#ive gone full fur girl help

[butterflies-dragons]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curiously enough, Tyrion wore Targaryen colors to marry Sansa lol

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

From my answer about certain ship foreshadowing:

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

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

So, reading all the context:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

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

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

From my Dunk & Jon meta:

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

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne.

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it.

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister.

Silent Sisters always wear grey.

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger’s wives.

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

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark.

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

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

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

From my Jon/Sansa/Winterfell meta:

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

Sansa Stark has a lot of stone imagery around her.

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion XI

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

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

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

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

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

Stone = Strong = Stark

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

Alayne Stone is Sansa Stark.

***

There you have it.

Thanks for your message ♡

[nick-thecreator]

Aftermath Revival: Human AU Part 3

(This is a flashback btw, there will be a lot of flashback chapters since Salvatore is explaining himself. Also, even though this is a full flashback, Sal is telling the story in a way that won't get the shit beaten out of him [Even though he doesn't really need to change it cause it was technically all Mother Miranda] and so it'll be shorter. He ain't sitting there, telling a half a year long story)

WARNING! Death; Blood; Child Death

Part 2 is right HERE

Part 1 is right HERE

The year was 1974, right in the middle of winter, and Salvatore had returned to the village after being sent out by his uncle for some medical/surgical training at a hospital nearby. A car ride after getting off of the train, and he was dog tired, but he had to get to his uncle first. He carried his bags to his house, unlocking the door, and placed his bags inside, before quickly shutting the door, dashing over to the clinic. He opened the door to the clinic, looking around to see if his uncle was around. Nobody was in there at the time, and a note had been left on top of his desk. He picked it up, putting on his reading glasses so he could read his uncle’s handwriting.

    It read, ‘Hey Sal, I had to meet up with Miranda for an important meeting, so sorry for not being there. Remember to see your father and family sometime today. Also, go to the church at 7pm today, okay? She wants to talk to you. 

Regards, Uncle Florin

    Ps. Remember what we’ve discussed before, about your “future position”, it’ll apply today.’

    He dropped the paper in shock. He had known this day would come, but never now. Maybe he wasn’t as prepared as he thought he was. He placed his hand on his mouth, feeling some vomit come up his throat. He swallowed it back down, then tried to calm himself down with some deep breaths. He sighed, picking up the piece of paper. He folded it up, placing it into his pocket. He looked around the clinic again, going over to a shelf near the desk. He reached up to the tallest shelf and grabbed a briefcase. Pulling it down, he realized how heavy the contents really were. He placed the briefcase onto the desk, opening it. Inside was one of Miranda’s “bibles”, a med-kit, a bottle of what he assumed was rubbing alcohol, based on the smell, and a pastor uniform. He pulled out the uniform. It still had the blood stain from when he was 17 and had to work as a pastor for 6 months, having to work with animals a lot. 

He looked at his watch. 6:35pm. Dammit. The train had gotten to the station incredibly late, and the man who had driven him had stopped for gas and a weirdly long bathroom trip. The church was around a 20 minute walk away. He gulped, looking out the window as he placed the uniform down. The clinic was a ways away from the rest of the village, but he could still hear the activity of the village through the trees and gardens in between them. He stood away from the window, removing his clothes to put on the uniform. He considered washing himself off first, but he just settled with some of the herbs in his uncle’s drawer as cologne. He threw on his uniform, straightening it out so he’d look less like he had been traveling for around 4 hours. He put back on his fur-lined coat to keep warm, putting the rest of his clothes into an empty box, placing the box on his desk’s chair. He closed the briefcase, picking it up before locking up and leaving the clinic.

While walking there, he had to pass through the town. He was stopped a few times by different villagers, asking him how the hospital experience had been, or just what the hospital was like. Many of them had never even left the village before, nevermind going to a full fledged hospital. He kindly answered their questions with his regular doctor-esc demeanor. Sometimes he was stopped for a bit longer than just a couple questions, but he would quickly get back on track. The longest he had stopped was for a group of kids who ran by, with a few recognizing him. They asked where he had been, and what the hospital was like. He tried to keep going, but they had surrounded him before he could. It took their parents, who were slightly behind them, to pull them away so he could keep going. Before he was fully out of the village, he ran into a few more kids from the group, including a small girl with a bride doll. She was only a bit bigger than the doll, but seemed determined to bring it with her. They made eye contact, him waving at her.

“You need help with that?” He asked.

“No thank you mister,” She replied, putting the doll over her shoulder before walking off with the rest of the group, seeming to, on purposely, stay behind the group a little. He just smiled at her before resuming his walk.

 After a bit more walking, he finally reached the church. Looking down at his watch, it read ‘7:02’. Dammit. He formed his excuse in his head as knocked on the front door. Before he could land the last knock, the door was opened by Miranda. He smiled at her, before seeing her deadpan expression. Behind her stood one of her maids, a large case in her hands. 

“Hello Mother Mi-”

“What took you so long?” She asked, interrupting him.

“The train was late, the driver had to stop, and the villagers-”

“Nevermind. You’re here. That’s what matters. Come in.” She stood to the side as he stepped into the church. He looked around the room, noticing that, besides him, Miranda, and the maid, the room was empty of people.

“Hey, where is everyone-”

“That doesn’t matter. Follow me.” She gestured to him and the maid to follow her, walking over to one of the hallways. He quickly followed, the maid walking beside him. While walking, she turned down another hallway that went downstairs. He had been in the church before, almost all over it, except underneath the church. He had almost gone down there once, but he was dragged out by Miranda and brought back to his dad, who later scolded him. He hesitated at the top of the stairs, the maid stopping beside him.

“Doctor, are you okay?” The maid asked. Miranda heard her, turning around to face him.

“Come on Moreau, don’t waste my time,” She commanded sternly. He jumped a bit at her tone, quickly walking down the stairs and following her. She turned on her heels and continued to walk down the hallway to an operating room. Outside of the room stood Florin. When he saw Salvatore, he smiled at his nephew.

“Hey Sal, how was the hospital?” He asked, leaning on the wall.

“It went well-”

“That doesn’t matter now. Ready?” Miranda asked Florin. He rolled his eyes at her interruption.

“Yeah yeah, you have the case Sal?” Salvatore nodded, holding up the briefcase. “Everything still in it?” Salvatore nodded again. “Alright, we’re ready.”

“Good, the patient is in here. Do you need him?” She gestured to Florin.

“No, I should be good.”

“Alright, come in when you’re ready.” She opened the door, closing it on him before he could step in. His uncle placed a hand on his shoulder before he could open the door again.

“Sal?”

“Yeah?”

“You know what you’re getting into?”

“Well, we’ve gone over it plenty of times, so, I’d assume so.”

“No, are you SURE SURE? No assumptions here, you know that.” Salvatore was surprised by his uncle’s tone. He had never been so upfront before.

“Yeah, what’s with the talk? You’ve been preparing me for my whole life, I can handle it-” Florin pulled Salvatore in for a hug.

“Good luck kid…” Salvatore hugged him back, kind of confused.

“Thanks man.” He heard a sniffle from his uncle. “What’s wrong-”

“You should know. We’ve talked about this. After this-” He pulled away from Salvatore, leaving his hand on his shoulder, a few tears in his eyes. “-I won’t be needed.” It finally clicked in his head. He had been told something similar in the past, but he had never considered the worst.

“What? Wait, why!?” He asked, now confused and upset.

“That doesn’t matter now, you’ll find out later.” Florin smiled. “I love you Sal. Never forget that.” He patted his shoulder, gesturing to the briefcase. “It’s in your hands now. Good luck.” Salvatore was about to cry, wanting to stop everything before it even began. However, he knew how important this day was. The day he would take on a village tradition. So he sucked it up, wiped away the tears he had, and nodded, assuring that he was ready. Florin nodded back, smiling.

“Thanks Uncle Florin.” He smiled before opening the door, stepping in. He looked around the operating room. It was faintly lit, a large table in the middle of the room with the patient placed on it. Small tables were around the larger one, tools laid out neatly on them. He looked up to Miranda, who was standing on the other side of the table. She had changed attire in the time that he was talking to Florin. Beside her was a small table with a jar on top of it. The jar contained some black thing floating in a somewhat dirty liquid. That must have been that “Cadou”, labeled as such.

“Come closer, we have work to start,” She stated. He walked a bit closer, his eyes looking down to the patient. His eyes went wide when he saw the patient. They seemed to be a girl in their early teens, sedated by an IV that was running a bluish tinted fluid into her arm.

“Um… Mother-”

“No questions now. We must start before the effects wear off-”

“Who is this?” He asked. She grabbed a journal, holding it so she could read it.

“This is Bernadette. She is 13 years old, and-”

“I was never told that I’d be working on a child,” He interrupted. She looked up, clearly irritated.

“You were told that you’d have to work with villagers. Ages were never specified.” She looked back down at the book. “We will be placing the Cadou in the-”

“Why are we testing on a CHILD?” He asked, in semi-shock. “This is unethical-”

“IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER HOW OLD SHE IS!” She screeched at him, her face going red. He jumped back in shock, before trying to stand his ground again.

“Still. Why a child? Out of anyone?” She clenched the journal.

“So-” She harshly closed the book. “You don’t want to do this then?”

“Not on a child, no. I was told that we would be using adults only, never kids.”

“And why do you give a shit?”

“You know that people have died in these surgeries before. Why would someone want to risk a child’s life like this? And the child of a leading family for fucks sake! And even if she did live, she could become a lycan! Or worse, if there even is worse…” She sighed, walking around the table, getting up in Salvatore’s face.

“You think you have a choice in this?” She asked firmly, using her powers to wrap a mold vine around his neck. “Because you don’t.” He lifted him up a bit, lifting herself up to stand above him. The vine choked him slightly, but not enough to cut off enough air to make him pass out. “YOU work for ME, and will do as I say.” She got closer to his face. “Your cooperation can save you a lot of hardship, but a lack of such will because only more heartache on your end, and trust me, you’ll be alive to experience EVERY. FUCKING. SECOND of it.” She basically spat those words at him as he stared up at her in fear. “So, have you changed your mind?” He quickly nodded, in fear for his life. “Good.” She dropped him back on the floor, him almost falling over from the force of the fall. She lowered herself down slowly, going back to the other side of the table. “If an outburst like that happens again, I won’t be as forgiving. So, for now, just this once, let’s put this under the rug.” He nodded again. “Anyway-” She picked up the journal again. “We will be placing the Cadou in the chest cavity, near the heart. She has already been undressed and cleaned for surgery. Ready to begin.” She looked back up at him, glaring at him.

    “Um- Yes… yes,” He replied, looking down at Bernadette.

    “Alright then, there are some gloves, a mask, and a sterile uniform over there.” She pointed over to a chair in the corner, a surgeon’s uniform, neatly folded on the seat. He went over to it, picking up the uniform. He looked back over to her as she pointed to a side room. He just went in, putting on the uniform, and stepped out, placing his pastor uniform and the briefcase on the corner seat. He walked back over to the operating table, putting on the gloves and mask that were placed on one of the smaller tables. His neck started to feel like it was burning, but he didn’t want to make her even more mad, so he didn’t complain. He moved the light over the patient so he could see what he was doing better. She was naked for the most part, besides a towel covering up her lower half. He was used to working on women, so the sight of breasts didn’t bother him. She had dotted lines across her chest, marking where to cut. Miranda placed a diagram of what to do on a stand next to her so it faced Salvatore. She then tested to see if she would awaken from pain. She did this by using one of her mold vines to smack her across the face. She then used a pointed vine to stab her in the shoulder. Bernadette didn’t even flinch, being in such a deep sleep. Miranda looked back up at Salvatore. “Well, Doctor, begin.” Salvatore gulped, picking up a scalpel, trying to get into the motions as he held the scalpel shakily. The scalpel slowly stopped shaking, being absolutely still before moving close to her chest. Miranda watched over his shoulder, some vines reaching around the table, ready to hand him tools when he needed them.

    The surgery lasted around 5 hours, mainly because it went from the insertion of the Cadou, to trying to save her from it. It was eating at her body, so they rushed to remove it before it could do any major damage. However, it had already taken a toll before they could fully remove it, as it had clung to her heart and started to eat at it. Salvatore had to remove her heart to even attempt to remove the Cadou, so Miranda tried to replace it with some mold. Unfortunately, the mold replica didn’t work, so Bernadette eventually died of blood loss. Once they knew she was beyond saving and brain-dead, they stood over her body, Miranda being disappointed in the turnout. Salvatore, however, was incredibly distraught. He could feel tears forming in his eyes as he looked back up at Miranda. She looked up at him as well.

    “Don’t blame yourself, the Cadou has different reactions to different people. You did well this time. Just keep it to yourself next time,” She told him, walking away from the table to the sink, removing her gloves and washing her hands. He just stood there in silence, looking down at his own hands. He could even believe what he had just done. Once she was down washing her hands, he went over to the same sink, removing her blood-stained gloves before washing the blood off of his hands and face, since some had spurted during surgery. When washing his face, he could feel a few tears escape from his eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was from what had happened, or from the soap that had accidentally fallen into her eyes. He didn’t feel that water would be enough to get her blood off of his face. Once done, he turned to the chair in the corner, picking up the pastor uniform and the briefcase. He went into the side room as Miranda started to disinfect the tools before disposing of the body.

    He locked the door of the side room before starting to take off the uniform, putting on the pastor uniform. While doing so, he brushed his neck with the fabric, making his neck sting. He looked in the mirror, seeing that some cuts we left on his neck after Miranda’s vine had been around his neck. He opened the briefcase, taking out the med-kit and the rubbing alcohol. He started to apply the rubbing alcohol to his cuts, flinching a bit at the sting. He was able to wrap his neck with a bandage, realizing that the briefcase was less for any patient, and more so for himself. He sighed after doing so, putting the stuff back into the briefcase. He stepped out of the side room, the blood-stained surgeon’s uniform draped over his arm.

    “Um, Mother Miranda?” She turned to him, almost done cleaning the large table, Bernadette nowhere to be seen.

    “Yes?”

    “Where should I put this?” He gestured to the clothes on his arm.

    “You can just put them on that table there.” She pointed to one of the smaller tables next to the larger one, the tools having been put away. He placed them on the smaller table, then headed to the door. “Oh, Doctor?”

    “Yes Mother?” He asked, just wanting to leave the church at this point.

    “Will you inform the Beneviento family at some point this week of her death. Just say that she was killed by a bear, and that her body couldn’t have been retrieved.” His eyes went wide a bit. He had heard his uncle use the same excuse when it came to other deaths in the village. It was both nice and unnerving to find out what the true reason was. It did make sense, considering how deep in the woods the village was and the abundance of ways to get lost and die out here. He just nodded as he opened the door, quickly stepping out of the room. He quickly walked down the hallways, stepping out of the church before sliding down the closed door, starting to cry. He loathed the idea of having to tell a family that their child had died, nevermind having to lie about the cause. He hadn’t seen his uncle either, knowing the worst, but not being able to fully face it after what had happened. He put his face in his hands, feeling tears stream down his face...

[owlsinathens]

A Ghost at the Wall, Part IV

@theon-appreciation

The days seem to get colder, and darker, and still there’s nothing happening, no decision made, nothing to do, and it’s making Theon restless. He spends too much time in his own head, has too much time to think. What will happen to him? Is Jon just biding his time, waiting for an order from Stannis Baratheon to get rid of the turncloak? The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch doesn’t have to obey any king, but if Theon were in Jon’s shoes…

He’s taken out of his musings by a knock on the door, and Jon lets himself in before waiting for an answer. His face is grave, and Theon’s heart starts to beat faster. It’ll happen now. He suppresses the urge to close his eyes and pray, pray with all his might that it’s the noose or the sword that is waiting for him. He could bear anything – anything but being sent back to Ramsay. Even the red priestess’ flames would be a relief over that.

“Davos has come to see me,” Jon starts. He’s looking at Ghost, stretched out on the floor in front of Theon’s narrow bunk. “He brought news.”

Just spit it out already, Theon wants to say, but he holds his tongue.

“The girl – Jeyne Poole–”

“What,” Theon says, sitting upright, suddenly highly alert. “What of her?”

“She seems to be on the mend,” Jon says. “The princess Shireen isn’t leaving her side, Davos says.”

“Oh.”

The relief is strong, and Theon feels his shoulders sagging, tears pricking at his eyes. So it hadn’t been for naught. Even if they execute him today, it wouldn't have been for naught. Jeyne will live.

