’s always with the same, breathless wonder.

Content, you roll to your stomach, kicking the blankets away where they tangled around your shins. You bury your face into the lumpy pillow and sigh, marveling at the gush of fluid from between your thighs that further dampens the sheets below.

You don’t mind; Sanemi will wash your sheets for you, anyway, like always. Besides, it may be hot and stuffy inside your apartment, but the warmth left behind by him is a welcome one; tangible proof of how thoroughly he’d just claimed you.

Sanemi is nothing short of thorough.

Exhausted though you are, you can’t help the flutter in your stomach as you feel his hand smooth up the back of your thigh, his fingers gently massaging your hamstring, and then your ass.

If he were to straddle your backside right now and slide into you from behind, you wouldn’t know how to object; wouldn’t want to, anyway.

He’s only taken you from behind twice in the weeks since you’ve begun sleeping together, but it’s rapidly become your favorite position by far. The first time had been slow; a lesson more than an indulgence, with Sanemi gently bending you over the side of your bed, his hands guiding your hips into place and pressing on your spine to deepen the arch of your back.

The second time had reduced you to tears.

There’d been no manipulation of your body that time. Instead, he’d shoved a pillow under your belly and mounted you, those big, strong hands of his holding you down by the small of your waist as he’d rutted into you, hard and deep. At first, you’d only managed a few, gasping squeaks, too focused on the way Sanemi’s thick tip battered away at that spot deep inside that made your toes curl.

One hand pinned your wrists to the small of your back while the other wound gently through your hair. With a firm tug, he pulled your head back, pausing only to press his lips softly to the crown of your head in quiet reassurance.

Then, came his command. Scream, baby. Show me how good I’m makin’ you feel.

Right on cue, Sanemi slammed his hips forward, pushing right into that painfully wonderful spot that made you see stars. He drew back and hit it again and again, and you couldn’t help but wail for him while your eyes rolled into your head, your throat, burning.

You’d ended up making an embarrassing mess atop your sheets, one that made your legs jerk and twitch so violently that Sanemi had been forced to pin them down by pressing his feet to your calves. Yet, he’d seemed to delight in your ruin, if his rumbling baritone groans had been any metric to go by. Certainly the increased force behind his thrusts as he fucked you harder into the mattress meant he hadn’t minded. Not one bit.

But if Sanemi wants to have you again, now, he doesn’t act on it. Instead, he finishes his appreciative knead against your ass and sits up, running a hand through his hair. From the corner of your eye, you spy him as he pretends to look back at you, half-asleep atop the messy heap of your pillows and blankets.

His quiet exhale of approval gives him away. He’s not admiring your post-sex beauty; his attention is locked squarely on the mess he’s left between your thighs.

He’s admiring his handiwork just as much as you are.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Nine

Summary: Emotions take bloom.

Notes/Warnings: Hints of dommy, emperor Geta. Dated views on feelings, ownership & religion.

I saw Gladiator 2. ❤️ed Love Geta. Wrote half of this before seeing it. Only shifted somethings 🫣🥹 my story a smidge.

❤️s, comments, feedback, & reblogs are welcome & appreciated!

Something in him that he wasn’t familiar with came over him. Shifting where he sat, he glanced back at you. There a short distance between the two of you.

“Move closer.” He murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

Once you were settled, he reached for your hand and held it over his shoulder.

He kept his attention on the dancers. A smile spread across his face. He felt good.

“Sire?” You felt confused.

His thumb grazed the softness of your wrist. You trembled.

“I want to feel your touch.” He pressed your hand to his chest.

You didn’t say anything further. Your touch was subtle as he continued to enjoy the fruits and bread before him, with an occasional sip of his wine.

Occasionally, he bring his hand to yours and press it against him before releasing it to let you continue your idle touch. Which felt as delicate as a butterfly wings has they flutter over new spring blossoms.

Catching the eye of one of the personal guards. He motioned for the man to come over.

In hushed tones, he told him to ready the carriage and to send word that villa was to ready for his arrival in the early afternoon. And to have the men ready as well to give a proper escort for himself and you.

The man replied with a positive affirmation, he knew it was possible. He had given them shorter notice when Caracalla had gone through a period of prolonged feelings of distress and tantrums. The would be much easier.

******

You held the breath in you when he motioned for the guard to come over. Their voices were hushed and low. You could not decipher what was said despite being close. You watched as the man gave a nod, stood straight and left with great haste.

Your thoughts whirled at the possibilities of what the exchange could have been. Your stomach turned.

Though as you felt his thumb graze the softness of your wrist, you were brought back to the room in which you sat.

“Diversion from the city lays ahead of us.” He told you softly.

Merriment still surrounded you, torches flickered and hushed pleasant voices grounded the music that player to accompany the dancers that continued to swish and twirl in the center of the room.

“That will be delightful Geta.” You smiled.

Tingles, from how your arm and hand were prickled at you. It reminded you on mornings where you had woken up after laying on your limb. You didn’t dare roll your hand or pull it back. Despite being the emperor, you surely believed he had those same tingles. But you enjoyed this and didn’t wish to disrupt his pleasure.

Feeling a gentle tug, you looked and caught Geta’s gaze. “Yes, Geta?”

“I’m growing tired. We shall retire to my quarters, there is something we need to discuss.”

“Yes.” You replied softly. “Yes, absolutely.” Before his hand released yours, his thumb once again grazed your wrist.

*******

He glanced at you as the two of you walked down the passageways. The footfalls of the two of you were the only ones that mattered in his opinion. The torches flickered and cast shadows here and there.

Looking at you, once again that feeling stirred in him from earlier in the evening. It reminded him of the excitement on the brink of a banquet celebrating a victory or watching a good fight in the arena. Never towards a person, even less towards someone who belonged to him.

His guards opened the doors to his quarters. He ushered you in first.

“Go to the balcony.” He told you, when you began to turn towards him.

You nodded.

He went over to where the guards stood.

“I do not want to be disturbed, Gallus.” He turned to the guard, he saw the most. “If anything else needs to be done before dawn, please do so. I do not want to delay our departure once dawn breaks. And inform Aelia she is to pack her belongings and hers, if she has not already done so, since she will be traveling with me as well.”

“Every well, sire. They are well prepared for your arrival at the destination and for your departure from here.”

“Good.”

With a nod, he closed the door.

He took off his laurel crown and set it down. Running his fingers through hair, he looked at your figure as he walked over to you. He paused, watching you.

You were gazing at your hand, he had enjoyed holding it. The gods have blessed you, he mused. Your hands were as lovely as the ways you twined words together. They were skillful in touch and in mending as well, as he glanced down where you had tended to his wound which stung with its freshness.

“Geta.” Seeing him, you turned with a smile that curled your lips.

He nodded, as he grew closer.

“Tonight’s festivities after justice was served were very pleasing. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Those dances were fascinating. Nothing, I had ever seen before.”

He smiled. “It was the same for me. They have traveled from one of the new providences. It was to celebrate them now being one with Rome.”

“That is wonderful.” You looked down.

He drew your chin up, he studied your features. Yes, he would definitely have to have a craftsman, capture you. It was as if the gods themselves had wielded a paintbrush or sculptors tool when you were created.

“Yes, Geta?”

He could feel your breath. Its steady increase pleased him.

“I’ve grown tired of city and all of the politics. We shall depart and enjoy the good airs and feel in good humor soon.

“We?” Your eyes grew.

He chuckled. “Yes, we. As much as I do enjoy my solitude. And anytime away from Caracalla can feel very good; I wish you to accompany me.”

********

With cloaks on and the blue light of the dawn, you had climbed in and sat with Aelia and Geta was opposite the two of you in the carriage. It was not long, before the streets of the city were shadows in the dust of the wheels and horse’s pace. The horses did not pick up a good trot till out of the confines of the city to not create a disturbance.

******

You tried, struggled even to stay awake, an eagerness to look out the windows had grabbed you. It was exciting to go somewhere you had never been. Even, Aelia had told you briefly how much nicer it was at the villa. Especially with Caracalla staying at the domus in the city.

Vaguely, you wondered about the woman who sat beside you. She was loyal without question to Geta. She had been firm yet show a warmth, a kindness towards you that you had not expected. Not many were. So you accepted and appreciated it.

On either side of the two of you were also guards, you didn’t speak to them and they didn’t speak to you. You barely ever looked up at one. They scared you. Glancing over at Geta, you noticed that he had even bowed his head to sleep. It had run its soft lulling touch over all of you. Your eyes had been growing heavier.

Before succumbing to its soft touch, you caught a glimpse of Geta from under your hood. His lashes laid on his cheeks, his hair like sun-rays themselves were peaking from the edges of his cloak’s hood and his features were soft. Your heart quickened realizing like this he resembled the sculptures you had been blessed to see. He truly, was touched by the gods.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn @helsa3942

[fairlyabookie]

Their Heart to You

Author's note: How they confess

Content: fluff

Leona finds courting a tedious process; he grew up watching his older brother courting a partner, getting married, and eventually, have a kid, whom he considered a handful. He had seen what love can bring first hand and often was asked about his love life by his brother. 

Most of the time, he hated these nosy questions, shouldering them off with a vague statement so they won’t be asked again. Leona told himself not to have his judgment be clouded by love - he had to make sure he had a clear and sound mind, enough to make adequate decisions and see to it that things get done. He casts his worries and other frivolous things to the side, focusing on nothing but himself and his academics for the time being. 

Admittedly, he didn’t think of you as a distraction per se; rather, he considered you as an equal, your strengths and weaknesses comprising your overall character. Sure, he entertained the thought of courting you, his thoughts meandering to your silhouette, your hubris around him, the poise you carried yourself; no doubt Leona found you entertaining. 

Love, a fickle thing, embodied itself in his time with you, listening to your words as you spoke to him with determined eyes; his honesty abundant, he was more than willing to give - though, executing his ‘love’ would be difficult. Matter of fact, he was clueless. 

As for courting you, he preferred to keep such sentiments and wait for the opportune moment to speak his peace. A watchful predator eyeing his prey, he waits until you’re by yourself to tell you, his charm, his authenticity. 

The Leech twin had a couple tricks up his sleeve when it came to wooing you: he won’t say that these notions would charm you, but rather, appeal to you on his interests and hopefully, have you show your interests to him as well. He greatly valued his friendship with you, often looking forward to seeing you as the day’s passing and wanting to speak to you on occasion.

He’d be subtle in his affections; often engaging in unprofessional behavior, as quoted from Azul and his own twin brother, to see you satisfied. Of course, he had to pull some strings to ensure you had a positive experience with him, after all, you’re the one toying with his heart. 

 To quote Azul, Jade would be a handful, as love captivated him like a spell. At times, the Dorm Leader would begrudgingly let Jade take the task so he can see you. Even at the sight of you, Azul knew not to impede Jade’s advances. In other words, Azul and Floyd would play Jade’s wingmen, regardless if they like it or not. 

Jade had his own ways of wooing, unorthodox methods an average one would say, where he’d plan on potential dates with just you and him and with no interruptions. He’d keep his cool, knowing very well that he can achieve his goal in conveying his feelings outright.  

If one can be honest, Jade had realized his feelings for a while; he yearned, he needed, he wanted to have your heart. Such feelings, he hoped, can come across you once the timing was right. He hated how heavy his heart weighed with such sentiments, yet alas, he hoped he played his cards well for this moment.

They say that the best way to steal one’s heart is through their stomach, and Trey took that personally. He knew everyone’s tastes, including yours. On that note, he’d make sure to bake your favorites when you had a bad day or when you had a craving. 

 The third year regarded you as a friend at first, but he found himself thinking about you when it came to baking, pouring his heart into this piece, gentle hands carving a delicacy that he and you can enjoy in private. 

Trey may not be good with his words, but he can think of something sweeter, something you’d like from his expertise. Sure, writing down his feelings would work, but he’d stick with his skills: baking. 

He’d spend hours doing trial and error with recipes, pouring in particular ingredients to see what would be the perfect taste for your pastry, careful not to ruin the surprise when he’d present this cake to you. His feelings towards you, initially a nuisance, came forth as a blessing as he spent more time working on this pastry and spending time with you. 

Love, as corny as it can be, seemingly made his works a tad bit sweeter. He can fathom the taste, a delicious warmth that enveloped him like a hug. Did he manage to achieve the perfect cake? He thinks to himself, satisfaction tugging at the corner of his lips. Trey couldn’t wait to have you taste it.

[syndrossi]

Regnal AU, Chapter 2 (pt 2)

Part one here.

It's Daemon's name day, and the twins are two months old. (Dunno that the two parts really form a cohesive chapter, but word-count-wise, it works.)

x~x~x

One week passed, then another, and another. As the twins neared the second moon after their birth, they were nearly nine pounds apiece. Aemon no longer wailed when he picked him up, though his first coo had gone to Rhea—and Baelon’s to his father. It was a matter of great dispute who had garnered their first true smile. Rhea insisted it had been her, three nights ago, but Daemon had sung a lewd drinking song to them the night before and was confident that their smiles after had been for him alone.

Their new cradle was finished at last, this one with room aplenty for twins and dragon eggs alike, which was good, given how Aemon fussed when he was parted from them. Daemon carefully transferred the eggs to the hearth and then picked up an infant in either arm, holding them while the old cradle was lugged out of the room and the new one brought in.

Their nurse, Denna, lined it carefully with soft padding, then blankets, until finally it was ready. Daemon glanced down to find Baelon chewing on a strand of his dangling hair and couldn’t help his smile. “I fear I am not the breakfast you hoped for.”

He kissed their cheeks, then surrendered them to Denna for feeding, which she handled with practiced ease, one upon each breast. He set himself upon the task of rearranging the dragon eggs in their cradle, then went to the window, gazing out across the green of the fields beyond the castle. Summer continued apace—a long one, nearing three years—which favored his sons. The cruelest fevers came in the cold seasons, winter and spring especially.

And summer would be the best season for dragon rides, which he hoped the twins would be old enough for within the next few moons. Their dragon eggs had not hatched yet, though Daemon could feel warmth radiating from them even when they hadn’t been near the hearth. If not now, then perhaps soon.

Daemon settled in one of the chairs by the cradle and watched the twins nurse. Rhea had wanted to feed the twins herself, but the maester had advised that it was better for a wetnurse to take over such duties after the first week. They nursed so often that it was probably for the best, but watching Rhea nurse them that first week had stirred a warmth in him he had not expected.

Denna paid him little heed, well accustomed by now to Targaryen princes paying audience between Daemon and his father, and when the twins were done, she put them over each shoulder, and gently patted their backs for a few minutes, until a burp emerged from each.

“Is there aught I can help you with, my prince?” Denna asked.

He wanted nothing more than to take them out to meet Caraxes, but Maester Therbold had expressly forbidden them from venturing beyond the nursery until two full moons had passed and he had not garnered the courage to be the first to take them outside. “I wish to play with them for a time.”

The nurse smiled at him and arranged a blanketed space on the ground, where she set them down gently on their stomachs. Daemon joined them, mimicking their position, and Della brought several toys over, yet it was his hair, as ever, that proved the most interesting toy for Baelon. His tugs were impressively strong, and Daemon had to eventually extricate himself to offer a soft doll instead.

Aemon gummed at his finger instead, occasionally locking on as though to suckle, before accepting the substitute of his dragon doll. Infants were not capable of supporting the weight of their own heads until they were nearly half a year old, Daemon had been told, though they did lift their heads occasionally as he moved the horse doll between them, gazes following it.

It did not surprise him when his father crept into the nursery, though the tray of cheese and fruit he was carrying was unexpected.

“I thought I might join you,” he said.

He eased himself down onto the floor more gingerly, and Daemon sat up to grab a wedge of cheese to nibble on, leaning his back against the foot of the nurse’s bed. “What news from the king?” At his father’s raised eyebrow, he added, “I saw a few ravens arrive this morning after my ride.”

“Your grandmother is planning her journey here. I told her that she must wait until the twins have reached four moons, but that has not stopped her from making preparations at least. Your aunt will be joining her, and if she had her way, so would half of the royal court.”

Daemon pulled a face at the thought of having to entertain even a subset of the courtiers that had attached themselves to the queen’s court. “I am glad you convinced her to see reason.”

Baelon was trying to roll onto his back, a feat he had been working on for the past two days without success, though that had not deterred him. Aemon watched his brother with interest while he sucked on the tail of his dragon doll. 

“I remember when you were that small,” his father said. “You also favored your dragon doll.”

Daemon shrugged. “I was a discerning infant.”

“Your mother was convinced that you were a daughter,” his father continued, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “So much so that Viserys announced to any who would listen that he was going to marry you, just as I had married your mother.”

It was not the first time he had heard that story, though it had been his uncle telling it last time. “And when I was born, he swore instead that he would protect me, like Uncle Aemon did you.”

His father’s arm tightened, drawing him close for a kiss to the temple. Daemon’s token wriggle found him locked in, the embrace unyielding. “You are not too old for me to hold. That day will never come.”

Daemon bit back a sigh. He was a man of eighteen now. He did not want to be protected and coddled.

“Happy name day,” his father said, releasing him at last. “You did not think I would forget, surely?”

“Of course not,” Daemon said, though a part of him had wondered, given how taken he was with his grandbabes. His father had forgotten only once, in the hazy weeks after his uncle’s death.

“Your gift will be arriving with your grandmother. For today, I thought we might take a ride together, and then have a few bouts in the yard.” His father grinned at him. “I have picked up a trick or two since your last victory.”

“It shall avail you nothing,” Daemon assured him, managing a small smile in response.

It was an idyllic day that his father described, but it did nothing to calm the restlessness in his heart. He had thought that a visit to the nursery would help, which it sometimes did, but it was particularly strong today: a sense of urgency, but without purpose.

His father sighed, seeming to read his thoughts, then kissed his hair again. “Do not rush to glory, Daemon. It will find you readily enough.”

Daemon thought about Viserys, appointed as master of law on their grandfather’s small council to better study the administering of the realm. Then he thought of all the distant realms he had yet to visit across the Narrow Sea. “I do not see what glory there is to be found here in Runestone.”

“There is little glory in tourneys either, and that was all I had acquired by your age,” his father said. “When I was eighteen, I was trying and failing to make a proper swordsman of your uncle Vaegon.”

“But you and Aemon had flown throughout the realm by then. I have gone no further north than the Eyrie. Is this truly the only way I can serve our family? By siring heirs and flying Caraxes in circles around the Vale?”

“You assist Lady Rhea in her duties, do you not?”

He had, especially the first few weeks after her pregnancy, when she had been recovering from the long, difficult birth. But— “This is hers. Nothing here is truly mine. I am obeyed because I am her consort. The coin I spend is hers. The castle, the lands, the sheep fed to Caraxes—all of it hers. We are amicable now, but that is all.”

