#who knows what goat legs is a reference to?

[companionjones]

Goat Legs

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader

Fandoms: Marvel, X-Men

Summary: You have the power to see other universes. Sadly, that power controls you.

Warnings: Universes colliding

*******

"I'm not asking you to take over my position permanently, just for a couple weeks."

Magneto's mood differed from yours completely. While you were relaxed and amused he was annoyed and agitated. "Yes. It starts off with a couple weeks, then you ask for an extension, then, the next thing I know, it's years later, and you and your lover are never coming back."

You laughed, "We're going to Cancun! You're acting as if we're travelling to another dimension."

"How can I expect you to come back here when you don't even want to go home right now?"

That question took you off guard. "I'm sorry?"

"It's time to wake up, Y/n."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's time to wake up."

"Stop it, Mag."

"You have to wake up, Y/n."

"I said stop it!"

"You have to wake up right now!"

Charles was in the middle of teaching a class when Raven burst into the room.

"She's awake," was all Raven said.

The professor turned back to his class with quite the worried expression. "Alright, keep reading chapter 12 everyone. Ms. Raven will be taking over for the time being."

The siblings shared a nod before Charles exited the classroom and began booking it down the hallways to get to you.

You were in an isolated wing of the Xavier Mansion. Charles thought it best to house you there so the students didn't hear your screams.

That choice was coming to fruition that day, as it did most days. Charles could hear your screams as he quickly quickly approached your door. His heart always experienced a lot of pain, seeing you like this. He couldn't even read your mind because it was too much for him. Charles could never imagine what it was like for you.

"My love! My love, I'm here. Please, you have to try to calm your mind."

As Charles rushed into your room and knelt at your bedside, you saw many different versions of him. One second, he was older. The next, he was the same age, but in a wheel chair. Then, you saw him bald. You tried to close your eyes to refresh your mind, but all you saw when you blinked was worlds and universes colliding. You screamed out in frustration, and reached out for Charles.

He took your hand and combed your hair with his fingers. "It's alright. It's alright, my love. We're together. We're home. Everything is okay."

"Tell that to Logan. He's lighting his cigar on an on-fire car as the world ends," you described what you were seeing.

It took a couple hours, but your episode had finally ended and you were calming down.

Charles still sat on your bed with you. He still had one of your hands in his, and he was combing through your hair with his free hand.

"You had goat legs," you quietly informed after hours of restless silence.

Xavier appropriately chuckled at that statement. "What?"

"You had goat legs," you repeated. "In one of my visions, you were having a young girl over for tea in the woods, and you had goat legs."

He scoffed. "That sounds like something out of Alice in Wonderland."

"It was quite whimsical," you admitted.

There was another silence between the two of you before you asked Charles, "Tell me about here again?"

He smiled. "We got everyone on our side after Cuba, even Erik. There still some arguments on how we should approach the rest of the world but we all teach the next generation of mutants here, at home."

Despite all the happy news, a tear rolled down your cheek. "I wish I could be more help."

Charles reminded you, "You don't have to be anything more or anything less than you are right now."

"Can we go for a walk? I'd like to see the kids," you told him.

Charles nodded, "Of course," as he helped you out of bed.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea

“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”

Ah, yes, that ominous opening line from Daphne du Maurier’s novel, “Rebecca.” Have you ever read it? It’s an old book – from 1938, in fact! – but it’s truly a remarkable story, especially for its time. It’s not often you find yourself rooting for the murderer.

Lately, I have found myself becoming more and more frustrated with the fandom. And, no, my annoyance is not from the Sincerely Ignorant teetering on and off the boat every time someone takes a dump on the deck of the USS Lukola – I’m pretty fucking used to that shit – and, honestly, many of our dear Sincerely Ignorant seem to be gaining their sea legs. It’s the Conscientiously Stupid that have struck a chord with me – a disturbing, dissonant chord that leaves me questioning the average level of human intelligence.

My issue with the Conscientiously Stupid is that they push narratives that, when taken collectively, make no goddamn sense. Thanks to The-One-That-Lurks-in-a-Play-Misty-For-Me-Heaping-Pile-of-Discordant-Garbage, I have had the [dis]pleasure of learning about Nicola- and Luke-Adjacent theories. Did you know that the small scrap of green blanket Nicola was sitting on in her August 11 “Drink Your Milk” picture proved that the picture was meant for Jake? You know the guy that, at that point in Fandom History, most people had no clue even existed? I mean, that makes a lot more sense than linking the “Drink Your Milk” shirt Nicola was showcasing to the one Luke was seen wearing on June 22. Now, I’m not saying the shirt belonged to Luke, but if we’re comparing apples to apples, which one of these theories seems more plausible to you?

At this point, you have probably started to realize I enjoy weaving in and out of storytelling mode, mixing fact with theory and speculation. Today, I decided to take a classic novel – surely you didn’t think I made that reference to “Rebecca” for nothing – and loosely intertwine it with some Conscientiously Stupid adjacent theories. This is all in good fun and, like usual, mostly for my own dark humor.

I should probably begin by introducing our book characters. Honestly, you can probably guess which of our shipmates I have assigned to each role fairly quickly.

First, we have our Unnamed Narrator. Seriously, her first name is never revealed.

Second, we have Mrs. Danvers, the obsessive, borderline psychotic housekeeper.

Third, we have Maxim de Winter, our Narrator’s husband.

Fourth, we have Jack Favell, the dodgy and unlikeable cousin.

Lastly, we have our titular character, that darling creature Rebecca.

Now, let’s see who is on the playbill.

ANTONIA AS MRS. DANVERS

It pained me just a little to give the role of Mrs. Danvers to Antonia, primarily because Mrs. Danvers is such a complex character and I’ve always found Antonia to be rather simple. And, no, I’m not insinuating Antonia is simple-minded; I am saying it was never difficult to see through her bullshit (i.e., the phrase, “patterns are patterning,” didn’t come out of thin air). It helped that Mrs. Danvers is one of the main antagonists in the book and almost certainly the GOAT at trolling the heroine of “Rebecca.” I mean, the second Mrs. de Winter didn’t stand a chance with Danny lurking in the background.

The general narrative in Lukola Lore is that Antonia is an online troll. I’ve never been sure as to who her primary target was – Nicola or the Lukola fandom. I tend to believe it originated as Nicola and the Lukola fandom was simply collateral damage. I also cannot say for fact that Antonia was trolling anyone, but I can confirm that the general belief within the fandom that Antonia was trolling is well-documented on social media. For today’s story, we are going to assume the narrative that Antonia was trolling both Nicola and the Lukola fandom. We are also going to assume the USS Lutonia (because I have no fucking clue what the Luke-Antonia ship is called!) was real. Don’t get your feathers fluffed over this. This belief does exist – and it’s why Antonia has been able to fuck with the Lukolas as long as she has – but I promise I have every intention of peppering the side of this ship with holes.

Okay, let’s tow the USS Lutonia out to sea. Don’t forget your Dramamine!

We are living under the umbrella that Luke and Antonia were dating during the World Tour. Poor Antonia was forced into hiding by – who the fuck knows but let’s keep rolling with this narrative – and she wasn’t allowed to be openly seen with Luke or post anything on her social media with Luke. And, Luke mirrored this behavior and made an effort to keep Antonia out of the spotlight (in fact, at the New York City premiere, the average viewer wouldn’t have known Antonia was anything more than Luke’s “friend of a friend”). Antonia, annoyed with this lack of engagement (and, almost certainly fed up with, at a minimum, fans shipping Luke with Nicola), started the pattern of posting pictures of herself and tagging her location as places the fandom knew Luke had recently been. Luke, for his part, made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia. Instead, he continued his flirtatious relationship with Nicola. After the London premiere, the Lukolas put a target smack dab in the middle of Antonia’s back and blamed her for setting up Papsmear for her own benefit. Luke still made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia or protect her from the abundance of online hate she received. In fact, he posted his “I will not let [Cressida] ruin our night” story to Instagram instead (see my “Entry 1 – The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post” if you’re confused by this comment). During post-Papsmear events, Luke did not list her as a plus one and he didn’t like any pictures of Antonia that were not on her grid. In fact, the only evidence directly linking Luke to Antonia were leaked and/or since-deleted pictures and videos not released by Luke. Throughout the summer, Antonia continued her efforts to place herself in proximity to Luke via tagged or easily recognizable locations. Oddly, many of Antonia’s posts seemed to occur shortly after Nicola posted or before/after DeuxMoi posted pap pictures, which gave birth to the “Antonia is trolling” subplot. Still, Luke made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia. On July 30, Luke was papped with Antonia and his friend group in Sorrento (see my “Entry 11 – The One About the Heart of the Ocean” if you want my opinion about that excursion). This was the last time Luke and Antonia were publicly photographed together. Once Luke returned to London on August 2, Antonia continued her campaign of insinuating she was in the same location as Luke, with the most recent being the Italian restaurant in Rome (which the restauranteur debunked, in my opinion). Again, Luke and Antonia have not been photographed together since July 30. To date, Luke has made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia, and the only visible interaction by Luke are his likes on Antonia’s semi-monthly Instagram grid posts, which seem obligatory at this point. For the month of November, there was no interaction between Luke and Antonia because Antonia did not post to her grid (gasp!).

Now, for all the Lutonia’s out there, explain to me why this kind of relationship is acceptable to you. Seriously, explain it to me.

Convince me that Luke didn’t shutter Antonia from the moment the USS Lukola schematics were presented to the engineers.

Convince me that Antonia is the kind of woman who would happily accept Luke’s blatant dismissal of her existence while he globe-trotted around the world with a woman he was being openly shipped with by fans, the press, and Bridgerton mates.

Convince me that Luke’s behavior towards Antonia doesn’t make him the worst boyfriend on the planet.

Convince me that Antonia’s online behavior towards Nicola and the Lukola fandom during and after the World Tour doesn’t make her a troll.

Convince me that Luke and Antonia are the definition of “true love.” Actually, before you do that, convince me that Luke and Antonia are currently dating.

Or, maybe you’ve realized that any effort to try to convince me would be a waste of your time because you, too, are starting to find this entire narrative unacceptable. It equates Antonia to someone who doesn’t mind being boxed into a corner and forced to claw her way out, and it likens Luke to an overbearing womanizer who doesn’t give two flips about how online hate may be affecting his partner. I mean, we may as well dump these two into an entirely different book called “The Handmaid’s Tale.”

I didn’t assign the role of Mrs. Danvers to Antonia because I thought Antonia was a feeble coward without her own voice. And, no, I didn’t give her the role because Mrs. Danvers is an obsessive psychopath. I gave Antonia the role of Mrs. Danvers because the fandom handed her the power to influence this narrative on a silver platter, just like the Narrator in “Rebecca” allowed herself to be manipulated by Mrs. Danvers. Moving forward, when you see Antonia with a lit match, all you need to do is lean over and blow it out. Poof! And, she’s gone. Seriously, if you see our version of Mrs. Danvers with anything that might light a fire, take it away from her!

Surely someone out there gets my joke…

LUKE AS MAXIM DE WINTER

Of course, Luke is Maxim de Winter, the outwardly charismatic, but recently widowed anti-hero who caught the affection of our Unnamed Narrator. I mean, he’s a good guy, right? Uhh, yeah, sure… Who doesn’t want to be married to a brooding chauvinist who is outwardly obsessed with the titular character? Wait a minute, that doesn’t sound like Luke at all! Oh, no, actually it does – if you believe the USS Lutonia is real!

For Luke, we are going to assume the same narrative as above – that the USS Lutonia is real, that Antonia trolled Nicola and the Lukola fandom, and that Luke refused to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia. Besides the obvious “Luke is the shittiest fucking boyfriend in the universe,” I have a few other gripes with the USS Lutonia.

Initially, I understood the concept of “keeping Antonia in the dark,” after all I try to be logical when I process information. It was always possible Luke and Nicola were rocking some great PR in the beginning of the World Tour, and that was the only thing they were rocking. In fact, that’s what I initially believed Nicola was doing – being cute but also professional in her interactions with Luke during those early press junkets. Luke, on the other hand, always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve. Once they hit Australia, it seemed obvious to me that something had changed (go back and read my “Entry 12 – The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy” for a briefing on this). The more I watched Luke and Nicola interact on the World Tour, the more I became convinced Antonia must have been a thing of the past (or possibly nothing) for Luke – until Antonia showed up at Papsmear. At that point, I fully expected Luke to just own up to her. Like, give up on trying to hide Antonia from public view. But, then he pulled that goddamn “Cressida” post (seriously, if you have not read my first entry to this blog, go back and read it!). When you look at the World Tour and subsequent Hot Boy Summer, and the behaviors that were – and were not – on display during that timeframe, you start to develop a completely different view of the USS Lutonia. I mean, I’m not even sure that ship ever left the planning room!

One of the most glaring cosmetic flaws with the USS Lutonia is why “nice guy” Luke would treat Antonia with such indifference if he loved her. When asked who was most like their Bridgerton character, everyone always answered Luke. That he was the kindest, most genuine person. If that’s true, then why did Luke treat his “girlfriend,” Antonia, like she didn’t exist? Again, convince me that Luke’s Public Display of Apathy towards Antonia made him a great boyfriend. Even if Luke was a private person, one would think that after someone he cared about received as much hate as Antonia did after Papsmear, he would have stepped up and taken control of the narrative. He didn’t hesitate to clear up the “cake eating” picture from his September 7 Instagram post (about Nicola), and that “Cressida” post will live rent-free in my mind forever. The only “logical” explanation I can come up with for “nice guy” Luke to shutter Antonia right from the jump is that Antonia is not, and was not, a significant person in his life. That, or he really is a shithead, and he has a team of people lying about what a great guy he is.

We also need to consider Nicola’s interactions with Antonia. First, Nicola has never followed Antonia and Antonia has never followed Nicola, at least not on her public account. But, Nicola followed – and still follows – Luke’s ex, Jade. Now, typically, I’d just be like, “Meh,” on something like this. But, after Papsmear, Nicola could have very easily played the “Diplomat Barbie” and given Antonia a follow on Instagram. But, she didn’t, which signals to me that Nicola wasn’t touching Antonia with an invisible 10-foot pole. Second, if you watch the back-and-forth between Nicola and Antonia on social media – in black and white, pen on paper – you’ll see Nicola playing the cat-and-mouse game right along with Antonia (Nicola just played it a helluva lot better). It even appears Nicola sicced her – what my father calls JVN – “assassin” on Antonia starting around July 20 or, at the very least, she condoned JVN teasing Antonia. If everything was great between Luke and Antonia – and Luke was genuinely happy with Antonia – why would Luke put up with the back-and-forth on social media between Antonia, Nicola, and JVN? Oh, that’s right, because Luke is the corrupt captain of the USS Lutonia.  Seriously, if all was well between Luke and Antonia at this point in the timeline, then you’d have to surmise that all was not well between Luke and Nicola. We will get to that in a moment. Right now, aboard the USS Lutonia, Luke is just a lousy boyfriend.

Lastly – and what has always left me scratching my head – why would Luke allow Antonia to troll his fandom? Why allow Antonia to make insinuations online that they’re together but never come to her rescue when the fandom starts flinging shit at her? In my opinion, the InStyle copycat pictures (go read my last blog entry…) were just Antonia getting her feet wet. Why continue to put up with Antonia after allegations began flying that she arranged Papsmear and the Italy pap pictures? I suppose the answer most Lutonias would give is, “Because they’re in love.” With everything I have outlined in this entry, do you honestly get the “in love” vibe from those two? Because I don’t.

Now, why did I draw parallels between Luke and the book character, Maxim? It’s not because I believe Luke to be a male chauvinist so wrapped up in his own drama that he ignores those around him. The USS Lutonia will definitely paint that impression, though! It’s because Maxim’s demeanor was superficial. What the Unnamed Narrator believed was true about her husband was not actually true. And, that’s how I view the USS Lutonia – Luke’s behavior and the narrative surrounding this ship does not match the logic.

JAKE AS JACK FAVELL

Sorry, Jake, you get to be the icky Jack Favell. Yeah, that manipulative, blackmailing creep sleeping with his own cousin! But, hey, that subplot isn’t any more disturbing than Jake being shipped with Nicola, is it?

Alright, let’s jump on board the USS Jakola but not before I preface this section with my father’s flabbergasted words: “This ship is on the bottom of the ocean. These people must have oxygen masks. They’re down there with Jules Verne. This just doesn’t make sense.” No, it really doesn’t make sense but, because I’m here to tell a story, I will begrudgingly dive into the USS Jakola narrative. And, by “dive,” I mean plunge to the bottom of the ocean because that’s where this ship rests.

Just like we did with the USS Lutonia, we are going to assume the USS Jakola is real. The Jakolas believe that Nicola has been seeing Jake since, I guess, the Renegade Nell premiere on or about March 26, 2024. Although, the last I checked Eamon Farren was also at that premiere holding an umbrella for Nicola. I am not confirming Nicola was ever dating Eamon; I am simply saying he was present at the event and holding a fucking umbrella for her. You can make up your own mind about Eamon’s role in Nicola’s life. Regardless, it must have been an instant connection between Nicola and Jake because, if the Jakola narrative is to be believed, they began secretly dating after that. The Jakolas will argue that all the songs Nicola posted to her Instagram stories were for Jake. The Claddagh ring has no traditional meaning when Nicola wears it, and Chaos Week was also for Jake (and a “fuck you” to Luke). The Lukola-coded fan fiction was a “fuck you” to the Lukola fandom (see my “Entry 10 – The One About the Audibly Loud Lukola FanFic”). And, Jake and Nicola are in love and have hard launched their relationship because (a) Jake has been seen wearing Nicola’s bucket hat, (b) they have been seen in public together, and (c) they occasionally hold hands.

I’m not going to lie – for the longest time I didn’t pay any attention to the USS Jakola because it was such an incredibly absurd concept to me. A few weeks back, I posted to my Tumblr account a music video that Jake had done in early 2023. The song is called “Mixed Emotions” by You Me at Six, and the article that came out with the video on February 7th, 2023 stated, “With Jake Dunn who played the protagonist in the video who is actually a friend of mine, we actually spoke a lot about toxic masculinity and his experiences within his sexuality and the impacts it has had on his relationship with his dad.” It honestly never occurred to me the USS Jakola actually had passengers on board until October when the Jakholes went bananas over Nicola holding Jake’s hand. In my opinion – and you do not have to agree with me – the music video speaks for itself as does Jake’s social media presence, whether it be on his own pages or on those of his friend group. I’m sure I’ll get some Jakholes in here crying that we shouldn’t speculate on Jake’s sexuality, but the reality is the only people speculating on Jake’s sexuality are the Jakolas trying to discern whether he’s heterosexual. But, why doesn’t he just come out and say it? I get this question all the time. The answer is quite simple – he doesn’t need to. Jake never buried this part of his life; it’s other people burying it for him. Do you need to blast your sexual preferences out into the universe? I didn’t think so.

For shits and giggles – because that’s what I’m here for – let’s keep going with the story that Nicola and Jake are hot and heavy with each other. I’ll play center field and say Jake is a switch hitter. Happy now? If Jakola is real, then why would Nicola lay all those Lukola-coded breadcrumbs? And, NO, I am not explaining every crumb she’s dumped online. This post is already too damn long. But, Dear Jakolas, don’t tell me those coordinated airplane pictures didn’t have you crying into your pillows. Seriously, though, why would Nicola fuck with the Lukola fandom? I’ve mentioned in previous posts that Polin and Lukola have even been blurred by Netflix & Co. at this point. What would be the point of dragging the Lukolas along only to find out it was Nicola just fucking around? That makes about as much sense as “nice guy” Luke being the shittiest boyfriend on the planet. Again, the narrative does not fit the logic – although you’re welcome to try to convince me that Jakola is real.

For starters, convince me as to why Nicola is Jake’s “type” and not Luke’s. I am not being factitious. I seriously want to know why she’s acceptable for Jake but not Luke. And, if you’re going to tell me it’s because Luke likes brunettes, you better bring me some evidence that Jake likes blonde women.

Convince me that the Claddagh ring has no traditional significance to Nicola and that Jake would be okay with Nicola wearing that Claddagh ring – the one she had made in honor of Bridgerton Season 3, the season she shared with the man that fills her Instagram grid and tags and is the other half of Lukola. If you’re stuck on the significance of this ring, go read “Entry 6 – The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad.”

Convince me that Nicola and Jake are a couple. And, if you’re going to mention handholding, then convince me that Nicola is not in a relationship with Mark, JVN, Jack R., Golda, Hannah D., Dylan L., or Luke. Oh, and is it true Jake is now dating Ellie Bamber? Convince me he’s not…

Any ways, good luck, babe, trying to sway me into believing Jakola is the real deal because I have a feeling your efforts are going to make your face become as flushed as Jack Favell’s when he was caught with his hand in the till.

NICOLA AS REBECCA

Surely you didn’t think Nicola was going to be the heroine of this story! If you believe the USS Lutonia and USS Jakola are smoothly sailing across the ocean blue, then the only role Nicola could reasonably play is that of the story’s villain – Rebecca. Yes, Rebecca was a bad, bad girl. She was manipulative and intentionally cruel; a Bitch with a capital “B.” She haunted poor Maxim and controlled Mrs. Danvers and Jack like a master puppeteer. She also tortured the Unnamed Narrator from her watery grave.

Seriously, though, let’s turn the tables. Let’s pretend Lutonia and Jakola are real. Starting, say, April 29, Nicola started trolling Antonia by dropping Luke-coded material online and really started ramping up those doe-eyed looks in Luke’s direction. Remember all that cute BTS? Perfectly timed to make it look like Antonia was trolling her when in reality Nicola was trolling Antonia! Unbeknownst to Luke, Nicola commissioned that Claddagh ring and started wearing it to make it look like she was in a relationship with Luke. She even organized a side jaunt over to Galway to introduce Luke to – surprise! – her mother! But, after being rejected by Luke – because he really is in love with Antonia (the USS Lutonia is blasting its horn right about now) – Nicola – YES, Nicola! – set up Papsmear to ruin Luke. I mean, if he wasn’t going to be her boyfriend, he sure as shit wasn’t going to be anyone else’s! All summer Nicola waited for Luke, but he’d gone into hiding, scared to surface because Nicola might find him! After growing tired of waiting for Luke, Nicola got her assassin, JVN, to start trolling Antonia online, that way Nicola could put all her efforts into finding and trolling Luke. She set up Chaos Week. She trolled him on the airplane. But, she needed help (after all she had so many other events and awards shows this summer) so she enlisted her unwitting accomplice, Jake! Jake helped her set up that Lukola FanFic to remind Luke of what could have been. But, nothing was working so Nicola upped the ante and volunteered Jake to be her confused boyfriend. “Luke…Luke…” I can still hear her desperate cries being carried like ashes in the wind…

SEE!  I can do it, too – make up total bullshit to fit whatever narrative I please!!!

