#i was a big fluffy direwolf

[dipperscavern]

loved the Robb with cold reader - so can I ask for another? Like, it’s late at night, the fire’s dying, but reader is just curled up to Robb trying to savour his warmth :3 (bonus points if Grey Wind is there)

Thank you!! <3

of course! this is so cute omg, i’m glad u liked the last blurb & thank you for the ask <3

the fire crackles, dying in its hearth, and the heat it brings along with it begins to die as well. winterfells halls have always been top tier in its ability to seal in warmth, and its rooms by extension. however, for the room to keep warmth, the fire has to be strong & offer it; a lesson you’ve learned the hard way — falling asleep before lighting one, too exhausted to move, and waking up in the middle of the night freezing.

it’s late, and you & robb are on the brink of sleep. you’re curled into his side, and he’s got an arm around your shoulders, effectively tucking you into him. greywind lays at the end of the bed, diligently on guard duty, but also on standby as a fluffy pillow. you can’t really say you’re asleep, more so just savoring the moment, savoring him. the warmth he offers, the safety, the comfort; you’ll never find yourself taking it for granted.

robb isn’t asleep either, thumb lovingly stroking your arm. these moments are his favorite. he’s comfortable under the furs, and the owner of his heart is firmly pressed against him. his other half, greywind, is fast asleep at the edge of the bed. he can’t think of anything worth trading this moment for.

you lay like that for some time, both of you fighting sleep so you can stay in this moment for just a little longer. eventually, the fire dies out, and robb has a decision to make. he knows how much you hate being cold, and to keep the room from growing icicles, he’ll need to get up and re-light the fire. he also knows how much you’d hate for him to get up right now, and he hopes you’ll find it in your heart to forgive him. for your sake, he abandons the warmth of the fur blankets to save you both from frostbite.

your eyes flutter open as he begins to move, sliding the blankets off of himself (but quick to push them towards you). you groan, beginning to protest him disrupting your tranquility.

“Robb!”

“Fires dead.” he says, standing up and braving the cold. he turns to you, and you’re pouting. the sight only makes him smile, moving to caress your cheek in an attempt to soothe you until he returns to your embrace. it works about as well as he could expect it to, satisfying you for now. you sigh, draping yourself over his spot on the bed while you wait for him to finish his brave adventure.

he grabs the few small logs kept in each bedroom of winterfell in case this happens, throwing them into the hearth. he moves to light them, and steals glances at you as he works. your eyes have since shut, grasping little straws of rest. he knows you’re safe, laying in the very room he’s in — but it reassures him to actually see you. he watches as the logs catch flame, and he spends a few minutes stoking the fire to ensure it lasts.

“Robb…”

he turns his head from his place at the fire to look at you. your eyes are still closed, but you use what little energy you can spare to try and lure him back.

“Hm?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

he huffs out a breath of laughter. “Never.”

he decides then, at the hearth, that he’s going back to you — and he’s staying. fire be damned. if it goes out again, he and greywind will warm you themselves. he gives the fire one last look, satisfied, before moving to get back in bed with you. he finds himself at a roadblock as he approaches you.

in his absence, greywind has taken his spot. you’re happily cuddled with the warm direwolf, and greywind opens his eyes as robb looks at him. he makes no effort to move.

“She’s my lady, you know.”

greywind shows no signs of getting out of the way anytime soon, and robb sighs. he’s too tired for this.

“Move… ya’ big lump.” he says, scooting you and greywind to the side, giving himself room to slide in. your eyes open, seeing robb back in the bed.

“It’s been so long…” you wear a smile on your face, thinking you’re hilarious. he’d never disagree.

robb’s gaze drops to greywind. “And yet, you don’t welcome me back.”

“A temporary solution.”

robb hums, before actually moving greywind out of the way. he jumps off the bed altogether, opting to lay at the door. robb mutters a thanks to the gods as he pulls you to him, which has small giggles escaping you.

it’s there you fall asleep, intertwined with robb, sharing heat on a cold winters night. you stay like that till morning, content to never escape this little sanctuary.

[a-libra-writes]

OKAY random jon snow and robb stark brainrot but yk how cats become way more cuddly and affectionate with pregnant women? like nuzzling against them, being more alert, snuggling more, and staying close to you? what if ghost and greywind were the same? they're much more protective of you and it's a common behavior in direwolves so as soon as ghost/greywind start growling at jon/robb you guys immediately know 😭 i can just imagine waking up with their little heads resting on your belly or staying much closer to you than usual. and maybe the same with dany's dragons? obviously they're not gonna be like all over you but i can imagine them being a bit more protective and caring than usual!! thanks in advance and love ur works

Anon ur so right also this was fun and cute to do <3<3 (also kind of an AU where Jon stayed behind to be a sworn man to Robb!)

So between the two direwolves, Greywind is the more outwardly protective and aggressive. It's like he sensed something was off from the start - if you weren't aware you were pregnant, you'd be confused in Greywind's sudden interest in you. He'd sit at the doorway and linger while you went about your business, and would side-eye anyone he didn't like getting too close. You and Robb found it odd, by amusing. It all made sense once you figured out your condition.

While you found your fluffy guard dog to be sweet, it was mildly terrifying to some of the servants ... even the ones who had been at Winterfell at their lives were anxious to see a massive wolf wandering the halls like some little Southern dog. You try sending him out during the day, but in the evening, it's being at your side or bust. He will howl and make a fuss, something Greywind normally only did if he was locked away from Robb. He wants to be right at the bedside or on top of the bed, which again is something Greywind has never done, even with Robb. Greywind has never been the most affectionate of the direwolves (that was Lady), but he'd actually rest his huge muzzle on your legs and accept a few pets. Usually, Robb and Jon were the only ones who could touch him.

Your husband is torn between finding it funny and being baffled. He teases about it often. "What have you been feeding him behind my back? I bet she's given you the butcher's scraps, hm? What's gotten into you, boy?"

(Your handmaidens aren't pleased because if they enter the room while you're still asleep, there's a huge direwolf perking his head up and growling at them. You've never been able to train him out of that ...)

If he really must stay out of the bedroom, then he lurks right outside the door. As much as Robb knows it unsettles the servants and night guards, Greywind standing guard makes him feel better about your safety. He tries to keep the direwolf occupied during the day so the servants don't have to worry so much.

When you're outside, regardless if it's a short walk to the Godswood or heading to Winter Town, Greywind follows you instead. The further along in your pregnancy you get and the slower you walk, the more he stays at your side, like he always did with Robb. There are many people who worry about essentially a wild animal being so close to Lady Stark - and what'll happen when the baby's born? - but you see nothing but protectiveness in Greywind's big eyes. He's always alert and wary around you; sometimes you and Robb worry about him never getting a chance to relax.

Now, if you were with Jon, it was Ghost who would be your little shadow. Which was interesting - he was the most independent of the direwolves, often leaving for days at a time to do his own thing. He began to linger closer to Winterfell, and when you'd go outside, you'd see him several feet away from you, following along. By the time you're a few months along, he was walking right at your side. He never went inside the Keep, so when you went inside Ghost would stay in the yard, acting like ... well, a ghost, waiting for you to come back out.

It gave Jon a lot of comfort to know you had a shadow. He couldn't always be by your side because of his duties, especially if Robb traveled, and he was relieved to know Ghost was suddenly so attached and keeping you safe. The direwolf had always been fond of his wife, but in a distant way - maybe once in a while you could stoke his neck or he'd follow you for an hour out of curiosity ... but that was all. Now he was lingering, pressing his nose at your abdomen and huffing, allowing plenty of head pats and ear scratches. Jon is very endeared by it all. He'd sit right at your side, close as possible, and laugh as Ghost huffs and tries to press between you two. White fur absolutely everywhere.

The direwolves being so close and oddly affectionate means you can get away with a lot more - like, say ... sitting them down and letting you brush them, teaching them to sit or lay down, putting food on their nose and having them wait for the signal to eat it. Robb is aghast that Greywind is actually being obedient (until he gets tired of it), Jon just laughs and doesn't expect Ghost to stick to it. He assumes once you have the baby, his direwolf will go back to his adventurous, aloof self. In the back of his head, Robb is a little worried Greywind will get possessive once the baby is born. He plans to bring Greywind with him on his travels, in case he gets too overly protective of you and the child.

[agentrouka-blog]

It's interesting that both Sansa and Robb with his army are rumoured to turn into beasts to defend Lannisters/Joffery. While Robb was fighting along with Greywind, Lady wasn't there with Sansa as she was dead. To think Northern Lords will hate Sansa for it is ridiculous.

I am infinitely charmed that rumors in the South instinctively turn the Starks into magic-wielding wargs, and that the Freys felt that this was a credible excuse to spin in order to justify their massacre.

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws." (ASOS, Jaime VII)

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head." (ASOS, Arya XIII)

When Stark changed into a wolf, his northmen did the same. The mark of the beast was on them all. Wargs birth other wargs with a bite, it is well-known. It was all my brothers and I could do to put them down before they slew us all." (ADWD, Davos III)

People of the Southern kingdoms: "Yes, this sounds legit. Werewolves and shapeshifters. I find these scenarios credible. Starks just do that. It is known."

Talk about a formidable reputation.

And no one in the North really buys it, of course, because those are just stories like that Old Nan tells the kids in Winterfell. Until the Starklings return and even the baby is a literal skinchanger, riding unicorns and taking names.

All but the fluffy eldest daughter with the sinister reputation for regicide and bat wings. She just rolls up with "my superpower is heraldry and kindness!"

And no one believes her.

[fayeandknight]

I'm so massively proud of Forte!

He handled the Ren Faire really well, despite it being a far more chaotic environment than he usually works in. We spent the first twenty minutes just getting comfortable and I had him do a practice run of find my car.

We passed another team on the trail up to the entrance, both dogs looked at each and then moved on. I know there were handful of other teams there as well but didn't notice them.

Also had a little kid full on grab Forte's rear and all he did was sit down and look at me. Parent apologized and picked up the kid so I didn't say anything.

