all my base are belong to you

Maytal_Error Challenge.

So I have seen some challenges based on months, mainly on @xtaleunderverse and @loverofpiggies so I have decided to make a challenge for my darling daughter (since she calls me Mop mum on stream) @xedramon

So here we go, the Maytal Challenge! Fatal Error belongs to @xedramon, Cross belongs to @jakei95, Geno, Error and Fresh all belong to @loverofpiggies. Make sure to credit the owners of any characters you draw (and credit me for making the challenge), and make sure you use the tag Maytal_Challenge so that both myself and the creators of these characters can find your attempts at the challenge.

1-      Fatal be Cray Day! It’s Bank Holiday Monday, and Fatal does NOT like Mondays. Draw a Crazy Fatal_Error! Anything will do!

2-      How would Fatal react to Cross and his recent transformation? (See Underverse 0.3)

3-      It’s Mop Mother’s birthday, and Fatal has had a little too much snowcone syrup! Draw something to represent this!

4-      May the forth be with Fatal Blog! Celebrate the anniversary!

5-      Grey text day! Speculate who/what the voice is, perhaps even draw them!

6-      Say what? Fatal’s freaking out, draw him speaking incoherently!

7-      What if Fatal actually DID find his Papyrus?

8-      CPAU Fatal. Go wild!

9-      Fatal meets Kid!Fatal!

10-   What would Fatal dream about?

11-   Fatal in your favourite AU – let’s hope he leaves it in a better state than Outertale eyyyyyyy!

12-   Fatal in your favourite game – let’s hope he doesn’t glitch out your save.

13-   Human Fatal. Have fun!

14-   Who would Fatal consider as his family?

15-   AuntXed – how to deal with a glitching ball of anxiety and cuteness.

16-   Fatal finds Error. On a scale of ‘glitchy mess’ to *warning system error* how doomed are our computers and eyes for this fight?

17-   The Peeper. Fatal finds the UVStudio. What does he see?

18-   Movie night! Draw Fatal’s reaction to a movie!

19-   What’s Fatal’s Pokemon team?

20-   Fatal’s reaction to Nintendo Switch and the red and blue controllers.

21-   Fresh_Hell coming fresh outta hell *finger guns*

22-   Draw yourself meeting Fatal for the first time.

23-   Memories. Take from this what you will.

24-   What does Fatal keep in his red code strings?

25-   Chibi Fatal. Draw the squishy glitch bae.

26-   How would Fatal react to meeting Chara? Your interpretations here!

27-   Fatalberry fluff. Go wild!

28-   Fatal’s reaction to a sugar rush.

29-   Fatal wears someone else’s clothes. Do they glitch?

30-   Fatal is hit with the feels. What happens?

31-   Last Day! Draw anything Fatal related as a farewell. Maybe throw him a cake through a portal.

Brown Eyed Girl (Steve Rogers x Brown Eyed! Female Reader)

Originally posted by your-kylie-me


(The picture is actually of my eyes so I guess that belongs to me :))

Words: 767

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Dancing, Reader wearing only Steve’s shirt and Steve checking her out, Also I think there’s like one swear word

Summary: You’ve always had mixed feelings about your eye color. But Steve loves you, his one and only Brown Eyed Girl.

A/N: So I was inspired by Van Morrison’s song, “Brown Eyed Girl”, and also seeing my eyes in the sunlight. The reader’s feelings towards her eye color are based on how I feel/felt about my eyes. This one’s for all my brown eyed beauties out there! (For those of you who don’t have brown eyes, your eyes are beautiful too!!). I hope you guys enjoy!

Brown Eyes.

Some people love ‘em.

Others hate 'em.

You had a memory of telling your parents that you wished you had blue or green eyes. You had said that yours were too boring. You remembered how they laughed and said to be happy with your eyes. That there were some people who couldn’t even see the color of their eyes because theirs didn’t work the way they were supposed to.

So you just stopped mentioning it.

Through your teenage years you slowly began to think that they might be pretty, but maybe it was just the eye makeup talking.

You still felt insecure.

But then you met Steve.

Keep reading


Note: You are the kindest First Order General that Kylo has ever known. But when he tells you this, he doesn’t quite expect for you to react so negatively. In an effort to earn your forgiveness and demonstrate his love for you, you soon learn that Kylo will go to great lengths.

Requested by: Anon.

Originally posted by augustren

“It’s amazing how much you endure for me,” Kylo whispered as he ran his fingers gently down your cheek.

You were both lying on the bed in your shared quarters. After having had a particularly trying day, you were ready to go to sleep the moment you laid on the bed. Though Kylo was a light sleeper, he was always willing to lie with you until you fell asleep.

So in that moment, with your eyes half closed as sleep was beginning to wash over you, Kylo’s comment quickly sent your head snapping up into his direction.

“What do you mean?”

With his helmet resting on the nightstand, you could see him furrow his eyebrows, “You put up with so much on a daily basis. And we both know that you do it for me.”

You raised an eyebrow, “I’m a high ranking First Order general, Kylo,” you said pointedly, “I think my job requires me to put up with a lot regardless.”

“No, no,” Kylo said quickly, “I mean this entire thing. You even being a General. Let’s be honest, you’re hardly First Order material.”

You shot up immediately, clutching to the blanket as you looked down at him, “Why would you say something like that?”

Kylo looked taken aback by your reaction, “I-I didn’t meant to offend you, love, I meant it as a compliment. You don’t belong here!” He said in a flurry of words, suddenly realising what he had just said didn’t sound any better.

You scoffed and Kylo reached out to you, “That came out wrong, Y/N. I mean you don’t belong here because you deserve so much more.”

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks.”

“You’re unlike anyone else on this entire base, Y/N. You’re kind-hearted, you’re caring… and you’re not afraid of me,” he added, trying to lighten your expression. But you remained scowling, “Sometimes it seems as though the only reason you put up with working here is me. Like you’re wasting your potential here just for me.”

“So you think I’m a waste of potential? Lovely,” you said, getting out of the bed. You didn’t know why this bothered you so much, but it just did.

Kylo had found you on your home planet, tattered and lost. Like you didn’t know where in the Galaxy you belonged. Though it was true your personality might not have been the very best for First Order, Kylo had given you a home and work that had stability, and that was important to you. He knew that too, and after all you had been through, you couldn’t believe he would actually think of taking that away.

“Where are you going?” Kylo frowned.

“Well clearly I don’t belong here,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Kylo sighed, “You’re taking this the wrong way, just wait–”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You opened the blast doors hastily before storming out.

