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butterflies-dragons · 3 years

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Lúthien and Sansa

Art credit: Lúthien by Aerankai and Sansa by denvertakespics

Recently I started reading about Beren and Lúthien and got really fascinated about how similar Lúthien and Sansa are.

Summary:

1. Beauty

2. Flowery names

3. From dusk to dawn

4. Little birds: nightingales

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

6. Big cats and big dogs

7. Bat and wolf imagery

8. Singing and dancing

9. Other parallels

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

1. Beauty

Ah, Lúthien! Ah, Lúthien,

more fair than any child of Men!

Oh, loveliest maid of Elvenesse,

what madness doth thee now possess?

Ah, lissom limbs and shadowy hair

and chaplet of white snowdrops there;

oh, starry diadem and bright

soft hands beneath the pale moonlight!

She left his arms and slipped away

just at the breaking of the day.

—Canto VI, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

It is told in the Lay of Leithian that Beren came stumbling into Doriath grey and bowed as with many years of woe, so great had been the torment of the road. But wandering in the summer in the woods of Neldoreth he came upon Luthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian, at a time of evening under moonrise, as she danced upon the unfading grass in the glades beside Esgalduin. Then all memory of his pain departed from him, and he fell into an enchantment; for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.

[...] The fame of the beauty of Luthien and the wonder of her song had long gone forth from Doriath.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien was an Elf maiden/half Maia of incomparable beauty and grace, with night-dark hair, sparkling grey eyes, luminous skin, and a clear heartbreakingly lovely voice that was said to cause winter to melt into spring.

Lúthien was said to be the fairest maiden to have ever lived (a description later shared also by Arwen).

Why, O king, I desire thy daughter Tinúviel, for she is the fairest and most sweet of all maidens I have seen or dreamed of.’

Then was there a silence in the hall, save that Dairon laughed, and all who heard were astounded, but Tinúviel cast down her eyes, and the king glancing at the wild and rugged aspect of Beren burst also into laughter, whereat Beren flushed for shame, and Tinúviel’s heart was sore for him. ‘Why! wed my Tinúviel fairest of the maidens of the world, and become a prince of the woodland Elves—’tis but a little boon for a stranger to ask,’ quoth Tinwelint.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien inherited her beauty from her mother Melian:

—Beren and Lúthien, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa is a beautiful maiden as well, she inherited her beauty from her mother Catelyn Tully:

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

About Sansa's beauty, as I said before in another post:

I think beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but there are certain consensus and there are also certain conflicting reports about “beauty” in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire. [...] On the other hand, we have characters like Catelyn Tully and Sansa Stark, mother and daughter, that are consensually considered beautiful. Zero conflicting reports. [...] Sansa Stark is called beautiful the most times in the entire series and by so many characters, friends and foes. There is no doubt about her beauty, and sadly that’s why her big lot of haters want for her to be disfigured so badly……….

As you can see, in a series of books full of unreliable narrators, Sansa's beauty is an absolute truth.

As I'm going to explain in the next section, Sansa's beauty is said to be "bewitching". Sansa is an "enchantress" thanks to her beauty.

Here a compilation of all the quotes about Sansa's beauty.

2. Flowery names

Lúthien was born in a forest under the stars, and niphredil first grew at the moment of her birth.

Niphredil was a small white flower that grew first at the moment of Lúthien's birth.

In one of his letters (Nº 312), Tolkien said that niphredil would be a delicate kin of a snowdrop.

The fact that a flower first grew at the moment of Lúthien's birth makes sense with the etymology of the name:

Lúthien is a Sindarin name meaning "Daughter of Flowers". The first element in the name is lúth ("blossom, inflorescence"). The second element is the feminine suffix -ien ("daughter").

In early writings, Doriathrin Luthien and Noldorin Lhūthien meant "enchantress", deriving from Primitive Quendian luktiēnē ("enchantress"; from root LUK "magic, enhantement").

And as it will be explained later, Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair.

Lúthien may have been derived from the Old English word Lufien, which means "love".

Sansa is also a flowery name:

The names Arya and Sansa are meant to represent the polar opposites of their characters, Arya being a hard sounding name, Sansa a softer more pretty name, etc.

—GRRM about The Stark Sisters’ Names

Arya, I say it ar-ya, two syllables, not three, not a-ri-a, like an operatic thing, but Arya, very sharp. I wanted something that was like a knife, that was sharp and hard sound, to be a contrast to the flowery Sansa.

—DAYS OF ICE AND FIRE Q&A (Nov. 13 2010)

Sansa is strongly linked with flowers as well (the rose of Winterfell legend, blue winter roses, the scent of flowers along the north bank of the Trident, Loras’s red rose, Myrcella’s garden, the Roadside Rose song, etc).

Sansa wore the red rose that Loras gave her in her hair.

Sansa has a lot of parallels with Jennys of Oldstones, a lady in a song famous for wearing flowers in her hair.

And about "magic", "enchantment" and "enchantress" we have these very telling quotes:

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

[...] Ser Harrold looked confused. "Please. One dance."

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist."

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

As you can see, Sansa's beauty is said to be "bewitching". Sansa, like Lúthien, is an "enchantress."

3. From dusk to dawn

Lúthien is also called Tinúviel:

Tinúviel: ‘Daughter of Twilight’ [...].

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tinúviel literally means "Daughter of Twilight".

Beren first saw Lúthien dancing and singing in the twilight:

Now the lies of Melko ran among Beren’s folk so that they believed evil things of the secret Elves, yet now did he see Tinúviel dancing in the twilight, and Tinúviel was in a silver-pearly dress, and her bare white feet were twinkling among the hemlock-stems. Then Beren cared not whether she were Vala or Elf or child of Men and crept near to see; and he leant against a young elm that grew upon a mound so that he might look down into the little glade where she was dancing, for the enchantment made him faint.

[...] “By dawn and dusk he sought her, but ever more hopefully when the moon shone bright. At last one night he caught a sparkle afar off, and lo, there she was dancing alone on a little treeless knoll and Dairon was not there. ”

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

At length Beren fled south from the ever-closing circle of those that hunted him, and crossed the dreadful Mountains of Shadow, and came at last worn and haggard into Doriath. There in secret he won the love of Lúthien daughter of Thingol, and he named her Tinúviel, the nightingale, because of the beauty of her singing in the twilight beneath the trees; for she was the daughter of Melian.

—A passage extracted from the Quenta, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

While Lúthien is associated with the twilight and the moon; Sansa is associated with the dawn and the sun:

All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

One more step, she told herself, one more step. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, she would never start again, and dawn would find her still clinging to the cliff, frozen in fear. One more step, and one more step.

The ground took her by surprise. She stumbled and fell, her heart pounding. When she rolled onto her back and stared up at from where she had come, her head swam dizzily and her fingers clawed at the dirt. I did it. I did it, I didn't fall, I made the climb and now I'm going home.

[...] The eastern sky was vague with the first hint of dawn when Sansa finally saw a ghostly shape in the darkness ahead; a trading galley, her sails furled, moving slowly on a single bank of oars. As they drew closer, she saw the ship's figurehead, a merman with a golden crown blowing on a great seashell horn.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

More about Sansa and the dawn here.

4. Little birds: nightingales

Tinúviel is also a term to refer to the nightingale:

Tinúviel: [...] nightingale: name given to Lúthien by Beren.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tinúviel is a Sindarin poetic term, though not a literal name, for the 'Nightingale'. This name was first given to Lúthien of Doriath by Beren when he first saw her dancing in the forest.

Lúthien's mother, Melian, is strongly associated with nightingales:

Melian was a fay. In the gardens of [the Vala] Lórien she dwelt, and among all his fair folk none were there that surpassed her beauty, nor none more wise, nor none more skilled in magical and enchanting song. It is told that the Gods would leave their business and the birds of Valinor their mirth, that Valmar’s bells were silent, and the fountains ceased to flow, when at the mingling of the light Melian sang in the gardens of the God of Dreams. Nightingales went always with her, and their song she taught them. But she loved deep shadow, and strayed on long journeys into the Outer Lands [Middle-earth], and there filled the silence of the dawning world with her voice and the voices of her birds.

The nightingales of Melian Thingol heard and was enchanted and left his folk. Melian he found beneath the trees and was cast into a dream and a great slumber, so that his people sought him in vain.

—Beren and Lúthien, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

In an early version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, she is called "little bird" by Tevildo:

Now gazing therethrough, for it was ajar, she saw the wide vaulted kitchens and the great fires that burnt there, and those that toiled always within, and the most were cats—but behold, there by a great fire stooped Beren, and he was grimed with labour, and Tinúviel sat and wept, but as yet dared nothing. Indeed even as she sat the harsh voice of Tevildo sounded suddenly within that chamber: ‘Nay, where then in Melko’s name has that mad Elf fled,’ and Tinúviel hearing shrank against the wall, but Tevildo caught sight of her where she was perched and cried: ‘Then the little bird sings not any more; come down or I must fetch thee, for behold, I will not encourage the Elves to seek audience of me in mockery.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tevildo was a big black cat, tiger size, considered the Prince of Cats:

Tevildo: The Prince of Cats, mightiest of all cats, ‘possessed of an evil spirit’; a close companion of Morgoth.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

In contrast to Lúthien being called "little bird" by a big black cat, Sansa is also called "little bird" by a big man dubbed the Hound:

He was mocking her, she realized. "No one could withstand him," she managed at last, proud of herself. It was no lie.

Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of a dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him. "Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite."

"That's unkind." Sansa could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. "You're frightening me. I want to go now."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

As you can see, Lúthien and Sansa are called little birds by a big cat and a big dog respectively, but those beast-like creatures were antagonist figures to our heroines and the term little bird was no endearment but a way to mock and threat them.

We will come back to this cat versus dog issue later.

About Sansa and the nightingale, as I said before in another post:

She [Sansa] is also called “little bird” and a very special little bird, the one that makes the sweetest sounds, is the Nightingale.

The hours in ASOIAF have names. The hour of the Wolf is “the blackest part of the night”, and the hour of the Nightingale, comes after the hour of the Wolf. This means that the hour of the Wolf is exactly before the Dawn or the Hour of the Nightingale. Awesome right?

The song of the nightingale has been described as one of the most beautiful sounds in nature, inspiring songs, fairy tales, opera, books, and a great deal of poetry. And who is the character often described with the sweetest voice in ASOIAF? Yes that’s Sansa Stark, she sings beautifully with the sweetest voice.

So after the Long Night, the Dawn will come. The Starks will be there. Sansa will be there.

More about Sansa and the nightingale here.

Now, the association of Lúthien's mother, Melian, with nightingales:

Melian sang in the gardens of the God of Dreams. Nightingales went always with her, and their song she taught them.

—Beren and Lúthien, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Makes me think about the Children of the Forest and the Old Gods, that are also related with the Starks.

Melian is associated with songbirds, and it is said she taught nightingales how to sing and their music followed her paces. In Valinor, she dwelt in the gardens of Lórien tending its trees, and she was the most beautiful, wise and skilled in songs of enchantment of all the people of Irmo. However she journeyed often to Middle-earth for she loved the deep shadows of trees and forests.

Melian was a Maia. The Maiar were spirits that descended to earth and help to create the world, almost like angels, almost like gods.

The Children of the Forest are called singers, and after their death part of them remains on earth and lives longer inside birds:

Bran knew. "She's a child. A child of the forest." He shivered, as much from wonderment as cold. They had fallen into one of Old Nan's tales.

"The First Men named us children," the little woman said. "The giants called us woh dak nag gran, the squirrel people, because we were small and quick and fond of trees, but we are no squirrels, no children. Our name in the True Tongue means those who sing the song of earth. Before your Old Tongue was ever spoken, we had sung our songs ten thousand years."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran II

"Someone else was in the raven," he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. "Some girl. I felt her."

"A woman, of those who sing the song of earth," his teacher said. "Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy's flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you."

"Do all the birds have singers in them?"

"All," Lord Brynden said. "It was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven … but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forget, and so now they write the messages on parchment and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

As you can see, the Maiar sounds really similar to the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. Particularly Luthien's mother, Melian, that is associated with trees (Old Gods, weirwoods) and nightingales (crows, ravens).

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

Lúthien's father, Thingol, locked her up in a tree house, that is basically a bird's nest, since Lúthien is also called Tinúviel that means nightingale:

Now Tinwelint let build high up in that strange tree, as high as men could fashion their longest ladders to reach, a little house of wood, and it was above the first branches and was sweetly veiled in leaves. Now that house had three corners and three windows in each wall, and at each corner was one of the shafts of Hirilorn. There then did Tinwelint bid Tinúviel dwell until she would consent to be wise, and when she fared up the ladders of tall pine these were taken from beneath and no way had she to get down again.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa, under the guise of Alayne Stone, is the prisoner of Petyr Baelish in the Eyrie, that literally means falcon's nest:

Alayne's apartments in the Maiden's Tower were larger and more lavish than the little bedchamber where she'd been kept when Lady Lysa was alive. She had a dressing room and a privy of her own now, and a balcony of carved white stone that looked off across the Vale. While Gretchel was tending to the fire, Alayne padded barefoot across the room and slipped outside. The stone was cold beneath her feet, and the wind was blowing fiercely, as it always did up here, but the view made her forget all that for half a heartbeat. Maiden's was the easternmost of the Eyrie's seven slender towers, so she had the Vale before her, its forests and rivers and fields all hazy in the morning light. The way the sun was hitting the mountains made them look like solid gold.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Beren and Lúthien were rescued by great eagles:

Thus the quest of the Silmaril was like to have ended in ruin and despair; but in that hour above the wall of the valley three mighty birds appeared, flying northward with wings swifter than the wind.

Among all birds and beasts the wandering and need of Beren had been noised, and Huan himself had bidden all things watch, that they might bring him aid. High above the realm of Morgoth Thorondor and his vassals soared, and seeing now the madness of the Wolf and Beren’s fall came swiftly down, even as the powers of Angband were released from the toils of sleep. Then they lifted up Beren and Lúthien from the earth, and bore them aloft into the clouds . . .

(As they passed high over the lands) Lúthien wept, for she thought that Beren would surely die; he spoke no word, nor opened his eyes, and knew thereafter nothing of his flight. And at the last the eagles set them down upon the borders of Doriath; and they were come to that same dell whence Beren had stolen in despair and left Lúthien asleep.

There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to the peaks of Crissaegrim and their high eyries [...].

—The Quenta Silmarillion, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa expects for the Knights of the Vale (falcons) to help her to re-claim Winterfell:

Her eyes widened. "He is not Lady Waynwood's heir. He's Robert's heir. If Robert were to die . . ."

Petyr arched an eyebrow. "When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?"

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Sansa also wishes to have falcon's wings:

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Unbeknownst to Sansa, another kind of wings are reserved for her. More about this subject later.

6. Big cats and big dogs

During her adventures in order to help Beren, Lúthien interacts with a big black cat named Tevildo, and with a big dog named Huan, a great wolfhound.

As was said before, Tevildo was a big black cat, tiger size, considered the Prince of Cats:

Tevildo The Prince of Cats, mightiest of all cats, ‘possessed of an evil spirit’; a close companion of Morgoth.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Tevildo was an evil fay in the form of a great black cat with a collar of gold, which gave him much of his evil power. He was considered a prince of the servants of Melko and lived in a hilltop castle near Angamandi with other tiger-size cats. During the Quest for the Silmaril, Beren was captured by Melko and forced to work in Tevildo's kitchens. However, the cat was defeated by his archenemy Huan and Tinúviel, who forced him to give up his collar and reveal the spell which held the stones of his castle together. Melko learned Tevildo had lost his power and the cats reduced to normal size and exiled them.

Later Tevildo's place in the narrative was replaced by that of the Necromancer, Thû (later renamed Sauron), in the later Legendarium. Thû (and later Sauron) was the "Lord of Werewolves", in contrast to Tevildo's position as "Prince of Cats"; the cat-versus-dog theme prominent in the "Tale of Tinúviel" was thus eliminated in later writings.

Here we can see an illustration of Luthien's encounter with Tevildo:

Art credit: “but Tevildo caught sight of her where she was perched” by Alan Lee for Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Don't you find this scene familiar? A beautiful lady encountering with a black cat while she is pressed against a wall?

When I read about Tevildo discovering Lúthien shrunk against the wall:

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

I immediately thought of Sansa's encounter with Balerion, that black tomcat of the Red Keep while she was pressed against a wall:

The noise receded as she moved deeper into the castle, never daring to look back for fear that Joffrey might be watching … or worse, following. The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

And who was Balerion the black tomcat?

The Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed and trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel … all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right there,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.”

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

As you can see, Tevildo and Balerion sound very similar, both are black cats, both are called evil, both live in a castle, both are considered royals, Tevildo a prince, Balerion a king, and both found a beautiful lady pressed against a wall.

On the other hand, Lúthien befriends a great wolfhound named Huan.

Huan, the Hound of Valinor, was a great wolfhound, one of the hunting dogs of Oromë the Hunter.

Huan was given by Oromë to his friend Celegorm, one of the Sons of Fëanor and accompanied him on his huntings in the regions of Valinor. When the Ñoldor under Fëanor rebelled, Huan went with his master to Middle-earth.

Huan was with Celegorm and Curufin who were hunting when he smelled Lúthien and captured and brought the maid before Celegorm.

Celegorm captured Lúthien and plotted to marry her, thus forcing a bond of kinship with Lúthien's father, Thingol.

But Huan the hound was true of heart, and the love of Luthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity. Therefore he came often to her chamber; and at night he lay before her door, for he felt that evil had come to Nargothrond. Luthien spoke often to Huan in her loneliness, telling of Beren, who was the friend of all birds and beasts that did not serve Morgoth; ad Huan understood all that was said. For he comprehended the speech of all things with voice; but it was permitted to him thrice only ere his death to speak with words. Now Huan devised a plan for the aid of Luthien; and coming at a time of night he brought her cloak, and for the first time he spoke, giving her counsel. Then he led her by secret ways out of Nargothrond, and they fled north together; and he humbled his pride and suffered her to ride upon him in the fashion of a steed, even as the Orcs did at times upon great wolves. Thus they made great speed, for Huan was swift and tireless.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

So, in a superficial layer, Huan could be paralleled with Sandor Clegane, dubbed the Hound, since Huan was Celegorm's hunting hound and the Hound was the sworn sword and later Kingsguard of Joffrey Baratheon.

Celegorm was dubbed the Fair, had fair hair and was a great huntsman, the same way Joffrey was blonde and comely, and loved hunting and killing.

Celegorm wanted to marry Lúthien while Joffrey was actually betrothed with Sansa.

There is also the fact that Huan helped Lúthien escape the imprisonment imposed by Celegorm, gave her back her magic cloak (made of her shadowy hair), and fled north together, that somehow reversely resembles Sandor Clegane's offer to Sansa to help her flee north the night of the battle of the Blackwater, offer that Sansa rejected. That same night after a sexual assault attempt, the Hound ripped his white kingsguard's cloak (stained by blood and fire) off and left it fell on the floor.

But in a deeper layer, Huan was to Lúthien the same way the direwolves are to the Stark children.

Indeed, Huan was a gift from a god, the same way the direwolves were a gift from the Old Gods to the Stark children.

Among the six direwolves, Ghost is the one that resembles Huan the most, not only because Huan, despite having grey fur, is often depicted as white, as you can see here:

Art credit: "Luthien and Huan" by Elena Kukanova

But because Huan, like Ghost, is mute.

Huan had been granted special powers by the Valar, he was as large as a small horse, immortal, tireless and sleepless, and was allowed to speak three times before he died. It was also prophesied that he could not be killed unless it was by the greatest wolf that ever lived; in this case a werewolf.

Huan, taking pity of Lúthien disobeyed his master Celegorm, helped her scape, joined Beren and Lúthien in their quest and adventures, turned against his master to protect Lúthien and ultimately died protecting Beren.

Huan used the three times he was allowed to speak to help Beren and Lúthien and say farewell to them.

In a similar way, despite being mute, Jon was the only one that "heard" Ghost in the summer snows when the Starks found the direwolves.

Now, in an early version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, Tevildo the Prince of Cats clashed against Huan the great wolfhound. It was a battle between a cat and a dog, Tevildo and Huan were archenemies. But in later versions of the tale, Tevildo was replaced by Sauron, who clashed against Huan, after taking the form of a werewolf. Huan won that battle. But much later, Huan was mortally wounded by Carcharoth, the greatest, most powerful wolf to ever live, and Huan died according it was prophesied.

The clash and contrast between wolves and hounds is also present in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire; but in this case, the direwolves are the heroes while the hounds are the antagonists (Bolton's bitches, the Hound, etc).

This wolves versus hounds theme is particularly depicted in Jon's and Sansa's chapters:

Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal.

Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Rattleshirt’s dogs greeted him with a chorus of snarls and growls and wild barking, as ever, but the direwolf paid them no mind. Six days ago, the largest hound had attacked him from behind as the wildlings camped for the night, but Ghost had turned and lunged, sending the dog fleeing with a bloody haunch. The rest of the pack maintained a healthy distance after that.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

"They’re dogs and he’s a wolf,” said Jon. “They know he’s not their kind.” No more than I am yours.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

It happened twice more that night, and again in the morning, when she woke to find him hard. The wildlings were stirring by then, and several could not help but notice what was going on beneath the pile of furs. Jarl told them to be quick about it, before he had to throw a pail of water over them. Like a pair of rutting dogs, Jon thought afterward. Was that what he’d become?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Eddard Stark had left before dawn, Septa Mordane informed Sansa as they broke their fast. “The king sent for him. Another hunt, I do believe. There are still wild aurochs in these lands, I am told.”

“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.

Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.

“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”

The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?”

“She wasn’t hungry,” Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

The same way Lúthien bonded with Huan, I can see Sansa bonding with Ghost when she meets with Jon Snow and the mute direwolf again. Oh it would be so sweet...

7. Bat and wolf imagery

At some point during their adventures, Lúthien took the form of a giant bat while Beren took the form of a werewolf.

To transform into a giant bat, Lúthien used the coat of a female vampire servant of Sauron named Thuringwethil, as a cloak. The same way Beren transforms into a werewolf by using the coat of a werewolf named Draugluin as a cloak as well.