“Give it time.”

“You did not need time,” Daemon said sharply. “I want to matter to someone the way you did to Mother, to Uncle Aemon.”

Viserys had visited Runestone once in his first year, and only because Daemon had sounded so despondent that their father had sent him. It was as though he had not cared that Daemon had gone from his life. He knew that Viserys had struggles of his own, and a wife and child of his own now, but—do I not matter anymore?

“You matter to me,” his father said, hand coming to rest on his hair, gently tilting his gaze to his twin sons. “And you will matter to them.”

It is not the same. Daemon already knew what a father’s love felt like, now that he had sons of his own. He knew that it resided in the very soul, kindled as they grew in the womb and brought to roaring at birth.

“I feel like a blade left to tarnish in the damp of Runestone.” He turned back to his father, hurt rising in him. “You left me here.”

His father had known that he did not desire this match, yet he had not even tried to sway the king. He had stayed long enough to see the wedding done, and then taken off on Vhagar, back to King’s Landing.

He caught a flicker of guilt in his father’s eyes. “I am sorry, Daemon. Your grandfather insisted that you be wed, and Lady Rhea was the best of the choices offered. I cannot give you Dragonstone when I am king, but I hoped that Runestone could be a home for you, and a legacy for your children.”

“So long as nothing happens to Viserys,” Daemon said cynically. He knew what his grandfather’s motivation had been.

His father paled. “Do not say that.” He clutched Daemon so close he could feel the quiver of tension vibrating through him. “I cannot lose anyone else. Not you, not your brother.”

Daemon swallowed, regret overtaking his resentment. It was so easy in the aftermath of the twins’ birth to forget how dark the malaise that gripped his father’s spirit could be, how deep the hurt that lingered. “I did not mean it.”

“You do not know how difficult it is,” his father breathed into his hair. “How great the temptation to keep the two of you close at hand, beyond harm. Were I king—” He pulled back, hand catching Daemon’s cheek briefly before dropping. “I would clip your wings, even if you hated me, if I did not know that doing so would douse your fire.”

You already have, Daemon wanted to say, but that was not true. He had not yet found his place in Runestone, and still did not know what he wanted, let alone how to achieve it, but he knew that his father would not stop him once he did.

“You will have a place on my council that allows you to roam,” his father said, squeezing his hand. “But you must promise always to return.” He nodded toward the twins. “For them as much as me.”

“I do not want to leave them,” Daemon said weakly. “Not for very long.”

They grew so quickly; it was difficult to imagine missing the memories his father had of him. Their first laugh, their first food, their first word and step. He needed to be able to tell them those stories, when they were older.

“Good.”

Baelon had given up his rolling attempts at last and was suckling at the horse doll in solidarity with his brother. Both their gazes were on Daemon and his father, and he leaned over to pick up Baelon, passing him to his father, and then Aemon, who maintained his grip on his dragon doll, though his eyes shifted to focus on Daemon.

“I wanted to introduce them to Caraxes,” Daemon said, and Aemon cooed as though he had understood him. “Do you think it is safe?”

“For their health? Yes.” His father rocked Baelon in his arms, earning a smile. “From your wife? Likely not. Fortunately, it is your name day, and you can do as you wish.”

x~x~x

Caraxes was napping when they arrived at the enclosure, head stirring as they entered, then eyes opening to full alertness as his gaze fell upon the wrapped bundles Daemon held in either arm. Rhea hovered a few feet behind them, a condition of the twins meeting the dragon, and Daemon could nearly sense her nerves as he brought their sons closer.

“This is my son Baelon,” Daemon said, angling to bring his eldest close for Caraxes to smell.

His dragon’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, as though committing smell to name, and Baelon returned the dragon’s stare, undeterred until the dragon let out a low rumble of approval, at which point he and his brother both wriggled in surprise.

Caraxes looked toward his father, as though questioning whether Daemon was aware that he had used his name for the tiny creature in his arms. ��He is also called Jon,” he said begrudgingly.

Daemon rotated then to bring his other son close. “And this is my son Aemon.”

Caraxes blinked twice, seeming to sniff the infant extra hard, as though seeking a different scent than the one he found. Daemon felt a hint of sorrow trickle through their bond, and he placed his hand on his snout.

“They are not the same. He is new.”

Aemon cooed up at the dragon, and Daemon was startled to find that he had somehow worked a hand free of his blankets. He extended his tiny fist toward Caraxes, feeling the scales of his face, looking between the dragon and Daemon with huge eyes.

“You will have a dragon just like him some day,” Daemon told him in Valyrian, knowing his son preferred their mother tongue.

Caraxes opened his jaw wide, exposing his massive teeth and tongue, and let out a ground-shaking roar of approval. Just audible in the background was a scream, and Daemon turned to find Rhea clutching his father’s arm, looking horrified.

“No, no,” his father said, patting her shoulder, “that means he approves.”

Both babes shook slightly in his arms, wide-eyed and silent as they looked to him for reassurance, and he kissed their cheeks, commending them for their bravery.

“I am not allowed to take you riding yet,” he said. “But do not let your kekepa convince you that Vhagar is the superior mount. He lies.”

Rhea all but snatched their babies from him when he returned to them, stiff with tension as she hugged them to her.

His father gestured toward the space outside the enclosure where Vhagar was kept. “Now we must introduce them to—”

“No,” Rhea said, walking briskly enough back to the castle that they both had to trot after her. “It is Daemon’s name day, not yours.”

[rosewaterandivy]

you’re a dream to me (steve’s version)

a continuation of this blurb

pairing: s.h x f!reader

themes: smut mdni, “they were roommates,” shame surrounding sex/orgasm, casual intimacy, heavy petting, fingering, light praise kink, squirting

Steve didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

You, however, woke refreshed and in a brighter mood. Hopped off the couch without some much as a “good morning,” and padded over to the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

He’d tossed and turned in vain for another hour or so, until the din of “hushed” voices was too much to ignore.

The couch sags as someone takes a seat on the edge, boxing in his legs underneath the blanket. Turning from a perfectly comfortable position on his stomach, shirt tucked up to his chest, Steve wakes to the scent of cinnamon and coffee.

“Hey sleepyhead,” You greet with a smile, “Made a fresh batch just how you like it.” Only to place the cup in your grasp on the coffee table in front of him, just out of his reach.

“Rude,” He rasps sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Have you seen my—”

You place the glasses in his lap before he can finish asking the question. He mumbles his thanks and puts them on, running a hand through his wild hair.

“The kids and girls are making their rounds in the old neighborhood. I’m hanging back to do some stuff around here.”

He takes a sip of coffee and nods along.

Steve’s supposed to do the typical holiday check-in with his parents, but really has no interest in it. Christmas isn’t far off, he could just put it off until then. Besides, it’s not like they’d do anything but a tension filled lunch at the club where his mother will ask when he’ll finally settle down and his father will remind him that it’s past time to get serious about his future.

He mulls it over while drinking his coffee. Half-watching you mosey around the house starting laundry, writing a grocery list, opening the windows to let in the brisk autumn breeze.

It’s Sunday. On Sundays you do chores, pick up the groceries for the week, spend approximately two hours in the bathroom doing god knows what only to come out nearly a new woman, and order take out from the good Thai place just off-campus.

Steve leaves you to your routine, making a pit-stop to find the cordless phone and leave a message for his parents.

“Hey, it’s me. Something came up and I can’t make it. I guess I’ll see you at the Christmas Eve party. Okay, bye.”

He places the phone back in the cradle to charge and walks back to his room. He didn’t exactly leave it pristine, but it’s essentially an unmitigated disaster now. Whatever hell Dustin and Mike had wrought, they would be paying for in spades.

Sheets don’t knot themselves up, he knows that much for sure. And yeah, Will and Lucas were in here too, but they had far too much sense for whatever this chaos is.

There’s a soft knock on the door. He turns to find you leaning against the jamb wearing a familiar Stop Making Sense tour shirt.

Steve can’t even bring himself to be mad. You flash him a smile and say, “I’m running out to the store. D’you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good honey.”

“Okay,” You fiddle with the strap of your tote bag on your shoulder. “The washer should be free soon, I just have to move my stuff once I’m back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says stepping closer, “I can flip your stuff.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Thanks Steve. I’ll be back soon!” You say with a turn toward the door and toe on your sneakers. With a brief wave, the door shuts behind you and Steve, for the first time in a long time, is left to his own devices.

Not that he takes advantage of it, of course.

He showers, lets the phone ring and machine pick it up, eats something vaguely decent (though the expiration date is questionable), and flips your laundry only to begin his own.

Piling his laundry into the washer and eyeballing an appropriate amount of detergent, he hears you call out a greeting as the front door opens.

You’re weighted down with paper bags and trip twice from the entry way to the kitchen. Steve takes the bags from you without much fuss, sets them down on the counter how you like and sorts out the pantry versus refrigerator goods.

There’s a garbled sound from the answering machine as you press the play button in the living room. He continues to put the groceries away, not paying much mind to whomever had called.

You slide in on socked feet nearly careening into him.

“Shit, sorry!”

This you say directly to his sternum, face plastered to his chest. You can feel his laughter as he says, “S’fine sugar. No harm, no foul.”

Steve’s hands grip your forearms, warm and wide, as he sets you back to rights. He gets a good look at you— freshly washed hair, bare faced, and already in your comfies. He notes the distinct lack of voices in the house. Then, he gets an idea.

“Who was on the machine?”

“Oh, just the kids and the girls.” You say, filling a glass of water. “They’ll be at the ‘rents tonight. Something about giving us our space back.”

“Huh.”

“I mean, they’ll be back tomorrow night. You know they can never last long confined to their childhood bedrooms and loving parental advice.”

Steve considers this information.

“Do ya want me to wash your sheets?” You offer, “I think Dustin may have just passed out in his clothes last night, shoes and all.”

All it takes is a nod from him and then you’re trotting off down the hall. You come back with a smile, sheets miraculously free of knots, and disappear into the laundry room humming a tune from the radio.

The night passes unceremoniously, unfolding in its typical fashion of ordering way too much food and then watching the Twin Peaks episode from last week that you’d taped.

Steve finds himself in a familiar place— arm around your waist, snuggled on the sofa, a blanket draped over you both. He can smell that lotion or perfume you only wear on Sundays, clean and fresh like sheets drying on a clothesline.

“Hey, um,” He begins, trepidation rattling in his voice. “Don’t get mad, but are you okay?”

He can feel as you tense in his arms.

“M’fine Steve. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, you just said something last night and it got me worried is all.”

You heave a sigh, turning from the tv to face him. Your lips are drawn in a tight line, brow furrowed.

“Just forget I said anything.”

He worries his thumb along your jaw. Eyes tracing along your face— the fading freckles from the summer heat smattered across your nose, the high color of your cheeks.

“I don’t think I should,” He says carefully, “It doesn’t sound like something anyone who cared about you would dream of saying.”

He lets the words land. Watches as realization flashes across your features. Wonders why you’d let something so baselessly wrong bother you so much.

“I mean, they’re not exactly wrong.”

Steve cringes at the thought.

“I’m not like, the easiest person to deal with in that respect.”

“How d’you mean?”

He draws you closer, hand falling to the small of your back.

You bite your lip, eyes flitting to and fro.

“Sex, Steve, I mean sex.”

His mouth falls open in an oh of recognition.

“Apparently, it takes a lot of work for me to come and even when I do, it’s a mess.”

Steve tries to school his expression into one less shocking. Who the fuck would say something like that to you? What is wrong with people?!

“To add insult to injury,” You say with a snort, “I haven’t been able to come for weeks. It’s beginning to be quite the issue.”

Huh. So that explains why you flew off the handle at trivia night the other day. He knew it couldn’t have been over not knowing something as innocuous as which mountain range separates Europe and Asia?

You’re squirming in his grasp and he can tell you’d like nothing more than to turn around and pretend this conversation never even happened.

But the thing about Steve is, he’s like a dog with a bone. And unbeknownst to you, you are the bone in this scenario.

Before you can pull away, he grounds you with an arm to the waist. In response, you raise a delicate brow.

And ah, fuck here he goes.

“I could, uh,” He swallows audibly, “Help with that, if you want.”

Your immediate instinct is to roll your eyes and laugh, let slip a sardonic sure, Steve.

And you can’t help the huff of a laugh that escapes as you say, “Offer that service to all you gal pals?”

“N-no. I - don’t. Just—”

The you is left unspoken but it hooks at something in your chest and pulls. Leaves you jittery and… wanting.

“Okay,” you say with an inelegant shimmy onto your back. “Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Shocked still, Steve doesn’t know where to begin. You’ve maneuvered your back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and hips slotted beneath his. Your legs splay open, the hem of his shirt falling just above your black briefs.

His heart rattles in his chest, and he’s sure you can feel its frantic pace. He scooches back a bit, separating his hips from the swell of your ass, and sits you up.

The vantage point is better, he rationalizes, he can see what he’s doing here. At his movement, you grab the hem of his shirt and peel it off your body, the image of David Byrne’s big suit landing in a heap at the foot of the couch.

“You can touch me, y’know.”

And yeah, he definitely wants to. Stripped down to your basics, black on black and nothing fancy, Steve’s mouth begins to water. It’s so surreal— he never thought you’d actually take him up on his insane offer. Much less so willingly.

“Y-yeah, okay.”

Your warm back settles against his chest once more. His hands trail the notches of your neck as you turn your head.

“Can you do me a favor though, and just like, talk to me?”

He swallows, desire carving a searing path through his chest.

“Course, sugar.”

And then there’s the hot press of his mouth against your jaw, and the scent of him rushes into your shared space and has your groaning softly. Fresh citrus from his body wash tanged with something that’s ineffably Steve.

His entire body shudders against yours. His hips lurch into the sliver of space between you as he breathes brokenly, “Holy shit.” And you can’t help but agree.

Steve’s fingers end up buried between your legs. Hand wedged into the impossible space between your clenching thighs. His opposite hand splayed against the soft curve of your abdomen, holding you in place and pressing you down into the cushions.

He’s talked you through it all, gentle murmurs and slurred words, the nip of his teeth at your throat. Told you how pretty you were, how good, his mouth smearing hot and wet against your skin.

And how he’d worked you up with his soft, lingering touch. Fingers trailing along sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. How he’d eased the straps down your shoulders, circled your nipples over the fabric and teased them to peaks before letting the black fabric pool at your waist.

There’s a slow drag of words from his throat when his hand brushes the band of your briefs.

“Y’ready, honey?”

All you can manage is a nod, chin clearly thumping against your chest as his fingers dip beneath the fabric to slowly drag through your soft curls. The point of his nose traces a line against the column of your throat, breath hot and seeping while you’re positively leaking through the fabric.

Shifting your hips in desperation, his fingers slip lower and barely brush against your clit. It draws a deep whine from your chest as you reach back in desperation to find his hair and pull.

“Fu-ck.”

Steve’s hips buck against the fat of your ass, his hand pressing down against your pelvis, the pad of his finger petting delicately at the seam of your sex.

“So good like this,” he says raggedly, thumb alighting on your clit with a smear of slick as you gasp. “I know, I know,” he soothes, as your mind drips into something syrupy and slow.

His clever finger slips inside, punching the breath from your lungs. Your head turns to the side, pleasure loosening your bones and burning like an inferno. But Steve never lets up, even as he’s breathing heavy, eyes half-lidded and staring back at you.

His cheeks are flushed pink as he murmurs and mutters, words long lost to you now as heat cracks through you like a live wire, coaxed gently along by Steve’s careful ministrations.

“— want you, please,” you babble incoherently. Already fucked stupid, buoyed by the senseless desire he draws from you like water.

A lewd squelching noise as two of his thick fingers sink into you, causing your voice to break, “Want your cock— inside, oh fuck.” Your eyes roll back in your head at the deep press of them, cunt clenching as they slide against your walls.

His thumb brushes your clit, a firm press as he buries his fingers deep and presses down with his opposite hand, hot and searing on your skin.

“Wanted you for so long,” he groans, urging your hips forward in his fingers buried to the hilt. “Jus’ like this.” He murmurs something else into the hollow of your throat, something lost to time and space.

You’re shivering and throbbing and rocking downwards onto his hand as his fingers continue to ignite your pleasure. His touch searing like a brand as he continues to press against you, until your voice breaks on a moan.

“Yeah,” you breathe, head lolling against his chest, fingers loosely gripping his damp hair. “Right there, oh fuck, Steve —”

You make a mess of him as he draws your desire up, up, up. As it peaks, your back bows and strangled shout falls from your lips, moisture rushing from you. Soaking his fingers and hand, your thighs, the couch cushions, fucking Christ.

“Imsorryimsorryimsorry,” you whimper, fingers clutching tight in his hair.

And all he makes is a deep sound of satisfaction, hips stuttering against your ass. A dark rumble from the confines of his chest, and you look up to see his eyes molten gold and heavy lidded, a smile breaking across his face.

The last of your release shudders through you, his fingers slipping slowly from your sex, petting in soothing strokes and easing you from your pleasure. But still, there’s a keen ache making you clench and flutter around nothing.

Forcing your fingers to loosen from his hair, you let them graze his temple, his cheek heated and damp beneath your skin.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, catching your breath as your eyes flutter closed. Pushing hair from your face, you find your brow slick with sweat. Steve, without a care, whispers a kiss to your brow and huffs a laugh.

“How did you get so good at that?”

Can’t even be bothered to turn back, you roll your head on his chest catching an inelegant shrug of his shoulder.

“Mmm,” you murmur, content to be splayed against him. “I owe you one, pal. Jus’ gimme a minute…”

Steve sighs softly, letting his fingers tangle in your hair as your breathing evens out in sleep. Eventually, he’ll rally and heft you back to your room and clean sheets.

And eventually, though who can say when, he’ll screw his courage to the sticking place and cash in that I.O.U.

[saixria]

@angels-bullshit well you asked for it TELEMACHUS RAMBLE

I’m sure there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that Telemachus represents open arms. For one, he immediately accepts Athena as his friend with open arms and offers the goddess of wisdom some wisdom in We’ll be fine, that’s just. Peak open arms behavior.

Besides the obvious, we can look into the motif (literary, not musical) of light vs dark in the musical (which might also be obvious but anyway). Even if we ignore Polites’ whole cut song “Your Light” about being Odysseus’ “light”, the light motif is actually kept in Open Arms — “we can light up the world here’s how to start”. I think this motif symbolizes the positive impact of open arms. Much like Circe said, “maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road”. If you inspire the world around you by being kind, you will in turn be treated with kindness. This is contrasted by the motifs of darkness in “I am your darkest moment” and “the world is dark” signifying ruthlessness. Instead of trying to change the ruthless world around you, you must become ruthless too to survive. There’s inherent selfishness to ruthlessness since you’re ensuring your own survival over others.

