#SHES GOT A SNOW CLOAK

[piratefishmama]

There was just something magical about a good Renaissance Faire. Something in the air that set Eddie’s little crow brain alight with excitement. Especially around December when Christmas loomed around the corner and snow dusted the ground.

Be it the shiny trinkets dangling from wooden hooks amidst the old wooden stalls, be it the haggling voices of stall vendors and customers, all dressed in garbs they’d likely sewn, dyed, modelled themselves, the smells of the food stalls, the glow of twinkling fairy lights reflecting on the snow, the music played on lutes and sang from haybales for gathering crowds, be it the energy of likeminded folks all there to be a little bit weird, joyously, freely, without shame or judgement.

He could be himself there.

Dressed to the nines in layered fabrics purposefully aged and torn to simulate era appropriate wear and tear. His hair held silver trinkets, tied up by lengths of dark fabric in a messy up-do that’d taken Wayne a good few hours to figure out, and would no doubt take them both a hell of a lot of huffing and puffing to remove without cutting it out later. He had a cloak made out of a thick set of curtains he’d thrifted, dyed, and repurposed.

He had his bag, something he’d sewn himself out of extra fabric from those curtains, made with plenty of little pockets and places to put his spoils, he’d saved up for months to get as much out of this faire as possible because things weren’t CHEAP there.

Most things were handmade, most things were lovingly crafted by gifted individuals. He didn’t even want to haggle, he had money specifically for the faire! He was going to spend money on the endlessly talented individuals at the faire!

He got himself a new journal, leather bound with thick blank pages for sketching in. it was embossed with intricate swirling patterns around a pentagram that he’d absolutely get shit for if he ever pulled it out in public but it was beautiful, and it had a cool swing lock clasp.

He got himself a pretty necklace, wire wrapped with a fancy gem that he’d keep safe to use as a prop at some point.

He found some beautiful homemade dice, made in such a way that it looked like liquid moved inside of the dice, little flecks of glitter sloshing around a cloudy liquid inside the green tinted gold leaf inlaid resin with every roll, beautiful, eye catching, immensely satisfying to his little crow brain. Surprisingly enough they were the most expensive purchase he’d made at the faire, tiny little dice, fifty whole dollars. Not the most expensive thing he’d seen there, but definitely the most expensive thing he now owned from the trip.

They came with an incredibly pretty velvet dice bag though, which he hadn’t expected to get as a little freebie but the girl at the stall winked at him when she handed it over and wasn’t that a trip. The fabric was dyed to look like some kind of galaxy, with little silver and gold stars embroidered into it.

It made those dice a steal and he would treasure it and them, always.

He perused the fabric stalls, getting himself a cool hand painted scarf, detailed with a beautiful dragon that he’d find a good frame for later to hang up because it would not be worn, no siree. He grabbed a cool hand carved wooden mug for Wayne that looked like something straight out of a Viking’s mead hall, he’d give it to him for Christmas.

He got himself some food. He watched a joust, got a photo with the riders and their horses, one of which tried nibbling his hair, tipped the riders, and very quickly found himself running low on cash.

All that scrimping, and saving, and dealing… worth it. So very worth it.

So sue him if he looped back around and walked through again, he couldn’t afford much of anything else, he’d spent his last ten spot on a fridge magnet, had five left for gas station snacks on the way home, but that was fine, he could take photos, he’d borrowed Gareth’s camera, Gareth would have come but his parents had one stipulation for him attending the faire, and that was taking his failing grade in biology, and upping it to something that at least predicted a pass before thanksgiving.

He’d failed, and no amount of grovelling could fix it. No Ren Faire for you good sir!

Jeff was out of town with his family on some ‘visit all the out of state family members before Christmas snowstorms lock everything down’ country wide tour. And Dougie couldn’t get the time off his part time job to go.

So Eddie had promised plenty of photos to show them what they missed out on.

It was the very last stall at the end of the strip that caught his attention. Maybe it was the way the dying sunlight hit it, or the way the wind caught the chimes dangling from its flimsy rafters, he felt… called to it. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame and who was he, but a lowly little moth, to ignore the call of the fire?

So he wandered over, let himself be drawn in, offered a friendly little finger wave to the greying woman sat behind a makeshift counter wrapped in shawls and decorated in silver jewellery that jingled as she worked a single crotchet hook into a slowly coming together wine red shawl. The woman offered him a simple bow of her head and a small smile in response but no sales pitch.

No conversation of any kind really, she simply sat there while he looked, crocheting away without a care in the world. He could appreciate that, not being bothered by pushy sales tactic, especially when he had so few funds left to play with, he always felt guilty when he couldn’t afford what they were selling.

Like why was he even there if he had no money to spend?

The old woman didn’t do that, allowing him to wander through her surprisingly large stall full of little trinkets and goodies uninterrupted, which was for the best because had she spoke, he might not have stayed long enough to spot it. Amidst the little boxes decorated with carved patterns and pretty gemstones, amidst the scarves, crocheted bags, amidst the leather work belts, and wallets sat a single, solitary little bottle.

Sealed with a cork coated in wax and pressed with a decorative seal in a shape too worn down to really make out but obvious that it’d at one point had a shape. The bottle was hand blown, not manufactured, lightly frosted a dark brown to a brilliant amber around its square base, the colour crept up the smooth sides towards its seal, like a diamond in shape.

The bottle wasn’t empty either.

Much like the dice that’d caught his crow brain hook line and sinker earlier, this little bottle was filled with some kind of liquid. It swirled like a galaxy inside, and at the centre a brilliant light that looked like it held its own sun, always at the centre of the swirl, never distorting or shifting out of place, eternal in its circular flow.

It was warm in his hands. He didn’t even realise he’d picked it up.

“Two dollars.” Eddie damn near jumped out of his skin, whirling around, the bottle tight in his grip. That old woman had moved. And she’d done so with a quiet stealth some might attribute to a ninja, which was impressive considering how much jewellery she wore.

“Huh?” So eloquent of him.

“Just two dollars, child. The bottle? It is… calling to you, yes?” He couldn’t place her accent, something foreign, European maybe, he had no idea but it definitely didn’t sound any parts American. “I take two dollars for it, will bring you luck.” He looked back to the bottle, eyeing the swirl that still held its pattern even as he’d jostled it, like nothing could knock it out of its gentle swirl, then back to the old woman.

What was two dollars, really?

He had five left, if nothing else the bottle could make a really cool prop, and if it did bring him luck, then hey bonus. Who was he to argue with a mysterious old lady at a Renaissance Faire? “You uh… you got yourself a deal, ma’am.” She smiled brightly at him, eyes alight with both happiness and… something else, something that reflected in the light that he didn’t think hard enough about. She accepted the five dollars he had left, she gave him his change, and a little paper bag filled with tissue to hold his new purchase, which he didn’t really need as he put it right into his own bag after receiving his change, and then she sent him on his way, uncaring as to whether or not he wanted to look at her other wares.

He’d gotten the bottle. Nothing else mattered apparently. Maybe he should have found that suspicious, but why would he?

As soon as he left the little stall, all thought of it seemed to wash away from his mind leaving him freely wandering back to the entrance where his trusty steed, his Van, awaited him to take him home. Blissfully unaware of the little bottle he’d just purchased. Blissfully forgetful of the stall he’d visited, of the old woman he’d just met, of her smile, her eyes, her mysterious accent.

All of which was for the best, really, as if he’d thought about it, if he’d taken a single moment to stop and look back to the little stall at the end of the row, the little stall that held more treasures than it should have been able to for its size, if he’d looked back to wave his goodbyes to the old woman and her treasures, he’d have found nothing.

No stall, no woman, no trinkets or treasures. Just a single row of recycling bins and benches.

But he didn’t look back.

Definitely for the best.

Part 2

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #warning: i've never been to a ren faire lmao #i also have zero self restraint whee

[cardansriddle]

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little <3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him. 

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour. 

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside. 

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. 

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet— 

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it. 

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle. 

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind. 

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left. 

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer. 

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised." 

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this." 

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine." 

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers. 

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to. 

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book. 

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done." 

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped. 

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up. 

Tom placed the book on the counter. 

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader." 

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat. 

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality." 

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum." 

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse." 

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse." 

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say. 

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface. 

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee. 

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September. 

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin. 

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened. 

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze. 

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind. 

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her. 

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed. 

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink. 

It was maddening. 

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination. 

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.” 

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there. 

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling. 

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration. 

“It’s five minutes until closing time.” 

She would not be swayed so easily then. 

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses. 

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.” 

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.” 

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.” 

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf. 

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.” 

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster. 

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk." 

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed. 

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances." 

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology." 

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like. 

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. 

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her. 

