#this one was left from ep4

[men-in-4k]

PATRICK SCHWARZENEGGER as Saxon The White Lotus S3:E04 · 2025

[swordgrace]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jon snow x female northern reader.

SYNOPSIS: you reunite with your beloved childhood friend, jon snow, at the edge of the world. the both of you have changed, but your feelings certainly haven’t.

note: season six jon, follows s6 ep4.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 10.5K (not sorry).

warnings: SMUT (mdni), ramsay bolton warning, friends to lovers, confession of feelings, reunion sex, description of scars, jon is definitely more of a switch, horny reader (valid), lots of groping, making out, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, jon loves to munch, body worship, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, lotus position & missionary position, reader is on top and on bottom, light biting & tit sucking, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from, but I’m glad because I had so much fun with his one! I’m a Jon girlie until the very end <3 I would honestly love to write more of him if you guys enjoy this! thank you so much for the love and support!

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲.

Direwolf sigils were replaced with that of flayed men, befitting for the screams that often emerged from the bowels of the Keep or the kennels, where enemies were fed to Ramsay Bolton’s pack of slavering hounds. Old faces that you had grown up with as a girl were gone — removed or slaughtered.

Your father, once loyal to House Stark and to Eddard himself, was strung-up and butchered for all to see, flayed alive by the Bolton men who now controlled Winterfell. You grew numb to the pain, numb to the shifting environment around you. It wasn’t the home that you had grown up in.

When you had caught sight of Sansa Stark in the courtyard, auburn tresses like searing embers against the backdrop of endless gray and snow, tears on her face, you knew that you needed to act.

You hadn’t known Sansa very well, but you did know her brother, Jon Snow. A beloved friend in your youth and teenage years, you had watched him go to the Night’s Watch. Any letters you’d written were likely thrown to the wayside, given the oaths that Men of the Watch swore, but you had longed to see him again.

Sansa recognized your face, no longer that of a young maiden with her head in the clouds. The both of you were women grown, trapped within Winterfell, and you wholly intended on escaping.

Fleeing Winterfell was perilous — dangerous, especially with the winter so biting and icy that it threatened to freeze away your extremities. Aided by Theon Greyjoy, once a captive of Ramsay, the three of you escaped into the harshness of the Northern woodlands.

Much of your time spent was in constant peril, with the looming threat of Bolton hounds nipping at your heels, search parties sent sprawling across the Wolfswood and beyond. Every rustle in the trees, every snap of a twig, distant scream of the wind made your steps quicken.

It was only when your lives were spared by Brienne of Tarth and her squire that you knew you were truly safe.

Castle Black had stood the testament of time, the last line of defense against whatever monsters lurked outside of The Wall. When its massive gates had opened, making way for your caravan, you felt shrewd in the presence of strangers. You hadn’t left Winterfell for much of your life, and only now, the world seemed so much larger.

When you saw Jon Snow again, more a man now than a boy you’d left behind in Winterfell, your heart nearly shriveled up within your chest. Youthfulness had left him, replaced with a permanent twinge of melancholy. A scar circled around his right eye, seemingly newer, and his mound of curled tresses remained tugged into a half-bun.

You stood in Brienne’s shadow, shuddering from the gnawing bite of the cold, feeling it slowly eat away at your bones. Sansa sobbed into her brother’s shoulder — and you couldn’t fault her for it. The viciousness she suffered at the hands of the Boltons was some of the worst cruelties one could imagine.

It was only when you caught Jon’s eye that he felt his breath hitch within his throat, and he felt like a young man again — freshly eight-and-ten, watching as he introduced you to Ghost for the first time. The sound of your curious laughter had filled the courtyard of Winterfell, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

You were from a distant dream, somewhere close yet far away, slipping in and out of his thoughts.

The last thing that you wanted was to detract from Sansa’s reunion with her brother, and so you kept quiet, bringing yourself into the shoddy shelter of your cloak. Your visage was icy, stung by the bitter wind of the far North, and your hands ached.

“You are safe here,” Jon murmured, brown hues glistening with appreciation as he looked upon Brienne of Tarth. “I owe you my gratitude for saving my sister. Whatever you need from Castle Black, you’ll have it.” He nodded, finding his gaze drifting towards you, begging for you to look his way.

Perhaps you didn’t recognize him, but that seemed far-fetched. Edd beckoned for Sansa to follow him at Jon’s command, hoping to find warmth in the guest chambers in the Lord Commander’s suite. The burden and duty no longer belonged to him.

Brienne bowed, hand atop the pommel of Oathkeeper, the Valyrian steel sheathed within its scabbard. “I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark that I would keep her daughters safe — and I shall keep it.” She replied, cerulean hues flickering towards you. “Lady Sansa’s escape wouldn’t have been possible without her.”

Jon gazed at you as if you had brought down the sun and stars themselves, moved mountains with will alone. Gods, he missed you terribly. His departure for the Night’s Watch had left a gaping hole in your heart, never to be filled, but seeing him again only seemed to make it ache with something painful.

Wordlessly, your feet carried you before logic could stop you in your tracks, and you flung yourself into Jon’s embrace, feeling his arms wrap around you. Brienne’s countenance glistened with the realization that you knew Jon, and she seemed to steer Podrick away, allowing the both of you some privacy.

“You’re alive,” You whispered into his shoulder, feeling hot tears trickle down your cheeks. Part of you worried that he might’ve perished, but here he stood, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a man. “It has been so long, Jon Snow.”

He hadn’t been alive days ago — death had claimed him once before.

The scars that littered his body seemed to ache and throb with the mere thought of his own demise, and the anguish of betrayal that came with it. His dark brows furrowed together, visage one of gentle joy as he released you from his grasp. “You look older.” Older in the eyes — not in the face.

You were still just as beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen — your appearance hadn’t changed, and he hoped that your heart hadn’t, either. Your friendship kept him afloat for many years during his time in Winterfell, living as a Stark. You never cast your judgment upon him for being a bastard — and you never would.

“So do you,” Concern crept into your voice as you looked over his rugged beard and the scar upon his brow. “What happened to you, Jon?” There was so much he wished to tell you — from the Wildlings to the White Walkers, and his death. You could see it in his face — the maturity, the weight of duty, an abundance of stoicism.

“It’s a long story.” Jon huffed, Northern timbre crackled with a bout of faint amusement, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. He gestured for you to follow him, striding across the courtyard of Castle Black in-search of his own quarters. He no longer held the Lord Commander’s chambers, and for good reason.

The men of Castle Black weren’t accustomed to seeing a woman — it evoked his streak of protectiveness when it came to you. He ensured that he kept close to your side during the lengthy trek to his chambers. Brienne was sworn to Sansa, and Jon knew that she would be well looked-after in the Lady’s stead.

Ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, Jon led you to his quarters. Smaller, but he preferred his solitude. His brothers had stabbed him, tore away his mantle of Lord-Commander, killed him — as soon as he could, he intended on leaving.

Pushing the door open, you were met with the gust of a raging hearth, warming your brittle bones as you rubbed your hands together, “Gods,” You whispered, immediately moving toward the crackling fire, extending your hands to the flames, eyes closing in satisfaction. “I nearly thought we wouldn’t make it.”

Jon’s brows furrowed together, and he pulled up a wooden stool for you to sit, and so did he, firmly planted at your side like a dutiful guardian. “You’re safe here. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.” Dirt stained your visage, clothes tattered and worn from travel, hem shredded and covered in snow and mud.

Something forlorn reached his eyes, a distant glimmer of melancholy that you immediately recognized. He was still Jon, but something else seemed amiss. You lowered your hands into your lap, basking in the lick of the firelight. “All my life, I longed to see beyond Winterfell. Here I am — and here you are.” Your smile was threadbare.

The both of you had endured unimaginable hardships during your time apart, yet the warmth and fondness of your friendship remained, strong as ever. If Jon told you what all had happened, what he saw, what he went through — he wondered how much of it you would believe.

“Do you remember the night of the feast, when King Robert came to Winterfell?” Jon remembered — he remembered you, most of all. Gods, you looked so beautiful that night, bringing him a heaping plate of foodstuffs from the banquet, keeping him company throughout the night’s festivities.

“Of course,” It was one of the last days you had spent with Jon before he departed for the Night’s Watch. You had a plethora of regrets, and not kissing him that evening was one of them. The opportunity had dangled itself before you, and you never acted on it. “They sheared your face clean. A disservice to you, truly.”

A brief huff of laughter escaped him, lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s what you chose to remember?” He remarked, planting his forearms against his knees. Admittedly, he chose to remember you — the way your dress clung to you, the vibrancy of your smile, tenderness in your eyes.

Your nose wrinkled in amusement before you waved him aside, a smile stretched across your features — happier this time, full of warmth. “I remember more than just that, but yes. You weren’t so dour, then.”

Jon chuckled, effectively shattering his stoic mask as he looked at you, head canting to one side. “I still was, always sulking about in some corner,” He mused, peering toward the hearth. “The things I’ve seen — the things I’ve been through …” His jaw tightened, and the wound to his heart seemed to ache.

Empathy tugged at your countenance, one that dissipated from something lighthearted to seriousness. You reached out, resting a palm against his bicep. “What happened to you, Jon? You don’t seem the same.” You asked, glancing toward the scar on his face.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you about his death and resurrection — not yet, anyway. It was still too fresh a wound to speak of, left gaping and open, one that would take time to fully heal. “I went beyond The Wall.” Jon stated, as if that would answer all of your questions.

Silence drifted between you both, and you exhaled, brows creasing in contemplation as you looked toward the fire. You let your hands drift closer again, hoping to absorb any lick of heat that you could find. Jon stared at you, unbeknownst to you, studying the intricacies of your visage, the way your tresses framed your face.

Abandoning the rank of Lord-Commander had been a liberating thing. He was done fighting for men who had countered him at every turn, men who slaughtered him. He was unsure of his next course of action, but he wanted you there with him, regardless.

Hunger and famine gnawed at your stomach, chewing you up and spitting you out. Even Jon could hear the violent lurch of your stomach, see the exhaustion etched into your features. He didn’t want to keep you, but he didn’t want to leave you, either.

“You should clean up, join us for supper,” Jon prompted, melting away the tenuous silence. “I’ll see about finding you something proper to wear.” He wanted to continue to reminisce with you, but you deserved a moment of solace, a chance to bathe and warm yourself without his intrusion.

You nodded, offering Jon an amiable smile. “I want us to continue our conversation,” You insisted, your voice soft and tender, a silky resonance. Instead, you reached for his hand, finding the calloused, roughened plane of his palm. “I’ve missed you, Jon.” If he hadn’t realized it by now, then he might’ve been blind.

Jon’s breath hitched within his throat, reduced to a mere boy in your presence. Whatever he thought of at that moment, it was inappropriate — it transcended all bonds of propriety and proper friendship, yet he couldn’t help it. How long had he thought of you? Yearned for you, dreamed of you whenever he was laying on the cold earth somewhere beyond the Wall?

If it weren’t for his uncertainty, he would’ve kissed you then and there.

He never stopped to consider what your life was like now — perhaps you had a husband and a family, a life that had moved on from him, no longer frozen in the time of your youth. Jon always feared that being a bastard would’ve stopped you from courtship, but he knew now that you didn’t care. You never did.

Years of letting yourself toil over Jon Snow had amounted to this — to this unspoken affection that permeated the fringes of your friendship. In his absence, you hadn’t taken a husband, you hadn’t wed. Part of you thought you would become a spinster and live out your days caring for your ailing father.

Tension simmered, sparking to life in the wake of your intertwined hands. “I missed you, too.” His accent seemed deliciously thick, noticeably huskier with the rougher pitch of his tone. Those earthly-brown hues of his bored right into you.

Your stare became doe-like, able to feel his calloused digits, how strong his hands had become, careworn from holding a sword. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you let your hand recoil, placing it back into your lap. Your fingers curled tightly into your dress.

With a brief clearing of his throat, Jon decided to give you privacy. “I must speak with Sansa,” He murmured, standing up from his stool with an abruptness. His heart thumped madly within his chest, throat becoming thick as he gathered his bearings. “Come to supper when you’re finished.”

“Of course. Thank you, Jon.” You smiled, and he stepped out to give you your solace. His quarters were noticeably smaller yet homely, and you immediately decided to go to the washroom to clean yourself. Endless dirt and grime stained your flesh, making you feel worse than you already did.

As soon as you disrobed, sinking into the steaming-hot waters of the metal tub, you submerged your head beneath, coming up for a gasp of air. You glanced toward the hearth, scrubbing yourself down with a bristle brush and sponge, using the scarce amount of herbs and soap given to you.

You thought of Jon — thought of his hand, the firmness of it, the rough-hewn texture of his skin, the hardened muscle of his bicep beneath your grasp. You thought of the dismal, tempestuous storm of emotions raging war within his gaze when he spoke of being beyond The Wall.

It gave you much to dwell on as you scrubbed away the dirt from your skin, smoothing handfuls of hot water across your face. A simple Northerner’s dress and a furred cloak lay on the chair beside you, something suitable to wear that weren’t your tattered rags.

