miiiiiight, possibly, write something else for this??? i dunno yet???
anyway, the idea is that the sides are actually cats that Thomas adopts one-by-one. Logan was his first cat that he got from a shelter willingly. He chose this one because he was very calm and quiet, a welcomed force in Thomas’s life. Roman came next, but instead of Thomas choosing to take him home from a shelter, Roman was dumped near his house in a cardboard box in the rain (mostly likely dumped because of his annoying meow) and he just couldn’t say no.
Patton was next, and Thomas got him from a friend (probably Joan or Talyn) whose own cat accidentally got pregnant the week before they were going to take her to get spayed. Thomas ended up taking home the sweet one that slow-blinked at him (and immediately realized that, yes, while sweet and cute, Patton was a very energetic kitten at the time with no chill.
Virgil was last, and was completely an accident. One day Patton came running in the house with a teeny, tiny kitten no more than 5 weeks old hanging from his mouth and Patton put this sick little kitten at Thomas’s feet, pretty much begging him to take care of the little black cat. He’d apparently been hit by something (most likely on purpose, since he was a black cat). After helping nurse him back to health, Thomas ended up falling in love with those sweet eyes and that ever-so-quiet purr that Virgil had.
Now for some kitty-personality info…going under a cut…
There was an almost otherworldly hush in the crypts of Winterfell. Dany pulled her cloak around her more tightly, each sound suddenly magnified until it was all she could hear-the rustle of fur, the swish and click of their boots on the stone floor, the sound of their breathing.
Jon placed a hand on her shoulder, as if to steady her. There was something tender in the gesture, but also something protective-something that made her want to turn to him and reassure him that she was fine, that everything would be all right. Even if nothing seemed that way.
They walked silent through the rows and rows of dead kings, asleep forever in their stone tombs. Some of their names Dany knew from the histories, but most were new to her-their faces were impassive and their eyes seemed to look right through her. Something about it felt wrong, like she intruding on an extremely private moment. She’d never been more aware of what she wasn’t, how her hair and eyes set her apart, how her ancestors had conquered the skies while his ancestors had lived and died on an harsh and unforgiving continent, enduring like the wolves that roamed the woods at night and howled at the moon (Jon would always pull her a little closer when that happened). The Starks had always endured.
And whose family was nearly extinct now?
Jon stopped about three quarters of the way down and pointed to another cluster of statues. Their faces were smooth and unlined. “When Sansa, Arya, and Bran die they’ll be laid to rest here.”
She shivered. It seemed an awful fate, to sleep for eternity so deep underground. She couldn’t imagine it-Sansa and her embroidery but always with her bite of strength, Arya’s blaze of energy, even the way Bran always seemed to look at her like he knew something that she didn’t. “What about you?”
“I’m not a Stark, especially not now.” He took her hand and guided her to another tomb. This one looked newly carved; there were a few rock shavings still littering the marble floors. “My lord father-uncle. Sansa’s right; whoever carved him really didn’t know his face.”
Eddard Stark. The Usurper’s Dog. She should have been glad he was dead and rotting, but she couldn’t be. If he’d been so kind to his children…surely he hadn’t been all bad.
She felt she should say something but she didn’t. There was no one in her family that she’d ever loved enough to miss. Perhaps her mother, but she’d never known her. It was hard to miss someone she’d never known. Even now she only missed Viserys sometimes, for the brother he’d once been-not the man he’d grown into. Only Viserion, and Rhaego of course. And losing a child was very different than losing a father figure.
He took her hand again and led her to another crypt. This one was a woman; even in death her face was beautiful. She had long dark hair and someone had carved a flower into her hair. But her eyes captivated Dany most of all; they seemed young, but sad. “My mother, Lyanna.”
“Robert’s Rebellion was started over her, was it not?”
Jon nodded. “For years we were told that Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped and raped her.” She noticed that he didn’t say Your brother.
“But he didn’t. They were married, in a secret ceremony.”
