#in honour of season 3 approaching

[currymanganese]

GUYS, I CAN'T ACTUALLY BELIEVE I'M SAYING THIS, BUT WHAT IF THEY ACTUALLY HAD A GOOD REASON FOR JOHN CENA BEING CAST AS SAMMY FAK?

please bear with me (pun intended) and let me know what you think of my speculation under the cut~

In a mind-boggling case of a seemingly big-lipped alligator moment in season 3 - John Cena appears in a bizarrely over the top (even by the tonal comedic standards set previously by The Bear e.g. Ecto Cooler punch at a kid's birthday party getting spiked with Xanax in Season One) and jarring scene that stretches on and on as he obnoxiously squabbles, blathers and exchanges nonsensical rapid-fire quips with his brothers Neil and Ted Fak as they buff polish The Bear's dining area before a food photographer from The Chicago Tribune arrives to take a photo for a review of The Bear.

In this scene, he also intimidates and threatens to 'haunt' (in a Fak family tradition ( that even the Faks find annoying) - that involves pranking and being an unrestrained nuisance to their loved ones especially when they least expect it) his brother Ted for, "stealing his SD cards"......

This scene and the increased screen presence of the seemingly plot-irrelevant Faks this season is currently being eviscerated by plenty of fans and critics alike.

Edit:

I now strongly suspect that John Cena's role was always in the works ever since S1

..................................

But what if there's a (debatable, but) really good reason for this scene and the increased involvement in Seasons 2 and 3 of the massive numbered siblings family of Carmy's pseudo cousins, the Faks?

See Exhibit A:

In season 2, episode 3, Sundae - after Carmy has already asked Sydney out to Kasama, a husband and wife owned restaurant run by Tim Flores, and Genie Kwon*, ostensibly just to brainstorm and gain inspiration for planning for the new menu, and after Sydney has already gone home and freshened up and changed her clothes, then arrived to Kasama early, despite the meeting only being scheduled for an hour after she last spoke to Carmy at his apartment, Claire calls and interrupts the whole hypothetical shebang with Syd and Carmy at Kasama (the Tagalog WORD FOR TOGETHER) with the words,

"Did you mean to give me a fake number? You do know that I know your entire family [translation: she must know Donna too and Claire assumes that Carmy's folks approve of her - and she's proven to be technically right throughout Seasons 2 and 3 ], right? And I know ALL the Faks! [translation: tee hee! they're bigger than you - to quote Neil and Ted with their Uncle, "We Faks do have a particular shape, don't we?😇" - and they outnumber you, you scrawny punk, slay!😉✨]"

Claire then proceeds to playfully threaten to have said "massive numbered siblings" Faks, which includes Sammy Fak, played by John Cena (a professional wrestler, from an industry that is mixes both bawdy over the top theatre, a performance art that values Kayfabe (legerdemain/slight of hand anyone?) and comedy, and an athletic discipline) that is TALL. BUILT. HENCH. AND BUFF AF.....Claire 'playfully' threatens to have THESE FAKS, beat up Carmy, who is short in stature and cannot fight well from all the previous physical confrontations we've seen him be involved in, despite supposedly being a former high-school wrestler, and who has already been seriously physically abused thrice in the series run thus far (not counting him play fighting or trying to fight with Richie) after being JUMPED by a GROUP of assailants, not once, but TWICE in season one, by the Ballbreaker nerds in the pilot, and the Bachelor Party attendees in the season finale (the first season started and ended with Carmy being beaten tf up, Holy Shit! 🤯); AND AFTER BEING SLAPPED IN THE FACE IN SEASON 2 BY HIS OWN MOTHER, DONNA.

Notice the way Carmy goes from being lost in his thoughts but being completely relaxed after his menu planning session with Sydney, and in anticipation of seeing her on their would be inspiration seeking meet-up (definitely not a date, no Sir! 👀) at Kasama, to being tense and jittery and apprehensive when Claire calls him (after going behind his back and getting his number from Fak).

Notice the way Carmy's voice shakes when he asks Claire if she really knows all of the Faks.....

Notice Carmy's defeated and annoyed reaction after he hangs up the phone.

No wonder Carmy is being so avoidant and conflict averse in his handling of Claire in both Season Two and Three, he has absolutely no faith in himself or his loved ones at present to defend himself should he assert the type of boundaries he may have been desiring to have with them for these past two seasons, after all - who can he count on to fully have his back even to the point of physically intervening for him if he gets into a scrape or is genuinely attacked, by the Faks on account of Claire taking offense at or misrepresenting his words and actions to them, e.g. Claire apparently twisting Carmy's self loathing stream of consciousness confession (that she eavesdropped on) and telling Tiff that they broke up because Carmy said that "Claire will ruin everything good for him?" while he was trapped in the fridge?

What if Carmy knows he has to rip the band-aid and call Claire and apologize for his part in the superficiality and disintegration of their dalliance, but is afraid to do so because he knows in so doing, if he is being fully honest with himself and with Claire, he never truly wanted to be with her in the first place?

And who knows how Claire will take that revelation - it probably won't be pretty will it?

And.....

to quote Neil Fak,

"Claire's the best."

"We love Claire."

"I did that." [setting Carmy and Claire up in Pop)

And.....

Claire. knows. all. the. Faks.....

TL;DR

They cast John Cena as Sammy Fak, and the Faks had a lot of screen-time this season because they are the physical manifestation of being haunted in their family's sense of the word:

and a satirical visualization of Carmy's desire for Syd being cock-blocked ; plus Claire is a Love-able Alpha Bitch, and Carmy is ambivalent towards her, and even a little scared to face her, because her henchmen are the Faks!

If you enjoyed this post, then thank you for reading and I'd recommend that you check out the following meta on the way Christopher Storer and Company have seemingly (and controversially) committed to sticking to the bit of lying to the audience and breaking the fourth wall throughout this entire season:

Richie and the viewer - by @whenmemorydies with my add-on in the reblogs about Richie, not Carmy, potentially being Christopher Storer's author avatar in this series (from a post originally written before season 3 premiered.

Fourth Wall being broken - by @brokenwinebox and @thoughtfulchaos773

Claire being a possible representation of addiction, being a habit that is hard to kick - by @thoughtfulchaos773 and my and @devisrina 's add-on speculating that Claire may also be meant to be interpreted or revealed as a bit of a mean girl, to reference TVTropes, she (and by extension Season 3) may be a deconstruction/ mashup /send-up / subversion of the: Girl Next Door, the Cute Bookworm, Nerds Are Sexy, MPDG, Yandere, Alpha Bitch, Loveable Apha Bitch, Childhood Friend Romance, High-School Sweethearts, Sickeningly Sweethearts, Getting Crap Past The Radar, Freeze Frame Bonus, Parental Bonus, Viewers Are Geniuses, Give Geeks A Chance, Even Nerds Have Standards, Beauty Equals Goodness, Face-Heel Turn, Cerebus Syndrome tropes etc.....and a subtler mirror version of Donna Berzatto.

Edit: See my reblog add on to @espumado 's thread on the recurrent 'haunting' theme this season and the possibility of the Claire x Carmy x Sydney love triangle being a Lilith x Adam x Eve allegory, and my webweaving about Syd x Carmy's Adam and Eve parallels. sidenote: Lilith is Adam's first wife apocryphally and in Jewish mysticism that left him, and became a she-demon / mother of demons after being impregnated by the archangel Samael - wait is 'Sammy' Fak a Samael allegory?!!

and another reblog add-on of mine to the thread linked above - on The Faks as the living embodiment of all that is fake in Carmy's life, C Storer's handy dandy tools for slight of hand,

you can't spell fake without FAK.

and please see

Clairecarmy as Ann Veal x GOB from Arrested Development

and with Richie's frustrated refrain of, "Who cares?!" whenever Claire and Claire and Carmy's breakup is brought up in 3 -

see the running gag of George Michael Bluth's (from Arrested Development) family's disdain for Ann and his relationship with her.

5. The parallels between The Bear and Burnt by @ambeauty - a post Season 2 post which was proven to be prescient and insightful given the Easter Egg inclusion of Bradley Cooper's character from Burnt on the photo wall of chefs at Ever in the Funeral dinner in the finale.

6. The parallels between The Bear and Boiling Point - a gritty film and mini-series set in a restaurant which features several plot elements and characters reminiscent of certain character archetypes and subplots present in The Bear - seriously think of this IP as The Bear's cynical, dramatic, older British cousin.

Decision to leave by @anderwater

This anon that recommended Boiling Point to me and wrote about its connections to The Bear.

The difference between The Bear and Boiling Point by @theblvckvenus

The similarities between The Bear and Boiling Point in this reblog add-on to @happylikeasadsong et. al's thread.

7. Claire/Carmy and the Walk In - my old post on the parallels between Strange Days (1995), Can't Hardly Wait (1998, and The Bear.

and @ambeauty 's meta on Claire as a representation of the fridge

8. My post on the possible connection between The Bear Season 3 and Andrei Tarkovsky's experimental, semi-autobiographical, psychological Oedipal drama film The Mirror (1975) - a film which was incredibly divisive upon its initial release, but has since gained wide acclaim and re-evaluation as a masterpiece, and that has had a legacy of subsequently inspiring multiple renowned filmmakers.

9. The Bear series' lead actress, and the director of Napkins, one of the only episodes of The Bear Season 3 to receive almost universal acclaim - Ayo Edebiri's trollish sense of humour and assertion that lying is the pinnacle of comedy.

10. And last but certainly not least with the inclusion of a Genie Kwon*'s, of Kasama fame, cameo in the season finale and the prominence of Kasama being key to Syd and Carmy's stymied relationship progression, courtesy Claire, see

The Kasama of it all by @gingerylangylang1979

@mod-doodles @lunasink @vacationship @chansoooo1-blog

@bioloyg @msmoiraine @nerdyblerd @ripley-stark @uncriticalbunny @prowitchazel @msmoiraine @mswyrr @anxietycroissant @turbulenthandholding @tvfantic87 @laryssamedeirss @tejidaepoque @angelica4equity @inalltheirgorgeouscolors @houseofevangelista @glitterslag

@uncriticalbunny @imliterallyjustablackgirl

@bioloyg and @ambeauty please don't say I told you so or welcome back, I'm flabbergasted that I wrote this, but I want to believe! 😭

P.S. If you're still reading this, do yourself a favour and read @brokenwinebox 's post

New Paradigm

and this follow up

Mocktail is a dirty word

and check out her #the magic trick tag!

and also check out these Sydcarmy and Rosalind x Orlando from Shakespeare's As You Like It parallels:

The Bear as a pastoral comedy

First Meetings

Fumbling with your crush

Separation, keepsakes and lovesickness

and also C Storer really did tell us in the music that this season would inspire

Mixed Emotions 🥴

[shegetsburned]

❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[the-southlands]

The Rings of Power Summer Celebration 2024

Welcome to our summer celebration for the one and only “The Rings of Power”. Since season 2 is slowly approaching we decided that this was the perfect time to pump some life into the fandom and bring some joy into our lives. We have come up with a couple of prompts to help you get inspired to create whatever your heart desires, like gifs, stills, and artwork in various media; digital, traditional, collages, video, fanfics (drabbles or longer), anything and everything you can think of is accepted on these shores.

Tracked tags:

#ROPCelebration24 #ROPSummer24

Prompts:

June 3 - 9: Characters: Gush shamelessly over the characters we love and adore, whether it is a character that is your favourite, or one that you think has been pushed to the side.

June 10 - 16: Locations: Pay homage to Middle-Earth’s breathtaking locations recreated for the show, from Lindon through Khazad-dûm to the Southlands.

June 17 - 23: Costumes: Honour the gorgeous costume designs.

June 24 - 30: Music: Share the favourite part of the musical score, create playlists for characters or relationships, or write a show-inspired song text, the possibilities are endless.

July 1- 7: Relationships: Celebrate relationships in all shapes and sizes, from family to lovers, friends and enemies.

July 8 -14: Minor characters/OCs/Rarepairs: Put the spotlight on characters that might be less important to the overall story but are very much important to you, and highlight the characters you have created yourselves, and the pairings that might not have as big of a following that you wish they had.

Rules:

All types of creations are welcome, from gifs to written works.

You will have a week for each prompt, but no need to worry you can always post it at a later date.

All ships are safe in this harbour, Fëanor ain’t here to burn them.

18+ is allowed, but not required.

Please use the tags, #ROPCelebration24 #ROPSummer24

And most importantly, have fun <3

[nightbunnysong]

Goals to Achieve by October

As autumn approaches, I am filled with a sense of purpose and determination. The summer exam's session offers the perfect opportunity to accomplish significant academic and personal growth milestones.

Here are the goals I aim to achieve:

1. Pass the Geobotany Exam with top grades and honour 31/30✓

2. Pass the Geology Exam

3. Pass the Ecology Exam

4. Pass the Economics Exam

5. Complete the Bach Flower Practitioner Course and Submit the Thesis

6. Complete the Gemmotherapy Practitioner Course and Submit the Thesis

7. Attend the Mycology Course and Pass the Exam to Obtain the License

8. Lose 5kg

9. Read 5 more books✓

10. Fix my sleep schedule✓

11. Become more kind and lovely✓

12. Exercise everyday or most days ✓ I guess after 20 days you can call it an habit

13. Complete the Phytotherapy Practitioner Course and Submit the Thesis ✓ With a score of 100/100 I'm officially and legally a Phytotherapy Practitioner 🤩

Nightbunny here!

With the promise of autumn’s crisp air and golden hues on the horizon, I am inspired to give my all this summer. Each goal is a step on a journey towards personal and academic growth. I will embrace each challenge with focus and perseverance, knowing that every small victory brings me closer to my ultimate achievements.

By October, as the leaves begin to fall and the days grow cooler, I will look back on this journey with pride. The effort and dedication I invest now will transform into the beauty and success of autumn. One step at a time, I am moving towards a season of fulfillment and accomplishment.

I'll update you everytime I achieve one of them🍂.

[photos from Pinterest]

[fckmini]

Hii, im new to your blog and I love your work!! I was wondering if you could do a thranduil x fem elf reader who is the princess of nature so she can control nature etc and they could of met when they were younger and they were arranged to marry and fluffy ending please and thank you :))

I hope you like this @chocotacobread ! thank you SO much for requesting and feel free to send in any more that you have! :) im sorry it took so long!

—————————————————————————

Spring - Thranduil x fem elf! Reader romantic fluff

I’m sorry if its too waffly but i wanted to write something pretty! 

Thranduil x reader relationship - fluff and romance :)

my masterlist is here - please check out some of my other work if you can!

As always please give me some feedback and please send requests <3

this is written as a part 2 to this request!!

mutuals and ppl I think might be interested: @in-darker-dreams @tolkien-fantasy @the-messy-nessie @blairsanne @aceofatook @lilunoakes @shrimpsthings @the-nerd-procrastinator @khazdith @glorfindelridesagain @therealsomajesticdonki @catnip-and-caprice @blairsanne @leafycasper @ur-gucchi-im-crocs @thelifelemonsgaveyou @emptyspace008 @iactuallyshipeveryone @zemosboy @theelfmaiden @i-did-not-mean-to @gossip-guy-of-middle-earth @catnip-and-caprice

—————————————————————————

It was finally spring. Its arrival had always been a cherished event in the Woodland Realm, and this year was no different. A homely warmth seeped into Thranduil's skin, embracing him tenderly. The royal garden, awash with the tender hues of spring, was alive with the soft whisper of cherry blossoms. The sun’s tender touch enlivened soft petals that danced in the wind. They swirled, fluttering gently to the ground like the delicate brush of eyelashes in the morning. The King stood, a spectator to the seasons, his thoughts drifting back in time. 

Many springs ago, this very garden witnessed the first meeting of Thanduil and his beloved wife. It had been an arranged marriage, as is custom for elven royalty. The sun had been gleaming with the same fond brightness as it was now. It cast a golden hue that glittered in the iridescent dew that adorned the grass: nature's pearls. He was waiting with bated breath to meet his betrothed when she floated in. A breath of life. A sigh of sunshine. Ripples of grass blossomed beneath each step she took, leaving a constellation of wildflowers and daisies behind her.  The air was thick with pollen, heavy with the promise of new life. Otherworldly, even amongst elves. Her very essence seemed intertwined with the earth, and the elven king had been entranced from that first moment. 