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see. 

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat. 

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them. 

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight. 

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to. 

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

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#tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x muggle!reader #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x you

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #99

Jazz went to Gotham to finish her degree away from her parents, as their obsession with Ghosts started becoming dangerous to everyone. So, of course, she brought Danny with her, so he's also far away from them and the GIW.

Danny held out a whole year without going out on patrol, just establishing his haunt in the new city. Lady Gotham was very happy to be able to show them to their new place, almost giddy that the little King and his Queen Mother have come to live in her beloved city.

Of course, the first time Phantom floats out of his window and into the night, he has a new suit, made of padded black leather, and a fluffy white cape with a hood (imagine the Lightkin Cloak from Destiny2, but snow white, rather than black and grey), along with a facemask engraved with a fanged design. New haunt, new look, and the new look fit right in with the viciousness of Gotham City.

And, as luck would have it, his first Gotham Rogue was Poison Ivy. Thinking back to his fight against Undergrowth, Pantom opened with his ice, forming a double-sided axe to better cleave her vines apart, and locking Ivy herself down with ice.

To further distance himself from his identity as Phantom, in case the GIW somehow became smart at some point, instead of blasting ice like most ghosts fire ectoblasts, Danny asked Pandora for lessons on fighting with weapons, and Frosbite taught his how to channel his element as an aura, or a freezing breath. He even sat down to listen to Nocturne speak as they wove spells and ectoplasm, and the Personification of Dreams softly taught him how to use his powers through objects acting as catalysts, or as manifestations of his will, rather than throwing his affinities around by brute force.

With his new abilities and look, rather than fight like a feral raccoon, Danny took to fighting more like a spellblade, slinging around ice shard and spells to enhance his physical strikes, controlling the pace of a fight to get the upper hand on his enemies.

Suffice to say, Poison Ivy hadn't expected the Avatar of Icy Vengeance to lock her in a pillar of ice up to her neck while her vines withered into frosty sculptures.

Gotham's newest hero got awarded a new name by the news the next day: Ymir, Frozen Progenitor.

Danny thinks it's too pretentious for a random ghost, or random halfa, like him. Joke's on him, the perception of Gotham's people slowly starts empowering him, slowly enough that the only reason he notices his oncoming Ascension to myth as a Protector Spirit is when a terrified kid begs for his help, and he hears them loud and clear out of nowhere.

The Bats are confused by this Entity. Constantine stepped one foot in Gotham, felt it's cleaner air, the sharp bite of ice in his nose and lungs, and the overwhelming pressure of the new Godling training under Gotham herself to control his new powers, and ran out screaming about not getting paid enough to deal with divine beings. Zatanna is trying to contact Ymir to ask them to join the Justice League Dark.

Jason is vibing with the tall redhead Amazon he's met at Babs' library, and her feral little brother who cured his Pit Rage by biting his arm when they first met. One time Jason is in a pinch after a stakeout gone wrong, Bellona (Ancient Roman Goddess of War) takes the fight to his captors to free him, dressed in golden armor and wielding a spear Pandora and Firght Knight made for her. Nocturne and her brother worked together to imbue a spell into her back to give her wings she can use to fly or fight with. The fact it left a badass tattoo on her back, is just another way Jazz rebels against her parents. It also has Jason weak in the knees when he first sees it.

#bones submissions #dpxdc #uh hi bones here... HOMIE THIS IS MASSIVE #HOKLEY FUCK

[mentalpolaroids]

Wolf's Home

(Part I)

Geralt of Rivia x female!Reader

Summary: Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and reunites not only with his family of witchers, but also with the person that makes him feel at home the most

a/n: this is sort of rewrite of S02E02. Sorry for the use of (y/n) but couldn't really think of a name for the reader. Also, this is my first try at writing for The Witcher so be nice to me please!!

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

She woke up that morning expecting to face another routine-repeating day, possibly with an occasional healing of one of the witchers coming back to Kaer Morhen from a hunt, or coming up with a new excuse as to why she didn’t want to eat whatever crap Lambert cooked for them. His turn on food duty was always a dreadful one.

Her days were never too adventurous, not since Vasemir had insisted on a more permanent stay at the keep two years ago, when she was dragged through the Blue Mountains by a silver haired witcher, both injured, after fighting and killing a monster together. An encounter she still couldn’t really understand to this day, how they happened to be in the same place, at the same time, looking for the same creature, but she knew better than to question Destiny. 

Even with her own wounds to take care of, she still healed Geralt of Rivia first, who fell under her natural charm like a trap. He wondered if it was a spell, the way he so easily was put at ease in her presence. She was a mage after all. But as the days passed, he concluded that there was no spell besides the one used to close the gash on his abdomen. That woman was simply a caretaker by heart, one that somehow remained open and pure even knowing of the existence of nasty beings out there in the Continent. Everyone else in the Fortress seemed to be as mesmerized, and so, she was welcomed with open arms to stay, and heal, and fight with the witchers. 

The ropes were starting to burn the palm of her hands from all the knots she had conquered in the last hour, but she definitely didn’t mind because it was at least keeping her hands warm as she stood outside, light snow falling over the already white ground. 

One of the few advantages of the icy weather was that they could hear when someone was approaching, the crunch of the footsteps over the snow being hard to disguise. She heard those in the distance, but it was of a horse. (y/n) dropped the rope and grabbed her sword, preparing herself for the sight of the intruder before making her own known. But, the sight wasn’t at all what she expected. She didn’t know what to expect at all, but it sure wasn’t a familiar brown horse carrying Geralt of Rivia accompanied by a blonde girl, who (y/n) quickly convinced herself must’ve been a princess, if not for her looks, for her posture. She looked like she didn’t belong there, nor next to someone with the nickname The Butcher of Blaviken. 

The girl got down from Roach and looked around curiously. Her dress blended with the snow, from afar, (y/n) wondered if she was even real. Her gaze didn’t last long on the girl when Geralt got down from his horse too, the mere sight of his face barely visible under his dark cloak sent a shiver of excitement to her stomach. He had always had that effect on her, but it seemed the longer she went without seeing him, the stronger the sensation got after meeting again. 

The witcher and the princess shared words (y/n) couldn’t really hear from where she was still in the hiding, and as they started to walk towards the main entrance of the Fortress, the mage put down her sword and walked towards them. 

“You sure we’re safe here?” the princess asked Geralt, who walked in front of her. (y/n) was not close enough to hear the question, not yet to be noticed. 

“Safer than out there.” 

Her voice seemed to echo in the silence of their footsteps coming to a stop, both turning their heads to their right, finally acknowledging her. Geralt’s lips curved into a brief smile, his yellow eyes softening when they locked with hers. (y/n) smiled back, the shiver in her stomach was now climbing to her chest and for a moment she forgot he could probably feel her heart beating faster. Good thing she didn’t mind him knowing how she felt around him. 

Three steps away from coming face to face with the witcher, she slowed her pace, planning to walk past them. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my dearest friend in all the Continent.”

“It’s great to see you.” 

“Oh I’m afraid I was speaking to my best girl here.” (y/n) approached Roach, caressing the horse over her nose and planting a light kiss on her short fur, “But it’s great to see you too, Wolf.” she walked towards him again, for a second forgetting it wasn’t just the two of them there. The way Geralt followed every step of hers, his gaze warm even in the middle of a Winter day. (y/n) opened her arms to him, “Welcome home.”

The man embraced her tightly against him and it felt like getting drowned in memories of his days with her. He had forgotten how much he cherished her affection, and holding her reminded him how nice it was to let his guard down for a brief moment. It all felt like he had never left. 

“I missed you.” he murmured, unrecognizably self-conscious. He surely didn’t enjoy showing this vulnerable side of him, especially in front of someone else.

“I’m sure you did.” (y/n) let go of him, casting him a warm, welcoming smile, before looking to the girl standing behind him, now more curious about the pair’s dynamic than the Fortress, “And who’s this poor thing having to deal with your company?” 

“This is Ciri.” 

“Ciri.” (y/n) tried the name on her lips. She walked towards her with the same welcoming smile, but a different fondness in her eyes, “It’s nice to meet you, Ciri.” she said as she extended her hand to the girl, “I’m (y/n).”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” she spoke softly, clearly wary of meeting a new face, but the shadow of a smiling curve on her lips showed potential trust as she accepted the handshake. After all, the woman was obviously someone dear to Geralt, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” (y/n) smirked, hoping the cold outside cooled the warmth spreading across her face. She turned to Geralt, who watched the two girls interact, but the words were directed to Ciri, “I’m sure I have a lot to hear about you, too.” It was a warning to the witcher: an endless night of chatting was to come, questions needed to be answered, stories to be told and his whereabouts to be known. 