And then the giant bat rode upon the werewolf:

Long he [Huan] had pondered in his heart what counsel he could devise for the lightning of the peril of these two whom he loved. He turned aside therefore at Sauron's isle, as they ran northward again, and he took thence the ghastly wolf-hame of Draugluin, and the bat-fell of ThurIngwethil. She was the messenger of Sauron, and was wont to fly in vampire's form to Angband; and her greatfingered wings were barbed at each joint's end with and iron claw. Clad in these dreadful garments Huan and Luthien ran through Taur-nu-Fuin, and all things fled before them.

Beren seeing their approach was dismayed; and he wondered, for he had heard the voice of Tinuviel, and he thought it now a phantom for his ensnaring. But they halted and cast aside their disguise, and Luthien ran towards him.

[...] By the counsel of Huan and the arts of Luthien he was arrayed now in the hame of Draugluin, and she in the winged fell of ThurIngwethil. Beren became in all things like a werewolf to look upon, save that in his eyes there shone a spirit grim indeed but clean; and horror was in his glance as he saw upon his flank a batlike creature clinging with creased wings. Then howling under the moon he leaped down the hill, and the bat wheeled and flittered above him.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Huan stayed with Lúthien, and hearing of their perplexity and the purpose Beren had still to go to Angband, he went and fetched them from the ruined halls of Thû a werewolf’s coat and a bat’s. Three times only did Huan speak with the tongue of Elves or Men. The first was when he came to Lúthien in Nargothrond. This was the second, when he devised the desperate counsel for their quest. So they rode North, till they could no longer go on horse in safety. Then they put on the garments as of wolf and bat, and Lúthien in guise of evil fay rode upon the werewolf.

—A further extract from the Quenta, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Now there he laid

before their feet, as dark as shade,

two grisly shapes that he had won

from that tall isle in Sirion:

a wolfhame huge—its savage fell

was long and matted, dark the spell

that drenched the dreadful coat and skin;

the werewolf cloak of Draugluin;

the other was a batlike garb

with mighty fingered wings, a barb

like iron nail at each joint’s end—

such wings as their dark cloud extend

against the moon, when in the sky

from Deadly Nightshade screeching fly

Thû’s messengers.

—The narrative in the Lay of Leithian to its termination, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Draugluin: Greatest of the werewolves of Thû (Sauron).

Thuringwethil: Name taken by Lúthien in bat-form before Morgoth.

—List of names in the original texts, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa is said to have taken the form of a wolf with big leather wings like a bat:

"The Imp, it's thought. Him and his little wife."

"What wife?"

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

Songs can be spells as well, Arya... Just ask Lúthien.

The image of a giant bat riding upon a werewolf sounds pretty similar to a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

There is also the fact that GRRM has used "bat wings" as a reference to "dragon wings," and Sansa has a lot of bat/dragon wings imagery around her.

We will come back to this bat and wolf imagery issue later.

To finish this section, I leave you with this crossover fan-art where Lúthien, very impressed, asks Sansa about the rumor of her transformation into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

8. Singing and dancing

Before meeting Beren, Lúthien lived a peaceful life singing and dancing beautifully in the forest:

But Tinúviel’s joy was rather in the dance, and no names are set with hers for the beauty and subtlety of her twinkling feet.

Now it was the delight of Dairon and Tinúviel to fare away from the cavernous palace of Tinwelint their father and together spend long time amid the trees. There often would Dairon sit upon a tussock or a tree-root and make music while Tinúviel danced thereto, and when she danced to the playing of Dairon more lissom was she than Gwendeling, more magical than Tinfang Warble neath the moon, nor may any see such lilting save be it only in the rose gardens of Valinor where Nessa dances on the lawns of never-fading green.

[...] “Often and often she came there after and danced and sang to herself.”

[...] At length one day as she danced alone he stepped out more boldly and said to her: ‘Tinúviel, teach me to dance.’ ‘Who art thou?’ said she. ‘Beren. I am from across the Bitter Hills.’ ‘Then if thou wouldst dance, follow me,’ said the maiden, and she danced before Beren away, and away into the woods, nimbly and yet not so fast that he could not follow, and ever and anon she would look back and laugh at him stumbling after, saying ‘Dance, Beren, dance! as they dance beyond the Bitter Hills!’ In this way they came by winding paths to the abode of Tinwelint, and Tinúviel beckoned Beren beyond the stream, and he followed her wondering down into the cave and the deep halls of her home.”

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

As it will be explained later, Lúthien's singing and dancing are not only beautiful aesthetically, those skills were magic and worked as spells and enchantments as well.

Leaving out the actual singers, Sansa is the female character more connected with music, singing and dancing. She plays some instruments (high harp, bells), has a sweet singing voice and loves to dance:

Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. [...]

—A Feast for Crows - Arya II

“Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

[...] "Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?"

The Imp's mismatched eyes narrowed. "My lady can dance with whomever she pleases."

Perhaps she ought to have remained beside her husband, but she wanted to dance so badly . . .

[...] Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

"Lord Nestor will have no singers at the feast, only flutes and fiddles for the dancing." What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne...

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

"Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?"

"You're very kind," she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor.

[. . . ] When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?"

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

As we will see in a next section, Sansa's singing already performed an act of magic/enchantment, she tamed a wild beast full of rage and lust.

9. Other parallels

9.1. Beautiful hair

Lúthien and Sansa have beautiful hair that is their signature feature:

[...] but dark as shadow was her hair [...]

—Canto I, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

[...] and the hair of Tinúviel which was dark and finer than the most delicate threads of twilight began suddenly to grow very fast indeed [...]

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She [Sansa] had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair:

[...] and from her hair the fragrance fell

of elvenflowers in elven-dell.

—Canto V, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

The perfume of her flower-twined hair [...]

—Canto IX, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Behind closed doors

they sat, while Beren told his tale

of Doriath; and words him fail

recalling Lúthien dancing fair

with wild white roses in her hair [...]

—A second extract from The Lay of Leithian, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

This reminds me of Jenny of Oldstones, a lady in a song famous for wearing flowers in her hair:

"There's a song," he remembered. "'Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair.'"

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

As was mentioned previously in this post, Sansa is strongly linked with flowers as well (the rose of Winterfell legend, blue winter roses, the scent of flowers along the north bank of the Trident, Loras’s red rose, Myrcella’s garden, the Roadside Rose song, etc).

Sansa wore the red rose that Loras gave her in her hair.

Sansa has a lot of parallels with Jennys of Oldstones. You can read about it here:

WE’RE ALL JUST SONGS IN THE END. IF WE ARE LUCKY: JENNY OF OLDSTONES AND THE PRINCE OF DRAGONFLIES

THE BLACK PRINCE WITH THE WHITE GUARDIAN - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow and the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

9.2. Radiant

Lúthien is often described as radiant:

[...] and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

—Canto IV, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

[...] for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.

[...] But suddenly some power, descended from of old from divine race, possessed Luthien, and casting back her foul raiment she stood forth, small before the might of Carcharoth, but radiant and terrible.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa is described as radiant by Jon:

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. 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

The word “radiant” has romantic connotations, especially if you consider that GRRM’s love for medieval tourneys started with the movie Ivanhoe (1952), years before he even read the actual book by Sir Walter Scott. In the movie Liz Taylor played the role of the Jew girl Rebecca, and little George fell in love with her. When the author remembered his young infatuation, he referred to the actress as “radiant.” Read more about it here.

9.3. Skinchanging

As was explained previously, Lúthien had the ability of shapeshifting. She turned into a giant bat by wearing a female vampire's coat as a cloak and helped Beren to turn into a werewolf by wearing a werewolf's coat as a cloak as well. Then the bat rode upon the werewolf.

This image of a giant bat riding upon a werewolf is very similar to the image of Sansa turning into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

Sansa is a skinchanger as well.

Acording to GRRM, all the Stark children are wargs or skinchangers:

“I don’t think this is necessarily a ‘Stark’ ability, though all the children have it to one extent or another. They also realize it to one extent or another”. [Source]

Q: Are all the Stark children wargs/skin changers with their wolves? A: To a greater or lesser degree, yes, but the amount of control varies widely. [Source]

Oh, George said all the Stark children of this generation were full Wargs. I thought they were like one shot Wargs and were only bonded to their wolves but no they can warg into just about anything. Bran is just the only one working on it. [Source]

All of the Stark children were blessed with a direwolf and the ability to change skins with those magical creatures. The direwolves were sent by the old gods to protect and guide the Stark children. The direwolves are not only protectors and guides for the Stark children, they are also one with them.

Since Lady died, Sansa lost the opportunity to form a deeper bond with her wolf and to further develop and recognize her skinchanger abilities.

But I believe that Lady’s soul still remains in the world, and that’s why Bran calls and counts Sansa’s wolf as “Lady’s Shade.”

So it is possible that part of Lady still remains inside of Sansa, and that’s why Sansa always dreams with Lady (wolf dreams). Only Jon stopped dreaming with Ghost for a time, coincidentally, when they were separated by the Wall.

Most of Sansa’s dreams with Lady are about both of them running in a godswood (Lady’s bones are buried near Winterfell’s godswood), and although Sansa doesn’t remember much of her dreams, she always whispers and/or wakes up with Lady’s name on her lips. Even after her nightmares, she thinks of her Lady.

Some readers have speculated about Sansa and her link with other animals, and the possibility of Sansa changing skins with them, like the black tomcat of the Red Keep, the old blind dog of the Fingers, and even the blue falcon that she observed flying above the Eyrie.

During her encounter with the black tomcat of the Red Keep, Sansa “almost jumped out her skin.” This is a very interesting wording that almost sounds like skinchanging:

The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

“Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you”, maybe, that’s why after approaching Sansa willingly, the black tomcat “spit at her and leapt away”. This scene happens when Sansa was coming to the godswood to meet with Dontos for the first time. After Sansa arrives, she immediately thinks of Lady.

Sansa bonds with the old blind dog of the Fingers fast and easily. The dog is affectionate, tries to defend Sansa from Marillion’s attack, and is next to her after the nightmares of past sexual abuse by the Hound and Tyrion, provoked by the singer’s attack:

It was eight long days until Lysa Arryn arrived. On five of them it rained, while Sansa sat bored and restless by the fire, beside the old blind dog. He was too sick and toothless to walk guard with Bryen anymore, and mostly all he did was sleep, but when she patted him he whined and licked her hand, and after that they were fast friends. […] “Alayne.” Her aunt’s singer stood over her. “Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you.” The old dog raised his head and growled, but the singer gave him a cuff and sent him slinking off, whimpering. […] “I’ll have a song from you,” he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

And once again trapped in a tower, Sansa wishes she has wings:

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

As you can see, Sansa warging abilities are hidden so deep in the text, they only shyly appear in the middle of George’s prose as little pieces of poetry:

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Now tell me, what is that if not skinchanging?

And talking about birds, Sansa has already changed her skin with some birds, she was a talking little bird of the Summer Islands (repeating the right things to survive), then a mockingbird (as Petyr Baelish daughter), and she’s about to become a falcon (if she marries Harry).

And since cloaks could also be considered another skin, Sansa has already changed various cloaks. She was cloaked by a Lannister, then by her new father Petyr Baelish, and is about to be cloaked again by an Arryn.

But Sansa is a wolf, no matter how many skins she wears, she will always be a wolf.

And while Sansa wishes she had feathery wings, unbeknownst to her, she became part of the popular folklore when the smallfolk began to imagine her as a witchy kingslayer that later vanished in a puff of brimstone or changed into a “wolf with big leather wings like a bat” and flew away:

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

In the same book and with a very similar wording, Jon dreams of a ghastly direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

My personal theory is that the ghastly direwolf is Lady, because, among other reasons, this wouldn’t be the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another redhead.

These legends of Sansa the witch, the unnatural warg, the beastling, the skinchanger, the winged wolf that flew away from a tower window or vanished in a puff of brimstone, are at the same level of the legends about Bloodraven warging into a one-eyed dog and turning into a mist from a century ago:

How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? the riddle ran. A thousand eyes, and one. Some claimed the King’s Hand was a student of the dark arts who could change his face, put on the likeness of a one-eyed dog, even turn into a mist. Packs of gaunt gray wolves hunted down his foes, men said, and carrion crows spied for him and whispered secrets in his ear. Most of the tales were only tales, Dunk did not doubt, but no one could doubt that Bloodraven had informers everywhere.

—The Mystery Knight

If Sansa or Lady’s Shade have really changed skins with the old blind dog of the Fingers, that would be almost the same as Bloodraven warging or shapechanging into a one-eyed dog. By the way, the old blind dog’s master’s name was Bryen, a name way too similar to Brynden (Bloodraven’s name)…

But back again to the “wolf with big leather wings like a bat.” This interesting image reminds me of dragons instead of bats, and I think that was precisely George’s intention, he was subtly referring to dragon wings:

[…] “They say the child was …” […] “Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. […] “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat.

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood a red brick fountain whose waters smelled of brimstone, and in the center of the fountain a monstrous harpy made of hammered bronze. Twenty feet tall she reared. She had a woman’s face, with gilded hair, ivory eyes, and pointed ivory teeth. Water gushed yellow from her heavy breasts. But in place of arms she had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle, and behind she wore a scorpion’s curled and venomous tail.

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

So, this fascinating image of a “wolf with big leather wings like a bat” could be foreshadowing of Sansa wearing a Targaryen cloak in the future. Or at least having the support and protection of someone related to dragons.

9.4. Hades and Persephone imagery

Beren and Lúthien have a heavy Hades and Persephone imagery around them.

Lúthien could melt winter into spring with the magic of her voice and song.

During their adventures, Beren was severely wounded many times, and while Lúthien had healing abilities, one time he was nearly dead and other time he actually died.

After losing his hand, Beren recovers only after a long period of unconsciousness, and it was said that when he woke the spring came again.

Later, when Beren actually died, Lúthien descended to the lands of death and winter came over the lands of her father. Then, after gaining Beren's life again, she came back to earth and ended the winter with the touch of her hands.

These quotes exempt me from further explanation:

The wind of winter winds his horn;

the misty veil is rent and torn.

The wind dies; the starry choirs

leap in the silent sky to fires

whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer

through domes of frozen crystal clear.

A sparkle through the darkling trees,

a piercing glint of light he sees,

and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,

and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,

shrilled as she wayward passed along.

A frozen brook to bubbling song

awoke and laughed; but Beren stood

still bound enchanted in the wood.

Her starlight faded and the night

closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.

Thereafter on a hillock green

he saw far off the elven-sheen

of shining limb and jewel bright

often and oft on moonlit night;

and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,

and soft she sang as once before.

Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,

and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.

A night there was when winter died;

then all alone she sang and cried

and danced until the dawn of spring, [...]

—Canto IV, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was upon his limbs. There came a time near dawn on the eve of spring, and Luthien danced upon a green hill; and suddenly she began to sing. Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Luthien released the behind the walls of the world; and the song of Luthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed. Then the spell of silence fell from Beren, and he called to her, crying Tinuviel; and the woods echoed the name. Then she halted in wonder, and fled no more, and Beren came to her. But as she looked on him, doom fell upon her, and she loved him; yet she slipped from his arms and vanished from his sight even as the day was breaking.

[...] Now Beren and Luthien Tinuviel went free again and together walked through the woods renewing for a time their joy; and though winter came it hurt them not, for flowers lingered where Luthien went, and the birds sang beneath the snow clad hills.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to the peaks of Crissaegrim and their high eyries; but Huan came to her, and together they tended Beren, even as before when she healed him of the wound that Curufin gave to him. But this wound was fell and poisonous. Long Beren lay, and his spirit wandered upon the dark borders of death, knowing ever an anguish that pursued him from dream to dream. Then suddenly, when her hope was almost spent, he woke again, and looked up, seeing leaves against the sky; and he heard beneath the leaves singing soft and slow beside him LúthienTinúviel. And it was spring again.

Thereafter Beren was named Erchamion, which is the One-handed; and suffering was graven in his face. But at last he was drawn back to life by the love of Lúthien, and he rose, and together they walked in the woods once more.

—The Quenta Silmarillion, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

For the spirit of Beren at her bidding tarried in the halls of Mandos, unwilling to leave the world, until Lúthien came to say her last farewell upon the dim shores of the Outer Sea, whence Men that die set out never to return. But the spirit of Lúthien fell down into darkness, and at the last it fled, and her body lay like a flower that is suddenly cut off and lies for a while unwithered on the grass.

Then a winter, as it were the hoar age of mortal Men, fell upon Thingol. But Lúthien came to the halls of Mandos, where are the appointed places of the Eldalië, beyond the mansions of the West upon the confines of the world. There those that wait sit in the shadow of their thought. But her beauty was more than their beauty, and her sorrow deeper than their sorrows; and she knelt before Mandos and sang to him.

The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon the stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since. Therefore he summoned Beren, and even as Lúthien had spoken in the hour of his death they met again beyond the Western Sea. But Mandos had no power to withhold the spirits of Men that were dead within the confines of the world after their time of waiting; nor could he change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. He went therefore to Manwë, Lord of the Valar, who governed the world under the hand of Ilúvatar; and Manwë sought counsel in his inmost thought, where the will of Ilúvatar was revealed. These were the choices that he gave to Lúthien. Because of her labours and her sorrow, she could be released from Mandos, and go to Valimar, there to dwell until the world's end among the Valar, forgetting all griefs that her life had known. Thither Beren could not come. For it was not permitted to the Valar to withhold Death from him, which is the gift of Ilúvatar to Men. But the other choice was this: that she might return to Middle-earth, and take with her Beren, there to dwell again, but without certitude of life or joy. Then she would become mortal, and subject to a second death, even as he; and ere long she would leave the world for ever, and her beauty become only a memory in song. This doom she chose, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and putting aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that thus whatever grief might lie in wait, the fates of Beren and Lúthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalië she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost.

—The Lost Cantos, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

It is said that Beren and Lúthien returned to the northern lands of Middle-earth, and dwelt together for a time as living man and woman; and they took up again their mortal form in Doriath. Those that saw them were both glad and fearful; and Lúthien went to Menegroth and healed the winter of Thingol with the touch of her hand. But Melian looked in her eyes and read the doom that was written there, and turned away; for she knew that a parting beyond the end of the world had come between them, and no grief of loss has been heavier than the grief of Melian the Maia in that hour. Then Beren and Lúthien went forth alone, fearing neither thirst nor hunger; and they passed beyond the River Gelion into Ossiriand, and dwelt there in Tol Galen the green isle, in the midst of Adurant, until all tidings of them ceased. The Eldar afterwards called that country Dor Firn-i-Guinar, the Land of the Dead that Live; and there was born Dior Aranel the beautiful, who was after known as Dior Eluchíl, which is Thingol's Heir. No mortal man spoke ever again with Beren son of Barahir; and none saw Beren or Lúthien leave the world, or marked where at last their bodies lay.

—Epilogue, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Jon and Sansa have Hades and Persephone imagery around them as well.

Jon as Hades:

Despite being born in Dorne, Jon is a son of Winterfell.

In the Prologue of A Game of Thrones we can read that Waymar Royce, Jon's stand in, died at the hands of the Others, in an eriily similar way that Jon would die four books later at the hands of his brothers of the Night's Watch (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 1).

Jon played to be a Ghost at the Crypts of Winterfell (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 2).

Jon named his mute albino direwolf Ghost (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 3).

And in A Dance with Dragons, Jon actually died.

One of Jon's killers was Bowen Marsh dubbed the Old Pomegranate.

We can read the words "a dream of spring" in one of Jon's chapters (A Storm of Swords - Jon V).

Sansa as Persephone:

Persephone and Sansa are renowned beauties.

Sansa was born during winter, she is the Winterfell's daughter.

Sansa is heavily linked with the dawn and the sun (Battle for the Dawn to defeat the Long Night/Long Winter).

An important theme in Sansa's arc is rebuilding, which is connected with rebuild a life after the Long Night/Long Winter. A dream of spring.

GRRM has linked Sansa to the warmer seasons (spring and summer) through her favorite dessert, lemon cakes.

Sansa is deeply associated with flowers, thus with spring.

Sansa rejected the pomegranate from Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.

Jon's death is foreshadowed (hidden daggers) in one of Sansa's chapters (A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI).

Sansa sensed Jon's death: "A ghost wolf, big as mountains." (A Feast for Crows - Alayne II).

Lady, part of Sansa, already died and is buried at Winterfell.

Read more about it here:

Some thoughts on Sansa and Jon, by Tze

The Pomegranate Imagery - Jonsa, ASOS.

Sansa as Persephone

The King and Queen in the North vs. the King and Queen of the Underworld

9.5. Daeron the minstrel

There often would Dairon sit upon a tussock or a tree-root and make music while Tinúviel danced thereto, and when she danced to the playing of Dairon more lissom was she than Gwendeling, more magical than Tinfang Warble neath the moon, nor may any see such lilting save be it only in the rose gardens of Valinor where Nessa dances on the lawns of never-fading green.

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Daeron is mentioned as one of the greatest minstrels of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and only Maglor son of Fëanor is said to come close to his skill. Also in the Lay of Leithian there is named one called Tinfang Gelion who is counted among the three great minstrels, along with Maglor and Daeron.

Daeron loved Lúthien, but she did not love him. Nevertheless they were good friends, and Lúthien would often dance to his music. After Daeron found out about Lúthien's love for the mortal Beren, he betrayed them both to Thingol. When Lúthien later sought his help in assisting captive Beren, Daeron again betrayed her to Thingol, though this time in love and fear for her rather than jealousy.

Thereafter often she came to him, and they went in secret through the woods together from spring to summer; and no others of the Children of Iluvatar have had joy so great, though the time was brief. But Daeron the minstrel also loved Luthien, and he espied her meetings with Beren, and betrayed them to Thingol. Then the King was filled with anger, for Luthien he loved above all things, setting her above all the princes of the Elves; whereas mortal Men he did not even take into his service. Therefore he spoke in grief and amazement to Luthien; but she would reveal nothing, until he swore an oath to her that he would neither slay Beren nor imprison him.

[...] In the time when Sauron cast Beren into the pit a weight of horror came upon Luthien's heart; and going to Melian for counsel she learned that Beren lay in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth without hope of rescue. Then Luthien, perceiving that no help would come from any other on earth, resolved to fly from Doriath and come herself to him; but she sought the aid of Daeron, and he betrayed her purpose because he would not deprive Luthien of the lights of heaven, lest she fail and fade, and yet would restrain her, he caused a house to be built from which she should not escape.

