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karikarasuno · 4 months

Text

sonder ch. v

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader x Levi Ackerman

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: Holidays, Alcohol Consumption, Flirting, Banter

Word Count: 8.3k

song(s) for the chapter: wishlist by jojo, orbit by nao, better than snow by norah jones & laufey

a/n: this chapter was especially fun to write since i do rather enjoy the holiday season. pls enjoy the chaos of it all.

chapter iv | chapter v | chapter vi

Ghosts, witch hats, and little black cat cutouts littered nearly every corner of the office. There were pumpkins, real and decorative, in the break room, the cubicles, and even on your desk. Which you had not placed there and could only blame really one person for.

“And exactly what are you supposed to be?” Moblit asked, dressed in all white with a halo attached to a headband on his head. He looked comical dressed as an angel because even though Moblit may have looked innocent, he was anything but.

“Ghostface,” you shrugged, pushing aside some papers and leaning forward on your elbows against the edge of your desk. You were dressed in your regular work attire, if not slightly more casual than work typically permitted. It was an extremely chilly day in the city, the wind sharp enough to bite at your cheeks and nose. You made sure to layer up before you left the house this morning, and funnily enough, the day already started to warm by the time lunch rolled around.

“Where’s the mask?” He teased as he gestured to his face and then pointed at yours.

“It’s before the big reveal,” you laughed, standing when you heard some excited commotion come from outside your office. “So do me a favor and don’t expose my secret identity.”

When you walked into the break room, where you found everyone in their fun little costumes, the tables were covered in sweet Halloween treats and finger foods. Moblit was in charge of the event planning committee, accompanied by the overly excited Historia, who was standing at one of the tables with her hair braided and little flowers clipped all over.

“Rapunzel, is that you?” You asked teasingly as you walked up to her table and grabbed a mini cupcake with a cartoon ghost sticking up from the orange icing. She clapped her hands once in excitement and spun in response. Her purple dress stopped just above her knees, and the lilac complimented her skin tone in a delicate way. She looked adorable in her get up.

“The one and only,” she grinned. Her eyes took in your simple outfit of high-waisted brown slacks and your black, long-sleeve mock neck. Accompanied by some black leather boots. You could tell the question was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could ask it, Jean and Marco strolled in in matching costumes. You smiled extra hard when you spotted their outfits, and immediately recognized the orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirts. You giggled to yourself because this had Jean written all over it, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing.

Once you made eye contact with Marco, his grin turned rather mischievous as he approached you holding out a spear and shield in your direction.

“What is this for…?” You grabbed the props suspiciously as he continued to smile at you.

“I had a strong feeling you wouldn’t dress up, so I took matters into my own hands.” The realization dawned on you when he motioned to his own shirt.

“Athena,” you said, nodding as you looked between him and the props in your hands. “While I appreciate the thought, I’m too young to be your godly parent. By a millenia.”

He laughed rather loudly, chin tilting to his chest as he shook his head. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m no child of Athena.”

Photos were taken and the food provided was gone by the time you called it a day and headed home. The wind was especially chilly when you stepped outside and towards the train. Even though the time wasn’t due to change for another few days, the sun sat low in the sky, practically hidden by the tall, city buildings. Routine continued to follow you as you placed your headphones snug over your ears. They acted almost as ear muffs against the sharp breeze and you were grateful to find them charged.

The worst part of your routine was the new addition. The part where you addictively listened to Onyankopon’s song. You couldn’t really explain to yourself why you did it. It wasn’t anything remotely close to healthy. In fact, it was almost this obsessive need to torture yourself. That maybe feeling the guilt that already resided deeply against your sternum would grow so abundantly that it would just explode and kill you. Saving you in the end.

But that never seemed to happen. And you continued living life splitting yourself into two versions. This version, the one that allowed herself to feel the emotions that seemed to always be thrumming just beneath her skin. The one that anguished over lost love and was riddled with self-doubt and insecurity. This was the version you hated. Therefore you hid her behind carefully constructed smiles and well-timed jokes. Creating the other part of you. The one you longed to remain because she was charming and witty. People seemed to like her, so in times where you weren’t alone, crowded in a room of colleagues or even friends, she was who you became. You clung to her in fear, almost. Desperate to show everyone that you were okay.

That you were fine. Happy, even.

The street leading to your home was flooded with trick or treaters. Parents accompanied their small children while groups of teenagers laughed and chatted loudly on the sidewalk. As you neared the entrance to your home, you noticed Levi and Erwin were home too. A bowl of candy sat on their steps and their gate was propped open. You were tempted to stop by. Simply because you were starting to miss the consistency of your old routine. But it was harder to keep up appearances with them. Difficult to let them in completely, even though they were the ones to seemingly revive you from the fog of depression that loomed over your head for weeks before. And mostly because it felt awkward. Pretending to be someone else when they so clearly could see right through it, but were too polite to call you out on it. They often entertained your brush offs and changes in topic. All the while you could tell that their curiosity was starting to eat at them. Especially Levi. Who wasn’t the type to dance around topics or force pleasantries for fear of ruining a mood.

So you decided to just spend the evening alone. A far easier choice to be alone rather than confront what was going on inside your head outside of it. And in front of an audience. Instead deciding to keep the lights off, aside from the small yellow light above the stove, and playing Onyankopon’s song on the record player until you fell asleep on the couch like you always did.

Another new and unbreakable habit.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t say yes. Who wants to spend Thanksgiving alone? Are you even gonna cook something for yourself?” Erwin whined from the doorway of your home. You told the guys a few days prior that you were heading back home for the holiday, but a sudden and surprising snow storm ended up canceling your flight. The airline offered you their next flight out, but at that point you wouldn’t land until late Thursday evening, effectively missing Thanksgiving. Which was the whole point of going back to your hometown.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. Honestly I’ll probably just order Chinese or something. I promise it won’t be as sad as it sounds,” you argued, rifling through your junk drawer for the menu to the Chinese place a few blocks away.

“That is so un-American of you,” Erwin pouted. “Just come to my dad’s place with me and Levi. Please.”

“I will ignore your first comment because we are not opening up that can of worms tonight.” You tossed him a playful glare, remembering the drunken night at Hange’s bar where you all loudly and incoherently discussed the history behind the origins of Thanksgiving. He rolled his eyes in response.

“Anyway, I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure your dad didn’t cook enough for an extra person.”

“Clearly you don’t know my father,” he chuckled. “He probably cooked enough for 10 extra people.”

You found the menu before you could formulate a response, waving it excitedly in front of you before opening it to read the options. But as you contemplated which dish you’d want more, the menu was snatched from your hands and when you met Erwin’s gaze there was startling defiance behind them.

“You’re not eating Chinese food on Thanksgiving when there is an old man in his home cooking his little heart out.”

“Don’t try to guilt trip me,” you answered, astonished at the immature tactic he decided to use.

“I refuse to leave until you say yes.” He opened the drawer positioned in front of your hips and slid the menu back inside of it. All while maintaining determined eye contact with you. Your resolve was crumbling. You felt it as layer after layer of it fell to your feet in a dusty heap.

“Erwin,” you pleaded, crossing your arms over your chest in one final attempt to get your point across. Even though you already knew that you were leaving this house with him, albeit with halfhearted reluctance.

From the doorway you heard Levi enter. And a part of you thought that he would back you up. Oftentimes, reeling in Erwin’s rather persistent nature. But as soon as that hope flickered around in your chest, Levi said, “we let Halloween slide because I quite frankly don’t care much for it. But I’m drawing the line here. Go get dressed.”

Your mouth popped open, shock evident on your face as Levi sent you a stern glare. No room for arguments. Noted. “You’re not spending another holiday alone. I don’t care.”

You sent a look of surprise to Erwin, again expecting some sort of alliance, but he simply smirked. Knowing that they did indeed win this argument. So you walked your ass to the bedroom to change out of your loungewear and into something much more appropriate for a family dinner.

“I can’t believe you two would gang up on me like that,” you said as you slipped into the back seat of Erwin’s car, your coat secured tightly around your body to protect you from the harsh cold. Levi chuckled from the passenger seat. The car was already nice and warm since they waited for you inside of it. The heat blasting from the fans.

“I wouldn’t call what we did ganging up on you.” Erwin began to drive, the streets surprisingly sparse given what day it was. “You were persuaded into coming along with the prospect of good food and even better company.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” you argued, sticking your nose into the collar of your coat to try and defrost it. While the drive to Erwin’s father’s home was comfortable, the conversation flowing with seemingly no effort, you still held the unmistakable pit of anxiety in your chest. It was unwavering, steady, and atrociously annoying. There was no reason for it. Other than to make you as supremely uncomfortable as possible.

The consistent feeling of it was morphing into a dreaded resentment. Mostly for yourself. And the predicament you only brought upon yourself. It was repetitive. Every day was the same since it was always accompanied with the same negative feelings. You couldn’t help but hate each day. The active effort of trying to enjoy the simple things, the little things, was increasingly harder to do. And your current state of depression was beginning to worry even you. Since the amount of work you were previously throwing yourself into was diminishing rather quickly, you have had no other choice but to sit and feel and reflect. And upon reflecting, you only realized that you felt like shit and no amount of work would ever fix that.

The worst part was knowing that you had friends. Friends willing to force you from your home late on Thanksgiving day and forced you to actually spend time with them. Friends who cared. Friends who wanted you around. Even when you felt like the worst person to be around. Especially when you were alone.

But that didn’t stop Erwin or Levi from ensuring that you didn’t spend this day lonely. Ensuring that when you walked into Mr. Smith’s home you were greeted with the smell of roasted vegetables, well seasoned turkey, and warm spiked apple cider that you were questionable of until you had your first sip. The Christmas tree was already up as well, and you were about to make some well-intentioned joke about it still being November until you noticed that there was a second one in the dining room. Granted this one was fake, unlike the very real (and fragrant) fir that was decorated rather elaborately in the living room.

“So,” Mr. Smith walked up beside you as you admired the twinkling lights and sparkly ornaments. “I heard you’re a pretty good cook.”

“I dabble,” you shrugged with a light laugh. “It’s been a minute since I spent some time in the kitchen, but I wouldn’t say I’m a chef or anything.”

“Either way, I’m excited to hear your thoughts about dinner,” he said as he nudged you gently with his elbow. And when you looked into his eyes, while you saw kindness and comfort in his gaze, there was a familiar glint of knowing sadness. A pain that you recognized rather fiercely. It struck you deeply that someone you barely knew and have only interacted with once before could resonate with the gnawing feeling in your chest with just a simple look. You were intrigued, wanting to question what was wrong. But then you remembered that Erwin lost his mother when he was younger. And what you saw reflected in Mr. Smith’s eyes was the knowingness of loss.

In some capacity, you knew what that aching emptiness felt like. That transitionary period between loving someone and not being able to have them anymore. Whether it was a choice to be made or a tragic ending. Loss was like a tradition. One that anyone, human or not, partook in simply by living and breathing.

Another reminder that we had hearts to be broken and then mended with time.

“Also,” he added, “I’m happy you could make it. Erwin said it was a bit of a debate getting you over here.” He chuckled when you sighed and shook your head in disbelief.

“Remind me to never tell him a secret, since he doesn’t seem to have any filter.”

“He gets that from his mom, y’know. Looks almost nothing like her, but everyday he reminds me of her more and more.”

You both glanced over at Erwin at that moment. Him with a longing fondness and you with aching curiosity. He was attempting to goad Levi into trying one of the cookies that sat atop the island in the kitchen and failing miserably since you all knew how much Levi despised anything sweet before meals.

“Come on, it’s good,” Erwin said, offering him the half again and chuckling when Levi’s scowl deepened.

“I don’t doubt that, but we’re about to eat dinner and you're going to ruin your appetite,” Levi responded before turning away with a shake of his head.

“For someone younger than me, you sure act like an old man. So damn crotchety,” he continued teasing Levi.

“Give it here,” you held out your hand as you made your way to the kitchen. Erwin deposited the cookie onto your palm with a grin, eyes sliding towards Levi to catch his reaction when you ate the half in a single bite.

“I don’t understand either of you sometimes,” Levi grumbled. The timer for the turkey went off then, Erwin’s dad running over to the oven to take it out. The four of you began bringing over all the sides to the dining table that was already set up with dinnerware and utensils. It was a cute little set up he had. A seat on each side of the table with all the food presented in the middle. There was a deep burgundy cloth covering the table and the white plates had gold decorating the rim. Levi held out your chair and motioned for you to have a seat before taking his place next to you. Erwin and his father bickered for a moment about who should carve the turkey until Erwin took the knife and fork with a resigned sigh. Mr. Smith sat down with a pleased grin, winking your way when you caught his eye.

Dinner was pleasant. Your wine glass was never empty. Which would've been a bad thing seeing as you only really ever drank nowadays to wallow in your sadness, but with the constant chatter and laughter it was hard to feel anything other than satisfaction and ridiculously full. Full from the incredible meal, full from the very obvious love surrounding the table, and full of ever-fleeting happiness. You didn’t really want your night to end, but as the hours crept closer to midnight you felt the lull of sleep beckoning you. You were all seated in the living room, fire crackling in the firepit, lights dull besides the twinkling lights on the tree. It was the coziest you’ve felt in a long time.

In the background, Mr. Smith’s phone rang. The chatter died for a moment as he excused himself to answer it. Levi and Erwin exchanged a weird look. Levi’s of barely there curiosity while Erwin looked downright confused. But you didn’t question it, and when you glanced over at Mr. Smith you noticed a small smile on his face as he spoke with whoever was on the other line in the kitchen. You couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t seem of any significance. Not until he returned to his place on the recliner in the living room, the same little smile tugging on his lips.