Inside the faire he did get startled by the big swinging dragon ride but immediately recovered. Other than that, nothing bothered him. Not the banging from some hammer game, crowds cheering, or the many many people who talked to him. He navigated through the crowds nicely with only the occasional verbal reminder to stay close. I normally don't mind if he walks with his shoulders ahead of me but it was too busy for that.

I had hoped the rain would make it a little less crowded but alas, my fellow nerds were out in full force if the costume to street clothes ratio was any indication. On the upside, it was fun to see so many awesome get ups.

I'm proud of both of us for not getting bothered by near constant attention. If I got a dollar for every direwolf comment, it would have paid for my ticket lol. A few staff politely asked about his breed, which I don't mind at all.

My favorite comment was from someone who saw the front of his harness and said "In training hero in time, that's cute" and then saw his vest and very excitedly turned to their friend and exclaimed "oh that's so clever, hero in time because Zelda!" If I were less awkward, I'd have stopped to talk to them because they are clearly my kind of people.

Forte did his head in my lap/body pressed against my legs substitute for DPT after alerting and I found a bench to sit on. It helped but wasn't as good as the real thing but at that point he was pretty muddy and I didn't want him in my lap. (Sorry buddy)

I browsed a few shops but didn't go to any shows because this was more for training purposes than actually attending for fun. Next time we go though I plan to at least catch the Washing Women show because it's my favorite.

After a bit over two hours the rain picked up and I could feel my brain getting static-y. So I picked up his pull strap and gave him the forward cue as I attempted to navigated us to the exit. He did such an amazing job with fmp despite moving against the main flow of the crowd. And once we exited the faire I told him to find the car.

Y'all this is where Forte impressed me the most. He led me through the preferred parking lot, through the trail in the woods, and successfully found my car in the giant field/general parking area.

He exceeded my expectations and I'm so proud of him. He really is my knight in fluffy armor.

[aserene]

Aserene's Master Fic List

Last updated 1 September 2024; the newest works are in red. Anything posted on AO3 or FF can be found in this list, fragments and WIPs will be listed at the bottom of each section. My AO3 works are largely locked to registered users only due to AI scraping. If you need an account, please feel free to hit me up for an invite code while I have them to spare.

Fate: the Winx Saga

Why "Did it break your skin" or "Hello Bloom" has such an impact is a question I can't answer. Sorry, Not Sorry.

Regin of Dragon Series

The Smoking Incident (Silrah, pre-canon, Keggar Explanation) 

Are you my fairy Godmother? (Silrah, Ficlets, Bloom & Farah Prequel to main story) 

The Heir of Dragons (WIP, Silrah, HOTD cross over, Farah meets Rhaenys, Bloom & Farah found family) 

Sparrow, Spider this is how it had to be

Sparrow, Sparrow on the hill (Silrah, Farah-centric time travel fix it) 

Spider, spider in the tree - Tell me how it ends (Silrah, Saul-Centric time travel fix it) 

Echantix and More 

Snow (Silrah, Bloom & Farah bonding) 

Across the Sea, Soar Above (Silrah, Make Mermaids cross over) 

Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust (Silrah, Winx power swap) 

Downpour (Silrah, Power Reveal, Bloom & Farah Bonding) 

Lighting (Silrah, Skloom, Protective Farah & Saul) 

Farah and the Caturday 

Tell Tail Heart (Silrah, transformation accidents) 

Let me tell you a tail (Silrah, Bloom & Farah, transformation accidents, Bloom’s in trouble) 

Other Works 

State of Mind (Farah has trouble with her powers)

Down an unknown road to embrace my fate (Meet the family, Silrah, lost child, Selkie)

Made You Look (Silrah, fluffy)

All the Stars in Your Hair (Silrah hair braiding, slight Star Wars cross)

A Solo Guardian (Silrah, Farah & Bloom bonding, Direwolf)

A road so rough, this I know (Road trips, Silrah, Episode tag)

Prompt Fills:

HEX Gifts 

tis the damn season (meet the family/kind of, snowball fights)

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter  (Winter whump, snowball fights)

soft snow falling in a winter serenade (winter party disaster)

Reverse Big Bang 

Ferns are what it must mean to love without yearning (Farah the Fern) 

WIPS:

The Geas of It (Silrah, Skloom, accidents, Like father–like son)

The Best Days (AU Fix it, Rosalind picked the wrong parents, Silrah & Bloom)

Exile (High Court Fae take an interest in Bloom)

The Heiress (Winx reflections on how they got their magic)

Farah the Cat (WIP for Farah and the Caturday) 

Pawlp Fiction (WIP for Farah and the Caturday)

Car Crash (Silrah, baby bloom)

Saul asks Luna for a favor (silrah, Luna, protective Saul)

NCIS 

Let me save you the trouble. They’re all jibbs. 

Long Live the Queen. 

Ex Files Take Two (episode re write)

A Christmas Fairy-Tale (Episode tag, team as family)

I’ve Read all the books beside your bed (domestic fluff, secret relationship)

Bella Noche (vampires)  

One in a Billion (Halloween) 

I talked to your dad, It’s a love story, just say “yes” (meet the family, Judgement Day fix it) 

Coffeeshop Chatter (Batman won’t like this prompt, Jenny overhears the wrong thing) 

In absentia lucis, Tenebrae vincunt, Coram amore lux valet (accidental love confessions)

The Director’s Fool (April fool’s prank) 

The Cure for Hangovers and Other Aliments (Gibbs to the rescue) 

Noli timere malum, sed time heroa (Jibbslet, Kidnapping, Angst with happy ending) 

Truth in the Lies (fake marriage) 

Ask Her (tag to Knockout) 

Say Goodbye 007 (Mentions of JAG, fluff)

The Twelve Days of Christmas (Christmas fluff)

Twist of the Mind (WIP, Secret Relationship, memory alteration) 

Off the Clock (Girl talk) 

He Knocked (Episode tag) 

Haunting (Halloween Fluff)

Muscle Spasm (Gibbs whump, Jenny gives TLC)

Paris Rose (fluff & crack, lipstick) 

Only With You (undercover as married)

The Missing High Heels (Slight sequel to Only with you)

Jen, Jenny, and the Director (fuff & angst, crack treated seriously) 

The Manual (Gibbs’ Rules, Fluff, Team Dynamics) 

History Lessons (Fluffy collection of ficlets) 

Carols in the Night Series

Carols in the Night (Holiday Found Family)

February Ills (Fluffbruary Sequel to Carols in the Night)

The Easter Bunny (Easter theme)

Mother's First (Mother's day)

He didn't have to (Father's day)

Judgement Day Rewritten Series

Second Chances (Gibbs wakes up in a world where Jenny isn’t dead, yet)

From Now On (Jenny gets a second chance and learns what honesty can change) 

The Reality of Acceptance  (Gibbs follows Jenny to LA)

Expressing the Inexpressible Series 

That’s not her style (Tabloids report on Jenny) 

Goodbye Earl (Gibbs finds an interesting person in the middle of an investigation) 

Home (letters, fluff and angst)

Our Song (tooth-rotting fluff) 

Do you Remember? (orchids, hidden relationship) 

24 (WIP) 

It’s beginning to get to me (WIP) 

Anything you can do (WIP)

A little fall of rain (WIP)

Something in Red (WIP)

So Close (WIP)

Ever, Ever, After (WIP)

She’s in Love (WIP)

That’s How You Know (WIP)

One Step Closer (WIP)

WIP 

Watering Your Plants (Post Hiatus) 

The Deal (deal to have a baby) 

Now I lay me down to sleep (secret relationship) 

Xena: Warrior Princess 

So you’re saying there is a chance… 

All Fics are Xena/Ares 

Eventually, these will be rewritten and posted on AO3 

As Long as You’re Mine (post Looking Death in the Eyes) 

Reckoning the Thoughts (takes place during “The Reckoning) 

The Pendant (Aphrodite fixes Looking Death in the Eye) 

WIP 

Wrapped Around Your Finger (Post Xena coming back from Callisto) 

Black Roses Red (Hercules bashing) 

An Affair to Remember (Looking Death in the Eyes Fix It) 

House of the Dragon

WIP

Rhaenys Intervenes (Time Travel Fix-it)

Daemon and Rhaenys work together to save the House of the Dragon (Time Travel Fix-it)

Go All the Way Back (Rhaenyra and Rhaenys Time Travel)

Rhaenys Overhears (Rhaenys will make sure she is the only one with the title of the Queen Who Never Was) 

Cross Overs 

Call my name and save me from the dark (Fate, Wednesday, NCIS, I have issues okay?)

 Wishes come True, Not Free (Fate/Labyrinth) 

A Demon and A Fairy Sat Drinking (Fate/Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)

Grave Digger Redux (Bones/NCIS)

My Perfect Romance (NCIS/My Perfect Romance) 

Captain Bennett’s Christmas Catch (Christmas Catch/NCIS)

The Man with the Blue Eyes (NCIS/ CSI Miami) 

[joompheart]

Reading game of thrones is dogpilling me so bad. It’s built over time as I’ve taken note of more and more dog girls but. These Starks keep hugging their direwolves about the neck and come the fuck on a huge fluffy wolf as big as you are in your bed I mean what a dream! I keep seeing those damn big eyed wolf faces that some use as reaction images, like those doggys are so sweet. If I were a feudal lord I’d love a direwolf they’re so freaking doggy

[visceravalentines]

Michael Myers x reader is like someone mistook a direwolf for a golden retriever because it was big and had fluffy hair and when they found it it was surrounded by Tootsie Roll wrappers. I will not be taking criticism.

[the-dragon-blade]

// I didn't want to develop Ferenir too much here... Since i am the type of person who hyperfixates, and splitting my attention between many characters has been an eternal headache..

But now Igris'Ir and Fen kind of coexist well in different parts of my headspace, so i think it's time to stop being a coward.

First big headcanon:

Ferenir is an animals person, having grown up in a village with farms. He is particularly good with horses and dogs, and he has a dog named Woofers.

Woofers is a wardog, rather big, fluffy and very smart, able to comprehend human language. He follows Ferenir and acts as his scout, and the two are very close.