WHAT A TANGENT OK HOW DOES THIS RELATE TO TELEMACHUS? He has this line in Legendary “so I could bring the world some light” which references Polites’ whole “light up the world”. Let’s not forget “tell me Athena why you came to my aid” has the same melody as “what keeps you up so late at night my friend” from cut song Ismarus where Polites is asking Odysseus this. (HM I WONDER WHAT OTHER CHARACTER IS UNABLE TO SLEEP DUE TO GUILT)

The light thing comes back so many times in we’ll be fine. “Then his light went dark” (can be interpreted as Polites, his “light”, dying, but I prefer to interpret it as him basically getting traumatized, losing his original enthusiasm in his belief that everything would go smoothly and he’d be able to get home with all 600 men as he suffers his very first casualties) “life could be that bright” — Not only is Athena talking about Odysseus losing his light, she herself has also lost hers as she lost her one and only friend and the positive impact he had on her life, and now it feels as though her life has gone dark.

“I know it’s light you’ll find” — Telemachus is literally acting as Athena’s light here as Polites was Odysseus’ 😭😭 he encourages her to help Odysseus, to embrace the Open Arms ideology of making a positive impact on the world around you and you’ll end up positively affected as well. In bringing Odysseus light, perhaps she herself will also regain hers. From all this, Telemachus clearly represents Open Arms and is to Athena what Polites was to Odysseus.

Now how does Telemachus embody ruthlessness? This part is much shorter since we don’t have as much to analyze (perhaps we’ll get more in Ithaca saga) but Telemachus doesn’t shy away from being ruthless when the need arises either. He fights Antinuous in Little Wolf to defend his family’s honor, and in Ithaca saga he will also help kill the suitors (perhaps we will get more on his mindset here, but don’t take my word on that). He is willing to do what it takes, even if it’s cruel like hunting down all the suitors, to protect his family, and killing the suitors IS what’s necessary and an act of ruthlessness.

(Though actually this is making me realize “boy I wish I could so I could bring the world some light” was referring to… killing monsters. Maybe this shows that even in Legendary he’s wanted to make a positive impact on the world by being ruthless in a way, further showing that he’s the true balance of Ruthlessness and Open Arms)

Anyway, Telemachus was really only able to achieve this balance because of his circumstances, just as Odysseus was forced to fully embrace ruthlessness because of his. While Telemachus has faced hardships (the suitors) that requires ruthlessness to be dealt with, hes also a crowned, sheltered prince, largely unaffected by even darker aspects of the world like war and death as Odysseus has been, so Telemachus was able to retain part of his innocence and his “light” while Odysseus’ was stripped from him. Both of them were products of their environments, and it’s quite fitting how Odysseus went to war to protect his son, and his son ended up being a “better” person than Odysseus was forced to become. Telemachus means “far from battle”, and indeed Odysseus has succeeded in keeping his son far from the darkness of war and its aftermath.

[apomaro-mellow]

Hawkins Confidential 2

Part 1

The last time Eddie had seen Steve, they’d been young and stupid and with a pup on the way. The last time he had ever heard about him was when Chrissy told him the pup had been born, healthy and beautiful. Eddie had tried not to think about either of them since then. And most days, he succeeded. He thought he’d gotten over thinking about what could have been but he couldn’t help that fragile kind of hope trying to bubble forth as he packed a light duffle and got into his truck. 

He drove and drove for hours and hours, memories coming forth without his permission as the miles spread out.

“I should make you get rid of it! You think that just because you whore around you can do whatever you want?!”, Richard Harrington jabbed a finger towards his son.

Eddie pushed between them, just barely holding his teeth back from snapping that finger off. But his fangs were bare. “You can’t fucking talk to him like that!”

“You stay out of this mutt!”

“What a piece of shit”, Eddie said to himself as he got closer and closer to his old hometown. He remembered where the Harrington estate was. He could have driven right up to it. But he needed some liquid courage before he did that. And the odds of him being allowed to rest in one of the dozens of guest rooms was slim, so he’d need a motel too.

After procuring a room, he walked down Main Street, not at all surprised to see that very little had changed in the years since he’d been gone. It was a small town, after all. With small minded people. But it was noon and the bar was in sight.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing your face around here, Munson.”

“Why Jason Carver, what a delight”, Eddie said. He’d spotted Jason across the street and hoped he could have made it into the bar unnoticed. No such luck. And of course, he had his cronies with him.

“You have some nerve.”

“You’ve said that already. All these years and you haven’t rehearsed a decent script?”

“Why the hell are you back in town?”, Jason demanded to know.

“Personal business”, Eddie looked down at his nails.

“He’s probably here to go digging for gold now that old Harrington’s dead”, one of the cronies said. If Eddie remembered right, his name was Andy. How pathetic.

“That’s right”, Jason said like he just remembered. “With him gone, you can go sniffing around Steve again.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Then I’m right. You are here for Steve.”

“He’s the only one in this town worth a visit, so sue me.”

Jason was annoying. But he wasn’t really worth Eddie’s time. He’d never been. It was just the circumstances of sharing such a small space that forced them to butt heads but as long as Eddie kept his cool-

“You and that whore are meant for each other.”

Eddie saw red, then suddenly Jason was on the ground, holding his face as more red spilled out onto the sidewalk.

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

Eddie was used to being handled by cops and being taken down to the precinct, which was sorry to say. It was even more sorry to say that he had no one to call. Chrissy came to pick Jason up and her eyes widened to see Eddie, though he knew Jason must have told her about him when he phoned her.

But she reigned in her expression as she collected her husband. Eddie wished it was easy to talk with her. He wished they had that freedom. But they had both learned to stay within their boundaries. Eddie was resigning himself to a night spent in lock up when someone came by and opened up the cell.

“Munson, you’re being released.”

Bewildered, Eddie got up, wondering if Chrissy had somehow returned. He froze mid step when he saw his benefactor. Steve looked just as beautiful as the day Eddie had left him. And he looked positively angelic in that cream colored sweater. Eddie swallowed. He hadn’t thought about what he’d say because what was there to say? Everything he came up with sounded too small to encompass everything he’d felt since the call. Since they parted, really.

Steve fixed that by stomping right up to Eddie. “You’re a complete idiot, you know that? Causing trouble the moment you return?” Only as the words left his mouth did Steve seem to realize what he said and he shrank back. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted to say right out the gate. You never called back and I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Stevie”, Eddie said, the nickname falling from his lips much too easily for what they were supposed to be. He cupped Steve’s cheek and swooned from how the omega melted into it. “I missed you.”

Steve closed his eyes, savoring it before pulling back. “Come.”

Eddie followed him outside to the car and with a couple of seatbelt clicks they were on their way. 

“I’ve got a room, so you don’t need to worry about me”, he said.

“Oh, um, well that’s good. That’s good.” Steve didn’t know why he expected any different. There was no way in hell Tommy would ever allow Eddie to stay under their roof.

“So, what have you been up to?”, Steve asked.

Eddie chuckled. “Are you really trying small talk right now?”

“We haven’t spoken in years. I’m genuinely curious.”

“Nothing extravagant. I’m just about a day’s drive away. I work as a mechanic. Where are you driving us anyway?”

“Back to the house”, Steve said. “I know you have a room, but I figured you’d want to get settled some kind of way.”

“Take me to our son”, Eddie said.

Steve swallowed and Eddie put his hand on top of his on the gear shift. Steve changed their route to that of the hospital. Eddie braced himself as they got up to the room, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. A boy that was a perfect mix of him and Steve. His curls with Steve’s chesnut brown. 

“His name is Dustin”, Steve said. “And he needs an operation. You’re the only one who can help him. I know it’s a lot to ask. I know that. But my pup is my world. And he’s hanging on by a thread. He needs you, Eddie.”

“How long has he been like this?”, Eddie asked.

“He’s been in that bed for a few months. But he’s had problems before that.”

Eddie tore his eyes away from Dustin to look at Steve. “Why did it take you so long to-your father?”

“He didn’t want me to contact you. Not for anything. And Tommy only allowed it because of the conditions of my father’s will. He can’t inherit anything without an heir. If Dustin doesn’t recover then he’s going to-” Steve choked out a hiccup, suddenly overcome with what his life had become.

Eddie went over to Steve and embraced him, holding him as tight as he wished all these years. So many things missed. Birthdays, holidays, his pup’s first word, and steps, and all that came with the formative years of childhood. He was old enough that he’d be presenting in a few years. But Eddie didn’t blame Steve, he never would. The only ones to blame were the ones who held control over his life. 

“Speaking of-”

“Kindly unhand my mate, Munson.”

Steve backed away as if he were burnt and he went to Dustin’s side, avoiding Tommy’s glare. Eddie put his hands in his pockets and took in Tommy. He seemed mostly unchanged, if just puffing out his chest a bit more. He didn’t know if that came from finally attaining Steve or because the alpha above him had passed. Either way, Eddie couldn’t help himself.

“Well these tables have turned. Looks like you need my help, Hagan.”

“It’s Harrington, actually”, Tommy crossed his arms. “And I don’t need you for anything. Steve is the one still holding onto that boy. I told him that if Dustin doesn’t get better, we need another heir.”

Eddie stomped towards Tommy, about to swing when the doctor entered the room. Steve’s distress and Eddie’s irritation hung in the air. Eddie quickly pulled it back so that the doctor could explain the situation. She asked if Eddie was ready and prepared for the operation and he confirmed it. There was paperwork to be done but a tentative date was set for next week. When they finished, Steve stood, ready to take Eddie back to his motel.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”, Tommy asked, gripping Steve’s forearm tight.

“I drove him here, I need to drop him off.”

“That riff-raff can get a cab. I’m not leaving you alone around him.”

Steve scoffed and was about to protest, wrenching his arm from Tommy’s hold when Eddie cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be fine, Steve. Don’t worry about me.” He got closer to Dustin’s bedside and leaned over to kiss his forehead. He also scented him subtly, glad when he only smelled Steve’s lingering scent. “I’ll be back to visit him”, he promised before making his exit. Then he paused. “Before I head out, how’d you know where to find me? You didn’t even know I was in town yet.”

Steve swallowed. “Chrissy told me.”

Eddie smiled. Of course. He nodded towards Steve and completely ignored Tommy as he walked out. 

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

Carol was in the middle of primping when she heard the front door open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Welcome home, Andy”, she called back, smiling when he entered the bathroom and kissed the back of her head.

“Did you hear? Munson came back into town and decked Jason.”

Carol prided herself in knowing everything that went down in this town. But even she never imagined that man would come back after being run out all those years ago.

“Really? Does Steve know?”

Andy shrugged, rolling up his sleeves. “Don’t know. But things are probably gonna get interesting.”

“Oh I’m sure~” Carol couldn’t wait. She applied some lipstick and turned her head from right to left before giving herself a satisfied expression in the mirror.

“Meeting your girlfriends again? It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

“Oh it’s barely eight. We’re not old fuddy-duddies you know. Valencia left you a plate in the fridge. Don’t wait up, us girls can gab.”

She kissed his cheek and then she was out the door. Ostensibly to go to Heather’s house for some wine and gossip. They did plenty of that but instead Carol drove herself to an inn. And waiting for her in one of the rooms was one Tommy Harrington.

“I heard that old thorn in your side is back”, Carol grinned.

“I don’t even wanna talk about that trash. The sooner this operation’s done, the sooner he’s outta my hair”, Tommy paced about, agitated while Carol poured them both drinks. She didn’t look at all bothered as she handed a glass of brandy to him.

“Well he is going through with the operation, isn’t he?”

“Yeah”, Tommy said before taking a large gulp. “It’s happening next week.”

Carol took a small sip from her own glass. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. He gets that pup in shape, you inherit everything Richard left for you and then you can kick Steve and his little bastard to the curb. It’ll be all yours.”

Tommy smirked. “All ours.”

Their glasses clinked conspiratorially. Tommy downed the rest of his own and Carol set hers down just in time for him to lift her up and toss her onto the bed. 

Part 3 coming soon

[a1ecmcdowell]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjust like the movies.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤor, 90s!jensen & starlet!reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTEEN PEOPLE exclusive!

a never-before-seen inside look on america's favorite celebrity couple, starlet & jensen, only found here!

★ ˚⋆

it is, at this point, redundant to introduce the hollywood bombshell that is starlet, the new & upcoming actress taking over the scene. first met in days of our lives as a returning side character, starlet has since moved on to star in the likes of scream, terrifying the world with her breakout role of sidney prescott, and has since gone on to reprise that role, alongside her days of our lives character, many times.

on the other side of the dynamic duo, jensen ackles also got his notable start on days of our lives, working alongside starlet and, as he's stated before in multiple prior interviews, where he first met her.

"utterly captivating," he'd called her to an mtv interviewer, "there's no one else who can do the things that she does, and so effortlessly."

a romance should have been expected to follow after such high praises, though the way that it dominated the world was not so expected. their adorable acts of shameless pda & the blatant enamor that radiates from them when they are in a room together captured the hearts of millions.

today, we sit down with the both of them, and unpack just how they came to be.

★ ˚⋆

sat next to each other on two director's chairs is starlet and ackles, whispering to each other in soft voices, his palm atop hers on its back, the tip of his finger tracing shapes on her palm. he murmurs something, and her head falls back in a bright laugh.

jensen ackles (eric brady of days of our lives): oh! hey. didn't even hear you comin' in.

brittany johnson (interviewer for teen people): no, don't apologize! i'm just taking notes... capturing everything...

jensen: ah, gotta get all the details for the report, i see.

brittany, laughing softly: oh, yes. just doing my job. and how are you, starlet?

starlet (casey kennedy of days of our lives): spectacular, how are you?

brittany: can't complain at all when i get to spend my day with the both of you.

starlet, smiling warmly: oh, none of that. we're just people.

brittany: two of the most beloved of our decade, yes! did you anticipate such a positive response to your first public sighting together?

jensen: honestly wasn't even something that crossed my mind. i just wanted to take my girl to dinner.

starlet: it was so lovely, too. remember the hanging lights on the outside patio? and the candle in the center of our table?

jensen: is it a good time to tell you that i arranged that?

starlet: what? no!

jensen, laughing to himself: i did! called ahead and made sure we could have the patio to ourselves.

starlet: well, i guess we're both learning things today about my relationship, aren't we... oh, i'm sorry, i never asked your name.

brittany: brittany johnson. and that's alright, love, you were preoccupied! i'd never blame you for the honeymoon phase daze.

jensen: is that a real thing?

brittany: no, but i'm going to copyright it. it has a ring to it, doesn't it?

jensen: it does, yeah.

jensen's fingers lock into starlet's, raising her hand to his mouth to plant a chaste kiss on the skin.

starlet: sorry, this was probably a terrible idea, letting us do an interview together. we're not really good at anything but the... well, the honeymoon phase daze.

brittany: here, let me see if i can help keep the both of you on track, shall i? what were your initial thoughts when you first saw each other?

jensen: can i swear?

starlet: jens!

jensen, cackling: it's just a question!

brittany: i can censor it, don't worry. speak freely.

jensen: honestly, and i'm not exaggerating, she always thinks i'm lying about it, but my very first thought when she walked into the reading room was holy f**k.

starlet: no, it wasn't. he wasn't even looking at me, he was looking at his script—

jensen: s'called being sneaky, baby, i was lookin' over the edge.

starlet scoffs, her lips curling into a smile, betraying the feigned irritation.

brittany: starlet?

starlet: i was definitely intimidated. i don't remember my exact reactions, but we locked eyes at one point while reading our lines, and it felt—

jensen: just like a movie scene.

starlet: yeah. i honestly thought that when people said the world stops, it was just a cliche, but...

brittany: but it wasn't, not with you too.

starlet, warmly: exactly.

jensen: she wouldn't go out to dinner with me immediately. just so you're aware. this little lovelorn act she's portraying? wasn't immediate and was not as swoonworthy as you're lookin' at me like it is.

starlet: hey! i was being cautious—

jensen: hard to get. she was being hard to get.

brittany: you asked her out to dinner that very day?

jensen: that very day. i thought, "hell, if i don't swoop in, someone else will." so i swooped.

starlet: and missed the landing.

jensen, mock offendedly: because you were playing all coy!

starlet: since when is being cauti—

jensen: hard to get.

the two's words begin to overlap in an unintelligible argument, jumbled with laughter and tugging on their locked hands.

jensen: anyways. yeah, she rejected me at first. big ol' fat blow to the ego.

brittany: what eventually made her say yes? or, really, i should be asking you that, starlet.

jensen: yeah, baby, go on. i'm curious too.

starlet: it... well, it sounds really superficial. but we had this scene together, and our characters practically mirror the story of us, in a way, because— i don't know, something clicked. the director called cut after eric was about to kiss casey goodnight, and he leaned in, and...

...

...

starlet: it's really cliche, i know that's how it must sound, but it really felt like magic, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes and feeling the emotions he poured into himself while he was acting, and knowing that they were at least somewhat true, considering he'd asked me out a week or so prior. i thought, "god, why did i say no? what kind of idiot was i?"

jensen: very cute that your moment of clarity came from me kissing you. that's all i wanted to say— don't look at me like that. carry on.

starlet: that's it, you loser. unless you want me to continue stroking your ego.

jensen: there's a few other things you—

brittany clears her throat, her palms patting against the notepad rested on her thighs.

brittany, flushed: alright, well... i think that wraps it up for us! it was incredible to get to hang out with the both of you. do you... have any final comments? anything you want to tell the people?

jensen: yeah. go watch my pretty baby in scream 2. and thank you, brittany, for putting up with her, i know she gets a little ditzy and talkative—

starlet swats jensen's bicep, laughing along with him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEND TRANSCRIPT.

notes, nobody look too close at the transparent ok its shoddy at BEST but i was having a meltdown over 90s jensen earlier n couldnt relax until i did this ok feedback appreciated sm unless its mean HAHAHA bc i honestly dont know . . . if i like this HJTKLGDFSH style heavy inspired by daisy jones & the six my beloved

tags, @jasvtsc @figthoughts @deanswidow @depressionbarbie2023

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

65 - The Cold and The Rats

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

Length: 16.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, mentions of trauma and distress, disturbing or gore imagery, blood and violence, threats towards children, implied references to rape

Notes: Everything is fine, don't worry about the chapter title or the warnings :) Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Still fast asleep he was, but you had continued what you started anyways. Why you had been drawn to that book in the first place you didn’t know, but you were. Standing by your bookshelf near the window, your fingers had traced over various names and pages, some you read, some you hadn’t yet. They weren’t books originally of your own collection, those had been lost. Or, not so lost, but you knew they would never be returned to you.