“Who was that?” Erwin asked.

“No one. Just a coworker,” he responded dismissively.

“Seems a little late for ‘just a coworker’ to call you on a holiday.” Erwin said, an intonation of irritation in his voice.

“It’s nothing, son. Really,” he said, a tone of finality present in his voice as he looked at Erwin with a firm yet understanding stare. The air around the room shifted into something awkward and you weren’t sure how to shift it back. Luckily, you didn’t have to. Levi swept in to recover the previous content with a story of how he and Erwin recently attended one of his mom’s yoga classes. Erwin’s simmering mood turned to one of offense when Levi lightheartedly recounted how Erwin was endearingly bad at it.

And you hadn’t realized you fell asleep until Erwin was rousing you awake from your place on his shoulder. Not exactly sure when that happened either and you were almost embarrassed by it. Until you were met with a bright smile, lips tinted from the red wine and eyes soft and tender as they looked down at you. It was one of those rare moments when you couldn’t help but acknowledge how stunning Erwin was. Hair just slightly tousled, lashes long and sweeping – perfectly framing his dazzling blue eyes. You swallowed, mouth dry as you tore your eyes from his face and cleared your throat. Trying very hard to ignore your obvious attraction to him, blaming most of it on the wine and your creeping loneliness.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he said with amusement on his tongue.

“Sorry,” you apologized, voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“No need to apologize.” He squeezed your knee, large hand warm and fitting there. And another subtle wave of shame washed over you for thinking of him as anything other than a friend in that moment. “It’s time to get going, anyway.”

You nodded in response, uncurling your legs from where they were on the sofa and placing your socked feet on the fluffy rug before you. Erwin stood up before you did, walking to the kitchen to grab the bowls of food Mr. Smith most likely packed for you all to take as you slept. Your mind was distracted. Mostly confused as you tried to remember the moment you succumbed to your slumber. The kind that came with no dreams or nightmares, just a blank space of peaceful rest. The kind you haven’t had since that night Onyankopon left. The kind that always seemed to evade you. Until now.

“Here.” Levi held out your coat, blocking your vision with the black fabric until you looked up to look at his face. Expression hard as it always was, but this time laced with something fonder. His features weren’t deeply set, his brow unfurrowed and eyes half-lidded from sleepiness. His cheeks were a signature rosy color. The shade you’ve come to correlate with tipsy Levi. It suited him– the slight blush dusted across his face.

You rose to your feet before you grabbed your coat, only to come nearly nose to nose with him. Yet you were surprised when he didn’t take a step away from you. The space between your bodies was so little, it would hardly take a few inches of leaning into each other to kiss him. And the thought was so appealing to you. So startling in its wake that you stepped backward, only to tip over back onto the cushions of the sofa.

Levi chuckled deeply in his chest, the sound rolling over your shoulders and down your spine. And you knew the way your cheeks warmed had nothing to do with the glasses of wine dancing in your bloodstream. But despite the sudden onslaught of confusing desire thrumming beneath your skin, you took Levi’s hand when he offered it to you. Even allowed him to slip your coat on for you, buttoned it up until it stopped just beneath your collarbones, and tied the loose ends securely around your waist. It shouldn’t have felt like anything other than platonic. But your body was saying a very different thing than your mind was.

“Thank you,” you breathed, voice distant from your own ears, but there was a note of yearning there not even you could ignore. When Levi looked at you, fingers still holding the ties of your coat, you noticed how long his hair has gotten. His bangs nearly touched his lashes as his eyes glanced over your face. He simply nodded though before he finally took that step away from you. Air rushed in to fill the gap that wasn’t previously there and you were even more ashamed at how much you missed the close proximity. Your heart hammered away in your chest, reminding you that you weren’t frozen in place and when Erwin gently called your name, the heavy fog began to lift and you made your way to the door.

The goodbyes were quick. The ride home even quicker. But the awkward realization sat with you the entire way. The realization that due to your tangled emotions, you were somehow blurring the lines between friends. Even though it was just you feeling so conflicted, you wanted to pull away again. A part of you wanted to do what you always did and lock yourself away until time forced you to forget or get over it. But knowing them, they wouldn’t allow it. Just as they didn’t allow you to spend the holiday eating Chinese takeout and binging whatever reality show you managed to find.

You would just have to sort it out. Push away any longing you felt and just replace it with platonic affection. Surely, once the wine simmered its way out of your system it would take away any attraction you’ve encountered tonight with it. Because you couldn’t lose them too. Not to something as trivial as rebounding desire that ricocheted from a past love and desperately searched for a new one.

The Christmas music was nonstop. It played at work, in stores, and even on the train one awfully dreary morning. You didn’t even know the train system had that option. So with all of that, you also weren’t surprised to hear a chaotic rendition of Jingle Bell Rock blast through the door of Hange’s bar. It was significantly warmer in their establishment and absolutely decorated to hell and back. This was either a person’s wet dream or elaborately niche nightmare.

There was an abundance of loud conversation happening over the song. Moblit was yelling something to Mike a few feet away from the bar top. All while Mike shrugged in response as he continued to polish glasses. You were sure he was only pretending to hear whatever Moblit was screaming and you chuckled into the scarf that was pulled over your nose to protect you from the fierce winds.

The three of you–you, Erwin, and Levi– began to shed off your outer layers at the door, the bottom of your boots leaving wet spots on the mat from the snow. It was starting to become quite evident that the three of you were nearly inseparable. You became a noted trio in your friend group.

When you met Nanaba for the first time a few weeks ago, she even jokingly referred to you as “Levi and Erwin’s third! It’s so nice to finally meet you.” It sort of rubbed you the wrong way initially, but you relaxed when you noticed everyone brush it off as meaningless banter. Because if you were being completely honest with yourself, that was a bit of a sore subject for you. The idea of being with Levi and Erwin, instead of just being with them all the time. You blamed it on some weird clingy rebound you must’ve been experiencing since your broken off engagement. The part of you that latched onto anything seemingly stable since you were so far from that. Especially since you didn’t have any idea how you managed to form such strong feelings for two people. Let alone your closest friends. You were positive you were just confusing potent platonic affection with regular romantic feelings. Whatever that meant.

“Don’t move!” Hange yelled from their place near the stage. You three immediately stopped in your tracks, your body flinching slightly since their voice carried much further after the abrupt ending of the song. You looked frantically behind you and then towards Levi, confused and more than a little concerned. On the opposite side of Levi, Erwin glanced nonchalantly at them as he readjusted the gift he bought for Secret Santa in his arms.

“What?” Levi said sternly, obvious irritation in his tone from not wanting to admit how their exclamation startled him. Instead of answering, Hange pointed to a spot directly above Levi’s head. You all tilted your heads slowly in the direction of their finger, and you were the first to react. A sudden and single laugh spilled from your lips. Cherry red and green spun down at you. A mistletoe hung delicately above your heads, still swaying from the wind that gusted through the open door when you entered it.

Levi sighed out a deep and annoyed breath, which made you huff out another light laugh. Over Levi’s head you made eye contact with a grinning Erwin, whose eyes twinkled with mischief and plotting. He glanced down at Levi with a jut of his chin and then pointed at his own cheek. You were confused at first until he exaggeratedly puckered his lips and pointed from his cheek to Levi. It clicked then, and you were hesitant, but when Ewin flashed another excited smile you conceded. It seemed like it only got harder to say no to him the more time you spent in his presence.

As Levi bickered with Hange in an entertainingly escalated debate, you and Erwin leaned over at the same time and placed a quick kiss to his cheeks. Which, comically, blossomed into a glorious shade of red. Deeper than any wine could ever do to him. Erwin retracted with a gross smacking sound and you just knew that the disgust now present on Levi’s face was due to the wet smooch left behind.

“You can stop arguing now, Grinch,” Erwin chuckled as he finally stepped out from beneath the mistletoe.

“That was wholly unnecessary,” he responded while wiping the spit from his cheek with the back of his hand. Which was when you noticed the glossy red lipstick mark you left on the other one. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing when he looked your way.

“What?” He asked, exasperated.

“You have some…” You pointed to your cheek and suppressed a smile. “Some lipgloss on your other cheek.”

He sighed, but to your surprise he made no move to remove it. He simply walked into the bar with another shake of his head and a defeated shrug. You stood planted at the door for a second, just taking in the chaos. The bar was closed for this intimate little event. The usually lit low hanging lights were off, instead replaced with a vast array of string lights that were strewn over every place the ladder would allow Hange or Moblit to reach. At the top of the Christmas tree was an empty bottle of bacardi that appeared to be haphazardly covered in red and gold glitter. It was a very interesting choice for a tree topper, but you expected nothing less from the otherwise eccentric owner.

“Yo, you gonna keep standing there or are you gonna come try this?” Moblit called out at you holding up a drink with what seemed to be vibrantly red contents inside the glass.

“What exactly am I trying?” You wandered over, skeptical and not trusting his dismissive nature as he handed you the glass.

“A surprise,” he smiled, pouring another one into a similar looking glass.

“I’m not a fan of surprises,” you stated, sniffing the surprisingly fruity smelling drink.

“It’s a good surprise, I swear.”

“You said that last time and I ended up drinking a cocktail with Fireball in it. Which was disgusting, mind you,” you said, just before taking a tentative sip of your drink. And he was right. This time it was good. You couldn’t really pinpoint what the ingredients were other than that it was slightly tart, but with a lovely hint of holiday spices incorporated.

“You like it,” he grinned, taking a sip of his own.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Didn’t have to. You’ve become very easy to read since I work with you everyday.” He chuckled when he said that. As if it was some simple thing to declare but there was a spike of fear in your chest. Because exactly how easy has it become to read you? “It’s called Christmas punch. We found the recipe a few years ago at this other bar we visited and it’s become kind of a staple seasonal drink for us ever since.”

You took another sip, noting the fun tease of ginger this time and smiled against the rim. “It is pretty good.”

“I fucking told you so.”

You propped your gift bag on the end of the bartop with all the other Secret Santa gifts, watching as everyone fell seamlessly into their own conversations and it was a comforting sight. Moblit and Mike behind the bar, while Hange and Levi tinkered with the karaoke machine settings to get the mic properly hooked up. Nanaba was racking the cue balls on the pool table while Erwin sipped on the same red drink you had in your hand as he gestured wildly with the pool stick.

You ended up watching them play a round, Erwin winning by a landslide. Many of Nanaba’s solid colored balls were still on the table, while the 8 ball was nowhere to be seen. Erwin’s celebration was loud, Nanaba rolling her eyes at him as he raised his arms above his head and cheered for himself. You laughed, third glass of punch in your hand and you were teetering across the line of tipsy and into drunkenness.

“You’re next.” Erwin pointed the pool stick at you as you pointed a questioning finger to yourself.

“Absolutely not. I don’t have enough coordination for this,” you defended, waving your drink at the game and laughing again.

“Perfect! It’ll be another easy victory.” He directed that at Nanaba, who flipped him off as she walked over to you and handed you her stick.

“I’m getting another drink,” she said. “Good luck with him.”

“Not sure how I feel about being the one to stroke his ego, but thanks.” You placed your now empty glass on a table nearby.

“You wanna break it or should I?” He asked, referring to the balls that were already set up in a triangle while adding the blue chalk to the top of his stick. Before handing it to you so you could do the same.

“Go ahead, big shot, since you’re so good at this.”

His grin was huge and confident. And you had to admit smugness looked good on him. Even if it did serve to annoy you. The balls scattered when he hit them, two striped balls falling into separate pockets.

“Guess your solids,” he said, hitting the white ball again, this time accidentally sending it into a pocket.

“And I guess your luck might be running out.” You teased, walking over to the pocket the white ball was in and positioning it by the ball of your choice.

“Doubt it, but let’s see what you got, sweetheart,” he said snidely, but he was still clearly amused.

And whatever luck and skill Erwin had seemed to transfer to you. Before either of you could even register it, you won the game. The 8 ball bounced off of his last striped ball and slid into one of the corner pockets. You were shocked at your win, but Nanaba and Hange cheered enthusiastically beside you. Nanaba very maturely telling Erwin to “suck on that, loser!”

Mike clapped Erwin on the shoulder as he chuckled at his expense. All while Erwin stood with his lips parted and obvious confusion on his face. “I call bullshit,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You hustled me.”

“Beginner’s luck?” You offered instead, grinning from the adrenaline rush of winning. And the fact that Levi came over and slung his arm around your shoulder and laughed into your ear. “Thanks for humbling him. He needed it.”

When you made eye contact with him, you both began to laugh. Your cheeks were warm, the sweater you were wearing became stifling, but it didn’t matter. You were happy. Forreal this time.

“You have chalk on your cheek,” Levi said, fingers finding your chin and angling your face away from him. “How’d you manage that?”

His words were slightly slurred and you could smell the alcohol on his tongue. You were sure your breath probably smelled the same, but it was different feeling his fan delicately across your cheek as he used his thumb to rub off whatever smear was left there. When it didn’t wipe away cleanly, he reached out to the glass that sat precariously on the edge of the pool table and collected some of that condensation on the tip of his thumb.

“Not sure,” you breathed. “I was too busy kicking your man’s ass.”

He smirked, using his damp finger to effectively clean off the residue of the chalky substance. It was a thoughtful, if not compulsive gesture. Levi had a thing about cleanliness. A thing about things being orderly and appealing. So it was better for you not to read too deeply into the moment. Because it was a small moment between friends, no matter which way you cut it.