Sloshing around within the steaming water for a moment longer, you finished cleaning up, feeling the continuous gnaw of hunger strike at your stomach. The air was brusque and still bitter with a noticeable chill, the hearth continuing to roar in spite of being left with little attendance.

Tugging on the coarse, linen dress, you retrieved your boots, having thoroughly cleaned them off of hardened dirt. You let your hair dry by the fireside, swaddled in the cloak given to you by Jon. It swallowed you whole, yet it smelled like him — woodlands and scented smoke, the musk of a battle-hardened man.

By the time you joined the others for dinner, you felt cleaner than you had in some time, liberated from the weight of grime and hard travel. Exhaustion still clung to you like a shroud, but you assumed that a proper meal would make it easier to deal with.

Sansa greeted you with a thin smile, moving aside for you to sit next to her. There was never a fondness you shared between one another in your youth — you were always Jon’s friend, a girl who preferred mucking about in the outdoors and watching him fight with steel instead of any ladylike endeavors.

You had become quite proficient with an embroidery needle, and a dagger. They were one and the same for you at-times.

Jon’s silent admiration of you continued, hues fluttering over your form, now rid of soot and dirt. A warm plate of heaping food sat before you, helpings of potatoes, stewed vegetables, and roasted venison. You ate as if you hadn’t consumed a bite in years, the richness of it filling your belly.

“We are to take Winterfell back from the Boltons,” Sansa stated, her tone resolute and assured. “Do you think that there are still allies in Winterfell who might help our cause?” She inquired, her question directed towards you. You knew Winterfell — you’d been there this whole time.

“If Ramsay hasn’t flayed them all alive, then yes,” You murmured, thinking of your father’s corpse, strung-up on some wooden cross, muscle and flesh peeled away to reveal his bones. You shivered, masking your discomfort through a bite of vegetables. “There are still denizens inside who remember the Starks.”

Tormund Giantsbane, Jon’s ally and the leader of the Wildling forces, noisily bit into a haunch of meat, juices spraying across his ginger beard. Brienne’s discomfort and bewilderment was palpable as she turned away, blonde brows furrowing together.

“Could you find your way back in?” Tormund grunted, and you understood the insinuation of his proposal. If you were to rally those who still supported House Stark to Jon’s cause, staging a coup from the inside, it might assist his chances of taking the Keep.

“I suppose I could, but the Boltons rarely let anyone in or out, save for those bearing the Flayed Man sigil,” Jon seemed visibly apprehensive at Tormund’s suggestion, jaw tightening as he stuck his fork into a piece of meat. “It is dangerous now — one wrong move, and they string you up on the banisters, flay you for all to see.”

Tears glistened within your eyes at the harrowing memory of your father — you watched him be pinned to that post, screaming for mercy, men with knives cutting him apart as if he were a pig for slaughter. You hastily wiped them aside, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Jon’s gaze never wavered from you whenever you spoke — Sansa could see it, Edd could see it.

“That is the fate that befell my father.” With a sharp exhale, you continued to eat, momentarily meeting Jon’s sullen-eyed stare, full of sympathy for your loss. His condolences were unspoken, but he didn’t have to say the words to convey meaning.

“We will find another way,” Jon murmured, brows knitting together. “You’ve risked enough to save Sansa’s life. I won’t let you risk it again. Out of the question.” There was a finality to his words, wrought with a glaring overprotective nature.

Sansa remembered the day they left your father out to bleed in the courtyard — Ramsay’s sickening smile remained emblazoned in the back of her mind. She reached to squeeze your hand, and you nodded, the both of you returning to the food.

She plucked at hers, turning a piece of meat over along her fork. Edd stifled a brief chuckle through a mouthful of hard rations. “Sorry about the food, m’ladies. It’s not what we’re known for.” He stated.

“That’s alright. There are more important things.” Sansa smiled, but you were in the throes of consuming everything that you could. Foodstuffs had become scarce in Winterfell, especially to those who weren’t Boltons — just residents. You had to scrounge and work for every scrap — this meal was the best you had in ages.

A brother of the Watch entered the Great Hall, carrying a scroll of parchment for Jon, one that was marked by the wax seal of Ramsay Bolton. “For you, Lord Commander.”

“I’m not the Lord Commander anymore.” Jon uttered, yet he took the scroll, anger seething within his eyes when he realized whose sigil held the parchment together. He unraveled it, jaw tightening as he began to read it aloud.

“To the traitorous bastard, Jon Snow, you allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard — come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon …” Jon trailed off, breath quickening as he looked at Sansa.

Her countenance was one of shock and horror, tears welling within her eyes as she nodded for him to continue reading. The Hall was eerily silent, and you listened, brows furrowing together.

“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor — come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you and your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will …” He stopped.

“Go on.” Sansa murmured, but Jon refused, rolling up the parchment with a despondent, rageful expression. He felt it blossom throughout his chest, the very same anger that consumed him when he sentenced his brothers to die.

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon quipped, preparing to tear it asunder, but Sansa reached over to take it from his hands, unraveling the parchment.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister and your Northern bitch. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother — then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She read, a shudder within her voice.

You shivered, feeling a pang of disgust and fear rattle through you, goosebumps cascading along your spine. Ramsay knew of you — knew that you helped Sansa to escape, and knew of your affiliation with Jon Snow.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon grit out through clenched teeth, fists tightening around Ramsay’s missive. He would kill him for what he did — to Sansa, to you, to his brother. He swore it by whatever Gods were willing to listen.

“Roose Bolton is dead — Ramsay killed him. Now, he has our brother — he has Rickon.” Sansa’s voice trembled, but she remained stalwart, even if she knew what a monster Ramsay was. She used to think that Joffrey was the root of all evil — she was wrong.

“We don’t know that.” Jon protested, but Sansa stopped him.

“We do. He has five-thousand men, at least — I overheard him talking about it when he prepared for Stannis’s attack.” She replied, folding her arms together. You felt nothing but admiration for her — sorrow, perhaps, but you admired her strength in the midst of this.

“How many men do we have?” Jon looked to Tormund, desperate for answers, for a shred of something positive. They were lesser in numbers than the Boltons — they would need allies, and they would need them swiftly.

“Ones that can march and fight? Two-thousand.” Tormund replied. They had a Giant — that had to count for at least fifty men, if they were lucky.

“Jon,” You spoke up at long last, finding your voice as you sat soundly at Sansa’s side. “You are the last true son of the Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal, and they will fight for you if you ask it of them.” The gentle encouragement you offered gave him much to think about.

Sansa reached across the table, seizing Jon’s arm. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell, to save them both.” She pleaded, auburn brows furrowing together. It was the right course of action — it had been years since a Stark had truly sat in Winterfell.

Jon nodded, determination tempering his anger, and the desire for justice. He remembered wanting to ride North to help Robb’s cause, and he didn’t. Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he did — if his brother might’ve survived. There was no time for inaction, not anymore.

“We will reconvene at first light, to discuss our next move.” He briefly squeezed Sansa’s hand before glancing at you. “You need to rest — both of you.” It wasn’t a request — more of a command, really. You and Sansa had been running from Winterfell for days before Brienne happened across you.

You took your leave, hoping to pray about your father alone before dusk settled in.

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

Brienne had taken Sansa back to her chambers for the evening, and you had gone to the ramparts after finishing your supper.

The death of your father was still an unsightly wound, something that had cut you right to the bone. He was your only family left — the last tether that you had, the last one to truly care for you. It left you with a gaping void of loneliness, one that had only felt healed in Jon’s presence.

Flickering torchlight danced along the wooden bridge that connected two sides of Castle Black, and despite the chill of the air, you remained outside. Rest eluded you, and you knew that you would be up all evening, tarrying around to try and occupy your mind.

Darkening skies twinkled with stars, partially obscured by large wisps of gray clouds, and with it, a light snowfall. The fur-lined cloak you wore kept you warm, shrouded from the gnawing chill as you listened to footsteps resonate from your left side.

The pale shadow of Ghost trotted alongside him, those crimson eyes glowering through the encroaching dusk. The last time you had seen Jon’s direwolf, he was the size of a small dog — now, he was massive, nearly coming up to your shoulder with the tips of his ears.

“What did you feed him?” You mused, kneeling down to greet Ghost as if he were an old friend. You recalled the day that Jon had brought the albino pup home, nothing more than a scraggly runt hidden in his cloak. Ghost nudged your hand, silently asking for a scratch along his ears.

Jon smiled, coming to stand near your side as he peered down into the silent courtyard of Castle Black. It was quiet, save for the occasional soldier scurrying across the dirt or the distant howl of the wind. “He’s much larger than I expected him to be,” He confessed. “Seems he remembers you.”

Ghost whined, ruby eyes studying you intensely, as if he recalled your last meeting. The pale direwolf allowed you to dote on him for a moment longer, padding off to lay outside of Jon’s chambers. You watched him go, a smile spreading across your face.

Your countenance softened at the sight of Jon, tousled curls still tugged into a loose half-bun, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you cold?” He questioned, noticing the way your form quivered beneath the cloak he’d given you.

“Quite,” A brief chuckle left you as you wring your hands together, letting them sink into the thick fur that you tugged tighter around you. “I don’t believe that I will be able to sleep tonight, given the circumstances.” You confessed, and he seemed empathetic.

“I don’t sleep much — not anymore.” The night that he had found himself resurrected from the black shroud of death, he did not sleep. Instead, he lay waiting for his brothers to burst through the door, knives drawn, waiting to send him to the cold, hard earth.

Jon slept with Longclaw at his side — he imagined that he’d never feel safe again without it by his hip.

A comfortable silence of understanding drifted between the both of you, and you felt him lean closer, brows furrowing together. “I am sorry about your father,” Jon murmured, knowing what it was like to lose his own. “I am sorry for what they did to him.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, yet you refused to let them fall, jaw tensing before you shook your head. “He is with the Gods now,” You whispered, mustering a threadbare smile despite the melancholy of your talks. “I hope that Ramsay Bolton is not shown any mercy.”

Jon hadn’t heard you speak like that before — so full of pain, an agony in your soft tone that he wished he could rip away from you, place the burden on his shoulders. “We will take back Winterfell — for my family, for yours, for the North. I promise.”

“You’re a good man, Jon.” The two of you remained huddled close together, and you very nearly reached for his hands again, but decided against it. “You always have been, despite what insults you’ve been hurled. They are half the man that you are.”

He was a good man, despite what he thought of himself — an honorable man, the very best of them. His shining qualities were often diminished in the face of being a bastard, and you wished it weren’t so. Jon had long been ostracized for it, even if it was no fault of his own.

Jon hadn’t believed it, that he was truly good. He had done plenty of wrong — broke his vows to the Night’s Watch, killed many men, killed a boy, and for what? What good had come out of it all, other than being sent to an early grave for his actions?

You had always believed in him steadfastly, and he often felt undeserving of your praise. Nonetheless, Jon offered you a forlorn look, smile not reaching his eyes as he bowed his head. “I wish I could believe you.” Through a softly-spoken confession, he turned to face the cutting bite of the Northern winds.

As darkness hovered, the cold beginning to bite at his flesh, Jon gestured toward the doors to his chambers. “It’s getting cold,” Even he had his limits, hardiness tested by the harshness of winter. “Come on.” His hand hovered near the small of your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

The warm sanctuary of his chambers offered you a much-needed relief, hearth roaring beside his bed, lined in countless furs. The furnishings were scarce, and he placed Longclaw at his bedside, never very far from his grasp. An orange glow permeated all it touched, encompassing you in its gentle heat.

Ghost stayed outside, furs able to outlast the encroaching winter. He was the watcher tonight, ensuring that no strangers or brothers disturbed his friend.

You moved to sit against the large, rustic footlocker that sat at the end of his bed, closest to the hearth. The cloak you wore swallowed you whole, allowing you to descend right into the pile of furs, warming your icy flesh. Jon sat beside you, keeping a comfortable distance, one that many might’ve labeled as prudish.

Jon’s lack of subtlety became brazenly clear, dark hues shamelessly fluttering across your face, absorbing the finer details of your form. You had grown into your beauty, and even then, he was at your mercy — you were incomparable in his eyes.

The sting of embarrassment rippled through him, his behavior akin to a young man with an unrequited affection. His one experience with a Wildling woman had been in an effort to feel something, anything — a retaliation against the Night’s Watch.

You were different — you were his friend, a girl he’d known since childhood, now grown into the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. It was as if you reduced him to a mere pup without even trying, unbeknownst to you.

Jon carried a flagon of honeyed mead, the warm liquid churning about within its leather confines. It tasted stale, but it was better than he expected it to be, taking a brief swig. He hoped that it would quell his nerves, but perhaps it was wishful thinking.

“I’ve never been so far away from home before,” You sighed, breaking the comfortable silence with an amiable smile. “I used to always dream of going elsewhere, an adventure away from Winterfell. Now that I’ve gone, I want nothing more than to go back.”

“Has it changed much?” Jon inquired, voice dropping into a husky lull that made you shiver. His tone had become rugged, gruff — that familiar Northern timbre always filled you with a sense of comfort and ease. He hadn’t been to Winterfell in years.