“These came for you, General L/N… Uh, again,” the Storm Trooper awkwardly set a bouquet of roses down on your desk.

You thanked and dismissed him before placing the flowers onto the shelf, joining the three other bouquets that had now found a home there.

You caught a brief glance of the note before you shelved it. My darling Y/N, I am so sorry.“

It had been four days since your argument, and Kylo had sent you flowers on every one of them. The morning after the argument, he had to leave for a diplomatic mission. But he didn’t want to leave his presence unforgotten.

You didn’t even know where Kylo could’ve gotten these roses from. They certainly didn’t grow on Starkiller Base. You laughed slightly at the thought of him ordering someone to fetch him flowers from a distant planet. Just the thought of him showing such outward affection was so odd.

In truth, you had forgiven him a few moments after you had stormed out of your bedroom. You realised that you might have overacted, especially when Kylo had meant no harm by his words.

But since he was away on a mission, you were using this time apart to your advantage. You hadn’t spoken to him since he left. No twice daily check-ins as was the usual when either of you were away. When the first bouquet of roses had arrived, you became curious to know how far he would go to show he was sorry.

You know it sounded terrible, but it had become so much fun. Besides, Kylo would back in a few days and you would talk it over with him then. This was harmless.

"General?” A knock at the door suddenly caught your attention.

“Come in,” you said as you watched the same Storm Trooper enter.

“General L/N, Captain Phasma ordered me to inform you that a Shuttle will be leaving in half an hour.”


“And she has requested you join her in the Hangar before then to give you enough time to board,” he finished.

You frowned, “To board? I have no trips scheduled in my itinerary.”

The room fell quiet as the Storm Trooper was at a loss for what to say to you. You smiled briefly, “That’ll be all thank you.”

Half an hour passed quickly and you soon found yourself sitting beside Phasma on board a First Order starship heading to only Maker knew where.

“Any idea what this is all about?” You asked, curious but also trying to start a conversation with the otherwise quiet Captain.

“All I know is that Commander Ren wanted me to escort you to this planet.”

“What planet?”

“I don’t know that it’s even been named,” she huffed, “From what I’ve heard it’s beautiful, but it’s entirely uninhabited.”

“Sounds like the perfect place to kill us both without anyone seeing,” you remarked, letting out a laugh.

“Perhaps not me, but we both know the Commander wouldn’t even think about harming you.”

You smiled, humming in agreement. So what was this all about?

When you landed and descended down the ramp, you couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer beauty of the planet.

It was sunset, and the green field that you had landed in was adorned with what looked like a million different flowers. Your eyes lit up at the sight of roses growing in front of you.

In the distance stood Kylo, two Storm Troopers standing on either side of him.

You went towards him, and soon as you were close enough, he dismissed his men and removed his helmet.

“Y/N?” He wasn’t surprised, rather he sounded cautious about how best to approach you.

“Hello, Kylo.”

“Did you… get the– the roses that I sent?”

“All four bouquets,” you responded nonchalantly. You almost felt bad for toying with him now.

He nodded, “I had them sent from this planet.”

“Where are we anyway?”

“This planet belongs to a region the First Order has just acquired. I was sent to confirm that the planet is uninhabited.”

“It’s too pretty for no one to live on it,” you observed.

Kylo’s expression lit up at that, “Do you like the planet?”

You nodded in response.

“Then it’s yours.”

You scoffed, “What do you mean it’s mine?”

“I’m giving it to you. As a reminder of how much I love you,” Kylo started, being particularly careful with how he spoke, “Not that I’m saying your love can be bought…” The last thing he needed was for you to get angry again.

You could tell he wasn’t finished, so you waited expectantly for him to continue.

“Look, I was wrong, Y/N. You do belong in the First Order, and I should never have told you otherwise. I’m so sorry, love.” The desperation in his voice told you that he needed you to forgive him.

Little did he know, you already had. “It’s fine– I think I agree with you anyway.”

Kylo frowned, “You don’t feel like you belong?” He hated the thought of you believing you had no place in the First Order, especially if it was him who had placed such ideas in your mind.

You shook your head, “Maybe I don’t belong in the First Order. Maybe, I am too… kind-hearted, as you put it. But it’s that part of me that couldn’t stay angry at you for longer than ten minutes,” you admitted.

“You know I didn’t mean for you to take offence to what I said, Y/N, I–”

“Let me finish,” you stopped him, taking your hand in his to let you know everything was alright, “Maybe being a First Order General isn’t for me. But then again, I’m not sure of anywhere I would rather be. Because living and working on Starkiller Base has taught me something important.”

“And what’s that?”

“It doesn’t matter where I am in the entire Galaxy, Kylo. If you are by my side, I’ll know that it’s where I belong.”

His eyes lit up at your words, instant relief washing over him as he embraced you.

“Then I promise to never stop making you feel like you belong, my darling.”

“And I promise not to storm off on you like that again,” you laughed, “Although… having you think I’m mad at you does seem to have it’s benefits. After all, I could get used to four bouquets and an entire planet to tell me your sorry,” you teased him.

“Well clearly my words aren’t the best way to tell you how I feel about you,” Kylo chuckled, “Maybe I’m just better at showing it. I never want you to feel out of place, not even for a minute. I would do anything to prove to you how much I love and care about you, Y/N. You know that, don’t you?”

“Hmm, well I do now,” you smiled, reaching up to press your lips to his.

the-smartass-under-the-mountain  asked:

Headcanon that Peter Parker doesn't use his desk to study because it isn't big enough for him to spread out all of his notes so he uses the floor, bedroom, living room, sometimes the kitchen if it's late at night and needs food to keep him going. If you're studying with him you either get the desk, or you're on the floor with him, notes getting mixed up, and you have to guess which notes belong to who based on the doodles in the margins.

“Test me?” Peter asked, handing you a pile of what he believed to be his chemistry notes. You took them and frowned when you looked closely at them.

“Pete these are my history notes,” you pointed out, holding them up.

“But they looked like my writing?” he said in confusion. You chuckled.

“But I don’t think Mary Queen Of Scots is a chemical,” you replied with a grin. “These are definitely my history notes.”

“Oh. In that case, I may have lost my chemistry notes.”

You rolled your eyes, looking down at all the notes that carpeted Peter’s floor. You bit your lip, trying to spot his missing notes.

“They’re by your foot,” you said eventually. “I thought you said you never draw in the margins?”

“I don’t!” Peter said defensively, hastily hiding the notes. “That was probably someone else.”

You raised your eyebrows slightly in disbelief. “Someone else who happens to love Spiderman and know that he’s a massive Iron Man fan?”