[...] Upon Doriath evil days had fallen. Grief and silence had come upon all its people when Luthien was lost. Long they had sought for her in vain. And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. He it was that made music for the dance and song of Luthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Feanor. But seeking for Luthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Luthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Daeron reminds me of Marillion, the singer that tried to seduce and rape Sansa.

Marillion witnessed Lysa's attempt to murder Sansa and did nothing but keep singing and playing his harp. Marillion's passion for Sansa/Alayne was unrequited, similar to Daeron's unrequite love for Lúthien.

9.6. Foes

During the events of the Quest for the Silmaril, Lúthien defeated mighty foes, among them were:

Sauron: Lúthien flung her cloak over Sauron's face, and he was struck by the blinding enchantment of weariness. Huan used the opportunity to take Sauron by the throat. Sauron tried to escape by shape shifting, but Huan held him down. Lúthien then demanded Sauron to yield the mastery of the tower to her, less Huan should destroy his mortal form. Sauron yielded, and fled the scene. Lúthien, having received mastery of the tower, laid waste to the fortress with her magic. The walls were destroyed and the prisons were broken. Lúthien found Beren and healed him.

Carcharoth: Suddenly some power, descended from divine race, possessed Lúthien, and casting back her raiment she stood forth, radiant and terrible. Lifting up her hand she commanded Carcharoth to sleep and he was felled, as if lightning had struck him.

Morgoth: Lúthien was undaunted by Morgoth and she offered to dance and sing for him in the manner of a minstrel. He beheld her with lust, of which came a secret desire to do some unspeakable evil to Lúthien. Morgoth accepted for this reason, but Lúthien sang a song of such enchantment and blinding power that all his court fell into a deep sleep and all the fires faded. The Silmarils in the crown on Morgoth's head suddenly blazed with a radiance of white flame and the burden of his crown and of the jewels bowed down his head, laden with a weight of care and fear that even the will of Morgoth could not bear. Then Lúthien, catching up her winged robe, sprang into the air and by casting her cloak before his eyes she set upon him a dark dream. Morgoth was cast down in slumber.

Mandos: Eventually Carcharoth was discovered by Thingol's warriors, and the wolf was attacked. Thingol was nearly slain, but Beren saved him and was mortally wounded. Huan then fought with Carcharoth and slew him, with both dying. The Silmaril was cut from Carcharoth's burned flesh, and Beren presented it at last to Thingol before he died. Thingol then held Beren with respect, but Lúthien commanded Beren to wait for her in the Undying Lands. Lúthien passed away in grief, and her spirit came to the Halls of Mandos. There she sang a song of such woe and lamentation, that even Mandos himself was moved to pity. He summoned Beren's spirit, and the two were reunited. Then he went to Manwë, who sought counsel from Eru and so the will of Ilúvatar was revealed. Thus, Lúthien was faced with a choice; to remain in Valinor and its eternal bliss, or for her and Beren to return to Middle-earth as mortals, after which they would die a second death. Lúthien chose the latter, and she and Beren returned to Doriath.

As you can see Lúthien defeated mighty evil enemies, including the death. Lúthien did all those deeds with her magic enchantments, singing and dancing, skills that can be compared with Sansa's kindness, mercifulness, courtesy and knowledge next to her sweet voice and dancing.

Sansa was also prophesied by the Ghost of High Heart to be involved in the death of the cruel King Joffrey Baratheon (that already happened), and in the slain of a savage giant in a castle made of snow, that is probably Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish. Another candidates are Tyrion Lannister and Gregor Clegane.

There is also the prophecy of Maggy the Frog, that involves Sansa in the downfall of Cersie Lannister.

And finally, we have to count Sansa's song of mercy (the Mother's Hymn), that placated the rage and lust of Sandor Clegane during the night of the Battle of the Blackwater and prevented the Hound's assault, as parallel with Luthien enchanting Morgoth into slumber, that prevented his evil assault: "He beheld her with lust, of which came a secret desire to do some unspeakable evil to Lúthien."

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Of their lives was made the Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, which is the longest save one of the songs concerning the world of old. Here follows their tale and what remains of the Lay.

—Prologue, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien's love of the mortal Beren, for whom she was prepared to risk everything, including her life, was legendary and lamented forever in song and story.

Lúthien's romance with Beren was one of the great stories of the Elder Days that were told for many ages after she lived, and it was said that her bloodline will never extinguish.

The union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

Lúthien's romance with Beren is mirrored by the later romance between Aragorn and Arwen Evenstar.

According to legend, Lúthien's line would never be broken as long as the world lasted.

As you can see, the tale of Beren and Lúthien is a song that can be compared to the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

Sansa is the character that loves songs the most, particularly the songs about Florian and Jonquil, that are her very favorites.

I have speculated/theorized before that Jon Snow is the best candidate to be the Florian to Sansa's Jonquil.

And as other excellent meta writers have pointed out already, Jon Snow is the best candidate to be the Beren to Sansa's Lúthien.

So here I'm going to show you my take on the matter.

Singing

As I recently found out, we have this beautiful parallel between Beren and Lúthien & Jon and Sansa:

“Often and often she came there after and danced and sang to herself.”

—The Tale of Tinúviel, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

“Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

As you can see, a man observing a girl singing is an old and obvious romantic trope, especially used in fairy tales. Here a graphic example.

Dancing

Alys Karstark’ wedding, organized by Jon Snow, happened in a very similar way to Sansa’s dream wedding:

”It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp”.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The Magnar all but ripped the maiden’s cloak from Alys’s shoulders, but when he fastened her bride’s cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled”.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X.

During Sansa's wedding she didn't dance with her husband. Her first dance as a married woman was with Ser Garland Tyrell, a knight that shares important parallels with Jon Snow.

Jon and Garlan are good with swords (better than Robb and Loras). Both Jon and Garlan like to train with more than one sparring partner to be better prepared to battle. Both Jon and Garlan have ghost imagery around them. While Jon was killed and got a direwolf from the old gods that he called Ghost, Garlan won the Battle of the Blackwater fighting under the guise of Renly’s Ghost.

During Alys's wedding Jon Snow rejected her offer to dance by telling her she must dance with her husband.

“You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon.”

“Anon?” teased Jon.

“When we were children.” She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. “As you know well.”

“My lady should dance with her husband.”

—Jon, A Dance With Dragons

Despite rejecting dancing with her, Jon Snow kept in mind Aly's wrong phrasing: "You danced with me anon."

Later he had the following thought:

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

While snowflakes falling reminds Jon of dancing, snowflakes falling reminds Sansa of lover's kisses:

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

I suppose that kisses, like loving, is another form of dance.

Bat and wolf imagery

We also have the bat and wolf imagery around Beren and Lúthien. These lovers, husband and wife, turned into a giant bat and a werewolf, an image that reminds me of Sansa turning into "a wolf with big leather wings like a bat."

Indeed, after Sansa ran away from King’s Landing the day King Joffrey Baratheon was killed, the rumors about her participation in the murder started. Among the smallfolk runs the tale that after killing the king, Sansa morphed into “a wolf with big leather wings like a bat” and flew away.

As was previously explained, GRRM has intentionally connected bat wings with dragon wings. So, this fascinating image of Sansa as “a wolf with big leather wings like a bat” could represent Sansa (a wolf) wearing a Targaryen cloak (dragon wings). Or at least having the support and protection of someone related to dragons (that is, Jon Snow).

This image alludes to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

Hades and Persephone imagery

We also have the Hades and Persephone imagery around Beren and Lúthien.

Lúthien could melt winter into spring with the magic of her voice and song.

Thanks to Lúthien's love and cares, the moment Beren woke up from a long period of unconsciousness after losing his hand, spring returned again.

When Beren died, Lúthien descended to the lands of death and gained Beren's life back. Then Lúthien came back to earth and ended the winter with the touch of her hand.

And as was explained before, Jon and Sansa have Hades and Persephone imagery around them as well. See above.

This is yet one more legendary couple who shares parallels with Jon and Sansa.

And since Lúthien's singing was the weapon that gained Beren's life back, this could be foreshadowing of Sansa's singing having an important role in Jon's arc during or after his resurrection.

It is vastly speculated that Jon will come back to life beast-like since he would inhabit inside Ghost for a while, thus Sansa's singing could be instrumental for taming Jon's beast-like form or to make him gaining back his memory.

Beauty and the Beast imagery

Lúthien's renowned beauty was extensively discussed already. Now let's see the beast allusions related to Beren:

Thereafter for four years more Beren wandered still upon Dorthonion, a solitary outlaw; but he became the friend of birds and beasts, and they aided him, and did not betray him, and from that time forth he ate no flesh nor slew any living thing that was not in the service of Morgoth.

[...] But she vanished from his sight; and he became dumb, as one that is bound under a spell, and he strayed long in the woods, wild and wary as a beast, seeking for her. In his heart he called her Tinuviel, that signifies Nightingale, daughter of twilight, in the Grey-elven tongue, for he knew no other name for her. And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was upon his limbs.

[...] Beneath the Shadowy Mountains they came upon a company of Orcs, and slew them all in their camp by night; and they took their gear and their weapons. By the arts of Felagund their own forms and faces were changed into the likeness of Orcs; and thus disguised they came far upon their northward road, and ventured into the western pass, between Ered Wethrin and the highlands of Taur-nu-Fuin.

[...] As a dead beast Beren lay upon the ground; but Luthien touching him with her hand aroused him, and he cast aside the wolf-hame. Then he drew forth the knife Angrist; and from the iron claws that held it he cut a Silmaril.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Beren also formed a strong bond with Huan, the great wolfhound, a magical creature gifted by a god. This bond resembles somehow the bond between Jon and Ghost.

Beren stood beside Thingol, and suddenly they were aware that Huan had left their side. Then a great baying awoke in the thicket; for Huan becoming impatient and desiring to look upon this wolf had gone in alone to dislodge him. But Carcharoth avoided him, and bursting form the thorns leaped suddenly upon Thingol. Swiftly Beren strode before him with a spear, but Carcharoth swept it aside and felled him, biting at his breast. In that moment Huan leaped from the thicket upon the back of the Wolf, and they fell together fighting bitterly; and no battle of wolf and hound has been like to it, for in the baying of Huan was heard the voice of the horns of Orome and the wrath of the Valar, but in the howls of Carcharoth was the hate of Morgoth and malice crueller than teeth of steel; and the rocks were rent by their clamour and fell from on high and choked the falls of Esgalduin. There they fought to the death; but Thingol gave no heed, for he knelt by Beren, seeing that he was sorely hurt. Huan in that hour slew Carcharoth; but there in the woven woods of Doriath his own doom long spoken was fulfilled, and he was wounded mortally, and the venom of Morgoth entered into him. Then he came, and falling beside Beren spoke for the third time with words; and he bade Beren farewell before he died. Beren spoke not, but laid his hand upon the head of the hound, and so they parted.

—Chapter 19, The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

Sansa's beauty is also renowned and was discussed above (Here a compilation of all the quotes about Sansa's beauty).

Sansa and Jon are also both wargs/skinchangers, but while Lady was the smallest, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting of the litter; Ghost is the biggest of the litter and is often described as a savage beast.

Now let's see the beast allusions related to Jon and Ghost:

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

My friend @really-sad-devil-guy wrote a series of metas about Sansa and the Beauty and the Beast trope. This series is unfinished at the moment but you can read the parts already posted here:

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 1

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 2

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 3

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 4

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 5

You can also read the posts I wrote about this subject here:

In the original fairy tale ‘La Belle et la Bête’ by Madame de Villeneuve, Beauty and Beast/Prince are cousins

Some fanon/made up things that certain shippers claim to be canon about their ship & the Beauty and the Beast Trope

There is a version of Beauty and the Beast where the Beast is a white wolf

Endless lineage

As was mentioned before, the union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

According to legend, Lúthien’s bloodline would never be broken as long as the world lasted.

Lúthien’s romance with Beren is mirrored by the later romance between Aragorn and Arwen Evenstar.

Aragorn and Arwen were first cousins many times removed and both descend of Beren and Lúthien.

In the case of Jon and Sansa, both are deeply connected to the continuity of the Stark bloodline.

I extensively wrote about Jon and Sansa and their connections to Winterfell in this post: i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my. Among these connections, here are the most noteworthy:

“The snow fell and the castle rose”

GRRM has directly associated Jon Snow and Sansa’s snow castle.

Jon and Sansa share the dream of rebuilding Winterfell, their ancestral home and seat of House Stark. This shared dream is beautifully represented by Sansa building a scale model of Winterfell out of “snow”.

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

“Drink this.” Grenn held a cup to his lips. Jon drank. His head was full of wolves and eagles, the sound of his brothers’ laughter. The faces above him began to blur and fade. They can’t be dead. Theon would never do that. And Winterfell … grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones … how could Winterfell be gone?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

There is also the fact that Jon is heavily associated with “snow” while Sansa is heavily associated with “stone.”

Winterfell is a grey “stone” castle that is cloaked by white “snow,” like a perfect marriage.

Jon and the Wall represent the “shield that guards the realms of men.” Sansa feels stronger within the “walls” of Winterfell.

All of these images allude to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

“The blood of Winterfell”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called, or call themselves, “the blood of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was raw. He looked at them all helplessly. “She yielded herself to me.” “Then you must do what needs be done,” Qhorin Halfhand said. “You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night’s Watch.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

“What if Lord Nestor values honor more than profit?” Petyr put his arm around her. “What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?” I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This phrasing “the blood of Winterfell” implies blood lineage of House Stark, and Jon and Sansa both dream of having children that would bear the names of their siblings: Robb, Bran, Rickon and Arya.

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell, Jon and Sansa not only can rebuild the castle but the Stark family.

“Children of the Mountain”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called "children of the mountain".

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Coincidentally in reference to two snowy mountains, the Frostfangs beyond the Wall and the mountains at the Eyrie.

The word Winterfell could mean “wintry mountain(s)” A snowy mountain is basically “stone” covered by “snow”, like a perfect marriage.

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell and the Stark family.

You can read more about this subject (Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa) in this series of metas written by @fedonciadale back in 2018:

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 1 - the meeting

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 2 - Beren’s oath and first failure

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 3 - Beren’s and Luthien’s get the Silmaril

Tolkien and GRRM - Aragorn and Arwen

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

Lúthien was largely inspired from Edith Bratt (Tolkien's wife) and when she died, Tolkien asked his son Christopher to include Lúthien in her gravestone, as he considered her "my Lúthien."

In on of his letters (Nº 340), Tolkien said: "I never called Edith 'Lúthien' – but she was the source of the story that in time became the chief pan of the Silmarillion. It was first conceived in a small woodland glade filled with hemlocks at Roos in Yorkshire (where I was for a brief time in command of an outpost of the Humber Garrison in 1917, and she was able to live with me for a while). In those days her hair was raven, her skin clear, her eyes brighter than you have seen them, and she could sing – and dance. But the story has gone crooked, & I am left, and I cannot plead before the inexorable Mandos."

In the movie Tolkien (2019) the film recreates this scene, as you can see in this gifset.

In the same way, I believe that GRRM took inspiration from his wife Parris McBride, certain real life events and traits, and gave those to two of his heroines, Brienne and Sansa.

When Martin and McBride met, at a convention in Nashville in 1975, she told him that one of his stories, “A Song for Lya,” had made her cry. The gathering was in the free-spirited mode of the times—in an autobiographical essay, Martin notes that, when this conversation took place, they were both naked. (He does not elaborate.) He was, however, engaged to someone else. McBride went to work for a travelling circus for a while. By the time he moved to Santa Fe, in 1979, she was waiting tables in Portland, Oregon. They’d kept in touch, and after his marriage broke up they began what McBride calls a “fannish romance,” meeting at conventions and exchanging letters. In 1981, he persuaded her to move to New Mexico.

The New Yorker - April 11, 2011 Issue

And about they both being naked when they met, he later elaborates:

I met Parris for the first time at the 1975 Kublakhan in Nashville. A bunch of us were having a party in the women’s sauna and she walked in. I came to immediate attention.

Parris | George R.R. Martin

This naked encounter is compared by fans to this Jaime and Brienne passage:

She jerked to her feet as if he’d struck her, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of the thick blonde bush at the juncture of her thighs as she climbed out. She was much hairier than his sister. Absurdly, he felt his cock stir beneath the bathwater. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersei. He averted his eyes, troubled by his body’s response.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime V

We can even draw some parallels between Beren and Lúthien and Jaime and Brienne.

Like Lúthien, Brienne dances, but she dances with her sword. While Jaime, like Beren, lost a hand.

The possibility that GRRM may have used his wife Parris McBride as inspiration for Brienne and Sansa, makes a lot of sense if we consider that, according to GRRM himself, Brienne is Sansa with a sword.

But it is the mention of Parris crying while reading “A Song for Lya”, a bittersweet ending story with a radiant auburn haired beauty, what reminds me very much of Sansa.

Sansa is fond of sweet and sad songs, of bittersweet tales and stories, and she is often moved to tears by their sadness and beauty:

Sansa listened raptly while the king’s high harper sang songs of chivalry [...]

—A Clash of Kings - Bran III

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [...]

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

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.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Lady Ashara was my aunt. I never knew her, though. She threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword before I was born.”

“Why would she do that?” said Arya, startled.

[…] "Why did she jump in the sea, though?"

"Her heart was broken."

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

Sansa is often moved to tears at the presence of beauty, as Jon's fond memories of her tell us:

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

So, in a similar way that Edith inspired Lúthien, I believe Parris inspired Brienne and Sansa.

It is evident that his first encounter with Parris deeply impacted GRRM, so much that he took certain real life events and certain traits of his wife and gave those to two of the heroines of his magnum opus. Particularly Sansa, since she is a main character and the princess of the story, that shares parallels with powerful women from History and with important characters of classic fantasy sagas, like Tolkien's Lúthien in this case.

There you have it. Sansa is the Lúthien figure in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire.

I'm sure there are more parallels between Lúthien and Sansa, I'm not an expert in the LOTR books, the only book I read so far is the one I used to write this post: Beren and Lúthien (2017), so maybe I will be revisiting this post in the future with more findings.

#sansa stark #lúthien tinúviel #jonsa #beren x lúthien #asoiaf #lotr #grrm #grr martin #jrr tolkien

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natromanxoff · 3 years

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17 - Party!

Greetings and salutations Spring is here and the weather is fab, and for all you people living in the northern hemisphere with your freezing winters approaching, tough, I have no sympathy for you whatsoever. I know it's quiet for Mrs Smith at the moment so I thought I would lend a hand, but guess what? I've nothing either. Jorge and Bruno have sent a few questions for me, but I'm sorry; I won't answer questions that have anything to do with their personal lives or habits, I'll leave that to the Sun newspaper and people like Rick Sky who make a nice living writing a load of bollocks. They did ask "What was the best backstage party you ever had with Queen?" Well, we had so many parties it's hard to remember just one, and most of them were great for one reason or another. The do's in London, New York or LA were pretty naff cause we would all have friends, family, wives, girlfriends etc there so we would have to behave ourselves, plus all the dickheads from the record companies who always get incredibly drunk and think they are the most important people in the world.

After a concert at the LA Forum, we were having a little apres show drinkie, with the aforementioned idiots in tow, and for some reason they seemed to be more annoying than usual. I still have this vision of the food table, and in the center was a huge silver bowl that was full of 'dip', with massive shrimps hanging off the side and the idiots pigging out and getting more drunk. The bowl seemed to be saying; "Blow me up," so we put a huge fire cracker in the dip and lit it, and as we were walking out the door it exploded and there was this pink dip all over the ceiling and walls, and best of all, the entire board of directors of the record company were covered in pink goo. Such fond memories.

Christine Miele has asked "Do you have any WILD stories about Brian that you can tell us?" It depends what you mean by wild. I've got Queen 2 blasting at the moment to try and jog the old grey matter, but it's not working, I'm singing along with March Of The Black Queen, brilliant album, but I digress. Jacky and myself are trying to think of one, though she reckons I have one but I'm buggered if I can recall it at the present, stay tuned for it will appear.

Mad May(!) wants to know "When was the time you really wished Brian/Freddie/Roger/John wasn't there?" Once again I'm gonna have to think about this as well, but I'm sure there had to be at least once. I've had the odd email from people saying they have enjoyed my ramblings, so thanks, I'm glad a few people read them. As I said at the start of this I've nothing really to say, but it might fill out Jacky's page for her, but seeing as though at some point everybody came under fire, band and crew alike, management also copped it.

So to finish heres a short story about Jim Beach. This happened somewhere around the early eighties and Jim had taken to wearing a ridiculous cap at all times. If you ever see an early photo of the Beatles with John Lennon wearing a cap, it was just like that, except Lennon looked great and Jim looked, er, shall we just say odd. All the band kept telling him he looked stupid, but he didn't take any notice and wore it even more, so at times like this the fashion police have to be informed. It's now got to show time and we're ready to head to the stage, the lights are down, the intro tape is playing, the punters are going ballistic, but, alas, strange things happen on tour and Jim cannot find his beloved cap, and like the song says - The Show Must Go On. All is going well until we get to Bo Rap and the fab ones leave the stage for the opera tape to play, and when they return for the heavy section the pyrotechnics go off with a humungous explosion and smoke and flames everywhere, and I don't know how this happened, but the cap must have fallen onto one of the flashpots, and the last time Jim or anyone saw this piece of headwear it was a smoldering bit of cloth floating down from an arena ceiling and numerous people peeing themselves with laughter.

Before I go I'd just like to say happy birthday to a dear friend of mine who, if he's reading this, will crack a toothy smile about the cap. Cheers F.

Till next time,

Crystal

#queen #queen band #jim beach #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

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perditaalottachocolate-blog · 3 years

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Caterwauling in the Rain

Summary: Marinette and Adrien share their very first kiss after their very first date. Chat is so overjoyed he’s ready to burst into song, albeit not all Parisians share the sentiment. Ladybug comes to investigate the complaints about a feline caterwauling in the spring rain. Luckily, it’s just her very wet boyfriend. A Miraculous Writer Zine story.

A/N: This is my piece for @mlwriterzine . I’m so happy I can finally share it! I feel honored to be among the chosen authors. I want to thank everyone, who made this zine possible, it was an amazing adventure! Make sure to read works in the zine collection, they're all a m a z i n g !