“Can I see her?” he asks, dragging his sleeve across his eyes.

“Maybe not yet.” Jon isn’t looking at him. “Stannis – I don’t think Queen Selyse would like that.”

“Of course,” Theon mumbles, hanging his head. Of course they wouldn’t want the turncloak in their camp. “I understand.”

“You saved her,” Jon says, and for once his voice sounds gentle. “You could’ve died, but you did it anyway. Are you…?”

“No, not like – I had to,” Theon mutters, still weak with relief. “I couldn’t leave her there. The things he did to her–”

“To the both of you.” Jon crouches down, burying his hand in Ghost’s fur. “I’ve talked to Sam. He thinks he can help you. Do something about – about your teeth. Make it easier to eat. You’re still – you’re too thin. It’s only going to get colder.”

Theon closes his mouth with a snap, confusion taking over. Why would they do that? Why would they try to mend him only to kill him later? His hand wanders to his neck on its own accord.

“You used to be a remarkable archer,” Jon continues, as if he’s been following Theon’s thoughts. “Your skills are going to be needed when the Long Night comes. It would be a shame to waste that.” He briefly glances upward. “And I don’t want to kill you.”

The last part sounds a lot like Jon back then, like the boy Theon had known, defiant and cross. So it’s true then, Theon thinks. Stannis has ordered his death. And Jon refused.

“It’s alright,” he says, surprising himself. “It’s not as if I could – those skills belonged to a different man. He doesn’t exist anymore.”

He looks down on his hands, uselessly lying in his lap.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I haven’t touched a bow in years. It’s–”

Theon sighs at the stubborn expression on Jon’s face. He won’t believe it, not until he sees for himself. So, tentatively, Theon starts to take his gloves off, first one then the other. He hates the sight of his hands, mangled and disfigured, but Jon needs to see.

“This is what I’m left with,” Theon mutters. “I couldn’t – it’s no use.”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see the disgust on Jon’s face. He can feel his eyes on him, burning his skin, and Theon suppresses the urge to hide his hands again.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d let that stop you.”

Theon’s head snaps up at Jon’s words; he stares at him, incredulous. Jon stares back petulantly, his bottom lip sticking out.

“See that?” he says, lifting his right hand and pulling his glove off with his teeth. “I didn’t let it hinder me.”

Theon blinks, staring at the burn scars covering Jon’s hand. Is he really – does he actually think–

“What the fuck, Snow,” he says, too baffled to remember he’s talking to the Lord Commander. “Are you seriously comparing this little thing to missing several fingers?”

“It’s my sword hand,” Jon says, frowning. “And if I remember correctly you were right-handed too?”

“Aye, but–”

“Then I don’t know why you think you couldn’t do it. You still got all the fingers required to nook an arrow.”

“But – but – drowned fuck.” Theon stares at him, unable to comprehend so much idiocy. “I don’t have the strength, Jon! I couldn’t even draw the string back far enough to–”

“Get stronger then.” Jon shrugs. “You certainly won’t when all you do is hide away in here.”

“I…” Theon feels himself deflating, the indignation leaving him. “I can’t.”

“You could at least try. If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that men – humans – can withstand a lot. You already proved that, didn’t you? You saved the girl. You survived.”

“What the fuck do you know about surviving,” Theon mutters before he can stop himself.

“Ah?” Jon snorts, bending forward and pointing to the scar running across his face. “See that? A warg’s hawk almost took my eye out!”

“So what?” Slowly but surely Theon starts to feel angry. “I had my fucking fingers cut off!”

“A girl from the Free Folk shot me full of arrows!”

“Can’t have been too good then, can she?” Theon smirks. “She failed to kill you.”

“She was the second-best archer I’ve known,” Jon retorts, scowling. “She didn’t want to kill me, but I still almost died.”

“Oh?” Theon starts to feel hot in the small room. The whole situation is utterly ridiculous, but somehow he can’t stop himself. “Do you know how many toes I have left, Snow? Six. Six.”

“Don’t tempt me, Greyjoy, I can win this.”

Jon’s eyes are glittering in the light of the fire, his mouth forming a tight smile as he gets to his feet. His right hand, still ungloved, moves to his chest, stopping above his heart.

“Are you – this isn’t a competition!”

Theon frowns, too bewildered to think straight. There’s something about the whole conversation… it stirs something in Theon, memories of times long gone, and it’s as if a door opens in his mind.

You’ll never have my skills with a bow, bastard.

Aye, but the moment we take up swords I’m going to send you into the dirt!

We’ll see about that. At least I don’t collapse after a single glass of wine!

Oh? Well, good for you, but Robb still likes me best!

And then…

Guys, can’t you stop it? I swear I’m going to like none of you anymore if you keep it up like that.

“As if you could ever best me, Snow,” Theon says. His eyes are stinging, but he can’t help the smile. “I’ll beat you anyway.”

Jon’s answering smile is brilliant.

“I see we finally understand each other,” he says. “No more excuses, Greyjoy. From tomorrow, I expect you to earn your food. At least give it a try.” He hesitates, already turning to go. “Even if you couldn’t do it yourself anymore, you could always teach others. But I think you’ll be fine.”

The door closes, and Theon’s still smiling. “What do you think?” he asks the wolf before him on the floor. “Do you think I should give it a try?”

Ghost yawns, turning onto his back and presenting his belly to Theon’s attention.

“Maybe you’re both right,” Theon mutters, burying his hands in Ghost’s fur. “Though it’s a sad thing, to live in a world where Jon Snow is right about something.”

Part I • Part II • Part III

[vancilocs]

Ive got a headache so im not gonna read every single option presented so top half for fuckerswoods wolf vampire hunter polycule aaand neja and yecal (or dana and hecca if neja and tecal have been answered for this already)

have a paracetamol and a lay down xx

1. Who's the one who's reckless and always getting into trouble while the other gotta pull em out

If anyone gets into trouble it's Kältre, but the others keep him so well in check that if he's even thinking of sneaking into the forest during new moon Soren will either go along or pull him back by the hood

2. Who's the one to send the other "I love my gf/bf" memes

Nanoha would send pictures of piles of cats cuddling and just go that's us!

3. Who's the one who listens to a music genre the other doesn't like and how does the other react

They all play well together, nobody hates the music the other listens to

4. Which one spoils the other more and do they ever get competetive to show the other more love

Everyone is very spoiled with four pairs of hands on them, nobody gets left out so it doesn't become a competition

5. How many years did it take to get married or was it just not for them

Given how open their relationship was in the beginning nobody really considered marriage, and now it would just be such a hassle with five people

6. Is their friends/family supportive

It's... a little weird to them but hey, everyone's happy and the relationship works so why not. If anything, Soren's family is weirded out by him shacking up with a vampire and Striga's parents being likewise mistrustful of a werewolf

7. How does one comfort the other when the other is in distress/having a panic attack/crying

In wildly different ways, ranging from Kältre arming himself to kill a bitch and Nanoha starting to make soup. Virve and Striga are the types to hug or hold hands if allowed and ask what's wrong, Soren is the type to just hug. One of the five starts crying and there's a swarm of comfort around immediately

8. Which one dissociates

Striga and Soren tend to during new moon/full moon respectively, best to just leave them to lay in bed for the day bc their energy is at 0

9. Which one stares at the other's booty like "damn" and how does the other react when catching them

Nanoha and Striga are a bit flustered, Virve and Kältre like it, Soren is indifferent. All do look at butts tho

10. When they live together what kinda place do they live in? What does their home look like?

It's an old hunting hut that was converted to a living space by Virve's family when she moved in with Kältre, it's kinda small for five people but it's cozy, it's warm, it's pretty cluttered and one of the corners has been turned into a mattress/pillow/blanket/fur pile that fits all five

11. What do their dates look like

Walks in the forest, grabbing some food and walking to a meadow or stream to eat, going for a swim, going to the nearby village for a drink, staying home when the three others are gone and enjoying peace and quiet for a while

12. How does each act when getting drunk

Kältre gets loud and clumsy, Soren gets sleepy and cuddly, Virve also kinda loud but less so than Kältre, Nanoha gets giggly and sloppy and has to be looked after, Striga barely drinks because it hits her so hard, she gets emotional and very clumsy

13. Which one rolls over in the morning to wake up the other one just to give them a kiss

Striga and Nanoha give kisses but don't wake the others up, Virve will wake them up if it's almost noon and it's time to get your butt out of bed

14. Have they saved each other's lives before

Striga is fairly sure she would have made it out of the blizzard during new moon if by just huddling under a rock, but Soren finding her and bringing her to a warm spot didn't do any harm for sure

15. Does one have an interest the other thinks is weird but wants to listen to it regardless

Not really, whatever little crafts they do is something the others are always interested in and willing to hear about

16. Which one uses cropped hentai as reaction images

Virve and Kältre, and Nanoha uses one by mistake and Kältre informs her that it's from a hentai and she goes and how did you know that you wee cunting man

17. Does one of them kinkshame the other

Nanoha thinks Virve and Kältre have too much interest in Soren's werewolf and Striga's full vampire forms

18. Is one of them self conscious about their body? If so how does the other comfort them

Not really, Striga is a lil ashamed about her cold hands and feet sometimes but it's fine to the others, put on some woolly socks and put your hand on Virve's tiddy, it's soft and warm

19. What kinda joyrides do they go on? Relaxing ones or wild ones?

Soren agrees one time to let Kältre sit on his back and come along to a proper werewolf hike, very very wild ride

20. Where would they vacation for a honeymoon

No time for vacations, the grind never stops --------------

21. Do people ever get annoyed of their PDA

Honestly sometimes yeah, hands off his tiddies for once woman

22. Would they live in the city of the country

They live in the city, Neja grew up in a city too so it's comfortable for her

23. Are either of them mentally ill, if so how do they help one another cope

Not really? I can believe Yecal having some kind of PTSD from some events but nothing very severe. Neja will cuddle and pet feathers if needed

24. Does one have a spot on them where they would melt when the other kisses them there

General tender spots for Neja are the sides, inner thighs, neck, nothing unusual

25. Do they dance together

Neither really knows how to dance but it doesn't stop them

26. Do they sing together

Ditto, it's not super pretty but they have fun

27. Which one is better at cooking than the other and makes most the dinners

They are both alright at cooking, Neja makes some mean spicy noodles and Yecal some proper sauce, if one is running late from work then the other can have food ready just fine

28. Are they a reckless couple or safe

They began as very reckless but have toned it down a lot for each other

29. What be they kinks and do they try each other's kinks

Yecal gets pegged

30. What would their Valentine's gifts be to each other

Neja with a ribbon on her boobs (maybe some wine if she wants to splurge, some candy), she enjoys flowers and candy and wine herself

31. Do they get into fights often? If so what do they fight over and how do they make up

Not often, if anything it's small arguments about money of if Yecal tried to fix something he doesn't know how to and made a mess when Neja was gone. They make up with kisses and hugs every time though, nobody stays mad for long

32. Which one's top, bottom, verse

They switch flawlessly, sometimes a small girl wants to be small girl and sometimes she wants to ram her husband into the mattress yanno

33. Who would fight in honor for the other if someone would insult them

Yecal will defend Neja in anything, she needs to be held back also because she do be smol

34. Which one has a favorite movie that they have the other watch with them again and again

If either then Neja

35. Do they want kids

Nah, neither dislikes them but they don't want any of their own. They struggle keeping a houseplant alive so no way they would have a kid

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Trophy chapter four

Masterlist

Warnings: Adult Themes Dubcon,Controlling Behaviour, Swearing, Smut +18 Only

Chapter 0ne Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter five Chapter Six

Your escape doesn’t go as planned as Henry reveals just how much power he truly has.

You were just over a week into your 'stay' at Henry's manor and had just about had enough. Youd spent the last few days in a constant fit of frustration. I had become very clear in the first few days that you were nothing more than a toy, a doll for him to coo over and manipulate. Or maybe a better way to discribe it was the girl in a childs music box being made to dance when ever the owner decided to open the lid. Either way you felt trapped used and helpless, at first he made sure you spent as much time as possible together taking you to the office when he had to work, sitting you on the sofa with a book or parade you around the house.

After that he would put you in what became your daily cell tho never alone if he wasnt with you kal was. Day after day you were left in here a freshly decorated room that youd heard the guards refer to as the play room, it was like a large airy living room like somthing from pintrest a plush looking corner sofa around a light coffee table,large tv on the wall above the fireplace with games consoles neatly tucked away,two floor to ceiling book cases either side ,there was a cabinet full of dvds and games behind the sofa opposite there was a sideboard filled with sketch books, pens and pencils ect and a two seat small dining table sat between the two cabinets. The room was a mix of soft pale pinks and blues and was chock full of soft furnishings pillows and various blankets draped here and there and huge faux fur rug . The window was locked being ground level ,that was the first thing you checked when left alone ,not that you'd get far across the gravel drive he had made a point not to give you shoes. The saying bare foot in the kitchen sprung to mind.

He would visit you when you were in here at lunch forcing you to eat with threats of spanking sometimes worse. Being treated like a child was wearing thin and to be quiet honest you were becoming scared,finding it easier to go along with his insanity, you called him daddy without a thought somewhere in the back of your mind you knew it was wrong but after just over a week he had managed to drum it into you. It was frighteing just how quickly you could be conditioned you had to get out soon. He was overbearing always helping himself to you, kissing ,touching and generally trying to act as if you were a couple until you did something he didnt like then it was back to threats and reality hit.

Today was slightly different you woke up curled on your side his henry lazily running his finger through your hair you squinted rubbing your eyes as he leant over kissing your shoulder before running hi hand across your tummy spreading out his fingers and pulling you back against his crotch, he rocked against your bottom groaning quietly into your hair as you felt his cock springing to life he grinded harder against you before shuffling pinning you flat on your back straddling you pulling your legs to rest either side of his hips you whined in protest trying to shuffle from under him when he pulled you down tight against him he just tilted his head raising and eyebrow. The warning was clear behave. He rubbed against your mound sliding his cock along the seam pf your pussy. You closed your eyes tight already feeling the arousal build inside of you dreading what was to come, you couldnt help how your body reacted you tried to just let him get on with it but each morning he managed to coax you into participating a little more, not letting you distance yourself any longer. He grunted low i his throat as he pumped himself against you resting his weight on his hips one hand cuped the top of his cock squeezing it against you as he pushed it against your clit. You gasped as you felt his throbbing cock against you pulling high pitched moans and whines as you bit your lip trying to keep quiet. He chuckled

"Oh fuck... thats it baby girl ...come on let daddy hear you." You shook your head back and forth as your pussy weeped onto him soaking both of you you found your self panting hard when he groaned grabbing one of your hands replacing his over his cock you tried pulling away and he growled at you.

"Stay still baby.... fuck thats it good girl.. your so good for daddy" he groaed deep as he sped up before leaving wet open mouthed kisses on your collar bone then kissed up to your lips trying to pry your mouth open you turned your head away. He sighed moving his hand into the boxers that you wore finding your swollen clit flicking and pinching harshly causing you to buck and cry out, he quickly took the opportunity to invade your mouth tasting your tongue sucking you into a passionate kiss he let go of your hand placing his hand pressing your knee up to your torso spreading you out for him rubbing his cock faster with jerky thrusts skimming your opening with every movement you gripped the sheets twisting them as you felt your walls trying to clench onto him desperate for him to fill you you rocked back against him looseing yourself in him as he smothered you he released your mouth biting down on your neck leaving a mark alongside yesterdays. You became hot, to hot as you flushed under him chasing your own end grinding up against him

"Oh! oh god please! Please i cant" you babbled incoherently as he repositioned his hand thumbing your clit and thrusting into you harshly with his fingers bouncing your body across the bed you let out a load moan as his hand worked furiously rubbing amd curling his finding your soft spot befor zeroing in and running his fingers harshly across it you cired bucking out at him unsure of you wanted hi to go faster or get off your climax built and he chuckled as your clamped down on his fingers to the point of pain

"Aww baby you want to cum dont you? Thats it good girl so good is it to much?" he didnt relent still masaging that spot you nodded and cried tears falling down your face you couldnt breath it was to much

"Then cum, its ok you can cum, cum for daddy ,all over daddies fingers" you hated how his wods pushed you over the edge and even then he didnt stop he seemed to double his efforts when you arched violently with a silent scream gushing over his fingers he continued moving draggin out your orgasm he moved higher running the underside of his cock across your mound with stuttering hips.

