#forgive me kings for ive been gone

[abbyromanoff]

PLEASE BRO IF YOUR DOING REQUESTS,

Can you please do yandere!possessive!gp!valkryie, where her and reader had a huge argument and reader storms out leaving Valkyrie alone. Later coming home Valkyrie rails the shit out of reader in front of a mirror because valkryie followed reader to a bar where she saw a man flirt reader (she OFC kills the dude when he reader leaves.)

PLEASE BRO IVE ASKED SO MANY PPL (no hate to anybody I've asked, I love you all 💞)

GONE, BUT NOT FOR LONG

PAIRINGS: Valkyrie x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,821

WARNINGS: smut, Valkyrie has a dick, blowjobs, cunnilingus, killing, murder, dark!valkyrie, knives, king!valkyrie, fingering, facials, breeding, noncon, jealousy, possessiveness, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Run. Keep running. That’s all that ran through your mind as you sped away from the large building where you used to sleep peacefully, that was until you found out the truth, until you realized your lover had been lying to you all along.

She was the king, one respected by many, if not all. Citizens trusted her with their lives yet she kept her disguise, taking away the innocence of others as she cut them short of breathing. The man didn’t deserve that, no matter what he did to annoy her, he didn’t deserve to die. He could’ve had a family, children wondering when their dad would come home, only to have him stripped away to never see again.

You always knew Valkyrie had a jealous side to her, some would even call it possessiveness. But you never thought it would go this far.

Earlier on you had planned on surprising the woman at work, hoping she’d still be in her office for lunch instead of skipping like usual. You always warned her of the health concerns that came with ignoring meals, but she never listened, stating she was often times ‘too busy to remember’. And you wished when you entered that was what greeted you, your girlfriend hunched over a pile of papers on her desk, only it was far from that.

When you entered, a small grin on your face and a container in your hands, you were greeted with the sight of Valkyrie holding a knife to a man’s neck who was begging for forgiveness. Your feet planted in your spot as you gasped, mouth falling wide open while the older woman snapped her head in your direction.

“Please-“ The man cried out behind his gag, only to have the sharp object slit his skin open, causing blood to ooze out of his rapidly until he fell limp to the floor.

“Baby? Baby, it’s alright, he was a very, very bad man, okay? He had this coming.” She tried reaching out for you, handing the blade to one of her bodyguards who took it without hesitation, the rest of them already starting to clean up the mess she made. You backed away, wincing from her near touch alone. You knew she loved you and would never hurt you, but what if that changed? What if she did hurt you someday? She often got mad when she was jealous, what if it went so far one day and she tried to hurt you?

“Don’t touch me!” Your eyes were glossed over and she gulped fearfully at the sight, she wasn’t one to be afraid or scared, but knowing she caused those tears was what scared her the most. It scared her of herself, of what she could do.

“It’s me, love, I’m not going to hurt you.” But how could you trust that? How could you trust that she’d keep you safe when she just killed an innocent person right in front of your eyes?

“Look, he- he deserved it! I had to keep you safe-“

“Don’t you dare put this on me, I am not the one who held a knife to his neck and slit his fucking throat! I don’t even know his name, for Christ's sake!” She seemed to be growing more and more agitated as you continued to ignore her words, and chose to believe your own instead. You didn’t understand, you didn’t understand the things she had to do to keep you safe.

“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I wanted to kill him? No, but I knew he couldn’t roam free after what he did to you, what if he tried on someone else, huh? Would you let him have forgiveness then?” In all honesty, she wanted to do it. She found herself being filled with joy whenever she got to end the life of one of her victims. She had no idea what was wrong with her, she knew it wasn’t normal but she couldn’t stop, it just felt so good.

When there was no response spewing out of your mouth, she decided to take the next step and brought a single foot forward, letting her palms caress your face as she smiled, you didn’t pull away. Although, she noticed the small flinch but chose to ignore it.

“Guards,” She called for the attention of the tall men, all of them turning their heads in her direction. “Please exit the premises, and take the body with you.” They nodded and did as asked without question, you wondered if this was a normal occurrence for them.

“Awh, don’t cry, pretty girl, Daddy didn’t mean to upset you.” She pouted at your frightened expression, chuckling darkly when you sniffled.

“See the things I’d do for my little girl? I’d die for you, I’d kill for you, doesn’t that mean something?” You shook your head rapidly, trying your best to escape her grasp until she wrapped her arms tightly around your waist.

“Don’t think you’re leaving me, sweetheart.” You wiggled around hopelessly, knowing deep down there was no chance in hell you’d disobey her.

“Let me go! Please, Val, please!” She groaned, kissing the side of your neck, even when you tried to hit your head on hers as the only option left.

“Mm, I like it when you beg me, baby. Turns me on so much.” She pulled you in closer by the hips, letting you feel the growing bulge hidden beneath her suit. It stopped you in your tracks, shuddering quietly as she grinded against you.

“I know you’re mad, so why don’t you let me make it up to you, okay? Can I do that?” You shook your head with a whine, feeling your body weaken the more you wasted your energy trying to escape.

“Too bad. You have no idea how I need this, I’ve been so frustrated all week, working nonstop, don’t you want to help Daddy?” Trying to disagree took all the willpower you had left because you knew you wanted it, no matter how much you said you didn’t. You wanted her to fuck you deep and raw, showing no mercy on your weeping cunt. It was as if she could read your mind because she quickly turned you around, pressing your back against her front while her free hand ran down your stomach to your core, letting her fingers dip inside your pants.

“Don’t try and run from me, there’s nowhere you can go.” The only place you ever knew were her arms, and each time you’d come racing into them, desperate for her to have any sense of hold on you. She was captivating your mind with her as her fingers ran across your folds, collecting your slick and creating a shiny glow as she pulled them out to show you.

“I think you’ve been lying to me, sweetheart, I think you like me killing in your favor.” She grinned when you struggled to come up with a response, only shaking your head no in hopes she’d believe it. But, truthfully, you didn’t believe your lie either.

“Every lie you tell me is only going to add to your already long list of punishments. So, tell me, did you like watching me slit his throat? Is that what made you this wet? Hm?” You gave in, accepting your fate as you succumbed to the feeling of her skin rubbing onto yours.

“Yes- I fucking loved it, Val.” She slapped the side of your ass and tsked in disapproval, causing shame to rise in your chest.

“Try again.” She hummed, letting a singular digit prod gently at your hole, teasing you with her soft nature that you knew would soon be replaced by something darker.

“I loved it, Daddy..” You muttered, nearly choking on your breath as she entered you. Before you could even think, a second finger joined, causing you to whimper loudly.

“Gotta stretch you out for my cock, baby.” She stated. “I fuck you every day yet you’re still so damn tight, such a dirty slut you are.” Came her spoken words followed by a deep, hungry groan.

“Just for you, I’m your slut.” You seemed to be chasing for her approval by now, blushing from every noise that left her hot mouth. You’ve always been such a good girl for her, that’s what she adored most about you.

“That’s right. Daddy’s little slut, maybe I should mark you with it so you know just who you belong to.” In an instant you were pushed to your knees, her legs kicking the back of yours and causing you to fall as she finally removed herself from your tight hole. She looked down at you with hunger before you turned to face her, pleading with your eyes only while she stroked your cheek, her slick-covered digits seeping into your mouth as you suckled on them gently.

“Aren’t you adorable?” You nuzzled your face against her crotch where her restricted hard-on poked you. She was teasing you, she knew that.

“You want Daddy’s cock? Yeah? Of course, you do, little bitch.” You lowered her minimal clothing when given permission and gasped when noticing a small wet spot where her pre-cum had leaked. You were practically dripping when she finally freed herself of the uncomfortable gear, sighing with satisfaction as you reached forward to pull down the boxers she adorned, freeing her length to the fresh air. You instantly wrapped your hand around it, letting your lips press against the head repeatedly until you dragged your tongue up and down the skin.

“Oh- fuck! Mhm, just like that, take it, baby.” She tangled her fingers in your hair and thrusted forward while pulling you even closer, chuckling at the sound of your gags bouncing off the walls. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let her take control, moving your palms to fondle her balls.

“This is all your fault, Y/N. If you weren’t so fucking perfect, maybe I wouldn’t have had to hurt him. Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn sexy, you wouldn’t have to be choking on my dick right now.” You didn’t want it any other way, this was truly heaven.

“I’m gonna cum down your throat- shit! You’re gonna swallow it all, right?” You nodded as best as you could with her still in your mouth, watching as she threw her head back before releasing her finish, her juices reaching your tastebuds instantly. She held you in place, forcing you to keep still and follow in on your promise. Droplets tended to dribble down your chin and to your neck, but you refused to let any go to waste.

She pulled out soon after, slapping her length against your face and smothering your skin in her release. You licked your lips and tasted the sweet nectar, eliciting a moan from deep in your chest.

“Get on all fours and face the mirror.” It wasn’t a request as much as it was a demand. In her eyes, you didn’t have a choice, you were to follow her lead and trust her every move, which you found yourself doing over the course of your relationship.

“Good girl, you listen so well.” She kneeled behind you and smacked your ass with force, causing you to wince as your body reacted with only a deeper amount of pleasure.

“Daddy-“ You were cut off with a moan, biting your lip to try and stifle the sound but she still heard.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Do it again…please?” She complied, repeating her action and admiring your ass jiggled in response. She left a kiss to the burning skin and you smiled when she didn’t stop, layering each inch of your body until she reached your hole once again. Her tongue drew circles on your swollen bud before dipping inside of you. Your hands balled into tight fists as you watched your reaction through the mirror, glancing back and forth at your girlfriend's already hardened cock. It was so easy to mess with her, she would fall for anything you did and would give you anything you wanted.

“Taste so good, so perfect.” Slurping sounds came from behind you until she was bringing you to the edge, your body already overstimulated from the previous actions.

Right as you were about to sink into your orgasm, she pulled away, lining her length up with your entrance and using your wetness as a form of lube. Your breath got caught in your throat at the intrusion while her eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of your walls clamping around her tip.

“That feel good? Hm? You like it when I stretch you out just for me?” You nodded while screaming out agreements, the fear of her guards hearing you not even seeming to register like usual as you just focused on her. On how she made you feel. On how she bombarded you with overwhelming excitement by just being her.

“You fit so well around me, it’s like you were made for me.” In her mind and soul, she knew it was true. The moment she met you she knew she had to have you as her own, you were made for her as she was for you. You were hers, every part of you belonged to her and she’d never let you believe otherwise. Either you’d spend your life with her or yours would come to a short, she wouldn’t be able to live knowing you were being loved by another.

“Yes! You fuck me s-so good, I need more, please!” Your breasts bounced with each thrust she sent, now being buried deep inside of you while her pelvis smacked against your backside, creating a loud clapping sound that echoed throughout the room.

“Can’t wait to fill you up with my cum, have you leaking just so I can fuck it back into you.” The image made you shudder, goosebumps traveling down your skin. Her fingers came to wrap around your hair as she yanked hard, her other hand finding place on your waist and holding onto you with a bruising grip.

“You close, princess?”

“Mhm, so close.” You whispered, tossing your head back even further until it laid on her shoulder. Her tits were rested against your back, her swollen nipples poking your skin in a teasing manner.

“Too bad.” You were meeting her thrusts as she continued to quicken, causing you to look sloppy and weak compared to her. Her bulging biceps made way to your vision, and you nearly came just from the sight.

“Please, Daddy, I can’t stop it-“ You were close to breaking her most important rule if she kept denying you. You tried your absolute best, but that’s all you could do.

“I wanna hear you beg for it.”

“I’ll do anything, please, just let me cum. I-l promise I’ll be good- ah! I’m sorry, I c- can’t hold back, Daddy.” She whispered a singular word into your ear and gazed into your eyes through the mirror, watching as your orgasm came crashing down over you. Suddenly, you felt warm liquid releasing deep inside of you, but you were too weak to fight it.

“No-“ Whimpers washed over you before you could push her away, your body becoming limp as your legs shook.

“I’m gonna get you pregnant, baby, that way you can never leave me again.” She licked her lips and caressed your breasts with her palms, tweaking your nipples until she had you crying out.

“Now you’ll be mine forever.”

She let you rest in the bed and when you awoke, you were greeted with nothing but silence. You assumed she was working once again, and instead of being sad, you used that to your advantage. Packing your limited amount of clothes and resources quickly into a bag you planned on leaving, escaping from her wrongful actions and beliefs, and starting a new life of your own, one that would be forced as hidden from the public.

You seemed to be able to sneak past most without them recognizing you or realizing something was wrong. Then, your engine roared as it started and you instantly took off. You hoped Valkyrie hadn’t put a chip in it with how protective she was, but you couldn’t care as you drove far away until you weren’t able to see the Asgardian City sign anymore.

You sighed in relief, thinking you were free. But you didn’t know what was going on back in the large building where your girlfriend sat, watching through the cameras she installed in her vehicle in case something like this ever happened. She smirked, already planning what she was going to do with you in her head.

“Guards,” She started, earning their full attention, “Give them some time to think their free. Then, kidnap them, mask and all. Hopefully, then they’ll see how much they need me to keep them safe.”