Most of your belongings had been in Kings Landing. Thus by the time Ser Barristan helped you flee, only the clothes he gave you were what you owned anymore. Not just clothes though, letters, trinkets, and of course, all of your books, all left behind. Who knew what Cersei and Joffery had done with them, but not a single thing any of you nor the Starks brought there was any longer yours. By the time you had come back to Winterfell proper, the Boltons were your captors and the only things you owned then were what little they let you borrow from their own. In truth, for the names you held in your life you had very little left. Jon though, had been trying to fix that.

Insisting his bedchambers were as much your as they were his, but you never added a thing to it. Never suggested anything or even came up with a single mention of something you’d even wish for. It was his space, not yours. That hadn’t stopped him though. It was not much and it was slow, but over time Jon had managed to get you some things. A bookshelf with whatever he could find to fill it that might interest you, and a chair more comfortable then it felt belonged in here for you to curl up on. His argument at first was you normally would read at his desk, but if you both were there you’d need somewhere to sit still, and this was his apparent compromise.

Now though, it served well. Large enough that you could position yourself where little Eddard could be wrapped up against your front while a book sat in your lap angled for you to read. When your fingers that evening had trailed along the shelf, you paused at one without initial thought, but it was little Eddard who chose it. Making a small sound of babbling as you asked if thats what he wanted, and you grinned. A strange choice for a story to set him asleep too.

But near an hour passed, and he was no longer awake and yet you kept reading to him.

Your voice was gentle, little more then a tender murmur for the baby’s ears. “The Tower of the Hand was less secure. The two men crept up through the walls, bypassing the spearmen posted at the tower doors. Ser Otto’s rooms were of no interest to them. Instead they slipped into his daughters chambers, one floor below.”

A small murmur came from the baby, but only a shift to snuggle closer to you. A soft smile falling over your face as one hand left the book page long enough to run along his back before returning back. Knowing if you didn’t keep going, he just as well could stay asleep or awake wishing you to have continued.

You knew the words on the page better then most, but for a strange reason you felt your heart race as they slipped from your lips. It was history, but too so removed from you life it felt only like telling a story but yet it felt as if your nerves were ragged and on alert. As if you were living what you read, despite your ability to look up and see otherwise. “Once inside, Cheese bound and gagged the Dowager Queen whilst Blood strangled her bedmaid. Then they settled down to wait, for they knew it was the custom of Queen Helaena to bring her children to see their grandmother every evening before bed.”

Again your eyes flickered up, and again you questioned why. No one still was here, if your ears could strain further then your eyes, you might have even heard the walking and chattering about in the corridors beyond the room.

So again, you tried to continue as you described out loud to the little one words of history you didn’t know why it bothered you so much now. And it only got worse the further into the page it went, describing the scene as Queen Helaena Targaryean came into the room, and her children held at threat. “Debt Collectors, said Cheese. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one to square things. Won’t hurt the rest of you fine folks, not one little hair. Which one you want to lose, your Grace?”

The history of the moment was awful, a mother desperate not to make such a choice between her children, offering her own life up in pleading as they denied her. Your eyes looked down to your own for a strange moment as your heart lurched. It was not the same, you were safe in Jons chambers but the weight in your throat sat there even while you continued. “Cheese warned the Queen to make a choice soon, before Blood grew bored and raped her little girl. Pick, he said, or we kill them all. On her knees, weeping, Helaena named her youngest, Maelor. Perhaps she thought the boy was too young to understand. You hear that, little boy? Cheese whispered to Maelor. Your momma wants you dead.”

The voice speaking out next nearly startled you to the point it almost even awoke the baby. “Seven hells.” Your eyes wide looking up to see Arya standing by the door frame with an amused grin at what she caused inadvertently. Stepping more into the room as rose an eyebrow, “A bit young for that kind of violence don’t you think? What are you even reading him?”

Looking down, you closed the book before lifting it up to showcase the front, the words etched into it’s much more simple cover then the contents eluded to. The words of Fire and Blood, written by Archmaester Gyldayn. Written in the not so distant past when Robert Baratheon was still alive and still King over a realm full of peace, it was a well known history text by the time you were old enough to read it. A collection of histories of the Targaryean Dynasty, to a certain point.

Arya tilted her head in amusement as she closed the gap, reaching out her hand you read the intention. Handing it to her as she moved to the bookshelf to return it to the obvious spot it sat before. “I haven’t read this in ages.”

Carefully moving to stand, you ensured little Eddard was still asleep by the time you got to your feet. Easily pulling him from the wrappings into your arms, he shifted close to you as you moved more towards his cradle. “Trust me, there are far worse books on Dragonstone I could’ve read him.” Your hands slowly putting him down, little Eddard trying to worm his way closer to you, and only settling as you let one hand run along the top of his head before leaning down to press a kiss to the same spot. Confident you moved to pull a blanket over top of him and he much more settled as you begun pulling the wrappings from you.

You could hear Arya’s voice from the shelf, her eyes no doubt still looking at them. “What kind?”

Sitting the fabric down out of the way, you turned back to walk closer to her side. “More then I think most realize still exist.” Answering the question you knew would follow, your vision having caught at the side her turning her head towards you. “Baelor the Blessed had most of the Targaryean histories burned in Kings Landing. But, he died before he ever could think to touch the ones on Dragonstone.” Asking what was there, you tilted your head as your eyes squinted in thought. “Books, scrolls, scraps of pages, most of them in High Valyrian, but it was what the Targaryeans brought over decades before the Doom. Most of what’s detailed in those pages are far worse then anything Fire and Blood ever wrote.”

Not an exaggeration. The feats the Valyrian Freehold were capable of, the things known they had done and it was not a wonder why many of the free cities in Essos were not welcoming to their kind or their dragons to this very day. Arya seemed to catch onto your tone, something more low and dark then before. “Not sure what could be worse then that story.”

But your eyes only drifted back to the spine of where you knew Fire and Blood sat once more. That feeling in your gut making you uneasy, and not sure as to why yet. Only a vague idea based on what felt like nothing from your dreams putting you on edge thinking of the words on the page, how it was not a story but a history true to the life you lived now. Your voice little more then a whisper when you said it, and something not so angry nor resentful in it, but breathless and full of something you didn’t understand yet was fear, and in truth you had not a clue why you even said it. It slipped out as if a voice that wasn’t even yours.

“There is a beast beneath the boards.”

As morning light shined through the castle walls, you could only stand there, hands somewhat wringing together as you followed the path he walked to keep him in sight. Arms both preoccupied as either of yours were at any given time these days, Jon well balanced focusing on you with keeping his eyes consistently trained down and bright on little Eddard, whose small hands would occasionally reach up hoping to grasp at his father. He thus far, had not accepted your tone of concern.

Forcing the words out instead of biting down on your tongue, you looked to Jon in a hope that your eyes at least looked convincing of your plead. “He would be safer with you, you know that.”

Jon didn’t even bother looking at you with that narrowed gaze which could live on his face. Grey eyes trained down on the small bundle in his arms as he rasped out in a more smiling amusement to his son now equally as smiling back. “If you had to pick who to spend the whole day with, which one of us would you choose?”

Your eyes almost rolled in a playful manner but you swallowed it back down as the thought continued to rise. “Jon.” Only briefly did his eyes peek up to look at you, softening the moment the sight of the gaze over your eyes grew more and more distinct. Trying to open his mouth to reassure you, you cut him off. Head shaking, hands returning to wring together but not without you now more pacing along the longer edge of the room. “He’d choose me just to be fed. This isn’t about what he wants, or even what he needs. You know why he shouldn’t-”

Cutting you off, only Jons eyes turned to a sternness while his tone cut through as well but did not actually impede on the softness of his voice, despite the words. “I don’t know why. You’re worried about things that aren’t going to happen.” Trying to put forward he did not know that, but Jon entertained none of such insecurity. “I do know. We’ve had him almost a month now, darling. If something were going to happen to you when you had him, it would’ve happened by now. The only person worried about this is you.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, your arms crossed one another over your stomach in something much more protective in motion. “It isn’t just me.” Jons walking stopped, an unknown in his eyes asking the question, but your lungs shook with the answer.

Not yet coming clean or simple, but picking one image in mind you seemed to use it as if a guiding force to tell him what was really going on behind the scenes if he read between the lines, which with you, Jon always could and did. You hesitated to answer, not wishing for it to paint anyone in any ill light but the truth was right there as you saw it.

Opening and closing your mouth, your head dropped, leaning back somewhat against the wooden cabinet behind where you stood. “Gilly’s worried.” Jons head tilted, eyes a softer plead for you to listen to him despite that you both knew how swiftly out of control you could turn something into. “The other day. When you were..” Seeking the appropriate word you elongated the length it took to speak the letters. “Explaining things to Ser Royce, I was sat down where Gilly was playing with little Sam. She would barley meet my eyes, looked at me holding the baby almost like she didn’t trust me.”

Stepping a bit closet to where you leaned, Jon didn’t even somewhat change the manner which he held and toyed with the baby’s attention. As if handling you was no more a strain then caring for his son, as if it came natural to him and only him, dealing with both. “Darling, that isn’t-”

He stopped his own words once you shook your head. The sting behind your eyes making it look a lot more clear what was brewing behind the demeanour you attempted to keep yourself with. “It is. She was looking at me like she didn’t trust me anymore. Everyone keeps looking at me like that. They watch me do something as simply as hold our son and they appear as if they expect having to jump in and take him from me for his own safety. As if I’m-” You cut yourself off as Jons eyes widened in a mixture of worry and a horror that you’d ever stray back down that path leading to such self destruction. Swallowing, the lump falling down the back of your throat did not clear the warmth in your face or the sting or even the rising heart beat with your now drastically increasingly working lungs. “I know what people are starting to say about me, and some days I’m not sure why you don’t believe them either.”

Jon only looked with that soft plead, the one which made it so difficult to say anything against. The baby in his arms only made such a task harder. You knew right away however, he was in a ploy against you. He and little Eddard looked so drastically similar that there was no way to deny he’d grow up to look just like his father. Cradling him in one arm comfortably, he was still small enough that Jon saw no issue with it.

Maester Wolkan had said he was the size which was appropriate for a newborn such as he, but it still felt as if he was small. As if that full month of days you had failed to provide him of growth, were which what would deprive him for good. As if there was no way to fix it now, and yet as he brought him closer to you, your insides melted regardless. Your softness was so close for both of them that he knew just what would make you listen to him with little push back. One hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, Jon turned you up to look at him better.

A gentle rasp which lived in your blood in comfort, your eyes almost fluttering shut at the sound easing the tension in your blood. “I’m not keeping you from him because of this. You’ve never hurt him before, you won’t now.” Adding before you had a chance to say it, “Not even on accident. I don’t care what other people think. They’re not part of this. You’re the mother of my child, I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon tilted your head up more to get a better look at him once more. Thumb running over what of your skin he could reach, almost denying himself the urge to lean in close to you as if not willing to sacrifice his ability to see your eyes. A peek into your truth better then any else could sometimes it seemed. Letting one hand leave your wrapped position on your stomach, you pushed the material of his sleeve up just enough to grasp his wrist, your own thumb finding his pulse. Still strong.

Tilting your head a bit into this touch, Jon leaned forward just the slightest to keep your gaze as you mumbled. “It’s getting worse.”

Shaking his head slightly, Jon never let up his gentle touch. “It was this bad before, we just don’t know why it stopped for a while.” He was not entirely wrong. Bran didn’t know what it was, he wasn’t doing anything to even remotely control it, which was how it had accidentally been functioning before.

He looked willingly into some memory you knew nothing of, and he would end up putting your eyes there with him, almost like looking through you made that easier. As if despite not being his blood, Bran could connect to these sights and sounds better with someone to channel this strange energy through, but this was different. This was out of nowhere, wild, lacking any one’s control and none of the times since this begun had it happened when he was anywhere near doing it.

Lord Howland wanted to speak to you however, he and Meera both had experience which seemed a bit closer to what you were experiencing as opposed to the complexities of Bran. Much of what was going on with him was going unsaid, and it felt as if time was running thin for him and you both to act vague.

“The only person who got hurt the last time was myself.” Jon tried to argue you had not hurt anyone this time either, but again, looking at the small bundle snuggled happily in his fathers hold, his son was so small. It would only take one bad day to ruin that and all of this. “How many times can luck be on my side at this rate?”

Sliding his had to the back of your head, Jon pulled you close. Pressing his lips firmly to your forehead and mumbling against them. “You won’t hurt him. You care about his well being, you don’t care about your own.” Opening your mouth, Jon pulled back with a raised brow with the briefest hint of amusement. “You can’t deny that one.”

Were you less on edge, you may have even huffed a breath of laughter. Glancing down, only the faintest trace of a jest came from you. “He seems fine right where he is now.”

That time, a much more real laugh came from Jon. Bright and wide as he kept his grip down at the back of your neck tilting you both to glance down better. “I’m warmer, you’re softer. Trade one for the other.” Prompting you to look once more at him better, Jon mumbled as he dropped the tone unbefitting of your still prominent insecurity. “You’re taking him. End of story.” Waiting for you to nod, Jon left one more kiss to your forehead before transferring the small bundle into your arms.

A weight in your chest at how easily little Eddard turned happily to snuggle into your touch, only brought a much more affectionate chuckle from Jons chest. Tilting your gaze somewhat to look at the baby better, you only muttered in a somewhat false bemusement, “Don’t rub it in.”

You didn’t quite know how much you bought into what he was saying, it all made sense logically of course, but there was a difference between agreeing and understanding. One which no doubt Jon himself was fully aware of, but the constant following of eyes both grey and red were something which never actually went away. Watching like a hawk, keen eyes of both white wolves on your state through the course of the morning. And of course, how much you were pretending as if you couldn’t see that while he watched with a gentle care and concern, the rest watched with trepidation and worry.

If not outright fear of your strange unknowns.

Sometimes it was luck when moments were of such calm. The ability to sit and listen while both you could be seen with a level head and the bundle in your arms too was quiet. Jon was not shy about it, he was not in any consideration to hide away his wife and son from the public court as you knew many would have done otherwise. But if he were to have you at his side, he was not going to keep you from it all just because of the child in your arms.

Little Eddard was scarcely disruptive anyways. Or perhaps you and Jon both merely found it easy for you both to pick up on when he needed something and why. Which was not terribly hard to do for most of your life. Being in and out of the Starks lives as the youngest were born and grew up, and too being there for the first many months of Shireen’s life you were familiar with what a fussiness looked like before it became an issue. Too it seemed, those who watched the proceedings of the court tended to enjoy the presence of the baby. Eyes always drawn to him and gods help when he’d begin making any innocent noises, did eyes and ears all turn to him instantly.

Were he to notice, the little one tended to turn shyly into your person from all of the attention. You’d shift to keep him closer to you and lower from the eyes of the onlookers but that too tended to draw attention. Never did Jon let that interrupt him, he hardly would falter on things which might draw others from the topic or issue at hand. Jon handled both seamlessly at the same time.

Still, it was odd to consider. Strange that despite everything, you sat beside Jon as a Queen and the son in your arms was not just your own, but to all others, a Prince. In your life within Kings Landing never did such a series of titles cross your mind. Princes were spoiled and rotten like Joffery, or sweet innocent blond boys like Tommen. Princess’s were elegant but kind like Myrcella. They were not things which belonged near you.

Born a highborn lady, daughter to the eldest brother of the King. In the royal family was what you were since the time you were born but never did it really feel as such. Why would it though? Where were you in the line of royal succession? Sixth you supposed. Beyond sons and brothers and passed the once supposed daughter of the King, then put you. In the only scenario one could have painted to you, would it lead you anywhere near the word Queen attached to you.

Looking passed Robert, his sons, brothers, and daughter would have to be wiped out to put you there and of course the thought was ridiculous. You’d stand to the side of the throne room in the Red Keep and feel fine knowing you’d never have reason to be placed so near the Iron Throne. Yet it was not being wiped out that put you as close as you technically could be now.

In one fell swoop of truth, were three of those spots gone. Joffery may have called himself a King, Tommen may do so now but that did not make it true. Not that you blamed the later, just a boy when all of this occurred and he was likely still none the wiser. How much people told him anything of significance regarding the rumours around him, you imagined was very little. Still though, with now not Baratheons but Lannisters unlawfully sitting on the Iron Throne, it put you down to third. Then Renly was gone. And the only rightful heir to the Iron Throne at the top with every right to it was Stannis Baratheon.

Were you to agree to it, you’d be second in line. The creeping words of Princess came to mind which no matter what any thought of you, sounded awful with your name. You were nothing like what a Princess was raised to be, nor did anything of the Iron Throne appeal to you. Instead, you found yourself skipping that step in a very odd way.

Greatjon Umber had stood up and declared the only King he’d bend his knee to was Robb Stark, and was declarations of King in the North rung out in the cool night air, did you by his side as wife, become a Queen. Even now, by the side of Jon were you still a Queen. The son in your arms a Prince and would become King next after his father. It was all such an odd place for your life to end up.

Yet it was nothing you knew, compared to Jon. He was born a bastard, not a scrap of this, you, or his son were something he ever thought he’d have because he was not in the rights of the land for any of it but here he sat beside you. The only King which Robb trusted to follow him in death, and every step of the way his choice was proven to be the right one. But there was a known which was entirely unknown to the rest of the country.

You doubted if by now there was any whom had not heard well of Aegon’s actions. Said to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryean and Elia Martell, he was once dead but apparently had lived. Now somewhere in the south he was preparing to take the throne of a family whom never deserved it, but it was not just him, was it? You had joked and jested but neither you nor Jon spoke a word about it in anything close to meaningful.

It was all there, the manner which Joffery had tried to have all of Roberts bastards killed, that were he not legitimate as was rumoured, that a known bastard connected to the father through blood might be the ones with a claim stronger. Yet the one which none of the realm knew about sat next to you as a Stark proudly named Snow, as was his wife and son next to him. It was all strange. A compilation of bloodlines drenched within that of Kings and yet none of it went addressed between either of you, let alone spoken to another soul.

As you sat there, Jons voice strong and his ability to listen keenly was unmatched. He was calm and as good of a King as a man could aspire to be and yet the insurmountable things working against him? It was hard to follow even the logic in your own head, everything felt like it was hard to follow right now.

Nothing felt right in your mind and little of it did you understand. Dreams were one thing, visions another, but it was as if you were unable to focus. A dark brewing cloud you did not really understand was following overtop your head and no one could make sense of it all. No words seemed to hit you from the past few minutes, likely more. Underwater and the speak above the surface was muddled and unclear, no matter how often you found yourself attempting to blink back into focus.