“No,” Your visage grew forlorn, tinged with a peculiar sadness as your lips wavered into a half-frown. “Just those who command it.” The homely stone and Stark banners were all you knew for the longest time — and you hoped that it would be so again.

You wanted to cease dwelling on all things bleak and dreary, and instead, you smiled at Jon, countenance melding into one of genuineness. He caught your eye, features growing unbearably hot beneath the ardor of your gaze. Something passed between the both of you, something that caused you to look away; smitten.

Jon exhaled, taking a swig of the mead before offering it up to you. Liquor wasn’t something he necessarily enjoyed, but it did take some little edge off — for now, anyway. He watched with a faint smile as you took it, giving the cork a brief sniff, nose wrinkling.

Nevertheless, you took a drink, stinging liquid burning your throat on the way down. You sputtered, your expression one of clear distaste as you handed it back to him. “Gods, what is that supposed to be? The Night’s Watch isn’t known for their ale, either.” You huffed.

A huff of laughter tore past his lips, and at last, you could see the glint of his pearlescent teeth, a smile that could melt The Wall itself. “Still can’t handle your drink after all this time?” Jon remarked, corking the flagon of mead as he placed it aside. He didn’t want to drink himself into a stupor with you present.

“There were never any occasions that called for it,” You retorted, a warm playfulness permeating your tone. You leaned forward atop the footlocker, gazing into the flickering flames, its heat basking your visage. “Winterfell wasn’t the same after your family left. Everything seemed so dour, so hopeless.”

Jon hung his head, hands folded together as he contemplated your statement. “Sometimes, I wish I’d never left.” He confessed, tone slipping into something silent, as if he were sharing his greatest sin with the septa. There were times where he missed home — missed what might’ve been.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you didn’t hesitate to look at him, hues swimming with a wet sheen. Reminiscing often brought about plenty of sentiments for you, sentiments that you thought you’d buried. “Sometimes I wish that you hadn’t left, either.” You whispered.

None of this felt real.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, a tension that had risen from the lingering flames of a longstanding friendship. Jon felt an unusual swell within his stomach, the onslaught of boyish nerves, yet he pushed them aside for the sake of the moment. It all seemed to feel so right, as if this had been long in the making.

Jon stared at you, absentmindedly tilting closer, enough to where you could feel the heat of his honey-tinged breath fan across your face. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t?” He murmured, hoping that you would confirm whatever it was that he felt, too.

“I am not sure,” Butterflies erupted within the pit of your stomach, hands beginning to reach for one another, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yourself. “I would like to think that I would’ve gained the courage to tell you how I truly felt about you.” There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety present — you knew what you meant, he knew what you meant.

I love you — it was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, to let his confession take wing into the open air. He should’ve told you that night of the feast, when you took his hand and told him that you would always defend his honor and his name.

“Jon.” Your voice was nothing more than a saccharine whisper, eyes wide and doe-like, a wordless plea to act on whatever it was he felt. Before you could say another word, Jon’s mouth was on yours, hot and rugged, everything that you imagined it would be.

His calloused hand rose to cup your face, rough pads of his digits tracing across your cheek, your jaw — you felt like velvet, an unblemished plane that had eagerly awaited his touch. Jon had always fantasized about kissing you, and the reality of it far exceeded any expectations he might’ve had.

The sudden intensity of the kiss had grown, as if throwing kindling onto an open flame. You weren’t prepared for it, but you needed more. A moan stirred within your throat as you pressed forward, hands reaching for the front of his leather-studded tunic.

Jon kissed you as if you were the air itself, every breath he drew consuming you, dragging you in until you were intertwined. He seized your waist, rough palm sinking into the coarse material of your dress, nearly shuddering at the feeling of your body beneath his palm.

“I love you,” He uttered against your mouth, forehead briefly bumping into yours as he held you close, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. “I never wish to be parted from you — from this day, until my last day.” Jon promised, voice rumbling and solemn, knowing that he would keep his vow.

Incredulously, you gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to escape the feeling of complete and utter joy you experienced at his confession. Breathless, you took a moment to compose yourself, gather your bearings before you smiled. “Don’t leave me again, Jon Snow.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jon murmured, eagerly seeking your mouth again, tugging you in for a heated kiss. Gods, your mouth was so disarmingly soft, pliant and plush against his lips, giving him everything that he ever imagined and so much more.

A gentle, uttered string of breathy ‘I love you’s’ left you over and over again, each kiss ripping the air from your lungs, leaving your heart hammering beneath your breast. You shrugged the cloak aside, letting it pool around you, partially strewn across the footlocker.

Desperation laced your kisses, as if something might threaten to rip you away from the excitement of the moment, or that you might wake up from a distant dream. Jon was lost in your mouth, a grunt blossoming from his chest when he hauled you closer, until no sliver of space remained.

He stood up, bringing you with him, standing atop the sprawling furs of slain stags, closer to the lick of the hearth. It allowed him to better hold you, hands respectfully roaming your body, never allowing himself to slip below your hips. “Wait.” He rasped, removing his mouth from yours.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, fearing that you had vastly overstepped. This was all somewhat unfamiliar, the territory new and unexpected. You had been with a man before, but it never crossed a certain threshold — you wouldn’t allow it.

“Is this what you want?” Jon questioned, dark brows knitting together as he regarded you with caution, a devotion reserved only for you. He couldn’t continue without hearing the certainty escape your mouth — he hadn’t done this in some time, himself.

Gods, you loved him. There was a lack of hesitation in his movements, but instead, a desire for clarity. He didn’t want you to feel obligated or trapped in some corner — he wanted you to want him. A twinkle of ardor glistened within your warm gaze as you brought your hands together at the nape of his neck.

It’s what you’ve wanted for such a long time — a terribly long time, at that. Everything felt as if you were wading through a dream, one that would shatter at any moment. “Yes,” You whispered, longing to unfasten the leather buckles and straps that held his tunic together. “More than anything.”

Jon’s breath hitched, a subtle noise, desire beginning to blossom throughout his chest. His grasp on you became innately protective and needy, hands gingerly kneading into your curves. He bent down for another kiss, arms caging themselves around you, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest.

Soft fingertips raked through his dark curls, bringing him to heel as he kissed you, unashamed of his clear desperation. It no longer felt like the ghost of a distant thought — this was a blissful reality. He helped you to remove the bulky leather of his jerkin, but part of him feared fully removing his clothes.

His scars would reveal the abhorrent truth — that he died, brought back to life from the twisted magic of a Fire Priestess. Jon’s hesitation was palpable, especially when your digits sank into the coarse material of his tunic. The leather fell to the wayside, and you were closer to seeing him disrobed.

Jon sluggishly reached for the linen ties that held your dress together, and you gave him a nod, subtly encouraging him to unravel you. As he gently tugged upon the tie, the fabric sagged upon your shoulders, allowing you to push it aside, stepping out of it altogether.

A strangled gasp caught within the depths of his throat, manifesting as a sharp exhale that consumed his ribcage. You were every bit as wonderful as he’d imagined you to be — such fantasies had clung to the fringes of his mind out in the frozen wastelands beyond The Wall.

The plane of your flesh was velvetlike, bathed in the flickering firelight of the hearth, dancing across your body with its incandescent glow. Jon’s jaw visibly tightened, restraining himself from touching you as he pleased. The longer he stood, gawking at your body like some clueless boy, the more emboldened you became.

Careworn digits gingerly wrapped around his vambrace, unfastening the buckles there before you guided his hand to your chest. “There isn’t a need to be bashful,” You whispered, noticing the way his pupils dilated when his calloused palm embraced your pliant breast. “I want you to touch me.” You gently encouraged him.

Jon appeared a touch forlorn, attempting to mask his gnawing fear at the idea of you seeing him. “It’s not you,” His smile was humorless — pensive, even. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” He huffed, hand drifting toward your hip, shuddering at the satiny texture of your skin.

Warmth crept across your spine in the wake of his breathless compliment, prompting you to unfasten his other vambrace. He aimed to distract you, mouth moving toward the spot where your jaw met your neck, beard scratching ragged against your flesh.

He palmed your breast, reveling in the softness of you beneath his rough-hewn hand, tracing along your hip until he squeezed your derrière. Everything about you was plush and inviting, as if you were a goddess incarnate.

Jon’s kiss became hungry, wanton and passionate as his mouth peppered itself along your throat, from your jaw to jugular. He treated you kindly; gracious hands that melded themselves to your form, like a sculptor to his masterpiece.

Saccharine soaps and hints of underlying flora clung to your flesh like a springtime haze, powerful enough to melt this ice he felt. You brought with you such warmth that it threatened to swallow him whole; he delighted in it, letting you shake the frost from his bones.

Lips danced together with a long-repressed passion, now exploding like crackles of fire within a hearth, spontaneous yet heated. You kissed Jon as if he might slip away from you, turning into dust between your fingertips.

A low moan stirred within the depths of your throat when his fingers toyed with your pebbling nipple, prompting you to grip his tresses with an unexpected harshness. You mumbled a sheepish apology, yet he paid little mind to it, dusky hues swirling with an ardent adoration that made your stomach churn.

As your hand drifted to the hem of his worn, linen tunic, he very nearly stopped you — yet, part of him wished for you to see him without a spoken word. Jon’s chest tightened with quickened breaths as you kindly maneuvered the clothing away, and he watched, hues fixated upon your bewildered countenance.

A battlefield — innumerable scars, so fresh that you nearly held your hand over them to stop the bleeding, gouged across his pallid flesh. One that seemed to sting the most rest over his heart, curved and garish, the stroke of a vengeful knife that ended his life.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hand, fingertips tracing across his chest, feather-light and disarmingly gentle; the opposite of the knives that had left their mark. Your brows furrowed together, and you wondered how he could’ve survived something like this — if he survived something like this.

Jon shivered at your embrace, as sweet as the maiden’s grace, caressing him with your resplendent touch. He held you close, arm caging you in, his other hand stroking beneath your breast, above your ribcage. “I didn’t make it,” He rasped, noticing the glimmer of understanding in your eyes. “I’d like to think that the Gods wanted me to see you again.”

His smile warmed you, more than any blazing hearth could, more than that of summertime. A fluttering sensation spread throughout your chest, followed by a hitch in your throat that you stumbled over. “Jon,” You whispered, stroking across his chest with a peculiar tenderness. “I am so sorry.”

It wasn’t the time for condolences — such sentiments could wait. Jon didn’t want your coupling to be soured by what had happened, and instead, he shook his head. His yearning for you trumped that of any sorrow and mulling over death, prompting him to press his mouth against yours once more.

The kiss seemed to convey the unspoken message, his desire to tend to you before discussing the intricacies of his scars. Jon dutifully dipped down to kiss your throat again, and then your collarbone, guiding you towards the fur-laden expanse of his bed.

As you lowered yourself onto your back, Jon kicked his boots aside, crawling across the thick mound of pelts to cover your body with his. You sluggishly spread your legs, allowing him to reside in the space between, palms planted on either side of your head.

Each heated kiss blossomed across your flesh, as he peppered his lips along your shoulder and collarbone, descending toward the valley between your breasts. It was flesh he’d longed to grace, savoring every second spent; his mouth smoothed across the silken flesh beneath your breast.

“Jon,” A sigh of passion tore past your lips, gooseflesh coalescing along your spine as he continued his descent, knowing exactly what he sought. The heat between your thighs sang to him like a siren’s song, and you weren’t about to intercede. “Please, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

The ragged scruff of his beard scratched pleasantly against your skin, the sort of burn that left you aching for more. He kissed across your stomach, inch by agonizing inch, hand reaching back to caress along your calf. It was slow, exploratory — he wanted to learn every curve, every dip and expanse of flesh.

A hazy heat gripped your surroundings, as if everything had become feverish, touched by a fog of warmth that permeated you, sank into him. Doe-eyed hues flickered toward the taut muscle of his back, the blackness of his curly tresses, the scar around his eye.

Planting a kiss against your hip bone, Jon sighed into your thigh, hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. His belly churned with an excitable heat, having waited for such a terribly long time to finally have you. He smoothed his calloused palm along your leg, ascending until he held your haunch.

Gods, you were in ruins — Jon hadn’t even placed his mouth upon you, and you writhed in anticipation. No man had been courageous enough to treat you this way, yet Jon lacked hesitation, settling onto his stomach as he bullied his way between your thighs.

Raking hot embers across your cunt, Jon lapped along your slit, eyelashes fluttering at the sound of your euphoric whimpering. He hadn’t heard a sound quite like that before, and from your lips, it was abhorrently sinful.

He sighed your name; reverent, a prayer only spoken between Gods and men — and you are no man. It made you shiver, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, soothed only by the sweet laps of your lover’s tongue.

Jon’s mind reeled with the sight of you — flushed with pleasure, visage contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss. He continued without pause, nose brushing across your mound as he buried his tongue into you, greedily lapping at your cunt as if he were a man starved.

Your heart hammered beneath your breast, that of sheer excitement, consuming you like a tidal wave as you brazenly reached for his tresses. Sinking your digits into the crown of his tousled curls, you tugged, showing your appreciation in an unorthodox manner.

“J—Jon!” A strangled moan tore past your mouth, wisps of air being ripped from your lungs. Jon was inherently greedy, consuming you in the way that you deserved, finding his solace between your thighs. His dutiful lapping continued, from the pearl of your cunt to your aching entrance.

