#- it was moreso for easy description

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Points at you. 10 and/or 11 for starstruck?

Two starstruck asks,,,,,,joy of joys,,

Part of an ask game linked here.

#10. What's an au you have for them?

Since them meeting at all is technically an AU i have 3 different ways that they do meet up. There's the one where Juniper ends up with the agency/adjacent to and ends up working with Reggie (have written a fic with this). The next one is Juniper surviving but basically going stealth and living as normal of a life as he can and ending up meeting Reggie through chance (most recent fic I've written). And then there's my personal favourite where Reginald "You're lucky my tracking skills are still up to snuff" Crane keeping himself busy after Phoenix was MIA and finding Juniper still alive (fic I want to write but haven't started mainly because it may end up multi chapter).

In terms of more AU canon bending taking them and putting them in a completely unrelated situation...I have a guilty pleasure Warrior Cats AU for IEYTD in general. Both JJ and Reggie have perfect warrior cats suffixes in their names already (Juniper and Crane) so they're called Junipersong (charcoal bengal) and Craneflight (tabby Norwegian forest cat). It's very silly but the amount of scenes I have in my mind for it...good lord...

#11. How was their first kiss like?

Augh my friend Imp wrote an absolutely excellent fic about it (tragically in the realm of unfinished Google docs) and I'm shaking their hand about it so hard. Basically Juniper kissing Reggie but he like wasn't ready/fully expecting it and Juniper absolutely panicking because he thinks he's misread every interaction between them both since they got closer. The second one is much sweeter though,,

[devils-dares]

The Anatomy of a Hug

summary: it's the middle of the night and you've been crying. seeking comfort, you knock on his door.

pairings: unspecified male character x gender neutral!reader

warnings: mentions of friends with benefits type relationship, no smut, crying, mentions of not eating or sleeping, only description is reader is shorter than character, hun as a pet name.

wordcount: 819

a/n: wowie, i'm breaking my hiatus! tbh never thought this day would come. this is written with the call of duty fandom in mind, but can go for practically any male character.

-----

“Wha-” he rubs his eyes, trying to scrub the sleep away, “you’re here. Why are you here?”

It’s a fair question. You knocked on his door in the middle of the night, eyes red from crying. He has every reason to close the door and go back to bed. It’s cold.

You shrug, tired bones too exhausted to even think of a reply.

“Hey, now. C’mere, come in,” he says, stepping to the side to let you in, “talk to me. What’s going on?” It’s warm in the house, walls bathed in honey colored lighting from the incandescent bulbs that buzz away when they’ve gone dim. It smells like him, and you can feel his warmth without ever having to touch him.

“What are ya thinkin’?” His voice is deep, gravelly, a sure sign you’d woken him up from a deep sleep.

“Just wanna be held.” You say, voice shaking on the verge of tears. He stands still for a second, hesitating.

“You want me to- to hold you?” It was a fair question. The two of you didn’t have that kind of relationship, moreso two acquaintances who found comfort in each others’ bodies between the sheets.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You say. He tuts after shutting the door, shifting his weight onto one leg. His arms are folded across his chest, making his frame appear so much bigger than yours, and making you crave his embrace that much more.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’m well aware.” You say, chuckling sadly.

“And you came… here?”

“I can go-”

“No. Don’t leave. Let me hold you, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna be a b-”

“Bother? You’re bothering me by looking like you’ve been crying for hours.”

“Flattery was never your strong suit.” He sighs, crossing the room in three big steps and pulling you into his arms. Your head gets buried in his chest, the scent of him forcing you to settle against him. The weight of his arms is comforting, one wrapped around your waist and one trails up your back to cup the back of your head.

“This is nice, didn’t know you knew how to be soft.”

“Shut up and let me hug you.”

“Okay, sorry.” The two of you fall into an easy silence, nothing but your soft breaths filling the room.

He’s warm, something you always liked about him. He was built like a goddamn furnace, and you were always freezing. It also helped that he was massive, your head just barely reaching his pectoral muscles. Not to mention for how strong he was, he was holding you surprisingly tender.

He held you up. His one arm around your waist held you up without struggle. Your bones and muscles appreciated him, even though you were mentally unable to share your thanks with him. God, he just made you melt like hot butter in his arms. He hated physical affection, never going much further than cuddling during aftercare, but this, it felt like he needed it a little bit too.

“When was the last time you ate, hun?”

You’re not sure what it is about him, an otherwise stoic man breaking his walls down to hold you in a vulnerable moment, or the fact that he felt like he actually wanted to be there. You’re not sure what it was, but almost immediately after the pet name left his lips, you let out a sob, followed by an onslaught of tears that did nothing but soak his shirt and obscure your vision. He freezes against you, muscles tensing where they hold you, but he thaws eventually.

“‘m so tired.”

“I know, let me take care of you for tonight. Don’t worry.” It’s effortless, really, the way he softens his voice and holds your entire weight in his arms, letting you wet his shirt with your tears without saying a word. It feels like you cry for ages, sobbing loudly until you have no tears left and your head is pounding from the onslaught of emotions. It’s silent for a while, you don’t know how long you spent in his arms.

“Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Waking you for that.”

“I’d wake for you if you got a damn papercut, now, when was the last time you ate?”

“What did you say?” He looks at you after you ask.

“I’m saying that if you knocked on my door because you couldn’t sleep at night, I’d pick you up and throw you in my bed to make sure you slept, because lord knows you have a shit sleep schedule. Lord also knows you never eat on time or properly, so I’ll ask you once more, when was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember.” He tuts again, dropping his arm from around your waist to a little lower, and scoops you up in his arms.

“Come now, let’s get you something to eat.”

[suhnflowerstay]

game night

bang chan x afab!reader

a/n: this is based on a real life situation so it might not be super relatable (no description of what reader looks like besides the fact that they're afraid of sitting on his lap)

and it is not representative of any characteristics the idols have or anything lol it's moreso therapeutic. it does require the knowledge of Jackbox Games. quiplash is a game where you get a prompt and you anonymously write down what you think is the funniest answer and everyone votes for the funniest one. i'm posting this twice because i originally wrote it for mark but my sister thought it was well suited for chan as well soooo yeah!

wc: 2.9k

tags: toxic situationship vibes (like really toxic), smoking, high emotions, angst, smut, sad ending

You and Chan had known each other for a few years. You had initially met on vacation and got each other's contact information to keep in touch. You were talking all the time and FaceTiming nearly every day. You were friends, such close friends that you decided to go to the same university. Once you moved to his area for college, you were spending all your time with each other. Eventually, the sexual tension between you began to build and before you knew it, your situationship began.

A few months before your friends with benefits relationship with Chan began, he had been sharing with you how messy his previous arrangement was. You had seen other girls come and go because they could never handle him sticking by his word and refusing to commit to them. You were also not interested in commitment, so you felt comfortable going into it. You knew exactly who you were friends with, so you assumed you would be fine. You were just friends who had a sexual attraction to each other. There was no reason that having sex would have to complicate things, right? Wrong.

Yes, there are people who can have a healthy friends with benefits style relationship. Sex is easy to detach from for some more than others. Your relationship with Chan was anything but detached. You were best friends who had sex, and the gray area was extremely gray. You were practically dating without the label, and that brought a lot of negative feelings bubbling up. But you both didn't want commitment. You were terrified of being vulnerable in that way and he, well… he just loved the attention.

Chan's cousin Felix was hosting a game night with some friends, and he wanted you to come along and meet everyone. When you two arrived at Felix’s house, you introduced yourself, and the first words out of his mouth were:

“Are you the one that called on Christmas?”

Immediately, Chan jumped into action to try to shut Felix up. He stood in front of you and blocked Felix from view, mumbling, “No, that was someone else.” You knew he had a previous situationship leading up to your current situationship with him; this was no secret. You knew this because you were the one to talk him through the end of that relationship. You just hadn't realized how intense it must've been if Bang Chan was bringing that "friend with benefits" to meet the family.

You had small talk with Felix, asking him what his major was, and he asked you yours. He offered you drinks and snacks, and you took a seat on the sectional with Chan taking the seat right next to you. You two were in your own little world, giggling about god knows what while he had his arm around you, when all of a sudden the door behind you swings open.

“CHAN PLEASE TELL ME YOU HAVE DONE THE ENGINEERING HOMEWORK!” the disheveled boy yelled. You giggled because of how insane this random man appeared with his backpack barely slung over his shoulder, hair a mess, running up to take a seat on the couch diagonal to you two.

“Y/N, this is Minho. Minho, this is Y/N.”

Minho’s brain is going a million miles an hour, and the first thing he thinks to ask is:

“Are you two dating?”

You and Chan look at each other, and he says, “No, we’re just friends.”

“Oh," the disheveled man says, "Well, it looks like you two are dating.”

Minho proceeds to talk to Chan about whatever homework they had, and his whole demeanor has you nearly falling off the couch with how hard he has you laughing. He has major himbo energy and says everything with so much passion. At one point, he ends a story he's telling with, “WHATEVER FUCKOOO!”

Soon, more of Felix and (kind of) Chan's friends start showing up. A taller guy who catches your eye greets you. He says his name is Hyunjin and makes light conversation with you, asking how you know Chan and Felix and asking how long you've lived in the city. There are also three guys in the corner smoking, and one of them catches your eye as you hear his distinct giggle while he laughs with his friends. Is Chan only friends with hot people, you think. The last guy walks in and very quietly says hi and immediately walks across the room to sit between his friends. Chan lets you know that the shy guy, also known as Jisung, is really shy with strangers, but he's sure Jisung will warm up by the end of the night.

Felix loads up Jackbox Games, and your group plays Trivia Murder Party for a few rounds, and then, a guy named Seungmin says he thinks the group should play Quiplash. There are a few rounds where you make some pretty good jokes, and all of the guys hype you up, telling Chan he brought someone super funny to game night. You even make a quip at Chan's expense, and Minho high-fives you for doing so. At this point, you've had a few drinks, and you aren't drunk, just tipsy. But you absolutely need to pee. You ask Chan where the bathroom is, since this is his cousin's house, and he leads you to the bathroom, waiting for you outside the door. Once you’re done, he drags you to the empty bedroom across from the bathroom and lays back on the bed, pulling you down you on top of him.

“Are you having fun?” he looks up at you.

“Mhm," you hum, "are you?”

“Yeah."

"Your friends are nice. Minho's super funny. I can't believe he's real,” you giggle.

"Yeah, he is... ok, c'mon. Let’s go back before they think we’re having sex or something," he says abruptly. You thought his response was weird, but you didn't think too much about it.

Upon returning to the living room, you see your seat on the couch was stolen by a few of the guys, and you are now forced to sit on a recliner in the corner to watch the game from there. There’s only one seat though, so you just stand while Chan takes the seat.

“What are you doing?" he questions, "Come on. Sit down.”

You pause. “I-I'm okay. I don’t want to like hurt your legs or anyth-”

Chan pulls you down on his lap, so you’re forced to sit down on him. He asks if you want to smoke, and you take a singular hit, not really interested in doing that, and watch the game from afar. Minho has his eyes trained on you two, and you feel his stare. You turn to look at him, and he yells from across the room, “Are you sure you guys aren’t dating?”

You giggle saying, "Yes, we’re sure we aren’t dating."

He tilts his head to the side like a confused kitty and proceeds to ask “So, are you guys cousins?” and you cannot stop yourself from keeling over because what does he MEAN?? What kind of line of questioning is that? Why would his brain jump from dating to cousins? You look at Chan incredulously as you both laugh and confirm once again that you are just friends.

You two keep watching the game, rather than participate, and go back to your own little world until Chan decides he’s ready to go home. You follow him out, saying a single goodbye to everyone in the room. Everyone bids you goodbye in their own way with many of the guys saying how nice it was to meet you and how you should definitely come to game night again. You two walk out and Chan unlocks the car before remembering he has to go back in to get something from Felix. You sit and wait in the car, smiling to yourself, and text your best friend about game night. You make sure to mention the beautiful man you met and how funny it was that he asked if you and Chan were cousins.

Once he enters the car, he slides his hand onto your thigh.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, leaning in to give you a kiss.

“Yes, actually. I really didn't think I would, but that was so nice and all of your friends seem so cool! Minho is such a himbo it’s so funny... I can’t believe you guys are taking the same classes.” you add.

You don't notice, but Chan's hand clenches the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything and begins the drive home. You stop by the grocery store on your way home to pick up some snacks, and everything between you and Chan seems pretty light hearted.

You get back to his place, shower, and change into pajamas. You two sit on the couch for a bit longer watching shows and just snacking, cuddled up together. You get up to go to the restroom, leaving your phone behind on the coffee table, and when you come back, Chan is in a noticeably different mood. His body language is tense, and he’s moved away from your original spot.

“Channie… what’s wrong?” you ask, still standing.

“Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“It just seems like... like there’s something bothering you,�� you insisted.

“Why would anything be bothering me? You’re literally making something out of nothing!” he snapped.

Now, you're officially in a bad mood.

“Fine then! Forget I even asked,” you huffed, collapsing onto the opposite side of the couch to go through your phone.

Half an hour later, your anger has subsided, and you're back to being invested in the show you’re watching. Then, the leading man betrays his love interest.

“Ughhhhhh," you drone, "Why does every man suck? Like even him? You have to be joking.”

“I bet Minho would never do that…” Chan mumbled mockingly from his side of the couch.

“What the actual fuck did you just say?” you snarled.

“Nothing.”

“Please do not fucking tell me that you’re upset over Minho, a man I only just met a few hours ago,” you scoffed.

“Oh, so you’re counting the hours,” Chan said, not even looking at you.

“Chan, shut the fuck up! What are you saying right now? What is your deal? I don’t even know or care about Minho!”

“You sure seemed to care when you texted your friend about how hot and funny you thought he was,” he said, finally looking up at you to see your reaction.

“Motherfucker, you went through my phone? Again? Are you fucking joking? Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t! I saw you texting it,” he tried to say, but you knew that was a lie because you had texted your friend right when you got into the car. He absolutely went through your phone, but this was not the first time.

“You’re a fucking liar, Bang Chan. I know you didn’t see me texting it. And either way, what does it matter to you? Newsflash! In case you weren't aware, I’m not your girlfriend! You made sure of it, and you also made sure everyone knew that tonight!”

Chan scoffed, “What did you want me to say to them? 'Oh yeah we’re fucking’?”

“it doesn’t matter what you say to them because we aren’t anything. And that means you don’t get to be upset over me texting my friend that i thought your friend was attractive," you emphasize, "You’ve done far worse or would you like me to remind you about your sexting with Soyeon or sending good morning and goodnight texts to Sana when you couldn’t even find two seconds to text me back even if it was just to let me know you were busy?"

Chan sits there knowing he can't say anything to that.

"You have even less of a right to be upset because of all the shit you pull all of the time, so I’m not going to apologize for sending my friend one text about a cute boy I will probably never see again." you finish.

“So you would want to see him again?” he tries to say steadily, but his voice cracks.

You look up and see that Chan is looking at the ground now and has tears in his eyes.

“Chris…” you put your arm around him and embrace him.

“I get it, though, like he’s so much more than I could ever be," he sniffles, "He’s so funny without even trying, and he’s just so cute and attractive and everything about him screams 'y/n's type.' I don’t blame you for being interested.”

He pushes himself up to lock eyes with you. “It’s only you, you know? I know you saw the texts or whatever with other girls, but I only care about you. No one else could ever be you. I promise that at the end of the day, no matter what, I only want you.”

He looks down at your lips and hesitates before he kisses you. The kiss starts off slow and slowly progresses into a more passionate, needy one. Chan is grabbing at your hips, your stomach, your arms, whatever he can get a grip on. He starts whining and pulls away, “Please take off your clothes, babygirl. I need you.”

You both strip down in his living room. Chan carefully lays you down on the couch and lines himself up with your pussy before slowly pushing himself in all the way without any issue. You guess high intensity and emotional situations just make you wet now after all the arguments you've had with this man.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight," he praises, "You always make me feel so big. it always feels like the first time.”

You moan and beg Chan to move, and slowly, he does. While there’s still a desperate neediness in the air, Chan is moving slowly and intentionally. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours while caressing your body. He praises every inch of you that he touches, littering you with compliments. He traces a finger along every curve and focuses on tracing circles on your tits, teasing your nipple ever so slightly before finally taking the buds between his fingers. He squeezes them, eliciting moans from your "pretty little mouth" as he calls it. He keeps one hand focused on your breast while he uses the other arm to hold himself up as he leans down to kiss you, maintaining the slow but steady rhythm. You wrap your legs and arms around him, pinning him to your chest. This position makes it so much more intimate, and you swear that he's hitting even deeper. The combination is pushing you right up to the edge. By the way Chan starts moaning, you can tell he feels the same.