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V

There's one thing about winter. It ends. Always.

Every winter Peter has known, he's also known it to end.

Even in England, where cold and fog and that bitter tang in the air seem to linger on and on, till a single patch of blue sky brings a gasp of delight.

When Peter watches Edmund come down the grassy hill in the morning sunlight, there's something in his step, something in Ed’s eyes, a warmth, loose like an icy river gone liquid, flowing free again.

A brief glimpse, a flash of a thought, but Peter's holding onto it, that little patch of blue.

It's dim inside the Narnian tent, and it takes a moment for Peter's eyes to adjust. He can make out the lump of Ed’s shoulder under a rug in one of the hammocks, and he breathes out.

He thought he'd gotten used to them not looking at each other, them turning away from each other, until he had reached in desperation and found nothing, until he had looked around in panic and Edmund was nowhere to be seen.

He stands for longer than he would have two days ago, watching his brother sleep.

Except… his breathing isn't right, isn't slow enough, he sounds like he's trying to sleep, but can't, and Peter swallows hard.

He knows what he wants to do, knows what he would have done a year ago, but now…

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Dad used to say.

“Ed?” he whispers, takes the smallest step forward.

There's a little start from under the rug, a caught breath, a too-long pause before…

“Peter?”

Another step.

“Did you sleep?”

Peter's standing quite close to the low hammock now, he can see Ed’s pale face, turned toward him, though Ed’s looking down at the floor, but he suddenly, desperately doesn't want Ed to turn away. He's feeling his way in a dark room that he once knew by heart, but there's been an earthquake, so he doesn't know if any of the furniture is still in the same place or not, he doesn't know what might trip him up.

“Can't,” Edmund whispers. And then he shivers. Just a little.

Something balls up in Peter's throat, remembering the tiny figure of his brother silhouetted against the icy glow of that awful looking castle, before the enormous door shut behind him, and all manner of chills had run down Peter's spine, only to be met with the raging hot fire of his anger, because anger was easier than fear.

Peter sinks down on the cushions, making the hammock sag a little, and Ed falls a little toward him.

They both stop short of contact. Or at least Ed does. Peter glances down at his little brother's face, close by Peter's knee, finds Edmund looking back at him, the bruises and cuts diminished in this light, but still Peter can see the dark-blood split of his bottom lip, and something fills the dimness between them.

Words perhaps. Or thoughts? Maybe aching unspoken things. Or all the cutting things that had been said?

Something thick and suddenly cold, and Edmund looks away, and Peter can feel his shoulders start to slump, but then the flap at the door of the tent stirs. Only a warm breath of sweet grassy breeze enters, curls around Peter's ankles, and he can feel Ed’s warmth at his hip, even through the rug, even though they're not quite touching.

And he can say it.

“I'm sorry.”

His voice is louder than Edmund's whisper, and he stills at the echo. They both do.

Peter's thoughts aren't really words (I should have been a better brother. I was so beastly to you, and you could have gotten yourself killed, we all could have been killed, but you're not, you're here, you're alive, and I want to do better, I promise I'll do better...), but they all swell strong and warm in his chest, and he says quieter, softer, the humility of a king, “Can you forgive me, Ed?”

There's a little sound from Edmund, a choke, a gasp, smothered over, but Peter knows exactly what Ed trying not to cry sounds like, and he reaches out at last, hand to warm curve of shoulder, and Ed… breaks.

It's quiet, a sort of relief, Peter thinks. They don't really say anything more.

Ed curls around him, face pressed against Peter's thigh, Peter's hand rubbing his back, and it's warm, even the tears soaking Peter's pants, it's all warm and close, like high summer lying in the grass, like a soft spring rain passing through.

Peter doesn't try to pull away, until his brother's breathing deepens, and the shuddering has stopped, and he knows Ed is finally falling asleep.

He pulls the rug up a little, tucks it in around Ed’s shoulders.

Before he can rise though, there's a whisper.

“I forgive you, Pete.”

Peter smiles in the shadows, swallows hard.

“Thanks. Same to you.”

A deep, deep silence, before the question: “Really? Are you sure?”

The answer is easy, because it is true.

“Of course, Ed. Promise.”

For a moment he's worried Edmund will cry again, but there is only a sigh, as deep as the silence had been, and Peter can feel his brother go quite limp, all worn down and used up and spent, exposed and raw, and vulnerable in a tired, happy way.

He can't think of anything else to say, but he doesn’t leave. He doesn't pull away.

Neither of them do.

Peter keeps watch, and Edmund sleeps.

The brother's burden is light here, not even a burden, but a privilege.

Peter sits in the half-dark, and smiles.

Next

[mortenharkt]

[labyrynth]

i just wanna say for the record that shang qinghua absolutely wrote fanfic of his own work and didn’t even try to hide it.

like the account he publishes it on is called like “airplane shooting towards the sky 2” and his author’s notes are always like

“DISCLAIMER: i actually do own pidw (© me all rights reserved etc whatever) but this isn’t canon i just thought it would be funny as shit lol”

or like

“i was originally writing this for pidw but things got a lot gayer than planned. i didn’t want bingge to feel left out so i scrapped it ♪(´ε｀ ) this isn’t technically canon, but please know in your hearts that wives #365 and #404 are in love (also no smut in this ch sorry)”

or

“ahhhhhh mbj really is just too cool but he never gets to shine as much as i want him to *sobs* forgive me my king it’s the only way to keep you safe from bingge’s wives (´；ω；`)”

or just

“i got tired of writing about vaginas. vagina vagina vagina. give a girl a dick for once.

this chapter is dedicated to user “BingTits”, who commented on chapter 874 about wanting to see bingge’s tits put to more use. i hope this lives up to your expectations.”

or like if his system ever let him have access to his accts again (i’m imagining it’s been like a year or two of complete silence irl after finishing pidw)

“um…..sorry ive been gone for so long lol some stuff happened. internet is kinda spotty tho so don’t expect to see me around much after this

so this one actually IS canon, but it isn’t about bingge (he’s actually not alive yet lol), so i didn’t think it really fit in the main story. but i thought some of you might be interested, and cucumber says i should, so i’m putting it here for free (free bc i like…don’t need money anymore lol)

anyway this one is about bingge’s parents. i’m not gonna bother with a spoiler alert bc obviously it doesn’t end well for them or luo binghe wouldn’t have ended up in the icy luo river. i haven’t retconned anything.

i have another one about shen qingqiu and yue qingyuan (kudos to those of you who picked up on their Whole Thing) but i don’t think y’all are ready for that. i might post if if enough people seem interested, though ƪ( ˊ̱˂˃ˋ̱ )ʃ

anyway enjoy”

[thelustybraavosimaid]

"Do dead men dream?" Bran asked, thinking of his father. In the dark crypts below Winterfell, a stonemason was chiseling out his father's likeness in granite. (Bran I, ACoK)

--

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness.

On the one hand, this could be a sign of his subconscious fucking with him, as Jon was always made to feel like an outsider in his own home. But this made me think...what if they're rejecting him specifically because he is not dead yet? What if the crypts serve as an in-between of the living and the dead for the Starks, as a threshold for crossing over?

"Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark... (Jon VIII, ASoS)

He's calling for Bran and Rickon because he thinks they're dead. They're not answering him because they're not there.

No one else is answering him because they are already at the feast (indeterminate for Benjen).

Robb/Grey Wind are on their way to the feast, up the way through the crypts to the Great Hall, encountered Jon on his way down and stop him from progressing any further...because he is not dead.

The feast upstairs in the Great Hall with the thunderous drums is for the dead only (if you've played Skyrim, like Sovngarde, or in general, as Valhalla).

This is confirmed in a chapter:

"I don't even dream of Ghost anymore. All my dreams are of the crypts, of the stone kings on their thrones. Sometimes I hear Robb's voice, and my father's, as if they were at a feast. But there's a wall between us, and I know that no place has been set for me."

The living have no place at the feasts of the dead. It tore the heart from Sam to hold his silence then. Bran's not dead, Jon, he wanted to stay. He's with friends, and they're going north on a giant elk to find a three-eyed crow in the depths of the haunted forest. (Samwell IV, ASoS)

Jon has a constant occurrence of dreaming of the crypts (which I believe is an off-handed implication that Jon was always meant to die prematurely) and the cycle of crypt-dreams will end and complete once he dies.

He is certainly dead, as is foreshadowed in Varamyr Sixskins' prologue for ADwD:

True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake.

Jon mentioned to Val:

She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." (Jon VIII, ADwD)

...and then there is this in the aftermath of the Ides of Marsh moment:

Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold… (Jon XIII, ADwD)

--

"I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad."

"And why was that?" Luwin peered through his tube.

"It was something to do about Jon, I think." The dream had been deeply disturbing, more so than any of the other crow dreams. (Bran VII, AGoT)

Jon will be able to talk with Ned once he is dead.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Jon VIII (Chapter 64)

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. "Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . . .

[...]

Was he dead as well, was that what his dream had meant, the bloody wolf in the crypts? But the wolf in the dream had been grey, not white. Grey, like Bran's wolf. Had the Thenns hunted him down and killed him after Queenscrown? If so, Bran was lost to him for good and all.

Lots to unpack here, and I'm so not the person to do it. Here's some pointless observations instead:

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones.

He's limping, and has a crutch. I'm reminded of Jaime's dream in AFFC.

"This is a dream."

"Is it?" She smiled sadly. "Count your hands, child."

One. One hand, clasped tight around the sword hilt. Only one. "In my dreams I always have two hands." - Jaime VII, AFFC

Is it a dream?

You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness.

More Jaime Lannister.

"What place is this?"

"Your place." The voice echoed; it was a hundred voices, a thousand, the voices of all the Lannisters since Lann the Clever, who'd lived at the dawn of days. - Jaime VI, ASOS

Jaime's place is the bowels of Casterly Rock, while Jon doesn't belong in the crypts. Things that make you go hmmm.

Jon can't help walking deeper towards that darkness anyway. Grr.

You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness.

This is a recurring dream for Jon, but in this version the stone kings are rejecting him.

The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream. - Jon IV, AGOT

There is no place for you here. Go away.

Later in this chatper, Jon will think these same thoughts about the wildlings. We already know there is a place for the wildlings at the Wall.

"Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me."

Bran and Rickon aren't dead, and his biological father isn't in those crypts. Is that why they're not answering? Is this telling us something about Benjen?

But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . . . [...] But the wolf in the dream had been grey, not white. Grey, like Bran's wolf.

Jon's first hint that Robb and Grey Wind are dead.

Amusing little reversal happening here too. At Queenscrown he thought Summer was Grey Wind, and now he's mistaking Grey Wind for Summer. Kings on kings on kings!

In conclusion, this dream is about dying. But also it's about R + L = J. But also it's about Jon struggling with his identity, and yearning to be a Stark. But also it's about Jon becoming King. But also it's about Jon feeling isolated, and undeserving. But also it's about Robb being dead. But also it's about dreams and reality blending together. But also it's abo-

+.+.+

Even beneath the furs, he was cold. Ghost had shared his cell before the ranging, warming it against the chill of night. And in the wild, Ygritte had slept beside him. Both gone now. He had burned Ygritte himself, as he knew she would have wanted, and Ghost . . . Where are you?

A measly sentence dedicated to the thought of burning her, with no other reflection.

Game of Thrones went in another direction.

+.+.+

And now the wildlings answered, not with one horn but with a dozen, and with drums and pipes as well. We are come, they seemed to say, we are come to break your Wall, to take your lands and steal your daughters. 

What do you care about daughters who can't defend themselves?

+.+.+

Were there twenty or twenty thousand? In the dark there was no way to tell. This is a battle of blind men, but Mance has a few thousand more of them than we do.

Oh no. Lol.

+.+.+

The Wall was too big to be stormed by any conventional means; too high for ladders or siege towers, too thick for battering rams. No catapult could throw a stone large enough to breach it, and if you tried to set it on fire, the icemelt would quench the flames. You could climb over, as the raiders did near Greyguard, but only if you were strong and fit and sure-handed, and even then you might end up like Jarl, impaled on a tree. They must take the gate, or they cannot pass.

So you're saying Bran will have to use an unconventional method?

+.+.+

Yet still the drums beat on, the trebuchets shuddered and thumped, and the sound of skinpipes came wafting through the night like the songs of strange fierce birds. Septon Cellador began to sing as well, his voice tremulous and thick with wine.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

save our sons from war, we pray,

stay the swords and stay the arrows,

let them know . . .

I would love to ask an anti why this is showing up in a Jon chapter. For funsies? Just cause? Is that what the author does?

"Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy - Sansa VII, ACOK

Credit to @minitafan for the beauty find.

+.+.+

 "Jon, you have the Wall till I return."

For a moment Jon thought he had misheard. It had sounded as if Noye were leaving him in command. "My lord?"

"Lord? I'm a blacksmith. I said, the Wall is yours."

There are older men, Jon wanted to say, better men. I am still as green as summer grass. I'm wounded, and I stand accused of desertion. His mouth had gone bone dry. "Aye," he managed.

[...]

The Wall is mine, Jon reminded himself whenever he felt his strength flagging.