“And you looked good doing it,” he said as he let go of your face and wiped his fingers on a nearby napkin. Your brain stopped. You heard the gentle teasing in his voice, but it still surprised you. Because it felt like flirting. But Levi wasn’t the flirting type. You’d expect and actually have gotten used to these types of comments from Erwin. But that was who he was. Pushed your boundaries. Invaded your personal space. Made silly, complimentary comments. Flirted, but it was meaningless. Mostly.

“I-”

“Time for Secret Santa! Gather your shit and get your drunk asses over here,” Hange yelled. The gifts had been moved from the bar to a round table where enough chairs for everyone had been arranged in a circle. You grabbed the one you brought, the gift inside for Hange and your palms were beginning to sweat with nerves.

“You’re up first, new girl,” Moblit pointed your way as soon as everyone got settled. You knew you gave him a panicked sort of look because he chuckled, squeezed your shoulder, and then gestured for you to go on.

“Are we doing the whole I give you three clues and you guess or should I just hand it over?” You lifted your gift bag in emphasis, silently hoping they chose the latter. Because honestly you were a bit too drunk and a touch too nervous to come up with anything funny or interesting.

“Just give it,” Levi answered and waved his hand dismissively, and you could tell Moblit wanted to argue but when he felt your shoulders noticeably untense his lips closed around a smile. Hange was distracted, endlessly making sure everyone had a drink or a snack or was comfortable. They were a great, if not chaotic host. So you almost felt bad interrupting the small conversation they were having with Nanaba.

“Hange,” you said, standing in front of them with the strings of the gift bag dangling from your fingertips. Their face lit up. Eyes wide and smile splitting their face enthusiastically.

“For me?!” They squealed and you couldn’t help but smile back at their reaction.

“For you,” you urged the bag into their hands, and took a step back as they ripped the tissue paper from the bag and threw it over their shoulder. But unlike their rough treatment of the paper, when they pulled out the folded bundle of yarn, they held it with delicate and curious fingers. You felt the need to explain in that moment, in an attempt to jump ahead of the confusion in case they had no idea what it was. “It’s a balaclava. Handmade from this little online shop. You wear it over your head and it’ll keep your ears warm because I remember when you were complaining about wearing ear muffs so I just thought that maybe you would…”

“I love it!” They immediately shoved their head through the hole on the bottom, their hair a mess peeking out of the front with how forcefully they put the accessory on. You reached forward, swiping their bangs out of their eyes and adjusting it so it sat better around their face. They smiled up at you, colorful, crocheted balaclava fit snugly over their head.

“You look cute, actually,” you laughed, stepping away as they toyed with the drawstrings hanging under their chin.

“I’m never taking it off.”

“Ok, weirdo,” you laughed again with a shake of your head as you took your seat again.

The game somehow worked out perfectly with you going first. Everyone received their gift from their Secret Santa until you were the only one without one. And it just so happened that the final person standing with a gift still to give was Erwin. There was a heat in your chest that rose when you realized the present he was clutching so ridiculously the entire way to the bar was actually for you. Which then explained his odd reaction when you pretended to lift a piece of the wrapping paper that wasn’t secured properly. You had never seen him move so quickly since you’d known him.

He grabbed the box-shaped gift off the table, spinning it his hands as he dramatically scanned the group as if none of you knew who it was for.

“Just give it to me.” You held out your hands in anticipation, your cheeks warming under the attention, but ready to get the moment over with and not over think it.

“How are you so sure it’s yours?” Erwin teased, taking careful steps towards you and your outstretched arms.

“Erwin,” you said, wiggling your fingers as he placed the surprisingly light box onto your palms. You peeled the paper back attentively, even though it was just plain brown paper with little snowflakes on it, you still felt bad tearing it apart. And you weren’t too sure what you were expecting. Knowing Erwin it could very well be a gag gift or a play on some inside joke you had with each other. That was what you were anticipating. A laugh and then a change in subject since the game was over.

But what you weren’t expecting was a vinyl record. You knew of the artist, but never really listened to her work. And so when you flipped the record around after slipping it out of the cardboard box, the silence was louder than what would’ve been comfortable for most people.

“Norah Jones,” he said, shifting in place before continuing. “That was my mom’s favorite musician. And I know how much you like to collect those things, so I kinda thought that maybe you would like that album.”

You were drunk. That was how you justified the tears that pricked at your lash line. And the burning in your throat. And the slight pout of your lips when it hit you how sentimental and thoughtful his gift was.

“Erwin, I-”

“Put that bottom lip away. Don’t be weird about it.” He rolled his eyes. His playful energy attempted to resurface but you could tell how important it was for him that you liked this gift. Because it meant something to him. Something very personal and intimate.

You held the record to your chest that was already feeling far fuller than it has in months. “Internally, I’m being very weird about it, but for now I’ll just say thank you. So, thank you, Erwin.”

“Good, can we get drunk now?” He sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he smiled his easy going grin at you.

“We already are,” Mike piped up from his spot behind where Erwin was standing.

“Fine, can we get drunk-er now?”

“Yes! And I have just the thing,” Hange exclaimed, jumping up from their seat, balaclava still on, as they ran behind the bar to make whatever lethal concoction they had up their sleeve. When everyone stood to do their own things again, you approached Erwin with the record still held tightly against your heart.

He looked down at you with a relieved fondness in his gaze, and you melted. “I really do love this.”

“I’m glad,” he shrugged, acting as if this present was really no big deal at all.

“I’m gonna play it as soon as I get home,” you grinned, flipping the record around to read the tracklist.

“Is that right?” He was standing closer than you expected, and you could feel the rumble of his laughter against your shoulder, where he was pressed against you.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, looking back up at him. A strange and overwhelming sense of contentment flooded between the two of you. And again you blamed the rush of emotion on the alcohol. Because otherwise, the feelings would be unexplainable. Or too uncomfortable to linger on for longer than a moment.

The walk home was twice as long as it usually was. And far funnier than any of you could actually account for. You were wasted. Words slurring, unable to walk in a straight line, and a giggling mess. The entire walk home you clutched to Levi’s elbow as Erwin held tightly to Levi’s hand. And he could fool anyone, but you both knew how drunk Levi really was. He just had a great center of gravity. The stabilizing force between you and Erwin, tethering you two to the ground. The three of you spent three long minutes searching for your house keys in the bottom of your purse. Voices loud and intrusive in the city nighttime. Even though the train could still be heard, it was nothing compared to the obstructive whispering that was occurring on your doorstep. It would have been quieter if the three of you just talked regularly to each other. But logic and reason were not within reach.

“I got it!” Erwin spoke, disregarding the whispering in exchange for a near echoing shout. You shushed him by pressing your forefinger to his lips, his smile stretching against your fingertips and he winked at you. You snatched the keys from his hand and turned around before your flustered state became noticeable. It took four tries before you were able to slot the key into the lock and you stumbled into your home when the weight of your body against the door threw it open. Levi caught you by tugging the tie of your coat towards him. His other hand somehow landing on your hip over your layers and gripping tightly in order to keep you from falling to the ground. When you turned to thank him, his face was only centimeters from yours. And you briefly thought about how much of a coincidence it was that you always seemed to find yourself in this position with him. But when you noticed the scowl on his face, you laughed. Your head fell forward, forehead knocking against his cheek because you couldn’t help it. He looked so over your antics and when you breathed out a chuckled “thanks, Levi” he simply grunted and pushed you gently into your home.

Erwin found his way into your kitchen. The fridge light brightened your dark home and cast a harsh white glow over the small area. But it supplied enough light for you to kick off your boots and hook your coat onto the rack before following him into the kitchen as well.

“You have no food,” he grumbled, opening a bottle of water before chugging down half of it in one go.

“We just ate at the bar. How are you still hungry?” You pulled your sweater over your head as you answered him and tossed it onto one of the barstools, leaving you in the thin black long-sleeve beneath. He handed another bottle over to you, unscrewing the cap and a little bit of the water dribbled over the lip and onto your thumb when you took it from him.

“Don’t judge me,” he argued, “you’re the one with an empty fridge. When was the last time you went to the grocery store?”

“I buy groceries on an as needed basis,” you slurred out, propping yourself up on your elbows on the island to keep from tipping to one side.

“And you need food,” he laughed, kicking the fridge door closed and leaning against it, darkening the space again. You waved him off, instead turning around to see Levi staring inquisitively at your couch. You didn’t clean it off this morning before you went out. The blanket unfolded and your pillow still propped against the arm. An awkward rush of discomfort flooded into your chest. Something close to shame sat tightly against your sternum and you waited for Levi to say something. Anything really when he turned to you. But instead of asking the question you could practically see on the tip of his tongue, he took two steps towards you and grabbed the water bottle from your grip. You stared as he swallowed down a quarter of it in what seemed to be a singular gulp.

“That was mine,” you said, the words an offended whisper. Erwin chuckled from his spot behind you. You turned to glance at him and he simply shrugged. Your home felt so small when they were in it. Their two bodies somehow filled up the space in a way you couldn’t really describe. Other than that you liked it. Your home felt more complete with them in it. And the weird fluttering feeling you found in your stomach sometimes when in their company decided to make a reappearance.

“I should go to bed. I need to sleep off the liquor.”

“Great idea,” Erwin replied, pushing himself off of your fridge and tossing his now empty bottle into the recycling bin you kept next to the trash can. “You should take ibuprofen before you sleep, though. May help with the inevitable hangover.”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever you say, dad,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes. He responded with a similar gesture, the both of you smiling at each other at the end of it. You walked them to your door, taking a steady breath to brace for the cold that would seep in when you opened it. There was a pause in your doorway as the three of you looked out at the city night. Gentle snow flurries fell to the ground, the scene idyllic and calm. And the silence that fell over the city should have felt eerie since it so rarely happened. But you only saw beauty in that brief silence. Broken only by the sudden passing of the train.

“Good night,” you said as you stepped aside for them to walk out. As they walked past, Levi gave you a surprising hug. It was quick, but the squeeze of his arms around your shoulders was reassuring. And you would’ve returned it if he hadn’t released you so swiftly as if he shouldn’t have hugged you in the first place. Right after him, Erwin pressed a kiss to your temple. Unlike Levi, he lingered there for longer than would have been necessary between friends. Only to pull away with a whispered and returned “good night.”

You watched as they trotted down the steps, shutting your door only when you heard the opening of theirs. The space was yours again. Lonesome in its wake and a veil of knowing sorrow draped over the interior. But that was to be expected. And you found an odd comfort in it. Because above everything else, at the very least it was yours and no one could take that from you.

#the holidays are over i know but here this is anyways #eruri fanfic #eruri x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction

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kvetchlandia · 1 year

Photo

Moisei Nappelbaum Anna Akhmatova, Moscow 1929

No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face. I stand as witness to the common lot, survivor of that time, that place.

Instead of a Preface

In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me. Standing behind me was a woman, with lips blue from the cold, who had, of course, never heard me called by name before. Now she started out of the torpor common to us all and asked me in a whisper (everyone whispered there): "Can you describe this?" And I said: "I can." Then something like a smile passed fleetingly over what had once been her face.

Dedication

Such grief might make the mountains stoop, reverse the waters where they flow, but cannot burst these ponderous bolts that block us from the prison cells crowded with mortal woe. . . . For some the wind can freshly blow, for some the sunlight fade at ease, but we, made partners in our dread, hear but the grating of the keys, and heavy-booted soldiers' tread. As if for early mass, we rose and each day walked the wilderness, trudging through silent street and square, to congregate, less live than dead. The sun declined, the Neva blurred, and hope sang always from afar. Whose sentence is decreed? . . . That moan, that sudden spurt of woman's tears, shows one distinguished from the rest, as if they'd knocked her to the ground and wrenched the heart out of her breast, then let her go, reeling, alone. Where are they now, my nameless friends from those two years I spent in hell? What specters mock them now, amid the fury of Siberian snows, or in the blighted circle of the moon? To them I cry, Hail and Farewell!

Prologue

That was a time when only the dead could smile, delivered from their wars, and the sign, the soul, of Leningrad dangled outside its prison-house; and the regiments of the condemned, herded in the railroad-yards, shrank from the engine's whistle-song whose burden went, "Away, pariahs!" The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.

At dawn they came and took you away. You were my dead: I walked behind. In the dark room children cried, the holy candle gasped for air. Your lips were chill from the ikon's kiss, sweat bloomed on your brow–those deathly flowers! Like the wives of Peter's troopers in Red Square I'll stand and howl under the Kremlin towers.

Quietly flows the quiet Don; into my house slips the yellow moon.

It leaps the sill, with its cap askew, and balks at a shadow, that yellow moon.

This woman is sick to her marrow-bone, this woman is utterly alone,

with husband dead, with son away in jail. Pray for me. Pray.

III

Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound. I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground. Whisk the lamps away . . . Night.

They should have shown you–mocker, delight of your friends, hearts' thief, naughtiest girl of Pushkin's town– this picture of your fated years, as under the glowering wall you stand, shabby, three hundredth in the line, clutching a parcel in your hand, and the New Year's ice scorched by your tears. See there the prison poplar bending! No sound. No sound. Yet how many innocent lives are ending . . .

For seventeen months I have cried aloud, calling you back to your lair. I hurled myself at the hangman's foot. You are my son, changed into nightmare. Confusion occupies the world, and I am powerless to tell somebody brute from something human, or on what day the word spells, "Kill!" Nothing is left but dusty flowers, the tinkling thurible, and tracks that lead to nowhere. Night of stone, whose bright enormous star stares me straight in the eyes, promising death, ah soon!

The weeks fly out of mind, I doubt that it occurred: how into your prison, child, the white nights, blazing, stared; and still, as I draw breath, they fix their buzzard eyes on what the high cross shows, this body of your death.

VII

The Sentence

The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.

So much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.