“Fuck baby, I'm so close,” he groans

“Please cum inside me, Daddy. I need it so bad.”

“Ugh, f-fuck, beautiful, I can’t until you do. Please cum with me baby girl and- fuck- and I’ll fill you up as much as you want.”

His words send you over the edge, catapulting you into a strong radiating orgasm. Your hands are grasping at his arms and back, leaving scratches in their wake, you're sure. It’s very different from what you’ve previously experienced, muted but long lasting, and you can feel it all over. Your orgasm triggers his, and he continues to fuck you through it until the overstimulation becomes too much. He pulls out of you and grabs some wipes to wipe you and himself down. He lays you down in bed and makes his way to lay down right alongside you. He sits up and places his hand on your cheek, turning your head to make you look at him.

“I-" he hesitated, "I’m sorry I went through your phone again,” he says, rubbing his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone.

“It’s okay, Chan,” you reassure him.

“I just- I knew you’d like him. I could tell from the way you were looking at him and how he was looking at you. Minho is never interested in other people let alone other people’s relationships. I knew if he was asking if we were dating, it was so he could ask you out, and it made me freak out," he sighs.

“You have no way of knowing that, Channie,” you reason.

“Regardless, I meant what I said. I know we aren’t official, but I'm only loyal to you.”

He lays back down, and you say nothing.

You say nothing because this is a conversation you have often.

You say nothing because as much as you want to commit to Chan, you probably also aren’t ready.

You say nothing because the previous statement is probably a lie you tell yourself to make yourself feel better in this relationship you have with him.

You say nothing because you know there will be more instances of you finding text messages with other people in which he gives them more compliments/attention/time than he gives you.

You say nothing because you know he isn’t loyal to you at all, and you’d rather not start another fight tonight.

You say nothing because there is nothing here to fight for.

You say nothing as he falls asleep in your arms, and you see his phone light up with a text.

minho: hey can i get y/n's number

[pansear-doodles]

Nightcat is now on Art Fight!

Description below

Name: Nightcat Pronouns: Any/All Likes: The Darkness, Stargazing, Talking about sweet nothings, General rambling, Video games, Coding, Things that glow, Being held (consentual), Strawberry shortcakes, Listening to Music Dislikes: Being shy, Crowded places, Loud unnerving humming noises, Sunlit places, Being pulled, Being in danger's sight

History: Nightcat does not know much of their childhood nor where they came from. They've been told that they and their supposed sibling Enot were found relatively close to the Drainage System as pups. They grew up independently in the Outer Expanse Colony, raised by the community, but Nightcat's mysterious placement causes them to hide away from the general public. Halfway through, they discover their powers to hide themselves and uses it throughout most of their life to avoid contact, living in solitude with the exception of their sibling mucking about. Then they meet Survivor after accidentally bumping into them- Survivor notices Nightcat's special interest on their laptop and starts making a conversation about it. The two would continue ramble on upon themselves, becoming friends. Nightcat's friendship with Survivor opened up a lot of opportunities to connect to new people and therefore be more connected with their true potential. Just- slowly and patiently.

Personality: Nightcat is shy and reserved, but diplomatic and wants the best for others. They are not one to often be in the way of others' business and isn't assertive about their opinions unless they're talking to their sibling- where they are moreso annoyed. They are passionate about obscure and otherwise considerably "nerdy" things, and often likes talking about them- this is only assuming you're in the internet or you being friends with them. They are very closed off with their true feelings if you're a stranger to them, but they can care and find matters on others apart from themselves.

Biology: Nightcat has the mysterious powers of wielding a "shadowy construct", manipulating darkness to create formations such as weaponry and figures of varying kind. They can use these shadows to veil themselves, increasing their likelihood of being dismissed by those not with the keenest of eyes. Nightcat is not a physically trained slugcat but is in the process of learning to how fend themselves. They are also learning their power's capabilities, which grow stronger everyday.

Appearance: Nightcat is a dark slugcat with lopped ears, white eyes with drooped eyelashes, and a medium-sized snout. When using their powers, the shadows are pure black. Using the powers to conceal themselves would make them appear shadowy and pure black. Nightcat likes wearing hoods, shawls, anything that can cover their head and upper part of their body. They do not like particularly bright and colorful clothing, rather inclined to wear clothing that is easy on the eyes and monochromatic by nature. They and Survivor like wearing matching outfits together. Nightcat is a young adult.

Relationships: Survivor - Likes/Best Friends - They enjoy each others company and share many interests- boring to the outsider. Survivor is the first slugcat Nightcat really opened up to and has developed feelings for them. Enot - Family - Nightcat finds them annoying and has to be the one to wrangle their shenanigans, but they're the only family they have. They do care about each other deep down. Monk - Friends - Survivor introduced their own sibling Monk to Nightcat and slowly developed a friendship overtime. Nightcat's quite afraid of their lizard pets. Gourmand - Acquaintances - A friendly familiar face, but not one Nightcat is close enough to consider friends with. Surely they will, at some point, with enough courage. Hunter - Acquaintances - Hunter was the next person Survivor introduced Nightcat to. They're quite scared of them, not helped by their upbeat attitude, but understands their "big sibling" energy and is slowly getting used to it. Artificer - Neutral - Quite scared of them, considering their history and constant visible aggression. Rivulet - Neutral - A little scared of them, but seeing that they like playing video games, might grow close someday. Spearmaster - Neutral - They haven't really known them enough to think, but perhaps both being relatively silent helps. Saint - Neutral - Afraid of them for sure, but if Monk trusts them then maybe there's nothing much to worry about?

[huramuna]

the calico bastard - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) previous part | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny, depictions & descriptions of death

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but it gives an insight into what is going through our favorite kinslayer's head, and sets up events for further chapters. peep the music change for this chapter 🤭

art by me of alysanne • an edit by me of alysanne as a child • aesthetic board

decode - paramore • lonely day - system of a down

How did it come to this? How did Aemond go from being Prince regent of the Seven Kingdoms— the crown of Aegon the Conqueror upon his head, sitting on the Iron throne— to holding onto an unconscious Strong bastard girl?

He looked down at her, pale and small in his arms. He could see her eyes fluttering behind her lids, obviously seeing something. 

Aemond knew from the first sentence out of her mouth that she wasn’t normal— not even a little bit. She reminded him of Helaena, and even moreso, mayhaps one of Helaena’s bug companions, like a moth or mantis— so odd, and perhaps bad omens in their own right. 

He shook his head, why in the Seven’s name was he thinking about Helaena’s bugs? Why was he holding this bastard? 

This isn’t who he is— he isn’t gentle, he shouldn’t care if she fell unconscious and cracked her head open— he shouldn’t even care if she stung herself on nettle in the first place. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, feeling a creeping ache in his eyesocket. The sapphire was heavy, pressing against his skull. 

He never considered himself a vain man— he could care less about the leathers he wore, about how proper he looked to others. No, he only cared about what he could evoke in other people when they saw him. 

As a child, mayhaps he wished to evoke promise, pride— studying in history and practicing Valyrian to which he excelled all of his siblings in. He wished for his father to notice, to note on his progress, how he surpassed all of the other children in literature, the ability to hold full conversations in High Valyrian with near perfect grammar and cadence, as well as studious penmanship. 

As a young man— or whoever he became after he lost his eye, the emotion he wished to evoke in people was fear. Fear, reverence, superiority. He wanted them all to bow before him, kiss his boot and sing him praise as if he was the second coming of Visenya herself. He studied the blade, becoming twice the swordsman most men ever were with only one eye. 

But evoking emotion in presence alone is a rare feat— so mayhaps a reminder of Lucerys Strong’s folly against him would serve as a good reminder. The sapphire was such a reminder. 

It reminded not only everyone around him, but himself as well— the incessant pain it caused him was a constant prompt of what he’s lost. 

But then he looks to Vhagar— what he’s gained. 

He can live with a little pain, no matter how much it ached and drove him half mad. 

Aemond looked down at the bastard girl, focusing on the small expressions she made, the tiny noises emitting from her as she dreamed. Helaena’s dreams were never so… obvious. They were usually small outbursts or cryptic mutterings. 

But this girl, she seemed to fully delve into whatever she was seeing— and it’s happened twice now with Aemond. 

Her mutterings softened and her eyes cracked open. He stared down at her, looking into those eyes. They were easy to get lost in— especially her violet eye, it felt much like a mirror… 

He caught himself drifting slightly, clearing his throat, “What did you see?” he asked then, his voice soft. Gods, why did he sound so pathetic?

“Kinslayer.” she murmured. 

His posture stiffened— but he didn’t let go of her. If anything, he held her a bit tighter. His throat felt tight, his chest squeezing his heart. “Y-you,” his voice cracked slightly, to which he gave himself a moment to gather his wits— damn this bastard for disarming him so easily— “You saw that.” 

She nodded slowly, her eyes looking everywhere but into his. 

Look at me, look at me, you fucking bastard— he felt the same rage begin to bubble up in his sternum as he did at Storm’s End— the same fire and flame that he wished to collect a debt with—

But then she looked at him. In his eye. She truly looked at him, as if she could see every fiber of his being, every stitch and crosshatch in him that was wrong, and the loops and threads that were right. 

He felt her exhale, her hands shaking slightly— he didn’t realize he was shaking as well— one of those small hands reached upward to him, her lips parted ever so slightly—

Her palm rested on his cheek, the scarred one. She was warm, she was soft where he was sharp, he was all angles and hard lines— she was silken and gentle. Gods, when was the last time someone had touched him? Touched him out of their own volition? 

And it was over too soon. She retracted her hand, looking away. Her expression was that of embarrassment and exhaustion, her usually pale cheeks peaked with a rosy shade of blush. 

He felt himself chasing that feeling. It felt similar to flying upon Vhagar, elation and joy. 

And fear. He was fucking scared— scared of the emotion he felt in that moment. A girl— a Strong bastard girl no less— broke down all the barriers he put up since that night in Driftmark in an instant. 

He wanted to run. He wanted to drop her and run, climb atop Vhagar and burn something, anything. Anything to feel like he had control of himself and his surroundings. He was a dragon, was he not? And she just a bird— a stupid bastard bird with captivating eyes and soft skin and—

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He shook his head and placed her gently on the ground, then removed himself from her proximity immediately. One, two, three paces backwards.

He clenched his fist, the throbbing of his damaged nerves in his eye socket returning— this time with a vengeance. He cursed under his breath, “I trust you will be able to return to the keep yourself?” he asked then, looking for an out from the situation. 

She fisted her skirt anxiously, “Mm… hm…” she murmured with hesitation, “Where’s… Banshee?” 

He scanned the treeline, seeing the gray beast hoofing the ground, mimicking his rider’s anxiety. How curious a bond they had.

Aemond took a deep breath, “He’s just over here— how do you… lure him over?” he asked awkwardly. He rode the largest dragon in the world, and yet was hesitant about her monstrous horse. 

“I… I can— don’t worry yourself with me, please,” she mumbled. She clicked her tongue loudly; once, twice, thrice. 

The gelding bobbed his giant head and began meandering over, eyeing Aemond, his nostrils flared. Slowly, Alysanne got to her feet. She stuffed the remains of the now slightly squashed chamomile flowers into her pockets and began her ungrateful ascent atop the beast. Her mismatched eyes flitted around nervously before landing on Aemond’s— his breath hitched as they made eye contact once more. 

“Thank you, my prince,” she said softly, leaning forward on Banshee’s back, her arms wrapped around the horse’s thick neck. Her head was tilted slightly and the color was returning to her face. 

Aemond nodded slowly, his throat feeling dry. He was the first one to break eye contact this time, glancing off into the distance, “Think nothing of it. I simply was doing my duty to help a lady.” 

This earned a half chuckle from her, he heard. He could see the corners of her mouth perked into a small smile— a smile? He resisted the urge to look, lest he fall deeper into the pit of whatever he was feeling right now. But Gods, he wished to look. 

“I am no lady, dear dragon,” she hummed, “but it is interesting that you see me as such. Mayhaps I could get used to being called a lady— if only maybe by you.” 

His jaw twitched— what the hells did that mean? He was coming to the conclusion that maybe she didn’t even know what she was saying herself, so how was he supposed to make sense of it? Gods, how could he let himself be so soft for a maddened woman?

“Hm,” he muttered, “Take care of yourself, little bird.” 

He took her silence as an out to finally walk away— he didn’t wish to hear what else she had to say, if anything at all. Every word from her mouth sent him on a deeper spiral into a madness just like hers. 

The prince ran his hand along Vhagar’s scales as he approached her, earning a low rumbling purr. He climbed back atop her, “Sōvegon, Vhagar.” Fly, Vhagar. 

He kept his gaze forward, not even daring to see what happened to the bastard on her horse. His fists clenched and unclenched on the reins— what the fuck were the use of these anyway? It wasn’t as if Vhagar could feel them being tugged on— she did what she liked. Storm’s End was proof enough of that. 

Once they were at a high elevation and coasting above the clouds, he let go of the ropes. His hands went down to his waist and legs where he was strapped into the saddle. Thinking back to the bastard girl on her horse; no saddle, no reins, just pure instinct and bond. If she could do it, why couldn’t he?

It was a novel thought— and mayhaps a stupid one. If he fell to his death off of his dragon and splattered into a dozen pieces, his brother’s war would likely be lost without a rider upon Vhagar. He would be remembered as the One-Eyed Targaryen who idiotically rode his war dragon without being properly saddled. 

Fuck that— his legacy was already tarnished, having his eye gouged out by a bastard boy playing heir to Driftmark, then subsequently killing said bastard. He was accursed, a Kinslayer, a one-eyed prince. 

He unlooped the straps from his legs and waist, pulling them away from his body until he was free of them. Free of expectation, free of safety and concern for what the maesters would write in the histories about him. 

He let go of the reins, giving no command to Vhagar. Instead, he tried to emulate the bastard girl’s posture— it was almost lazy wasn’t it? Like a leisurely cat, draped upon the neck of her steed. He leaned forward, his hands touching the weathered skin of Vhagar’s shoulders. Aemond could feel the power, the pure destruction laced within her very being.

It sang to him like a siren’s song; Dracarys, Dracarys, Dracarys–

And so he spewed dragon’s fire– raining down upon the Riverlands like the second coming of Visenya in Dorne.

Burn.

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@heavenly1927 @keylin1730

[hippolotamus]

Fuck it Friday 🏖️

Two snippets today because... fuck it, right?

First! from the unnamed Lutalia ficlet (it is not coming as easy as I'd hoped) [pun fully intended because, yeah, it's probably gonna get spicy] prev snippet here

It’s not like Natalia should even get emotionally invested, or worked up over the message. She and Lucy aren’t anything meaningful like partners or girlfriends. Lovers would be a generous description. They’re… something with benefits. Not friends, exactly. More like acquaintances. That term feels awkward as she turns it around in her brain. But saying ‘acquaintances who met through a guy they have in common’ is even moreso. So, yeah, something with benefits.

She chuckles to herself thinking about ever needing to introduce Lucy. Oh, Lucy? She’s nobody really. We just fuck sometimes. Somewhere in the afterlife her grandmother is probably cursing up a storm because Natalia didn’t marry a nice Catholic boy and have a houseful of kids. Sorry, Nana.

Second! From a published work, my baby, whatever may come (your heart I will choose). I heard the song this chapter was named for and I was overwhelmed with gushy emotions. So, from CH 21....

Eddie has been alone long enough to know he doesn’t want to always be that way. There’s a part of him that still equates romantic love with effort and disappointment, but he’s seen enough to know that some people get it right. Christopher is his priority and anyone he would even think to consider would have to feel the same - they’re a packaged deal, can’t have one without the other.

Much like Buck, Eddie has his fair share of women — and men — try to get his attention on calls. Someone might argue he’s missing out on a meet-cute opportunity, but a person who’s throwing themselves to see which firefighter will catch them isn’t what Eddie is looking for. Honestly, he’s not sure what his type is, or if he even really has one. He’s also not sure if it’s a surprise or not when the person he might want is his best friend. Buck, who became part of Eddie and Christopher’s lives so seamlessly Eddie didn’t realize it had happened until he almost lost him.

When Eddie comes home from his 24, it’s… different. It’s good, he thinks, but there’s definitely something new crackling in the air around him. Eddie had arrived at the station yesterday morning, and gone immediately into his usual routine, barely getting changed before the bell went off. He didn’t have time to think about leaving Buck behind. In his bed. Now that he’s home, however, there’s really no choice.