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

"I am your husband. You can take off your armor now." - Sansa III, ASOS

The Wall is yours, Jon!

We all know this becomes a bit of a mantra for him. It reminds me of Sansa drawing strength from Winterfell.

+.+.+

He sent men to the smaller catapults and filled the air with jagged rocks the size of a giant's fist, but the darkness swallowed them as a man might swallow a handful of nuts.

I have no comment, there's just lots of fun words here.

+.+.+

The wind blew cold and colder. 

The text keeps highlighting it's getting colder and colder, underscoring the real issue.

+.+.+

Hobb rode up the chain with cups of onion broth, and Owen and Clydas served them to the archers where they stood, so they could gulp them down between arrows.

Onion is coming!

+.+.+

We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three.

This isn't foreshadowing. This is be careful what you wish for.

A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. - Davos I, ACOK

Like that. It has a distinct feel.

Lucky for us, someone will offer him some clarity.

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX, ADWD

+.+.+

When morning came, none of them quite realized it at first. The world was still dark, but the black had turned to grey and shapes were beginning to emerge half-seen from the gloom. Jon lowered his bow to stare at the mass of heavy clouds that covered the eastern sky. He could see a glow behind them, but perhaps he was only dreaming.

Heavy clouds turning black to grey reminds us of a previous Sansa moment.

+.+.+

This is not your land, Jon wanted to shout at them. There is no place for you here. Go away. 

Are you sure?

+.+.+

He could feel the despair all around him. "There must be a hundred thousand," Satin wailed. "How can we stop so many?"

"The Wall will stop them," Jon heard himself say. He turned and said it again, louder. "The Wall will stop them. The Wall defends itself." Hollow words, but he needed to say them, almost as much as his brothers needed to hear them. "Mance wants to unman us with his numbers. Does he think we're stupid?" He was shouting now, his leg forgotten, and every man was listening. "The chariots, the horsemen, all those fools on foot . . . what are they going to do to us up here? Any of you ever see a mammoth climb a wall?" He laughed, and Pyp and Owen and half a dozen more laughed with him. "They're nothing, they're less use than our straw brothers here, they can't reach us, they can't hurt us, and they don't frighten us, do they?"

"NO!" Grenn shouted.

"They're down there and we're up here," Jon said, "and so long as we hold the gate they cannot pass. They cannot pass!" They were all shouting then, roaring his own words back at him, waving swords and longbows in the air as their cheeks flushed red. Jon saw Kegs standing there with a warhorn slung beneath his arm. "Brother," he told him, "sound for battle."

He has a lord's voice, Jon thought. His father had always said that in battle a captain's lungs were as important as his sword arm. "It does not matter how brave or brilliant a man is, if his commands cannot be heard," Lord Eddard told his sons, so Robb and he used to climb the towers of Winterfell to shout at each other across the yard. - Jon VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon laughed, laughed like a drunk or a madman, and his men laughed with him. 

Am I crazy or is he sounding like a king? :)

Barristan Selmy could not dispute the truth of that. He had spent the best part of his own life obeying the commands of drunkards and madmen. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

+.+.+

They were so small he could have crushed them all in one hand, it seemed. If only my hand was big enough.

Tone that down, Daenerys.

(He does.)

+.+.+

A line of fires burned along the top of the Wall, contained in iron baskets on poles taller than a man. The cold knife of the wind stirred and swirled the flames, so the lurid orange light was always shifting. 

x

They heard a deep bass trumpeting, and a giant roared something in the Old Tongue, his voice an ancient thunder that sent shivers up Jon's spine.

x

Tongues of pale yellow fire swirled around the jars as they plunged downward. 

x

The fury of the wild, Jon thought as he listened to the skirl of skins, to the dogs barking and baying, the mammoths trumpeting, the free folk whistling and screaming, the giants roaring in the Old Tongue. Their drums echoed off the ice like rolling thunder.

x

The black arrows hissed downward, like snakes on feathered wings.

x

"Got him!" Satin shouted, his head sticking out so far that Jon was certain he was about to fall. "Got him, got him, GOT him!" He could hear the roar of fire. A flaming giant lurched into view, stumbling and rolling on the ground.

More fun with language!

+.+.+

The drums had all gone silent. How do you like that music, Mance? How do you like the taste of the Dornishman's wife?

You can feel how personal this is for him. I blame Ygritte.

+.+.+

"Ask me when I've seen the gate," 

[...]

The door swung open. Pyp led them in, followed by Clydas and the lantern. It was all Jon could do to keep up with Maester Aemon. The ice pressed close around them, and he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the weight of the Wall above his head. It felt like walking down the gullet of an ice dragon. 

Love when dragons get the mouth treatment.

+.+.+

The last twenty feet of the tunnel was where they'd fought and died. The outer door of studded oak had been hacked and broken and finally torn off its hinges, and one of the giants had crawled in through the splinters. The lantern bathed the grisly scene in a sullen reddish light. Pyp turned aside to retch, and Jon found himself envying Maester Aemon his blindness.

Noye and his men had been waiting within, behind a gate of heavy iron bars like the two Pyp had just unlocked. The two crossbows had gotten off a dozen quarrels as the giant struggled toward them. Then the spearmen must have come to the fore, stabbing through the bars. Still the giant found the strength to reach through, twist the head off Spotted Pate, seize the iron gate, and wrench the bars apart. Links of broken chain lay strewn across the floor. One giant. All this was the work of one giant.

"Are they all dead?" Maester Aemon asked softly.

"Yes. Donal was the last." Noye's sword was sunk deep in the giant's throat, halfway to the hilt. The armorer had always seemed such a big man to Jon, but locked in the giant's massive arms he looked almost like a child. "The giant crushed his spine. I don't know who died first." He took the lantern and moved forward for a better look. "Mag." I am the last of the giants. He could feel the sadness there, but he had no time for sadness. "It was Mag the Mighty. The king of the giants."

Jon found himself envying Maester Aemon his blindness.

Twice? Really? Lol. Be careful what you wish for!

Sharing all of this, because once again a one-armed armorer is the hero of the day. There's no superheroes to be found in this story... or strangely ferocious little girls from House Mormont.

Side note, I understand the nature of war, but god damn Mance sent a lot of giants and mammoths to their deaths. Like dude, you couldn't sacrifice Joe Wildling instead? That's an endangered population!

+.+.+

He looked up at where they'd come from. When you stand here it seems immense, as if it were about to crush you.

Crushing.

The ice pressed close around them, and he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the weight of the Wall above his head.

Back to Jaime Lannister. These same thoughts were echoed about Casterly Rock in one of his dreams.

The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. - Jaime VI, ASOS

Crushing.

+.+.+

"You give the order, then," Jon told the maester. "You have been on the Wall your whole life, the men will follow you. We have to close the gate."

"I am a maester chained and sworn. My order serves, Jon. We give counsel, not commands."

"Someone must—"

"You. You must lead."

"No."

"Yes, Jon. It need not be for long. Only until such time as the garrison returns. Donal chose you, and Qhorin Halfhand before him. Lord Commander Mormont made you his steward. You are a son of Winterfell, a nephew of Benjen Stark. It must be you or no one. The Wall is yours, Jon Snow."

A son of Winterfell, and a nephew of Benjen Stark. I see no lies there.

We start the chapter with a bunch of dead stone kings rejecting Jon in his nightmares. We end it with Aemon Targaryen reassuring him.

Funny it's a Targaryen reminding him who he is. I suspect Rhaegar and Daenerys might have that same effect on him, hahahahaha.

Final thoughts:

I'm experiencing Jon battle fatigue.

-> return to menu <-

[wood-white-writer]

“In the Land of the Blind” [Chapter III]

“In the Land of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King”

Pairing: Silco x Doctor Toxicologist!Reader

Summary: Silco's POV & Reader's POV TW: Underage usage of medicine (nothing forced) A/N: Sorry if there are any grammatical errors of any kind. I've been hella sick these last few days so my brain is a little stuck in the clouds. I'll edit later. For now, I hope you enjoy <3

Read the AO3 version here | > Chapter IV

“I already know what those are, Silco,” Jinx gripes exasperatedly as Silco hands her one of the pills from the jar, looking every bit as suspicious as he usually does, if not a tad more. “They’re not that bad,”

“Forgive me if I like to be a little cautious about giving pills to a young child,” he adds with a twinge of sarcasm.

“I’m not that young. I’m almost ten!” She huffs and puffs out her chest a bit to appear bigger, although she still stands inconsequentially small in comparison to him. An endearing feat, but ultimately meaningless. “Besides, if you were that worried, we wouldn’t have gone to her in the first place,” she points out. “I know all about those things. What they’re doing and how I’m going to feel. They taste like shit, though,”

“Language,” he chides. “I’m starting to think you’re spending too much time around Sevika,”

The dark look in her eyes simmers hotter and hotter by the second. Jinx has never made her distaste for Sevika subtle, and though he isn’t necessarily thrilled about it, he would rather know of it than be ignorant and suffer the consequences of it if she chooses to go about her own way of dealing with his right-hand woman.

Silco considers the green and white with a sharp glare before begrudgingly handing it to the girl, followed by a glass of water. “And you’re certain it’s the same kind as you’ve used before?”

“Yep!” She replies with a prominent ‘pop’ at the end to accentuate the word. “It really helps whenever I’m feeling … You know, weird.”

The way her face morphs into a disheartened countenance does not evade his notice, and he places a hand on top of her head that vaguely resembles something he’s experienced in the past, though he can’t be certain. It’s a gesture of warmth and comfort, the kind only a parental figure can provide. He’s never given his own parents – whoever they were – much thought, since they didn’t live long enough for him to establish consisted memories of them, but he likes to believe that this is something a passable guardian would do.

She doesn’t seem to mind, anyhow, and leans into his touch like it’s an oasis in a desert. She truly is the embodiment of why he’ll keep fighting for the cause of Zaun. He’s witnessed her episodes at alarming frequency nowadays, and although he’s tried his best to remedy them, his efforts have ultimately been in vain. It’s begun to affect her both physically and mentally, with a lack of sleep and a loss in appetite to accompany. 

That’s when he grudgingly decided that he needed someone else’s help for this, if not Singed, then someone else.

“There’s nothing remotely weird about having emotions, child,” he says in a way that he hopes can convey some level of comfort. “We all struggle to keep them in check at times,”

She shoves herself slightly out of his hold. “Not you, though. You’re always calm!”

He chuckles velvety at her allegation. “I have to act the part, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have my weird moments as well on occasion,”

He revels in the fact that he manages to make her smile, if only a little. Jinx then gives the pill a quick look before popping it into her mouth. She grimaces for a few seconds, looking every bit as appalled as he imagined she would be before chucking back a good portion of water to ease the process. Once she’s finished, Silco gives her an expectant look.

“Well?” he asks.

“Well, what?”

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s only been a couple of seconds.” She points a finger at him. “It usually takes a short while before I feel anything,”

“The doctor claimed it’s supposed to have a quick effect on children,”

She scowls, but her left eyelid drops slightly. “I already told you, I’m almost ten,”

His lips quirk slightly upwards in amusement, but he can already tell that she’s becoming tired. Quick effect, indeed. “We won’t ever use this medicine unless you want to. They’re only in case you feel …” he tries to find a substitute for the W-word.

Jinx comes to his rescue with a yawn. “Weird?”

“Your word, not mine,”

She laughs briefly, but drops back against the couch, already looking prepared to sleep. “I know, but they’ll help me until I get better,”

He reaches for his overcoat by the edge of the couch and drapes it over her. “You don’t have to get better from anything. This is just temporary, and I’ll discuss more with the doctor on a later note if you’re feeling better,”

She suddenly perks up, if only a little. “You know, she doesn’t like to be called that,”

Silco tilts his head the fraction of an inch. “Doesn’t like to be called what?”

“Doctor.” She stifles another yawn as she rolls down to the side, nestled comfortably with the coat over her. “She’s always preferred being called that Toxi-thing instead,”

“Toxicologist, you mean?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Odd name,”

“I see, she mentioned that.” He gets up to his feet and makes his way over to his desk. “Then, I’ll be sure not to repeat that mistake,”

“Good, or she’ll threaten to poison you,” Jinx murmurs before succumbing to sleep. 

---

“Holy shit, you’re kiddin’!”

“I’m not,”

“Yer’ seriously telling me that yer’ workin’ for Silco now? As in, the Eye of Zaun ‘imself, the Kingpin of the Lanes, Silco Silco?!”

“Do I need to get you a hearing aid or are you naturally just that slow?”

“Hey, don’ give me that attitude! Just lookin’ out for you, tha’s all,”

“I’d rather you didn’t,”

You take a deep drag from the cigarette before handing it over to Jarenth, who’s inhale almost threatens to finish the whole thing in one go. The two of you are seated in the back alleyway behind your shop, hidden from public view in the way that only the alleyways can provide. Jarenth is a pain in the ass, but he’s about one of the few people in your life who comes close to being a friend. His father used to handle the shipments when your old man was still around and occasionally brought his son along to teach him the reins. He was a slow learner, but he learnt. 