Yeah, yeah, maybe I went a bit too far (I warned you I had a dark sense of humor) but, honestly, I believe the only way the USS Lutonia and USS Jakola could stay afloat is if Nicola is the villain. She doesn’t even have to be a super villain. She just needs to be disingenuous enough to alienate Luke, terrorize Antonia, manipulate Jake, and mislead an entire fandom. Lucky for her, I don’t believe Nicola to be a real-life Rebecca. If you need an explanation as to why, then you didn't watch the same World Tour as me and you’re clearly on the wrong side of the fandom.

In truth, I believe the real villain to be…

YOU AS THE UNNAMED NARRATOR

Now, now, calm down. I’m not calling you out – at least not individually. I’m calling all of us out.

We as a fandom are the Unnamed Narrators of Lukola, Jakola, and Lutonia. We built these ships, and we control whether they stay afloat.

We took the narrative out of Luke and Nicola’s hands the moment we launched the USS Lutonia. Then we had to go and build the USS Jakola – I guess, because we were bored. No matter how hard Luke and Nicola try to pull the narrative back under their control, we allow side characters to feed us their side of the story! We fill our bellies with their nonsense and then vomit it all over the deck of the USS Lukola.

Seriously, we are the villains in this story. And, collectively, we are one bloody powerful super villain, aren’t we?

We control the narrative. So, if there’s a narrative you don’t agree with – for example, one that doesn’t make sense to you – stop being Conscientiously Stupid and feeding into it.

Remember what I said earlier? If you see Mrs. Danvers with a lit match, blow that fucker out! Otherwise, you’re going to let that bitch burn down the whole goddamn house.

[mvrdermeharder]

So in the wake of ch 294, i’ve been thinking about what’s left for Kaiser’s development…

Unfortunately, as i had expressed in one of my prev posts, i think his story has a very high chance of ending in tragedy (by which i mean death).

BUT, as he’s my fav trash boy, i’m not willing to give up on hope just yet. So i kinda want to ramble a bit about Archangel Michael’s history and iconography to find a leeway towards a better ending… and i’ll possibly do a deep dive in another post.

As i’m in the midst of editing… “deep dive” lmao as if this post didn’t end up as long as it did.

So basically, it’s a fact that bllk is full of christian symbology and references (mainly when it comes to kainess, to be specific), and it’s obvious that not only Kaiser’s given name, but also his appearance is inspired by how Saint Michael is represented in the most famous paintings:

Long(er) blond hair, androgynous facial features, wearing a blue tunic + often a red piece of cloth floating around him (Kaiser is permanently wearing these two colors on his body: red eyeliner tattoo, blue rose tattoo. Blue is also just his signature color in general.)

But here’s what i find even more interesting: Kaiser’s character is not only based on Archangel Michael, but it also incorpores a lot of visual elements that Lucifer is represented with (Lucifer is God’s ex-favorite angel, who CHALLENGED AND REBELLED AGAINST GOD, so then God kicked him out of heaven basically… you’ll likely know this angel by the name of Satan)

Now, the representations of Lucifer/Satan vary throughout history, with the earliest representations being in Egypt… so i won’t mention everything bc we’d be here for hours, instead i’ll just boil it down to only those characteristics that Kaiser and Lucifer have in common in SOME representations.

So, Lucifer/Satan is often represented as the most beautiful angel of all, sometimes in blue/red clothing, completely nude, OR in a demon like form: a goat-man with hooves, horns, and bat like wings. In the panel below, Kaiser takes up an anthropomorphic form (humanlike traits mixed with animalistic traits) as he immerses himself in his own malice: his legs and feet remind me of the hooves of a goat-man, aka Lucifer.

So despite Kaiser being a sort of reincarnation of Archangel Michael, his personality morphs into that of the cruel and sadistic Lucifer. He wants to rebel against God, he longs to cast his malice on the world’s football players to feel joy (just like how Satan finds enjoyment in tormenting humans), and in the latest chapter he claims that it was wrong to let go of his malice towards Yoichi, and that he should rely on his malicious urges to steal…

(For context, i’m using panels w the official translations, NOT the more widespread PO2 ones)

So now that i’ve explained how Kaiser takes on the characteristics of both of these angels, i want you to scroll back a bit to the paintings of St. Michael.

What we see in these paintings is the battle between St. Michael and Lucifer. We see Michael stepping down on Lucifer, in a complete victory. (The sword in his hands represents rightful justice, but that’s not very important rn)

And the way i see it, the manga might follow this story. But not in the traditional way of physical conflict between two bodies, instead, it’s an incredible internal and psychological conflict!

The great battle takes place in Kaiser’s mind, and if Kaneshiro intends to follow the famous biblical story, this conflict will end with the “defeat” of Kaiser’s unhealthy mentality (=defeat of his satan-like qualities).

Or at least that’s what I’m hoping for w this theory. I really don’t want to see my boy dead due to his fucked up mentality (Mick Moon theory… oh how i loathe u)

Paintings that i’ve used for reference:

Guido Reni - Archangel Michael defeats Satan

Luca Giordano - Saint Michael

Antonio Maria Esquivel - The Fall of Lucifer

Luca Giordano - The Fall of the Rebel Angels

Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino - (Little) Saint Michael

Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino - Saint Michael Vanquishing Satan

Francisco Goya - Witches' Sabbath

[straw-hat-nakama-22]

I'm working on pics but it's a work in progress because animals are hard.

Shapeshifter AU!

Luffy is in his monkey form as often as he is human. Sometimes Jimbe, in his Whale Shark form would let Monkey Luffy ride on his head.

Zoro sometimes changes into his Tiger form (Light green in place of orange of course) in the middle of a nap, especially if he's sleeping in the sun.

Nami uses her Raven form to scout ahead, feel the subtle changes in the wind under her wings, and to nick shiny objects.

Robin waited to share her form as a Black Bear until after Enies Lobby.

One upon a time, Franky was a Horse Shape Shifter. But since getting run over by a train, the closest he could get to what he used to be is "Centaur Franky". It was easier to build himself to change small things so he can pseudo-shift into a gorilla.

Goat Shifter Usopp! He uses his climbing skills to run away, I mean get a better vantage point to shoot down his enemies! I looked up what animals have good aim and when I saw a goat as one of the first options, I had to. I had to, guys.

Chopper. Did the human-human fruit give him an animal form or a semi-human form? Nobody knows or particularly cares.

Sanji doesn't let them see his animal self. Cause here’s the thing about Sanji’s animal. Technically, officially, it doesn't exist.

He wasn’t sure what he started out as, when he was ripped from his mother’s arms. It was some kind of cat, probably, but he couldn’t be sure. The Germa scientists had been as obsessed with improving that form as they were with his normal body. His body was long and powerful, golden with the head of a Leopard. He wasn’t sure the full body was though because the spots only went down his back, not the sides. His stomach was white and his tail was abnormally fluffy. So were his paws.

The most telling and abnormal part of him had to be his ears. They were Lynx ears, with the top tufts curled like his brows. If anyone saw what he was, they would have questions. Questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. It was better just to leave his other form to the imagination.

Zoro thought it must be something so embarrassing he was ashamed to show them.

The only person to see it since Germa was Zeff and it was only once. Still, he's the one who first called him Black-Leg. Both in reference to his own pirate name and to the two black back paws.

Red Hair Shanks is a Red Panda I don't make the rules.

[jollmaster]

Can we get some fun facts about Charlie/Charnett? Also what does her protection sigil look like? I noticed it looks different every time you draw her and I want to get a good reference.

of course :D this young woman is a mess sometimes

Charlie in asileverse, fun facts

• Charlie's actually a great sleepyhead and sleep a lot when she have such a possibility; even teachers and nannies who prepared her for noblewoman's life couldn't change her mind

• doesn't like dresses because they get tangled in legs, prefers stripped pants and camisoles; also Charlie doesn't wear shoes

• if she were to marry Seviathan, they would actually live in relative harmony because they both have a knack for quality mindfuck

• was ~5 months pregnant, as a goat should be

• faints or falls on someone's shoulder when she gets scared

• wearing too much bright makeup because it's underground fashion, and has some freckles under makeup

• Charlie is very well trained in high variants of languages, and her attempt to use popular lower speech sounds quite... interesting at times, if you know what I mean

• never swore before founding the sanctuary, Angel Dust was the first person Charlie basically started swearing at

• she swears at Alastor more often, but that didn't stop her from having a slight crush on him at one point (nothing serious, she knows perfectly what a jerk Alastor is, he's just tooooo charming with girls lol)

• Charlie's real form is human, and she's a beautiful young woman with long blond hair, with mother's stateliness and father's breed

+ sigil (based on mother's): Charlie draws it on forehead sometimes very hastily, not really paying much attention to it

[selfless-solipsist]

°˖✧ The Tea ✧˖° [Planet Janet]

「 ✦ “You ever think about therapy, Janet?”✦ 」

╰┈➤ Planet Janet x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ (Yes really)

> I tried, okay? > Also, I used the gif with Wander because I couldn't find one with ONLY Janet. Besides, it's cute.

You and Janet—what a pair. Who knew that galactic conquerors and sentient planets could bond over tea, pancakes, and a shared love of spilling the cosmic tea about everyone else? Your weekly visits to Janet's surface had become a ritual, a bizarre yet oddly soothing routine in the whirlwind of your chaotic life. Every Sunday, you would make the trek to her, perched atop your sleek starship like a villainess on a throne. As you landed, Janet would practically roll out the green carpet—literally. Vines would snake toward your feet, forming a path of flowers that seemed to sigh at your approach. The air would fill with the scent of syrup and fresh pancakes as if the universe itself conspired to make you stay.

Janet always greeted you with that same excited giggle, which you imagined was her equivalent of screaming into a pillow out of pure joy like an excited teenage girl. You were her best friend, after all, and she made sure you knew it. The cottage she had "grown" on her surface just for your visits was ridiculously cozy—almost too cozy. The walls were covered in alien floral wallpaper that changed patterns depending on her mood, and the place always smelled faintly of whatever celestial garden she had conjured that week.

“I made pancakes!” her voice would echo through the cottage as you stepped in, your heels clicking against the impossibly pristine floor. “Sit, sit! I added extra stardust sprinkles this time!” You would settle into a chair crafted from her vines—comfortable in a way that was almost unsettling—and take your plate, deadpan as ever.

“You know,” you would start, taking a bite, “if this whole ‘planet’ thing doesn’t work out, you could really rake it in as a cosmic brunch spot. These pancakes could end wars.”

Janet’s delighted giggle would practically cause earthquakes.

The two of you always got to gossiping. Janet had her opinions on everything—Maurice (her ex-moon, as she bitterly referred to him), the state of galactic politics, and especially the sheer audacity of some planets thinking they could pull off rings when they clearly didn’t have the gravity for it. And as for you? Well, you had plenty to share about the overly dramatic exploits of the so-called “villains” you occasionally crushed in your spare time. Your dry delivery always sent Janet into adorable fits of hysterics.

Today, though, the gossip session had taken a bizarre turn.

As you casually recounted the ridiculous antics of a wannabe overlord whose “evil laugh” sounded more like a goat in distress, her vines had slowly but surely wrapped around your arms, legs, and waist. By the time you noticed, you were cocooned like a fly in a spider’s web.

“Janet,” you said flatly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is this about me leaving again?”

Her voice came out soft and wheedling, like a child caught stealing snacks. “I just don’t want you to go... I mean, don’t you like it here? You’re my best friend!”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the vines as if they were a hammock. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just kidnap your friends. It’s... weird.”

“I’m not kidnapping you!” she protested, vines tightening just a smidge. “I’m... giving you a hug!”

“Uh-huh. And I suppose you’ll be serving pancakes directly to my face next?” The sound of plates clinking made you glance down. Sure enough, a vine was extending a forkful of syrup-soaked pancake toward your mouth. Unfazed, you took the bite. “Okay, points for effort.”

Janet squealed in delight, the entire surface of her planet rumbling like she had just won an award. “See? You’re so happy here! Why don’t you just stay forever?”

“Because I have planets to conquer and people to terrify,” you said, deadpan. “I can’t do that from your cozy vine-chair.”

Her voice turned playful but with an edge. “Oh, I don’t know... I think you could terrify quite a lot of people just by calling this place your new home base. Imagine the fear! ‘The villainess who lives on a sentient planet!’”

You snorted. “Janet, you’re starting to sound like Maurice.”

One whine snapped like a whip.

“Don’t you dare compare me to him!” she snapped, vines twitching in a way that suggested she might fling you into the stratosphere.

“Touchy,” you said, completely unbothered. “What happened this time? Did he park in your orbit without permission again?”

“He said my volcanoes were overkill! Can you believe that? Overkill!”

 “Well, Janet... you did incinerate that asteroid last week because it ‘looked smug.’”

“It was smug!” she huffed. “Just floating there, acting like it was too good to get caught in my gravity!”

...

“You’re... definitely over him,” you deadpanned.

Janet went suspiciously quiet for a moment, her vines loosening just enough for you to stretch a leg. You knew better than to press further, but the little smile tugging at your lips said it all. If nothing else, the pancakes would keep you distracted from her possessive streak—or so you thought. She huffed, and the vines holding your arms tightened, almost like a passive-aggressive hug. “Why do you always bring him up? Maurice this, Maurice that. I’ve moved on!”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh, totally. That’s why you have a crater on your northern hemisphere shaped like a frowny face. Real subtle, Janet.”

“That’s not a frown!” she shrieked, her voice reverberating through the air like a scorned diva at a karaoke night. “It’s modern art! You wouldn’t understand—it’s planet feelings!”

“Sure," You smirked. “Just like it wasn’t weird last week when you redirected a meteor to crash into him for ‘accidentally’ calling your oceans lukewarm.”

“He deserved it!” she snapped, vines flailing dramatically in sync with her voice. “I’m not lukewarm! My oceans are a perfect 78 degrees, with a light saline breeze!”

“And yet,” you said, as calm as a supernova before it explodes, “here we are. You, a sentient planet, and me, a mildly kidnapped villainess, discussing your volcanic breakup like we’re on some galactic talk show.”

Janet let out a melodramatic sigh, the ground rumbling beneath you. Flowers popped out of the soil, as if her emotions manifested as floral overcompensation. “I just want to be appreciated, you know? I put so much effort into everything! My waterfalls, my sunsets, my pancakes—”

“Your pancakes are phenomenal,” you said, mostly to stop her rant. A vine fed you another syrup-drenched bite before you could refuse.

“I know, right?” She preened. “Do you think Maurice ever complimented my pancakes? No! He always said things like, ‘Too much syrup, Janet,’ or ‘You can’t serve pancakes to a comet—it doesn’t have a mouth!’ He didn’t get me.”

“Yeah, Maurice is a real jerk,” you agreed around a mouthful of pancake. “But, y’know, he was your moon. Kind of literally made for you.”

Janet gasped in exaggerated offense. “Made for me? MADE FOR ME?! I’m a planet! I have billions of options! BILLIONS! You’re lucky I even let you visit—” She cut herself off, her vines quickly shifting to a far-too-gentle cradle around you. “I mean, not that I’d ever let you leave. But it’s totally not weird, right?”

“Oh, no,” you said flatly, sipping from a vine that somehow held a dainty teacup. “It’s perfectly normal to be smothered by your bestie every time you try to leave. I’m sure everyone would love being planet-wrapped. So cozy.”

Janet giggled, missing the sarcasm entirely. “See? You get me. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Favorite... what? Human? Friend? Pancake-eater?”

“Everything,” She replied, a suspicious amount of sincerity in her tone. Her surface glimmered in what could only be described as a planetary blush, soft hues of pink and green rippling across her landscapes.

You raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re not trying to butter me up so I’ll stay longer, are you?”

“Me? Never!” She said, giggling nervously as her vines tightened again—just slightly. “But, uh... since we’re talking about it, you could just stay. You’re way too good for all those other boring planets.”

“Janet.” You tilted your head, voice dripping with deadpan calm. “I’m not moving in.”

“I didn’t say move in,” she shot back, clearly flustered. “I just meant, y’know... permanent visits!”

“Mm-hmm.” You looked at the vines still wrapped around you. “Because you’re so good at letting people leave.” Janet opened her metaphorical mouth to protest, but you cut her off with a pointed glance. “Look. I’ll always stay a bit for the pancakes. I’ll even stay to listen to you vent about Maurice and how he ‘never appreciated your tectonic activity.’ But at some point, I do have to get back to my evil empire.”

“But I’m lonely!” She wailed, her voice echoing through the atmosphere like a soap opera star delivering a tragic monologue. “Do you know how hard it is being a planet? The endless void of space, the silence, the meteor showers that no one even compliments me on? And then Maurice—”

“Okay, okay!” You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smirk tugging at your lips. “You can keep me wrapped up in vines for, like, five more minutes. But after that, I am leaving. Probably.”

Janet sniffled dramatically, flowers blooming at your feet in response. “You mean it? Five whole minutes?”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “Just don’t forget to feed me pancakes while you monologue. Kidnapping always works better with snacks.”

She squealed in delight, her vines pulling you into an overly enthusiastic embrace. “You’re the best! I’ll make more syrup right now! Oh, oh, do you want a blueberry topping this time? Maybe some whipped nebula cream?”

“Surprise me,” you said with a sigh, leaning back into the cushy vines. “I’m already wrapped up in this mess, anyway.”

Her vines loosened just enough for you to adjust your position, which now felt less like a hostage situation and more like a bizarre spa treatment. One particularly enthusiastic vine fluffed your hair like a cosmic hairstylist who had overcaffeinated, while another twirled a napkin around your neck in preparation for what could only be described as round two of the Pancake Situation. “Whipped nebula cream and blueberry topping it is!” She declared, her voice a bubbly mix of excitement and the faintly unhinged energy you had come to expect. The ground beneath you shifted, a small geyser of syrup bubbling up from nowhere. “I’ll make this stack extra special. Only the best for my bestie!”

“You mean your only bestie,” you corrected, expressionless as ever. “Unless you’ve started taking applications.”

She let out an exaggerated gasp, the kind that made the whole atmosphere shiver. “You wound me! Like I’d let anyone else steal my best friend!” The vines squeezed you slightly—just enough to feel the weight of her emotional gravity, pun fully intended.

You groaned, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward. “Janet, if you keep acting like this, people are going to start calling you that planet. The clingy one.”

“I am NOT clingy!” she shot back, her tone defensive as wildflowers erupted around your chair.

“I’m... selective.”

“Right. Because wrapping me up in vines like a burrito is totally normal behavior.”

“It’s called affection!” she huffed. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy conquering every galaxy with your scary villain smirk, you’d get more of it.”

Your sly smile widened even more, because of course it did. “Oh, Janet, sweetie. I don’t get affection. I command it.”

Her laugh rumbled across the surface like rolling thunder. “And yet here you are, letting me feed you pancakes and braid your hair like a galactic princess.”

“Braid my—” You froze, finally noticing the intricate, alien floral pattern her vines had been weaving into your hair. “Janet!”

“What? It’s cute! You look like royalty.” She paused, a vine plucking a mirror from somewhere (where did she even store these things?) and holding it in front of you. “See? You’re glowing!”

You stared at your reflection, the deadpan expression on your face now juxtaposed with what could only be described as the most elaborate cosmic updo in the history of villainy. There were glowing flowers, swirling patterns, and even a little ribbon made of stardust. “Well,” you said after a long pause, “if I’m going to be an unwilling planet prisoner, I might as well look fabulous.”

“That’s the spirit!” Janet squealed, the landscape shimmering with excitement. “You always know how to make me laugh!”

“Yeah, I’m a real riot,” you said dryly, reaching for another pancake. “Hey, speaking of laughter, let’s talk about Maurice again. Remember the time he—”

Janet’s entire surface trembled, vines waving like an exasperated drama queen shooing away bad memories. “Ugh! Must we bring him up again? He’s so... so lunar!”

“Lunar?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “That’s an insult now?”

“Yes!” she snapped, voice tinged with melodrama. “He’s cold, distant, and always orbiting other things. Do you know how many asteroids he’s been hanging out with lately? Asteroids! They don’t even have atmospheres!”

You snorted. “Sounds like he’s rebounding pretty hard.”

Janet made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and an actual volcanic eruption. “Good riddance. Let him chase his dumb little space rocks while I—while we—live our best lives.”

“Uh-huh.” You leaned back, letting her vines drape over you like a weighted blanket. “And by ‘best lives,’ you mean trapping your bestie every time she tries to leave?”

“It’s not trapping,” she insisted, although the vines around your ankles said otherwise. “It’s quality time!”

“Sure it is,” you muttered, eyeing the syrup geyser that was now accompanied by a fountain of nebula cream. “You ever think about therapy, Janet?”

“Therapy?!” She recoiled like you had suggested she downsize her volcanoes. “I don’t need therapy! I’m perfectly well-adjusted for a sentient celestial body! Besides, I have you!”

“And there it is,” You raised a fork as a vine elegantly served you another pancake. “Just promise me you won’t sprout another ‘Welcome ___ Forever!’ topiary when I leave.”

She giggled nervously, a suspicious patch of vines shuffling as though trying to hide something.

...

You narrowed your eyes. “Janet...”

“It’s tasteful!” she defended quickly, sounding every bit like someone caught decorating their crush’s locker with glittery hearts. “And besides, you’ll be back next week for pancakes anyway, so what’s the harm?”

You sighed, unable to argue with that logic. After all, who could resist a planet with gourmet pancake skills, top-notch hair braiding, and just the right amount of possessive insanity to keep things interesting? Not you, apparently. “Fine,” you said, a smirk tugging at your lips. “But if you start naming craters after me, we’re gonna have a talk.”

Her vines tightened briefly in what you assumed was her version of a mischievous hug.