Buck is just walking out of the bedroom — out of Eddie’s bedroom — stretching so just a sliver of skin peeks out above the waistband of his joggers. There are still pillow creases on his cheek, and his hair is adorably sleep-mussed.

When Buck relaxes the stretch, he notices Eddie, giving him a soft smile before he says good morning. A warm, golden glow builds in the center of Eddie’s chest, filling up the usual beige of coming home to a quiet house. Eddie’s hands twitch at his sides, wanting to reach out, to pull Buck close. Just to see. Just to know. What it might feel like if Buck was his. Buck, oblivious to Eddie’s internal struggle, walks past, brushing their shoulders together.

He asks Eddie questions like ‘How was your shift?’ and ‘I was going to make eggs when Christopher wakes up. Want some?’. Buck prepares regular coffee for himself and decaf for Eddie, because he knows Eddie always wants coffee when he comes off a morning shift and the full strength keeps him too jittery for sleep. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. For Eddie anyway. He’s still Buck’s best friend and this is how they are together, how they’ve always been. Eddie is the only one that can see there might be more. He accepts the mug Buck sets down in front of him, and pretends not to notice when Buck’s fingers seem to linger under Eddie’s longer than they probably need to.

It’s easier once Christopher is awake and joins them in the kitchen. Mostly. Sort of. Because he gives Eddie a hug first then shuffles over to give one to Buck, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist like it’s an everyday thing. Like it could just be that simple that Buck has been here for two nights and that’s just the way it is now.

(…)

Buck beams and gives Christopher a high-five. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Yes!”

“Me, too. Go wash your hands and I’ll start getting it ready.”

Christopher obediently walks toward the bathroom, while Buck washes up in the kitchen sink. Buck makes scrambled eggs and bacon, and Eddie sets the table. Eddie listens to Buck and Christopher tell him about their trip to the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium yesterday and how excited they both are to go to the Heal the Bay and Roundhouse aquariums later in the week.

“Dad, there was a kelp forest inside! Did you know kelp can grow two feet in a day?”

Eddie doesn’t have a chance to answer before Buck is telling him some other fact.

“Yeah! And Eddie! There are these starfish called bat stars. If they bump into each other they have like a slow motion arm wrestling fight.”

“And,” Christopher adds, “they can turn their stomachs inside out.”

That information may have been a bit much for breakfast time, but he’s happy to listen. Buck and Christopher continue to banter back and forth, calling out every fact or exhibit they remember between sips of juice and bites of toast.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Eddie asks when he’s finally able to get a word in.

“I thought we could take it a little easier, maybe go to the beach? It would get us out and still let you sleep.” Buck looks at Eddie, his blue eyes bright and hopeful. “Unless you wanted to come with us? I can drive.”

Eddie is tired from his shift, but not so exhausted he’s ready to collapse like some days. And with Buck looking at him like that – Eddie doesn’t know how anyone could possibly expect him to say no.

tagged by @callmenewbie @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @wikiangela @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites thank you loves 😘

no pressure tagging @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @malewifediaz mi amor @disasterbuckdiaz @thekristen999 @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @jesuisici33 @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @stereopticons @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @honestlydarkprincess @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @pirrusstuff @messyhairdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @evaneds @maygrantgf @buckbuckgoose @statueinthestone and anybody else who wants to share 💖

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

29 - Shrouded Truth in Sickness

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

Length: 14k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past child illness and death, mild mentions of violence, mild disturbing imagery, smut, p in v, light sexual descriptions

Notes: Jon is in fact not wearing a fur cloak in any of these scenes, unlike the show. As Dragonstone is very far South and is in fact, way too warm and humid for fur, Now, none of that matters, but it's important to me that you know that. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

For all that you had been doing, you could hardly remember much of what was said as you all sat around the painted table. Much of the Royal Fleet was typically at Dragonstone as it was far more advantageous then from King’s Landing, so for much of the fourteen years Robert had been King thus had allowed your father to serve his duty from home. On one hand it meant you stood watching him leave harbour for war so shortly since your return home. Yet, it also had meant only two short months later, you stood in the exact same spot watching him return. 

High on the black stones down to the shores you had stood high up, holding Shireen up right by your cheek and waving her tiny arm at the ships coming home. She had finally been old enough you could take her on simple walks around the castle grounds telling her stories the whole while of father. Your mother had said she would not be able to understand you, but you cared little. Always bright and animated as you spoke to her she was always engaged with what you said even as she neared three months. 

You perhaps had gotten used to how to talk to young infant girls like so from the last number of trips you had made to Winterfell. The first return you made was when you had met Lord and Lady Stark’s first daughter. A bright hair of Tully red, even moreso then Lady Catelyn herself, Maester Luwin had jested that little Sansa must have strong Tully in her blood more then Robb. She was a well behaved girl, quiet if not a bit fussy at times but you were quick to play big sister with her at that very young age. 

Arya was more of the one however, that prepared you in the end.

Mischievous and loud, always looking for something to do, or someone to play with her and she had latched onto you quite quickly. By the time you had returned home some months ago, your mother was about ready to birth Shireen. Shortly after she came into this world, father left for war so you had spent two months doing everything you could do ensure she didn’t feel neglected. She even at so young, had a babbling energy about her that clearly little Arya had prepared you to handle. 

So when father returned, it felt odd to suddenly be pulled back from spending time with her as he insisted on keeping you focused on your lessons. It was one night such as those where your father had his men all meeting around the painted table, your mother still recovering from giving birth and thus Shireen was left under the watch of her Septa. You were up with your father, sitting only a few chairs down from him with paper and ink in front of you. 

You had one easy task, or at least, one task with a simple rule. Everything spoken in that meeting, you were to write and translate, and it would be checked to make sure you had not let your time North let you forget all of your language lessons. Whatever they had been talking about, you scarcely recalled however. 

Reaching for the ink once more, your hand had hovered in place over it. In fact, all of you seemed to have stopped. Your Uncle Alester had later said that it looked almost as if you had accidentally caught sight of the candle lit flames situated near the empty middle of the painted table and had no longer had the ability to look away. The reflection in your eyes was tense, and you seemed not to have realized you were not paying any attention or moving. 

Only when he had called your name did it pull you out of it. But as if having no awareness of where you had been, your hand dropped and thus knocked the small glass bottle of ink all over. Some spilling onto the wooden writing desk sat on your lap, the bottle crashed down with a smash all across the floor and spilling more ink onto there and most it had made it’s way all over the front of your dress. 

The sudden onslaught of sensations had startled you greatly, causing you to jump from your seat with a gasp and all eyes flew over to you with various stays of confusion as to your outburst. But all you could do, was stammer. Looking at your father with no explanation as to what happened, but he had simply dismissed you, that he would look over what you had done up to that point tomorrow. 

The walk back to the corridors where your room and now Shireens room sat was frustrating. You uselessly wiped at the ink now ruined the dress on you with no understanding of what really happened between you in the middle of correcting a word you translated incorrectly to flying back as you had sent the bottle of ink all over you and the floor. 

All you did was reach your hand up, and your eyes caught glance of the flickering flames of the candles in the middle of the table and it was enough to take your mind away. Had that been all of it, you might have recalled looking into the flames and seeing strange images flying through it and painting across your eyes as they transfixed you to them. Until your uncle had called your name did it coincide with another calling your name that you, at the time, didn’t recognize, and it forced you back to the room you sat in. 

But, it wasn’t the only thing to happen that night, and thus it was forgotten for a while.

Passing through the corridors, you could feel the damp, stuffy air even from the distance and huffed in annoyance. You walked a bit further, peeking enough into Shireen’s room so that you could both see your Septa, but not enough she could see your dress and lecture you. “My father says I am to watch Shireen for the remainder of the night, that you need not return until mid morning.” Her brows narrowed as she looked up from the cross stitching she had been working on, calling your name in sternness.

Before she could say anything more though, you disappeared beyond the corner shouting, “Please leave her door open, I will only be a moment.” You heard her sigh and grumble but as you hid somewhat behind your heavy door you could tell she had left. Giving you the chance to peel off the ruined dress before she could see, changing into something much more simple but warmer. 

Only some minutes later and you made your way into her room. Shireen looked asleep when you had poked your head in, but it seemed the sound of your voice pulled her awake. Her infant’s bed with wooden pulls just enough that she could slumber without falling, you pulled the front and sides all the way down as she blinked awake more with a babbling on her lips. 

Standing up you moved to the largest window which had the ability to open, to the edge of the room, which Septa Moelle had closed. Annoyed you shook your head as you spoke to your sister in a dramatic manner, “Oh it is far too cold child, I will freeze to death before the night is even up.” Dropping to a more normal tone, “Honestly Shireen, you’d think she grew up in Dorne how much she complains of such cold. This is nothing,” your head turning to glance at her now sitting up more to watch you, “Wait until you come North with me in some years, now that is what cold truly is.” 

The cool breeze filtered in with a nice rush over your exposed skin that alleviated the damp air around the castle. Glancing to her once more, she seemed content as every to just have you speak at her. Unlike your mothers insistence, Maester Cressen said that as long as you speak to an infant, it helps them learn language faster. So it was alright she would not properly understand you for some time. 

“Now, which story should we read tonight? If you have any suggestions, speak up.” Turning back you ran your hands over a pile of books you had brought in to her room. Ones you did not care to read or keep for yourself anymore, however you thought she may was well see for herself if she found any interest in dragons and wars long passed.

So you begun to read the stories to her, spending many nights you sat crossed legged on her or your bed, with her propped up comfortably in your lap with a book open before both of you. You would read carefully out loud, pointing to each sentence you read as her bright green eyes followed intently. 

Voice morphing into low and high pitches of differing theatrics when you would go over something whimsical happening, gasping and pointing to drawings attached and helping guide her tiny hand to where you were pointing. Sometimes repeating certain words until she babbled out more nonsense before pressing a kiss to her cheek until she giggled. 

Four times now your mother had lost one of your brothers, and now The Mother had finally heard your prayers and hers and granted a child. A sister, and you were taking full advantage of what you were beginning to think you’d never have. 

Biting your lip in thought, your nails tapped against the cover of one book about The Young Dragon in consideration, when you heard a simple thud. Turning back, you saw a small doll laying flat on the ground and a little Shireen giggling along. Shaking your head, you left the books behind, walking over to her bed.

Kneeling down you recognized the doll was a brand new one father had bought from a merchant when he returned home. The dress had been hand painted to match that of the house colours even, and she clearly adored it. For the most part. 

Picking it up you placed it back on the bed, only to watch her toss it again with a smile. This time your eyebrows shot up as your mouth opened in a playful audacity. “Are we playing a game or are you just being a pest, Shireen?” Like you were a dog you fetched the doll once more, holding it in your hand up above her with a grin as you waved it from her reaching arms. “Only if you don’t throw it again.” 

This time she sat it down back on the soft bed as you took most of her attention instead as you sighed out, “Was I this much of a brat when I was your age? If so I see why father has so many grey’s already, you’ve been in this world but three months and I already feel as ancient as Maester Cressen.” You looked at her now more close up, and something made you narrow your eyes. 

It was hard to see in the low light, and Shireen only wanted to reach for you when you tried to reach in and check. Laughing you pulled back from her grabbing hands, “Hold on, silly girl, hold on.” Getting up you walked to the other side of the room to grab a lantern sat on a small table, walking over and hanging it properly up on the wall to the side of her bed. 

In the direct firelight now you sat back down facing her, reaching to gently tilt her face to the side as you tried to see what had gotten on her. “Does our Septa pay no attention, what did you get into in your nap that looks...” 

It was something unpleasant filling your veins as your voice faded out, eyes narrowing with a sharpness as you leaned in, keeping her close. It wasn’t something you grasped right away, until your hand let go of her cheek. Glancing down to the brand new doll now sitting abandoned at the side of her, you flickered your eyes back up to the mark. 

It was small almost like a tiny cut, but when you leaned in more reaching to turn her head even more so you could see, you realized that it wasn’t a cut that was on her cheek. It was a crack. A crack that sat with dry and almost flaking skin just slightly around it. In the uncomfortable pit forming in your stomach, you realized that it looked partially by the crack to be a mottled black, but the dry skin around it didn’t match the rest of her either. It almost looked-

The second you realized what colour the small patch of skin looked like, you had filled with such a sudden dreading fear that you were swooped with a painful dizziness, your hand dropping from her face in an instant. Not two seconds passed as you realized it, did your eyes and mouth widened in a horrored gasp, and you had turned and ran out of her room and down the corridor faster then you’d ever had run in your life.

Voice so loud that every man in the room around the painted table could hear you screaming in a desperate panic for your father, before you even could ascend the steps of the Stone Drum Tower. 

It had been a long time since you had a single solitary use for knowing it. The worst you could think of was that you had translated it entirely wrong and were worried for nothing, but few on this island knew how to read it. As far as you were aware, it would only be three and you certainly weren't going to bring it to the third it was for until you already knew without a doubt what it said.

The morning rained harsh over Dragonstone, and as you leaned your palms against the painted table you had to tune it all out in order to focus. You read and reread it so many times you couldn't be sure it even spoke words anymore. Maester Pylos had brought it to you, but you had looked at him with something held back as you told him to have someone fetch your father up to meet you, alone. 

Without any other word you simply had handed it to Stannis, “I need to make sure this says what I'm seeing before we do anything else.” A twist in his face your father had taken the raven scroll from you, and the translation was exactly as you feared. “You are certain?” 

Stannis looked it over again as sharp eyed as yourself. “You surpassed my skill a long time ago, if what you translated is correct then that would be more assured then my own.” 

One hand was draped across your stomach while the other let your elbow rest on your forearm and dig your nails into your bottom lip. You did not like the unease in his own gaze, turning to your father as an unsettled feeling rippled from your veins out and flowed equally through his as he continued. This if true, was something else entirely. “The last I had known of where they were, a spy of Lord Varys had reported her and her brother in Pentos.”

Shaking your head, you inhaled deeply as you stood straighter. “Apparently, she had been there to marry some Dothraki Horse Lord, last I knew of her Robert had ordered her and Viserys killed and his spy turned on him the last moment. Haven't known where she was or doing after that, I don't even know where she would have gotten..I thought all the eggs were gone.”

You could see the enormity of the skull in the underground halls of King’s Landing, and how much stories of Aegon’s Conquest were written in the worst severity known of fire and blood. Was this why he demanded Jon do the same as once done by Torrhen Stark? Bend the knee or be destroyed? 

“Evidently not. After Summerhall proved failure, it would take a lot of power to bring three to life as she clearly has. Who did this arrive for?” Gesturing to the raven scroll, but as your head tilted somewhat to the side with a narrowing look in your eye, the answer was already spoken as much. “It seems Aegon is keeping a few secrets of his own.”

The rain poured so loudly behind you, as if trying to wash out the fire already burning in your memory that flashed so green it felt as it it blinded you. You did that with nothing but wildfire, what would three flying beasts of their full potential do this time? Your voice was quiet, “You said he claimed he was the last of his family, obviously he knew about her so why lie? Why lie to us?”

His guess was as good as yours, “Garner sympathy, perhaps. Much of our family and the Starks are gone, meaning he may have presumed a plea of similar circumstances would soften our choices.” You turned around, knowing your father could see the tensity in your shoulders as you walked to the edge of the room, hands braced on the stone looking out to the rain splashing against the sea. Moments later, sensing your father approaching all the same matching the position. “We need to know what the boy knows. If he intends on bringing them to Westeros, we will need to be as prepared for it as we are for the far North.”

A squire sent out to bring Aegon up to both of you, keeping for now things all tucked away between the only ones who could even read the language sent of the writing. Speaking low, your eyes never peeled from the sea. “Why Ser Axell?” There was a small noise in his throat, the only indication of a question to elaborate. “Maester Pylos told me about the ceremony on the beach, you burned Ser Axell and two others that day.” 

Neither looked at the other, but your postures matched just as the held back coldness in your faces, his voice as controlled and tight as yours. “He was an infidel. I ordered him to tear down his idols and he disobeyed.” Your throat swallowing as you tried and failed to sense any emotion in the tone, and you couldn't help but notice that it wasn't calm dedication you sensed. 

Turning not enough to face him, but so that your voice carried just well enough to hear your muttering towards him. “He was my uncle. He was your brother by law, if you needed reminding.”

There was the tone, only, it emerged from Stannis just on the air of light enough, it made your mouth part as you twisted in something close to frustratedly amused. “If we are speaking in those terms, I could remind you that by way of your late husband, Jon Snow is your brother by law.” 