Time went on, and eventually Jarenth took up the mantle and has served like a thorn in your side ever since. He handles your shipments, offers some half-assed advice whenever the opportunity shows itself, and every in-between, you share a drink or a smoke together to get a break from the ruckus that otherwise plague your everyday lives. It’s a quiet – pleasant – tradition you established after the incident with the bridge all those years ago, and it’s still going on.

Jarenth flicks the burnt edges of the cigarette to the ground, but doesn’t hand it back. “So, what’s a guy like him need help with anyway? Isn’t he the most powerful man in the Undercity and all that?”

“You would think so,” you shrug noncommittal with one shoulder. “But I can’t risk enclosing that with you,”

The faux look of disappointment in his eyes is almost laughable. “C’mon, doll! We’ve been friends since we we’re kids! Surely you can make an exception for ‘yer trusted, ‘ol shipmenter,”

“That’s not even a real word,”

“Sure it is! I invented it!”

“All the more reason to take everything you say with a grain of salt,”

He blows you a raspberry, to which you roll your eyes. Then he finishes what little remains of the cigarette and stumps it under his boot before getting up from his crouching position to dust off his clothes. “In all seriousness, though, I’m surprised he’d come to you and not that other scientist-y guy he already has workin’ for him,”

You quirk an eyebrow. “He did mention he already had someone on the sides for that, but apparently, he didn’t want to go to him.” You deliberately leave out the fact that it’s not, in fact, Silco himself who doesn’t want to go to him. 

Jarenth scoffs and drags a hand through his chipped, red hair. “Yeah, not even I can blame the guy for that. The doctor’s a real piece of work, I’ll tell you that,”

“I take it you know who it is, then?” 

He grins. “’Ye hear a lot of things passin’ ‘round with the way I do,”

“Mind indulging me then about the identity of this enigmatic scientist, then?”

He taps his chin with deliberate thoughtfulness, adding a contemplative hmmm to match. He then proceeds to grin rather devilishly as to indicate that he got something sinister in mind. “Guess I can loosen my tongue for a little quid pro quo, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

You sigh. “What the fuck do you want, Jarenth?”

“Tell me a little more about your … Excursions with the big Eye, and I’ll give you the name,”

Your answer is quick and firm. 

“No.”

He pouts. “C’mon, just a little crumb?”

“Telling you that I’m working for Silco alone is enough to get you killed, you know that, right?” You point out. “Surely you value your life a little bit – however miniscule it is sometimes?”

He crosses his arms and turns his head the opposite way of the alley, much like a child would after having been chastised by their parent for doing something wrong. “Fine, be like that,”

“I’ll give you a cigarette?”

And like that, he promptly snaps his head back at you with a look of utter adoration. “Deal!”

You barely have time to pull the thing out of its container before it’s snatched out of your hold and firmly tucked between Jarenth’s lips. You pretend not to be irked by the rude gesture and speak nothing of it. Fortunately, he has a lighter of his own, and once he lights it, he takes a deep breath and looks the most content you’ve ever seen him since the last cigarette he snatched from you. God, the lungs of that man are probably so ashen that not even a Piltie X-ray machine would be able to look at them. 

Not that you’re in any position to talk.

“So, what’s the guy’s name?” you finally decide to ask as a comfortable silence settles between you.

“Oh, right.” He briefly pulls the cigarette out. “I think his name was … Syric? No, give me a second,”

The glare you aim at him could probably melt steele. “I gave you one of my priced smokes, and you’re just telling me now that you can’t even remember the damn guy’s name?”

“Hold on, I have it somewhere back here.” He points to his head where that small, nut-sized organ called a brain probably resides. “Silver? No … That’s no–” Suddenly, like a light, his expression morphs into pure euphoria. “Singed! That’s the fucker! I remember now!”

You like to believe that there are few things in life that have the uncanny ability to unnerve you, after everything you’ve witnessed and experienced. However, upon hearing that name, it echoes back and forth between the walls of your skull and leaves a metallic aftertaste on the tip of your tongue that almost makes the hairs across the nape of your neck stand up. “Singed?” The lack of change in your tone successfully conceals just how ill you’re starting to feel. “You’re sure?”

Jarenth nods a little to quickly for you to register. “Yeah. Creepy guy, no one around here really likes ‘im.” He glances curiously over at you. “Why? Know him?”

Now, you wouldn’t particularly say that you knew him, as in you shared a history with him. When you were younger, however, the man himself – thin, gaunt and disheveled as he was – made an appearance at your shop while your father was still around to do the heavy lifting. The scientist was apparently looking for an apprentice of sorts, and when he discovered your penchant for the occupation and general chemistry, he suggested that you become it.

It was something you, at the time, could’ve gladly accepted. In response to that, your father, on the other hand, ushed you away and all but threatened to throw the scientist out with all of his bones misplaced at the wrong angles. As it turned out, the scientist didn’t have a good reputation to precede him, and with time, it only went downhill from there. His name became hushed and taboo like whispers on the street, and some even used him as a Boogeyman figure to keep their children from misbehaving. 

“Don’t do anything bad or the Singed Man will come for your eyes,” or something like that.

You never saw him after that, but you can’t imagine that time’s been generous towards him. It usually never is.

“We’ve met, once,” is all you supply with before turning to head back into the shop. “See you later, Jarenth. Keep me posted on anything new,”

“Will do,” he replies with a short-lived wave of his free hand. “Try not to get killed, and give Silco a kiss on that shiny eye of his from me, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, Jarenth,”

[johnnysnostril]

nct 127 as royals [18+]

♔ kingdoms + empires ♖

this has got to be one of my favorite scenarios so far. ive put together a little something for the people who are obsessed with the royal + medieval times. let me know which kingdom or empire you’re in! enjoy, xoxo 

empire of

❅ ELPIDA ❅

colors: yellow + gold

moto: “be delicate like a flower, hopeful like an angel.”

your position: the page ☾❀|❀☽

cares for the royal clothing

assist with dressing the royals

pick out ball gowns and attire for royal dances/weddings

emperor taeyong’s trustee: <<doyoung>>

shields you from witnessing illegal matters

protects you from unexpected dangers

accompanies you to royal fittings

his secret: you are his mistress. he comes to you whenever he’s feeling vulnerable and weak. you’ve been sleeping with the emperor for a few months now and you’re starting to fall in love with him. you want to admit your feelings to him but you know that he’ll never leave the empress just for a page.

sexual desire: <<blindfolding/handcuffing>>

look at you- tied up and blinded. now, i can explore your body without interruptions.

empire of

✤ IRIS ✤

colors: emerald green + white

moto: “listen to the gods- they will never lead you wrong.”

your position: the physician ☤

in charge of the royals health

partake in surgical procedures

assist in healing the wounded knights

emperor taeil’s trustee: <<taeyong>>

supplies you with out of country medicine

shows you how to make potions

provides you with illegal knives to perform difficult surgeries

his secret: emperor taeil is planning on poisoning the empress. with your help, along with his trustee- he is ending his arranged marriage, that he never wanted to be apart of. with her gullible attitude, the empress believes you are no harm. little does she know, that you are the one who will witness her last breath.

sexual desire: <<submission>>

tell daddy how much you love it when he makes you feel helpless.

empire of

ᕯ IPHIOS ᕯ

colors: cream + brown

moto: “show no mercy, show no fear.”

your position: the squire ⚘

apprentice to the knights

witnesses training for battles

eyes and ears of the empire

emperor johnny’s trustee: <<jaehyun>>

teaches you secret death pressure points

reveals all hidden secrets of the knights

shows you secret passage ways through the castle

his secret: he’s cheating on the empress with a queen from another kingdom. somehow, you ended up being his second mistress- landing the position of the squire, by promising to protect his secret from the knights- who are ordered to kill the queen mistress per the empress. although the empress has knowledge of emperor johnny cheating on her, she had no idea about you. and you and emperor johnny will keep it that way.

sexual desire: <<master/slave>>

you follow directions so well, don’t you? master will have his way with you and you’ll behave- like a good little slave, won’t you?

kingdom of

❈ THPHIC ❈

colors: peach + silver

moto: “all that is gold, shall be silver.”

your position: the watchman ✇

watches over the castle

report suspicious behavior

create safety tactics

king yuta’s trustee: <<jungwoo>>

supplies you with foreign bombs

helps you plan stakeouts

provides you with secret information about other kingdoms

his secret: his mother was a servant to his royal father. his blood is not complete royalty. you and jungwoo are the only ones who know his secret- the two of you protect it with your lives. every now and then, you and king yuta will sleep together- as a thank you for keeping his secret.

sexual desire: <<public sex>>

and while everyone is watching, you’d be screaming my name- begging me for more.

kingdom of

✵CHARMOLIPIL ✵

colors: black + burgundy

moto: “never let them see your weak side- show them what they will fear.”

your position: the messenger ∺

relays messages from the king to other kingdoms

witness court trials

bring threatening news to the knights attention

king doyoung’s trustee: <<taeil>>

provides you with weapons that you aren’t licensed to have

helps you falsify information to threaten other kingdoms

supplies you with poison potions

his secret: you witnessed him kill his father so he could take over the kingdom. king doyoung has demanded you be the messenger, running to other kingdoms to let them know that the king is finally dead. he uses you as his secret weapon- having secret late night meeting with you, informing you of your weekly work. as these meeting progress through the months, you start to slowly fall in love with him- letting him know that you’ll do anything to keep his secret and to cover him. the king is slowly catching feelings for you but won’t show his true feelings just yet.

sexual desire: <<threesomes>>

the both of you look so wonderful on your knees. now, please me.

empire of

✾ HALARA ✾

colors: royal blue + plum

moto: “wait for the perfect time, then attack.”

your position: the treasurer ∞

in charge of tax collecting

tracking debit with other empires

monitors the state of the empire

emperor jaehyun’s trustee: <<mark>>

helps you hide stolen money

forges numbers for the books

providing transportation and housing for your escape

his secret: you and emperor jaehyun have been stealing money from the empire. the two of you have convinced the empress that there is a traitor among the castle. emperor jaehyun has planned the escape for the both of you- leaving the empire behind for the empress, as he has fallen deeply in love with you. 

sexual desire: <<erotic spanking/servant play>>

ah- you’ve disobeyed me again, servant. bend over, you know what time it is.

kingdom of

❂ CHRYSEOS ❂

colors: red + violet

moto: “stay gold, always.”

your position: the marshal 〶

ensures that the kingdoms laws are enforced

responsible for securing the kingdoms boarders

organizes patrol and responds to threats

king jungwoo’s trustee: <<haechan>>

protects your illegal work regarding protection of the king

assists you with hiring hitmen for the ones who threaten the king

provides you with handguns/weapons for the knights

his secret: you and king jungwoo have been legally married in another country, for five years. the queen has no idea that she is technically a mistress. you plan to hire a hitman to take out the queen, robbing her of her jewls and kidnap the king- to live your life in your home country; where no one knows of your work with the king. 

sexual desire: <<roleplay>>

you look exquisite in royal clothing, my dear. what would be even more delicious, is you bent over the queens royal chair.

empire of

✥ MERAKI ✥

colors: gold + black

moto: “take everything, forgive no one and leave no trace.”

your position: the spymaster ⌖

observes the empires criminal elements

spies on other kingdoms+empires

uses collected information to protect the king

emperor mark’s trustee: <<yuta>>

supplies you with illegal torture devices

provides you with secret maps to other kingdoms+empires to break into their castles

helps you protect the king

his secret: you are his long lost love. as he was promised to another female at birth, he fell in love with you as a young man. you were brought into the castle by his father who was the emperor, as an orphan child of a passing village. before the emperor’s passing, you promised to watch after the castle and his reigning son. every now and then, you and emperor mark find yourselves in deep love with each other, but you can’t bring yourself to destroy the lee empire with your own desire.

sexual desire: <<face sitting>>

you’d look even more beautiful, straddling my face. i bet that you wouldn’t be able to ride my tongue without making a sound. 

kingdom of

۞ AGAPI ۞

colors: baby blue + gray

moto: “everything in the world is about sex, except sex. sex is about power.”

your role in the castle: the steward ❦

in charge of daily management and supplies needs for the castle and the king

responsible for financial and legal matters concerning the castles estates

represents the king in court, while he is away

king haechan’s trustee: <<johnny>>

covers up your mistakes

protects you from unwanted information being released

prints money illegally and uses it to help you pay for supplies

his secret: king haechan is planning to have the queen assassinated so you can fill her role once she is gone. johnny is the only person who knows that you and the king are sleeping together. although king haechan doesn’t know just yet, you are pregnant with his son-

sexual desire: <<domination and rough sex>>

no one will be able to hear you cry out in this dungeon, my love. but, i do think you need something to occupy that throat of yours.

[clairecrive]

hi i know your requests are closed but could you do headcanons about how it would be to work through almost getting a divorce with nikolai lantsov after kind of falling out of love then deciding not to and working on getting their relationship back to how it was before because that unbreakable love for each other is still there and its noticeable. ive always wanted to read abt this and im asking this request from a number of writers cos i find it so cool to read everyone write their take on it.

cant wait to see what you come up with! thank you<3

A/n: taking a lil break from studying to write this. btw, hc take me less time to write so if you have more you can always send them in and I'll do my best to answer.