"Oh..OH shit YES YES fuck! OH GOD Little one fuck" he let out a long gruntle moan as he finished spraying cum up your front you both laid there panting. Shame washed over you like it had done every morning he did this. You felt dirty and used he rolled on his side tucking you in his arms kissing your head praising you for how good you were and telling you how much he loved you as you curled ijto him wetting his tinto him overwhelmed. After a few moments the saddness past and you laid stock still against him as he pulled you to lie across him head on his chest stroking your hair once again.

"Iv got to go out today pet. I trust youll be good whne im gone and if your lucky I'll get you a treat" you froze at his words gojng out... that meant youd be alone the thlught filled you with dread and anticipation.

"If your naughty you will regret it when i get back."you both laid there for what felt like hours he wouldnt let you move. Tho he finally let out a breath and ushered you to the bath room showering with you. After getting dressed and having breakfast he left and you noticed he didnt put you any where. You dread to think what he was doing. But you were left the run of the house. So here you sat in the kitchen alone in the huge house apart from the security he kept on site. 'This was it.. or was it a test?..' you raced to the living room window and watched an expensive car leave the gates at the bottom of the drive as it dissapeared behinde the wall that clossed off the property. You debated in your head if he was just waiting to see if you were going to try and run or not. You had to try, somthing was happening to you here ,you didnt like how complacent you were getting with him. It was cruel really the only person that was aloud to interact with you was him, you find yourself almost craving him, you enjoyed his praise lapping it up liike a love sick school girl.

Deciding that this may be the last time you could escape before it was to late you walked into the kitchen slowly as not to alert anyone to your plan even tho your heart was racing ten to the dozen. Quickly and quietly you pulled a small packet of plasters from one of the draws. Throught out your stay you learnt a few things all the doors leading outside and your 'play room' had pressure alarms built in you'd set one off on your forth day trying to get out into the garden resulting in another painfull and very embarassing spanking in the kitchen then experienced your first corner time, the other thing you learnt were all the guards had shifts and patrol routes the house ran like clockwork youd freighed interest in him and he'd waffled on about how it wasnt all bad and he'd take you out when you'd acclimated to your new life then boasted about the cars he had in the basment garage but you'd 'never get to drive one as driving these fast cars is to dangerous for his baby girl'. Tho you hadnt made a thing of it you kept the information locked away youd been behaving hopeing he would let down his gaurd. Once you got the plasters you put them in the pocket of your cardigan and grabbed a butter knife hooking it in the back of your jeans wedging it just under the tight waist band.

"What are you still doing in here? Get to the playroom" you screamed in suprize as the voice came out of no where you spun round faceing the man and nodded walking past him quickly.

"Wait. What have you been doing in here?" He said grabbing your arm pulling you to a stop you huffed tugging your arm.

"Let go i havent done anything" you twisted around as he patted you down you froze mouth going dry as you thought he was going to find the knife in your jeans he didnt instead his hands found the packet of plasters the cocked an eyebrow

"Im doing some crafts today these are incase i get a paper cut...im clumsy and tthought i should take a pack the keep in there just incase" he eyed you for a few seconds befor smirking at you

"So the princess was sneaking about for some plasters, im suprised you werent trying to sneak candy, would be more fitting for his baby girl." He laughed as you glared at him venomously

"Fuck you ,you cunt" you spat in his face he growled before grabbing your arm in a bruising grip dragging you out of the kitchen down the hall as you screamed at him, a few others poked their heads around to watch asking what was wrong as you were dragged down the hall once outside your day room he stopped pressing a card to the reader next to the handle disarming the door and answered their qeustioning stares.

"Nothing just a temper tantrum im sure she will regret later when Boss finds out." He turned back to you.

"He might even make a show of it, i wouldnt mind seeing her bent over" you growled as he opend the door throwing you in , grunting as you landed hard on the floor he whistled for kal and let the dog enter behind you befor shutting the door arming the device again. Shaking away tears in your eyes as you heard then others laugh about how theyd love to see 'a piece of that ass' kal sat beside you nudging you for a cuddle you hugged him breathing deep nuzzling his thick fur, he was the only company you enjoyed here after snuggling with him a few minuets you pulled away putting your plan into action you got out suome supplies fro the art cupborads scattering them hear and there to make it look like you had been drawing, hopefully if anyone came in and found you missing they would assume that you had asked one of the others to let you use the bathroom as the ensuite to this room wasnt finished. You aproached the door pulling out the knife and lowered it to the door handle, the worst thing about this system was that you werent technically locked in, the door opend but set off an alarm that was indicated by a small red flashing light on the card reading panel. Breathing deep you pulled out a plaster removing the tabs on it sticking oneside to your finger. Gentle you pulled down on the handle until you couldnt anymore easing the knife alongside the door pushing on the plate you pivoted your body opeing the door enough to get your hand in the gap and stuck the plaster over the bottom of the pressure plate securing it down. Holding your breath you waited a few moments before summerizing that it had worked when noone came rushing down the hall you quickly slipped thrpugh the door catching kal befor he could make his way out and shut the door fully. You blinked then jumped for joy you could bearly see the edge of plaster on the frame. Quickly you jogged to the end of the hall ducking low realising that not having shoes might be a god send as you were almost silent as you moved you got another plaster ready on your hand as you ducked and dived behind the counters in the kitchen making your way around to the door Henry had left through.'it must have been to the garage' you though you made quick work of the door not waiting to see if the alarm had set off as you heard foot steps coming your way you slipped through the door closing it behinde you and ran down the stairs into a large garage on the left there was lots of hooks with keys on them you toke shaky breaths scanning them befor looking over the cars there must have been about eleven in total ranging from massive range rovers to calssy two seater sports cars. 'I need on that can blend in, a hatch back or somthing, maybe a saloon' you thought running down the line of cars the most normal looking one was a Jag you quickly ran to the keys looking for a set with the same logo as the car finding two you grabbed them both pushing unlock on one set seing another car across light up you threw them on the floor using the other one to unlock the car getting in quickly you felt your tummy tie itself in knots turning on the ignition and pulled the seat forward you put on your seatbelt out of habbit then dojng a small cheer when you saw it was an automatic you put it in drive wincing as it growled to life louder then it needed to be you pulled it up to the garage door and it opend you pulled it forward going up the bank once at the top you saw a gaurd stopping staring befor shouting out to the others.

"Dont let the gate open!!" You panicked and floored it the car took off down the drive skidding you a stop near the gate the instantly began rolling open. On gaurd was sprinting down the drive behinde you. You looked down for a button to look the doors finding it by the window controls you flicked it on and heard the click at all four doors locked lokking up you saw the gate had stopped half way you spun the wheel throwing the scar around squeezing the car throuh the gate clipping the wing mirror off in the process putting your foot down you gave a triumphant shout as you tore down the road away from that house. Leaning back into the seat relaxing as you made yourway towards the town, it was the only way to get to the motorway that would lead out of the area. You wiped tears from your eyes as as relief flooded you sobs wracked your body the drive to the town took longer than you thought it would and you were suspicious as no one had chased you from the house and had spent the whole drive flinching at every car that pulled up behind you. Pulling up to a round about you stopped recognising the area deciding to take a less busy route pulling off to the outskirts of town you parked up into a superstore looking threw the car for money finding a few £20 notes a tap at the window you screamed turning it was a police officer you gulped looking in the rearveiw mirror seeing a squad car pulled up behind you blocking you in, he indicated for you to roll down the window.

"Yes can i help you?" You asked trying to sound normal

"Miss did you realise your missing a wing mirror?" You followed his gaze and smiled meekly. Getting a bad feeling in your gut.

"Yes, its my boyfreids car i borrowed it and hit a sign back there im going to book it in now hopefully get it done and he wont find out i hurt his baby" you ended with a chuckle patting the steering wheel he didn't look convinced and motioned for his colleague to join him

"Uh huh, so are you insured to drive this car? Sure you didnt hit another car?" You shook your head

" Well i hope im insured he said hed made me a name driver and no i didnt hit anyone, the car caught me by suprize i hadnt realised how much oommf it had and still getting used to the size its a bit wider then mine." You explained hoping you were convincing enough he smiled the held out his hand to you.

"Can i see your licence?" You froze then pretended to look around the car for it

"Oh shit i dont have my bag on me sorry can i give you my name instead and you can look it up on the system?" You pleaded hoping that he would let this one go

"So you dont have your purse on you? When your taking his car to the garage to get it fixed?.... yeah im gonna have to ask you to step out of the car now." He said moving back from the door you looked behind you panicking there was no way to pull out.

"Wh-what? Why?" You cried out as he put his hand in the car opeing the door

"No! No you cant do this you dont understand please!" You shouted at him as he undid your seatbelt pulling you out of the car cuffing your hands behind your back reading you your rights.

"Your under arrest for car theft,careless driving and driving with out insurance , you have the right to remain silent anything you do say can harm your defence and used in court ,Call it in we found Mr cavills car" you froze, hed called in that his car had been stolen. He used the police to track you. You wailed twisting against him as you realised why no one had chased you, he was using the police to bring you back to him.you cried as he dragged you to the squad car.

"NO! You dont understand he kidnapped me! Please you have to let me go! He's mad he locked me up please you have to help me." You kicked out as he forced you into the back seat on the car slamming the door you sobbed in the back seat as they locked up the jag and got in the front of the car.

"Please do make me go back i dont know what he'll do" you cried pitifully they sighed looking at you threw the plexiglass.

"Im sorry love there's nothing we can do for you... i wish there was but its our asses on the line" then he started the car driving towards the station. It wasnt long befor you found yourself in a cell heavy metal door between you and your escape laying on the bed crying and terrified of whats to come. Panicking everytime you heard foot steps down the hall thinking it was him. It was over an hour later when you jumped as the heavy lock on your door opened with a loud bang revealing a calm looking Henry standing beside a sympathetic looking officer he shooed them away.

"Give us a minute" he didnt take his eyes off you as he stepped into the room seemed to take over the small space you shuddered backing away from him sending a pleading look to the officer who ingored you and left.

"Well pet have you got that out of your system now?" He said crossing the cell in large strides his suit jacket hung over one arm that was in his pocket. You shook your head crying

"Pl-please im sorry i-i had to" you flinched as he brought his hand to your face. Smoothing back your hair

"Sshhh shh its ok now everything is going to be fine" he calmed you pulling his outher hand up wiping your tears away before for twisting his fist in your hair you yelped clawing at his hand trying to relieve the pain in your scalp.

"You've been a very very naughty girl havent you?" He tugged your hair back forcing you to look at him still wiping your face with his other. It summed him up caring and kind yet brutal and cruel. He grinned a sadistic grin

"I should let you know that im not pressing charges, what kind of boyfreind would i be if i did?" He teased you letting you know he was told your cover story you cried in pain as he dragged you the few steps towards him forcing you onto your tip toes

"STOP! Please Henry your hurting me!" He tutted at you looking at his watch

"Three hours away from the house and were back to Henry? What happened to Daddy? Well it doesnt matter i hope now you realise that there is no escape. You cannot run or hide from me love i have eyes everywhere." He lowerd you back down releasing your hair clutching you to his chest trapping you in a strong grip as you sobbed shaking like a leaf more out of anxiety then anything else.

"Shh shh. its ok little one... i know its been a scary day getting out , nearly crashing into the gate and then being arrested? its all going to be ok, now that you've got this out of your system you can finally settle at home. Ihave been waiting for this little blow up from you i was beginning to think the gun fiasco was it" His words filled you with dread as you began to sink in this was it for you, that there was no way out, he would find you at some point. Rocking you backwards and forwards with your arms trapped at your side he tucked his nose into your hair kissing it every so often.

"Tho this is probably my fault it was enavitable for you to try and run again, i havent trained you properly yet, not givin you the attention you truly need, but dont worry we will start once we get home. I want you to know daddies not angry, no no he's just dissapointed" he pulled back draping his jacket over your shoulders.

"I hope you know that your still in serious trouble when we get home young lady i warned you this morning that youd regret playing up" he murmmerd into your ear as he walked you out of the cell down to the reception he didnt hold you because he didnt need to there was nowhere you could go.

"Mr cavill would you sign these ,I assume your not pressing charges?" Henry looked up winking at you

"No no my girlfriend couldnt help herself, she's like a child in that respect no self restraint. Never thinks of her consequences" You shuddered catching the his unspoken threat looking down as tears of humiliation the officer chuckled as Henry said this sighing his name

"Well she does look distraught, dont be to hard on the little thing I'd jump at the chance to drive one of those myself."

Henry laughed out loud drawing some attention from the others in the waiting room

"Oh dont you worry about her, she'll find a way to make it up to me somehow wont you babygirl" he said winding an arm around your waist pulling you against him squeezing his hand painfully tight. You looked down nodding hearing a few snickers and scoffs from women in seats behind you.

"Now apologize to the officer for wasting his time baby." You scowled up at him being met with a shit eating grin opening your mouth to tell him to fuck off thankfully you were interupted.

"Oh now thats not nessasary saving a tiny thing like her from herself isn't wasting time ..I'm glad I could help" Henry smiled at you kissing your cheek feeling please with himself.

"Now isnt that nice sweety. He's happy to help us" you gave a jerky nod as Henry finished the paperwork.

"I will have someone collect the car today" he called over his shoulder as he forced you along side him stopping before he got out of the door.

"Oh baby Wheres your shoes?" He asked smirking at you knowing damn well that he hasnt got you any, you felt the eyes of the other people on you as he shook his head picking you up cradling you recieveing a few awws and judgmental stares from the women. Unable to take it anymore you tucked your face into his neck crying.

"Im sorry please im so sorry i wont do anything like this again". He sighed pushing throught the doors and made his way to the car park climbing into the back or a range rover holding you in his lap as the car began moving.

"Its a little to late for sorry baby, daddy has to punish you for being an extremly naughty little girl. Stealing and damaging daddies car running away and getting arrested lying to the police? What kind of daddy would let you get away with all that?" You shuddered mind wandering what he had instore for you, not just for punishment but the training he mentioned in the cell you squirmed in his lap as you mulled it all over feeling sick to your stomach.

[sailorshadzter]

from snowflakes to sunlight.

it’s been a minute since ive finished anything, so here’s a jonsa oneshot. 

The snowflakes that drift down from the overcast skies are soft and pure, though they melt not long after they land upon the ground. Peeking out from behind the clouds is the sun, golden and warm, a beacon of hope in the world that is slowly coming back from war. A glimmer of belief that the sun always rises again, a reminder that surely, after all this time, spring was coming back to them.

Standing on the battlements, Sansa gazes down at the busy courtyard, full of men hard at work on the repairs of Winterfell. In the aftermath of the battle with the Night King there had been very little time to think of much else besides the next one that was to come- the one for the Iron Throne. In the end, Daenerys Targaryen had done as she swore she'd not and that was become a queen of ashes. She burned all of King's Landing, leaving it little more than rubble and ash- Sansa knows she will never forget the sights she witnessed upon arriving there, even weeks later. She cannot begin to imagine what the soldiers saw.

Out among the working men, she catches sight of Arya and Brienne, working just as hard as any of the rest of them. Arya swears she has plans of sailing off to where the maps stop, but Sansa wonders if the handsome Gendry Baratheon will keep her from going too far, if even for the time being. Brienne on the other hand has assumed her place as captain of Sansa's guard, even if she tries to tell her there needs to be no others. For the first time in perhaps several years, Sansa finally feels safe. In this new, peaceful world, what use is there in a guard? But, she smiles and she allows it, for it keeps her Lord's happy, knowing she's well protected.

"My queen?"

Sansa stirs from her thoughts, still unaccustomed to this new title of hers. It's beyond being Queen in the North, she's been crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms- hand chosen by the highest Lords in the lands. It's a title she's stil not yet certain she deserves, but it's hers all the same. Once, she had dreamed of a crown and a golden prince, but those dreams had died with the girl she'd left behind in King's Landing so long ago. Her dream of a prince had not quite died, but it had changed, had shaped itself into a new image entirely.

And said image stood before her now.

Jon smiles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his dark curls secured tightly at the back of his head. He wears the furs she made for him still yet, though the clothes beneath are new, dark gray and black, made from the same fabric of her coronation gown. "I told you not to call me that," she responds, eliciting a chuckle from his lips as he closes the gap between them, his arms sliding into place around her waist. "If you call me that then surely I must call you my King-" at once he makes a face and it's her turn to laugh. The North was, in the end, it's own nation, ruled by the King in the North (who's name is Stark) though united in marriage with the rest of the six kingdoms.  