As if reading Ciri’s mind, (y/n) squeezed her shoulder and tilted her head towards the entrance, “Don’t worry, you are safe here.” 

“Keep up.” Geralt told the girl, and both followed (y/n). 

They both pushed the heavy wooden doors and walked into the main room of the Fortress that was occupied with chatty men and the smell of burning wood and ale. (y/n)’s words echoing through the wide space caught their attention. 

“Look what the snow dragged in, boys.”

All eyes turned to the mage and the murmur came to a stop when everybody noticed the figure standing behind her. Her attention turned to Geralt as well, in time to see him remove the hood of his cloak and finally getting a decent view of the face she missed so much. She also checked on Ciri, who looked uneasier than before, standing in the middle of a room full of men. (y/n) winked at her, hoping to reassure her everything was alright. Geralt noticed, and he too turned to the girl and nodded at her before moving to stand beside (y/n) as Lambert stood from his seat and walked towards them. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

“We thought you got lost.” Coën followed Lambert, “Or killed.” 

(y/n) rolled her eyes. Geralt smiled tenderly.

“Not yet. Sorry.”  

The mage elbowed his side. She had always hated when he implied the possibility of his death at any moment, considering what he was and he did, in reality it wasn’t a massive impossibility. Still, even a simple joke triggered a non-existent grief that resided in her chest everytime she had to see the witcher leave and go long periods of time without hearing a single word from or about him. In his presence, (y/n) pretended he would stay forever, and if he didn’t stay, he would come back. Everytime. 

Geralt caressed her back and brought her in for the embrace Lambert had already initiated. He then went on greeting and hugging the other witchers and, more than ever, Kaer Morhen felt like a real home. The family was back together. 

“I guess I’m back to being second favorite now that you’re back.” Lambert complained to Geralt, referring to (y/n).

“Who said you were even a favorite in the first place?” 

Geralt laughed. 

“I hope you’ve all been treating her right.”

“We do, but she’s a mean one. Lucky for her, we don’t dislike her cooking.” 

The banter was interrupted by Vasemir, who entered the room already smiling at the sight of the silver haired witcher. 

“Wolf. You’re home.” the elder joined the commotion, “Finally.”

Ciri, still feeling out of place, placed herself visibly between Geralt and (y/n).

“Yeah. I had to make a few stops.” the witcher replied, referring to the princess next to him. 

“He’s home!” 

Once again, the commotion grew around Geralt as they kept celebrating his return. Ciri smiled shyly watching the content interactions.

“Come on,” (y/n) extended her hand for the princess to take, “I’m going to introduce you to everybody.”

When everybody settled enough for the mage to be able to order everyone to be nice to Ciri, the men were somewhat curious about the unexpected guest. The girl seemed less vigilant as she was offered a seat and cup and conversation started flowing as if both her and Geralt had always been there. 

(y/n) stood next to him, a sigh leaving her nostrils as she crossed her arms and discreetly nudged the man’s broad figure. 

“Yeah, I know. I have a lot to tell.”

“Yeah. You do.” 

Geralt looked down at her to meet her eyes and, with a soft motion of his hand, uncrossed her arms. He smiled, in a way she knew he was promising to stay for a while. She couldn’t tell what he thought her eyes were saying, but whatever it was, he felt the need to hold her hand, hidden behind his cloak, caressing the cold skin of her knuckles with his thumb. 

“I’m home.” his hoarse voice, along with the softness of his touch and stare, nearly warmed her up on the spot. 

In the back of her mind, there was a voice telling her he would eventually leave again, but for once, she shut it down. 

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

Part II soon!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fic #the witcher netflix

[that-basic-simp]

Safe

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: Blood WC: 1.2k+

"Where is she, Ringo?!" I yelled at him, frustrated.

"I-I don't know. All I know is that some group of people came and took her. Taigen followed after them probably to save her."

"He's going to get himself killed," I sighed, grabbing my sword. "Point me in the direction of where they went."

"I am coming with you."

"I cannot allow it."

"An apprentice never leaves his master side."

I glared over at Ringo, "This could possibly be a life or death situation. And Y/N is already in trouble. I can't afford to possibly lose another person close to me, Ringo."

His eyes widened slightly, a sparkle in them. Grabbing my cloak, I placed it on my shoulders and secured it. The last thing I needed to put on were my glasses. As soon as everything was in place, I slid open the door to the house I came to grow accustomed to. It was Y/N's idea to settle down after my revenge mission. And here we are. We were living in a peaceful house not too far from Kyoto, but that peace would soon be disrupted after what these people did with Y/N.

"And besides, if she and Taigen managed to escape, you'll be here waiting for them. To greet them with tea and a nice meal."

Ringo nodded his head, "Just be careful out there, master."

I nodded to Ringo before heading out to who knows where. I had to get information first. That was going to be the hardest part, but as I was making my way towards Kyoto, I found a trail of footprints. The downside of it being winter, but it was possibly going to help me in the long run. Following the footprints, they went in the opposite direction of Kyoto.

Quickening my pace, I stuck to the footprint trail until they stopped. Lying ahead of me was a small little wooden building. It reminded me of the one I stopped at when I was searching for the white men that sold opium. The day where I got stabbed and was severely wounded. Shaking those memories away, I carefully crept towards the building. There was laughter ringing from inside. The door was slightly cracked open. Silently walking towards the door, I pushed it open just to see what I was dealing with. There were four guys. Y/N and Taigen were tied up and kneeling in front of the fireplace. I let out a quiet sigh, knowing I'd have to save Tiagen's ass. He was more than capable of dealing with these guys himself, but alas, Mizu to the rescue. Again.

I couldn't go in there and start swinging. I didn't want to hurt Y/N. Taigen, I could afford to, but at this current moment in time, I didn't want either of them to be used as collateral. I had to think of a way to get at least one of the guys out of here to open up the spacing. I've fought in tighter spaces before, but again, I didn't have to worry about two lives in there. One I cherished, the other, eh. Turning, I got an idea. I stood up and stomped down the stairs, quickly hiding underneath them.

"What was that?"

"Go check."

The door opened and footsteps came from above me. The guy turned, trying to find signs of life nearby. When he had his back, I unsheathed my sword and immediately stuck it in his back, the blade protruding from his chest. I placed my hand over his mouth, silencing any sound that would come from him. Once his body stopped writhing, I let his body fall to the ground, catching the attention of another guy that was in there. I jumped back underneath the stairs as he walked down them, finding his comrade's dead body.

"Hey! Get out here!"

The other two came out and that was when I let loose. All of them were away from Y/N and Taigen. I had free reign to kill anyway I see fit. Coming up from behind the one, I thrusted my sword into his neck. Removing my sword, I kicked his body as he was falling onto the ground. Now there were two. One pulled out a dagger. I just scoffed and charged towards him. He jabbed at me, trying to get my shoulder. I dodged out of the way and went down for a slash. The diagonal cut caused his body to slip into two, falling onto the snow ridden ground, turning the once peaceful white a dark shade of red. Finding the last guy who was there raised his hands as he trembled.

"P-Please, spare me."

I sheathed my sword and walked over to him, stepping over the dead bodies on the ground. Grabbing the front of his haori, I pulled him towards me.

"Why did you capture her? Was it because Heiji Shindo died? Let the Shogun die while I couldn't stop Fowler at that instance? Was it because I killed those white men?"

"W-We needed the money."

"Flesh traders," I snarled. "How did you find us?"

"People in Kyoto talked about a beautiful woman that lived on the outskirts of the city. There were a couple people we had to look out for, more specifically you, but once we saw she was alone, we took her and ran."

"Was this the rendezvous point?"

"Yes."

"Who was going to buy from you?"

"I-I don't know. I swear. All we were given was that they were anonymous."

"I see."

I let his haori go. Right when he thought he was spared, I kicked the dagger up from the last guy I killed and tossed it in his direction, getting him right in the neck. His body slowly fell to the ground and I stood outside, waiting for this person to come. They never came. Walking up the stairs, a small knife was thrown my way when I opened the door. Quickly dodging it, I found Taigen had released Y/N from her bindings.

"Mizu!" she cried, getting up and rushing towards me.

I rushed towards her as well, embracing her tightly as she threw herself into my arms. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing she was safe in my arms.

"I'll give you a minute alone," Taigen said.

"Taigen," I pulled away for a moment to place a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for trying to ensure her safety."

"We may not get along, Mizu, but I can tell where your priorities lie. And they're good ones," Taigen said as he walked out of the small building.

I nodded as he walked out, about to turn to face Y/N. She placed her hands on my cheeks and pulled me in for a kiss. I smiled softly as I wrapped my arms around her waist as I kissed her back. I pulled away, but she chased after for another. She got what she wanted. It was followed by a few more before she was satisfied.