Your boyfriend turned red in embarrassment. “Okay so maybe I do the odd doodle…”

You chuckled, getting up from your seat and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m gonna grab something to eat. You want anything, or are you meeting up for a romantic candlelit dinner with Iron Man later?” you teased. Peter threw a cushion at you, and you ducked to dodge it.

“I hate you,” he grumbled. You grinned.

“Sure you do.”

someone else.

seth rollins x OFC.

warnings: SMUT + swearing.

prompt: receiving a text from your best friend makes you out your feelings about him, to him even though he’s taken. 

the gym mats were cold against your bare legs and the sound of wind smashing against the windows echoed around the large room. 3 am and you were exhausted, having trained all day already and finding it too difficult to sleep meaning you wound up in the gym once again. 

being physically exhausted was something you could deal with, it came with the job title - as a WWE woman’s wrestler you were use to gruelling hours and being thrown and tossed around a ring for other people’s entertainment. yep, physical exhaustion you could manage. 

emotional exhaustion was another story.

Keep reading

Cassian x Reader, Part 3

Title: Whatever It Takes / AO3
Part 1: tumblr
Part 2: tumblr 
Length: 9k
Rating: Series M for language, sexual content, mentions of torture.
Summary: It’s even harder for Reader to leave the second time around and when Cassian finds her waiting in the docking bay for a ship to take her away from Yavin IV, she says the one thing she knew she shouldn’t, “I want to stay.”
A/N: This took FOREVER to write and I’m so sorry. A huge thank you to @firefeatherx who beta’d and bounced ideas around with me :)
Masterlist / WIP List

Keep reading

Jon Snow: The silent, unknown and unthought answer to Sansa’s hopes.

Last October I wrote a long post about Sansa & The Story of Jenny of Oldstones and The Prince of Dragonflies. The Prince of Dragonflies was a Targaryen prince who gave up the throne to be with his love, a girl called Jenny of Oldstones. 

I wrote about the connections between Sansa and said love story and when I wondered who could it play the part of the Prince of Dragonflies in Sansa’s story? Who could it be the prince willing to give up the throne for love? Guess what or who was the answer? 

Here is an extract of my long post (And the extract is long itself):  

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them … I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there’s only me. All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do …

…was forswear his vows again.

[…] Are you refusing me, Jon Snow?“

“No,” Jon said, too quickly. It was Winterfell the king was speaking of, and Winterfell was not to be lightly refused. “I mean … this has all come very suddenly, Your Grace. Might I beg you for some time to consider?”

“As you wish. But consider quickly. I am not a patient man, as your black brothers are about to discover.” Stannis put a thin, fleshless hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Say nothing of what we’ve discussed here today. To anyone. But when you return, you need only bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and pledge yourself to my service, and you shall rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. “I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” Or Robb would say, “I’m the Young Dragon,” and Jon would reply, “I’m Ser Ryam Redwyne.

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.”

[…] Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

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

[…] Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? […] Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms […]

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.  It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger… he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?”

[…] Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

At this point, we all know what was Jon’s answer, right? And we know that his answer was built based on love, the love for his family, his brothers and sisters, love epitomized in one name:

“How can I lose men I do not have? 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.”

“Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father’s seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim.” The king set the cup aside. “You could bring the north to me. Your father’s bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? “My sword is sworn to the Night’s Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

I know all these facts are not equal to the facts of the story of Jenny of Oldstones and her Prince of Dragonflies, Jon is not exactly giving up Winterfell to marry Sansa, and Sansa is sure that she is only appealing because of her claim:  

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.”

“But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.”

“My claim?” She was lost for a moment.

“Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.” He grabbed her again, pleading that she must not do this thing, and Sansa wrenched free and left him swaying beneath the heart tree. She had not visited the godswood since.

But she had not forgotten his words, either. The heir to Winterfell, she would think as she lay abed at night. It’s your claim they mean to wed. Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead… It doesn’t matter, there’s still Robb, he’s a man grown now, and soon he’ll wed and have a son. Anyway, Willas Tyrell will have Highgarden, what would he want with Winterfell?

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?”

The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

But, instead of Tyrion, Willas or even Robert, who pursue Sansa’s claim over her, there is a man that has been offered Winterfell and choose her over it:By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.“ "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.” Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything. 

Don’t you find this very romantic? I mean, when Sansa thinks: “No one will ever marry me for love” (Because everyone only wants her claim to Winterfell), at the other part of the world is Jon Snow saying more than once: By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.“ "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." This for me is one of the most romantic passages of the books.

And Jon giving up Winterfell is not the first time he is the silent and unknown answer to Sansa’s hopes. As I’m going to explain next, repeatedly when Sansa has a wish or a dream about her lost family and her home, Winterfell, there is always subtle or not so subtle references of Jon Snow.

As I just said, Jon giving up Winterfell is not the first time he plays the role of the hero of Sansa’s hopes. We have the whole Janos Slynt case (Also romantic, beheading included), where Jon Snow, as the Lord Commander of The Night’s Watch, literally becomes Sansa’s hoped hero at a point where she’s convinced herself that there are no heroes in the real life:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

“You are refusing to obey my order?”

“You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering.

[…] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—”

[…] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.”

“Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw.

[…] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse.

Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …”

No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.

“Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

If you read the entire chapter, you will find that during his conversation with Janos Slynt, Jon was thinking about Ned Stark and the participation of Slynt in his father’s death at King’s Landing. Jon even thought about how easy it would be beheading him with Longclaw. And maybe that was the reason why he opted for beheading him instead of hanging him, just as Sansa wished.

And once more, when she thinks she’s lost all of her family, there is Jon.

Indeed, in A Storm of Swords, when she remembers her family after a dream where she is back at Winterfell with them: That was such a sweet dream” “If only dreaming could make it so…, she thinks that all of them are dead (Lady, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, Ned, Cat, Septa Mordane): All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.. But she forgets someone that is alive, someone she never had any news or suspected he was dead: his bastard half brother Jon Snow.

And later in A Feast for Crows, when she is under the disguise of the bastard Alayne Stone, the memory of her bastard half brother awoke:

There’s a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.“

"Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.”

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still… with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

It is really beautiful how she associates her family and her home with the word ‘sweet’, and in that moment, when she is living as a bastard girl, she thinks of Jon, maybe for the first time, with sweet words: “Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again”.

So, the sweet dream of being again with someone of her family back in Winterfell is possible after all; even if she thinks it’s not because Alayne Stone had no brothers. But Sansa Stark does have a brother.

