#for amy

[chacolachao]

"Chacola go to sleep" sing the birds outside

[brechtian]

eww 🤢🤢 you like 🤢🤢🤢 moash 👑🗡💥 ??? what are you??? gay?????? ❌🚫🌈💑

[dena-1984]

"Even though never said it out loud

- we knew."

for @amymel86 ♡

[teamroscoes]

[adecila]

My One

Happy birthday @muttpeeta !!! Wishing you all the best, you insanely talented lady!! Love you lots! Wrote you a lil’ something... 

She was denying him, that much he knew. He supposed—nay, he was sure—he deserved it for avoiding her for two days; he regretted it now, having lost all those moments with her. Yet Jon knew that had he as much as glanced her way, he would have blurted out the entire thing. No. He wanted—he needed to find a way of telling her—Dany deserved to be told gently, not to be sprung such news upon herself, like Sam had done with him.

Despite his best efforts, he had fucked up. The dead had arrived before he got to finish saying everything he wanted to say. Gods. Her face. She looked so heartbroken. Jon was sure she must have thought him some manipulative snake, worse than Littlefinger.

Somehow, they had survived, the losses immense, especially for her, but they were here, alive, flesh and bone, still breathing, hearts still beating. Still, it wasn’t worth it without her by his side.

Read the rest on AO3

[wecouldstillbegreat]

Jealous!Dan

[winterhawkkisses]

686.

An arrow thudded into the ground an inch in front of the Soldier’s boot, and he stopped immediately, flinched backward, scanned the surroundings for the threat. It took him more than the moment he was used to; the man was further away than anyone able to make that shot should be, perched on the roof of a Hook-A-Duck stall like an overgrown gargoyle, his bright purple shirt causing him to blend in amongst the cheap carnival prizes. 

The chaos of the carnival continued around him, the welter of sounds and colors and smells disorienting after so long in the cold and the dark. The Soldier darted sideways, out of the line of fire, and then cast around for his target amongst the milling crowd. 

There - he looked hunted, as he should, brown hair stained by sweat at the temples. The bag on his back likely held the information and money he had taken. The Soldier plotted a trajectory, risked a glance at the Hook-A-Duck stall to check his calculations, and found the stall empty of the rogue archer. 

The Soldier scowled. He had not been permitted to wear his mask on this mission, dressed instead in civilian clothing, sent out on the orders of one much lower in the command structure than was usual. He pushed his hair back out of his face and decided to forget the archer; he had body armor that would likely protect him, and his mission was paramount. 

His target darted into a tent, green striped and musty, overheating in the sun. The Soldier followed him in only to find himself confronted by the archer, bow drawn and feet planted wide. 

“He may be an asshole, but he’s my brother,” he said apologetically, as the target darted out of sight. The words were - familiar. Strangely so; the world was ever a mass of confusion and fragmented half-remembrances, but these words were as familiar as the back of his hand. As the ribs they curled over in stark black letters. 

“How do you know my words?” he asked, confused and, for a moment, lost. The archer’s mouth dropped open and he lowered his bow. 

“I’m sorry,” the Soldier said - another anomaly - and shot him in the thigh.