Fen doesn't have him fight, and has forbidden him from joining in battle, but Woofers is a little bit of a... Rebellious child, and as headstrong as his partner. Plus, he can take care of himself, through their adventures, he has also grown very powerful, and would put a direwolf to shame.

[lovelylogans]

the warmth of your doorways (i’ll find my way back to you)

It can't be unlearned I've known the warmth of your doorways Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you Oh, please, give me mercy no more That's a kindness you can't afford I warn you, baby, each night, as sure as you're born You'll hear me howling outside your door

—”it will come back,” hozier

⁂

pairings: patton/virgil/logan word count: 5,470 rating: teen and up audiences (based on ao3 ratings, find explanations here) warnings: magic, kissing, making out, brief consensual possession, non-explicit mention of killing someone/murder, please let me know if i’ve missed any

notes: this is my secret santa gift for @phantomofthesanderssides​ on tumblr through a mutual server of ours! i must give some credit to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, whose portrayal of “mother” in love and other fairytales was the basis of virgil in this fic.

⁂

Patton is pretty sure one can tell from the everything about him that he is a big fan of everything cute and cuddly, which is half the reason he got a job at Amalthea’s Menagerie of Ordinary and Extraordinary Creatures.

The other half might have something to do with the fluffy-haired, no-nonsense barista at Tassology, the coffee shop just across the street.

The third half (look, Patton’s not good at math) might have something to do with the proximity of both the pet shop and the coffee shop to the old Whitesummer Coppice, having long been abandoned and grown wild with ivy climbing gnarled trees, thickets of fall asters, and honeysuckle bushes that grew dense with flowers, if the Coppice liked you and if you knew where to look.

Well. Abandoned, chased off. Half the reason Amalthea’s Menagerie was so close to the Coppice was because of all the local legends of what had really happened to the mysteriously vanished Whitesummers when they’d bought and tried to cut back the forest.

It was a place befitting the supernatural, and it also meant that customers were too frightened of myths to get too snippety over the wavering prices of direwolf food when they noticed a worker was wearing the traditional symbol of being a protectorate of the Coppice, a necklace that looks to be made of tiny silver ivy leaves twining along a chain. 

(Honestly, they’re giant wolves, Patton’s pretty sure people should factor in the cost of feeding them when considering getting one. And Amalthea’s doesn’t even sell direwolves! He has no idea why they stock feed for them!)

Patton guesses that most people probably would be frightened of shadows stealing them out of their beds as revenge enacted on behalf of the local populace of the Coppice. And also maybe of the Coppice itself, though most people only guessed at that. Patton’s exceptionally pleased that he’s not most people.

But anyways, Patton questions his decision to work at the Menagerie on days when those devilishly cute but devilishly clever wolpertingers manage to escape from their holding pen again and it means that Patton has to chase them around for half his shift. Patton is built for leisure, okay, not the cardio that comes with scrambling after winged, antlered hare-squirrels with fangs.

His shift is over by the time he manages to secure the last wolpertinger into its pen.

“You darn rascals,” Patton grumbles as he makes sure the latch is magically sealed again, feeling the slightly uncomfortable zing of magic buzz through his fingers as confirmation. 

He really does intend to look stern, so they understand they shouldn’t do this again, then immediately caves at the sight of a cute bunny face and reaches in to scratch between his antlers. 

He is pining for a drink at Tassology—now that it’s winter, probably a peppermint mocha with extra whip, chocolate shavings, and crunchy peppermint bits. Maybe he’ll get a pastry too, since it’s close to teatime; the idea cheers him up to the point where his attitude toward the wolpertingers is less ugh and more oh, you kids!

All right. And he maybe definitely wants to go see his favorite barista.

“Bye, Thea!” He calls to his boss on his way out of the door, who barely looks up from her latest copy of The Modern Witch magazine; he can only see the snakes that serve as Amalthea’s hair, which writhe in farewell. 

“C’mon, lazybones,” Patton says fondly to his own familiar, who has been absolutely no help with the wolpertingers, or much at all. Pumpkin, his big, fat, orange tabby of a familiar is mostly there to look cute. Much like Patton would like to be, really.

Pumpkin yawns as he painstakingly removes himself from one of the cat trees for sale, plodding toward him slowly before mashing his cheek into his shin, rubbing against him, before he starts twining around his ankles. Patton sneezes, bends, and picks him up, cradling him in his arms as he sets off for Tassology.

Patton’s technically a witch, but not the sort of witch that people set out to have them solve world-ending problems or break curses; Patton’s style of witchery is much more like Strega Nona and her magic pasta pot. 

He’s actually been pretty successful in making one, but the pot he’s trying to enchant only makes one style of pasta. He can do a lot of household magic, brew up the occasional tincture, or cast some pretty basic healing spells, and he’s magical enough to maintain a connection link to a familiar, but that’s about it, really. 

He’s comfortable with that, even if his favorite barista would certainly like to see Patton try to get out of his magical comfort zone.

Tassology is one of two coffee shops near the Coppice proper; most of the others are clustered around Astrelons, the Academy of the Arcane that lies on the very outskirts of the city and therefore close to the Coppice. Tassology is a particular favorite for wizarding students who live off-campus; it’s staffed entirely by wizards, students and adults. Patton backs into the door to push it open with his hip so that he doesn’t have to put Pumpkin down onto the cold ground because if he does Pumpkin will start yowling and pouting about wet, cold paws for ages. 

Patton sighs happily as he’s engulfed by the warm, coffee-scented air of Tassology. 

Tassology is like someone plucked a wizard’s sanctum out of a tower and plopped it into a coffee shop; the wall is dark, decorated with spangly silver stars that glimmer when the light hits them right, and on the ceiling the constellations, clouds, and moon magically rotate in time with the earth. 

There are little silver instruments scattered along bookshelves filled with heavy, ancient-looking tomes, and squashy brown leather loveseats and armchairs scattered across the center of the room in front of the fireplace, burning merrily with magical fire—today, it looks to be mercurial silver in color, heating the ever-changing cauldron full of some fiddly potion or another. There are little tables near the windows, most of them empty since it’s so close to closing time, but there remains a handful of dawdling students scowling at their research.

A raven immediately caws in greeting, flapping her wings and nearly smacking a mug off a shelf in her excitement.

Logan looks up from the tome he’d been reading so that Patton can see his beloved’s face. The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as soon as he seems to realize that it’s Patton who’s just walked through the door, even in the midst of his recitation, and Patton smiles just at the sight of it: the faint freckles on Logan’s face that Patton’s stared at as Logan’s slept, the eyelashes brushing against Logan’s cheeks that blush such a charming pink, a slight scratch at his cheek from an overly excitable branch that hasn’t quite healed from the time of their last late-night excursion, being last night.

Logan gestures briefly to where Patton’s drink and a plate of obscured are sitting at the to-go station, before he returns his attention to the tome, chanting something under his breath all the while.

Patton grins. Tassology is staffed entirely by wizards, but more specifically, divinatory wizards—Tassology’s whole thing was coffee always made perfectly, exactly when you want it, exactly the way you want it, even if you yourself aren’t sure about what you’re ordering on the way there.

They offer a reading of the grounds if you pay a bit extra, if you wanted that, which of course the diviners knew if you wanted it before you even asked. It’s the best, and it’s most of the reason so many students from Astrelons come all the way to the Coppice for their caffeine hit.

He goes to the to-go station, picking up the kitten-patterned mug that Logan usually saves just for him. He juggles Pumpkin to one arm so he can pull the plate closer, so he can see what pastry Logan’s divined for him.

“Ooh!” Patton says, immediately pleased, immediately certain that it probably would have been exactly what he’d ordered in any non-magical café. A thick slice of three-layer chocolate cake sits on the plate, visibly moist, with mint-chocolate candy bits scattered throughout the buttercream between each layer, all of it topped off with fudgy, delicious frosting and chocolate curls pressed against the side.

Logan finishes his chanting, and the fire changes from bright silver to a low red, too red to pass off as a normal fire. Patton isn’t really sure what it means, but a lot of the spells Logan does with their rigid parameters are too academic and conceptual for Patton to understand. 

Logan looks pleased as Kamaria flies to settle on his shoulder, her talons digging into the reinforced padding Logan (and most wizards or witches with bird familiars) wears under his clothes. Kamaria’s jostling means Patton can see Logan’s silver ivy necklace poking out from where it’s tucked neatly under his collar; he wonders idly if Kamaria shifted Logan’s shirt enough if Patton would be able to see a peek of purple.

“Good spell?” Patton checks.

“Good spell,” Logan agrees. He leans across the counter, and Patton leans in to give him a quick kiss of greeting, Pumpkin chirping in his arms. 

“The academic kind?”

“Very academic—it’s a very traditional spell, but I hope that with my own modifications,” Logan begins, amused, clearly about to go into details when he’s interrupted. 

His eyes glow white and a wind Patton can’t feel tousles Logan’s hair almost in slow motion—a tell-tale sign that Logan’s having a vision. 

“Ah!” Logan says, in that strange double-speak that comes through if he’s making a prophecy or describing a vision: his own, normal voice, with a voice much lower and more gravelly underneath it. “It’ll impress my Evocation professor quite easily. That’s my end-of-semester project handled. Why a divinatory wizard has to take Advanced Evocation is beyond me, but I’ll receive a top grade.”

Logan’s eyes clear so that Patton can see the earth-brown iris and the black pupil again. 

“And how was work—wolpertingers again,” Logan says, in his normal voice. It’s not a question.

“Wolpertingers again,” Patton agrees wearily. “Amalthea’s about to call in an abjurer to try and make better wards for their pen. I swear chimeras might be less troublemaking.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts. “I think you aren’t considering the trouble fire-breathers might cause.”

“Well, we have those little dragon-lizard-things—”

“Draco volans.”

“—yeah, those—and they breathe fire, and they’re sweet as can be. They like roasting marshmallows!”

“I think you’re underestimating chimeras.”

“I think you’re underestimating the wolpertingers,” Patton returns, setting Pumpkin on the ground so that he can properly pick up his plate and mug. “You’re working until close, right?”

Logan almost always takes the closing shift, for reasons Patton understands exceptionally well. It’s why he takes the close-to-closing shifts at Amalthea’s. He’s pretty sure no one else in the Coppice paid attention, too relieved to know they wouldn’t have to risk the darkness of night; no one really knew their reasons for lingering outside so late.