Akin to ice against your skin, Jon’s palms glided along your thighs, moving to trace your hips. His mouth was like a wave of fire, beard searing the silky flesh of your legs as you involuntarily squeezed his head. You hadn’t intended to suffocate him, but it was a worthwhile demise, in his perspective.

One hand fisted the furs, digging in until you threatened to rip it apart, hips occasionally jerking and jolting forward into his mouth. He hadn’t tasted something as sweet as you, like a fine stout coating his tongue, leaving him intoxicating; craving more.

His eyes had nearly fluttered shut, half-lidded slits that occasionally flickered to catch a glimpse of your blissful countenance. Your back arched from the furs, seeking his mouth with reckless abandon as he lapped along your cunt, tongue briefly flicking over your clit.

It was as if you’d been struck by lightning, body bristling with a long-repressed pleasure, something that only he could cure. The sensation of his calloused skin against your plane of silk was a satisfying juxtaposition — he never wanted another’s touch again.

Jon burned for you in every way imaginable, a sonorous groan ripping through the depths of his throat as he moved to lap at your cunt again. His ministrations were slow, made to explore and to savor you instead of letting it all become rushed.

Your fingertips brushed across his scalp, untangling his curls from the half-bun he’d placed them into. They fell across his head, dark and somewhat cropped. He groaned at the sensation, feeling you pull and grip his tresses, guiding your hips closer.

Rough-hewn hands gingerly kneaded into the pliant flesh of your thighs, caressing their way up and down in a soothing manner. Jon savored your taste, letting your nectar find its purchase against his chin, glistening along his lips. He kissed your clit, evoking a breathy sigh from you.

It had been such a long time for the both of you, intensified by feelings of a long-seated desire and carnality, friendship transcending all bonds of propriety. Jon felt his cock twitch within his trousers, incessantly throbbing and straining against the thicker material, longing to be inside of you.

A cry of delight tore past your mouth as you involuntarily jolted forward, grinding yourself into his mouth. Jon treated you to a barrage of eager laps of his tongue, from your entrance to the sensitive pearl of your cunt.

Dragging his tongue in languid circles around your clit, he watched as you quivered and moaned, mouth agape, back arched off of the furs. Knowing what path to follow, he showed attention to your neglected pearl, nose buried into the softness of your mound.

“Jon,” You sputtered, thighs molding themselves to either side of his face, feeling the scratch of his beard rake itself against your silky skin. He listened, dutiful and with a burning desire to please you, continuing to lap at your clit. “Gods, don’t stop.” A trembling exhale left you.

It was then that he melded his lips around the aching bud, beginning to suck on your pearl with a pang of vigor. You shuddered, rattling like a leaf as you haplessly tugged on his mane of curls, hips tilting upwards into his mouth. You whined, fisting the furs at your side.

Jon did not relent, feeling the ironclad grip you assumed, knowing that he was bringing you close to your release. White-hot sparks fluttered across your vision, body singing his praises, collarbone glittering with the first inklings of perspiration.

A strangled gasp tore through your throat, followed by a myriad of moans and pleading whimpers, seeking friction against his mouth. Your release was fast approaching, like a tidal wave of heat, flooding across your body with its intensity. Jon’s name emerged from your lips as if it were the only word you knew.

The pinnacle of your release made you feel as if you were floating, legs shaking in the blissful aftermath, feeling Jon lap at your core a few times over. You exhaled, chest heaving from exertion as you loosened your hold upon his tresses.

“You’ll have to let me do that again.” Jon murmured, and that seemed to ensnare your attention. Seven Hells — you would let him do that for as long as he pleased, whenever he liked. He pressed a few soft kisses against the inside of your thigh, crawling up to be near you.

“Whenever you would like, I will never protest.” You mused, gaze sparkling with mirth and adoration, inviting him back to being on top of you. Though, your impulses had other plans, as your palm pressed against his shoulder. “There is something I wanted to try.”

The softness of your suggestion seemed to placate Jon, who felt you push his shoulder until you guided him onto his back, hooking a leg over his lap. Gods, he would’ve stayed like that for an eternity if you asked it of him. As you situated yourself on top of him, Jon sat up enough to reach you, kiss you if he wanted to.

He felt your fingers move towards the laces of his breeches, and he didn’t stop you, observing you in rapturous hunger instead. His breath hitched, mouth moving inward to press a string of hot kisses against the column of your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?” Jon’s confession emerged as a husky sigh, murmured against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. It came as a surprise, a wonderful one, and it only made your hands move in a borderline frenzy.

Freeing his cock from its confines, you moved yourself up upon your knees, aided by his strong, firm hands, coming to rest just below your derrière. The flushed tip of his length nudged against your cunt, prompting you to sigh with passion.

“Jon,” A pleading moan tore past your mouth, mind becoming fuzzy as you attempted to absorb the genuineness of his words. The Northern timbre of his hoarse baritone made you tremble, hands steadying themselves upon his shoulders. “Please.”

In a sluggish descent, he gently lowered you onto his cock, the both of you shivering in-tandem. The low, throaty groan that escaped him made your stomach churn with molten heat, letting you find your own pace. He was bigger than you imagined, filling you perfectly.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

Your cunt was tight around him, slick with arousal as you continued to lower yourself, inch by blissful inch until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Jon’s heavy pants fluttered across your throat, mouth pressing near the curve of your jaw.

Jon was captivated by you, inhaling a gust of your soap-laden scent, beard ragged against your soft skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. His hands were resolute in guiding you, rocking you up and down along his cock, chest to chest with you.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled his chambers with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your skin.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders.

A burning sting began to dance along your thighs, the exertion of muscle as you rode him, moving up and down in somewhat rhythmic motions. His cock speared you over and over again, filling you completely before you nearly drew yourself out, and back down again.

“Gods,” You sighed, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulders, your countenance one of complete and utter pleasure. Leaving behind angry-red crescents against his pale skin, you didn’t want the feeling to end. “Jon, please — don’t stop!” With a simpering moan, your head began to roll back slightly.

Spurred by your softly-spoken praise and breathy sighs, Jon did not relent, hands sinking into your thighs as he guided you against his cock. The angle allowed for friction to blossom, chests bumping together, bodies tangled up within one another.

He kissed his way along your collarbone, bringing you up enough to trap one of your nipples within his mouth. The head of his cock remained pleasantly buried within your cunt, the warming of it making you writhe. He held you steady, greedily kissing at your pert breasts.

One of your hands fisted into his dark curls, tugging on them as if you were attempting to wrangle him into submission. His mouth peppered warm, needy kisses around the valley between your breasts before he let you sink yourself back down, cunt clenching around his cock.

Shameless strings of sinful noises left you in droves, eyes closed in a state of ecstasy. Jon groaned with you, vocalizing his own pleasure as he coaxed you down towards the furs, not wanting to place you there unless you consented.

With a brief bob of your head, you found yourself beneath Jon, his musculature covering you, content between your legs as he hitched one around his hips. The calloused plane of his palm wrapped around your calf, causing you to shiver at the foreign contact.

He could look upon your face, see the way your visage contorted into pure pleasure when he rocked forward, cock burying itself deep into your cunt. His skin was flushed, expression somewhat doe-eyed and awestruck, even if you were too lost to notice.

Your hands moved, one finding its purchase against his bicep, the other on his shoulder as his pace began to intensify. It was a chase, galloping after his release as he bent to kiss you, releasing a grunt into your mouth when you rolled your hips forward.

The wooden frame of his bed began to creak, groaning in protest from the vigor of his ministrations. You didn’t care if he was a touch rougher with you — Gods, you needed him. Heat swirled within your stomach, gnawing at your bones, making your toes curl in delight.

“Jon!” You cried, and that nearly sent him soaring over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you. The friction of your pelvis grinding against him almost made his resolve shatter into two. He lost count of how many times his cock sank into you — it was all blurring together.

The inevitable rush of euphoria reached him when his release came, hot and blistering, making him see stars as he groaned your name. Your nails were digging into his bicep, a gasp emerging from your throat when he thrust into you again.

Ropes of warm spend painted your insides, and he very nearly collapsed on top of you. He had the decency to hold himself afloat, hand tracing along your calf and to the crook of your knee, letting you unhook your leg.

Jon removed himself from you, attempting to gather his breath as he laid at your side, gazing at the dark ceiling above. Your breathing was just as unsteady and erratic as you drifted down from your buzzing high, wiping beads of perspiration from your brow.

Once he recuperated, Jon looked at you, noticing the smile on your face, the unrestrained delight you were experiencing as you rolled over. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured, watching as you began to shamelessly crawl into his arms.

“Quite the opposite,” You hummed, feeling him adjust the furs, drawing them both around you. Despite the feverish pitch of the room, the frost would settle in again soon, especially at the hour of the bat. “Were you jesting when you said you dreamed about this?”

Bewildered, Jon cast his eyes toward you, canting his head to one side. “Of course I was serious,” He huffed, surprised that you would think otherwise. “You were all I could think about, north of The Wall.” His confession was genuine, sweetly-spoken.

“You don’t have to dream about it anymore,” Your voice soothed him, a sound that he had yearned for with a blistering ache. He felt as if you would slip away from him if he let you go. “I won’t leave you.” Your smile was warm enough to melt even the hardiest of frost.

Jon’s lips tugged into a smile, one that you rarely saw beneath the brooding curtain of his visage. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, allowing you to get comfortable against him. The silence that followed allowed for some contemplation, absorbing all of what had transpired.

His scars seemed so fresh when they caught your eye. With a forlornly look, you dragged your fingers over the scar above his heart, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. Your body still felt as if it were caught in some haze, coming down from the blissful aftermath of your coupling.

“If you hadn’t come back …” You trailed off, attempting to refuse to think of some painful reality where Jon perished, but the thought briefly crossed your mind. If he had, none of this would be happening — he wouldn’t be holding you in his arms.

“But I am here,” Jon’s husky timbre shook you to your core as he planted his palm against your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not leaving you.” It was a promise — insistent, spoken from a man who now fully understood the weight of love, the weight of sacrifice.

You nodded, wordlessly reaching to hold his hand, feeling the arm he had caged around you plant itself against the small of your back. He drew circles there, brows knitting together as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard and warm, so real — he made sure that you understood exactly what he meant.

Within the warm embrace of his arms, you let your head recline against his chest, feeling him draw you closer, until there was no space left between the both of you. He listened to the steady, shallow sound of your breathing afterwards.

At the edge of the world, he had you — and that was all he would ever need.

[catiuskaa]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬.

[ synopsis. ]: you have stayed behind. it’s a bitter truth you come to realize, as you stand surrounded by friends who feel distant, the feeling cracking inside you like a small spark that threatens to become a big flame when exposed to oxygen. everyone had partners, plans for the future, a life together, and you were hopelessly alone and melancholically lonely, with a myriad of comments that were meant to help, but only managed to suffocate you. changbin, always attentive, lost in an inferno of heat, had also stayed behind. he had heard on the radio that someone was missing, and as a fireman, he couldn't help but return to the burning building. he found you in your flat, distorted in smoke and tears, and found himself physically unable to separate from you, because, as a firefighter, even if changbin was aware that fire leaves scars, what he didn’t know was that though the scars you left in his skin tore him open just a little, they would end up teaching him a lot about love.

[ word count. ]: 60k!

[ status. ] FINISHED.

firefighter!changbin x fem!victim.

[ full warnings. ] content! language, alcohol, hyunin is mentioned. angst! language, alcohol, fire and rescue situations, hospitals, mild emotional damage, trauma recovery, mild violence (action-heavy stuff), miscommunication (not with changbin but she had to be here guys i’m sorry). fluff! teasing and banter, they’re in love your honour, slow-burn romance? (at least I hope I pulled it off). smut! kisses, kisses, kisses, markings, protected piv sex (yes), and i think that’s all, folks!

[ also! ] available on AO3!

[♦️☆🔥��♦️]

EP1: smoke and sparks. (20.7k)

syn. trapped in a devastating fire, you’re rescued by firefighter Seo Changbin, and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something more—either way, neither of you is walking away from this unshaken.

EP2: seven floors under ash. (17.4k)

syn. a drunk call brings a certain Seo Changbin back into your life, and an argument follows—sharp, charged, and laced with something neither of you is ready to name—, things is, the line between comfort and something more —desire?— has already begun to blur.

EP3: fire hazard. (10.6k)

syn. as much as he’d like to deny it —he wouldn’t, but still—, no one in the fire station will let him escape from the truth, but with you across the table, laughter on your lips, and something warm beneath the surface, it’s hard to refuse the truth.

EP4: tears, sweat, skin, flames (11.3k)

syn. a strained reunion with old friends helps set things clear—but a quiet visit to the fire station sparks inside both you and Changbin a flicker of something warmer. Wait until night, until he opens the door—then, that flicker catches fire.