Not quite. Hot summer's feast brings rumors of carouse. How long have I foreseen this brilliant day, this empty house?

VIII

To Death

You will come in any case–so why not now? How long I wait and wait. The bad times fall. I have put out the light and opened the door for you, because you are simple and magical. Assume, then, any form that suits your wish, take aim, and blast at me with poisoned shot, or strangle me like an efficient mugger, or else infect me–typhus be my lot– or spring out of the fairytale you wrote, the one we're sick of hearing, day and night, where the blue hatband marches up the stairs, led by the janitor, pale with fright. It's all the same to me. The Yenisei swirls the North Star shines, as it will shine forever; and the blue lustre of my loved one's eyes is clouded over by the final horror.

Already madness lifts its wing to cover half my soul. That taste of opiate wine! Lure of the dark valley!

Now everything is clear. I admit my defeat. The tongue of my ravings in my ear is the tongue of a stranger.

No use to fall down on my knees and beg for mercy's sake. Nothing I counted mine, out of my life, is mine to take:

not my son's terrible eyes, not the elaborate stone flower of grief, not the day of the storm, not the trial of the visiting hour,

not the dear coolness of his hands, not the lime trees' agitated shade, not the thin cricket-sound of consolation's parting word.

Crucifixion

"Do not weep for me, Mother, when I am in my grave."

A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me. . . ."

Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed, His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared. His mother stood apart. No other looked into her secret eyes. No one dared.

Epilogue

I have learned how faces fall to bone, how under the eyelids terror lurks how suffering inscribes on cheeks the hard lines of its cuneiform texts, how glossy black or ash-fair locks turn overnight to tarnished silver, how smiles fade on submissive lips, and fear quavers in a dry titter. And I pray not for myself alone . . . for all who stood outside the jail, in bitter cold or summer's blaze, with me under that blind red wall.

Remembrance hour returns with the turning year. I see, I hear, I touch you drawing near:

the one we tried to help to the sentry's booth, and who no longer walks this precious earth,

and that one who would toss her pretty mane and say, "It's just like coming home again."

I want to name the names of all that host, but they snatched up the list, and now it's lost.

I've woven them a garment that's prepared out of poor words, those that I overheard,

and will hold fast to every word and glance all of my days, even in new mischance,

and if a gag should blind my tortured mouth, through which a hundred million people shout,

then let them pray for me, as I do pray for them, this eve of my remembrance day.

And if my country ever should assent to casting in my name a monument,

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed

not near the seas on which my eyes first opened– my last link with the sea has long been broken–

nor in the Tsar's garden near the sacred stump, where a grieved shadow hunts my body's warmth,

but here, here I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

Because even in blissful death I fear to lose the clangor of the Black Marias,

to lose the banging of that odious gate and the old crone howling like a wounded beast.

And from my motionless bronze-lidded sockets may the melting snow, like teardrops, slowly trickle,

and a prison dove coo somewhere, over and over, as the ships sail softly down the flowing Neva.

-- Anna Akhmatova, “Requiem” written over a long period of time between 1935 and 1961

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shiningdesignersreflections · 1 month

Text

Chapter 2: Night Bloom

Narrated by the telosma flower.

Narrator: The quiet garden was illuminated by the warm afterglow of the setting sun.

Narrator: The scent of sweet roses wafted through the air. Their fragrance, a prelude to the grand festival that was about to begin.

Narrator: A black car stopped at the gate of the Moonlight Garden.

Narrator: A man in a dark suit came out, with a sharp face as cold as an ice sculpture.

Narrator: I've never seen frost or snow in the winter, but I imagine they would give off a similar feeling to this man.

Steward: Mr. CEO.

Narrator: The butler bowed and led the man into the garden.

Narrator: Moonlight Garden finally welcomed its mysterious host, who would only visit once every two years.

Narrator: When the sun faded behind the mountains, the first rays of moonlight fell on the rose petals.

Narrator: From the terrace, Mercury gazed out into the night-caged garden.

Steward: A total of 121 guests had arrived, none of which were absent from the invitations list.

Narrator: Candidates from the royal city and the supporters who back them were in the garden below, all eagerly awaiting Mercury's choice.

Narrator: Mercury sat on the terrace with a cold expression, as if he were uninterested in the activities taking place below.

Narrator: The beautiful, powerful, and wealthy guests drank and danced while they vied for the attention of the man on the terrace.

Narrator: All around, the slender telosma buds showered the garden with a nightly fragrance.

Narrator: Dazzling stars glimmered above as intoxicating breaths mingled below.

Narrator: The crowd quieted down for a moment, as their eyes turned to a girl.

Mercury: Who is she?

Narrator: Mercury obviously took notice of her, too.

Steward: She's on the candidate's list. Her name is Lilith, the winner of the Starheaven beauty pageant.

Narrator: Mercury's eyes followed her with a cold gaze.

Lilith: I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted this drink, too...

Poet: It's all right. Please, take it. But in exchange, may I have your name?

Lilith: Thank you. My name is Lilith. From the way you're dressed, would you happen to be from Ninir?

Poet: No, I was born in Pigeon. I'm a bard traveling through the Seven Kingdoms.

Lilith: I see. I grew up in Ninir and have never been outside the country, so I'm not as familiar with the other kingdoms...

Narrator: Her image was pure and innocent, soft and harmless like a bird with a heavenly voice. Everyone was captivated by her charm.

Narrator: People praised her for being as elegant as a swan with the sweetness of a young girl.

Narrator: Lilith smiled sweetly into the crowd, and her eyes seemed to inadvertently skim over the windowsill to take in Mercury's form.

Narrator: She nodded slightly as she met his cold eyes.

Narrator: The scent of telosma continued to float in the evening breeze.

Narrator: The crowd took notice as Mercury finally made his way into the dinner party.

Lilith: I'm sorry, have I offended you?

Narrator: Turning to Mercury, who now stood beside her, Lilith looked up at him nervously, her neck as pale and slender as a swan's.

Narrator: Mercury didn't answer, but smiled faintly as he offered her a drinking glass.

Mercury: Would you like some drinks?

Lilith: Thank you, Mr. ... I was invited to this party, but I still don't know your name...

Mercury: I am Mercury. I am aware of your name, so there is no need to introduce yourself.

Narrator: She giggled shyly, as a simple girl would do. Her eyes were dark and hazy, like a cloud shrouded in a midnight sky.

Lilith: Why are you only talking to me?

Narrator: Mercury came closer and whispered into her ear.

Mercury: Because you need me.

Narrator: In addition to her impeccable beauty, she now had something else to brag about.

Narrator: She was invited by the owner of the Moonlight Garden and immediately received unprecedented attention.

Narrator: This girl of ordinary birth was shrouded in mystery and danger, like telosma flowers hidden in the fog.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

#mercury #shining nikki #chapter 2 #transcript #ssr designer #ninir kingdom #night bloom #party #garden #flower #telosma #lilith

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movedtoferinehuntress · 6 months

Text

☾ * ── CHARACTER AESTHETICS .

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list.

i. 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 . red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal. grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green.

ii. 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 . fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightening. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

iii. 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 . claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. shapeshifting.

iv. 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐘 . fists. sword. dagger. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks.

v. 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 . gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. yarn. slime.

vi. 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 . grass. leaves . trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. holly. lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. snow. ice. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. swamp. caves. underwater. coral reef.beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. fungi. cliffs.

vii. 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 . lions. wolves. tiger. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. roaches. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantis. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons.

viii. 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃/𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 . sugar. salt. water. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza.

ix. 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 . music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. fencing. riding. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. synthesizers. harp. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running.

x. 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 . lingerie. armor. cape. dress. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup.

xi. 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. anger. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. lovers. loyalty. smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing.

#[muse] caitlyn — games.

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loetise · 2 years

Text

types of people: sources of light. ˎˊ˗ bold: always applies. italic: sometimes applies.

i. sun rays, effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

ii. incandescent bulbs. crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

iii. stardust. lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

iv. candle flames. denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

v. moonbeams. newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense, light hair and dark skin.

vi. auroras. combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

vii. fireworks. dancing until the break of dawn, heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.

stolen from; @luckpushed ♡♡ tagging; you, steal this and say i tagged you!

#babygorl...#𖥸 ₊ * “ imagery ” … a nameless girl in freshest summer greens‚ a saint‚ an angel.

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icedfates · 6 years

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new tags wow !!

´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ out. ⟩ › i preen for satan. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ vi. ⟩ › your eyes ，flowers of ice &. snow. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ st. ⟩ › flowers grow back even when they are stepped on &. so shall i. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ ae. ⟩ › she is a knight fighting her own battles. carving her own victory. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ ask. ⟩ › ladies don't start fights，but we can finish them ! ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ rwby. ⟩ › let's fight for our happy endings. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ red. ⟩ › all her flowers grew back with thorns. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ black. ⟩ › midnight belonged miracles &. the stars in her eyes. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ yellow. ⟩ › her heart is made of liquid sunsets. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ petalfates. ⟩ › l'avoir c'est avoir les étoiles. to have her is to have the stars. ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ iridissent. ⟩ › she was a kaleidoscope of colour，how does one not stare ? ´ ❅ ﹕ — ⟨ deceivor. ⟩ › a hymn sung for the angel &. the outcast.

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kellyvela · 2 years

Note

"He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen(Cersei) seemed as cold as an ice sculpture."-Jon(AGOT). "The queen's face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow." -Sansa(AGOT). Sansa and Jon both saw that Cersei was angry with Robert in AGOT. They both described her as sculpted from snow.

Thanks anon!

This is not the only time that GRRM uses a similar wording for Jon and Sansa to describe some Lannisters. Let's see:

Jon’s first impression of Joffrey:

Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Sansa’s first true impression of Joffrey:

“I don’t want to marry you,” Sansa wailed. “You chopped off my father’s head!”

“He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, only that I’d be merciful, and I was. If he hadn’t been your father, I would have had him torn or flayed, but I gave him a clean death.”

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. “I hate you,” she whispered.

King Joffrey’s face hardened. “My mother tells me that it isn’t fitting that a king should strike his wife. Ser Meryn.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

But the one you mention, how Jon and Sansa describe Cersei as an ice/snow sculpture:

Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture. "The queen is angry too," Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. "Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn't want him to go."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Everyone was staring. Sansa saw Ser Barristan, and the king's brother Renly, and the short man who had talked to her so oddly and touched her hair, but no one made a move to interfere. The queen's face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in silence, servants trailing behind.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

Reminds me a lot of Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen. Especially because in the tale the main protagonists is a little girl called Gerda, and the main villain is The Snow Queen, who abducts Gerdas's best friend, a boy called Kai.

That evening when little Kay was at home and half ready for bed, he climbed on the chair by the window and looked out through the little peephole. A few snowflakes were falling, and the largest flake of all alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. This flake grew bigger and bigger, until at last it turned into a woman, who was dressed in the finest white gauze which looked as if it had been made from millions of star-shaped flakes. She was beautiful and she was graceful, but she was ice-shining, glittering ice. She was alive, for all that, and her eyes sparkled like two bright stars, but in them there was neither rest nor peace. She nodded toward the window and beckoned with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and as he jumped down from the chair it seemed to him that a huge bird flew past the window.

(...)

The snowflakes got bigger and bigger, until they looked like big white hens. All of a sudden the curtain of snow parted, and the big sleigh stopped and the driver stood up. The fur coat and the cap were made of snow, and it was a woman, tall and slender and blinding white-she was the Snow Queen herself.

(...)

The Snow Queen kissed Kay once more, and then he forgot little Gerda, and Grandmother, and all the others at home.

"You won't get any more kisses now," she said, "or else I should kiss you to death." Kay looked at her. She was so beautiful! A cleverer and prettier face he could not imagine. She no longer seemed to be made of ice, as she had seemed when she sat outside his window and beckoned to him.

—The Snow Queen - Hans Christian Andersen

In ASOIAF, Cersei is a villain that kept Sansa as a hostage in the Red Keep and later she accused Sansa of murdering Joffrey and put a price on her head, and she also planned to send one of the Kettleblacks to the Wall to kill Jon Snow:

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son. When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead … but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss.”

(…)

Cersei gave him a barbed smile. “Lying with a queen is treason. Tommen would have no choice but to send you to the Wall.”

“The Wall?” he said with dismay.

It was all she could do not to laugh. No, best not. Men hate being laughed at. “A black cloak would go well with your eyes, and that black hair of yours.”

“No one returns from the Wall.”

“You will. All you need to do is kill a boy.”

“What boy?”

“A bastard boy in league with Stannis. He’s young and green, and you’ll have a hundred men.”

Kettleblack was afraid, she could smell it on him, but he was too proud to own up to that fear. Men are all alike. “I’ve killed more boys than I can count,” he insisted. “Once this boy is dead, I’d get my pardon from the king?”

“That, and a lordship.” Unless Snow’s brothers hang you first. “A queen must have a consort. One who knows no fear.”

“Lord Kettleblack?” A slow smile spread across his face, and his scars flamed red. “Aye, I like the sound o’ that. A lordly lord …”

“… and fit to bed a queen.”

He frowned. “The Wall is cold.”

“And I am warm.” Cersei put her arms about his neck. “Bed a girl and kill a boy and I am yours. Do you have the courage?”

—A Feast for Crows - Cersei IV

Thanks again for your message :)

#anon asks #jonsa #the snow queen #hans christian andersen

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thelustybraavosimaid · 2 years

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Oh my dear gods.

Jon doesn't like warrior or violent women? Well you could have fucken fooled me:

Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body...and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted. He wondered if his father had been torn the same way, when he'd left Jon's mother to return to Lady Catelyn. He was pledged to Lady Stark, and I am pledged to the Night's Watch. (Jon VI, ASoS)

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. (Jon VI, ASoS)

"I can do more."

