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Remember me? Mr Potter

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Here is the first part of the prompt fill from thedropletsparkled: Joffrey makes Sansa bathe the Hound. This chapter is G rated, but the next will be smut so be forewarned.

Bathing the Hound Part 1 

Sansa had gifted the Hound a handmade batch of her favorite lemon soap as a means of thanking him. With Tyrion’s permission, she had enlisted Podrick to build a soap mold for her while Shae brought her the goat’s milk and lemons, as well as the wrapping.  When the kitchen maids ate their lunch, Sansa cooked the mixture over the open fire, guarded as she nearly always was by Ser Boros. It was the first time she had made it without the supervision of her mother, and she had prayed the entire time that she wouldn’t ruin it. At the end, she carefully stirred dried lemon peel into the mixture, poured it into the mold and let it cure for a month in her closet. When it was finished, Sansa carefully wrapped each bar in yellow paper, tied them securely with black velvet ribbon, and placed it in a black wicker basket. It looked so pretty that Sansa was quite proud of it. But when Boros told Joffrey that she had made the Hound a gift, the king became enraged. “You traitorous little bitch!” The king spat out furiously. “You thought you could steal my dog from me with some paltry gift? Is that what your tiny, unnatural Northern brain came up with as a plan?” Joffrey laughed at his own joke, and the court dutifully followed suit. “Your Grace, forgive me. I only meant it as a kind gesture. The Hound has been so very good to me, saving me during the bread riots and loyally keeping me safe for you.” She stammered out, hot tears blurring her vision. “You know I would never do treason. I promised you that I would not, and I meant it. I even vowed it to the gods.” That was a lie, but the untruth slipped off of Sansa’s tongue with ease. Let’s see how brave he is when my brother comes. When Robb came to rescue her, she would see his blond head-wormy lips and all-on a spike for all the indignities she suffered at the hands of his Kingsguard. All of them had hurt her in one manner or another-all excepting the Hound. He never struck her, nor had he handled her roughly. The Hound hates knights, and I hate them too. He was no true knight, but he saved me just the same. Her eyes instinctively wandered to the king’s side where the Hound stood impassively. His steel grey eyes instinctively flickered toward her, as though he physically felt her gaze fall upon him. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Sansa swallowed hard, and wondered if he knew the true reason behind her gift. Joffrey thinks me stupid. The Hound’s words came back to her. Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants. Steeling herself, she theatrically dabbed her eyes and fell to her knees before the king. “I beg pardons, your Grace, I am indeed a stupid girl. I only wanted to give a gift worthy of your sworn shield, one that would bring honor to you as well. I-I foolishly thought it would please you.” Her eyes searched Joffrey’s manic appearance. She went on: “So…so I crafted a special Northern lemon and goat’s milk soap recipe used exclusively by the highborn class. It is the very same that I have used from infancy.” The audience around her all began laughing heartily. Laugh, Joffrey, and be satisfied. “Stupid, foolish girl.” A man’s voice rang out in the crowd. “The traitor’s daughter is no smarter than he was in life. She’s like to end up just like him.” She heard a woman condescendingly titter. Dontos ambled over and began his fool’s banter, his actions only intensifying the tension in the room. Joffrey’s frightening rage, for the moment, suddenly seemed to dissipate. She could tell he was thinking of something. Be satisfied. Encouraged, Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to draw tears and dramatically wiped her eyes. When the crowd quieted, she softly hiccupped out her next words: “It is so very good for the skin, you see, and the lemon is a purifying fruit that holds many benefits. The Hound is always wearing armor in service to you, and it is ever so hot here in the south, and so I thought he would appreciate a fine-“ “Enough!” Joffrey slammed his fist against the armrest of the Iron Throne and at once began bleeding profusely. “Dog!” Joffrey smeared the blood on his sleeve. “Your handkerchief, now!” Calmly the Hound handed it to him, the man seemingly unperturbed by the king. His mouth twisted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed to Sansa that he was trying to suppress a smile. He is not tending the king’s wound as he did mine, Sansa thought somewhat triumphantly, and then briefly wondered if Joffrey noticed that, too. Seething, Joffrey leaned forward. “You are as stupid as Mother says!” His wormy lips curled into a smile, though his eyes glimmered with rage.  “Since you meant to give Dog something to bathe with, I will give him you. How is that for a gift for my dog, my lady?” He means to make me bathe the Hound? Surely not. He wouldn’t dare. Yet even as the idea came to her, Sansa knew that Joffrey indeed, would do such a thing, and worse than that if she displeased him. Let him think me stupid and obedient and pray the gods will allow that to satisfy him. “Beg pardons, my king, I do not understand-you wish me to do what, exactly?“ She wrung her hands. “You will give my dog a bath, using your special soap.” Joffrey grinned a terrible smile. “How does that please you, my lady?” “It pleases me to please you, my king” Sansa’s voice trembled as she spoke. Beside the king, the Hound glowered but remained stoic. “Boros, Meryn, take her to the Hound’s chambers.” Joffrey turned to the Hound. “Dog, go and make yourself ready for your lady.” The Hound seemed torn between waiting for Joffrey’s next words to her and obeying the king’s orders. Ignoring the Hound, the king’s green, feline eyes fiendishly settled on her. “Of course, you’ll be ruined after this and not fit to be my queen.” Her nerves betrayed her, and Sansa began wringing her hands in earnest. “I beg pardon?” She heard her own voice ask weakly. “Are you deaf as well as daft? I said that I think I will give you to the Hound.” He rubbed his chin as he paced in front of the throne. “Yes, I will wed you to him.” Joffrey cackled as Sansa shrunk back with a gasp. “Then you will be his to do with as he likes. What say you, Dog?” “I serve at your pleasure, your Grace,” the Hound’s harsh voice deliberately ground out each word with barely suppressed fury. The entire court erupted with laughter. Sansa’s eyes darted between the king and his ferocious sworn shield, the young woman desperately trying to discern if Joffrey meant his words. “Let it be done. Make a record of this decree.” Joffrey waved his hand toward the maester as he grinned malevolently at her. Holding her head erect, Sansa set her chin as the knights led her from the throne room. Once she entered the hall, her tears came of their own accord.

