omg I would DIE if you wrote that elucien flower shop au. Your fics are always my favourites!!!
Ahhh thank you friend. Writing and I are going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment. So in the meantime have some headcanons. Because I’m fond of this idea and reserve the right to come back to it at some point.
Okay so there’s that AU that flits around every now and then along the lines of a flower shop and a tattoo shop are next door to each other and you do the whole imagine your otp thing.
With Elucien the most obvious configuration is Elain working in the flower shop (because duh) and Lucien working in the tattoo shop (inopportune headcanon dumping opportunity: I figure Lucien is quite creative and he enjoys sketching.) Anyway, he’s probably more suited to the tattoo shop but it’s…much more fun to flip it around.
So Feyre and Rhys open up a tattoo parlour together and Elain works there part time and Lucien helps out in his mother’s flower shop next door. (Listen, idk why but I’ve had a long standing hc for about 16 years that Lucien’s mother enjoys gardening/flower arranging. Even if she doesn’t I still think she and Elain would get on incredibly well and I will be a tiny bit sad if we don’t get any scenes between them in acowar ANYWAY)
Elain suddenly needs flowers for like….Every occasion. She starts insisting they should put them in the window of the tattoo shop it’ll, it’ll brighten the place up! And give people something nice to look at while you’re poking at them with sharp pointy things! They’re basically essential okay. Feyre is…Baffled. Rhys who is…slightly less dense than her understands exactly what Elain’s doing and while she is fond of plants she’s even fonder of the handsome redhead who works in the back of the store.
Elain cultivates quite the relationship with Lucien’s mother and even on the days that she doesn’t buy any flowers for the tattoo place she finds an excuse to go in and talk to her all about plants. Lucien’s mother is very dear and very patient and delighted to have someone as enthusiastic as Elain. She makes her tea when she comes in and pretends she doesn’t notice the way Elain and her youngest son are making eyes at each other the entire time Elain is there.
(She is 100% not oblivious. She knows exactly what’s going on. She’s all for it. She starts engineering ways for them to spend time together, slipping into the back and having Lucien watch the shop when she knows Elain is about to come in, sighing as they tiptoe around one another. Bonus points if things start getting desperate and she enlists Rhys’s help and they just start aggressively matchmaking the two of them. They’re very smug when they finally get together.)
Anyway, Lucien mostly works in the back of the shop putting together bouquets and the like. He has deft, clever fingers (listen u will take ‘Lucien has very attractive hands’ hcs from my cold dead corpse and not before) and he’s been well trained in it. (And I enjoy the image of Lucien’s mother and Elain sitting having tea while Lucien sullenly and dramatically flounces around in the background, making quite a habit of dropping things because he’s looking at Elain and not at his work)
Lucien’s mother starts encouraging Elain to request Lucien make her up bouquets at her request, it’ll give her exactly what she wants for the shop and will let Lucien practice working with an audience. She applauds herself for this excellent idea as she steps back and watches the two of them blush like sunburned beetroots around one another as they try to get a handle on flirting. (Lucien is tongue-tied. It’s the most precious thing anyone has ever witnessed. Rhys teases him about it for about a hundred years after this)
Lucien starts like trying to stealth slip secret messages into the flower bouquets or something (come on, he would) to hint to Elain that he really secretly likes her. Feyre is a bit like ??? Elain ??? why do we keep getting bouquets that are literally just bright red roses from next door? Are you sure you ordered the right thing? Elain gets very flustered and tells her she has no idea what Lucien has doing. By this point even Feyre has worked it out and she gets in on the act between Rhys and Lucien’s mother. (They’re very awkward, bless them, like baby deer on ice. They need all the help they can get. Since this is a modern AU and there’s no inopportune moment for Lucien to blurt out that they’re soulmates and destined to be together)
Lucien, flummoxed that his secret flower love notes aren’t working (even with his mother aggressively hinting at how seductive and romantic each and every flower Lucien has put in Elain’s most recent bouquets are) resorts to drastic measures and decides he wants a tattoo. He decides he has to spend hours and hours and hours at the shop every day pouring over designs to decide what he wants and where he wants it, ogling Elain the entire time. Feyre humours him and sketches him new designs every day. Then Elain gets involved and starts suggesting things and Lucien is a bit…Oh. Oh dear. This…This was not supposed to happen. I do not actually want a tattoo. Fuck.