Pulling away, there were tears in her eyes as she hugged me tightly. I hugged her as equally tight, my one hand running up the backside of her head, my fingers getting entangled in her hair. She let out a sigh of relief as her shoulders trembled.

"Shh, you're safe, Y/N," I whispered in her ear, kissing the side of her head softly. "You're always safe with me."

#bes mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu #blue eye samurai

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Vil, Jack: a Strength that Shines

Ayyy, it’s the childhood friends (?) from the Shaftlands!! It feels like forever since we last got any significant interactions between Vil and Jack. Nice to see them chatting again~

bdjwvsjsGuabs THAT GROOVY THOUGH… Vil looks so judgmental and dismissive 😭 Channeling all his Mean Girl energy to diss Neige Snow White, lol

A Tale as Old as Time.

Four sides drew together to form a glittering box. A lovely maiden rested within the coffin-like casing of the photo frame. Her lips as red as blood, her hair as dark as ebony, and her skin as fair as snow.

She was circled by foliage, her sun-dappled face tilting up, disarmed by some distant call. The girl cupped her dainty hands together, housing a small baby blue bird in her palms. Kindness, goodness, grace—she exuded all of them.

Vil scoffed, tossing golden hair over his shoulder. Her smile was reminiscent of a rival celebrity, one pure as a dove's feathers.

So carefree, so cheery.

How irritating, he sighed.

"One ought to be more cautious in the woods. Who knows what dangers might lurk nearby, wishing to enact harm upon her.

"For a glamour shot though... Hmm, yes. This composition is acceptable. The sunlight is angled upon her face in a pleasing way—it casts a golden glow on her pale visage and highlights the highest points: cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. The impression is one of total innocence.”

A soft grunt sounded from beside him.

"She's... shining," Jack commented plainly. His critique, clipped. “Didn’t you do a photo shoot like this recently? Similar place and everything.”

Vil’s beauty was momentarily marred by a grimace. “Yes, as promotional material for an upcoming film. However, the feel of it was completely different than what you see here.”

Shadows instead of sunlight. Temptation in the place of innocence.

He, poised amid the creeping branches and dark leaves, a tatter cloak clinging to his curves. A single, crimson apple in his grasp, a sultry look directed at the camera.

He tried to picture himself like the girl in the frame countless times over. Kneeling among the woodland creatures, smiling so serenely. Any pro could pull it off—he included.

But the image never turned out right in his mind.

Not the right amount of sweetness, not natural enough.

Not quite the same.

Not at all.

Blood, sweat, tears. Sacrifices made at the altar. Yet still, the world yielded nothing but broken promises and shattered dreams. The splintered parts and shambles of them, he gathered, forming his own makeshift hope and determination.

He couldn’t give in here.

Vil’s perfectly groomed brows scrunched up.

“I shall have to endeavor to work even harder. I’m not satisfied with things as they are now.”

“Heh.” Jack cocked a small, lopsided grin. “Keeping on the grind… That’s just like you. You've got this."

“Obviously. Nothing will get accomplished otherwise.” Vil’s eyes passed over to the beastmen. “Presumably, you are doing the same."

"Yeah. Haven't skipped a day of my training regimen." Jack slapped a hand on his bicep, which fit snuggly in his glittering white sleeve. "We'll take out RSA next track and field meet!"

"I'd certainly hope so. If I am to taste sweet revenge, I'd prefer it be by my own hand... but I trust you to deliver in my place. I expect good news when next we speak. Do not disappoint me."

"Yessir!" Jack's tail wagged enthusiastically. He stood alert, saluting like a loyal knight. “I'll do my best!"

“Then it looks as though we both have our long-term goals set.” The dorm leader planted his hands on his waist—slim, cinched.

"Yours is...?"

"To surpass myself." Vil jerked his chin toward the girl in the painting. "To shine so brightly that my name not only goes down in history, but overshadows that which was written before."

"That's some big dream you have." Jack shook his head. "The scale's beyond what I can imagine. But knowing how stubborn you are, Vil-senpai... You seriously won't quit until you make that dream come true."

"My, my. Stubborn, am I?" He smirked, arms crossed. "I do believe it takes one to know one.

"You stand back and watch. I'll show you just how dazzling I can be."

His eyes held a steeliness to them. It was matched only by the same in Jack’s. Two strong men and their wills, meeting on equal grounds.

Jack simply nodded—an acknowledgment, an acceptance, of his upperclassman’s confidence. Overwhelming, like a powerful wave, a strong storm, a blazing inferno. He almost felt compelled to drop to one knee, to kneel before such a presence.

Vil turned away from the painting, his arms unraveling from one another. His movements were graceful, nearly ballet-like. And his expression—

Jack caught him mid-laugh. The snooty, airy kind, half-sincere, half-sarcastic. Brows upturned, mouth twisted in a faux sympathetic smile. Flaxen waves framing his lovely features.

His lips moved.

“I’ll topple you from your throne,” Vil vowed.

It was then that Jack noticed.

Vil-senpai's shining like the fair maiden.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Vil Schoenheit #Jack Howl #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #something no one asked for #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #Vil birthday takeover

[squishycheekanon]

I have a request: how would the Techno react if Reader dies but appears a few months later alive but very injured?

Now this inspired me.

Warnings: 18+, angst, suicide mentioned, hints at nsfw, blood, alternate timeline where she was never pregnant; adding Athena and Apollo into this would have made me cry so no. 

————————————————————————

Techno was distraught, it was against his nature to love and be loved and yet you taught him how. You were his everything and more. From the moment you shot him in those woods all that time ago, when the voices went quiet when your face came into his eyesight, everything changed for him.

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

“Yes.”

#techno fluff #squishycheekanon #squishycheekanonanswer #asks are appreciated #squishtalks #beefy!techno #techno x reader #technoblade x reader #techno smut #techno imagine #techno x reader fluff #techno x you #techno x reader smut #technoblade x reader fluff #technoverse #technoblade x reader smut #technoblade fluff #mcyt technoblade #technoblade mcyt #technoblade angst #technoblade smut #techno angst #technoblade imagine #teachnoblade fluff #technolovers #technoblade #dark techno #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader smut #mcyt angst

[amber-laughs]

Jon and Catelyn: The Accidental Progeny

Survival

Catelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble, less than a snarl, the merest whisper of a threat, but he must have heard something, because he started to turn just as the wolf made its leap. They went down together, half sprawled over Catelyn where she'd fallen. The wolf had him under the jaw. The man's shriek lasted less than a second before the beast wrenched back its head, taking out half his throat. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn III

And suddenly the corpse's weight was gone, its fingers ripped from his throat. It was all Jon could do to roll over, retching and shaking. Ghost had it again. He watched as the direwolf buried his teeth in the wight's gut and began to rip and tear.  A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

Reassurance

Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn IV

He flexed the burned fingers of his sword hand. Longclaw was slung to his saddle, the carved stone wolf's-head pommel and soft leather grip of the great bastard sword within easy reach. A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Family

His mouth tightened. "And you see fit to loose the Kingslayer. You had no right." "I had a mother's right."

“You wanted a way to save your little sister and still hold fast to the honor that means so much to you, to the vows you swore before your wooden god." She pointed with a pale finger. "There he stands, Lord Snow. Arya's deliverance.” A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I

Vengeance

"Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be," Catelyn replied. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn XI

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn." A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Pain

When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest." "Who?" Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain. A Clash of Kings - Catelyn IV

Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?" A Game of Thrones - Jon VIII

Intuition

"Robb." She stopped and held his arm. "I told you once to keep Theon Greyjoy close, and you did not listen. Listen now. Send this man away. I am not saying you must banish him. Find some task that requires a man of courage, some honorable duty, what it is matters not… but do not keep him near you."  A Storm of Swords - Catelyn II

All of a man's crimes were wiped away when he took the black, and all of his allegiances as well, yet he found it hard to think of Janos Slynt as a brother. There is blood between us. This man helped slay my father and did his best to have me killed as well. "Lord Janos." Jon sheathed his sword. "I am giving you command of Greyguard." A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Inheritance

"That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon." "So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa... your own sister, trueborn… " A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face." Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters. "By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Peace

"Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood." Even she could hear the desperation in her voice. "You would not be the first king to bend the knee, nor even the first Stark." […] Robb's face was cold. "Is that why you freed the Kingslayer? To make a peace with the Lannisters?" "I freed Jaime for Sansa's sake . . . and Arya's, if she still lives. You know that. But if I nurtured some hope of buying peace as well, was that so ill?" A Storm of Swords - Catelyn IV

"If it please m'lord, the lads were wondering. Will it be peace, m'lord? Or blood and iron?" "Peace," Jon Snow replied. "Three days hence, Tormund Giantsbane will lead his people through the Wall. As friends, not foes. Some may even swell our ranks, as brothers. Now back to your duties." A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Fear

In the midst of slaughter, the Lord of the Crossing sat on his carved oaken throne, watching greedily. There was a dagger on the floor a few feet away. Perhaps it had skittered there when the Smalljon knocked the table off its trestles, or perhaps it had fallen from the hand of some dying man. Catelyn crawled toward it. Her limbs were leaden, and the taste of blood was in her mouth. A Storm of Swords - Catelyn VII

Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard. A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Death

"Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. A Storm of Swords - Catelyn VII

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

Resurrection

“Sometimes she felt as though her heart had turned to stone.” A Game of Thrones - Catelyn VI

“Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone.” A Feast for Crows - Samwell III

#that one girl who really doesn't play about jon and catelyn #they mean so much to me I think she's his most defining relationship #asoiaf meta #Catelyn tully #catelyn stark #jon snow #Valyrian scrolls #asoiaf #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf parallels #valyrianscrol #lady stoneheart

[sare11aa11eras]

Heyy! if you’re still taking art requests and if you have the time, can you draw Arya killing Dareon?