As the pancakes dwindled and the conversation mellowed into a comfortable rhythm, you leaned back into her vine-crafted throne, your eyes half-lidded in a syrup-induced haze. Despite her dramatic tendencies and occasional bouts of mildly possessive planetary behavior, Janet had a charm that was impossible to deny. Maybe it was her optimism. Maybe it was the way her laugh echoed like wind through a meadow. Or maybe it was the fact that she could whip up five-star brunch in the middle of nowhere. Either way, you were… fond of her. Not that you would ever admit it aloud in a way that wasn’t laced with your signature sarcasm.

“You know,” She began, her voice soft and thoughtful, “I don’t really say it enough, but… having you here makes everything better. Like, I used to think stars were the best thing about space, but now… I think it’s you.”

You blinked, stunned into a rare moment of silence. The only sound was the gentle rustling of her vines as they rearranged themselves into a cozy blanket over your shoulders. “Janet,” you said slowly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting with me.”

“Flirting? Me?!” she gasped, vines wriggling like a schoolgirl caught passing notes. “I—okay, maybe a little! But can you blame me? You’re brilliant, you’re confident, and you eat my pancakes like they’re the only thing keeping you alive.”

“Well,” you said, smirking, “they kind of are. Your cooking’s the only thing keeping me from taking over the universe twice as fast.”

Janet giggled, her surface glowing faintly with soft greens and pinks. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, really. To be… important to someone.”

“You’re more than important,” you said, surprising even yourself with the sincerity in your voice. “I mean, who else would braid my hair, feed me pancakes, and try to keep me as their personal space prisoner all in one day?”

“I knew you got me,” Janet said, her voice dripping with affection. “You always do.”

You looked down, spotting one of her roses growing near your armrest. Its petals opened wide, its soft pink glow shimmering like it was daring you to make a move. You reached out and gently cupped the bloom, tilting it toward you like a hand to kiss. “If this is your equivalent of a cheek,” you muttered, more to yourself than anything, “then… yeah, why not?” Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the petal. The rose immediately sparkled, its glow intensifying until it bathed you both in light. The vines around you trembled like Janet had just been told the juiciest gossip in the universe.

“Y-you kissed me!” she stammered, her voice rising an octave. “You actually kissed me!”

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, though the flush creeping up your neck betrayed your nonchalant delivery. “I don’t go around kissing planets every day.”

Janet squealed—an actual, full-on squeal of pure joy. Flowers burst into bloom across her surface, their petals opening like a cosmic fireworks display. “Oh, my molten core, you’re so cute when you’re flustered! Do it again! No, wait—don’t! I mean, do if you want to, but only if you feel like it—”

“Janet,” you interrupted, amused. “Calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Her voice was soft, almost vulnerable.

You sighed, leaning back and letting her vines settle around you like a warm hug. “I promise. For now, anyway. But only because you’re bribing me with pancakes.”

She giggled again, her glow softening into a gentle shimmer. “I’ll take it. For now.”

And as you sat there, wrapped in vines, sipping tea made of stardust and stealing glances at her glowing surface, you couldn’t help but think: maybe being a planet’s favorite wasn’t so bad after all. 

[clockwards]

the people demand lore of your fic!!!!! :D

fic lore fic lore!! for reference, here's the fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61166887

just going to dot point dump information so here you go! I'm also planning on writing a longer fic thats superhero AU based with some of these concepts, so look out for that :D

Every "smp" is a different timeline/universe, and they are all technically happening at the same time

Watchers are capable of "slipping" through these universes and experiencing them at will, while maintaining knowledge of the others

Grian, as a Watcher, sees people he likes and goes "you're with me now <3" and inflicts this power on them (without asking or telling)

Watchers are not evil, but their morals are skewed a little due to not seeing their people and deaths as final

When dead in any timeline, a character has their memory restored of all timelines. They are, technically, momentarily on the same level as a Watcher, but without the power to move into their other worlds. Similarly, they do not particularly care about death bc they are aware they will reawaken alive in another timeline (although they don't know that when alive)

"Slippage" refers to Gem’s knowledge and memory of her friends blending together over multiple universes (in this, mainly hermitcraft and wild life, but also some neutral worlds and a superhero one)

The water thing is about her base in hermitcraft s10!

Martyn as a Listener is aware of other timelines and can basically glean knowledge of them by listening into the communal stream of consciousness. He does not have a good time with this and pities Gem immensely for getting caught up in it all

Grian doing all this makes him basically the serial adopter of Watchers. You have no choice, you are Family now. This consists of himself, Gem, Cleo (i have my reasons), Jimmy (well not quite, but he's getting there), and Martyn as a kind of estranged cousin who does not want to come to family dinners

The red light at the top of the skyscraper is blinking at the rate of how many people have died so far. The third blink after her conversation with Martyn symbolises his death, and the nearly constant light at the end shows that everyone has died (bar Joel)

Deer Gem, mountain goat Joel (siblings), not-quite-avian-anymore Grian, moth Pearl, candlestick lookin' ass Tango, Etho is actually made of stone (homunculus type deal), extremely normal boy Martyn, bunny Lizzie

Important for you to know that a female rabbit and deer are both called a doe, so Joel fondly refers to his sister and his wife as his does (little guy standing between two very protective women)

Feel free to ask me any more specific questions!

And now you may have a bit I removed/changed for the ending

At the top of his dinky little tower, Gem watches as Grian prepares for a funeral. She’s not sure who died, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it, so she doesn’t ask. Sanctity of death, and all. He tosses clothes to the side, muttering to himself. Without his shirt, she can see the tattoo on his back, the skeletal remnants of his wings poking through the skin. She can tell where his hands would have to lay to line it all up, squares inked on his palms like supplication.

Next to her, Mumbo swings his legs like a child.

“Think he’ll say anything? He’ll be mad when he comes back if Grian doesn’t.”

“What, like a eulogy?”

“Yeah, you know, honour the dead.” He elbows her side, cracking a grin. She smiles back wryly.

“I don’t think you’re honorable at all, Mumbo.”

He laughs genially, mock-bowing as far as he can while sitting on a bed.

“Dead or alive,” she adds for good measure, lips twitching as his giggles taper off.

Grian’s got a black blazer on, shirt unbuttoned, no tie in sight. He’s running his hands through his hair, peering out the window every time he passes, as if he was expecting to see some parade of chaos happening way down below the skyscraper.

“Which are you, Gem?”

“I’m always honorable, you know that.”

The elevator dings brightly, and Grian runs in, somehow looking worse for wear every second.

“Not exactly what I was talking about, but sure.” Mumbo smiles at the closing doors. “Want to see who turns up and cries?”

“Nah.” The ceiling is blurring slightly. “I should go to bed.”

“Aren’t you already?”

Stone slips to hardwood. It blurs together every time she blinks, like she’s drunk, like she’s floating. She remembers dying like this, once.

She’ll do it again one day.

For now, she rests.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

36 - Wolves of the Past and Back

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

Length: 18k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, graphic descriptions of gore and violence, references to past rape, sexual trauma, smut, past character death

Notes: I'm basing my description of the Others off of the books, but it's perfectly fine if you envision them as the White Walkers from the show. It's just my own stylistic preference. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Nothing of the orders seemed as if it would lead to anything different. Black dyed fur sat warm around their persons as the same colour matched all the rest they wore, but it wouldn't be warm for long, not as they travelled. All sat atop a horse each as the jarring loud rise of the gate blared before them. The tunnel as it always was, stood dark, long and shivering in the air even despite the North beyond. As if the wind trapped inside as the gate opened never allowed it any warmth.

Finally as the men all waited for the second gate to rise, Will could only wonder how long this time would take. Some rangers would come back with whispers of strange happenings, some didn't even think twice of it, and it was always difficult to tell who was spinning stories from fear, and who was fearful from the things they truly had seen. As the three men had begun to move along the woods, nothing was out of the ordinary. Just snow and cold, and nothing within sight for far too long in far too chill of air.

But it was then which him alone which saw it, a plume of smoke. Nothing was around it, no signs of life or attack and there was not much in these closer parts that they could hide so well in. But climbing off the horse, Will saw nothing strange, but still approached as careful as he knew to be.

As he slowly descended on the small cliff side, he braced himself for whatever was waiting and yet, it wasn't them. Well, it was the wildlings, but not the way Will thought they would be spotted.

The bodies were frozen solid, many parts cut and severed brutally as they all sat formed on the ground which each body part stripped bare to the cold. Sat in the middle formed a large circle, with bodies straight down the middle of it and beyond with more body parts scattered across the end of it. Multiple spots on specific edges sat heads perched onto spikes whereas torsos, legs, and arms sat on the snow alone.

Whatever shock came from that sight, was tenfold to the sight of a young girl with large orange curls pinned dead and frozen to a tree, and it was what startled Will to run back to his horse.

Ser Waymar Royce hadn't actually worked to deserve the authority he was given, or the attitude he spoke with. He had only been at the Wall half a year. The youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs and he was dressed fancier, spoke fancier and looked down at both there, as Will returned to him and Gared to speak of what he had seen. “What'd you expect? They’re savages. One lot steals a goat from another lot and before you know it, they’re ripping each other to pieces.”

The thicker accent which spoke back looked at him with an ingidnance, and a searing startle that made him come off more angry then perhaps intended. “I've never seen wildlings do a thing like this. I’ve never seen a thing like this, not ever in my life.” Asking how close Will had gotten, he looked at Royce as if that was a ridiculous question. “Close as any man would.”

Gared spoke up next, “We should head back to the wall. It'll be night soon.”

But Royce only raised an eyebrow with a glint in his eye as mocking as his tone. “Yes, it does that everyday around this time. Don't tell me, do the dead frighten you?”

Gared was a brother who had spent forty years at the wall, he was not a man accepting to be made light of, but there was something else. A nervous tension coming close to fear that was felt not only in one man alone. There was an edge to the cold and darkness falling upon them, the cold blowing from far North had grown strong and stronger so with each passing hour out here.

The elder man though, tried to hold firm in his certainty. “Mormont's orders were for us to track the wildlings. We tracked them. Won't trouble us no more.”

But that was not going to stand with this present commander, not in his arrogant youth which hadn't learned a single lesson in his time. He was a highborn with a Ser attached to his name and spent many years of his life being handed things the moment he pulled such arrogance out. He cared more, Will suspected, for how it would look if he were to return, not the integrity of the task given. “You don't think he'll ask us how he died? Get back on your horse.”

Will only tried one last plea. “Whatever did it to them could do it to us. They even killed the children.”

Royce, once more, looked but entirely condescending. “It’s a good thing we’re not children. You want to run away south, run away. Of course, they will behead you as a deserter. If I don’t catch you first. Get back on your horse. I won’t say it again.”

They had moved as Will returned, his other two bothers at his backs. Moved perhaps, on their own or of something else. But there were no men left to show them, and thus, Royce had the three of them look the area, seek out where they could've gone.

But it felt dark, too dark and too cold. It felt wrong. The wind rustled and the trees blew so freezing it drew attention between all three, but just as Royce looked to Gared asking why he seemed to fearful of such wind, did it stand. The wind blew and so did the trees rustle, but Royce never heard a thing.

The Others made no sound.

Only when Will could see what happened from where he stood, and the wind blow so cold it almost froze him to the spot, did he see her. The little girl stood in a clearing, skin pale and deathly, but her eyes a glowing blue and so like Gared who ran for his own, Will did as well. Ran and ran and if something, or somethings chased after the two men, they did not know. Even though it felt as if many things were behind them.

Going until Will came across Gared who was as terrified across the way. It was so cold.

It came from behind Gared, standing taller then any man he'd ever met. It looked somehow gaunt and yet it's skin was also smooth as if a soft ice, and pale as milk in flesh. In the freezing winds, it's armour seemed to change colour with every step it took, looking like the sky rippling across water but in the trees and dark to match around it.

On silent feet it moved forward, the blade it rose looked as if it was made of moonlight. A shard of crystal ice that almost vanished if looking at it from the edged blade alone. Like the Others itself, its blade seemed to almost glow a tint of blue that made it stand out.

The one, two, three, five of them all emerged around the woods, as the one behind Gared rose the glowing ice and sliced through his neck with such an elegant stroke it looked as if not a shred of effort had been made. But then the one holding his head looked at Will, and as more of them came closer to did the ranger feel shock and numb, falling to his knees. Slamming him into the cold to whatever fate held, such terror was strong.

The Other opened its mouth to speak as freezing and dark came around, but it spoke in a language he did not know. It's voice sounding like the crackling of ice on a winter lake.

Only as they approached, did he look back up at them and the hand of milk white reached out to grasp, kill, take, whatever intended, did it stop. Glowing blue eyes like something of another world peered into Will's as if searching beyond the eyes looking, and it found them.

Pulling back, he and all the Others yelled out in a loud crackling of ice.

As the eyes of a shaggy haired boy, barley in his teen years watched, he knew that the men, Gared and Ser Waymar Royce had seen a ranger named Will.

The boy however, wasn't like them, not anymore. He could see the eyes behind Will. He was learning how to do it, move as if travelling alongside whatever gazing into the past the boy was doing.

But he also realized, the Others could see the person behind Will too. Despite approaching the man with intent, the boy watcher to the side knew that they only backed off, left him alive, beacuse they too, could see the dark hair, green eyed Baratheon girl behind them.

The Others didn't harm you, but the boy watching it all, didn't know why.

Bright the surroundings of the North looked as snow blanketed everywhere you went now. It was always beautiful, but not quite easy to see in summer, as the land didn't look as light and colourful as much against the dim sunlight it received. But against snow and ice, the sun now radiated off the brightness of the winter and lit the air around for all to see perfect in that morning hour.

When he found you, Jon knew your eyes looking around weren't where you and him stood. Your mind was elsewhere, and the white that covered them looked almost what he knew now, was what one looks like when warging. But you weren't a warg at all, and yet you still stood there eyes white and mind stolen elsewhere. But if your physical person were before him? Why did you look so much colder then even the air around you both?

Freezing air leaving your lips with a shiver as many would once the far North winds blew, but it was odd as nothing else but just your skin felt it. Each time before, you were able to be pulled out of it either by touch or a voice close to you in the present world but this time, neither party present could do it. Ghost  was in front of you, barking and growling when he had tracked you. The direwolf would turn to look aggressively in defence elsewhere but not find anything which was a threat.

Jon had tried calling your name, but you didn't react. By the time you had stopped, it was like you were still as a statue as the expression on your face with white eyes, looked terrified. Grabbing you by the arms was when he realized you were almost so cold your lips tinted blue. Moving so he could pull you back into his chest, while Ghost had whined and stepped up closer to your front and as if protecting you from something.

You grew colder and colder by terrifyingly quick seconds passed, until you blinked.

Your eyes focused on the world before you, tilting your head down to see Ghost before you started to properly shiver, being turned to face that which was behind you. Gloved hands grasped your cheeks and tilted you up, your eyes meeting Jons wide, grey ones full of a concern and filtering in fear. His eyes scoured you over, almost debating if asking about you being alright, but he knew the answer was no.

Instead, he ran a hand down your hair and pulled you in so he could almost hide you when wrapping more of the fur around him, to drape across you. Your hands found his waist as you spoke none, you rarely did for a few minutes when coming back.

Ghost looked around the area to find none of what he previously sensed before too walking up to the side of you both. His great size meaning as he moved to nuzzle his head into your side, his own fur was tall and warm enough it helped sooth you. You had something warm loose on you before and you didn't know when you lost it.

Likely you thought, eyes slipped closed as you leaned into Jons comforting and warm embrace, it fell from you when you, or whomever your eyes watched through, began to run. Running from the crystal blue glowing eyes. First it was fire, then you would see this, that, them, her, and now you were seeing what your dreams showed you, only now it was so much more real before your vision.

Jon's visions were nothing like this. You knew that, he was seeing both sights at once. He could see the world and he would see you and never be confused or lost as to who or where he was. You, were utterly gone from your mind when this happened. And your reactions were only growing more vivid.

Your voice muffled against his warm chest when you finally found a voice. “I don't suppose saying this is only stress, would be an acceptable explanation would it?”

Jon both tensed, and then sighed out a mixture of frustration and an on edge level of amusement. He tucked your face more into his neck, and you wondered if this was to comfort you, help warm you, or what you suspected Jon wasn't saying, was that maybe his reactions to this were getting more concerned.

Jon was trying to not tell you how much this was scaring him.

Maybe it was the sights you saw this time especially, and you wished you could be scared of your own mind. But you weren't. What scared you, was the black charred bones of a small Ghiscari girl named Hazzea, and the tall, looming nightmare that moved to crowd you as a group of five of those things came for you. Came, and yet, as it reached out to grasp you, it pulled back.

Pulled back and almost let out what their voices of a yell could sound like, which was as if someone cracked a shattering of ice inside your eardrums directly. They pulled back from you all suddenly at that, and just as you sighed out almost so terrified you had no feelings left in your heart, you were in a very different snowy woods.

The rangers out there were tracking wildlings. Wildlings which were no longer North, and out there on the orders of a Lord Commander that had been dead for years. You couldn't help but wonder, if the visions showing you the silver haired Targaryean were too in the past. But that wasn't possible. Any dream or vision you or Jon once held, always was based in the now. You saw things as they occurred even if you didn't then realize. You had seen each other that way, two visions accidentally finding each other and you somehow saw the other.

But this was far in the past, these now dead rangers. Or, at least, two. What happened to the one you saw through, Will, once they left you did not know. But if that fear in your heart now was shared with him, you wondered if he had found it in himself to try and run. If you were him then, you might try and desert that cause as well. Looking into their eyes as if they were truly right in front of you?

Part of you could feel the edge of Longclaws pommel, and you could only think to yourself that Jon was truly a man made of something entirely different. To have fought one, survived one, and killed one and yet he so determined led the true fight against them without letting that terror over take him. Beacuse it felt like it wanted to strangle you.

Pulling back, you shivered still, the cold of the winter air now seeping into your skin. Some of your body was warm, but you knew Jon was looking at the tints of blue still sat upon your lips you were so cold. His hands ran up and down your upper arms as he looked the rest of you over. Quiet for a good moment, he likely was keeping it inside until his voice could speak as steady as it did when he finally grasped the words to let out. “If you aren't with me, or with your guard, I'm having Ghost stay by your side from now on.”

Tilting your head, the ease of a protest slipped your lips, “Jon I can't ask-”

But he shook his head, a gloved hand rising up up cup your cheek and let the leather covering his thumb run along your cold lips. His brows furrowed as his voice dropped so you knew the frustration was there. “I know you didn't ask. This is a command. I don't want you alone anymore while this keeps getting worse.” You swallowed your words right back down your throat instead of arguing. The brightness in his eyes was not endearing, it was full of blatant worry. “You had almost gotten two miles away before Ghost caught up with you. I won't order you to stay only inside the castle walls, but I don't want you out here on your own right now.”

Nodding, you found no strength in you to protest. Nor did you really want to, it was his command and that was the end of it. Your cold, ungloved hands reached up, just enough that your shaking fingertips trailed over the direwolf etched into the dark leather across his torso. His eyes curious as they watched you as your voice came out hesitant, but affectionately soft in muttering. “You're still wearing the sigil.”

Not looking, you missed the way Jons face twitched almost to smother the conflict only as it passed for a second, but much more comfortingly landed on a softness, as he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes with the thumb already at the side of your face. “House Stark is still my fathers house.” Your heart wanted to melt down into the snow at your feet at the ease he spoke. More of a whisper, he treaded the water that he had been avoiding before. “You told me the truth, and I took this all out on you for it. You didn't deserve that.”

The words of sorry were about to come from his mouth when you shook your head, letting one cold hand of yours run along the facial hair covering part of his jaw as you whispered back. “You were upset, that isn't your fault.” Jon trying to say different, that he had yelled at you but you took him off guard, your lips half finding a gentle smirk. “This is, what? Only the second time we've ever had any sort of fight, in nearly two decades of knowing one another? Not anything worth demanding a sorry for, not with you.”

Jon that time sighed out almost pretending to be more frustrated then he really was. Both hands now moving to cup your cheeks as he leaned down, his lips brushing over your blueish slowly warming ones. “Why do you make apologizing so difficult?” His lips were gentle, just a warm press that almost seemed to intent to bring the pink tones back to your lips proper.

You were both dancing around what happened just now, and that was how you knew for sure it was Jon which was scared the most. He would protect you, but maybe he wasn't ready to ask more about it. So you let him keep your lips pressed to his, until you felt shimmers of warm seep back into your bones.

A good while passed before he left one more kiss to your lips. “Come on, before the rest of them wake  up and start searching for us both.”

Sam sat in a disbeleif, eyes looking back over to Jon before returning to the fire they sat around as the morning was still early and quite bright. “I mean I knew he hated you, but this is different.” Jon had to tell Sam the truth, but at the least you could tell it was easier to swallow after spending a number of hours sleeping on the truth of what happened.

Jon had you sitting right by his side, but this time your distant mind wasn't that which was distracted. A drift of your gaze over to where Beric Dondarrian and Thoros of Myr were tied and kept. What Jon did with the others he had not told you, said it was best if you left it for him to handle as he prompted you away the night before. Nor did you know how he came to the conclusion to take those two with him, but you never once questioned or doubted his intentions.

All he had said for now, was that they had more to offer then nothing at all, but it didn't mean Jon was going to be kind about it. Already knowing there were to be two cells which would make home for them until he had the time to deal with it. But it was the way in which Thoros kept looking at you.

Your eyes would meet and you'd narrow them and peel back glaring towards the fire only to find Gendry's with more spite in the same intention. You didn't blame him.

Jon beside you spoke low even in the mostly private space in the packing up camp. “Said it was for the Watch. What all of them said. Think he wanted to do it for a while, I just gave him an excuse.” You knew both men flickered their gaze to you, but you ignored them as your eyes found the fire once more. You still felt unusually cold.

They had been dancing around the subject of how he was alive, likely sensing that Jon didn't want to talk about it as much as you didn't. “I imagine he probably couldn't believe he was going to die before someone like me.” Jon tilted his head at Sam, almost imploring him not to find a reason to run back down that route of insecurity. It was difficult not to when discussing Thorne. “What about..”

Sam's voice trailing off as you knew he was asking about anyone else who did it. For only a moment, did you know Jon felt you stiffen beside him. Your own gaze flickering up to meet where Theon was standing not too far off before swallowing. Turning back to the fire intently.

Jon luckily, was skilled at laying it out as diplomatically as he could while also holding a deep, rough tone as he started with the blatant truth. “I hanged Yarwick and Marsh.” You glanced up to see a bit of taken back surprise in Sams head as it jolted a bit. “They were the only two other then Thorne to help actually shove a knife in my chest.”