(tags are at the end)

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

okay so, the idea of letting Nikolai go is absurd to me. However, I can see how there could be some strains in a relationship with him.

if we remain in a canon situation, I'd say that the biggest thing that could come between you two up to the point of almost divorce is his ambition and dedication to Ravka

Nikolai is a strategist and the thing he wants more is seeing Ravka free and thriving and he'd do anything to make that a reality

so, he'd be plenty busy

busy to the point that you'd go months without seeing him

whether he's in Ravka working on his projects with David and Nadia or he's in another country on a diplomatic visit

of course, he has invented flying ships and all but those kinds of journeys still are long and tiring

however, since you are in the picture, I'd like to believe that Nikolai would try to find a balance between his country and his love

if not simply for the fact that he loves you and he loves being with you

if he's married you, there's a reason. right?

so, I feel like whenever he's back from a long trip away he'd take some time to spend it with you. First days in between the sheets and then doing some of your favourite things together.

just to spend some quality time with you

that's until he slips away more and more to take care of something

at first, it's a couple of hours before dinner

then he misses dinner entirely but spends the afternoon together

then only mornings together

until it comes the time you wake up and his side of the bed is cold

of course, you were aware of the life he led

his ambition and dedication were two of the things you loved most about him

but you missed him

he was gone so much that it didn't feel like a relationship anymore

it seemed like a free trial for widowhood

you had confronted him about this

many times

but he was still the King of Ravka and he had responsibilities he couldn't forfeit

and despite his best intentions, it seemed that they didn't match with his marriage

and you understood that. his role and the many things he had to take care of. really.

but you were tired of being alone a feeling unimportant

so, one day you decided to wait for him. Nikolai was the first to wake up and the last to fall asleep.

but that night, you waited for him. sat in your bed, hoping he'd come too late

when he did step into your room, he was surprised to see you awake. at first, he was delighted. he missed you too and the idea of being able to spend some time with you brought him endless joy

however, he soon noticed the expression on your face, your arms crossed on your chest and he understood that whatever reason had made you wait for him, wasn't anything good.

as much as it broke your heart to say the words, you told him what you had been thinking about for months now.

"this marriage is not working out for me anymore."

Nikolai's heart broke. truly shattered at your words.

he knew he'd be walking on a fine line and it was only a matter of time before you'd snapped again

but he never thought it'd come to this

divorce

what a wretched word

Nikolai hated it. he hated the fact that he had been such a shitty husband that you now wanted to have nothing to do with him

he tried to change your mind, promised that he'd do better, that he loved you and you were his whole heart even though he'd done a shitty job to show you.

but you knew that despite his words were genuine, his promises were empty.

and you were simply done. you couldn't take any more of this.

when he understood that he had pushed you too far, Nikolai relented. He accepted your decision and told you that he'd take care of it.

in the meantime, you went away.

there was no reason for you to stay. you were alone anyway so staying just to sleep in the same bed as he felt ridiculous

the time apart was agonizing for both of you. unironically, knowing that he was just a few feet away made it easier for you to bear the loneliness. And Nikolai?

Well, he had forgotten how to function. The absence of your presence affected him more than he would have thought. To the point where he could only think of you and how he couldn't lose you. The divorce wasn't official yet and he was already miserable.

So he took some time off and he joined you.

Again, he asked for forgiveness. pleaded for you to give him a second chance and if not, to at least allowed him to spend the days before signing the papers together.

and you agreed. you agreed because you had missed him so much. because you still loved him.

those remaining days were spent in utter denial. neither of you acknowledged the truth of your situation but unspokenly decided to make the most of it.

and saints, it did nothing but remember why you had fallen in love with each other and decided to spend the rest of your lives together in the first place.

when the time was almost up, neither of you wanted for it to end.

but the problem remained: you couldn't go back to the same routine

but letting Nikolai go wasn't possible neither

so you talked to him. explained your reasons and your motives and that above all you loved him

he felt so much relief in knowing that there was still a tiny chance of making this right

he renewed his promises of being a better husband, of changing his work schedule so that he could be more present.

he had even handed you a sheet where he had drafted his new schedule and well, it was completely different

of course, you knew that there would be times where he'd be inevitably busier but as long as he made an effort, you'd be fine with it

and so you agreed, you gave him a second chance and you were proud to say that Nikolai was living up to his words

and you were happier than ever

tags:

@jupiterandbutterflies, @agentsofshield, @for-bebbanburg, @randomoutsiders, @pansysgirlfriend, @hannaxmaria, @vintagebitc, @story-scribbler, @hazelrose14, @crowssixof, @odetostep, @lizzie-he4rts (taglist form)

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

I think the main reason John is canceled is how he’s made out to be Saint John the Beloved Peace Activist Martyr. I don’t think his estate is entirely to blame because the same sort of thing happens to most celebrities who die young, but it’s worse with John because he’s glorified more as an activist vs. as an artist. His activism was fine, but treating him like a saint is unrealistic. At some point, people get tired of having the same pretentious, constructed image shoved in their faces, so it’s satisfying to take him down a peg (especially when it’s Gen Z taking down a boomer icon). Ringo hasn’t been lionized in the same way so it makes sense that he wouldn’t be canceled. “Imagine singer John Lennon beat his wife” is just a more sensational headline than like, “It Don’t Come Easy singer beat his wife”.

Re: Would John Lennon be “cancelled” in the 21st century?

Like I stated in my post, I really just don’t have an opinion on whether the story about Ringo physically beating Maureen, almost to death, is true because ive never been able to pinpoint an exact source in which Ringo admits to this. I know ive heard in passing that Ringo discussed this incident in an interview, but after researching it, I just haven’t found any credible source in which Ringo actually states this, so I just don’t know. If anyone does have the original source for this, by all means send me it because id love to get some closure on this topic - but as for now, I just remain neutral on this topic.

But going onto the second point, I absolutely agree that Johns “cancellation” is largely perpetuated as a response to his mythologised status.

His name is supposed to be almost synonymous with “peace and luv” - but anyone who has read up on the actual behaviours and actions of John knows that he was abusive, vitriolic, cruel, violent and lets face it, often times he was just a plain a bully. BUT we also know he was deeply insecure, alienated, mentally ill, depressed, chaotic, emotionally unstable, drug-addicted etc. And none of these aspects to John negate the other - as ive stated here (x), if someone doesn’t like him because he was abusive, I don’t have an issue with that; that he was “sad and insecure ☹️” ultimately isn’t a justification or excuse for his behaviours. Some people just aren’t going to have a lot of empathy for him, and its not up to me to decide whether they do or don’t forgive him. But also, the freedom to decide whether we do or don’t like or respect him is just a part of the real image of John Lennon: the one that was simply just a human being, not a mirage of Peace, and not the embodiment of abuse - literally, he was just some guy.

But I think 2 things to factor into the quite abrupt “cancellation” he’s received are 1. that the reality is is that there is something I guess satisfying in knowing the all-too-perfect person is actually pretty rotten - we’ve seen this with plenty of other symbolic figures throughout history, be it Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr, Mother Teresa, Walt Disney or basically anyone else who you’d expect to find on a “10 respected historical figures who were actually terrible people” list. These supposed idols are put on a pedestal, and idealised to such an extent that when they fall, there often just is something pleasing about it, because theres a type of security in the knowledge that idols and earthly-Gods do not exist; that they were just human all along. Im reminded of an extract from East Of Eden, when Steinbeck wrote:

“When a child first catches adults out…his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again.” - John Steinbeck, East Of Eden

Another thing to account for is, 2. Most people don’t know the contexts behind Johns behaviours, because a lot of them have just read “10 things you don’t know about John Lennon - no. 1 He beat his wife, no. 2 He abandoned his son etc.”, and so for me thats the main thing with tackling the more controversial, miserable side to Johns life: just give people more context. I’ll just reinstate my earlier point in saying, some people aren’t going to have a lot of empathy for John, and I get it. Nobody has to like him. But I think the contexts surrounding a lot Johns controversies are worth taking into account, because whilst saying “he was a wife-beater” isn’t necessarily untrue, it isn’t entirely accurate either, and there are various other factors to be accounted for. So with people who want to “cancel” John Lennon, I think its best to just expand upon his more critical subjects and explain them in better detail, because I certainly don’t think its a bad thing to discuss the darker edge to John Lennon - although having said that, I admit I probably wouldn’t really bother talking with people who want to “cancel” John online, because I imagine the majority just want TikTok views, and aren’t in fact interested in having a genuine discussion about him.

If John hadn’t died, perhaps he wouldn’t be so much “cancelled” (which ill just say again that I don’t think he actually has been/never will be) but rather we’d just see a progressive disillusionment within our perceptions of him.

[cannedcrow]

‘Flower Frost’ - An Empires SMP/Flower Husbands fanfic: Part III, Oleander

Part I: Amaranthus

Part II: Bramble

Part IV: Thorn Apple

Oleander - Caution.

A/N: This is quite a short part, due to the way I divide the writing. It's also worth mentioning that Scott's wings in this are that of a snowy owl. Enjoy!

Upon entering the room, the little group found it as empty and silent as the streets outside. The first thing that struck them all was the sheer, sepulchral chill of the room, quite unlike the warmth of the rest of the house. The candles were unlit, as was the fireplace. There was the slightest film of white on the hardwood floor, and Jimmy knelt to touch it.

“Frost,” he confirmed, shakily. “What the hell happened?”

He turned on Aureau, savagely. “What do you know about this? Where is he?”

The elf, however, looked as stricken as Jimmy, and only murmured “Aeor help us ...”

The Ocean Queen interjected. “Jimmy, I don’t think he knows anything about it. We can’t come to a conclusion before investigating.”

Aureau looked up, eyes wide with horror, seemingly brought back to his senses. “It’s true, My Lord, I had no idea he was gone. None of us - the household staff - have seen him for weeks, and it’s not our place to challenge the King, no matter how worried we are.”

Jimmy didn’t deign to answer but moved further into the room towards the elegant dark oak desk. Gem joined him there, leaning over to examine the various books and papers that were haphazardly scattered there. A skein of red hair fell over her face, and as she impatiently pushed it behind her ear, Jimmy noticed with intrigue a pale streak dividing the copper. He hadn't noticed it before, but he turned his attention back to the desk. A snowy owl quill laid abandoned, away from its home in the elaborate gold inkstand, and deep blue ink was frozen solid in the inkpot. The candles had burnt down to stubs, pooling wax on the desk. Scott, as they knew, was extremely orderly - not one to be careless with his possessions or surroundings.

“I think it’s safe to say he hasn’t been here for a while - a few days at least,” Gem remarked.

Joel, from the other end of the room near the bed and wardrobe, agreed. Lizzie emerged from the dressing room doorway.

“No boots,” She informed them, and at Jimmy’s blank look, elaborated: “The Frost Walker boots I mentioned in the meeting. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Any other clothing gone?” Asked Gem.

“I wouldn’t know, and it’s hard to tell to be honest. He has ... quite an expansive wardrobe.” Lizzie smiled sadly at the last part. It was often joked that Scott was always the most beautifully attired and presented at any given festivity.

“Perhaps I could be of service,” offered Aureau. “I’m Master Scott’s personal attendant, and I’ll be able to notice anything missing.” The faintest blush tinted his face, and he strode to the dressing room.

Lizzie moved to the window, noticing a small potted mountain poppy on the sill. “Oh, Scott ...” She murmured to herself, examining the frost that rimmed the dead, scarlet petals. “What happened?”

"Come here, all of you,” came Gem’s voice suddenly. The tone of her voice commanded obedience, and the three other rulers made their way to where the little wizard stood on the hearth of the unlit fireplace. The elaborately carved marble mantlepiece displayed gold candlesticks, a row of small books, and leaning against a gold-and-white crown that was all too familiar, was a thick, cream envelope, sealed, they saw upon getting closer, with cyan wax.

“It’s his seal,” Gem confirmed. “The stag’s head is gold.”

She opened the letter, and read aloud:

To Gem and company, or, possibly, Caspian:

I hate to start this letter so conventionally, but by the time you’re reading this, I will be gone. I write this to ask that you don’t waste time or energy looking for me, and to give you any information I have regarding the matter, though I barely know about it myself.

Firstly, you must forgive me for disappearing. You’ll think I’ve been hiding in my room in cowardice, pretending nothing is happening. Perhaps it could be interpreted that way. I suppose I am. I’m afraid of hurting anyone else, for I fear that I am the one bringing the cold and the plague. Do you know what it’s being called? The Plague of Endless Winter. I have my own reasons to believe that I'm the one causing this, though I won’t elaborate, as it won’t change anything. The simple fact is; I cannot be King of Rivendell anymore. A king cannot be a threat to his people, whether or not he means it. Without any remaining family or heir, I would that my council lead in my stead until a suitable replacement is found. Caspian will represent me when a single figure is necessary; don’t underestimate his capability. Additionally, you must not blame my guards or staff for my disappearance, as they knew nothing about it.