Why not? thought Jon. They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. (Jon XI, ADwD)

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. Another inch to the left and he might have died.

Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected, and I might have had her. Her, and Winterfell, and my lord father's name. Instead he had chosen a black cloak and a wall of ice. Instead he had chosen honor. A bastard's sort of honor. (Jon III, ADwD)

He very explicitly has a preference and it is not Sansa. George talked about this, recorded in an SSM. How can anyone even suggest something like that when he says stuff like this?

And yes, I will take your women too. I have no need of blushing maidens looking to be protected, but I will take as many spearwives as will come. (Jon V, ADwD)

If you think any of these passages means the complete opposite of what's being stated, I really don't know how to fucken help you lmao

Also a person who explicitly likes flowers, like a lot, is Arya. It's stated in Sansa's very first chapter.

Arya shrugged. "Hold still," she snapped at Nymeria, "I'm not hurting you." Then to Sansa she said, "When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion." (Sansa I, AGoT)

And she gives Ned flowers:

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse. (Sansa I, AGoT)

Singing is something just about everyone in the damn series does, that's not a Sansa trait. Having children, getting married, or wanting a family are not Sansa-specific traits. Ruling Winterfell is not a Sansa trait. The northern lands are harsh and the Stark kings of old were noted to be just as harsh. Brandon "Ice Eyes" Stark literally stripped slavers naked and hung their entrails on heart trees as a warning, and that's just one example.

Hot houses is a Sansa trait apparently, I'm dying 😂😂 what is this shit

This person also added in this:

You really want to start on Val? Fine. He turned her down. Winterfell, her, future kids. Easily. If it was Ygritte it would of been a harder choice. And even afterwards, he happily stands aside for Mance’s son.

This is particularly why I think some of the people who ship Jonsa either skim through Jon's chapters or just bypass them entirely and get their information from Jonsa metas.

Jon refused marrying Val and claiming Winterfell for himself for a reason, and Ghost's presence helped him reach his decision:

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. (Jon XII, ASoS)

He ultimately refused Winterfell because by accepting Stannis' offer, he would have to burn the godswood and the heart tree. He would be betraying his own religion by doing so.

This is literally in the text.

"Yes," he said, hesitantly, "kings have legitimized bastards before, but...I am still a brother of the Night's Watch. I knelt before a heart tree and swore to hold no lands and father no children."

"Jon." Melisandre was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. "R'hllor is the only true god. A vow sworn to a tree has no more power than one sworn to your shoes. Open your heart and let the light of the Lord come in. Burn these weirwoods, and accept Winterfell as a gift of the Lord of Light." (Jon XI, ASoS)

Winterfell. Belongs. To. The. Old. Gods.

His friends were still out in the practice yard, but Jon was in no fit state to face them. He left the armory by the back, descending a steep flight of stone steps to the wormways, the tunnels that linked the castle's keeps and towers below the earth. It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. 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.

You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said...but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods. (Jon XII, ASoS)

#anti jonsa #anti jonsa stans #anti sansa stark #anti sansa stans #taylor please stay off reddit #i never listen #curse me #I'm mfn TIRED

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ladyofasoiaf · 3 years

Text

Jon ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark

In this meta I will try to point out the clues of Jon’s death- warging into his direwolf- coming back to life process.

Our main hint is going to be : ONE EYE motifs...

And interestingly this hint is always close to Sansa...

[Most of these clues etc have been already examined by many people but I will try to put them all in order to show the pattern..]

A GAME OF THRONES:

Waymar Royce

Waymar Royce appearence and story are very similar with Jon’s.

They look similar:

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.

[AGOT; Prologue]

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

[AGOT; Bran I]

They are both young men of Night’s Watch but they were not very welcomed by their other black brothers:

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed them all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh. It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat shivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.

[AGOT; Prologue]

“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow. The road you’re walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.” “They’re not my brothers,” Jon snapped. “They hate me because I’m better than they are.” “No. They hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he’s a lordling.” The armorer leaned close. “You’re no lordling. Remember that. You’re a Snow, not a Stark. You’re a bastard and a bully.”

[AGOT; Jon III]

Others are a very important part of Jon’s arc and story and Waymar meets with them in Prologue:

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

[AGOT; Prologue]

This phrase also reminds us Jon:

It is more than impatience, Jon realized. They are afraid. Warriors, spearwives, raiders, they are frightened of those woods, of shadows moving through the trees. They want to put the Wall between them before the night descends.

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You’ll dance with me anon.

[ADWD; Jon XII]

In Prologue, Waymar gets killed by Others:

Royce’s body lay facedown in the snow, one arm out-flung. The thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.

[AGOT; Prologue]

And Jon dies in ADWD:

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 …

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

But Waymar comes back to life as a wight with ‘ONE EYE’:

Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him. His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw.

[AGOT; Prologue]

So: A young man of Night’s Watch who looks like Jon dies and comes back to life with ONE EYE.

Let’s continue with the second book...

A CLASH OF KINGS:

Orell

Orell is Wildling who is also a skinchanger. His animal is an EAGLE.

Jon kills Orell in ACOK; Jon VI:

Jon nodded toward the one by the fire. It felt queer, picking a man to kill.

[...]

Jon’s man leapt to his feet, thrusting at his face with a burning brand. He could feel the heat of the flames as he flinched back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon’s grasp.

[...]

“You ought to burn them you killed,” said Ygritte.

[ACOK; Jon VI]

But due to the magic of skinchanging, a portion of Orell’s consciousness remained in the eagle, which developed a fierce hatred for Jon.

And in ACOK; Jon VII he dreams of an eagle attacking him and people talk about vargs and skinchangers:

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun… “Ghost!” Jon shouted, sitting up. He could still feel the talons, the pain. “Ghost, to me!” Ebben appeared, grabbed him, shook him. “Quiet! You mean to bring the wildlings down on us? What’s wrong with you, boy?” “A dream,” said Jon feebly. “I was Ghost, I was on the edge of the mountain looking down on a frozen river, and something attacked me. A bird… an eagle, I think…”

[...]

“Skinchanger?” said Ebben grimly, looking at the Halfhand. Does he mean the eagle? Jon wondered. Or me? Skinchangers and wargs belonged in Old Nan’s stories, not in the world he had lived in all his life. Yet here, in this strange bleak wilderness of rock and ice, it was not hard to believe.

[ACOK; Jon VII]

So: There is a skinchanger who dies because of Jon but a part of him keeps living in his animal: eagle.

The interesting thing is that between these two Jon chapters (Orell and eagle dream) comes a very important Sansa chapter which has many parallels with Jon VI chapter...

An example of parallels:

[…] ‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.”

“Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious…

[ACOK; Jon VI]

Sansa lowered her head. “The blood frightened me.”

“The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You’ve had your first flowering, no more.”

Sansa had never felt less flowery. “My lady mother told me, but I… I thought it would be different.”

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: B5

In this chapter Sansa says she wants to be loved and Cersei warns her that “love kills too...” Next chapter is Jon with his eagle dreams and warging abilities:

A half smile flickered across the queen’s face. “[…]Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?”

“Everyone wants to be loved.”

“I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter,” said Cersei. “Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

Let’s move on to third book...

A STORM OF SWORDS:

Orell and Wargs

In ASOS; Jon I, we learn the name of the Wildling that Jon has killed in ACOK; Jon VI:

“He slew Qhorin Halfhand,” said Longspear Ryk. “Him and that wolf o’ his.”

“And did for Orell too,” said Rattleshirt.

“The lad’s a warg, or close enough,” put in Ragwyle, the big spearwife. “His wolf took a piece o’ Halfhand’s leg.”

[...]

“What’s this?” he said. “A crow?”

“The black bastard what gutted Orell,” said Rattleshirt, “and a bloody warg as well.”

“You were to kill them all.”

“This one come over,” explained Ygritte. “He slew Qhorin Halfhand with his own hand.”

[ASOS; Jon I]

This Jon chapter comes after ASOS; Sansa I.

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.” “Won’t you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?”

[ASOS; Sansa I]

“I would be pleased to eat, Your Grace. And thank you.”

“Your Grace?” The king smiled. “That’s not a style one often hears from the lips of the free folk. I’m Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?”

[ASOS; Jon I]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C1

We also learn about Sansa’s new betrothed: Willas Tyrell..

Willas has a bad leg and so does Jon, in ASOS:

“Willas has a bad leg but a good heart,” said Margaery. “He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa.”

[ASOS; Sansa I]

If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. “A lucky thing my leg got in the way,” he muttered.

He rested for a while to let the horse graze. She did not wander far. That was good. Hobbled with a bad leg, he could never have caught her.

[ASOS; Jon V]

Let’s keep reading...

In ASOS; Jon II chapter Jon’s eagle dream from ACOK comes true and Orell’s eagle attacks Jon’s eye:

He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. “My eye,” he said in sudden panic, raising a hand to his face.

“It’s only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some.”

[…]

Can a bird hate? Jon had slain the wilding Orell, but some part of the man remained within the eagle. The golden eyes looked out on him with cold malevolence.

[…]

I will need to get this tended, he thought, but not just now. Let the King-beyond-the-Wall see what his eagle did to me.

[…]

The look Mance gave Jon was grim and cold. “What happened to your face?”

Ygritte said, “Orell tried to take his eye out.”

“It was him I asked. Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies.”

Styr the Magnar drew a long knife. “The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two.”

“Would you like to keep your eye, Jon?” asked the King-beyond-the-Wall. “If so, tell me how many they were. And try and speak the truth this time, Bastard of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was dry. “My lord… what…”

[ASOS; Jon II]

Jon almosts loses his ‘one eye’ and becomes Jon ‘One Eye’ Snow because of this attack..

After this eagle attack Jon chapter comes ASOS; Sansa II

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Jon wheeled and followed Tormund back toward the head of the column, his new cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. It was made of unwashed sheepskins, worn fleece side in, as the wildlings suggested.

[…]

“I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace.”

[ASOS; Jon II]

A new gown?” she said, as wary as she was astonished.

“More lovely than any you have worn, my lady,” the old woman promised. She measured Sansa’s hips with a length of knotted string. “All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it.”

“Which queen?” Margaery was not yet Joff’s queen, but she had been Renly’s. Or did she mean the Queen of Thorns? Or…“The Queen Regent, to be sure.”

[ASOS; Sansa II]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C2

And after the chapter of an eagle attacks Jon’s eye we learn in next chapter that Sansa’s betrothed Willas Tyrell flies EAGLES:

“Willas has the best birds in the Seven Kingdoms,” Margaery said when the two of them were briefly alone. “He flies an eagle sometimes. You will see, Sansa.”

[ASOS; Sansa II]

Why is Almost One Eye Jon and Sansa Stark being near to each other important?

Because the first Sansa Stark in Stark family tree was married with her half-uncle Jonnel ‘One Eye’ Stark:

So another Sansa being close to another Stark family member who almost had lost his one eye sounds interesting.

Well, Jon didn’t lose his eye but his face got scarred:

He had almost forgotten about his face. “A skinchanger tried to rip out my eye.”

Noye frowned. “Scarred or smooth, it’s a face I thought I’d seen the last of. We heard you’d gone over to Mance Rayder.”

[ASOS; Jon VI]

Who else has a scarred face? Sansa’s husband- Tyrion Lannister:

“I like your scar.” She traced it with her finger. “It makes you look very fierce and strong.”

He laughed. “Very ugly, you mean.”

“M’lord will never be ugly in my eyes.” She kissed the scab that covered the ragged stub of his nose.

[ASOS; Tyrion II]

Varamyr

What happens to this eagle later?

Skinchanger, Varamyr Sixskins, takes control of Orell’s eagle. Varamyr uses the eagle to scout Castle Black and spots Stannis Baratheon’s arrival at the Wall.

The eagle bursts into flames during the attack on Castle Black with Melisandre claiming she was responsible.

The skinchanger was grey-faced, round-shouldered, and bald, a mouse of a man with a wolfling’s eyes. “Once a horse is broken to the saddle, any man can mount him,” he said in a soft voice. “Once a beast’s been joined to a man, any skinchanger can slip inside and ride him. Orell was withering inside his feathers, so I took the eagle for my own. But the joining works both ways, warg. Orell lives inside me now, whispering how much he hates you. And I can soar above the Wall, and see with eagle eyes.”

[...]

“Banners,” he heard Varamyr murmur, “I see golden banners, oh . . .” A mammoth lumbered by, trumpeting, a half-dozen bowmen in the wooden tower on its back. “The king . . . no . . .”

Then the skinchanger threw back his head and screamed.The sound was shocking, ear-piercing, thick with agony. Varamyr fell, writhing, and the ’cat was screaming too.... and high, high in the eastern sky, against the wall of cloud, Jon saw the eagle burning. For a heartbeat it flamed brighter than a star, wreathed in red and gold and orange, its wings beating wildly at the air as if it could fly from the pain. Higher it flew, and higher, and higher still.

[ASOS; Jon X]

Melisandre burns the eagle. Who else got burned in the books?

Jon Snow in AGOT:

He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he’d felt nothing; the agony had come after.

[AGOT; Jon VIII]

And Jon burns himself in AGOT; Jon VII:

Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear’s fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. “Burn!” the raven cawed. “Burn, burn, burn!”

Spinning, Jon saw the drapes he’d ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

The direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes spilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed a fistful of the burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he prayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

This Jon chapter comes after AGOT; Sansa IV:

And these two chapters have many parallels such as:

So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor’s Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

They took his knife and his sword and told him he was not to leave his cell until the high officers met to decide what was to be done with him. And then they placed a guard outside his door to make certain he obeyed. His friends were not allowed to see him, but the Old Bear did relent and permit him Ghost, so he was not utterly alone.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she’d built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

Yet he was trembling, violently. When had it gotten so cold?