Back then, in King's Landing, to save Jon from his fate at the hands of the remaining Dothraki and Targaryen supporters, Sansa and Jon secretly married in the cell where he had been kept prisoner. When she was declared queen, her first proclamation was that Jon Snow was to be a free man and known from that day forward as Jon Stark, a name which he had sought after his entire life. Her next proclamations that day was that King's Landing town would be rebuilt before the Red Keep or any other part of the royal lodgings.

And so they had stayed South for several months, if only to ensure the town was rebuilt, that the people had homes to return to, beds to sleep in. Out on the streets, the people knelt to her and cried out blessings for their new queen, a young woman well remembered from her first few years there. The townspeople cried tears of sorrow when she finally packed up to return North, despite her promises to soon return. In truth, she knows plans to visit Dorne and High Garden are already underway and soon, she will travel to all of the nations she rules over.

It's been only a night since her return from the South and already she must prepare to leave. After so long of being away from Winterfell, of sharing it with monsters and dragon queens , she only wishes to remain there, alone with just Jon and their family. To watch the last of the snows melt and to feel the warm spring sun upon her skin. "Are you lost in there, my sweet?" Jon's voice tugs her back and she can't help but to smile before she leans into him, his grip upon her tightening ever so slightly. "You're far away from here." He goes on softly, knowing there must be dozens of things she's thinking about. Her life has changed significantly, all for him, really. Jon knows what Sansa has given up to be Queen of the Six Kingdoms... This... The North, Winterfell... It belonged to her, in truth, they both knew it. Everyone knew it. But she had given it to him, to protect him, to save him. There was no way he could repay her for what she's done, other than to love her for the rest of their days. It was an easy task, loving her, he has done it for so long now it is quite natural. Though what is unnatural about it now is not having to hide, to shy away from the feelings that had always been there.

"I was only thinking how much I will miss the snow when it's gone." She says softly, her voice somewhat muffled from where her mouth is pressed into his neck.

"Aye," he agrees, raising his gaze out to the snowy landscape that surrounds them for a moment before he returns it to her face, which she's raised from his neck to look at him instead. "I will miss the sight of you with snowflakes in your hair," he admits, reaching up to stroke a lock of her fiery red hair, knowing he'll never grow tired of the way it feels against his skin. "But I think I'd much rather see sunlight in your hair." He's so close to her now, she can feel the curve of his lips when he smiles and her heart skips a beat in her chest.

When he kisses her, it's like the summer sun bathing her in its glow, warm and soft. In truth, by the time it's over she's quite forgotten why she would ever miss the winter cold.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Remnants, Epilogue

I couldn’t wait, so here they are! The first epilogue is with children, the second is without--I know some people love the fluffy kid life, but some people don’t want that. Either way, life with Ahkmenrah is sure to be sweet : )

Part I,  Part II,  Part III,  Part IV,  Part V,  Part VI,  Part VII,  Part VIII,  Part IX,  Part X

Tag List: @kitkatcronch  @kpopperotp12  @seafrost-fangirl  @sassystrawberryk  @perfect-rami  @txmel   @limabein    @rami-malek-trash   @underworldsheiress and  @sherlollydramoine 

Warnings: Light, fluffy smut and saccharine sweetness in Epilogue 1; full-out smutty smut in Epilogue 2

  Epilogue 1 (with children)

Ahk: Part-time docent and stay-at-home dad

You: Professor of Anthropology at NYU

Home: Brooklyn, NY  

It was Christmas Eve and a heavy snow had been falling throughout the afternoon. Ahkmenrah still had not tired of watching the white flakes, well, in today’s case it was more like the white streaks, fall from the sky. 

“Look, Y/N! The street is gone, completely white!” Ahkmenrah nearly spilled his hot chocolate as he tapped on the foggy windowpane, nearly pressing his nose against it to get a better look.

 You looked up from your book and smiled at his enthusiasm. He certainly made a pretty picture framed in the large, bay window of your home, the Christmas tree’s lights casting flickering shadows over his body, along with the orange-warm cast of light thrown from the fireplace.

 In fact, the lights seemed to highlight just about everything you loved about your husband’s body, so you slid your bookmark into place and laid your book on the coffee table.

 “Hey, Ahk,” you said in a voice that he knew quite well by now.

 When he turned to look at you in answer, he was wearing a grin that you knew quite well by now.

 “Yes, my queen?”

 “I have a really fine view of the snow from right here. I think you should come take a look,” you suggested.

 Ahkmenrah amplified his wicked grin by adding a quirk of his eyebrow.

 You patted the seat beside you.

 Ahk moved away from the window and with what could only be described as sauntering, made his way to the sofa.

 You laughed at his exaggerated movements before throwing your hands over your mouth to stifle your giggles.

 Ahkmenrah listened with a look of slight horror on his face before whispering, “I don’t think they heard us.”

 “They were impossible tonight,” you groaned in a controlled whisper.

 Ahkmenrah grinned as he sat his mug on the end table and took a seat next to you.

 “I think they love getting presents just as much as their mother does.”

 “Speaking of gifts,” you said with an arched brow as you straddled your husband’s lap.

 “I don’t know what’s gotten into you this week, but I am more than okay with it,” Ahkmenrah said as you kissed him and swiped your tongue across his full, bottom lip.

 “You just look so good, Ahk,” you said, your lips and tongue teasing him now. “And smell so good, too,” you added as you kissed along his jaw line and started sucking on one of his sweet spots on his neck behind his ear.

 Ahkmenrah grasped your ass, massaging it through your leggings before snaking his hands under your sweatshirt, moving to rub your lower back.

 You worked his neck with the expertise that comes with being with someone for years, with knowing all of their proclivities. You continued kissing his neck slowly, licking and sucking your way from one side to the other. By the time you were closing your lips over his earlobe, he had unhooked your bra and was working both of your nipples to peaks with his fingers.

 You released his earlobe and sat back to pull off your sweatshirt and get rid of your bra. You never got tired of the way Ahk’s eyes drank you in, his hands cupping your breasts and lightly massaging them, his bottom lip tucked in by his teeth as he looked from your chest to your face.

 “I want you. So much, Y/N,” he said.

 You smiled seductively, asking, “How do you want me, my king?”

 “Just like this. I want to watch you fuck my cock, right here on our sofa while the snow covers the streets.”

 You moaned, low and guttural, and ground your center into his bulge. Ahkmenrah’s eyes closed and he grasped your hips, pushing his own up just a little to give you even more pressure.

 And then you both heard it. The thump of little feet hopping out of bed and the tell-tale slapping of running on the hardwood floor in the upstairs hallway.

 Your exclamation of “Fuck!” was echoed by Ahkmenrah’s of “Shit!” as you scrambled to adjust yourselves. You just ducked back into your sweatshirt as your twins come tearing into the living room.

 “SANTA!” they both yelled simultaneously.

 “Try again, kiddos,” you said scooping each of them up, knowing Ahk was in no state to stand at the moment. He had his head flopped back on the couch and his palms pressed into his eyes.

“Look around and tell me what you see?”

 “DADDY!” they, again, yelled simultaneously.

 “Does daddy look like Santa?”

 “No,” your little girl said as she giggled and bopped at your chin. “No face fur!”

 “That’s right you said,” smiling. “Daddy does not have face fur. And speaking of daddy, wave goodnight. You know that if you don’t stay in bed until morning, Santa’s magic won’t work.”

 The twins waved and said, “Night-night, daddy” as you carried them back up the stairs. Ahk waved from the couch and said, “Listen to your mommy and go to sleep, little ones.”

 That would be a Christmas miracle.

 After a solid twenty minutes of kisses, hugs, assurances that Santa was on his way, and tuck-ins and retuck-ins, you were backing slowly toward the door. Once you reached the door, Ahkmenrah slid his arm around your waist and you rested your head on his shoulder. Your twins were sleeping, back to back, their dark curls mingled together.

 No matter how many times you put them in their separate beds, they always ended up together, so you didn’t fight it tonight. You honestly did not know how Ahkmenrah did it day after day.

 When you told him you were pregnant, he insisted he wanted to stay home with them. He didn’t want to miss a moment of their childhood and considering the two of you had waited awhile before having children, he was ready to tackle the role of being a father to the best of his ability. He stayed on as a docent at the museum, usually working on weekends and over the summer once the university let out.

 You and Ahk had gotten married within a month of his becoming mortal and then spent time travelling while you worked on publishing as much research as you could. When NYU offered a position, you happily took it, feeling like things had come full circle.

 Ahkmenrah was the kind of father you knew he would be—he doted on your children but also made sure they were kind, well-mannered little humans. His regality was a central part of him, and although he wouldn’t be leading a nation, he would make sure his children would become the best versions of themselves.

 Ahk took your hand as you shut the door, leaving it open just a crack. He led you down the hall to your own bedroom, and as soon as you shut the door, his lips were on yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands back on your ass to squeeze you against him.

 You moaned, breaking the kiss and starting to giggle.

 “You don’t miss a beat, do you, love?” you asked through your smile.

Ahk returned your smile, his eyes filled with warmth.

 “I love them so much, Y/N. It feels as if my heart cannot get anymore full. But then I look at you and realize that you’re still mine . . . mine to talk to, to listen to, to take care of, to watch, to touch . . .” he finished as he reached up to cup your face and to trace his thumb over your lower lip.

 As much as you knew Ahkmenrah loved you and your children, you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next. “I still sometimes wonder if you made the right decision.”

 “Of course I did,” Ahkmenrah said, a seriousness settling over his face as he stepped back to really look in your eyes. “What on earth makes you think that I could be unhappy with my decision?”

 “You gave up immortality. Your parents. Your tablet. Your freedom.”

 Ahkmenrah moved his other hand to your face to cradle it between his strong, soft hands. His answer was a whisper while his eyes burned into yours with his intent.

 “I have—everything, Y/N. Everything. Besides, children are not young forever. Can you imagine how much fun we will have when they are grown, and we get to rediscover ourselves again? Yet another thing I will get to experience with you. Please, do not ever think I have regrets.”

 Tears filled your eyes and your lips began to subtly tremble as you said, “How would you feel about having everything + 1, at least I certainly hope it’s only one this time.”

 Ahkmenrah’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with tears. “Are you serious? The gods have blessed us with another child?”

 “Sure. The gods . . . or because you still can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you said, teasing your husband.

 “I am sorry, my love, but—who just seduced me, like one half hour ago?”

 You laughed, and you swiped at the tiny tears that had pooled at the corner of your eyes. “Like it was that hard.”

 “Actually . . . ” Ahk said pulling your hand to the front of his joggers.

 You laughed again and when Ahkmenrah joined in you noticed the tiny lines that had formed and stayed at the edges as they crinkled with his laughter. Your husband was aging, and he was even more beautiful than on the day you first met.

 Ahk grew serious again and whispered, first against your lips, and then, after he dropped to his knees, against your abdomen, “Thank you. Thank you.”

 You ran your hand through his dark, curly hair, your fingers scraping along his scalp and savoring the feel of the thick strands between your fingers.

 “I love you,” you said, causing him to look up at you, his eyes dark, but still luminous in the dim light of the bedroom.

 “Care to show me how much?” he asked with an impish grin.

 You smiled and tugged on his shirt to pull him up and into a searing kiss.

 * * * * *

 After you had made love with the sound of the snow lightly tapping its icy fingers against your window pane, your mind drifted back to the night you had first met Ahk; as he lay with his head on your chest, his body as close to you as he could get, you traced over the freckles that spread across his shoulders. You had never seen such sadness on such a beautiful face before, and you knew that you would remember the first time you had looked into his intense eyes. You sometimes wonder if you had really fallen in love with him on the spot—seeing him as a relic, be damned. From that moment on, he seemed to possess you, every decision you made after that night was in consideration of him.

 You decided there were worse things in the world to believe in than love at first sight, or perhaps your memory of meeting him was corrupted by the intensity of your feeling now. Either way, you loved the man who gave up everything and became your husband.

 And then you were overwhelmed with an intense feeling of happiness as you realized that this was what you had never dared to hope for with your once-king. In that moment, you realized it was finally, finally okay to allow yourself to believe this was real. Your life with Ahkmenrah was real.

 You blamed the hormones because crying was not something you were often prone to, but what you thought were silent sniffles immediately woke your husband.

 His sleepy eyes, large and full of concern, were suddenly in front of your face, his hand grasping your cheek and wiping at the salty trail.

 “My love, what is it? Please tell me what is wrong?” he said, a desperation in his voice.

 “I’m just so fucking happy,” you said, a choked laugh escaping as you sniffed.

 Ahkmenrah bent his head in exasperation.

 “You scared me!” Ahk said, sighing, but smiling now.

 “I just realized that everything we have right now is exactly what I never let myself believe I could have. It was just a little overwhelming in that moment. It’s so damn cliché, too! Girl gets what she wants. Cries tears of joy.”

 Ahkmenrah shifted so he could pull you to him, your positions now reversed as you laid on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. You held on to him and he ran his fingers up and down your back.

 Ahkmenrah asked, “Do you remember when we talked about the Cult of Hathor? I said I had a temple built for the five days of celebration?”

 “Yes.”

 “Well, what if we honor that tradition? It can become something we do every Christmas—we each list the five things for which we are the most grateful. Nothing elaborate. Just us, remembering our gratitude.”

 You sat up and kissed Ahkmenrah, deeply, fighting back more tears. You kissed him until you chased away those tears, then you looked at him, your eyes locked on to his.

 “This is why I love you so much. You remind me how to live my best life every single day, Ahk.”

 “Did I or did I not make that promise to you on the roof of the British museum as I missed my first sunrise in 4,000 years?”

  “You certainly did! I wonder why you did miss that sunrise?” you said in a teasing voice.

 “Because all I wanted to do was look at you.”

 “Do you remember what else you said to me?”

 Ahkmenrah furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

 “Kiss me until I cannot breathe.”

 Then there it was: that million-dollar smile that still made your heart feel full to bursting.

 “Well, will you?” Ahk said through that smile.

 “Of course,” you said as you moved to capture his lips.

 Your husband’s arms tightened around you, and as you kissed each other, you poured your mutual gratitude for one another into that kiss, both of you later drifting off to sleep as the snow continued to fall feeling so secure and so well-loved.

      Epilogue 2 (without children)

Ahk: Dr. Ahkmenrah Fharrow, Archeologist

You: Dr. Y/F/N Y/L/N, Anthropologist

Current Dig Location: Egypt

Home: Cambridge, UK

 The sand of the dessert swirled around your tanned legs. It didn’t seem to matter how much sunscreen you wore, a life in and out of the dessert definitely darkened one’s skin.  

 You smiled as you walked up to the dig, and saw that your husband, dressed in a loose white shirt and khaki shorts, his boots scuffed and worn, was lecturing a group of new archeologists.

 He looked so handsome, especially with the salty-grey hair that had begun to encroach on his temples.

 A student asked a question, and Ahk grinned before saying, “That’s a question best answered by the most beautiful anthropologist in the world.”

 Despite shaking your head and rolling your eyes, a smile snuck its way across your lips as you joined your husband down in the dig site.

 “Huh. Guess I need to add that to my author bio, Dr. Fharrow.” you answered, listening as the students giggled in the background. “So, what was it that you were inquiring?

 You spent a few minutes fielding questions before Ahkmenrah closed the session.  

 “Alright, off you go. It’s time to learn for yourselves, but remember, your tools are your friends. I don’t want to see anyone hacking away at another 6,000-year-old artifact thinking it’s ‘just a rock,’ Jamison.”

 The students all laughed, giving Jamison a good ribbing as they scattered and began chattering excitedly as they split up to find an area to excavate.

 “Hello, my queen,” Ahkmenrah said, kissing you.

 “I missed you, too,” you said, moving closer to him and tweaking his chin. “I especially missed this face.”

 Ahkmenrah grinned and kissed you again.

 “Does this mean you secured our grant?”

 “You are the world’s leading authority on ancient Egyptian artifacts, Dr. Fharrow. I didn’t have to work that hard at convincing them to give us money.”

 “It probably wasn’t considering you are the world’s leading Egyptian cultural anthropologist, Dr. Y/L/N.”

 “All thanks to you, my king,” you said smiling at your husband.

 “No—I had nothing to do with creating your talented and clever mind, my love. And don’t forget, I would have never made it through school without you because I still can’t write worth a damn in English.”

 You laughed and said, “We do make an excellent team.”