Boros dragged her from the throne room, opened the door to her chambers and gave her a shove. “Change your clothes and be quick about it.” Shae spat out a litany of Lorathi curses at the man. When the knight made it clear he wasn’t going to leave, Sansa said: “If you want me to be quick, then please leave so my maid can help me. Besides, the Hound won’t be pleased to be kept waiting.” After considering her words, he said: “That is your problem, girl, not mine.” “It will be your problem when I tell him that it was you who kept him waiting.” Sansa answered calmly while searching through her closet. Beside her, Shae snickered and haughtily tossed her head at the knight. “Have it your way, wolf bitch.” He spat out and slammed the door. “What is happening?” Shae asked her, alarm blighting her pretty features. After Sansa tearfully explained it all, Shae selected Sansa’s lightest, sheerest gown made of sky blue silk. “You will need this, then; it brings out your eyes and skin.” When Sansa began trembling, her handmaiden held her hands and stared into her eyes. “The Hound cares for you, child. Can you not see it?” “He does?” Sansa’s eyes went wide. It was true that he never hurt her, he prevented her from shoving Joffrey off the parapet and he had come back for her during the bread riots; so she supposed it might be possible he cared for her in his own, odd way. Shae raised her brows at her. “Have you ever seen him treat anyone as well as he does you?” Knitting her brows, Sansa shook her head. Shae spoke truly. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that if Joffrey forced her to wed one of the Kingsguard, the Hound was not the worst one to be joined to in marriage. “He will not hurt you. He is not that kind of man.” Frowning, she loosened Sansa’s hair from the fussy southern style she had arranged not two hours before. “Now make yourself pretty.” She pushed the perfume tray toward her. “But I was not meant to wed a man so lowborn.” Sansa petulantly muttered. “That does not matter, silly girl,” Shae pinched her chin. “He cares for you, and better to wed a low born man who has tender feelings for you than a highborn who hates you.” Her mind turned to Joffrey, causing the young woman to shiver. “How do you know so much about the Hound?” Sansa could not help but ask. “Because I have spent my life learning men and I have gotten to where I am today because I am good at reading them.” Shae pulled the brush through her hair in long, soothing strokes. “And the Hound will not force himself on you, you can put your mind at ease.” Spitting, she gestured toward the door with the handle of the hairbrush. “But given the opportunity, that one will.” “But why?” Sansa persisted. “Because in you, the Hound sees a chance to redeem himself.” Shae explained. “He wants to be the knight you have dreamed about since you were a child, even if he mocks you for it. And he will never destroy his one opportunity for happiness, no matter how twisted it might be. Have you never noticed the way he looks at you, child?” She held Sansa by the chin, searching her face. Sansa did not answer. “Now get dressed, smile pretty for him and no matter what happens, and do not avert your eyes from him.” “Yes, Shae.” Sansa whispered obediently as her maid then tied a matching linen pinafore over her gown. Shae pressed a quick kiss to Sansa’s hand and held it to her breast. “You will be fine. Now go. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Boros yanked open the entrance to the Hound’s room and pushed her inside. Anxiety twisted Sansa’s stomach in a knot as she looked around the room. The Hound was nowhere to be seen. The room was sparse but clean. In the center of the solar stood a large oak barrel tub filled with steaming water. A flagon of wine, mineral salts, burlap rags, towels and a pitcher for rinsing had been placed on the table beside it. Her gift basket was sitting on his nightstand, carefully placed on top of a fine handkerchief embroidered with his sigil. It looked as though it was the only item besides his sword that held a special place in the room. Turning to the knight, Sansa tried to hide her delight in the discovery. “Where is he, ser?” “Who the fuck cares where the ugly bastard is?”   Her face flushed hot with indignation. “He is to be my husband. You must not speak of him in such a way.” Boros’ surprise mirrored her own. She had not expected to feel offended on behalf of the Hound. Still, if she was to be wed to him, then Sansa was duty bound to defend him, and she was nothing if not dutiful. Infuriated, the knight snatched up the wash cloths with a sneering laugh. “You won’t be needing these. You can use your hands on your betrothed.” He spat out the word like a curse. Just as Sansa was about to protest, a rustling from the other room followed the Hound’s heavy footfall, and suddenly he was there, the entire room seeming to shrink with his intimidating presence. Nervously she began fingering the little birds she had embroidered on her pinafore. Through squinting eyes, Sansa dared to glimpse the man and saw, much to her relief, that the Hound was wearing a black woolen robe.  Surprisingly he seemed even bigger and more intimidating without his armor. “Get the fuck out of here, Toad, unless you want a taste of my steel.” The Hound snarled low, his fighting knife glinting in the firelight. He had pulled the weapon so quickly that Sansa had not even seen where he had it hidden. “You think I didn’t hear you? Bugger you. No man insults me and my woman and lives.” The sound of the Hound’s insulting name for the knight, paired with hearing him calling her his woman, almost made Sansa giggle out loud in spite of her nerves. She didn’t dare cast another look at either man, for if she did, Sansa knew she would lose her composure. The Hound’s heavy breathing was the only sound Sansa heard. Quietly she made her way to his nightstand and chose a bar of soap, turning her back to the men; she didn’t want to see what would happen next. “The next word out of your mouth better be an apology, if you know what’s good for you.” The Hound went on, his voice angrier still. “It makes me no matter but my future wife would undoubtedly prefer not to see your coward’s blood staining my floor.” The knight muttered out a word that sounded like “sorry” and then immediately left the room. Sansa snuck a peek at the table. He took the cloths with him, Sansa’s heart sank. The butterflies in her stomach once again set into a flurry as she realized what she would have to do. After locking the latch, the Hound turned to Sansa and spoke in a somewhat softer tone: “Go on, girl. Get your things ready.” His eyes roamed over her with both desire and sadness. He most likely has never had a woman treat him kindly. Despite her precarious position, her heart was moved to empathy. Holding her breath, Sansa smoothed down her hair and skirts, slipped off her shoes, set her shoulders and silently padded over to the bathing bench.