Well. Except one.

“Correct.”

Patton leans over to get another kiss, unable to help himself.

It is, perhaps, a bit too heated a kiss than Patton would usually give, but Tassology’s full of people minding their own business. So Patton feels like doing little teasing, just naughty enough to allow a flash of teeth against Logan’s lip, to savor the soft gasp Logan gives in response, to swallow the noise down and lave that same spot with his own tongue.

Logan smiles at him, bashful, when he pulls back before he glances at the door.

“Someone’s going to walk in within the next minute,” he tells Patton.

“All right,” Patton says, trying his very best to come off unaffected. He’s pretty sure neither of them is succeeding. “Hey, is that enchantment book still here?”

“In the bookshelf to the left of the fireplace,” Logan says. “The pasta pot again?”

“I want it to make marinara sauce too!” Patton says brightly. “I mean, I love a good bowl of pasta with butter and parmesan cheese, but I’d like some variety in my pasta.”

Patton grins at Logan mischievously. “A mix-aroni, if you will.”

Logan groans at the pun.

“Hey, do you think pesto would be easier to transition to? Maybe alfredo?” Patton continues. “I don’t wanna overwhelm Potton.”

“You named your pasta pot?” Logan says, then shakes his head fondly. “What am I saying, of course, you did.”

The bell jangles. Logan’s eyes flash white and, without looking at the customer, Logan says, “Medium drip coffee, sweet and black?”

“Uh, yeah,” the man says, startled. 

“I’ll ring you up; you can fill up over there. Sugar’s in the middle. Since you like blonde roasts, I’d recommend the half-city roast. It pairs very well with cinnamon—your cinnamon roll is here, by the way, warmed.” Logan taps a pastry bag.

“How did you—?” He begins before he shakes his head. “Wizards,” he mutters and goes to fill his to-go cup.

When his back is turned, Logan does a quick cantrip to make sure the cinnamon roll will maintain a perfectly warm temperature before his eyes flash white again—more customers, probably.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Patton says.

“Later,” Logan says in his double-voice, distracted, then, “Ugh, we don’t sell frappuccinos, and why would you want one in this weather?”

Patton follows Pumpkin to where he’s sprawled on the rug in front of the fire, purring happily as he soaks up the warmth. Kamaria lands beside Pumpkin and begins grooming him with her beak. 

Patton grins at the sight of their familiars. At least they can cuddle when Logan and Patton can’t; he can feel his connection to Pumpkin, the warmth of Logan’s magical fire, the sensation of a beak in his fur. Hair. Patton has hair. Pumpkin has fur.

Patton takes a detour to pick up the enchantment book before taking a seat in the squashiest, coziest-looking armchair closest to the hearth, wiggling around to get comfy. It doesn’t take much.

He sinks into the buttery leather, a puffy pillow nestled against his low back to help with any aching that comes from a day on his feet. He takes a sip of the coffee—rich and chocolatey, pepperminty, at a perfectly warm temperature, with that little zing that lets him know it’s been touched by Logan’s magic—and lets out a contented sigh.

He spends a lovely evening in a cozy armchair beside a fire that never wanes, crackling merrily all the while, eating a slice of cake so moist and delightful that Patton’s eyelashes flutter shut as he tries the first mouthful, and drinking a mocha that never gets cold.

He does try to read about the enchantments, really he does, but this tome is much more Logan’s kind of thing—full of fiddly little parameters, a thousand calculations, and steps that Patton would never remember on his own, much more rigid than Patton’s relaxed, folksy style of magic—that he sets it aside after making a valiant attempt for five pages.

He spends most of the evening alternately savoring his goodies, watching Logan, and daydreaming about what surely awaits them after work, his fingers alternately drifting to twine around his necklace of ivy or to rest just under his right collarbone.

Most of the time he even gets to combine at least two out of the three!

He watches as Logan goes about his business, moving in that utterly Loganish way that he does; no wasted movement, no embellishments without purpose, productive in every gesture. 

Cleaning a mug and, while flicking water off his fingers into the sink, using that same movement for a cantrip Patton spent a week teaching him to sweep any stray crumbs off the countertop.

Patton stares with such unbreaking attention it’s like Logan’s demonstrating the secrets of finding out the secrets of how to make Potton work the way he wants.

Pulling an espresso shot with factory-like efficiency, each and every time; Patton knows from drinking here that any drink made by Logan will be practiced repetitively until he reaches the same delicious result each and every time.

Patton tries to be subtle about it, to watch out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t help it if he drifts off, imagining those same strong, practiced hands on him.

Pointing out the sugar canisters to a student, and, when turning back, flicking his wrist so any errant, abandoned tomes leap back into place on the bookshelves.

The longer Patton watches him, the more he bites at the inside of his own lip, the more he eagerly watches the clock for the moment Patton will be able to whisk him out of here.

It’s just that Logan is so… tactical.

He realizes this is a trait that most people don’t find agonizingly attractive. Patton, prior to meeting Logan, hadn’t even tapped into the fact that precision and expertise were something he’d want—or, more accurately, something he’d daydream about, that he’d watch Logan be so dazzlingly competent and then melt into a vaguely Patton-shaped puddle over it. 

As it is, by the time Logan is calmly shepherding out the last of the Astrelons stragglers out of the door (“We’re closing. Yes, I know, but there are other perfectly serviceable cafés or libraries that are open to later hours, and seeing as this one isn’t, which was clearly written upon the door you walked through to get here, along with the warning announcements, you really should have known… yes, very comical, it’s almost as if I haven’t heard that joke about divination before, now please leave…”) Patton is trying his best not to squirm in his armchair, not to look too eager.

By the time the last person is just about pushed out of the door, Logan takes a moment to sigh, before he turns to face Patton.

“I know he’s stubborn, but this,” Logan begins wearily.

“But they’re gone now!” Patton says, practically vibrating. “Here, let me help—”

“Oh, Patton, really you don’t have to—”

“I want to!” Patton insists. 

They’ve talked about this a lot. Patton’s magic—folksy and householdy—are much more inclined to certain skills, in the same way Logan’s rigid, scholarly magic inclines him to others. One of the minuscule branches of magic Patton can cast very easily, and one that takes Logan a great deal of study, are most cleaning magics.

Logan tends to argue that it shouldn’t fall to Patton to clean up after him, considering it is part of Logan’s job, and therefore his responsibility; Patton points out that by doing it, it gets them both out of there quicker, and anyways Patton gets a friend and family discount on his purchases from here, can’t he repay that somehow? Which Logan will usually counter with Patton gets the friends and family discount because he is a friend, and therefore it isn’t something to repay, hasn’t Patton pointed out that friendship and companionship aren’t transactional in nature? And Patton will waver, and go, well, yeah, true, at their base it shouldn’t, but don’t you want to get out to the Coppice faster? And Logan will say that isn’t the point, and even though Patton is inclined toward household magics, it certainly shouldn’t mean Patton should feel responsible for cleaning up after Logan, who is a capable adult, and he doesn’t want to lean into any sort of prejudices about certain kinds of witchery and wizardry, and Logan’s done all kinds of reading about invisible labor and the way it affects partners, and Patton will go, well, magic isn’t really invisible, is it, I mean, you can see it working, and Logan says being painstakingly literal is usually his thing, and Patton knows what he means—

It’s an ongoing discussion, anyway.

So before the discussion can even start, Patton lifts his arms, and Logan’s eyes flash white, and he says in that double-voice, “Patton, you really don’t have to, it’s my job—”

But it’s too late; Patton has made a wide, forward expression with both arms like he’s pushing something very heavy, and the magic’s off with a whirlwind that rustles Kamaria’s feathers, a pleasant tingle that shoots down Patton’s shoulders all the way to his fingertips, unknitting any knots of tension that have built up during the day. Patton trots into the kitchen to watch, but the magic’s already started.

In unison, the dirty mugs and plates spring into the receptacles customers are meant to place them once they’re done with them, which bustle off to sinks that are already filling with hot, soapy water, brushes and sponges springing to attention as the dishes leap into their makeshift bath one-by-one to be scrubbed clean; towels briskly wipe them dry; the mugs and plates stack themselves obediently on their shelves in their cabinets; the shop’s three brooms are merrily sweeping out crumbs and detritus from various corners; a mop and bucket dance alongside, swabbing the hardwood until it gleams clean; the fiddly silver instruments shake themselves free of smudgy fingerprints; washcloths swipe carefully along the chairs, the tables, the leather, disinfecting and polishing; the ovens drop open and the coffee makers spring open so the stains and spills since the last time Patton did this can be scoured away.

The rugs even march themselves outside to beat themselves free of dust, before marching themselves back in and lying flat where they were, the tables and chairs and bookshelves obligingly floating briefly in the air to allow them to lie themselves out just so. The chairs float to turn themselves atop the tables, stacking neatly off the floor.

And, within five minutes, Tassology is faultlessly, gleamingly clean, everything back in its proper place, Kamaria hopping to a perch and flapping her wings. Pumpkin, entirely used to this, still dozes by the fire, unseeing and uncaring of the cleaning magic scooting around Patton’s familiar, so that Pumpkin can have a nice, uninterrupted nap.

Patton claps his hands as the last of the chairs scoots itself into place on its respective place.

“Thank you!” He calls, and he feels that pleasant, familiar feeling rushing through him; magic saying oh, you’re welcome, you’re welcome, thank you! and he is immediately warm and pink-cheeked with pleasure, wanting to wrap his arms around himself in a hug.

“Patton,” Logan says, “I appreciate it, but you really didn’t have to. It’s my job, anyway, I should be the one doing it.”

Patton pulls Logan out of the back door of the kitchen, looking back at him over his shoulder, purposefully batting his eyelashes and grinning.

“Isn’t me using magic to help so much better than having to wait, though?” He purrs.

Logan’s face seems to be warring between a stern expression born out of a love for rules and all things orderly and delight at the fact his boyfriend is quite literally dragging him to be somewhere in private.

The delight wins.