And once again, when she thinks that her own song was ended, there is ‘Snow’.

Exactly, at the end of A Storm of Swords, while snow was falling on the Eyrie, she thought this: She had last seen snow the day she’d left Winterfell”. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done”.

Anew, the ‘snow’ was preceded by a dream of her family and her home:

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home.

The Eyrie was no home.

[…] Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick upon the garden below, blanketing the grass, dusting the shrubs and statues with white and weighing down the branches of the trees. The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood.

She had last seen snow the day she’d left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she’d ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

There is a pattern here, a dichotomy: Reality and Desire. When Sansa has a wish of vengeance or a dream of having her family and her home back, the reality immediately comes and crashes against her desires, and she ends up discarding them. But, even without knowing it yet, her desires are possible with the help of her unthought brother, Jon Snow.

The seventh Sansa’s chapter of A Storm of Swords had more references of her lost home, Winterfell and Jon Snow:

When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath, unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here.

Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

The references of Winterfell and her Stark blood are very clear. Stark colors: It was a place of whites and blacks and greys”. Her lost/destroyed home and dreams: She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams”. Her lost faith in any goods: It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me”.

The references of Jon are quite subtle. This two lines: The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence” “Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound”, remind me of Jon’s silent direwolf Ghost. And this one, Oh this one: “Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks”, this one could be about Ghost licking her cheeks or maybe something else… Anyway, lets continue:

Sansa began to make snowballs, shaping and smoothing them until they were round and white and perfect. She remembered a summer’s snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They’d each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she’d had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she’d slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn’t, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing.

What do I want with snowballs? She looked at her sad little arsenal. There’s no one to throw them at. She let the one she was making drop from her hand. I could build a snow knight instead, she thought. Or even…

[…] The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top…

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Again, the references of Winterfell are very clear. “It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell”. “The castle was all that mattered”. For me, this lines are connected with the prophecy of The Ghost of High Heart about Sansa killing some savage giant in a castle built of snow. And it implies that Sansa is going to actively participate in Winterfell rebuilding. And who else want to rebuild Winterfell?

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

That’s why this line: The snow fell and the castle rose” makes me think that Jon Snow will help Sansa to rebuild Winterfell, their lost and broken home.

And Jon and Sansa could also “rebuild” the Stark dynasty, the blood of Winterfell, as they both share the dream to have children to fill the void of their lost family, their lost parents and siblings:

Willas would be Lord of Highgarden and she would be his lady.

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

And finally, this line: Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair”, reminds me of Jon messing up Arya’s hair.

At this point I must emphasize that the seventh Sansa’s chapter of A Storm of Swords comes immediately after the twelfth Jon’s chapter, the chapter where he found his answer to Stannis offer of Winterfell. And what it was that helped John to find his answer? His beloved direwolf, Ghost:

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?” He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. “Ghost!” he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. “Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

So, at the same time, Jon and Sansa had an important realization concerning to their lost and broken home, Winterfell. And what that helped them to reach that realization was the snow. Literally snow in Sansa’s case and Ghost, the direwolf as white as snow, in Jon’s case. And this connection between Jon and Sansa reminds me of another one related to the snow. I called this connection ‘Children of the Mountain’:

Soon they were high enough so that looking down was best not considered. There was nothing below but yawning blackness, nothing above but moon and stars. “The mountain is your mother,” Stonesnake had told him during an easier climb a few days past. “Cling to her, press your face up against her teats, and she won’t drop you.” Jon had made a joke of it, saying how he’d always wondered who his mother was, but never thought to find her in the Frostfangs. It did not seem nearly so amusing now. One step and then another, he thought, clinging tight.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

“You’re mistaken. I never fall.” Mya’s hair had tumbled across her cheek, hiding one eye.

“Almost, I said. I saw you. Weren’t you afraid?

“Mya shook her head. "I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I’m flying. We’re both laughing, laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.” She pushed her hair back. “Then one day he wasn’t. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

In both cases, we are talking about ‘Snowy Mountains’, the Frostfangs and the Eyrie with the winter upon it. In both cases, a ‘Stone’ related person said to them that they are ‘Children of the Mountain’, Stonesnake and Mya Stone. In both cases the Mountain will never drop or let fall their children. That way, Jon, a motherless boy, finds a mother; and Sansa, under the disguise of Alayne Stone, finds a better father than the despicable Lord Baelish.  

One more connection between Jon and Sansa is the one related to Ghost. This connection appears in the same Sansa’s chapter in A Feast for Crows, Alayne II, previously mentioned, the one where she thought of Jon Snow for the first time in ages while descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon. And in Jon’s case, it appears in his last chapter in A Dance with Dragons, Jon XIII. Let’s see:

"Ser Sweetrobin,” Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Outside the armory, Mully and the Flea stood shivering at guard. “Shouldn’t you be inside, out of this wind?” Jon asked.“That’d be sweet, m'lord,” said Fulk the Flea, “but your wolf’s in no mood for company today.”

Mully agreed. “He tried to take a bite o’ me, he did.”

“Ghost?” Jon was shocked.

“Unless your lordship has some other white wolf, aye. I never seen him like this, m'lord. All wild-like, I mean.”

He was not wrong, as Jon discovered for himself when he slipped inside the doors. The big white direwolf would not lie still. He paced from one end of the armory to the other, past the cold forge and back again. “Easy, Ghost,” Jon called. “Down. Sit, Ghost. Down.” Yet when he made to touch him, the wolf bristled and bared his teeth. It’s that bloody boar. Even in here, Ghost can smell his stink.

Mormont’s raven seemed agitated too. “Snow,” the bird kept screaming. “Snow, snow, snow.” Jon shooed him off, had Satin start a fire, then sent him out after Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwyck. “Bring a flagon of mulled wine as well.”

[…] This was pointless, Jon thought. Pointless, fruitless, hopeless. “Thank you for your counsel, my lords.”

Satin helped them back into their cloaks. As they walked through the armory, Ghost sniffed at them, his tail upraised and bristling. My brothers. The Night’s Watch needed leaders with the wisdom of Maester Aemon, the learning of Samwell Tarly, the courage of Qhorin Halfhand, the stubborn strength of the Old Bear, the compassion of Donal Noye. What it had instead was them.

[…] When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. “Why?”

“For the Watch.” Wick slashed at him again. This time Jon caught his wrist and bent his arm back until he dropped the dagger. The gangling steward backed away, his hands upraised as if to say, Not me, it was not me. 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.

Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. “For the Watch.” He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. 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

These two passages could mean that Sansa was, in some way, hearing or sensing Ghost: “the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains”; as the direwolf was restless and anxious the day of Jon’s death: “Easy, Ghost,” Jon called. “Down. Sit, Ghost. Down.” Yet when he made to touch him, the wolf bristled and bared his teeth”. And at the end of his chapter, Jon himself “whispered” his direwolf name, while dying.

So, with Jon’s death and the previous death of Lady, Sansa’s direwolf, we have two Stark kids incomplete. Throughout the books we can read many times that the direwolfs are part of the Stark kids. Sansa lost his direwolf and then Ghost lost Jon. Its fair to say that after that, Sansa and Jon will be a great complement for each other lost part.

Back to the seventh Sansa’s chapter of A Storm of Swords, now we have the intervention of Lord Baelish, who returned to the Eyrie that morning and helped Sansa to built her snow castle:

Her bridges kept falling down. […] The third time one collapsed on her, she cursed aloud and sat back in helpless frustration.

“Pack the snow around a stick, Sansa.”

She did not know how long he had been watching her, or when he had returned from the Vale. “A stick?” she asked.

“That will give it strength enough to stand, I’d think,” Petyr said. “May I come into your castle, my lady?”

Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …”

“… gentle?” He smiled. “Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?”

“Yes,” Sansa admitted.

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

“No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer.”

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

As we can see, Petyr has no love for Winterfell, because it reminds him that Ned Stark took Catelyn Tully away from him and went to Winterfelll with her. So, even if he says he is not a enemy of the seat of House Stark, probably he would have destroyed Winterfell with his own hands rather than help to rebuild it.

And, contrary to Jon, who thinks that Winterfell belongs to Sansa by right, Petyr talk about the great castle of the north as a gift for Sansa, a gift he will get for her through a marriage with Harry the Heir:

When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn’s bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon… and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back … why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa… Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think?“

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Again, Petyr is only a ‘pretender’, he will never be a true hero or a prince in Sansa’s story. Actually, I’m sure he plays the part of the monster or the savage giant. And he has no shame in express her true intentions, he asks Sansa to kiss him as a reward for his generous promise, just imagine what will he ask if he finally manages to give Winterfell to Sansa…

It is really sad that this beautiful passage of Sansa building a Winterfell of snow was interrupted by Petyr in a, to say the least, very disgusting way. I’m not talking about “his help” with the build of the castle, I’m talking about his forced kiss:

The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.”

“As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.”

She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

His face grew serious. “Yes, I played you false in that … and in one other thing as well.”

Sansa’s stomach was aflutter. “What other thing?”

“I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more.” He stepped closer. “This.

"Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss … before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?”

Petyr straightened his cloak. “Kissing a snow maid.”

“You’re supposed to kiss her.” Sansa glanced up at Lysa’s balcony, but it was empty now. “Your lady wife.”

“I do. Lysa has no cause for complaint.” He smiled. “I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You’re crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands.”

“I won’t.” He sounded almost like Marillion, the night he’d gotten so drunk at the wedding. Only this time Lothor Brune would not appear to save her; Ser Lothor was Petyr’s man. “You shouldn’t kiss me. I might have been your own daughter …”

“Might have been,” he admitted, with a rueful smile. “But you’re not, are you? You are Eddard Stark’s daughter, and Cat’s. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age.”

“Petyr, please.” Her voice sounded so weak. “Please …”

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

In fact, it is horribly sad that, in a moment when Sansa realized that the memory of her home and the symbolic act of rebuilding it, make her stronger and courageous to face the truth and the reality: From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell”, she is attacked by a man who pretend to be her own father by kissing her in the mouth. And the fact that Petyr used the same words of another Sansa’s molester that attacked her not so long ago, just make the situation even worse. And it seems like Petyr would have continued with their actions if Robert would not have appeared.

(I felt the same when in Game of Thrones S5 Sansa said: “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. This is my home. And you can’t frighten me.” And immediately after that… Well, you all know what happened to her. I will always hate the show for that.)

But, when Sansa actually returns to Winterfell, I think the walls of their home will give her much more strength and courage than her snow castle built in the Eyrie, and she will be able not only to hit Petyr in the face with a handful of snow, but slay him and put his head atop of Winterfell’s walls, just as the prophecy of the Ghost of High Heart says: “I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow”. And the fact that she already hit Petyr’s face with a “handful of snow”, makes me think about Jon Snow punching him in the face with his bare hands over and over and over again. That would be really sweet.

And talking about Jon Snow, noted the difference between Petyr’s forced kiss and Sansa embracing the snowflakes in her face with these lines: Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. […] she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. 


So yes, Jon Snow is the silent, unknown and unthought answer to Sansa’s hopes. And everytime I read about how Sansa and Jon have zero romantic connections in the books, I feel the need to revisit my long post, that you can read here

Edit: Please see->

I just realized I never showed y’all the latest mod I was working on. I made a Tea mod for Stardew Valley last month.

This is the latest version I’m going to release(soonish). I updated the crop sprite to look nicer; along with changing some other game mechanics based on feedback from other players(buffs, descriptions).

Here’s my older, horrid, crop sprite. The new one is symmetric & actually looks like it belongs in the game, haha:

X men pref. How they react when you go missing in action

featuring : Alex, Kurt, Peter, Jean and Scott

Keep reading

asklotusheart  asked:

Are all peppermint born without tails?

Mod: Hey, hi, good evening! Welcome to– “Let’s learn about peppermint horses” with, Von Cena. I’ll be your host, Von Cena!

So I hear you are interested in learning more about my peppermint horses? Well you’ve come down to the right place. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about peppermint horses.

Q:  “Are all peppermint born without tails?”

Well, my curious little follower, my peppermint horses are in fact born with bald tails– or as I like to call them, tail nubs. 

Infants are always born with bald tails. But it is not just the baby age that they remain with a hairless tail. Peppermint horses between the ages of 0 - 11 will have bald tails.

Q: “At what age do their tails start to grow hair?”

Young peppermint horses do not start to get hair on their tails until they hit the adolescent age.

Think of their bald tails as a bud. Just like flowers, they start off as a bud. No petals or anything. At the right age/time, that’s when they start to bloom. Nemo is between the age 11 and 15 here. Their tails will start to develop as they start to mature.

Q: “When do their tails finally bloom?”

Their tails will have bloomed completely once they hit the adult age. But, that does not mean their tails have stopped growing. Their tails will continue to grow as they get older. It just takes a very long time for them to grow out completely.

Q: “Is the multiple tail floof (sectioned tail?) a peppermint horse trait, or does the family just like to style their tails that way?”