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Noooo, everyone knows dear Bilbo is a corgi.

THE COMPANY AS DOGS

tag-list: @imhereforthefluff @theresonlyzuul @lathalea @elles-writing and also @estethell

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[among us] blue crewmate and his red imposter friend that stalks him to protect him from other imposter, part 5

The end

[Part 1-2] [part 3] [part 4]

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[among us] blue crewmate and his red imposter friend that stalks him to protect him from other imposters, part 4

How to raise a mini crewmate

[part 1-2] [part 3]

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[among us] blue crewmate and his red imposter friend that stalks him to protect him from other imposters, part 3

[part 1-2]

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[among us] blue crewmate and his red imposter friend that stalks him to protect him from other imposters

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the ONLY post i’ve EVER truly cared about on my linkedin feed lmao

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stupid leftists and their belief in *checks notes* the intrinsic value of human life

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Thorin, King Under the Mountain, from The Hobbit (x)

I’ve been wanting to draw fanart of this majestic idiot for years!

[Art prints here]

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I know it’s not essential to the plot but it bugs me that Mcgonagall’s age keeps changing. In the first Harry Potter movie she is described as being 70 and J.K. Rowling confirms that. Her birth year was set about 1925. But after the series ended J.K. Rowling changed her birth year 1935(making her in her mid 50’s). And then she appers as a fully grown up adult and a professor in the second Fantastic Beast movie set in 1927. Shortly after that Mcgonagall’s birth year was removed on Potter.

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Reblog if you're willing to answer anything that comes in your ask right now

also important: this goes on forever unless i say otherwise

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A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004) dir. Brad Silberling

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*hits the ground violently with the bottom of his axe*  Thorin discovers that they have arrived at Rivendell.

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