The barely-visible heat in Logan’s eyes ignites Patton, too, a low fire leaping to life to simmer in his belly. He barely manages to lead them past the treeline before Patton swings them around, Patton pressing his back against the rough bark of a pine tree. They’re past the unofficial line border of the Coppice; that will serve to hide them from any prying eyes.

Patton wraps his arms around Logan’s neck, and Logan bends his head to Patton’s, all too willing to seal their lips together.

He picks right back up where they left off; a bite to Logan’s lip, his tongue at the same place in an instant, except now, without a counter between them, Logan’s arms are free to wrap themselves tightly around Patton’s waist, pulling him ever closer.

The wind roars in his ears, and he swears he hears a dark, low voice in the wind, one that makes the purple aster tattooed over his chest throb in the cold, the same sensation of taking off your mitten and thrusting your bare hand into the snow. 

Harlot, the wind whispers fondly in his ears.

Patton shivers happily, pressing himself closer into Logan’s warm chest; he opens his eyes in time to see the wind caress lovingly through Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes change color again. Except they don’t go white, this time.

Pure black bleeds from the iris, until looking into Logan’s eyes is like swimming in pools of ichor. Far from the panic he’d felt the first time this happened, Patton simply smiles, tilting his head back to meet Logan’s gaze. 

“You like it,” Patton says confidently.

Logan smiles; not his typical smile, like he’s hiding it because serious people shouldn’t smile, or the shy one he gives to Patton in private. This is all teeth, the expression of something—someone—who has observed the act of smiling but hasn’t quite figured it out for himself yet.

“We do,” Logan says in that different double-voice; half Logan, half stormy gale roaring in Patton’s ears.

Patton grins, pressing the suddenly-cold space below his right collarbone to the matching space just under Logan’s collarbone, which he’d bet has gone just as cold as his. He knows, now, even without lifting his shirt to check, that the entwined ivy, purple aster, and honeysuckle tattooed will have grown more vividly intense in color, less like a watercolor painting and more like acrylic.

The ichor starts to leech from Logan’s iris, as Logan gives a full-body shudder and groans. Patton steadies him when his knees go suddenly wobbly; Patton knows how much Logan likes this, likes to use his body to play host, but they can’t do it for very long, because the one Logan’s hosting is a nervous Nelly.

Black whips around them, a suddenly opaque wind that no one would be able to see into, wrapping around Logan and Patton like a cocoon, vast and endless around them.

The name I chose for myself is not Nelly, the stormgale grumbles, less into Patton’s ears and more like emanating from his very bones.

Patton grins against Logan’s mouth.

“I know, darling,” he says aloud. “It’s not intended to be a slight, I promise.”

Patton has to talk a little old-fashioned, to get past any communication gap. There’s been progress, but some aspects of language seem to elude him still; he picked he/him pronouns after a lengthy attempt at educating him about it. I’ll use the ones you both use, he’d told Logan and Patton, somewhat crossly after a long evening spent trying to understand the idiosyncrasies of human language. That way we’ll all match.

Also: teaching a living embodiment of forest about pronouns? Not really something Patton ever expected he’d have to do!

Most of what he’s seen of humans is from afar, and the last ones who got close were the Whitesummers, which doesn’t count because he kind of pushed up their daisies, if you will. 

Anyways. They’re working on modern slang, but it takes him a while to get a hang of it. 

There’s a lot of things that he’s confused by, little things like mochas and pet shops, and also big things like colonization and humanity, but Patton’s confused by a lot of him too; what it must be like being a timeless embodiment of forest whose existence has stretched over probably-millennia and maybe-eons, for one.

Hence, harlot in attempted dirty-talk. Which Patton actually quite likes, thank you very much; his lovers both seem to be fans of Patton’s enthusiasm, which makes Patton even more enthusiastic.

“I like the name you chose.”

“As do I,” Logan growls; they’re so close that Patton can see the way his pupils have gone wide, his hands suddenly fumblingly eager at Patton’s hips. Though Patton likes the way that they combine, for those fleeting moments, the way the pair of them in one body kiss him, Logan loves it. 

They think it’s something about his divinatory powers, that he can do that to Logan and not to Patton; Logan’s tried to describe it, the way that full-body hold feels, and each time he tries he ends up wordless, then immediately moving to kiss Patton, worked up from the sheer memory of it.

Logan presses him back against the tree bark to lean down and seals his mouth to Patton’s, swallowing up Patton’s delighted moan. God, it’s good, it’s so good, is it any wonder Patton spent half the evening fantasizing of this—of the warmth of their bodies together, the frost of Virgil all around them, Logan’s tongue against his lips, and Logan’s body pressing against his, and Logan, Logan, Logan.

Patton leans eagerly into Logan’s touch; he loves Logan’s disciplined nature as much as he loves the way Logan loses it, just for them, and he practically purrs as Logan grabs at his thigh, kneading at the flesh there, while pressing his open mouth against Patton’s pulse.

Patton gasps, throwing his head back to thump unpleasantly against the tree, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, not with Logan’s mouth moving against his neck, sucking hard at the sensitive flesh in the way that Patton dreams about, and Patton’s eyes shutter shut as he grips tightly at Logan’s hair, his back, scrambling for some kind of foothold.

Say it, he says, that stormy gale that seems to start deep inside Patton’s sternum and thrum throughout his whole skeleton, clattering his teeth. Say my name.

“Virgil,” Patton gasps, head thrown back against the tree, bark scratching unpleasant-pleasant across his scalp, Logan’s mouth an unbearably perfect spark of warmth on his throat. 

The wind roars around them, the shadows whipping to life, every blade of grass in the forest and every leaf of every tree attuned to them, just to them, imparting Virgil’s passion and curiosity and heat and concupiscence and love, always love.

Logan pressed between Patton’s thighs, the rest of their bodies engulfed in a possessive, supernatural chill, wrapped around them and between them and in them, it almost seems, Virgil’s presence all around them. 

The silver ivy around his neck going so bitingly cold, that perfect counterpoint to Logan’s teeth scraping against his neck.

Logan kissing him, so greedy, so wonderful—

The wind slips slyly under Patton’s shirt, and Patton giggles a little against Logan’s mouth at it, ticklish, breaking the kiss long enough for the wind to whip just right so that Patton’s shirt comes off. 

Shadows erupt from the earth to wreath around Patton’s legs, Patton’s thighs, Patton’s ribs, Patton’s neck, pressing against Patton’s mouth in as much a kiss as he can without a mouth, the sensation that cold, that divine opposite to Logan’s warm, wet mouth, the taste of honeysuckle bursting in his mouth.

It’s all so good, it’s all so tortuously good—

“Fuck, you were so right,” Logan rasps, practically rapturous, “why on earth would I not take the fastest route to get here—”

Patton, giggling, gently pushes Logan to sit, then presses Logan’s back against the bed of forest leaves that rustles eagerly around them, Logan’s hands bracing his hips, soft and tender, trying hard not to feel self-conscious at Logan’s reverent stare. 

It’s humbling to be the recipient of such adoration. His lovely, serious barista, so full of important visions of the future, so studious and so well-planned, trusting Patton enough to let down some of those guards, to look at Patton with such a warm, appreciative stare, to look at Patton as if he is the most perfect, most beautiful, most dazzling creature to walk the earth. It’s such an honor to watch Logan let himself get fumbling with the craving of the both of them, to lose himself.

It’s humbling, to enter the forest, to crack himself open to bear witness to a sliver of the love of him, for Virgil is so vast, so endless, that to know all of Virgil’s feelings for him would surely be to drown in them for the rest of his life. To try and return some of that, to behold Virgil, to learn his name, and to have that for himself, for Logan, his love. It staggers Patton on a daily basis.

Patton is so fortunate to be surrounded by so much love.

You are beautiful, the wind thrums, from the deepest part of his chest, whispering through the browned, fallen leaves, pushing Logan’s hair back from his forehead, Logan turning his head keenly into the touch of their lover. You are so beautiful.

He moves the conversation along quite handily by straddling Logan’s waist and twining the shadows between his fingers and bending to kiss Logan, feeling that stormy wind rush through his hair and down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their trail—

It’s going to be a long, perfect night.

[thevindicativevordan]

any thoughts on the Super Pets!

Very much a fan of them as a concept. Always had a fondness for Krypto in particular on account of the Krypto cartoon series from way back when (can you believe Krypto got a cartoon series before Wonder Woman?).

Krypto is just a fun concept, a dog with the powers of Superman. Loads of people have dogs and this one is Superman's. Kal has to walk him around the solar system, keep him from ripping apart visitors to the Fortress of Solitude, and let him know he's the best dog a Kryptonian could ask for. Loved the direwolf Krypto look from the New 52, maybe you could reconcile that with the more "normal" Krypto by establishing that Krypto can "Hulk out" into direwolf form when he feels threatened? Don't mind him being able to pass as a regular dog either, he mirrors his master in that regard, but were I to choose a real world breed to base Krypto off of I'd go with the breed of dog Henry Cavill has: an American Akita. Akitas are big, fluffy, and cute, but they also were bred to kill bears and are one of the hardest breeds to train (while also being one of the most loyal when they are properly trained) which fits Krypto perfectly.

Not really a fan of Krypto travelling to Earth in a rocket, too similar to how Kal and Kara travel there. Morrison's idea of Krypto making it to Earth via being in the Phantom Zone works much better, especially since he can be Clark's "guardian angel" that way. Watching over him from a far and silently trying to give Clark support and encouragement when he needs it. As Clark's powers grow he should be able to almost sense that there's some being that's been following him, and it's benevolent, but not even he can pierce the barrier separating the real world from the Phantom Zone. When he finally meets Krypto in the PZ however, he immediately identifies Krypto as the presence he's sensed, and makes sure to bring Krypto back with him to reality.

As for the rest of the Super Pets, aside from a general rule that I don't think any should be Kryptonian besides Krypto:

Streaky - Streaky would work better if she (yes make her a girl cat please) was a last member of some other alien species that just so happened to look like a Earth housecat. Kara adopts her because she can see the similarities between the two of them, and they bond for life. Streaky and Krypto hate each other but will begrudgingly co-operate if the situation calls for it. Give Streaky the ability to fly, but otherwise I'd want her to have a different powerset from the other Kryptonians and Krypto.