Lucien gets a tattoo. (Let it not be said this boy will not go to ridiculously dramatic lengths for love) He probably gets like a teeny tiny flower (Elain’s favourite, obviously) on his hip or something. He thrashes like an angry cat in a bag and eventually Feyre summons Elain over to hold his hand. This, shockingly, makes the tattoo stop hurting immediately and he just gazes up at her with such enormous hearteyes that Feyre is just…shall I leave you two alone? Like is my doing my job here ruining your moment?
Lucien being Lucien probably chooses this inopportune moment (some things never change) to declare his deep desire to woo Elain and take her out to dinner. She’s…Really rather flabbergasted that he went to all this trouble getting a tattoo just so he could keep coming to see her every day…And so he confesses that well his flower messages weren’t working! he had to do something!!! (Feyre is deeply delighted to be present for this conversation. Lucien is not. He deeply regrets the teasing later) Elain is all :O you were leaving me flower messages?? (Feyre starts pretend gagging at this) And Lucien flushes and says yes. And then Elain is flushing and saying that she kept coming to the shop every day to try and woo him and Feyre is just like….Should I tell them now they probably shouldn’t start fucking while I’m doing this, like it’s totally not hygienic and I’m genuinely worried about the possibility given the way they’re looking at each other rn.
They manage to contain themselves (just about) Feyre finishes up Lucien’s tattoo while Elain holds his hand and kisses his forehead and tells him he’s very brave (Feyre just ??? It’s the size of my thumb!? It took me twenty minutes??? Shut up Feyre, Elain is calling me brave, it was a very traumatic experience, back me up here goddammit, you are the world’s worst wingman. You’re trying to bang my sister??? You should be happy for her, attracting such a fine specimen as me. Feyre just -_- Lucien stops talking quickly remembering that she does still have a tattoo gun in her hand and it’s maybe not wise to antagonise her)
Anyway after that Elain and Lucien becoming a very dorky and adorable little couple. Elain drifts into the flower shop everyday to visit Lucien and have tea with him and Lucien visits Elain very day still dropping off the bouquets for the shop (Rhys has gotten fond of them) Elain likes kissing Lucien’s tattoo when they’re in bed together and she probably ends up with a matching one and it’s probably something they keep adding to as they get older. (because I enjoy mushy ridiculous hcs leave me be)
(Okay and bonus to actually make this tie into this post which sparked this conversation in the first place: Feyre and Tamlin have their whole…Thing. And the first time Lucien meets Elain is when she marches in to his shop, slams money down on the desk and demands, in no uncertain terms, the rudest bouquet he can possibly put together for the biggest idiot on the planet. (Yes, this is indeed the moment that Lucien decides he’s going to trip over his hearteyes and get ridiculous things tattooed on his body if it’ll mean being able to date this girl because who says fuck you with a bunch of flowers? And looks so sincere and grumpy about it? Like she’s even stamping her foot on the ground she’s clearly very serious about this) Also in this AU Lucien does not know Tamlin. His mother got him away from his father and they just live alone together with their little flower shop and things are just Nice (because I can do Nice sometimes okay?))
Okay there you go. This got a bit longer than anticipated so…I hope it tides you over a bit until such time as I decide I can maybe write this properly.
Instantaneously, my eyes complain about the merciless sun. It is morning…I twist my body from left to right in search of Junmyeon. Instead, it’s the loving cat, who I yearned for, in my sleep, who waddles his way from the head of my bed to my lap. He licks his paw and tilts his head to gaze into my puffy eyes. It’s strange. Similarly, my heart grows sore under his presence as it normally does when I’m with Junmyeon. It’s so silly to say…I think I love them both.
“Welcome home, Suho…” my voice trembles as my precious cat throws his paws around my neck. As I stroke his back, he starts to weep this heart-clenching cry that summons rivers under my own eyes. “I’m so happy to have you back…”
“Meoooooooooow~” he wails. He’s been waiting for two decades to hear these words again.
Sniffling back tears, I lightly smack his bum and tease, “You, Big Baby…”
“Meoooooooow~~” he sobs out happy tears.