AO3

The whisper of wind in his ears, the tap of boots on the tin roofs, the pigeons nesting among the chimneys, cooing to the spring in his step. Chat Noir ran high over the streets, reveling in this late April evening, basking in the fading light of day.

Everything in his path was blooming recklessly, fueled by sunshine, turning the warmth of spring into an opulent palette of greens, whites, yellows, pinks, and every other color one could think of.

It wouldn’t have been far from the truth if Chat claimed he floated on the breeze. It certainly felt like it. Butterflies, the good kind, not the evil purple ones that’d been giving them so much grief, fluttered happily in his stomach. His chest swelled with affection as if it tried to contain all the smells and scents at once.

His heart was so full he was ready to burst into song any second now. And snugly pressed to his chest was none other than the bravest, prettiest, awesomest, and the most amazing girl he knew. The love of his life, sans the spots. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. His Lady. His girlfriend. His everything.

Her hair tickled the exposed skin under his chin, but he was too focused on carrying his precious cargo to utter a chuckle. It was her who giggled happily instead.

“I really could have gotten home myself, silly Kitty,” she murmured to his sternum. Only his enhanced hearing allowed him to pick up the words over the rush of air and the buzz of traffic.

“A gentlecat always walks the lady home after a date,” he countered, allowing a little bit of flirt to seep into his voice.

A date! he thought excitedly, his heart skipping a few beats. The very first real one, official and everything. Not that anyone paid attention to two goofy teens sharing an ice cream, walking down the banks of the Seine and doing all the carefree, silly things teens did. Bantering, picking flowers, playing tag just because. Holding hands, stealing glances, blushing. Basically half of Adrien’s bucket list went down on that date, more than he could ever hope for. It was still very fresh—the romantic side of their relationship, just like nature herself, coming to life with spring—yet he doubted the excitement of enjoying her company on both sides of their masks would ever ebb.

Alas, their time had run out all too quickly. For unfathomable reasons their parents set a curfew and warned them not to break it. Yet Adrien refused to leave Marinette to return home by herself. He announced his arrival at the mansion, claiming he was exhausted after a busy day, and dashed off to his room. The door barely had time to close behind him when Chat Noir was already leaping through the window. He scooped Marinette into his arms and vaulted them high and away from the prying eyes of pedestrians. Just a little run and they were already on the little balcony of 12 Rue Gotlib.

It wasn’t dusk yet, although darkness already settled over the city thanks to the rain clouds that flocked from the west, keeping the last rays of spring sun to themselves. A silver half-moon peeked tentatively over the rooftops, picking up the slack.

Unexpectedly the sight filled him with nostalgia. “Anything can happen at half-moon,” Chat recited absently. He didn’t remember where he’d heard the verse.

“Anything?” Marinette frowned in confusion. After all, they had just spent a delightful afternoon together. Why would his mood turn wistful so suddenly?

He decided to play it off. He grinned cheekily. “Like maybe … a kiss?”

He was pushing his luck, he knew. They hadn’t reached that milestone yet, still tiptoeing around each other after the accidental reveal, still testing the waters, although neither of them was oblivious to the other’s feelings anymore.

To his astonishment Marinette fixed him with a coy smile and threw her hands around his neck. She climbed to her toes. “Maybe,” she whispered, her lips a hairbreadth away from his. Her eyes twinkled in the moonlight.

Chat released a ragged breath against her mouth. He shuddered from head to toe as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His body screamed for her, longed for her presence. But he wouldn’t dare to make the first step. He always followed her lead. He had to be sure it was what she wanted, even if he knew it wasn’t in her nature to tease him like this.

And then Marinette was kissing him. Sweetly, tenderly, with just a hint of passion simmering underneath. The gentle caress shrunk his world to just her and this moment.

He was sure he died, his heart flatlining out of sheer euphoria, his neurons fried from overjoy, his body coming apart at the seams. He floated to heaven and then her kisses brought him back to life. Back to the warmth of her embrace, to the flowery scent of her skin, and to soft kisses he knew he would never have enough of.

All too soon she withdrew, leaving his lips tingling and cold. He stumbled, dizzy with love in his heart and springtime in his lungs.

She must have thought he was being dramatic, because she ruffled his already wild mane.

“Goof,” she giggled. “Go home, before you catch a cold.”

“A cold?” He knitted his brows. “Why would I catch a cold now?”

“It’s raining, you dork.” Marinette bopped him on the nose and turned her hands up. A few plump droplets splashed on her palm.

Huh? How long did that kiss take? He hadn’t noticed when the rain started. Either those clouds had been moving faster than he’d thought, or he might have been more distracted than usual. Lately he tended to get tunnel vision in Marinette’s company, tuning out everyone and everything while soaking in her presence.

From behind the deck chair Marinette produced a black umbrella. She pressed it into his claws. “This is no dew, Kitty. It’s going to pour heavily soon.”

“Really?” He chuckled. She walked straight into this one. “I’m purring already, my Lady.” He grabbed her hand and put it to his chest. Then he released a rumble worthy of a thunderstorm.

“Besides, where I stand, the sun is shining all over the place.” He dropped the cheesy line with a flourish.

“See, you’re already delirious,” Marinette replied matter-of-factly. “Also, yes, I’m very proud of you for getting the ‘Singing in the Rain’ reference, you dorkasaurus,” she added, seeing his pout of indignation. “Now go, before you get wet for real.”

“Didn’t you mean furrrrr real?” he started, but dropped it immediately when she set him with one of Ladybug’s finest glowers. “A kiss good night, purrrhaps?” he asked hopefully.

Marinette grabbed him by the bell with such force, his hand slipped on the umbrella’s handle. She pressed her lips to his, but with more fire than sugar this time.

Snap! The black canopy sprang to its full size, startling them both.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Chat exclaimed, but Marinette just shook her head, launching into a fit of laughter. It was impossible not to join her.

“This umbrella is absolutely terrible,” she wheezed, clutching at her belly. “The ultimate killjoy.”

“You mean this is …” He trailed off, finally giving the umbrella a thorough look. Sure enough, he soon found the loopy ‘Agreste’ carved into the handle. “Oh, wow,” he whispered reverently. Marinette had mentioned the significance of that first rain they’d experienced together.

“Yup. And I want it back, mind you,” she added.

“This is an Agreste umbrella. You’d need to marry me for the name to check out, Princess.” Chat shot her with a toothy grin.

“Did you just propose on the first date, Adrien?” She raised a brow. “You might want to save something for the second one.”

“Ooops.” He feigned a horrified gasp. Incidentally, that absolutely had been on his bucket list. This was Marinette after all. “I’m gonna have to google some new ideas. But anyway, your answer would be …?”

Marinette shook her head again and thrusted her hand into his face. “You’re impossible. Just go home already before we both catch a cold.”

Right. He hadn’t noticed her shivering in the cold evening breeze, and the rain probably wasn’t helping.

“As you wish, m’Lady.” He bowed. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is, my Prince,” she replied with a curtsy, raising the imaginary fabric of a long dress with her fingers. Then with one last playful wink, she disappeared through the skylight.

Chat sighed in contentment, drawing in the chilly, humid air. He didn’t feel even a little bit tired, more like ignited after the spectacular afternoon of romance, flirting, and banter. He leaped to the railing and elongated his baton so that it hit the pavement. Then, like a leather-clad Mary Poppins, he floated down, startling a few passersby.

“Du-dudu-du, du-du-dudu-dee-dudu,” he hummed under his breath, setting into a leisurely stroll. The rain picked up a heavier rhythm, just like Marinette predicted.

“Du-dudu-du, du-du-dudu-dee-dudu.” He continued letting his inner Gene Kelly come out and play. He always wanted to perform that song, ever since he’d watched the movie with his father ages ago. And what better place to do so than the Parisian streets, a classy background to the classic number?

He already felt the tune bubbling in his throat. He couldn’t contain it any longer even if he tried. With a theatrical shrug he folded the umbrella and propped it against his shoulder. His lips stretched into a dreamy smile when he set off again. Then came the song.

“I'm siiiingin' in the rain, just siiiiiingin' in the rain.” His voice carried over the street, earning him a few confused glances. He gave his audience a little wink.

“What a gloooorious feeling, I'm haaaaaappy again,” he claimed, jumping onto a lampost. “I'm laughing at clouds. So daaaark up above. The sun's in my heart ...” Chat’s smile turned into something more smitten as he gazed upon a certain balcony looming in the distance, “… and I'm reeeeeady for loooove.”

“Let the stoooormy clouds chase everyone from the place.” He waved at a couple making their way through the rain, hiding under an already-soaked newspaper. They chuckled at his antics and clapped, rewarding his performance.

Encouraged, Chat turned his face to the sky while throwing his arms to the sides in a truly musical fashion. “Come on with the rain! I've a smile on my face!”

He resumed his walk, nonchalantly swinging the umbrella in large circles. “I walk down the lane, with a haaaaaaaappy refrain. Just singing, singing iiiiiiiin the rain.”

Chat spotted a few phones aimed at him and chuckled inwardly. People always looked for a scoop. Alya was going to be so angry she missed this. He could almost hear her gritting her teeth. Let's give them a show, he thought as his feet carried out the routine, a mix of waltz and tap dancing.

“Daaaaaancing in the rain,” he howled. “La-daaaa-da-da-di-daaaaAAA. I'm happy again.” He grabbed the umbrella as if it were a ukulele and struck a chord, making an elated face, as if he were Luka’s more handsome twin. “I'm singin' and dancing in the rain.”

More tap dancing followed. Chat finally found a way to release all the pent-up energy that had come from the afternoon spent with the love of his life. He tapped, he stepped, he pirouetted, for his joy and for the entertainment of a significant crowd that had gathered to witness his performance. The umbrella was his partner, his pendulum, his microphone and staff. Oh, how versatile a prop this was! Chat leaped like a very wet ballerina, jumped over the puddles or right into them, frolicking in a totally unfeline manner, splashing the water onto himself and all around. A reckless, unstoppable dancing and singing machine.

Slosh! A wall of cold water washed over him, effectively ending the show. He wiped the liquid from his eyes only to see a very familiar red-clad figure holding a polka-dotted bucket, which must have been the source of his unexpected and involuntary shower.

Concern marred Ladybug’s face. She breathed heavily—she must have been running fast to get here. But why did she have to be such a … what had Marinette said? Ah, an ultimate killjoy.

“Why did you go and do that?” he complained, frowning in accusation. Water dripped from his soaked hair right into his ears. Both pairs.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes at him. “The neighbors were complaining about some caterwauling felines and I decided to investigate in case there was an akuma,” she said.

Chat shook his head, trying to get rid of the ear leak. “Well, was there?”

His partner raised a brow and smirked, taking in his drenched form.

“Oh.” It suddenly dawned on Chat that maybe performing a musical number in a city regularly haunted by mind-controlling villains wasn’t the best of ideas. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, then shivered. “I’m cold,” he added.

“Awww, poor kitty,” Ladybug cooed. She relaxed her shoulders, no longer alert. “I need to take you home.” She tangled her yo-yo around a chimney, grabbed him at the waist and in the next moment they were already soaring over the streets.

She stopped on a roof a block away from the mansion. Her timing was perfect, as usual.

“AAAACHOOOOO!” Chat’s sneeze was so powerful Plagg flew out of the ring, taking the leather suit with him. The little kwami didn’t look happy in the least.

“Awww, shucks.” Adrien trembled. “Now it’s even colder.”

“You don’t say,” Plagg grumbled. He was dripping wet.

Ladybug sighed in disbelief. She scooped the sprite into her hand and hid him in her pigtail. Then she proceeded to lift Adrien princess style and set off in the direction of his house. Unseen and undetected by the mansion’s security system, she slipped through the bathroom window and into the warmth of his room.

A true hero, the epitome of helpfulness, she grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped him tight. Then, with a towel she had taken from the bathroom, she gave Plagg the same treatment.

“I’m gonna leave you to change and go to sleep,” she finally declared. “No more clowning!” She pointed a finger at Adrien.

He gave her an innocent blink. Alas, Ladybug seemed to be immune to his charm. Or maybe it was just late for her. After all he had caused her to leave the dry room and investigate an alleged akuma attack. He decided to step up his game.

“Maybe a good-night kiss?” He fluttered his golden lashes hopefully. That always got a nice fluster out of Marinette.

“Haven’t you gotten like two already?” she frowned.

“Nuh-uh, that was Chat. Adrien didn’t get any,” he complained. “Besides”—he fixed her with the delightful smile of a teenage heartthrob, his voice lowering to a murmur—“three is the charm, as Lady Luck should be perfectly aware.”

Ladybug tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Well,” she drawled, stepping closer, “you do make a compelling argument …” Then she closed the space between them.

Meowrrr, the cat in him uttered. Three was definitely the charm.

- The End -

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saylors-universe · 3 years

Text

All Hands on Deck, one

Rowaelin Cruise Vacation AU

Masterlist here

rowaelin cruise ship vacation AU

word count: 1661

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"You did WHAT!" Aelin screams over the phone. If she wasnʻt currently visiting her cousin in Terrasen, she would be in Elide and Manonʻs apartment, conducting this band meeting. But of course the Gods deemed her worthy of divine punishment – for what, she has no clue.

"Come on Ae,” Elide pleads over the call, "think of it as an engagement gift for Lorcan and I."

"Okay one, I planned on getting YOU something, not that dick boyfriend of yours. And two, this is a job, not a present,” Aelin hisses. Remembering that she hadnʻt yet congratulated Elide on the very recent news.

Elide had grown up with Aelin and Aedion, pretty much being adopted into the family as another cousin. Aelin had witnessed all of the trials Elide had endured – maybe she was cursed by the Gods too.

"Fiance. Heʻs my dick fiance now,” Elide interrupts her train of thought, "and I donʻt know what happened with you two but heʻs honestly the sweetest and most caring guy ever,” getting cut off by Aelinʻs cackle on the other end of the line.

"To you maybe,” Aelin snorts, “god, if only you had gone to our high school Elide. Lorcan was such an ass to me and -," she caught herself, choking on his name.

"Rowan?" Elide blurts out, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Ye- how did y-," Aelin snaps, somewhat defensive. She knew Elide didnʻt understand the painful memories that came with that certain name.

"Lorcan told me about you guys,” Elide corroborates, “you know he resented you two for what you guys had,”

Ha! Aelin thought to herself, Lorcan, jealous? That doesnʻt excuse the asshole personality of his.

“he told me he had finally found that kind of love with me, and thatʻs when he knew I was the one and started planning the proposal." Aelin was happy for Elide, genuinely, and it is because of her love for the plainly beautiful brunette that she tolerates the prick.

Lorcan envied our relationship?

Quick memories of a silver head past love of hers crossed her mind without permission. Midnight drives where theyʻd sing songs theyʻd wrote for each other, a summer class trip across Europe where they shared their first "I love youʻs" in the late, romanticly lantern-lit streets of Rome. As quickly as they came, she banished them once again.

"Anyways," Elide continues, "itʻs a vacation, with only a few gigs. I mean weʻd only need to perform a couple of nights and the rest of the time is ours...

Plus, I managed to get the cruise director to upgrade our rooms for a small cut in our pay.”

She was met with silence, "Come on Aelin, Lys and Manon have already started packing,” Elide begs.

It was a great deal Aelin had to admit. A 21-day cruise trip, not only was it technically free for them, but they would actually be paid doing what they love - performing. She could see it now - Queenʻs Court live from the Great Seas.

They were a fairly new band but had already made some traction, making a name for themselves and enjoying the love from their wild fanbase. It would be nice to get away for a little while, Aelin contemplates. She canʻt remember the last time she did something crazy fun with her girls, besides their small concerts. It couldnʻt hurt.

"Alright, fine," she concedes. She doesnʻt quite know why she had been so hostile and reluctant to this great opportunity. It may have something to do with how she had always been the one to spring the surprise master plan on her friends, finally on the receiving end of it felt weird. "but you know I get seasick."

"Weʻll get you some of those seasickness patches,” Elide counters just as Lysandra snags the phone.

“Hey bitch,” their term of endearment, “is my hot ass boyfriend there with you?”

“Yeah one sec,” Aelin answers then pulls the phone away from her face to yell to her cousin in the other room. “AEDION, LYS AND I ARE HAVING PHONE SEX!”

Her twin of a cousin suddenly appears, putting the phone on speaker and taking a seat next to her on his living room couch. “Trying to steal my girlfriend are you?” He teases, sticking out his tongue to Aelin. “Whatʻs up baby?”

“Aedion weʻre going on a trip, a romantic cruise vacation, and before you say no, I already talked to Darrow and blackmailed him into giving you a month on leave,” Lysandra reveals over the phone. Aelinʻs fairly handsome cousin raises a brow in question to her, “so I expect to see both of you packed and ready at Wendlyn port at the end of the week,” Lys demands.

“Yes maʻam,” Aedion complies. The poor man was so whipped by the dazzling woman, he would follow her to the depths of hell. Aelin was glad they found eachother, they both deserve to be happy.

“Good. I just got new thongs today that I want to show you. Ooh! And we can try those new posit-,” Lys continues not realizing that she is on speaker. Aelin, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, looks over to see Aedionʻs reddened cheeks and wide eyes.

“HERE. Iʻm still here!” Aelin gawks before she overhears any more of this intimate and awkward conversation. “Get a room you two.”

Lysandra chuckles, “how about a romantic cabin suite. Gosh Iʻm so excited, this is going to be so much fun,” Lysandra beams. And just like that Queenʻs Court packed their bags and instruments, preparing to embark on this new adventure.

——————————————————————————

Something had to be wrong, Lorcan never calls band meetings. Rowan internally reviewed every conversation heʻs had with the rigid bandmate of his to determine a possible source of this abrupt meeting. He recalled that Lorcan had just recently proposed to his girlfriend that he never talks about, is it possible for it to have gone awry? If so, why would he feel the need to share it with the band, heʻs normally super private? No, something else had to be wrong. Rowan got situated on the couch, across from the twins, Fenrys and Connal, perplexed by the expression on the standing drumerʻs face.

Was that a smirk? Rowan had never seen Lorcanʻs genuine smile in all the years he had known him. It had been hard enough to get the man to talk about his personal life, let alone express his feelings. Itʻs a miracle that somehow this girlfriend of his had cracked through his thick walls.

"Alright boys," Lorcan opens, "I got us a gig."

"Uh- isnʻt that Gavrielʻs job" the normally quiet Connal pitches in.

And from the rare, conspicuous grin on Lorcanʻs face, Rowan deduced that their booking agent Gavriel was just recently informed of this sudden plan of Lorcan's and took care of all the details himself.

"What is it?" the other twin, Fenrys, chimes in.

"A tour ... overseas. Really itʻs actually 3 weeks of vacation, on a cruise, and a few nights of shows,” Lorcan tells the group, “the cruise line hasnʻt been getting as much traffic as they normally do so they thought a popular band for entertainment would bring in some audience."

For Lorcan, not only was this input very abnormal, but also pretty genius. Not only would it be like their normal concerts with the generous pay, ambitious audience, and regular groupies that followed them anywhere - but they also would get a few weeks of vacation and free food. It would be nice to travel again and get out of Doranelle for a little bit, Rowan imagined.

"3 weeks of hot chicks in bikinis, music, AND alcohol,” Fenrys smiled, “thatʻs all you had to say,” as he looks to the remaining bandmates, “weʻre in.”

"Well hold on a minute,” Rowan interjects, “whatʻs the catch?"

"No catch really, except weʻre not the only entertainment. We trade off nights with Elideʻs band. You see, weʻre planning this whole thing as an engagement/honeymoon trip because of both our tour schedules."

Rowan has never seen Lorcan this content and happy in all their years of friendship. Itʻs nice to see how much heʻs changed from their high school days. Godʻs Lorcan used to be such an ass to him and -. Before he knew what was happening images of her perfect blonde hair, strikingly beautiful turquoise gold eyes flashed across his mind. The sound of her laugh rung through his brain - the first time he heard that laugh he completely lost himself to her. Catching himself – he buried those memories deep down and focused his attention back on their current band meeting.

“Elideʻs in a band?” Fenrys inquired. Lorcan didnʻt share much about his girlfriend – now fiance I guess – he had always been very private about his life, even back during high school.

“Yeah, the Queenʻs Court, theyʻre pretty good, from what Iʻve heard so far – itʻs just El and a couple of her girlfriends” – like Aelin Galanthynius, Lorcan thought to himself.

Lorcan had worked hard to block his youth from memory, completely forgetting about his high school years. That was until Elide introduced him to her bandmates, and he was confronted by the very Aelin Galanthynius he bullied during school. He regrets all of his torment towards her now, but while not knowing if Aelin would be able to forgive him, he makes an effort to be civil towards the blonde nusiance, for Elideʻs sake.

“Sweet, a battle of the bands, you boys up for a little competition?” Fenrys proposes to the group, the three men just shrug. Taking the hint, Fenrys continues, “So what do you say boys? Will The Cadre take stage on the open seas? All in favor say ʻayʻ”

“Ay” “Ay” “I planned this fucking thing so obviously,”

After a few soft chuckles, Lorcan nods, “Then itʻs settled. See you boys at the docks,” as he ushers off quickly to his fiance in Wendlyn.

.......................

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#rowaelin #throne of glass #cruise #aelin whitethorn #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #lysandra #aedion x lysandra #elide x lorcan

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barnesthesarge · 4 years

Note

ok idea! reader singing ‘my favorite things’ to bucky when he needs it most and bucky finding himself humming it when she’s not there... idk it just popped into my head

My Favorite Things

A/N: okay I love this and I hope you like it! Thank you for the request 💜

Warnings: swearing, brief mention of gore, some stupid stuff

You heard him before you saw him, and he was hurting. It wasn’t always the same thing, but you knew he was in constant pain. Sometimes it was the heavy metal appendage weighing him down, sometimes it was the flashbacks that came with long missions, sometimes it was nightmares. Bucky struggled.

“Babe?” You called out, the bathroom door shut all the way and you slipped out from beneath the covers.

Your feet padded quietly against the cold hardwood floor, you tapped the door softly, “Did I wake you?” He asked softly, pretending to be alright.

“Can I come in?” You asked, the door creaked open and you stepped into the light.

Bucky was a mess. His hair was matted with dirt and most-likely blood, tear tracks dripped dirt along his cheeks, his combat gear was torn in a couple places, where blood came out. “I’m sorry for waking you up, I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You tilted your head and pushed a strand of his hair out of his face, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He nodded sheepishly, you sat him down on the toilet and started up the shower, you put the shower chair in the tub. You started humming mindlessly.