[…] 

Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A10

What happens to skinchanger Orell and warg Varamyr after the eagle burst into flames?

The incident greatly affects Varamyr and supposedly kills the remnants of Orell inside the eagle.

After the defeat of the wildlings at the battle beneath the Wall, Varamyr has lost all his possessions in his madness from experiencing the eagle’s death; he has also lost control of his snow bear and shadowcat, but his wolves remain.

[Orell dying completely and Varamyr gets mad also reminds me another resurrected character Beric Dondarrion who also has ONE EYE and him dying for good to bring Catelyn Stark back to life... And like Varamyr, Lady Stoneheart loses her mind too... ]

Let’s move on to fourth book...

A FEAST FOR CROWS:

Jon is not even in this book?

But Sansa is and we learn few things about her crushes:

Waymar Royce:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl.

[AFFC; Alayne I]

Grrm reminds us Waymar Royce aka the biggest foreshadowing for Jon in AFFC book via Sansa’s chapter...

Loras Tyrell:

Loras was another crush of Sansa and we learn that he got burned really bad in AFFC.

Like the eagle and Jon.

“Tell me,” said Margaery. “I command it.” Command it? Cersei paused a moment, then decided she would let that pass. “The defenders fell back to an inner keep once the curtain wall was taken. Loras led the attack there as well. He was doused with boiling oil.” Lady Alla turned white as chalk, and ran from the room. “The maesters are doing all they can, Lord Waters assures me, but I fear your brother is too badly burned.”

[AFFC; Cersei VIII]

More about Loras // Jon, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A8

Let’s keep reading the fifth book...

A DANCE WITH DRAGONS:

In ADWD; Prologue Varamyr encounters with Others (just like AGOT; Prologue) and Varamyr’s body dies, but his mind lives on in his wolf One Eye.

And Varamyr also thinks about Jon and his direwolf..

So we have dead warg who kept living in his animal: A WOLF whose name is ONE EYE.

Varamyr could feel the snowflakes melting on his brow. This is not so bad as burning. Let me sleep and never wake, let me begin my second life. His wolves were close now. He could feel them. He would leave this feeble flesh behind, become one with them, hunting the night and howling at the moon. The warg would become a true wolf. Which, though?

[...]

“They say you forget,” Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death. “When the man’s flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains.”

Varamyr knew the truth of that. When he claimed the eagle that had been Orell’s, he could feel the other skinchanger raging at his presence. Orell had been slain by the turncloak crow Jon Snow, and his hate for his killer had been so strong that Varamyr found himself hating the beastling boy as well. He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.

[...]

A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air. Before their hearts could beat again he had passed on, searching for his own, for One Eye, Sly, and Stalker, for his pack. His wolves would save him, he told himself. That was his last thought as a man. True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. Then he found himself rushing over moonlit snows with his packmates close behind him. Half the world was dark. One Eye, he knew. He bayed, and Sly and Stalker gave echo. When they reached the crest the wolves paused.

[...]

The things below moved, but did not live. One by one, they raised their heads toward the three wolves on the hill. The last to look was the thing that had been Thistle. She wore wool and fur and leather, and over that she wore a coat of hoarfrost that crackled when she moved and glistened in the moonlight. Pale pink icicles hung from her fingertips, ten long knives of frozen blood. And in the pits where her eyes had been, a pale blue light was flickering, lending her coarse features an eerie beauty they had never known in life. She sees me.

[ADWD; Prologue]

Jon dies in his last ADWD chapter and his last word was his direwolf’s name: GHOST...

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

So we have a full circle:

It started with Agot; Prologue

and ended with ADWD; Jon XIII

Let’s not forget that Jon’s death was foreshadowed in ASOS; Sansa VI chapter.

Lord Petyr dismissed him with a wave, and returned to the pomegranate again as Oswell shuffled down the steps. “Tell me, Alayne—which is more dangerous, the dagger brandished by an enemy, or the hidden one pressed to your back by someone you never even see?”

“The hidden dagger.”

“There’s a clever girl.” He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds.

[ASOS; Sansa VI]

Next chapter was Jon:

Fore more about Jon’s death and Sansa; please check:

Jonsa Book Hints: C12 & E7

“Do not be so certain.” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat gleamed red. “It is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold.”

“It is always cold on the Wall.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, my lady.”

“Then you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered.

[ADWD; Jon I]

In conclusion:

Jon’s death, him warging into his direwolf during his death and him coming back to life arc has been foreshadowed since AGOT; Prologue and its most obvious hints were given in ADWD; Prologue by echoing AGOT; Prologue.

The ‘ONE EYE’ motif seems like a key hint for his resurrection.

And Sansa is always close to this motif or she has some connections with this motif via other characters or her chapters.

A Sansa Stark being close to another ‘ONE EYE’ Stark is interesting because of the historical couple: Jonnel ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark in Stark family tree..

Even the hints of Jon’s death can be found in Sansa chapters.

All of these tell us that Sansa will be important in Jon’s past resurrection story.

Thanks for reading.

Some sources:

Waymar // Jon

Disfigurements

Jonnel / Sansa

Jon’s fate and losing an eye

#jonsa #jon snow #varamyr #orell #jonnel one eye stark #sansa stark #agot #acok #asos #affc #adwd #actually jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #waymar royce #one eye #meta #mine

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agentrouka-blog · 3 years

Text

Tyrion and Tysha murder mystery hints - first mention in the text

This thing just keeps tugging at me, and this recent thread made me ambitious to examine it in more detail. So I’ll look at hints for an even darker edge to the story of Tyrion and Tysha in the parts of the text that actually mention her.

Since I have limited time, I’ll do several posts. This one is about how we learn about Tysha in A Game of Thrones.

We head into AGOT, Tyrion VI via a chapter transition from AGOT, Jon V, where Jon talks Maester Aemon into choosing Samwell as his assistant. In the presence of his current assistant Chett, who - it is revealed later in the ASOS Prologue - murdered a girl he liked for rejecting him.

Chett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.”

“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”

“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.

Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could help you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s library. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.”

“Does that mean …?”

“It means I shall think on what you have said,” the maester told him firmly. “And now, I believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.”

(AGOT, Jon V)

The chapter is followed by AGOT, Tyrion VI, where Tyrion and Bronn rest on the high road after being kicked out of the Gates of the Moon, after he won his trial by combat:

They had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was gathering dead-wood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped to pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. “Will this do? I am not practiced at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.”

The entire conversation between Jon, Aemon and Chett sets up Tyrion. A lordling, bad with manual labor, but smart and a reader. Yet we know he is no Samwell Tarly in his sensibilities, and the last sentence is dedicated to Chett.

Chett...

The only women Chett had ever known were the whores he’d bought in Mole’s Town. When he’d been younger, the village girls took one look at his face, with its boils and its wen, and turned away sickened. The worst was that slattern Bessa. She’d spread her legs for every boy in Hag’s Mire so he’d figured why not him too? He even spent a morning picking wildflowers when he heard she liked them, but she’d just laughed in his face and told him she’d crawl in a bed with his father’s leeches before she’d crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her. That was sweet, the look on her face, so he pulled the knife out and put it in her again. When they caught him down near Sevenstreams, old Lord Walder Frey hadn’t even bothered to come himself to do the judging. He’d sent one of his bastards, that Walder Rivers, and the next thing Chett had known he was walking to the Wall with that foul-smelling black devil Yoren. To pay for his one sweet moment, they took his whole life.

But now he meant to take it back, and Craster’s women too. That twisted old wildling has the right of it. If you want a woman to wife you take her, and none of this giving her flowers so that maybe she don’t notice your bloody boils. Chett didn’t mean to make that mistake again.

Like Tyrion, Chett is rejected by others for his appearance, has a violent father and a lot of resentment that comes out in the shape of murdering “slatterns”. He also mixes it up with the idea of marriage. Like Tyrion, the cold night reminds Chett of the girl in his past.

He could see Bessa’s face floating before him. It wasn’t the knife I wanted to put in you, he wanted to tell her. I picked you flowers, wild roses and tansy and goldencups, it took me all morning. His heart was thumping like a drum, so loud he feared it might wake the camp. Ice caked his beard all around his mouth. Where did that come from, with Bessa? Whenever he’d thought of her before, it had only been to remember the way she’d looked, dying. What was wrong with him?

Chett killed her in a rage, but the truth is layered and haunts him.

But back to Tyrion.

Tyrion VI emphasizes Tyrion’s cleverness as he converses with Bronn, explaining his strategy in the Vale for how to steal Bronn from Cat’s service and make use of his practical talents, and his strategy for their travels in the Mountains of the Moon. Tyrion talks, Bronn listens and agrees to serve him.

The point is, Tyrion is very observant and smart. Reader, trust Tyrion’s judgent and words, is the message. Then we get more personal.

As they light a fire and eat a goat, Tyrion remembers his goaler Mord who treated him cruelly in the sky cells.

(Mord, btw, translates to murder in many a germanic/Scandinvian language.)

“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said.

“A Lannister always pays his debts.”

Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you were promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll pay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.

The image of coins spilling from hands is picked up later.

Tyrion was hoping to lure in the mountain clans, but they take their time showing up, so he tries to be even more conspicuous.

Tyrion chuckled. “Then we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.” He began to whistle a tune.

He chooses the “terrible” tune himself. It leads straight to his memory:

“Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.’ Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I’ve never been able to put it out of my head.” Tyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the mountains as bright and merciless as truth. “I met her on a night like this,” he heard himself saying. “Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream, and she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting threats.

Myrish, as in the Myrish lens. The object Lysa sends Catelyn, which has a false bottom hiding the real message in a secret language, a message of murder and conspiracy. A secret language, a foreign language, like Mord.

"A lens is an instrument to help us see." (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Bright and merciless as truth.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed … yet lovely. They’d torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I wrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he came trotting back, I’d gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter’s child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really.

Where Tysha went will become a theme. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir examines that beautifully here.

But even right here, the tone is ominous, and GRRM goes out of his way to emphasize it with the ellipses.

We get the story of Jaime chasing after the outlaws and Tyrion and Tysha falling into bed at an inn after drinking, eating and talking, and the story of their marriage, and its end.

Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired. “That was the end of my marriage.” He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the light.

“He sent the girl away?”

“He did better than that,” Tyrion said. “First he made my brother tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would be my first time.

NOTHING about this makes sense, which is ridiculous when you consider we were just hammered over the head with how smart Tyrion is supposed to be.

Since when is Jaime prone to setting up complex schemes? Why would feel the need to push Tyrion to have sex at thirteen, and why would be ever do it this way? Why would be hire him a virgin for his first time? We don’t question it because GRRM has told us not to question the smartiepants. But as we later learn, that was all. not. true. So maybe other things aren’t true, either.

“After Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my wife in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks and bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on the floor, she …” The smoke was stinging his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. “Lord Tywin had me go last,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.”

The parallels to his memory of Mord are striking. Silver and gold, coins spilling from hands, a “price” beyond expectation... and a promise of something very sinister at the next meeting.

After a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his sword. “Thirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.”

1) Nice how Bronn makes it about Tyrion’s pain. Tysha’s pain does not exist to them. And so the reader is also drawn away from it. Poor Tyrion.

2) Another reference to killing. It foreshadows Tyrion’s murder of Tywin over this very matter, of course, but at the same time...

Tyrion gestured impatiently with the bow. “Tysha. What did you do with her, after my little lesson?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Try harder. Did you have her killed?”

His father pursed his lips. “There was no reason for that, she’d learned her place … and had been well paid for her day’s work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire.”

“On her way where?”

“Wherever whores go.”

Tyrion’s finger clenched. (ASOS, Tyrion XI)

I don’t think it can be emphasized enough that this happens right after he murders Shae. Shae the whore.

“Did you ever like it?” He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he’d slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. “Did you ever like my touch?”

“More than anything,” she said, “my giant of Lannister.”

That was the worst thing you could have said, sweetling.

Tyrion slid a hand under his father’s chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears.

And just before he asks him about Tysha, Tywin assures him he was meant to be sent to the Wall. Whether or not that’s a lie, we’re looking at another Chett parallel. Murdering a “slattern”, facing life at the Wall.

We close Tyrion’s memory of Tysha:

Tyrion swung around to face him. “You may get that chance one day. Remember what I told you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” He yawned. “I think I will try and sleep. Wake me if we’re about to die.”

He rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and cold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he was the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his father, driving him back, toward the abyss …

Like Chett, his thoughts return to the girl. He turns into the goaler, Mord, his rage comes through, his capability of great violence. In ASOS, his lashing out at Tywin is preceeded by directing his violence toward the “whore” who allegedly betrayed him. Which is preceeded by a truth about Tysha.

“Thank you?” Tyrion’s voice was choked. “He gave her to his guards. A barracks full of guards. He made me … watch.” Aye, and more than watch. I took her too … my wife …

“I never knew he would do that. You must believe me.”

“Oh, must I?” Tyrion snarled. “Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my wife!”

“Tyrion—”

He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but he put all his strength into it, all his fear, all his rage, all his pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor. “I … I suppose I earned that.”

“Oh, you’ve earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can’t begin to tell you what you’ve earned. But you’ll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion waddled away, almost stumbling over the turnkey again in his haste. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate that closed the passage. Oh, gods. It was all he could do not to scream.

(ASOS, Tyrion XI)

The turnkey here is interesting. Once again, Tysha’s memory is associated with a cell and the presence of a turnkey. In his anguished memory, Tyrion almost stumbles over him. The last turnkey was Mord.