Comet - Christ this... thing. Kara's horse who was also her boyfriend (briefly) and also apparently dated Lois too? The hell? Dare I say he's the source of the horse girl meme? Comet is one of those freaky Silver Age concepts that make you wonder what was even the point of the Comic Code when so much wild shit was still getting through! King's apparently bringing him back for Woman of Tomorrow and I can't lie, I'm fascinated to see what he does with Comet given the history between Comet and Supergirl. Otherwise he seems pointless, what good is a superhorse when Kara just gets around via flying anyway? Gail Simone did argue that having a horse would probably make Supergirl more popular however, so what the hell he can stick around I guess.

Beppo - He's dumb but he's a fun kind of dumb. Make it so he's a product of the same experiments that create Titano and he can work fine.

Cool that there's an upcoming Super Pets movie, given the popularity of superheroes and Paw Patrol (plus the talent of those involved) I hope it's great and I hope it does well. Would be nice to see the "sillier" aspects of Superman succeed on the big screen which will hopefully push DC to be less ashamed of them in the comics.

[grayintogreen]

Fav Fanfic would have to be This Masquerade is for the Fools.

What can I say I love me a nice good fluffy Polymorph fic 🖤

Also with the way EQ is going......maybe one day we could see something similar with the Tombtakers.

Besides Otis, Otis gets Nothing.

I love assigning animals to people so that fic is precious to me!!!!

GOD now I have to decide what the Tombtakers would be.

Lucien is hard because for specific reasons that will be revealed much much later, I love wolf for him, but also cat. He clearly likes being a cat. Maybe a direwolf to separate him from Fjord, though, because I do get stuck on wolf a lot.

Cree being a different kind of cat is obvious and he probably has done it, but I like to think Caleb would turn her into a raven. She’s a cat all the time. Let her be a birb.

Tyffial would be a whippet or a similarly long legged hunting dog. (I feel like due to Caleb preferring cats and not being a fan of dogs he would instinctively try to make the Tombtakers canines as a way to distance himself only for it to just stick even when he does get close to them.)

Zoran I think deserves to be a bear. Big old gray bear with black swirls.

Otis is a hyena. Which is an insult to hyenas but half of my mental notes on writing Otis is “creepy hyena energy” so sorry for this injustice hyenas. You are beautiful creatures and not all of you are creepy.

[bookjonsa]

"Of Sansa brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing Jon Snow" seems straight out of a cheesy romance novel lol. Lets be honest here.

Yeah, that's our Jon, a romantic at heart:

Calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall. 

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Dreaming about his mother:

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Playing the hero: 

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,*" Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne.**"

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

*Ser Aemon the Dragonknight, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he crowned Queen Naerys his Queen of Love and Beauty.

**Ser Ryan Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he crowned Queen Alysanne his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Giving courtesies:

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. 

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Playing the honorable knight:

After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Straight out the book of courtly love...

Wooing a girl:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Wishing for a domestic life:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Calling his mare “sweet lady”:

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy. “Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Being friends with soft boys:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

The boy claimed to be eighteen, older than Jon, but he was green as summer grass for all that. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and boiled leather of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. He was pretty as a girl with his dark eyes, soft skin, and raven’s ringlets.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VII

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins,” they said, as thousands had said before them. Satin’s voice was sweet as song, Horse’s hoarse and halting, Arron’s a nervous squeak. “It shall not end until my death.”

(…)

He could smell Horse’s unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant’s overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. ”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. Jon judged that wise. He did not like the way some of the queen’s knights were looking at the steward, particularly Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain. That one wants to shed a bit of blood, he thought. He is looking for some provocation.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X

Imagining his half sister Sansa calling the lands beyond the wall “an enchantment”:

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he’d dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Giving up his deepest desire and by that, refusing to despoil his half sister Sansa of her rights:

“How can I lose men I do not have? I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face.” Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters.

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

“Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father’s seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim.” The king set the cup aside. “You could bring the north to me. Your father’s bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? “My sword is sworn to the Night’s Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

And of course, as if he sensed he was going to die, informing us that his fondest memory of his half sister Sansa is the following:

He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

He's so fluffy!  I'm gonna die!

Thanks for your message.

Good night.

[a-libra-writes]

Imagine Raising a Direwolf Puppy with Sandor

yall can blame @multifandommandy​ for this overwhelming fluff, this is 90% her masterminding 👀

Some time ago, you had found the giant man bleeding out in a ditch. You’d been the one caring for him, and you both began to grow close as the months passed. Sandor ended up staying on your modest farm to help you out; you were alone since the war had taken your father and brothers. Even the townspeople had grown used to him, and the village more or less considered you two married. It’d been a few years since you were with Sandor, so you’d agree with that.

Your small farm was on the edge of the village, close to an overgrown forest. It was in these woods that you found a sad, mewling pup. There was no sign of mother or siblings, and it looked sickly. Stray dogs were not common in the woods … but you took it home anyway.

Sandor assumed it was a regular wolf pup and told you to take the damn thing back. It would probably die anyway. You said you’d feed and care for it until it was healthy to walk again, then you’d let it go.

“It’s a wolf, not a fucking bird! It’s a wild, mangy thing. Put it back in the forest.”    “If I put you back in that ravine, you would’ve died. I’m keeping him.”    “Don’t compare me to a squalling mutt that can’t even open its eyes. Ya should put the damn thing back, and don’t fucking name him.” 

You named the pup. After a week, he finally got his energy back and was able to walk about and follow you around the farm. He was such a cute, fluffy thing, and so young. You figured he was abandoned by his mother for being so sick. 

The pup loved being underfoot as you worked. You didn’t mind because you could easily avoid him, but Sandor cursed and probably almost broke his neck three times thanks to the wolf darting around. Once he growled at it so fiercely it went crying back to you, and you scolded Sandor for “bullying a baby”. 

He sure ate a lot for his small size, and the teething was a nightmare. He chewed off an entire leg of the table (the crashing in the middle of the night alerted you to this), and he’d easily chomp through the bones you bought at the butcher. You started taking him to town for the latter, and the children delighted in petting him. 

Seeing you holding the pup on a leash reminded Sandor of Winterfell, many years ago. He began to wonder if it really was a simple wolf you found. The children weren’t afraid of Sandor when he had the pup, and he’d endure them circling around to pet the wolf and ask questions while you bought some things.

You worried about how the pup would be with the chickens and the few goats on your farm, but he was curious more than anything. The rooster frightened him until he smacked the bird hard once, after that the rooster seemed content to leave the pup alone. He was curious about the chickens and after several months, they trusted him enough to let him lie down with them. 

The goats were devils in white fur; they loved headbutting the pup, running off and bellowing when he was too clumsy to follow properly. Sandor encouraged the pup to just eat one of the damn things, you tried scolding the pup away from them and keep them all separated. If any goats went “missing”, you always assumed it’d be Sandor who did it - he hated the nipping, bleating things - but now there was a second culprit to consider. 

When the pup was in the way and underfoot, you’d scold him or distract him, but Sandor had little patience for training. He’d just lift the pup and move him somewhere else. Sandor noticed that the pup was getting heavier, and you were having trouble lifting him at all (it didn’t help that he’d go limp if he really didn’t want to move).

The pup’s curiosity meant he had little fear. The exception was thunderstorms: It started with the whining, then the howling. You made him a comfortable spot in the barn, but you could still hear the howling from the farmhouse. Sandor didn’t tell you, but it was just like the howls that rang through Winterfell when that boy fell from the tower. It kept him awake, which was a good thing - he was there when the front door went crashing down. The wolf leaped from the front entrance to the bedroom, scaring the shit out of both of you. You had to hold the pup and soosh him while Sandor hastily fixed the door, cursing the wolf the whole time.

(When he got back to bed he pet the wolf with you, and kept doing so when you fell asleep. The pup finally went to sleep around dawn, snuggled up to his papa’s side).

Once he was older and more obedient, Sandor brought him along on hunts. The wolf was a natural, of course. He sniffed out trails with Sandor, alerted him to prey and chased after and caught more than a few rabbits. Soon it was fawns he was catching and bringing back. A few times around dusk, Sandor could hear wolves howling in the distance, and the pup let out a fearsome howl in response that did not suit his smaller body. Sandor figured it was just a matter of time before the beast was as big as a horse.

Whenever they’d come back from a hunt, you’d be there at the door to help Sandor bring it in, give him a kiss, then you’d (try to) clean off the pup’s muzzle and give him a kiss for helping. At the dinner table, you’d notice Sandor slipping bones and morsels to the pup.

“What’d you tell me about spoiling him, dear?”  “He did most of the huntin’, woman, he deserves it.” 

It wasn’t a year yet and the wolf was already far larger than any dog you’d ever seen, or wolf, for that matter. He was becoming protective, too, sometimes a bit too much. You stopped bringing him to town because he’d stare down any man that came near you - something Sandor insisted wasn’t a problem - and you worried about the children getting close. During the rare visits Sandor made, he’d bring the wolf, patting it on the head to relax it around the children and letting them give him careful pets. 

Whenever he was working on this or that, the wolf would relax by Sandor’s side and happily accept the lazy pets on his ears and muzzle. Sandor had a chair he built inside the house, and he’d let the wolf sit up on his lap, even if it was getting way too big for this shit. Anytime you’d glance over them with a smirk, Sandor would scoff. “What, woman? He’s too damn heavy to move. Better to let him be.”   “Yes, love, of course.”

Once it was a year old, maybe a little older, the direwolf began disappearing for long periods of time. Sometimes you’d hear wolves howling in the night, and that would be interrupted by an even louder, sharper one that would make you shiver. Sandor assured you that he was a wild animal, and he couldn’t always stay with the two of you, but he’d still wait up a while with you. 

Whenever your direwolf came back after several days, he’d usually bring a gift of a fawn or even a chunk of deer … and leave it right on the porch. You’d open the door to a mess of blood and your pup waiting patiently, eager to see you, but knowing mama doesn’t like bloody paws all over her clothes. After a quick scrub you’d be happy to give him plenty of affection, and if Sandor was the one who woke up first, you’d find him scrubbing the wolf instead.