Chuckling, I pull him away to take a better look. Just like when he was a baby kitten, he sports a gorgeous white coat of fur that almost refracted Heaven’s light. Under the sun, certain angles create rainbow streaks. Even his pink nose is the same that it baffles me how long it took to recognize him. The prolonged fever, during my childhood took away my memories but the fever, produced by love, had brought it all back.
With a beaming grin, I bring his paws up to wipe his own eyes. “I love you, My Suho,” I sweetly say and lean in to kiss his nose. He returns the affections by licking my lips. My giggles cause all the cells in his small body to prance around. “Don’t run away anymore, okay?” I pout and hold out my pinky.
“Meow~” my cat wraps his paw around my finger and promises.
That’s when my vision lands on the shining gemstone band around my finger. “Heh…” a wide toothy grin spreads from ear to ear. “Junmyeon got me this,” I explain and hold it up to Suho. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Meow,” Suho’s neck fur puffs up and he proudly holds his head up.
“I think I’m in love…” I shyly admit as I rock backward and lie back onto my bed. Habitually, Suho starts to knead my stomach but I bring him up to rest against my chest. “He’s kind of strange…in a way…” I softly giggle. “…but every time I’m with him, I feel so safe,” I daydream. “For a while, I just wanted a man to just…take my virginity…”
A low grumble croaks from Suho’s throat.
“…with Junmyeon, I want to make love…”
The sassy cat covers his burning cheeks with his paws and rolls into a shy ball.
“I love him,” I confess. Suho peeps his head out. Flexing my abs, I tilt my chin up to look at the cat. “I’m going to marry both of you!” I conclude. The surprise cat chokes and starts to hack out coughs. His body bounces up and down to the vibration of my tummy as I laugh. “What?” I chuckle and pet his head. “No one said a girl can’t have two husbands,” I joke. Extending my arm out, I take his old collar into my hands. I remove the name tag and bell and slip it through his new collar.
“There,” I marvel at the perfection. “Now, everyone will know you’re mine!”
“Meow ꒰⌗´͈ ᵕ ॣ`͈⌗꒱৩” His little paws play with the bell, causing the jingle to create sweet melodies into my ear.
“…and your lover can’t take you from me,” I finish my joke with an evil cackle.
Suho gives me an unimpressed look.
“Either way, vet called. After a second opinion, they recommend I get you neutered.”
“MEOWEIOIOWERWIRUOIWUROIUOIWRUO,” the cat thrashes around in opposition.
“What?” I giggle, “Silly Bean, it’ll help you live longer!”
It’s been a week…and then two. Junmyeon is nowhere to be seen. I searched the entire apartment in case the note he may have left got blown off somewhere by the wind. Nothing. Suho pounces around the room like the happy kitty he is. Though he doesn’t know what I’m trying to look for, his little paws try to mimic my ravage search. I can’t help but laugh.
With a defeated sigh, I slouch over the side of my bed. “I miss Junmyeon…” I admit.
“Meow Meow,” Suho tugs my sleeve as if saying, “Loook at meeee.”
“Heh, you Goofball,” I ruffle his fur and jolt up. “Time to go to the vet!” I announce.
“MEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!” my kitty squirms in my arms but I grip onto him tightly. “Don’t scratch me, Crazy Cat,” I quip. The memories of once causing me a fatal injury burns into his heart and he settles down.
“It’ll be done in around ten minutes,” the vet technician states and hands me forms to fill. They take Suho in for a quick examination.
“That silly cat…it’s not that big of a…”
The tip of my pen drags along paper as a sudden flicker of a scene replays in my mind. Blurry but defining, I recall Junmyeon lowering himself and me onto the bed. His cuddle is firm and warm against my feverish body as he whispered, “I love you…” into my ears. Then suddenly…the weight from his hold diminished and the blurry image of white fur settled in.
“How did you get in here?“
“I never left…”
Fish. Fish. Fish and chicken. Allergic to chocolate and tomatoes.
Old conversations bring themselves back to light. My eyes dart out and stare at nothing in particular as if I’m being hypnotized.
“I’ve never seen my father before and I was striped from my mother at 8 weeks…”
His tendency to show up out of nowhere and naked…
“He loves you so much more than you’ll ever know, that’s why he came back to find you even after all these years.”