You could sense his eyes flicker to you just the slightest. Your eyes narrowing as your jaw clenched with almost a shake of your head. Whispering as your nails tapped against the stone, “Look at you, still having a sense of humour.” 

Leaning more of his forearms against the stone, you did as well. His voice low and in what only you could pick up was a slight mocking. “An ironic thing to say when it's coming from you.” That time you did turn to properly look at him with a furrowed brow. “You have many strengths, but humour is not one of them.” 

Matching his stance, you smirked half heartedly now both Baratheons watching the water. You chuckled just a bit, and so did he.

Your voice however, dropped back once more. “Everything got worse once I was dead, didn't it? This, my mother, the red woman. I don't know if I can say it only is coincidence all of this fanaticism got much worse after you all thought I was gone.” Stannis nodded, as your head dropped. Lungs tightening you tried to push out the thought that no one was responsible for your own families continued demise but each other. Maybe you were all destined to become this way. 

“I've never asked you to believe as me and your mother do. She took to it more, a true believer your mother is. Even now, she takes is to her heart and no matter what you dislike about it, it is something I see in too.” Your hand reached up, fiddling with what you had begun to think of as Shireen's necklace, for just a moment to keep your eyes dry. “But losing you, and realizing I could have done something to help prevent it and didn't? Your mother and I hadn't known we were to have a grandson until you were already dead. So yes, in our grief, in my guilt we let ourselves believe in it stronger then we should have allowed. That I should have allowed.” 

Unlike her necklace, you didn't reach down to run over where your scar was under your dress. You didn't want to once more feel it sink into you and twist as it had too many days since.

He continued quiet, your eyes both now on the sea of your home, and nothing but a heavy weight sat between you that hadn't been allowed to sit for a long time. If ever. “I almost lost you once, and then I actually did. All the same with Shireen. I can't change that, all I can do is work to be better then I am. Better then I was. I couldn't protect my daughters when it mattered most, and I will never have a bigger failure as my duty of a father then that.” 

It was quiet between you, looking out to the rain as it slightly blew now to mist gently over your hair when you thought of it. That you desperately hoped that in his final moments, Eddard Stark did not feel as if he failed his daughters. No matter where they were now, alive or dead, at least your father was alive to see it get better. 

But hearing the strain in your fathers voice even as he leaned just like you against the stone edge with a calm disposition, you dared not think of how it would have felt for Ned to die with that kind of guilt. 

By the time he arrived in the room, both you and your father had moved onto opposite sides of the table. The rain still pouring as Aegon closed the heavy door behind him, looking between you both with  a distrusting glare. Stannis gesturing towards the raven now sat by the edge of the table where the blue haired dragon had come in with a much more lack of patience in his tone then he had with you. “You speak High Valyrian, I presume. What do you make of that?” 

Both of you watched with close eyes as he read it over, but there were few which could hide their surprise, or shock, as well as they thought they could from both Baratheons. Glancing up slowly as his grip tightened on it, you wondered just how much of this information he might not have known in so much detail. If the unnerved silence matching his clenched jaw, spoke of. 

His voice was as controlled as any. “I presume neither of you brought me up here hoping I could translate this for you.” Your eyes were cold and without a single blink as they found his blues. “You already know what this translates as, what do you want me to say?”

Your voice came out as sharp and hissing as was the look in your eyes, hands perched on a chair in front of you. “We want you to tell us what exactly you know. About her, about them,” Your head gesturing to the raven he still held. “You do not get to stand there and pretend as if we do not all know what kind of a threat this could be. Your blood ties to that family does not excuse you from hiding something as important as this from people.” 

Glaring at you, he ran a hand over his face. Pacing to the side as you and Stannis both watched before he put the raven scroll back on the painted table. If whatever lie he was about to conjure up was confident, your fathers stern tone to almost shout over the rain took every chance of that away. “You came to us pleading for peace only days ago, that you are the last of your family and yet now we know for a fact that across the Narrow Seas, Daenerys Targaryean has living dragons. How about you start with why you lied, considering the King in the North and myself did nothing but lay out nothing but our true intentions to you.” 

Three monarchs were alone in the darkness of the room of the painted table, but for once it was the Targaryean heir which held not a single ally to look to. It took him a good while to find such words, and it had him on edge as neither you nor Stannis moved an inch waiting for him to speak. Glancing up between you both he sighed, then paced as he spoke instead. “I'm supposed to marry her, Daenerys.” 

If Aegon had noticed the brief glance as you and Stannis shared a twisting grimace he didn't mention it. At least you knew your father well enough that his comment about Jon was a joke. 

“They all thought it would strengthen my claim if I did, but if you had not noticed, I came here alone without her. I still have never even met her. I told you I was the last of my family, because as far as I've ever met, I am. I didn't even know her whereabouts until..” Hand gesturing to the raven scroll. 

It had said that she was finally reported by Vaes Dothrak atop a dragon, but that there were still some to be suspected under the temple of Mereen which was under her control. Your father's tone was before, was indistinguishably short and unimpressed as yours coming out. 

Stepping around the chair you came much more into his view, snatching a ship from the painted table's layout which was used to represent the Golden Companys own fleet, leaning against the side of it with your back against the table, staring unblinkingly harsh at the Targaryean. “Tell us what you know about them. Her dragons.” 

The fact that Aegon had to look down to meet you in the eyes took nothing away from the cold intensity that gave away nothing in such a firm stature. “The one spotted by Vaes Dothrak, is the largest, Drogon.” 

Your hands easily tearing off a sail from the wooden figure as you repeated but in a quiet mutter, almost mocking his more meek tone. “Drogon,” 

“She has two others, reportedly locked in the dungeons of the temple in Mereen. Viserion,” Ripping off another sail, you chucked it along the painted table once more as your eyebrows raised, repeating the name. Aegon glanced with what almost was to be a sigh to Stannis before finding again, no ally as he returned to you. “And Rhaegal.” 

Nodding, you tore the last sail off. “Rhaegal.” Nothing left of it, you under tossed it roughly to slam against the painted table, knocking down what other wooden ships sat by to represent that of Dragonstone. “We could have three dragons flying to our shores any day, and we would be powerless to resist. What does that say about your intentions that you chose to share this with none of the two Kings seeking peace on this island, until I had to translate your raven before it got to you.” Your head tilting to gesture to Stannis. 

The man himself, looked none impressed as he too moved closer. “I spent four years at war trying to press my claim for the Seven Kingdoms, and yet I've put that on hold beacuse I can't rule Kingdoms that do not exist once winter arrives.” Your eyes forced to stay in place, not to ask him about it, it wasn't the time nor your business about his involvement with the Nights Watch. “You and this woman mean to bring dragons back to our lands, scorch our earth and massacre our people when already a war is coming for us from the North.” 

For all spoken of being the last dragon, and the fire and blood of the family known for their undeserving pride, there was something not quite comfortable as he swallowed. He hadn’t spoken a word of this since you all had been here, and you were dizzy trying to connect it all to a why. “I never wanted..I didn't ask to be involved in her affairs. They tried to convince me to ask her for help but I said no. I came here without them, I got the Golden Company on my own to follow, I didn't need her help, and-”

Something in him stopped, as he looked between you both. Walking to the head of the painted table his hands braced against the top of the chair there. You and Stannis both shared a glance, something unsure of trust in both your eyes but allowed him to gather his thoughts.

“I know what they say about my grandfather, the things he had done. Hearing is one thing, but, knowing one of your own is out there doing all of that and worse is another.” Looking up to you both, finding something it seemed, a bit less difficult to look in the eye as something freezing washed over yours. “They say she performed some kind of blood magic to hatch her dragons, sacrificing her own slave, and ever since she’s let them turn her into a conqueror.” A drop to more of a strained whisper, “And despite my namesake, I do not use that title mindlessly, I assure you both.” 

You saw green and screaming, what you had done to even be rid of the wildfire brought to your shores was more monstrous then you ever imagined doing and yet it was nothing compared to what three dragons would accomplish. 

Aegon continued looking between you both now finding confidence in what likely he had rarely spoken of and finally getting out as terrifying as it kept becoming, “In Essos, her brutality is already legendary. She has taken the Unsullied for herself, and burned their previous masters alive. She crucified hundreds of noblemen in Slaver's Bay without a second thought, even boys as young as twelve for simply who they were born as without ever due trial for who as guilty and who wasn't. And when she grew bored of that, she fed the rest of her enemies to her dragons.” 

You tried to find the right words more then once, but Stannis settling on a calmer disbelief for his thoughts attached. “Why keep such a close eye on her movements if you didn't intend to warn of it?”

It now was even move clear, Lord Varys had kept a certain degree of strange information from these people. “My – Lord Connington wishes for me to take her as a wife. Secure a powerful rule on the Iron Throne and if so then have use of her dragons as well. I chose to sail here without her instead. I shouldn’t have to go running to my aunt for help like some beggar.” 

A low hiss in your own whisper finally clawed back at what he was focusing on. “This isn’t about who you wish to marry. We are not here to help you with a family dispute, we are fighting a war coming from beyond the wall-” Stopping the raise in your voice, you stepped back for a moment as your hand pressed to your forehead with a harsh pressure. Turning away until it eased up, you looked back to your father, only nodding once at you, letting you speak your peace, albeit calmer.

Facing Aegon once more, you gestured to Stannis before pacing closer and closer to the dragon. “He and Jon are the only Kings who care to protect the realm, before something we know nothing about comes for us all. What use is everything we have sacrificed if armies of Unsullied and Dothraki come to destroy the people’s homes, rape and enslave our women and children? Watch it be burned down by dragons and the daughter of the man Jons father and mine fought to overthrow?”

It didn’t matter if Aegon or anyone didn’t believe in what winter storms would blew through the realm without a second thought. The world seemed to be closing in on you, ice on one side and fire from the other and both were just as terrifying. 

You felt as if he were looming over you increasing in his own frustration as his face twisted to anger, stepping closer to you. Stannis on the other side circling around quietly as the Targaryean stood tall and large in your face with anger. “I don’t want any of that, I didn’t conquer lands or burn down innocent people just to call myself a King. I was raised to be better then that, better then her. I told Jon Connington I was the only dragon he needed, and I meant that. I don’t need to ride on a dragon the size of Balerion the Dread. I want people to want me as their King not be scared of me.” 

Narrowed eyes stabbed within the gaze of the other as Stannis stood now enough by him that Aegons shoulders tensed, your fathers voice was low and calmer. “Yet you are still demanding Jon Snow and myself, bend the knee and swear fealty to you.” The blue haired dragon only glared at you as you did him. “Knowing he and I, would be giving up everything we've fought for.” 

Biting your tongue as you inhaled, trying to keep your heart calmer before you muttered through more gritted teeth. “I stood against my father for three years thinking we would one day go to war with one another, and now he and Jon are working side by side to protect their people from the Others.” 

Looking between you both, the rain pouring down just outside the castle walls filling the air, Aegon swallowed. “If I don't fight for my right-”

Your father finished for him however, his voice low, and a sympathy within that had Aegon turn from you entirely to look. Not a comforting man Stannis Baratheon, but an understanding one. “I once thought that if I did not press my claim, that my claim would be forgotten. That I would be just a page in someone else's history books, but I'm not fighting for it now. Not here. I saw the truth, and it is coming no matter if you believe us. But we have been honest, you kept this from us.” His head nodding to the raven. “You mean to cut off our legs and leave us crippled to Daenerys Targaryean and her dragons, all so you can pursue the Iron Throne without competition. I would suggest reconsidering Jon Snow's offer to discuss terms with him, he convinced me this war the most important one, maybe if you have enough intellect left in you, he will do the same again.”

You had told Aegon you would go fetch for Jon yourself, sending him off closer to the main grounds of the castle as the rain only barley begun to ease up. Before turning the corridor, you looked back to the dragon before he could turn away. An unpleasant glare in his own eyes that faded into conflict as they drifted into anger. “If you wish to follow your ancestors, be that Rhaegar or your own namesake, we cannot stop you. But he won't kneel for you. Jon is not Torrhen Stark, and he never will be. But winter is coming, and we're running out of time, Aegon. Which means you're running out of time.”

Many woodland creatures looked at the approaching figure as a beast, large and terrifying as sharp eyes saw all. No noise was made other then small ones scattered about as if they knew they weren’t to be food for this one. 

It was never not strange, especially now so far away to do so. So many times at the wall it would happen in his sleep and he tried to tell himself otherwise. They were only dreams he’d think to himself as he woke in the morning. At night Jon’s mind was filled with too much thought, too much work, and too much impending doom looming over the horizon of the far North and every night he found no solace. He dreamt of direwolves. 

Control is what a warg was said to be able to do. Find their consciousness inside that of an animal and control them of your own, and yet sometimes Jon doubted it was as simple as such. Each time he had found himself seeing through Ghost’s eyes he found himself knowing what he knew and needing no explanation to follow what path he was already on. 

Was Jon really the one in control of Ghost, or did they share that consciousness together? Because as he walked through the snowy lands of the wolfswood, Jon knew he was following tracks that of other wolves. He knew what he was searching for and there was no reason he should, but he would walk at night through the trees and search as Ghost would alone. 

Sometimes he would sit in on the meetings of the Lords in charge for him. At first questioning the appearance of the giant creature but settling once they saw he would only sit silent right where he could see the whole room. But now, as he walked the morning through the woods, he realized what Ghost had realized before him, or together he surmised. 

Whoever the wolves were which he seemed to be stalking, one left tracks that too large for normal ones. Ones Jon would step right into with a front paw and fit perfectly. Out in the wolfswood around Winterfell, Ghost was searching for the trace of another direwolf. 

He could hear something else in the distance. A mist somewhere on his person, that was followed by pouring of rain overhead and waves crashing against the rocks. It was that which kept Jon from losing where and who he was.

It was harder some days then other to remember he was a man. He would be back in the snowy North, his paws sunk deep into a drift of snow as he stood on the edge of a great cliff. Or dreams suddenly finding his mind inside of Ghost during a hunt, and he suddenly needed to kill and fill his stomach with fresh meat and dark blood. 

The feeling would startle him awake sometimes, the night before he had awoken just as his blood red eyes found, ironically, prey in that of a deer. For a few seconds, he couldn’t quite come back from how much Ghost’s hunger woke Jon, making his own mouth water. His hands tensed as if still paws and his nails acting as claws, Jon realized he was digging his nails deep into your hip almost drawing blood, and the force already bruising the skin. 

You hadn’t at least, woken up at the pain, Jon had well worn you out only hours before. 

But as he stood there now, his mind only was pulled back by the sudden sensation over his fur of delicate nails, scratching gently along his spine as he let a low growl out. But was the airy, quiet whisper making his ears twitch did Jon pull his mind back, reminding himself once more he was a man. “Jon,” A soft voice far from the North and Jon had to focus to come back. He was not a wolf. His hands had been braced against a high railing and his gloved hands strained at the pressure as the rainy skies of Dragonstone returned. 

You knew before you had even gotten to his side, his stiff posture unmoving but also with a tensity that was not indicative of the isolated spot around him. It would take not much more but a gentle coaxing to pull Jon back, not wanting to startle whatever path Ghost was taking him on so far away. You had almost felt bad, it was clear he missed the direwolf and there was little doubt Ghost missed him just as much. 

Letting him wander the North in the eyes of Ghost was also simply a way to bond with his companion so far from one another. 

Much work had been done under the grounds of the island. Tunnels and strange pathways that with enough men stretched deep and far with caches of Dragonglass amongst the strange sparkle of a cave that stood around you like a dreaming sky. 

Dragonglass was not for much use elsewhere, but it was certainly a very hard material to cut through, all tools needing to be as sharp as each others and as long as what broke off of the walls came down without shattering into tiny pieces that was all that was needed. It wasn’t the solution to save his people, it was a resort needed to protect those who otherwise won’t be able to protect themselves from what was coming. It killed the Others, it killed wights and if something came for you it was enough to survive. 

The rest of it all however, was trickier. But one step at a time, too much and winter would overtake everything and blind Jon and yourself to what needed to be done.  

It was almost adorable, the way you gently approached him softly whispering his name, and seeing even as his eyes paled over with an eeiry white, his brows furrowed in a brief confusion. For a moment it was almost as if a growl formed deep in his chest as you ran your hand flat and lightly up his spine before returned to you, blinked away the white and once more his grey eyes came back.

Not pressing him on what he was doing, instead he seemed to have gotten the message that you were trying to address him in a manner that wouldn’t tip off he was elsewhere as his back was turned. A flicker of his eyes to you, and you spoke low with a stoic look in your eye but a splash of amusement tinged behind your breath. “Aegon has decided he would like to discuss terms with the King in the North, peacefully that is.”