You hadn't blinked, eyes stinging a bit at keeping that certain information out of it. Theon, then Olly? And now you couldn't help but wonder, were you not there, what would Jon have felt compelled to do with the Brotherhood. Perhaps death truly had made you soft. Or weak. You supposed that distinction depended on who you asked. It was hard to tell if you made Jon worse for it too.

Once more your eyes found that similar to Gendry's. Only that time, both men were watching back. Perhaps not at him, but certainly at you, and you felt an unpleasant shake creeping down your spine  before you looked away again. Finding Gendry's, you knew he felt frustrated that they were even coming along despite their position as prisoners. A small shake of your head as you almost looked a bit narrow eyed trying to implore him to let it go for now.

There was enough problems around, none wanted the return to Winterfell to be full of more strife then was about to exist anyways. Sam's voice caught both your attentions back, fighting between focus and something in your mind desperate for things to just slow down or stop. Too much kept happening all at once and you were struggling to keep up. “I suppose its easier to get more people to listen to you if your a King then Lord Commander.”

There was a small huff in Jon beside you, as if a doubting laugh almost poked through. “Believe me, Sam. Doesn't make it any easier. No one thinks we're telling the truth in the first place.” Sam pointing out that Stannis had believed them, but Jons tone only grew deeper and more frustrated. “I'm starting to think he's the only one who will.”

Your voice was more of a quiet mutter, your arms slinking more into the cloak around you trying to hide from the cold that existed only in you still. “Most of us in the South don't even think The Long Night happened.” Eyes all turning to you, but you only shrugged as your voice didn't raise any further. “There isn't any proof it happened, so most of us grew up thinking Northerners are superstitious for even believing in it.”

The hope in Sams eyes however, was what surprised you. “But we do have proof.” Your brows narrowed as did Jons, prompting him to explain himself. “Well, not proof, but as close as I could find. It's..it's why I was coming back North. I know you sent me there to replace Maester Aemon one day-”

No one but Jon knew it, but as Sam continued, he felt something almost painful stir in his chest. A feeling Jon never once had to confront, it didn't mean the same thing then. He didn't think about it, what that line traced back to who. He didn't want to, he didn't want to look at them the way Jon did the Starks, they didn't deserve it. But maybe there was one who did deserve his memory.

Those people weren't Jons family, but Jon thought to himself, he and Maester Aemon still served together in the Nights Watch. And those men are still his family, his brothers. It was all confusing in his head, and for once he almost missed everything Sam had been saying. Ironically, you had to be the one to listen and respond for him as his mind drifted, when lately that was Jons job for your sake.

It was your responding voice that pulled him back to the present, you sensing Jon suddenly shifting beside you despite the past few minutes him being still as stone. “Why keep them a secret?”

Sitting up straighter on the wood you were all perched on around the fire, the slow creeping feeling of a gloved hand trailing along your back fell upon you. Jons hand reaching around you to rest against the wood at the side of your hip, for a single moment you almost tried to move away.

All of this speak of Robb so strongly the night before, and it was likely your mind had ever so briefly associated Jons touch with something kept for the secret or dark. Neither Theon nor Gendry noticed, or cared. But you did see Sams eyes glance down and almost look back between you with eyes just a bit brighter that you tried to ignore.

His voice a mock whisper, leaning forward a bit to you. “I mean, our ancestors weren't very nice to theirs, were they?” His head nodding a bit towards Jon. “Makes sense they would lock it away, if they think the First Men were all wild and superstitious. And like you said, most of us all think it's just stories. So there's no need to look at them if they aren't real.”

Almost in a tinge of amusement, Jon spoke much more dry as his face twisted up in a playful jest. “You do remember I sent you there to learn to be a Maester. Did you do any learning in between all this?” Sam and Jon both shared an easy look, the more you were around them both the more that it really did feel as if Sam was as good as a true brother to Jon. It felt good, seeing someone that so naturally brought out some of Jon's lightness with ease.

Protesting in his own mocking offence, ��I did, spent my day busy with my tasks. It just meant I had to do a lot of sneaking around and reading at night.” Relenting to more serious but still within a memory that acted to entertain. “If we thought being stewards was messy work..” Shaking his head with a flash of something minorly disgusted in his eye. “Try being assigned latrine duty for a whole wing full of sick people. Made being at the wall feel like a privilege.”

A laugh shared between them, but you guided it, perhaps a bit stilted, back to the question in your mind. “So is that why you came here? You found these old texts and what they say?”

Multiple eyes turned to Sam, as he thought carefully his choice of words likely due to the number of people simply around. “I haven't been through a lot of it, mostly I just figured out a way to translate it but it takes time and, if we don't have much time before..” Before they come, was what you knew he wanted to say. “Then I can't spend only a few hours every night looking them over in secret. If the answers are in those runes-”

Jon finished for him, stern and focused back in his eyes. “Then we need to know what they say as soon as we can.” Sam nodded as Jon begun already to make plans in his head. “When we get back, I can find you a place to work in the castle, our Maester will help you.”

Sam almost grimaced, catching Jons questioning gaze. Sighing out, the man spoke a bit on the side of down trodden. “Don't know if he'll believe the things I tell him. I tried asking the Archmaester if there was anything on the Long Night in the library, and he only told me it would do me good to be a bit more skeptical about what Northerners say.”

In opposite stances, Jon was much more certain and sure of his own words. “Maester Wolkan's smart, you can trust him. And believe me, he's seen enough not to doubt that what we're up against is real.” Silent in you own words, but you knew the scar under yourself was the first in that line of abnormal things.

Just to the side, it was Gendry who leaned over to Theon with a whisper, “Am I the only person here who has no idea what they're talking about?”

Pushing up from where he leaned against a tree, he came more around to sit somewhat next to him with a quiet but much more casual air of his tone. “The Long Night was real, winter is coming and we're all going to die.”

Raising an eyebrow at him with a incredulous look that notably reminded Theon of the exact same kind of look you would give him when annoyed. “Okay, now can I hear the version that's not for children?”

It shouldn't have surprised any, how quickly you found yourself moving right back into things almost the second your feet were on the ground. You didn't want any decorum upon riding through the Winterfell gates and there was far too much to do. But it did strike some, the natural way you and Jon worked around each other in harmony, as if little needed to be said to be on the same page.

You once more avoided the look in Maege Mormont's eyes, you had the entire journey back. There had been no indication when you reunited that there was a thing between yourself and Jon, then once more you leave to Dragonstone and the eve of your return, you and him marry. Many were happy, and none vocalized any discontent, but you knew she had questions upon questions. None of which you were ready to answer.

You could talk to Jon and Theon about Robb, but talking about him to the rest of the very people he fought side by side with was another. Theon said no one cares what you and Jon do together, but it didn't stop the swirling pit of doubt fester in your stomach over it.

Lady Stoneheart had accused you of just being a whore there to warm Jons bed. And maybe, you were terrified, that those were not the words of a vengeful creature with no humanity. You were terrified, those were words spat out by what of Catelyn Stark had remained. She was a mother to you, you loved her son, you didn't want what was left of her to doubt that. Nor the rest of your people. Not wanting those words to match another dead voice tormenting your new life. Not wanting her voice to watch what Ramsay had said to you, what he made you believe.

Not too long in your return, did you feel Jons hand brushing against your lower back as he led you inside the castle from the hustling noise of people upon your return. Most here knew what was expected of them, and whatever reunions were to occur around, would be done without you for now.

“You have never seen them do that, why start now or..whenever I-” Your hands dropped from their position, landing with a thud on the drawers below you as you took a steady breathe until the words found themselves without a stutter. Moving back as you did, trying to slowly work through the now wet strands of your hair before they dried. “They want people like us for their army, why let one ranger go free after hunting them all?”

Jon had been quiet while you told him what you had seen. Silently letting you make your way through the whole tale as he had ensured your skin and hair were scrubbed gentle and clean from the days you had been gone. His voice only speaking in low murmurs in your ear when he had directed you out of the water. Telling you to stay put, quickly throwing something on for himself before moving to grab something warm for you to wear.

Naturally, you had thrown on a shift to hide the sight, and stubbornly made your way to the small mirror and worked to handle your hair before it became too much of a hassle. Mostly thinking out loud trying to work out what in the vision you saw made little sense to you.  It was only as you suddenly felt Jons warmth envelop your back, his hands pulling your hair from where you had it in your own hands. Collecting it himself without second thought as he took over for you instead.

You both glanced to the reflection to see the other trying to avoid a smirk at how both of you were too stubborn for your own good, before you let him just do it. His voice low as he concentrated behind you. “If it was in the past, could be long ago enough that they were still working slow. The free folk said things only started to get worse years ago.”

Nails finding your lip to tap along in thought, unsure if you could even gauge what these things could possible have wanted anyways. “Or none of it was real, and I am simply losing my mind.”

You felt Jons hands pause before continuing to run a comb through the locks, “You're not losing your mind.” Raising an eyebrow with an ask of how he would know that, Jon exhaled almost with a tone with a tinge of nerves behind them. “When Ghost found you, it was like he was trying to look for something. As if he could sense something was there, when it wasn't. And the only times I've seen him like that..”

Slipping your eyes closed with a sharp exhale, you felt yourself digging your nails into your lips, moving them off by force only to have nothing to occupy them with. Falling lamely against the wooden surface before you. “So, he what? Could sense what I was seeing, wherever I even was?”

Jon's face grimaced in an unsure thought, setting the comb aside as you felt him moving the strands around for whatever style he saw fit to look at on you which he liked. Noting silently in his own mind, that he loved how often you simply let him choose for you. “He was the only reason I was there to kill the wight that night in Castle Black. He knew something was wrong right away, and it was the same this time. Only, he couldn't figure out why he thought you were in danger.”

You wanted to avoid the worried softness in his voice, but he wouldn't let you, almost standing a bit closer then before as one hand dropped down to your waist. Sliding gently along to pull you back into him as the other draped your hair along the other shoulder. Keeping that hand closer to the back of your neck as if somewhat massaging the tense muscles there.

Your hands finally found their place, pushing up his sleeve just enough you could gently wrap your hands around his wrist and forearm comfortingly. His voice lulling near your ear. “If it was all in your head, you shouldn't have been freezing like that when we found you.” Only in the halls of Winterfell did you start to feel any warmth returning to you, like it was a cold that seeped deep inside. “You were cold like you were right there with them.”

Leaning back, you both felt the heavy air between at the uncertainty. First fire, then ice, and in between a scattering of your own memories flying through you to haunt. “It felt like I was right there. I had no idea I was- I didn't even feel myself. It was like I was just seeing and thinking through this persons mind without any idea who I was anymore.”

“Maybe you weren't yourself.” Brows furrowing in confusion, Jon moved the hand on your neck down to your waist. Running up and down, dragging around the shift that was currently your only covering in the airy breeze of his room. You felt not much of it against his warmth. “Your eyes were white until you came back.”

Neither needed to elaborate. You both knew from two what that seemed to mean. Only, you weren't doing that at all. You weren't really in control, you were just this person until you weren't. The silence though, it almost felt on the edge of too overwhelming the longer it went on. If Jon could hear your heart racing, or the growing unsettled illness in your chest, it only made his grip tighter.

Swallowing harshly, you tried finding the strain of a voice, “Jon..” But he shook his head, the hand around your front moved up. Tilting you by your jaw to the side so Jon could more rest you against the side of his, keeping the hand there gently running along what his thumb could reach.

Something more was trying to get out, but you just stood there with him. Patient for it to find it's way into the air between you. When it did, his voice was but a rasping whisper as he could barley find it in him to pull away long enough to meet your eyes. Ending up only shifting slightly as if just nuzzling closer instead.

“We need to stop doing this.” You hummed in confusion, but Jon just let the hand on your waist take over what his other did. Wrapping around your front and pulling you back into him more as he spoke. “Ever since I came back, it's like we can't go a week before something gets between us. I- I'm constantly terrified I'm going to lose you again, but I can't do any of this without you.”

One of your hands reached behind, gently running through his own still somewhat damp curls as if to keep him just as close. “I'm-”

“Don't.” Taking you off guard, like Jon wanted to be stern but it only came off in somewhat of a crack before he just let that vulnerability open up. “Don't say sorry, none of this was your fault.”

Your whisper would have been missed were he not as close as he was. “I think you're wrong.” If you thought he was going to let you pull away, you were mistaken. His grip strong and knowingly holding you right in place when you attempted to step away from him. He wanted you to explain yourself while in his embrace, which was as clever as it was unfair. “Every step of the way we've either stopped talking or been separated, has been beacuse I did something, or I screwed up. All I do is cause you stress, and force you to worry about me, when you have so many more important things to focus on.”

Heart going from racing to stopping in an instant, Jon said something you didn't at all expect. “Maybe it's me. You never had problems like this when it was Robb you were with.”

Your head fall back as much as he could allow, leaning as much into him as you could despite his tight grip. Voice a quiet tone despite the tear in your heart. Maybe you and Jon were experiencing similar insecurities without the other realizing, you wondered. The fact that he even remotely could think to compare himself to Robb, you never wanted that. You didn't want either of them comparing to the other. “What did I tell you in White Harbour?”

He was silent, and so you continued, but you knew he remembered it. “I told you, there are no conditions to loving you. That was true then, and it is now. And I don't want you trying to compare this, to what I had with Robb. You aren't him, I'm not with you to feel like I'm back with Robb. I'm with you beacuse I love you. And before you say it, yes I am aware of how hypocritical this sounds.”

The chuckle behind you started deep, and only increased as Jon almost playfully let his face drop in between your shoulder and neck to laugh. Only pulling back to press a kiss there, feeling the smile on his lips. “It's very hypocritical of you.” You and Jon both relaxing in his amused tone.

Finally though, he let you turn to face him. Your palms finding his chest flat, the shirt on him only managed it seemed to get on but not at all done up. Sliding them down to his scars did for once, your face not twist in a pain looking at them. It felt weird to think, but you almost missed them. Sliding them over his heart and one closer to the scar near his hip, your eyes shined bright as you looked up to his grey ones, finally looking warm and full.

Drifting up, one hand danced with the ends of his curls as the other draped along his shoulder under his shirt fabric. “We came back different then we used to be..I think maybe we need time to get used to being with the other like this.”

His large hands on your waist now before he cupped your cheek to lean in more, nose nudging gently against yours playfully. “You mean how now I'm the stern one and you're the emotional one?” He grinned as you almost laughed. Eyes fading to the side before rolling up to meet his with a faux look of offence that meant nothing. “I promised to take care of you, and I haven't been doing that. But I will from now on, no matter what. You're my wife now, I'm here to protect you. Even from me.”

Leaning up, you nudged his nose gently that time. Prompting him to tilt you to let him trace down the length of yours as you whispered. “You already take care of me, I should take care of you.” A bit of a pause, you added, “I don't want you to be perfect or think you have to live up to what I had with Robb. I was his, but now I'm yours. For good.”

It must have been more days apart then you thought, as Jon leaned in you both almost felt the kind of nerves that used to exist between you both so early on. But, this time you both closed the small gap. His hand on your cheek tight as yours at his shoulders were, his lips already will of a soft need as he pressed you gently into the drawers still behind you.

There was much to do, and far too many people to meet with but for now, you and Jon stayed right there. One of your hands moved to wrap around the back of his neck and returning to his curls. His kiss deepened, but was never with greed nor hunger. Just a steady coaxing for your lips to dance with his as long as you had the breathe to last.

And once that ran out, Jon gently pulled from your lips. Only a tinge of greed as he stole one more before pulling you into him, keeping you in a tight embrace. Your face tucked safe in his neck and his buried comfortingly in your hair. Neither of you knew how long you stayed like that, but you also didn't care.

Sometimes, it was going to have to just be about you two from this point on. You both sacrificed so much to get here, and what was that meaning or purpose if you let the other slip through your fingers time and time again?

It didn't fix the noise in your head, nor Jons, but at least your noises now hummed in mutual harmony.

Strangely, you  had never actually been down here for this sort of purpose. You had been in here when it was empty many years ago. It was in your first visit to Winterfell, and by then it was been a number of months and you were beginning to feel quite well adjusted. Which meant that a certain Stark had begun his quest to teach you the ancient tradition of sneaking around and getting into trouble.

Robb had asked if you ever have seen a dungeon before, and while you had on Dragonstone you admitted these ones were spookier. The Winterfell ones had not much light beyond torches hung along the walls, whereas the ones in your home still had light shining from the windows near sea level. He had begun to tell you stories, scary ones he'd heard from Old Nan until he watched you walk into an empty cell curious, and startled you into a shriek by slamming the gate shut.

As it turned out, he hadn't realized it would lock right away. It was the first time you'd ever heard Eddard Stark laugh, and certainly laugh that hard when he came down with Robb when he left to go get him to help. The sight of you sitting cross legged in the middle of a cell with an extremely Robert like scowl before he let you out.

Least to say, he had laughed even harder when you walked out and shoved Robb so hard he almost fell over. You had taken his seat at supper next to Jon that night, just to force him to sit in your further away spot alone. It took another two days for you to forgive him, when he had asked the bakers to make you a special batch of blueberry tarts and left them in a basket on your bed with but a note that said “Please talk to me again.”

Now though, you had intentions to speak to your newest guests. Part of you wished you could do so alone, but if you weren't going to convince Jon on it, you certainly weren't going to convince Theon. At least your pattern of finding yourself in dire situations had bonded them over something at the least, Theon already organizing a rotation of at least two guard with you, him being your primary captain of the guard when his time permits.

You had given him a look, asking “And what sort of guard is to be with the King exactly?”

But Theon shrugged with a knowing glint in his eye that he was purposely not telling the full truth just to annoy you. “Don't know. I'm captain of your guard, not his.” Only a roll of your eyes followed as he gestured you to continue forward. At least someone had maintained their sense of humour all this time.

Sat on separate walls not too distant from the other, Thoros and Beric had made themselves as comfortable as could be down here. Both eyes watching you closely as you made your way to the outside of the cell, arms crossed along your front with a flat look on yourself. Choosing to cut right to the chase you looked between them. “I presume you both understand why you're being kept here.”

Once more Thoros looked more curious, Beric more knowing as the later was the one who spoke. “Your life was put at risk, we can understand that.”

Your eyes narrowed, and for a few moments silent sat between you and them. Only your voice returned was quiet even in the empty dungeon. “You let good, innocent people die just to serve out a purpose that woman you follow, demanded. That does not make you ghosts who hide in the shadows to protect the common people. It only makes you murderers.”

His tone wasn't condescending, but you disliked it all the same. “What does waging war make you then, your grace? Because those same common people would say it makes you as bad as any murderer we've brought to justice.” The tense feeling swimming in you veins flooded only as you looked at Beric with a silent gaze that spoke little of your true irritation.

Your voice gave even less away in tone. “We did not go to war thinking it would be better for the realm during so. We did it because sitting back and letting the Lannisters rule would far more cruel for far longer then the years we spent forced to fight against it. Robb Stark never claimed he was a good man for declaring war, and neither do I.” Watching closely, you knew there was likely more he wasn't saying but he was good at keeping it tucked away. “Justice can be cruel, my lord. But only when you start enjoying that cruelty, do I think is a line which shouldn't be crossed. And the men you sent enjoyed killing those innocent people. My people.”

Thoros spoke up, quieter then you expected, but also much more calm and coherent then you many times knew before. “Suppose you would need to hang me first, make sure he can't come back.” You only rose an eyebrow, forcing one of them to elaborate in the silence you insisted on them. “Those men were hired under the behest of the Lady Stoneheart. It was not our choosing to send them to hunt you down like that-”

Your voice cut through louder then likely they had expected. “How did you know? Where to find me, how did they know I was in Barrowton? No one knew I was there.” They stared at the other, and you knelt down to meet their eye level through the bars as your voice felt more strained as did the blood flowing fast in your veins. “I would suggest telling me the truth, because the King in the North will not be anywhere near as kind or patient about it.”

If there was any sort of silver lining, it was that there was tone of regret found in Thoros which matched his unwillingness to look you in the eye. “I can't say from whom, I don't know, but the lady was being given information by an unknown source regarding yourself. They seemed to have an interest in you being in the North and I presume they knew she would want to know as well.” Asking who would even want to know where you were or where you had been going, Thoros gave an answer you felt a cold wave in your lungs hit as you heard. “Someone with enough watchful eyes in the North. Someone who would take issue with your involvement with your new King.”

That answer made much sense and yet very little. You knew spies were littered about Westeros and the North included but none led back to any who would have a single reason to guide a creature of vengeful blood thirst to your doors. Neither the North nor Jon meant anything to those you could think of, but looking between the men, it was as much as they knew as well.

There were dots you were missing, and eyes in your lands that didn't belong to the North. Neither you nor Jon had time to let spies watch and report to play into anothers distant games. “And you have no idea who would have known she was alive, or who would be able to get into contact with her?” Still the answer was no, and you had no inkling these two at least were lying over it.

Standing properly, you hadn't even turned away yet before it was Thoros who brought it up. “How did you bring him back? Your King.”

The stares between you both were something that left you feeling those same shivers even in the warmth from the underground. This time, no impatience or contempt was felt as you whispered in complete honesty. “I don't know.”

But the way Thoros looked, again you felt as if it was understanding. There was something that could be seen as kind behind his eyes as he spoke. “Do you know how I first came to discover the Lord of Light had chosen me to work through? That I could pray to raise him back?” Gesturing to Beric, who could only watch carefully.

Shaking your head, you stepped back a bit closer as he looked away lost in memory. “I was a priest in Myr. Sent to Westeros to spread the Lords reach. But I was terrible at it, I always was a terrible priest, and it only got worse here. Drank too much rum, and fucked every whore there was in Kings Landing and by the end of it all, I didn't even believe in him anymore. That he, that all the gods, were stories we told the children to make them behave. So I wore the robes and every now and then I'd recite the prayers, but it was just for show. A spectacle for the locals.”

It wasn't quite the same, but you knew of such a feeling. Not that they didn't exist, but you knew how it felt to be alone. Like whatever gods you prayed to had left you abandoned and no longer mattered to the world. A lot felt like that in the Dreadfort, and it only got worse with Ramsay. A demon sent to torture you, true genuine hell would be a mercy compared to what he did to you.