My twin orbs grow glassy.
“He wants to stay by your side and protect you…”
I cup a hand over my mouth as an out-of-the-world analysis forms in my mind. JunMeow is Suho…and Junmyeon is JunMeow…which meant…Junmyeon is my beloved Suho. The circled words “Neuter/Spay” on the form against my lap, jeers back at me. With eyes widened into golfballs, I storm pass the front desk, ignore the shouting receptionist, and sprint into the back clinical rooms.
“SUHO!” I shout as I swing the doors. Panic drives my soul; if Suho gets neutered then Junmyeon…
I almost get an heart attack at the thought. On the third door, I discover a vet and a tech holding down the white cat. An empty syringe stares back to me; Suho’s head totters and his eyelids twitch.
“NO!” I bellow.
The professionals in the room stare at me with puzzlement. Without explaining myself, I grab my Suho and rock him in my arms.
“You guys didn’t do anything yet, right???” I question in a frenzy. Saliva drains from the kitty’s mouth as he refuses to fall asleep.
“We just gave him a dose of anesthetics. Don’t worry, Ma’am, the surgery will be completed really quickly,” the tech briefs and tries to take my cat from me.
“So you didn’t castrate— I mean neuter him yet, right?” Gibberish grumbles from Suho’s throat as I place his dangling head against my chest.
“Correct…but ma’am it’ll be qui—“
“No! I changed my mind!” I must have sounded like a crazy lady. “I’ll pay for the procedure but I’ll be taking my cat home now. I greatly apologize for the confusion.” With that, I bow and head out the door.
“Suho…Suho…my baby…I’m sorry…” I apologize as I try to awaken the cat. Shaking him wasn’t working and feeding him water wasn’t either. Passerby on the street stare at me as if I had just abused my cat. One even asked if I needed to call animal rescue.
It isn’t that I couldn’t wait it out, but the pain written on his face broke my heart. He must have been so scared, thus, to this moment, he’d rather drift in half-consciousness than to fall asleep.
“Honey, take a nap, okay? When you wake up, everything will be okay. I won’t get you neutered,” I stroke his head and coax but his head continues to totter around.
Flattening my lips, I head into a local gas station and purchase a large water bottle. I place the intoxicated cat against the cement ground of the parking lot and hold the water over his head. Gush of water splashes down, drenching Suho from head to toe.
“That should do the trick…” I proudly dust off my hands and prepare to dry the cat with my hoodie. But the scene before me seems straight out of the comic book. I’m so ridden in shock that I can’t even blink. Fluffy white fur rescinds back into the epidermis, stubby limbs lengthen, Junmyeon’s boyish features start to form… It’s the same scene I had witnessed that night I fell ill, just this time, everything is crystal clear. Cupping my hands over my gaping mouth, I lose my balance and fall backward from my squat.
Human voices from behind reawakens me. Gasping, I immediately rip off my hoodie and tie it around Junmyeon’s hips to cover his goods. A few slaps against his cheeks doesn’t seem to do much and I can’t bear to hit him anymore so instead, I lift him up and throw his arm over my shoulder.
“Junmyeon-ah…” I soothe. “Le-let’s go home…” I grunt.
Though, Junmyeon is quite skinny for a guy, he built still towers over my smaller frame. In addition, the fact that my lover’s almost bare body is being paraded in public makes me anxious. I stumble down the street carrying the drugged male. A groan evokes from the man’s throat and he thrashes around trying very hard to shake off the effects of the anesthetics to no avail. His slurred movement only causes the journey back home to be quite the struggle. Now, instead of a knocked out cat, I am hauling a full-grown, naked man.
“Is he okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?” someone passing by offers.
“No,” I quip. “He’s my husband; he just had too much to drink at his party…” I lie and nervously laugh.
“I think you’re sexy too!” Junmyeon suddenly shouts, lifts his arm, and smacks my bum. With widened eyes, I cover Junmyeon’s face and lower my head out of embarrassment. People on the street muffle back giggles. Some start to disperse after acknowledging that I didn’t kidnap this man and that I’m merely a tormented wife trying to carry her delirious husband back after his wild company party. “I want to make love to you too!” my said husband makes another public announcement.