The direwolf no longer wanted trips to the village - not that it was safe - and he sometimes spent a day or two around the farm before disappearing into the woods for a week or ten days at a time. You’d always have meaty bones ready for him when he came back. And sometimes Sandor would come home with a deer and tell you the wolf just appeared before him, helped him hunt for a few hours, then went off on his own. You knew your husband missed him as much, since he was the one picking out the “best” bones for the pup. 

Interestingly, you two heard from the townspeople that the direwolf would help other townspeople hunt, too. Sometimes he’d even appear when one of the children wandered too far, and would try to herd the child back. It seems every other visit to the town, someone would have some story to tell about “your” wolf. It was nice to hear about your sweet boy when you couldn’t see him, and you looked forward to when your four-legged “baby” would meet any two-legged children you had. 

[agentrouka-blog]

Do you think Ghost may bond with Sansa ?

Hi anon!

Yes, utterly and absolutely.

1) When Jon and Sansa reunite, Ghost is going to be there. Is he supposed to ignore Sansa? Nope. Stark cuddle time.

2) Sansa lost Lady and has been longing for her, and Ghost will be the first of the direwolves she meets again. Ghost will have his own share of loss (Lady, Grey Wind, Jon for a while) to carry, so they will both be primed to comfort each other, specifically.

3) I am very certain Lady’s shade resides in Sansa, the same way Jon’s soul will take refuge in Ghost for a while. The wolves are telepathically linked to each other. Ghost will appreciate that bond, as well. 

4) It’s the perfect contrast to - *spits* - Ygritte, who demanded that Jon send Ghost away before molesting him and had a non-relationship with Jon’s soul animal, whose return to Jon in his final ASOS chapter marked the moment he could reconnect with himself and decide “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa”. 

In the same vein, he thought a Sansa-looking Val with dark honey hair (i.e. reddish) looked like she belonged with Ghost and jokingly accused her of trying to steal his wolf. 

5) Thematically, Ghost is a metaphorical sword. 

Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister."  (AGOT, Arya I)

Mind, Ghost is essentially the Stark sigil in inverted bastard colors. So Jon DID get the arms, so to speak, and within the same book he also gets the sword Longclaw. 

The direwolf's red eyes were darker than garnets and wiser than men. Jon knelt, scratched his ear, and showed him the pommel of the sword. "Look. It's you."  (AGOT, Jon VIII)

He gives Arya the thing she needed center herself when they said goodbye, her own sword: Needle. So one girl got the arms and the sword. 

Sansa is not a person who needs a literal sword, but it’s likely she will give Jon another set of arms, like the show suggested: a Stark cloak made with her own “sword”, a literal needle. 

So what is missing in that merry gift exchange? Arms and sword for Sansa. 

Who embodies both of these things? Ghost. 

Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him.  (ADWD, Jon III)

When Jon has to say goodbye to Sansa to head South for Targ drama, he will “give” her Ghost. The Show never filmed the scene where he instructs Ghost to “watch over her for me”, but it was planned, so that definitely checks out. 

This would then foreshadow something else:

"Wolves and women wed for life," Haggon often said. "You take one, that's a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you're part of him. Both of you will change."  (ADWD, Prologue)

Jon leaving Ghost with Sansa is also sort of an equivalent of Lady’s bones resting in Winterfell. The Lannisters never got Lady’s skin nor Sansa’s. Unlike their separation at the Wall, Jon will not feel lost even far from Ghost. He will know exactly where he belongs. And considering Arya is capable of wolf dreams across the Narrow Sea, Jon might even have wolf dreams during their separation. Ghost will stick by Sansa’s side. 

6) Ghost will possibly even reunite with Sansa before Jon, warg-style. It’s not set in stone, but there is some foreshadowing for a rescue in the woods, reversed Red Riding Hood style. Basically, Ghost taking Brienne’s place, making short work of persuers and paving a safe passage for the Girl in Grey (also named after a color) to physically reunite with Jon. That’s certainly some bonding material.

"… 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." She gazed at Ghost. "May I touch your … wolf?"

The thought made Jon uneasy. "Best not." (ADWD, Jon VI)

7) Sansa caring for a wolf is Jon’s association with her in his Starkling Memory Slideshow after reading the pink letter. Out of all the Starklings, it is wolf-less Sansa with a wolf.  Sansa civilizing a wolf, specifically, by brushing, while singing.

So, yes, Sansa and Ghost will absolutely bond. Both on an individual level between girl and wolf, and on a Jon-based level because they will literally be one for a while, an extension of each other. Ghost will be Sansa’s “sword”, the physical protection she requires to further increase her agency  in a “man’s world”, and Sansa will be able to fearlessly embrace Ghost, knowing the nature of the direwolves, seeing not a beast but a big fluffy puppy in need of love and protection in return. After losing Lady and almost her whole family, she would probably stop Valyrian steel with her bare hands to protect another wolf. 

It will be fun.

[gondorosi]

The gradual separation of show!Jon from book!Jon - Part II

Magic

The showrunners deciding that magic is an unimportant part of the saga and to be relegated to the background is utter horseshit. There’s a bloody REASON direwolves and dragons reappeared in the world when they did, more or less at the same time. There’s a fucking reason why in Martin’s version Dany’s fireproof nature was a one-time thing, the dormant magic in her reawakening as needed BECAUSE dragons needed to be brought back into the world. Dany, Jon and Bran are the three most magic-sensitive characters in the whole story - and only one of them have anything to do with it in a significant manner (though significant might be stretching it). With Dany, her magical nature is only sporadically referred to (the dragons are the be all and end all) and Jon has nothing.

Show!Jon is a mortal man on every level, without a drop of magic in him. Book!Jon is no Bran, but there are three fundamental factors which show how deeply he is connected to the land.

Ghost: Removing Ghost's importance to Jon is akin to removing part of his soul. He isn't just 'big, white fluffy doggo'. Ghost is part of him, his familiar. Ghost is the physical personification of the magic running in Jon's blood, the proof of the Old Gods awareness running through Stark children's veins. Direwolves have a deeper, subtler and less apparent magic than dragons, but no less potent, and no less essential to Jon than her dragons are to Dany. Out of all the Stark siblings, Jon’s connection with Ghost and Bran’s connection with Summer seem to be the most symbiotic. All the siblings have strong bonds with their direwolves, molded to their own personality - Arya’s connection with Nymeria persists even across the sea in Essos, all legends of Robb in battle are accompanied by legends of Grey Wind and poor Rickon becomes so enmeshed in Shaggydog’s mind that there’s little to distinguish between boy and beast. However, perhaps due to the nature of their POVs and story arcs, none of the Starks save Bran and Jon have their journeys so closely aligned to their wolves. Which is why it’s nigh impossible to even consider Jon’s story moving forward without Ghost, especially post resurrection. The show omitted the obvious implication that Jon warged into Ghost before he died, had no role for him in the BoB, completely erased him in S7 and relegated him to a damn stray in S8. On the other hand, the show AMPED up the Dragon Queen part of Dany to the detriment of all other aspects of her character.

Warging: In a universe where Martin has tried his best to weave in strong magic with actual medieval politics, concentrating all Northern magic into one single character (whose surface they barely scratched) is utterly lazy storytelling. Jon's warging abilities are mighty and second perhaps only to Bran, though I hold the belief Arya is as powerful a warg. But unlike both of them, Jon seems to actively resist exploring his warging possibilities. Some of the resistance may be explained by his environment - with both the NW and the Freefolk considering warging to be something of a ‘black’ art or dark magic. Sure, the Free Folk are more open about it, with Varamyr envying Jon’s gift with Ghost in his thoughts:

“He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.”

The show makes NO mention of it. Jon being considered a warg is a major reason behind half the NW hating and fearing him. I don’t remember the show ever bringing up the fact that Jon was feared - they seemed to make Thorne and Slynt’s animosity out of sheer spite and disgust at his bastardy. 

The Lord Commander's Raven: This is a favourite obsession of mine. Old Mormont’s raven pops out at Jon at seemingly random moments, but for the reader bursting with conspiracy theories, the raven is just another nod to the fact that Jon has a far greater role to play in the story than is visible to the eye. There's a popular theory that Bloodraven wargs him from time to time, since Jon is the secondary piece on his chessboard. The raven has come to Jon’s aid atleast twice that I can remember:

When Mormont is attacked by the wight:

Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear's fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. "Burn!" the raven cawed. "Burn, burn, burn!"

Spinning, Jon saw the drapes he'd ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands.

During the election for Lord Commander when Mormont’s raven flying to his shoulder is used as a sign by Sam to argue for Mormont’s approval of Jon as the choice.

Bastardy

Jon's entire sense of self is centered around two things:

Ned Stark is his father

He's a bastard

His entire character arc is trying live up to one of those and distance himself from the connotations of the other. His bastardy is the formative lodestone of his character and moral compass but in the EXACT opposite of how Catelyn and Westerosi society as a whole expect it to be.

However, there's a twist to that. Jon's inner desire is EXACTLY what Catelyn feared. He DOES want to be Lord of Winterfell. He DOES harbour resentment that Robb (seemingly) has everything handed to him while the best Jon can hope for is to die at his post, unknown and unsung. He DOES want glory and power and to exact some kind of revenge on a society which deemed him vile and detestable for no fault of his. All the elements for him to become the Starks' own Daemon Blackfyre is already present.

But there's one difference - Ned Stark is no Aegon the Unworthy. Even more than all of the above heart's desires, Jon wants to be like his father. He wants to do what is right. He wants his father to be proud of him. He wants to be nothing like the greedy, vengeful and lusty creature he's always been told he is. He wants to help people and stand up for the weak because that's who he is. At the very heart of it, he just wants to be loved by Ned as much as his trueborn sons. And thus he takes Tyrion's words to heart and wears his bastardy like impenetrable armour.

In show!Jon, ALL of this inner struggle is lost. Jon's bastardy is rarely affixed other than as a side. Show!Jon is a 'good' man. Yes, undoubtedly. But what makes book!Jon a great man is that he masters his baser desires to focus on what's more important. THAT'S what Jeor, Mance and Stannis all saw in him. That's why the Free Folk follow him. That's why half the NW will die for him (yes I know the other half will kill him).