Small grabbing hands could sometimes draw you forth and your eyes drifted downwards with a soft smile only matched by the infant one giving you those bright curious eyes in the first place. Asking you in silence what was wrong, so easily picking up on your state of mind when no one else was able to outloud. Even if the little one could use words, you just knew something felt off. Moreso then usual, and you knew not what to chalk it up to without sounding as if you were dwelling too much on what already was going on with you.

Instead you sat, and only hoped that your silence was being taken as fair and dutiful rather then the confusion settling in your blood and bones. Only, if you thought you could hide that fact from Jon, you were rather wrong. His focus might have been on his people now, but still was there room in his mind for you, and the way you hardly reacted to anything was always a giveaway that Jon would store to handle later.

Only with a glance up, could you see the questioning eyes of Howland Reed. Something as it always was directed towards you, a knowing of something to what was occurring in your mind. And a flicker of his eyes to where the outside sat by the snow covered heart tree, you knew the question being posed. Your nod was small and a subtle yes, but he understood it perfectly well.

The sensation of Jons gaze glancing towards you came about, turning only somewhat to direct a small false smile which he knew did not meet your eyes at him. A public smile, one for the people watching to think everything was fine, and too one that was as disingenuous between you both which spoke that you could only hope he wouldn’t worry.

The narrowing greys looking back at you in something akin to a frown, gave away the opposite.

Grey eyes weren’t the only ones watching, of course you were right in a sense about people looking at you in a strange curiosity, but you knew Jon was not going to give credit to the ones he had encountered. Out of all of them left, Sansa was the most out of the loop. She didn’t know the details of what went on and why, or what led to this or that when it came to the whispers about you, or about Jon.

There was no way at this point she had not heard some or even most of it, but she had yet to ask. Gaze seeking out yours which did not reciprocate, and neither did Jons. Aryas however, seemed to be the ones who noticed where Sansa’s attention was drawn too, and keeping your eyes forward you hoped the girls discussed it together, and not went to you about it. Just one night you needed, one to yourself and Jon and little to interfere.

Your mind only tuning in near the very end it felt to the sound of Jons voice to whom it was he was speaking to at that moment. “Will that be enough to repair your walls?”

A thankful nod and bow given from the older man, “It is, your grace. Thank you, your grace.”

Looking to the room around for any standouts and then both sides to the council up with you both, “If that is all, my lords.” The sounds of chairs and doors and feet got moving, before you could even think to carefully swivel to stand easier, did you feel a warm hand grasping firmly at your side. Turning to look, Jon only moved to grasp at your hip on the other side of you to get you on your feet.

A hum close to something like a laugh in your throat as you looked up at him, arms still firmly holding the awake but calmly content baby. “I can still stand on my own, you are aware.”

Jon only tilted his head a bit, a smirk coming over him as he cocked an eyebrow at you for half of a second. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do it anyways.” Gesturing downward to the bundle in your arms as if pointing out the obvious. “Besides, you’re still carrying my child.”

Your brows narrowed in a more playful manner, but said nothing. You knew technically he was right, he was merely being smart about it. Leaving your hip, Jon let his hand run over the top of the baby’s head. A small nonsensical cry coming from him, prompting a bright and handsome smile looking back down at his son, almost causing a wider one back. A heartwarming sensation filled your chest at how similar father and son both were, how much fatherhood suited Jon without even trying.

An interrupting voice cut in from behind both of you, prompting Jon to turn you by your hip to follow and yet not quite leaving a hand from you almost in a stranger display with the amount of people still around. “What is going on with you exactly?”

Sansa stood with narrow eyes but not in what one would call suspicious. Jon withheld what was an instant twitch in his jaw, no doubt from the manner she said it but you took no offence for your own behalf. Adjusting your hold so Jon did not have to leave his gentle touch to his son as you looked up to her with much more of a purposeful calm. “I don’t suppose saying just having some odd dreams is sufficient?”

Only whatever temporary deflection Jon had in mind for you, it was interrupted with the just as curious Arya coming up beside her with an equally as narrow eyed look towards both of you. “We know something else is going on that neither of you are talking about. What is it?” A glance between you both, Arya picked up on it and cut in before a diplomatic response was formed. “Both of you, and Bran. You’re all hiding something weird that’s going on.”

Bran coming up behind all of you looked to you then Meera pushing behind with a hesitant look matching all four of you, Lord Howland approaching quietly much to your relief. “Perhaps this is a discussion best had elsewhere.”

Again, there was no confusion the manner which he looked at you. A promise that answers were had but you knew first there would only be answers upon answers which you did not wish to answer. You had not even wished to divulge a bit of the things which you saw when speaking to Ser Royce. You had only one saviour that day and there was no reaction but the overcoming of white eyes to accompany your disturbed silence. But those who could see you clearly, still saw it.

There felt like no hiding, everyone wanted answers to something you did not understand. You could know an endless amount about it and still not know how to word a single solitary part which one did not experience for themselves. A hesitant look wider in your eyes glanced up to Jon, the hand still at your side tightened with his jaw clenching a bit more. “Meet us in the godswood just after supper.”

Both sisters glancing at the other, but noticing the ones shared between yourself, Jon, Bran and both Reeds with something hesitant all in an understanding of what was to be explained, or even how.

Jon guiding you away however, he only got you as far as a quieter corridor before he gently pushed you enough for you to get the idea. Back finding itself resting against the wall, shifting the baby in your arms, Jon let that hand at your side rise up to cup your cheek much more firmly. His other grasping at your hip stepping into your space, more now crowding you against the wall with not an ability to touch him back.

His plan no doubt.

The bundle turning from looking out to the world, snuggling more into your front as the warmth from Jon cocooned him, tempting sleep as fast as could be. A mumbling rasp on his lips, thumb running over your cheek as you both looked down to little Eddard. “If you weren’t so possessive of her, I’d join you.”

A roll of your eyes was followed by a smile at his audacity, bright grey eyes peering up at you with something smug and prideful before he leaned forward. Not any shame as Jon captured your lips, pulling you by your cheek so you had nowhere to go. Soft lips guiding yours as you melted into him, only able to lean into his reach despite your hands itching to seek out something of him to grasp onto.

Slow he moved his lips with yours, each breath stolen deepening the kiss without failure. A needing feeling always flooded you whenever Jon kissed you, crowding you with his warmth as he stood over you with the power to keep you attached to his lips with no issue. Each time it seemed as if Jon was about to pull away from you, did he lean back into your kiss. Refuse you the thought that it would be brief as that word slowly died off the longer he kissed you.

Only, someone else no doubt had their thoughts on the matter. The small babbles sounded less and less happy coming from between you both as suddenly did the little bundle shift in your arms. Jon however, as if already having sensed it, kept you attached to his lips a moment or two longer. Lingering from pulling away, and only doing so enough he could tilt your head down from the back of your neck. Foreheads pressed against each other as your eyes were a bit dazed and his bright with a grin looking down to the now much grumpier baby.

His free hand shamelessly running along your hip as if he had no qualms with the competition for your attention occurring. “She was mine first.” You almost laughed at the sound coming from the baby, as if he were protesting loudly without the ability to form proper words. Jon only gave a playful look as his hand on the back of your neck tightened as did the one on your hip. “You spend more time with her then I do. Sometimes I need to steal some of your time for myself, you know.”

“Jon.” A huff of laughter came from him as Jon peeled his eyes back up at you. Shifting his grip so his thumb reached your jaw to tilt you back up to his gaze. Leaning close enough to gently run his nose along the length of yours, returning the gesture to him back did Jon steal another kiss. Shorter and more innocent that time, but still as lingering as the rest could be. Mumbling against his lips as he pulled back, staying close you could feel his breath dancing across your skin. “I’m sorry for the meeting.” Asking why, you thought it was obvious, very much sounding as if you were confused why he didn’t know right away. “I was hardly there. I don’t even know if I spoke the entire time. I should be more present at things like this.”

Shaking his head only once, Jon nudged your nose with his once more as if to keep the air of calm and intimate between you as he rasped so close to you. “We handled everything fine, darling. It’s enough that you’re there. I don’t need you feeling like you have to step in every step of the way. We’ve been over this. How many more times do you need me to say it before it sinks into your head?”

A shrug of your shoulder, Jon let a smile creep out onto his lips. That time you captured his lips first, albeit noticeably much more sweet and chaste then any he’d give you himself. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to apologize.”

A deep exhale, Jon gave you another nod before moving from your hip to run over the top of the baby’s head. His warmth, just as it did for you, causing little Eddard to squirm closer to the heat without failure, pulling another gentle chuckle from Jon. Not yet looking away from the sight as you did, Jon spoke that time both a little more quiet but more with an edge of seriousness. “What are we going to tell them?”

Neither of you needed to specify what he meant. Your own turn to sigh, you leaned more against the wall comfortably as Jon instinctively followed suit, keeping your main sight of vision to himself. “That depends.” Asking you on what, you could only keep it as straight forward as possible. “On how much you and I are ready to talk about it. Any of it.”

Eyes narrowing as he looked back down to the baby, then drifting upwards back to you. Jons face twisted, something more troubled then before yet still soft as ever as he tilted his head a bit looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Deep and raspy when he spoke, the weight of everything seeping into his tone gave hints to his actual feelings on the matter only ever shown to you. “I talked to Sam about some of this. The other night after everyone else left. Some of the things he found while we were gone, it matches what we saw. I know you don’t like talking about what happened, but we’re not going to be able to ignore it forever.”

“I know that, I just...” Cutting yourself off, your eyes fluttered shut as your teeth sunk down on your tongue. Never able to rid yourself of such a habit. At such a young age, a girl of only three or four being told by your septa that you should bite your tongue to keep yourself from having such overly dramatic reactions. Keeping you as stone faced as possible as over the years the pain needed to do so kept increasing, Jons touch cupping your cheek and jaw running his thumb over knowing instantly what you were doing. But still waited for you to find your voice. “How are we supposed to tell them the what, when I still haven’t figured out the why?”

Brows furrowing, Jon kept his touch by your jaw as if to prompt you not to return to such a straining habit of nerves. “I told you-”

Cutting him off, your eyes were a glossy sort of brightness that were sunk in something more distressing then you wanted to give off, but at least here in the small bubble of only you three was it picked up on. “You were given the answers, I was supposed to understand the reasons. But I still don’t. I didn’t then, I don’t know, and I have no idea how any of this works with me to know how to do it.”

You wished Jon didn’t say it, but of course, he had the right answer for that specific conundrum. “Bran might know how.” Almost biting down again, Jons grip grew tighter to stop it in its tracks. To an onlooker, you both would look a mix of intimate but controlling. Close in the others alone proximity, but Jons grip on your cheek and jaw looked worse then it was for. He was controlling, just not in the way it may appear. Some days you wondered if Jon was almost more a Collie. Dogs bred to heard sheep and cattle. Not aggressive but they certainly came off that way to the untrained eye.

Looking to nothing off to the side, only a pillar Jon kept you by to shield from wandering gazes passing the halls, you muttered more under your breath as you shifted your grip on the baby almost as if to move him more so you held him in a comforting manner to yourself. “Bran still won’t even tell us how he knew we were out there, or how he knew what was happening. I don’t know how much it will help him with what he’s going through by adding what’s wrong with me on top of it.”

It wasn’t a blame, nowhere near that, but sometimes to an outsider, when Jon said something blunt and to the point it could come off as a bit on the judgmental side when you knew he didn’t mean it. “He did this to you. He needs to be the one to help you.”

You only echoed what Bran had told little of what he said to you. “He didn’t mean to do this.” Jon only specified that he still did it, you tried to shake your head a little. It was the first time either of you said anything outloud even alluding to the fact, but it needed to be brought out at some point. “The only reason he knew he could do it to me was because you did it first.”

Jon said nothing, he knew nothing about how to respond to it. What was going unsaid, but like you, Jon knew you did not say it with blame or ire, simply stating a fact that was uncomfortable to hear, and near impossible to comprehend with any form of rationality. It was all complicated. What Benjen had said was right. Everyone seemed to have a piece of this puzzle but none of you were willing to step forward and lay out the first one for the rest to connect towards.

Finding your voice first again, you asked in a low voice as if trying to take that first step on your own in a small way. “What exactly did you and Sam discuss? That he found out while we were gone?”

It wasn’t an answer that you picked up on, and for once, it felt as if Jon too was keeping part of that story to himself. Someone you didn’t even realize that he knew, which you didn’t. Or why he had told Sam but not you. Not anything enough to make you feel as if something of your trust had been shattered, but certainly you felt a growing dread. What you already knew, and Jon didn’t want to tell you something about it?

Instead, gesturing for you to come with him. A hand wrapping across your back to pull your hip, turning you to walk beside him and pressed right up against his side, letting that same hand drift once more to your back, sitting at your lower spine. His voice only for you to hear, but the darker shade painting over his eyes and the troubled furrow in his brow begged you to try and read between the lines of what you couldn’t even decipher in the first place. “One problem at a time.”

A thick layer of snow sat around the Winterfell Godswood at all times now it seemed.

Hardly ever enough time the skies gave for the snow to disappear before more fell down and blanketing the North once more in such a way that made the normally thought of dreary and grey waste, appear in the beauty it always deserved to be looked at in. Easy to track who or how many went where in such a state, footprints normally were always covered by the drags of a cloak down behind them, but the path could be followed none the less. The only things individually seen in walking form, were two sets of very large paw prints making their way to the same location. Too their size made normal tracks of wolves much larger and easier to detect.

It was as if nature was sending warnings in two forms against an outsider, that no matter where you went the wolves were never gone. Too was it however, a rare instance in which Jon agreed when you would suggest it may be safer for him to take the baby. For what you may need to do you couldn’t be holding him, but too did you find yourself peeking to the side.

Unfair how matching they looked. Father and son so natural out in the snow of winter, two men truly of the North. Jon kept him warmer without needing to hide him in as much layers as you would, his natural body heat so warm that you were surprised much of the time it didn’t simply melt the snow in his path.

As both of you made your path down to the Weirwood, there sat an air of uncertainty that no doubt only Sansa and Arya felt out of the loop on. The later spoke up first with a much more noticeable air of frustration. “What’s this all about?” Gesturing specifically towards yourself she added, “What’s so secret about what’s going on with you?”

Sansa seemed to match the air of her sister, a quieter spoken but equally as sensed irritation on being so out of the loop. “And why are we,” Gesturing between her and Arya, “The only ones who don’t seem to know about it?”

All attending looked at one another, and yet as you suspected, no one knew how to start, or what to start with. Did it begin chronologically? Paint a timeline and go from that, or where it had begun to pick up in the most important ways? Just as a knowing glance was shared between yourself and Howland Reed, did Bran find that courage and begin speaking where he seemed to think it made the most sense.

“I started having strange dreams after my fall.” Eyes all turning with a haze over most eyes of the Starks which was a sorrow for something each of the remaining ones had to leave before he even woke up from, but Bran continued regardless. No doubt enough time for him had passed that it seemed less important to dwell on those specifics. “They were always the same in a way. A crow with three eyes, he’d try to tell me things, show me things. I didn’t think much of them at first, until..” Brans own gaze that time welled over with something heavy that he refused to hide away. “Until one night, the crow brought me down to the crypts. And showed me father was buried there. But I didn’t know until the next morning that he had...”

No one finished that sentence for him. No one wanted too.

“They kept happening after that. I dreamt about the Ironborn invading Winterfell just days before it happened. The three eyed crow was always there, but the dreams weren’t the only thing.” It did not fail your notice that the only Stark sibling whom did not know what Bran was speaking of when he begun describing what they’d later all learn was being a Warg, that Sansa did not at all know what he was talking about. “We escaped after they tried to burn Winterfell down. We were trying to reach the Wall to get to Jon when-”

That time it was Meera who spoke up, and the heavy weight being forced back down her throat with each word spoke of a pain all here knew too well of loss. “That was when my brother and I found them.” Meera specifying to Sansa when she asked in a repeat of the word brother. “Jojen. A few years younger then me, he always had dreams. He saw things from the past, the future, things that were happening around the world in those moments even. The ones from the past were always true, and they were always stories we never even knew about until we looked into them after. He had the same dream as Bran, when his father was murdered.”

Only yourself and Jon noticed the overbearing weight within Howland’s eyes at the mention. Strange that none but you both understood in such detail what the truth of that friendship was, and you could only pray he felt the sorrow coming from your soul wishing to give any comfort to his. No matter how little it would do.

Meera went into detail, how Jojen begun seeing things, seeing Bran, and eventually when he too had the same dreams and visions of a three eyed crow and the coming winters, did they tell their father. And it was him who told them that they needed to find Bran as soon as possible. Already prepared he was, to answer the question on Sansa and Arya’s minds. “Both you girls grew up during the long summer. This is the first true winter you’ve ever known, and many of us could feel something in the air was different this time. Something was coming with this cold that didn’t before.”

Benjen did not need to even him to elaborate, he knew better then all here about that feeling. “My rangers kept coming back with disturbing reports. They saw men stand up after they died and tried to attack them. They’d flee south, claiming that the Others were awake.” Much like what Arya’s initial reaction had been, Sansa’s face scrunched up in a disbelief.

“The Others? From those spooky stories? They aren’t real. They’re just things Old Nan used to try and scare us with.”

Yet if that were true, the reaction between the rest of you wouldn’t have been so painfully serious and covered in a thickly coated dread. Bran took it back from there, not even giving her the moment of reprieve to accept what had been put out there. “Meera and Jojen found me, and knew we needed to go north. Beyond the Wall. The three eyed crow told Jojen in that dream that he needed to find me, and bring me to him.” Arya that time was the one asking that this crow even was, but it had you hesitate the moment you thought to answer. You..well technically you knew the answer to that in a way he didn’t. But you didn’t have a clue how to bring that up or what it would do or add. It merely sat in your mind as something only which pertained to you it felt. “It’s difficult to describe. The three eyed crow is a man, someone with powers to see the world in ways no one else can. The dreams I’d have but bigger, and almost endless if they train long enough. He wanted me to be brought to him.”

Arya spoke again for Sansa’s confused silence. “Why?”

All hesitated but Benjen. “To learn to be him. The three eyed crow isn’t a man, it’s a title. Like Lord of Winterfell or King in the North. It isn’t one person, just the title for whoever holds it. And eventually, men die, and someone needs to take over their role one day. And so this time, they chose Bran.” Another ask of why, and Benjen explained it bluntly. “Because he was the right one. He had the ability, and he it takes a certain kind of man to do that. To be able to handle knowing as much as that, and not let it corrupt you. Or ruin you.” His eyes glanced to you, and it was without a doubt, on purpose as if to give them a hint.