Jon’s eyes glanced more to your slightly clenched jaw and rigid posture, a small rasp as his hands tightened against the stone he was braced against as the wolfish sensation crept out slowly. “Are you and Stannis not invited?” 

Shrugging a shoulder, you didn't want to weigh him down just now with what was discussed just yet, hoping the dragon would be reasonable otherwise with Jon as many were. “We already spoke, however I wouldn't say it went very well. It could be he is a difficult one to work with, or..” 

Jons voice was low as it was amused, “Or it could just be beacuse it's you and Stannis.”

That pulled a chuckle from you, pulling your hand from his spine as you nudged his arm as a playful smirk was shared between your glances at the other. Not mentioning it to you, but he tried not to focus that the spot felt cold to Jon as you pulled away. Wrapping your shall around in the coolness just short of the rain Jon stood by, you leaned more against his side easy. “I'd wish you good luck, but it seems you are far better at having that with negotiations then I ever am.”

“You could be good at it, if you weren't so stubborn.” 

Jon smirked to himself as your own face twisted in a playful offence. “Is this your first time meeting any one from my family?” He chuckled more freely next to you, only your voice lowered a bit as you leaned more to look at him. “Is everything alright, home I mean?” 

Nodding, he looked out to the rainy island around and couldn't stop the feeling of how much he missed the cold and snow instead. If he knew how much longer he had to be here, Jon would have been counting down the days already. “It is, everyone's keeping the peace.” 

He needed to go, but as you both stood there for a moment the pair of you let the comforting, warm quiet between you sit. Never time to yourselves, never allowed any time to yourselves it felt. 

Small moments were all you had, Jon and Robb both it was starting to feel. 

Too many had been gathered in the hall, for what was suspected a crowd was the worst thing to be in the corridor. Your own shorter figure was braced against the door frame, hands perched on it’s edge as you watched the careful movements of Maester Cressen. Beside him was your father and the silent, solemn look between them made you feel even worse. 

None had ever seen you quite so openly distressed as when you burst through the door in terror saying something was wrong with Shireen. Your mother now stood on the other side of the door frame in a stilled silence contrasting how your muscles almost shook as you watched. 

Cressen was quiet, only for family but it was your mother’s shaking gasp wavering into a need to cry that told the rest everything they needed to know. “It is as she feared, my lord.” The second you had looked at him and said her skin looked cracked and grey he and your father had moved swiftly. Your father ordering his squire to fetch Selyse and bring her to Shireen’s room as he pulled you with them to see for themselves what you had seen. 

Whispers rippled around behind you and your mother in horror and concern. “We have to deal with this now,” one said. Another whispering, “Who knows which one of us already has it next.” A third in the back almost angrily, “She needs to be dealt with before we’re all shipped off with the stone men.” 

Maester Cressen at least, held a bit more peace in his tone as he spoke to only the family. “There are methods to keep it at bay to varying degree of usefulness. Most accounts differ to what helps, but to take the safest course I would recommend none but me have contact with Shireen for the time being.” 

Your father looked at you, “It was the doll you mentioned was suspect, correct?” 

Nodding, you looked at it now laying on a small table on a cloth to be wrapped up and burned away outside. “It’s the only new thing she has, and Septa Moelle wasn’t paying attention, Shireen was napping with the doll pressed to her face.” You could hear her protest behind you, but your head whipped around as the red in your eyes stung enough to raise your voice. “I always pay attention to her when I'm with her, you weren’t even on the same side of the room when I came in.”

You knew the older woman was not happy with your more insolent attitude in the past few years, her eyes narrowing in a lecture already. “Well I could hardly stop the disease from being on the doll could I have? What else would you have me do, child?” 

“Watch her-” 

You had started to yell, only to have your father call your own name sternly. Your body flipping around to face him again, but there was no lecture in his eyes. A rigid posture that begged to fall apart and a strain in his voice and eyes as he glanced to the others. “Leave us.” 

All but the family and Maester Cressen remained, as Stannis beckoned Selyse to step inside more before closing the door. Your arms had crossed over your chest, trying to contain the growing ache inside of it as you kept looking over at little Shireen oblivious to the world threatening to take her away from you all. Your father’s voice was quiet, and less angry then you presumed. “I understand how upset you feel, but I cannot have blame thrown around like that. This isn’t anyone’s fault. Including yours.” 

Your eyes flew down, looking anywhere but his and you despised how easily he had seen past your anger. Your mother was quiet toned off to the side, “She is young and it has only just appeared there must be something we can do.” 

Maester Cressen however, gave little hope. “Some believe cutting off the effected area upon formation will stop the spread, but that is out of the question in our case. I have a number of mixtures I can apply, and vinegar is also spoken heavily of something that prevents it’s spread to others. But other then that, there is little we can do.” 

You shook your head fervently, “No there has to be an answer somewhere.” He tried to explain otherwise but your voice raise only shook as tears begun to form behind your eyes. “We could write to the citadel, some book there must have an answer we don’t.”

Perhaps if this was a more affectionate family, Selyse would have been more willing to pull you back into an embrace with her at your desperation, but you all stood there feet apart as alone feeling as one another. “There is no harm in requesting aid, or even inquiring if they would be willing to look on our behalf.” 

Your father was braced with a hand on the high frame of the bed, eyes trained down on Shireen who blissfully was looking up at him with a smile hoping to pull one from her father back. His voice quiet as he never looked away or moved an inch from her. “Do everything available to you to treat her, and when you run out of options? Find more.” 

You slowly stepped around everyone, coming to the other side of Shireen’s bed. You only just got her, you had finally seen The Mother grant your years of prayers and let a sibling be born. You couldn’t let her just take that away so soon. You finally had a sister, you couldn’t let her slip away right before your own eyes. “Did you hear that sweet girl? Father will make sure we get you better, yeah?” 

Shireen was none the wiser, only reaching out with a tiny hand wanting you to return to her with a cuddle, and it only made the tears fall freely down your face. Would you ever be able to hold her again before the greyscale took too much of her? Would she think you hate her now? 

If the adults had spoken around you, you didn’t notice. Only silently crying as you looked at the confusion of your new baby sister not understanding why you wouldn’t come to her. Your father’s voice was full of a pain as it was a rough determination. “Maester, none but you and I will be allowed access near Shireen for now. Selyse,” Your father motioned towards you with a nod. “Have her septa prepare a room temporarily in another corridor.” You turned to look at him, and for once, he did not scold you for so freely protesting him over something. “This is not a debate. I almost lost you to a fever a thousand miles away, only four years ago. I will not chance this disease taking both of you now.” 

What you hadn’t realized at that time, was just how little you were about to be allowed to see Shireen in any way for well over a month. And even less so after only a fortnight from now when maesters, healers, and any other kind of potential for a cure came pouting into Dragonstone and left you feeling lost as to what to do all alone.

Other then who had been called upon to help cure her, the island was closed off from any and all people. And no ravens were to be sent or received during that time, not wanting to risk any chance of one of such birds or letters carry a hint of greyscale off the island. 

You had a painful feeling you knew where your mother currently was. The halls more empty in the middle of the day as windows all opened around let the breeze flow around fresh. Your room once more, had not been touched it seemed. 

Looking to the box still sat alone on a cabinet top, you ran your hands delicately over the surface. Deep blue with orange foxed adorning the sides while the inside you knew was a mixture of browns, and black and gold all forming that of antlers. You had done it yourself the first time, painted it to represent both your birth houses. 

You could see what was sitting inside without opening again to check, and you knew that it was the last thing you had to do. You had one last part of Shireen, but you knew another needed these. A loss she couldn’t blame her own fanatical intents for. Being back on Dragonstone was nothing but miserable and yet you felt something compelling you to give one last kindness of yourself away. 

By the time you had made your way down the corridor, you could see her door was open partially. The wind blowing her curtains against her bed with rushing water splashed behind and birds calling to the songs Shireen loved to sing when she was spending time in her room. Selyse was sat against one side of her bed, a paper in her hands, one of Shireens unsent letters to you no doubt, that her eyes refused to tear away from even as you stepped inside. 

Neither spoke a word while you gently sat beside her. The box closed and sat gently in your lap, fingers running along the sides as you looked around the room. Not much had changed since your last visit with her. Books more advanced sat scattered about, ones dragonglass and volcanoes choking your insides to the memory of her saying she would be a scholar on it by the time you came back. A want to impress her big sister by showing she researched the mines that you were carving into now. 

You never got to spend time with her as you both wished. Once she had been cured for coming to a month was when you and your father left for Kings Landing. King Robert had come to the island, beckoning his brother to serve as Master of Ships properly from the capitol instead of here, and your father had agreed and taken you with him. From then, only in letters and visits short and rare did Shireen still have a sister. 

Voice so quiet as she spoke, it was low with a distant sorrow sat heavy in it’s sound. “I was beside myself when we had gotten the raven about your illness. Realizing that we could have lost you so far away from where we could help you was terrifying.” The letter in her hands drifted down, folding back into the position she unfurled it from initially. Neither of you looked at the other. “I’m not sure I ever felt more scared however, then learning Shireen had caught greyscale in her own home, in her own bed. I was horrified.” Her voice even in such low quiet, still cracked in pain. “I almost lost both of my girls and there was nothing I could do to change it.” 

Far away on your own, you could see you and her here. You sitting where Shireen had been, and your mother where you sat, and the crestfallen expression as a reality hit her she did not understand. “I always promised to take her North one day, bring her with me to meet the Starks and she was always upset knowing you would never let her.” Swallowing heavy before pushing strongly forth. “She didn’t understand how terrifying it was. Almost losing her, having to stand and listen to father’s men all tell him to send her away before it was too late. Or how much you and father smiled when she got better.” 

Before however she had a chance to respond, you spoke a bit more firmly. “I used to think you blamed me for my brothers.” Her neck whipped over to you, but you only swallowed more with a clearing throat but the waver did not go away. “You stopped spending time with me after your first, and father sent me away after the second. I thought boys were supposed to come before girls and I had cursed you to lose the rest beacuse I was somehow killing them just by way of being around you.” 

You didn’t realize quite yet, that her brows narrowed as her eyes shined with a mist as you looked down to the box. “Everytime I would write their names on paper, spell out the prayers I had always heard Septon Barre bless the other children with under the Seven, and burn it into ash. I’d hold them with my own blood and let them wash into the sea. Everytime I prayed to The Mother begging her to forgive you, to forgive them and let them pass into the heavens and be together. They were my blood and my fault so I needed to pass them on.” 

Selyse stayed silent. “I made a toy for each. Wanting to give them something hand crafted and so everytime I put the new one in here when they were gone.” Your fingers now trailing over the top. “Hid it away so that no one could take them from us, even after the Mother took them from you. But they weren’t my sons, they were yours.” 

Turning to look at her, neither of you hid the pain. You gently handed her the box, her gaze looking it over before carefully pulling the top off. Your heart weighed far too much in your chest as you looked down at them all. Taking her time to gaze over each one did she realize you had gone back to carve a name into all four of them. Her voice a disbelieving whisper. “Petyr, Edric..” 

“I did the same the first night back here with Ned.” Her eyes once more looking to you, but you looked at no one but the memory of deep blue eyes and an astounded laugh of joy. “I will always have part of him with me, every time I look in a mirror I will see him against me for good, but you don’t have anything of them. And as far into the future as I can imagine the second I leave this place I have no plans on coming back. They deserve to be in the hands of a mother they never knew. A child doesn’t deserve to have never truly met their mother.” 

This time, you weren’t sure who you were even referring to anymore. Your life or your dreams.

The quiet was palpable as she looked at them, for a good while enough that you tempted standing to make your leave when she spoke. “I didn’t know my grandson had a name. Or that you had named all of my own sons..” Strangely, a small laugh left her lips. “You already were a better mother with your own brothers then I was to my own daughter. I can’t take back the years we didn’t speak, or the war we were on opposite sides of but I can start atoning for it now.” 

Placing the lid back on, she put it to the side before turning to look at you more directly. The memory of waking up in Winterfell with Catelyn Stark so gently running a hand through your hair trying to ease you into things without being scared or confused hit you. But as so many years later the act was done by your true mother, you had muttered a quiet “Aren't we a a fucking pair?” 

Eyes widening, your name in a scold came flying out of her lips in disbelief before taking a beat to pass and then laughing. Something you don’t know the last time you saw Selyse do. Her hand now mindlessly smoothing out messy strands at the side of your hair, “I suppose one Queen to another I can’t quite scold you for language any longer.” 

You thought of your Uncle Axell, her own brother and what Maester Pylos had said but in truth you wondered what the point of bringing it up to her was. Her belief was stronger then your fathers even now, and had already witnessed how tight the red woman’s tendrils had been wrapped around her mind to think nothing of monstrosities. It didn’t make any of it right, but Selyse wasn’t a monster. 

Just a woman who spent much of her life ill, and too many years as a mother losing her children over and over again. You only had lost one, and you knew the things you in that year with the Boltons had twisted you into believing, things that to this day Jon was still finding spots it was tangled deeply in your darker psyche. 

Selyse and you were different for those things, but Stannis also told you of how he and your mother seemed to only let those beliefs get worse after they thought you were dead, and you knew that was no coincidence. Having no grasp of letting the red witch burn her brother alive after losing her eldest daughter and grandson in one slaughter. You still if you thought hard enough, could feel how much your hand stung in the pressure as you sunk a knife so deep into Myranda’s tongue and mouth that you hadn’t noticed until the next morning you had her blood splattered across your face and even then you almost cared not to wipe it from you. 

Or how if Theon let you walk into that room, you would have wasted no time carving a number of sickeningly horrific things into Roose Bolton for every wound you and Robb had been killed with. A chilling memory of how if you were lucky you would have done worse to Ramsay that night. Horror in grief made the mind desperate to find answers in the blood that traumatized you in the first place, and you found it harder and harder to look at your mother and hate her for any of it. 

Stannis was another story, it always was with your father. You and him too alike to find harmony in the ways you always saw in Lord Stark with Robb, with Jon. Those three of them cut so close of the same cloth but not for a moment did they clash. 

In many ways Stannis was similar to Ned Stark, and it was why you suspected he and Jon seemed to find ease in working beside the other. Jon was raised with the best of values his father could pass to him, and it was those which Stannis respected more then anything. But the aspects of you and your father which were similar blended as well as drinking wildfire with a dash of honey to soothe it down. 

The honey works for the bitter taste on your tongue, but the wildfire will still twist your insides and expose that it never really would go well in the first place. You were finding it easier to stand in the same room as your father, but there were things you couldn’t quite get passed but now perhaps it would be easier if you both understood that.

On the opposite end, Catelyn would hate you for finding love in Jon after losing Robb and, and Robb’s unborn son. But you knew it was none of those things which ever caused the divide between you and Selyse. A difference in core beliefs and what was right and wrong were the stops and the sights of fire as a terrifying horror versus the inevitable godly truth. 

She was trying, and she didn’t hate you for having such different choices and beliefs then her. The woman who raised you half of your life would hate you for simply loving the bastard son of her husband. Look down on you for finding a life after being ripped from Robb in the brother he loved more then anyone, and solely would do so beacuse she couldn’t see him as anything but a memory of infidelity. 

The voice next to him was easier to talk to then it was days before, much easier he found. Jon stood over the outside lands, the rain having cleared up enough that they could stand outside and stay dry. From here, Jon could watch the sights of his men, as next to him Aegon watched Jon with an uncertainty flickering between things. Both men had put forth that the two of them talk things out more civilly, and at the least so far he found once no other eyes and men were there to watch, the dragon found a bit more personality in his words. 

“You make brooding over my failure here quite difficult, do you know that? You look far better brooding then I do.” As if unintentionally proving his point, Jon barley could muster half a smirk before it dropped once more. Brows narrowed watching his people, his only thoughts were how little chance any stood once the storms finally came and how so far he convinced all but none of the dangers. Aegon beside him filling the silence, “I’m the prisoner, I should be the miserable one.” 

Jon’s tone was flat but not unsympathetic to the thought. “You’re not my prisoner. We're both keeping our men out here in peace, and you can take them and leave whenever you want. I didn’t come here for you or your army, I needed one thing before the dead come.”

Aegon was having difficulty with the ideas. He wanted to sigh clearly, but Jon could see his gaze finding the side of his once more with a question. “You’ve been King longer then myself, how about you figure out what to do for my plans of taking Kings Landing, and I figure out what to do about your walking ice monsters.” 