“Thranduil,” her voice had been soft, melodic, “it is an honour to meet you.”

“And you, my lady,” he had replied, bowing with a grace befitting a king, though his heart had skittered like that of a newborn deer. His eyes of starlight met hers, the deep hue of the sun at dawn. Sunshine incarnate, flowers bloomed before her, but none more so than the elven king. Her smile made the world itself seem dim, her laugh was purer than the tinkling of a rushing stream. He had worn his finest robes, plaited his silver, moonlight, hair in traditional braids. Yet, hers was ornate beyond compare, decorated with a rainbow of blooms, as opalescent as an aurora. 

In that moment, two souls had entwined, as is common in elven life-bonds. Once a sapling, their marriage blossomed into a bond that neither could have anticipated. The famously icy temperament of the king thawed beneath her touch and gaze. He melted before her. Their hands, desperate for the nourishing affection of the other, would reach out, hopeful, longing like ancient roots seeking water. The time in his life before her was but a shadow of a memory, too distant and too dark to recall. 

"My King," a loving voice broke his reverie. She approached, eternally radiant, still leaving a trail of blossoming flowers behind her.

"My queen," he replied, his voice thick with warmth and reverence.

She joined him. "It is a beautiful day, is it not?" she asked, her hand slipping into his, fitting perfectly as it always had.

"It is." He replied, their eyes met, twinkling with the same light that had captivated the other all those years ago.

Together, they stood in silence, watching the cherry blossoms continue to dance in the breeze. The soft murmur of spring stirred around them. The garden, once a witness to the beginning of their love, now stands testament to its enduring strength. Its growth, how they had flourished, was much like the nature that his queen so cherished.

As they stood there, enveloped in the beauty of spring, they both knew that their love would continue to bloom, season after season, for all eternity. 

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗣𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗦 max verstappen x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . time goes by. days come and go. but your love will always be there.”

☆★ ty guys for all the support <3 inspired by the movie: kimi no na wa // also but like . . . medieval Max Verstappen *bite lip* ━━━━

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( tag list | requests )

"I love her with my soul, in case my mind forgets or my heart stops."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

1456

"Do you believe we could ever find a way, Y/N?" Max inquired, his eyes filled with longing and uncertainty. In the grand estate of Duke Verstappen, your heart was entangled in a forbidden love with his son, Max Verstappen. As the sun set upon the lavish gardens, you found solace in the shadows, seeking stolen moments with Max.

You sighed softly, your fingers lightly touching his hand. "I cannot foresee the future, my lord. But as long as we remain devoted, we shall face it together."

Your love blossomed in fleeting glances shared during formal gatherings. One evening, during a summer ball, Max managed to escape the crowd and found you alone, tending to the garden. "May I have the honour of a dance?" he asked with a charming smile.

Your cheeks flushed, cautious of prying eyes. "But, my lord, we mustn't risk exposure."

Max drew you close, whispering gently, "Let them speculate, I care not for the judgment of others. My heart belongs to you, and I shall not allow convention to dictate my feelings."

As the seasons changed, rumours swirled, and the Duke's suspicions grew. One fateful night, you were summoned to the Duke's study, where he stood sternly before you. "What is the nature of your relationship with my son?" he demanded.

Your heart raced, knowing you could not deceive the Duke. "We love each other deeply, Your Grace. But our hearts know the divide of social standing." The Duke's eyes glinted with anger. "You dare defy the order of this household?" "I beg your pardon, Your Grace," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

The Duke's judgment was swift and unyielding. "You are dismissed from this estate. Leave at once, and never return."

As you departed, Max arrived, desperate to reach you, but it was too late. He fell to his knees, heartbroken and lost. "Y/N, forgive me," he cried out into the cold night.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

1915

"I'll come back to you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "I promise, we'll be together again, no matter what."

You stood on the bustling platform of the train station, the soft rumble of the approaching train making your heart race. Your hands trembled as you clutched the letter Max had written to you, his words etched in ink and love.

Max, your beloved, was about to board the train to join the battlefront. His duty to his country weighed heavily on his shoulders, and though he tried to remain stoic, you could see the flicker of fear in his eyes. He held you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

Your heart ached, the uncertainty of war gnawing at your soul. "Please, Max, be safe," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

He cupped your face gently, wiping away the tears that spilled from your eyes. "I'll carry you in my heart every step of the way," he said, his voice unwavering. "Just know that I love you, and nothing can change that."

As the train's whistle sounded, signalling its impending departure, Max leaned in and kissed you. The world around you blurred as tears streamed down your cheeks. "I love you, Y/N," he said softly before boarding the train.

You watched helplessly as the train pulled away, carrying your heart and soul with it. The ache in your chest intensified, and you knew that from this moment on, every day would be a battle of its own – a battle against distance, fear, and the uncertainty of war.

"Max!" You called running after the train. "Ik houd van je!" [i love you] You called reaching your hand to him. The blond held your hand tightly, leaning out and giving you one last kiss. "Ik houd van je." [i love you] You repeated, feeling his hands slip from yours as you watched him disappear.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

2023

"Did you see? Max's on pole again!" You heard distant chatter as you leaned against the moving trains window, dragging your pencil to create shapes in your sketch book. Looking out the window you sighed you saw another train on a parallel track go the opposite way.

As you continued to sketch the view in front of you, your eyes caught a certain blew ones. Holding deep eye contact, you felt familiar tug in your heart. Leaning your hand on the glass with furrowed eye brows, the man copied your actions, a hint of desperation on his face.

When you got the chance, you were bolting, running in your uncomfortable shoes to where the train the certain stranger would arrive at. Pulling yourself up the stairs, you looked around deck uncertain.

Why were you running? Why did your body move on it's own? Who was he? What is this feeling?

Your hopes died down once you realized the train had left before you arrived. A deep sigh emitting from your mouth as you felt your chest empty and ache. The loud noise of the opposite side train muffled your ears as you pulled out your sketch book, flipping to the page of where you'd seen the man before and etched the dream into your book.

"Back to the real world." You mumbled to yourself watching as the other train leave. What you did not expected was to see the ma you were searching for standing on the other side. Your breath stuck in your throat you looked at him, taking a step forward.

"What's your name?" You could hear him ask.

[according2thelore]

i just want to say its insane that this is the best blog AND the best ao3 account. unfair. also i scrolled here forever and came across that art of priest sam and now i'm thinking about what if sam ran off to join the priesthood if he didn't get into stanford...... i don't even know if that's a thing in the 21st century but omg.... dean breaking into a church rectory to steal him back from god....... calling him father to be a dick but also bc...

HOLY SHIT????

um--thank you so much??? omg??? i'm crying?

the best is crazy, considering there are so many incredibly talented and hilarious bloggers that make up our community, and i'm so glad to be part of them! thank you!!!!!! i'm so honoured you like our blog and my fanfic!!! that means the world!!!!! <3 charlotte also says thank you sm!

and yes! priest!sam makes me bark like a fucking dog bc it makes sense! sam, at college, tormented by visions and unsure why walking past the stanford memorial church in the middle of the quad makes his feet burn.

whenever he blesses himself with holy water, it leaves faint red marks on his forehead for the rest of the day that he covers with his bangs. salt really seasons his food, and he can immediately tell if someone put it on his meal.

and he loves jess--he does, so much it hurts--but he can't live like this, not anymore. he applies to seminary school (you have to be at least twenty-five (or twenty-four if you get it waived) to become a priest but let's ignore that for now!) and only gets in because his local priest advocates for him to the diocese. for some reason, his application keeps getting lost, no matter how many times he turns it in. it just vanishes.

he doesn't know that what's inside of him is evil, yet, but he remembers looking at dean sometimes and having to look away because dean seemed bright, physically bright, and it hurt his eyes. he thought it was misplaced lust, that burning in his skin, but remembers that painting of galahad, of glorious light and purpose and purity and knows that he wants that.

he feels it, when he undergoes orders, the burning in his blood, his weak knees as he kneels on marble, like he's going to be sick, and he's overjoyed, because that must mean that he's being cleansed of every unholy thought, every unholy cell in his body. the holy oil they smear on his hands moves on its own into circles on his palms, quarter-sized dots that sizzle.

sam tucks his fingers into his palms and pretends that he can't see the similar wounds on the crucifix, the stigmata that are a garish red on christ turning into silver scars on sam's hands, scars that ache or burn when he cleans the holy vessels or touches the sacrament.

he gets assigned to the smallest church in the diocese. he's happy enough, and finds peace in the quiet, in connecting with the people in the parish and the spartan way of life--no distractions, no decorations, just a purpose, a holy purpose. he gets restless sometimes, the lack of mental stimulation driving him crazy, so he prays to god to remove this weakness in him. he prays to god when he sweeps the floor and when he organizes the soup kitchen donations and when he brushes his teeth.

he's closing up one night when he sees a man in one of the pews in the darkened sanctuary. he approaches slowly, and asks softly, 'can i help you?'

and the man doesn't turn around, when he says, 'i had a brother, once.' and sam fucking freezes in his steps because he dreams about this voice sometimes, dreams of this man's hands on him and knows that his job isn't done yet, know that he's not cleansed of all the rot inside of himself, because this man remains.

and dean's smile is liquid and oily when he turns around, and says, 'but now our family's got two fathers.'

and sam's lost, the second he looks into dean's eyes, the exact shade forgotten until this moment, and sam's feet ache in his shoes like they always do on church grounds--on hallowed ground--, and dean fucking glows, and sam can see the shadows he casts, and sam's eyes burn.

one of them is holy, one of them is approved by god.

and it's never been sam. it never will be.

god doesn't want him.

but dean does. dean always does.

goddamn this ran away with me. do i need to write a priest!sam fic?? much to think about. thank you for this lovely ask anon!!!! and thank you again for your kind words!!!!!! <3

happy wincest wednesday!

-lizzy

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Hiii! Someone recommended your blog to me!

I love Nico (and yeah F1) and I think that him and Logan Sargeant are very similar. For me Nico is deffo his father figure so... if you want could you write a fic about Nico as a father figure to him?

Thank u❤️

Guiding Lights

Note: First of all, I wanna apologise for making you wait FOREVER. Life has been pretty busy and between work and uni, I kinda forgot about writing stuff. If I am honest, this is on the shorter side of things because I really was unsure of how to write for Logan and such BUT I still hope it brings at least a little bit of joy <3

In the fast-paced world of motorsports, where the roar of engines and the thrill of competition seem to rule, there also exists a quieter, more intimate side – the bond between mentor and mentee. For Logan Sargeant, a young driver with dreams as big as the racetrack itself, that bond took shape in the form of Nico Rosberg, a former Formula One champion turned mentor and almost, dare he say, a father-like figure.

It was on a crisp autumn day at the racetrack, when Logan, unexpectedly found himself face-to-face with the legendary Nico Rosberg. Having debated whether to go up to the ex-Mercedes driver, for quite a while, Logan found that his nerves were churning in his stomach as he approached the seasoned champion, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"Logan Sargeant, right?" Nico called out as Logan neared him. His voice was warm and welcoming as he extended a hand. "I've heard good things about you."

Logan nodded, a sly smile forming on his lips, as he felt a surge of pride at the recognition. "Yes, sir. It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Rosberg."

Nico flashed him a reassuring smile, his blue eyes twinkling with warmth. "Please, call me Nico. Mr.Rosberg always makes me think of my father… Anyway, the pleasure is all mine. I've been following your progress, and I must say, you've got some serious talent."

Upon hearing the praise from the former champion, Logan seemingly beamed with pride "Thank you, Nico. That honestly means a lot coming from you."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly from there, as Nico shared stories of his journey through the ranks of motorsport and offered advice on everything from racing strategy to mental preparation. With each word of wisdom and his willingness to answer whatever question Logan threw his way, Logan felt a newfound sense of confidence, fueled by Nico's unwavering belief in his abilities.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, their bond grew stronger, forged on the foundation of mutual respect and shared passion for racing. Logan felt like Nico became more than just a mentor to him – he became a trusted friend, a confidant, and, in many ways, a father figure. He couldn’t remember when exactly, but at some point, the older driver’s unwavering support extended beyond the confines of the racetrack, as Nico took an active interest in Logan's life both on and off the circuit. He offered guidance and support during the highs and lows of Logan's racing career, lending a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on whenever Logan needed it most.

But it wasn't until a pivotal moment on the racetrack that their bond was truly put to the test. Amid a fierce battle for the lead, Logan struggled to maintain control of his car, his confidence shaken by a series of setbacks.

"Nico, I don't know if I can do this," Logan confessed over the radio, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

But Nico's response was swift and unwavering, filled with the same calm reassurance that had carried Logan through so many challenges before. "You've got this, Logan. Trust in yourself and your abilities, let your instincts guide you."

With Nico's words echoing in his ears, Logan dug deep, finding the courage and determination to push through the obstacles in his path. And as he crossed the finish line, the taste of victory sweet on his lips, he knew that he owed a big part of it to the man who had believed in him when no one else did – his mentor and friend, Nico Rosberg.

As the celebrations came to an end and Logan could still hear the cheers of the crowd ringing in their ears, he couldn't help but smile as he looked at Nico. "Thank you, Nico. I couldn't have done it without you."

The former driver returned his smile, a proud glint in his eyes. "You earned this victory, Logan. I was just along for the ride. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning for you."

And as they embraced, the bond between mentor and mentee stronger than ever, Logan knew that with Nico by his side, there was nothing they couldn't achieve together.

For in the world of motorsports, where speed is king and victory is sweet, the true measure of success lies not in the trophies won or the races conquered, but in the bonds forged along the way – the bonds between mentors and mentees, between friends. And for Logan Sargeant and Nico Rosberg, theirs was a bond that would stand the test of time, guiding them through the twists and turns of the racetrack and beyond.

[johnslittlespoon]

okay listen feral bikerider gale/past catching up to him/etc etc etc anon here and can I just say. thank you. I’m not overly interested in the actual violence or gang-shit or whatever. when I first read about the bikerider au all I could think about was sons of anarchy (idk if you’ve watched it, but I watched three seasons with my dad and it’s all just. gang conflict after gang conflict after gang conflict with some romance sprinkled on top and that’s not. really my thing) and I was not into it. at all. then your yapping (affectionate) converted me. hearing that it won’t be all weapon smuggling and, idk, drugs or smth is actually so reassuring lol

and!!! obviously it’s your fic/au, I’m definitely not here to try to influence you in any way whatsoever!!! I’m super excited to read it no matter what because your writing is just. lovely. I check in pretty much every morning like I’m reading the papers lmao

doing something semi-stupid in your past feels like kind of on brand for everyone, even though it might not be illegal for most. and maybe it wasn’t illegal for Gale, either, bro I am not a very good writer, I’ll leave the plotting to someone else.

but I’ll always love the idea of Gale being a little feral. or a lot feral. like John getting hurt in a bikerider au tickles my brain the same way John punching a German guard in canon centric fics does. Nevermind the guard, I just need the fallout. the angsty fallout.