“Junmyeon!” I hush as my face paints in beet red.
Someone whistles, “Get that pussy, Bro!”
Separating himself from me, he points in my direction and confesses, “I love her!”
“Junmyeon-ah!” I throw both of my arms around him and drag him off.
“I will protect her with my life! Don’t you bad people dare try to hurt her!” he innocently warbles.
By the time, I haul him up the stairs and get my way into the house, I’m completely depleted of battery. With one last grunt, I toss him onto the bed but my lack of balance causes me to topple over and land on top of him. I groan and try to get myself up but Junmyeon tosses his strong arms around me.
“Don’t…leave…” he begs in his sleep. I melt back against his chest. Thoughts rush through my mind. It feels as though I’m in some sci-fi movie. My brain questions his devotion but my heart acknowledges it.
“I won’t…” I promise and round my arms around his torso. For the first time, I don’t have any sensual desires as I lie with him on the same bed. Instead, my kiss against his dry lips is delicate and innocent.
A/N: Finally, she knows! Next chapter is the one everyone’s been waiting for hahaahahaha. If you know what I mean…
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The reaction to the pillowcase makes me feel even more weird now... like tons of vets here recommend it? Now, I do have a "cat bag" of mesh that I have to put particularly violent cats in for temporary restraint, but they also wanted me to literally carry the cat in the bag to the vet? I do not do this, I just carry the cat bag with me and take the cat out of the taxi and then put them in the bag for restraint. I live in a rural country town in Texas. Maybe this is a weird country thing?
Perhaps, because I’ve literally never heard of that before now and I didn’t see any mentions from followers who are familiar with the idea. How would a pillow case, or even a mesh ‘cat bag’, effectively restrain the animal? It seems like a stressed cat thrashing about in a thin fabric casing can hurt itself, the person carrying them, or even manage to get loose?
I just vigorously brushed a literal armful of hair off of the cat with a shedding blade. He is now sulking in our bed, but the real downer is that it barely made a dent in his coat. I’ll give him a day to rest but I’m going to have to wrestle an overstimulated, purring, thrashing, 20 pound cat under my leg to brush again this week before summer comes properly, or he’s gonna be even more mad.
Yeah I forget where I was headed with this….three months ago when I started so here, have some ficlet that I forgot the conclusion for. I begged for some Mae/Dorian fluff over at the DAKM and never got it so I wrote it myself :P
The Chargers filed into the Herald’s Rest, as raucous as they ever were; more so, as today they were returning victorious from a particularly hairy mission. Literally. Giants, three of them, covered in the stuff, had wandered too close to a settlement outside the Hinterlands. The Chargers had lead the campaign against the things and had just returned to Skyhold for some much-deserved rest. Also booze. Lots and lots of booze.
The Iron Bull lagged slightly behind his men, taking in the mostly empty bar. Old Ben-Hassrath habits, he supposed. Cabot gave him a nod as he set to serving the laughing, roaring beast that was the core group of the Bull’s Chargers. The big Qunari could not keep a satisfied grin off his face, content that his men couldn’t see it.
He’d do it again. However difficult it got, he’d take them over the Qun any day.
That was when the figure in the corner caught his eye. The Bull didn’t make any change in his routine–toss Cabot a sovereign, head over to his chair along the wall, nod at Krem to let him know he was good–but he watched the figure nonetheless. Casually, enough that no one could tell he was doing it. He could not see much, as it was.
“Cabot, this ale is piss warm,” The Bull called, taking a swig of his swill.
“Allow me.” The newcomer had moved quickly and now stood in front of him, a heavy, pale blue cloak swept back from a pair of slim shoulders. Bull quirked an eyebrow, taking her in (formally, now, since she was in front of him) before holding out his mug. She was tall, blond hair about chin length and styled in loose, wavy ringlets about her face. The woman tilted her chin up, a gesture both self-certain and familiar. Her pointer finger extended to his mug. Fractals of frost spread, coiling intricate designs. When Bull took another long swallow the ale was pleasantly cool, not quite cold, and far more refreshing. She watched his throat bob as he drank and Bull, ever a showman, flexed a little more than was necessary as he set his mug down shifted in his seat.
“Thanks. What can I do for you, ma’am?”