But Thoros looked to Beric, and there was an affection that was difficult to ascertain. Like there was something about whatever their dynamic was, that found of great importance as he continued. “Then The Mountain shoved a lance through this one's heart. I knelt beside his cold body and said the old words. Not because I believed in them, but he was my friend and he was dead. And they were the only words I knew. And for the first time in my life, the Lord replied. Then he did so, five times after.”

Your eyes had glazed over almost, much death flashing by your vision and none of it as he spoke. And yet he knew that, pointing to you from where he sat against the wall with a curiosity. “But you, your grace. You spoke no words, you performed no ceremony or ritual, but the Lord of Light gave you the power none should hold like that, and brought him back from your doing. He chose you to serve him.”

Heart pounding in your chest you could both feel the necklace sat under your dress, and the feeling against your palms of a phantom cold and tracing over what then was still fresh scars. Your voice was held back as your eyes stung. “I don't serve the Lord of Light. I serve the North, and I serve my King. That is all there is for me.”

But you hadn't gotten far, gesturing for the men with you to leave first but you were caught turning back to face him as Thoros somewhat yelled to you. “It won't get easier. That feeling inside of you. It never gets any better, no matter how much time passes.” Your body slowly turned back to face him, but the red in your eyes and the sting went away none.

Beric spoke low, the sympathy spoke of something you felt in waves in capture of the Boltons. “Death changes us all. Everytime you come back, you're a bit less. Pieces of you get chipped away.” It was sympathy beacuse that was exactly it. Part of you was missing, and you would never return to what was lost that night bleeding at Robb's side. “But to be the one to bring another back? It gives you purpose.”

“How can you deny you have a true purpose here?”

“Could be why you came back. You couldn't stay dead because you needed to be here to bring him back.”

Your throat closed, the weight in it too strong as Thoros had one final thing to say. “I've asked the Lord to bring him back six times, beacuse that is why I am here. What it means only he knows, but my purpose is to guide this man from the darkness each time it tries pulling him right back. And that changes you. Bringing a soul from death changes you. They become your purpose. The Lord needs you to keep them alive, so they can fulfill their own purpose.”

None dared said a word about it as you left the dungeons, but the glance you had just before stepping out into the corridors with Theon? Well, he had said just that didn't he? Only a tilt of your head in knowing, he didn't rub it in. Too much blood it took to get here, and saying he was right the whole time wouldn't make that any better.

The only solace, was that they respected where they shouldn't go. The guards with you now were aware their place was not the crypts and they let you walk in alone. Jon had told you to come meet with him here when you were finished speaking to the two of them, but as you walked up to the only ones of the Starks you knew, he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

You thought, your eyes would find Eddard Stark, but they didn't. The only statue you stopped in front of when you realized Jon wasn't here, was her. You had never stopped here before, never seen her, but now? It was a growing urge to tell her you were sorry, that you should've done better for her son by now. Maybe you would have said it, if that creeping feeling at the back of your neck didn't suddenly shout and forcing you to whip around.

As it turned out, her intention didn't quite work as planned. She startled you just as you startled her, and suddenly you stood in the crypts beneath Winterfell only feet from Arya Stark in silence.

Your eyes were wide, you knew she was here but it didn't feel like that was true until this very second. Somehow she both looked exactly the same, but completely different, but maybe that was true for all of you who remained now. But you knew the last you saw her, and the guilt that came with.

But she spoke first at least. “The Lannisters arrested you..who helped you escape?”

Gods, it felt like..well it was a lifetime ago. The one you barley recognized by now. Her voice was quiet, held back, and if possible yours was even moreso. Barley a whisper heard over the quiet crackling of torch fire. “Ser Barristan Selmy. Went through the tunnels under Kings Landing and got on a ship.” The silence continued, but as soon as you tried to let out that guilt in apology she stopped you. “Arya, I shouldn't have left-”

As if she wanted to step to you, but hesitated as you were as on edge as you ever had been with her, but that was just the way you were now it seemed. Nothing like who the Starks used to know. “They would have executed you if you stayed. Probably drag you up just like my father that day and..”

Head tilting to the side somewhat, you knew that painful sting in yours was there in hers. A strain in your voice as there was a painful floating feeling in your chest. “Please don't tell me you saw that..”

But she shook her head. Trying to send away that wave of emotion. Unbeknownst to you, but Arya stood there hating that she didn't know how to do this. She had known you her entire life, you were like a sister to her before even in marriage. Reuniting with Jon was so easy, but she hated that it was difficult with you and not knowing quite why.

“I was there..but I didn't see. Yoren made sure of that.” But you knew, the sound would haunt her all the same. When blood wasn't haunting you, the sound of a string of music did in it's place. “He was in the Nights Watch..tried to protect me, bring me home to Winterfell...obviously that didn't work.”

The gold cloaks, then Lannister guards then death and led all the way to Harrenhal. You knew the story, Gendry had told you as much, but it didn't make knowing she saw the things she would've seen any better. She didn't deserve to have the rest of her childhood stolen.

“But I was there that night.”

Eye widening just as your heart stopped, then raced all at the same instance you knew exactly what night she meant, and suddenly little stopped how watering her eyes looked as horror was yours. But you had to ask anyways, little breath left in your voice. “What do you mean you were there?”

Looking around, Arya found nothing to distract and landed on the ground between you both. “I was trying to get back to you all. I knew you, Robb and my mother were at The Twins for a wedding and..but when I got there...it- they had already...”

It already happened. The fire and muffled yelling, you knew little of it but was what you once thought was beyond death. Words failed you though, nothing could make that alright, nothing could hide what a massacre inside and out she had found. “Arya..”

But her voice raised, and the crack in tone only served to shatter more of that illusion she was holding herself together. “I saw you, I saw your body and..I still don't know if I've ever seen that much blood..” If how you woke up was any state, you had lost likely what was left in your body and somehow life was breathed back into that with no reason or possibility. The scar under your dress burned even now. “And I- I saw what they did...to Robb...”

You had never said it, never once not even coming close. You spoke none of it and you suddenly felt lightheaded, dizzy, ill and everything clawing at your heart in between. A sight so horrific that nothing would ever come close to making that nightmare go away and yet she saw that. The one thing you had spent a year and a half trying to bury. The tears fell on you then, and as soon as Arya saw yours, so did hers let free.

Her voice only a whisper as well. “We'll never be able to bring him home, will we?”

Head shaking a slow no, and without any more seconds passing, you both went to the other without care. Tall enough now you didn't need to lean down as much, but her strength was as tight as yours. Your arms wrapping one around her back and the other gently in her hair at the back of her head as you both just stood there, buried in the other's embrace as the pain was shared too much to bare.

The Young Wolf was what they called Robb, and they forced him to die just like that. If you both moved a few feet, you would see the place where he deserved to rest but never would. The Freys would have left nothing of him anymore. He was lost in the Riverlands, and in this place, only you and Arya would understand why.

Robb deserved to be here, but no one deserved to know his final memory was what it was. You felt just as ill as she did, and neither would part until the silent tears passing were gone enough to wipe away, despite the other knowing they fell freely.

Arya had been closer that night then you ever thought, and it was the only time you wished she hadn't.

By the time either of you had been seen by him, the cold of late afternoon had fallen over the sky and you and Arya had found yourselves tucked close to the others side sat on the steps just outside in one of the main courtyards. His focus was supposed to be entirely elsewhere, but then he saw you both.

Strange the feeling in Jons chest. Still being able to walk in his home and know you were there with the very freedom to stay, that you were his was already odd. You had been his best friend for years and yet still you could make his heart skip just with a smile sent his way.

But seeing you in the distance, sat so normal looking on the steps next to his baby sister, it made him feel overwhelmed. He never thought he'd see Arya, didn't even know she was alive, no one did. But now she was here, she was the only one of them other then Jon who made it back alive and here she sat with you, the love of his life, and no one around to hide his affections from.

Arya still made you smile and laugh easily, more easily then he still could. She had told him she wanted to be alone when she properly saw you again, and he could tell she was holding back something painfully emotional she wanted to save for you alone. But whatever it was, it didn't keep a distance between, she would lean into you with no doubt something far too clever for her own good coming out of her mouth and you would respond with a laugh that shined brighter then the sun just beginning to set.

She had always thought of you like a sister, and Jon's heart was warm and heavy still seeing that time had not changed that. It hadn't changed how much he adored Arya, and it hadn't in turn changed how much Arya adored you.

What little family Jon had left, he was glad it was you two who were in it. And for the first time in days, Jon never once felt that strange pull of conflict over the truth thinking in terms of his family.

“What is he like?”

If she had been expected a real answer, she was sorely mistaken. Glancing flatly at Arya to your side you almost rolled your eyes while doing so. “I'm not sure if I am the proper one to answer that question, beacuse I would say he's insufferable. But we also hate each other so, I could be biased.”

Sighing deeply, Arya leaned forward to wrap her arms around her knees. “What does he look like?” Turning to her in question, she elaborated. “Aegon, what does he look like? No one's seen him since he was a baby, how would they even know it was him?”

A shoulder shrugging, you thought little of it. “None of us at least can be sure, but in truth it doesn't really matter. As long as he believes it, that's the only truth that he needs to claim it.” Her eyes wide and curious still as she looked at you. “If he thinks he is truly Aegon, then that is all the power he needs to try and take the throne.”

You knew it was possible it was a lie, then you would recall the almost insecure way he stammered when claiming the baby that died that day wasn't him. Like the idea that the Aegon there was real, made him uncomfortable. It had been hard to tell, but you still wondered, if anyone had ever pressed him on the matter before.

“Still didn't answer my question, what he looks like.”

Her tone as flat, but you picked up the jesting nature with ease. Leaning back, you gloved hands fat flat on the stone behind you, fingertips tapping in your thought. “Well, he's rather tall. About the same as my father, who towers over me even still. He has blue eyes, and when I met him, he had been dying his hair blue matching. Likely I suspect, for the years he spent trying to hide his identity. Meaning I can only assume his hair is silver under it all.” Not much else you could think of stood out, and it didn't strike you that not once did you associate this conversation with the one person also in the courtyard that reasonably would be a point of comparison. “I'm not the best authority on the matter, not quite good at describing people, really.”

But Arya's eyes glanced to Jon, and running through that short list, so far nothing matched. And she was thankful for it. She didn't want any of it to match, Aegon had no right being thought of as his brother. His brothers are..well as she thought of it, his brothers are dead. Or lost somewhere far North in Brans case.

She hated that a lot. Bran was only a year younger then her, but they may as well have been twins the way they were. Bran looked a bit more like their mother, but they still looked so similar to the other in that age too. In her memory growing up, what Robb was to Jon, Bran was to Arya. The one that was a constant figure, her closest companion.

Sure, she was really closest to Jon, but they were simply so far apart in age that the dynamic was different then it was with Bran. She got to run around with Bran, play with him, annoy the other constantly knowing they never meant it. The day they came back with the direwolves, the boys had all been in the training yard trying to help Bran practice archery.

She still remembered hearing the shots from where she sat in her lessons. Having to listen to Septa Mordane compliment Sansa next to her, and all but ignoring whatever she had been stitching. To this day, she could still recall when she mentioned it to you, in the Kings visit you had so easily said to her, “That's beacuse you're left handed.”

Arya who had been sitting up on a landing whipped her neck to look at you, as you laughed. You had moved to sit down next to her, uncaring in the moment of how childish it would look to be sitting up there like that with her, legs dangling in the air both of you.

You had reached over casually to grab her left hand and held it up almost in display, “You write with this hand, you eat with this hand, do everything with this hand.” Your eyebrow raised, before dramatically tossing it to the proper side of her before yanking her right hand up with a mock sternness. “Use your proper hand like a lady, none of the other girls are trying to do it wrong.”

Arya had chuckled, nudging into you as she did so, telling her that you used to be terrible at embroidery beacuse your own septa made you use your right hand as well.

But then, she didn't know that. So she sat hearing the arrows flying and her brothers all laughing as she sat annoyed that her lessons always had to be with Sansa and her friends. So she snuck away, quietly finding herself in the training yard before she picked up a bow from behind her brothers. Truth be told, she hadn't expected to hit the middle, it was just a rather funny stroke of luck.

Bran had instantly moved to chase her, as she cold hear Jon and Robb behind them yelling jokes about it. But now? It wasn't just Bran not being able to use his legs, it was also that what was ever the likelihood he was coming back?

Jon had told her why the wildlings were here, and Arya hated that if all of them were in the North, that meant Bran and whoever he was with, were alone out there. Just Bran, ice, and snow. If beyond the Wall wasn't even larger and vaster then the North, Arya wouldn't hesitate to go find him. But if Jon knew he wouldn't be able to find Bran, Arya had even less of a chance.

Still however, Arya sat next to you as her own eyes kept looking at Jon, and thinking of the drawings in books of every Targaryean she'd read the daring feats of and realize, she didn't want him to be like any of that. He still looked like himself, he still looked like her even. But he also wasn't like the Targaryeans she used to read about, he was better then that, he was a Stark . But still, Arya felt an unusual fear that maybe one day Jon would learn he was more like Aegon then her, and decide she wasn't good enough as a sibling anymore.

That was stupid she knew, Jon wasn't like that. But still, as she asked you about Aegon she kept feeling relieved everytime it wasn't anything like her own brother. “Was he at least a good fighter?”

You had shrugged, thinking not much of it as if such details weren't plaguing you as it did her, which likely it wasn't. Arya needed to remember to ask Jon in private later if he was planning on telling you the truth too. “He's strong, I will give Aegon that. Almost got me a few times, but I think that was his first proper duel like that. So I can't say for sure if he's truly any good.”

It was quiet for a little while between you both. Just enjoying the ease at seeing the other again, despite both your minds running fast through too much to think on. By the time Arya found something else to say, you couldn't tell if you wished she didn't. The shock in your system of anxiety heightened in a single second to the height which you felt the muscles in your neck almost shaking from strain to keep still. “I still can't believe you two got married.”

Wishing you could be coy about it, but instead you found nothing to fall back on. Only the rumblings in your head that made you almost flinch.

“Fucking all those big, strong wolves made you a fighter, hasn't it?”

Don't think of it, you had made so much progress keeping from your mind you hated that he was spilling back into it now. But you kept hearing him until you felt him and the utter shame he hammered into your mind as if that was your only use ever to him, to the Starks.

Until at least, she elaborated as she called your name. But your eyes were kept open and set sternly forward with a hum in your throat to respond. So she sighed, and tried again. “Whatever you're thinking I'm thinking, you're wrong.”

Only one side of your lips half smirked for a second before fading. “Would you like to try that sentence again?”

You couldn't see her head tilt or the flat bemused look, but you heard as she clearly leaned more into your side with an earnest low tone. “You're worried I think badly of you for being with Jon now. But I don't, I'm happy you two are together.”

Eyes only flickering to the side, you didn't really still see her gaze nor did you know beyond the nervous anxiety in your heart, if you wanted too. Jaw clenching, the nod you gave was indiscernible were she not looking so intently.

It was no misunderstanding why you kept clamming up at the subject, how it looked to most outside of the North would be exactly what you feared. And you were still too much of a Southerner in your blood to see past that bias, when in truth the North all around you saw no issue. It was only you, and the many voices in your head talking down to you.

It was on the tip of Aryas tongue, but with your attention being called to elsewhere there was no time for it. Looking back to her, Arya hesitated wanting you to leave just yet, but you only spoke low with something hopefully comforting to placate that expression on her. “We'll talk later.” Arya nodded, and with your leave, she was left on the steps.

Eyes once more looking across the yard, and it almost was enough to make Arya grin. How so quickly once Jon glanced over to see you weren't there, he almost on instinct appeared to then turn his head trying to see where you had gone. At least she thought, now her brother could obsess over you but in public finally.

Trying to make sure before she too found herself useful elsewhere, Arya took one last look. Still looked just as much of a Stark as he ever has. If only one thing about that truth brought Arya comfort, it was that he still had the same amount of blood like Arya's own that they thought he did before.

Part of her hoped Aegon wasn't really who he said he was. At least she thought, then the only thing left of the Last Dragon then would be someone no one knew had any ties to him, and was the most Northern, the least anything like a dragon, and the most Stark a person could get. Just to rub it in.

But, Arya couldn't dwell on it. She had things to do, and around a list of eight hundred questions she was about to all but interrogate Gendry with, trying to figure out how in seven hells he and you even know each other.

Leaned back comfortably, the sheets and fur underneath you both keeping warm, as was the fire to the side, and the chest you were pulled back against.

One hand of Jons laid more lazily at your side, resting at your waist, while his other arm was draped around your shoulder, crossed your collarbones and let his palm sit at your other shoulder comfortingly. One of your own moved across your stomach where Jon had spared no time grabbing it. Whatever fingers he could wrap his around from that angle kept warm while your other reached up to run your thumb along his forearm.

You envied how he could lay behind you, only one layer covering his chest and even at that, the laces undone from top to bottom exposing should you look, the scars on his chest. Uncaring with you that they were visible. Having you sat between his own legs, both of you toying with entangling them just as much. You had a dark shift on under, but a long, slightly warmer dress, equally as undone at the front. Which Jon had been the one to insist you keep it that way. Coming up to you from behind and grabbing your hands as he murmured in your ear “Leave it, it looks beautiful on you like that.”

Only grinning at you in an almost charmingly boyish manner, when you raised an eyebrow, turning partially to try and see him as you responded, “I'd be curious if there was anything I could wear that you wouldn't think that about.”

Murmuring low in your ear, “Wouldn't be much.”

You had been trying to describe what you saw in the snow. How the first real thing you could recall was whatever symbol the bodies had been placed in. Jon had been quiet, his voice distant in thought as he asked you what it looked like.

Trying to think clearly, you hadn't been at an angle to see the whole thing but the organization separately was still clear. “Most of it was in a large circle. Arms, legs, torsos, all of them stripped down and laying there. Then there was a line right down the middle of it and another horizontally by the bottom.” Your face twisted trying to come up with the right way to describe it.

“Sort of like the basic hilt of a sword right down the middle of a circle. And..” You could partially see Jon lean over your shoulder a bit at your pause, giving enough comfort to your mind you continued. “At random places on the outside, heads were all on spikes. Not high up or anything just, specifically the heads were propped up on purpose.”

Jons hand on your shoulder almost rubbed gently like a caress as he was in thought, before he spoke low and a bit unsettled himself. “The first time I went north of the Wall, we reached the Fist of the First Men when I went with a Qhorin Halfhand, to go sneak up on a group of wildlings.”

He hadn't ever really said much about how it all happened, how she even came into his life, but Jon wasn't yet sure if here in the comfort of his bed, and you soft in his arms was the right time or place to say it. So he pushed onward, a rough clearing in his throat that you both knew you caught onto despite your silence.

“The Lord Commander and about three hundred of the rest stayed behind. I don't know when it happened, but at some point..they showed up.” The shiver down your spine was felt in Jons chest behind you. “Two hundred of my brothers that day died fighting them. And I didn't know about it until I was already inside Mance Rayders army.” Your own hand by your waist tightened on whatever grip you had, and Jon returned it in an instant. “When we got there, the ones that were left had gone. But the only thing still there was something in the snow. The horses we had, they cut them in pieces and laid them out.”

Describing the way it was, it clearly wasn't the same manner, but there felt between you was it couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

Almost shaking his head trying to comprehend it, Jon muttered. “There was something Mance said when we found it. Always the artists. Almost like he'd seen it many times before. It can't be a coincidence, both things happening wherever the Others attacked..I just..don't know what it's supposed to mean..”

Leaning back more to rest against him, you could feel the tense sensation in Jon's muscles loosen almost right away. Your voice trying to be kept soft as you could hear in his tone, the gears trying to form an answer in his head. “It has to have something to do with raising the dead. They kill a group of wildings, form that symbol in the snow. They attack your men, and you find another symbol just like it.”

Humming deep in his chest, Jon shifted to keep his hold on you a little more gentle. “Maybe there's an answer somewhere in one of those books Sam brought with him.” Turning back slightly, you couldn't really see him but the lightness in your tone said it all, as you emphasized the word brought with a question. Chuckling easy behind you, it brought more of you closer to a smile. “Alright, stole. The books he stole.”

Shaking your head slightly, “Is the King really going to let such a crime go unpunished?”

Muttering deep, you knew without looking his face had twisted into an expression amusingly doubtful, “I'm King in the North, not of Oldtown. When the Citadel finds itself moved all the way up here, maybe I'll have the ability to do something about Sam stealing old books no one was reading anyways.” You both laughed a bit at that one.

For a while, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire. Just long enough you almost felt the pull to fall asleep before Jon rasped in your ear. The hand on your shoulder tilting your head just enough so he could rest part of his head against yours. He finally decided on it. “She was there that day.” The hand on your waist drifting to pull you more into him by your stomach as you hummed. “When I went with Qhorin Halfhand to track the wildlings. Ygritte was one of them.”

Both your hands moved, the hand across your stomach, grabbing it with both you gently started to open his palm, your fingers gently toying with his now, or running your fingertips across the skin there, occasionally Jon would shift his own fingers to dance back with yours, as if to provide something to ground him.

He was quiet, his other hand slipping to your neck, just letting his thumb run over what he barley reached as his voice broke with something rough, something otherwise to be pushed down. “She was the last one alive, so the others left me to deal with it myself. I killed a wight before that, but..”

The softness of your own voice seemed to put him a little more at ease. “You had never actually killed a living person before..” Nodding against you, he was quiet for a moment before you slid from his grasp, but he followed. Turning with you, Jon gently guided you to lay with your back comfortably against the bed while he rested on his side somewhat hovering over your top half. His free arm not keeping him up reached over so he could gently run his fingertips along your cheek, caging you in.

His eyes were distant, a fog in them which spoke volumes of pain you knew he had purposely kept the worst of such out of your knowledge. “I don't know if she kept trying to get close to me because she thought she had the right, or if she was trying to make me uncomfortable. But I ended up having to have Ghost sleep in between us at night beacuse I didn't trust her not to do anything.”

Resting your hands gently on his waist, you simply looked up to his eyes with a brightness that was keeping him tethered to the earth as he spoke. You knew he needed to get it out without interruption or he would never go back to it.

“By the time I was in Mance's camp, the Halfhand had me kill him so I could convince them I wanted to be one of them. He knew I had a better chance at living and getting inside his army, but that wasn't enough for them. They wanted me to prove myself, and to them there was only one way to do that was..”

His eyes drifted away, causing you to run a hand gently along his own cheek, cupping it tenderly without forcing him to look back. His jaw clenched and even though he still didn't look at you, you could see something painful in his eyes you knew he didn't want to turn into anything close to tears. Even though you both knew you would never judge him for it.