John and Gale coming back home, and Gale sitting him down in the bathroom to very, very carefully patch him up (and, listen, the other guys probably just roughed him up a little. he probably got away with minor bruises and some scrapes), and Gale being insanely worried that he has scared John. John on the other hand is worried for Gale, because what if it happens again? What if the police finds out? John being worried that he somehow messed up.

and, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t mind reading feral gale beating the shit out of people. It’s just not something I want to read a full fic of.

finally, because I just need to add this, too: Gale’s knuckles being split and bleeding and John so very carefully cleaning them up, pressing gentle kisses to the cuts when he has to scrape the dried blood up to get it properly clean. Gale not being sure what he did to deserve John, being so sweet and gentle and caring.

okay, over and out 🫡 sorry for not being that clear in the other ask, I blame. idk, sleep deprivation. and sorry for making this so long, idk what I’m on about half the time and my meds are doing shit to my brain. I love your blog and your writing just. makes my fucking days. I’d wait forever for the next chapter of dog coded Bucky ❤️

YIPPIEE more leaving!bikeriders au >:) hii i meant to get back to this SO long ago, feels like good timing now with the bikeriders theatre day approaching! i'm assuming you're the anon from this post <3

i have THOUGHTS. aka this got lengthy oops, shocker. a bit of plotting and then like 2k words of drabble below the cut lmfaoo

the proper drabble will be further down, but first of all, very big agree!! and relieved i'm not the only one who feels this way omg. i haven't watched SOA for this reason specifically– i just don't have much interest in the conflict/violence–heavy plot stuff (which is ironic considering i'm excited for the bikeriders movie, but i think it's pretty clear that's because of the lovely cast lol since i don't care for bikes/cars in the slightest oops). HONOURED that my yapping converted you tho LOL i swear if something is character focussed, it can make 99% of topics at least somewhat appealing!

and please don't worry omg i don't feel influenced/pressured etc, i loveee bouncing ideas and brainrot back and forth for my aus, it's sm fun and i love trying to incorporate things other people like/suggest when i can!! <3 but omg i will weep thank you so much wtf?? :'))

for sure; even the most stoic/'put together' characters surely have done some not very bright things in their lives. i'm toying with a couple backstories for gale to establish what might catch up to him or cause conflict, but i'm gonna wait to decide until i see the movie because i have a feeling i'll get some good inspo from benny's story!

honestly it's the part i'll have to put the most effort into really thinking out in terms of plot to make it flow naturally, because all the relationship focussed things kinda write themselves as i brainrot. but i'm 99% sure i'm gonna write the fic from john's pov because it'll keep a lot of gale a mystery to the readers as well, and therefore save me from having to flesh out certain things until necessary lmfaoo

and yeah!! it's not always the events themselves that hit the hardest– it's the fact that the character could be feral enough for them to happen in the first place, and it's the outcome/fallout that's most fun to write/read (to me).

feral gale is so fun to explore in general because of how different it is to most of what we're shown of him in mota, so it's like a challenge to keep him feeling in character while also picking out the little parts of him that could be pushed to be that way. and of course the classic whump of the one person gale cares about and tries so hard to protect getting hurt because of him? endless angst possibilities.

i dig what you said, about john 'just' being roughed up a little, because i think with whatever backstory i end up forming, it's not like the 'bad guys' are gonna be some mastermind criminals extorting gale for something life or death lol. it's probably gonna be a bunch of rough and tumble biker men with some long lasting beef between their clubs, hitting gale where they know it'll hurt the worst: a loved one.

i bet you anything (depending on how plotting goes LOL) that they don't actually even intend to mess john up to the extent they do; i bet john runs his mouth and makes some sorta escape attempt because as terrified as he is, all he can think about is how gale's gonna obviously track him down and he's more worried about what the guys are planning to do to gale when he shows up. in his naive mind, if he can get out and get to a phone or something, he can stop everything.

ofc the escape attempt is futile because it's one gangly college kid vs a couple of grown ass men, and john gets banged up in the process, seeing as being tackled to the ground with your wrists bound behind your back doesn't leave you with anything to protect your face from concrete with, and maybe then he gets a solid fist to the face to scare him out of pulling anymore shit (it sure works).

and just the act of taking john/putting him danger alone would have gale ready to wring these men out by their necks, but when he shows up and sees his baby bleeding? and he can't tell how bad he's hurt, from where he's lurking around the corner scoping out the situation? he'd see red and be pretty dang close to saying fuck it and going in there without a plan, but the fear of john getting hurt in the process would stop him, and he doesn't feel like going down for murder.

somehow he picks off the guys one by one with a generous amount of flying fists and y'know, maybe a bit of knife–work if necessary, idk, future plotting lol, and tells them they're good as dead if they pull anything like this again. that the club will be keeping an eye out for them, that they're a buncha cowards, and they can come talk to him face to face like men, next time. you get it.

and then finally, obligatory wound care ofc <3 easily top three tropes ever ugh. gale gets john the fuck out of there and to the safety of his truck, methodical and vigilant, and only then does his guarded expression drop, and his hands are shaking just as hard as john's are when he cups john's face in his hands to look him over. john gives him a shell–shocked "'m fine, gale" and hates how guilty gale looks, because there's not even the tiniest part of john that blames gale for any of it; john knew what he was getting into (to an extent) with gale.

but regardless, gale's shaken up, terrified by how much worse things could've gone and how much danger john could've been in, but also terrified of how deeply he feels for john; probably some backstory there about gale seeing someone he loved get hurt, or almost get hurt, swearing he'd never bring someone into his life again because of it, etc, and then in waltzes stubborn, loud–mouthed john egan.

but selfishly (or what he feels is selfish), gale's also terrified that this might be the final nail in the coffin for john. he knows he's not the easiest to be with (even though john thinks the exact same thing about himself lol silly boys) and he knows john's more patient than he deserves, and could find someone his own age with a normal life in a heartbeat with his sweet disposition and charming pretty boy looks. and he knows john's well within his rights to walk away from their relationship now, to be scared of the future, to decide it's too much, and part of gale would be relieved to not have to worry, even if he'd miss john like he's lost half of himself.

it's real quiet when they're back home and john's sitting on the bathroom counter, gale between his legs, patching up his face so so gently, as if each brush of a cotton swab is an apology. both of them have lots to say but neither know how to say it; john hates knowing gale's probably shouldering all the blame and he doesn't know how to reassure him in a way that'll get through to him, but he can't handle the silence. probably makes a weak joke about how "y'shoulda seen the other guy" and doesn't even get a smile out of gale.

ends up wrapping his legs around gale's hips to pull him closer but just gets a huffed out, frustrated "john" as gale swats his ankles away, and it's not that john's trying to make light of what happened, he just doesn't know how to talk about something like that, regardless of how good he and gale have gotten at communicating.

john probably gets a bit frustrated, because gale’s already so protective over him as is, which he likes, but now gale’s treating him like glass, like he’s scared to hurt him further just by touching him, and john does not like that. it feels like progress undone, like he's back at the beginning of their relationship when gale wouldn't let him in or open up to him or trust that he was capable of making his own decisions.

so when gale's done bandaging him up with practiced, meticulous hands, john doesn't give gale time to react, just slides off the counter and snatches the little first aid kit from his hands and says "okay, your turn." and it's obvious gale wants to protest, but john catches him so off guard that he stunned into silence, lets john guide him until he's leaning against the counter.

john's hands still tremble when he takes gale's hands in his, and he tries to steady them because he doesn't want gale to see how freaked out he is, but he diligently cleans away the blood around his knuckles, feeling gale's eyes on him the whole time but not looking away from his task, scared he'll shatter the moment if he does.

if he were to look up though, he'd see gale's watching him in complete awe, struck by the fiercest wave of adoration, drawing a blank while he tries to search for what he could've possibly done in this life or another to have someone like john come (crashing, stumbling, tornado–ing) into his life.

and if we wanna make it extra yowch–y and sappy and feelings heavy: as john's brushing his lips over the cuts, dusting featherlight kisses across his knuckles, john's throat goes tight and he feels his own overwhelming rush of emotions and his heart thumps and he blurts out: "i love you."

it's the first time one of them says it. and it’s a disguised i love you even so. i love you despite. i love you anyway. i love you because. months worth of reassurances wrapped into three words, and even with what john's just gone through, he's still scared when it slips out, looks up at gale with wide, searching eyes, trying to gauge whether he's overstepped or said the wrong thing.

gale's just trying to catch his breath, feeling like the wind's been knocked out of him by the admission. half of him wants to shake his head, gently push john's hands away, tell him "no you don't, hun." a tiny part of him wants to be cruel about it, to laugh the honesty off and ensure john will walk out that door far, far away from the mess that gale is, and not turn back, safe from harm.

but the other half of him, the half that holds his heart, evidently, has him cupping john's open, sincere face in his hands, looking down into bright, fearful, hopeful blue eyes, and murmuring "i love you more."

and john blushes as hard as he did the first time they'd kissed, as hard as he did the first time he was laid out in gale's bed, as if he and gale haven't said a million things much more fluster–inducing since they met. gets all shy, pouts, looks down and mumbles "that's not fair," and that finally gets the first smile out of gale all day, maybe even a breath of a laugh.

they love each other your honour </333

this got way out of hand but what else is newwww i'm so weak for these two. so so weak. i keep saying it but MAN i'm so excited to write this fic this summer omg :')

and DON'T BE SORRY!! it's so chill omg, you were perfectly clear (but i'm glad you elaborated and gave me an excuse to yap about them some more hehehe) and never apologize for long messages, i loveee reading the brainrot and hearing ur thoughts and getting to brainrot back. and thank you AGAIN sobs 😭💗 that makes MY days and ur way too kind fml. i hope the wait hasn't been too long LOL on the chapters AND a response to this ask!! tysm again mwah

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 21: The Answer

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Pieces of a puzzle you hadn't realised you'd been trying to solve come together. And you and Din find peace.

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, canon characters present, Mandalorian lore nonsense, smut's back: vaginal sex, unprotected piv (be safe), touch of edging.

A/N: My hand slipped and the back half of this is just tender filth. Also a lil more lore nonsense, but you've let me get away with that this whole time, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

--

They all seem to have made the collective decision to gather in the training grounds, to debrief and reflect on the battle. Informal clusters of Mandalorian warriors – some with helmets still on, some not – hold amiable conversations.

A small triage and med station takes up one side, though you don’t see many injured. You know some brave fighters fell, and there would be mourning to come. But casualties have been minimal.

With a gloved hand to the small of your back, Din guides you through the crowd, holding a still dozing Grogu in his other arm. You fuss with the hem of your top, cross your arms over yourself to fidget with the shoulder armour. 

You hope what you’re wearing is okay. After pushing your whole hand through the gaping rip in the torso of your leathers, you’d put the garment aside. Dressed instead in a regular tunic and pants combo – having been amazed to find your wardrobe on the Crest still in its storage compartment, untouched. But you had elected to re-clip the leather-clad beskar pieces. To acknowledge them. To show your respect, you think.

A reassuring circle of Din’s thumb on your back has you dropping your arms and trying to settle. ‘You’re alright,’ his modulated voice soothes you.

Individuals pass by you both, acknowledging you with a nod or an arm crossed over a chest. Passing praise and honour for your contribution to this victory. It feels surreal. The two of you come to stop by a few of the pilots who’d flown with you in the final moments of battle. They speak of the glorious fight, more praise going your way. You start to get antsy, uncomfortable with taking credit for feats that had been somewhere far beyond your conscious actions.

Spotting Fennec Shand, lounging against a stack of supply crates, you slip from Din’s side with a murmured ‘excuse me’ and head to her. She sees you approach and turns to face you. 

‘Hey Fennec,’ you say. She nods, piercing you with a keen regard. You cross your arms together and hold tight to each elbow, unsure why you’re feeling so self-conscious. ‘Thanks for uh—Th- thanks for having my back out there. You kept me alive.’

She tips her chin up, then smiles. ‘Just orders I was happy to follow,’ she says. Your eyes widen. 

Orders?

‘Or- orders?’ You don’t think you’ve witnessed her taking orders around here even once. ‘What like,’ you say, reaching for an explanation, ‘Did-- did the Armourer tell you to cover me or something?’

Eyes alight with mirth, they flick over your shoulder as she shakes her head. She replies, ‘I haven’t been here answering to the Armourer, friend.’

You follow her gaze and see Din again, standing where you’d left him and talking with the small group. He’s nodding and gesturing along, but you can tell his attention is trained in on your little conversation. You press your lips together to suppress a smirk. He’s looking so adorably awkward.

You turn back to Fennec, sigh out a long contented breath. Smile to yourself. Pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t realised you were trying to solve slot together, settling a calm over you.

‘Well, uh,’ you shrug, eyes back on her. ‘Thanks all the same. You’re a hell of shot.’ 

Terse as ever, she just tilts her head in acknowledgement. She finds someone else over your shoulder and, just as you turn to see who it is, slips away.

Leg strapped and limping only a little, Ari Wren makes her way to stand flush with you. You look up into her visor. She is among the ones electing to keep the helmet on at present. Like Din. You suppose that’s fair, it must feel alien to be without it all at once. 

She crosses a forearm over her chest and gives you a tiny, reverent bow. Trying not to let your jaw drop too much, you clumsily reciprocate the motion. Before you can say anything, she speaks.

‘You were very brave,’ she says. ‘We were honoured to have you fight with us.’

‘Uh, um,’ you stammer. ‘Th- thanks? Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to help.’

She nods. After a pause, and with a hint of what you swear is a smile behind the beskar, she says, ‘I am very glad I was not dissuaded from doing so.’

Huh? 

‘Dissuaded? Who tried t--?’

But even as she’s turning her helmet side-on, you already know who she’s going to look at. Din now has his back to you, and you can’t see who he’s talking to. But that doesn’t matter right now. You turn back to Wren with a questioning gaze, a slight sheen of tears blurring your sight.

She gives a somewhat uncharacteristic shrug.

‘When he could not talk me out of letting you fight,’ she says. ‘The deal was I would not leave your side.’ 

You’re in awe. He’d argued with Wren about you. You can’t help but grin, contemplating that scene of unstoppable force meeting immovable object.

‘I am only sorry I could not carry on with you to the end,’ she hangs her head a little. You’re opening your mouth to say ‘no, it was my own fault’ but you’re interrupted by someone stepping up beside Wren, looping an arm across her waist and pulling her close. Instead of continuing to try to ease her guilt, you just gawk.

Wren turns to the fully armoured newcomer and, when she speaks, her voice is lighter and happier than you’ve ever heard it.

‘Ah, you have finally arrived,’ she says. ‘The journey was not difficult?’

‘It was significantly delayed, in fact,’ the woman holding onto Wren’s side replies. ‘The ion storm was more active than usual and—’

They continue to talk as you gape at them. 

Seeming to remember you’re standing there, Wren turns back to you.

‘Apologies,’ she says. ‘This is my riduur. She is part of Bo-Katan Kryze’s personal guard, so we have been apart for a while.’

‘Wh—’ you start. ‘Oh.’ You fumble around for something to say. ‘Congratulations…’

What?

Then, in a slow realisation that sends shivers through you-- 

‘Bo-Katan is here?’

‘Yes,’ Wren’s… riduur replies. ‘Lady Kryze made the decision to provide aid but,’ she sweeps a prideful gesture around the room, ‘it was not needed it seems.’

‘Where--?’

You’re interrupted by Din, who mirrors their posture, stepping up beside you and pulling you into his side. He nods to the two of them but leans into your ear.

‘Can you come with me please, cyar’ika?’ he asks. ‘There’s someone we should meet with.’

Fuck, and you know exactly who.

You stammer out a quick ‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ and a ‘nice to meet you,’ as Din guides you away from the grounds.

As you move through the cave tunnels, you try to not worry. Your fretful thoughts are only just kept at bay as you focus on his hand on your waist and remind yourself over and over of the easy way Din’s endearment for you had slipped from his lips. Even with various catastrophic scenes trying to encroach on your mind, it’s helping.

Though you’re still taken by surprise as the forge comes into view.

It’s like a memory, a terrible one. A different time and a different place, but devastating in its familiarity. The Armourer stands by the azure flames talking to another. When she turns to reveal her companion, you recognise the ornate features of Bo-Katan Kryze’s helm.

You freeze on the spot, but Din hasn’t let go of you. He presses his helmet to your temple, whispers, ‘It’s okay, I swear.’

Trust him, you order yourself. He’s not going to put you through that again. Remember his words. Show him you trust him.

So you shuffle your feet further into the chamber, let him guide you to one of the four stools arranged around the Armourer’s small table. The table where you’d sat some weeks ago and watched her work, waited for her to notice you, with the meagre hope that she wouldn’t cut you down on the spot the only thing that kept you in place. 

You hold onto some small hope this time too. 

As you and Din move, the other two occupants in the room move as well. You each take a seat. Like some unspoken signal passes through the three Mandalorians in your company, they make a small ceremony of pulling their helmets off, placing them with reverent steadiness on the slabbed surface.

You don’t look at Din, sitting beside you. Some instinct telling you to keep your eyes on the two women. You glance between them.

The Armourer’s features are neutral, still and focused. Bo-Katan’s, by contrast, brim with emotion. Her mouth is pressed into a thin line, eyes pained but also kind. Even though you’ve met only a few times before this moment, you’ve seen plenty of expressions cross her face. From warm and inviting to caustic and furious. This look is like… it’s like there are a thousand things to say, but nowhere to start.

You know the feeling.

‘Well,’ she starts. ‘Here we are.’

A thought occurs to you for the first time and it’s so alarming to you that you just blurt it out.