 You stepped to the side, Ahk’s arm still around your waist, and surveyed the dig. It had taken you and Ahk such a long time to wade through the 100s of global applicants who applied to join you on a dig to finally unearth the Temple of Teti.  

 “Are you tired of sand and dirt yet?” you asked.

 “What? You don’t want to share a tent with me anymore?”

 “Oh no, trust me. If I could erect one in our house to keep up permanently, I would. There’s something about the dessert that brings out a rather . . . lascivious nature in you.”

 “I’m pretty sure that’s just you, love.”

 “Mmm,” you replied, as Ahkmenrah nuzzled your neck, not caring a bit if you tasted like sweat.

 “What do you say we—”

 “Dr. Fharrow! I think I found something!” a student called excitedly, waving.

 Ahkmenrah huffed, “Probably another conspicuously shaped rock.”

 You giggled and gave your husband a light smack on the ass as he headed toward the student.

 It had been almost 20 years since the night you entered Ahkmenrah’s exhibit and ended up falling in love with a 4,000-year-old pharaoh.

 Sometimes, when you were feeling insecure, and would ask him if he had any regrets, he gave you a look that practically radiated love and said he had never dreamed of anything nearly as great as the life the two of you built, together, each of you free to make choices, the two of you always working as a team, the end goal always, always to be happy.

 You both spent a long time building your careers and reputations; you worked hard to help Ahk get through school, but he had such an enthusiasm for it, it made you ridiculously proud to know you helped him chase a dream that he chose for himself. You insisted that he could choose to do anything, but he wanted to honor his culture, his people, and most importantly, his parents. He realized that a piece of paper could give him the authority to tell their story, and in turn, his own story.

 Together, you were going to leave a legacy that would honor his culture.

 * * * * *

 Every time you and Ahk returned home from a dig, you had a small party with your closest friends to catch up on each other’s lives. The two of you owned a nice country home not too far from Cambridge, where, when the both of you decided that you’d had enough field work, you’d enter into the classroom. Both you and Ahkmenrah kept in close contact with the university that Ahk considered his alma mater two times over.  

 Ahkmenrah slid the lock on the door after the last few friends left. You were gathering wine glasses and tumblers and then loading them in the dishwasher. It had been a great evening full of laughter and rich conversation, and it just happened to be a nice, clear night so you all could enjoy some time on the patio that Ahk had built himself.

 You loved to dress up for these parties as a contrast to your normal desert get-ups, so you had chosen to wear a black, silk jumpsuit, cut just right to accentuate your curves. You caught Ahkmenrah watching you all night, and now, you felt him before you saw him, pulling you back into his hips, his hands sliding around your waist, his breath sweet from the wine and warm on your neck as he hissed, “You dared to tease your king all night? Look at you,” he breathed, sliding his hands up to ghost his fingertips over the top of your breasts.

 You swallowed, audibly, as your eyes closed of their own accord. You loved playing this game with him; wearing something pretty, sexy. Giving him “the look,” sitting too close, light touches; it was reminiscent of your stolen night together in the city and it was as if neither of you had ever forgotten those moments that led up to your first night together, as if they had become part of the prequel to all of your acts of intimacy.

 Your skin prickled with goosebumps as Ahk continued his ministrations, sometimes lightly touching, sometimes squeezing, his lips now attached to your neck near your pulse after he had pulled your hair to the side. He sucked and swirled his tongue until you were practically mewling.

 You pulled out of his grasp and pushed him back into the kitchen island, kissing him deeply, passionately. Ahkmenrah’s hand buried itself in your hair, while the other reached up to grasp the side of your face as he slid his fingers into your hair on that side, too.

 He pulled back and looked at you, his eyes intense, but amused.

 “Do you want me, my queen?”

 “I’ll want you, even after my bones have turned to dust,” you whispered, your lips ghosting over his.

 “I love you so much, Y/N.”

 “Show me.”

 Ahk reversed your positions and pressed you into the kitchen island. He removed the straps of your jumpsuit from your shoulders, letting it slide from your arms and catch at your waist. You had not worn a bra, relying only on what had been sewn into the jumpsuit and Ahkmenrah could not ignore how quickly your breasts were exposed to him.  

 He palmed them, massaging them both while you closed your eyes and let your head fall back. You leaned back on the counter, proffering your chest to your husband.

 Ahkmenrah worked your nipples, first with his fingers, slightly calloused now from his work at the dig. He traced featherlight circles around your nipples, causing goosebumps to appear all over your breasts and arms. As your nipples hardened, he bent to catch one in his mouth, sucking gently and then teasing with tiny flicks of his tongue. He kissed across your chest, open-mouthed, sloppy kisses, and repeated the teasing to your other nipple. You gripped his hands and slid them over to the sides of both of your breasts and squeezed them around his face, loving the way his stubble scratched at your skin.

 Ahkmenrah groaned before stepping back and yanking the rest of your jumpsuit down. He grinned when he saw your tiny black underwear.

 “Those hardly qualify as a garment,” he said as he picked you up under the thighs and set you on the counter top.

 “Oh, I think they are serving their purpose,” you said as you took in the way his eyes darkened when he saw them.

 Ahkmenrah narrowed his eyes before he reached up and pulled up on them, tightening them so your outer lips were spilling over the edges. He licked along them, teasing you unmercifully, sliding his tongue over your clit, but it was just covered by enough fabric that you couldn’t really feel anything.

 “Please,” you groaned. “Just take the damn thing off.”

 Ahkmenrah laughed, his lips still on your clit over the underwear, teasing. He loved when you begged.

 Ahk loosened his hold on your underwear and began to lower them, lightly kissing places around your hips as he gained access. You were propped up on your hands, watching him tease you and trying not to just squash his arrogant head between your thighs.

You gave his curly hair a good tug, which earned you another arrogant smirk, before he fully removed your underwear.

 “Like usual, you can dish it out but you cannot take it,” Ahkmenrah said between kisses to your inner thighs.

 “Yes—I admit it. I’m a bully. A bully who wants to come, preferably on your smartass face,” you said while spreading your legs, forcing him to either stop or move closer to your core.

 Ahkmenrah chuckled again before taking pity on you. He spread your outer lips and hummed in appreciation at how wet you were. He leaned back in and flicked his tongue across your clit. Your thighs quivered a bit in response and Ahk set a steady pace of licking and sucking until you were groaning and panting a chorus of yeses that ended with a guttural groan of Ahkmenrah’s name.

 “So fucking beautiful when you come, my love,” Ahk said as he pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt.

 He didn’t even bother taking off his pants, only unzipping enough to reach in and pull his hard cock out. Because of the height of the island, he had to climb up to actually fuck you. Just as he was about to slide into you, he banged his head off one of the low lights over the countertop.

 You started laughing as he rubbed at his head.

 “I forgot to warn you about that considering it was my head that got bonked the last time we did this—oh! Oh, fuck, Ahk!”

 He had slid into you, ending your recollection of the last time the two of you got carried away in the kitchen. His cock felt like it was made for you when he was buried inside your heat to his base. It felt so goddamn good each and every time he entered you.

 Ahkmenrah’s teasing of you had actually gotten the best of him and he held nothing back as he fucked you, steady and hard. You gripped the edge of the counter that was above you and bucked your hips to meet his thrusts, clenching your walls around him and moaning, lost in the heat of your passion.

 It didn’t take long before Ahkmenrah grunted and pulled out, jerking himself off over your abdomen. His eyes were on yours, waiting for them to open again.

 You smiled, knowing he was watching you. You slowly opened your eyes and met his.

 “I love seeing you like this,” he mumbled as he reached out to trace a finger through his come, leaning down to bring it to your lips.

 You wrapped your lips around his finger and sucked, swallowing what he had proffered.

 “Careful, old man. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you said as you patted his cheek and wiggled your naked self off of the island and reached for a paper towel.

 “I think you are forgetting something. You’re the old one.”

 You stopped dead in the midst of wiping his come off of your stomach and slowly gave him a look to rival that of Medusa’s famous gaze.

 Ahk laughed, deeply and happily, then dropped off the counter as he zipped up his pants. He was still laughing as he moved in to give you a kiss, but he was met instead with the paper towel and caught only the cold remnants of his come, not your warm lips.

 “You. Are. Dead,” he said, his brows raised, his face locked in an expression of surprise.

 You laughed, loudly, and took off for the bedroom, holding onto your breasts as you jogged down the hall and then up the stairs, squealing as you heard his thundering footfalls behind you.

 You were both laughing and panting as he tackled you onto your queen-sized, fluffy, white bedding. He had your wrists pinned above your head as you attempted to work your legs free to try to gain the upper position.

 The sound of rain suddenly slamming against your large bedroom window made you both stop and look out at the weather.

 Deja vu overwhelmed both of you as you returned your eyes to one another’s. The rain slapped against the window as Ahk quickly removed the rest of his clothes. This time, you made love, and it was an echo of that moment so many years ago when you were brought together by a rainstorm just like this one, but a thousand miles away in a city that never sleeps.

 Your lovemaking was so much sweeter this time with both of you knowing one another’s bodies so well. But what truly made it sweeter was that you knew when you fell asleep, Ahk would stay right there, his breathing, even and deep, and he would be there, bathed in the golden light of the morning.

 It was clear Ahkmenrah’s thoughts were twisted with yours as he looked into your eyes when you came; he watched the way your lips moved as you said his name, both of you coming in an intense, trembling mess against the backdrop of the rain.

 You were the best choice Ahkmenrah had ever made, and even though the remnants of his past felt further and further from him as time passed, he didn’t mind. Because every lost remnant was replaced by a moment like this with you.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in three.

And he wants this damn thing pronto, Daxter grimaced to himself. Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh.

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he could’ve asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late, Daxter reasoned to himself. I’ll make it up t’him later. He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he really hated being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most hilarious of the lot.

“I think I found him.”

“Really? That small thing?”

“Well Commander Torn did say an orange rat, right?”

“I thought he was joking.”

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s ottsel. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job sucks,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ Orange Lightning?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, orange lightning. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this pet,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be him?” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone sooner.”

“We should just shoot it,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you want to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s annoying.”

“It,” Daxter said sharply, “is a he, and he happens to be the one who saved all your asses with his trusty sidekick Jak who just happens to be his best fuckin’ friend and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“Told you,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to not draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and get movin’!”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. Now he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to thank the asshole who called him a rat.

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on riding one of my men up the elevator?” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus had to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“Mar you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does that mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because damn if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What!?” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean we?” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved officially as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re good, Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.

[solacefruit]

Hello! This is the person who wrote the one shots on Quotev — the one that anon went through so much trouble to get sent your way. If you’d be willing, I would appreciate genuine critique of my work — I’m genuinely looking for how I might improve my writing, and I haven’t been getting very much feedback. Apologies if you’re too busy or if this bothers you!

Hello there! I’m willing to give you my thoughts on your work, since you’ve asked so politely and gone to such effort, but before I do that, I’d like to preface everything by saying that I’m going to approach this answer more or less the same way I would give feedback to students in a class. I think that’s most helpful. I also hope none of this feedback comes off as harsh or hurtful, because that’s not at all my intention. 

You clearly know how to write well: your work is well-edited, with only a few errors here and there (be careful using semicolons, they can be very tricky). It’s clear you know the rules of writing, so I don’t think you’ve got a lot of room for improvement there. 

The stories themselves, though, didn’t click for me as a reader. I didn’t get pulled into the world you’ve created and I didn’t connect with your characters. That doesn’t mean that what you’ve done is bad, though! But I am going to suggest some ideas for restructuring your work that might help make your stories more dynamic and effective in capturing and retaining your reader, or showing off your skills and ideas to better effect. 

Your first story begins with the description of the character in a lot of depth, but I cannot recommend this as an opening paragraph. If you’re ever writing a manuscript, you need to remember that your first page is your first–and often only–chance to hook your reader and convince them to keep going. (Especially true if you’re sending your work to a publisher!) Because of that, a lot of good stories begin with first page or two that does everything it can to tell you who, what, where, and the tone of the book. 

Very few good stories start with the “I have black hair and blue eyes and today I am wearing a big hat” type character description, unless that is actually important–i.e., The Little White Horse begins with Maria detailing to herself what she’s wearing, because she’s vain and it brings her comfort to know she looks beautiful, which matters because… [and then the plot begins]; the first Harry Potter book describes the Dursleys in very Dahl-esque fashion, which matters because… [contrast them to the peculiar happenings of the plot emerging]. What your character does is almost always more interesting than what they look like, so it’s often a sensible idea to prioritise your narration accordingly. Both of the above examples tell you who, the tone of the story, and then what is happening, while filling in other details so you know where and when by the end of the first chapter.  

Something else I noticed in your work is that you’re a keen world-builder with a lot of ideas, but I found your stories to be a little overwhelmed by that, rather than enriched by it. This is something I’ve seen a lot in young creative writers, so it’s definitely not you and it’s not actually a fault, exactly–but it can detract from your work and make your work actually less inviting to read, rather than more, and that’s something that’s important for speculative fiction writers to be aware of. I’m currently working on a series of tips and tricks requested by popular demand, so I’ll probably elaborate more on this later, but basically, your world-building should be an iceberg: you know how immense it is, but your reader will only see a small delicious fragment of it. 

Oversupplying world-building details often makes works impenetrable or–most commonly–overshadows the characters and plot and sinks interest in the ship story. (For me, the most egregious example that jumps to mind is Foundling by D.M. Cornish but that’s a rant for another day). Your work isn’t too overcrowded, I feel, but for me, I got the sense that you used your stories as vessels for your world-building, instead of using your world-building to decorate and deepen your stories. The reason this causes problems is because people–myself included–are most often motivated to read because they relate, connect to, or are curious about characters, rather than a world. (Worlds are very fun, don’t get me wrong! It’s just that world-building tends to be most fun for the people doing it, not the people reading it). 

Finally, something I wanted to bring to your attention is style, and particularly streamlining it and leaning into your own voice. At the moment, your work is a little heavy with what I think of as “fanfiction-itis” for lack of a better concept. It’s basically an overall tendency to 1. be uncertain about what person the story is told in, or jump between views. This can be a choice! But it’s one you should be making consciously. There’s first-, second-, and third-person, but in third-person, there’s also an omniscient narration and limited narration. Each can be used to huge effect–but you need to pick the right one for the story you’re telling and stick to it. 2. over-rely on epithets and character description. Often this is a result of the above when it’s third-person omniscient. As a rule of thumb, you don’t really need to use epithets much at all. “The taller boy,” “the blonde girl,” and so on doesn’t add anything, but it does often distract and make the writing look a bit… juvenile to experienced writers. Unless the description is saying something about the character that’s worth knowing, it’s usually best not to bother with it. “The black-furred warrior walked by” says a lot less than “Blackfur stalked past, scowling.” 

3. use unnecessary or tautological dialogue tags. I’ve seen a lot of “said is dead” passed around on this site, and that’s great advice to follow if you want your work to be unenjoyable and annoying to read. Said is the most useful dialogue tag, because it is invisible to us, and many other “common” tags are likewise useful–things like asked, or replied. You only need to use a different and noticeable dialogue tag when it changes the dialogue in a meaningful way. For example:  i. “what did you do?” he queried. ii. “what did you do?” he asked. iii. “what did you do? he asked cautiously. iv. “what did you do?” v. “what did you do?” he said, but he was looking away, distracted. The first one’s dialogue tag is useless and clunky: we know he asked a question, there’s a question mark there, but unlike “asked,” queried really stands out and can break the flow of reading. The second one is unobtrusive, but doesn’t tell us anything about the tone of his question: he could be angry, purely curious, scared, who knows! The third one tells us his tone, but be careful not to overuse adverbs–that’s J.K. Rowling’s curse. The fourth tells us that, whatever he’s asking about, he’s worked up about it and it’s probably not great! The fifth is an example of how you can actually turn dialogue tags into full sentences sometimes. By being precise with your dialogue tags, you can make your dialogue really pop, and also not distract your reader. 

4. tell, rather than show. We’ve all heard “show, don’t tell” as writing advice, but there are actually a lot of times when “telling” is perfectly fine. However, broadly speaking, characters tend to feel more alive if you make them act out their personalities, rather than recount them to your reader. If someone has a big personality, you don’t need to say it: it’ll become abundantly clear from their actions soon enough!

By being aware of these things and making conscious choices–even if your conscious choices are to keep doing these things!–your strength and skill in storytelling will improve. It looks to me that you’ve gotten to the point where now you have to hone the talent you already have, which means that being precise and self-reflective about your writing style and choices is probably going to be the best course for you to improve going forward.