He caught his breath, just slightly-but Dany heard the hitch. “He loved her, and thousands died for it. But…she loved him back. Everything that we thought we knew was built on a lie. Thousands died for a lie.”
“Love is an easy catalyst for wars. But history has a strange way of repeating itself.”
He looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“You share my name, but you’re a Stark at heart. You know what happened the last time a Stark and a Targaryen fell in love.”
He shook his head. “We’ll be better. We’re going to save the world, not destroy it.”
“We’re going to make this right.” She took his hand and squeezed it, making it a promise there and then.
She knew without asking that he would do everything to see it through, just like she would.
(AN: OKAY I ADDED THEON AND BRAN! THEY WILL BE AT THE BOTTOME! ENJOY)
What was that?
You paced the room, waiting for Lady Sansa return to her bed chamber.
Why was the Kingslayer helping me? Why was he out of the feast? But most importantly… Why was he so charming? No… No… He is a flirt… If anything he’d have me one night and leave me before I’d wake… But it would be a charming night.
“Y/N?” Your Lady called, “Oh Y/N you are flushed!” She grabbed your hands and spun you around, laughing. “Who was it? You must tell me!”
You sighed, wondering if perhaps you shouldn’t tell her. But you could feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach every time you though about his warm hands on yours.
“C'mon Y/N! Please!” She spoke pleading, dragging you onto her bed, “I’ll do your hair!”
Biting your lip you nodded and she jumped up and down, kneeling behind you to begin but before whispering in your ear, “Hold back no details.”
It took a while to merely get over your fear.
The young King began visiting you daily, forcing you to recover. Forcing you to get to know him and vice-versa. You went from fear to hatred. Hatred of what he did to his people, hatred for what he could do to your sister, but also hatred making you live and not allowing you to meet the Seven. Joffrey could see the hatred in your eyes and did everything he could to soften your feelings up, even became kinder. You had grown to respect and appreciate him, but not yet like him, though there was no more hate. It wasn’t until a while after he confessed to you that you felt something, a slight electric shock when you accepted his feelings.
It wasn’t instantly.. You were scared that they would hurt you… Especially of Bran… Your family, after all, had killed his and stolen his home. If you were him, you would have been killed already. Meera did not trust you, but Jojen tried. While you appricated it, you did not wish for any help. You hated all that your family had done and wished to be beaten and starved. I felt that I needed to be punished, so much that one day I decided to do it myself.
It was late and cold, they were all asleep, I made sure of that as I made my way out in only my evening gown with it’s thin straps that were barely existent. You had expected the cold to sting but all it did was make this numbing feeling spread throughout your body. It made you sure that what you were about to do easier. Reaching down your shirt, you pulled out a small vial.
Poison. A name-day gift from your brother which he had placed in a vial that could specifically be hidden. He would have been shamed should he see you about to take it yourself. Slowly unscrewing the cap you looked inside to see the black, thick liquid that lied inside. Quick death it promised in a single drop.
Well lets see what a full bottle does then shall we?
“Y/N!” A voice hollered barely audible to your ear, only realizing you had not dreamed it when the bottle was ripped from your hands. Looking for the figure, you knew instantly who it was. Brann… But then who hollered?
“Bran give me the bottle back.” The boy shook his head and you shook your head in defeat and ran off. That was when you heard the voice again “Y/N…” Who the hell is- You stopped your thoughts as someone caught you. Green eyes stared into yours concerned.
“Y/N… Never ever do that again…” Before you could respond, the boy wrapped his arms around you and you felt something you had not in a very long time….
You felt at home.
Your feelings for the bastard of Winterfell did not take time to develop.
The moment you had laid eyes on him you had a crush but the more you spent time getting to know the boy, the stronger your feelings grew, and boy did you spend time together. It took less than a fortnight after your injury for you two to form a bond that allowed you to communicate without speaking. You two read together, went on rides, and he even taught you how to use a needle of your own once. You would deny it to yourself often your true feelings but only once he was gone did you admit it truly to yourself.