‘I hope you don’t take what I did as a sign of disrespect for your people,’ you say, relieved your voice at least stays steady. ‘That’s not why. I just—’

‘We know,’ Bo-Katan says. ‘We know why. Din has explained it.’ She shoots a mordant look to him. ‘Thoroughly.’

She looks back to you.

‘And for my part, I give my apologies.’

‘Oh, o-okay.’ With no clue what to say to that, you settle on, ‘Thank you.’

‘No thanks necessary,’ she holds up a regal hand. ‘In fact, I should be thanking you.’

‘Wh—’

‘I do not think today’s victory would have been nearly as decisive if not for your assistance,’ she rolls over your confusion. Her features turn smug. ‘And you’ve helped me prove a point here as well.’

‘A point,’ you state. Din is staying quiet beside you, but you can sense an intense energy trapped in his stillness.

‘Indeed,’ Bo-Katan continues. ‘Since reclaiming Mandalore, I have focused on forging alliances with others. I believe that while Mandalorians are stronger together, we are stronger still when we do not stand alone. A reasoning that some have, until recently, resisted.’

She side-eyes the Armourer beside her in a way that makes your toes curl. It’s so brazen and so familiar. 

‘But, among other, significant, developments, your actions in this place have contributed to not just beating back the Imperial powers that seek to destroy us, but to bringing us together to grow, and thrive, and live in the light.’

This epic, destiny-laden speech is scratching at your flight reflexes again. But the quietude beside you, the calm stoicism of Din, stays you.  

‘So, the Armourer—’ the leader of Mandalore turns to the leader of this Covert; they hold a long beat of eye contact, energy dancing between their gazes that you feel almost intrusive for witnessing, ‘—Has made a decision.’

Din moves. It startles you for a moment but he only reaches across to lay a hand on your own, clenched in your lap. You release the fist and notice you’re trembling bad. He touches your fingers and gives them one quick squeeze that shoots sparks up your arm before withdrawing. You slide both hands, one now tingling with pins and needles, into your pants pockets.

You’re aware of the heat of the forge washing over the side you have facing it. Its drone the only thing you can hear, somehow louder than before. You smell the tang of hot metal, dust and mildew from the cave’s walls. All your senses are hot and bright as you shift your gaze from one woman over to the other, who sets her shoulders and speaks into the space between you all.

‘The Creed is a mark of loyalty,’ the Armourer begins and you beat back a wild panic. Hold it at bay as she continues. ‘Of commitment to clan and kin, pledging that you will always act in solidarity and to defend when needed. We hold it in our hearts. Always.’

Nodding to you, she says, ‘These are qualities you have shown above anything I’ve seen beyond a vow. By choosing to come here, by standing strong alongside our people, you have forged a trust through iron will and grit.’

You think you might pass out, struggling to draw breath, struggling to think clearly.

‘Therefore,’ she continues. ‘You have earned a place here.’ She gestures at your shoulder, at the beskar plate seated there. ‘When you want it. If you ever do. And the decision to take a vow will be yours alone.’

The two shoulder pieces are heavy and present against your body. But rather than feeling afraid, you feel comforted. Secure.

She gestures at Grogu, who has slowly woken up and is taking this all in with a sleepy curiosity. 

‘And for now, this young apprentice still has much to learn and much to see – to go on travelling with his mentor and father. I would only take it as given that you would travel with them?’

There’s no air in the room, you’re sure of it.

‘But, but the war,’ you say, somehow needing something else to focus on other than the insane thing she just said. ‘Don’t we have to be here for that?’

All she does is give you a tiny tick at the side of her mouth, a smile there. A knowing, ‘I knew you’d say that,’ kind of smile.

Bo-Katan speaks up. ‘The victory here was decisive. But you are right, it is not the end. We don’t know if we have taken a limb or just a hair, but we have made first blood. There’s time to ready for future attempts. In the meantime, I don’t see any pressing reason you and Din should need to stay and not continue this young one’s training.’

By this time, Grogu is wide awake, fidgeting in Din’s arms and reaching for Bo. 

She smiles at him and holds out her hands. Din stands, moves around the table to settle the squirming child in her lap. The kid coos and accepts a scratch behind an ear.

He straightens, ‘Is there anything more?’ he asks. ‘I think- I think we,’ he motions to you, ‘have a lot to discuss now.’

Bo-Katan shakes her head once. Looks between the two of you.

‘Go,’ she says. ‘He can stay with me for a while. You two talk.’

He nods and retrieves his helmet from the table, cradles it in the arm that had held his son. Taking your cue, you stand and back away from the table, knees shaking and heart hammering. With an awkward little bow you instantly wish you’d withheld, and a yearning look to a chattering Grogu, you depart side by side with Din.

It’s only when you’re out in the hallway that you remove shaking hands from your pockets, rub them together to try to settle them.

Halfway down the corridor, you realise you’re aimless.

‘Where, um,’ you say to Din. You’re nervous and hesitant. You feel fresh and raw, aware and self-conscious of every millisecond passing between you. ‘Where--?’

‘How about we return to the Crest?’ he suggests, giving you a warm look that melts the icy shards pressing on your lungs. ‘We can talk there.’

You nod. What a great idea. The two of you step back out onto the former battlefield and make your way across it. He holds you close as you move back toward the ship – toward home – as twilight slips over the landscape.

You sit on the bed and fidget, listening to the hiss of the fresher. Trying to keep your mind occupied. Trying with all your will not to think about him in there. In the steam and the vapour. Water cascading over shoulders, over chest, over his—

Stop it, you think. You’re just gonna talk at first. At all. Just talk.

It had come as a mixture of apprehension and relief when, as the two of you returned alone to the Crest, Din had excused himself to his own ablutions. After the revelations by the flames of the forge, you almost panicked at the thought of being separated, even by a few metres and for a few minutes. Afraid that all of this would wink out of existence the moment you lost line of sight on him.

But it was only fair, he’d just fought a battle and saved your life, you had to let him go. And it gave you a little more time to collect yourself. You’d moved to take a seat in the hold, but he’d shaken his head. Took your hand and guided you to the cabin, made a small plea of ‘Wait here, please,’ before stepping hesitantly away. It seemed like he didn’t want to be far from you either.

Legs pulled up, and back pressed against the cabin wall, you thumb a nervous rhythm on your knee caps. Trying to order your thoughts. The sound of the jet stream cuts off. Heart rate picking up, beating a pattern on your eardrums, you make a list of the things you want to say, the words you’ll use to say them, consider your tone and voice and posture to get it all just right.

To make it all right.

But by the third time you’ve run through your list, Din is still in the little side room of the fresher. It’s deathly silent.

Doubt invites itself into your thoughts. The longer it stays quiet in there, the more time that passes and he doesn’t emerge… an unsettling feeling seeps into your bones. Like this isn’t really real.

Like the past few hours have all just been a fever dream. You aren’t awake. That trooper had managed to empty his blaster rifle into you and you’re bleeding out on the battlefield. You’d fallen from the walker and this is a comatose haze. The Crest had been blown out of the sky and you’re blacking out as it plummets. 

That phase blade is still stuck in your side, draining your life as you imagine what could have been.

All of this, mere wish-fulfillment as you fade away. 

Stop it, you chide yourself again. Stop doing that. You tip your head back and thump it against the comforting solidness of the Crest. Its ever-present hum assures you that this is where you really are. You're okay.

To stave off any more spirals of delusion though, you slide to the edge of the bed and pad to the door of the fresher, which he left a little ajar. Through the gap, you can see the space under the jet is empty. He must be on the opposite side of the wall you lean on.

‘Din?’ you murmur around the edge of the threshold. ‘Okay?’

A long sigh meets your ears.

‘Come in,’ he says. ‘Please.’

You stay pressed against the chilly surface for a moment more, uncertain, before slowly edging around the doorway. Pushing the slider across to make room, you turn to see him. You almost choke to keep back a startled gasp.

Din has pulled his pants up to rest loose on his hips, but that’s where he stopped getting redressed. His broad, hard-muscled upper body is bare, still glistening with droplets of water. They collect in little pools to drip over the lovely swell of his stomach and travel along the V of his hips to land and soak into the waistband that is just hanging in there. 

Dark curls are plastered to the side of his face, the profile of which you take in with awe as he stares down at what he’s holding. In the shock of seeing him leaning shirtless against the wall, you’d missed it.

He cradles his helmet, staring at the dark T and drawing his thumbs across the arches either side.

‘Is- is this…’ you fumble. ‘I can keep waiting outside, s- sorry. I was just worried, is all… Sorry, I’ll go.’

‘No,’ he rasps, almost inaudible. You stay still. So does he, still looking at the helmet. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve kept you waiting.’

As he keeps staring down, the air takes on a charged feel. Waves of an emotion you can’t quite place radiate from the man holding the identity of almost all his life in his hands. 

‘How um, how does it feel?’ you ask, desperate for some reprieve from the tension.

‘It feels…’ he pauses for a long beat. Rolls the precious, meticulously forged beskar item in his palms. ‘Strange.’

Mm, you think. Fair enough.

‘And…’ he goes on, but stops again. He tips his head back to rest against the wall. You watch a thick tendon flex and relax, once, twice… He sighs, closes his eyes. ‘And peaceful.’

Peaceful. That’s a slightly more interesting thing to interpret. You shift your feet.

‘We uh- we can talk more about it? If you want? Along with everything else,’ you ramble. ‘I’m here to listen, you know… And to talk.’

Din straightens.

‘I don’t want to talk,’ he says. You startle, straighten as well and step back a little.

‘Wh- You don’t?’

‘No.’

A hot bolt of dread lances up your spine. You’ve overstepped. Pushed too hard. He’s going to push you away. Oh gods but you have so much you need to say!

As you are losing a battle of wits with yourself – letting panic set in, about to turn and bolt – Din lays his helm with care on the bench and turns to you. Captures you mid-meltdown with his eyes, hooded and dark. Here in the low light, they have just a glint of amber flickering as if all aflame.

‘I don’t want to talk,’ he repeats. ‘I want to kiss you.’

Sensations of wildfire burst in your chest, race down your body, converting from fear to arousal in an instant.

‘Din,’ you murmur as he moves in, takes your face in his hands and tugs you into the room, holds you so close.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks, eyes pleading. ‘Please.’

You’re nodding in fury, mumbling ‘yeah, yes, please yes, please,’ words tumbling from your lips when his slide against them, tying and anchoring you to the spot. 

He holds there for a moment, with your mouths sealed together. Shifts one hand to tangle fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, sweeps the other down to your waist to pull you in. He tilts his head and nudges your lips with his tongue, they part and grant entry and he sweeps inside your mouth with the reverence and greed of a mortal tasting the nectar of the gods. 

He groans loud against you, presses deep, teeth an unholy barrier to where he needs to be. You’re lost in the bliss of it, letting him move and explore and take. His naked torso, still damp, heated and hard, ripples under your hands, where you’re just holding on as he devours you. He tilts your head back and drags his open mouth across your cheek, over your jaw. A laving tongue and wiry beard at the column of your throat sends you up in red-hot flames.

You try to moan, to whine or cry out or say ‘more’. But for the moment, it’s a heady paralysis. When he returns to your mouth, tasting you deep, he’s somehow hungrier than before. 

A suck and a bite to your lower lip wakes you. You surge, grip whatever you can reach and taste him right back. You suck in an upper lip and run your tongue along his moustache, the friction of it pulling a deep throb from between your hips. It makes you buck into him, hissing into his mouth as you feel the ridged outline of his erection, straining against the half-fastened fly. 

He pushes you into the wall and grinds back against you so that you squirm and shiver. Your clit is sparking like a charged conduit, ready to erupt any moment. You lift your toes to find better purchase, better connection and Din shifts to lift your knees, lock them at his side and holds you. He pulls back to look at you, panting hard into your lustful features – ruined mouth, eyes blown out. You stare back, at swollen lips and straining neck and shoulder muscles. At a tender, desperate gaze that coils deep into your core. 

You can feel your arousal rushing from every corner of your body to gather eagerly in your lower belly, already soaking through the layers between you. Already so much. 

‘Fuck, love, fuck,’ he rasps. You’re wriggling your hips against him, you can’t help it. Eyes start to flutter closed at the sensation, but, ‘No, don’t you dare. Look at me.’

You drag them open and stare as you both work yourselves into each other, his hips pinning you down. His eyes feeding you with a molten thirst set to rend you apart. At the feeling of your pussy clenching on itself, you cry out. You need the connection. Need it right now.

‘Bed,’ you gasp. ‘Bed, Din. Bed now.’

He hauls you off the wall and strides into the cabin. 

You tighten arms and legs around him, not letting any inch of you lose contact as he crawls on the bed to settle you on your back, looming on top of you. It’s a struggle to work your clothes off, because neither of you want to move or shift away from the other. So you wriggle under him to work your top and bra away, pause for a moment to let your naked chest move against his. Jolts of pleasure shoot through your nipples, growing stiff and needy just from brushing against the coarse hair on his chest.

He’s devouring your mouth again, lips locked and sending simmering ecstasy down your throat and into your lungs while you push and drag and kick at your pants. As you shimmy your hips to get them off, you feel the glide of your thighs being coated in your slick.

His hands roam your exposed skin, sweeping with hunger over your ribs, your belly, shoulders and arms, between your breasts and then across them.

Nipples demanding attention, you push your chest up and Din’s there to suck and nip and graze his teeth back and forth while working his own bottom half free. Then he’s pushing your knees apart with his, opening you for him. As he leans up to brace his arms by your head, dragging his lips and tongue along your skin, the head of his cock just barely meets with your sex. Your cry of pleasure would have drowned out his guttural, animal groan were he not right by your ear, pouring it into you.

He holds himself at your entrance and lifts his head, murmurs, ‘Okay, eyes on me. Eyes on me.’

You’re gasping, fighting the urge to sob. Gods, you can feel he’s rock hard against your trembling flesh. Why isn’t he just fucking you already?

‘Eyes here, love,’ he prompts. You cease your twitching and writhing and focus in on the pitch black gaze devouring you whole.

He seems set on taking his time, and moves his hips to drag himself through your gleaming folds, coating himself, watching your fluttering eyelashes, your mouth twisting in desire and ecstasy. Hardly paying attention to your hands that are pawing everywhere you can reach, trying to pull him in, clawing at him for more. He pushes forward, parting you just a little, and you think, Now, yes! Break me the fuck apart! 

But he draws back, nudges in slow again. Out, back in. Over and over. The smallest bit deeper each time. He works you open for him. He takes his damn time.

This is accompanied by gentle fingers in your hair and kisses everywhere – your jaw, your nose, each eyelid whenever they fall closed, tasting the salt and urging them back open. He’s taking whole seconds to draw his length out, carving back in with an agonising serenity. 

But then he’s finally there. Hips firm against yours, fully seated inside you, pulsing against your stretched walls.

He wraps both huge arms around you – loops one across your shoulders as the other cradles your head. He kisses you tender, moving to nose at your jaw and lick a strip up behind your ear, gnaws at the sensitive spot there, so precise and so perfect it’s like he did this only yesterday.

You’d be squirming more if you hadn’t melted entirely. Dripping with desire just like your leaking cunt.

When he starts to move, he stays slow.

He saws into you, leisurely and thoroughly, finding your inner sensitive nerves each time. Brushing your clit with just a touch of friction to stoke the flames. Your silky pleasure between you becomes messier and noisier with every passing moment. You feel every single millimetre of him, every veiny ridge sliding through your clenching pussy, every single time. 

It feels so good. But it’s just shy of what you need.

‘Din,’ you pant. ‘F- faster, please, please. More.’

‘Uh uh, love,’ he grunts into your ear. His pace remains just as languid even as he finds new depth within you. ‘Not yet.’

You moan. ‘Please, gods, please Din.’

‘Sshh, hush, cyar’ika,’ he slows down even more. You might die. ‘I have a lot to make up for. And ‘m not gonna stop this til I hear it.’ 

Hear what. The sounds are already obscene, debauched. He’s going so deep and each time he draws back it drags more juices out of you. So damn wet now, the mess is all the way down your thighs. Your knees slip against his legs as you try to get more purchase, but his whole body holds you down. You can barely move, only writhe and shudder. Your cunt throbs each time his hips collide back into you.

With a pace and a patience that is inhuman, he takes you, gliding along your body as he holds you close, closer than he ever has. Grips you so tight you might disappear right into him.