I hope this is helpful to you! I want to stress that all of this advice is offered in a “take what is useful to you, leave the rest” spirit. For every piece of writing advice, there’s excellent writing that contradicts it, so honestly a lot of good writing is just knowing when to follow advice and when not to, when to follow a rule and when to break it. Good luck with all your future work!

[honestsycrets]

Irreplaceable PV: New Beginnings

Irreplaceable Masterlist

A/N: Credits to Bonniebird!

As your body changed, Ivar became doting. He often brought you whatever you needed, beat off anyone too close or gave you the love you needed. But there was one that was most interesting to you.

You quickly learned that your husband had a fetish.

Or at least, you didn’t know what else to call it when he was like this. His hands are deep in the furs by your head, hips rutting deep into your body as you take him so well. Your hands on the other hand lazily stroke up along his forearms to his biceps, gasping as he sinks in and out of your body. Much of the time, he surprised you like this: sinking his dick into you whatever chance you would give him. As you were not Queen Kitta, but Princess (Y/N), you have a lot of time on your hands. A fact that Ivar fully abuses.

“You’re so tight-- fuck, fuck.” Ivar groans, his hands fisting the furs. “How am I supposed to get enough of you?”

You wish you could answer-- but with your cunt throbbing around his cock, all you could focus on was the delicious way he slid in past your quivering walls. “Iv.... Ivar...” You rasp out. Ivar’s forearms drop down flatly to support himself. The closeness of Ivar brushing his muscles against your round, taut stomach throws your body into overdrive, rocking your widened hips onto his. Ivar ducks his head down as if to look at your cunt but finds the swell of his brood blocking his view.

“Don’t say it like that,” He growls. His mouth moves against your neck. Then moments later he spills his seed with hushed moans into your cunt. You mewl too with your peak sliding quickly away from you. Ivar knows as much as he slides out, crawling back down to your cunt. His middle finger hooks into your sweet entrance as he laps along your labia, swirling his tongue up and down your slit with his other hand working your clit.

Your hands fall to the back of his braids, tugging at the bits of hair that fell out of the fabric wrapping behind his head. He didn’t have to work you hard as close as you were-- easily, you came all over his face despite the fact that you couldn’t even really see him over your baby bump. You hide behind your long hair as he moves back up, eyes traveling along the way your hair frames your belly and curves.

“Perfect…” Ivar mutters. Ivar drifts back to your side and lays on his back with a pleased hum. His head drop back into downy pillows beside you, a hand loose along your shoulder by the time you roll comfortably onto one side.

“It won’t be long now.” Ivar laments with his hand to your stomach. “I’ll miss you so full of me.”

“We can always have another.” You say in a low gentle hum. Your fingers clumsily meet one of his hands on his stomach. He leans forward, his lips pursing against your forehead. His lips begin to pull into a smile. You were right-- he could always have another.

Most days, Ivar doesn’t leave your side. Kitta knew he was excited with the weeks passing and passing. Your stomach expanded and anywhere Ivar went, he seemed to boast about the pregnancy. Foreign kings and earls would come and of course the first one Ivar reached for was you so that he might boast about his child. He wasn't the issue. It was she that couldn't carry children… and as the days and weeks turned to months, she began to feel the hate brewing in her belly more than any child ever had.

“Are you coming to bed tonight?” Kitta asks through their shared room. She pulls garnet earrings from her lobes and tucks them away. From the bed, Ivar grunts in response while removing his days’ clothes.

“I am here, aren't I?” Ivar leers. She slips out of her dress and into a nightgown, starting towards the bed.

“That could always change.” Kitta snaps back. “You’re always over there.”

Ivar runs his fingers past the short hair on the side of his head, loosening the tight braids on his head. This was exactly why he loathed coming back to bed with Kitta as of late. It would be one thing if she was actually happy to see him. Every time he was here, it was like being in a room with his brothers. Far from the days after battle that Kitta and he bantered backwards and forwards together.

“She is pregnant. I expect she has a greater need for me than you.” Ivar says.

“I have needs, I’ve gone too many days without you in my bed.” Kitta shoves him back onto the chocolatey furs of his bed, straddling his hips carefully. Ivar’s head falls back, rolling his tongue along the jagged edges of his teeth.

“Of course you do.” His hands came atop of her hips, rolling his hips against her. “Have I been a bad husband?”

“A terrible one.” It safe to say, Ivar didn’t leave her room that weekend.

The contractions came early in the morning-- but you busied yourself with ignoring them with things to do. The little girls of Kattegat loved to run their tiny hands over your bump and you could hardly blame them, they were curious. Eventually though, Kitta sends them away.

“You can tell them no.” The strong voice of your sister wife-- Kitta, came from beside you within the Great Hall. You stop threading a piece of thread through a shaking needle as she spoke. Kitta approaches you in bed. You take the needle back to stitching the embroidery of when it hit you; another deep contraction that stole your breath cleanly out of your lips. It lasts far too long. Suddenly you were damn well glad that Ivar was on his throne listening to the whines and worries of his people.

“You’re in labour?” Kitta asks.

“Being in is subjective.” You drop your shoulders back. Never had you felt such a bizarre, hot stretching pain between your legs. “Approaching.”

Kitta’s jaw knit tight to grind her teeth together as she came into your bed. Her flaxen hair tickles the swell of your stomach and Kitta would place a small kiss on top. Not an unusual occurrence either. Technically, it was another weekend with Ivar-- but considering you were in labour, she already knew that Ivar wouldn’t be hers once he realized that you were going to give birth.

“Ivar will want to be with you.” Kitta doesn’t realize she was pouting when she looks up to you. Your hand fell through the natural highlights in her hair, combing down the wily blonde locks.

“I’m sorry. If… If I could control it, it would have been my weekend.” You flush.

“We don’t control anything, (Y/N). You know this.” She says. Everything in life was in the hands of the gods-- good or bad. Kitta moves to sit back up when another contraction hit you, knuckles white against what you were embroidering. As it stills, you stand up to walk about the room, pacing side to side more than walking. Kitta came beside you, offering her hand to support you.

“Does it hurt now?” She asks curiously.

“It doesn’t ever stop.” You respond, swatting her playfully. “Did you think it wouldn’t?”

“I never got this far. I miscarried as quickly as I became pregnant.” Kitta chuckles, looking up to the thick wooden supporting beams. Easier to laugh than cry for her. Though, if your eyes weren’t betraying themselves, tears were gathering.

“Oh Kitta…” You sigh. “I’m s-ORRY!”

You stop, your hands forming vices on her forearms. You stand, hissing by the pain in your womb. Kitta stifles a laugh that quickly fails and slides out of her lips. Your eye cracks open enough to whop her in the stomach. You came back from the pain for air.

“Hush!”

For most of the morning, your pains were manageable. The further you got into the day, however, the worst the aches became. At the verge of dinner, you were gasping with the pain, sucking in hot breath and whining. The worse it became to deal with, the worse you handled the spearing between your legs with a grip clenching the colour out of Kitta’s hand.

“Ragnhild, go get Ivar and a midwife. Tell him to hurry.” Kitta says. The other thralls and she help you lower onto the ground on all fours.

“Yes my Queen!”

A mere few minutes later, Ivar crawls into the room. The midwife is only minutes behind, pushing the sheer white dress away from your bottom. Her fingers prod deep through your walls, ignoring your sharp suckle with her fingers deep against your cervix. Then she nods as if Kitta was right to call her.

“I’m going to have you push with your pain, my lady.” The midwife says. You quickly find that pushing with your pain didn’t necessarily ache any more than the agony you were already in. But that didn’t mean the aches weren’t any less. You’re minimally aware of Kitta’s hand stroking your back with Ivar on the other side of you, whispering soft things in your ear while he watching you strain with pain of your labour. His calloused fingers occasionally reach out to rub away the tears or licks of hair that obscured his view.

After what seemed like forever, a sharp cry pierced straight through the room. Your eyes dart up towards Ivar past sweaty strings of your hair. His lips churn a wide smile, eyes glistening bright as he moves to sit up. The midwife brings his son, wiped down and bundled in warm grey cloth to him. He feels as if his hands were those of peasants, shaky and unsure of how to hold him. While the midwife delivered the afterbirth, Kitta came beside to guide his hands in a proper position.

“My son.” Ivar says at first, knuckles brushing up against his cheek. “We have a son.”

He looks over as you weakly move over to him, setting your head against his shoulder. Ivar set his pinky in the little boy’s tiny grip. Kitta shifts out of the room— but even now, Ivar is too enamoured to move. The boy’s eyes are slight and dazed, glittering a brilliant blue.

“Hello sweet Uxi.”

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @ateliefloresdaprimavera, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @ilovemyangelforever, @directionlessbuthappy, @hizz-hizz-mothertruckerz, @some-blondes-unicorn,, @l-e-a-t-h-e-r--n--l-a-c-e–n–l-a-c-e–n–l-a-c-e, @atequila, @bcat1291, @rekdreams247, @ivarswonderlust, @writingeverynowand-then, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @minarawr, @haliannej, @strangunddurm, @cbouvier23, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @Equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @the-geeky-engineer, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @mitchiri-nek0, @dakotacheyenneee, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @a-writers-dreams, @quaint-and-curious-being, @ivarthotbrok,  @mitchiri-nek0, @dakotacheyenneee-blog, @salimahbicharara-comun, @ilovemyangelforever, @capstefanbrandt, @kickbacksnextdoor, @alicedopey, @imagine-this-motherfucker, @zoetrope1997, @kingniazx, @lost-and-wandering-alone, @amandaseibaek, @queenmissfit  , @calaena-banrion, @memememememe1-blog, @lost-and-wandering-alone, @rubyquartzshades   , @naaladareia, @lisinfleur , @abwrites

[butterflies-dragons]

do you know if anyone wrote meta about Jon and Littlefinger being foils? like both were raised in a paramount house next to the lord's children, forced out it in their teens thanks to a betrothal, started from the bottom and climbed to the top, wanted to be loved by catelyn. I'm not smart enough to figure out how LF's relationship w Sansa will be a foil to Jonsa by myself, do you know if someone wrote anything?

I wrote about it here and there:

Jon Snow and Petyr Baelish

Jon and Petyr were raised along with Tully girls (Sansa, Catelyn and Lysa).

Jon and Petyr loved redhead girls (Ygritte, Catelyn) that are described as half-fish (Ygritte’s swimming skills and Tully sigil).

Jon and Petyr lost their virginity with redhead girls (Ygritte, Lysa).

Being a legitimate Stark and inheriting Winterfell is Jon’s deepest desire, while Petyr conspired the fall of House Stark.

Jon and Petyr have Bael the Bard imagery around them. Bael the bard abducted the Rose of Winterfell, Rhaegar abducted Lyanna Stark (Jon’s mother), and Petyr abducted Sansa Stark. Bael and Rhaegar were harp players, while Petyr spread lies in his favor through songs (A harp can be as dangerous as a sword, in the right hands —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI).

Unlike Petyr’s forced kisses, Sansa associates “snow” with lover’s kisses (Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII).

Unlike Petyr, that has used the godswoods of the Red Keep and the Eyrie, to lie and trap Sansa, and is an awful replacement as a father figure for Sansa, Jon would never lie to Sansa in front of the old gods, like Ned taught him (Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.” —A Clash of Kings - Jon II).

Littlefinger is grooming Sansa, forcing sexual advances on her, and those started during the snow castle scene. The symbolic image of a giant invading Winterfell also plays as an innuendo (“May I come into your castle, my lady?” Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …” “… gentle?” He smiled. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII). Sansa defended herself with “a handful of snow” (Sansa […] grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII).

From: THE BLACK PRINCE WITH THE WHITE GUARDIAN - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow and the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

* * *

3. Petyr Baelish

Littlefinger was never at Winterfell or the godswood, but he feels a deep hatred for the castle, he always dreamed of Winterfell as Catelyn’s dark and cold prison:

He walked along outside the walls. “I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Littlefinger is the cause of the War of the Five Kings that killed Sansa’s parents and older brother and separated her remaining siblings. The war also caused the fall of Winterfell that was, invaded, sacked and burned by the Greyjoys and Boltons.

But there is a connection between Littlefinger, Winterfell and the godswood. Littlefinger has involved Sansa in several murders, Joffrey’s and Lysa’s being the more important (Dontos and Marillion also suffered murder and mutilation). The King’s murder was planned in the Red Keep’s goodswood, and Lysa’s murder was a direct consequence of Petyr kissing Sansa in the Eyrie’s goodswood.

Now Littlefinger is grooming Sansa, forcing sexual advances on her, and those started during the snow castle scene. The symbolic image of a giant invading Winterfell also plays as an innuendo:  

“May I come into your castle, my lady?” Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …” “… gentle?” He smiled. “Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?” “Yes,” Sansa admitted.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

The ambitious men that pursed Winterfell through marrying Sansa, also had to take her maidenhead and conceive an heir, in order to consolidate their claim to the castle and the north. So “coming into the castle” also means having sex and making children.      

Littlefinger is too machiavellian, it seems he has used the godswoods not only to trap Sansa but also to reenact his children fantasy of being Catelyn’s love:

I saw you kissing in the snow. She’s just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. Why did you love her best? It was me, it was always meeee!“

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa, like Catelyn, never wanted and will never wants Petyr Baelish as lover.  

Meanwhile at the Wall…

Jon Snow

Unlike Theon, Jon doesn’t feel rejected by the heart of Winterfell. Jon got a direwolf sent by the old gods that shares the weirwood’s coloring:

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Unlike Theon that invaded Winterfell and allowed the Ironmen to sack, pillage, kill and rape. And later let the Boltons into the castle to burn it. Jon wants to rebuild Winterfell:

They can’t be dead. Theon would never do that. And Winterfell … grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones … how could Winterfell be gone?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Jon wanted Winterfell, as much as he had ever wanted anything, but unlike Tyrion, Jon rejects the castle in favor of Sansa. And Jon would never forced himself on Sansa if she doesn’t want him as well.

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

The wording of these two passages (“He wanted it” / “I want her”), the Winterfell references, and the guilt and angst for desiring something forbidden (“May the gods forgive me” / “I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is”), is way too similar to be a mere coincidence. Winterfell and Sansa are merged in the text.

Tyrion and Littlefinger sexually desire Sansa and used the same Winterfell reference as an innuendo:

"Come, wife, time to smash your portcullis. I want to play come-into-the-castle.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“May I come into your castle, my lady?” Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …” “… gentle?” He smiled. “Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?” “Yes,” Sansa admitted.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Both Tyrion and Littlefinger have giant imagery around them, both even talk to her about the Giant of Braavos, both wanted Sansa politically (Winterfell) and sexually (her body), and Sansa has been prophesied slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow (Winterfell reference). I think that Jon might help her to fulfil that prophecy.

Indeed, Tyrion associates Sansa’s rejection of his advances as icy courtesy and compared that rejection with a castle wall and the Wall in the north:

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy. […] He had always had a yen to see the Titan of Braavos. Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

But Sansa is “stronger within the walls of Winterfell” and Jon at the Wall is “the shield that guards the realms of men.”

Sansa also throws a handful of snow at Littlefinger’s face during the snow castle scene:

The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

A handful of snow… Wouldn’t be awesome if Jon Snow continue the Stark men tradition to beat Littlefinger out?

I was always suspicious of Littlefinger helping Sansa build her snow castle, but since Petyr Baelish has giant imagery around him, it all makes sense after reading this passage:

She looked as if she thought he was making that up. “How could men build so high, with no giants to lift the stones?” In legend, Brandon the Builder had used giants to help raise Winterfell, but Jon did not want to confuse the issue. “Men can build a lot higher than this. In Oldtown there’s a tower taller than the Wall.” He could tell she did not believe him.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Sansa will be certainly grateful if she can take advantage of any help Baelish could offer to rebuild Winterfell, but she will slay him anyway, as in the songs:

“If the tales be true, that’s not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell’s walls.” “Those are only stories,” she said, and left him there.

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Unlike Petyr’s forced kisses, Sansa associates “snow” with lover’s kisses:

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks.

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Unlike Petyr, that has used the godswoods of the Red Keep and the Eyrie, to lie and trap Sansa, and is an awful replacement as a father figure for Sansa, Jon would never lie to Sansa in front of the old gods, like Ned taught him:  

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

As I said before, if Jon had accepted Stannis’s offer, he would have had Winterfell, but at an extremely high price: burning the weirwood tree, which, to him, would be sacrilege:

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Sansa feels empty like a godswood without gods, like a godswood without a weirwood tree, mostly because she lost Lady, but also because she feels like a lone wolf without its pack, and a body without its heart due to the extreme disillusionment she has suffered so far.