“Did he ever find a ship to Oldtown? He said he was supposed to sail on the Lady Ushanora.”

“We all were. Lord Snow’s command. I told Sam, leave the old man, but the fat fool would not listen.” The last light of the setting sun shone in his hair. “Well, it’s too late now.”

“Just so,” said Cat as they stepped into the gloom of a twisty little alley.

-Cat of the Canals, A Feast for Crows

Hi nonny!! Sorry this took like. A month for me to actually sit down and start working on. Hope you like it!

Few notes under the cut!

When I sat down to re-read the scene, I was struck by how Martin’s narration skips over the actual killing, jumping ahead to Arya returning home that night. This is of course a dramatic tool, obscuring the murder from first time readers so that Arya revealing it at the end of the chapter is that much more striking, but I think it’s interesting from a writing standpoint that we don’t get to see Dareon die from her point of view here. We get none of her internal monologue, her rationale for the killing, just the conversation leading up to it and the consequences later. I really like this as a writing choice, as it leaves so much up to the reader’s observation and understanding of her character.

Visually it was very important to me to show the vair lining the inside of the cloak, a visual/color reminder that Arya makes this execution as an exercise of her Stark identity— he is a night’s watch deserter and furthermore he just make a remark about Jon. As a Stark, it is her duty to kill Night’s Watch deserters, and she likely feels a double duty as Jon’s sister. Vair is not consistently used to signify the Starks in the text— only 4/10 total instances of it, including this one, in the text are in reference to the Starks, two more are for the Freys, and one is for Cersei, so clearly it’s not a Stark-exclusive. Still, the grey and white vair on the inside of the cloak instantly struck me as a symbol of how Arya views Dareon in this moment as a Stark man who has betrayed her family.

I realize you might have hoped for a clearer depiction of Arya, but I had a few reasons for this layout. First, I wanted to obscure her face— obscure her emotions and motivations, just as the text does, leaving them to the audience’s deductive skills. Secondly, this was a pretty easy pose and it got me that visual piece with the cloak. And thirdly, the description of the scene emphasizes Arya stepping into the shadows, and I wanted to capture that ninja assassin mystique to the scene as it would have been from a personal point of view.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #my art #art requests #arya stark #dareon the singer #affc #anonymous #hi nonny! #Asks #asoiaf fashion hour #cat of the canals #dareon

[starogeorgina]

Killer queen

Warnings: Incest, sexual content

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.02

The north was far better than you imagined; the feeling when your feet sank into the snow for the first time made you feel ecstatic; and although not all the Northerners liked the Targaryens, they were fascinated by your dragons, and most were welcoming, although you suspected many acted that way out of fear.

As it was an unpolitical visit, you rode on horses to Winterfell to get a glimpse of the castle you’d heard so much about; it was just as you imagined. The outer wall was at least eighty feet high and surrounded by a large moat. Growing up in the red keep made you appreciate the beauty of the castle complex being covered in snow.

During the days, you and Aemond wore cloaks to visit bars and various other locations on horseback to try and blend in without being spotted while Aelora, your emerald giant, and Vhagar flew freely without disturbance.

The nights were different; Aemond took you whenever and wherever he could with his mouth and fingers. With your back pressed against a tree, he’d ignore the sting of the cold nipping at his knees as he kneeled on the ground in front of you, worshiping you with his mouth. Or toy with you by rubbing his hard on against you in a public place, causing you to become hot and flustered.

Aemond insisted it was impractical to have sex knowing there wasn’t a way for you to get moon tea while staying in the north.

“I don’t think Aelora likes the cold,” you state, watching as the dragon you bonded with curls herself into a ball on top of a small hill. Aelora was known for her gorgeous emerald green scales that glimmered under the sunlight. She didn’t hatch until your fourth name day and was the smallest out of all the Targaryen dragons, but she was fiercely loyal to you; she even hissed at Aegon the one time he accidentally pushed you to the ground while drunk.

“Perhaps she misses the heat of the king's landing.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon's feast should have ended a week prior; you hoped they would have returned to Dragonstone by the time you returned. “Maybe we should wait a couple more days before leaving.”

“Two more days, then where are we going?”

You feel yourself melt under Aemond’s gaze; the looks he gives you are always so full of love and admiration, even when he’s in a bad mood. You rest your head against his chest and say, “We can go wherever you want. It's up to you if we fly back to King's Landing or follow your heart’s desire to Dorne.”

Aemond didn’t answer. He kissed the crown of your head, keeping his attention on the two sleeping dragons in front of him.

—

Sitting in a chair by the fireplace Aemond watches as a pretty bastard called Iris Snow kisses your collarbone while straddling you. The idea of another man even looking at you with lust in his eyes was enough to drive Aemond into a jealous rage, but a woman... When you first said you were attractive to other females, he was happy for you to experiment, as long as he got to watch and occasionally join in.

When you first laid eyes on Iris two days prior, Aemond saw the devilish glint in your eyes and knew what you wanted. The brunette made it obvious that she was intrigued by you both, but only you got to play with her.

One of Almond's favorite sights was your legs spread wide open, giving him or whatever maiden you chose for the night access to your most sensitive area. Goosebumps spread across your body as the front of your low-cut dress is pulled down. Immediately, Iris attaches her lips to your breasts, sucking on them. You make eye contact with Aemond and say, “Not getting enough attention, my love?”

He doesn't take the bait and says nothing.

You let out a small moan as her teeth nipped at your skin. You look over again, expecting to see Aemond’s lilac eye clouded with lust, but it wasn’t; his whole demeanor was overshadowed by a stillness. You pull back and kiss Iris one last time, then whisper that you are sorry but she needs to leave. She looks disappointed but goes without argument.

When she’s out of the room, you walk over to Aemond and sit on his lap, your head resting against his chest. “What is wrong ñuha jorrāelagon?”

He doesn’t answer. You feel his arm tighten around your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck, and his hand resting on your thigh. Something was gnawing at him; it had been since before you left home. That was two weeks ago. Every time you asked him previously, he just said he was distracted, but you weren’t going to let it go this time.

“Aemond,” you cup his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You’ve been dis-” You cut yourself off, scared you’d sound desperate and pathetic, but the truth was you were. Aemond has always clung to you; he’s never withheld a part of himself. The thought of losing him terrified you, “whatever it is, just tell me.”

He kisses the back of your hand and says, “My love, I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to ruin your fun. Before we left, Mother informed me that my grandsire had started to look at possible suitors for your hand in marriage.”

You don't dare move. That knotting in your gut reminds you of the feeling you had when it was announced Aegon was to be wed to one of his sisters, and for a split second you thought it was you and not Helaena, and the feeling of your world crashing around you reappeared. Finally, you find your voice again. “I will have no other.”

“It is known in the realm that any man who asks for your hand in marriage will face the wrath of Vhagar,” Aemond kisses your cheek. “Although we should expect a battle when we return, convincing our mother we should be married won’t be easy.”

“We don’t need their permission,” you spin around on his lap so you're now facing him, your lips ghosting his. “We should just get married, here in the snow.”

He gives you a warning look and says, “Ashara.”

You lean into Aemond, capturing his lips with your own. “Nobody would ever come between us. No suitors. No men courting me. No women staring at you. I will be able to stop drinking that horrid tea and swell with your seed.”

A look you’d never seen before flashes across Aemond’s face; he looked like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. He grabs you, but the hips pull you in closer, “Tomorrow night, we will become husband and wife.”

Grinning, you wrap your arms around his neck. “In that case, I want you to fuck me like a whore one last time before making me yours forever.”

—

“Can I ask you something?”