That earned him a satisfied smirk and the shushing of fine fabric as the woman took a seat to Bull’s side. She glanced around the bar, at the Chargers and a smattering of Inquisition soldiers making merry. “I had heard there was a Tevinter Altus here. I’d have thought to find him near the closest source of alcohol, but…perhaps not.” A little note of something dark slipped into her expression but was gone just as quickly. She was very good, Bull realized. “Must be very popular, that one.”
“Yeah,” the Qunari allowed himself a small chuckle. The woman glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, “-you ‘Vints are real popular this far south. Especially with the thousand-year-magister shitting everything up.”
“Knew all along, did you?” Her eyebrows were up, a small smile on her lips. Impressed, then, and allowing it to show. Odd play for a ‘Vint, were he not pretty sure he already knew who this one was.
“Accent is a bit hard to miss. Vyrantium?” Bull replied conversationally.
“Qarinus.” The Bull grumbled just a little at that. The pretty ‘Vint seemed to take it as a challenge.
“So glad the victorious are hailed so graciously.” Bull was deep in discussion with the blonde ‘Vint when he heard the eloquent scoff. The voice was rich and altogether offended. The Bull felt a grin break as he hauled his not inconsiderate bulk to his feet. “Tell me, to what do I owe the offense? Have I been gone so long you’ve gone senile and forgotten my existence altogether?” Mae rolled her eyes dramatically, though the look was altogether fond. She was hidden from Dorian’s view by a well-placed pillar and Bull fully intended to make use of that.
“Hey there ‘Vint.”
“Hey there. Hey there?! Two weeks in the wet fighting for my life and the freedom of the free world and all I merit is a–mmmpphh!” Dorian’s protests were quickly muffled as he found his lips pressed firmly to Bull’s, lithe form pulled in close to the Tal-Vashoth’s much larger one. The Chargers let out a tumult that was equal parts cheers and groans as their boss welcomed his heart home properly. Dorian growled against the kiss at first, thrashing like a cat in a sack. He shoved against massive arms to no avail, squirming his body even though hips lips didn’t leave Bull’s. Bull could just see the telling spread of a blush across Dorian’s attractive features; it took but another moment of struggling before Dorian melted with a final squawk at the indignity, a sigh escaping his nose. Bull felt a clever hand trace one of his ears, earning Dorian a little shudder as the mage slung his other arm around Bull’s neck.
“You are an incorrigible beast,” Dorian relaxed into Bull’s hold, once he had gotten over that feeling that the entire bar was waiting to burn him at the stake for being too bold. Old habits.
“You like it,” Bull grinned, leaning down just far enough to nuzzle Dorian’s ear. That earned him a little shudder of his own along with Dorian’s long-suffering sigh.
“My my, whatever would your father say?”
Dorian stiffened in earnest. Bull frowned as he felt the mage’s hands knot into fists, stepping back from his very sudden rigidity of posture. He watched Dorian’s eyes narrow then widen, first in suspicion, then in surprise.
“…Mae?” She stood, arms swept wide as she offered him a gracious bow, all fluttering blue fabric and blonde curls.
“The very same. Am I allowed to hug you? Such things seem common to you in the South, it would seem. I should like to blend in.” Dorian’s cheeks colored again, a dusting of crimson beneath the caramel of his skin. Mae’s laugh was kind, though, and he swept over to her. With an elegant bow Dorian folded himself in half, kissing Mae’s hand (while Bull ogled his ass). She caught him at it, too, narrowing her eyes before pulling Dorian up straight into an embrace. “I apologize for opening with thoughts of Halward, that was most unkind of me. It does seem you have made a friend you neglected to tell me about.” Bull’s grin was wide and unapologetic; Dorian sighed with his entire self, offering his arm to Maevaris, the picture of resignation.
“An affront for which you will make me pay,” he suggested.
“Spectacularly,” Mae agreed, tossing a wink to Bull. “You may start with getting me a glass of wine and telling me about this dashing young man.”