I, Lady Y/N Greyjoy, Ward of House Stark, Iron Bourne daughter, have fallen for Jon Snow, Lord and Bastard of Winterfell, now brother of the Watchers. And it is all too late.
It was late, you were restless, done with your mother and twin’s constant abuse and you had decided to write everything down instead of bugging your father or siblings for once, which you knew made it worse for you by the morn.
Who else to write to but your dear friend in the North?
Naturally, you weren’t going to send it, of course, but writing was your passion and it would be the only way for you to fall asleep, you knew. So you began:
My Dearest Lord of the North, I am in deep despair and wishing nothing more than to run and hide away from the South which is colder than the North. My mother has an locked mindset to torment me non-stop leaving me in a state of depression and panic. My brother, who I know despises mother has mimicked her action and she has prevented me from seeing my darling Tommen and Myrcella. I haven’t left my room in two days. I cannot sleep or think. I just want out Lord Robb. I just want to escape the heat and hurt and see the beauty of the North again. The beauty that you showed me. Yours, Y/N.
You had barely been capable to sign your name before your head hit the desk and your quill hit the floor.
Bittersweetly for you, Lord Eddard had been passing your room when he heard the noise and ran into your room to assure you were alright. Seeing your quill, he moved quietly to place it back on your desk when he saw the letter addressed to his son and smirked before almost instantly sending it off to his son.
When you had woken up, you believed that you had simply burned the letter and were surprised by a Raven pecking at your window. A Raven bearing a thick letter bearing the Stark seal. A heat filled not only your cheeks but your whole body as you kissed the Raven’s forehead before sending it back to it’s master.
You watched in horror as your father about to be killed. You could feel your lungs compacting, standing between Sansa and Cersei and your sister looked at you concerned while the queen held your arm tightly so you couldn’t leave.
How can Sansa be so blind? Does she not know what Joffrey will do?
"But they have the soft hearts of women.“ Oh no… You began tugging and pleading on the Queen’s grip, causing Joffrey to take a pause in his speech. “But so long-” He looked at you and you didn’t look back, finally free of the grip the queen had on you, you ran, the noise of screams and your heart throbbing in your head the only thing you could hear.
Tears welled in your eyes as you ran to the highest point of the castle and looked out at the world.
How can people be so cruel? How could they do this to my father? How-
You were so young… But that didn’t mean that you weren’t wise.
Joffrey will have your head now. There is only one thing left to do.
Running to your room you locked the doors and frantically wrote letters. Letters of regret and of apologies and thanks. One to Caetlyn, One to Robb, One to Brann and Rick, One to Sansa, One to Myrcella and the Queen, and finally One to Tommen and One to Jon. Sending them off you only wrote one more. To your father. The man who had cared for you and met such an unjust end. This one you let sail through the wind. Then you grabbed your dagger, a final gift from Jon before he left to the wall and with shaking hands made a single slit to your wrist, feeling yourself sob, the red falling to your white sheets relaxing in an odd way. Then you did another. And another. And another…. And yet all that had happened was that it made you dizzy and your hearing static. There was only one thing left to do. Though your whole body feeling heavy and the sight of your arm making you sick you forced yourself to sit up. Holding the dagger with both your hands, you raised it so to plunge it into your stomach, though it barely got an inch in as someone pulled it out. Angerly, you rose from your bed in attempts to attack the person who stole your death from you, only to collaps in their arms.
You awoke to sobbing, to yelling.
“Y/N!” The voice you recognized as the youngest Baratheon spoke relieved, “Mother… Please… Now leave me be.”
Though not understanding, you attempted to sit up until the Prince pushed you gently back down grabbing you hand and stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, bringing it slowly to his lips and kissing the knuckles.
“You are a miracle Y/N. Truly.”
And with those words, your mind set on the boy flipped to something you never thought it could. Love.
You watched him… Not in a creepy way… But truly, you admired him in so many ways.