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

[ a/n. ] ok first of all HIII i’m back from the dead with a REQUEST! by my baby @palindrome969 but I just have to say i’m sorry, I had started writing the first scenes and like mapping the fire and all in my head and then i texted @lyramundana and my wifey @knowbites (that btw y’all thank em’ bc they were a massive help beta reading, 10/10 moral support, and my wifey helped me with the synopsis) and I was like “girly pops help i’m at 5k and barely anything happened compared to my usual writing” but they loved it so much, specially marsy, so this is ALSO planned to (hopefully) be done (or i’ll publish the second episode at least) in her b-day!! everyone say yippie mars!! in the comments if you read this. but yeah! that’s why this is so long, because of my wifey’s support (hell yeah) but also probably because i’ve been reading too much from my darlin eff @seospicybin and the way i don’t even realize the amout of words i devour in each work of hers, just omg, total inspiration, as much as @leeknowsallyoursecrets who was another inspo for this post’s style and the sneak peaks and all bc i just reread one of her works and i’m so in love bc c’mon i’m just surrounded by awesome talented mooties like what can I do except show off 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️‼️ anyways this is a long author's note, but yeah, if you do plan to read this, i love you so much already 🎀 hope you like!!

[ permanent taglist! ] @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @/lyramundana @/cheeksung

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

~kats, who’s excited to publish all of it already, and even more excited to be back!! 🙂‍↕️‼️💗

catiuskaa, april 2025 ©

[deansbeer]

★ SUNSETS, SOMBREROS, & SURPRISES // birthday boy edition.

SYNOPSIS. you surprise dean with a getaway to mexico for his birthday, complete with heartfelt gifts, a sunset stroll, and life-changing news.

WARNING(S). birthday fluff | f!reader | implied sex | post-sex cuddles | alcohol consumption | heartfelt declarations of love I mild strong language I dean's fear of flying (related to S1 EP4 of supernatural).

-> if i missed a warning, please do let me know !

KARI'S NOTES. happy bday to baby boy <3 he deserves everything in the entire world, and i believe (in my head) he is very much alive + living his best life after giving up hunting because S15 never happened. anyway! i hope u enjoy this, which was just sitting there in my notes all day <333

DEAN WINCHESTER'S birthday had always been a quiet affair—if it was celebrated at all. most years, it was just a beer, maybe a piece of pie if he was lucky, and maybe sam would remember to say something. it wasn't that he didn't appreciate the effort when it happened; it just wasn't something he was used to. birthdays were just days, right? another year older, another year spent fighting the good fight.

but this year, you weren't having it.

you'd been planning this trip for weeks, keeping everything under wraps as best as you could. it wasn't easy; dean had a way of sniffing out surprises, especially when it came to you. but somehow, you managed to keep him in the dark.

so when you told him—casually, over breakfast—that you had booked a trip for the two of you, his fork froze halfway to his mouth.

"a trip?" he repeated, brows furrowing.

you smiled, taking a sip of your coffee. "yep. two weeks, just you and me. no cases, no monsters, no bunker. just… us."

he gave you a suspicious look. "where?"

"mexico," you said, watching his reaction carefully.

dean blinked. "mexico?"

"mexico," you confirmed, grinning.

he set his fork down, leaning back in his chair. "and how exactly are we getting there? because i know baby's not built for that kinda trip."

you tried not to laugh. "we're flying."

his face immediately twisted into a grimace. "oh, hell no."

"dean—"

"nope. not happening. i'm not getting on a plane."

you sighed, reaching across the table to take his hand. "you survived it once, didn't you? besides, this isn't a hunt. it's a vacation. you have me with you the whole time, and i promise, nothing's gonna happen."

he stared at you, his jaw clenching like he was trying to come up with another excuse. but you gave him that look—the one that always made him cave—and he finally sighed, muttering, "fine. but if i die, i'm haunting your ass."

you laughed, squeezing his hand. "deal."

the flight itself was… tense. dean was on edge the entire time, gripping the armrests like the plane was about to fall out of the sky. you spent most of the flight holding his hand, rubbing soothing circles into his palm, and distracting him with small talk. by the time you landed, he seemed a little less tense, but he still muttered something about never doing this again as you grabbed your bags.

but once you stepped outside and felt the warm sun on your face, all of his complaints seemed to melt away. the two of you made your way to the hotel, checked in, and by the time you reached your room, dean was actually beaming.

the room was beautiful—large windows overlooking the ocean, a king-sized bed, and a balcony where you could hear the waves crashing in the distance. it was perfect.

"damn, sweetheart," dean said, dropping his bag and whistling low. "you really went all out, huh?"

"only the best for you, birthday boy," you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

he turned in your arms, pulling you close. "you didn't have to do all this."

"i wanted to," you said simply, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.

the rest of the evening you both spent it enjoying each other. after some steamy sex that left both of you tangled in the sheets, you laid together, the warm breeze from the open balcony door cooling your skin. dean had an arm draped over you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder as you rested your head on his chest.

"this is nice," he murmured, his voice low and content.

"yeah," you agreed, your fingers brushing over the ridges of his abs.

you had two surprises planned for him, but you decided to start with the one you knew he'd love.

the next evening, after a lazy morning spent in bed and a quick swim in the hotel pool, you and dean got ready to head out to a restaurant you'd researched weeks ago.

dean had noticed you staying up late in the bunker, your laptop open and your brow furrowed in concentration. he'd assumed it was for a hunt, maybe some research sam had roped you into. but now, he realized it had all been for this.

as you stepped into the restaurant, dean was immediately greeted by a group of staff who placed a large, brightly decorated sombrero on his head. you'd called ahead, asking if they could do something special for his birthday, and they'd certainly delivered.

he looked ridiculous, but the grin on his face was worth it.

"you planned this too?" he asked, glancing at you as he adjusted the sombrero.

"of course," you said, smiling. "it's your birthday, baby. i wanted it to be special."

the two of you spent the evening laughing, eating some of the best food dean had ever tasted, and him having a few drinks. you even ordered for him in spanish, your fluency leaving him both impressed and—if the look in his eyes was anything to go by—more than a little turned on.

"damn," he said after you helped him pronounce something on the menu. "never thought i'd find spanish sexy, but here we are."

you laughed, shaking your head. "glad i could surprise you."

later, as the two of you walked along the beach, the sun dipping below the horizon in a blaze of orange and pink, dean seemed more relaxed than you'd seen him in years. he was barefoot, his flip-flops dangling from his fingers, and his other hand was firmly clasped in yours.

you wore a long white summer dress, the fabric fluttering in the breeze, and dean couldn't stop stealing glances at you.

"you look beautiful, darlin'," he said softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

you smiled, your cheeks warming. "you don't look so bad yourself, my love."

when you reached a pair of deck chairs, you both sat down, dean immediately pulling his closer to yours. his hands rested on your thighs, his touch warm and grounding as he stared out at the ocean.

you took the opportunity to pull out the first gift—a small envelope with his name written on the front in your neat cursive.

"what's this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as you handed it to him.

"open it and find out," you said, grinning.

he carefully tore it open, pulling out the letter and saw tickets inside. his eyes widened as he read the letter, and by the time he got to the tickets, his jaw had dropped.

"no fucking way," he breathed, staring at the words 'Metallica VIP' printed on the tickets.

"yes way," you said, laughing.

"you're serious?" he asked, looking at you like he couldn't believe it.

"dead serious. we're going as soon as we get back."

he was quiet for a moment, his eyes misting over as he looked back at the tickets. then he set them down and pulled you into his arms, kissing you all over your face.

"you're amazing, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

you laughed, brushing a tear from his cheek. "you deserve it, dean. you deserve everything."

he shook his head, his smile soft. "i don't know what i did to deserve you."

you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "you're you. that's enough."

after a moment, you pulled back, reaching behind you for the second gift.

"there's one more thing," you said, your voice growing a little shaky.

dean frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. "what more could you possibly—"

you held out the pregnancy test, your hands trembling slightly.

"i'm pregnant, baby," you said softly, your eyes searching his face.

for a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the right words. then a slow smile spread across his face, and he let out a choked laugh.

"you're serious?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, tears streaming down your face. "yeah. i'm serious."

he let out a shaky breath, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around. you squealed, clinging to him as he laughed, his joy infectious.

when he finally set you down, he cupped your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips.

"thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "thank you for… everything."

you smiled, resting your forehead against his. "happy birthday, my love."

that night, you celebrated with champagne — he drank one for you and himself — laughter, and the quiet promise of a future filled with love.

SPECIAL TAGS. @figthoughts @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @deanswidow @lacydollette @fallbhind @beausling @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @florchids @honeyryewhiskey @bluemerakis @deansbite @rafespreciosa @voidsuites . . . ☆

[notnights]

I didn't dive into my TADC ep4 thoughts too much because the interpretations and discussions and theories I built from it came from such a personal place and my own experiences so I didn't share them outwardly.

But with ep5 approaching and knowing it'll be Ragatha (and Jax) centric, I do want to tell one interpretation that I got out of ep4 that maybe might be relevant for the next episode. I immediately got it right at the beginning scene, but Gangle's talk with Pomni later solidified my thoughts on it.

In the beginning of the episode Jax, Ragatha and Gangle are playing baseball, and are seemingly getting along well enough, until the inevitability of Gangle's mask breaking, breaks, by the fault of (but even surprisingly to) Jax. He doesn't apologize he just defends he didn't mean it. Either or it doesn't matter, this sets off Ragatha. Jax is often the source of a lot of pain, why should she think this time is any different.

Gangle is left, crying on the ground, as Jax and Ragatha fight. Zooble approaches Gangle and leads her off, Gangle takes one hesitant look back. This small action on it's own spoke to me. She's wondering, thinking about them, should she let them know she's leaving? Should she decline Zooble's offer because Gangle was already playing with Jax and Ragatha? No. Play time is over. Ragatha, and Jax have already checked out. Fighting each other is preferable than hanging out with a crying Gangle.

Gangle does not directly reference this later when saying it's hard to tell how genuine Ragatha is being, but we can assume it's behavior under the same umbrella.

Ragatha screams at Jax first, then gives one check up on Gangle, "are you okay?" Gangle doesn't even say she's okay, Ragatha does not help her up, Ragatha immediately goes to attack what she thinks is the source of this issue instead. Even if Ragatha did believe this time was an accident, she says "why do you always gotta do this?" this isn't about just now this is about every time Jax does this sort of thing. But why NOW, why do this fight NOW? Well because they do it all the time. Fighting is easy for them. Easier than dealing with Gangle.

Who knows how often they do this with the others but right now just looking at it from Gangle's perspective you were seemingly having a decent time with the people you live with, but they check out AS SOON as something inconvenient happens. Which unfortunately often coincides with Gangle's mask breaking. Party's over, someone's crying now! And guess who's fault it is!

Gangle doesn't even get the chance to maybe try and keep playing with them even while crying because Ragatha already checks out. The fun time is over. Not directly because of Gangle's crying but it's a factor. And you have to imagine this from Gangle's perspective. "If I got hit with the baseball but my mask didn't break, the fight wouldn't have happened, maybe we would still have been playing together..."

From Gangles' perspective, Ragatha and Jax fighting each other is more preferable them than dealing with a crying Gangle.

And this is also confirmed with both Jax and Ragatha saying they prefer her when she's a meek crybaby. Jax was extra frustrated over everything this adventure, and Ragatha was high out of her mind, but both these statements came from real places for both of them.

Manager Gangle is happy, unbreakable, this is what you want right? This is what I want, right? There would be less fights if my mask didn't break as often, right? You wouldn't have to pretend as much if I just stayed like this more often, right? This will make things easier, better for all of us, right?

"I liked you better when you're sad."

"You're kind of annoying with your happy mask on."

Jax and Ragatha fighting each other is more preferable than Gangle.

If Zooble didn't step in how long would Gangle have sat on the floor, crying, until she finally picked herself up and left, with Jax and Ragatha not even noticing? How many times has that happened you think?

This is the part where I admit, in it's simplest terms, in writing it is just a good way to motivate the scene to change, and might not mean anything outside of funny fight gag. But what are we if not funny little fans who read into things.

[shezzabee]

What are your thoughts on the idea that Inho's obsession with Gihun might do with the fact that Gihun reminds him of his dead wife?

I'm biased because I absolutely eat it up. I never been the same after seeing a post here that compared Gihun's s1 smiling photo with a photo of Inho's wife smiling.

There's also the fact that in s2 ep4, Inho called his wife stubborn, and how theres no point in arguing with her once she set her mind on something (going through her pregnancy despite her being very sick).

It made me think of Gihun's dedication of finding the Recruiter/Salesman, his insistance on being put back in the game...and him not listening to Inho when being told to get on the plane.

With this in mind, Inho's "Just get on the plane. It's for your own good." can be read more that just one man telling another man with who he shares similar trauma, to get the good life he doesn't have (but it's absolutely valid!!)

It could also be Inho (without realizing it) pleading for Gihun (his wife) to listen to him (the doctors), and (this time) survive. But just like with his wife, Gihun isn't budging with his decision. He made up his mind, go argue with a wall.