But Jon Snow has a direwolf that is a symbol of the weirwood tree, Jon himself is a symbol of the weirwood tree. And Sansa has become a symbol of Winterfell and the godswood, but she feels empty without her wolf. Then Ghost might complete Sansa’s empty godswood, and Jon might fill Sansa’s heart again. And together they could be a pack. And together they could rebuild their home. Please play North by Sleeping at Last here.  

So…

…One would have to wonder why GRRM is always comparing and contrasting Sansa’s suitors with her bastard half brother Jon Snow? What is the reason for that? Does that mean that something romantic will happen between Sansa and Jon in the future? Is that just a mere coincidence? If the same thing (Sansa’s suitor being compared and contrasted with Jon Snow) happened three times, can we really call it a mere coincidence? One would have to wonder… Why?    

From:  i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark & Winterfell. An exploration.

[fangwhoria]

15 Questions

Rules: Answer 15 questions as either yourself or one of your OCs, then tag 15 people.

Tagged by @inexorableblob who’s amazing characters never cease to enthrall me

Im gonna do this as my sweet, darling girl Delilah because ive been thinking of her a lot lately

What is your full name?

Delilah Swan! Just the first and last, I have a middle name but I don’t see the point in one of those, so I don’t use it, haha. Why do I need a secret second name when I already have a great first one?

I promise that’s the only reason

Why would I be lying!? 

Okay fine, fine, it’s just really embarrassing

I won’t tell you it, no, why are you so interested in my full name?

Fine

It’s Sharpay

What does your full name mean?

Well in Hebrew it means “delight” but my parents aren’t Jewish, on account of us being in the coven and all, haha! I don’t know the origin of my last name, Swan, but it’s cool, right? Sounds like a cool spy name! “Swan, Delilah Swan”

What are your nicknames/aliases/epithets/other names?

Well most people just call me Delilah! It’s my performing name, like “Please welcome The Delilah herself to the stage”  

I’m kidding, no one’s ever introduced my performances like that, but in all the programs it’s just “Delilah.” Kinda like I’m Beyonce!

What is your gender?

I identify as demigirl, but I use she/her pronouns!

What is your sexuality?

Oh for sure lesbian! Girls, or just one girl, really, *cough* Johanna *cough* are just soooo nice, whereas guys are just,,,,,, eh? I guess?

Where are you from?

Clary, Maine. I was born and raised here, only ever left for weeks at a time. I hope one day I can go to performing arts school in New York, but after everything that’s happened that might be a ways away,,,,,, Anyway! Clary’s really pretty, and I really don’t hate it here, Johanna’s here, so it’s not all bad, haha!

When were you born?

Clary. Well actually the hospital right outside Clary, but it may as well have been here

How old are you?

18. I think. I don’t know if the years I was,,,away just skipped over me, or if when I came back I aged up? It’s complicated I guess, but witches age differently anyway, so it doesn’t matter that much, does it?

Where do you live?

Still Clary, haha. Are you bored of that answer yet? I know I am! Not that I’m bored of Clary. I don’t mind staying here, I need to help Johanna and Daniel patch stuff up with the coven anyway. I’ll leave someday!

What is your Quirk called?

What do you mean, is this a reference to something? Like a special talent? I guess that would be dancing, I’ve been told I’m very good at it, haha. It’s also how I cast, which is pretty quirky, I guess?

Who are your family members?

Well there’s my mom and my dad, but things have been kind of strained with them since I came back, and I never had a great relationship with my dad,,,,

I guess I’d call my real family Johanna, right now. I’d say Daniel too but I don’t know if I trust him again yet, which is so mean of me I know, and he’s apologized and we’ve made amends, but we were just so close before and after what he did I don’t know-- I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Anyway, Tobi also seems pretty cool, and a fellow enby is cool, plus they helped Johanna while I was gone, so I guess I can count them as family too!

Who are your pets?

Oh I’m super allergic to animals with fur, but I’d absolutely love a dog if I could have one, they’re so cute!

What do you look like?

Oh, well I have thick, curly black hair that I keep in an afro, medium brown skin, and,, a dancer’s figure? I guess? I’m pretty tall, or at least taller than Johanna, which really isn’t saying a whole lot, haha

Who’s your favorite pro-hero?

Like a super-hero? I don’t watch a lot of movies or read a lot of comic books, but I like Wonder Woman and Spiderman a lot, from what I’ve seen of them

Okay! This was so much fun! I love Delilah sm :,)

tagging @fluffythewritingplant @cawolters @aurumni-writes @minny-king @katabasiss @theouterdark @recklessdragonwrites @krozentheblackwolf and anyone else who wants to!

[indirispeaks]

Nikki

1998 - 2018

“Read more” link because LONG.

I’ve always been a Siamese cat person ever since my dad surprised me on my third birthday with a tiny kitten hidden in his coat pocket.  I named her Smudge, and she was my cat from then until my first year of college 17 years later.  My parents don’t know what happened to her, and guessed she had slipped outside and gone off to die in private somewhere.  (When I was younger it was still acceptable to let the cat out to wander the neighborhood.  She’d always come in when I called for her.  

Our next cat wasn’t Siamese and it was my sisters who named her Smudge II.  I wasn’t as attached to her as I was to Smudge I.  She had horrible skin allergies and licked herself bloody so she had to wear a bib to let it grow back, she was on a special diet and everything but she only lived for 7 years and it was likely due to the medication she had to take.  

I had a snowshoe kitten at one point, but she died under anesthetic while being spayed.  I’d only had her 6 months so that didn’t hurt as bad. 

I left college and started working full time at the library and living on my own at  my coworkers farm.  In the chicken coop.  Whole other story, but I will say that it was utterly fantastic and appealed to my artistic nature.  I found a Siamese breeder nearby and went to see the latest batch of kittens. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t a kitten mill, it was just an elderly couple who loved Siamese and had four of their own, plus however many kittens were floating around.)  The kittens were outdoors when I found them and up til that point, I was set on getting a female...all my cats had been female. I had a little girl in my hands, baby-talking her, when a very determined little boy scaled my pants leg,velcroed himself to my chest, squealing demands.  My choice had been made for me, and I couldn’t resist those eyes and that “YeeeeeEEEEEeeeeEEEEEEEeeee!!”  like a little ambulance siren.  

I had to hide him from my mother until I found the best way to tell her.  She is NOT a cat person.  Poor Nikki had to spend a good hour with his head poking out of her purse that she’d hung on a fence during her tennis lesson...and then over the weekend at a friend’s house.  It worked out in the end, but he never forgave her for that.

Not him, but I don’t have any pictures from his kittenhood because cell phones with cameras hadn’t been invented yet and I didn’t have a camera of my own. That’s the image I found that looks the most like him at 6 months.

These are from last month.  I didn’t take any photos of him when he started deteriorating so quickly.  I don’t want to remember my sweet old man like that.  He would have turned 20 in four months. I wasn’t good to him in some ways.  My mother laid down the ultimatum that if he stayed in the house, he MUST be declawed.  (Which I will never go again to any cat of mine)  I left him for a month at my parents while I was off having a mid-life crisis 30 years early.  

But I fought for him.  He had kidney issues from age two?  Three?  I don’t remember, but he had to live at the vet’s office for a month so they could drain his bladder.  The surgery to fix it was 500 dollars, which isn’t as bad as today’s treatments that run up into thousands and thousands of dollars. I’d already spent 300 on tests and the bladder draining.  I was told that I shouldn’t “spend so much on a pet”  and I ignored that advice outright.  I put down my signed American Girl doll as collateral and he ended up having to have a full sex change.  Still my boy though. He’ll always be.

I said in an earlier post that he wasn’t doing well and was on medication for pain and thyroid issues...three weeks of treatment and he wasn’t showing signs of improvement....he was worse off.  Hunching and swaying, leaning against the wall when he walked or he’d fall right over.  Crab-walking, unable to groom the mats out of his fur and hated it when I tried to help.  God only knows how many times he fell off the bed.  I already had a lidded basket there so he didn’t have to try and jump from the floor, because that usually led to him smashing face first into the sideboard or slide, frantically trying to claw his way over the top, Indiana Jones style.  (His expression was hysterical and I fully admit that I laughed once or twice) I caught him almost every time, but I stopped letting him jump up on ANYTHING without my assistance.  

I made the difficult decision Saturday that the best thing I could do for him would be to give him a peaceful death, free of pain.  My sister Kelsey drove me back to the vet clinic in Derby, and I could not be more grateful.  I knew they would ask for his reason to visit when he checked in and if I opened my mouth to answer, I was going to lose it.  So Kelsey checked him in and then explained to the nurse and did most of the talking in general while I let Nikki explore the landscape in front of the building.  He always liked exploring every new place and watching out the window in the car to see what was happening in the world. I was numb and sort of going on autopilot and don’t remember what I said or if I said anything to anyone other than Dr Mork. I know I thanked her before we left. El Paso clinic were very professional and I am so grateful for that too.  The nurse took us back to one of the “Rainbow Bridge” rooms so we would have some privacy while we waited on the vet and she showed up just a few minutes later.  She was very patient and waited while I got and gave Nikki a drink of water and clipped off some fur to put into a vial.

She explained everything that was going to happen, that she would take him to the surgery and put an IV in, then bring him back.  I wish I’d gone with him, but I didn’t.  While she was doing that, Kelsey and I looked over the options they had as far as final services went.  I could afford everything, if the money from Ebay and Etsy had hit this morning instead of half an hour ago.  I’m going to reimburse her for that.  I chose to have him cremated and store his ashes in a carved wooden box, after having a paw print pressed into some clay.  I plan on keeping them together, probably on one of my shelves, until it stops hurting so much.  His ashes will then be buried in mom and dad’s back garden, under my window with my showshoe kitten, Watson, and Hibble. The pawprint will be hung on the wall to remind me of the good times we had.

She came back and I held Nikki in my arms while she administered an overdose of anesthetic. I told him how much I loved him and he was a good kitty and everything was going to be alright while he purred.  I watched him close his eyes.  I heard him sigh.  I felt him stop purring.

He’s gone.  I have had him half my lifetime, I would have done anything for him and he gave me so much.  He sat on my chest and purred when I came home from the hospital and was in such pain.  He would reach up and touch my chin with his paw until I smiled and told him I was okay.  He had a high prey drive and kept my place insect-free and routinely brought me severed cricket legs, half eaten spiders, and the occasional headless mouse.  He could knock flies off the wall.  I don’t know if he ate them or what but he sure whacked the crap out of them.  He volleyball spike-d a bird out of midair.  He was a good hunter.  He yelled until I let him in the bathroom when I was taking showers to supervise the process and then discovered the bathtub had the best acoustics for his 3 am impressions of the tortured, tormented wailing and howls of a thousand lost souls of the eternally damned.

I held him another few minutes, then wrapped him in a fleece blanket that had been provided, kissed him, and told him goodbye.  Then Kelsey and I left through the side door directly from the room...I guess so that we didn’t have to walk back through the small crowd of people in the waiting room.  I was still in a daze and disoriented and got completely turned around in the parking lot, unable to find where we’d parked.  I don’t even remember the drive back to Kelsey’s house.  She kept me distracted by giving me a make-over and take my one year photo for ‘before and after”  That’s another post entirely, but I was glad for the distraction.  It’s probably a good thing I have NINE different projects going, half of them needing to arrive at their destinations by FRIDAY.  That’s another thing I’m grateful for, it’s a really good way to keep myself distracted.  I don’t think I would have been able to sleep anyway....I really didn’t want to lay in bed and dwell on this.  Hopefully my hands hold up to the pressure, there’s tons of beading involved.

[voulezvous-rpg]

DANCER: THE LIONESS

georgina “la nubia” belanger 28 years old dancer & courtesan played by ash. 24. she/her. est.

They look at you up on stage, and everyone in the room knows you could rip them to shreds and nurse them to health all at once — and that they’d love every second of it. If the price is right they might be lucky enough to have you for the night, but you leave no room for doubt; you’re not their baby. You’re no one’s baby. If anything, those you share that stage with are all your babies — your pack, yours to look out for, even if it’s a responsibility you put entirely upon yourself. Good thing you’ve never been one to flinch over conflict — quite the opposite. They call you aggressive, tempered, hot to touch. They’re not wrong. They just get so lost in your passion that they don’t see that it’s for good reason — for your pride. For those you love. For yourself. And there’s not a single thing wrong with that.

I. LIVES: 1 OF 9

In life, you were either predator or you were prey – and It was best practice to choose which one you wanted to be before fate decided for you.

Her mother didn’t make her choice fast enough…

“Your father was a no good bastard.”

(The words waft in between tendrils of curling smoke from her mother’s cigarette, French immaculate. But the message still stands.)

It was the age old story. Man meets woman. Woman falls in love. Man has no intention to. Woman gives him everything, the world, if she could. Woman devotes her entire life to man, lets man suck her dry. Man leaves her the moment something shinier, something newer, comes along.

It takes a toll on a woman to know that the man she was in love with decided to up and leave with a promise to return that he never intended on keeping. It takes a toll on a woman when they realize the reason he left was to give another woman the life she was promised.

So Georgina and her sister never saw their father, never knew him, never so much as glanced at a photo. Oh no, those were long gone, tossed over a bridge and into the river along with what little things he left behind. But what they did have, was their mother’s resentment, her impassioned words, to never let a man have the upper hand, to never fall for them, but let them fall for you, because it’s ‘easier that way.’ The youngest is too naive to understand, but Georgina hears the instructions loud and clear, all but ready to apply such wisdom to all facets of her life.

Her mother dies. (Overdose, the coroner says. Heartbreak, she knows.) She dies because she is weak – stomach pumped of pills she used to drown sorrows that lasted years too long. Georgina hates her, but she detests him more. Because it’s all his fault that she and her sister are thrust into the foster system, ripped apart by the cruel hands of the government, by families that wanted a young wide-eyed thing and not the troubled teen that came attached to her.

Georgina never knew of the man who killed her mother, but upon her death, she knew what choice she had to make: she wouldn’t bare her neck and become prey as she had, no – she would become predator.

II. LIVES: 2 OF 9

She positively blossoms as winters turn over into spring. Her body filling, curving, tapering – and she’s not even eighteen yet. Far too supple in places the polite man wouldn’t stare – but even they do.

(Her foster father does too. And when he crept that night into her bedroom, she clawed his eye out with the nail of her thumb.)

“You must’ve been one in another life.” A cat, her mother had always referred to.

Because how could she have been anything but feline, when she balances on the dangers of life, only to land on her feet. When she pokes her head around every corner before slinking around it. She never comes when she’s called but only when she chooses, with a saunter in her hips and a flick of her curly mane over her shoulder. Hissing and clawing is what she knows, sometimes it felt like the only thing she was good at.

(So he should have expected what he got, is the moral of the story here.)

The streets have no choice but to welcome her, as she runs, flees from this life without a clue how to forge a new one. But that was the beauty of Paris – one could make a home just about anywhere so long as they could see the lights.

But the lights she catches glimpses of are not white and glittering like the Eifel. They are blues and reds and purples, the only lights fitting to cast shadows along the city’s underground. It is in the shadow of this light that she meets him. He’s tall and dark, full of sharpened edges and an even sharper grin. A walking warning sign, and yet she walked right into it – perhaps because she simply liked the danger.

“Easy, baby,” he gripped her wrist tight, shard of broken glass dropped from her bleeding palm, stopping her from going for the throat of a man who dared to call her a ‘whore’ to her face.

(It should be said, she dabbled in dancing now. They hail her in grimy alleys as the most exotic thing the eye ever did see. They weren’t wrong. It’s her first brush with burlesque, and she takes to it as one treads through water.)

Baby, she’d never loved a title more. Never hated a title more. But she was his, and he ensured to never let her forget it.

Domestication was a fool’s concept, as she was a creature who inherently belonged everywhere and nowhere at once. But he surely tried to fasten an invisible collar around her pretty neck, tethering her to this place, tethering her to him. For a moment, she allows herself to appear as prey.

(That was the thing about cats, they could contort into any shape, so long as it suited their needs.)

III. LIVES: 3 OF 9

Men were very attentive to a pretty young thing, that much she’s learned by this life.