Sansa seemed even more frustrated then before. “I’m sorry, if this is all true, what does this have to do with her?” Gesturing to you and then to Meera. “Or your brother?”

Howland had that answer, and it was just as cryptic as it felt when such things were said to you from the same man months ago. “Whoever the three eyed crow is, can give others a similar power. The Sight it’s called. The ability to see and dream events from our past and future that can help the three eyed crow on whatever path he is taking. To be their eyes where they might not have any, and do the work they cannot.”

Meeting a guilt in Brans eyes, yours softened in an instant. A begging not to blame himself for what he did not mean to do. Somewhat beside you did Lord Howland continue.

“The three eyed crow gifted my son Jojen the sight, so that he could help bring Bran to him. That was his purpose.” The swallowing of grief, as his arm reached out to run in a firm comforting manner along Meera’s now much more tense and sullen shoulders, the implication was heard and not acknowledged for their sake before he found his calm beyond a strain in his voice and more distant eyes looking to you. “Now that gift is hers. The dreams and visions, that is what she is experiencing. That is what you’ve seen and heard. Her mind is connected through her blood to the great powers of the old gods now. A servant to the three eyed crow as the three eyed crow is a servant to the gods.”

That time your glance was shared with Jon, and one you both knew only you two had a single idea about. Another which you both dared not speak to others. It would be much easier for your mind were you only a servant with purpose to one thing or person. Instead your new existence was stretched thin, tied to posts of different camps and asked to fulfill the duty of them all. Your voice was fair and faint, but all heard your quiet nature anyways. “I have these visions because Bran gifted them to me.”

You felt for both girls, the overload of such strange information that none here understood completely themselves. As if mere men were not supposed to understand. You stood before a Weirwood, and only they knew the truths, only they could comprehend it. You all were merely here to act for them in whatever ways bestowed upon you, no matter how difficult to accept it was.

Sansa at least said it bluntly, “I thought someone else was the three eyed crow?”

Bran was quick, as suddenly only those who had met out beyond the Wall understood with a feeling of gravity weighing you all down. “There was. He isn’t anymore. It’s just me now.” Asking with a mighty confusion that Bran was this crow, he nodded with a solemn look that you shared. “He’s dead, and now I’m the only one left.” Saying your name in more detail, “It’s why her visions are connected to mine. I gave her the sight, so her power is tied to mine.”

Neither said it, but you and Jon both looked at the other in knowing. It was not only his, but neither of you dared explain the what or why or how if either of you brought said issue up.

Though it was Arya who felt no qualm bringing up something else then the path your mind tracked you on towards. “So, the thing that happened yesterday? Or what Ser Royce said happened the day before? That was a vision? It didn’t look like that. It looked..”

Trailing off, Brans eyes found yours, peeling over to Jons to speak an ask you didn’t even bother looking to read. You knew where this was going, it was why he held the baby. This time you didn’t know what you’d see, but it was like Bran said, it would be easier to show then explain it. With a nod from Jon, you stepped towards Bran.

His chair sitting beside the Weirwood as you gently knelt to the ground. Gloved hands braced against your thighs, your eyes looked far brighter with a radiating of trust towards him. Nothing needed to be said, you knew that he nerves already lived within him as they did you.

Behind you somewhat you could hear the shifting of feet through the snow, and Jon dismissing Sansa to just wait when asking what was happening exactly. Deep breaths kept your heart from racing and your lings from exploding from your chest with nervous air as Bran pulled one glove off. Reaching forward to the white bark just below the carved face, the moment his hand touched the bark, did his eyes seem as if they rolled over into a pure white, and within the next moment, yours followed suit.

Getting into the room when none were there was easy, staying undetected was another.

There were paths under the halls of Winterfell. Made for the Kings and Lords of the North to escape no matter where they were in the castle, but hardly were they used for any reason these days. Little did the Starks run from in such a desperation. Instead those who creeped within their path had seemed to know where they were going. Walking the halls at night was easy, but it could not be night which they traversed the path inside.

Soon enough the sun would fall beyond the skyline and the moon and stars would rise, taking its place in the darkness and those in the castle would prepare to sleep. They had to be ready. They were for the most part. A distraction would be needed, separating the two and when the unwanted party was a King, it was far easier to delay him for the night then it would be the Queen.

The room itself was not extravagant as they expected a King would hold. Much more simple, and much more of the cold winter air breezed through with a fire raging near one of the walls being the main source of warmth beyond the furs laying about otherwise. Out in the open everything was in the main room, nowhere to hide not even a screen some used to change behind for modesty.

Curiously, the older man noted the smaller bed tucked against one of the walls by the main bed. Blankets and small toys surrounded it as if for an infant. One looked to the other with a doubt, but the older man dismissed it with a gruff hiss through his cracked and discoloured, rotted teeth. “Deal with the she wolf first.”

The second room attached to the main was better. Smaller, and the largest feature a well put together tub that men such as them had never seen in their lives. Fancy beyond fancy, it paled in comparison to any other object in the side room. One had to cross a corner of tiny halls to get into the room, unseen by wandering eyes right away, they could hide here.

Only, as the main door opened, a gentle hum followed. High pitched and were it to sing, likely would be somewhat off tune but also followed by a deeper voice. Cracked somewhat as if attached to a growing boy as he gave orders to the other humming voice who came in, and the door closed behind them. “Make sure to set out extra of the darker oils, and small cloths hung by the edge in plenty.” A pause was heard as if a face was made, and the boy spoke with a bit more impatience, yet still attempting to be nice. “The King prefers to handle the tasks himself when the Queen takes her bath. He doesn’t want anyone around.”

The voice was less nice then the hum sounded, but the tone was quick and not at all refined sounding, even less so then the boy. “The King is so romantic-” The men could almost hear the boy rolling his eyes from where they were pressed against the wall.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic, I care that you have everything in order. It will be my head if the King or Queen arrive and find everything in disarray because you weren’t listening.” A new maid no doubt. One looked at the other, and there was no qualms about that one. No one would miss a nameless maid if it got in their way.

At first the door opened and closed once more, and firstly thinking that they were alone again, until the gentle patter of shoes against the stone tiles crept closer and closer. Just as the young woman turned into the main room, did the clang of a bucket hit the ground. Smashing of glass oils followed and other sturdier objects rolling onto the ground from it’s depths.

The only sound not heard, was what came beyond the initial start of a gasp before what joined the oils spilling against the floor, was liquid. A copious amount of red liquid, and the thump of a body hitting the bottom of the tub which kept it just out of sight. Then the main door opened once again and the boy called back out as if he had forgotten one more instruction.

It like before, happened before Bran could stop it, and once it begun it didn’t end no matter who did what.

Leaning forward did Bran grasp at your shoulder in one, Howland Reed kneeling calm by the other as Meera was perched to the side of Brans chair leaning more towards you with a concern which looked almost instinctual on her face. The oddity as your breath came to you in heaps that this was something the three closest around you were used to by this point.

Beyond your vision, Sansa now held the more perturbed baby as Jon made his way behind you, kneeling down as he just hovered over the top of your head. His warmth giving away his presence in your subconscious, leaning into his touch as he cupped the back of your neck with one hand, a squeezing pressure to tell you to stay in the moment, the other grasping at your hip under where Brans hand held by your upper arm.

Howland Reed stayed without making any contact but held the most steady expression then even his daughter did. Benjen and Arya both made their way to the opposite side of you both, and the strange feeling came about, that your display no doubt, must have been a horrid sight. Looking up with more gasping type breaths to Bran did your voice mutter out in weakness, “Did you mean to-”

Shaking his head, it only added to the weight in your heart filling with a dread that had been there since the morning. “I had to...it was like I lost you in there. I had to find where you were and couldn’t get you out of there even when I did.”

Meera looked between you and Bran before kneeling down moreso like her father in front of you, a skin of water she pulled from her side almost moving to make your hand grasp it. “You should drink something.” Even in the cold air, you felt the sweat surrounding your hair and brushing over your skin when everyone else could be seen with colour in their cheeks from the cold alone. Nodding with a thanks in your eyes, you never felt Jons touch leave you as you downed nearly half in one sip.

Jon rasping low in you ear of what did you see, but you didn’t know how to speak it aloud. Something odd felt about it and vocalizing it was a challenge. But yet the words you spoke, the sensation rippled through more then one person there that it was not quite from your own thoughts, but an echo of something else that Arya had already heard the night before, yet it made even less sense now. “There is a beast beneath the boards.”

Just as Sansa stepped beside Arya, asking what was going on, Jon took proper control. “Quiet, all of you. Let her breathe.” Prompting you to stand up, Jon acted as a guide to move you mostly for him until you were on both feet. Circling around to your front, Jon gently used a hand to guide Meera off to the side before bracing your upper arms as you reached out to rest yours against his chest. Fingertips attempting to dig into the leather as your head dropped, eyes closed attempting to shake this feeling off. Jon lowered his head more towards you with something muttered on his lips to keep you tethered to his voice. “Take your time, it’s alright.” Jon moving suddenly, your hand almost swiped to grab at his like he was leaving your touch, the hand falling flatly to his chest once more as he simply moved so one hand cupped your cheek. Voice even quieter, but with no care for the people around who heard him. “You’re with me, darling. You’re here, not there you know that.”

Nodding, you felt yourself taking deeper breaths before looking up to grey eyes watching you closely. Jon muttered quietly to Bran behind him what it was you saw, but when he paused, all eyes suddenly turned to him. Jons face twisting in an aggravation asking a second time when Bran looked at your weary gaze and back. “I don’t really know.” Questions came as quick as he cut them off with a bit of a louder anger seeping in. “I don’t know what every moment in history is, I only know what I saw when I managed to find her.”

As Jon asked what it was, you eyes glanced up to his as if something between the two of you already said you both knew. Picking at your brain you found nothing but it sat right there that something was trying to tell you and Jon what it was being shown to you and why, but still it didn’t come.

Seeing your breathing even out, Jon pulled you more into his front, your head dropping a bit to his shoulder as he let an arm come around to the other side of your head to keep you tucked there. Looking to his sisters, “You two asked what was going on with her, but we don’t know. She has these because of Bran and if he doesn’t know why hers are out of control..”

Shifting so you could see the baby looking wide eyed towards his mother and father, you glanced up to Jon, nodding your head in that direction with a question in your eyes. “You should take him for the night.” Jon protested, saying you already discussed this, but the urgency in your voice too was as out of the loop as most here all felt watching the rest of it. “No, Jon. I think you need to take him.”

“Why?”

Only, eyes looking at his skeptical ones, then around and around before landing on the now more fussy moving baby wishing to reach out to you, did you sigh. You didn’t know why, and he knew it. Kissing the side of your head, Jon only mumbled for you to take him from Sansa. Ignoring the others for the moment, he watched as you cradled little Eddard close with something weary deep within you.

Hardly moving from the spot did they talk around you. More and more you felt as you did earlier, your mind refusing to listen as again and again you felt your mind and body elsewhere. The morning was trapped in your own passed, but now it was trapped within someone else’s, and the horror you felt as theirs without knowing why you were hurled into such images.

Your voice recalling a pleading to take their place, your life instead of theirs but the faces of those whom were all around you were little more then blurs. Only the interruption of a guard coming forth had the voices all around come to a sudden halt. “My greatest apologies for the interruption your grace, but there is a situation I believe requires your immediate attention.” Your eyes flew up to Jons with a beg, but you didn’t know why. You cradled little Eddard closer to your chest protectively, but you didn’t know why. The air felt incorrect. Something felt as if it was not right where you stood or anywhere else around you.

Only Jons voice did you hear, a kiss to the side of your head as he muttered for you to put the baby down for now. “Olly should’ve had the maids draw a bath for you by now. Don’t do anything, I’ll handle things when I get back. I want you to relax first, alright?”

He didn’t let you go until you said yes, but again, you didn’t understand why you kept hesitating as you parted ways from him once leaving the godswood. But the halls were growing more and more quiet, and at the very least you could rely on that later in the evening did Theon listen to your requests to be left alone once heading to Jons chambers. Needing the quiet when all day surrounded by guards, you could rely on that peace to settle the strange feeling in your head.

The room was quiet as you entered, no sign that the maid had been close by any time soon, meaning that at best, the bath drawn was not as scolding hot as it would’ve been freshly poured. Laying little Eddard down in his bed, you ran your hand across his cheek as a smile finally graced your features.

Whispering with a gentle lull as you ran your hand over the top of his head as his eyes begun to blink, worming his way into a comfortable position. Not yet leaving him until he fell asleep, always doing so faster with your or Jons touch. “You and your father have your hands full with me, let’s just hope you you born with the best of him instead of the worst from me. Give you even a fighting chance at being taken seriously.”

A mumble of nonsense on his lips before his hooded eyes finally dropped and breathing in his chest evened out. For a moment, you felt more peace come over you as you stood watching him sleep for a good while. Gently pulling the fur from your shoulders and hanging it properly, you stepped from your boots and made your way to the side room, as the outer dress slipped from your body and draping it over the side of a cabinet, only a thin dress and your shift under left as you made your way into the much brighter room.

But there was no water. In fact, there was a mess of what looked like the starts of a bath, then a struggle of things to the floor, then blood. Blood trailing from the floor up the steps to the tub, and painted over a young woman with wide eyes drained of any colour or life splayed out inside.

Lungs stopping with a fear rushing through you, a muffled sound drew you up further to a sight which then put your heart into a painful pounding. Tied and gagged with a terrible fear was Olly, desperately trying to say something to you through a muffle but all you could think was that fear. That voice not your own but whispered aloud as if in the mystery of your mind did it all connect. “The rats..”

The moment you sensed it, you turned to face a large figure standing in the frame way to the main room of Jons chambers.

Two figures were knelt down on either side of Jon looking at the sight. Laid out by the courtyard, a body of a man Jon didn’t recognize but the sight was more ghastly then he had expected. The mans throat had been cut so deep that were one to pick his corpse from the ground, there was a mighty chance the head would detach and fall to the ground with a splat. But it was not just that which stood out, the clothes did not look fitting. As if they had been put on right before or just after having his life hacked away at.

Around his neck was a cheaply made cloak, the fur surrounding the shoulders was no doubt that of a small fox, but the head remained in tact save for the eyes which were bloody and gouged out, no doubt done so from the dead mans own supply as drops could be seen down his collarbones dripping to the fur. Theon knelt next to him on his right, gloved hand looking over the rest of the body, pockets and whatnot to see if anything else could give a form of an answer as Jon turned his head somewhat to his left.

“And you found him out here like this all alone?”

Nodding, Gendry kept a look similar to that which you would give when put off by an unseemly scene, an eyebrow raised as he frowned in a more well put together disgust. “I was alone when I found him, but what’s strange is that no one I’ve asked recognizes him.” Both men turned to the other as Jons face twisted in a more discontent as Gendry gave a single nod as if to indicate he understood how he felt about that. “No one even heard anything. It’s like someone killed them then dumped him out here.”

Hovering at his back, Jon could hear the passing speculations of the now more crowded onlookers as Arya circled around to join next to Gendry with a disgust in her own face. “Why would someone come into the castle walls just to dump a body no one recognizes?”

Theon piped up without even glancing from what he had been doing, “Divert attention so whoever did it can make a run for it through Winter Town?”

Mumbling more, Jon felt something was off about it. “Maybe.” Glancing upwards, he could see Ghost hovering by an edge of the crowd with stern eyes, both wolves making eye contact as Jon attempted to decipher what his direwolf was saying, but it was much like he was. Something felt off out of nowhere, but neither knew why. “Or, maybe it’s here to distract us.” Looking up and around nothing stood out as out of the ordinary right away. “Keep us here while someone does something somewhere else.”

Arya asking what that would be, and Gendry had the more blunt version of that answer. “Something they’re not supposed to be doing.”

Pushing up from the snowy ground, Jon turned to some of his men nearby as his voice projected more in the quickly darkening sky. “Start asking around Winter Town, see if anybody knows who this is or if they saw anything happen or someone suspicious making their way towards the castle walls.”

“At once, your grace.”

Arya and Gendry both made move to stand, making their way to Jons side as he held a furrow in his narrowed expression with something further bothering him about the sight. Arya asking what was on his mind, but Jon grimaced for half of a second before answering. “How many men turn up in Winterfell murdered? Every town or village has their fair share of thieves and rapers, we have more then enough tavern fights then I can count but this? When was the last time someone turned up dead this way in Winterfell that you can remember?”

Arya’s silence was balanced by a matching disturbed expression that she nor Jon knew what to think of. It was odd, that was certain, and turning up so suddenly as it got dark in the castle walls of all places when there was no other disturbance inside or out from what Jon or the guards had been aware of.

Jon appreciated the straight forward and simple manner which Gendry felt comfortable chiming in as he too stood there still. “I grew up in Kings Landing. Plenty of men turned up dead every day, no reason for more then half of them but they got drunk in the street and bumped into the wrong person.”

Shaking his head, Jons expression was withheld in thought. “There’s a million people in Kings Landing, I have a little over ten thousand in Winter Town at best. My people know my family have never taken that lightly. They have a problem that bad with someone, nine times out of then they come to us about it.”

Jon knew Gendry had a point when he said it, but it didn’t feel as if that was the whole answer. “Guess this is the tenth.”

The fox fur stood out to him, and he didn’t know why. It stood out and Jon kept looking back at it before turning away. Something about a fox was pricking at his mind, something which was but a piece of a larger series of clues to what about this felt like it stood out in a negative fashion. The eyes purposely left there to be gouged out with blood, but just as he opened his mouth with another order did Theon call to his attention.

Moving back to where he was still knelt, Theon raised up the leg of the dead mans pant, where he had somewhat pulled his boot down. A bite mark was left, small and not so serious but it was still stained red from the swollen flesh around it. “What kind of animal bite is that?”

Theon was to say he wasn’t sure, but Arya cut him off with a certainty. “A rat.” The men all turned to look at her, but she was as casual about her certainty as she was about most things. “Anything else small enough to make a mark like that he’d have to have come in from the wolfswood to have gotten it, but it wouldn’t look that fresh if he had to walk all that way before he died.”

In truth, were Jon not so preoccupied, he’d have more noticed with something aggravated in his chest at the ease which Gendry leaned his arm across Aryas back to kneel down close beside her, or how she didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Whatever in seven hells that was, he’d focus on how much he didn’t like it later. “What’s a bite from a rat stand out for?”

Jon answered first, “It’s too cold out here. Rats prefer the warmth, they’d huddle somewhere in a pile if they were out in this cold. If he came across one out here, we’d see more scattered. He got this somewhere else.” When asked where, Jon and Arya both had that answer. “The tunnels.”