‘Pl- please, I can’t take this, want you- to-’ you squirm, move your hands to grasp at his delicious ass, try to tug him down, to make him move more, ‘please, can’t’.

‘You can,’ he moans into your skin. He draws his arms from around you, reaches down to pull your hands from him and snake them up above your head, holds your wrists and somehow, somehow, slows even more, leaving little pauses each time he withdraws. Rolls back in like a low tide. 

That settles it. Your eyes roll back and you are just a well of tortured nerve endings. Pure sensation courses over what was once a person, nothing now but pleasure on the cusp of a surging climax. Suspended over the abyss of love waiting to swallow you down.

‘You can take it,’ he mumbles, near incoherent himself. Thighs trembling as the roll of his hips work out and in, over and over. ‘Take everything I have... giving to you—have all… of it, mesh’la.’ 

A long, strangled whine crawls out of you – so loud it echoes against the Crest’s walls. From where he’s buried his face into your neck, you feel Din smile wide. He presses his exposed teeth to a tender vein and chuckles.

‘That’s what I want to hear,’ he groans and picks up the pace so swiftly you see stars, giving a desperate breathy moan as your release starts a rapid ascent. It’s rushing toward you so fast you might black out.

‘Gods, the feel of you,’ Din growls. ‘So good. Mm, that’s it, hold tight, hold on, take my cock so t- tight.’

He lets your hands go and grabs your hips to drive harder into you. Fingers dig into your ass where he finds purchase. Every muscle in your body goes rigid as a seismic wave of static electricity courses from your cunt to all your very edges. It’s all too overwhelming, too overstimulated, but you swear a second shockwave follows before the first even ebbs.

You try to catch a breath but he has no interest in that. He pushes up, leans away and, without withdrawing a single inch, reaches back for your ankles and has them up by his ears. With this angle, he snaps his hips forward and you scream – pierced with this whole new depth within you. He’s going to new places, taking you there, finding it with you. Letting you have it all.

‘Huh- uh—’ you say. ‘D—!’ His thumb finds your clit and you’re gone again, just like that – lost in a white hot bliss. 

He steadies his thrusts, fucks you through cascades of sensation. When you can drag your eyes open, the walls of the cabin are gone, edges fuzzy. It’s just you and him. 

You stare up at him, fucked out. With a feral scrunch of his nose, his tempo quickens a little, watching you cry an ‘ahh’ and bite your lip at the feeling. He leans toward it, drawn down to your mouth even as your calves press into his chest and your thighs push back into you. He grinds into you the whole time, and, once your mouths meet again, fucks you even deeper into the bed.

There’s nothing for you to do but hold on, bury your hands in his hair and pull him into you – his tongue in your mouth, hands bruising your thighs, cock ripping you wide open.

As another devastating orgasm swells and crashes over you out of nowhere, he shrugs off your legs in a hurry. Boneless, they hit the mattress with a soft thump, drowned out by his aggro grunting. He withdraws almost entirely from you, but stays notched at your soaked entrance. Din reaches a hand between you and groans low, hisses a harsh breath. You open your eyes to see him looking down, a furious look of concentration on his face. You follow his line of sight.

‘Oh god,’ you gasp, staring at the space between your joined bodies. ‘What are you doing?’

He pinches hard on himself, throwing his head back in relish. Neck cords strain and stand stiff, the hollow of his throat dipping as he pants.

‘St- stopping… myself…’ he spits out. ‘Don’t want to… don’t want to end this, yet.’

‘Oh shit, oh shit, Din.’ 

‘Ssshh, uh- pl-’ he withdraws and kneels between your legs, shoulders heaving as he huffs harsh breaths. You watch, alight with renewed lust. Watch this god of a man stop himself from cumming all over you. You feel spent, but he doesn’t want it to end, so you just breathe deep as well and wait.

When he’s ready, he looks up at you with a primal starvation that’s almost frightening. He reaches an arm behind to take up one of your legs again, but this time crosses it over the space between your bodies, carrying it through. He moves the hand to your hip to guide you over onto your stomach, then crawls over you again.

You arch your back to meet him and, once the connection is found again, he slams into you. The self-restraint of before is gone. The patient torment now done with. He pistons into you with desperation in every grunt, every moan, every strangled utterance of your name.

He shoves a hand under your hip to find your tenderised bundle of nerves, presses into you. Fingers slip in the mess of you but he makes it work, circling and holding – he doesn’t even have to try as you surge and fall over the cliff again and again. Each time you think you’re done, sure he’s wrung you out and drained everything you have, he finds it again.

‘Good, you’re doing good. Almost there,’ he mutters and your body sings. ‘I know you have more.’ He cranes his neck until he can reach your mouth with his again, drags tongue and teeth together. And he’s right, you do have more. Somehow there’s always more.

Time has lost all meaning when his hand finally goes limp where it’s pinned under you. He loses rhythm and slams into you with complete abandon. You find enough wits to speak.

‘Thas it, beautiful,’ you mutter into his mouth. ‘It’s yours, Din. It’s yours. That’s it. This pussy is yours. It’s for you. Wanna feel you. Din. Fill- me- please!’

And though your body has been ablaze for what seems like hours now, you feel it, a fresh heat erupting inside you. Hot and heavy pulses of cum fill you with hard thrusts as Din’s strangled cry shifts to a low rumbling growl, to whimpers and stuttering breaths – cycles back through again to settle on a long hum of bliss. 

He keens and mumbles tiny ‘oh, oh gods, oh’ into your ear as he comes to stillness.

You bury fingers into his hair, pull his face into yours so you share your panting breaths. Senses beyond what’s been raging and screaming between you creep back in – the chill of your sweaty skin, the hum of the ship, the coarse blanket. A stiff neck and a twinge in your hips. Maybe the slightest taste of blood – did you bite your lip too hard or did he?

But it’s still mostly him, mostly his eyes boring into yours and his warmth the thing you feel most. You blink lazily at him and together, you smile. 

--

Din watches the walls come back into focus as he eases himself from you, flops onto his back and nudges and tugs at you – totally boneless – until you’re tucked into his chest. He’s wondering if you’ve passed out already when a gentle moan and a breathy laugh make him shiver.

‘Good talk,’ you whisper. He huffs a laugh himself, pulls you closer. You hum. ‘Still got more I want to say though.’

‘There’s time, my love,’ he murmurs back. ‘We have time.’

He does feel you nod off then, with a soft affirmative ‘mmmm.’ He lets you rest – in awe of you and how you’d taken everything he had to give. Didn’t hold back, just let it all be yours. 

When you stir again a little later, you share a silent look of agreement to head back. It’s probably well past the evening meal by now, even though it had only just been slipping into twilight when you first entered the Crest. But he can tell that you want to see Grogu, spend some quality time with the child. Time that hadn’t presented itself just yet. 

A quick return to the fresher is necessary though, and Din guides you under the lukewarm spray. He cleans you from head to toe, gentle with your bruised thighs and spent sex. Though he can’t hold back, while on his knees and running a cloth through your folds, from leaning in and stealing a taste. He revels in your gasp, your tiny whines, the little motions of your hips as he sweeps his tongue over you. Feels the rush of bringing on your release yet again. All for him.

He also can’t hold back, rising to his feet again and cupping your blissed out face in his hands, from searching your features and seeking to clarify just one crucial thing.

‘Are we good?’ he murmurs.

You smile, hold his face right back and assure him, ‘We are so good.’ You kiss him and he drinks it in, happier and more at peace with every passing moment.

The water runs cold and you wince, hiss and hop about as he shuts it off. It’s one way to come back to reality at least. 

Dried and dressed and draped into each other’s side, you make your way out of the cabin and through the Razor Crest.

The warm light of a venerating Covert hovers on the near horizon. Up above, shooting stars blaze across a crystalline black. One flares so bright it reflects in the restless currents of a dark sea. Across a scorched but tranquil expanse, two figures walk a leisured pace as an old, weary gunship looks on.

--

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Next chapter is the Epilogue * cries in Mando'a*

[backjustforberena]

Hello!

I've read many posts on Tumblr where people said that Corlys did everything he could to save his relationship with Rhaenys, and Steve himself said that Corlys is focused on nurturing his relationship with his wife. However, frankly, I haven't felt the same. I felt Rhaenys was the one making all the efforts to save their relationship, while Corlys seemed like a wall. The only time he does something is in episode 2, but it's easy to be happy and in love after sex. He should have done something in episode 3 when she was struggling, or in episode 4, but instead, he avoided her every time, increasing her pain. And I'm aware that his presence at the council is a gesture of support for Rhaenys, but I see it more as a way for him to assuage his guilt especially considering how he treated her at the port, rather than a genuine effort to meet her needs (the same thing that he does in eo 3 when he kissed her hand).

I think the problem that prevents Corlys from being a good husband isn't so much the context or historical/social period, but rather his self-centeredness and selfishness: he prioritizes himself and his desires, regardless of the consequences (like the death of their children or Rhaenys' heartbreak). In contrast, I believe Rhaenys's approach is exactly the opposite: she consistently prioritizes others to the extent of forgetting her own needs.

So since I feel like the only one thinking this way, I would appreciate more different perspectives to better understand their dynamics.

Hello! Firstly, thanks for writing in. This was lovely to receive. And I want to say that I don't agree with your perspective, though I can see why you've come to it and I totally respect that. I'm going to tell you why I think the way I do and what I think, but just to preface this with Corlys isn't doing a good job. I think we can acknowledge that he's being an idiot whilst also acknowledging that he does think he's doing everything for his wife and to defend and honour that relationship as much as he can, whilst being fearful of losing it. He is acting out love, as much as he is also acting out of grief, guilt, shame, pride, and a sense of self-protection.

What I found very interesting, with all of the stuff we were getting from the press tour, is that Eve was just as surprised as, I assume, you were, to be presented with this idea that Corlys is attempting to safeguard this relationship. She felt that Corlys was pulling away from Rhaenys. Rhaenys was feeling incredibly isolated and more and more as the season went on. That's just a fact.

However, the fallible nature of humans means this: both are true. More than two things are probably true. I think both characters have a lot going on and they are, as individuals, in such positions of heightened vulnerability. It makes sense that efforts are not appreciated or noted or received in the way that the other party might want them to. Especially when neither party are actually ready or willing to be candid with one another or spell out these motivations.

But I digress. I want to talk about your specific points, which I'll do so now, and do come back to me if you want to discuss any further or if you disagree.

And I'm so sorry but it seems I couldn't stop typing once I started so it's all under the cut...

I felt Rhaenys was the one making all the efforts to save their relationship, while Corlys seemed like a wall.

Gods, this is going to make me sound so harsh on Rhaenys and I swear, I love her, this is not me not loving her and I do think she's far more ready to engage with Corlys than he is. BUT. I just want to float the idea that she's actually not. And that's she's just as much of a wall as Corlys. That's not me judging her: it's perfectly and heartbreakingly in-character for her and it makes sense and honestly, I'd be the same, but I think it is worth mentioning.

I don't get any sense that anything she is doing is specifically or outrageously a conscious effort to mend their relationship because they never get to the root of it. Having a picnic could be normal for them. Looking after him is a sign she loves him and cares for him, given his injury. But is it something she wouldn't already do?

Rhaenys never speaks to Corlys about his own wellbeing. And, likewise, she never opens her heart to Corlys. Not really. She tries to, and I think she wishes to. But I think similar could be said of Corlys (in very broad strokes, at least) - he's the one that starts the bad conversation confessing he hates the silence (aka he's worried), just as she's the one to say she's worried about something happening in battle. And both could be considered to not fully address the topic: Rhaenys just reassures him and says that she and Meleys won't let the Queen falter and it'll be fine, and Corlys reassures Rhaenys that he's a good sailor and everything will be fine. The only difference is that Corlys physically leaves the conversation.

I think the building of the Sea Snake equates to him doing something. Now, for Rhaenys, that just looks like he's gearing up for war and going back to old habits. For me, I sort of lean into the idea that Corlys's ship is very much a symbol of himself. It's his strength, his power, his legacy. Like Corlys, it barely made it back from the Stepstones in time. It's busted up like he is, it's a bit useless, like he is. In rebuilding his ship, we could say, he is also rebuilding himself as he gets fitter and stronger and wades through a mountain of grief that he's been putting off, as well as facing quite a few demons on his own. We know that he's still not 100% - when he comes into the Painted Table room, he's still limping.

What I mean by him "doing something" is I mean he's actively seeking ways to be helpful and good. And that's specifically helpful to his wife. She needs him - she's asked him to be a part of this war and he's committed to it for her, but right now, he can't actually do anything. He's stuck, he's weak, he's wounded: he's unworthy. The sooner he can get his ship ready then the sooner he can be of service to his wife. That's increasingly important to him because we're coming back off the back of him letting her down and running away for six years. This may look like he's running off to sea, but, I would argue, it's a way for him to stand by her side. He just hasn't ruddy well told her that.

Corlys being like a wall is to prevent stress on Rhaenys. He is absolutely fully aware of the stresses she's under: they can't breathe but to talk politics. He knows he's hurting and grieving and weakened and is also very close to things (people) that could yet cause his wife pain - people he hasn't even dealt with. To make himself a wall is to give her one less thing to worry about. It doesn't work, but we see how quick he is to insist that he is no longer an invalid. Does he know she's in pain? I would argue not to the degree that we know. But even if she is, Rhaenys has always been strong and he's relying on that strength until he can be the man with answers. Until he can be strong, basically. Until he has the ability to have those conversations. He can't have that conversation in Episode 03. He can't reassure her, so he retreats.

And Rhaenys retreats in Episode 04. Corlys has more of a reaction than she does. But Rhaenys doesn't show Corlys what she feels (and by doing so, denying him any hope or chance of addressing it or alleviating that pain). She remains neutral, says little and moves the subject on. She could have engaged in a conversation but she turns the news to Dragonstone instead, denying them both any honest conversation about the subject.

And I'm aware that his presence at the council is a gesture of support for Rhaenys, but I see it more as a way for him to assuage his guilt.

I think it is motivated by guilt. I don't think it's solely motivated by guilt. And, whatever else, that guilt isn't over his own actions but of how his actions hurt his wife. Because he loves her. It's funny, I was thinking about this the other day and one of the things that I like and that makes me think that he is doing this before he has to (Rhaenys hasn't asked him for his help, hasn't placed any pressure on him to do so - again, another barrier between them) but he doesn't overcompensate.

Whatever guilt he may have felt, he doesn't think he's a cure-all. He doesn't start bossing people around, knocking heads together and say: yes we'll do this and now I'm the hero or whatever ego-centric view you could spin on this if it were just about restoring himself or making himself feel better. He just shuts Alfred down, tells them off and hands the floor back to his wife. I found that quite telling, I don't know if you felt the same.

I think the problem that prevents Corlys from being a good husband isn't so much the context or historical/social period, but rather his self-centeredness and selfishness: he prioritizes himself and his desires, regardless of the consequences (like the death of their children or Rhaenys' heartbreak).

Do I think Corlys is selfish? Yes, I absolutely think that's in his wheelhouse. But what's always struck me, certainly in Series 01, is what "self" means to him. Because, to me, usually, his "self" for him to be selfish about is predominantly fairly manifold. It involves the house, the legacy, the family and all of those interests and I think Rhaenys comes under that.

I don't think he's as callous as to ignore her, consciously. He's certainly never dismissive or disrespectful even if it's ultimately his opinion that wins out. I'm perhaps wording this badly but I just want to go back to when Rhaenys first accuses him of only working to put his blood on the Throne, not for justice of his wife. Corlys is floored. Not because he feels caught out. But, I think, because he doesn't see it that way. He's always thought and told himself it was for her. I think he probably thinks that putting their grandchildren on the throne is the equivalent of getting justice. And so they are one and the same. To hear her word it like that almost sullies his intentions: makes it dirty.

In contrast, I believe Rhaenys's approach is exactly the opposite: she consistently prioritizes others to the extent of forgetting her own needs.

I don't agree that it's the opposite. But I do generally agree with the statement, yes. She's very selfless. Saying that, I don't think we can say she's always been kind. She's never been a pushover. And she has been known to be selfish. It's just that the box within which to indulge that selfishness is far smaller than Corlys, who has the means and the title and, frankly, the genitalia to do things like run off for 6 years when your kids are dead and you can't look at your wife. Or to indulge in ideas of revenge or "justice" or pride as much as she might like. But, for the most part, that's outside of their relationship.