“I had to send Ghost away. She made me send him away, beacuse we both knew he never would let her do anything if he were there to protect me..” He inhaled shaking, but dropped his gaze down to nothing on the bed just beside you. “But I did it, beacuse I had to. They would've killed me if I didn't, beacuse then they'd know I wasn't really one of them. And she spent every moment after that acting like she had any right to...I wanted all of that with you and she took it away from me.” Jons voice was so strained you could feel under your hand at his waist his muscles were tensing up at the feeling. Letting it drift up to his stomach and running over whatever scar you could find, it almost seemed to bring his focus back.

But no judgment was in your eyes, no pity. Just the same love he always gave you, and an understanding of the kind if pain such things left on a person. “And you still came out the other side a better man then most could dream of being in a lifetime.” He tried looking at you in a doubt but you once more ran your thumb over his cheek. “Trust me, most people are worse off for good after things like that. You're nothing to scoff at.”

Shaking his head, “What Ramsay put you through was so much worse-”

Interrupting him so abruptly almost took him back, but your brows narrowed at the very idea. “Jon, I'm not going to lay here and let you downplay your pain beacuse of me. What Ramsay did to me, what Ygritte did to you, it doesn't matter how different they were. What matters is that it happened to you, it matters that it still hurts. I don't care what I've been through when you're telling me about your pain.”

Your only looked at one another for a moment before he rasped quietly, “What you suffered through was far worse, but you're right. I know I shouldn't be keeping all of this to myself. I just don't like upsetting you.”

But you only smiled, and the brightening in his grey eyes almost made your heart lift. “You don't expect me to be better yet, and so I don't expect it from you either. We heal however long it takes to heal, but we do it together.”

Jon took his time just looking at you before he spoke, his eyes full of a teetering affection but his expression was serious despite his words. “You really did come back the emotional one, didn't you?”

Your face fell entirely flat, Jon breathing out a light chuckle instantly. Rolling your eyes in jest, “Sorry, do you want to be married to someone more like my father?” If such a thing was possible, Jons eyes rolled even harder then yours. His face twisting sour as he leaned down, his breath hitting your skin as he spoke.

“Do me a favour, never mention your father when we're in bed ever again.” You laughed, and Jon captured the sound with a greedy kiss.

Hovering more over you, your hands drifted up to his shoulders and back of his neck as he cupped the side of your face to tilt you over to him to perfectly fit his lips. Just a gentle brushing of his lips, never quite broaching into demand as he would deepen it. Each time he even slightly was separate from your lips he seemed to press you into the soft bed even more.

Running a hand in his hair so your nails could scratch along his scalp, your other hand just caressed flat against his neck and shoulders as if unable to decide where to stay.

Losing yourself in his lips, you felt just the slightest brush of his tongue along your bottom lip, only as you parted them slightly to let his tongue meet yours gently, his hand drifted down your face, neck, side of your waist until his palm landed flat against your thigh. Ever so slightly, did he begin dragging up the material did you react.

Quickly for only a second did your nails dig into his skin as you almost flinched from him. Pulling back in an instant, Jon looked down at you with a worried narrow eyes. “What's wrong?” But you looked up at him, lips parted and your mind a little confused at that as well.

So you shook your head, and pulled him down to meet your lips as you rose to meet him halfway.

Sliding your hands both down along his collarbones until you reached the edges of his shirt, Jon shifted from your lips, kneeling up over you slightly as he took over pulling it off and letting it toss somewhere behind him. You moved, sitting up somewhat so your palms could run all across from his stomach up to his neck. One arm wrapping around behind his neck again as the other grasped his waist as you somewhat kept his lips pressed to yours.

Jons hands both as you moved flat against the bed pressed at each side of your head as he coaxed you to ease up with how urgent you kissed him, only to slowly take over in deepening it. Growing more greedy as he almost without thought moved, so he could shove one of your bent legs wider to fit him in between. Then the strange unpleasant feeling returned.

Something that made your heart pick up that wasn't from Jons touch. But you didn't want him to realize it, didn't want him to pick up on it again. Instead letting your nails scratch at his scalp as your other leg almost rested along his hip, prompting him to grasp at your thigh. Wrapping an arm around it, and keeping you secure right there.

Running his rough hand along the skin until he reached the edge of your shift, you this time just kept it to yourself at the feeling of him pushing it up. Jon not bothering to undress you properly yet, he ran his other hand do do the same to the opposite side until he could blindly grasp at your underwear. His lips nibbling into your bottom lip only to just barley tease you with running his tongue along yours, Jon begun dragging the material down.

You wanted to be fine, just stay calm you told yourself. Just fall into it and let Jon do what he liked, or what made him happy. He had a rough time as well these past days. Tearing himself from your lips, Jon hovered over you, his own parted and eyes black as he breathed heavily. Not looking away from your own eyes peering more innocently back up at him, he yanked the material off your legs and reached right for the layers covering you.

The dress first easy to come off, and almost impatient as his own breathing increased he tossed away your shift even with less care. Peering down at what he could see, you ran your hands down his chest to the laces on his own pants.  

Jon only grasped your hands, and moved to shove them up beside your head, interlocking your fingers together as he moved to grind into your now bare core. Lips capturing yours. The feeling of his covered cock was at the perfect angle, hard as he could be, and almost selfless grind which just so happened to feel as good for him, as he wanted you to.

But even though your lips and hands worked, the rest of you didn't. You didn't feel good.

The more he hovered over you like this, the more your heart raced, the more your chest hurt. Your hands flexed in his, and Jon only tightened his hold with what you knew was something deeply loving in honesty. But you felt trapped.

If you opened your eyes, you knew the world would be spinning and you could feel it even as you lay there at his gentle mercy. Brushing against your lips as he rasped deeply, “I spent way too long without you,” Unable to stop himself from another biting kiss as he never left making his way to your neck, “Let me make you feel good,” Kissing and biting more down your neck, you knew it felt as good as normal, yet you couldn't help but wanting him to stop, but you kept quiet as he pressed a more gentle kiss to your jaw muttering, “Is that alright?”

Jon felt you nod, and that was enough. You kept your eyes closed, and your hands didn't even move when he released them. Kissing a path to your breasts, you were desperate if he could tell how fast your heart was racing, he'd think it was good. What you didn't realize, was that you weren't convincing of a physical lie.  

So much of your energy was being spent trying to be good for him, you didn't think to spend part of that on pretending you enjoyed it. As Jons lips would normally have greedily kissed and marked up your breasts, but he found something before he could start, when he let one hand move down between your legs.

Your legs tensed around him but he almost didn't need to notice that, since as soon as he even slightly went to brush two fingers down along your core, he stopped. Dark eyes suddenly accompanied by a furrowed brow as he looked up at you, no longer touching you with his lips. The hand between your legs moving instead of press against the bed beside your hip.

But, you didn't know what he was looking at you like. You couldn't tell what that glint in his eyes said and you interrupted whatever he was about to say, shaking your head. “I'm alright, I can take it-”

Jon however, didn't buy it. He pushed up more to hover over you more instead as you leaned up on your elbows. His head tilted at you in doubt, “Darling, you're not even close to ready..” Kneeling up more, he no longer was touching you beyond a gentle hand resting on one of your thighs. You swallowed nervously, and that weightful sick feeling only made you feel dizzy and far more guilty as he looked at you.

Shaking your head, you tried pushing yourself up to  go to him, but Jons other hand reached out. Pressing gently against your sternum to keep you in place as he looked over you. Your voice was not as confident as your face was trying to look. Not realizing you likely said the one thing that would not convince him, in fact, you said the one thing that instantly rung the bells too loudly in his head.

“We don't have to do this whole part, if you just want to get to it. It'll be fine, it won't hurt much.”

The way he looked at you though, your head started to hurt at that look. Something instead of being frustrated, or annoyed, just looked at you with those bright eyes shining as his heart broke.

You wanted to shrink in on yourself, you couldn't even pretend to be fine for one night for him.

You wished Jon would just do what he wanted, you'd get over it. You liked when he felt good, and suddenly you felt an upsetting frustration inside your own heart, not understanding why he wouldn't just take what he wanted, when you were already bare for him.

The way he deeply said your name, the narrowed expression as if he was trying to figure you out, and you felt something in your muscles trying to react.

“This would be a whole lot easier if you just pretended you enjoyed it, my bride. But, if you insist on making noise-”

By the time your eyes found his again, not realizing you drifted away somewhere, Jon was leaned much more into you. His hands hovering by your cheeks as if unsure if he should touch you. Only then did you feel that tears had silently fallen already down your skin. Whatever he was trying to figure out as he looked over you, you made it all the worse for yourself. You were good at that. Theon had said you had been making it worse for yourself, right?

But the painful race of your heart couldn't seem to grasp with the logic of your mind, that this wasn't Ramsay. And for a second, you could only wonder how much more boring and frustrating you were compared to a pretty hair of red.

Jon though, finally cupped one of your cheeks gently, tilting you up to look at him as he murmured your name more softly then Ramsay ever had spat it out. Your nails were digging so much into the sheets beneath you it almost tore the material as you looked up at him. You didn't know why you felt like this, you had been with Jon many times now what was wrong with you?

Shaking your head you tried to whisper, “I'm sorry..”

In truth, though? It only made Jon feel just as sick, he knew exactly by now what was going on. Running his nose gently along the length of yours, he felt you slightly ease up as your eyes fluttered closed. Rasping to you gently, you could feel his breathe along your skin, and this time it was soothing. “Will you let me hold you?”

You only nodded, something burning in you that flooded you in a deep self hatred. You couldn't even please your husband after what you had just put him through for days. Your voice was much more wavering this time. “I- I, I'm so sorry..I don't...”

Jon tilted you down just a bit as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, muttering into your hair before shifting. Pulling you up to perch right in his lap where he could get both his arms around you properly. “Don't be sorry.” Kissing another he muffled, “We don't have to do anything.”

Why did that make the growing panic worse? Why did that make you feel even more selfish?

So you shook your head,trying to move to press your lips to anywhere on him, and it took a good few tries for Jon to get you to look back at the call of your name. “Stop,” Tilting his head back, Jon gently cupped the back of your head, mostly so you couldn't as easily distract him, his own face sat in a frown. “Darling, if you don't want to do anything tonight, I'm not making you, not at all. I want you to feel good, not make you do things for my sake.”

But he could tell you looked as confused as you felt. Your mouth opening and closing a number of times before sighing out. Looking back up at Jon, who had nothing but a concerned patience in his eyes. “I- everything I've made you suffer these past days, what you just told me, I shouldn't- I should be..”

He watched you for a moment, before capturing your lips in one more, far more gentle kiss, barley pulling from you to mumble into you. “There's a lot going on inside that beautiful head of yours, it's allowed to feel upset or confused sometimes.” You almost sighed out a laugh, instead choosing to meet him back in another kiss. “Do you want to talk about it right now, or would you rather we lay down and I hold you for a while?”

Your hands on his shoulders eased in their tensity, looking up to meet his eyes you nodded your head and trusted, rightfully, he knew what answer that chose.

It took some time, but slowly you both laid down. Jon kept you in his chest, running a hand tucked behind your head along your hair while the other ran soothingly up and down from waist to hip. Your voice muffled as you kept your hands by his shoulders and around the back of his neck. “I assume if I were to apologize again for ruining things, you wouldn't want to hear it.”

A smile found its way onto his face that you could feel in your hair. “There's my smart girl.”

Rolling your eyes as you mumbled a shut up, Jon just chuckled deeply. Pulling you more into his chest, deciding he'd only move to pull the fur up over you both when you settled a bit, or were nice and asleep. For now, he hoped his own body heat was enough for you in the cold air.

At some point, you started to drift off, only having enough sense to press a kiss to the scar over his heart before nuzzling more into his chest with an, “I love you.” And falling asleep just before hearing him gently rasp it back to you in your ear.

Jon held you for a long time after you fell asleep, telling himself not to get upset on his own. He knew you were thinking about Ramsay, and he knew you would be insecure enough to wonder if he'd be angry you weren't ready for him at any moment. But Jon's need stopped the second he realized you weren't even slightly wet for him, when normally he'd have you already soaked. Instead, just keeping you safe in his arms, truthfully, was the thing which was making Jon feel just as safe.

You were upset, and what Jon needed right now, was for you to do just this. Not shove him away, let him take care of you no matter what.

Jon struggled to see what he was forced to do, as anywhere near as bad as what Ramsay did to you, but if you were going to be insistent that he not hide that pain as he insisted on you, that honesty was the least he could do. But if he were to tell you in that very moment, what was close to pulling tears from Jon still, even as you slept soundly against his chest, was how far you disappeared for a moment.

It terrified him that you had sunk so far into something scared that for a second, he knew you weren't seeing him as him. You were seeing Jon as if he was about to treat you exactly like Ramsay would. The Bolton had been dead for months, but he still haunted you as strongly as he did when Jon finally reunited with you in Castle Black.

But, Jon had to tell himself, had to remember that you were always going to push your issues away in favour of caring for Jon, tending to and healing his wounds inside and out. You would put priority on the looming horror coming from the North before wanting Jon to ever prioritize your pain.

He wasn't going to let that happen. Jon wasn't about to let the looming threat of the winter storms, take any more importance then the life he was building with you, here and now.

[thenntrewrite]

I'm not exactly sure how to approach this, so how about we start with some redesigns I've made and explaining the thought process behind the designs? We'll start off with the man, the myth, the legend himself:

Meliodas

I'll be honest. I do not like the shota/childlike appearance that is Meliodas. I get that it's suppose to be part of a running shtick of, "oh my God, he's a child—wait no he's a grown ass man?!" or a personal preference for the author (who makes a lot of his adult characters look like children/quite young for their age), but it's playing into one of the tropes I hate (looks young but is actually an ancient being). If it's your cup of tea, more power to you, but it's not my kind of flavor, so we're redoing him design-wise while also trying to keep some things (colors mainly).

So for his design, the thought process was like this:

Since he's a demon, I was like, "okay, bet" and told myself to pick one (1) from the three (3) options I gave myself, which was dragon, goat and crow— dragon in reference to his sin (Wrath) which is usually associated with dragons, goat because of goats being associated with hell and Baphomet and the Devil always have goat features, and crow because Morgan le Fay (which is his future wife in my rewrite, surprise! This bit is moreso fanservice to my middle school self. I'm sorry Melizabeth lovers, don't eat me alive)'s animal is usually the crow and crows are seen associated with death and that ties in with his curse of immortality.

Now, the goat jumped at me the most because it's the one most heavily associated with Hell, and he is the son of the Demon Lord whom I named Felec (based on Arthurian Legend, the little information we have on him), and I saw these amazing goats for someone's DnD character, and it just fueled my need to draw him as a goat more. The original idea was to give him goat-like features which was the ears, horns, the pupils, but then I got to thinking, "man, the seven deadly sins are all suppose to be from different races, yet it's hard to tell with how all of them looked practically human" and I know I can easily say, "ah no, this is just his human form, his true form is a lot more demonic and he needs the human form to blend in", but then I thought, "that's so boring", so lo and behold, I start with his eyes and worked my way from there.

I changed his hair to curls because his old spiky hair was not working, and his outfit had got to go because I thought, "he'd look more sick with goat legs", and made him two different outfits to accommodate that and to fit the medieval fantasy setting better. I was thinking of blending some attributes of a dragon and a crow to make him more demonic like, but I don't know, I just really like what I made and thought other features would throw everything off balance. Maybe he comes off more like a cursed goat and rolls with that idea so people don't suspect him of anything, but hey, I can always tweak it to make him more demonic if it doesn't come off that way. And I did not want to give him dark colors for his fur—that's going to go to his youngest brother, Zeldris.

(Here's my first official post! Hope you enjoy @gh0stofyesterday )

[cityzenshark]

First to Grow Up | Born together

When Robby & Mo's contact with the Emberstone activated it, Twitch & Thrash were not the only pods to be brought to life. The four pieces of the Emberstone at four different points around the world simultaneously brought their pods to life. A Terran is never born alone. They are always born at least in pairs.

Malto Terrans were lucky they have a human family along with Cybertronian seniors who are constantly available to protect them. The other Terrans learn life a much harsher way.

Kindle & Ember were not twins, but quadruplets. They had two sisters who were born together with them. A landslide had taken the sisters not long before Slingshot found the weeping brothers and introduced them to a tribe of native Peruvians, who took them in as their own.

Stardeep & Leaflet were supposed to be born together, but a flood took them away from the Emberstone water. Stardeep's pod managed to get enough of the water before the flood dragged her to the sea and towards the Bajau Tribes. Leaflet did not get enough until another rainy season pushed his pod back into the magic water. He was born alone in the rainforest.

Kites had a brother. She remembers the name he chose for himself: Clouds. She remembers running through the Mongolian plains with him, tumbling down hills with him, chasing the reindeer and sheep, and messing with nomadic humans. Until one day, they recklessly play atop of a frozen river.

The ice couldn't handle both of their weights. They fell into the vexing river underneath that dragged them far away. Miraculously, Kites woke up by a riverbed. But her brother is nowhere to be found. She searched up and down that river for weeks calling his name. She had no idea she had passed by his buried body on the bottom of the river several times.

Ice Mirror had a sister. Neither he nor she had a name. They had no idea they could refer to themselves with a word. All they've known is the endless cold white of Siberia's ferocious tundra. They don't know what they are. They look and act nothing like any fauna they've seen. They learn the wildlife cues and learn a lot. One lesson sticks out: mercy doesn't exist.

Ice Mirror couldn't recall what exactly had happened. He and his sister were eating berries, goats started to surround them, eating their own fill when suddenly the goats moved all at once, and Ice Mirror is dangling on a cliff's edge. His sister had helped him up, and then she was falling. Ice Mirror suddenly found himself having four legs, large horns and fur as he scaled down the cliff for his sister.

He was too late.

.

.

"I think my brother and your sister are having fun in heaven together." Kites says as she longingly stares at the night sky.

Ice Mirror nods, remembering it meant "Yes/Agreed".

"Would-- Would y-y-you want me to be your sister, Ice Mirror?"

He nods again.

Kites smiles.

Ice Mirror feels a pleasant bloom in his chest.

.

.

.

[donnabenevientosimp]

Donna with wendigo s/o who gets hurt after meeting her family

Tags: description of violence, gore, blood all the good stuff, fluff, comfort, reader is a protective wendipuppy for Donna, reader is based off of two forms of Elias Ainsworth, gn!reader, Donna's scar is based off of the one I drew

Based off of these suggestions, this one got long bc I couldn't help myself 😂

To put it plainly, you are a wendigo. You were able to use magic to take a human appearance. You had the skull of a wolf, with slight corkscrew horns belonging to that of a goat's, the cheekbone of your wolf skull curved downward, adding an illusionary second set of horns. You had glowing Y/C eyes that were medium sized dots, the sclera of your eyes pitch black. You had fluffy, well kept, black fur with white hair that seemed to flow over half your face and down to your mid shoulders. You had wolf ears and a large fluffy tail as well, bones curved around your chest and hips, you had humanoid wolfish hands and digitigrade wolf legs. You allowed yourself to remain in your true from around Donna, a dollmaker who was also a Lord. She found you one day in the snow, you were tired from wandering the forest for weeks, in search of food. She took you in when no one else would. She taught you how to live as a human, you learned of your magical abilities living with her. She drew how she saw you in human form and detailed it with beautiful colors, ever since then, that picture was used as the reference for your human shape you took. You were attached to Donna almost instantly after she saved you. Once you two started talking, well you talked at first and she wrote her responses on paper which you didn't mind. Eventually Donna started opening up more and more as time slowly went on, you realized she was very shy and timid in nature, no thanks to her past. You slowly started falling for her, how could you not? She was a beautiful, kind and creative soul. She loved people and things in her own special way, and boy did she love hard. You always were mindful of your height and horns, choosing to shrink your height a few inches so you wouldn't ruin the beautiful mahogany wood that was her manor. You didn't really know how to interact with Angie at first, finding her intriguing but knowing she acted like a child, that was all you knew. You never knew how to handle children, so you merely played along to what Angie wanted to do.

As your bond with Angie grew, Donna noticed and started falling in love with you even more. You and Donna have been together for almost a year, but she had never once shown you her face. You would always bump the front of your mouth to the side of her head gently as your special way of kissing her head. Donna found it endearing, knowing that you knew she preferred your original form. She would always softly squeak whenever this happened, being caught off guard in a good way and it also still flustered her because she was still trying to learn that she is indeed lovable. Donna had decided to show you her face, she sat you down in the living room and wrung her hands together. "Donna?" You said softly, taking her hands gently. "Whatever it is, I'm always going to stay here, with you," You said and she nodded slightly, taking a deep breath. Donna slowly took her hands away and raised them to her veil, clutching it tightly out of nervousness. She slowly brought up her veil, revealing beautiful pallid skin, a dark purple scar that twisted and curved, taking most of the right side of her face and stretched out to her nose. You merely sat there, admiring her dark grey eyes and her face, your tail thumping against the couch and mahogany floor. "You're beautiful," you breathed out softly, completely in love with her all over again. "How could you say that? I'm a monster," Donna said softly and you slowly stood up to not spook the already uneasy woman. You gently knelt down in front of her, cupping her cheeks as you looked her in the eyes. "Donna, I've fallen in love you all over again. That portrait does nothing to capture the beauty before me," you said and tears welled in her eyes at your heartfelt and truthful words. She saw the way you looked at her, now clearer as it wasn't behind her veil's obscure view. Donna noticed the way your tail was wagging and hitting the floor and nearby table. Donna smiled at that and your tail sped up, seeing her beautiful smile. "I love you Donna, and I'm happy I got to see your face. If you still wish to cover it, that's okay with me," You said and Donna nodded. Donna then pressed her lips to your teeth where your mouth would be. "I love you, Tesoro, thank you for being so sweet and understanding," Donna said and you nodded. "Is it alright if we cuddle and tomorrow...I can introduce you to my sister and nieces?" Donna asked and you nodded, taking your human form. "I would love nothing more, my love," You said with a smile.