When you have spent most of the show without anywhere referencing how vital the armour of bastardy, and being Ned Stark’s son is to Jon's psyche and sense of self, even the best directors will not be able to depict WHY the news of his parentage will have ripped out the ground from under him. Dany's quest for the throne is out there glaring at us thus atleast on paper making sense that having her undeniable right threatened will rattle her (I personally hate hate HATE the creative decision that Dany's immediate reaction to find out Jon's a Targaryen will be paranoia and concern for HER throne but I digress).

Intelligence, ability and cunning

Up until S4 and most of S5, show!Jon and book!Jon exhibited similar levels of intelligence and cunning. One of my favourite scenes is Sam trying to stop Jon from marching into Mance's camp to try and assassinate him. Jon gets in his face with his frustration and despair boiling and asks if he has any better ideas. At this point he's done a superb job commanding the defence of Castle Black but has also just lost Ygritte, Pyp and Grenn all in one night, a significant portion of the meagre Castle Black forces and is fully aware that they cannot survive another charge. He's beyond desperate and aware that his efforts are likely suicidal but he can't just retreat, lick his wounds and do nothing. 

The show labours under the popular delusion that truly good guys can't be really smart, as being smart means preserving yourself and truly good guys will always jump into danger first to protect other people. Politics is bad so if you're a good strategist then you can't be a good person. 

Both book and show characterizations of Jon have been criticized for being examples of the ‘Chosen One’ the ‘reluctant hero’ who turns out to be the right man for the job, and for painting ambition and the quest for power as negative pursuits. In the book however, Jon’s ambitions never really had a chance to form. He’s prideful enough in his abilities to believe he would be an immediate select into the elite Ranger ranks and is devastated when that doesn’t work out. By the time he’s come to terms with the fact that being Mormont’s steward means being groomed for command, the truth of the White Walkers is in front of him and that becomes his sole consideration.

To many readers, Jon’s election to Lord Commander was ‘contrived’ though I do believe Sam played the long political game as he believed his friend being in a position of power would lead to an easier path for him. However, Jon doesn’t crumple under the weight of the responsibility - his actions as Lord Commander are revolutionary enough to completely destabilize his support. The show entirely omits all the strategic parts of his negotiations with both Stannis and the Freefolk. Unlike show!Jon, book!Jon does not allow the Freefolk through the Wall only on the account of goodwill and the fear of a common enemy. He takes their children hostage to ensure compliance. He negotiates with the Iron Bank for a loan to stave off starvation come winter. He repopulates the Gift with Free Folk. He shelters, counsels and aids Stannis. He addresses almost every logistical and material issue he can think except for the most fundamental - his people. 

On the other hand, there’s no strategic and political angle to Show!Jon in S6 and S7, instead being posited only as warrior extraordinaire.

'The greatest swordsman in the North' - but too naive to not keep the sister who tricked him almost to his death at arm's length. Brave, loyal and courageous beyond belief - but completely befuddled by politicking. Immediately trusting a sister he’s never been close to and who has been Littlefinger’s pupil for a considerable time. 

Book!Jon's abilities as a leader are sorely underappreciated, especially considering that his tenure as Lord Commander saw the status quo of almost every aspect of NW life upended. The previous LC is killed in a mutiny. The Wildling army launch an attack. The Others finally rise. A King/King Claimant FINALLY takes the NW's warnings seriously. The Wildlings are brought south of the Wall.

Despite being a new beginning for all recruits, the Night's Watch is the one order in Westeros whose traditions and rules have not changed in millennia. Understaffed, under-resourced and facing a threat the likes of which people would struggle to comprehend, Jon does the best he can. His major mistake is one most young leaders make, and that is assume all of those under automatically understand his reasons for doing what he does. 

Relationships

Brother:

If there's one role Jon takes more seriously than 'Ned Stark's son, it's that of brother. Book!Jon is pretty much the pinnacle of brotherly love - Robb's right hand, Arya's champion and dutiful protector to both Bran and Rickon. There's a subtle tragedy in this too - despite how much his siblings love him, all of them, including Arya, have othered him. He's brother, but only half. Snow, not a Stark. The last in the list. 'The last brother left to me' - as felt by both Robb and Sansa.

Book!Jon and Show!Jon are both shown to be loving, dutiful brothers but once again the show is incapable of portraying more than one character at a time in a certain way. Thus all of Jon's brotherly love is concentrated on Sansa, the sibling he was least close to. Show!Jon never mentions Robb after his death mentions Arya not at all when book!Jon never stops thinking about the two of them.

Maybe, maybe if the show had bothered to flesh out Jon Snow's emotional attachment to his home and siblings, his dilemma between his family and Dany wouldn't have been so shoddy.

Friend:

Book!Jon, despite his aloof demeanour attracts fast friends. His staunchest supporters in the NW are those who he befriended when he first stepped within the gates. He's the only one to ever have stood up for many of them. And it's his NW friends who do become truly brothers, as they see and stand beside him during his rise to leadership.

Show!Jon is no different - he's got his loyal friends but there was no apparent discord after him being elected LC. Which is surprising considering that this is the moment that Jon effectively decides to ‘Kill the boy.’ The Gilly baby switch storyline is completely done away with, probably because it is the one decision that very clearly paints Jon as grey. The book Sam struggles to understand this decision - in his mind his best friend would never have done that. Maester Aemon is the one who sets him straight - Jon is no longer just a brother of the Watch, he’s the Lord Commander now. He can no longer be taking decisions just as Sam’s friend.

The show never really dwelt on the chasm Jon’s position as a leader would have created with his brothers who till them were his equals. Book!Jon knowingly starts distancing himself and this is a flaw that comes back to stab him in the chest - again a misstep in one raised to leadership at a young age.

Lover:

This part will be a bit of a cop-out since at this point the only common love interest between the books and the show is Ygritte. The show axed Val, who’s one of my favourite secondary characters and my main preference for a Jon pairing pre-Dany. And of course, there’s far too much plot to cover before Jon and Dany even meet in the book (if they’re ever finished).

There are factions of the fandom who don’t think the Jon and Dany romance in S7 was set up convincingly. Admittedly that’s going to be hard for me to judge fairly as I’ve been in the Jonerys camp ever since ADWD made it clear how Jon was growing as a leader and as a magical touchstone in direct parallels to Dany. It definitely helped that Kit’s portrayal of Jon had FINALLY started to appeal to me once The Watchers of the Wall aired. I’d been one of the many fans who had been waiting for these two to meet on the show - and though I personally found the Jon-Dany relationship progression to be one of the few good things about S7, I can perhaps get why many neutral fans (i.e not commited to any rival ships for either Jon or Dany) think its out of character for them to be so involved so soon.

There are plenty of popular assumptions perpetuated by the show which have no backup in the original material - one of them is ‘dumb, lovable idiot’ Jon paired with the ‘awkward and oblivious as fuck with women’ Jon. Now, I’ll not deny that the latter portrayal works QUITE well with show!Jon (Kit’s face is the perfect cast for this characterization) but I just don’t see it working with book!Jon. The boy isn’t seeking out women but its not like he’s not around them. Alys Karstark was quite obviously taken with him, and I doubt Jon missed it, but there were far greater things of import to consider for both of them - I saw no awkwardness in the text. Jon dislikes Selyse and manages to be both cordial and deferential as required. Melisandre makes no secret of her fascination with him - there’s no bumbling awkwardness there either. And Val - he’s quite smitten and there’s some awkwardness there, sure but its hardly the bumbling variety.

As for Dany - considering that at this point the 7 seasons of the show is all we will ever have, I somehow think the softer show!Jon makes a much better pairing with the more hardened show!Dany. Its as if certain aspects of their personalities were flipped in the show - book!Dany is definitely much softer and gentle without her power and strength being diminished, whereas book!Jon is far more calculated and ruthless without compromising on his honour and integrity. 

[chillyravenart]

Hey! Love your art! Do you have any fluffy dany and dragons head canons? I always pictured them sleeping with their moma in bed like big lazy cats and as they grow bigger they almost suffocate her, and the servants get a little worried but Dany loves her boys. The Dragons being literally cats ("what do you mean I'm too big?") Or direwolfs fluff? I mean we know Ghost is basically a cuddly blanket for Jon. And shaggydog is Rickon big mama. 😂

Hey there, thank you so much! Well I've always firmly believed that dragons are just fire-breathing cats with scales, so there you go 😆 I'm really no good at fluffy stuff lol but I love Dany's relationship with her boys in the books, how Viserion always wants a cuddle even when he's getting too big, how Rhaegal and Viserion are always snapping at each other and Dany has to pull them apart, and how Drogon is such a headstrong teenager who puts on a show of being a Big Bad Boy™️ but he's still a mama's boy at heart.

I also absolutely love this bit:

Drogon looped his neck around to nip at her hand. His teeth were very sharp, but he never broke her skin when they played like this. Dany laughed, and rolled him back and forth until he roared, his tail lashing like a whip 🥺🥺🥺

And this:

Viserion tried to perch on her shoulder, as he had when he was smaller.

"No," Dany said... "You're too big for that now, sweetling."

But the dragon coiled his white and gold tail around one arm and dug black claws into the fabric of her sleeve, clinging tightly 🥺🥺🥺

They're LITERAL CATS. They also love knocking things over onto the floor, chattering when they see birds fly by, nibbling her clothing, kneading their claws into Dany's thighs, and nuzzling her face when they want attention. They also love basking in the sun, stretching out on their backs and daring you to rub their bellies and judging you silently from afar.

Jon and Ghost do the same thing:

Ghost raced ahead at the first scent of them. Jon squatted to let the direwolf close his jaw around his wrist, tugging his hand back and forth. It was a game they played.

I love that Jon and Ghost sleep together, and Jon's always talking to Ghost and let's not forget the most adorable "look, it's you" scene which makes me🥺🥺🥺

I literally live for Jon and Dany's interactions with their boys, it's so adorable and one of the few moments of joy they both get in their lives 😭😭😭