As to what I believe is the original cause, Lizzie can help you. I don’t, of course, blame her, but our exchange left me in possession of a terrible artifact that I wish I’d never seen. Of course, some would say that it could not be avoided. Perhaps Xornoth and I were destined to be cursed all along. Nevertheless, I’ve brought the boots with me. I would not have them in the unwitting hands of anyone else.

Good luck, my friends. I love you, and I'm sorry. Please do what I could not - save and protect your people and mine.

Aeor be with you all,

Scott

There was dead silence when Gem finished, broken first by Joel:

“’Scott’, he wrote. No title.”

“There’s something else in the envelope,” Gem announced, drawing out a long, white, charcoal-barred feather, too long and wide to be that of a snowy owl.

Gem quietly confirmed what the others knew: “It’s his. He wanted to make sure we knew he did this on his own.”

Jimmy turned away, blinking to rid himself of unbidden tears.

“The stupid, noble bastard,” Joel spat harshly, using annoyance, as was his fashion, to conceal how worried he was.

Aureau joined them, having heard the letter from the other room. He was shaken, and seemed on the verge of tears, confirming: “He’s left behind his usual royal attire. There’s a traveling cloak missing, and whatever other clothes he took weren’t of any importance, or I’d’ve have noticed their absence.”

“Why does he call you by your first name?” Jimmy asked him casually.

Aureau looked at him sharply. “We were close. I told you I was - am - his personal attendant, as well as head of the household. How Master Scott chooses to refer to his staff is his own concern.”

He seemed to remember who he was speaking to, and lowered his head, muttering “I’m sorry for my tone, My Lord. I meant no offense.”

Jimmy gave a slight, stiff nod of acceptance.

Gem took charge again. “Well then, the first thing to do is tell the others. You three go home and get some sleep. I’ll fly to Katherine’s and have a meeting arranged for tomorrow.”

They departed, Jimmy lingering in the room only long enough to pick one of the frost-bitten poppies.

[sansacherie]

Sansa Stark Day One Quotes -  Sansa Standing Up To Her Abusers/People In Power

-          Sansa was confused. "I don't understand," she said. "Where is Jeyne's father? Why can't Ser Boros take her to him instead of Lord Petyr having to do it?" She had promised herself she would be a lady, gentle as the queen and as strong as her mother, the Lady Catelyn, but all of a sudden, she was scared again. For a second, she thought she might cry. "Where are you sending her? She hasn't done anything wrong, she's a good girl."  (Sansa AGOT IV)

-          "Your father is a traitor, dear," Lord Varys said.

Grand Maester Pycelle lifted his ancient head. "With my own ears, I heard Lord Eddard swear to our beloved King Robert that he would protect the young princes as if they were his own sons. And yet the moment the king was dead, he called the small council together to steal Prince Joffrey's rightful throne."

"No," Sansa blurted. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't!" (Sansa AGOT IV)

 -          The words made her breath come faster, yet still Sansa hesitated. "Perhaps . . . if I might see my father, talk to him about . . . "

                 "Treason?" Lord Varys hinted.

  "You disappoint me, Sansa," the queen said, with eyes gone hard as stones. "We've told you of your father's crimes. If you are truly as loyal as you say, why should you want to see him?"

"I . . . I only meant . . . " Sansa felt her eyes grow wet. "He's not . . . please, he hasn't been . . . hurt, or . . . or . . . " (Sansa AGOT IV)

 -          "I don't want to marry you," Sansa wailed. "You chopped off my father's head!"

-          "He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, only that I'd be merciful, and I was. If he hadn't been your father, I would have had him torn or flayed, but I gave him a clean death."

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.  (Sansa VI AGOT)

-          "Did he instruct you to hit me if I refused to come?"  

"Are you refusing to come, my lady?" The look he gave her was without expression. He did not so much as glance at the bruise he had left her.   He did not hate her, Sansa realized; neither did he love her. He felt nothing for her at all. She was only a . . . a thing to him. "No," she said, rising. She wanted to rage, to hurt him as he'd hurt her, to warn him that when she was queen, she would have him exiled if he ever dared strike her again . . . but she remembered what the Hound had told her, so all she said was, "I shall do whatever His Grace commands." "As I do," he replied.

"Yes . . . but you are no true knight, Ser Meryn." - (Sansa VI AGOT)

-          "Silence, fool." Joffrey lifted his crossbow and pointed it at her face. "You Starks are as unnatural as those wolves of yours. I've not forgotten how your monster savaged me."

"That was Arya's wolf," she said. "Lady never hurt you, but you killed her anyway." – (Sansa ACOK III)

-          She hated the way he talked, always so harsh and angry. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

"No, it gives me joy to kill people." His mouth twitched. "Wrinkle up your face all you like, but spare me this false piety. You were a high lord's get. Don't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."

"That was his duty. He never liked it."

"Is that what he told you?" Clegane laughed again. "Your father lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is." He drew his longsword. "Here's your truth. Your precious father found that out on Baelor's steps. Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, Warden of the North, the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old . . . but Ilyn Payne's blade went through his neck all the same, didn't it? Do you remember the dance he did when his head came off his shoulders?"

Sansa hugged herself, suddenly cold. "Why are you always so hateful? I was thanking you…”   (Sansa IV ACOK)

-          He snorted. "There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."

Sansa backed away from him. "You're awful."  (Sansa IV ACOK)

-          "They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she said recklessly. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown."  (Sansa V ACOK)

-          “And what if I never want you?”  (Sansa III ASOS)

-          "Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are . . . kind to think of me, but . . . pray forgive me. I am very tired.”

"And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead."

She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk."

"I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh. "And you as well.”

       "Unhand me. You forget yourself."  (Sansa VI ASOS)

-          Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"

Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid."

"You're supposed to kiss her." Sansa glanced up at Lysa's balcony, but it was empty now. "Your lady wife."  (Sansa VII ASOS)

-          "Will you play the coy deceiver with me?" her aunt said. "I was not speaking of Robert's doll. I saw you kissing him."

The High Hall seemed to grow a little colder. The walls and floor and columns might have turned to ice. "He kissed me."

Lysa's nostrils flared. "And why would he do that? He has a wife who loves him. A woman grown, not a little girl. He has no need for the likes of you. Confess, child. You threw yourself at him. That was the way of it."

Sansa took a step backward. "That's not true."

"Where are you going? Are you afraid? Such wanton behavior must be punished, but I will not be hard on you. We keep a whipping boy for Robert, as is the custom in the Free Cities. His health is too delicate for him to bear the rod himself. I shall find some common girl to take your whipping, but first you must own up to what you've done. I cannot abide a liar, Alayne."

"I was building a snow castle," Sansa said. "Lord Petyr was helping me, and then he kissed me. That's what you saw."

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. You think you can have any man you want because you're young and beautiful. Don't think I haven't seen the looks you give Marillion. I know everything that happens in the Eyrie, little lady. And I have known your like before, too. But you are mistaken if you think big eyes and strumpet's smiles will win you Petyr. He is mine." She rose to her feet. "They all tried to take him from me. My lord father, my husband, your mother . . . Catelyn most of all. She liked to kiss my Petyr too, oh yes she did."

Sansa retreated another step. "My mother?"

"Yes, your mother, your precious mother, my own sweet sister Catelyn. Don't you think to play the innocent with me, you vile little liar. All those years in Riverrun, she played with Petyr as if he were her little toy. She teased him with smiles and soft words and wanton looks, and made his nights a torment."

  "No." My mother is dead, she wanted to shriek. She was your own sister, and she's dead. "She didn't. She wouldn't."  (Sansa VII ASOS)

[butterflies-dragons]

Do you have any doubts that Sansa is the girl in grey? Is there strong grey imagery around Sansa?

I believe Sansa is the grey girl yes, but only GRRM has that answer.

About grey imagery around Sansa, I wrote about it here and there.

Grey is the main Stark color. Their sigil is a grey direwolf in a white field. Stark men wear grey cloaks, Winterfell is made of grey granite, Grey eyes is a Stark feature, etc.

There are some instances where Sansa actually wears or it is said that she will wear a grey cloak:

1.- Her first encounter with Dontos (false Florian) in the Red Keep's Godswood: "Sansa threw a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and picked up the knife she used to cut her meat. If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak."

It is very curious that Dontos was also wearing grey during that first secret encounter: "He wore a dark grey robe with the cowl pulled forward, but when a thin sliver of moonlight touched his cheek, she knew him at once by the blotchy skin and web of broken veins beneath. "Ser Dontos," she breathed, heartbroken. "Was it you?"

2.- Cersei gave her a white and silver maiden cloak for her wedding to Tyrion. Stark colors are grey and white tho... I think in this case the silver is there instead of the grey of House Stark. I'm not sure if this is a mistake or not. "Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain."

Curiously enough, Tyrion wore Targaryen colors to marry Sansa lol

3.- Littlefinger planned for Alayne to reveal her true identity as Sansa Stark wearing a maiden cloak with the Stark colors grey and white: "Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.

From my answer about certain ship foreshadowing:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. “If that is the will of R’hllor. Night’s powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god’s holy fire.” “You heart does not concern me. Just your hands.” “The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” “I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Earlier in this chapter, Jon was thinking about Arya and her situation (trapped with the Boltons), and he was frustrated for not being able to help her. Then he remembered Ygritte, he confused Melisandre for Ygritte.

So, reading all the context:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? = This is about Ygritte. He is still hurt and mourning for her.

What do you know of my sister? = This is about Arya and her situation.

This is an excellent example of how GRRM plays with our minds with his tricky words:

“At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.  He is introducing us to the Grey Girl and her true identity.

Jon thinks he is seeing Ygritte but he was actually seeing Melissandre.

Melisandre and Jon also believe this grey girl of the visions is Arya Stark, but the person trapped with the Boltons is Jeyne Poole. And later, Alys Karstark was not even wearing a “grey” cloak.

For me the grey girl is neither of them. The answer is hidden in this line: “At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.

***

"At night all robes are grey" means all the confusion about the grey girl's true identity: Arya or Jeyne or Alys Karstark.

"Yet suddenly hers were red" means that the girl with the grey cloak will be a redhead, like Ygritte and Melisandre the two women Jon was confusing.

So, Sansa as the grey girl makes a lot of sense, she is a redhead and she is a Stark, and grey is the main Stark color.

And this is not the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another female. Jon dreamed of a ghastly grey direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell, that seems to be Lady’s Shade:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Despite Jon assuming the direwolf was a "he," I strongly suspect it was Lady's Shade. Lady is buried at Winterfell, not Grey Wind. Lady was beheaded with Ice, so her fur would be spotted with blood. And Lady was said to have sad eyes.

So, Jon is always confusing Ygritte with another redheads...

From my Dunk & Jon meta:

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because:

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne.

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it.

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister.

Silent Sisters always wear grey.

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger’s wives.

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister.

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark.

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds.

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.

From my Jon/Sansa/Winterfell meta:

The stone is strong = The walls of Winterfell = Alayne Stone = Sansa Stark.

Sansa Stark has a lot of stone imagery around her.

Winterfell’s walls are made of grey granite. Grey is also a color of House Stark and I believe that Sansa will be the girl in grey on a dying horse from Melisandre’s vision.

As the Heir to Winterfell, Sansa was practically transformed into a stone castle, Winterfell, and the north itself, since the one that controlled her would obtain all her lands and power. Or, to use the euphemism from the Books, Sansa Stark was the “key to the north.”

Sansa reflects about this objectification in the Books and gives us one of the saddest lines in ASOIAF, especially coming from a girl who yearns to be loved and always dreamed of getting married: “No one will ever marry me for love,” (because everyone only wants her for her claim to Winterfell and the north).

Tyrion associates Sansa’s rejection of his advances as icy courtesy and compared that rejection with a castle wall that he never got to break:

“You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sansa’s misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

The castle wall that armored Sansa and Tyrion never got to break is a clear reference to Winterfell:

He remembered Winterfell as he had last seen it. Not as grotesquely huge as Harrenhal, nor as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm’s End, yet there had been a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion XI

And certainly, Sansa feels stronger and protected within the walls of Winterfell:

Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Sansa feeling stronger within the walls of Winterfell, sounds pretty similar to “the stone is strong” line from Bran quote cited above.

Later, while descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon, Mya Stone tells Sansa that “a stone is a mountain’s daughter.”

Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

One of Winterfell’s possible meanings is “wintry mountain(s).” And Sansa Stark is “The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter”.

As the daughter of Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone also becomes the Heir to Harrenhal, another great castle made of strong stone. Only dragon fire was able to melt Harrenhal’s stone walls:

Stone does not burn, Harren had boasted, but his castle was not made of stone alone. […] And even stone will crack and melt if a fire is hot enough. The riverlords outside the castle walls said later that the towers of Harrenhal glowed red against the night, like five great candles… and like candles, they began to twist and melt, as runnels of molten stone ran down their sides.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest

Moreover we have the parallels that Sansa shares with Jenny of Oldstones. And Oldstones serves us as an example of the strength of the stone.