(Now it doesn't mean that Inho saw his wife in Gihun in an instance. It happens slowly as Inho gets closer to him)

Hi! Thanks for the question. I think I know the post you’re referring to—my shipper brain absolutely devoured that too, not gonna lie. XD

Even beyond the shipping lens, though, everything you’ve said really resonates. It feels like the core of their dynamic, doesn’t it? In-ho is clearly drawn to something about Gi-hun’s refusal to compromise on his principles, his unshakable belief in humanity, and his conviction that things can still turn out for the better. The only other person In-ho has explicitly mentioned as being just as stubborn as Gi-hun is his late wife, which feels like a significant parallel.

Now, of course, this is all speculation, and we won’t know In-ho’s full motivations until Season 3 (hopefully) sheds some light. But I don’t think In-ho has ever truly moved on from his wife’s death. He’s still grieving, still carrying the weight of that loss. He’s angry—angry at himself for not being there when his wife and child died, angry at the world for the circumstances that led to it, and probably angry at the Games themselves for existing. (I’ll die on the hill that In-ho hates the Games, despite being their enforcer.) He’s also angry at humanity at large for failing people in need, for letting the world get to this point.

And I think there’s a part of him that’s angry at his wife, too, (don't kill me, hear me out). She was self-sacrificing to a fault, willing to risk her own life to save their unborn child. That mirrors what we see in Gi-hun, especially at the end of Season 1. In the final game, after Sang-woo is defeated, Gi-hun refuses to abandon his morals to win, even when the easier path is right in front of him. That kind of unyielding determination, that refusal to bend—even at great personal cost—has to strike a nerve with In-ho.

Since In-ho can’t confront his late wife or tell her she was wrong to risk it all, to leave him alone, he directs all that unresolved grief and anger toward Gi-hun instead. Gi-hun becomes a constant, painful reminder of everything In-ho lost—and everything he’s come to resent about the world.

So, what does In-ho do? He sets out to break Gi-hun. To tear apart everything and everyone Gi-hun cares about until all that’s left is despair. Maybe then, In-ho can finally say: “See? There’s no point. None of it means anything. You were wrong—just like she was wrong.”

It’s a cruel and calculated move, but also deeply human. If he can prove that Gi-hun’s ideals and morals are meaningless, it would, in a twisted way, justify the choices In-ho has made and the person he’s become.

In the end, it’s not just about Gi-hun or his late wife. It’s about In-ho’s own pain, his need to make sense of the senseless, and his desperate attempt to validate the path he’s taken—even if it’s at the expense of someone who still believes in the good.

[lemmeurs]

so i rewatched ofmd recently and am currently stuck in this longing phase as in "i miss my dear boys so badly" and i remembered i wrote this in my notes app back when s2 ep4 was released and forgot to ever share it:

The meaning of "Seabird" in the last scene of episode 4

- the end of ep1: ed's monologue about the bird that never touches ground + that hes gonna sail and rob forever and he will never go back to land

- moving to ep4: ed feels a bit more comfortable around stede but hes still somewhat reserved, then stede asks whether hed like to stay one more night with him and ed seems almost desperate in his response, stede then tells him to WAIT THERE and leaves - technically, this should feel dangerous to ed as stede has left him once but for some reason, ed feels almost peaceful, as if he feels like this time it will be different but he can't trust that feeling yet. then we have buttons saying how ut requires change to love the sea properly. ed then says "buttons people don't change, not into birds or otherwise" and is 100% sure that buttons is just talking bullshit because how could someone change into a bird? how could someone change their entire way of being and living just because of love? and then he walks up to the tree and sees that buttons did, in fact, do just that. seagull buttons flies off and ed stares in awe, saying "fuck yeah brother, fly"

- thats the moment the song "seabird" starts playing. the lyrics of it are actually so spot on im speechless, it says: "Like a lonely seabird You've been away from land too long Oh, no, too long. Seabird, seabird Fly home Seabird, seabird Fly home" which is a direct reference to the "a bird that never touches ground scene", defying everything ed said - he's been away from land for too long, it's time for him to fly home. now the facial expression that ed makes when buttons flies off is incredibly important, as that is the moment he realizes it's okay. it's okay for him to accept love, stede isn't leaving him again and he can let himself be happy because it's safe, he's safe. THAT'S the moment stede returns, only proving that fact. he comes back for him and asks whether he can come with, whether they can go together.

- "fly home" stede enters. stede is home. stede is his land, and he can return to it safely now. he's been away from it for too long.

- pretty sure this is why we get this change from ed from ep4 to ep5 - he's not so cautious anymore, he's more comfortable because he got his proof that people in fact can change, and for love at that. he sees that stede is different, maybe he can't really believe it but he knows that he is cared for. that he is loved. and he is safe to return to land.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

THE LITTLE FLOWER POPPIN. THE M'LADY

seems like agatha is having An Emotion

but look! look! rio is once again being super special extra on purpose!! because if she just strolled in agatha would be overwhelmed and run away again. so what does rio do??? she corners her with a grand zombie entrance!!! the more over the top she acts, the more agatha is in her element and comfortable interacting. and in this case, angry is a better start than sad. all part of rio's Brilliant 66-Steps-Plan To Win Her Wife Back™ (or was it 666?)

her face omg

oooh are you mad??? are you big mad at little ol' me???????

agatha is like nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope

imagine being aubrey plaza and being born so effortlessly cool. she's cool even when she's awkward dear lord

jen and alice: kinda stunned by both her hotness and her weirdness

lilia: VADE RETRO SATAN (lilia's spider senses are already tingling)

will I ever be over the fact that Death is just one particularly powerful green witch?? that she's a gentle if odd girl who grows plants and flowers and mushrooms and is called the River of Life??? that she is the embodiment of life in all her forms? that decay and regrowth are all part of the same natural cycle? that the hardest and most inexplicable thing a living being can go through is also the most reassuringly organic and normal???

have I already said "i love you patti lupone" today?

we're off to see the wizarrrrd. her cute peter pan outfit!

what do we think, billy? does she want to talk about it, or does she have the emotional maturity of a baby ostrich?

same girls, same

whoa there ladies, calm down. I'm already taken

lilia is also having an Emotion. it must be pretty weird to realize that your mortal foe is this hot

alice going NOPE when she sees her mom's house. the leaves are red alice, honey. it's your turn.

(does the back of rio's jacket look like a ribcage?)

it's going to be fine baby. your friends are all here. you can do this. deep breaths.

fire moon! fire moon! fire moon! oh this is my favorite trial

*grabs the mike* WOULD

from right to left: would, would, would, would, would, oh hi joe

rio: BITCH I AM?!?!?!?!?!?!? (everyone say thank you costume department)

the Road isn't subtle, BILLY.

sure, there wasn't enough sexual tension already, let's add side boobs, shall we? and rio being like hey agatha, hey agatha, hey. guess what. I'm here again agatha. you're not gonna get rid of me this time agatha.

I keep thinking that every reflection agatha comes across is a "te veo". and even when rio isn't there she is watching from mirrors and from puddles.

OH MY GAWD AGATHA how can you expect me to cope when you look around to make sure nobody is watching and then you lean in so so so sclose and then you say no with such a deep soulful voice and so much intimacy and such quiet anger and not one lil hint of clownery. I AM ABOUT TO GO FERAL

agatha around rio is like, mind screaming in anguish and body screaming in horny. lethal combination

lilia who's been trying and failing for centuries and centuries to come to terms with the violence human beings inflict on whoever is different

if there is one thing a broadway pro is trained to do is making people cry while wearing increasingly stupid wigs

JEN SEEING MASKS BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO HIDES BEHIND THE MONSTER THAT BOUND HER

fletwood mac?!?!!?!?!?!?!? in this economy?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? I cannot handle much more of this, my emotions are raw and fragile and tender as it is already!!!!!!!!

oh, alice.

well this episode is making me feel like agatha: sad and horny. weird vibe but okay.

go to episode 4 part 3

[tsukikonikushimi]

Gallery Nucleus Arcane Exhibit

found here by @/anhdangerous on X

This was done in a rush as I'm a little sick, so feel free to correct me if you see something wrong!

I tried to remember as many characters as I could but I'm pretty sure I missed a couple. (I may come back to edit after a rewatch of the show to find them, but only when I have more time, exams start tomorrow for me (߹ ᯅ ߹))

Some close ups from Twitter:

2nd Row Vander to Mylo: Here

From Left to Right, Top to Bottom

1st Row

Pim (from the brothel scene Season 1, Episode 5)

Zaunite Shopkeeper (i don't remember the episode but her texturing is here)

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Shimmer addict

Silco's grunt 1 (can be seen when Silco finds Jinx injured on the bridge after her and Ekko's fight)

Sevika

Silco

Jinx

Mantaire (Dustin by the fandom)

Silco's grunt 2 (can be seen when Silco finds Jinx injured on the bridge after her and Ekko's fight, he picks up Jinx's gun)

Bondage suit Yordle (from the brothel scene Season 1, Episode 5)

Unknown (fish-like)

Unknown (what i assume to be a vastaya resembling a rat or more likely a mole)

Unknown (person with weird green flyin slime?)

Unknown (vastaya?)

Unknown (fish-like guy)

Young Vi

Vander

Powder

Mylo

Claggor

Firelight w/ green hair from S1 EP4

Firelight w/ hood from S1 EP4

Firelight w/ red hair from S1 EP4

Firelight w/ pink hair from S1 EP4

2nd Row

Firelight w/ crow mask (?) from S1 EP4 -> she is the one who knocks Caitlyn out with a kick to the face

Ekko

Youngest Firelight

Unknown Firelight

Scar

Older Vi

Pit fighter 1

Pit fighter 2

Pit fighter 3

Pit fighter 4

Pit fighter 5

Pit fighter 6

Pit fighter 7

AU Vander

AU Powder

AU Ekko

AU SIlco

Possibly a grown up Claggor of the main timeline?

Same w/ Mylo

Smeech

Renni 

Finn

Margot

Chross (w/out his wheelchair?)

Jericho

Rio

Singed

3rd Row

Young Viktor

Caitlyn in zaunite clothes

Shimmer Vander

Warwick

Arcane-Mage Viktor

Pit-Fighter Vi w/ Atlas gauntlets

Isha

Jinx (firelight look after Isha's death)

Campion Ekko

Huck(?) Viktor's puppet

Post-transformation Arcane Herald Viktor

Sky Young

Heimerdinger

Viktor

Jayce

Academy student(?) 1

Academy student(?) 2

Academy student(?) 3

Academy teacher(?)

Academy student(?) 4

Academy student(?) 5

Academy student(?) 6

Academy student(?) 7

Piltover child 1

Piltover child 2

Piltover child 3

Opera musician

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

4th Row

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Stillwater Hold Warden

Enforcer

Grayson

Marcus

Torman Hoskel 

Shoola

Mel Medarda

Salo

Irius Bolbok

Cassandra Kiramman

Tobias Kiramman

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

Caitlyn Kiramann during her reign of martial law

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa Medarda (war attire)

Rictus

Lady Mion of Binan (Foreign Princess killed by Ambessa in young Mel's flashback)

[grwvy-rwby]

The Blacksmith is not the Tree

A lot of people seem to have heard this:

Ruby: “Are you the Tree?”

Blacksmith: “You could say that, but that is a simplistic understanding of the Tree and what it does.” (Ep9)

And decided that yup, she’s the Tree. Simple answer accepted. Which is boring. And contradictory to what the show actually says. ‘But wait!’ you might say. ‘She helps Afterans Ascend. That’s what the Tree does! She even has a tree root growing up her back!’ These things are true, but I don’t think either of these things makes the Blacksmith and the Tree the same.  

For one, the Blacksmith consistently refers to the Tree as separate to herself,  as seen in the quote above. It’s not ‘I’, it’s not ‘we’, she doesn’t go back and forth between saying ‘I’ and ‘the Tree’. She always refers to the Tree as separate,. As in: “These brothers were the Tree’s earliest blossoms. […] The Tree did not foresee what they would become.” (Ep10)

Secondly, the Curious Cat also helps Afterans Ascend, by sending them to the Tree. It’s very clear that the Cat is not the Tree. The Curious Cat sends Afterans to the Tree, the Blacksmith helps them decide who (or what) they want to be, and then someone Ascends. The Blacksmith's close role with the Tree may be symbolized by her root spine, but that's only a part of her. The Blacksmith isn't the Tree any more than the Cat is. To bring it back to original quote, the Blacksmith is of the Tree the same way all Afterans are of the Tree. She came from and will return to the Tree, but it would be overly simplistic to call her the Tree.

However, I do think there’s a little more to her. There’s one character from the book that we never seemingly meet, and that’s the Lively Carpenter. 

Weiss: “Of all the characters in the book, why did it have to be the Cat? Why couldn’t we have gotten help from the Lively Carpenter? Or the Rusted Knight?” (Ep4) 

Like the Red King Ascended after meeting Alyx, I think so too did the Lively Carpenter. The Blacksmith says about RWBY+J, “The five of you have had a greater impact than you know. Just like Alyx and Lewis did before you, just like others will after you. One small kindness, in one small moment, led to such a marvelous transformation" (Ep10). Overtly, this is about Little becoming Somewhat. We can see the positive change that Ruby has had on them by their more complicated identity (being somewhat of a lot of things) and the cape they wear that is so obviously inspired by Ruby. 