Explaining to Gendry Arya did, “The tunnels are underground. Close to where the hot springs Winterfell is build on top of, if gets cold they’d all gather there. A bite that fresh, he must have been in the tunnels.”

An increase in Jons heart beat came about, that detail did not sit well with him whatsoever. The tunnels where few knew to navigate let alone knew even existed, and this man no one recognized walked through them enough to get himself bitten by a rat, stumble out where and get his neck sliced into? Theon’s voice captured Jons attention once more with a much more obvious hesitancy. “Your grace...”

Turning to him, Theon pulled his hand from the dead mans neck as if it were shoved in there after he was dead. It was small, broken and bloody but it was no blade of metal of sorts. Not something snapped from a cheap dagger, but put there on purpose. Holding it out between them did Theon and Jon stare at it with wider, disturbed gazes. Shoved in his neck as if a symbol, a sign, a message of what the body was really doing. A snapped piece of antler, from what appeared to be the very top of what belonged to-

Jon and Theon both turned to one another with eyes sharp and full of a wide fear as his stomach turned inside out, and his heart pounded in his chest. The fox, the rat, and now the antler of a stag. Within a second, Jon had called to Ghost and without a single order needed to be given did both turn to run inside the castle, barley giving anyone a chance to even blink before many followed suit, their Kings disturbance.

Your lungs both stopped and shook within you.

The large unknown man filth covered and wreaked as if they had been hiding away from anything close to a bath in years. The one in front of you was older, hair long and a stringy white as his frame encased most of the frame which you could not even see passed. Your foot took a step back on instinct, your muscles both frozen and tense looking at him as your face hardened into something like stone in smothering what fear outraged inside you.

A force sat within your voice, the shaking inside wishing to come out but not allowing it to yet take hold as you considered how little you stood around with. How far away any would be to call to help for at that instance. So instead you stood without moving and without fleeing with a hope of reason in your tone. “Who do work for?”

Their smile was obscene, the discolour in their teeth not just from a lack of hygiene but as if there had been rot set about. The look as bad as the smell which seeped from him as he chuckled too. “Smart girl, you are. Most would just scream and cry about what do we want. ‘Cept you. You could tell right away we ain’t coming in from the outside for no reason.”

Your eyes noting the rather large knife in his hand, trying to ignore it desperately from being the only thing you saw, but also not wishing to give away that you were looking for any opportunity to move.

It had been too late however, pulling it upwards in a display meant to look rather theatrical as he grinned further. “You wouldn’t believe the gold promised for you. Pissed off some mighty powerful people, girl. People who will pay in the hundreds.” Your eyes kept drifting trying to pass his frame, but he too caught that as distressing sounds of Olly muffled in the background. “Oh? Worried about your son, are you? I wouldn’t care about that, girl. Won’t mean much in a moment now, will it?”

You could not stop it, that hitch in your breath with pounded in your heart at the sudden horrific feeling, gone now or gone then you took another step backwards with a far less convincing sound coming from you, much to his pleasure. “Whatever you are being paid, I-”

“You’ll what? Double it? Can the Queen in the North pay me enough to buy me a new head? Because mine will be coming right off, if I come back without yours.” Your body burned hot, but instead of being put out by the fear you felt it grow and grow. Eating away at your remaining stillness as what would happen to your son, would would happen to Olly should you find the final end now.

What failures you would be providing Jon by leaving him now this way? You had to do something, anything. But the moment it seemed the man sensed you were about to try and shout for anyone, did you find yourself unable too.

Two large arms wrapped around you from behind, a rope thick and coarse sound it’s way over your face and into your mouth. Pulled tight behind you, your teeth had no choice but to try and stop from clamping down on it, but you were dragged further behind. Your arms flung trying to reach up and grab at the second assailant but the old man before you jumped to your front. Throwing you with them against the wall to hold you upward, the first came to you with the blade but your hands reached out.

Slicing open both still unhealed phantom wounds, the blade soaked your hand and the metal itself in red as you could hardly make any sound through the rope at the sting nor the struggle in front of you.

Trying to kick at the first, he merely stumbled before a growl came forth.

Lowering the blade only to snatch at the front of your dress as the fabric tore, tossing you behind him as the second man followed keeping your gag silent. But the struggle slammed and sounds muffled from both gagged and men aggressive did the sound of the baby begin to cry.

Stuck in his crib at the struggle ensuing beyond his sight he cried louder and louder with something that would catch attention better then you could yell for, but that fear turned into a genuine pain that if he made enough sound they might kill him to keep it quiet and again you tried grabbing at them to make anything stop.

Knocking you to your knees, the blade came to the back of your neck. Just as you felt it draw blood did you grasp again at the sharp edge and with enough energy, you lifted it up against his strength enough to try and fling yourself to the side to knock him off kilter. Free now you threw your head back against the man with a crack in your skull leaving you dazed as now every sound of distress and yelling and your sons cries was underwater, like a blur for your ears as the room too dazed out.

Trying to stand did the larger man behind you suddenly return, grabbing you around your entire body, and did your world spin being thrown across the air. A sting made by the top of your head as blood begun to seep down into your vision as that same weight slammed you face down into the floor. The older man before you now, grabbed you by your hair to yank your head up and used the other hand to force your teeth to part. Shoving the edge of a blade partially between your teeth he hissed with disgusting rot into your face. “You fight me again and I’ll carve a smile into your pretty mouth, got it?”

As if working in tandem, the anger flowed through the men as a sudden striking fear made you feel as if you were about to pass out, the only survivor in your blood the sounds of your baby crying in terrible distress in the other room but the blood mixed with your tears that you had no plan to get out of this.

The fabric of your dress and shift suddenly tore, a blade behind in the hand of the second man cutting through the fabric as if also carved into your skin without any care. The air of the room stinging the line of blood following as it reached close to the lower part of your spine when the second leaned into your ear as his older companion suddenly shoved your head roughly down into the stone floor. “The price was your head, orders ain’t said nothing about doing what we want with the rest of you.”

Through the blade keeping you quiet hardly any kind of crying protest could leave you, despite the actual cries from your son and the increasingly both distressed and angry sounds muffled from Olly behind being forced to watch. The older man only added to that fear as he ran his filth across your cheek, mouth and jaw almost cupping it in a violent manner to make a display of something you knew too well as it implied. “This is happening boy, so best shut it. Our friend here’s gonna fuck your Queen real good. You won’t even have to look her in the eye when he’s done, she won’t have any. Will you?”

The blood and tears melted together across your eyes as they stung as much as everywhere else did, but you knew from the feeling vibrating in your chest that you no doubt were making sounds of utter distress and panic that you felt so helpless against the heavy weight atop you. But the second the blade returned to finish tearing the rest of it from you, did a loud slam echo in the other room.

Before it even registered did the weight atop you suddenly double before leaving entirely, a mixture of growls and snarls as yelling and tearing hit your ears. Ghost tearing into the one behind you, you barley found it in you to push up at all the moment the older man moved. Turning up and leaping to the second approaching wolf, but this one was not the same was the first.

You saw none of it, happening so fast before your eyes there was more blood as a body dropped to the ground before and behind. Whatever fight to the death these men thought they’d give, it did not end as brave or as valiant as two wolves would ever allow.

The sounds from behind stopped as well, Ghost suddenly appearing at your side as you shakingly tried to push up in your palms but hardly could put any pressure in your muscles as they shook, as your whole body shook. More and more people suddenly poured into the room but your eyes hardly left wide and terrified from the man slumping down dead to the ground before you.

Himself still covered in blood, Jon dropped down in front of you, a seething mixture of fear and burning anger raging through him as he helped you sit up. Your shock to the point you barley had it in your mind to hold the tatters of you dress up as he cupped your cheeks. He called to your name more then once trying to get you to look at him, but your vision was blurry and stinging from the blood and tears, all you managed to get out was a beg as you no longer heard the crying. “Our son..where’s our son..”

Jon carefully wiped some of the blood from out of your eyes, murmuring with such a deep rasp that it scratched along your heart as something more comforting then you should’ve felt his voice was. “He’s alright.”

But you felt that fear still rattled through your bones, shaking your head. “Where is he, I need to- please, he was crying-” In fact though, not that you really had the awareness to know, but you were the one crying, in much more free tears.

Not even turning his head to whomever else was in the room, Jons voice was a husking command. “Bring him here, now.” You couldn’t even hear anyone else in the room despite knowing they were there. Jon pulled you to sit more against the ground with your feet splayed to the side, keeping you close as he looked over you with such bright eyes soaked with worry. “He’s alright, darling. They didn’t hurt him, I promise.”

But he knew you wouldn’t believe that until you held him. Recognizing in the back of your mind that you leaned closer into Jons warmth as he refused to let go of you at all, only giving you enough space when in turn the baby was given to Jon, so he could turn and place him in your arms. Still crying, you cradled him close to your chest as your head buried more near the top of his head, falling a bit into Jons front.

He thus tugged you in close, one arm wrapped around your lower back to keep you tucked into his chest as your son was to yours and also allowing it to hold up what remained of your dress from falling. His other wrapped around to cradle the back of your head, hiding you almost entirely in his safe chest, knowing that the shaking coming from you was in fact hiding the silence of tears following the muffled cries from your son.

You truly weren’t even aware at all of what was going on around you. The shock from such a sudden ordeal had shot much of your nerves leaving only that shaking ragged fear in its remains. You could hear Jons rasps from above you directed towards Olly. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Olly shook his head, a shaking in him as well but moreso looking towards you in his own distinct worry much like the rest of the room. “Only a little. They- They killed-”

Jon cut him off, no doubt trying to spare the rest of the details in front of you at that moment. The instinct within him to protect you growing fierce as ever. “I know.” It to only one pair of eyes who watched, was an interesting sight. Theon knew the dynamic between Olly, Jon and yourself was odd and it was moments like this where he could remind himself why he cared the way he did.

Coming up to him, Theon pulled Olly more up and to his side, luckily keeping his voice likely the most calm and even in the room as he spoke to someone you didn’t have the energy to even look up to see. “Make sure he gets seen too.”

Jon suddenly, moved to pull your face up to look at him, gesturing to be handed something, he shook his head a single no when you moved to give him space. “Stay just like this.” Gently running a cloth over to at least get the blood from your face washed out before noting with a hiss that some of it was indeed coming from a cut in your head. “Oh darling..” Pulling you close again he pressed his lips to your hair, resting his own face in the strands for a moment before pulling himself together.

Not a man to let kneeling on the floor, gently cradling his wife and son be a tender sight that would take away from his command, but as Jon spoke, there was an anger tinted behind. Not giving a single bit of room for objection. “These men came in through the tunnels. I want all of them searched, and every entrance from the outside into the castle sealed one way. No one uses them to get into the castle.” The tunnels, you thought. They came in through the tunnels, hiding beneath your feet. “Guards stationed all around Winter Town and double at each gate and watch. There are to be two guards outside these chambers and two guards at each end of the hall day and night, no one comes in this room without us knowing about it.” Looking up to Theon, you felt Jons arms around you tighten as if to say not to argue as he said your name in reference. “I want to guards with her at all times if she isn’t at my side, she isn’t to go anywhere alone for the time being.”

That had you pulling back a bit, meekly trying to get his attention with a protest. “Jon,”

He only cut you off without a hesitation. “This isn’t a debate. That’s an order. Either you’re with me, or you have guards or Ghost with you at all times.” Biting your tongue, Jon gave you a darker, narrowed look as he ran a hand over the side of your face. “Understood?”

A saving miracle in that for that instance Jon did not make you say outloud, he accepted your nod before much more gently wrapping his hand to the back of your hair and tucking you back into his front, leaning his head against yours with his eyes closing for if just a moment of peace.

[daizedndconfused]

You wouldn't happen to be open to doing a cole x reader where they are asked by wu to train the ninja (because there extremely flexible and skilled) and they end up beating all of them without using many weapons would you??? Mehehehe I love your writing and cole is so Under Appreciated (people should give him so more love!!) and you portray his character so well thank you thank you :3

new girl

a/n - hi lovely!! tysm for the request and kind words hello?!! also loved this request we love us a strong girl hahaha i kinda drew some inspo from our icon ty lee. this lowkey ended up being longer than i thought but SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG SOME RANDOM SICKNESS WAS KICKING MY ASS ALL WEEK??? but we’re getting better now hahaha (also totally agree give my boy cole some love he deserves it) anyways enjoy i hope i did your vision some justice honestly if you want me to make a pt 2 i sooo can with some more one on one moments

characters - cole x reader

type - fluff!!

warnings - just some mild violence in the form of sparring

synopsis - the ninja a relying too much on their elemental powers and master wu needs some help reminding them of what’s really important who better to teach them than you??

“Breathe,” your mother reminded you gently.

Easy for her to say, she wasn’t the one suspended in a middle-split between two rocks over a stream. Regardless, you did as she asked, feeling the air move in and out of your lungs and the sweat forming on your temple.

“The key is concentration–balance,” her voice came from the bank to your right.

Most of what she said you already knew having been doing this for years, but you didn’t mind.

In and out your breaths went, eyes closed, relying only on your hearing until you felt your mother’s presence hovering next to you.

Peaking your eyes open, she stood on a nearby rock smiling down at you.

“Very good,” she nodded, offering you a hand to help you up.

“Thank you,” you exhaled, stretching out your legs a bit after so long in your previous position.

Your mother smoothed your hair back before leading you across the stream and back onto the land where you promptly shoved on your shoes.

The two of you chatted beneath the warm sun and cool breeze all the way back to your house. Though even before entering, you heard voices coming from within.

You shared a look of confusion with your mother.

That was odd, your father should be the only one home at the moment.

You gently pushed the door open and followed the voices to your living room where you saw your father in a deep conversation with an older man.

“Wu!” Your mother chirped, rounding you to greet the stranger.

The old’s eyes crinkled as he smiled beneath his long wispy white beard. Your mother bowed slightly as a sign of respect, and you thought it only best to do the same.

Eventually, you all sat around the living room, each nursing a steaming cup of tea.

“What do we owe this visit?” Your mother asked kindly. Apparently your parents and Master Wu went way back. They learned all they knew from the man himself, which then trickled down to you.

Wu took a sip of tea before answering. “I wish to offer your daughter a job.”

All eyes moved to you.

A job? What kind of job?

Your back straightened slightly at all the attention. “Sir?”

Wu sighed wearily, “I have realized I may need more help than I currently have. Upon opening a tea shop, I have less and less time to teach my students.” He swirled his tea twice before his eyes set upon you. “Would you be open to helping out?”

“Oh, uh… your students are?” You trailed off.

“The ninja, dear,” your mother filled in gently.

Oh. The ninja? What could you possibly teach the ninja? Sure, martial arts was nothing new, and yeah you were trained in combat thanks to your father, but they had elemental powers for heaven's sake.

“I’m not sure how much help I could be,” you answered sheepishly.

“You do not need special abilities to teach,” Wu smiled. “And I fear the elements are why I am seeking this help in the first place. It appears my students are disregarding their training for their elemental powers.”

That made sense. Whenever you got frustrated while training with your father he always reminded you you didn’t need flashy powers to be strong. Because while they may be useful, there’s always a chance they can vanish, and then what?

Eventually you made up your mind. “Okay, I’ll do it.” You quickly looked to your parents, “If that’s alright with you?”

“Of course,” your mother wrapped her arms around you. “We know you’re in safe hands with Wu. Just promise you’ll call?”

“Of course,” you assured her as your father also joined in on saying goodbye.

Before long you were packed with enough things to last a few weeks. You might have to repeat some outfits for a while since the duration of your stay wasn’t specified. But you always had money you could spend on clothes.

“How do we get there?” You asked Master Wu after he informed you he and his students were residing at his tea shop, Steep Wisdom.

He glanced at you out the corner of his, and you just caught the glint of a smirk beneath his beard before golden particles started to form in front of you.

From those particles, something even greater arose. A dragon.

Your mouth gaped open. Wu laughed before tossing your luggage on top of the large white and gold dragon that had just materialized in front of you.

--

The dragon flight was frightening at first, but as you relaxed it wasn’t so bad. You got to see things from an all new perspective. Dragon-eye view style.

Eventually, through the clearing of teas you flew over, you spotted a cozy tea house nestled between the woods.

The dragon dipped lower and lower before let out a warning, “The dragon dissolves, can you stick the landing?”

“Of course,” you smiled. A drop from this height? Easy.

You prepared yourself, but the disappearance of the dragon beneath you still caught you off guard a bit. However, that didn’t stop you from landing perfectly on your feet.

Flawless, you thought as your luggage somehow landed just as gracefully next to you.

The space around you truly was beautiful. A wall surrounded the tea shop and courtyard, and you heard rushing water faintly in the distance, telling you there was some type of natural water nearby.

What you didn’t notice was the five boys lingering outside upon your arrival.

“Uh, anyone gonna introduce us?” A slightly high pitched voice asked.

You snapped your gaze away from the scenery and towards the voice. Five boys around your own age and dressed in colorful gis regarded you curiously.

Before you could introduce yourself, Wu cut in. “This is your new strength trainer. She’ll be taking over lessons when I’m busy. I expect each of you to treat her with respect.”

A course of “Yes, Sensei’s” were said before the bowed in unison.

Then, an older woman with a long braid falling down her back summoned Wu. Something about an inventory issue.

“Excuse me,” he said to you, and then to his students, “someone will need to show her to her new quarters.”

With that he was gone. And you were left with five teenage boys staring at you.

“Um, hi I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you.” You stuck with a polite introduction.

“Hey there,” a brunette boy with somewhat spiky hair said. “You know we don’t usually get many new people, may you and I could–”

“Kai,” a tall boy with black hair, cut him off. “Don’t be weird. She just got here.”

“What?” Kai gaped. “I was just going to ask if–”

“I apologize for my brother.” This time the voice came from… a titanium robot? Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.

Clearly the surprise was written all over your face at the unanimous chuckle that came from each boy.

“I am Zane,” the robot didn’t seem phased by your surprise. “This is Kai, Jay, Cole, and Lloyd. Kai’s sister also resides with us, but I’m afraid she is busy helping Misako and Master Wu.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” you responded. “Do one of you know where I’m staying? If I don’t unpack now I’ll never get it done.” You admitted with a laugh.

“I got it,” said the boy with black hair you now knew to be Cole. He walked over, and grabbed each of your bags as though they weighed nothing.

“You don’t have to do that, I can take some of them. I know they’re a little heavy but no one told me how long I’d be staying.”

“Please,” Cole smirked, “it’s nothing. I can lift more than ten times this weight.”

“Show off,” Kai coughed.

“You okay?” Lloyd asked him.

“Yeah just something caught in my throat,” Kai shook his head before coughing the phrase again.