His wits. His standards. His acts of charity. His laugh. The more time you spent with him the deeper the admiration grew until you woke up one morning and it hit you out of blue with such strong force you threw up.
“ I am in love with Lord Tyrion…. And I’m a maid!”
Your guard shift had ended and Osha taped your shoulders and urged you to take your rest. Though not desiring such you took your spot on a tree besides Bran and Meera. Unlike Osha, you had some trust in your new companions, seeing the look in Jojen’s eyes of wanting to help Bran and being willing to do anything for him. Something you had as well. The two of you were as close as you could possibly be: You growing up as a ward of House Stark and formed an immediate bond when he first met you at the top of a tree. From there you two were thick as thieves. Maids gossiped that you two would be wed anytime soon but you dismissed this. Your family was not as wealthy as the Starks. There is no way that Lord and Lady Stark would allow one of his three sons to be married to you. Were was the honor in that? He should marry a Princess. Gain more bonds for his families name. You were nothing.
Still you were his friend… Or at least, he was yours.
You would do anything for him. Die a million times over. Never had you cared for someone so. But the more you thought of it, I knew it was impossible. Like you said, the poor cannot befriend the rich.
You decided use the bathroom before you joined you Lord and walked slowly through the beautiful wood, caring not how slow you journeyed, enjoying the peace.
That was until someone pushed you against a tree, causing your head to slam roughly against the bark.
Whining, you felt yourself fall down as your captures began searching you, probably assuming you were a rich lady because of the silk you were wearing but in actuality, it was a dress Lady Catelyn made you for your last nameday.Everytime you were about to regain consciousness, your head was slammed.
Eventually, you fell to the floor of the forest as they began to tear your beautiful dress, hearing your name screamed out before you blacked out.
The first thing you felt were wet drops hitting your forehead and you opened your eyes to meet his and he wrapped his arms around you tightly.
“I though I lost you..” He cried into your cloak. “I can’t loose you too… I can’t Y/N. Never again.”
As you squeezed him back you couldn’t help but tear up too and your chest felt fluttered.
Maybe your feelings were a little more than platonic… Maybe…..
Tears flooded in my eyes as I paced my locked room, embracing my fate. He was going to kill me, surly. Even so I couldn’t believe what was going on.
The Red Wedding happened so fast, it was hard to believe that everything was going on so quickly. But before that, Theon Greyjoy, the man you were supposed to marry invaded your home and killed your brothers. Now your twin and mother were slaughtered, you being spared by the Bolten’s for whatever reason.
Now you sat at Lord Bolten’s own table as he announced your fate.
“Have you been doing alright, m’lady?” He questioned, bringing his wine cup to his lip.
You nodded, pretending to drink from your cup as well, “I am doing alright, Lord Bolten. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. Though I am curious..”
“About why you are alive?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows and you nodded sadly, looking down, “You are unmarried, and I have just legitimized my last living child. A marriage bond between House Stark and House Bolten would be strong, allowing a Stark to be in Winterfell and give justification to the Bolten’s living here. Within weeks end I want you to be wed and consummated. You will go ride out with him now. He should be waiting for you in the stables.” He stood up and walked towards the door, not allowing you to say a thank you before the door was slammed and a servant pushed you down towards the stables.
Little did you expect who was there.
His back was turned to you, but you could recognize his hair anywhere. He was slouched and almost didn’t turn around till he heard the fear in your voice and before he could even open his mouth.
For the first time in forever you cried and he whispered in your ear something that made your heart sick.
“Theon is dead, my lady. Reek.”
And he dropped you, pushing you into this unknown man’s arms and walked away, your heart wanting to be in his arms once more.
Lord of the Rings movie:
Frodo inherits the Ring; Gandalf tells him to "keep it secret, keep it safe," leaves to research it, and comes back maybe several days/a week later to warn Frodo that it's evil.
Lord of the Rings book:
Frodo inherits the Ring; Gandalf tells him to "keep it secret, keep it safe," leaves to research it, and comes back 17 YEARS LATER are you fucking kidding me