Aemond raised his brows, sighing. He wasn’t one for talking after making love, but he nodded regardless, “Anything, my love.”

Caressing his face, you gently brush hair out of his face, your thumb gently stroking over his scar. “When did you know I was yours?”

“You’ve been mine for as long as I can remember.”

You lick at your dry lips staring up at the ceiling, “the night you lost your eye….I knew I’d never leave you again. I've always regretted leaving you to drink with Aegon, things could have turned out so different if I’d stayed by your side.”

“I would never have approached Vhagar with you by my side.”

“You never would have lost an eye.”

Aemond sat up right, looking at you with a stern look on his face. “I told mother it was a fair trade because I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon but that’s not all I gained that night. Watching you cling to Helaena, crying, with a murderous glare in your eyes, I finally realized I was yours just as much as you were mine, even if I was too young to know what that meant.”

“Avy jorrāelan.”

“I love you too, my sweet Ashara.”

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

ñuha jorrāelagon - my dear

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fandom #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #killer queen #Aemond Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen/you #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen/oc #aemond targaryen x female oc #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x fem!oc

[spahhzy]

When little Jaune Arc got to the playground, he honestly thought it would be the same old playing by yourself thing. Most of the other kids were in the process of being trained by their families in the way of being a huntsman.

Jaune sighed. He, too, wanted to be a huntsman... but for some reason, his family never wanted to train him. No matter how many times he asked or begged, it was still a resounding 'No' from both mom and dad.

Jaune feet kicked up some dirt as he made his way towards the swing set, but to his surprise, instead of it being empty, their was actually someone sitting in the swing next to him.

Timidly, Jaune got into the swing next to the stranger, feeling a bit uncomfortable as the stranger face was covered with a hood, but Jaune did his best not to pay attention to the stranger but them sitting and NOT doing anything wS beginning to scare him.

???: Don't be afraid friend.

Lil Jaune's blue eyes widened as he heard the stranger speak, how did he know!?

???: I promise you I mean you no harm, I'm just here to think is all.

Jaune: o-okay...

???: Why are you here all alone?

Jaune: ...uhm cause I-I don't have any friends.

???: Really, well, that makes two of us...I too don't have any friends....well, that would be a lie...I had one good friend but I haven't seen him in a long time.

Jaune: Wow... I'm sorry, I'm sure you guys were very good friends.

???: You betcha, you could say we were inseparable!

Jaune: Wow... I wish I had a friend like that... Everyone is just off being cool heroes and stuff...

???: You want to be a hero?

Jaune: Oh boy, do I, that's like my dream!

???: What does a hero usually do?

Jaune: Hero's....uh they help those I need, like in the stories and fairytales.

???: So you want to help people?

Jaune: Mmhm! I wanna help everyone!

???: Everyone, you say, hmm? You know what, you're going to be someone hero one day, I can already see it.

Jaune: Really, sir, you mean it?

???: Mmhm! And you know what, if I may, could you help me out? Think of it as part of your hero training.

Jaune: But I'm not a hero...

???: Not with that attitude you won't be. Think of this little request as the stepping stones of your training!

Little Jaune pondered for a moment but reluctantly nodded if he could begin to start being a hero in training then he would help the stranger.

The stranger reached into his cloak before pulling out...

Jaune looked on in awe...their in the strangers hands was a small blue sleeping... kitten?

???: Can you watch after this little fella here? They have been through a-lot...

Jaune paled...he couldn't bring home a cat, his mom and dad would be upset!

???: I know what you're thinking, and don't worry, only you and some other folks can see them.

Jaune: Really...

???: Oh, most definitely! Your mom, dad, and sisters will see nothing.

Now Jaune was beginning to have doubts...a invisible cat?

Jaune: Wait...who are the other people who can see them?

???: Bad bad people, they tried to hurt the poor fella. I don't have names, but I can tell you one will have a metal arm with red eyes, another will be snow witch with a scar on eye, another will have gold eyes and cat ears just like our friend here and another one will have silver eyes and a large scary stick...

Jaune just gulped. These people seemed like real villains. Why would they want to hurt this poor cat!

???: lastly, watch out for the silent double colored terror... she will be the most persistent.

Jaune just nodded as the stranger gently handed him the blue kitten.

???: You're gonna be a great hero, Jaune. I can already see it in you.

Jaune: Y-you think so?

???: Oh yes, I already see a little bit of my friend in you, and he was my greatest hero.

Jaune: Wow!

???: Yep, but it's time for me to go now, little hero. Remember, take very good care of our little friend here, and when the time is right, I will meet you again in a land where fantasy comes to life!

Jaune: O-okay, uhm...

???: J.C.

Jaune: J.C?

???: mmhm!

Mama Arc: Jaune, honey, come on its time to go!

Jaune: coming mom...uhm thanks J.C for...giving me a chance to become a hero.

Jaune then carried the kitten close to his chest as he turned his back to the stranger, who waved at him, Jaune turned and waved back before finally returning to his mom as they both left the park, and Jaune found it weird but he thought he saw bright blue eyes coming from the stranger...ah well must have been a trick of the light.

The stranger watched as Jaune and his mother left the park before looking at his hand that began to fade away.

???: Yes, you will become the hero, Jaune...my hero!

A gust of wind blew around him as his hood fell and revealed a mess of blonde hair and a slightly old face marred with a disturbing chesire grin and bright blue eyes.

CCJaune: My hero forever!

#jaune arc #neopolitian (rwby) #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake bellodona #curious cat

[leupagus]

Team Stark, Team Targaryen, Team Black, Team Green, whatever. I'm on Team Let Shireen Have Nice things

x

Sansa's horse's name was Ninny; he had one blue eye and one brown, which Northerners thought was lucky.

"More likely means he's deaf in one ear," Father remarked. Ninny's ears, which seemed to hear well enough, flattened and he nipped at Father's horse. (If it had a name, Father either hadn't asked or didn't want to tell her, since he'd ignored her question when they'd first mounted.)

"I think he feels insulted, Your Grace," Sansa remarked, pulling Ninny's head back around and settling her arms more comfortably around Shireen's waist. She'd been kind to let Shireen ride with her, since most of the Northern horses were needed to carry two or even three soldiers apiece, along with whatever equipment they could drag out of the snows. Mother and Lady Melisandre had chosen to ride two of the surviving Southern horses, but Mother had said there wasn't room on hers for both of them.

So instead of riding in the back of the train, Shireen was next to Father near the front, just behind the beautiful banners that snapped and curled in the breeze. It was still bitterly cold, but Sansa's cloak was warm wrapped round them both and she had even brought a pair of Northern boots for Shireen, with the fur thickly lined on the inside. Only the right side of her face was chilled, tears pricking at her eye. Sansa said they would make camp late tomorrow at this pace; her stormseer had promised them blue skies and clear nights. Shireen had hoped this would make Father — not happy, since she had only rarely seen him so, and never since Uncle Robert had died — but less unhappy.

Instead, it had turned him surly, the sort he only got when he had been frightened about something. He had been like this once when she had gone sailing with Devan in his little skiff and it had capsized, sending them laughing into the calm waters of the western bay. They had managed to swim toward land, pushing the hull of the boat before them, and had found Father and Ser Davos wading out to retrieve them. Davos helped Devan drag the boat in, laughing all the while, but Father had picked her up and carried her to shore, holding her so tightly she could feel her bones creak. "Get to your rooms and change," he'd ordered, all but dropping her to the stony beach, and for the rest of the day had scowled and muttered whenever she'd spoken.

She could not think why he was acting this way now, but she had long since given up trying to coax him out of his sulks the way she could Ser Davos. Instead she asked Sansa more questions — about the Wolfswood, where she and her army had hidden themselves, and about the Goldgrass Coldblood horses that Northerners rode.

"Not just Goldgrasses," said Sansa. "The mountain clans breed and ride their Breakstone Garrons, which are even better than the Coldbloods when it comes to surviving the winters. They're more like goats than horses — they eat like goats, too," she added with a wrinkle to her nose. "The other day, a Garron managed to open Lord Flint's saddlebags and ate his linen smallclothes."

Shireen covered her mouth to hold in her giggle, but Father had dropped behind them to speak with Davos a few lengths behind. "Was Lord Flint very cross?"

"Oh, yes, but you can't throw a horse into the stocks, even if he does eat your underthings."