In his wolf dreams, he could race up the sides of mountains, jagged icy mountains taller than any tower, and stand at the summit beneath the full moon with all the world below him, the way it used to be. (Bran, A Clash of Kings)
I dreamed I was a wolf again. She could remember the smells best of all: trees and earth, her pack brothers, the scents of horse and deer and man, each different from the others, and the sharp acrid tang of fear, always the same. Some nights the wolf dreams were so vivid that she could hear her brothers howling even as she woke, and once Brea had claimed that she was growling in her sleep as she thrashed beneath the covers. (Cat of the Canals, A Feast for Crows)
He chose one bird, and then another, without success, but the third raven looked at him with shrewd black eyes, tilted its head, and gave a quork, and quick as that he was not a boy looking at a raven but a raven looking at a boy. The song of the river suddenly grew louder, the torches burned a little brighter than before, and the air was full of strange smells. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, A Dance with Dragons)
“Yes. I know that you’re the one who has been hitting me.” Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.
The priest winced and snatched his hand back. “And how could a blind girl know that?”
I saw you. “I gave you three. I don’t need to give you four.” Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto’s, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. (The Blind Girl, A Dance with Dragons)
LEADER OF A WOLFPACK
Then the two rushed together, wolf and direwolf, and there was no more time for thought. The world shrank down to tooth and claw. […] But finally the old one-eyed wolf lay down and showed his belly. The direwolf snapped at him twice more, sniffed at his butt, then lifted a leg over him. A few snaps and a warning growl, and the female and the tail submitted too. The pack was his. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. She could outrun horses and outfight lions. […] And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. (Arya, A Storm of Swords)
GORGED ON THE FLESH OF MAN WHILE WARGING
He went from man to man, sniffing, before settling on the biggest, a faceless thing who clutched black iron in one hand. […] Blood flowed thick and sluggish from the slash across his throat. The wolf lapped at it with his tongue, licked the ragged eyeless ruin of his nose and cheeks, then buried his muzzle in his neck and tore it open, gulping down a gobbet of sweet meat. No flesh had ever tasted half as good. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
She licked her lips, remembering. The bleating of the sheep, the terror in the shepherd’s eyes, the sound the dogs had made as she killed them one by one, the snarling of her pack. Game had become scarcer since the snows began to fall, but last night they had feasted. Lamb and dog and mutton and the flesh of man. Some of her little grey cousins were afraid of men, even dead men, but not her. Meat was meat, and men were prey. She was the night wolf. (The Blind Girl, A Dance with Dragons)
EXCLUSIVELY SUBSCRIBE TO THE OLD GODS
The deep red eyes carved into the pale trunk still watched him, yet somehow he took comfort from that now. The gods were looking over him, he told himself; the old gods, gods of the Starks and the First Men and the children of the forest, his father’s gods. He felt safe in their sight, and the deep silence of the trees helped him think. Bran had been thinking a lot since his fall; thinking, and dreaming, and talking with the gods. (Bran, A Game of Thrones)
Polliver had stolen the sword from her when the Mountain’s men took her captive, but when she and the Hound walked into the inn at the crossroads, there it was. The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father’s gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can’t have this. (Arya, A Feast for Crows)
The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran’s second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true. (Bran, A Game of Thrones)
Arya was askilledclimber and a fast picker, and she liked to go off by herself. (Arya, A Clash of Kings)
NAMED FOR NED’S FAMILY
Brandon Stark, Ned’s older brother.
Arya Flint, Ned’s maternal grandmother.
MENTORED BY MAGICAL FIGURE
Seated on his throne of roots in the great cavern, half-corpse and half-tree, Lord Brynden seemed less a man than some ghastly statue made of twisted wood, old bone, and rotted wool. The only thing that looked alive in the pale ruin that was his face was his one red eye, burning like the last coal in a dead fire, surrounded by twisted roots and tatters of leathery white skin hanging off a yellowed skull. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket. (Arya, A Feast for Crows)
THOUGHT TO BE DEAD
“But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. (Arya, A Clash of Kings)
“No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father’s head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her.” (Catelyn, A Storm of Swords)
STRENGTH IN DARKNESS
“Never fear the darkness, Bran.” The lord’s words were accompanied by a faint rustling of wood and leaf, a slight twisting of his head. “The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother’s milk. Darkness will make you strong.” (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
“How long must I be blind?” she would ask.