You turned back to him as the water heated up quickly, moving into the compound with Bucky had its perks. You pulled him back to his feet.

Bucky had gone the liberty of removing his boots, so you started unbuckling his tactical vest, he sighed and watched you carefully.

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens”

When he was standing bare you helped him sit down, “Is the water a good temperature?” You asked and he nodded, you gently started spraying him with the shower head, working the water through his hair.

“Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens brown paper packages tied up with strings these are a few of my favorite things”

Bucky leaned his mouth into your palm and pressed a kiss to it. You smiled and tapped his nose, he seemed relaxed in seconds.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ

Bucky held open a newspaper and took a long sip from his coffee. He froze for a moment and set his mug down, he stopped reading and set down the paper, leaving the room without another word.

You furrowed your brows and looked to where he was reading, the headline read in big bold letters:

HERO OR VILLIAN? SHOULD WE REALLY TRUST A MURDERER TO AVENGE US?

You scoffed and followed to where he disappeared and heard his heavy breaths in the bathroom. You tapped lightly and he stopped.

“Bucky, can I come in?” You waited and didn’t hear anything, “I saw it.”

You could only imagine the horrible things running through his head, “You know it’s bullshit, right?”

He didn’t answer, but you heard him sniffle, “Can I come in?”

“I don’t want you to look at me.” His voice came barely above a whisper.

“Alright, that’s fine. How about we talk?” You suggested.

“Can you sing to me?” He sniffled again.

“Of course I can.” You sat down against the door.

“Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings these are a few of my favorite things”

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ

Bucky groaned in his sleep, and sat up abruptly, his breath coming out in low rasps. “Buck?”

He looked at you, the fear in his eyes slowly being replaced with safety, he laid back down and cuddled onto your chest. “I saw it again, the chair.”

You ran a hand through his hair slowly, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He pressed a small kiss to your neck, “Sing to me?” He pleaded.

“Of course.” You pressed a kiss to his hair and continued running your fingers along his scalp.

“Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes silver-white winters that melt into springs these are a few of my favorite things”

Bucky hummed along quietly, and you felt his breaths become slower until he was asleep again. You didn’t stop petting his hair until you fell asleep.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ

Bucky missed you. You were states away visiting your family and he couldn’t go, worried about the constant threats the world faced. Either that or he was too scared to meet them. It was a bit of both.

He knew you’d be home tomorrow, so he was making your favorite cookies, and wearing his shirt that smelled like you. He started humming quietly and could hear your voice like you were right beside him.

“When the dog bites when the bee stings when I'm feeling sad I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad”

He sighed and continued stirring the chocolate chips into the cookie dough, grateful for his metal arm. He started the song again and chuckled, it was like a mantra for him.

Lately on tough missions, or whenever you weren’t around, he would hum the song over and over, and pretended you were there beside him. He couldn’t help it.

It was you. Always you. You were his favorite things, everything about you was his favorite things. He hoped maybe you felt the same.

When a day had passed and you were home again, Bucky laid in your lap and you ran your fingers through his hair again.

“Doll?” He grabbed your wrist softly and you halted your movements.

“Yes?” You asked as he pressed a kiss to your palm.

“I love you.” You grinned down at him.

“I love you.” You replied, tapping the tip of his nose and starting through his hair again.

“You’re my favorite thing in the whole world.” He turned onto his back and stared at you with that tiny smile he reserved for you.

“Ditto, love.” You replied and he knew at once you meant it.

“Sing it for me?” He asked and you cupped his cheek, clearing your throat with a nod.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ

A/N: I hope this was good !! A bit short but I’m exhausted. My winter quarter at college just started and I’m already burnt lol.

#buckybarnesedit #chris evans #fic rec #evansedit #bucky barnes #marvel #sebastianstanedit #sam wilson #mcufam #dailymarvel #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #dailyavengers #bucky fanfic #sargent barnes #sargent james barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes

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tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors · 5 years

Text

Face to Unfamiliar Face pt 2

“Wait, Lo, are you sure?” Bug demanded.

“No, which is irritating,” Berry - Lo - admitted. “But it would explain the house, and Ro, and Virgil’s non-response.”

“That’s…” Bug was at a loss for words, and Lo looked rather wild, parsley growing rapidly at his feet.

“If no one were immune to Pat, there was no buffer to knee-jerk reactions, regardless of his avoidance of the gift.”

“No one in Wick Hills has ever looked a Banshee in the face and said ‘fuck you’,” Bug added. Leith might’ve been having an out of body experience. Could there really be an alternate timeline? What had happened to him in it? Had anyone really survived saying such a thing to his mother?

“And without a confrontation with Eirwen, there never would have been any cause for a grudge between the Gages and the Sanders - why he knows you and not me,” Lo continued.

“So…Pat’s all alone, and Roman hunts, and you’re…” Bug gestured in the vaguest possible manner.

“Virgil…” Lo breathed, as though completing a thought. Bug reached for him - just in time, it seemed, as he made an effort to lurch away.

“Lo, hey!”

“Thomas, it’s Virgil, I have to -“

“Lo - Berry - hey. I know. But what are you going to do if I let you go?”

“Find the clearing? Find the shawl? I have to do something!“

“The shawl won’t be done,” Thomas insisted gently. “It doesn’t matter how soon you get to it - it still took them years in our place, didn’t it?”

Lo let out a noise that was some combination of growl and whine. A moment later, he shook Thomas off and turned to Roman.

“Take me to the clearing, please.”

“What clearing? Why should I take you anywhere? Why should I believe either of you?”

Lo stared at him for several moments. Then his eyes fell to that half-tame cat.

“…Perhaps let Desdemona make the decision?”

“How do you know that?” Roman demanded. Leith almost agreed, except that he was beginning to believe them.

“Would you trust us at the Spider Prince’s casket, Dizzy?”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“You heard me, Leith.” He twitched and frowned.

“Lo,” Thomas said warningly. Lo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I understand the Serpent King has his own version of the story. It does not include the enchanted sleep that he cast. We cannot break it without an item that currently doesn’t exist, so - you’re safe, regardless of any implications the Serpent King may have laid.”

“You people are insane.”

“But I guess I am too,” Thomas jumped in, sing-song.

“Peridot continues: Anyone would be if they were stuck on Earth with you,” Lo said fondly.

Well. At least Leith knew now it was a reference, but he was about ready to run the changeling and his imprint through with the hunter’s blade himself. They were strange, confusing, and reckless. And yet, Leith found he was beginning to trust them, despite the fact that they had suddenly grown careless with names.

“What?” Roman suddenly blurted. “No, that is not how it works!”

“What did she say?” Thomas asked, grinning.

“It doesn’t matter, because it’s not a good reason.”

“Was it the reference?” Thomas asked relentlessly, grinning wider. “You like Steven Universe, too, Dizzy? You’ve got great taste.”

The cat’s purr was audible after that, and Roman was fuming but no longer arguing.

“Fine. Fine!” He turned on his heel and stomped off. Lo and Thomas followed. Leith wasn’t sure he could’ve gone home if he wanted to, not with his name in a stranger’s mouth and a whole alternate timeline apparently hinging on his mother. So off he trailed, the caboose of their strange train. They had been walking for some time when Roman stopped. He offered a hand to Thomas. Thomas took Lo’s hand despite Roman’s scowl, and Leith stared at the free hand Lo offered. He took it. Roman stepped off, and the forest shifted around them, and Leith was suddenly almost angry. How could any part of the forest be hidden from the Fae? Especially a Green Man?

“It’s made to keep Gentry out.” Leith jumped at Lo’s voice. He pulled his hand away quickly, his skin tingling after even such a brief sort of lingering touch. He stepped away from the others, looking around the clearing. It was - well, exactly as one would expect a Spider Prince’s clearing to look.

“So he’s a Prince?” Roman drawled, crossing his arms, his eyes narrowed at Lo still.

“Don’t pretend you hadn’t imagined he was,” Lo shot back. He walked forward with careful steps, smiling at the iridescent spiders that filled the clearing.

“Hello, girls. If I could have a look at your brother?” Leith was a bit startled to see them scurry away from the section of the casket where the Spider Prince’s face must be. “Thank you,” he murmured. There was a beat, and then he kept talking. Leith was probably the only one who could hear his undertones.

“Hello, Virgil. You don’t…know me, here. But I know you. You’ll have to be introduced to sci-fi when you wake up to understand. …I don’t know how to get the shawl from May, but I’ll see what I can do. You, and Pat, and Ro, and…” he trailed off and sighed. “You all need to meet.”

After that, Lo didn’t say anything else despite the fact that he kept staring for a while. Eventually, he pulled back.

“Ro? If Pat is not your friend, then do you know where he hangs out?”

“Why would I?”

Lo sighed deeply. “Right. Of course. The park? No, because Chad probably ran him out of it ages ago…”

“The farmer’s market?” Thomas suggested.

“Unlikely, even if it is set up today.” Lo grimaced.

“The farm?”

“I suppose we ought to start there. Although I doubt the Wallers will trust me if they see me.” He grimaced again.

“Why are you going looking for him? What do you want with all of us?”

“To get you in the general proximity of each other and hope you’re not all too old to change.” Leith was struck by the depth of his seriousness - his words had enough gravity that even Roman didn’t argue.

“So. We’re off to the Waller farm.”

Once more, Lo took the lead. Thomas followed without question; Roman, begrudgingly. Leith exited the clearing and kept walking until they reached the edge of the woods. At the edge of the woods, a shiver came over him. If the Serpent King found out, he would be gravely displeased, especially since he’d be going to the Wallers. But - there was something wrong with him having been raised by Eirwen, and they had still not said outright what had happened to him in their timeline yet. Plus, White was one of the only Fae that would speak to him without animosity, and news of her godson would be the best gift Leith could give her. With a deep, fortifying breath, Leith left the forest for the first time in his life.

“If we check the house, Ro or Bug will have to knock. L or I will just panic them.”

Leith was not particularly paying attention - he was more invested in seeing cars and farm tools in person. Seeing iron in abundance was, frankly, bizarre.

“Ro’s not friends with him, though, right? And neither am I.” Thomas grimaced.

“Well, I look like you, so I’m out even if they don’t notice the ears. And L…”

He tensed as three faces turned to him. Automatically, he broke eye contact to stare dead-ahead, neck ramrod straight - a ducked head led to laughter or cruel trickery. Leith wondered distantly what they saw. An unfortunately powerful Spring? A child with the options of “be quiet or be elsewhere”? Or just another person - bansee-black hair tied back with a vine he’d made, silver eyes, his skin paler than a fresh shoot but undeniably green, sitting a little taller and a little older than them despite how unusual that was for a teenage Fae?

“Well, they’d never hear L out,” Lo finished. Finally, the eyes left him.

“Well, somebody’s gotta look in the house,” Thomas pressed.

“I’ll do it.” Roman crossed his arms. “I’m the only one actually from around here, apparently.” Leith opened his mouth, but Roman cut him off before he could even really draw breath to speak.

“You don’t count, Green Bean.” Before Leith could argue, he was walking off to the door. They watched Roman as he knocked and smiled charmingly and made up some story - Leith felt a spike of jealousy at the ease he did it with - and read the Wallers’ answer in their body language before Roman had to return to relay it to them.

“I don’t think they were lying, either - he’s out and he didn’t tell them where he was going.”

“Hang on,” Lo said, then darted to the barn. Leith could hear him looking around inside, but after several moments, he returned, shaking his head.

“Not there, either.”

“Well, if you’re sure about the park, and he’s not here…” Thomas trailed off. They threw ideas at each other, and Leith zoned out quickly - he only had the barest ideas of the geography of the human part of Wick Hills. He entertained himself by encouraging the grass at their feet to grow higher - to the soles of their shoes, above their shoes, to their ankles, approaching their calves… He smiled as a rabbit approached to nibble at the longer grass. He called up some clover as a treat, and his smile widened when the rabbit went for it.

“Oh!” Leith startled at Lo’s exclamation, and the rabbit scampered away. Leith scowled. “The cemetery.”

“The cemetery?” Roman echoed skeptically.

“Yes. I’m certain. Let’s get your truck,” Lo said. He and Thomas took off, followed by squawking protests from both Leith (“Isn’t that made of iron?”) and Roman (“Excuse me, I didn’t say yes, yet!”).

V: The plot it THICKENS *rubbing my little gremlin hands together*

#face to unfamiliar face #laoft fic #not mine #submission

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rayveewrites · 3 years

Text

So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect.

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't.

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.”

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite.

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you."

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know.

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head. [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars. Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

#Golden Echoes

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rl800 · 4 years

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Vampire Hero (Chapter 1)

(yn) your name (yln) your last name (yfn) your full name I hope you guys already know what these mean so yeah this is all I'm saying

The moment my small hand gripped the weird stick with a bat everything changed.

Daddy was a hero and Mommy was a retired hero who collected very old things. One day Mommy came home with a weird looking walking stick wrapped in a towel while Daddy was on the couch drinking his weird looking apple juice. "Odoriko! Look at this antique walking stick! This could be the best thing ever!" Daddy looked at Mommy, as I stopped playing with my All Might toy. "Yeah and how much did you pay for it Kyoku?" Mommy looked very excited, like how excited I get when Daddy tells me how he saved people! "Well nothing! This woman just pushed it into my hands with a panicked look and ran off."

Daddy froze. "What did this woman look like?" Mommy tapped her chin like she usually does when she's thinking. "Well she was wearing a purple dress, short brown hair, and glasses. She looked very... scared. Like something was after her, but before I could ask her if she was alright she was just gone." Daddy shook his head with a very sad look in his eyes. "Ah well I can tell you this... that woman is dead...(I'm sorry fans of Missi!!!!) she was found in an alleyway with slash marks on her, we are thinking it's Stain."

That's sad. I hope she's okay up in heaven. "Well how about I make us dinner now? What do you two want?" Daddy and I looked at each other smiling. "PIZZA!!!!!" Mommy just laughed at us and nodded. "Okay okay." She put the walking stick down and she and daddy walked into the kitchen. I looked at the walking stick and slowly reached out to touch it. That's when there was the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen. I grabbed the stick to protect myself when a man covered in blood walked in.

He looked very strange. He had 2 scarves that looked ripped and strange grey boots in his hands were 2 swords covered in blood. Tears blurred my vision, "Huh those two pieces of trash had a kid?" He grinned at me. "Maybe I can take you and make you my sidekick? We can stop all those heroes who are after money and fame!" I ran at him holding the stick ready to hit him but he blocked my hit with one of his swords, but had a shocked look. "Well aren't you strong, kid?" I had managed to push him back? How I was quirkless... That's when another strange man crashed into the door. He was tall and pale. "Well there it is..." He looked from the man in front of me to me. "Well what have I stumbled upon?" The scarf man frowned at the new person. "Who the hell are you?" Tall man grinned and that's when I noticed, he had fangs. "V-vampire." The tall man looked at me "That's right sweetheart and my name is Duke, I came here to get my cane back but I see it has chosen a new host. Also you killed Missi." He growled and grabbed the man and threw him out of the window. He looked at me one last time with a grin. "Well til we meet again Ms (Y/N).~" He jumped out the window.

~Time skip: Half a year~

It's been 6 months since Stain, as I figured out who he was, killed Mommy and Daddy. I had to take care of myself. I taught myself how to use the stove and oven. I taught myself how to read, since Mommy and Daddy can't read me my bedtime story anymore. I could feel myself breaking everyday. I see little things out of the corner of my eye. I think I'm going crazy.

~Time skip: 3 weeks later~

I sat in the corner of my room rocking myself singing the song Mommy always sang to me to calm me down. "Raindrops on roses And whiskers on kittens Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens Brown paper packages tied up with strings These are a few of my favorite things Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels Doorbells and sleigh bells And schnitzel with noodles Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings These are a few of my favorite things Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes Silver-white winters that melt into springs These are a few of my favorite things When the dog bites When the bee stings When I'm feeling sad I simply remember my favorite things And then I don't feel so bad Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens Brown paper packages tied up with strings These are a few of my favorite things Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings These are a few of my favorite things Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes Silver white winters that melt into springs These are a few of my favorite things When the dog bites When the bee stings When I'm feeling sad I simply remember my favorite things And then I don't feel so bad." I could feel the tears fall down my cheeks and chin. There was no more power to the house and I ran out of food about a week ago. I'm hungry and thirsty. I want my mommy and daddy back. I played with the cane that I had learned the bat could open and there was a flame. That kept me occupied. That's also when someone kicked down the door. I had to close my eyes because of how bright this person was. "Hey there's a kid in here!" Said a gruff voice. Then I realized who it was, my eyes widened. "Endeavor..." He looked at me and then I blacked out succumbing to the darkness.

~Time skip: 2 1/2 weeks later~

I woke up to bright lights. I hissed in pain and looked around I was in a hospital? That's when I saw a blonde skinny man sitting next to me with his eyes closed. Who is this? Is he a policeman? No then he would be wearing an uniform. Maybe he's here to take you to a mental hospital.~ I gasp and look around. "Who- who's there?" my voice sounds all scratchy. Oh deary I'm not actually there I'm in your head.~ I will be here when you succumb to your insanity.~ Now I must go. Till we meet again, dearie.~ I was shaking. "Hey kid are you alright?" the man had woken up and was giving me a worried look. I tilt my head he kind of sounded like All Might but less... loud? "Are you All Might?" he started to panic slightly. I just giggled he was funny. "Y-yeah, but don't say it out loud. Okay kid my name is Toshinori Yagi and I'm going to adopt you." Someone opened the door. A man in a trench coat came in. "Hey Toshinori is the kid up?" All Might nodded with a sigh. "Yeah she's up, Tsukauchi." Tsukauchi nodded. "Okay kid I'm gonna ask you some questions, okay?" I nod.

I sat up. "Okay firstly what is your name?" "My name is (y/f/n)." "Okay um how old are you?" I puff out my chest. "I am 6 years old! And I'm already a big girl!" Toshinori and Tsukauchi both chucked. "Okay can you tell me what happened to your parents?" My mood dropped. "They are gone. Stain killed them..." Silence filled the room. "Ah do you remember what happened?" I looked up at Mr. Tsukauchi. "Well he came out of the kitchen and I had grabbed the cane that a woman gave Mommy before she was killed, her name was Missi. So Stain came into the living room and was gonna take me, but Mr. Duke saved me!" The two men looked at each other. "Who's Mr. Duke sweetheart?" "He's a vampire, but he's a good one! He threw Stain out the the window." I told them everything.

After a week I was let out and given the cane. I said thank you and took my new Daddy's hand. "Can I call you Dad Might?" He looked at me, "Only at home sweetheart, you can call me dad in public so people don't get confused." I nod. My new dad is gonna be the best!

A/N

So this is chapter one. If you are disappointed welp sorry. More will come in the next chapter~

#bnha #daria cohen #the vampair series #xreader #bnha x reader #vampire reader #vampire hero

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thenewnio · 4 years

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My favorite chapter of The Last Unicorn

He was the color of blood, not the springing blood of the heart but the blood that stirs under an old wound that never really healed. A terrible light poured from him like sweat, and his roar started landslides flowing into one another. His horns were as pale as scars.

For one moment the unicorn faced him, frozen as a wave about to break. Then the light of her horn went out, and she turned and fled. The Red Bull bellowed again, and leaped down after her.

The unicorn had never been afraid of anything. She was immortal, but she could be killed: by a harpy, by a dragon or a chimera, by a stray arrow loosed at a squirrel. But dragons could only kill her‌—‌they could never make her forget what she was, or themselves forget that even dead she would still be more beautiful than they. The Red Bull did not know her, and yet she could feel that it was herself he sought, and no white mare. Fear blew her dark then, and she ran away, while the Bull’s raging ignorance filled the sky and spilled over into the valley.

The trees lunged at her, and she veered wildly among them; she who slipped so softly through eternity without bumping into anything. Behind her they were breaking like glass in the rush of the Red Bull. He roared once again, and a great branch clubbed her on the shoulder so hard that she staggered and fell. She was up immediately, but now roots humped under her feet as she ran, and others burrowed as busily as moles to cut across the path. Vines struck at her like strangling snakes, creepers wove webs between the trees, dead boughs crashed all around her. She fell a second time. The Bull’s hooves on the earth boomed through her bones, and she cried out.

She must have found some way out of the trees, for she was running on the hard, bald plain that lay beyond the prosperous pasture lands of Hagsgate. Now she had room to race, and a unicorn is only loping when she leaves the hunter kicking his burst and sinking horse. She moved with the speed of life, winking from one body to another or running down a sword; swifter than anything burdened with legs or wings. Yet without looking back, she knew that the Red Bull was gaining on her, coming like the moon, the sullen, swollen hunter’s moon. She could feel the shock of the livid horns in her side, as though he had already struck.

Ripe, sharp cornstalks leaned together to make a hedge at her breast, but she trampled them down. Silver wheatfields turned cold and gummy when the Bull breathed on them; they dragged at her legs like snow. Still she ran, bleating and defeated, hearing the butterfly’s icy chiming: “They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them.” He had killed them all.