#spoilers: stannis is surly because he was about two episodes away from murdering his own daughter #and he's having some Feelings about himself as a result #which: GOOD #honestly still cannot believe that anyone thought that character arc was a good idea #anyway I love the idea that sansa is to shireen as margaery was to sansa #ie someone she looks up to who is kind of terrifying #MORE WOMEN RELATIONSHIPS PLEASE #game of thrones motherfuckers #got: bitches get stuff done

[tessimagines]

I AM HERE TO REQUESTTTT, ur writing is literally so good imma gobble it all up!! may i please request, 💥 harry potter w harry, draco and (young) sirius x reader where their lover stood them up on their date on valentines?? the boys know that their lover is literally the worst and despises them but once reader comes crying to them they comfort them?? (!! they have a crush on reader as well)

TY AND I LOVE U <33 take care of yourself! sorry if this was too much!

omg girl of course

A/N: @areislol i know you are asleep but here is something nice for you to wake up too :))

HP Preference: How they Comfort You After you are Stood Up on Valentines Day

Harry Potter

Harry heard from Hermione first

As soon as she told him, he felt his heart drop

Nobody deserved to have that happen to them. And to him, the idea of it happening to you was even more maddening

His first instinct was to find you

When he did, you were sitting alone under a tree by the Great Lake, your eyes set out and focused on the glittering water in front of you

He sat down beside you, and for the first few moments, neither of you said a word

"I'm sorry," he said, "you didn't deserve that"

He wrapped an arm around you and you leaned your head on his shoulder

He could have stayed like that for hours

Harry made sure to mess with the guy who did it, using his invisibility cloak to make sure all of his belongings mysteriously went missing

Next Valentines day, Harry makes sure you have a Valentines Day you deserve

Draco Malfoy

Draco found you sitting alone at a table in the Great Hall, a book open in front of you

He laughed as he sat down across from you

"I thought you were on your little Valentines date with that Hufflepuff boy"

He was furious when he found out

His immediate thought was to confront the guy who did it to you

It didn't take him long to find him and about half the school heard Draco cuss him out

You only heard through Cho Chang what he had said

When you confronted him about it, he said it was nothing. He told you that he had never liked the guy anyway and it gave him a reason to confront him

It was his eyes that gave his true intentions away

When you kissed him, he didn't quite know what to do with his hands, they were left floating randomly and awkwardly in the air

After a second however, they came to rest on your hips, bringing you closer and deepening the kiss

(Young) Sirius Black

Sirius found out when you got back to the Gryffindor common room, a look on your face that was holding back tears

He immediately rushed up out of his spot on the lounge suite and grabbed your elbow to stop you from going up the stairs

When you told him what had happened, he pulled you into his arms

He promised to take you out then and there, giving you a Valentines Day that you deserved

When you told him that he was being ridiculous, that you were okay and just wanted to go up to your room, he shook you off

There was no way you were going to be sitting in your room alone

Sirius led you out the common room and took you over to Hogsmeade

As you two passed the guy you were supposed to be with, Sirius made sure he had his arm sitting around your shoulders

Sirius tried his best to make you laugh over butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks

He held your hand as you walked through the snowing village, feeling more and more proud of himself as the smile on your face grew bigger and bigger

You can make your own request for my Back-to-Writing Celebration or see my general requesting guidelines

Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist

#harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #hp imagines #hp x reader #harry potter preferences #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #sirius black imagines #sirius black x reader #harry potter headcanons #draco malfoy headcanons #sirius black headcanons

[spxllcxstxr]

Battle Plans • J.S

(Gif not mine)

Request: ok i was thinking maybe i could request a jon snow x reader blurb (my pronouns are she/her but i don’t mind if you don’t want to specify) where jon is going over battle plans and you keep flirting with him and distracting him, i’d love if it could already be an established relationship. — @sarahisslytherin

Summary: Jon thinks constantly about battle and you need to persuade him to finally rest

Warnings: fem!reader, a tad off the request???, maybe suggestive??? Though I tried not to make it too suggestive I guess lmao

Word Count: 630

A.N: first time writing both got and Jon snow so like hopefully it’s all good!!

•

He was pacing around the room, dark fur cloak swirling around at every harsh turn. Occasionally he would speak aloud, though most of it was in his mind, eyes glazed over and deep in thought.

You watch him from his bed, your own fur cloak wrapped around your shoulder keeping the cold at bay. Just by the flickering flame of the candle you can see just how pale his face is, how ghastly he looks. His dark curls are no longer tied back and instead they messily dangle in front of his face. The rugged appearance only gets worse day after day and it’s starting to worry you. Biting your lip, you continue to follow him with your eyes across the room.

This isn’t the only time you’ve woken up in the middle of the night to your love pacing the small stone room. Winter was here and he was tasked with facing it head on.

“Jon,” You softly call out, shifting to lean against the headboard. “Jon, my love, come to bed,”

He continues to pace near the window, giving no indication that he’s heard you at all.

You sigh as you get up from the feather bed, your exposed skin getting nipped at by the cold. The stone flooring sends shivers from the bottoms of your feet all the way up to your spine. The fire across the room had burnt out hours ago leaving the room dark with a chill lingering in the air.

Pressing yourself into the dark cloak on his back, you wrap your arms around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. He’s warm against your exposed skin and you swear you could fall asleep standing up right then and there.

“Jon…” You whisper, lips close to his ear, warm breath tickling the tip of his ear.

“I am in the middle of a thought, dearest, I will join you in a moment,” A calloused hand pats your own.

“Your moments always last hours, my love,” Your lips press against the spot behind his ear and your kisses make your way down the side of his neck. Jon shivers in reply, breath hitching. “You need rest, Jon, come to bed…”

“You’re distracting,” Jon murmurs as he turns around in your arms, hands coming up to lightly hold your jaw. His fingers are cold. Goosebumps rise all across your body as a chill jolts at the base of your spine.

“I’m persuasive,”

Jon chuckles, smirking. His dark eyes run over your lips and down your neck, taking in the sight of your form beneath layers of furs.

“Alas, dearest, I must—“

“Rest. You must rest, Jon,” Your own hands move up to hold his wrists, keeping his hands from moving away from your features. “The battle will still be there in the morning for you to plan. You are too tired to get anywhere with it tonight,”

Jon’s dark eyes, truly like the void of a moonless night, soften at your soft plea. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he relents.

“Fine. But do not be offended when I am gone before dawn,” Though he smiles as he disrobes and lets you lead him to the pile of furs spread across the mattress.

Even Jon shivers slightly in the time it takes him to step across the room and lie under the covers. His body radiates warmth and as a result you move closer to him.

“Let’s not talk about the morning, my love,” You press kisses up his neck, lips finally hovering above his own. “Just be distracted until then,” Jon meets you halfway, the two of you melting into each other before succumbing to the darkness of the night and the warmth of each other.

•

#game of thrones #got #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #Jon snow #jon snow x reader #Jon snow fluff #Jon snow blurb

[i984]

Snowy Escape

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x Chronokinesis! gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: HAND HOLDING AHHH, Probably Ooc! Wednesday Addams, author hasn't written fluff for a while now so it's rusty, your relationship is made vague in this one, Wednesday is a softie argue with the wall, let me know if I should add more warnings.

|Summary|: Wednesday witnesses a bewitching sight thanks to your powers.

|A/n|: I am finally back at the fluffy one-shot fic business. Check blog description for masterlist!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Snow.

Such a pretty thing, no?

Vermont is the snowiest state in the USA, so it wasn't uncommon to see white covering Jericho in the cold season. And this year, it's no different. Your first winter in Nevermore Academy. With her.

Braids decorated in crystalline powder, heavy eyelashes hooded iridescent dark brown orbs. Wednesday had a speck of red covering her freckle-painted cheeks. Though the tip of her nose and ears blushed a lovely cherry. She looked positively enchanting like this; there's no doubt about it.

"Winter suits you perfectly," you murmured softly to the girl beside you.

"The bleak skies and the stifling cold does reflect myself well," her impassive voice answered.

You hold back a grin, "I was thinking more about how it makes you blush."

"It's natural," Wednesday's eyes traveled from the bleached ground to your face, "When exposed to freezing temperatures, the body tries to warm itself by circulating blood close to the surface."

She's greeted with the sight of an amused smile. "What?"

You snorted at the bite in her tone, "Yes, silly, but I meant the blush compliments your look really well."

Wednesday doesn't answer. Instead, she turns to look at the barren trees far in the distance. Her blush has deepened, and now her whole face glows crimson. You decided not to comment on your observation.

A gentle hush cloaked the school grounds; no students were walking around. Even though the sparkling winter scape of white and silver proves a captivating sight, most opted to stay inside, sipping hot chocolate, protected from the freezing chill.

But here you both are, standing in the middle of the quad, watching heaven spew its ivory confetti. 

"You said you wanted to show me something?" Wednesday breaks the comforting silence. 

"Yeah, about that..." Your words trailed off as you rubbed the back of your neck on instinct, eyes refusing to meet the ravennete's inquiring gaze. 

Indeed you had asked her to go outside after seeing snow falling from your dormitory's window; for a specific reason. 