Yes, their tails do grow out into sections of big poofy curls. It is a common trait in all my peppermint horses. Their tails can be curled upward, downward, sideways. Even in different directions. The sectioned curls are the “petals.”

Q: “Why does Nemo always looks like he was spanked?”

Peppermint horses all have a sort of faint blush that’s noticeable on the tips of the ears, muzzle, and especially the flank. It’s meant to make my peppermint horses appear more unique.

Q: “Do all the peppermint horses look alike?”

Yes and no. Although all my peppermint horses share the same color palette, each one is still made unique from the other. That is because of the splash of pattern or color that I add to them. Preferably white. But they will not all have the same pattern.

Some peppermint horses will be born with some sort of white patch, pattern, or freckle anywhere on their bodies. It can be a white sock like pattern on the leg, freckles along the back or face, or a white muzzle for example. But a common trait they all have are long white eyelashes, fetlocks, and of course the signature blushy effect on their flanks.

Q: “Do all your peppermint horses have white hair?”

No, not every single peppermint horse is born with white hair. Some can have a faint pinkish tone in their hair or streaks. Sometimes both. But they all have curled hair.

Their hair can literally be any length but still contain curls. Aside from their hair, they all share fetlocks in common as well. But just like their hair, their fetlocks can also be any length. Long, short, medium. They can also have any style. Fluffy, smooth, and even feathered.

Q: “Are all the male peppermint horses feminine.”

Yes, most males do appear very feminine in the face and often times get confused for the females. But only peppermint horses can tell the gender apart. 

Q: “Do they smell or taste like peppermint at all?”

Actually, yes, they do. All my peppermint horses smell like peppermint. But not all the scents are the same. It is very easy to tell them a part. For example, if Frizz were to somehow lose Nemo in the herd of peppermint horses, although they all smell like peppermint, Frizz would still be able to sniff him out and get to him. Some peppermint scents differ. They can be sweeter, stronger, or faint. And yes, they do taste like peppermint. THAT DOESN’T FRIGGIN MEAN TO COME TO MY INBOX AND STRAIGHT UP LICK NEMO! I WILL DELETE THAT ASK AS SOON AS I SEE IT.

Q: “Are all the peppermint horses related?”

Yes, all my peppermint horses are related. When they go off to find a partner that is not a peppermint horse and mate, there is a 50/50 chance they could produce another peppermint horse that’ll be a new addition to the family. And it continues from there. This is why there are so many of them.

Q: “Can we make peppermint horses too?”

Well, I’m not saying you can’t have a peppermint horse at all. You initially can. I’m just saying you can’t make one that looks like any of mine. Like, yeah you can make an OC with a relation to peppermint or peppermint themed OC.  But, you MAY NOT create one based on any of the information I have just given to you. The reason is because this is my very own species that I put a lot of effort into. I created them for Nemo specifically. They are all his own family. And I would very much appreciate not to have any long lost cousins that belong to Nemo. In other words, don’t make Nemo copy cats. :/

MY peppermint horses are a CLOSED SPECIES.

The captain’s wife

Summary: Jyn and Bodhi uncover surprising information about Cassian’s personal life and will soon find out whether he still harbors feelings for a certain general despite a falling out years back.
Word count: 10.5k
warning(s): swearing, abuse 

Jyn walked off the ship, Bodhi laughing at her side, “You mean, he actually took on 3 rathtars at once with an empty ion blaster?”

“It was awful, I’m surprised the idiot’s still alive.” She smiled back at him. Cassian came up behind them grumbling about how it wasn’t an ion blaster and it wasn’t empty. The three of them continued to discuss the details of their last mission as they walked to the conference room to give Mon Mothma information they’d gathered on their supply run.

“Andor.” You muttered as you saw the team arrive. “Do you have the mission report?” The captain stared at you silently, his team mates unable to decipher his expression. He looked almost angry but there was a hint of despair in his eyes when he looked at you. He continued to stare, not replying back.

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Happier Without Me?

Request from @isabela-claire​: hiya! could i request an imagine please with bucky? could you do one based off the song “happier” by ed sheeran? that would be totally amazing, it’s just so great. but if you don’t mind i’d love a happy ending, sad endings make me cry. & i really don’t wanna cry. thanks so much!!! have a wonderful day!

Note: Song based fics aren’t my biggest strength but I enjoyed writing this one so I hope it proves to be just as enjoyable to read <3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1,908

Disclaimer: GIF used is not mine. All credit goes to it’s creator. <3 Also the lyrics used do not belong to me!

Walking down 29th and Park
I saw you in another’s arms
Only a month we’ve been apart
You look happier.

This was the fifth time he had seen you over the course of the past two weeks; despite the rest of the team telling him to leave it he just couldn’t. He needed to talk to you but every single time he spotted you in the city you were always with him. It was the same guy each and every time….his arm wrapped around you protectively.  The very thing Bucky himself should have been doing – instead he had hurt you and now he was facing the consequences.

He never heard the words you spoke to each other as he would only ever get close enough to see you….never to hear that beautiful voice of yours, he didn’t want you to know that he was suffering because he knew he deserved it.

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My, What A Guy 

[Gaston X Reader]

Imagine being a bit of a misfit local in Villeneuve and Gaston defends you from the unwanted attention of a drunkard before seeking out your company for himself.


It was a typical Friday evening in Villeneuve. Half the village was in the tavern and the other half were sorted into various social gatherings at one another’s homes. Naturally you didn’t fall in to either category. You generally spent your Friday evenings alone with a pen and ink after having dinner with your family. Writing was your thing. You liked to conjure up stories that exceeded the bounds of this small town life. 

Tonight however, you were feeling utterly uninspired and, though you’d never admit it, a bit lonely. What you needed was a change of scenery, and unfortunately once the sun went down, there was just one option. It took all your willpower, but you shove your pen and journal into your apron before heading to the tavern to do some people-watching. If nothing else, it might inspire your writing. 

You enter the pub unnoticed and slip over to the counter where you take a seat on your own. 

“Hi Y/N,” the bartender, Patrick, greets. 

“Hey Pat,” you reply with a kind smile. 

“Can I get you a drink?” 

You hesitate. “Uhh, maybe just one. Whatever tonight’s special is,” you oblige, sliding him a couple of coins. You weren’t much of a drinker, but you were desperate to overcome whatever mental block was holding you back this evening. 