I don't think she gives everything or every part of her to everybody else. Her walls are very high, particularly in Series 2. I think she's pulling away from him as much as he is her, on occasion. I'm sort of vaguely losing my train of thought now, so I will wrap up. But I want to say: I think it's interesting to consider, when we look at the burying of feelings: is that selfish or selfless? Are you selfish because you're keeping it to yourself and not allowing others close and not wanting to engage? Or selfless because you're doing it to keep going and to protect and serve those around you, to keep them from worrying?

And that goes for Rhaenys and Corlys.

[pastanest]

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

A/N: this is my first proper piece about Jonny boy and it is…7.6k words long 👁️👁️ this is set just before season 1 AND I kinda stole a random House name from the GoT map and made a new story for them solely for this fic. hope the 3 Jon Snow fans on this hellsite enjoy!! ♡

and yes, before you ask, I had Love Story by Taylor Swift on a loop while writing this. what of it.

With Love

The Starks liked to think they knew every face in Winterfell, but truth be told, the one belonging to the family without the honour of sharing the name was the only one that knew each and every face within the walls. A sign of the lack of distance between himself and the townspeople that was ever present with the rest of his family, and the mother he could never have.

It was not only the horse that Jon knew to be unfamiliar, but its rider, as the two rode through the Winterfell gates. The uncertainty with which the horse was guided to the stables told Jon that both the horse and its rider were unfamiliar with the area, too. Seeing the gown adorning the rider peaking from beneath the cloak she wore, the gold thread of the hem catching the last of the day’s sunlight, Jon stood to attention from the crumbled stone wall he had been sitting on, watching the sunset and the world go by until it slowed to a stop, just for you.

He kept his pace towards you slow as you rode your horse to the stables you had found and dismounted, patting your horse gratefully and checking through the saddlebags as you lowered your hood. Jon could only see half of the smile that you gave the horse, but it was enough to stop him in his stride. As you turned, your eyes locked onto him as though pulled by some mythical force, your smile not faltering as you approached him.

“Forgive me, I am not familiar with this place or its people, might you introduce me, Lord…?” Your eyes travelled down his body, the dark clothes he wore appearing too formal for that of the general townsfolk.

Under your gaze, it took Jon several seconds to remember how to speak. “There is no need for such formalities, my Lady, I’m no Lord. Perhaps if I took you to my father, he could assist you in whatever it is that has brought you here?”

You frowned, confused by the stranger’s explanation. “Surely, if your father is the one man in Winterfell to guide me, he would be Lord Stark, making you his son, and a Lord, yourself.”

Jon felt the unfortunately familiar shame of his namesake sink into his very skin as he avoided your eyes. “Aye, Lord Stark is my father, but Lady Stark is not my mother.”

There was a sadness in your eyes, an ache in your heart that made it impossible for you to resist reaching for Jon’s shoulder, brushing the small amount of dirt that resided there. A gesture so seemingly insignificant, but something about the attention you showed him made him feel truly seen.

“What is your name?”

His shoulder burnt where your fingertips had grazed it, even through his clothes, and he gulped. “Jon Snow, my Lady.”

You smiled at him then, exactly as you had when you had first seen him. “No need for such formalities, Lord Jon. Stark blood runs in your veins as well as it does your siblings, you are worthy of the same respect the name brings them.” The sincerity in your eyes was unlike anything Jon had ever known, and the feeling it caused in his chest was something new, too.

“If you could take me to see your father, I would be most grateful.” Your smile didnt falter as you took your first look around Winterfell, having not torn your gaze from Jon until that very moment, allowing him the freedom to breathe without feeling heat rise in him under your eyes.

Without a word, he nodded, turned and began to walk towards the hall, his mind running away with him.

The moment Lord Stark saw you, his eyes went wide and he ushered you into another room with Lady Stark, shutting Jon out with no explanation. Though he was used to being kept at arm’s length when it came to family matters, the fact that he was being restricted from the mystery of you felt like a far more personal pain, for a reason Jon could not yet place.

It was not until an hour later, when Lord Stark returned to the hall, that Jon realized he had not moved. Unsurprised to see his son still waiting for you, Ned Stark approached him.

“She is to be staying with us for her own safety, and no one is to question this. Not her name, house, or history. Is that understood?”

Jon nodded, clinging to every word that only pushed him further from you, who you might be.

“What am I to call her?” Jon questioned, not wanting to cause you any offense by addressing you incorrectly.

Lord Stark was thoughtful for a moment. “What did you call her on her arrival?”

Jon stood up straighter, frowning, unsure whether his father was testing his ability to greet you respectfully. “My Lady, of course.”

His father nodded. “Then that is what you will continue to call her, I will ask the same of your brothers and sisters.”

Jon lowered his head in agreement and with that, his father was gone.

Not knowing what else to do, Jon decided to retire to his quarters for the rest of the day. As he ascended the staircase to his family’s quarters, though, he was stopped by you once again. This time, you were stood in the doorway of Lord and Lady Stark’s room, seemingly in deep conversation with Lady Stark until your eyes were drawn to Jon once more, at the opposite end of the hallway. You smiled at him, but he was too stunned and too lost in his own head to return it right away. Just as a small smile reached his face, Lady Stark followed your gaze, scowled and closed the door on him, as she had done all Jon’s life.

The next morning, you joined the Starks for breakfast, wearing a different gown to the previous evening and giggling with Sansa at the table by the time Jon arrived. Though the sight of you getting along with his family so quickly did warm his heart, Jon couldnt help the small pit of sadness that formed in his stomach at the thought of you favoring them over him, as most did. The moment he sat down at the table, however, you locked eyes with him and smiled.

“Good morning, Lord Jon.”

The room fell silent, but your smile did not waver. Jon felt his face rise in temperature with every fraction of a second that passed.

“You do not need to refer to any of us with such formalities, dear girl.” Lady Stark replied, her tone firm, her underlying message clear to all, masked under the guise of none of the Starks requiring such titles at breakfast.

But you merely shook your head and continued to smile. “No, please Lady Stark, I insist. Your family has already treated me with such kindness, such welcome, the least I can do is respect you all in name.”

Lord Stark smiled at this, silencing Lady Stark from making any further comments, which signaled the continuation of breakfast as normal. As you began to eat, you glanced up at Jon to find him still looking at you. His expression would make you think he was admiring the one to hang the moon in the sky, and you could not hold such a gaze, your face flushing as you lowered your eyes to your plate.

The first full day spent at Winterfell, you were almost treated as the new toy amongst the Stark children. Sansa wanted to spend every waking hour at your side, discussing your gowns and how they were made, Arya was desperate to convince you to let her take your horse outside the walls to practice archery on horseback, Bran wanted to show you just how high he could climb, Rickon shyly asked if he could introduce your horse to the others to ensure “he was not lonely at Winterfell”, Robb laughed at his siblings antics and tried to very casually flirt with you, while his shadow Theon Greyjoy tried the same with a far less casual nature, and Jon simply watched from afar as he practiced with his sword.

He did not expect to speak with you much, if at all, that day, as you would no doubt be too kind to refuse any of his siblings. As such, he tried his best to focus on the swing of his sword and nothing else. Certainly not the different shades within your eyes that he had noticed when stood closer to you the previous day, not the way in which your gowns complimented your silhouette, not the melodic sound of your laugh, and most definitely not the look in your eyes when he had been your chosen view.

“You are quite good with that, you know.”

Jon Snow jumped out of his skin, and you were quick to muffle your giggle with your hand.

“Apologies, my Lady, I did not see you-“

You waved off his apology. “Worry not, I should have made my presence known. Regardless, my point still stands: you have a talent with a sword.”

Jon smiled shyly. “Thank you, my Lady. Are you enjoying Winterfell?”

You chuckled at this. “Very much so! Though I am already tired from the amount of talking I have done.”

Jon sighed, wishing you had not been so pestered by his family. “I do apologize for my siblings, it is not often we meet new people.”

You shook your head. “I will accept your apology for that Greyjoy boy, but you need not apologize for your siblings, they are utterly lovely. In fact, Sansa is inspecting my gowns at this very moment, Rickon and Arya are befriending my horse, Robb is lecturing Theon, and I am scheduled to witness some truly incredible climbing soon. I wondered if, as I have not had much chance to speak with you today, you would care to join me?”

Jon could not believe his ears, you had given his siblings everything they’d asked of you within reason, in ways that had no doubt left them all overjoyed, save for Robb. Now, it was Jon you were seeking out.

“I thought you were tired from all the talking you’ve already done?” Jon mused, concerned that you were wearing yourself too thin.

At this, you simply smiled. “I am, but it seems you are the exception. So, will you accompany me to the climbing show, Lord Jon?”

Jon could not wipe the grin from his face if he tried, your declaration of him being the exception to your tiredness feeling like the greatest title you could possibly bestow upon him. “It would be my honor, my Lady.”

With that, he held his arm out to you and you looped yours through it. No words were spoken as Jon led you to the tower that he knew Bran liked to climb most, neither of you daring to interrupt the smile shared between you that only grew with each sidewards glance.

When the two of you reached the tower, Jon was both surprised and relieved that you did not remove your arm from his and instead lifted your other hand to hold onto his upper arm further, as Bran began to climb.

“Is this safe?” You whispered, not wanting to discourage Bran, but worried for his safety.

Jon could only smile at you adoringly. “He has not fallen once, my Lady.”

Though his words reassured you, you did not release his arm until it was time to applaud the end of the show, when Bran had descended the tower and bowed before you. It took less than a minute for Lady Stark to call Bran to her for a lecture that strongly advised against climbing, and you looped your arm back through Jon’s, turning away from the tower and letting him walk you wherever he desired.

That is how you spent the remainder of your day, arm in arm with Jon Snow and a beaming smile on your face for all to see, not ashamed as he feared anyone would be to be seen on his arm, but proud to be. The unwavering confidence and serenity you showed him in the face of prejudice only made it more difficult for his heart to resist. As the sun set, the two of you settled beneath the Weirwood tree, sitting below it and watching the red leaves flutter in the wind.

As much as Jon had never felt happier than he had in these moments with you, his curiosity was eating away at him. Finally away from the eyes and ears of others, he felt it was time to ask.

“Forgive me, my Lady, for I mean you no offence, but I cannot help wondering…if you are of noble descent, which I suspect you are, are you not ashamed to be seen with me?”

You lowered your gaze from the red leaves to frown at Jon sympathetically. “I am forbidden from speaking of my family, but I can assure you, I have no reason to be ashamed of being seen with you, Jon.”

Though it did not answer his question entirely, Jon nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

Your expression softened to a humored smile. “I must ask, was it my gowns that gave away my family’s status?”

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps.”

You laughed with him. “I can assure you that, while my gowns are well made, my family are far from being as noble as yours. We are a small house, my father being an old friend to yours, but few know of us and even fewer know of me. All will become clear soon, though.”

It was Jon’s turn to frown at you. “What do you mean?”

You gazed out into the godswood, your smile no longer reaching your eyes. “A dear friend of mine is to arrive soon, she wishes to be wed here. There is to be a grand party and suitors will present themselves to her. Despite the circumstances, I have assured her I will attend, hence my unannounced arrival here.” You turned to Jon. “May I request that you are present, to avoid the entire event boring me to an early grave?”

Jon couldnt help but laugh, the new information about you and your friend relaxing him somewhat, as it did not allude to you being in any kind of danger, which he suspected was the reason for your discrete travels.

“Of course.” Regardless of the event, there is nowhere else I would prefer to stand than at your side, he wanted so badly to add, but he could not.

“Thank you. That eases my mind.” You sighed, as though a physical weight had been lifted from you.

Jon tried to read your eyes. “What is it that worries you about your friend’s arrangement?”

You shook your head. “She has dreaded this day her entire life, she has often cried to me about it. She has already mourned the loss of the life she had before, but to marry a stranger…it is a cruel fate, truly.”

Jon nodded, empathizing as much as he could. “If being a bastard does count for anything, it is that I will never face such a frightful concept.”

You looked up at him, admiring the curls that the wind blew over his face. “You are far more than a bastard, Jon, but it is a relief you have found at least one positive to the status. Do you think you will marry?”

Jon’s mind went completely blank, much like it did every time you had smiled at him since you had arrived the day before. “I’ve not really thought about it, my Lady.”

You sighed at that, somewhat jealous of the fact Jon had never had to think of bearing the heir to his family name, but not wanting to voice such an insensitive thought and discredit the torment he had suffered as a consequence of his own birth.

By the time the two of you had returned to the castle, the rest of the Starks had gathered in the hall. At the sight of you, Lady Stark ran and took ahold of your hands.

“A raven came. It is to happen in three days time.” She told you, in as few words as she could, which you nodded to her gratefully for.

Closing your eyes in a pained blink, you took a deep breath, then opened your eyes and offered the Starks a smile that was too bright.

“If you will excuse me until the morning, I am frightfully tired. Goodnight to you all, I wish you the most pleasant dreams.” Your voice shook on the very last word, but before anyone could even open their mouths to answer you, you had all but run from the hall and up the stairs, locking yourself in your quarters.

Lady Stark looked sympathetically after you, while the Stark children exchanged confused glances. Jon watched the path that you had disappeared on as though you were still there, a new ache in his chest that was unfamiliar to him, once again.

That night, Jon could not sleep. No matter how many times he turned and shifted, he could not get comfortable enough to even close his eyes, he was completely restless at the thought of you so distressed. Feeling that he had no other choice, Jon sat up, put his sleepshirt back on, and left his quarters. The walk between his door and yours was no more than few steps, but Jon felt more exposed with each step, wearing nothing more than his sleep clothes and aware that if you answered the door, you would see him in such attire. He could not let that be enough to deter him, though.

Not wanting to wake you if you were asleep, Jon gently knocked on the door, and when he heard a sniffle on the other side, his heart shattered inside his chest.

“It’s Jon, my Lady, I…I could not sleep, knowing that you were so upset. Is there anything I can do?” He felt helpless, having never been more desperate to ease someone’s pain before in his life.

There was no verbal response from you, and Jon began to lose all hope that you would answer him at all, until he heard the sound of the door unlocking from the other side. His heart skipped a beat as the door opened, revealing the features of your face that he had memorized, but they were swollen from the seemingly endless tears that you had cried, and were still crying. Seeing him standing there, caring for you in such a way, broke you all over again, and without care for formalities or tradition, you fell into him, sobbing into his nightshirt as he wrapped his strong arms around you, hoping he could make you feel just a little better, a little safer in your feelings.

Taking some steps back, you pulled Jon into your room, the door closing behind him as he held you tightly against him, shushing you gently.

“Please, my Lady, do not cry anymore. I swear that I will do whatever I can to make the day more bearable, for both you and your friend. I am sure a fine suitor will appear, that a declaration of love powerful enough to silence the whole of Winterfell will take place in the hall of this very castle, and the worries that you and your friend have shared will disappear.” Jon promised, already unsure of how to keep his word, but certain that he would find a way before the day arrived.

“Thank you, Jon. I am not sure I would be able to see the day through without you.” The confession shocked Jon, his stomach flipping as you hinted at the extent of your feelings for him, just slightly. “Will you stay?”

Jon swallowed, hard.

At his boyish nervousness, you playfully hit his chest. “Do not ponder such perversions in the presence of a crying girl, Jon!”

He chuckled at this, sensing your spirits had lifted by the joke you had made. “My apologies, my Lady.”

Feigning disappointment in him, you pulled away slightly and shook your head. “Must I spell out that my intentions are solely to fend off any further tears and that you have been the apparent cure for them thus far?”

Jon sighed dramatically, playing along. “Well, I suppose we do not have another choice then, do we, my Lady?”

And like the lovesick teenagers that you were, you snuck into bed in fits of giggles, shushing the other and pretending to want to sleep, when all either of you wanted to do was stay awake until the sun rose again, talking about anything and everything.

Naturally, neither of you had thought very far ahead and considered how difficult it would be to effectively sneak Jon out of your room the following morning. That said, by standing with an ear pressed to the door to listen for any passersby, you did eventually manage to shove him back to his quarters when the corridor was clear. Needless to say, breakfast that morning was once again filled with shy glances and equally warm faces.