Suddenly the Bull was facing her, as though he had been lifted like a chess piece, swooped through the air, and set down again to bar her way. He did not charge immediately, and she did not run. He had been huge when she first fled him, but in the pursuit he had grown so vast that she could not imagine all of him. Now he seemed to curve with the curve of the bloodshot sky, his legs like great whirlwinds, his head rolling like the northern lights. His nostrils wrinkled and rumbled as he searched for her, and the unicorn realized that the Red Bull was blind. If he had rushed her then, she would have met him, tiny and despairing with her darkened horn, even though he stamped her to pieces. He was swifter than she, better to face him now than to be caught running. But the Bull advanced slowly, with a kind of sinister daintiness, as though he were trying not to frighten her, and again she broke before him. With a low, sad cry, she whirled and ran back the way she had come: back through the tattered fields and over the plain, toward King Haggard’s castle, dark and hunched as ever. And the Red Bull went after her, following her fear. Schmendrick and Molly had been spun away like chips when the Bull went by‌—‌Molly slammed breathless and witless against the ground, and the magician hurled into a tangle of thorns that cost him half his cloak and an eighth of his skin. They got up when they could, and went limping in pursuit, leaning on one another. Neither one said a word. The way through the trees was easier for them than the unicorn had found it, for the Red Bull had been there since. Molly and the magician scrambled over great treetrunks not only smashed but trodden halfway into the ground, and dropped to hands and knees to crawl around crevasses they could not fathom in the dark. No hooves could have made these, Molly thought dazedly; the earth had torn itself shrinking from the burden of the Bull. She thought of the unicorn, and her heart paled. When they came out on the plain, they saw her‌—‌far and faint, a tuft of white water on the wind, almost invisible in the glare of the Red Bull. Molly Grue, a little crazy with weariness and fear, saw them moving the way stars and stones move through space: forever falling, forever following, forever alone. The Red Bull would never catch the unicorn, not until Now caught up with New, Bygone with Begin. Molly smiled serenely. But the blazing shadow loomed over the unicorn until the Bull seemed to be all around her. She reared, swerved, and sprang away in another direction, only to meet the Bull there, his head lowered and his jaws drooling thunder. Again she turned, and again, backing and sidling, making crafty little dashes to this side or that; and each time the Red Bull headed her off by standing still. He did not attack, but he left her no way to go, save one. “He’s driving her,” Schmendrick said quietly. “If he wanted to kill her, he could have done it by now. He’s driving her the way he drove the others‌—‌to the castle, to Haggard. I wonder why.” Molly said, “Do something.” Her voice was strangely calm and casual, and the magician answered her in the same tone. “There is nothing I can do.” The unicorn fled once more, pitifully tireless, and the Red Bull let her have room to run, but none to turn. When she faced him for a third time, she was close enough for Molly to see her hind legs shivering like those of a frightened dog. Now she set herself to stand, pawing the ground wickedly and laying back her small, lean ears. But she could make no sound, and her horn did not grow bright again. She cowered when the Red Bull’s bellow made the sky ripple and crack, and yet she did not back away. “Please,” Molly Grue said. “Please do something.” Schmendrick turned on her, and his face was wild with helplessness. “What can I do? What can I do, with my magic? Hat tricks, penny tricks, or the one where I scramble stones to make an omelet? Would that entertain the Red Bull, do you think, or shall I try the trick with the singing oranges? I’ll try whatever you suggest, for I would certainly be happy to be of some practical use.” Molly did not answer him. The Bull came on, and the unicorn crouched lower and lower, until she seemed about to snap in two. Schmendrick said, “I know what to do. If I could, I’d change her into some other creature, some beast too humble for the Bull to be concerned with. But only a great magician, a wizard like Nikos, who was my teacher, would have that kind of power. To transform a unicorn‌—‌anyone who could do that could juggle the seasons and shuffle years like playing cards. And I have no more power than you have; less, for you can touch her, and I cannot.” Then he said suddenly, “Look. It is over.” The unicorn was standing very still before the Red Bull, her head down and her whiteness drabbled to a soapy gray. She looked gaunt and small; and even Molly, who loved her, could not keep from seeing that a unicorn is an absurd animal when the shining has gone out of her. Tail like a lion’s tail, deerlegs, goatfeet, the mane cold and fine as foam over my hand, the charred horn, the eyes‌—‌oh the eyes! Molly took hold of Schmendrick’s arm and dug her nails into it as hard as she could. “You have magic,” she said. She heard her own voice, as deep and clear as a sibyl’s. “Maybe you can’t find it, but it’s there. You called up Robin Hood, and there is no Robin Hood, but he came, and he was real. And that is magic. You have all the power you need, if you dare to look for it.” Schmendrick regarded her in silence, staring as hard as though his green eyes were beginning the search for his magic in Molly Grue’s eyes. The Bull stepped lightly toward the unicorn, no longer pursuing, but commanding her with the weight of his presence, and she moved ahead of him, docile, obedient. He followed like a sheepdog, guiding her in the direction of King Haggard’s jagged tower and the sea. “Oh, please!” Molly’s voice was crumbling now. “Please, it’s not fair, it can’t be happening. He’ll drive her to Haggard, and no one will ever see her again, no one. Please, you’re a magician, you won’t let him.” Her fingers struck even deeper into Schmendrick’s arm. “Do something!” She wept. “Don’t let him, do something!” Schmendrick was prying futilely at her clenched fingers. “I’m not going to do a damn thing,” he said through his teeth, “until you let go of my arm.” “Oh,” Molly said. “I’m sorry.” “You can cut off the circulation like that, you know,” the magician said severely. He rubbed his arm and took a few steps forward, into the path of the Red Bull. There he stood with his arms folded and his head high, though it drooped now and then, because he was very tired. “Maybe this time,” Molly heard him mutter, “maybe this time. Nikos said‌—‌what was it that Nikos said? I don’t remember. It has been so long.” There was an odd, old sorrow in his voice that Molly had never heard before. Then a gaiety leaped up like a flame as he said, “Well, who knows, who knows? If this is not the time, perhaps I can make it so. There’s this much of comfort, friend Schmendrick. For once, I don’t see how you can possibly make things any worse than they already are,” and he laughed softly.

The Red Bull, being blind, took no notice of the tall figure in the road until he was almost upon it. Then he halted, sniffing the air, storm stirring in his throat, but a certain confusion showing in the swing of his great head. The unicorn stopped when he stopped, and Schmendrick’s breath broke to see her so tractable. “Run!” he called to her. “Run now!” but she never looked at him, or back at the Bull, or at anything but the ground. At the sound of Schmendrick’s voice, the Bull’s rumble grew louder and more menacing. He seemed eager to be out of the valley with the unicorn, and the magician thought he knew why. Beyond the towering brightness of the Red Bull, he could see two or three sallow stars and a cautious hint of a warmer light. Dawn was near. “He doesn’t care for daylight,” Schmendrick said to himself. “That’s worth knowing.” Once more he shouted to the unicorn to fly, but his only answer came in the form of a roar like a drumroll. The unicorn bolted forward, and Schmendrick had to spring out of her way, or she would have run him down. Close behind her came the bull, driving her swiftly now, as the wind drives the thin, torn mist. The power of his passage picked Schmendrick up and dropped him elsewhere, tumbling and rolling to keep from being trampled, his eyes jarred blind and his head full of flames. He thought he heard Molly Grue scream. Scrabbling to one knee, he saw that the Red Bull had herded the unicorn almost to the beginning of the trees. If she would only try one more time to escape‌—‌but she was the Bull’s and not her own. The magician had one glimpse of her, pale and lost between the pale horns, before the wild red shoulders surged across his sight. Then, swaying and sick and beaten, he closed his eyes and let his hopelessness march through him, until something woke somewhere that had wakened in him once before. He cried aloud, for fear and joy.

What words the magic spoke this second time, he never knew surely. They left him like eagles, and he let them go; and when the last one was away, the emptiness rushed back with a thunderclap that threw him on his face. It happened as quickly as that. This time he knew before he picked himself up that the power had been and gone. Ahead, the Red Bull was standing still, nosing at something on the ground. Schmendrick could not see the unicorn. He went forward as fast as he could, but it was Molly who first drew near enough to see what the Bull was sniffing. She put her fingers in her mouth, like a child. At the feet of the Red Bull there lay a young girl, spilled into a very small heap of light and shadow. She was naked, and her skin was the color of snow by moonlight. Fine tangled hair, white as a waterfall, came down almost to the small of her back. Her face was hidden in her arms. “Oh,” Molly said. “Oh, what have you done?” and, heedless of any danger, she ran to the girl and knelt beside her. The Red Bull raised his huge, blind head and swung it slowly in Schmendrick’s direction. He seemed to be waning and fading as the gray sky grew light, though he still smoldered as savagely bright as crawling lava. The magician wondered what his true size was, and his color, when he was alone. Once more the Red Bull sniffled at the still form, stirring it with his freezing breath. Then, without a sound, he bounded away into the trees and was gone from sight in three gigantic strides. Schmendrick had a last vision of him as he gained the rim of the valley: no shape at all, but a swirling darkness, the red darkness you see when you close your eyes in pain. The horns had become the two sharpest towers of old King Haggard’s crazy castle. Molly Grue had taken the white girl’s head onto her lap, and was whispering over and over, “What have you done?” The girl’s face, quiet in sleep and close to smiling, was the most beautiful that Schmendrick had ever seen. It hurt him and warmed him at the same time. Molly smoothed the strange hair, and Schmendrick noticed on the forehead, above and between the closed eyes, a small, raised mark, darker than the rest of the skin. It was neither a scar nor a bruise. It looked like a flower. “What do you mean, what have I done?” he demanded of the moaning Molly. “Only saved her from the Bull by magic, that’s what I’ve done. By magic, woman, by my own true magic!” Now he was helpless with delight, for he wanted to dance and he wanted to be still; he shook with shouting and speeches, and yet there was nothing that he wanted to say. He ended by laughing foolishly, hugging himself until he gasped, and sprawling down beside Molly as his legs let go. “Give me your cloak,” Molly said. The magician beamed at her, blinking. She reached over and ungently pulled the shredded cloak from his shoulders. Then she wrapped it around the sleeping girl, as much as it would wrap. The girl shone through it like the sun through leaves. “Doubtless you are wondering how I plan to return her to her proper shape,” Schmendrick offered. “Wonder not. The power will come to me when I need it‌—‌I know that much now. One day it will come when I call, but that time is not yet.” Impulsively he seized Molly Grue, hugging her head in his long arms. “But you were right,” he cried, “you were right! It is there, and it is mine!” Molly pulled away from him, one cheek roughed red and both ears mashed. The girl sighed in her lap, ceased to smile, turned her face from the sunrise. Molly said, “Schmendrick, you poor man, you magician, don’t you see—” “See what? There’s nothing to see.” But his voice was suddenly hard and wary, and the green eyes were beginning to be frightened. “The Red Bull came for a unicorn, so she had to become something else. You begged me to change her‌—‌what is it frets you now?” Molly shook her head in the wavering way of an old woman. She said, “I didn’t know you meant to turn her into a human girl. You would have done better—” She did not finish, but looked away from him. One hand continued to stroke the white girl’s hair. “The magic chose the shape, not I,” Schmendrick answered. “A mountebank may select this cheat or that, but a magician is a porter, a donkey carrying his master where he must. The magician calls, but the magic chooses. If it changes a unicorn to a human being, then that was the only thing to do.” His face was fevered with an ardent delirium which made him look even younger. “I am a bearer,” he sang. “I am a dwelling, I am a messenger—” “You are an idiot,” Molly Grue said fiercely. “Do you hear me? You’re a magician, all right, but you’re a stupid magician.” But the girl was trying to wake, her hands opening and closing, and her eyelids beating like birds’ breasts. As Molly and Schmendrick looked on, the girl made a soft sound and opened her eyes. They were farther apart than common, and somewhat deeper set, and they were as dark as the deep sea; and illuminated, like the sea, by strange, glimmering creatures that never rise to the surface. The unicorn could have been transformed into a lizard, Molly thought, or into a shark, a snail, a goose, and somehow still her eyes would have given the change away. To me, anyway. I would know. The girl lay without moving, her eyes finding herself in Molly’s eyes, and in Schmendrick’s. Then, in one motion, she was on her feet, the black cloak falling back across Molly’s lap. For a moment she turned in a circle, staring at her hands, which she held high and useless, close to her breast. She bobbed and shambled like an ape doing a trick, and her face was the silly, bewildered face of a joker’s victim. And yet she could make no move that was not beautiful. Her trapped terror was more lovely than any joy that Molly had ever seen, and that was the most terrible thing about it. “Donkey,” Molly said. “Messenger.” “I can change her back,” the magician answered hoarsely. “Don’t worry about it. I can change her back.” Shining in the sun, the white girl hobbled to and fro on her strong young legs. She stumbled suddenly and fell, and it was a bad fall because she did not know how to catch herself with her hands. Molly flew to her, but the girl crouched on the ground staring, and spoke in a low voice. “What have you done to me?” Molly Grue began to cry. Schmendrick came forward, his face cold and wet, but his voice level. “I turned you into a human being to save you from the Red Bull. There was nothing else I could do. I will turn you to yourself again, as soon as I can.” “The Red Bull,” the girl whispered. “Ah!” She was trembling wildly, as though something were shaking and hammering at her skin from within. “He was too strong,” she said, “too strong. There was no end to his strength, and no beginning. He is older than I.” Her eyes widened, and it seemed to Molly that the Bull moved in them, crossing their depths like a flaming fish, and vanishing. The girl began to touch her face timidly, recoiling from the feel of her own features. Her curled fingers brushed the mark on her forehead, and she closed her eyes and gave a thin, stabbing howl of loss and weariness and utter despair. “What have you done to me?” she cried. “I will die here!” She tore at the smooth body, and blood followed her fingers. “I will die here! I will die!” Yet there was no fear in her face, though it ramped in her voice, in her hands and feet, in the white hair that fell down over her new body. Her face remained quiet and untroubled. Molly huddled over her, as near as she dared, begging her not to hurt herself. But Schmendrick said, “Be still,” and the two words cracked like autumn branches. He said, “The magic knew what it was doing. Be still and listen.” “Why did you not let the Bull kill me?” The white girl moaned. “Why did you not leave me to the harpy? That would have been kinder than closing me in this cage.” The magician winced, remembering Molly Grue’s mocking accusation, but he spoke with a desperate calmness. “In the first place, it’s quite an attractive shape,” he said. “You couldn’t have done much better and still remained human.” She looked at herself: sideways at her shoulders and along her arms, then down her scratched and welting body. She stood on one foot to inspect the sole of the other; cocked her eyes up to see the silver brows, squinted down her cheeks to catch a flash of her nose; and even peered closely at the sea-green veins inside her wrists, themselves as gaily made as young otters. At last she turned her face to the magician, and again he caught his breath. I have made magic, he thought, but sorrow winked sharp in his throat, like a fishhook setting fast.

“All right,” he said. “It would make no difference to you if I had changed you into a rhinoceros, which is where the whole silly myth got started. But in this guise you have some chance of reaching King Haggard and finding out what has become of your people. As a unicorn, you would only suffer their fate‌—‌unless you think you could defeat the Bull if you met him a second time.” The white girl shook her head. “No,” she answered, “never. Another time, I would not stand so long.” Her voice was too soft, as though its bones had been broken. She said, “My people are gone, and I will follow them soon, whatever shape you trap me in. But I would have chosen any other than this for my prison. A rhinoceros is as ugly as a human being, and it too is going to die, but at least it never thinks that it is beautiful.” “No, it never thinks that,” the magician agreed. “That’s why it goes on being a rhinoceros and will never be welcome even at Haggard’s court. But a young girl, a girl to whom it can never mean anything that she is not a rhinoceros‌—‌such a girl, while the king and his son seek to solve her, might unravel her own riddle until she comes to its end. Rhinoceri are not questing beasts, but young girls are.” The sky was hot and curdled; the sun had already melted into a lion-colored puddle; and on the plain of Hagsgate nothing stirred but the stale, heavy wind. The naked girl with the flower-mark on her forehead stared silently at the green-eyed man, and the woman watched them both. In the tawny morning, King Haggard’s castle seemed neither dark nor accursed, but merely grimy, rundown, and poorly designed. Its skinny spires looked nothing like a bull’s horns, but rather like those on a jester’s cap. Or like the horns of a dilemma, Schmendrick thought. They never have just two. The white girl said, “I am myself still. This body is dying. I can feel it rotting all around me. How can anything that is going to die be real? How can it be truly beautiful?” Molly Grue put the magician’s cloak around her shoulders again, not for modesty or seemliness, but out of a strange pity, as though to keep her from seeing herself. “I will tell you a story,” Schmendrick said. “As a child I was apprenticed to the mightiest magician of all, the great Nikos, whom I have spoken of before. But even Nikos, who could turn cats into cattle, snowflakes into snowdrops, and unicorns into men, could not change me into so much as a carnival cardsharp. At last he said to me, ‘My son, your ineptitude is so vast, your incompetence so profound, that I am certain you are inhabited by greater power than I have ever known. Unfortunately, it seems to be working backward at the moment, and even I can find no way to set it right. It must be that you are meant to find your own way to reach your power in time; but frankly, you should live so long as that will take you. Therefore I grant it that you shall not age from this day forth, but will travel the world round and round, eternally inefficient, until at last you come to yourself and know what you are. Don’t thank me. I tremble at your doom.’” The white girl regarded him out of the unicorn’s clear, amaranthine eyes‌—‌gentle and frightening in the unused face‌—‌but she said nothing. It was Molly Grue who asked, “And if you should find your magic‌—‌what then?” “Then the spell will be broken and I will begin to die, as I began at my birth. Even the greatest wizards grow old, like other men, and die.” He swayed and nodded, and then snapped awake again: a tall, thin, shabby man, smelling of dust and drink. “I told you that I was older than I look,” he said. “I was born mortal, and I have been immortal for a long, foolish time, and one day I will be mortal again; so I know something that a unicorn cannot know. Whatever can die is beautiful‌—‌more beautiful than a unicorn, who lives forever, and who is the most beautiful creature in the world. Do you understand me?” “No,” she said. The magician smiled wearily. “You will. You’re in the story with the rest of us now, and you must go with it, whether you will or no. If you want to find your people, if you want to become a unicorn again, then you must follow the fairy tale to King Haggard’s castle, and wherever else it chooses to take you. The story cannot end without the princess.”

The white girl said, “I will not go.” She stepped away, her body wary and the cold hair falling down. She said, “I am no princess, no mortal, and I will not go. Nothing but evil has happened to me since I left my forest, and nothing but evil can have become of unicorns in this country. Give me my true shape again, and I will return to my trees, to my pool, to my own place. Your tale has no power over me. I am a unicorn. I am the last unicorn.”

Had she said that once before, long ago, in the blue-green silence of the trees? Schmendrick continued to smile, but Molly Grue said, “Change her back. You said you could change her. Let her go home.” “I cannot,” the magician answered. “I told you, the magic is not mine to command, not yet. That is why I too must go on to the castle, and the fate or fortune that waits there. If I tried to undo the transformation now, I might actually turn her into a rhinoceros. That would be the best thing that could happen. As for the worst—” He shivered and fell silent. The girl turned from them and looked away at the castle that stooped over the valley. She could see no movement at any window or among the tottering turrets, or any sign of the Red Bull. Yet she knew that he was there, brooding at the castle’s roots till night should fall again: strong beyond strength, invincible as the night itself. For a second time she touched the place on her forehead where her horn had been. When she turned again, they were asleep where they sat, the man and the woman. Their heads were pillowed on air, and their mouths hung open. She stood by them, watching them breathe, one hand holding the black cloak closed at her throat. Very faintly, for the first time, the smell of the sea came to her.

#The Last Unicorn

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solynacea · 4 years

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The First Tree

Merry Christmas, @babydonut01s-world! I was your Secret Santa this year; below is a story based on The Christmas Fairy of Strasburg by Francis Jenkins Olcott. I hope you like it!

As Lord Meliodas paced the halls of his keep, he found himself more irate than usual. He had only just come from another fruitless meeting with his advisors, who continued to press him to take a wife so that he might have a son to whom he can one day leave the reaches of his domain, yet all those presented to him for his consideration had failed to rouse the barest of his interest. They were too tall, or too short, or too round, or not round enough, a high-pitched nag or a simpering fool. No doubt the old fools who served him believed they had chosen the best for his perusal; if those wretches were the best his lands have to offer, then he would remain unwed for the rest of his days. Let His Majesty decide where the fertile forests and fields go upon Meliodas’ death. He would have no use of them then, anyway.

He decided, as he sometimes did when his mind was thunderous, to take his horse down the forest trails. It was the only time he found any solitude, or peace, and he returned to his quarters only briefly to bundle up against the winter cold before heading down to the stables. A boy there hastened to prepare his finest steed; with the cool leather reins in his fist, his heart began to lighten, and he guided the horse to and through the castle gates. Snow fell lightly through the air, the flakes slow and fat and lazy as they spiralled to cover roofs and shrubs, no doubt bringing joy to the children who lived in the village nearby. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and they would sing their cheer at how fitting it was that it should snow, only to curse it when they were forced to wait for their fields to thaw.

His breath puffed in clouds as he moved through the gnarled oaks that marked the boundaries of the forest. Meliodas had no particular destination in mind. He would ride until he was too cold to bear it anymore, then return to the warmth of his halls and drink mulled, spiced wine to shake the chill from his bones. He passed bushes of holly, their bright fruit obstinately cheery, and firs with coats of lush green needles, taking a meandering path as meaningless as the continued insistence upon his marriage. When he tilted his head back, the whirls of snow drew him in, landing with soft, cold kisses upon his brow and cheeks. Perhaps he would simply remain here for the rest of his days. Estarossa could have the lands, or Zeldris. They would run it well.

It was the abrupt halting of his horse that shook him from the near trance; they were in a part of the wood unfamiliar to him, and a frown marred his features as he carefully dismounted. A small clearing surrounded him, still and quiet, and in the center was a spring, the ground near the edges unfrozen and vibrant with soft, green grass. It was peaceful, and alluring, and he crossed to the water, kneeling next to it to peer within its depths, surprised to see it dark and deeper than he first thought. A soft light swirled within, seeming to call to him. Reach out, it said, warm yourself within my embrace. Aren’t you cold?

He realized quite suddenly that he was. His hands, which he had forgotten in his haste to cover with gloves, ached with it, the fingers pink and stiff and the rings like little blades biting against his flesh. But beneath the ridiculous urge to sink them into the inviting waters was the warning imparted to him by his mother, a woman of whom he only remembered her voice and the kindness of her smile. “The forest is no place for a boy,” she’d told him from beneath the blankets meant to break her fever. “There are fey creatures there who would love nothing more than to keep you forever. Estarossa did not heed me, and he is addled now. But you will be good, and listen to your mother, will you not?” And he, a mere child of seven, had solemnly promised that he would, and he had never set foot within the woods on his own until the hunt that sealed him as a man. Yet there was nothing dangerous here, not that he could see, and steam curled enticingly from the surface of the spring, as if pleading with him to rest and warm his hands. After another moment of hesitation, he listened to the call, dipping his fingers into it.