(It’s surprising how much they are willing to part with, how much they are willing to give, to do for her, in exchange for her favor – and she uses that knowledge to her advantage. Making trades like it were as simple as import and export: their jewels for the shining gem between her thighs.)

Their guards on sleek watches and fat wallets down as she takes and takes and takes. Tricking and teasing with the fluttering of lashes and the toss of glossy curls until they all but drop them into her awaiting palm. She deserves this, does she not? Life and the men within it had taken everything from her mother, and she’d be damned if she didn’t take it all back tenfold. She toys with emotions like a ball of yarn. Desire, her favorite plaything. But don’t let that get boring, she’ll find her next amusement as her attention sees fit.

But what she gets, what she earns, she is never allowed to keep. Always having to give him hat she collected at the end of each night. And she is not the only one – young naive things surrounding her in the dressing room as he purrs in their ears and takes from them too. (When he dies, the club considers it a shame, an immense loss of their proprietor. She considers it a favor done. ‘You’re welcome’, she whispers into the night.)

There is something to be said about a woman who wears hatred like a slick second skin. Whose anger runs hot in her veins and ignites infernos in her eyes. There is something to be said about the woman who wasn’t born this way but made, this world giving her vexation to wield, and then wanted to condemn her for forging it into a dagger. (No – they all deserved what they got.)

Once more, this is a life she must flee, slipping from the bars of her cage to the only haven she knew.

IV. LIVES: 4 OF 9

She and the Moulin Rouge have met in another life, and she recalls it’s glitz and glamour from behind piano benches and beneath floorboards as her mother told her to make herself invisible until the number’s completion.

(‘Mama, can I be a dancer too? Like you?’ She had asked, only to be met with a stern, ‘No.’ Her mother must be rolling in her grave now.)

But when she tore through those red oak roods, she had not arrived as Georgina, but as Minette.

(A poor fool had mistaken her for a dancer, a courtesan, that descended from the stage and into his lap like a dream. Dubbing her with the first name he could recall from the posters. She hadn’t corrected him.)

She’s taken to the Red Room for the first time that night, and makes off with more francs than she ever saw at once – for the first time, she hadn’t needed to lift sticky fingers to take it, hadn’t needed to charm hands into pockets to empty them for her. They were willingly given, a hefty token in repayment for the scratches at her thigh and the finger-shaped bruises in her hips.

“Wait–”

A single leg is out the bedroom’s window, and instead of fleeing as always, Georgina can’t help but gloat.

“You’re Minette, then, non?” The Diamond nods, rest her soul. “Well, I suppose I should thank you, mon cher, your name was most useful,” and she waves the wad of notes at the other girl. “Is this the part where you tell me you want it back?”

“No–”

Georgina hardly expected her con-on-the-fly to become a career, but it does. She weaves her way throughout the club, prowling and purring her way through the nights. You could say, everything she’s been through has built her up to this. A cherry lollipop rolls over her tongue, held poised between two fingers. She bites – only because it’s her nature to. Sweet and tart collecting in her mouth and she grins, canines sharp, because she’s found herself a fascination once more.

She becomes something dark and revered. They said behind closed doors, they worship her like a deity, every bit as feline and war-ready as Sekhmet. They leave offerings at her silk-laid altar – jewels and fur and trinkets and letters proclaiming a love she could never reciprocate – and to the highest bidder, the carefully chosen candidates who will damn themselves for her, she traps them within her claws. Tearing through flesh to the ichor flowing beneath.

Because it’s what she deserves.

Your protective instincts kick into overdrive over The Good Time Girl; you want to save them from themselves.

When your temper gets out of control, The Bodyguard often steps in to intervene, despite your insistence that you can handle yourself.

You like to push The Widower’s buttons; you don’t know their story, just that their sulking scares the fish away.

FC: Jessica Lucas

[ziculous]

Ive found you {Namjoon}

Pairing: Namjoon x reader Genre: fluff Word count: 2000+ Proofread: No whoops Requested by a user on wattpad ________________________ ~Hollie (you)~ Today was the day, after a very long wait and saving up she was finally getting to travel to Korea. Excited, that would be an understatement to say how happy the young girl felt. Butterflies seemed to be flying free in the pit of her stomach, and although it came with a rather sickly and uncomfortable feeling it made the whole experience real. This really was happening and Hollie really was boarding the flight to the capital of South Korea, Seoul. The flight trip to South Korea was long and boring, well what could you expect on a flight trip? There wasn't really much to do, but she amused herself with listening to her music and looking over all the different things shed planned to do in advance. She even managed to get a few hours sleep on the plane. But once the flight trip was over and her feet hit the ground of a whole new country a spark of excitement hit her, a bubbly feeling spreading through out her as she rushed off to the hotel she'd be staying at for the short time. The first day in Korea was spent doing very little, the time was different so once she arrived it had been 7pm so she really couldn't do that much. But the small amount of time she had was spent at a restaurant not to far from the hotel the young woman would be staying at. And once shed finished the new and exotic dish it was back to the hotel to rest. Day two was spent seeing a few different things from her list, going shopping and trying a whole range of different delicious treats. Everything was so different from England, from the beautiful culture and language to the various different types of mouth watering foods. A brightly coloured shop caught her eye and soon she was standing outside the shop window, hands gently pressed against the glass as she peered down at the array of luxurious chocolates and candies. "Wow," the small whisper of admiration slipped past her parted lips, she just had to try some of the delicious looking treats. With that thought in mind Hollie made her way to the pastel pink door, pulling it open just as someone was walking out. "Umpf," a grunt came from a male voice as the two collided in both of their rush to do something, both bodies stumbling backwards yet no one being hurt luckily. "Sorry." "No, my fault," Hollie quickly waved one of her hands, finally glancing up at the much taller young male. It was hard to make out what he looked like due to a face mask covering the lower half of his face and a hat shadowing his eyes. But the little of his eyes she could see it was clear that they were a very beautiful shade of brown. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I was too eager to buy some of the yummy looking candies," a small but sheepish chuckle followed as she gently pushed her blonde hair back out of her face. "Me neither, I just wanted to get everything done while I have the time and everywhere is quite," the young man seemed to smile underneath the face mask, his eyes crinkling in a cute and adorable way. "So I really have to go, I'm sorry again." And with that the two said their apologies once again and bowed before bidding farewell, the mysterious male zipping off down the street and Hollie disappearing into the luxurious candy store. But little did they both know that they'd bump into each other again that day. The day was coming to an and, people rushing around to get last minute shopping or trying to make it home to their families. But here Hollie was, two bags of a range of different things in each hand. She may have gone a little overboard with picking out cute gifts for friends and family, and buying some of the cute outfits she'd stumbled across at a rather adorable clothing store. One more stop was on her list before shed call it a day; a cute cat cafe located not too far from the hotel. Hollie couldn't help but hear a faint screaming of voices as she made her way down the street, the sound growing louder and louder until she'd realised that the sound of screaming was the overly excited sound of fangirling. The young woman whipped around just in time to see a rather panicked looking male running towards her, and being the type of person she was there was no way that she would let the girls do this to who she expected was an idol. "Yah! Stop!" She stepped in front of the panicked young man and held her hands out in front of herself which caused the crowd of young girls to come to a stop. "Oppa! Oppa!" Some yells came from the group, "I love you, oppa!" "Oppa, be mine!" More shouts sounded which caused Hollie to furrow her eyebrows at the utter disrespect these girls were showing to someone they claimed to idolise and love. "You all need to stop and grow the hell up! This is not how you treat a human being, it's disrespectful and you all should be ashamed of yourselves! Chasing someone through the streets and yelling things like that, how rude and outright creepy!" The tone of her voice made it clear she wasn't messing around and she meant every word of it. "Now scram!" The crowd of girls mumbled a few disagreements but they left as commanded, all shuffling off in different directions. But once she was sure all the fangirls had disappeared off and non were creeping around, Hollie turned to face the poor guy and noticed it was the same young male shed bumped into. "It's you," they both said at the same time while pointing at each other, and this small coincidence ended up making them both laugh at the silly actions. "Thank you, for that. It might not seem like a big deal to you but it was to me, as anything could have happened if they would have caught up to me. So thank you," the gratefulness in the young males voice was definitely hearable, his hand reaching up to gently tug the face mask down to reveal a chubby cheek dimple smile. Ands that's when it hit her. It was no other then the leader of Bts, Kim Namjoon. "Namjoon," she pointed out stupidly, as if he didn't know his own name. "I know you," again with the blankly pointing things out, oh how she'd regret this when the shock had drained away. Namjoons face fell, a look of panic and dread forming on his previously delighted features. "Please, no more. I can't deal with more screaming and pulling out of me, please." The fact he pleaded for her not to scream and begin pulling him around in excitement was truly saddening, he must go through fans being overly excited and pulling out of him on a regular. "Don't worry," she began and flashed a warm and reassuring smile. "I'm not like that, I have respect. You are human, like me and everyone else. I'm not going to treat you any differently to how I'd like to be treated." With that she made a small hand gesture as she began to walk. "Come on, I'm going to cafe and I don't feel safe leaving you after that. You can call someone to pick you up from the cafe." The two shared conversation on the short trip to the cat cafe, learning small things about each other and even cracking some jokes. It was fun, and Namjoon actually felt more human around a fan. Not that he never did around his fans, he loved them more then anything. But of course he'd be treated like an idol, like he was better then them. And he didn't like that, the fans who spoke to him on a normal level always seemed to stick with him. But this girl, she was something completely new. They both bought coffee once inside the cat cafe, sitting on the large cream coloured couch and each getting a very cuddly kitty to pet and play with. And for the first time since shed helped in the two stopped talking, only to admire the soft kittens at their feet or curling up next to the two. "So, have you texted someone to come pick you up?" Hollie asked as she gently pushed her fingers through a fluffy ginger kittens fur, her gaze soon shifting from the kitten over to Namjoon who was playing with a hyperactive tabby. "Mhmm," Namjoon hummed, his lips curling up into a wide grin to flash off his cute dimples as he tickled the kittens tummy. "I'll be picked up in a few minutes, so I'll be safe and you can go home." He glanced away from the kitten to look at the girl sitting next to him with a gentle smile. "Thank you, for keeping me safe." She returned the smile and bowed her head, her bangs falling down into her face as she began to speak, "it's honestly nothing. It's the least I could do." Namjoon reached a hand out to gently brush the girls hair from her face, lightly brushing the back of his hand against her soft cheek as he did so. They locked gaze and she could have sworn the whole world froze in that moment. And then he was leaning in, only inches between the two of them and- "HYUNG! ARE YOU OKAY?!" They both shot apart as the rest of namjoons band members poured into the cafe, followed by a few body guards. "I'm fine, I'm fine," Namjoon reassured the rest of the panicked young males, standing up and brushing himself down to get all the cat hairs from his clothing. "Come on you, you're in so much trouble for going out alone," a male with plump and thick lips said, who Hollie recognised as the eldest of the group, Kim Seokjin. "Fine, fine," Namjoon grumbled, a look of anxiousness mixed with annoyance forming on his face. But he went the door with the others, stopping to look back at the girl who'd helped him. "Thank you," and with that the cat cafe went back to the quiet and peaceful place. ~~~ A week, that's how long Hollie had been back in England. And it already felt like she'd been away from the beautiful county of South Korea for more then a century, her mouth watering just at the memory of the foods she could no longer get. But she was happy to be home, back to the place she knew best. A small sigh left her lips as she messed on her laptop, sprawled out on her bed which was now full of stuffed toys that had been purchased at many different store in Seoul. But then something caught her eye on Twitter, a vapp link an army had posted for the live interview Bts were doing. She quickly clicked to open the link, turning the volume on the laptop up and sitting back to listen. A smile never seemed to leave her lips as she watched the boys laugh and mess around, turning the volume down every time Hoseok would begin screaming happily and excitedly. But then they were asked about relationship interests were and if anyone had ever stood out to each of them. Being the leader, Namjoon got to answer first. "Someone actually did. Though I never got her name or a way of contacting her, which I regret. She was kind and sweet, and got me out of trouble. Plus her voice was adorable, she had a cute English accent," he chuckled and flashed the dimples she loved so much. Everyone ooed at this, all the boys nudging an teasing Namjoon playfully. But Hollie knew it was aimed at her, and she could feel her cheeks heating up instantly. Then she was hit with the thought of telling Namjoon who she was, reaching out to him and letting him know it was her. With a nervous swallow she clicked onto the bts Twitter page when the live interview had ended, beginning to type a message in Korean. 'Namjoon...I'm here, it's me. The girl from the cat cafe.' Then she waited, but to her surprise she got a reply relatively quickly. 'I've finally found you.' _________________________ My requests are always open, though it takes me a while to write them. If you want your request done faster then tell me what exactly you'd like, not just 'Namjoon please' and if you want the reader to be you or not. Thanks.

[esswami-blog]

Piano lessons for 6 year old

As a piano educator at several music colleges in northern NJ, I've gone to numerous recitals. While paying attention to my colleagues' students in addition to my very own, I've listened to a selection of music items done, which obtained me thinking: What are the leading five piano songs for youngsters to play?

Considering that there are many different songs as well as plans of tunes to fit various degrees of ability, I will stick to the leading 5 songs that can be discovered within the initial year or 2 of taking piano lessons. The following 5 items are in order of simplest to most tough, yet thinks that songs will be taught in between learning them.

Mary Had a Little how to teach a child to play piano Lamb

The initial track I educate my trainees, after presenting them to the white secrets of the piano in "C placement" is "Mary Had a Little Lamb". This track is easy, well-known, and kids can play its basic melody with their right-hand man alone. Children love to play this since they are excited regarding playing a track that they already understand, and also can show to their friends and family, who will certainly identify it too.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

An additional tune I have a great deal of success with is "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star". This song is great since the melody can be taught initially making use of all 5 fingers of the right-hand man, and showing the brand-new concept of stretching your pinky finger over to the right to play the A trick in addition to the G secret. This is an excellent item to instruct this brand-new concept due to the fact that the student can conveniently see that the hand needs to stay mainly in the C position, just moving the pinky to the right as necessary to play the A.

An additional good idea regarding this track is that after the right-hand man melody part is shown, I help the trainee discover the underlying chords that select the tune to play with their left hand. I explain exactly how to locate the "house note" and also how to recognize the key that the track is in by listening. Three very basic significant chords are utilized (C, F, and also G) as well as they take place to likewise be the I, IV, and also V chords, respectively, which is additionally a really vital concept to find out, as many tunes use this popular chord progression. After discovering the tune and also chords with each hand playing individually, when the student prepares, we placed the hands together.

Happy Birthday celebration

My 3rd pick for leading piano songs for kids to find out would certainly have to be "Delighted Birthday." This is a staple track in a pianist's repertoire. The next time your youngster participates in a birthday celebration celebration for a relative or friend, urge them to play the track on the piano while every person else sings along! This is also a good song to instruct youngsters because the melody can be split in between both hands for an early novice to find out, or arranged for the melody to be played with the right-hand man and the chords with the left for a more advanced student.

The next 2 items I have selected are classic as well as additionally more difficult, but can typically be incorporated into a pupil's repertoire within the first year or more of study.

Minuet in G (J.S. Bach).

There are 2 sections to this Minuet and also most individuals will quickly acknowledge the very first area. I typically play the entire item for my trainee, and also get them the music for both areas-- yet so they don't really feel overloaded, I inform them that we are just mosting likely to learn the first component as well as see how it goes. I slowly teach them the beginning of the first area- right hand individually, after that left hand individually. They will exercise it hands separately for a week in between lessons and afterwards begin putting the hands together. Before they understand it, they are playing Bach and they are usually so excited they can't wait to go on to the following section of the item!

Fur Elise.

Ultimately, this checklist would certainly not be full without "Hair Elise" by Ludwig van Beethoven. I can remember hearing it as a little girl and wishing to play it immediately, which I did! It is relatively very easy to play, as well as utilizes both major as well as small chords. There are different plans with simpler left hand chords that also miss the middle sections of the piece, which are instead challenging to a beginner. These easier setups are really terrific because they allow a newbie to play a popular timeless piece, which can truly boost their trainee's self-confidence.

These 5 items are very advised to find out if you are taking piano lessons. Each tune has its very own principles to find out along with finding out to play the tune itself. If you are in your first year or more of piano lessons, see which of these you have played as well as which you have yet to find out. Ask your piano educator about anything on this checklist that you have actually not yet discovered, and also I make certain that he or she will certainly be able to take it from there as well as instruct you setups of these tunes proper to your private degree. Most of all, delight in playing the piano!