So, just looking at Tysha’s first mention, there are so many ominous connections. Murder murder murder.

The chapter ends with Tyrion meeting and “hiring” the mountain clans. How? To avenge himself on Lysa Arryn, he promises them the entire Vale. Really driving home that “a Lannister pays his debts” is all about disproportionate retribution.

A few chapter later, to create some distance to this dark tale, Tyrion meets Shae and sets up to re-create his entire Tysha trauma. The two are intertwined, so why should their ends not be?

That’s fodder for a different post, though.

#asoiaf #anti tyrion lannister #tysha #murder mystery #long post #Shae #tywin lannister #bronn #mismemory #memory edit

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fedonciadale · 3 years

Note

Are there any foreshadowings about Jon and Dany committing incest albeit accidental?

Hi there!

Yes, there are, but it is also heavily foreshadowed that it won’t be mutual.

Put under the cut for length.

In Dany’s chapters there is the vision in the house of the undying:

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. (ACOK, Daenerys IV)

This can be read as a hint at RLJ, but it has also been read as a hint to Jonsa, although I am not convinced, and as a hint that Jon, the blue rose is destined for Dany. If the first sentence is a hint to Drogo, the second could be a hint to Victarion or Euron Grejoy (who yet has to meet Dany), the third could be Jon.

That the air is filled with sweetness could be a hint to the fact that Jon will betray Dany. Sweetness is not positive in her arc and usually points at betrayal.

Then there is the prophecies of threes, the three fires, the three mounts and the three betrayals.

. . . three heads has the dragon . . . the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. . . . mother of dragons . . . child of storm . . . The whispers became a swirling song. . . . three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love . . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt . . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love . . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . . (ACOK, Daenerys IV)

The third is usually understood to be Jon. She will light a fire to love (whatever that means - I think it means she will try to burn the love she feels), she will love him (mount to love), and he will be the last betrayal, the betrayal for love (and not for love of her), the one she will not see coming, because she will think that she has past all the betrayals.

You can see that this is ambiguous as well: If Jon is the third option for all of them and again it does not bode well.

Dany also dreams of lover whose face is a shifting shadow. Jon is connected to shadows in Melisandre’s visions, but we have to wonder if this is positive.

Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow. (ASOS, Daenerys II)

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. (ADWD, Melisandre I)

I mean, shadows are almost never positive?

Dany feels alone although Daario is with her,

She sat up with her hair disheveled and the bedclothes atangle. Her captain slept beside her, yet she was alone. (ADWD, Daenerys VII)

and so does Jon, although Ygritte is with him,

Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. (ASOS, Jon V)

but so does Sansa although Tyrion is with her, even if it is worded a bit different.

Her lord husband was not beside her, but she was used to that. (ASOS, Sansa IV)

Dany has a strong connection to the moon, and therefore the following scene is read as a foreshadowing of Jonerys:

"Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." (ADWD, Jon VI)

Again, Jon is the shadow and here the shadow seems to indicate that Dany kissing him will have a big impact (what kind of impact remains the question).

Then there is this scene where Val seems to serve as a stand-in for Dany:

When they emerged north of the Wall, through a thick door made of freshly hewn green wood, the wildling princess paused for a moment to gaze out across the snow-covered field where King Stannis had won his battle. Beyond, the haunted forest waited, dark and silent. The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." (ADWD, Jon VIII)

Again this is ambiguous and seems to hint at Dany falling for Jon and not him falling for her.

The same hold true for this ‘lovely dream’:

Sleep came hard, even when Daario came back, so drunk that he could hardly stand. Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice. (ADWD, Daenerys VII)

Dany feels Jon’s death

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. As the moon rose above the grasslands, Dany slipped at last into a restless sleep. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

Again this is so ambiguous! And please note the wording: ‘ no less hungry’. Also, I would alert you to the fact, that Sansa also feels Jon’s death in AFFC, Alayne II: It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains. .

Dany muses on the fact, that she might have married, Aegon, Rhaegar’s son by Elia.

There here would have been a sixth, but the Usurper's dogs had murdered her brother's son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. (ADWD, Daenerys I)

Then there are the multiple hints that Jon is a player aka Political Jon:

We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three. (ASOS, Jon VIII) - This shows where Jon reals interest lies, Dany’s military power.

There is a battering ram called Joso’s cock in ADWD, Daenerys VI: Their masts had become her battering rams, and swarms of freedmen had torn their hulls apart to build mantlets, turtles, catapults, and ladders. The sellswords had given each ram a bawdy name, and it had been the mainmast of Meraxes—formerly Joso's Prank—that had broken the eastern gate. Joso's Cock, they called it. The fighting had raged bitter and bloody for most of a day and well into the night before the wood began to splinter and Meraxes' iron figurehead, a laughing jester's face, came crashing through.

This might be a hint at Jon being a jester, a fool, who deceives Dany.

Then there is the cyvasse scene in ADWD, Tyrion VI:

And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?" Smiling, he seized his dragon, flew it across the board. "I hope Your Grace will pardon me. Your king is trapped. Death in four."

This clearly points to a dragon coming out of nowhere and killing another dragon.

There is also a parallel to Dany/Jon: In AFFC Cersei is tricked by the bastard Aurane Waters (as I explained here).

Not to mention that Jon did it with the Freefolk!

In addition there is the narrative that might lead towards Jonerys. The accidental incest is even older than Oedipus and it has been explored by many authors. Secret parentage is one of the classic set-ups for accidental incest - which by the way always has a tragic ending.

And if GRRM writes Jonsa, he would be a fool to explore that. Jon being afraid to commit incest with Sansa, leaving her and avoiding her only to commit accidental incest with his aunt. It is too neatly set up not to be explored.

Then there is the fact that Jonerys is perfect to tease the Targaryen restoration. I think GRRM might even go so far as to at least let Dany believe she is pregnant. The whole Dany storyline is there to dupe the reader into believing she is the chosen one and destined to restore her house to greatness only to pull the rug and make it clear that she was a villain from the beginning. To bring Dany to her breaking point it seems logical that all she ever wanted should be in her grasp.

So, there are several hints that point towards a relationship but none of them are really positive. All points towards Jon being ‘cold’, towards a tragic end of their relationship, towards a crumbling of Dany’s dream of Targaryen restoration.

Thanks for the ask!

#anon ask #Political Jon #Anti Jonerys #DarkDany

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wildlydeliciouspainter · 3 years

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VI - the nighttrain part I

Hi! Been a bit busy lately but here is the next chapter of my stardew fanfic :D This time I added a bit more drama and tension for our adventurers. Hope you’ll like it!

Only a few mornings back Daya stood on the perron with Elliott. Now, she was leaving the valley with Sebastian on her side. It being well into autumn the days were short and nights long. So they waited for their train to arrive under the stars. To Daya it felt so fitting. The autumn sun that made her husbands hair glow fiery red, and now the moons soft light on Sebastians dark hair. The men and their characters could not have been more different from each other, and still each had been important parts of her life in their own way. While Sebastian leaned against a pillar and texted with Sam, Daya texted Elliott. “I miss you.” Almost immediately she gets a heart emoji back. “And I you dear. Can’t wait to come home, this hotelroom feels empty without you.” Daya smiles but her heart sinks when she thinks about the task ahead. She didn’t want to worry Elliott so just never mentioned her plans to help Sebastian in saving Abigail. And with keeping him in the dark, it felt like she was doing something wrong. It would have been so much different if he were home... “The train is here, Dy.”

And indeed, as she looks up a modern looking train silently glides over the tracks towards them. Its colors are peculiar, turquoise windows and a purple body, the exact combination of a piece of iridium. When it stops, a low hissing sound from its engine make it sound like a living breathing creature. “So this monster is going to take us where we need to be?” Sebastian looks at the vehicle with apprehension. He mentioned his preference for his motorcycle multiple times, even though they where both set on following Rasmodius instructions to the letter. When the purple doors open to show a cozy coupé, Sebastian gently pushes Daya inside and follows her closely. The interior of the train is completely different from the exterior. Retro cubicles with gold and wood finish, dark red velvet chairs and blood red wallpaper give the train a classical look. Wall sconces and ornaments on every wall add to the mysterious atmosphere as does the faint smell of cinnamon. “Madam, Sir.” An employee in a spotless purple uniform with golden trimming takes them to their places. When they are seated the man gives Sebastian a golden key with a tag. “This is for the sleep cabin, we are here if you need anything. We hope you’ll have a pleasant journey!” After that the man disappears into another coupe. Sebastian whistles between his teeth. “Rasmodius didn’t spare any expense.” “Its important to him we succeed.” “True, and the rest of our journey will probably be less comfortable.” Daya nodds and picks up her phone again to text with Elliott. When Sebastian notices he scoffs. Daya tenses immediately and looks him straight in the eye. “What is it?” “I don’t suppose you told your husband about this adventure of ours?” “No.” Daya admits, blushing. Sebastian scoffs harder now. “Do you think he wouldn’t approve?” “I can make my own choices, its not that. Though you made sure it would be hard for him to trust you, didn’t you Sebastian?” “What is that supposed to mean?” Sebastian mumbles, his face pointed towards the window instead of her. “I meant what happened in the bar..” thinking back on what happened in the bar the night before the wedding still makes Sebastian cringe. It was a beautiful autumn night, and a lot of the villagers gathered in the saloon to cheer to the engaged couple. Sebastian happened to be in town to hang out with Sam and visit his mother. At first he was set on staying inside, moping and playing videogames with Sam and a couple of beers . It sounded like the perfect way to forget. But he didn’t forget, and the more hours past the more angry he got at everything that happened between him and Daya. And that anger redirected itself towards Elliott as always. He still though if the handsome poet hadn’t shown up he would be in her life. They would be getting married. “Hey, if you feel that way. Why don’t you tell her? Maybe she feels the same?” Sam said. Sam was sweet and supportive as always, and slightly slurring after three beers. Sebastian decided he would do just that. Tell her. Which he did, in front of everyone in the saloon. In the middle of Elliotts ode to his love he walked up to her and started to tell her everything he didn’t say before. The alcohol gave him the courage but the words where his. How sorry he was, and how much he loved her. All she did was sit there, frozen. Elliott stopped talking, everybody did. And then, well, he picked a fight. It wasn’t pretty, and it ended fairly quick. Elliott trew him off and when sebastian tried to lunge at him again Daya smashed a beerglass on the counter so hard that it made the whole of the valley shudder.

“You already up your mind that night.” He said, when his mind moved back to the train and the present, and turned to look at her. How furious she was that night. But now a sadness showed in her eyes. “I did.” She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “Then why are you crying?” “Because I loved you. I did, so so much. But you didn’t open up to me, and I couldn’t deal with your silence anymore... I was just never really sure how you felt about me.” Sebastian stayed silent but nodded. He wanted to touch her hand, but wasn’t sure that was appropriate. So he just listened. “And I waited for you to do the right thing for so long. Even after we broke up and you left for Zuzu. I was sad for weeks... But eventually I picked up the pieces, and focused on the farm. I healed for a year and that was when I connected with Elliott.” A smile glistened through her tears. “He was very passionate about his writing, and as soon as we became closer he started showing that same passion for me. We connected in a way you and I never did Sebastian, I can say that even though I missed your company.”

Daya stares past Sebastian, at the scenery thats moving past the window. Afraid to look him in the eyes. “And right now, I just don’t want him to worry, thats all...Elliott’s bookdeal is important to him, and I want this tour to go well instead of him worrying over me wrestling shadowbrutes.” “I get that.” When Daya refuses to look at him Sebastian decides to stare out the window as well. They sit in silence for another hour when Daya asks for the keys. “I want to go to bed.” “Sure.” He puts the key in her hands but holds on to them. “Am I allowed to join you later? Or do you want me to sleep here?” Daya looks at the small bench and prays the cabin is spacious. “Sure, I won’t force you to sleep on the floor or this uncomfortably small bench.” “Thanks, I appreciate that. I won’t be late, just need to process this day a bit.” Daya nodds. “Take your time, I’ll leave the door open.”

The corridor with the sleeping cabins is long and small. On Daya’s left the rooms and her right windows that now show the vague outlines of the mountains, shrouded by the night. “Found it.” She turns the key of the cabin and then texted Sebastian the location before she closed the door behind her, leaving the lock off. She takes in the room and curses. Its as she feared. The room is as cozy and romantic as the rest of the train, and one big matras stuffed in between two wall closets. There even is a fairy rose positioned on the bedspread. Her favorite flower. There is a little space between bed and door to walk and on both sides of the door a small rack for shoes. Above the door the luggage space, and thats it. Daya quickly stores her bag and takes of her shoes and clothes to get into her sleeping t shirt and leggings.

After that she seats herself on the bed, leaving the curtains open and a bedlight on. She picks up the fairy rose and smiles. The blue variation is her favorite, and even in de dim lamplight its extraordinary aray of blue tintes shine through. It takes her back to the time she would visit her Grandpa’s farm in autumn. There would be fields filled with them, and she was allowed to pick one to keep in a vase in her bedroom during her stay. She always picked a blue one. Gently Daya puts the flower in the open closet space behind her head. Her phone is lying besides it, and shows a new message. Its from Elliott “Traveling gave me new inspiration. I’m thinking of a story inspired by a train. There is an idea for a chapter in the link under this message. I can’t wait to talk through concepts again from the comfort of our home. Missing you, mind and body.” Daya smiles softly, and let’s her feelings for Elliott wash over her as she reads the chapter he send. She falls asleep with the memory of his face and the low rumbling sound of the train engine, dreaming of the day of their reunion.