There was something close to partially amused in Jon’s chest but it didn’t make it to the surface at all to see. Partially distracted by the thought of how he was beginning to miss the cold. It was windy on Dragonstone but humid and heavy in air the moment you left the close cliff sides to the waters. A once memory of looking to a summer in Highgarden and now that felt foolish, Jon wasn’t sure anymore he would be comfortable in any place that didn’t leave him a little bit on the edge of freezing. 

“It’s hard for me to fathom, you understand.” 

Not hesitating, Jon was confident as he spoke. “I do. But I also know that I sent two hundred men to the wall from an enemy I defeated, and that still won’t be nearly enough. We made pleads to the crown multiple times for help, but it was only King Stannis who came. He was the only one who believed us, and I’m starting to think I was lucky to get even him on our side.” 

Aegon stood silently for a good minute. Arms crossed over his chest as he considered the difference between them. He had been trained for this his entire life, he knew how to look like a King, hold himself like a King, and how to rally men and speak as a King. But it was in the quiet, rasping, deep tones of Jon Snow, that had Aegon realizing none his own training meant anything compared to a leader who had one cause he truly believed in. “He seems like an unpleasant man, but not one easily swayed by those around him. Says something he came to your aid, even if it was just beacuse of his daughter.” 

The silence between them was strange to Aegon as it was choking to Jon. What horrors had the Boltons forced onto you by the time Jon had finally met your father? How much had you thought everyone in the realm had given up on you when in truth both men were closer to you then ever without knowing? 

Then he thought of Mance. He rarely did anymore, his time with the King Beyond the Wall not long nor was it anywhere near pleasant. He respected him in many ways, but when trying to find the truth of what he really gained from knowing him boiled down to one thing. 

“You're a good lad. Truly you are. But if you can't understand why l won't enlist my people in a foreigner's war, there's no point explaining.”

If Jon could, he’d apologize to Mance for learning that lesson only after the man himself was dead. 

“She had nothing to do with it.” Glancing to Aegon with a clenched jaw, “Stannis coming to our aid, he did it on his own choice. She had nothing to do with that. She- we both thought she was dead.” He didn’t know what others heard about you or him, but it sounded less and less appealing to him by day having people know about both of your deaths, and both of you coming back from it. 

Beside him he could feel a tension. There wasn’t much he could do about that either, Jon had no interest in placating rivalries of almost thirty years passed. If Aegon was going to join him, then your presence would simply be something he would have to learn to deal with. His voice was controlled too, as if not to show Jon how agitated he felt. “It’s a tall tale you are asking men to believe. I don’t even know if I do yet.” 

Jons voice was nearing a quite irritated edge. “How do I convince people who don't know me, that an enemy they don't believe in, is coming to kill them all?” 

Aegon chuckled, and Jon didn’t appreciate it. He was included in that frustrations as far as Jon was concerned. Nodding amusingly, “Good question.” 

Jon’s response was short, and with a stilted anger that he had to reign in. “I know it’s a good question. I’m looking for an answer.” That feeling only compounded with the wonder, was it him that was the problem convincing people or their blindness to the truth? Would this be easier were it Robb standing here instead of him, Jon wondered. Robb was the better talker, after all. 

“What do I get out of helping you? I came here for the Iron Throne, not to fight ice monsters in the North beside a King who won’t even bend the knee. I help you and what would I get in return?” 

This time, Jon’s eyes did meet his. The grey painted dark enough it flashed with an angry frustration as he lost more of his patience with him. “That’s the problem. I’m not fighting this war to get anything out of it but to help keep my people alive. But the more of you who fight against me, or demand you only will help if you get something out of me? I don’t have time to stand here and teach you why you’re the one missing the point.” Jon stood a bit closer to him with not an ounce of patience left for this. “You’re fighting for some chair, I’m fighting to save my people. If you can’t understand why that’s more important then the Iron Throne, then there’s nothing left for us to talk about.” 

Aegon wasn’t nearly as confident, but he at the least, wasn’t hostile. “I suppose there isn’t.” 

The sight out in the training yard by the cliff side was an interesting one. Approaching the holdings for swords, lances, arrows and a variety of other weaponry you came to stand beside Ser Davos who was watching in amusement. Leaning your palms against the wooden holding you found a small smirk. “Is this how we hold meetings these days? Beating each other with swords?” 

The man chuckled, glancing to you with a playful twist on his own face. “I don’t know if I would call what they’re doing beating each other, your grace.” Looking over, you had to bite your tongue at just how correct he was. It seemed a few of the men had found use in challenging and failing to best Jon in a duel. 

“How long have they been at this exactly?” There were laughs shared amongst the Northerners watching around with the men of the Golden Company as if none were at odds just days ago, the ones on the main area were a few you did not recognize, at the side of an increasingly exhausted and frustrated looking Aegon against a confident but focused Jon. 

One lunged and was almost instantly overpowered with a few quick movements from him that they seemed not to even see coming, to which the Northerners around had a chuckle at as well as a smirk trying not to form on Jon’s own face. Ser Davos beside you letting it sit on his. “I think he’s been knocking most of them into the ground for about an hour now. I will give it to Aegon, he hasn’t given up yet.” There was certainly enough grime on the man to prove it had been a while. “Even if it would be in his best interest.” 

Leaning forward more, you let your forearms brace over with hands clasping gently together as you watched freely. The two kings now opposite, Aegon’s blue hair tied up and back as strands continued to fall in his face, whereas Jon’s curls sat loose and far less damp then his counterparts in sweat. His voice lighter then it had been in just as long, not a trace of burden and frustration pushing him down more then he deserved. “You’re paying too much attention guessing what I’m going to do next. By the time you figure it out, I’ll already have hit you when you weren’t looking.” 

Sighing out, Aegon squared his shoulders and readjusted his grip on the practice sword. “Focusing too much now, of course.” Both men looked at the other, as a second pair of men also stood by each side of the dragon. 

It didn’t last long. Biting your tongue hard you found yourself finding an appreciation you never truly had before. Jon fought with ease, as if his sword was simply part of his arm moving around them and the second one got too close, there was a teeth gritting strength behind his hits to move them off or incapacitate them. A harsh slam to Aegon’s face knocked him right back and easily had Jon all but slam down the sword from his grasp in the result. 

Thankfully, Jon didn’t look your way just yet. A tightening in your chest that heated your blood rushing along to every corner of your veins had you biting your tongue harder to keep such a stoic expression, you knew what he was like too much now. In a fight and more and such skill and strength swooped into your heart and made it race. Inhaling deep through your nose you felt it slow back to normal just enough to simmer the look from finding your eyes.

The gathering parting ways a bit more, Jon gathered what was scattered about as Aegon spat out what bit of blood Jon had hit up into him. Your eyebrows lifted a tinge without changing much else, voice flatter then he appreciated as you looked his way. “Well fought.” 

Glaring at you with a hissed, “Piss off.” You looked to Davos as a smirk did indeed fail to get covered up on you, your eyes much softer now glancing back to Jon. You truly hadn’t seem him at any ease in what felt like such a long time. Even for just now, it warmed you to see just a hint of it. 

Jon found a voice which sounded much like the days in the Winterfell training yards as he and Robb would still be much more inclined to knock you into the dirt yourself to teach you. “Fighting comes easier to some then others. You train everyday you’ll get better, but you can’t assume it’ll be enough to make you the best man in the field. Eventually even the best get bested.” 

Turning back with a twist on his face, Aegon argued “So you’re saying if you weren’t the best out there the other night, it wouldn’t have been humiliating for you?” Jon’s easy answer only of no almost made you laugh. If there was one thing he had none of, it was an ego. “Well it is for me. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms hear I lost my first proper fight to a girl and they’ll all laugh me back out of the country for being a coward.” 

It slipped out honestly, your eyebrow raised at him with a quick comment of “You’re too stupid to be a coward.” Jon and Davos both grinned at the ease of how you said it. Connington having watched silently from afar moved forward to grab Aegon’s sword with a yank, a silent comment on his lips likely telling him to cool off. 

Was he purposely circling around you like you were a prey being stalked? 

The evening sun setting in the sky still begging to rain again, but Jon had not let left the training yard, now only the two of you remained. One practice sword in each of your respective holds and yet he had not the courtesy to let you change from the dress you were in. A hard to hold back smirk of amusement on your face as you twisted and turned to keep your eyes on him. 

“What happened to not wanting me near a sword any longer?” 

A dark mischief sat in Jon’s eyes as he stood tall before you, a lightness still on his voice kept from earlier. “We both know you’re not going to stick to that.” A smirk on his lips was less cheeky and more of a soft fondness that bled into affection of the grey. “I know we haven't done this in years together, I’ll go easy on you.” 

Once upon a time you wouldn’t have believed him on that, but now there was not the confident aggression in his stance he was holding himself with hours before. “As if that ever lasts long.” 

Flashing almost black in his eyes for a moment did Jon almost stop in his tracks, you were purposely trying to rile him up. Throw him off track and he seemed to have caught onto it faster then he would have years ago. He was quick though, enough that you barley had a chance to turn around, but just as the two practice swords were to clash he had the strength to hold it merely an inch from colliding. “Besides, I miss just being able to spend time alone with my best friend.” 

The brightness in his eyes soaked through your skin and absorbed into your very heart, your hold on the sword in your left hand almost shook enough he could knock it out. Instead he did something unexpected, using a free hand of his own and running it gently along the loose hair at the back of your head as he leaned in, hovering over your lips. But your gentleness spoke before he could close that gap.

“I could name a fair few people who might object to me having that title anymore.” But just as his free hand raked down your hair you realized what he was trying to do. Almost with a ducking spin you nearly avoided being yanked back into him with his sword at your neck, taking a few steps back with a grinning audacity at his own smirk. 

Jon had gotten much better since you both last did this. In Winterfell during your last visit when Lord Arryn was still alive, Jon and Robb had teamed up on you alone taking easy turns all but tossing you around. Robb was overwhelming and fierce in direct attacks that had you only able to defend and never gain the upper hand, only to have you turned around and disoriented by Jon’s swift grace and using his unfair strength to shove you back into Robb. 

Even now you could hear Bran, Arya, and Rickon all watching and yelling as it onlookers of a tournament and arguing who was going to win. Ned Stark had approached the scene behind all of your views and watched his sons who were clearly toying with you. Not that he had said it, nor did you know, but he had commented to Ser Rodrick that it was impressive you had kept up as long as you had. 

Knowing his boys had done this since they were old enough to hold a sword. Robb and Jon would wake up early, and in the warm days of summer they wouldn’t even come to break their fast, just running out into the training yard and fighting until Ser Rodrick could finally come out and properly teach them. A many of those mornings they would choose heroes of old to be, yelling at the top of their lungs what great warriors they admired which they pretended to fight as. Some mornings as he walked the halls of Winterfell he would sigh deeply, shaking his head at how of all times his son chose to be the loud one it was the sounds of Jon yelling at the top of his lungs far too early in the morning, that he was The Young Dragon. 

But you hadn’t ever held something sharper then a dinner knife before coming to Winterfell. You on the second visit had begun learning to shoot a bow, and picked that up with ease. You were quiet and focused most of the time anyways. But never anything more. 

You hadn’t sparred with any that wasn’t a life or death slashing of genuine battle since he and Robb as they toyed with you, the small doe at the mercy of two true wolves looking at you like a meal. 

In truth, you supposed that turned out to be far more true then you ever imagined. 

Smiling and huffing a laugh was so freely falling from your lips, Jon was trying to challenge you but every upper hand he gained it was never aggressive. Just enough to push you back onto the right track as you both moved around the other, an ease almost with a laugh in his tone. “I know you’re quicker then that.” 

Inhaling deeply, you tried to focus more. Watch his actual movements and not what everything else was saying he was about to strike with. So far, you hadn’t had once instance to put him at the disadvantage. Knowing he could see you were trying to focus, almost coming to get close to a hit on him twice, both times he seemed to get you turned around. Certainly he was indeed the one who taught you how to fight with smoothness and not strength. Only he had both which was the problem. 

Glancing up at his curious gaze, you tilted your head down to your attire. “You wear the dress next time and tell me it’s easy to be quick.” 

Only, he too had a quick trick up his sleeve that wasn’t part of the rules. Finding your stride for only a few moments before Jon came close, and instead of making a hit, chose rather to grab at the flowing skirt of your dress. Yanking you right up into his chest as the chilling cold of the metal on the sword begun to drift flat along the insides of your calf and thighs, taking the edges right up along with it just enough to have you fluster in an instant. 

Jon’s voice only a husking deepness as his eyes drifted down for a second to your lips and further along what he could see. “I’d rather rip yours right off you.”

The dullness of a practice sword posing nothing to feel shaking nerves about, instead finding it in how strongly you felt a flush in your veins grow hot and begging as you failed to find the right way to turn the situation on it’s head. Instead one hand had pressed up against the leathers on his chest as the other tried to keep a firm grip of your own sword. “Here, where anyone could see? A bold move, my King.” 

Oh did his eyes grow a full tint darker. Much more freely looking down at what he could see of your figure with a raw lust before leaning close again, his breath hot across your skin a he spoke deep in your ear. The hand which had your dress bunched in his fist let loose, sliding around now to your back and pulling you closer. Knowing you had not the right grip of your own weapon to over power him before he could you. “What about you? You going to let everyone see? No protest to someone walking by, watching me take you right here?”

The cool touch of the practice sword almost tracing along your inner thighs as if it were a teasing touch, his mouth drifting shamelessly to bite your neck. The hand flat on his chest begging to drift up to run through his hair but he had you pressed too close to his front to move. Your other hand very slowly shifting how you held your weapon as you spoke through strained, biting back moan. “Maybe I just know better then to fight back.” A hum in his throat as he soothed over the sting from his teeth with a gentle press of his lips. “Men are vile, dangerous things. A girl such as myself knows better then to fight back when she’s at the mercy of a man like you.” 

His arm around your back pulled you closer, his other hand losing any purpose in it’s trace along your skin. Giving another growling bite to a lower spot on your neck, pulling a high gasp that almost was too loud in need. His rasp muffled against you, “And what kind of man am I?” 

A few answers rung out, but just as you spoke gently leaning more into his curls to mutter it, his grip tightened. “A brute who lets his guard down.” Twisting right out of his grasp Jon pushed back against your counter with a bit more aggression before he overwhelmed you enough he could snatch your sword right from your hand. 

Tossing it to the side with a clang, he then snatched you and flipped to pull your back into his chest. An arm wrapped around your front keeping your own under his, and the other gently letting his practice sword rest at your neck. This time his rasp was deep and rumbling in your ear, his arm pulling you back more as you almost let out a tiny gasp, feeling him press his hardening, covered cock into your ass. A shiver flew down your spine. “Maybe this brute should drag you back to his cabin. All alone in the woods. Strip you bare, mount you on top of my bed and claim you over and over until you’re crying anytime I try to stop.” Your breathing picked up drastically as he rumbled in your ear. “Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

His free hand sat flat across your stomach, pushing your hips back into his covered cock more as he stepped forward into the plushness of your ass. You partially tried to turn to look back at him, “Sounds more wolf then man if you ask me.” 

His head dropped again, moving the sword down to drop before tightly holding your hip, his teeth and lips finding more home in your neck. His strength alone was powerful enough to keep you in place. “That would make you my mate, you know.” His grip tightening as you shivered against him. “And a wolf has a duty to fill his mate with a nice, litter of pups.” 

Jon once more felt that sensation as if the two of you were being watched, but you shook more in his touch and a whine sat so close to leaving your throat he tossed the feeling away for now. You close to forgetting that you were out where any could see, leaned back heavily into his touch grasping at what you could of his forearm. Jon suspected you didn’t even quite realize how desperate you sounded or what you were even asking for. “Jon, please...” 

Unable to stop the thoughts, all Jon could do was growl in his head, oh he will. He’ll fill you deep with his seed as many times as you could take it, and Jon was slowly uncovering just how much of his seed, how much of that intensity you could take.

You discovering how much you felt like your life held true purpose when Jon would kiss you, touch you, and take you again and again. Making it to the room you both were staying in was going to be a true test of will power at this rate. 

Forgetting the rumours haunting you, for as long as Jon was as bare as you were? Hips grinding roughly against yours, his thick cock thrusting deep inside you, as his hands gently interlocked his fingers with yours, pressing them with a need into the sheets at the side of your head? Well, it seemed like nothing else existed in problems or mind but you and him.

Some nights, it felt as if truly all you and Jon had in this world anymore, was each other. 

[miscellaneoussmp]

I need to start writing more fluff/comfort stuff. Here's Pac and Tubbo needing sleep and Fit gets them to go to bed:

It had been twenty-six, no twenty-seven hours, since Tubbo or Pac had even attempted resting. Hyped up on overly sweet swiftness potions, which sent jolts of energy up their spins meant to be used for running instead of being used to prolong wakefulness. An extra hour to finish up one thing turned to the sun rising and now sitting below where it had sat the day before when the project started.