You turn around on your stool, taking in your surroundings. The place seemed both noisy and quiet at the same time. Or maybe you were just selectively filtering out background noise as you scanned the room. There were the drunks who sat at the large central table, slamming their mugs down with enthusiasm after every sip. The Bimbettes, who occupied the smaller table one over where they whispered, gossiped and drooled over the town hunk, Gaston, with absolutely no shame. You gloss over them and roll your eyes in disgust. 

And of course there was Benny, the musician. He wandered around providing his own unique melodies day and night, somehow surviving off the pittance of coins that got tossed his way. He played the fiddle and harmonica, but there was no doubt in anybody’s mind that his instrument of choice was the accordion. 

In the far right corner was where things truly got interesting though. That particular territory was where all of the least astute inhabitants of Villeneuve gathered and descended into a collective mania. It was almost pathetic how little alcohol was required to fuel that portion of the room. Their activities ranged anywhere from eye-poking and arm-wrestling to juggling produce and throwing knives. Not surprisingly, that side of the tavern was always filled with both laughter and physical injury. 

Gaston must find that corner interesting too, because his chair is situated just across the way, in perfect view of the inevitable shenanigans. It was almost as if the villagers were unknowingly performing for him. You make a mental note of this. 

“Here you go,” Patrick announces, returning with your drink. “Thanks,” you reply absentmindedly as you take out your notebook and begin to write. A couple of hours pass much in the same fashion, with you bouncing between writing and observing, blissfully unaware of the leech of a man who had taken a seat beside you. 

“Hellllo darrrlin’,” the old goat mutters in his drunken stupor. You look up at the man. Middle aged. Probably had a wife and kids, but he was so far gone he could barely hold his own head up. Your senses are suddenly on high alert. You can smell the alcohol on this man from two feet away. 

“Cannn I… buy you a driiiinnk?” He slurs with what you can only assume was meant to be a flirtatious smirk. 

“No thank you, I’m busy,” you answer firmly, turning your attention back to your notebook in the hopes that your disinterest would make him go away. However, it seemed you would not be so lucky. 

“Aww come onnnn,” the man groans in disappointment. “You and me will have a reaaal nice tiiime.” He reaches over and places a hand on your arm, and before you even have a chance to react, someone else snatches his wrist. 

Your heart skips two beats; one in horror and one in surprise. “I believe the lady said ‘no’.“ Much to your surprise, it was Gaston’s booming voice that intervened. His unexpected presence gives you goosebumps, which you attribute to both shock and relief. 

Gaston removes the man’s hand from you forcibly with a grimace. “Shove off and let the girl alone,” he orders resolutely. 

“And if I doooon’t?” 

Gaston’s expression darkens. “Then you will answer to me,” he growls impatiently. 

“Oh yeahhh?” 

“Yeah,” Gaston confirms, promptly punching the man in the face and sending him reeling backward. His glass hits the floor. If the whole tavern hadn’t been looking already, they certainly were now with all the commotion. 

You gasp, shocked by the scene unfolding before your eyes. The man swings his fists wildly, but to no avail. Gaston grabs him by the collar and drags him out the front door. “Get out, scum! And if I ever see you harassing that girl again, I will tie you to my horse and drag you out of Villeneuve for good, is that understood?!" 

"Y-y-yesss sir,” the man stutters pathetically, scrambling to get his balance as he flees. You didn’t know what to do. You were utterly frozen in place, shaken and confused. 

Gaston steps back into the tavern and straightens his jacket when he notices everyone staring his way. “There’s nothing more to see here. Get back to whatever you were doing!” He instructs sternly. And they do. Probably out of fear, you realize. 

You’d never spent much time near Gaston. Your impressions of him were based solely on his reputation as an ego-centric military playboy. Anyone could see the man was full of himself, just by the way he carried himself as he walked down the street. And he certainly wasn’t the brightest guy around. However none of those preconceived notions mattered now as Gaston himself approached you. 

“Are you alright?" 

"Yes, I’m fine,” you reply, a bit desperate for breath. “Thank you.” Despite the arguably unnecessary violence, Gaston seemed to have had your best interest at heart. 

“It’s no trouble at all, my dear.“ 

You smile weakly and grab your belongings with every intention of heading straight home. 

“Where are you going?” Gaston asks, with a hint of concern in his voice. 

“H-home?” Your certainty wavers as your cheeks flush pink. 

“So soon?“ He furrows his brow disappointedly. "Won’t you… join me for a drink?” he asks with a dashing smile. 

“Well,” you hesitate, looking for an excuse. “I umm…" 

“Come on, I insist!” Gaston exclaims enthusiastically, placing a hand on your back and leading you towards his favorite spot in the tavern. 

(Chapter 2)

Don't Mess With Pan's Lost Girl P.4

Warning: violence (not really but idk what triggers you), swearing, smut (ig kinda)

Word count: 1829

A/N: Ok I’m not so sure what you personally would say the definition of smut is but you know it’s something. I will get more extreme than this, I just didn’t want it to be all of a sudden sex, I want to have some fun with it first. Hope that’s all right.

Part 3:


By the time I figured out how I was going to get out of this damned cage, the sun had already gone down and all the boys were back. Felix took watch again and was standing quietly at his post, just outside the cage. I puffed out my cheeks and reached up under my corset and pulled out my tank top. I ripped off the bottom and stuffed the top back in my corset. I focused my attention on Felix making sure he didn’t turn around and catch me. Keeping my gaze on him I slowly backed up till I hit the cage and crouched down. My hand reached behind me and I blindly searched for the purple flower. Once I felt my searching finger graze against one I plucked it out of the ground and wrapped it in the black cloth.

“Hey Feeeliixx.” I said as I stood, I could just see the irritation building up in him, but he still turned to face me. I smirked at him and he rolled his eyes but locked eyes with me. I walked towards him holding his stare and my smirk grew into a cocky grin. When I reached the other side of the cage he licked his lips and I leaned against the bars. “I want to have some fun.” I whispered and leaned so close that my lips barely brushed against his. He inhaled deeply and moved back a bit. “I’m not falling for this, you’re staying in there till I’m told otherwise.” He said as his breathing increased and he stared at my lips. “Well you know there are a lot of things we could do without ever having to open the cage.” I said tilting my head and brushed my fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes as I lightly scratched his head. His eyes then suddenly flew open and he stared me straight in the eye, “Screw it.” He said angrily and pressed his lip roughly against mine. For a moment I forgot all about my plan of escaping, my mind went fuzzy and was only focused on the movement of our lips. They moved in sync for a moment before his tongue licked my bottom lip, with out thinking my mouth opened. His tongue roamed every inch of my mouth and I let out a low moan. I tangled my fingers further into his hair as he deepened the kiss. He then pulled away just for a second, allowing us both to get a breath, before he pushed his lips to mine again. I grazed my teeth against his bottom lip causing him to let out a low groan. He put his arms through the bars and wrapped them around my waist pulling me as close to him as the cage would allow. He removed his lips from mine making me whimper and attached them to my neck sucking roughly, sure to leave a mark. I let out a gasp and he continued his assault on my neck, moving his way down to where my breasts were pushed up from the corset. He kissed them softly before nipping and sucking, leaving more love marks.