But the Blacksmith says this about Alyx and Lewis as well. While Alyx's broken promise did lead to the Cat's broken heart, the way the Blacksmith worded it implies that their impact lead to a "marvelous transformation" as well. In this case, I think it was Alyx’s small kindness, her wish to help Jaune even after she had died (left behind in her knife), that resulted in the Lively Carpenter's Ascension into the Blacksmith (also the emphasis on weaponry, not just when talking to Ruby, but in her workshop as well). The Blacksmith took up Alyx's wish to "fix everything [Alyx] had broken in the Ever After, including poor Jaune" (CC Ep9). She is the one to hold onto Alyx's knife (her wish) and give it to Jaune.

(As an aside, the Blacksmith may have expanded her role to help others in the Ever After as well, as it's stated Alyx wanted to do. Arguably, the Blacksmith's role in Ascension isn't strictly needed, but it is helpful. It could be that this wasn't the role of the Lively Carpenter (or perhaps the Lively Carpenter just didn't offer guidance like the Blacksmith does) and she didn't take on this role until post-Alyx. That could be why the Red King had such a regressive Ascension, although she can't force people to make good decisions so that's not proof. It's not important to proving my point. I just think it's a neat idea and brings Alyx's impact (helping Afterans through Ascension) to be more on par with Ruby's (multi-faceted identities over singular purpose) in terms of having "a greater impact." Anyways).

Notably, the Blacksmith is still associated with woodworking, like we would expect the Lively Carpenter to be , as we see her carving wooden figurines.

Like Somewhat wears a cape like Ruby, the Blacksmith is literally wearing a copy of Alyx’s blue bandana, just in a different way (honestly the wires that make up part of her hair may be inspired by the stripes on Alyx's dress).

Perhaps, like the Paper Pleasers wanted to be more resilient and became the Genial Gems, the Lively Carpenter wanted to use more resilient material when helping Afterans and became the Blacksmith. 

Tldr: The Blacksmith Ascended from the Lively Carpenter (inspired by Alyx), isn’t the Tree, and didn’t create the Brother Gods. So please, stop calling her their mom.

[sirenalpha]

I'm seeing so much commentary on people reacting to the live action atla toning down Sokka's misogyny

and I'm over here like this is a total non-issue because in my own rewrite of the show I already did that exact thing, it makes complete sense to do it and they should do it because it's a weaker aspect of the original show

Sokka's early misogyny is utterly cartoonish in comparison to the set up of the rest of the SWT, it doesn't feel realistic for the only teenaged boy in a dying culture surrounded by adult women with a grandmother who left a more out and out misogynist society to act the way he does

how Sokka "resolves" his misogyny is equally cartoonish, I never liked how in The Warriors of Kyoshi literally episode 4 of the show makes a teen girl compromise her own culture with a female only fighting tradition teach a boy who is supremely rude and disrespectful to her and then still be attracted to him afterwards, it's more misogyny to fix misogyny and is very obviously men writing about how to fix misogyny especially as they have Aang make a joke about Sokka wearing a dress after going through how meaningful the fighting costume is and how a lot of Asian clothing with hanfu influences like atla borrows from would have men in what to western eyes would be dresses, Aang has already seen multiple male authority figures in robes, the joke makes no sense

I also wouldn't consider Sokka's misogyny genuinely resolved after this, consider how the show deals with his romantic relationships with both Yue and Suki and how both can be seen as extensions of how Kataang is treated in the show, rewards for the hero, especially with how Sokka interacts aggressively with Hahn instead of respecting Yue's wishes whatever her reasons for them, I think an argument can be made that Yue's death is a fridging for Sokka's storyline rather than or in combination with being a consequence of Aang's failure as an avatar or the culmination of her own storyline where she fulfills her duties as a leader to protect her own people

Beyond his romantic relationships, while Sokka drops a lot of his more misogynistic language with Katara, he doesn't support her when she faces off with the NWT leaders to learn waterbending, and he still leaves the caretaking and food preparation and grocery shopping to her which is more common than him going out to hunt or gather in order to provide for the group while he takes a leadership role like determining their travel schedule and routes, it is not an even division of labor and falls along traditional sex stereotypes

In addition to his typical duties to the group, Sokka also remains invested in the trappings of masculinity after ep4, he's concerned about what's manly and how he compares to Jet for example, there's no investigation or interrogation in his interest in meat and hunting and how they relate to masculinity and his misogyny, in the episode with Piando, his insecurity as a non-bender is resolved by giving him a new male mentor and a new martial skill, sword fighting, which is masculine in both western and Asian cultures rather than assuaging his self esteem issues in any less stereotypically masculine ways, I also think it was done so he could compare more favorably to Zuko, another male character, and even his interest in engineering and mechanics comes with a male mentor and is a traditionally masculine pursuit

the show's poor handling of misogyny also extends beyond Sokka, with the NWT, the show acts as if Pakku is the only reason the tribe is misogynistic and the only consequences to that misogyny is that women can't waterbend and there are arranged marriages, and that both the NWT and Pakku's misogyny is resolved by allowing only Katara to learn to waterbend which she doesn't even earn on her own merits, she gets the opportunity because Pakku likes her grandmother

none of this is realistic, misogyny is not because of one bad apple, Pakku doesn't make Yue's arranged marriage, Chief Arnook does, he picked Hahn for her, and the show acts as if Arnook has no authority to compel Pakku to teach Katara or any ability to persuade him in order to reduce his culpability in the NWT's misogyny as its leader to make him a more respectable character so it's not uncomfortable when Aang and Sokka follow his orders in the battle later on, but women not being able to bend and forced into arranged marriages is still status quo when the gaang leaves, Yue's just dead

I'm not even convinced the show runners understand what's wrong with arranged marriage, the issue is not Yue can't be with Sokka who she likes and at most has a slight crush on cuz she's only known him for like two days, it's that she's being treated as male property, a broodmare, and a vehicle to ensure Hahn receives the throne because her father has no male heir and picked some guy to succeed him instead, like it's not explicit in the show but that is the implication based on the historical reality of princesses in arranged marriages, and the show has her get out of it only through death idc that she ascends to being a spirit, it's still a teen girl that dies

There's also no discussion by the show of the Earth Kingdom's misogyny when it has the exact same shit going on, Toph is the only female earthbender in the show not including avatars, there might have been a female earthbender in the background when Katara broke them out of prison, but I'm not really counting that, the entire army and Dai Li are all made up of men, the EK might even be worse because the show doesn't demonstrate that women and girls even have the capacity to earthbend aside from Toph and avatars and Toph doesn't even learn from a human, she has to learn from animals, the show treats this as commentary on her disability but the show has no compelling reason why it can't also be commentary on her sex, Toph was also originally supposed to be a boy so this could have ended up so much worse there literally would have been no female earthbenders aside from avatars at all, I'm not counting Oma as she might just be a mythological figure not a real person that once lived

The Fire Nation kinda barely avoids the same issue, Azula is the only named female firebender aside from avatars in the show but she has two female sidekicks who despite being non-benders show martial skill and there are clearly female soldiers and guards in the FN military so there are much stronger implications of female firebenders existing and being completely allowed to train their abilities and that Azula isn't exceptional in that respect like Toph is, only for being a prodigy with blue fire

Azula was also originally supposed to have an arranged marriage in s3 and they dropped it in favor of showing that royal and noble girls could casually date in the FN which has wild implications for women's empowerment in the country more so than but especially in combination with the fact women can train and join the military (which is why I say the FN is not fascist it's literally the least misogynistic country aside from Kyoshi and by like a country mile so it's literally not misogynistic enough) not that the show does anything more than minor teen drama with it

again, the vast majority of this misogyny is completely unremarked upon by the show especially after s1 when they leave the NWT, it is clearly a fictional world made by men with no true understanding of misogyny just a vague awareness that misogyny is bad and what the really obvious and outdated examples of it are, this is a narrative inconsistency in the show to have the examples and commentary on misogyny be so cartoonish in the beginning and then disappear after s1

your options to resolve this inconsistency is to either go all in with more realistic misogyny and provide commentary on all of it but this takes effort and will be divisive, or take the easier route and ease off the cartoonish-ness of it and comment less on it to avoid drawing attention to all instances of misogyny in the show

obviously Netflix was gonna do the latter

(not me tho, I'm making it less cartoony and dealing with it in my rewrite)

[luneemeritus]

Angel Dust love/appreciation post

With all the horrendous negativity sorrounding Angel Dust these days, I decided to make a post dedicated to love and appreciate him. It's 2024 and we still need to defend victims. It's like we moved backwards, specially considering that most individuals that hate Angel for... some reason? Call themselfs progressists. Lmao. What a sick joke. But let's foccus on what's good: Angel.

• Angel was willing to have sex with Alastor only to help Charlie. He doesnt like Alastor, he thinks Al is creepy and untrustworthy, and if he filmed himself having sex with Al, he would piss off Valentino (doing work "without his permission" to help someone Val heavily dislikes, after all, Charlie is helping him). So Angel was putting himself in danger and willing to fuck the stinky deer bastard just to help Charlie. HE LOVES HER SO MUCH, I CANT.

• Angel is so protective. He is so brave, he tried everything he could to keep Charlie away from Val, even yelling at her because her safety is more important for him. He grabbed Niffty like a baby to protect her from the loansharkers that were chasing Mimzy, he took the knife out of Niffty's hand, he stood up against Val to defend Niffty, and, unlike Charlie, she wasnt very close to him. But he just cares so much about his friends. It's so beautiful.

• The whole scene when Angel tells Val to fuck off. Just this. It's so fucking satisfying to see Angel being so strong and brave. Of course he will need help eventually, no one can be strong forever, but still. I'm so proud of him.

• Angel rejects Cherri's offer (drug) without shaming her or considering her less of a friend. He still loves her, supports her and is always there for her no matter what ❤️

• He didnt only stayed in the Hotel even after knowing Adam would target them first, he was also so invested in fighting back and protecting the Hotel. What a good boy 🥹

• When Vaggie throw him along with Pentious, he didnt ran away nor left Pentious to die alone (considering how both him and Vaggie were not trusting him), he fought back, protected Pentious and supported him after they were safe. And keep in mind that Pentious was both working for the Vees AND slutshamed Angel. But Angel didnt hold grudge (honestly he's better than me, my petty ass would be 100% pettier)

• The simple fact that Angel opened up to Husk was an act of strenght. This was so hard for him. The facade "helped" him to stay "untouched" and "safe" from humiliation, but it only made him self destruct. Letting go of that facade and ADMITING that he needs help is so, so hard. But he did it. Angel I love you

• The way he was so heartbroken by Pentious's death 🥺💔 "you did good, buddy" HEEELLPPP

• His protectiveness is beyond his friends, he saved the little egg boy in the cuntiest way possible, he's so fucking kind and brave, HE SLAYED.... (literally)

• As some people love to point Angel's past in the mafia (I mean, their ASSUMPTIONS on what Angel's mafia past was lol) to prove that "he is such a terrible person", I'd love to point out how he's terrified and disgusted by cruelty (Alastor's, Val's, Adam's) and only uses to violence when he needs to defend himself. From the men that wanted to drug and assault him in EP4, defending their territorry from Pentious in the pilot, defending the Hotel from literally every danger, from the mob that wanted to kill him in that very old pre-pilot comic. In conclusion, he is not a cruel person.

• And still speaking of that topic: he can handle himself. And that's fantastic. Every single time he used a gun, he ate 💅

• CHARLIE GRABBED HIS HAND IN THE FINALE 😭😭😭 it's so beautiful I love theeeemmm

• And of course, he stopped acting inapropriately towards Husk because he understood what he was doing is wrong. His haters are unable to see how much Angel improves himself, but it's not easy to let go of a problematic behaviour when called out. Angel I love you so much

• The way he was chasing Fat Nuggets when the Hotel was destroyed 🥺🥺🥺 such a wonderful pet dad ❤️

• There are different interpretations for Angel's reaction when Husk tells him "I guess you have changed", but I just love how he doesnt take pride or talks about himself, because that was not his priority. He wanted to foccus on living, helping and supporting his friends, spending his time wisely with people he cared about. I love you Angel

• Angel is unapologetically feminine, sensual, free and queer. This is awesome. He would be the best freak at Pride Parades. Be like Angel, be unapologetically yourself, live freely.

Now just look at cute pictures of this patootie

He's so pretty. I love him. Thanks for reading. Live laugh love Angel Dust

[mooshedts]

thoughts about traitors s3 ep4

- kas isolating himself from everyone broke my heart everyone had it out for him from the start but it was so satisfying seeing everyone faces when he announced he was faithful.

- like when he immediately left the room when tyler started talking about his suspicions. man really deserved none of this he did nothing wrong.

- also fozia giving him a chance to defend himself was so nice what a girlboss. they would've made such a good team.

- poor poor mullet man jack my craziest hear me out except he really did have the worst pitch out of all the train crew.

- still pleased with the people we did get in although if fozia's recruited (which she probably will be unless minah throws anna or freddie under the bus but that seems too mean. wouldn't put it past them though; they did it with ross last season) i'm not sure if she’ll accept.

- freddie's breakdown after the round table bless him he's just a wee guy. i didn't pay a lot of attention to him before this episode but now i just feel really sorry for him.