Conversation was easy. Being filled with possible reasons why Tubbo's current project was being very difficult, how the swiftness potion almost acts like caffeine, and ways to describe the buzzing underneath their skin. Electrical heat, Tubbo described. Pure adrenaline, Pac replied. Memories attached to those descriptions remained unspoken or forgotten.

Tubbo lays under his machine, with a wrench in his hand. They had taken to calling the machine Tubbo's new baby, dubbing it Tub Jr. Both ignored the ache in their chests as they personified the machine. Pac's potion-making setup was makeshift for now. Swiftness and the occasional night vision brew in the stand. He knows that these potions would be more effective if he had a proper setup. Pac didn't bother to cork the bottles over half the time. Instead, he immediately downs them or slides them under the gap in the machine where Tubbo lays.

Pac sat leaning over a potion stand, and Tubbo under a machine is the scene Fit walks in on. When Pac stands up to greet him, he stumbles just a tiny bit. Tubbo almost hits his head while squirming out from under his project. Fit is a bit surprised to see them back in their exact positions from yesterday. After all, he assumed they went to bed after he left for the night. He was incorrect, very obviously incorrect. The dark circles under Pac's eyes–moreso eye, the one that isn't covered by his dark hair–are more noticeable than before. Once Tubbo removes his goggles, his dark circles become obvious as well. The youngest of the three grabbed one of light blue potions, uncorking it with his teeth and drinks. He shakes his head slightly as he feels the buzz strengthen itself underneath his skin.

When Fit asks how long they've been awake. Tubbo and Pac give different answers, both unsure on the exact timing. Tubbo explained that he needed to fix this one thing, and he just couldn't figure it out. This is when Fit, half jokingly suggests sleep. Pac explains they don't need sleep since as long as you stayed pretty still a swiftness potion could act like caffeine.

It actually didn't make much convincing after he suggested a sleepover in the room so they could get back to work after waking up. Pillows and blankets found their way to the floor, far enough from any mechanical parts as not to get caught on anything.

Of course, Tubbo would be the type to spread out fully as he sleeps. It fits his personality. A pillow lays on one his arms and another under his head. He looks comfortable.

Pac is the type to sleep on his side, curled up with one hand grabbing onto the pillow under him and the other covering his face. It definitely fits his personality. A blanket sits on top of him. He looks comfortable.

Fit is the type to watch over his friends as they get well-deserved sleep.

[levmada]

How do you think Levi would handle his PTSD/symptoms during post!war Marley days? Like he definitely takes up doing his tea shop and I bet gardening or painting maybe but moreso about small stuff like seeing something mundane and it just triggers him. Having tinnitus or really bad knee/hand pain, how does he cope in small ways? I could see him even take up hammocking and reading just listening to birds and chilling in nature.

Also, do you think that he ever misses using ODM gear? The easy gilding through trees and buildings, being able to almost like fly? There's this certain point where when you master a skill with such fluidity that it becomes a second nature. Do you think that he misses that zen feeling?

sheeppp i’m so so so sorry this took me literal months to reply to😭i hope it was worth it! i had so much to say,,,

so: post-war levi headcanons

//su1cidality (idk if it’s allowed to use The Whole Word or not), detailed ptsd descriptions, internalized ableism |

wc: ~2k

just like how keeping his promise only finally gave room for Levi to feel the grief surrounding Erwin’s death, the end of the Titans would be the same, but much worse. yes, the dream all the Scouts fought for—a world without walls and without Titans—was realized… but absolutely no one who Levi knew before discovering the basement was alive to see it with him. he's the only one left to remember all of it, especially the trauma, and that's the loneliest feeling in the world.

• despite ultimate victory, at an individual level, he'd feel... really lost, and broken of course. he can no longer walk, let alone fight for anything, but he doesn't have anything left to fight for anyway!! (Levi definitely considers his duty completed, not having a part in what the former 104th is doing.)

so the first year would be very very very hard on him. assumably he was inpatient in a hospital for sometime for his injuries and mandatory physical therapy, and after that he realistically can’t live on his own (hence Gabi and Falco).

but,, Levi would have a hard time accepting being taken care of just on principle. the loneliness would be crippling. with every bit of self worth he ever had being built on how useful he is, ironically i think the end of the war would put him at rock bottom for a time.

• this is not at all to mention his mental scarring in general. his convictions about his duty had been only as strong as his ability to suppress his weaknesses. the foundations of his life had been built on is always moving forward with no regrets, and that's just a breeding ground for suppressed grief and guilt. just because Levi lived by it didn't make it healthy for him in the long run, and now all the sudden he HAS no duty, and nothing to move forward past.

so now, what, three or four decades worth of issues?—have an opportunity to take root.

there are nightmares of course, the usual insomnia, and heaps of post-traumatic stress; coming to terms with how worthless he thought and thinks of himself, especially now; the frustration and hatred directed towards his new disabilities; but above all, his suppressed emotions.

he over-regulated his emotions for sooo long that it's become instinctive to mask around anyone so no one would have the slightest idea that he's struggling at all. in order to maintain his strength, doing his duty, his fighting ability, everything—that's what he did, and not only is he so damn good at it that he's deluded even himself into believing he’s infallible, but it's instinctive and automatic for him. and healing from a coping mechanism like that completely, surrounded by a sea of severe psychopathology, is nearly impossible.

he must have compartmentalized or blocked out many many events and traumatic memories, and of course, the more often you do that, the heavier the feelings, the more traumatic the memories, the bigger the breakdown later. at some point he has a breakdown and shatters to pieces worse than he has in his whole fucking life.

• he struggles to adjust to change (because as we know Levi never even wore the new uniforms in s4, implying that. along with an interview i vaguely remember confirming that), and desperately needs a routine.

• but despite his loneliness, or maybe because of it, he struggles with relationships. in his mind it's not like he became any more pleasant to be around than he was before, so he doesn’t feel like anyone could deal with or wants his company anyway, besides on obligation. so he would self-sabotage his relationships with Gabi, Falco, Onyakopon or whoever even at the cost of his physical health. Levi neverrrr gave a damn about his own well-being and that gets worse when he’s of no more “use” to anyone, with his existence now a “burden” to his friends. he's useful, or he's nothing.

AGAIN IN LIKE THE FIRST YEAR…

• do i think this at one point snowballed into suicidal ideation of sorts? of sorts. the guilt of not being completely happy, now that it's all over, is prevalent, on top of his worthlessness, on top of tinnitus+his affected vision+using his hands+his worse mobility+chronic pain,,, ironically for a time after the war, his hardest battle is surviving.

• he loathes psychotherapy at its very premise. delving into his feelings with someone who's basically a stranger paid to listen and analyze him?? one of his worst nightmares.

so that's out of the question. but physical therapy is doable for him. such as seeing it as an exercise routine, him disliking his wheelchair, and being given tangible goals to work towards—is good for him. and besides, with the technology and culture of Marley resembling 20th century western Europe/USA, i imagine there's very few resources and little empathy, and more discrimination for people with disabilities. it can't be helped, so he might as well work on physical therapy, and along the way grow a decent self-esteem around that, and his facial scars.

• he finds ways to cope somehow. Levi isn’t an artistic person and i don’t think that changes with retirement. but he enjoys reading fiction and the newspaper, as a distraction and to keep up with what’s going on in the world.

he would absolutely enjoy gardening. cultivating life instead of ending them, being self-sustaining food wise, just the reward of taking care of something living and watching it flourish. gardening is one of his favorite pastimes.

and, eventually, journaling. like i said, Levi would have trouble just accepting that his suffering is valid, let alone coping with it. there is no full recovery, there is no being completely okay for someone who's gone through all he has i think, which is incomprehensible to someone like Levi, who prioritized his strength over every other one of his attributes.

but eventually he gets it into his head (Onyankopon's advice?) that although his closest loved ones and friends are gone, he can’t let who they were be forgotten. yes people like Erwin and Hange would be icons in history, but it’s not enough. Levi is the only person who knows who they really were, and of course those people are very very very dear to him.

so he starts jotting down memories or anecdotes he almost forgot. it would sort of read as a police report or a debrief at first honestly, just a recounting of events with no emotion because it’s hard. memories of them, all of them, are priceless to him, so fond or not, it’s a challenge.

but it becomes therapeutic, and even a crutch. sometimes he writes so fast that he’s not even thinking of the words to put and just writing his stream of consciousness, or loses track of time. at times like that he can find some catharsis.

he enjoys sitting at a park bench (and knowing the importance of routine to Levi, the same one every time) and feeding the birds, and like you said, chilling in nature.

he decides he owes it to his past comrades to see the fruits of their labor they didn’t get to.

• Levi has fond memories of the past, before the basement and their whole world got bigger and more dire. there's something he appreciates about that time, and how simple their goals and enemies were, even though their lives were never carefree or happy. i think Levi would prefer that time of his life the most, being under the sun and sky and with a cause to live and fight for. his reason to live fixated on his duty, and so being a soldier became his reason for being.

and then there’s his pure love of flying on the ODM gear. he was doing it since before he ever even joined the survey corps. probably his first ever real belonging besides a knife, and his first and most longstanding sense of freedom he ever had. Levi never was carefree, but flying was as close as he got. yes. flying is one of the things he misses the most about the past.

• but like i said, and even though it's sad, i think that for someone like Levi and all he's been through, there is no complete peace. that's not realistic.

• his ptsd is severe. at times when the littlest thing could set him off—being irritated or angry—and he has no concrete reason for why. he doesn’t even know who or what he’s angry at. it’s tempting to resent the people around him for not understanding it, and how they’ll never understand what he went through that made him “broken”. being angry that he has to relive some memories through nightmares or flashbacks at seemingly mundane things.

he hates planes (sorry Onyankopon). he hates shower steam or cooking on a stove. sometimes his missing fingers reminds him of Erwin and all the worry that arose when he lost his arm. fireworks or the sounds of explosions in general make him feel dizzy and out of it for a while. he probably sees dead friends and enemies alike in crowds of people. he doesn’t stare into the fireplace because he’ll smell burning flesh. needles whenever he visits the doctor makes him feel panicky.

he has triggers. and when he’s triggered he self-isolates a lot and becomes emotionless. you know, sometimes his sole motivation for getting out of bed is taking care of his garden/his plants, and eating is only worth the strength needed to do that, or to eat so the food he grew himself doesn’t go to waste. besides, he reminds himself that staying in bed is pointless, because getting sleep is never easy.

• and arguably the worst part is, that Levi is so accustomed to suffering it’s unthinkable the type of person he’d be or life he could lead without it. it’s comfortable because it’s familiar, which leads to him almost fetishizing his own sadness out of a sense that he deserves it as punishment, and this carnal need to prove that he’s useless, and should be left alone.

• but of course, he’s too loved for that to happen. he comes to believe his friends of that. and that makes him protective of Gabi and Falco especially—he’s still that same person who will do anything to make his friends’ lives easier or take a load off whenever they need it.

time passing helps, and so does journaling and seeing the kids (Gabi, Falco, honestly the whole 104th is still his kids), but there is no full recovery for someone like Levi. then again, peace is uncomfortable for him anyway, someone whose whole life was a cycle of being on his guard, training and fighting, recovering, and then fighting some more.

but he does find some peace.

• eventually, when it’s finally over for him, the most prevalent feeling i think would be relief. being surrounded by friends or at least with the knowledge that he’s loved. he has lived a life of constant trial and tribulation, most of all grief, but it’s yet another testament to Levi’s strength that despite everything, he is still able to find a way to be happy. it’s the same. you can choose to feel better. every day, you find something to live for. it can be fleeting and easily forgotten… but maybe that’s everything.

as for him, he always holds onto the small things, for the same reason he needs those small things to hold on.

:)

[sodapackyuri]

OK SO. TO KEEP THINGS SEMI - COHERENT. i'll be listing the dsm 5 criteria [and their listed descriptions] that paper meets and explaining how so. WELCOME GIRLIES, TO THE PAPER II BPD ESSAY

fun fact, people with did very commonly also have bpd !! a lot of symptoms tend to overlap with eachother, and both disorders stem off of similar causes. i myself am someone with both bpd and did :3 paper is a character i can see a lot of my experiences with both disorders in. also im gonna color code sorry guys. DISCLAIMER i am not good at wording things i may not say things how i want them to come out

there is also not really much to in depth go off of due to paper not being on screen very much throughout season 1 and when he is, his arc moreso centers around him and ep, not giving much room to gather things about him as a character. also the season one writing just kind of Sucks in terms of like. its ability to take super deep looks into the characters. as such, some things may be a bit of a reach, and others may not have as much information to back up the symptom as others do

THAT ALL OUT OF THE WAY, we now begin.

ABANDONMENT REACTION: Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. throughout season one after he rejoins, paper does everything he can to keep oj happy with him [ this will be mentioned recurringly, as his relationship with oj is a big part of his character and thus a big part of his bpd coding as well ], going as far to throw bomb at a cactus to save him from it, and tells oj to go on without him after he himself gets stuck, though gets upset when oj does actually leave without him.

PARANOIA AND DISSOCIATION: Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms. this part may be a bit of a reach, but is still worth talking about. people with bpd often dissociate in times of stress, which paper is shown to do, especially visible when apple taunts him with the phrase ' idiotic island ' repeatedly. this one is also one of earlier mentioned overlaps between paper's did and bpd symptoms.

EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY: Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and rarely more than a few days). especially so shown after his elimination [ both in terms of idiotic island AND rejoin ] paper is shown to have frequent moments of emotional instability. most of these moments are regarding anger, which is shown at multiple points, for example when he lashes out at knife. he's also shown to have moments of intense sadness, often being self deprecation and feeling like a bad person, most usually being after an instance of evil paper coming out.

INTENSE/INAPPROPRIATE ANGER: Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights). it's easy to see that paper has anger issues, as explained in the last segment. he often lashes out at his fellow contestants, and mephone as well. another point regarding this is how angry and violent ep is. this part is shorter, due to his anger issues being previously mentioned, and also generally just very obvious and frequent. i'd rather not go through and write about every single instance of him getting angry.

UNSTABLE RELATIONS/IDEALIZATION AND DEVALUATION: A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation. first, let's take a look at knife and paper's relationship. paper and knife are shown to be friends at first, with paper even ditching a challenge to hang out with him. after knife drops items on him, causing his elimination, paper is shown to resent him for the betrayal. this anger remains for the entirety of his time until he sees knife again, to which he then gets his revenge on him. knife is annoyed by this, and scolds paper for still being upset about that after 20 months from the incident.

now, back to oj and paper. paper quickly latches onto oj after rejoining, taking almost every chance he can to do something to make oj happy with him, such as when listed before when he killed bomb to help oj in the desert, and of course when he carries him through the competition. the few conflicts the two had, he either quickly patched things up or insisted that what caused said conflict was to help oj out.

people with bpd tend to have something called a favorite person, often shortened to fp. a fp is held at high standards, often being seen as the person with bpd's most important person in their life. people with bpd tend to desire to spend most of their time with their fp, and end up being very clingy. it is safe to assume oj is paper's fp.

UNSTABLE SELF IMAGE: Identity disturbance, markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self. paper is shown to have a very unstable sense of self. he focuses on what other people want from him, acting in ways he feels will make them the happiest. paper also frequently changes his opinions on people, sometimes of which is caused by previously mentioned focusing on what others want from him.

UNLESS I ADD MORE OR CHANGE THINGS LATER, this concludes my ramble. be normal about this please

[sparrowhero]

Assorted Hawks Boyfriend Headcanons

He wants to be a good boyfriend, for real.  He tries his best, but the HPSC is a real pain in his ass and his own workaholic nature can get in the way with the man who’s far too fast for his own good.  Sometimes he puts a little bit too much on his plate, and takes way too much on himself, so it’s ironic that patience is the most necessary virtue.

Doesn’t date around very much.  The HPSC is VERY strict about his image as ‘everyone’s Hawks’ and they bitch him out about you a lot as things get more serious.  If you’re a pro, even moreso, but if you’re some no-name civilian, they’re a bit more lenient.  He’s good about letting it fall off his back for the most part.

He’ll be late for dates, but never on purpose– unless it’s to surprise you with something!  He thinks your glee is just as funny as you being shocked, so watch out.  He also thinks it’s cute when you’re (just a little) mad.

Likes to kiss your nose when you’re mad.  If you’re shorter than him, he bows his head and looks at you so sweetly, brows furrowed together in faux innocence and asks forgiveness  If you’re taller than him, he flashes a big smile up at you and likes to take your face in his hands and squish your cheeks together while he pleads his case that you were just too cute not to tease a little bit.