I opened my eyes, my head spinning in pleasure, when I saw the light of the bonfire coming from the camp. The sight shook me from my lustful daze and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing. I glanced down at Felix and for a second thought about abandoning the plan to see how far this would go. No no no, I need to get the hell out for here. Once he finished leaving a dozen love bites on my breasts he licked each one to soothe the pain. “Felix” I moaned and he trailed kisses back up my neck until he reached my lips kissing them softly. He pulled away, the both of us panting, and locked eyes with me once again. I slowly bring my hand that holds the flower up, I comb my fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. I take the opportunity to put the flower just under his nose and he, unknowingly, breaths it in deeply. Second later his limp body falls to the ground with a loud thud. I glance up towards the camp and see that everyone is oblivious to what had happened. I squat down and search Felix for keys to the cage. “Sorry hottie, but I gotta get out of here.” I say when I find a set off cold keys. There are only two on the makeshift keychain made from a vine and I pray one of them opens the cage. Luckily for me the first one I try causes the lock to click open. I look again to the camp and watch silently as the boys one by one head off to bed. When only a couple remain I push open the cage just enough for me to slip out, I step over Felix’s unconscious body and make my way around the cage finding the patch of flowers. I pick a few more and wrap them in the same cloth. I push them in between my boobs and the corset and make my way towards the camp.

As I approach the camp I can see a group of three lost boys facing the fire trying to stay warm. I try to stay as light on my feet as possible as I creep up behind them. I hook my arm around one of their necks pulling him to the ground,quickly shoving a flower up his nose, and swing my leg under a second one causing him to fall flat on his back. The third attacks me from behind just before I get a chance to put the second one to sleep. I manage to fight my way out of his grip, though, and I push a flower in his face and do the same to the one still groaning on his back. Panting, I stand and brush the dirt from my pants and look down at the boys around me. I click my tongue and look around the camp, I hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and some snoring coming from all around the camp. I walk around a bit trying to find the leaders tent, guessing that that’s where my belongings are being held, but can’t seem to find it. “Where the hell are you?” I whispered, then pause. I spin around and start to get frustrated, but then I see a tree house not to far from the camp. “Found you.” I say smiling and head towards it.

Once I’m at the base of the tree that is occupied by the tree house I realize just how big it is. I bite my lip and look around for a rope latter or some way to get up, but don’t find one. Looks like I’m tree climbing. I look up and find the branch closest to the ground and jump. I hold onto it and pull myself up and look for the next branch to climb. After a few slips and cuts I make it to the entrance of the tree house. Pulling myself up I find the door open and no lights on. I peer in and find a large bed on the other side, and in it lies a sleeping boy in green. I tip toe in and look around for my satchel and sword. I find my things slung on a chair next to the bed. ‘Of fucking course’ I think rolling my eyes. I quietly walk over holding my breath, when I reach the chair I look back at the boy and turn to retrieve my things. I sling my bag over my shoulder and reach for my sword when I feel a danger placed around my neck.

“You naughty girl.” The boy tisks in a low, groggy, voice. He places a hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. “How the hell did you escape, what did you do to Felix?” He asks his face tight with anger. “He’s fine, believe me. If anything he left more marks on me than I left on him.” I smirked and he glanced at my neck, following the trail of spots down to my breasts. His eyes widen for a moment then meet mine again. “You vexed him?” He asks raising an eyebrow at me. “I’d hardly call it vexing. He was all for it.” I say keeping the smirk plastered on my face. He looks away from me shaking his head in disbelief, then moves the danger away. He looks me in the eyes again, then down at the marks, and finally at my hands that are covered in blood from the few cuts. “Come with me.” He orders and walks away. I stare at him, baffled, but follow anyway. He pushes a curtain aside to reveal a small washing room. He grabs a cloth and turns on the tap, wetting it. He then turns to me leaning against the sink and grabs my hand, pulling me towards him and wiping away the blood. I watch him curiously as he continues to gently clean my wounds. “Who are you?” I ask when he had finished and wrapped a new cloth around my hand. He glances up at me with his forest green eyes, through his eye lashes, and it causes my breathing to falter for a second. He smirks at this, “I’m Peter… Peter Pan.” He says standing up straight and looks down at me, he’s only a few inches taller than me but it’s intimidating. “What about you love?” He asks taking a step towards me, “What’s a pretty thing, like yourself, called?” He says as I take a step back. “Mariana.” I choke out. “Well Mariana there are consequences for escaping the cage.” He says still advancing. “What are you going to through me back it the cage?” I ask trying to keep the distance between us but I back into a wall. “No, something that’s fun.” He says stopping only centimeters from my face. I hold my breath and he leans in pressing his lips to mine. I stay completely still and this causes him to get frustrated. He groans against my mouth and presses harder trying to get a reaction out of me. “Come on love. I’ll make you feel good. Better than Felix did, that’s for sure.” I still don’t do anything and he moves from my lips to my neck causing an involuntary moan to escape my lips. I slap a hand over my mouth and he looks up at me. “You’re tough to crack. But I heard that. Don’t worry love. I’ll. Have you. Soon. Enough.” He said in between kisses on my neck. “If Peter Pan wants you,” He says against my neck then looks up at me his lips brushing over mine. “He gets you.”

Hurricane - Captain Swan - Song Fic - One Shot

A/N: I have been having a lot of fun writing in the Captain Swan fandom and once I heard the song Hurricane by Luke Combs I knew I had to write a fic based on the song. It has quickly become one of my favorite songs.

In case you missed it in the tags and in the summary, this is an Alternate Universe fic where Killian has both of his hands rather than a hook.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of Once Upon A Time. The title of the fic and any references to the lyrics of the song belong to Luke Combs and the writers of the song Hurricane.

If you enjoy this, please consider leaving a review. The nice ones make me smile! :)

Love always,

This was the last place he expected her pretty blonde head to come bouncing into in all of Connecticut. After they had split, there was an unspoken agreement between the two. He stayed on his side of town and she stayed on hers. Both sets of friends knew where that invisible line was and tried their hardest to keep from crossing it.

However, that night, fate intervened.

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