Joy, fierce and strong, sung through him as a golden heat climbed slowly through his veins. It was not just his hands that lost the cold, but the rest of him too, until he was sweating beneath his heavy cloak. Meliodas let out a quiet groan and submerged himself farther, so that the water lapped around his wrists, an unbidden smile creasing his cheeks. Here, he forgot his worries and his ire; all that mattered was the soothing embrace of the spring and the comfort that came from it. He even fancied that he could feel another hand, small and dainty and smooth, caressing his own like a lover, and he closed his eyes to dwell on that, because it was lovely. Then he leaned over to dunk his face, and when he was mere inches from doing so he paused, his breath catching in his throat. There was another set of hands, white and smooth, curling softly around his own, and as he drew away with a shout of alarm, they tightened just enough that the golden ring he wore slippes over his knuckle and into their palms.

He returned to his horse, goading it into a sprint back to his keep. The ring was no small matter, as it was given to his family by His Majesty and marked their place among his nobility, and he was of the mind to have the servants go and drain the spring. But it was night when he returned — the loss of an entire afternoon sending more unease settling over his heart — so instead he left the horse at the stables and returned to his room to draw up a written order for the next morning. When that was done, he retired to his bedchamber, falling into the couch and closing his eyes, attempting sleep. Yet that eluded his grasp, and he settled into a half-doze, until the baying of the watch-hounds in the yard pulled him harshly from that. Meliodas remained where he was as the sounds of feet on the stairs reached his ears, coming to a halt in the antechamber. Then there were voices, loud and jovial, and he sprung from the couch in a mixture of fury and fear, the starting of a strain of lovely music doing nothing to soothe his nerves.

In the antechamber, there were numerous beings, singing and dancing and chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they flitted about an enormous fir. Some of them were no bigger than the lantern bugs of summer, while some towered to the beams of the ceiling, and their skin is varied, yet all of them seemed full of cheer. He watched them for a moment, his voice locked in his throat, as they decorated the tree with strings of pearls and ruby bracelets, golden circlets and rich silk sashes, daggers with jewel-studded sheaths and rings glittering with sapphires. Meliodas could not move, entranced by the glittering tree, the lights that twinkled from its branches, and, as with the spring, his fear melted away to be replaced by a comforting warmth.

Then the folk fell silent, parting to make a path from the tree to him. Through it stepped a lady of dazzling beauty: her kind eyes seemed cut from the same sapphires that adorned the fir, her long, silver tresses were crowned with a diadem of gold and precious diamonds, her hair flowing around a silk gown of softest azure. She stretched out her hands, elegant and white, upon one which rested his lost ring, and said in soft, musical tones, “Lord Meliodas, I am Queen Elizabeth, of the fae. I have come to repay your Christmas visit, and to return something that was lost in the Fairy Well.”

Her voice was alluring, drawing him as it had at the spring. He took the ring from her small hand, sliding it over his knuckle; then, unable to resist, he pulled her to him, and she smiled as she folded her fingers over his own and lead him amidst the fairies. They danced until dawn, and Meliodas forgot his coldness towards maidens and his disdain of marriage; when the sun kissed the horizon with rosy hues, he fell to his knees and begged her to become his bride. Elizabeth joined him on the floor, lifting his face to hers with her fingers. “I will stay by your side,” she answered softly, “so long as you do not utter the word ‘death’ in my presence, as it is the most abhorrent thing to me.”

And Meliodas agreed.

They were married the next day, their wedding celebrated with much pomp and magnificence, and lived together happily for many years.

Yet men are full of folly, and arrogance, and often forget the promises they have made. So it was when one day, after the ground had thawed and the air was alive with birdsong, that Meliodas decided upon a hunt. The horses were saddled and bridled, stomping nervously against the ground, the men dressed in leathers and light armor, some with spears and others with bows, yet Queen Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Meliodas paced the hall, impatience and ire festering within him, until even his brothers watched him warily. As a youth, his temper had been fierce and dangerous and, though he had managed to tame it as he grew, it still flared to life on those occasions where he felt insulted. Finally, Elizabeth appeared in the hall, dressed elegantly in a green gown of silk, her diadem seated firmly against her locks, and he rounded on her in a fury.

“You have kept us waiting for so long,” he cried, “that you would make a good messenger to send for death!”

Scarcely had the word left his lips when the fairy let out a shrill, wild wail and disappeared from the hall. In vain, Lord Meliodas, overwhelmed by grief and remorse, searched the lands high and low for her, yet he could find no trace of her except for the imprint of her hand in the stone above the castle gate. Years passed, and Elizabeth did not return, and Meliodas continued to grieve. Every year, remembering the night they met, he set up a lighted fir in the antechamber where he first laid eyes on her, hoping that she would return. He never married, nor so much as entertained the maidens who came to court his favor, and the running of the castle fell to his brothers as he fell deeper into his sorrow. Time passed, and the young lord died not so young, and the castle eventually fell into ruin.

And that, some say, is how the first Christmas tree came to the kingdom of Liones.

#nntsecretsanta #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfic #nnt fanfiction #meliodas #elizabeth liones #melizabeth #writing #oneshot

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theflashdriver · 5 years

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Silvaze: Tending the Flame

This is a little fantasy AU Silvaze oneshot! It doesn’t play on your usual fairytale tropes though, it’s far more like a D&D AU. I hope you enjoy!

Rain was falling thick and heavy, coming down in cold sheets to batter against a thick green cloak and obscure a radius cut by weak yellow lantern-light. Silver the hedgehog, age nineteen, had been on the road for much too long. His feet were raw and soaked, his quills and fur were matted, shivers wracked his body and nought but grumbles filled his stomach. The thick bag on his back was crushing his shoulders and weakening his knees but discomfort was almost at its end. Dirt trails through uneven bogs were a mere mile behind him, a treacherous but ultimately foe-less stretch. His boots had just met with the mossy cobbles of a small village, the first true trappings of civilisation he'd seen in weeks.

It was well beyond the witching hour, the night was moonless and clouds cluttered the sky. Buildings constructed of wood with thatched or board roofs surrounded him and, though they were in the evening, sings of life were scattered. His lantern scoped out store signs, farmer's tools set on doorsteps, freshly chopped lumber and well maintained gardens.

The tiny town of Grey Larch didn't see many tourists and those who did visit typically walked straight through the town and unto the wild lands beyond it. For that reason, Silver was rather worried about finding a spot to rest for the night; if no one was using the inn then the staff likely wouldn't linger. He didn't know the town well, alike others he normally passed through with little more than a gander in the shop windows, so when a signpost caught his eye it became his first port of call.

It was difficult in the dark but raising his lantern granted a slightly clearer view. He ignored most of the pointers, they seemed to indicate local amenities and landmarks, until he found the one he was looking for. Six hundred yards ahead was a tavern and inn called The Wanderer's Haven, it was a name that Silver vaguely recognised.

As he turned, the path ahead of him suddenly seemed a lot darker. The box's light was flickering; the range of its cast light had shrunk! Silver glanced back to the sign; words he'd struggled to read were now unreadable! The flame was fading! He'd already felt desperate but that small change sent a shiver down his spine and forced speed into his step.

"Stay with me, we're almost there!" Following the rudimentary signage, Silver soon went from running to hovering; cyan magic flickered before surrounding his body and rending him from the ground, carrying him faster towards his desired destination.

Famished as he was, Silver was willing to burn what little energy he had left to spare his lantern's faded flame. The hedgehog tore across the city, gaze thrown in all directions as he sought out an inn. He struggled to slow as he caught sight of a larger building with a swinging sign, stumbling as he returned to the ground and pushed his way towards its door. A glance to the window proved that there was candlelight inside but when he went to try the door he found it locked. Teeth grit, another glance was thrown to his fading lantern before he began to pound on the door with his free hand.

"I need a room for the night, I'm willing to pay!" He yelled, desperation turning to panic.

There was no response, only the battering of rain against cobbles and wood. Silver started to panic more, pulling the lantern deeper still into his cloak, when he heard something shift inside; a chair had dragged along the ground. A few more moments past and stress continued to eat away at him but, finally, the jingling of keys and the clicking of a latch heralded his respite.

The half opened, a bright blue eye and a tuft of brown-cream fur came into view. After a moment's scanning, a voice accompanied it, "Pay you said?"

"I have money, I have goods for trade, whatever you take I'm willing to give," He pleaded, half reaching for his gold.

"Money's good enough for me, hurry inside and out of the rain. You'll die a death of cold," The door was flung fully open and a tiny yet rotund ferret came into view. Despite owning the establishment and being the only staff around, she looked both old and frail.

The promise of coin had clearly put a spring into her step though and the moment Silver was inside she'd redone the latch and bolted back behind an old wooden counter. This tavern wasn't in the best state, there wasn't a single patron in sight yet dirty glasses littered the tables and the floor was thick with dirt. Still, he was relieved to finally have a roof over his head. The floorboards groaned beneath him as he quickly followed the crone.

"Room for," He tripped on his tongue, "One?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to charge you for a double dearie, that's the smallest we've got," She apologised, drawing out a small leather-bound book and scribbling in it.

"That will be fine, thank you," Silver reached into his cloak, intent on pulling out his coin pouch, when his stomach growled. That feeling and noise served as a reminder, he'd exhausted his supplies, "Do you have any food going? I know it's late but I'm famished."

Pausing whatever note taking she was doing, the old woman ducked backwards into a door behind the deck, "Hang on. I can make no promises but I'll have a rummage in the back!"

Seconds were ticking by like hours but he didn't regret his query. Silver drew the lantern up to sit on the desk to give it a thorough inspection. The entirety of its bronze-work was in good condition, there weren't any dents that needing pushed out, and he couldn't identify any cracks in its glass. He went to wipe its outside with his cloak's interior but found it no drier than the exterior, the streaking droplets of water and general wetness of the container would have to linger for a little longer.

As the woman re-emerged Silver quickly lowered his light from the desk, the woman dropped a battered tin tray in its place. He'd been presented with two rather pitiful looking rolls (without butter, meat or cheese to go with them), a dark green bottle and a sturdy metal tankard. Despite how meagre this meal would look to most, Silver knew that it was more than enough.

"Afraid that's all we've got in at the moment, I'll be gettin' groceries tomorrow morning," She explained, "You didn't ask but I figured I'd throw in a bottle of wine, on the house, you look like you need it."

"Thank you, how much do I owe you?" Silver asked, already drawing his purse.

"For just that? Only three gold but I've got so much more I could sell you," She smirked as she boasted.

Without even blinking, Silver drew three coins and set them on the bar, "Alright, where is my room?"

"Just up there, you're the first door on the left," She explained, pointing to a set of stairs, "Washrooms are at the end of the hall, breakfast runs from nine till twelve," She continued, though the words quickly fell from Silver's ears. As she set a rusty key on the tray Silver quickly grabbed it, "Anything else you'll be needing? Extra blankets, further drink, I could wash your cloak if you want…"

"No, thank you, that will be all," Silver quickly replied.

"Are ya sure? If you want some paraffin I've got that too, won't set you back much more," The innkeeper offered, clearly trying to squeeze more profit out of her single customer, "There's a light in the room, course there is, but that lantern's looking awfully dark."

That reminder added fuel to the flame beneath Silver. Shaking his head, he rushed for the stairwell, "I have all the fuel I need, goodnight."

"G'night," The old woman croaked, surely giving him a stare for his rudeness. That was the least of Silver's concerns though; there wasn't time to be polite.

The mouldy stairs creaked and buckled beneath him, surprising considering his frail frame, but they managed to carry him safely. The second floor was dimly lit, likely to obscure filth, but a frantic glance to his lantern proved that he didn't have time to care. With no more than a moment's concentration, the gentle orange of Silver's surroundings was overwhelmed by cyan. The key slipped free from his grasp and rocketed to the door, turning in the lock before pushing open the door. The hedgehog barged into the room without hesitation, the door slammed shut and locked behind him. There was a window on the far side of the room, with no more than a thought Silver forced closed the heavy beige curtains.

"O-Okay, okay…" His mouth was dry, his soles were raw and his eyelids were heavy. The hedgehog quickly shrugged off his bag and hung his cloak on the door handle. A dingy bed in the right corner of the room, slightly better made than the one in the left, immediately caught his eye. He dared to sit but refused to relax; the meal was set beside him, everything was prepared.

Silver set the lantern down a full pace away from his bed and, quickly, popped its lid. What couldn't have been half a minute of patiently waiting felt like a full five hours of waiting, his eyes trained on the lantern's lip. Silver picked up one of the stale rolls; his stomach growled again but he didn't dare busy himself with eating, not until his duty was done. He watched intently as the lights continued to dance behind the frosted glass, shifting and shaping before, finally, emerging to sit on the lantern's rim.

Sitting beneath him, staring up at him, was a flame no more than five inches tall and half an inch wide. The fire had taken the shape of a bipedal feline; she was cast in a bright candlelight yellow and a long ponytail crowned her head. In her current state it was difficult to make out the finer details of her appearance, her expression entirely alluded him, but her form was intact; things weren't as bad as he'd worried. Still, it wasn't as though her current condition was healthy.

A sigh of relief slipped his throat and a small smile worked its way onto his face, "Hey, sorry about the rough ride towards the end there, I saw the sign and just couldn't help myself. Figured it was best to get us out of the cold and wet," To anyone else this would look insane but being able to sit with her like this, talk with her like this, was relieving him so much, "How're you feeling?"

Her response was no more than a fizzle, entirely indistinct, but the tiny figure's body language told him more than enough. Blaze's hands were clasped in her lap, the flickering tips of her ears were slightly bent and a faded orange tail kept lashing behind her back. She was concerned, about him no doubt, but she didn't look uncomfortable. A quick glance to himself, catching sight of his gloves and boots, reminded him why she was worried. He'd been cleaning and trying to maintain his clothes but he hadn't had the time or money to replace them in six months. Things had been so difficult since she'd changed; he hadn't let himself stop, not even for a moment.

"I know, I know, I look awful," He admitted, pushing back his quills in an attempt to return them to their usual formation, "I'll see what I can do about that. This town isn't very big but he inn's cheap so, if you're okay with it, we could stay for a few days?"

Blaze's ears flickered upright and her tail ceased its waving, what'd once been tense shoulders immediately relaxed. A thorough nod followed that change, making her answer clear as though it already wasn't. Well, he supposed others wouldn't have been able to read that much into her shifts; they'd been together so long, even before she was like this, it was all so plain to him. He knew fine well that shifts in his demeanour were similarly obvious to her, Blaze always knew when he was lying, but he'd often been told that his heart was affixed to his sleeve.

Silver's smile warmed again, "Alright, I'll take a look around tomorrow and see if it's worthwhile. But first…" Silver leant down, extending the roll to Blaze, "Let's get you back to your usual size."

Despite her state, his partner immediately shot him an icy cold stare; she didn't even touch the roll.

Her tiny, nigh unreadable, expression clearly read, "I know you could have bought fuel for me and had both of those rolls for yourself."

He awkwardly swallowed. This wasn't going to be easy, "Come on Blaze, you know what paraffin does to you. You wouldn't have been able to maintain your proper form and you'd be too chaotic to fit in the lamp," Silver's explanation didn't seem to have much impact, despite the concern in his voice and truth to his words. Whenever she took in wood, coal or other more typical fuels it'd return her body to size but she'd lose partial control over her form. By using real food they'd learned to increase her size more incrementally, resulting in a smoother flame, "You need to eat properly."

The flame turned away from him, now her arms were fully folded and assumedly her eyes were shut. Seeing no other option, Silver lowered himself to kneel on the grubby wooden floor. He held the bread closer still, not daring to prod her lest he disrupted her form but making the mass unavoidable for her. She paid him a glance but, almost immediately, turned away again.

Her body language read, "There are only two rolls and you haven't eaten in over a day. I can endure until breakfast in the morning or consume something else; I'll burn up some linens or a rag if I must but you need to eat."

They were fair arguments, she probably would last beyond breakfast, but his worry worked against her kind-hearted endeavour. He uncorked the wine he'd thought useless and, without so much as hesitating, doused the mass. Usually wine wouldn't burn that well but the unique nature of Blaze's spiritual flames meant they'd burn just about anything; he wasn't making the meal inedible for her, he was making it inedible for himself.

Blaze quickly realised this of course, much louder sizzles began to explode from the small figure. As he corked the bottle, Silver couldn't bring himself to meet the small woman's burning eyes. Instead, he simply held the roll out to her again, "You wouldn't eat so I had to…"

The hissing only grew louder in response to that but, a few moments later, it finally ended. Silver felt the roll start to grow lighter in his grasp, the scent of burning entered the air. He dared to glance down and found that she had indeed started to eat, her tiny mouth would close over a section and the mass would burn before being absorbed into her form. Even after only a couple of bites she was already a far healthier colour.

"Thank you, Blaze," He said, beaming down at his tiny friend.

Another fiery grumble sounded but her feasting didn't stop. She didn't eat like ordinary fire rather she bit like any normal person. When her mouth passed over an area it would burn away the mass and deliver power back to her. This meant the, as she worked further through her meal, Silver had to twist and turn his grip in order to accommodate her eating. When she was this small, this low on power, wrapping the foodstuff in his psychic aura wasn't an option; she'd never break through. Even while she was in this state, even while he felt so worried, Silver couldn't help but admire her magic.

Their combined powers made them a ferocious team, capable of competing quests that far better travelled adventurers would shirk. They'd both been born with a high degree of magical aptitude, capable of performing powerful arcane feats even during their infancy, and had thus been sent in the mage's academy in the capital city. It was there, little more than infants, that they'd collided for the first time. Blaze, a scholarly student who struggled to control her power, and Silver, a naturally gifted student who failed at all but practical work, had found themselves lost and alone in their new home. The destructive nature of Blaze's power had drawn both fear and thus ridicule from her peers but her flames had always fascinated Silver and soon, following a few scuffles with the other students, they became a duo. It was this bond more than the combination of their powers that'd made their partnership last beyond graduation; they quested as a team, working together to vanquish the world's evils and make a living.

Travel and time had left him weary, he shook the reminiscing from his head. Energy had pooled in her tiny form, eating the bread had refuelled her. Two thirds of the wine-soaked roll had been consumed; Silver knew she'd eaten enough to, at the bare minimum, return to normal. Recognising this and no long feeling the flame's touch on the foodstuff, he shifted up and onto the bed. He was giving her some distance, knowing what was about to happen.

The flame feline dropped back into the lantern, pulsing light was magnified to fill the room's entity. A moment passed, as the cacophonous crackling of flames filled the room and Silver's gaze flickered to the door. He hadn't heard anyone on this floor, perhaps the rooms were empty, but being allocated room three rather than room one was worrying him.

A twisting pillar of flame, as tall as him, exploded from the lantern's depths. The light had weakened as the flames expanded; he could watch freely. Trepidation quickly forgotten, Silver settled in; this was always wonderful to watch. The blaze was constantly warping and reshaping, growing and shrinking, exploding and imploding. Slowly but surely the energy was condensing and what many would have seen as uncontrolled and erratic mutations was actualised into her elegant regrowth. First he saw her head in the flames, eyeless and featureless, then an arm, a leg, her tail and, finally, her torso. The pieces came into alignment, connecting and congealing into a single form as the excess flames shrunk into her body and applied detail. It was almost a dance, as she fully formed his partner was practically pirouetting. Finally, clothes made from that same fire grew and granted her a degree of further personification.

Blaze the cat was fully realised; Silver's fellow sorcerer and companion had fully manifested. The flames that made up her body were sleek, warm yellow and well contained, save for a slight flickering atop her ears and ponytail. She wore the same outfit every time; it was the garb she'd worn when her body was transformed to this state. What'd once been a cropped woollen mantle hung from her shoulders to her midriff, beneath it was once a robe-like shirt with hanging sleeves that was always tucked into a set of leather trousers. Completing the outfit was a pendant around her neck, its chain was hardly visible against her body's matching colouration but what had once been a circular timepiece still hung outside her robes. He'd gifted her that just a little under seven months ago, he'd wanted to thank her for saving his life but she was livid that he'd spent so much on her. Of course, now it, alike all her clothes, had lost its colouration to the flame; her outfit was essentially her body now rather than trappings.

Having caught himself staring, Silver psychically floated the remainder of the roll towards her. Because she was made of fire, Blaze couldn't really interact with material objects so he had to be her hands. Despite the rolling of her eyes, the feline opened her mouth and reached to simulate holding the mass. With her power restored she could break through his aura as she willed and easily consume the remaining mass. It'd taken them so long to figure this all out, how to keep her housed and safely refuel her and so much more. He'd come so close to losing her so many times.

In a matter of moments the roll vanished and Blaze was cast a healthy yellow, "I could have lasted until tomorrow," Her voice, to match with her current form, took on the tone of a crackling heart. Others would struggle to decipher her words even while they were this loud but Silver was used to it, "Hunger hurts you far more than it hurts me."

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to make you a safer size. Any stray wind or water would be dangerous. That and," His gaze broke from her and his hand found the back of his neck, "Well, we've been traveling in silence for a few days. I just wanted to talk with you again."

The sighing of fire was a sound that Silver had grown all too familiar with, "You're so naïve."

In an attempt to placate her, he reached over and took the remaining roll. It was like eating a small bolder but, to be frank, it just felt good to finally be eating something. The last day and a half of travel had been performed on an empty stomach; he'd pushed her to consume the last of his hardtack following a long and particularly wet day. It wasn't that they weren't well off, their jobs provided enough coin to sustain them, but things rarely went as planned on the road.

"How are you feeling?" He piped up, forcing himself to swallow the final bite.

"A lot better," It took a moment but she managed to admit that much, "Thank you, Silver, but you know I'd much rather you tend yourself first."

"I know you would it's just… difficult, you know?" He sighed, "When there's so little of you left it scares me."

"I know it is but you're doing the bulk of the work, you deserve aid first," She'd leant in a little closer and, thus, the heat had grown a lot more intense, "Are you okay? Have you been hurt?"

"I'm fine, don't worry. Just a little damp around the edges and slightly more blistered, nothing time and rest won't fix," He promised, unleashing a small smile, "Your situation took priority."

"Well, I suppose you were being less foolhardy than I thought," She reached forward; burning fingers cupped centimetres from his muzzle but he didn't flinch. The brush of her warmth, not the lick of flames but the heat they radiated, began to eat away at the worst of his wetness, "It was still more than a little foolish though, I'm holding you to the offer you made earlier. I want you to spend five nights sleeping in a proper bed."

Her concern warmed him more than her flames ever could, "Alright, five days in Grey Larch before we hit the road again. That should be plenty of time to heal and stock up. Do you want anything?"