Though now, you're not sure if it's a great one. 

Wednesday immediately recognizes the look of uncertainty on your face. The one you make when you've planned everything perfectly; but forgot to think about the uncontrollable variables, though which variables this time is still up for debate.

"Nothing is stopping you."

You finally turn your head to see Wednesday holding her usual blank stare, but somehow her face looks almost reassuring. Like she was challenging you to come through with your request. 

"Well, if that's the case..." You take a deep breath to calm your nerve before you shoot her with the determining question, "can I hold your hand?"

Wednesday's eyes widen in the wake of your words; the preposition caught the raven-haired girl off guard. She obviously didn't expect you to ask her that.

Silence lingered between the two of you, and with each passing moment, you got more anxious about her response. Suddenly, you're more aware of the skin-seeping cold and your chilblained feet. 

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," you scratched at your eyebrow, "we can continue to watch the snow-"

The string of hurried words got silenced as soon as her icy hand met yours. Mouth gaping, steam exhaled from your lungs as shallow breaths fill the air. 

Warmth floods your body; now it's your turn to have blood rushing to your face. Eyes lowering to see the small hand interlinked with yours, you can't fight the grin tugging your chapped lips. 

It's the simple things, you thought.

"Thank you."

Her head moves in a subtle nod.

So simple it melts your worry away. 

A free hand now raising in the air, you look over to see Wednesday's brows doing the same, wonder etched in her features.

"Ready?" Intertwining your fingers with hers, you clasp her hand firmly, the heat radiating from the touch slowly warming her skin.

"What are you-"

The fragile flakes hung mid-air, shimmering as they reflected the trapped light when you stopped the world around you. You feel the recurring frosty blow hitting your face cease; the world is entombed in a dome of silence.

The serenity of it all has a captivating quality; it's not every day you stop time. A hum escapes your throat in contentment, and you feel the girl beside you shift in her place.

"How am I still moving?" Wednesday's words echo onto the vast space, curiosity evident in her sound.

"Whoever I touch when I use my powers will not be frozen in time," You explained carefully to her, "That's why I asked to hold your hand."

"Fascinating."

Now it's Wednesday's turn to raise a free hand into the air, but hers brushes the stilled powdered gem. The touch was delicate, testing if the snow would crumble in her wake.

But the particle stays unmoving. Except for the two of you, everything in the world is trapped in a stoning spell, lending the lucky ones time to appreciate the beauty of the panorama. 

The red scarf you gifted Wednesday for Christmas sits around her neck loosely, and her coat lifts as she stands on tiptoes above white concrete. 

Her quirking eyebrows, the slightly jutted lips, the crimson shade; everything about her enamored you. You may be able to stop time, but she stopped your world from circling the orbit, moving the course as if she's the sun in your life. 

"Bewitching," you breathed the word out, and Wednesday turned to find your gaze transfixed on her face. Not at the tranquil scenery or anywhere else. But at her. 

Caught in a trance, neither of you realizes the earth resumes its activity; whining winds gusts, and fluttery snowflakes puffed down once more.

You can beg for Chronos' patience for only so long. 

Wednesday takes both freezing hands into her coat's pocket. 

It's the simple things that matter.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

|A/n2|: Thank you so much for the anon who made the request, as soon as I see it my body jumps and grabbed my laptop to write. You saved me from procrastinating yet again.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams fanfic #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday series #wednesday x you #wednesday addams #wednesday x y/n #wednesday imagine #wednesday edit #fluff #wednesday fanfic #my story #fanfic #Spotify

[lavalais76]

Jon & Sansa | Winter in my Heart

I am simply obsessed with these 2. All the Metas and Fan Fiction from you beautiful kindred souls makes me feel so alive! I appreciate each and everyone of you. @istumpysk and @esther-dot @starwarsprincess1986 @sherlokiness @stormcloudrising , you guys give me LIFE with your Metas.

I'm more of a book fan because the show did these characters no justice. We all know WHY. I hope you guys are ok with me posting all these sappy videos. Im sort of new to Tumblr, and I love it here. When I heard about the Kit and Sofie movie set at the time of "war of the roses" I became even more obsessed with Jon and Sansa.

They are obviously giving it away with this movie and trying to get the "Anti's" to get comfortable with the fact that these 2 are inevitable. Before Sansa appeared at Castle Black and even before the show begin I always wondered what the deal was with these 2. It just didn't make any sense, or as someone else put it: "Jon and Sansa are the LOUDEST SILENCE". I ALWAYS had that feeling that the girl in grey would be her. There isn't a single doubt in my mind.

I think something horrible will go down in the Vale and the Blackfish will help Sansa some sort of way to get to Jon. I read many Metas where they say Jon will come back from the dead a mindless beast, and he will have no POV. That's just impossible. Our main character/HERO a mute stuck in a wolf.

First of all I don't think Jon is dead AT ALL. I believe he is hanging on by a string due to blood loss and shock and possibly in a coma like Bran was at the beginning of the series. He will warg Ghost and find out many things about himself through Ghost while his friends (the wildings) nurse him back to life. Though VAL is not one of my favorite characters, some say she is a healer. That could be good for Jon.

Melsandra will probably burn Shrinee anyway because she thinks Stannis is dead. I also think Jon was drugged before the stabbings. The way he spoke of clumsily trying to retrieve LongClaw, and he just gave me a weird vibe. I DO NOT TRUST Satin guys. I know everyone loves him but if Jon were drugged, Satin always provided the drinks. Maybe I'm reaching too far, but that's just my gut feeling. Satin is Judas.

Cerci Lannister had plans on taking Jon off the Chess Board as well, so there is no telling if she orchestrated the whole thing or not. Whatever happens, it's gonna be real UGLY when Jon wakes up. Jon Snow as we knew him is definitely DEAD and died in the snow. The real BEAST is what we will have left of Jon. He will make the Hound look like a little poodle dog.

I do also believe he will be in those woods as Ghost while Sansa is being chased by Ramsay's hounds. He will definitely kill them all including whomever is with the dogs. There was a passage in the books if I remember correctly how when Ghost was a pup, and he was eating. A dog approached to try and steal his prize. Jon said the Dog was much bigger than Ghost, but all Ghost had to do was look at her and she ran away. Ghost got right back to his prize.

I've always wondered if that was a foreshadowing for Ghost fighting the hounds. Another thing, WHERE do Ghost go when Jon wonders of his whereabouts? Well, I'm almost done here Jonsa family. I hope I'm not boring you guys to death with this long book of a post I am writing.

I DO believe Sansa is the Girl in Grey and I'll die by that. I also think that after Ghost!Jon saves her, Brianne and Jamie or Brianne and Company will get her to Castle Black. The dying horse in my opinion is not a real Horse. It could be a person. We've already had the real dying horse with Alyas. Sansa doesn't have to be dressed in Grey either because so many other things links her to Grey.

I remember she had a green cloak in Kings Landing that belonged to the hound and if I'm not mistaken she also got on the boat with LF with that cloak on. Where is it? I do not know.

Anyway, Sansa will arrive at Castle Black shortly after Jon wakes up from his coma (refuse to believe he died and actual death) People will SAY he rose from the dead as they did Sansa when she left Kings Landing. It will be a myth, but people will believe it. Jon will NOT be the same. I believe he will have all of his memories which preserved in Ghost but he will become "THE BEAST" After he has "killed the boy." He would have tapped into his powers and possibly converse with Bran and Bloodraven.

Jon will probably forget what happened in the woods and in his wolf dreams but he will have the shock of his life to see Sansa Stark of ALL people come through those gates. She's come to the end of the world to seek HIM out. He will realize it was the wrong sister he almost got murdered behind.

Everyone will fear him at Castle Black. He will be a cold blooded killer with no humanity left until she walks through those gates. It's a craving Jon had (to see her again) but he kept that to himself. We know this from Ygritte, Alays and Val. He was looking for Sansa in all these women, and now the real deal stands right before him.

I'm not saying it's going to be an easy journey, but she will be the ONLY ONE to calm the beast. Jon will protect her of course (or steal her) but he will be mean to Sansa at first. He will eventually fall madly in love with her and vice versa. She will sing to him, annoy him, anger him, pacify him and Jon won't know what hit him.

They will fall in love because of what they both endured. Jon will be OVER protective of Sansa in the books, possibly locking her up in a tower like Stannis has Val, but this time there is a real princess in the tower that Jon WANTS to steal. I know I've reached my limits here. I am sorry for rambling or any errors, I'm just so happy to have ran across you fine people. If I didn't tag someone is because I don't remember the names and I'm still fairly new on Tumblr.

You guys are the BEST!

#jon x sansa #sansa stark #jonsa meta #jonsa #jon x sansa meta #Youtube