For your second day in Winterfell, Jon made it his mission to distract you as much as he could from the worries of the night before. So, he planned that the two of you would take Arya out on horseback to practice archery, with Lord Stark’s permission. Unfortunately, Lord Stark would only give his permission on the condition that Robb and Theon would also accompany the three of you, to help watch over Arya, who had a particular talent for disappearing.

Begrudgingly, Jon agreed, convincing himself that Robb and Theon would provide further distractions for you. While this fact did reign true, Jon did not account for the way his blood would boil in his veins as Theon tried to flirt with you. Robb was respectful enough to see what was blossoming between you and Jon, so had ceased his advances entirely, but Theon did not care for Jon’s feelings. At least, not as much as he cared to feel you, apparently. The very second Jon caught sight of Theon reaching a hand towards your hip, he was marching with a fury like no other.

Forcing himself between you and Theon, Jon’s expression was colder than even the harshest Winter, eyes dark with a fire that raged beyond the capabilities of a Stark.

“Try to touch her again and you will lose that hand.” He threatened, voice lower with his anger and in an effort to not cause a scene in front of Arya, who was practicing with Robb a few feet away.

Theon scoffed. “I dont take threats from bastards!”

Then, to everyone’s absolute astonishment, you stepped out from behind Jon to stand in front of him and scowl at Theon.

“Call him that again and you’ll lose your tongue as well as your hand, boy.” You did not care to lower your voice, catching Arya’s attention, and the ferocity with which you defended her brother earnt you her respect in an instant.

Theon tried to scramble for a retort, but Robb frowned at him. “Go home, Theon.”

And so, the son of Balon Greyjoy was sent sulking back to the walls of Winterfell, while Jon Snow stood staring at you like you were a star that had fallen from the sky and landed right in front of him.

That night, Jon walked you to your quarters like the gentleman he had always wished he would be allowed to be, cheeks rosy with the simple joy of such things finally being possible for him, all because of you.

“Thank you for today, Lord Jon.” Your voice had been quiet, shy in the close proximity of your protector.

And Jon’s smile was shy in the close proximity to his. “Thank you for the same, my Lady.”

With courage that he did not know he possessed, Jon took your hand and raised it to his lips, placing the lightest kiss against your knuckles as you watched with wide eyes.

Your hand, so much smaller in his, squeezed his fingers in response to the heartfelt gesture.

“If you can promise me there will be no tears tonight, I will bid you farewell.” Jon’s voice was barely above a whisper, his tone playful but words sincere, an unspoken oath to stay if you needed him, for as long as you did.

“And…if I can make no such promise?” Your gaze dropped to your hand, still held by his, and your expression fell ever so slightly at the thought of being parted from him.

But Jon would not allow such a sadness to steal your smile away. “Then, if it please you, my Lady, I will not bid you farewell until the sun rises again.”

His words brought about a tension between you that was sinful in nature and near impossible to resist, but the two of you knew better than to even consider more than a chaste kiss outside of marriage, Jon understanding the consequences of such actions more than most. Despite having no intention of giving in to such temptations, the tension did not ease, much to the dismay that you shared, but dared not speak of.

The pain of sending him to his own quarters would be too much for you to bare that night, and without another word, you reached behind you to open the door to your quarters, eyes never leaving his.

Though the two of you spent more of the night holding each other than you did talking as you had the night before, Jon knew it was the best night of his life. He had never felt stronger than he did when you were in his arms, safe from any and all that could try to harm you. An uncertainty began to stir within him as he focussed on the sound of your breathing as you slept, your head resting on his chest, over the heart that unbeknownst to you, you had claimed as yours. Once your friend’s ceremony has ended, where will you go? Can you stay? Are your days here, with him, numbered and so few? The thought left a bitter taste in Jon’s mouth, and continued to plague him until he drifted off to sleep.

For your third day in Winterfell, Jon was more determined than ever to make your last day before the dreaded arrangement, one to remember, for the right reasons. He wanted to ensure that in years to come, when you thought of the time you had spent at Winterfell, perhaps you would remember that day more than the one that came after it. So, he had planned the entire day. Not being a particularly talented man in the kitchen, Jon woke at dawn, snuck out of your quarters, and pleaded for the household staff to help him prepare a picnic of some of your favorite foods, which he had strategically asked you about over the past few days. He set the picnic under the Weirwood tree and then knocked on Sansa’s door. She greeted him with an excited smile and handed him the gown she had been working on for you ever since you had arrived. Then, Jon knocked at your door. It was still quite early, he should not have been surprised by the sight of you tiredly rubbing your eyes as you opened the door, but the feeling in his chest was something he could only compare to moments of pure, blissful shock.

“My Lady, your breakfast awaits.” Jon bowed and held the neatly folded gown in his arms out to you, causing you to gasp, the confusion of having woken up without him already subsiding.

“By the Gods, Jon, what is this?!” You carefully took the gown from his arms and admired it, holding it against your body and squealing in delight. “I must thank Sansa at once and dress for the occasion!”

Jon chuckled at your excitement. “Then I will wait for you in the hall, my Lady.”

For half an hour, Jon paced around the hall, his smile contagious to everyone that happened to see him, unwavering and bright. Only when you entered the hall in the gown Sansa had crafted for you, did his smile fall into an expression of complete admiration. As bashful as Jon had seen you, he did not expect you to stroll into the hall with such poise and twirl with a beaming grin plastered on your face, overjoyed by the gown and how confident you felt in it.

“My Lady, you are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon managed to say in between the breaths you had stolen.

At this, you rolled your eyes. “Have you seen every woman in the Seven Kingdoms to verify that statement, Lord Jon?”

His eyes followed you as you glided around the room, the gown flowing around you like water, and he was entranced. “I do not need to see every one to know that none can even touch on the enchantress that is you, not to me.”

Your face flushed at his compliments, too shy to accept them as truth but appreciative of them nonetheless. Looping your arm through his, you smiled up at him, his gaze softer than you had ever seen it as he began to lead you out of the castle and towards the Godswood.

The small feast beneath the Weirwood tree and the soft blanket Jon had laid under it for you both, brought tears to your eyes. You must have thanked him a thousand times in the seconds it took to sit down and begin to eat, and a thousand times more with every piece of food you tried.

After a large meal, Jon led you on a stroll through the Godswood, telling you tales of his childhood, spent running through and climbing the very trees around you. The fondest memories he had were the ones spent playing outside with his siblings, away from the ever-scowling eyes of the mother he could never have, and as happy as he was to recall the fun he had with his siblings, your heart ached at the love he had been denied. Stopping in the middle of the Godswood, you turned to face him with such sad eyes, he was just about to ask you if you were alright when you suddenly pulled him into your arms. You didnt say anything, thinking it was not your place to speak on his family, but through such a kind and comforting gesture, he knew exactly what the hug was for. Obviously, you had not been present during the saddest moments of his childhood, when he had cried at his window and begged the Gods that he thought lived amongst the stars, to answer why he did not deserve a mother that loved him, but somehow, the hug that you gave him comforted every part of him, even the young boy locked away in those painful memories.

Jon took you on a horse ride after that, your horse having bonded with Jon’s as a result of Rickon and Arya’s introduction between the animals, the creatures seeming to have a conversation of their own while the two of you laughed and joked like the world around you was plagueless and without any kind of restriction. Out there, beyond the walls, with nobody else in sight, the world felt so vast and so small simultaneously, a little piece of it that the two of you were kept safe inside, where you could stay forever if you chose to. And oh, how you wish you could choose.

When you arrived back at Winterfell, you asked if you could watch Jon practice with his sword again. He had not anticipated that you would enjoy such a thing, considering you would simply be watching him, but the excitement with which you posed the question made Jon blush and nod without opposition. It was an excuse to sit and admire him, really, and you could not withhold the content sighs that escaped your lips as you watched him, the strong hands that had held yours now gripping a sword, arms tensed beneath his black clothes, expression firm. Having never felt deserving of a woman’s gaze like that in his life, Jon found that he quite enjoyed being admired, once he had stopped blushing.

Before long, the sun had set again, and Jon was walking you back to your quarters for the night. He hoped that you would invite him into your chambers again, terrified that it would be the last chance he had to hold you before you potentially disappeared from his life altogether; something he dared not question you about in fear of ruining the day. But as you approached the door, you turned to him with a bright smile.

“I think, after such a wonderful day, tears are impossible. And I think the excitement of another day with you, regardless of the event, will bring me pleasant dreams.”

Jon smiled back at you, relieved that the day he had hoped to give you was received successfully with the desired impact, but ever so slightly devastated that it had backfired to restrict him of another night with you.

“Very well, my Lady. I look forward to seeing you. Goodnight.” His voice was quiet again, his confession of sharing your excitement to be together again bringing a bashfulness he is certain he should have moved past, but simply could not.

“Goodnight, Lord Jon.” You closed the space between you to place a chaste kiss on his left cheek, and then disappeared behind the door to your quarters.

Blinking rapidly, Jon lifted a shaking hand to trace the skin of his face where your lips had been, your kiss lingering there far longer than he thought possible. In a daze, he retired to his own quarters and fell asleep with a smile on his face, ready to make the day you had been dreading, one that you could enjoy, if he was able to grant you such a thing.

However, by the time Jon awoke on the morning of your fourth day in Winterfell, he left his quarters and saw your door already open, sunlight streaming in through the windows. With a confused frown on his face, Jon stepped into the room to see a handwritten letter on your neatly made bed, addressed to him.

Lord Jon,

Do not fear, I have left to meet my friend before the event begins, but I will see you there. I will be counting down the minutes until I see you again.

With love,

Your Lady.

Jon read your words over and over again, each time letting them sink further into his very being. With love. Those words caught him every time his eyes glanced over them. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be counting down the minutes until he saw you again, too.

The Stark breakfast was rushed that morning, everyone frantic to be ready for the event to begin, and Jon found himself spending longer than he normally did deciding on his attire and fixing his hair, having not had an occasion to truly dress up for you prior to this event and hoping that if he did, maybe it would make you smile as much as your dressing up made him. As the clock ticked, Lord Stark instructed his children to stand in a line outside the castle, awaiting the arrival of the company. Instead of standing behind his siblings as he expected to, Jon was told by Lord Stark to stand beside Robb with his family, at the request of the company. Even the briefest mention to you was enough to bring a smile to his face.

Minutes later, the carriage arrived, decorated with the banner of a black horse with red mane and eyes, that Jon recognised to be that of House Ryswell of the Rills, a noble Northern family that had an unfortunate recent history. Lord Rodrik Ryswell and his two sons had fallen ill and tragically passed away within weeks of each other, some years ago, leaving no heir to the House or their land, which made Jon very curious as to their arrival. They did not have a suitor to offer your friend, less it were a bastard like himself? But as a soldier hurried to open the door of the carriage, Jon’s heart stopped.

You stepped out of the carriage, wearing a gown of House Ryswell’s colors, a gem studded headband catching the sunlight as you bowed to the Starks, who all bowed back at you, though Jon was in too much shock to do so until Robb discretely elbowed his side. Standing back up, you smiled at the Starks, Ned and Catelyn smiling warmly and the Stark children all sharing the same wide eyes, with Jon appearing as though he was on the brink of collapsing. Lady Ryswell stepped out of the carriage after you in her own House-coloured gown, smiling at the Starks with the same warmness you had, and the way her eyes crinkled was the final nail in the coffin for Jon: you were the only remaining heir to House Ryswell.

As is tradition, Ned Stark took your mother’s arm and Robb Stark took yours, to lead you into the castle hall, everyone else following behind as the suitors began to arrive on horseback. Jon could only watch on as your silhouette disappeared beyond the castle doors, but as the first suitor with a Karstark banner passed him, he knew he could not stay outside any longer.

He took his seat beside Robb, sharing a table with the rest of his siblings, seeing your family laugh with his father at the table at the head of the hall, like the situation was normal and expected. But for them, he supposed, it was.

Jon Snow did not expect to be confronted by the sight of man after man offering themselves to you, with riches and titles, gifts and promises. Regardless of the way in which you politely refused each and every one, Jon was sure it was the biggest practical joke of his life. After the tenth suitor, he ran out of patience and stood, staying as close to the walls as he could to make a discrete exit.

Once outside, he leant against the same crumbling stone wall he had been sitting on when you has first arrived, taking some deep breaths, his eyes closed tight as he fought off the mental image of every man that had come here for your hand.

“Only two nights ago, you swore you would do whatever you could to make this day more bearable.” Your voice sounded almost timid, afraid of Jon’s reaction to you with your identity revealed, but hoping that recalling a memory shared between the two of you would remind him that regardless of name, you were still you.

Jon stood up straight and wiped his face his hands, turning to look at you and fighting the contradicting feelings within him. “I did, for you and your friend, who does not exist.”

You nodded guiltily, unable to hold his gaze.

“Why could you not tell me your name?” Jon asked, the question finally allowed.

Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the explanation Jon had been waiting for. “My name is (Y/N) Ryswell, and it was my father’s dying wish for me to marry, to pass on the family legacy. With him and my brothers gone, the family name will die with my mother, my name changing to match whatever man I choose, but our family land will be mine, by right. My mother decided it would be best to keep me a secret until I was of age, to avoid every eligible Lord swarming me and trying to take that land for themselves.” You paused, smiling sadly. “My father…he always spoke so fondly of your family, of Winterfell, I wanted to marry here to honor him, but to experience this place and all of you for what and who you all truly are, I had to come alone.”

Jon nodded slowly, understanding you and your intentions completely, mentally scolding himself for thinking you had in any way deceived him when you stood before him, telling him of the person you were, who he knew you to be.

Still, a sad thought remained, weighing him down and making it impossible for him to give you the smile that was yours.

“Have you decided on a Lord, then?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Truth be told, even if every man sat in there now presented himself to me, I’d still deny each and every one.”

Jon frowned in confusion. “What will you do?”

You shrugged at that, a sparkle in your eyes and a small smile on your face. “That all depends on you, my Lord.”

Jon’s frown intensified. “But, you said every man-“

You interjected to correct him. “I said every man sat in there now, and, as I see it, you are standing outside.” You raised an eyebrow at him, letting him gather the meaning behind your words before you glanced back inside the hall. “Well, I’d better return to my seat. Nothing more riveting than rejecting men presenting their cocks and riches!” Your words dripped with sarcasm as you stepped back into the hall, and would have made Jon laugh if he wasnt frozen in place, contemplating his entire life.

Very slowly, he followed you back into the hall and took his seat again, face far paler than it had been the last time Robb had seen it.

“Brother, are you unwell?”

Jon could only shake his head, eyes locked onto you as you politely declined another man, who turned solemnly and returned to his seat. Without thinking, and without giving time for another man to stand, Jon rose from his table and approached the head of the hall. The room fell silent, all eyes on him, but Jon could only see the curious expression on his father’s face, the furious scowl of Lady Stark, and your soft smile directly in front of him.

Jon Snow cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the hall. He bowed to your mother. “Lady Ryswell, I would first like to thank you for allowing your daughter to come here. She has brought sunshine with her unlike any Winterfell has ever seen, and my family have been honored to have her.” Your mother smiled at Jon, grateful for his compliments towards you, and he continued. “During her time here, I made a promise, of sorts, to your daughter, in that I told her I was sure a fine suitor would appear, and that a declaration of love powerful enough to silence the whole of Winterfell would take place in the hall of this very castle. As yet-“ Jon looked around the hall, then back to your mother. “-I cannot see anyone that has offered such a thing.” Quiet chuckles erupted throughout the hall, relaxing him slightly as he carried on. “Given it was I that made your daughter believe she would receive such a declaration, I feel it is my responsibility to ensure that she is given exactly that, or as close to that as I can possibly give.” Then, his gaze turned to you, and he lowered himself to one knee. “Lady (Y/N) Ryswell of the Rills, I am Jon Snow. I am no lord, I have no house of my own, no lands or riches to offer you, and I am certain that if tradition had a voice, it would scream in opposition at what I am about to say. But I swear it, by the old Gods and the new, not a soul in this room is capable of loving you more than I, and if you will allow me the greatest honor you could ever bestow me, of calling you my wife, I will do everything in my power to bring you every happiness, every day, for the rest of our days.”

The tears that flowed freely down your face were different to the ones Jon had seen from you before, your trembling smile further evidence that the reason for those tears could not be more different to that of previous ones. As your mother raised her handkerchief to wipe her own eyes, you stood from the table and walked around it.