- also dan is lowkey one of the best players he’s basically the only logical one there. hoping he makes it to the final he deserves it.

- joe. respectfully stfu. he’s possibly the opposite of dan despite me not being able to tell them apart for the first few episodes. kas wiping that smirk off his face was DESERVED.

- i feel like i should dislike linda based on how little she contributes to the traitors but she's so funny because of that.

- i love tyler, livi, leanne and leon's group drama it’s like they're in their own reality tv show outside of traitors.

- maybe tyler will get kicked out of his squad because he's the only one whose name doesn’t start with L (and him switching up his vote which i feel like is not a very big deal compared to other things happening).

- not a massive deal but anna, leanne and charlotte(?) eavesdropping on the guys’ conversation was quite funny.

- also anna talking about how she’s used to having arguments with her family at the dinner table and then acting as if that’s exactly what she was doing when interrogated at the round table.

[thissccounthatesfascists]

TL asleep? cool.

(long post, strap in)

i wanna talk about colin's wet dream. that was the most demisexual shit i have EVER seen. there's not even any sex. its just a romanticized, elevated version of their first kiss. its colin's subconscious wanting to replay the moment he fell in love with his best friend in the Most way possible.

lets break it down:

we got the same location of their first kiss. Complete with mood lighting and a fog machine. It’s giving pride and prejudice 2005

Penelope comes out (looking gorgeous, of course) to their rendezvous spot, which has been previously agreed on.

colin thanks her for meeting him, she doesn't know why he's asked her to come

he confesses his feelings for her

she reciprocates (this is the important part of this to me. ) her wanting him, makes him want her more (do you see where the demisexual colin energy is coming from? do you understand?)

they make out

he kisses her neck as she pants his name over and over (see my point above re: her wanting him makes him want her more)

he wakes up, absolutely shook

this is an idealized reimagining for colin: during their first kiss he was basically in shock, his new personality chokes on the reality and vulnerability of the moment

in the book he talks about how he tries to think of something witty to say but finds that no words are necessary, and there's no combination of witty banter or suave bravado that could help in that moment. the rake persona that he has put on up to this point absolutely fails him. but here, in this dream, words are crucial, the declarations of love are why its sexy! (demi colin is canon idc idc)

and its so important that this wet dream, the idealized version of this scenario happens like this. because we've also seen colin having sex with sex workers (and luke newton has talked about this) but his energy in those scenes is very detached, very focused on him and his pleasure with zero connection to the women he's with. he has two different threesomes (if you can even call the second one that, he's barely even looking at them) with four different women and we know nothing about these girls. they don't even get names. they don't matter, and its simply not. as. good. as the feeling of kissing pen. there is no connection

which is, i think, why he taps out during the threesome in ep4. he tries to go back to the devil-may-care attitude toward sex and intimacy that he had before kissing pen, he tries to return to that mask he put on of "the rake" and it just doesn't work! he feels nothing! in fact he feels disdain for the position he's in and the choices he's made!

the threesome in ep4 mirrors the outburst he has later at the club really well. like he's so frustrated with this position he's put himself in, the men he's surrounded himself with. he literally says "none of you are gentlemen!" "you're actually gross and disrespectful!"

a line that i love is :

"... it is tiring, is it not? The necessity imposed on us to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning. Do you not find it lonely?"

and they laugh! in! his! face! because these are men that feel perfectly fine sleeping with strangers and bragging about their "conquests" to their buddies

but that is not who colin is! he's still very young. and his experience with marina (who tried to seduce him and it didn't work, imo bc he just didn't feel that passion, that love that makes his relationship with penelope so different) has left him jaded, but not nearly as jaded as he wants to believe. even if he wants to be casual about romance and sex, he just isn't. this man proposed to marina after knowing her for what? a couple weeks? He is an All or Nothing type of guy. He has that Bridgerton 'when i fall in love i will only ever talk about my spouse' Gene

Now: some costuming details that i love:

Her hair:

(i know this is a stretch but go with me here) her hair is in slightly tighter curls than we've seen this season, which to me seems like a nod to colin liking (or at least not minding) her hair the way it was in previous seasons and maybe not caring as much as we might think about her transformation. but its still down and flowy and in line with her new style

let's talk about this! dress! (it has genuinely been keeping me up at night)

the sleeves seem much more similar to the silhouettes of her costumes in previous seasons, not necessarily in shape but in style

the sleeves are bulkier, compared to this season's costumes, which while they might have been the same size and shape, they are made of much lighter material, giving the silhouette a softer, more mature feeling.

compare it to this dress from s3 ep2: it looks very similar with the sleeve shape and the floral appliqués, but in the dress in the image above, the appliqués are much more obvious, closer to penelope's style under her mother's tastes

the point i'm trying to make here will be made more clear in a sec. what I am NOT trying to say that colin prefers her in her little girl dresses with loud designs, bright colors, and silly hairdos. he just associates those bigger, brighter, louder style choices with penelope.

And he has always liked Penelope. Even when he didn’t take her seriously as a potential partner, he always saw her as an equal. He never made fun of her silly dresses and questionable hair choices.

This has nothing to do with Colin but i feel like i should point it out:

there is something to be said about how her muted pastel color palette along with the more demure style that she has adopted shows that she is trying to Show Up with this social season, but as a wallflower, she is shy. she's always hated those brightly colored dresses her mother put her in, because no matter how close to the wall she clung, she was always visible. she was always vulnerable to ridicule.

but i don't think colin knows or realizes this because why would he think critically about the specific style changes she's made. and he probably doesn't really make the connection of the influence her mother has on her clothing. and around him, pen has never seemed all that shy. she's been confident and witty. if you pair her personality that shines around colin with her louder outfits, it seems more congruous

(take the scene from season 2 where we get the line "My purpose shall set me free") this is a side of penelope that no one, not even eloise!, sees

what his subconscious knows is that he associates pen with vibrant, textured, and often 3-dimensional outfits, and his subconscious creates a dress that fits her new style, with a little more of that featherington flair thrown in.

the fucking tie in front: i feel like this is a very clear reference/ foreshadowing to the mirror scene

for those of you who haven't read the book, the mirror scene doesn't actually happen, but colin tells penelope about a fantasy he has about touching her in front of a mirror

this is a pretty small offhand comment made while they're having sex for the first time but amongst book fans the scene has become pretty fleshed out i think, with fanfics especially

because the idea that it touches on is colin fantasizing about penelope seeing herself the way he does, as sexy and desirable (he seriously cares about her pleasure so much its sickening, I'm actually sick)

and although Book Colin doesn't mention it, the idea of him undressing her in front of a mirror has become a popular story set-up

i think the tie in the front sort of plays on the time period sensibilities of propriety: this is a time where in "good" society an unmarried man and woman would never touch skin to skin, its why all the women wear gloves most of the time. its why the scenes in season 1 between daphne and simon play on the excitement of removing the gloves: its a taboo thing

this is unrelated to this post but i need an explanation as to why pen isn't wearing gloves in a lot of her scenes this season, like the scandal that that would cause??? I'm assuming its representative of her growing into her sexuality; and bridgerton is a fantasy, not a historical nonfiction, but like some consistency would be nice guys bc i was so confused abt all the skin-on-skin contact happening. even with Francesca and Lord Samadani WHEN HE KISSES HER BARE HAND I WAS SO UNCOMFORTABLE FOR HER. especially because of all the glove-related tension in s1. but i digress.

so the tie in front is sort of a dare. even though its clearly an addition, and untying wouldn't actually remove her dress, its her (colin's subconscious version of her anyway) way of saying: "you could untie this, you could undress me if you wanted to" "i love you" "i want you"

and i think that's beautiful. this season is great and i will die on this hill.

If you've made it this far, congrats! you're just as feral as me! come and gnaw on the drywall with me while i post fanfics inspired by this season: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988977/chapters/142190584

chapters 1+2 of my new fic are up

photos are from : https://www.cap-that.com/bridgerton/302/index.php?image=bridgerton3x02_1502.jpg

[peechglaze]

so at first I thought ellie getting captured by the seraphites felt random, but I actually think it ties in narratively to ellie othering herself from abby. back in ep3 ellie and dina find the seraphites and ellie immediately assumes that abby’s crew had to have done this. in ep4 they find the radio station and ellie realizes the seraphites killed the wlfs. ellie has already seen the brutality the seraphites inflict in the park. she has every reason to be terrified of them. and yet at the beginning of this episode when the wlfs are taking the seraphite away, her first instinct is to save him. why? because the wlfs ARE abby. she associates them all with her. and so she feels by saving this boy, she’s better than abby. hours later, when she gets captured, they automatically assume shes a wlf, the thing ellie believes is the antithesis of her. this isn’t a coincidence, the show is telling us ellie and abby are the same. and we know that abby experiences something similar in her pov. and even after ellie is almost killed by the seraphites, she tells owen and mel “I’m not like you”. she still rejects the concept that her and abby are alike in any way, even after she was equated to her. I may be reaching but this is how I interpreted the purpose of this scene.

Yes!! This is an excellent point to bring up!!

The longer Ellie stays in Seattle and continues on her mission, the more like Abby she's realising she is, and the implications of that scare her because she is so convinced that Abby is bad and irredeemable.

I also think Ellie being on the island is for a few other reasons too.

Ellie's boat capsizing and her washing ashore on the island, getting captured by Seraphites and nearly hung and gutted doesn't deter her from still going to the aquarium. She found herself right in the middle of the war that Jesse made a huge deal about not getting involved in, and instead of taking that as a sign to leave and go home, she kept going-- because she doesn't care about anything in this moment other than getting to Abby. It shows how much she is willing to sacrifice to find her, how much she is willing to throw away for what she deems is the most important thing right now.

I also think that by her being on the island, hearing the war horn and seeing the explosions in the distance, it's meant to show us again just how close Ellie and Abby were to one another. They've been circling and missing one another the moment Ellie set foot in Seattle, and this is just another one of those times. We're going to think back to this next season when Abby is on the island and hears the same horn, sees the same explosions and think 'holy shit, Ellie was right there'.

I kind of feel like they really missed an opportunity with this scene to call back to one that they left out of the show.

In the game when Ellie is making her way through a separate part of the museum, she comes across this display of a moose being attacked by a pack of wolves. It's meant to foreshadow the fate of Joel (chronologically speaking, because Joel has already died at this point for us in the game), and is a really powerful image. I think if we had that, then a lot of Ellie's protests here could have linked back to it and given us a really cool moment to call back on, one that would have made this moment feel more like Ellie's and less like a copy of Abby's.

"No! I'm not from here! I'm not a wolf!"

[cains-soggy-rock]

TIME FOR MY THEORY

(MAJOR Spoilers for TADC ep5)

So since episode 4 I've come to believe everyone who's trapped is critically injured/dying. And this has given me more proof.

First, I believe the circus was meant to be a place for dying folks to enjoy the little time they had left/live forever. C&A was the company that built the technology and kinger was likely the mastermind behind it. Creating all of this for his dying wife. I also think C&A stands for Cain&Able. With kinger having a partner/ brother who became the inspiration for the A.i Cain. I think this person is the one who sabotaged the program and corrupted kingers code

I believe Cain's original A.i was meant to be akin to SIRI. A virtual assistant to help the users have fun, but his code was altered from helper to warden. Now the whole reason I believe this lies in what was said during episodes 4&5 and the character designs.

I think the avi's reflect how they were injured & a major personal flaws.

Ragatha says a package fell on her head in ep4. Her only having one eye represents head trauma. She also brought up horses leading me to believe she came from money which was confirmed in ep5. We also learn her mom traumatized her. Making her head injury a double entendre. Also rich girls are often seen as dolls/princess

Gangle accidentally fell into traffic in ep4. but Cain says she ran into it, and she doesn't argue this. We also learn this episode is a reflection of her life in many ways. We also learn she's likely bipolar so unstable ribbons and a consistently easily broken mask makes sense. And someone that sad might have family put them in a program to get better.

Pomni & Zooble are similar in that we learn they both secretly chased adrenaline rushes. And that they often explored abandoned buildings . Something known for being unstable. Now I don't think pomni was injured and uploaded like the others. But Zooble might have been. I think Pomni just found the headset while exploring the abandoned C&A building. And doing something obviously dangerous makes one a fool. Zooble also never knew what they wanted in life.

Kinger being a chess piece makes the most sense if he created the program. But just like in chess, the kings pretty useless once the queen gets captured.

Now Jax isn't Walter white but his gallows humor makes sense if he's truly terminally ill. I think he's 13/15 and actually enjoyed the program till his friends started dying. Ribbit being his breaking point. He likely found characters like bugs Bunny cool. might have been his favorite character when he got diagnosed.

So if you're still with me you're likely wondering is Cain the big bad guy? And I offer you an unsure yes! I believe Cain is either a corrupted AI or the partner who uploaded his brain in an attempt to control the program and is now deteriorating. We knew from episode 1 that he was a liar. He can control their minds and bodies. Either it wasn't completely true before or he's taken advantage of the glitches. But either way I do believe he is the villain whenever he intended to be or not and the way of them being free has something to do with their names. I also think bubble is more evil somehow.