Donna had gently peppered your face with kisses to wake you up. You tiredly opened your eyes and smiled at her. "Good morning, my heart, did you sleep well?" You asked and she smiled and nodded. "I did, how did you sleep?" Donna asked. "Perfectly, I had my heart held close to me all night," you said and she blushed and kissed you. "Let's get dressed for the day, I will phone my sister of our arrival and then we shall head out," Donna said and you nodded, kissing her once more, knowing she would put the veil back on soon. After getting dressed and Donna calling her sister, you set out for the castle, Donna holding Angie in one arm as her other arm looped around yours. The three of you arrived at the castle in about 15 minutes thanks to the shortcut Donna knew of. The door was opened by a maid who ushered you in and you entered with Donna. The maid brought you to the main hall where a very tall woman sat in a large chair. Her very presence made you stand on edge, she was very powerful, someone you knew not to cross, ever. On her left stood two young women, one with yellow eyes and brown hair, the other with red hair shaved on the right side and she had a gold eye and a blue one. On the woman's right, stood what you assumed was the eldest daughter, she too had yellow eyes like her mother and sisters, but she had blonde hair. "Donna, it's so lovely to see you," the woman smiled, fangs glinting in the light. "Alcina," Donna said with a small nod, leading you to sit on the couch across from the tall woman. You sat down next to Donna. "Alcina I would like you to-" "You're my sister's paramour are you not?" Alcina cut Donna off causing you to growl lowly at that. "Oh? You aren't human," Alcina smiled. "Don't speak over Donna," you growled protectively. "Love, it's okay," Donna said and you growled softly and huffed. "I won't tolerate anyone, let alone your sister, speaking over you," you huffed and she smiled behind her veil, putting a hand on your thigh. "Alcina, yes? Donna hasn't told me much about you except that you're a Countess. Whatever that is. My name is Y/N, Donna's partner," you said and she nodded. "These are my daughters Bela, Cassandra and Daniela," Alcina said, gesturing to each of her daughters. "A pleasure to meet you three," you said with a smile. "Wait, aren't you going to-" Angie's mouth snapped shut due to Donna's powers. "Angie, hush," Donna said. "Now that introductions have been done. Tell me, Y/N, how did you meet Donna?" Alcina asked. "Tsk, Alci," Donna chastised her sister but you stared Alcina in the eyes, knowing you were challenging the powerful woman but you couldn't care less, she insulted your love. "She took me in when I was near death and nursed me back to health. I stayed with her as I had nowhere else to go," you said. "I see, has she shown you her deformed-" you stood up, growling at her loudly as you dispelled your human shape. You grew in size, smoke coming out from your mouth as you snarled at the woman. "Her what now?" You said, growls emanating from deep within your chest, your voice deepened from the size of your body. "Donna's sister you may be, but I will not tolerate you, her supposed sister, talking about her like that. You have no right to speak Alcina, you reek of blood and death. I am not talking about the scent of dead maids either. You yourself reek of death, a corpse like you should keep their mouth shut when they don't know their place," you snarled. The daughters hissed at you and you looked down at them. "You three are all bark and no bite. I could eat the three of you for a light breakfast," you cackled, your eyes glowing brightly, a tinge of red in them.

"What are you?" Alcina asked, now standing up. "A wendigo," you replied. Her eyes widened as she looked at you, then at Donna. "A w-wendigo...," Alcina said in shock and slight fear for her sister. "They're harmless Alci, unless they feel I've been threatened. They're quite the protector too," Donna said, you felt her eyes on you. Your tail thumped against the floor as your heartbeat picked up at her words. You'd be blushing if you were in your human form. Your ears twitched as you heard some rustling outside the castle grounds. You heard the sound of metal clicking, the flash of a memory of a gun being cocked before it was shot and a bullet hit you. You immediately transformed, your two vines of thorns sprouted from your back as your stomach hollowed inward and your rib bones grew thicker and outward. You grabbed Donna, pulling her and Angie into your hollowed stomach, your ribs moving to shield her as a gunshot rang out. The bullet hit you, then another and then four more. Your blood dripped onto the tile as you snarled, your vines swishing slightly around the air. "Get them," came Donna's soft command and you sprung into action. You gently pushed Donna down to use the couch as cover. You launched your body forward, crossing the distance between the hunters and you within seconds. Multiple gunshots rang out as you slashed away at the hunters, killing each one. You made sure they suffered before killing them. You then transformed back to your usual form, staggering your way to the castle. You got back to the main hall, breathing a sigh of relief as Donna wasn't hurt. Donna immediately stood up, noticing the extent of your wounds and started shaking. She walked over to you but you fell down, face first onto the tile floor as you blacked out.

Waking up you saw Donna lying on you, her hands clutched your fur tightly. You gently brought your hand up and brushed your fingers through her hair. You felt your mouth watering and immediately moved the two of you so you hovered over her. Donna woke up and looked at you, only to see your mouth open, salivating as you were whining. You clamped your jaw shut and moved to the corner of the room farthest from Donna. "Donna, are you alright?" Alcina came into the room and your head snapped to her. A low growl left you and you shook your head. "Alci, I need either Sanguis Virginis or fresh meat, now," Donna said and Alcina looked at you. You were scratching at your skull and growling. Alcina realized how much self control you have to not attack her sister, to instead stay near her as her presence comforted you, but even then you couldn't get near her. "Please...don't want to hurt Donna," you whispered. "Bela, bring me fresh meat now!" Alcina yelled and you heard buzzing pass by. You heard buzzing and saw a swarm of flies take shape in front of you to reveal Daniela. Daniela hugged you and you growled and whined. "Not safe...Firefly," you whined, your tail wagging slowly. "Unlike Donna, we can regenerate our limbs in an hour or so depending on how much was taken. In Donna's case it would likely take a week and she'd be unconscious for it too," Daniela said and you nodded, hesitantly reaching a hand out to her. Daniela smiled and grabbed your large hand, nuzzling her face into it. Your jaw unhinged itself, large amounts of saliva dripping from your mouth as you looked at Daniela. Bela entered the room and saw your mouth hung open, saliva dripping down to the floor as Daniela smiled at you and held your hand. You brought your other hand to cover your nose and mouth and started backing away into the corner as much as you could. "Am I not unsightly like this?" You asked and Daniela shook her head. "You're still the person I fell in love with, Tesoro. Your hunger is a side effect of your body healing, we know this," Donna said and you nodded. "Bela, hand me the bottle carefully," Daniela said and Bela walked over to Daniela and handed her a large wine bottle. "I'm going to open this and hand it to you, okay? Can you control yourself for a few seconds after I open it?" Daniela asked and you nodded hesitantly. Daniela removed the cork from the bottle, your senses were flooded with sweet wine and the delicious tinge of iron in the wine as well. You realized it was a blood wine and your tail thumped aggressively as you growled lowly, wanting sustenance. Daniela slowly held it out to you and you gently grabbed it from her before blocking her from getting closer with your large tail. You poured the wine down your mouth, swallowing each drop that came. Your form immediately changed to the one you were used to taking with Donna. Your jaw snapped back into place with a loud crack but it didn't hurt. You walked over to Donna and inspected her for wounds, finding none you nuzzled your mouth against her head gently. "I'm fine, Tesoro, you didn't harm me. I know you wouldn't," Donna said with a loving smile. You nodded, taking your human form, smiling at her. "I would rather tear my heart out than hurt you, love," you smiled and she blushed and kissed your cheek. "I believe we've had enough excitement for one day. Let's head home?" Donna said and you nodded, gently kissing her before handing her veil over. "Well, you passed my tests little wendigo, I approve Donna," Alcina smiled. "I wasn't going to stop loving them if you disapproved Alcina," Donna smiled before putting her veil on. "Let's go home, my heart, I think we're both overdue for some cuddling," You said with a smile and she nodded eagerly.

[jimmyogames]

Six-Shooter: The Best Part of LISA: The Painful

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*****

<Spoilers for LISA: The Painful>

So,

I like LISA. Quite a lot. LISA: The Painful is not exactly but very close to my favorite game of all time (MOTHER 3 still the goat), and fan projects like LISA: The Pointless have enamored me for over half a decade at this point. To say that I "like" LISA would be an understatement so great that it wraps back around to being an overstatement. I. Love. LISA. (The Painful and Pointless the other stuff is like eehhhhh).

It was inevitable, then, that I'd end up talking about LISA here. In fact, I'll probably talk about LISA a lot, discussing aspects of both the official titles and the numerous fanworks — even the ones of middling quality.

To begin, though, I'd like to gush about a particular part of The Painful that I don't see nearly enough people talk about. I've seen praise for the game's masterful opening, how well the first few areas introduce the themes and mechanics, and much more... but no one gives this specific stretch of game its due applause. This post is dedicated to correcting that.

The part of the game I'm referring to is the gauntlet of agony that Brad must face in the interim between the first and second crossroads of the game. In six distinct events, which I will henceforth refer to as the "Six-Shooter", LISA: The Painful shows you what it's really made of. If you thought things up that point were brutal... sister, you're about to get a cold splash to the face.

I was hooked on The Painful since the intro, but the Six-Shooter section of the game is what really cemented this game as one of the most profound I've ever played... and one of the most soul-crushing, at that.

As previously mentioned, the Six-Shooter gauntlet is comprised of... well, six events. It's only natural, then, to cover each of them in order and examine the effect they have both individually and as part of the greater section.

Things start out small enough, but no less dramatic: immediately upon crossing the bridge that you spent all of Crossroads One trying to fix, you are hit by a car. Or, at least, I was. If your reaction time is sharp enough, it's possible to avoid the surprise by jumping down onto a nearby ledge, but the window is pretty tight even if you know what's coming. Already, the game has taken its gloves off. You're not given even a second to relax, to consider your adventure up to that point, or anything else. The wasteland only gets more hostile from here, and if you're not ready for it, you're gonna be roadkill. As if one obstacle barreling toward you wasn't enough, quickly following the car ambush is an attack from a luchador looking mfer who will royally wreck your shit if he gets you. This time, though, it's very easy to see him coming and get out of the way accordingly; but the fact that the game has the audacity to pull the same trick on you twice in a row I think speaks volumes about what you're getting yourself into. And for the cyanide-filled cherry on top, right next to the luchador, there's a cave where you can encounter another wonderful Lisa hallucination to feel awful about. It's a one-two mechanic-narrative gut punch, and things are just getting started.

This next bit isn't actually one of the six main events, but it's worth an honorable mention: after the previous screen, you come across a lone man resting his legs. You can talk to him, and he seems like a pleasant fellow! He asks you if you're well-stocked for the road and generally makes polite conversation. Take two steps to the right — boom, he's got a knife and is gunning for your throat. With this one little scene, the game is hammering in a nail that's been there since the beginning of your journey: you can't trust any of these d-bags.

But Cosmo Cassamassa (yes that's really the name of that guy) is nothing compared to your first actual roadblock, and the next of the big six agonies: Sweet Tea Rakeem, the man standing sentinel before your path forward. Rakeem is the first of the game's bosses — except for some of the mutant enemies, if you didn't prepare well — that will really saw your dick off and make you eat it. He has the highest health of any enemy up to that point; he hits like a train made of bricks; and to really put the squeeze on you, your choices for party members as of this part of the game are... let's just say limited. That's not to say that you aren't well-prepared for this. I think the game does a good job of giving you the tools to get through everything it throws at you, should you choose to explore and engage with it. It's just that Rakeem demands more of you than the enemies you've fought before. He wastes no turns, and he never pulls his punches. You have to get real — real quick — if you want to overcome this goliath man.

Though the mechanical challenges so far have been great, the game's upcoming emotional challenges are arguably even more intense to stomach. Case in point: as you continue past where Rakeem stood, you find Rick, one of Brad's childhood friends and adoptive uncle of Buddy. Rick has been missing since Buddy was taken at the start of the game, so seeing him again comes as a shock to both Brad and the player. What no doubt continues to shock the player is what happens next: Rick, evasive and aloof, is attacked and tied up by Brad. All of a sudden, it's as if Rick is a different person, claiming Brad is a lunatic and that Buddy is better off away from him. This, obviously, isn't what Brad wants to hear, and soon it becomes clear that something in him has snapped. When Rick refuses to answer his questions, Brad equips himself with a spiked club and... well, tenderizes Rick's face. Over and over again. By the time the metaphorical dust clears, Rick is done for, beaten beyond recognition by his own best friend; and when all is said and done, all you can do is continue ahead, leaving him to rot against a power pole. It's a brutal scene even among The Painful's cavalcade of gruesome scenes, and it's sure to stir pause in any reasonable person playing. After all, up to this point, you aren't aware of the full circumstances of Buddy's relationship with Brad and her kidnapping. You don't know anything; but Brad and Rick have history, history that you can only glimpse through their sparse dialogue with each other. Even still, watching him getting battered to a bloody pulp is hard, and though there's nothing challenging about it gameplay-wise... I can only speak for myself, but on my first run of the game, it was difficult for me to bring myself to keep pressing the action button. I desperately wanted things to play out differently, but The Painful emulates life in that sometimes, there is only one option.

That is, of course, until you are given a choice — and you wish you could go back to that scripted sequence beyond your control.

You could be forgiven for thinking that, after enduring the mechanical difficulty of Rakeem and the emotional turmoil of beating Rick to death, you'd have even some reprieve. Except, you actually couldn't be forgiven, because this is LISA: The Painful, and as you should know by now, this game will never let you get comfortable. If you haven't learned that by now, you will as soon as you walk into the next cave and have your first mandatory meeting with Buzzo, the sociopathic cross between a Mad Max warlord and the god damn Joker. So, Buzzo is here to give you that choice you were longing for earlier. Instead of being forced to do one thing with no other outcomes, you now have two different paths: you can either choose to permanently cripple Brad by chopping his arm off, or permanently lose one of your party members. A similar decision was presented to you near the start of the game, where the bully Columbo makes you pick between your "beloved" friend Terry Hintz, or all the random bullshit in your pockets. The thing about that choice, though, is that it's not too rough either way you go. If you elect to give Terry up, you're not much worse off, since he's still pretty useless at such a low level; and if you give away all your items... well, there's not too too much you can lose out on. Just a bit of money and some minor healing.

Buzzo's choice is awful either way, and there's nothing you can do to soften the blow. The best you can do is arrange your party in such a way that you sacrifice a team member you aren't using, but as you'll soon find out, even doing that isn't necessarily a good idea. This dire choice — this uncompromising fork in the road leading to two equally terrible destinations — is arguably the very crux of The Painful as a whole. Don't quote me on this, but I believe Austin Jorgenson said in an interview before the game came out that he wanted to create an experience that forces you into a corner at times. His vision was a brutal, stultifying world constantly had a knife against your hand — where there would be times when you had to select which finger it took off. I usually choose to offer up a party member to the chopping block, since I'm intimately familiar with how disposable they can be; but on my first playthrough? I froze up. I knew party members could die, but I didn't think the game would hold me at gunpoint and demand I either let one go or suffer a serious debuff to Brad, your only forever party member. It would be one thing if, as soon as you left Crossroads One, you were made to play this Saw trap as if it were a toll you needed to pay to leave the area. To buffer this situation until after all the aforementioned tribulations, though... I can only speak for myself, but I think that's fucking genius. The Painful is a game that knows how to grind a player down, to soften them up so that the biggest hits deliver the most... well, pain possible.

And we're still not done. Like all the prior events, you get no time to rest before you're thrust right into the next setpiece. The moment Buzzo unleashes you and you get to continue forward, you're plopped into the seat of a motorcycle — without a helmet, naturally — and sent off to the races. Now, I'd be lying if I said this sequence was anything other than pure badass. The music combined with the sunset backdrop makes this chopper ride something straight out of a vaporwave gif. Going fast, popping wheelies, tricking off ramps, and mowing dudes down without giving a single, infinitesimal fuck is all just... cool. A little tedious, especially if you have to redo a part over and over because of those damn rocks, but still cool as hell! Unlike the last four "bullets" of the Six-Shooter, this part is actually fun, and that's not a bad thing. If you think that a sequence like this defeats the purpose of that "never let up" attitude the game has taken insofar, don't worry; this joyride is short-lived and ends with a bang. As the enigmatic Rando saunters off and leaves you alone with some goons, you're right back into the thick of things. No more motorcycle, no more banger tunes, no more coolness. It's time for you to finally taste the blood in your mouth following the encounter with Buzzo. The battle against the Rando soldiers isn't anything ball-busting, but it reminds you to never get too attached to the little pleasures in this world; because just when you think everything is alright again, the rug is gonna be pulled right out from under you.

The game has saved the worst for last, though, and anyone who's played The Painful before will know exactly what's coming up. Before you get to Crossroads Two, there's one last hurdle you must vault — one last test of your will to overcome. Just as you exit out into the crossroads prelude, you're ambushed yet again, and the people who you meet will have you begging for Buzzo to come back. That's because your ambushers take you captive, and the only way to secure your freedom is to play Russian Roulette. This is perhaps The Painful's most infamous moment, even among such competition as the Rick scene and Buzzo's dastardly choices. The difference between the Roulette game and those scenes is that the latter are set in stone. Every time you play the game, you'll be forced to go through the same rigmarole. Whether or not you choose to cut off Brad's arm or kill a party member is irrelevant; those are always your options. You always have to beat Rick to shit. Now, you always have to play Russian Roulette, but how what ends up happening during is all up to luck.

This is The Painful at its most brilliant and subversive. It reads like a cruel joke: after everything you've endured, after dragging yourself through dismal moment after dismal moment, the fate of you and your party is left up to chance. You select a party member to spin the roulette, and they either live... or die. It's a one in six chance with every pull of the trigger. The only say you have in the matter is which of your gathered bozos will potentially have their brains dispensed onto the nearby wall. It'd be one thing if the game made you do this once, and regardless of whether you win or lose, you get to continue after; but you have to play thrice. Oh, did I say play? I meant win thrice. That means, depending on your luck, you can wipe out your entire fucking party... without even having completed the first round. On the flipside, you could breeze through the whole thing without even breaking a sweat, and that's the real beauty of it. For some people, this part will be a blink-and-you-miss-it type deal. For most, though? The Russian Roulette segment will live on in infamy as one of the sickest, most unfair things a game can sic on you; and the fact that you can choose to come back to gamble away more of your party members' lives only underlines the twisted punchline.

But the game forcing you to play Russian Roulette to continue only works as well as it does because it's the capstone to an entire saga of upsetting events. Had the Roulette minigame been something off to the side that you could participate in if you felt like, sure, it'd be fucked up conceptually, but you probably wouldn't think much of it. Having the minigame be not only mandatory, but also strike you after so much other misfortune is what makes it not just great, but a god damn diamond of game design.

The transition between Crossroads One and Crossroads Two of The Painful — the Six-Shooter — is a rollercoaster made of barbed wire, and if you think it's bad on the way up, you couldn't imagine what it's like on the way down. Every event sets up the next to be exponentially more torturous: it starts with a one-time event of getting hit by a car, then it cranks up the heat with a gameplay challenge, then it hits you in the heart with a disturbing and upsetting scene, and then... it just keeps going. It does not stop. You are not allowed a second to process just how bad things are getting. Just when you think it can't get any worse than being hosed with broken glass, the game turns on the razor blades. This sequence is gruesome; it's anti-player; it's anti-fun; it defies everything you expected about a game with cartoon nipple men; but above all, it. Is. Painful.

That's why LISA is my (second) favorite game — because it makes you hurt and doesn't apologize, doesn't help you up, and instead goes on to pour salt into that oozing wound. It's a truly draining experience that will make you want to put the game down and never touch it again.

But sometimes, that's life.

[sevensoulmates]

A bit bummed buddie is going canon on such a short season but the writers are doing an awesome job (and you guys have waited long enough I just got here lol) so I’m stoked!!! There’s some much potential for fun storylines here I’m so excited!! What are some storylines you’d like to see once they are together? Could be comical or more series

Well, I mean I guess it depends on what your definition of "canon" is. To me, based on the last episode alone, they're already canon (meaning it's basically irrefutable to me that they're going to eventually be in a relationship or be endgame). If by canon you mean "starting a relationship" I actually don't think that's going to happen this season. I think it'll be next season at the earliest. I do have faith that now that the writers/creators are getting a bit more freedom, they're first going to put Buck and Eddie through the personal arcs they need to go through first. For Buck, realizing he's bi and feeling more secure in who he is as a person. For Eddie, realizing he's lived with comphet his entire life and finally accepting who he is and finally living his life in a way that will actually make him happy.

Once they've done that then they'll be able to get them together.

Some things I'd like to see:

-(This might be unpopular but) I want the sperm donor stuff/ Connor/Kameron to come back up. I want Buck to reckon with that choice he made, and truly recognize that he's been a father figure to Chris this whole time. I don't need the baby to be in his life, but just a reference or even a run-in with Connor/Kameron. Something to put a bookend on that storyline now that Buck is settled with Eddie/Chris.

-Chris wants to learn to drive/get a license, and Eddie + Buck have to navigate that worry together

-My heart's biggest desire is for them to just work side by side like normal but just have more small moments that very obviously are indicators that they're together (something along the lines of the scene where Eddie suddenly knew a bunch of fun facts about Goat Yoga, or the scene where they're just chatting while they patched up the dude who broke his leg in the fire at dispatch). Scenes where they work in sync together, but maybe before something dangerous, they share looks or have a private code that means be safe.

-in the same vein MY KINGDOM for Buck and Eddie to have a scene like Bathena had in 2x01 where they meet up between the firetrucks and one of them pushes the other up against the side of the truck and kisses him. My entire life would be made.

-I would like a storyline where Buck gets to meet Eddie's family from Texas a little better. I don't believe that there wouldn't be conflict with them (maybe not straight-up homophobic but I just can't imagine Helena accepting it all so easily. I just know she'd be a queen of microaggressions). I DESPERATELY need Eddie to stand up for himself to his mom in particular.

-(this would be very far in the future) but I want Buck to eventually go out for fire captain. I think he would be a great fit and I think it'd be very interesting for them to have to adjust to such a big change in their work dynamic after X amount of years.

-a motherfucking WEDDING. And I don't want it to be a small thing like a backyard wedding, or a courtroom wedding, or an elopement in the hospital or something. It doesn't necessarily need to be HUGE but I would like a semi-traditional wedding. Idk why but I have a MIGHTY NEED to hear Buck and Eddie's personalized vows to each other and I NEED to see them have their first dance. Honestly, I take back the traditional wedding thing. As long as I get to hear every word of their vows and see them slow dance, they could do it at the firehouse or a dumpster for all I care.

-I'd be interested if Shannon's relatives show up and want to be a part of Christopher's life or something. Or even like, just want to visit him but Eddie's unsure because it brings up bad memories and stuff. I'd be interested to see Shannon's relative's reaction to Eddie with a man.