Just like Winterfell was the stronghold of the ancient Kings of Winter, Oldstones was the stronghold of the ancient River Kings (House Mudd of Oldstones), both dynasties descendants of the First Men. And if we read about Oldstones, thinking about Winterfell is an inevitability:

They reached Oldstones after eight more days of steady rain, and made their camp upon the hill overlooking the Blue Fork, within a ruined stronghold of the ancient river kings. Its foundations remained amongst the weeds to show where the walls and keeps had stood, but the local smallfolk had long ago made off with most of the stones to raise their barns and septs and holdfasts. Yet in the center of what once would have been the castle’s yard, a great carved sepulcher still rested, half hidden in waist-high brown grass amongst a stand of ash. The lid of the sepulcher had been carved into a likeness of the man whose bones lay beneath, but the rain and the wind had done their work. The king had worn a beard, they could see, but otherwise his face was smooth and featureless, with only vague suggestions of a mouth, a nose, eyes, and the crown about the temples. His hands folded over the shaft of a stone warhammer that lay upon his chest. Once the warhammer would have been carved with runes that told its name and history, but all that the centuries had worn away. The stone itself was cracked and crumbling at the corners, discolored here and there by spreading white splotches of lichen, while wild roses crept up over the king’s feet almost to his chest.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

Despite the pass of time the foundations of Oldstones remained and the stones were even used by the smallfolk to rise new buildings. The stone is really strong.

What also remained despite the centuries was the tomb of King Tristifer IV Mudd, also known as the Hammer of Justice, which immediately reminds me of the crypts of Winterfell and its stone kings sitting on their thrones with their swords across their laps.

And just like songs are still sung about a girl named Jenny from Oldstones who found true love with a Targaryen prince, I’m pretty sure that many songs will be sung about Sansa Stark from Winterfell and her own Targaryen prince.

Finally, is worth mentioning that Stark means “strong” in German. And there’s a theory about House Strong (extinguished) being linked to House Stark.

Stone = Strong = Stark

So by saying the stone is strong, we are also saying the stone is Stark.

Alayne Stone is Sansa Stark.

***

There you have it.

Thanks for your message ♡

[boylikeanangel]

good omens for the blorbo ask game 🦋🦋

omg salem are you tempting me....how did you know ive been on a gomens kick lately.... youre so evil teehee 🤭

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

I still wear reading glasses on a chain to this day because I saw aziraphale do it in a fanfic once. I still have his angel wings mug at the back of my kitchen cupboard. I still think tartan is stylish. you get the idea

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

pepper will always be one of my most beloved weirdgirls no matter what <3

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

I think madame tracy is just delightful....sorry if thats controversial I really dont know anymore cuz no one ever talks about her but particularly her in the book shes so. mwah. go grandma

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

the fucking. four bikers of the repocalypse or whatever they were called. in the book. I will literally never forgive hetman for leaving them out of the show. gone but never ever ever forgotten. fly high kings

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

this is kinda like with raleigh from pacrim lol but I actually think newt is fantastic. hes so fucking soggy. just a used wet paper towel kinda guy. I love it

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

nothing in the world can get me to like shadwell. so. him I guess. I wish I could say crowley to be funny I really could but im not strong enough

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

THIS REALLY DOESNT FEEL LIKE AN APPROPRIATE QUESTION FOR A SHOW WHERE HALF THE CAST ARE EITHER FROM HEAVEN OR HELL.....but anyways its gabriel. send him wherever means I never have to see his ugly face ever again

[hange-zone]

May I please have some Eremin Hades/Persephone au? With Eren as dread Persephone and Armin as the overworked king of the underworld?

SIX MONTHS IN THE GARDEN OF HADES

i.

In a strange twist of fate, the lord of the underworld was five foot five and had a shock of blond hair. 

“You kidnapped me!” Eren sounded incredulous. He scowled at the person -  barely older than a boy - whose office (realm?) he had just been thrown into. The blond boy, seated at the ornate desk, looked up from his paperwork with a bored expression on his face. Eren stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes and collected himself, managing to sound incredibly composed despite having just fallen through a crack in the earth and tumbled right down to hades. “That’s so wrong. Wait till my sister finds out - you’ll be dead.”

That sounded like a threat, but it struck Armin as terribly ironic. He laughed. “I’ll look forward to it.”

If looks could kill he guessed that the glare that the other boy had shot him might have actually struck him dead, but he was the god of the underworld and of the dead and honestly? Trifle things like that didn’t matter. 

So he dismissed the glowering boy with a flick of his wrist and went back to poring over his spreadsheets.

 ii.

When they next meet Eren’s hands were sticky and he wished very hard that he could cough out his last meal. 

Armin glanced up at him, then back to his work. “I’m guessing you had some of the fruits from my garden?”

“I was hungry,” Eren protested. “You don’t even have -”

“Six months.” Armin interrupted. He didn’t look up, still scribbling as his eyes scanned over the reports and administrative data. Why do people keep dying? he wondered, briefly, before turning his attention back to the boy before him. “You don’t even need food. But you’ve eaten them,  you do the time, that’s just how it works, et cetera. Besides, didn’t anyone ever warn you?”

“Fuck you,” Eren replied.

 iii.

Wandering around the palace grounds, which were not entirely to his liking, being all dark marble and jagged rock - as well as gaudy displays of gemstones and glittering metal that made his eyes hurt - Eren found himself settling by the shallow pool and watching his reflection in the black water. 

It seems like a cruel trick, to make the earth open up and take him here and then just...leave him alone? What was Hades even thinking? And why was he a lanky teenage boy? That was possibly more confusing. 

Suddenly, a mop of blond hair appeared behind him. He jumped. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said accusatorially to the figure, frowning.

“Sorry,” Armin offered. Up close he looked far less intimidating - beneath the grand robes his shoulders were rounded and he was skinny and rather small. His clothes seemed to overwhelm him. His wide blue eyes were deep-set and there were tired, dark circles against the pale flesh of his face.  He drew in a long breath and sighed. Eren noticed that he was biting his dry lips nervously. 

“Walk with me?” the lord of the underworld asked. Despite himself, Eren obliged, nodding slowly and letting the boy help him to his feet. 

They made their way through the sprawling grounds in silence, trodding through the soft earth. They walked past abandoned gazebos with doric columns, round a winding path with dead and rotting trees and grey leaves which crunched underfoot, away from the black obsidian building which loomed across everything in the landscape. The dead fluttered around them. 

Eventually they came to a pier. Armin leant against the railings, gaze fixed on the river. The water was dark as it rushed and churned underneath them.  Eren watched him for a second then looked away. Off in the distance he could see the glowing lights of Elysium. 

Slowly, haltingly, the other boy began to speak.

“Sorry about…” Armin trailed off. “It was stupid. I should have just asked - we could be friends properly. But now - it’s the seeds, you see. Six of them, six months. We're bound by precedent, unfortunately.”

Ah, there it was again. Who knew the god of the dead was such a stickler for rules?

And then he was off again, turning away and moving through his realm. Eren followed, and they walked on in silence. Eren looked upon the craggy rock and trampled flowerbeds and the overgrown hedges on the edges of the estate, and frowned.

“Your palace sucks,” he blurted out, characteristically blunt. 

It was Armin’s turn to be startled. In fact, he looked positively scandalised. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve got like, all the gold and precious metals and stuff but it’s just too much,” Eren supplied. 

A pause.

“Also the palace looks evil and the gardens are dead,” he added.

Armin opened his mouth to object but closed it again. 

Eren, ever the opportunist, quickly followed up: “I’ll forgive you - and your terrible taste - if you let me just have the garden,” he said, gesturing around meaningfully. “By the time summer comes I’ll have it all fixed up.” 

Armin dithered, but picked up the pace, widening his strides. 

“You owe me,” Eren pressed breathlessly, running to catch up. “You were the one who started it.”

Armin seemed suitably chastened. “Fine,” he huffed out. 

Eren couldn’t help but smile to himself, even as he was careful not to let the boy see. 

It was getting late - a mist had descended upon the land and it was beginning to get cold. Eren found himself shivering in his thin clothes, goosebumps creeping across the length of his arms. Armin must have noticed, because he pretended to stifle a yawn and said, “We should get back.”

And then, before he could protest, the lord of the underworld - Hades himself - draped his thick coat across his shoulders, and was already ahead of him, bare shoulders stark against the night as he turned on his heel and moved briskly in the direction of the ugly, evil palace. Eren clutched at the velvet that clung to him. It was surprisingly warm against his skin.

It became a routine of sorts, walks in the morning and at night, bookending their days. On one nighttime walk, when the precious stones embedded in the cave’s ceiling had glinted like stars, he’d strayed too close to the blond boy and the backs of their hands had brushed. His heart had skipped a beat, but the other boy didn’t seem to notice, or even if he did, he didn’t say anything. And anyway, they’d gone back to their separate chambers as usual - Eren right to bed and Armin back to his office.

 iv.

They’d just finished their morning walk, which had led back to the mess of the office, when another one of the servants had unceremoniously dumped yet another pile of papers on Armin’s desk. Eren could see the veins starting to stand out on his forehead, the thick pulsing blue under his pale, luminous skin, before he buried his face in his hands and sighed loudly. 

“It’s clearly stressing you out,” Eren said, perched on the corner of the desk. “Here, let me,” he reached for the sheet right on top, marked ‘URGENT’, and for once Armin didn’t try to stop him. 

“It’s the review cases,” Armin groaned into his palms. His voice was muffled but indignant. “I’m really not convinced we should change their sentences every thousand years, but since they’ve developed the constitution and instituted rights there’s apparently no such thing as eternal fate anymore.”

“This one?” Eren pulled open a scroll, scanning it. “Another king. Oh - this guy’s seriously fucked up. Cooking his kids?”

“Yeah - which is why I thought it’d be poetic justice to have the whole ‘water he cannot drink’, ‘food he cannot touch’ schtick. But apparently he’s shown some potential for reformation so that’s now out of the window. As are cruel and unusual punishments.” Armin groaned again and let his head flop to the side, blond strands shifting about the jet black table. His cheeks were pressed onto the countertop and it was almost comical, Eren thought - and in fact, deeply humanising, watching Hades moan about his job and suffer from overwork. He felt a pang of feeling - something - for the small blond boy, caught up with the entire mess of processing souls in the afterlife. 

And so it might have out of a fit of compassion that he dropped Tantalus’ file, letting it flutter to the floor, and came up behind Armin to rest his hands on his tense shoulders. And it was probably out of a swell of sympathy then that he let himself press his thumbs firmly right into the space between Armin’s shoulder blades, fingers splayed out across his narrow back and warm neck. Working at the tense knots, until he felt the other boy relax into him. 

 v.

It was the tail end of winter, while a blizzard tore across the surface of the earth and frost marked the ground, when Armin had summoned him for dinner. This was something new; he had made no mention of food - much less a meal - before, except for the second encounter where he’d pronounced Eren’s fate. Besides, he was right: they didn’t exactly need to eat, though Eren supposed he’d appreciate a good dinner if it were offered to him. And Armin had explained that the rest of the food wasn’t binding, so he also supposed it wouldn’t hurt to see what fruits of the earth the underworld could offer.

As the door to the dining hall swung open he was greeted with an opulent sight. His let his eyes scan over the candlelit room with its long table piled high with more food than he’d seen in his life. There was a literal cornucopia as the centrepiece. Armin was at one end, waiting expectantly. His head was resting casually against his fist, blond locks soft against his features. For once he was without paperwork, the entirety of his attention focused on the boy who had entered the room. 

“Is this a date,” Eren said, voice rising, but not quite a question. 

Armin shrugged noncommittally. “Your time here’s nearly done. It’s been five months - I thought we should commemorate it.” His voice was even, but in the dimly-lit room it would have been impossible to tell if he were blushing anyway.

“Soppy,” Eren said, under his breath, but he let the servants offer him a chair and settled into it, hands already curling around the outermost set of cutlery before him.

After a full dinner of winter vegetables and hearty stews - plus much, much dessert - they retired to the drawing-room, warming themselves by the glow of the crackling fireplace.  Eren had shifted himself to the floor and was slumped against the legs of his chair, while Armin sat in a big armchair, leaning right into the cushions. Cerberus lay between them, heads resting on Eren’s lap and tail wagging lazily across the carpeted floor. He let his hands brush over the dog’s smooth coat and scratched him behind his many ears. He looked up and realised Armin was watching him quietly. The soft light danced across his features and his blond hair was like a golden halo. He looked the furthest thing from an imposing god, the lord of the dead. In the orange light he just was: a slender boy, almost-man, with bony knees and silky hair, large eyes heavy-lidded and half-closed. Body relaxing into his seat, basking in the warmth of the fire and filled with a good meal, enjoying the moment and the presence of someone else.

Armin caught his gaze. “Thank you for today, Eren,” he said softly. 

Eren scoffed. “Sentimental bastard,” he whispered, and by the firelight, he swore Armin’s blue eyes had crinkled at the corners and his round mouth had curled into a slow, soft smile. 

 vi.