Once in front of Jon, you leant down and took ahold of his hands, using them to guide him back to his feet as he tried desperately to read your eyes for an answer to his proposal, and when all he could read was the very words that had stumped him with every reread of your handwritten letter, his heart soared.

“There is no other proposal I would accept, save the one you have given me, Lord Jon.” Your voice was raw with emotion, words shaking as Jon felt every possible weight he had ever bore on his shoulders ascending to the heavens.

As cheers erupted throughout the hall, Jon wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you into the air, spinning you around in a gesture of pure bliss.

“Gods be good, let the lovebirds be married in the morning!” Lord Stark yelled out, raising his goblet, watching as every other goblet in the room raised in solidarity with cheers of the shared sentiment.

Jon Snow gently placed you back on the ground, his arms still holding your waist as you chuckled deliriously at each other, eyes exchanging words that dared not be spoken between lips in the company of others, and he knew then that every action of the rest of his life would be done with the same promise as the one at end of your letter.

With love.

[dtupdates-archive]

♡—DREAM was active on DreamFanartAcc! He liked:

Happy birthday George!! 💙

happy birthday georgie 😢🫶 we love u more than words !!!

so many tests crop up but hey i m not too late this year! he literally inspires me to get through the difficult time in my life, he is the nicest person that i have ever seen! Happy birthday sunshine💙💙💙💙

sweet sixteen to our fav 72 year old man 🥰

goob day!

BIRTHDAY BOY🩵🥳🥳

Day 6 - IRL Stream all around the world

Happy Birthday George!!

birthday boy ( =

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GEORGE

the season of the pumpkin has passed, the time of gogy is upon us

YIPPEE

⭐️ 27!!! ⭐️

Pumpkin Farmers 🎃🌟

HAPPY OLD DAY GEORGE 🥳

happy birthday george!! 💙

Happy birthday @.GeorgeNotFound!

i forgive it all as it comes back to me

Happy birthday @.GeorgeNotFound🥳🥳‼️

dtealloween

The goat vs chimkin

*spongebob frown sound effect*

It’s George’s day! 🎂

IT’S HIS DAY !!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GEORGE!!! 🥳💙

Happy birthday George🥳 I appreciate everything you do for us <3 la papaya

Happy Halloween! 👻 🎃

christmas season is approaching!!

family <3

happy halloween from your favourite ghosty friends 👻🩵💚🧡

They’re party pumpkins your honour 🎃~ Happy late birthday George <3

HAPPY (LATE) 16TH BDAY GEORGE 🩵

💋

“yo who put this shit on" me standing next to the speaker:

don’t you dare run away, chimkin!🐓

waaay out of his league

girl dinner

dnf core memory’s ☹️🫶

27th George birthday stream-Dream

I'm late but GEORGE HAPPY BIRTHDAY&HALLOWEEN!! I love u

Its name is chimkin if you even care ://

i got so incredibly happy from the newest video 😭😭 so have some rushed doodles i did just now [we are ignoring chimkin’s death i dont make the rules]

Happy birthday 🎉 (totally on time)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GEORGE !! 🪩☀️ its george day PARTY TIME

CHIMKIN COME BACK HERE!!

RUSHED BUT THAT’S OKAY BECAUSE JUSTICE FOR CHIMKIN

[brionysea]

You have only good opinions so I have a query for you: I watched the first season of The Umbrella Academy forever ago when it first came out and really loved it! But I never ended up watching the rest of the seasons. I haven’t heard like literally anything about them either. I was wondering if however they handle the Allison x Luther thing is like, at least bearable? And also whether you think the other season are worth a watch in the first place? Thank you for your time and for always being correct 🙏

First of all, I'm honoured. Thank you for your kind words. I actually rewatched the newer seasons of The Umbrella Academy recently so they're fresh in my mind.

Short answer: Allison and Luther aren't too egregious, season 2 is fine, season 3 is not

Long answer:

Allison x Luther is a thing from the comics, and because the show's sort of subversive, "anti-comic book clichés" approach is what makes it work so well, their romance is quite morally dissonant from the more grounded and likable versions of the characters in the show. They're not Game of Thrones levels, but they're there, and they're weird and annoying and very jarring in a show that otherwise goes so hard on the family angle. But it's *probably* being framed as an intentional negative at this point. They went too extreme for that to not be the case. And both characters keep getting assigned other, non-sibling love interests. Sort of. Timelines are weird.

It feels like the show is *trying* to say something with their relationship, probably about how unhealthy and isolated their childhood was that they felt the need to latch onto each other like that to get *any* kind of attention, but it's not. Trying very hard. And they don't say it nearly well enough that you'd lose anything worth keeping by omitting that part of the source material like they did Diego x Viktor/Vanya (yes, really). It doesn't come across as groundbreaking psychological analysis of abused and isolated children going into adulthood without doing the work to heal from their pasts so they get stuck in this weird cycle, it comes across as the show wanting to remind you of the pseudo-incest every so often just to be edgy.

Season 2 is worth the watch if you meet it where it's at. It handles the part of time travel that nobody talks about through 3 different characters; the big one being Allison, a black woman from the 21st century, fighting back against segregation and clinging onto her temper by her fingernails - and I think they do it decently (but I'm white, so take this with a grain of salt). A quite small moment with Elliot Page's character made me surprisingly emotional. TUA2 absolutely fumbles the thematic core of the first season - the apocalypse as an allegory for their *collective* childhood trauma which they haven't healed from into adulthood, and from there, everything crashes and burns - but if you manage your expectations to what this season is *trying* to be, which is "fun", it's okay. It's even successful - it IS fun! Some of the more juvenile humour doesn't land with me but humour is subjective. Very bright, very colourful, very silly. All the goofy parts of season 1 dialled up to eleven with the dark parts turned way down, which... there's something to be said about the power of contrast, but it is what it is.

Season 3 is... less good. If Allison was my personal highlight of TUA2, then Klaus is my highlight of TUA3, but this season simply doesn't measure up. There's a lot of big empty spaces with only the main characters in them, as if COVID filming restrictions wouldn't let them bring in any more actors/characters to flesh out the world. It's not their fault, but it's very noticeable. I've *seen* shows working under identical circumstances (and with less money!) do better than this. The plot's setup was interesting but managed to lose me with multiple payoffs that felt underwhelming and lacking in vision. They did that two, maybe three times? I didn't like any of them. The writing isn't very tight - you can *feel* how little consideration the writers were given by Netflix. Most of the side characters feel pointless. Some of the core characters feel like different people (Diego particularly bugged me, and I don't even like Diego that much). TUA3 tried to follow 2's lead of being fun, but its flaws are too big to successfully hide them behind the fun. There are a few standout scenes, but overall... Eh.

[batsplat]

watched donington 2005 bc of your rec and loved it! do you have any more recs for interesting (and/or messy) wet races?

sure do! we're going to take a broad definition of 'wet' race here... there's also been some major rule changes this century, like bike swaps didn't used to be a thing - plus I'm not particularly inclined to check how each race was actually categorised. so for our purposes here, any race where I remember the track being wet playing a significant role counts

in honour of being incredibly inconsistent with the asterisk system, this time I've added * or ** by how much of a definite recommend it is as a wet race (also to be complete I'll include donington '05)

donington 2000*: valentino's first premier class win and a very valentino way to do it. absolute horror show of a start that drops him to thirteenth on lap one, and he picks his way through from there on the damp track. lovely little comeback ride as they wobble around - crucially at a time when vale did not have a good reputation as a wet weather racer. fun 3-way fight for the win

suzuka 2002**: the first ever motogp race in nasty nasty conditions, and features an unexpected starring performance from japanese wild card rider akira ryo who was very familiar with the track and where all the puddles were. valentino sticks behind him for much of this race, watching and learning. showcases valentino's approach rather nicely

le mans 2003: this one isn't wet for most of the race, and when it starts raining the race is interrupted. that being said, the sete/valentino duel in slippery conditions after the race resumes is fun and fiddly enough to justify its inclusion. banger of a last lap

mugello 2004: same as above - interrupted a few laps before the end for rain. the conditions are very uncertain when they resume, and the last few laps involves a multi-rider scrap between riders on slicks on a track that is very much not dry. fantastic race

shanghai 2005: conditions proper nasty start to finish, crazy amounts of spray. vale does the thing where he gives himself a bit of work to do and is 6th at some point during the first lap, though he's soon up to 2nd and goes about hunting down kenny roberts jr. in the end he disappears out front, so it's up to everyone else to make it exciting (mostly by struggling to stay on track)

donington 2005**: this one's a go-to pick for a reason. horrendous conditions, high attrition rate, lairy saves, a tense fight for the lead before valentino eventually feels comfortable enough to pull a painful margin on the field. classic race all round

phillip island 2006*: first ever bike swap race! late in the season so it's all very dramatic with the title fight - you've still got several different contenders at this stage with constantly changing fortunes. drama up and down the field until the very very end

donington 2007**: proper wet race and exactly what you want from these things, with the run order constantly chopping and changing. the winning rider spends a lot of time in a lot of different positions, great ride to fight his way through

sachsenring 2008: dani's leading the championship, vale crashed the last time out at assen before recovering to 11th, casey's won the last two races... all three of them have very different races in the full wet conditions. incidentally the last race before laguna

indy 2008*: proper fun scrap in appalling conditions! the usual suspects and also some more unusual suspects (that year anyway) scrapping it out at the sharp end of the race - and they really are going for it given the conditions. once stopped, there isn't a restart, though there's still that fun bit where casey joins valentino to (presumably) tell ezpeleta that they are not going back out there

le mans 2009*: my pitch for this one is that it has a claim to being the most embarrassing race of valentino's career. everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong. I laugh every time I think about this race, but I suppose you have to admire his perseverance

mugello 2009*: yeah, this one's fun! bike swap race right after le mans so Certain Riders are playing it a bit safe... some great tussling and mixing it up and odd run orders in this one, just what you're looking for. incidentally the last race before catalunya

donington 2009*: another one for people who sometimes want to watch some very talented athletes embarrass themselves. casey has the mystery illness excuse for making a ridiculous tyre choice, but the others? lemme not speak. great chaotic shenanigans

sepang 2009: valentino's first matchpoint race, but he has a horrendous first lap (after qualifying well for once) that makes it look like the championship might not be quite done yet. great race out front from casey, though a lot of this one is about tracking vale and jorge's progress through the field. good fun!

le mans 2011*: plenty of talking points post-race, with some riders perhaps not balancing risk/reward quite right on the slippery track. a fierce fight for the final two podium spots behind casey

silverstone 2011*: the signature casey wet weather performance, and it's just too good from him to be exciting out front. still, the conditions are nasty enough there's plenty of peril behind - which two riders in particular discover while attempting to take on dovi

valencia 2011*: unpleasant first corner pile-up, but it's a nice little race from there in tricky conditions that get worse at the end. an extended dovi/dani duel that has real stakes for championship standings and pride. also you get a really dramatic ending out front, kinda out of nowhere? worth sticking with this one

le mans 2012*: jorge's in that stage of his career where he's a decent wet weather racer, and he very much disappears out front as battle rages behind. valentino fights with casey, fights with dovi/cal, fights with casey again... the last vale/casey duel featuring a last lap overtake

assen 2014: wet to dry bike swap, with more rain threatening. it features the first real dovi/marc scrap (doesn't last long, but they have a 2nd go at it as marc hunts dovi down). plus there's also an impressive comeback ride from vale after a poor tyre choice

aragon 2014: rather a nasty valentino crash close to the start - but once you're through that, you're in for quite a silly one. let's just say the dominant rider that year does not have a particularly dignified day in the office. dry to wet bike swap race, which some perhaps grasped a little too late

silverstone 2015**: first race in which valentino lost the championship lead, but this is the bounce back race in the soaking wet. marc puts a lot of pressure on valentino here, it's 2015, what more do you want? late pressure from other riders too, a signature valentino wet weather ride

misano 2015*: big twists, big turns, massive title fight implications. a flag-to-flag race where both title contenders perhaps don't get it quite right... a lot of chaos where bike swap timing makes all the difference. a truly excellent performance from the winner

sachsenring 2016: no prizes for guessing who won this one, but way more jeopardy than the average visit to the circuit. marc just got these flag-to-flags bang on so often, and it's fun watching him secure what at one stage looked like rather an unlikely victory

brno 2016**: if you can, go into this one without being spoiler-ed, because I promise you that you will not be able to guess the podium combination after the first few laps. a lot of this race ends up being about tyre choice. a slow burn but a goody

misano 2017**: in that stretch of 2017 where every race is a Big Title Fight Race, which makes it so fun 2017 had so many of those in the wet. a fun race throughout, but the last lap is particularly daring and memorable. a signature marc performance

motegi 2017**: a race that gradually builds to a dovi/marc duel - and the additional jeopardy added by the conditions makes it something special. one hell of a last lap

sepang 2017**: first match point race, just to add a little extra drama to proceedings. a lot of tense wobbling about as dovi attempts to navigate his way back to the lead of the race - including past his rather stubborn teammate. excellent performance under high pressure from dovi

valencia 2018*: the conditions get so poor you do get several crashes that just make for unpleasant viewing... when they finally red flag it, the field is severely depleted, then it's broadly more of the same. defo a good race if 'chaos' is what you're looking for

le mans 2020*: entire race on wet track. I don't remember the 1st half of this being all that exciting, but once it gets going it's just SUCH dumb chaos, in a title fight that's all about dumb chaos

austria 2021**: a race that will be remembered more than anything because of the crazy way in which it was won. the whole race is fun, but the last few laps are kinda unforgettable

motegi 2023*: quite fun to have a flag-to-flag this late in the championship fight! the title contenders feature heavily in this one and there's enough shake-ups in the order to keep things interesting. psa: this race doesn't get restarted. pretty short

honourable mentions: valencia 2001, estoril 2002, jerez 2004, estoril 2005, le mans 2007, assen 2011, phillip island 2011, assen 2016, le mans 2021, argentina 2023

[mymanyfandomramblings]

what are your fave finn centric episodes?

just asking for a friend :]

ooh, my favourite eps for Finn, I'll try to do one for each season, plus some honourable mentions...

Ballad--sure he's an idiot but good gravy, he's a charming idiot. The karate in the bathroom, I'll Stand By You (my beloved) and the utter sincerity in You're Having My Baby despite the fact it was a Bad Move. Also, he jumps in to defend Quinn from her parents and stands up for her, which is pretty sweet. Besides, it's the beginning of Furt, which is very important.

My suggestion for Season Two episodes, is always going to The Sue Sylvester Shuffle--best episode of the show fr fr, and has Finn showing some admirable leadership.

Heart--the only season 3 episode where Finn is in focus without putting him through the wringer--we get some excellent Finn/Rachel interactions, plus The Dads. Also that scene during Love Shack where he pops up with the massive grin.

Dynamic Duets--the beginning of Teacher! Finn, and he's so cute in this episode. Besides, he's really good with Ryder and Jake. (also I love the newbies and this is a good ep for them)

OTHER HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

Preggers--Finn crying makes me sad, but Cory's acting in this scene is incredible. Also, early Furt, my beloved

Sectionals--THE ACTING! In the confrontation scene. It's truly brilliant. Also the beginning of Finn's leadership skills

Grilled Cheesus--most episodes where I'm hyping Cory's acting, it's usually ones where he's making me cry, but in this case, I'm hyping the utter earnestness he shows in approaching the wildest material. Like, Finn believing that Jesus is in his sandwich is incredibly stupid, but Cory's acting makes me fully believe that this is something that could happen in Finn's reality. Besides, it's hilarious.

Duets--not a great episode for Finn on his own (he's not great with Sam and Kurt), but it's called the best episode for Finchel for a reason. The chemistry, acting and humour is off the charts for both.

The Rocky Horror Glee Show--Finn is my favourite part of this episode.

Silly Love Songs--he's being a tool in this episode, but it's so fun to watch

Born This Way--he's very out of focus here, but he gets I've Gotta Be Me, and the goofy smile on his face before he breaks Rachel's nose is everything

Rumours--always a top-tier episode for everyone, and it has a lot of Finn/Quinn--they're such a toxic couple, but they're fascinating together.

Yes/No--it's hard to watch in the light of Cory's death, but a very good episode for Finn, and the acting is so moving

Nationals--Paradise By The Dashboard Light. Enough Said.

That's all I can think of for now