Meanwhile, a few coupes back, Sebastians night is less peaceful. He’s a nightowl, used to writing and programming till deep in the night, fueled by caffeine and sushi. It pushed his sleeping schedule to an, as his mother would call it, ungodly 3 am. That combined with the excitement of this journey made him sit on the train bench with a restless mind. His eyes wander off to the mountains outside. It started to snow, and ice crystals would get pressed onto the glass before melting and forming tears on the window. Sebastians mind is wavering between rescuing Abigail and a deeply uncomfortable set of feelings towards Daya. He knows she is the most skilled swordswoman in the whole valley, and if anyone could help him succeed its her. But he felt frustration when he saw her again after years apart. Living in Elliott’s cabin, content with harvesting snails and living in the shadow of the writer. He knew her as a fierce warrior that would stay in the mine till late and defeat monster after monster, gaining the respect of the adventurers guild and the rest of the valley. She used to approach Sebastian with a similar attitude, passionate about their relationship and doing whatever it took to remove the obstacles in their path. It still feels like a stab to the heart to realize he couldn’t keep that flame awake. All she needed was for him to open up, and let go of that shroud of anger he used to shield him. But he couldn’t see it, and it drifted them apart. He moved to Zuzu city and only kept contact with Abigail and Sam, while Daya got closer to Elliott every day. Elliott wasn’t particularly brave or outspoken, but his love for Daya was unquestionable and it made her bloom in ways Sebastian could not achieve. Staring at the pattern of melting snow he clenches his wrist and pushes it against the cold glass. As it hits him harder than ever before he mutters “I’m still in love with her.” “Sir?” The employee with the purple costume is back, a notebook in hand. Sebastians bewildered look doesnt scare him off in the least, and set on giving travelers the best experience possible he repeats his question. “Would you like something to drink sir?” Sebastian eyes the cart behind him, filled with bottles and glasses. It would be nice to turn of his thoughts for a bit.. but he shakes his head “No thank you.” Alcohol wouldn’t help him, he learned that the hard way. He just had to be brave. Brave in rescuing Abigail, and brave in allowing himself to have feelings for both her and Daya. He had to allow them to exist untill they faded. His feelings for Daya where eventually going to fade he reassured himself. Sebastian sights and checks his phone for the time. 1.30 pm.

As his eyes move from the window to his phone he notices a glimpse of a shadow by the door but when he looks again its gone. It could have been the shadow of the man with the cart, but he wasn’t sure. “Yes, time for bed. I’m starting to hallucinate.” He mutters, and gets up to find the sleep cabin.

All the coupes Sebastian passes on his way are empty. The other passengers retired to their sleeping cabins, and he tries to find his own with Daya’s text as his guide. “Number 230, okay, that should be the next corridor.” As he moves into the corridor something immediately feels off. He notices movement in the back of the wagon, but can’t make up if there is someone standing in the shadows or if it looks like that because of the movement of the train itself. Cabin 230 is in the middle of the wagon and the door is slightly opened. “Daya?” Silence. He pushes the door open and feels something crush beneath his boot. As he bents over to pick it up and hold it to the light it seems to be a fairy rose, only its petals aren’t any of the usual colors. Instead of its vibrant blue or purple the flowers are black as coal. A sense of dread fills him when he touches the rosebuds. Its a feeling he remembers from some of Rasmodius relics, magic.. He walks back into the corridor, all the way to the end. There is no one there... when he returns to the cabin he locks the door behind him. Then he notices Daya’s, lying still on one side of the matras. “Daya, are you okay?”

He moves onto the matras and turns her around, positioning her head on his lap. When she stays silent he slides one hand into her neck to support her head and holds the other in front of her mouth. The soft pulsating motion of her heart is noticeable in the veins in her neck and her breath is warm on his fingertips. “Yes, dear.” She murmurs in a sleepy voice and wraps her arms around his body, burrowing her face into his lap. “Oh thank Yoba.” Sebastian whispers with shaking breath. He strokes her head gently. She tightens her grip around him in her sleep, unaware of the tenderness in Sebastians voice. Unaware she his touching him instead of her husband. “Well, your grip is still firm as ever.” He jokes, looking down on the sleeping woman. Its tempting to let her sleep like this, but apart from all the moral reasons not to, he also realizes he can’t get any sleep this way. Especially with all his clothes still on. So he softly wriggles her arms loose to take of his jacket and his shoes. His jeans he quickly switches for his sweatpants and climbs back into the bed. In the meantime Daya is still talking in her sleep. When he lays next to her she is murmuring about shadows. She reaches out to him with her hand and touches his chest right above the neckline of his t-shirt, resting her fingers there. “Saw one on the station today. A friend from the shadows. Linus...” That didn’t make any sense, why would Linus follow them? “Don’t worry about him now.” He whispered, as much to Daya as to himself, because the dark rose is still on his mind. “I think he is in the cabin with the blue ones, Elliott.” She then continued her riddle. In the back of his mind Sebastian had hoped she knew it was him when she held him close, and would have wispered his name but he pushes back that though and tries to go to sleep instead.

#fanfic #stardew valley #stardew sebastian #adventure stories #night train #love #dramatic scene

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an-upset-librarian · 4 years

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A Storm of Ice & Wind -- Part VI

As Nesta and Cassian travel North, they talk about the path that brought them together.

At long last, I humbly bring before you all an update to this little Nessian story of mine. Nothing like a quarantine to get things started, huh? I hope you enjoy this little chapter!

As always, if you want to be added/removed from the update tag list, let me know! I just copy/paste and I know it has been a while since I updated so...

AO3

I II III IV V

PART VI

Thankfully, Nesta held back her surprised scream when Cassian quickly thrust up into the sky with his powerful wings. The drum beat of his wings drowned out the panicked pounding of her heart, but as soon as they cleared the canopy and reached open air, Nesta’s fear was replaced with childlike wonder.

She’d never paid any attention when she flew before. Never really wanted to open her eyes and look at the world from the new perspective. How stupid she’d been.

Her breath misted in the chilled air, the early rays of the sun catching it and casting a golden light upon her every exhale. She blinked against the glaring sun as it slowly peeked out from behind the wall of mountains spanning in nearly every direction. She looked down and the forest was only a dark blur beneath them. Washes of greens and browns and snow mixed together until she couldn’t distinguish one tree from another.

The sky was a brilliant canvas around them. The dawn blushed into life around them, highlighting the clouds and emphasizing the creeping darkness of night as it faded away. Oranges and pinks streaked the sky and clouds. Nesta was in complete and utter awe. They were high enough that she felt as though she could reach out and touch the fluffy clouds around them. A gentle breeze washed through her plaited hair and pinched at her cheeks. She felt as though she was living inside one of Feyre’s paintings.

The thought of her sister dampened her mood, but not as much as she would have expected. Flying above the canopy, enveloped in the painted sunrise filled her with tranquility, something she had not felt in quite a while.

A smile lit her face and she nearly forgot who was carrying her when she tightened her grip around Cassian’s neck. The overwhelming sense of smugness exuding from her companion’s pores quickly reminded her of who she was with. He was watching her with mirth in his dark gaze, an all too self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The itching of her power under her skin faded to the back of her mind as she took in the great landscape beneath her and the skies around her. Nesta saw why Cassian loved to fly, why all Illyrians loved to fly. And what a punishment it was to clip female’s wings to keep them from experiencing such freedom.

They were silent for the first half hour or so. Cassian focused on his flying and the trials they would face ahead, and Nesta relishing in the calmness flying brought her and the clarity she could almost reach. Before she knew it, she was relaxing in Cassian’s arms, the stress she’d felt about her magic and her overwhelming emotions fading with each wingbeat.

While the air was frigid, it was a blessing against her hot, irritated skin. The brisk bite of the cold wind on her cheeks and her hands distracted her from the waves of power boiling inside of her. She knew she had to talk to Cassian about it, see if he could help, but her damned pride was still intact even after months of living as a shell of the person she used to be. Though, the person she used to be was stubborn and prideful as well.

Maybe that person was still inside her, a foundation for the pieces she was trying to put together again.

She lost track of time, lost in the beauty that surrounded her and the comfort of the arms around her and the body against her. It wasn’t until Cassian spoke, jolting her from her peaceful reverie, that she remembered their goals and what brought them to flying further North.

“I needed this,” he said, his eyes filled with rare softness. Nesta nodded. She could see the stress leave his shoulders, like a weight was lifted, and the ease in his movements. His arms tightened around her as he breathed in the cold air. “After Hybern, when that bastard shredded my wings-” Nesta tensed in his arms, memories rising to the surface.

“A part of me thought I’d never be able to do this again, to fly above Illyria with the winter winds against my wings and the sun on my skin.” His brow furrowed. Nesta wondered if it was the bubble that surrounded them, high above the ground with nothing but the clouds for company, that brought up such vulnerability. She felt it too, a tender and fragile part of her heart seemed to light up at his words.

“I remember,” she started, “seeing you bandaged. I could see it, the determination to be fully healed but behind that I saw your fear too. And I felt it within me. I was in a body I couldn’t recognize with abilities I never thought possible, Elain was-well, she was Elain. Feyre was gone and so was my home.” That piece of her heart swelled with emotion and she felt the tether tying her to the male that held her grow taut. His thumb stroked her shoulder and he stared into her eyes with no hesitation or fear, only understanding. “I remember seeing you relearning how to fly. I wanted you to win that fight.” She met his gaze head on.

“I wanted revenge, justice, whichever. I wanted one of us to come out of that cursed castle stronger and unchanged.” She clenched her jaw and exhaled a hard breath of air. “But that revenge came at a price. One I don’t know if I can pay.” The memories of the Cauldron and the King that wielded it came rushing back.

The feeling of that cold water against her skin, the image of Cassian, broken and unconscious, crawling towards her as she fought and screamed. And what came after-when she was inside that ancient thing. The darkness that surrounded her and what she saw inside of it, what she stole. That darkness lived in her now.

“Some burdens stay with us, like scars that don’t heal right, or broken bones that don’t set. There are wounds of the mind that can’t be healed, only patched over. I know, I have a couple. Knowing that I wasn’t strong enough, despite what these damned Siphons grant me, that I wasn’t enough to save your or your sister, it is the greatest wound I shall ever bear. Deeper than all the shit I did during the war so many centuries ago, or even the war we just survived.” Cassian’s voice was thick with emotion. His arms tightened to the point of pain, but she didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. She could only listen, as he did for her.

“I saw what happened to you, what you went through and I stayed away because I thought it would be best, Nesta.” Her name was honey on his lips, and she leaned in like a honeybee drawn to a flower’s nectar. His face was mere inches from hers and she could feel the heat of his breath fan across her face. She could see the golden flecks in his eyes shining in the sunlight.

“I wish things could have been different for you, but they weren’t. You were dealt a shit hand and you’re trying your best; I can see that now. I know it isn’t easy. I know.” For once, Nesta actually believed he did know, that he did understand. That he could understand, somehow, the pain she felt. Their scars were different, but if she could recognize those marks on his soul then he could see hers. Another piece of herself fell into place as she stared into his eyes, as she felt his pain and saw his empathy. She took a shaky breath and cupped her hands around his face. They were hovering, almost, in the sky together. Locked in their bubble together.

“I see you too, Cassian.” She pressed her forehead against his and felt him shudder. A sense of ease and comfort overcame her. It was so easy to be close to him, to be vulnerable with him. In the bubble, she didn’t care about her pride or her wounds that refused to heal. Cassian murmured her name, as if saying a prayer and for once she wanted to answer that call of devotion, without thinking about what it could mean.

“I-” she stuttered, too afraid to finish.

“I know,” he answered.

She thought about the first time they met, when she was still human, and the war seemed like something impossible happening in an impossible place. How she judged those that accompanied her sister. So much has changed, but now it felt right. The thread that connected her to Cassian was singing. It wrapped around her chest and brought warmth and something she never thought she could feel. Its melody was familiar and welcoming, and she was being drawn into its dance. Nesta felt Cassian’s breath against her lips. She thumbed the slight stubble on his jaw and took a deep breath.

She felt his lips brush against hers and was instantly reminded of the last time she felt his lips on hers, when they faced certain death together as that King walked towards them. Nesta jerked back.

She heard it again, the snap of her father’s bones. She saw it, his crumpled form. Saw Cassian’s broken wings and body against the earth, looking at her with such grief and loss. All at once, those feelings that dwelled inside her that had been calm since they took off into the skies returned. Her heartbeat sped up and the power inside of her stretched and bared its teeth.

Nesta pushed against Cassian as the panic set into her bones, nestling besides her pieced together heart. She could hear his voice, a few curses and some attempt at calming words but she couldn’t hear his words. Couldn’t focus. All she could hear was that Cauldron damned snap. All she could feel was the memory of his lips against hers, the salty taste of his tears and the desperation they both shared.

She couldn’t be here, in his arms and thinking of kissing him. Not when her father was dead, her life forever changed and destroyed, her family lost to her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. There was only the panicked sense of danger that filled every fiber of her being.

That ancient power inside her relished in her roiling emotions. It took advantage of the brief loss of control she had and lashed out. Her skin was crawling and cold. Nesta’s muscles trembled and despite knowing she was hundreds of feet in the air, the power inside of her wrought havoc. It filled her blood and danced across her skin. She wanted to cling to Cassian, to pull him close and have him tell her everything would be okay, but that power was all consuming. Before she even knew what was happening, her body was finally free of his warm but confining arms.

And Nesta fell.

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#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #my writing #a storm of ice and wind #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #post-acofas #fanfiction #nessian fanfic #acotar fanfiction #yes I know it's 2 am but listen when i am ready im ready so time has no meaning

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