Cole rolled his eyes at Lloyd and Jay laughed. Zane didn’t seem to get it. You even found yourself smiling at the joke before following Cole to your room.

“Don’t mind them,” he said. “They can be a lot sometimes.”

“Something tells me you also fit into that category,” you teased. You are who you hangout with afterall. Though it wasn’t always true, it seemed fitting for this situation.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out won’t you?” Cole joked, looking back at you over his shoulder.

Eventually the two of you climbed a set of stairs hidden in the back of the tea shop. Upstairs was a small apartment looking room with multiple sets of doors, one of them being your own room.

It was a decent size, about the same as the one you had back home, with plenty of closet space.

“It’s not much I know,” Cole said, “but there’s been worse places we’ve stayed trust me.”

“No it’s perfect,” you insisted. “I don’t need a whole lot to get by.”

Cole nodded, setting your stuff down. “There’s two bathrooms, the boys and I share the one on the left, and you’ll be sharing with Nya on the right.”

You nodded, looking around your new room, thinking of all the ways you could make it look homier. Cole didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t leave either. He simply stood in your doorframe, looking at you, looking at your bare room.

“What?” You asked him, smiling.

“Nothing,” he shook his head with a grin. “Sorry, I’ll let you get settled in.”

You wanted to tell him it was no problem, but he vanished before you could. Out of all the boys you had just met, was the best looking in your eyes.

Shiny black hair, tall, and built like the mountains he commanded. Your new job was off to a good start already.

It was well into the evening when you finally met Nya. She sighed thankfully at the sight of you. She loved her brother, and she didn’t have any problems with the boys. They were all equally respectful, but other than Misako she had no other girls to talk to.

You too were happy for another girl to talk to. There was only so much testosterone someone could be around.

The two of you got along quickly as you offered to stock some shelves with her. Even though you were technically here to train the ninja, you weren’t due to start until the next day.

Your alarm woke you up at six thirty sharp. You know you weren’t supposed to start with the boys until eight that morning, but you wanted to get an early start on your first day before you got lazy.

Passing your way to the bathroom, you ran through your morning routine groggily before you headed downstairs to make yourself a cup of tea to wake you up.

Scanning the shelves for something that looked appetizing for the early morning, you didn’t even hear someone approach you from behind.

“I personally like this one,” a familiar voice said from behind you before a hand shot out and grabbed a case off one of the shelves just a hair too high for you to reach.

You jump slightly, startled by the person’s presence.

Spinning around, you saw the voice and arm belonged to Cole. He was smiling softly at you, a case of green tea in his hands. He too held the appearance of just waking up–tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and the lack of a shirt with black plaid pajama pants.

You quickly averted your eyes from his bare chest and instead found refuge in his earth eyes.

“Why green?” You blurted. It was the only question you could think of at this moment. And maybe it would distract him from the fact you were ogling him just a bit.

“Helps with energy,” he shrugged, tossing the case up in one hand. “I’ll start the kettle.”

It took you an embarrassingly long time to follow him to the back of the tea shop where a small kitchen resided.

He filled the kettle up with water and placed it on the stove before taking a seat at the island next.

“I’d make you some breakfast, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be edible and that’s not the first impression I want you to have of me.” Cole laughed sheepishly.

You laughed with him before you took it upon yourself to scope out the fridge.

“How do you feel about omelets?” You asked after finding multiple cases of eggs. With this many ingredients you would be able to feed the whole team.

“I’m down,” he nodded.

You closed the fridge slightly before you saw a slip of paper taped to the front. It seemed to be a list of written chores, and at the bottom written in all capital letters next to a star were the words, ‘COLE IS NOT ALLOWED IN THE KITCHEN UNSUPERVISED.’

“Jeez, what’d you do?” You giggled, gesturing to the paper.

The boy flushed slightly, shrugging his broad shoulders before saying, “You set fire to the oven one time and suddenly you’re untrustworthy.” He rolled his eyes.

“Funny how that works.”

“Hilarious.” He deadpanned.

“Well since you can’t help with the food why don’t you just grab anything you want to add to the eggs, help me find the pans, and I’ll take care of the cooking part.” You suggested.

“That I can do,” he slipped off the stool.

Even though he wasn’t helping with the actual breakfast, the two of you worked in harmony together. He’d hand you the spatula, chop some vegetables, and give you some spices upon request. However, when you thought you could trust him with cracking an egg and he ended up getting it all over his bare torso you took it upon yourself to tie a black apron around him.

“Seriously?” He laughed as you tied the knot around his waist.

“Yup,” you nodded. “Damn. I’d need a magnifying glass to find your waist.”

He tipped his head back and laughed as you returned to flipping omelets with a smirk.

At this point you had successfully made two cups of tea, and three omelets. On the fourth, you were starting to grow more confident.

“Think I could flip it without a spatula?” You asked.

“No,” Cole shook his head, now seated on the island behind you.

“No faith,” you gasped, offended.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he shrugged, leaning back on his palms.

“Oh yeah?” You challenged before grasping the pan handle with both hands. You’d never done this before, but how hard could it be really? The answer was not very as you successfully tossed up an omelet and caught it gently on the other side.

You cheered, victorious as Cole also encouraged you, both laughing all the way.

Eventually, more and more people started waking up, and the more competent ones (Zane) began to help you with breakfast.

By the time eight in the morning rolled around, breakfast had been done, dishes were washed, and you were gathered in the courtyard with each of the ninja. Wu had given you the rundown of what he’d like you to work on with his students, and that’s exactly what you’d do.

“So,” you said, shaking the jitters out of your hands. “I’m thinking I’ll just spar one on one with each of you to see what you need to work on. Okay?”

The boys traded uneasy glances. “Are you sure?” Jay asked.

You smiled a little at their apprehension. “Yes, I’m positive. We’re just sparring, remember. But don’t hold back, otherwise it’s just a waste of time.”

“Yeah, you get your ass handed to you by Nya all the time, this shouldn’t be different.” Cole patted Jay on the back.

The others laughed at Jay’s blush and he grumbled something inaudible under his breath.

“Okay Jay, since you’re so worried you’re up first.” You waved him over. “Sensei said no powers.”

“Right,” Jay nodded as he approached you slowly.

“I’m not gonna bite you, Jay.”

“I know that!” He defended as the boys behind him howled with laughter.

You couldn’t help but tease him as the two of you got into a fighting stance.

You dug your feet into the ground and steadied your breathing. The key to combat was focus, controlled breathing, and anticipation. At least that’s what your father told you.

It was no surprise to you that Jay attacked quickly. He was the master of lightning afterall. However, that was what made him so predictable.

He’d throw a series of quick jabs that you avoided with grace. With each attack you’d be just an inch out of reach. Jay was quick–but you were quicker.

You didn’t notice it, but the chatter was nonexistent, and Jay was wholly focused on sparring. Though the sweat building on his forehead, and his attacks slowing were also becoming more prominent.

He threw a high kick in there this time, which was just what you were waiting for. The second his foot came off the ground, you moved to the side, grabbed his ankle, and with your own leg, swept his balancing leg off the ground causing him to fall straight onto his back.

Jay landed with a wheeze, but you helped him up just as quickly. “Your attacks are precise, but they’re sloppy. You try to cram in a lot of combined attacks and hope for the best. If you slow them down a bit you’re more likely to land a few.”

Kai ‘Ohed’ from the sidelines. “You didn’t even get one hit dude.”

Jay glared at him as he took a seat beside Lloyd.

“And you won’t either, your turn.” You pointed to Kai.

The others laughed, but Kai rose, determination clear on his face.

You got into position again, but this time you’d change up your evasion techniques. Since he spent the previous match observing you he no doubt knew some of your moves.

Kai fought more aggressively than Jay, but with less accuracy making him easier to avoid. You twirled around him after a hard punch threw him off balance slightly. With your backs to each other, you only had a moment to grab his arm, crouch, shift your weight, and flip his body over yours.

Kai landed as hard as Jay.

After explaining his problem to him, you called up Zane next. You wanted to get the analyzing robot out of the way before you completely ran out of cards to play.

You had to admit, Zane almost got you, but you quickly threw yourself from his reach with a well timed aerial over his shoulder. Just as you landed he threw a punch, but you were ready for that. You crouched the moment you landed, and swept both his legs.

Standing quickly, you had just enough time to catch the front of his gi, suspending him above the floor ever so slightly. You felt a bit bad–you didn’t want to dent him after all.

Lloyd whistled, impressed, as he was finally called to the stand.

Lloyd, the green ninja. You knew he would also be pretty difficult, but it was like you were in a trance at the moment. You weren’t about to lose your winning streak, were you?

Being as flexible as you were didn’t hurt either. Sure the ninja were pretty flexible, but you could contort yourself into the most uncomfortable positions making it easy to avoid each of the ninja's blows.

All you had to do was wait until they tired themselves out, and then deliver the final blow. It was almost as if they were fighting themselves.

Lloyd looked concentrated, but his stance was off slightly. You feinted one way, and he fell for it easily, shifting all his weight onto one side of his body to prepare for the hit he thought was coming. Instead, you spun and shoved your shoulder hard into the opposite side of his body.

Lloyd crumbled like a house of cards.

When the green ninja retreated with a defeated look on his face, you were left with only one ninja now.

You suspected because of his height, Cole would be slow and off balance, but you were wrong. He was sturdy, and his height only added to his balance if anything. You’ve fought people bigger and stronger than you all the time, bad unlucky for him they only went down one way.

After a while of going through your song and dance of avoidance once again, Cole laughed.

“You’re slippery, huh?” He joked.

You winked before sliding between his legs, kicking the back of his knees and then once more between his shoulder blades to send him tumbling down to the ground.

“Wu was right,” you huffed, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “You guys rely way too much on your powers.”

“Alright, cough it up, where’d you learn that?” Jay asked.

“Learn what?” You laughed, helping a grumpy Cole from the floor.

“You flip around so much I got sick from just looking at you!” Jay whined.

“Lots of practice and some time in the cirque,” she shrugged.

“Like the circus?” Cole asked, looking down at you.

“Not the stuff with the tent and the animals,” you clarified. “More like the Cirque Du Soleil shows, you know? Anyway, I did a lot of acro as a kid. Made it easy to learn combat.”

“That’s awesome,” Kai said. “Have you ever juggled fire?”

“I told you, it’s not the tent type of circus,” you laughed. “It’s classier than that. That’s besides the point, you all have work to do. Lucky for all of you we’re going to start with yoga today! Just as a warm up.”

You giggled behind your hand at the unanimous groan coming from all five boys.

[buddieisgoingcanon25]

Hi again! I'm excited too and it's fun to try to guess even though there's barely any info. I think it could go like this:

8x09:

Buck spins out over Eddie and has latched onto something/ someone to distract himself. Tim said the word "relationship" but also agreed Buck's love life will take a backseat for now so it could be that he's trying to force a friendship to replace Eddie.

Maddie gets a mysterious call where the person is in a position where they can't speak so she sends Athena to investigate but no one's there. Josh said "possible" hostage situation and Maddie is almost whispering. Additionally there was supposed to be a storyline in 8x08 where Maddie took a call that sent her on a quest for answers but it got moved to 8x09.

Maddie gets taken from her kitchen and when she wakes up Buck is there/ He was the person who made the 911 call. Tim implied the 118 won't be together at the end of the episode although he could have meant Buck and Chim reacting to Maddie's disappearance. He also said Buck's abandonment issues will be worse at the end of the episode so possibly because no one noticed he was missing.

8x10:

The police station scene with Athena and Bobby and potentially Eddie when Athena says "Something's not right". They're in civilian clothes because Chimney called the police when he came home and Maddie was missing/ He tried to call Buck who also didn't answer. Eddie's in a button-down so he could have come from a call with the realtor.

At some point they track them to the apartment with the rope and blood but still don't know it's Abigail Spencer. The audience doesn't know yet either if they didn't already reveal it in 8x09.

At some point the villain reveals her motivations and hopefully it's not too cheesy like she's Doug's sister.

Buckley siblings NDE and getting saved.

Oh I like your ideas. It could definitely end up being just that.

[pruneunfair]

"But Rashta got greedy." Breaking down a common argument

I'm sure that no matter what character you like more you've probably heard the "Rashta could've had a good life but she got greedy" argument, it's a common one that even though I was reading and thinking "I don't see the greedy part?" I chalked that up to me just not noticing it well enough like others until I shared this idea with my mom

Ive been constantly sharing what I read with my mom, she's a writer so when I want advice on writing or an opinion on a certain book I'll either get my feelings on a topic validated or my eyes would be opened to a whole new perspective. When I explained the plot of TRE and how the mistress was an escaped slave that immediately got my mom interested when I said "She ends up getting too greedy and it became her downfall" to which she replied "so dreaming and wanting more when your life is at rock bottom is greedy now?" In fact up until I mentioned that Rashta was a slave, she was under the impression that the mistress was a noble woman.

Greed is mostly known as a never ending desire for more even when you already have everything, it's an obsession with what you don't currently have and you'll go to great lengths to achieve more then you really need especially if there is no real reason for your desire for it. Money is the most famous example but it can also be greed for social media attention or more objects to buy and consume.

Rashta never had everything or really ANYTHING as a child, there was no safety net to fall on, no real noble background, not even parents that would guaranteed to protect their daughter. So the greed factor is lowered significantly when it's apparent that Rashta doesn't have the "everything" to want even more.

when she was found by the literal emperor she took the most logical decision at the time and became his mistress even though she was technically still a slave, she was just treated better then she was at the Rimwell estate. When I reread some key Rashta chapters where she at her worst so see the greed of her character I still couldn't really see actual desires for more and more, mostly desperation, hurting others to save her skin, jumping to conclusions and holding grudges, terrible but if I had to really pick a sin to align this with, it'd be wrath with a hint of envy not greed.

In fact for most of season 1 Rashta isn't exactly clamoring for the empress seat until push LITERALLY came to shove, even if she really wanted the throne more then anything there was no way she could get it just by "stealing" Sovieshu because if I abdicate my title as empress has taught me anything, it's that being the sole lover of the emperor isn't guaranteed to make you empress. At the end of the day even if Rashta was a greedy person who wanted Naviers throne to satisfy her neverending greed it would've all been based on her luck.

when Sovieshu offers the position to her she even wonders if it's really a good idea since she has no experience and she'd just be dethroned in a year anyway but she chose to say yes because it was for her child's chance at a prosperous future, no desire for power, money or the desire social fame was minimum compared to her real goal of guaranteeing her daughter a chance at life. The closest I can say that is remotely related to greed is that Rashta wore a few over the top dresses (like her wedding dress and that one purple one with the bows)

Finally when she does become empress Rashta isn't exactly looking for more, she was ready to just live in luxury under the impression that her safety was guaranteed and that was it, she didn't want more jewels, money, power, maybe she wanted more social attention from others but even then the chapters dedicated to empress Rashta were, again, based on her wrath rather then her greed.

Honestly if any character symbolizes greed more it's Heinrey

The guy started off as a prince, then a king and then a damn EMPEROR, yet he still stole more magic from the mages, he wanted to go to war with the eastern empire for practically no reason and was willing to doom his damn country if he went through with it considering that the west is landlocked so going to war all willy nilly with potential allies when you have to rely on other territories just for water.. it took falling in love at first sight with Navier to get him to put it on hold and only stopped when she found out almost 170 chapters later and even then, his daughter ends up getting the eastern empire thanks to power of random plot holes. Before meeting Navier Heinrey really just wanted to keep expanding more and more for no reason because I looked and searched and could not on my life find a reason as to why Heinrey wanted to go to war other then one claim that he wanted revenge for the past which.. really? If that is the case we'll thanks for almost instigating something that didn't need to be instigated.

He really doesn't give a damn, one way or another Heinrey will get what he wants.

[timewontwait]

<- could go off on a long winded tangent about the way my sonic feels about eggman but i'd be typing all night jdksf

[icharchivist]

"Percy villain arc", does Aglovale mean nothing to you people

You're right though, it would be funny to see Percy go truly evil. The fire association is super common in villains. Making it hot in several senses. You're completely valid

LIKE I SAID -- it's about a different type of villainy!! the brothers may look alike but they're not interchangeable!!!!

Aglovale's villainy came from an hatred of all of humanity, a desire to control people out of fear, and a desire to get his family back, including his mother.

Lamorak's villainy came from selflessness, a desire to help absolutely everyone who ever experienced massive heart pain that can only be solved by revenge, a savior complex so big he ends up helping the most dangerous of people, while putting himself in danger and therefore also keeping his family as far away as possible from him so he doesn't get swayed into going back on his words.

A Percival's villainy arc would never be like Aglovale's because Percival never let go of his desire to see good in people, and he wouldn't keep his family away like Lamorak.

Like i said i do think it's a bit hard to see a path to villainy Percival can take when his brothers went to both different extreme to start with. I think what makes Percival's arc strong is that he's not tempted by snapping, and that he is holding strong despite the fact he sees how his brothers are torn apart by the same trauma they all share.

I personally love the fact Percival doesn't seem to be in any situation to snap, but i like thinking about what if he did actually go apeshit. What if he got tired of fixing his brothers' shit. He's constantly having to clean up after them because they mishandled their trauma while he is trying so hard to make it something productive.

And it's not like Percival doesn't have a mean edge. Remember when he insulted Lancelot when they found him in a cell after he's been tortured, because Lancelot "only had himself to blame" for turning a blind eye to the wrongs of the King? and that it essentially came from how he's been hurt that Lancelot abandonned him during the Siegfried's debacle and the fact Lancelot blindly supporting people in position of power rather than getting to the bottom of something was something Percival found reprehensible. (i have many thoughts about this).

That's why i think two componants to break Percival is if the weight of his brothers' sins get lifted off his back, so he's less alert to his own shortcomings as he's no longer in this state of survival about holding his family together, and losing MC, which would set him in a situation of thinking "despite everything i do i still lose the people i care about." (especially, once again, because MC is the only person who never disappointed Percival, which is why Percival always was so unconditional in his way to be attached to MC, in ways even the Dragon Knights nor his Brothers can live up to.)

It's like "you can do everything right and still lose", in comparaison to his brothers who just did things wrong.

how do you deal? how do you cope? this grief was supposed to stay in the past, yet whatever you do it still comes back to catch up on you.

there's a potential there that is completely unlike what Aglovale and Lamorak went through in their own villain arcs, and it's what i'd personally explore if we give Percival an evil arc.

It'd be hot! especially if it's about MC which i have totally neutral reasons to want personally obviously.

But as it is i just really like the idea of him being the only one to keep things together while the familial trauma is destroying the rest of his family. Feels nice feels organic and i'm just genuinely invested in this storyline, is all!