The plants that Eren had carefully, lovingly sown were coming to fruit, putting out rosy apples and dark velvet figs. They hung low on bended branches like teardrops and had to be harvested quickly before they turned soft and overripe. Eren was spending longer days in the garden which he’d carved out for himself, tending to his crops and reaping the bountiful harvest which he piled around him: lush and speckled gourds, bright fuchsia pomegranates, waxy yellow lemons, tender red berries and grapes in frosted hues, which all lay languidly in wooden crates waiting to be savoured. His favourite were the peaches, which were round and ripe in his hands and whose blush matched the pink in his cheeks as he worked tirelessly at the land. And of course he had a soft spot for the grain in its multitude of forms. The long stalks tickled his face and he brushed them away absentmindedly, even as his hands worked to pick the tiny seeds from their dried heads and shuck the full ears of corn that filled the rustling fields around the obsidian castle.

He was digging up the jewel-toned carrots when Armin found him. He had rested a foot on his worn shovel, pressing it into the soft earth, and had paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. From the corner of his eye he spotted a blond figure approaching the edge of the plot, black robes rustling against the freshly tilled dirt. 

Armin slowly made his way up to him. He’d grown, somewhat, in their time together, but he was still small and lithe and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as he spoke:

“Um. Today’s the day. You can leave if you want. I mean…it’s been half a year, hasn’t it?”

Eren watched as he shifted his weight from left to right, and then back again. He’d been thinking about this a lot. They both had. And he had decided. So he merely laughed, turning slowly to wipe his hands on his slacks. He reached for the fruit piled high around them. The ripe pomegranate bruised easily under his fingers as he twisted it open.

And its juice was warm and sweet, trickling down his mouth and lips, as he bit into the soft flesh of its ruby red insides and swallowed its seeds. 

--

here you go, anon! you've asked and i've tried my best to deliver. this was tremendously fun to do so thanks for it:") i’ve put it on ao3 where i might tinker a bit more with it...so watch that space. 

and please feel free to ask more :”)

[the-volume-is-astronomical]

The Crown, The Sword, and The Gay

The Tower

A/N: mi gente im just trying something out and seeing if people like it :] ive had this done for like months and months on end and i finally decided to share it so em enjoy 

First | Previous| Next

words: 2380

summary: Roman’s stomach is making it very clear that this talk wasn’t going to end well... as long as he doesn’t end up in that tower.

pairings: eventual prinxiety, eventual intrulogical, eventual moceit 

warnings: some potty language (not much), stress, anxiety, disappearance mention, flashback, crying

(let me know if theres any other)

Roman felt himself waking up, maybe because of the stupidly bright sun hitting his eyes, he didn’t know how that was possible since he remembered closing the red velvet curtains shut tight, so he didn't have this exact issue. So, when he heard some ruffling and things being moved around he wasn’t all that surprised. 

¨Rise and shine, you little brat¨ Ruth said in a very tired but demanding voice. 

¨Oh dear nurse, allow me five more minutes¨ Roman whined putting a pillow over his eyes so he could block out the rude sun.

¨Oh, flattery will get you nowhere, mister.¨ Roman could hear Ruth moving around the room, preparing breakfast no doubt. Roman took the pillow off his face and sat up, hair a wreck, and his eyes squinting because of the light coming from the window.

¨And he finally rises,¨ Ruth said sarcastically.

¨Yeah, yeah, the dashing prince has awoken.¨ Roman said half asleep. Ruth helped him sit down so he didn’t trip over anything and started serving him breakfast, she wasn’t going to wait for him to finish eating as she was already heading for the big oak doors. 

¨Wait!¨ Roman sobered up, Ruth flinched a little at the shout but turned around anyway ¨Can I do anything for you?¨ She asked.

¨ Come eat with me, you for sure haven’t eaten anything today.¨ Ruth went to argue but closed her mouth when she noticed she, in fact, had not eaten.

 She sat down in the chair in front of the royal, Roman made a few hand gestures as if to show she was open to take anything, she knew the monarch wouldn’t eat until she had settled for something so, she took a piece of bread and started eating, as did he.

After a few moments of silent eating Ruth spoke up ¨I still don't understand, after all these years you haven’t become a spoiled brat that doesn't care for his servant¨ Roman didn't even look up at her he just said ¨I guess you raised me well.¨ Ruth almost choked on her bread and looked at Roman as if he had gone insane. “Oh come on don't be so humble Ruthie!¨

She still looked at him confused and a little annoyed at the nickname but mostly surprised he would say anything of the sort, ¨Ruth, you are my nurse. You have been with me my entire life, You fed me when I was a baby for god sake! I consider you a mother, even if I have another mother in the throne room right now,” Roman shivered at the thought of having to talk to his parents after the events of the past week but continued anyway “and I sure as hell think of you as the person who raised me.¨ 

Once he had finished he immediately put a mouth full of food and kept eating as if hadn’t given that speech. Ruth still looked shocked but cleared her throat ¨Well, then I made you a sap!¨ Roman started laughing ¨How will your future spouse ever forgive me?¨ Roman burst out laughing and Ruth gave a small chuckle. 

Ruth stood up and went to Roman's closet to gather his outfit for the day, while he finished breakfast. She threw the clothes at him “Hey!¨ Roman made his trademark over dramatic gasp. She sighed “I unfortunately also gave you my dramatics…”

 “And I don’t resent you for that!” Roman screamed back with a big smile on his face. 

Ruth looked like she had something on her mind. Roman didn’t have to wait much before she said what that was, he never did. ¨Would that make you and my Remy brothers?¨ she said, actively ignoring the prince’s comments. Roman stood up going towards his shoji screen to change behind. ¨Ha! We already consider each other brothers so it wouldn’t be much of a change.¨ Ruth started making his bed “Well this is new information to me.¨ Roman giggled a bit 

¨Remy´s supposed to be back by noon, he passed a lot of territories to deliver this message so I sure hope he’s alright¨ Roman has always thought she was a worried mother even to him when he went on long trips.

Roman stepped out from behind the screen and reassured her ¨ He’s fine! He may act reckless but he's very calculating… but expect him a few hours later than what the estimated time of return” Roman slipped away looking for his shoes. ¨Oh and why is that?¨ she asked, hands on her hips, Roman gave a nervous chuckle. 

Shouldn't have let that slip.

“Roman…” Ruth said in a warning tone. Remy was going to kill him but he didn’t want to die at his nurse’s hands “Remy’s been... seeing... this person a-and when his message trip aligns with where they live… he spends some time with the person so…” Ruth looked at him as if deciding something, “As Remy’s mother, I thank you for telling me the truth..” Roman was relieved “But, as your mother, I have to say…YOU SNITCH! Snitches get stitches for a reason!” Roman laughed genuinely and Ruth joined.

After their giggle fit, they heard someone knock on the door. Ruth went to answer the door, it was a guard “His and her highness request the prince’s presence,” Ruth thanked the guard and turned around and Roman looked mortified, “Roman, you have to talk to them.” Roman had never heard Ruth speak that soft. Roman only felt dread “Ruth I don't want to go” He was genuinely petrified.

“I understand, but they are very understanding and I believe they wouldn't punish you for simply trusting the wrong person” Roman shook his head “ They’re already so protective. They always had me under knight or guard surveillance but now they might do something so I won’t be able to sneak by” Roman was panicking and Ruth noticed, she walked up to him. And took his hand “Roman they just want the best for you…” Roman took his hand away from her own “No! They are just afraid they aren’t going to have an heir after one of them ran away.” Roman's hands were in his hair and his eyes started to glaze over.

Roman was very much not over his brother's apparent “disappearance”

“I understand Remus vanishing has affected your parents over protectiveness, BUT they have always aimed to protect you but after what happened...can you really blame them for it?” Roman sighed, Ruth forced his hands out of his hair, he took a shaky breath to calm down “No, but getting hurt is part of life! So what if I trusted the wrong person? Everyone does!” He gestured to the sky as if it was the only person listening, he felt so defeated. 

“Well I can't change anything so, you should tell your parents that!” She didn’t know what to say to make things better. “I’ll try, let’s just hope they at least try to listen” he left it there and headed out of his bedroom’s oak doors, he never liked disagreeing with Ruth. 

 Roman walked down the long hallway towards the throne room but, of course, he wasn’t alone because that would be too much to ask apparently. Instead he was being escorted to see his parents by the guard that had informed him his parents required him. He already knew what they were going to talk to him about and he was dreading it.

Why did he have to make such a mistake?

Did the universe want him to not trust anyone after what happened?! If it would make the sinking feeling in his stomach leave then he would happily oblige.

The guard stopped at the throne rooms doors and Roman took a deep breath as the guard gave him side eye glance and opened the doors, “You required my presence?” Roman spoke trying to keep his voice steady and his head high, “Yes, Roman, we would actually like to talk to you about last week's event…?” He phrased it as a question a little too late. Roman’s father, King Leonardo, wasn’t an emotionally driven person and never was truly soft with anything he said, but he cared. The way he was soft spoken with Roman was just having the opposite effect that his father wanted.

Roman’s mother, Queen Victoria, was very comforting and always tried to shield her children from harm's way, but coming from a family of royals, she didn't have an example to follow but she wanted to be there for her child. “Roman, my little lion heart, I need you to keep in mind this is for your safety...ok?”  Following everything by the book, always looking and being her best, so she would be a good example even if she wasn't nurturing, all she wished was for Roman to know she loved him and Remus with her whole being, Roman just gave her a tense nod as a response. 

Roman’s Father spoke up, “Roman, you're going to be under knight supervision at all times,” That wasn't as bad as Roman expected, he basically already was! Anything but to be stuck in that damn tower “...And you have to stay in the south tower-” ...He should have knocked on wood. 

“Father, I did nothing wrong! I shouldn't be punished for this-” Romans mother spoke up, she knew both her son and husband could be hot headed. She wanted to stop anything before it got the chance to begin “Roman this isn't to punish you! We want to protect you-” The Queen sounded like she was pleading with her son.

Roman did not hear her plea or just ignored it “...For how long do I have to stay there?” Roman’s mother spoke up, “Don't worry, you'll be there maximum 2-” 

“Indefinitely.” 

The King spoke in a cold unforgiving tone, Roman knew he had messed up big time. Victoria turned to her husband “Leo, we agreed he wouldn't be there for more than 2 fortnights, we agreed on that.” The Queen seemed upset but was obviously attempting not to show such emotion. 

“Those were the rules we agreed to when he was a child and he would grant being punished” Both of Roman’s parents were staring at each other, showing they weren't going to back down.

Roman spoke, “Understood.” His voice was mostly monotone but tight, Victoria turned to him with an apologetic gaze. Roman shook his head. It was his own fault, his mother shouldn't blame herself for his actions. 

“I'll tell Ruth, so we can pack.” Roman turned to leave but his father had more to say. “Before you go, Hugo won't be your assigned knight. One of the new recruits is climbing in status and popularity very quickly and he agreed to-” “babysit” Roman cut in. “-protect you. As long as I recommended him to Queen Marie for her armada” 

As if things couldn't get any better, he had to meet this new recruit, he hoped they would at least get along. Roman just nodded and opened the door to leave. At that moment, Roman’s father called the guard that had escorted Roman to get the new recruit as soon as possible, he just left as quickly as he could. 

His parents knew that not being around people and not being able to talk were some of the worse things that could happen to him. They decided it was going to be the way to punish him. Though, he never stayed for more than a month, now he understood why. 

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As Roman- basically power walked- back to his room, his brain tortured him with memories of his 7 year old self being forced onto the tower for the first time.

No! Please it was an accident-!

I won't do it again!

I won't- Please! 

That was all he said as his father signaled the guards to take him, his mother not being able to look, turned her head away, trying to ignore every motherly instinct in her body to stand up and comfort her child. 

The guards dragged him out of the castle- the only home he knew- and shoved him in a carriage, where Ruth was waiting for him. Ruth had always been happy around him but her expression was unreadable -looking back she seemed angry, he just hadn't seen her that way before- but, Roman didn't care. He threw himself onto Ruth and sobbed his tiny heart out, Ruth trying her best to calm him down, he eventually fell asleep. Three hours later, he was woken up by Ruth.

“Were here, principito”

Roman was scared. Ruth saw it in his eyes. 

“Come on! You offend me, you really think I would let them take you to a scary place?” 

The little royal could only muster a small “no”. Ruth took his hand and walked with him toward a tower. Roman thought it was beautiful, that's the day he figured beautiful things can hurt you. 

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Roman never got used to it. He always dreaded the ride there, all the build up to the feeling of nothingness. When he looked up at the tower, he got the same feeling that he did when he was 7, Roman learned to not look up. He’d always prefer being in the tower when he was a kid because, back then they allowed Ruth to stay behind with him. Now she would only go in the carriage with him and leave.

After they stopped allowing Ruth to stay with him, at least he had Hugo to bother, by asking him for stories of his adventures. He didn't have that anymore.

The only adventure story he had now was a vibrant red book, in the book shelf of the tower, the only fictional book in his whole collection. He will admit, it was a very smart move on his parent’s part. They always monitored what he read, filled his whole book shelf in the tower with Philosophy, Math, and Royalty etiquette. When he begged for weeks on end for an adventure book they granted him one but, they made sure it was the only book that was fictional. They wouldn't give him an adventure book based on real events, No! That would be giving Roman too much hope. 

Good move.