“Until darkness is as sweet to you as light,” the waif would say, “or until you ask us for your eyes. Ask and you shall see.” (The Blind Girl, A Dance with Dragons)
TAUGHT THE NORTHERN WAY BY FATHER
“He does,” his father admitted. “As did the Targaryen kings before him. Yet our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. (Bran, A Game of Thrones)
This time she did not hesitate. "Dareon is dead. The black singer who was sleeping at the Happy Port. He was really a deserter from the Night’s Watch. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal, but they kept his boots.” (Cat of the Canals, A Feast for Crows)
The girl was not sorry, though. Dareon had been a deserter from the Night’s Watch; he had deserved to die. (The Blind Girl, A Dance with Dragons)
LOVE WINTERFELL AND ITS PEOPLE
He sent some salmon down to poor sad Lady Hornwood, the boar to the boisterous Umbers, a dish of goose-in-berries to Cley Cerwyn, and a huge lobster to Joseth the master of horse, who was neither lord nor guest, but had seen to Dancer’s training and made it possible for Bran to ride. He sent sweets to Hodor and Old Nan as well, for no reason but he loved them. (Bran, A Clash of Kings)
“When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?”
Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit, I smell hot bread baking, I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf, I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. (Arya, A Feast for Crows)
Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. (Arya, A Feast for Crows)
MET CHILDREN OF THE FOREST
It was a girl, but smaller than Arya, her skin dappled like a doe’s beneath a cloak of leaves. Her eyes were queer—large and liquid, gold and green, slitted like a cat’s eyes. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
Those you call the children of the forest have eyes as golden as the sun, but once in a great while one is born amongst them with eyes as red as blood, or green as the moss on a tree in the heart of the forest. By these signs do the gods mark those they have chosen to receive the gift [of greensight]. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
The dwarf woman studied her with dim red eyes. “I see you,” she whispered. “I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death …” She began to sob, her little body shaking. “You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel. I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart. Begone!” (Arya, A Storm of Swords)
“Was she a ghost?”
“Do ghosts complain of how their joints creak? No, she’s only an old dwarf woman. A queer one, though, and evil-eyed. But she knows things she has no business knowing, and sometimes she’ll tell you if she likes the look of you.” (Arya, A Storm of Swords)
MOST WOLFLIKE OF THE STARKS
It was better inside Summer. I am him, and he is me. He feels what I feel. (Bran, A Dance with Dragons)
Yes, Arya thought. Yes, it’s you who ought to run, you and Lord Tywin and the Mountain and Ser Addam and Ser Amory and stupid Ser Lyonel whoever he is, all of you better run or my brother will kill you, he’s a Stark, he’s morewolfthanman, and so am I. (Arya, A Clash of Kings)
Zootopia / Robin Hood fanfiction: Take A Stand Ch.18 Family Fun
(AN/ HO HO HO! Merry christmas from Garouge Faux AKA Crewefox and here I am with another chapter of Take A Stand. Whoa I can’t believe how popular this fan fic has become since I started it. Thank you so so much to the lovley folks who faved, followed, reviewed, liked, commented and reblogged this fan fic, you are all awesome and I hope you have an amazing christmas. I have to thank also the amazingly talented artists who have created art for this fan fic so thank you @ziegelzeig@fuzzywuzzylittletail@ky-jane@helthehatter and @reddoshirousagi06. So without further ado let’s get cracking with this chapter…)
It didn’t take long for the ZPD to find Thumper; Wolford and Delgato had found him chained to the lamppost beside the Sherwood community centre…but a crowd of about twenty mammals had found him as well. Delgato sprung from the passenger seat of the cruiser and had to tackle a hare who was pummelling Thumper’s face, the lion cop was about to cuff the boxing hare when a glass bottle smashed beside him, neither Wolford or Delgato saw where the bottle had be launched from but they did see the crowd of angry animals was growing by the second, the partners positioned themselves to shield the semi conscious Thumper as they radioed for backup. Five minutes passed and a dozen more cops had arrived on the scene but a hundred more mammals had joined the mob wanting to tear Thumper apart, twenty minutes later Bogo had declared it a riot and sent in his riot trained officers to quell the three hundred strong crowd trying to get their paws on Thumper. It was impossible to evacuate the arsonist as the angry citizens of Sherwood had encircled the cops guarding the rabbit, the media soon got wind of the situation and arrived in their news vans and made the event even worse.