READMORE FOR LENGTH

He’s not insecure about his height.  If anything, he’s very much this tweet:

(text description: a twitter tweet from Arson Welles @ PissJugTycoon that says "I dated a 5'8 guy who'd taunt every jacked, 6'3 bro he met until they'd pull up their fist to beat him up, whereupon my ex would go "heyheyheyyy c'maahn I'm a little guy, I'm just a little guyy, noo, it's also my birthday, I'm a little birthday boyy" & it somehow always worked)

Doesn’t mind if you don’t like heights, can’t fly, or have other reasons you cannot join him in the air either by his side or in his arms.  While he prefers to fly around, he’s also fine to walk around “the normal way” or meet up in a secluded place to spend time together.

He’s got expensive taste for himself and dresses himself well (especially because a lot of what he wears has to be tailored with his wings.)  But he’d be over the moon with delight for anything homemade, no matter the skill set.  He’s just as much the type to wear it immediately or keep it at home just to stare and smile wistfully at when he’s missing you.  Kind of a hoarder of sentimental things.

Flops on you like a rag doll whenever possible, completely bonelessly.  He likes to cuddle close in between your neck and shoulders.  His wings flap a little bit when he’s happy and content.

He can only really sleep on his stomach comfortably if he’s not sleeping sitting up, so if you’re taking a nap together, good luck getting out from under his wings.  He spreads those things fully when he’s relaxing and they’re heavier than they look.  He likes it when you use him as a lap pillow too.

Will absolutely not tell you his real name for an absurdly long time.  Trust doesn’t come easy to him for things like that, and he justifies it as being for both of your safety.  Enjoys you making guesses as to what his name COULD be and if you guys are going out somewhere incognito (or as incognito as you can be given he’s a celebrity), he likes to use the various fake names you’ve guessed.

Whenever you get close, his eyes crinkle juuuust a little bit in a bittersweet mix of emotions.  He’ll tell you…eventually.

[ultimateloserboy]

i said i would make this post, so here i am. here is the red guy analysis, starting with this qna answer from baker terry. i talked about this question before, it was “whos your favorite to write for?” and after a bit of debate the answer ended up being red guy for pretty much everyone. i mentioned that, but i left out this answer specifically because of how significant it is. im gonna go on a bit of a tangent here, but i promise itll come back around and make sense

this is what ive been saying about red guy!! hes been going through a constant character arc that never reaches its completion because he is torn down again and again. “hes sensible and together until he isnt” is such a good description, because he might be the MOST normal character but he isnt truly normal. not really. thats very important.

i think red guy is a realistic character, a very human character, and the thing about people is that we’re not as normal as we think. there are differences about all of us that don’t quite fit, and some of us moreso than others, but that is the true normal. true normal is to not be normal. that is what red guy represents to me. we relate to him and think he is sensible because he is, but that doesnt mean hes free of oddness altogether. thats what makes him even more relatable.

but he doesnt realize this, hes riddled with insecurity, and THATS what makes him the way he is. he doesnt quite fit anywhere. hes out of place in his own world, and hes out of place in every other world as well. he doesnt enjoy the house, and he tries to run, but even when he runs he doesnt like what he finds outside. he’ll never find a place where he perfectly fits. he’ll try, but he’ll fail.

but thats another thing. because he doesnt fit anywhere as he is, he usually tries to fit in instead. the characters around him (the fax machine thingy, the trash can, lily and todney) they all tell him that theres something wrong with him and the way he lives, that he could be better, that all he has to do is listen to them and he’ll be normal and respected. and so he does. he listens to them and tries his best to be happy with it. hell tell himself that hes normal and everyone loves him now. that weird people are below him, that nothing is wrong with him because hes perfect. he wont believe it, he’ll be unhappy playing pretend, but at least hes better than everyone else now. at least hes the most normal one. at least hes normal, right?

but then he’ll end up back home, and things will go differently tomorrow. there could be a day where hes waltzing around in clothes, masking who he is and pretending to like it. but then there could be a day where hes coming to terms, where he looks in the mirror and he doesnt care much what others think anymore. where he’ll say “im not supposed to wear clothes, this is the way i look” finally sticking up for himself. he’ll start being kinder, to others and himself. he’ll start being more honest, more open, more loving. he’ll still be as average and monotone as ever, but he’ll be slightly different. he’ll be happier with himself as he is, he’ll ACTUALLY like himself instead of just pretending.

but happiness doesn’t last in a house like theirs. his memory loss will rip away at the realizations he has. he’ll go right back to being bitter and miserable. i dont believe the house is in a timeloop, i hate that theory with a burning passion, but thats besides the point. timeloop or not, he’ll be built up, and then the next day he’ll be knocked back down. he never reaches a point where hes fully happy and i doubt he ever will. i doubt any of them ever will. it makes me so sad, but at least he gets close enough.

in conclusion, duck and yellow guy are very nonsensical and complicated characters, but red guy is too, just in a calmer and more easy-to-understand sense. just because hes the regular, human kind of complicated does not mean he isnt worth analyzing. i wish people would see him as more complex instead of just “relatable depressed tumblr sexyman” like if yall paid attention youd realize that yes, he pulls off the suit, but hes miserable in it. it’s literally him masking. i wish people paid more attention to these things. no shame if you dont, hes supposed to be a more chilled out character compared to the other two, so its natural that people wouldnt think as hard about him. but hes not as smart and reasonable as yall give him credit for, he is until he isnt.

or, if we want to go with the gayer conclusion:

hes YOUR babygirl because hes hot in a suit, but hes MY babygirl because he thinks electricity is magic. because hes an embarrassment to everyone around him. because he doesnt like wasting food or making a mess. because all he wants is a family, and he already has one, but its not normal or functional enough for him. because he smiles more often than everyone thinks. because hes actually kind of an asshole but duck outshines him in that department. because hes selfish and yet he dislikes himself. because he is complicated in the most human way, with a little bit of an inhuman thought here and there. because i am in love with him im just going insane now i need to shut this shit down. ive gotten my point across. goodbye, i love you ! (leaves you a spherical internet device which i created)

[acti-veg]

I feel like going vegan can be easy for some people but I also think a lot of people already have so much else to worry about, so they just don’t feel able to have the time or energy into researching veganism, learning new recipes, etc? It’s not that going vegan in itself is hard but if you have 100 other problems in your life sometimes small things can seem like too much?

also I feel like for some people, food may be the main source of pleasure in their life. So giving up their favourite foods can feel like a major sacrifice. I’m vegan myself, and I’m not saying this is a good enough reason not to be vegan, I don’t think it is, but I can see how it can be difficult for people - ofc I realise the animals’ suffering is far greater than the person giving up their favourite food, but to them, it might feel like a lot - and being completely honest, as a vegan, I don’t think many vegan alternatives to products taste as good as ‘the real thing’.

Idk I just think of my grandma when she was very old with dementia and not able to do much really - but she loved her food. I’d have found it really difficult to deny her non vegan food that she liked? what are your thoughts?

What you’re describing here is valid, but it’s also essentially just a description of the challenges of living an ethical life. There are always barriers to doing the right thing, and doing the wrong thing is usually quite a lot easier - that isn’t at all unique to veganism. Yes there are challenges and other things to worry about, but everyone should be doing their best to live well and to not cause harm when you can avoid it.

There are for sure people who experience real barriers to eating plant-based, some moreso than most, from health issues to food deserts, but there is really nothing unique about food when it comes to ethical decision making. We can advocate that people should do the right thing while acknowledging that doing so can be difficult.

I don’t think we need to be able to argue that vegan food tastes just as good (even though I think it does), or that it’s super easy for anyone to be vegan, we just need to be able to say that not exploiting animals and destroying our planet in the process is the right thing to do. It’s up to all of us as individuals to figure out our situation and how much we’re able to do the right thing in any context, but even if we’re not able to do it, it doesn’t change the fact that it is the right thing.

All veganism asks of us is to do our best, precisely because it is a moral principle and not a diet. Making ethical decisions will very often be more difficult - its easier to not think about companies you support, to not reflect on your own prejudices and to never challenge anyone else on theirs. You may have valid reasons for doing the wrong thing, hurting others to benefit yourself, for making other lives more difficult to make yours easier, but it being understandable and there being valid reasons behind it doesn’t make it any less wrong.

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Day 1

Pairing: Takumi x reader

Prompt: Brittle

Description: It was scary, letting people. Being soft--vulnerable. Takumi had been hurt doing that before and he wasn't keen on doing that again. But, with you, being brittle, falling apart, seemed easy.

Rating: sfw

Content warning: None

Word Count: 757

Notes: happy 6th of march gamers I decided that I would start a daily prompt thing almost a week in! lets see how this goes! The main goal is to get me back into writing so, even if I don't finish... at least I'm writing!

Letting in someone new was… hard. Just as hard as it was to build up his walls. One’s he had thought were strong, secure in his hold. To make sure he would never hurt this way again. But, to you, they were oh so brittle, crumbling before your wake.

Did you know you held his beating heart in your hands? Perhaps not. It wasn’t your fault he hurt like this. But still, Takumi can’t help but feel a little… bitter. That you let this happen. Let him hurt like this. When you were the one that wormed your way in, the walls around his heart nothing in the wake of your sweetness.

“Takumi?” Your voice is soft, the look on your face is concerned. You hand is half raised towards him in concern. He shakes the look off his face. Clears his mind.

You haven’t done anything… yet. It was him who fell in love.

“Sorry.” The word leaves him with a heavy breath. He closes his eyes another moment to collect himself before opening them again, speaking again. Your hand in resting in your lap again, anxiously pulling at your clothing as you look his way. He can’t meet your gaze.

“Just, tired is all. Thinking a little.” His words are mumbled out, halfhearted and quiet.

“I understand…” He sees you bob your head a little. “We’ve been fighting a lot lately. It’s hard to find a moment of rest, even from one’s own thoughts.” He catches you biting your bottom lip slightly. As he finally looks up fully at you, taking in the worry on your face, Takumi realizes your likely haven’t been looking straight his way this entire time, either. It looks like you want to say something more, however. Takumi stays silent, lets you find your thoughts before you speak once again.

“But if… you need to talk, or just need someone to be there for you, I’m here… you know?” You finally catch his gaze, smiling at him despite the obvious way this makes you nervous.

“You mean, like this?” Takumi manages to crack a small smile, one that makes your own grow in size.

“Well, yeah…” You giggle softly, a sound that lifts the shadow over him somewhat. You kick your feet a little where you seat, gaze circling back to his own. “I guess so. I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’ve noticed you can get well… really down and closed in on yourself sometimes….” You heave a sigh, fingers curling in on your clothing. “...I can get like that sometimes, too. So I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.” You’re looking away from him now. The golden light of the setting sun hides your features.

“That…” His words catch in his throat as Takumi’s heart picks up it’s pace. He awkwardly clears his throat. “I… had no idea.” He admits softly. “Thank you for um…” He hesitates. “Just… thank you. It means a lot.”

“I’m glad…” You meet his gaze with a slightly bowed head, pretty eyes looking up at his through your lashes. “I… care about you, and I want you to be happy.” Your words are careful, but they can’t help but make Takumi wonder.

Maybe, he didn’t have to hurt. It was wrong to think that you would want to hurt him… Moreso then him wanting to believe you felt the same, your words were… genuine. Something people say out of concern.

Perhaps you loved him, or perhaps you didn’t Takumi wasn’t sure. But… you cared about him either way. So, maybe it was okay to be a little brittle. To let someone in. It might hurt a little, to be vulnerable…

But how else do you show others you care too?

“You know…” He’s surprised by the sound of his own voice, but you look attentive as he tries to speak, gentle, sweet smile still gracing your lips. “I’d… like to be there for you, too. I-if that’s okay?” It feels awkward asking, after you were able to say that to him without fear of judgment. He’s got a long way to go, though.

“I’d love that.” He viably calms at your words. “It’s… very comforting to hear that, in fact.” You sigh softly, closing your eyes to rest.

Takumi watches you, soft smile taking on his features as well. It was comforting, being vulnerable with one another. It was scary… but so so sweet. He could get use to this.

Get use to being brittle with you.

[moboxcritique]

Well, the new video is out on Mob's Youtube channel... And it's a tablet review, because she keeps getting sponsored for some reason and doing easy videos for easy money, I don't know

Seriously, there's been more tablet reviews than animations recently and it's been getting tiring. Anyway, here's the thumbnail (With the demon sona again):

There's a few points to note in this video:

This is probably the laziest video Mob has ever made (well, all of her videos seem moreso lazily and sloppily done these days with the amount of animation errors shown in them, but I digress). Her computer cursor is showing throughout the majority of the unboxing footage as well as a Sony Vegas watermark throughout the video, which could've been easily fixed in editing

Mob had already discussed this in the video description, but still, it's very lazy and all you would've had to have done would be to get another version of your video editor (pirated or not, it doesn't matter) and remove the editing errors. Though it's too late for that now,

2. There's a preview animatic of Open Mind here, likely from the storyboards she had already shown off prior to this video's release. However, it goes by really fast so it's like a blink-and-you'll-miss-it type thing.

The version at (somewhat) normal speed is here for you guys (also the lineart errors are insane, at least try to not make your animatic look sloppily made, Mob, no wonder why it went by so fast):

3. I don't see why she had to say that her rabbit, Cassidy, had passed away, but she did. (Was it to make people feel bad? I don't know, she can't seem to go a while without saying something depressing I guess, but it doesn't feel needed to bring that stuff up in a sponsored video) She had also barely mentioned her controversy, but didn't give context to it at all, only saying that she "was in good terms" with the people who called her out (At least that's what she thinks😘)

4. ... Did she make a fursona for Parblo or something? Whatever. I don't know if it's some random character for Open Mind or what, but it's very silly

5. She had mentioned the controversy in the comments as well, however she lied about her "ex" causing her behavior and didn't go into specifics with that as well as the n*zis she draws, but whatever, obviously she hasn't changed a bit

Anyway, that's about it for the video notes. Don't know how she could make an easy video into something lazy, but here we are... But it's also the longest tablet review video as well on the channel, so it's something

[mysteryman-17]

* Oh my! Are you alright, sugar? * That blasted jar's always causin' trouble around here. * ...!!! Oh! * You're another alien, right? * Well, I'm Cooking Cat, and this is my friend Goofy Mafia. * It's a real pleasure to meet ya.

Time’s End is an AHIT/Undertale crossover AU of sorts, taking place in the aftermath of a timeline where you lose the final boss fight against Mustache Girl. You can find the write-up here! In addition, you can find the write-ups for the Neutral Endings and TimeWarp Route Requirements on Google Drive! The logo for Time's End was designed by @bittybattybunny. She's an incredible artist, be sure to check out their work here on Tumblr and over on Twitter!! Also, this track was commissioned from the insanely talented musician Nahg (also on Twitter.) Be sure to check out his work, he did a fantastic job!

Motifs:

Welcome to Mafia Town

You can also listen to this track in high quality on the AU’s SoundCloud here! The rest of the description (including the character blurb) is underneath the Read More.

Cooking Cat and Goofy Mafia share the role of Toriel. Mafia Town being covered in lava forced practically everyone out, and this unlikely duo is no exception. Being nicer and more open than the others, Goofy and Cookie very quickly found common ground, and a friendship formed from there. Not having much else to do anymore, they help watch over Subcon Forest and the new Mafia settlements there (which Mafia Boss and Snatcher don't always make easy.) When Bow's spaceship crash lands, Cooking Cat is ready and raring to help as always! As for Goofy Mafia... his fear of "slimy space aliens" is still here. It moreso comes out as general distrust and skittishness around Bow for now, but who KNOWS what turn this'll take as the journey progresses? i do lmao

FINALLY, A VERSION OF THE FALLEN DOWN THAT DOESN'T SUCK :D (ahem) But uhhh ye. Between work getting in the way, and patiently waiting for this comm (and others like it) to come to fruition, I have a new track for you guys at long last! Been feeling for the longest while that the old Fallen Down, as used to be heard on my main... sucked *royal ass.* Was defo wanting to redo it, whether that was me taking a new crack at it or commissioning someone, but then. I heard this beautiful track from Nahg, and knew right away what route I wanted to take. So some money and time later, with a side of waiting for my new computer to be fucking usable for good measure, I'm now proud to have the pleasure of presenting this to you all! Nahg did an awesome job with making this come to life, and (especially with the Reprise) he really nailed what I was going for. But enough of my rambling - for now. Hope you all enjoy!