-OOHOOHOOH EDDIE CHILDHOOD SCENES a la Buck Begins. I want to see what he was like when he was younger to see how much of him has changed since he had Chris, since he went to the military, etc. Dear God I want an Eddie Begins Again.

That's all for now! I gotta make my drive home!

[iwillbringyouruin]

Is this the moment of just letting go?

I can't begin to describe the feeling of seeing the vision I had for this come to life on paper. I have put an elaborate description of the details I put into this (with the meaning I personally intended for them) as well as the reference that inspired it below the cut!

Please don't repost this!

The pose is based on the 1560s version of Repentant Mary Magdalene by Titian. However, unlike in that painting, Copia isn't looking up to the sky or heavens but rather forward/slightly down, perhaps mostly inward in reflection. He is sitting there in the foreground on one of his cloaks, nude - completely stripped of his vestments, clutching one of his chasubles to his chest to cover most of his torso and his legs as the fabric drapes over them. He is literally holding onto who he was or presented himself as, but he knows that he cannot be that same person again.

Copia's skull paint is smudged - based on the markings on his face and his fingertips, it can be assumed he has been desperately clawing at it without having the energy to properly wipe or clean it off. To the left, there is a rat sitting on the cloak looking up at him, his mitre lies folded on the right, no longer of use. He acknowledges neither, too lost in thought. There are three semi-transparent hands grabbing onto Copia's shoulders in support and comfort, one lighter than the other two, indicating these to be the hands of the three Emeritus brothers that came before him (the lighter hand belonging to Terzo due to his white gloves). They have never taken the steps he has; they haven't had to or haven't had the choice to. But they can be here for him now in those moments when he feels there is no one else.

In the background, there is a large bookshelf on the left, reaching to the middle of the drawing both horizontally and vertically. From top to bottom, the left part of the bookshelf displays: a plush rat and a plush goat (a reference to on-stage shenanigans), a foldable picture frame showing the silhouettes of eight people in the large rectangular middle frame - Copia's ghouls and ghoulettes - and one pair of people on either side - Copia with his father and his mother, respectively. This picture frame is intentionally placed at eye level so that Copia can always comfortably look at his family. Below are an inverted cross, two candelabras and the Grammy award won for Cirice in 2016. The rest of the bookshelf is stacked with books. In one place, a human skull is used as a bookend, a reminder of his mortality.

On the right side of the background, slightly further back in the room, there is a work desk in front of a stained-glass window with a pentagram in the middle, a curtain is gathered to the left of it. Almost out of frame, in the front and to the right of the desk, there is the tricycle Copia has been gifted, covered in cobwebs, not having been used in a long time. He hasn't put it away or covered it, be it because he didn't have the heart to or because he intends to dust it off at some point. On the work desk, there are slightly messy stacks of paper, a mug and an inkpot. Additionally, there is an open book on the desk, on top of which is another book. This book has been open just before the end but stopped from closing entirely by what's supposed to be the quill belonging to the inkpot. This book stands for Copia's story. It is unclear if he was the one who has stopped it from closing, if he wants to delay getting to the last page, if this book has been written by him or if it has been written by others for him.

Perhaps a combination of both. Either way, he is in charge now. There is also a vase on the left corner of the desk, containing flowers that are wilted in the vase except for one, signifying a new beginning and the cycle of life, growth and death, but also the way that time seems to slip when we find our minds clouded by pain - life and our obligations don't stop for grief, but we mustn't be hopeless.

[always-outlander]

Outlander 7x05 Easter Eggs and Spoilers - “Singapore”

Spoilers below the cut!

Singapore is the name of this episode, and it opens with goats on a cliff face. This is in reference to the Highlander’s whom fight for the British, we later find out. The title is a direct reference to the battle of Singapore and the attack of the Japanese, which Claire describes to Jamie as a parallel with the impending attack on the fort, which informs his actions for the episode.

Lallybroch

Gem and Mandy are playing in a graveyard, as Mandy wanted to talk to Jamie. Jemmy tells Bree that Jamie told him to leave him a stone and built him a cairn if he ever came to Lallybroch. I try very hard to tolerate Sophie’s acting but she’s so wooden at times. Other times she’s fine (mainly in the more emotional scenes) but her line delivery is quite hard to swallow sometimes. She has changed her pronounciation of ‘Da’ like 4 times now, and that’s hard for me to ignore.

Roger and Bree read another letter from Jamie and Claire. The letter is dated June 18, 1777, which is our ONLY way of knowing the timeline and how much time has passed between episodes. In it, Claire writes that Jamie continues to dream about the children and Bree reveals she’s been to the fort before with Frank. Her and Roger decide not to look at the history books and find out what happened there.

Before Bree heads to work, these two have another attempt at a romantic scene that doesn’t quite land (a hard hat in bed and his hands down her pants just made me uncomfortable). These two try but they just don’t have it!!!! And I think Richard Rankin could if he wasn’t opposite Sophie, as he is a great actor.

Jemmy gets off the bus from school and Roger follows him into his hide out (which I think is referenced in the books as a place Fergus used to play). Roger tries to talk to him about it and Jemmy says he got in trouble at school for defending their family in Gaelic. This child actor playing Jemmy is so great!!! He’s doing such a good job!

Ticonderoga

They have now been there for months, and Jamie once again organically finds himself leading men, this time they refer to themselves as ‘Fraser’s Irregulars.’ Claire is practicing medicine under Lieutenant Stactoe, and the fort is under the command of Saint Clair. We also meet General Formoy (who is mirroring the ignorance of the Bonny Prince). Ian has reunited with them as well.

Sugarloaf hill is mentioned as a point the English can attack from. For those unfamiliar with the location of Fort Ticonderoga, it sits on the edge of the New York and Vermont boarders, along a narrow portion of Lake Champlain. The fort is surrounded by water on three sides, and as of now it doesn’t look like there is a Sugarloaf hill near the site. There’s a sugarloaf ski mountain in Maine, though!

Jamie has a dejavuex moment with Formoy when he uses his knowledge to advice against an attack and is found denied and insulted, akin to a goat for being Scottish (like the episode preview implies). Jamie is once again being sidelined and watching history repeat itself with the ignorance of leaders like Formoy and the Bonnie Prince (and simultaneously history is…happening? But where they know the outcome, could you consider that history repeating itself?).

Denzel Hunter and Claire finally meet towards the end of the episode and the two of them help a man named Walter Woodcock together. It’s the dream team finally united! They successfully opperate on Mr. Woodcock and amputate his leg, but only after Denny so kindly recognizes Claire’s struggle to be taken seriously and back door allows for her to help him.

The Hunters and William

Denzel makes a comment about attending medical school in London via a distant relative after their parents died. Their mother died in childbirth having Rachel, and their father died a few years later in a flood having drown. The Quakers who took them in made that connection for Denzel when they learned of a shared last name Hunter, so this scene hammers home the importance of their Meeting (and reminds us that they are now kicked out).

William and Denzel debate over morals and how Denzel can be within his beliefs while practicing medicine. They come upon a man on the road who offers them a place to stay for the night and they are fed a disgusting meal of rat stew. William is shown the realities of the war and he and Rachel speak outside. In the few short scenes they’ve had you can tell William has a crush on her, which is exactly how the books describe their relationship from Williams internal monologue.

While sleeping, the Johnsons attempt to attack William, Denny and Rachel with knives and William is able to show his strength and skills as a fighter. Charles is such a great casting, as he is every bit the young man described in the book and his size and strength is akin to Jamie’s. The Johnson’s have evidently done this many times before so to steal from un expecting visitors.

William feels guilt over taking that man’s life and tells Rachel that he’d never killed anyone before. This scene you can see Jamie’s heart come through in him. He has a flurry of feelings about it that he cannot sort through and worries that Rachel might think less of him due to her beliefs but she reassures him she knows him well enough to know he did it to save them.

When they part William tells them to ask for his uncle should they run into trouble. He gives them the money from Ian and keeps the rosary beads. When Rachel watches him leave with fond eyes Denny reminds her that he is a British soldier, and violence follows men like that. There’s a sweet scene between the siblings where Denny gives Rachel an out, but she insists they stay together.

Loch Errochry

The Land Rover Bree and her boss drive around in is a dream, I want one. The setting is also stunning, having driven through the highlands last year it’s still so hard to believe that country looks like that. Bree meets her new male employees including Rob Cameron (!!!). He immediately locks her into the tunnel like a jackass and Bree discovers the light they gave her has no batteries. She quickly lights a match and finds some lights and proceeds to inspect the tunnel. I’d be clostrophobic down there and it feels like something out of a nightmare watching her walk through the tunnels.

She hears buzzing halfway down and a weird blue light at the end that she has to walk through (the graphics are strange but hey, hard to depict what was written) and it leads her to her escape. It’s implied that somewhere in the tunnel may be a portal for time travel.

Bree tells the kids at dinner about being trapped in the tunnel and how she escaped but you can tell she’s still unsettled by the event. Her and Roger step away from the table to discuss it. She’s worried the men are never going to respect her and Roger reminds her Claire did it at Harvard. A bit of a turn around from him being slightly sexist last episode about her working in general.

While in the office they uncover a hidden drawer in the desk and he gifts her a pen. Doesn’t undo his comments from last episode but that’s just me, and his insistence on her wearing knickers and a hard hat needs to stahhhhhp.

Bree heads to the bar where the men and Rob Cameron are hanging out and tries to awkwardly earn their respect. They all try and play it off as a joke and she tries to insert her dominance. Sophie also can’t say the word “anything” without a Scottish accent.

Young Ian

Joseph Brant of the Mohawk is at Shadow Lake and Ian is recruited to deliver a letter to him. Ian is reluctant because of personal reasons. He asks Claire how baby’s come to be and why he was unable to get his Mohawk wife pregnant. His belief is that his spirit was not strong enough and fears he cannot get a woman pregnant again and would refuse to take another wife. He tells Claire that Jamie told him about sperm and asks her to look at his (had to laugh). When asked, Ian tells her Iseabell was perfect and not deformed, but Claire has a Frank conversation to help Ian understand that it’s not a matter of his spirit but science and gives him renewed hope he may be able to have a child with another woman one day.

When he arrives at the Mohawk camp he sees Emily, who is happy to see him. She tells him she now has two children and is happy. Ian seems to finally be at peace with that, and asks to meet her son (who does not look Mohawk). He tells Ian that Emily’s mother tells him he’s the child of his spirit. Ian gives him the name Ian James and I’m sat here smiling like a fool over how cute that scene was.

Simon Fraser

One of the few scenes we get with Claire and a Jamie this episode, Jamie tells Claire that a Simon Fraser is one of Burgoyne brigadiers on the side of the British. Book readers will know that he is a ticket home to Scotland for them later on, and Jamie tells her it is not the same Simon Fraser she met in season 2 but not the old fox or his son but one of Jamie’s second cousins from Balnain (located outside of Inverness, not far from Loch Ness). It is also now understood that with their troops low on supplies they will need to attack the fort sooner than later. Jamie knows that a Fraser in the camp, the troops will know well enough to attack from higher ground as Highlanders do.

Jamie brings Formoy and the men to higher ground to show them that it is possible to the English can reach them by cannon, and once again finds himself standing across an incompetent soldier (with a terrible accent). These scenes are so short and choppy, and for that I dislike them. It’s not enough time with Jamie (or Claire for that matter) before we are abruptly switched over to another character. The atmosphere of them walking around at the Fort was palpable in the books, and we are missing it so far in the show sadly.

Later on the British set up shop in the exact place Jamie warned of, and Jamie uses his knowledge how Highlander warfare to help lead an evacuation by boat. Claire won’t allow Walter Woodcock to leave the fort because his injury is still too fresh, and sadly has to leave him. She tells him due to his injury the British will have to show him mercy, but also gives him laudanum. I was surprised she didn’t outright show him how to use it if he needed to drift off to sleep. The civilians are all put into boats in the lake and the fort is abandoned. The next sequence of events in the books is fairly action packed so I’m curious how they go about it all next episode.

Ian and Rachel

When Ian returns to the fort, he spots Rachel. A critique I have of this season is that they make the traveling seem so fast, and it’s incredibly hard to keep track of time passed. Ian was just in Virginia, now he’s suddenly back in New York. That said, these two have great chemistry without even trying, and Ian let’s Rachel know Claire is his aunt. It’s implied they will be seeing much more of one another, thankfully. I think the actors have done a great job of establishing the differences between Rachel and Ian and Rachel and William - Izzy plays Rachel differently around Ian and it’s great work on her part.

In the End

Roger goes out into the dark to search for the Nucklavee and we see a camera angle from across the yard watching the front door of the house. I suspect next episode we will actually set eyes on Buck for the first time.

The episode ends when Bree goes to the graveyard to talk to Jamie and brings him a stone. She tells him about her new job, buying Lallybroch, etc. and it fades to black (a weak ending and my least favorite thus far). Nothing happens this episode action wise, and it was mainly an episode used for establishing upcoming plot. The pacing is getting really bad in that such large expanses of tiem are not being explained. How in one episode did Jamie have two conversations about Sugarloaf Hill and the British Invasion, and The Hunters / William Travel by Horse to New York from Virginia, Ian leave camp to go see Emily and return…it’s so many moving parts and it’s not clear how they all make sense. Even having read the books I’m getting confused with how they are choosing to speed things up.

I will say this until I’m blue in the face, but this show works best when Claire and Jamie are together and on screen, and every time I dislike an episode it’s in large part due to a lack of them. That can be said with this episode, but I’m optimistic we will see much more of them next episode thanks for the preview.

Episode 6 Preview

Preview for episode 6 shows what looks to be an action filled attack on the Fort - we see Jamie attacking British soldiers, William in a red coat again, Roger running into the yard angrily, and Ian and Rachel getting closer. Lots of good things that I hope we get proper screen time to dissect.

[trulybetty]

birthdays, besties & bravos

Pairing: Poppy x Dieter, Ava x Dieter & Bryony x Dieter Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption Word Count: 1,591 Happy Birthday Heidi (@wildemaven)! We really hope you don't mind, but Lellen (@gnpwdrnwhiskey) and I took Poppy out for some birthday celebrations in honour of your special day, upon the insistence of Ava & Bryony! We hope you enjoy it! xx

A/N: you don't have to know how everyone is if you would like to read on, but you can learn about Poppy, Ava & Bryony in the following: - Sweet Creature by @wildemaven - Conversations with a Movie Star by @gnpwdrnwhiskey - Chiffon by @trulybetty

“Was that a baby goat you just herded out your back door?” Ava asked, her arms crossed on the back of the sofa where she was kneeling, having watched Bryony shoo the animal out of her back door.

Bryony huffed as she brushed her hands off on her jeans, “Don’t ask.”

“Dieter?” Ava asked still.

“Dieter.” Bryony muttered as she picked up a serving tray of margaritas and an array of cheese and crackers. “Is that my shirt?” She asked Ava as she rounded the kitchen island to the expansive living area cornered by plush sofas.

Ava plucked a glass from Bryony as she passed, turning around to plop herself back down onto the sofa, “Yep,” she replied with a responding pop, “I mean, you have a stylist as a best friend, only fair you share the spoils.”

Bryony rolled her eyes playfully, “I suppose, it does look good on you.”

Ava smiled, pleased at the compliment, “I was thinking just the same.”

Bryony continued across the living room, stopping only to place the tray down on the coffee table and scowl at the fact the damn hippo coffee table had been switched out on her again. However there were more pressing matters to attend to than her husband's interior decor tastes.

“Here you go love,” Bryony handed a margarita glass to Poppy who was sitting crossed legged on the armchair that matched the sofa Ava was now stretched across, margarita glass in hand as she reached for the charcuterie board.

Poppy looked up from her phone, “Thanks,” she responded despondently as she took the drink.

Bryony and Ava shared a look across the room, “Still haven’t heard from him?” Bryony asked.

Poppy sighed, tucking the phone at her side, “No, nothing.” 

“Fuck him,” Ava decreed and Bryony shot her a look that said tone it down. “What?” she asked, giving Bryony a confused look.

Taking a seat on the love seat, Bryony brought her drink to her lips, tucking her feet under her. “I’m sure he has a good reason why he hasn’t messaged you.”

“It’s her birthday.” Ava deadpanned, ignoring the second shooting glare Bryony was sending her.

Bryony glanced at her watch, “Look, Cricket came by earlier,” she said referring to one of her best friends and Hollywood stylist, “and she left me some bougie outfits for us to pick through. Though,” she shot a look at Ava, “she says all the pieces have to be returned this time.”

“Pft, I appreciate it more than any snobby rich bitch would have.”

Bryony rolled her eyes, “Anyway, we’ve got an hour until the car comes to pick us up,” she gave Poppy a soft smile, “why don’t we go and get ready for a night of celebrating our darling Poppy and using Dieter’s credit card to open a tab?” she ended with a wink at Poppy who couldn’t help but smile in response.

“Okay,” Poppy agreed before she downed her margarita.

“Woo! That’s the spirit!” Ava applauded, her drink in the air in a one sided toast to Poppy’s change in demeanour. “I saw a super sexy dress that you’ll look to die for in, come on!”

Bryony stood to follow the two women up the stairs to her bedroom, “How much did you go through up there Ava?”

It was over an hour later when they finally got into the waiting car. Situated in the back seats of the luxury Lincoln, Poppy sat in the middle tugged at the dress she was wearing.

“Do you think this is too short?” she asked.

Bryony, head down texting furiously, didn't stop to look up, “First of all, stop tugging it, that’s how the sequins fall off. Second, you look stunning,” the emphasis of the word had her accent coming out thicker than usual.

Ava snorted, “I’ll never get over that accent.” 

Bryony ignored her, “You’re going to be fighting off the attention this evening.”

“Yeah, Dieter doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Ava scoffed, “Oo, actually, selfie!”

Ava extended her arm, holding her phone high to capture all three of them in a frame, everyone leaning in for the shot. Poppy forced a smile as the phone’s camera snapped a series of photos.

“Perfect!” Ava declared as she reviewed the photo, “There we go, maybe now he’ll see what he’s missing out on,” Ava said, scrolling through the pictures and picking one to post on her Instagram story.

Poppy’s phone chimed, breaking the silence that had settled in the car, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” she cursed as she scrolled through the message.

“What’s wrong?” Bryony asked.

“There���s been a burst pipe at the gallery.” Poppy’s eyes widened as the reality of the situation kicked in. “Oh my God. The artwork! Do we have enough insurance to cover any damages?” she said, speaking more to herself than the other two women.

“Don’t worry,” Bryony reassured, instructing the driver to make a detour. “We’ll stop by, check the situation. This is why insurance was created, you can assess the damage. Then we’ll carry on with our plans.”

“I can’t believe this is happening, today of all days,” Poppy groaned, pressing her palm against her forehead.

“Shouldn't there be someone you pay to deal with this? Your Dieter is loaded, isn't he?” Ava asked, “I thought it was only Bryony’s Dieter who spent money on random shit like farm animals.”

Bryony furrowed her brow and rolled her eyes, a common occurrence with Ava, “First they’re adopted not purchased and second… yeah I got nothing, we have two hippo tables now.”

Poppy’s phone buzzed again; it was a message from Dieter, finally. ‘Just saw the picture Ava posted. Poppy, you look incredible, love you.’ Poppy's heart sank.

“Well, would you look at that,” Ava said, peering over Poppy’s shoulder at the message. “He’s alive after all.”

It didn’t take long for the trio to arrive at the gallery, Bryony instructed the driver to go grab a coffee and she’d call them back when they were ready. Climbing out the three took in the front of the building, the lights were all out. 

“That’s strange,” Poppy remarked as she fumbled in her purse for her keys.

“What’s that?” Bryony asked as she tapped away at her phone.

“Diem was the one who sent the text, but it doesn’t look like anyone is here.” She said as she put the keys in the lock.

Ava, who had her hands cupped to the side of her face peering into glass windows of the gallery, confirmed Poppy’s observation, “Yeah, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Bryony grabbed Ava by the elbow and spoke through gritted teeth, “Maybe it’s out the back, did you think about that?”

Ava’s eyes widened, “Y-yeah, totally probably out the back.”

Poppy, too distracted now with the lock, swung the door open and stepped into the dark of the gallery’s main entrance.

“Hello, Diem?” she called out, cursing as she tugged on her dress and several sequins fell to the floor, “I know, I know Bry.” she said, expecting a scolding from the older woman but when she was met with silence she was confused, “Bryony?” she got no response, “Ava?” silence still. 

Groping in the dark she reached the wall for where she knew where the light switches for the main room were. It took several stabs in the dark until she found the switches, the lights stuttered before they lit up fully, “That’s bet–”

Poppy didn’t get a chance to finish.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The room was full of friends and family, all beaming smiles as they raised glasses in toast to Poppy.

Dumbfounded, Poppy didn’t notice as Dieter stepped away from the crowd, a bouquet of soft blush poppies in his hand.

“Happy birthday Poppy.” he murmured into her ear, as she noticed the sea of poppies that filled the space that didn’t hold family and friends.

“Dieter, you planned this?”

“Hm hm,” he nipped at her ear as his free hand trailed down from her waist to the hem of her dress, “This is new.”

She caught her breath as his fingers toyed with the hem, his fingers brushing her bare thigh, “Bryony let me borrow it.”

His fingers moved higher, “I think I might be writing her a cheque, because this dress is not going back.”

“Dieter,” Poppy hissed as she pushed his hand back down from under her dress.

He laughed, “Later Pops.”

Placing the bouquet into her hands, Dieter took her face in his hands and leaned in closer, his deep brown eyes captivating hers. His lips were mere inches away from hers and with the same lightness that his fingers had touched her dress he brushed his lips against hers and kissed her. His hands moved slowly to the back of her neck, as if they were meant to be there forever, sending tingles down Poppy’s spine.

He was the one person who could make her forget everything else in the world. Dieter pulled away after a few moments leaving Poppy feeling breathless and wanting more.

“I thought you forgot.” she breathed out, her eyes still closed.

He brushed a thumb over her lips, “How could I forget Pops?” 

“You had me fooled.”

“It would have ruined the surprise, I’m sorry.” He leaned down to kiss her lips again.

She smiled, her eyes now open and looking at his, “It’s okay, you can make it up to me.”

“I can? How's that?” he asked, his head cocked to the side, a coy boyish smile on his face.

“Oh, I can think of a few things.”