"The lantern's still watertight so there's really nothing to worry about," She waved him off, reaching out with her other hand to aid in the warming process, "You should get your cloak stitched properly, it's not keeping out the rain anymore. You're soaked to the bone, aren't you freezing?"

"Blaze," He closed his eyes, relaxing into on her gifted warmth more than he probably should, "I asked if you wanted anything, not if you needed anything."

There was a short pause; Silver found himself almost falling within her false grasp. A wispy sigh slipped from her throat, "Well… do you remember the little bookshop in this town? I suppose, if you're going to insist…"

His eyes flickered open and her gaze broke from him, "Anything in particular? Did you spot something last time?"

"No, no; I've not nothing in mind really. Just some new stories, something relaxing to help pass the time," She half-elaborated, still refusing to meet his stare.

"Yeah, we've only got that one romance novel left," He mused, "Maybe we should finally start it?"

Eyeballs of flame rolled within her fiery head and landed back upon his face, "We've been putting it off for a reason Silver, it's trite. By the blurb alone I know it's far too embarrassing to share."

"We won't know that till we try it though, right?" He offered again, pulling away from her touch and reaching into his bag's side pocket. The book was a little damp but still in good nick, its hard cover had protected it well.

She looked at him incredulously, her tail slowly swished to curl around her waist, "If you're so interested then you know you can read it yourself, I'll sit right here and happily watch you turn pink."

"What? I don't want to read it alone, we always read on the road together," He whined, trying not to fall for her teasing. They'd been putting off reading this one since before Blaze had been bewitched. That thought, coupled with the sight of the book's deep green cover, forced the groggy Silver back into a state of absentminded reflection.

Six months ago they'd been recommended for a quest by one of their past lecturers. A peasant town to the south had been scorched to the ground, all of its citizens mysteriously vanishing as their homes went up in flame. There had been no further attacks but repeated sightings of strange lights and will-o-wisps dancing from the depths of the town's mineshaft. The task had been proposed as a simple way to move up in the world, an easy way to get a good reference and thus access to better quests, but the fire's origin had been far more dangerous than the expert had anticipated. Minor demons weren't an uncommon sight, menageries held them and they were key to various studies, but more significant demonic entities were only to be dealt with by the most powerful of sorcerers; certainly not two new graduates.

They'd fought for their lives in that mine, first thinking they stood a chance before collapsing it as they fled. No matter how much dirt or stone fell into the monster's path it managed to push through, it managed to lay a hand on Blaze's shoulder. In a flash of red light, faster than Silver could react, purple fur and clothes alike immolated to leave only a burning silhouette. With its single attack dealt, the entity allowed itself to be swallowed by the soil and vanished from sight. Bewildered and terrified, they couldn't even consider giving chase; they'd ran free from the shaft and bolted all the way back to the academy. Cursed they'd said, the only way to undo it was to kill the demon they'd said. Having had control over fire her entire life, Blaze was in a better position than most to manage her new form than most but, regardless, a life changing, blow had still been dealt to her. No more touching; she was left unable to feel and, equally, unable to touch without causing destruction. The creature had probably assumed that she'd accidently kill him before burning out, just as the village had destroyed itself. It'd gravely underestimated her.

Catching himself spacing out again and frowning at his own tiredness, he sat the book atop the tray and set them both on the ground, "I suppose it can wait a little longer."

"A little longer might well be a lifetime," He hands had moved to clasp in front of her but her warmth was still reaching him, "I'm sure we'll find something worth reading tomorrow, you should focus on resting tonight."

She wasn't wrong, there was still a fair journey ahead, "We're still five days travel from the capital, assuming good weather. Hopefully our next job will give us some better leads on where to try next," Of course, ever since her transformation, all of their quests had been picked with their ulterior motive in mind. Whether they were saving civilians or hunting monsters, their eyes and ears were permanently searching for that demon, "I'll try to ask around again too, a couple of places said they'd keep an ear open and it'd be worth visiting the college I think. Even if it only proves what we already know it'll be worthwhile, right?"

"Its been six months, Silver. If there were alternate methods we'd have heard by now," As far as they knew, tracking down and killing the demon was the only way to break the spell. The scholar who'd assigned the mission was deep in research but all this time it'd turned up no results, "Its wise to keep an ear to the ground but try not to get your hopes up again."

"I won't I just… I don't like you being so uncomfortable," They'd had this talk so many times but the wound still stung like it was fresh, "If there was anything I could do, anything, you know I'd do it."

"I know you would," She responded, her right hand cupping the air mere centimetres from his shoulder, "You've been doing all you can this whole time."

Distress was plain on her face, he so desperately wanted to take her hand, "And I'm not going to stop trying."

She paused for a moment, her eyes flickered shut and her head leant just a little closer, "I know, I know, it's okay Silver. As long as we're together it'll be okay. As long as I'm with you, I'll be okay."

"And the same goes for me," He swore.

Silence briefly engulfed them again, his partner returned to her full height but refused to meet his eye. Another sigh slipped her throat; she was clearly mulling something over. Just when he'd started to consider prying, her gaze finally returned to him.

"Stand up," Her insistence was plain but her eyes flickered away from him, "Put up your aura."

Silver did as he was told without hesitation; a cyan hue, fainter and thinner than it'd usually be, manifested around him and pulled him to his feet. They were eye-to-eye now, no more looking down to her nor being looked down upon. He knew what she was going to do and, admittedly, he longed for it.

She started with her right hand, gently pushing into the aura atop his chest. This was the only way she could touch him, the only way she could touch anything without burning it. By wrapping himself in psychic energy, effectively sealing himself off from the outside world, he allowed her to come the closest she could to touching anything. He still couldn't touch her, fire could handle spreading but not being intruded, so she had to lead in all of their physical interaction. Of course, this wasn't touch as he actually knew it; Blaze was touching the barrier between them and he could merely feel the reverberations. It was a tease of a touch; he felt the licking of her heat and crackling against his psychokinetic barrier but no more than that.

Her hand traced up to his shoulder, the closer she shifted the more he was blinded but Silver was more than willing to indulge in this. He felt her free hand crackle against the back of his head and then, not more than five seconds later, her forehead was pressing against his. Memories of touches they'd shared played in his mind; they'd held this position more times than he could ever hope to count. Every time they reunited and whenever exhaustion claimed them, they'd find comfort in each other's arms. Silver hadn't realised until she'd changed but he'd always been a rather physical person. Where once he'd take her hand without hesitation or pull her into a hug, he now had to await her contact and cherish what little they had.

He felt her fingers curl and toil just above his shoulders and her tail slinked its way around his hips. There was something different in the air tonight though; at first he thought it was due to his tiredness but soon he noticed a difference in her contact. Blaze was usually soft, scared of puncturing his aura and burning the skin beneath, but tonight she was being more heavy handed; she was seeking out his touch more than ever before.

"Thoughts swirl in my head sometimes, questions that I know I shouldn't ask," He tried to meet her eyes but the light was just too bright, "What if we can't break the curse, what if we never find that demon?" Before he could answer, more words crackled from her fiery frame, "I know you're certain we will but what will you do if we can't, what if we never find that demon? We can't search forever. It's not realistic, you can't keep pushing yourself like this."

He resisted the want to hold her close, he struggled for words, "I'm not going to stop trying, I promise."

"I know you don't want to Silver, but look at the state you're in. You have to take breaks, I don't want you to lose yourself trying to save me," Her next words set his blood to boil, "Or, well, what's left of me."

"You're still Blaze, you're still you. It's not a matter of what's left of you, you're still right here; holding me," Those words came out faster and louder than he'd really intended but he stood by them, "I'll never leave your side; I didn't leave when you first turned, did I? I'm used to this life now and, even if I wasn't, I'm not going to give you up. I care too much about you."

"No not like that, I meant," She took a moment, struggling to gather the right words, "You spend so much time tending to me, you have to be so careful and I can't even hug you in return. Is that not wearing you down, is it not wearying you?" Her hands left his frame but her head remained, pushing and rubbing against his, "I've accidently hurt you before and I could fade so easily but, even with that in mind, you won't want to leave me for some scholar to deal with?"

"Of course I won't, I've never even considered it," His response was immediate, not a second wasted thinking, "I'll never leave you behind, you're my partner, Blaze. When I say I'd do anything to give you your body back I mean it; I don't care what it takes to help you, I'll do it. I want to free you from this curse," He was certain that tiredness was limiting him, making it difficult to make his point, but Silver pressed on, "No matter how hard the road is, no matter what form you take, it's easier to walk it with you. I'd miss you too much if I left you behind, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I might need to stop searching from time to time, we can take breaks, but we won't stop for good until it's done. I won't stop until I can hold you again but I don't mind being like this; as long as I'm with you and you're safe, I am happy."

The feeling of contact, the fuzziness of their power's overlap, suddenly faded. Silver tried to look at her, eyes narrowing as he tried to stare beyond her radiance, but Blaze hadn't truly pulled back. His aura remained, the cyan hue obscuring details that were already difficult to make out, but he could tell that her ears had tilted. All of a sudden contact resumed but the site of her touch was significantly different.

Her burning muzzle was pressed against his; Blaze was kissing him. They'd never done this before; his touch-starved state had led him to consider this, led him to long for this, but he'd never dared to dwell on it. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, he longed to lean into her touch but Silver knew how dangerous the unprompted contact could be. His hands hovered a mere inch from her body and his eyes came to close as he focused on the feeling of her touch. Physically, there wasn't much different from her other touches; as her burning form met with his magic, Silver felt the touch echo through his very being and her heat ebbed through to grace his lips. It was all so very real, it felt more genuine than any touched they'd shared this past six months.

Before he could even question what this was or what it all meant, Blaze had fully pulled away. His fingers rose to touch his lips, he could still feel her warmth.

"I planned to do that after that mission, the day I'd turned, but…" She seemed to lose her words. No longer focused on the endeavour, only on her, the hedgehog's aura faded away, "I'm sorry it's like this rather than physical but… I couldn't really help myself," Her hands found her tail and her gaze drifted to the floor, "Thank you, Silver."

Her yellow muzzle, all of a sudden, shifted to a hot red colouration. It was a sight Silver had seen before but, either due to his naivety or obliviousness, hadn't fully understood. She was embarrassed; his stoic companion was flustered? Touches like the prior were nothing new to them but kissing was a step further. Even if he could barely feel physically, she'd awoken something deep within him.

"I-It's," He was stuttering? Was he burning up? Had he caught fire? "C-Can we…" Words continued to fail him but he couldn't act, he didn't want to risk quelling her form even slightly. She had to lead, which, to be honest, was fortunate because he was shaking, "Again?"

That fiery blush continued to spread further, "You're so naïve…"

Silver allowed his aura to flare as Blaze leaned in again, sparks of cyan and yellow resumed their chaotic entanglement. Crackling like new wood piled on a roaring flame filled his ears, it was the closest that her new form could come to purring. Despite the difference between it and the sound he knew, Silver loved to hear it so very much.

His lips longed for a friction they could only imagine, their closest representation the crackling of psychic energy against burgeoning flames. He could feel her heat burying against his muzzle, desperately trying to make some kind of meaningful contact. His eyes closed as he attempted to focus on her touch; ears scrunched and toes curled. He just wanted to hold her again; he missed nights spent huddling in their tent, how her hand would find his shoulder whenever he needed reassurance and the way that her tail would absentmindedly brush against him. Despite how long had past, Silver could still imagine the feeling of their fur hitching against each other as they shared grumbles about travel and work. Silver couldn't help but feel a little greedy but he'd been so starved of her touch; having her close like this yet still beyond being tactile was a little maddening.

He felt her licking flames trace across his shielded back and her head tilted further still in an attempt to deepen the kiss. She was longing for more too; no matter how touch starved he felt, Blaze was surely struggling more. At least he could taste and touch other things; the feline had no skin, no nerves, she was fully without feeling. It was amazing that she could even see and talk to him in her current state, they should have been thankful for that but it was just so difficult.

"Blaze…" The heat had risen, he could feel the sweat on his brow and her warmth was sinking deep into his fur, "No matter how long it takes, we'll fix this," Her kissing shifted lower on his muzzle, she was tracing along his jaw. As the contact finally concluded, her arms remaining on the small of his back, his eyes reopened and fell upon her glowing form. Her blush had cooled slightly but crimson heat still very much lingered. Using his powers had drained him further still but her contact had energised him; he found the strength reinforced his promise, "I'll do whatever it takes, I'm not going to stop trying, but you're still you. If it doesn't work then I'll still be here with you, you'll always be my partner…"

"I know, I know," Despite the cooling of her blush, a lack of eye contact proved that she was still embarrassed, "You should rest Silver, you hardly slept last night."

"You just came back though," He protested, "I want to talk with you more, I want to stay up with you. Even if we don't touch that book, we haven't read together in ages."

Silver thought that was a compelling argument, he was required to turn pages for her after all, but, alas, "It's not like I'm going anywhere; I'll be right here when you wake up, we can talk in the morning and we'll have plenty of time to read tomorrow," Her touch faded from his form, her small smile came back into view, "You've been looking after me all this time, let me look after you again. Its been too long."

She was right, this was so different from how things had been, prior to her transformation Blaze had taken charge most of the time. Whenever they had been lost or deciding to set up where to set up camp, she'd point him in the right direction and only rarely lead them wrong. Even when she'd been mistaken and had grown frustrated at herself, Silver had felt entirely comfortable following her lead. Thus, in the few cases it was now applicable, Silver would fully concede control to her, knowing that he'd have to plan the next day and manage all of their business.

A yawn finally pushed free from his mouth, the warmth of the room was aiding her argument. He knew they'd need time to understand the step they'd just taken but he offered one last time, "Are you sure? I know you don't sleep and you're just free from containment; it has to be boring in there.

"Watching over you will more than hold my attention, don't worry," Her embarrassment had almost fully cooled but she was still insistent on him resting, "Besides, you mumble in your sleep."

Silver's brow quirked, he bent down to untie his boots, "I do?"

"Oh, quite a lot," Was she teasing him? The slow swishing of her tail suggested so but that didn't mean she was lying, "Sometimes we'll have whole conversations."

"About what?" He didn't want to look like he was worrying but, equally, Silver knew his dreams could be quite vivid. Trying to maintain a guise, he dropped to sit on the bed.

"Just sweet and silly things," She mused, refusing to look at him directly, "You make a lot of promises, talk about what you want. Most of it is nonsense…"

"M-Most of it?" He cringed at his stutter, she was just riling him up… right?

Her legs crossed in the air, Silver doubted her position changed much but she looked far more comfortable. Perhaps it was the knowing smile on her glowing lips, "If it happens tonight it'll give us something to talk about it in the morning. For now, just rest."

It was a well-planned stratagem, she wanted him to rest so she'd suck a deal. Another yawn slipped free from his throat. She was intentionally making the room stuffy, he knew she was, "Fine, but you'd better tell me everything in the morning."

He didn't bother to slip beneath the blankets; he'd swelter under there with the heat she was generating. The wooden frame buckled beneath him, the pillow was practically a board, but it was better than what he'd known on the road. He'd take a bath in the morning, tidy himself up a bit and have a proper meal; for now, he just wanted to rest and stay by her side.

"I will," She went from sitting in the air to lying on her side.

This was the closest they could come to laying together, it was either this or him simply cuddling her lantern. They'd been living out of a tiny tent for so long, the former just hadn't been an option. Even though she wasn't actually touching him, being enveloped in her warmth brought him no end of comfort. It was her way of holding him without holding him, evaporating what little remained of day's rain and pushing warmth into its place. Taking the place of bodily touch, her heat caressed and tended the entirety of his form. If they had to lie like this forever then that was more than good enough for him.

As his eyes came to close, crackling like that of a well-stocked hearth popped and snapped from her form; she was purring again, "Goodnight, Silver."

A smile slipped onto his lips again, if she could hear his dreams then he hoped he'd dream her a good tale tonight, "Goodnight, Blaze."

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic au

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houseofbutta · 4 years

Text

Birthday Bitch

It was turning out to be a fairly nice day even though the weather that week had been somewhat unpredictable. The house was uncharacteristically quiet. Days like this weren’t uncommon now that Boogie was often out on the road, leaving the chaos in the house at a minimum.

Ju walked into the kitchen with half-closed eyes, making a beeline for the coffee pot as Deenie sipped from her cup, working on the crossword in the newspaper.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine!” she spoke, without looking up from her task.

“It’s too bright in here.” Ju croaked in her, I-just- woke-up-and-can-barely-find-the-strength-to- speak voice.

“That’s because you’re hungover, sweetie. Again.” Deenie rolled her eyes.

Ju simply didn’t have the energy to go off. She was tired and the days of their heated, short-tempered youth were mellowing out as they all became more civil in adulthood.

“Good.” Deenie smirked, looking up for once from the paper. “Keep that same energy when Boogie gets back.”

Ju scoffed with a chuckle.

“You tell her that too!” “Mornin’ ya’ll” Dejah bounded in, sing-song, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“The energy needs to come down about 12 million notches, babe” Ju held her head.

Dejah laughed as she opened the fridge looking for the orange juice.

“So Boogie is coming back today, I heard.” Dejah said, sounding skeptical, “It’s been months since she’s even slept here. Last time she came home, she didn’t even realize her Jean Paul Gaultier perfume was missing, since she was only here for a day.”

“You better stop takin’ that girl’s stuff, Dejah!” Deenie warned.

“Boogie don’t miss little shit like that. I only took it because I know she’d say yes if I asked her for it!” Dejah shrugged, before popping some bread into the toaster. “Besides, she’s changed. She seems like, nicer now in a way? I dunno.”

“Fuck outta here, she’s the same Bougie Bitch she always was,” Ju interjected, waving her hand dismissively, “She knows it too. Just because she wrote that weak ass self-help book, she thinks she’s an expert now in, whatever hoodoo, booboo garbage juice meta trend is sweeping the masses. Witchcraft is not a fucking trend, bro. She shouldn’t be playing with that shit.”

“True, Remember that fucking demon situation we had on Halloween, years ago?” Deenie reminisced, “All the windows busted out, it was like a movie!”

“Exactly!” Ju sipped her coffee, slowly finding her energy, “There have been many incidents in this house of paranormal activity, and I swear they all was surrounding her.” “Come on ya’ll know that’s not fair.” Dejah chimed in, turning to face them with her arms folded. “If you had some freaky secret power that could communicate with ghosts or whatever, what the hell would you do with it?”

“I dunno. Help somebody I guess.” Deenie replied. “Who says I don’t?”

“Nobody, but I’m just saying if it’s a part of you, you probably can’t just turn it off.” Dejah shrugged, pointing a finger at her head and making a mocking “Duh” face at the girls, who scoffed in response.

“Whatever, she’s so full of shit. Even if that bullshit she wrote in that book is real, her personality is still the same, I don’t care what you say, Dejah, people don’t change.”

“Have you read the book, Ju?”

“I started it, but it was trash, so now it’s a coaster on my nightstand.”

Deenie laughed.

“Ya’ll bein’ real shady right now.” “Hold on now, we’re not haters- I’m just saying she comes off high and mighty. That’s all.” “Power will do that to you, maybe.” Dejah said, catching her toast on her plate the moment it popped out, before walking back up to her room while sipping her OJ.

“Or an inflated ego,” Ju sucked her teeth, irritated as her eyes followed Dejah leaving the kitchen,“She gets that shit from Boogie.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time she’d arrived, it was nearly 4PM. Boogie came nearly crashing through the door, balancing worn Louis Vuitton luggage on her arms, as her little white bichon came running up barking and jumping all over her.

“Down Momo! Ahh! Mama missed you too!” she cooed at the small dog, before announcing, “I’M HOOOOOMMEEE!”

With closed eyes Boogie threw her arms open wide, waiting for a rush of hugs that did not come.

“Hey Booger,” Rai smiled down from the upstairs banister. “What are you doing?”

“Rai! I was...nothing.” Boogie put her arms down looking somewhat embarrassed. “Where is everyone?”

Rai shrugged.

“Around, I guess.”

Boogie pouted. It wasn’t a big deal for her to come home from a long book tour, but it wasn’t unlike them to miss her birthday.

“It’s my birthday today,” she announced dejectedly.

“Happy birthday!” Rai said smiling, and making her way down the steps, when Dejah suddenly burst out of her room, running down the stairs and hugged Boogie.

“Awh!” Boogie laughed, hugging her back. “Thank you both!”

“I have an announcement to make and I wanted to treat everyone to a girl’s day. I have big news!”

“Ooh! OK! I’ll go tell everyone!” Dejah jumped up and down excitedly before running back up the stairs.

“How are things, Rai?” Boogie asked, just as her phone chimed urgently, demanding her attention.

“Quiet, you know. It’s not boring, but since you’re not around as much, Ju goes through these combative moods all by herself and she doesn’t know what to do with that frustration.”

“Psychology suits you, miss.” Boogie smiled, with a fist bump to her little sister.

“Thank you! I’m almost a doctor- when this semester is over, I’m gonna be legit.” Rai beamed, then, slowly, her smile faded, “She misses you. You know that, right?”

“I don’t know anything she doesn’t tell me,” Boogie shrugged.

“Hello, hello!” Desty and Jayti, followed Dejah, Deenie and Xai down the stairs as welcome home hugs made their rounds and they all caught up for a moment before beginning to wonder what the hold-up was with Ju.

Finally Ju emerged from her room, leather-clad black jacket and shoes, dressed to kill.

“You’re finally back.” she chuckled, as she took her time walking down the stairs. “Next time you go, take that little annoying yappy mutt with you.”

Boogie rolled her eyes before hugging her best frienemy with cheek to cheek kisses.

“I missed you too, Miss Salty- Ooh!” Boogie pulled back suddenly, her eyes watering a bit. “You smell like a distillery, Ju, damn! It’s not even after 5!”

“Mind your business.” Ju flicked her wrist dismissively before tossing two pieces of chewing gum in her mouth. “So what are we doing?” “Right! Sooooo! I rented a party buusss!!!” Boogie exclaimed, leading them all outside with open arms. “Tadaaa!” “Wow, just like the old days.” Deenie scoffed, remembering nights past that got so wild, they all wished they could forget.

“No! Not like that, we’re responsible adults now!!” Boogie said as she led them to the vehicle.

The bus driver opened the door to them, and they all entered to see an interior of woodgrain and leather seats. A small mini fridge with wine and champagne and a small assortment of snacks, cheeses, and chocolate.

“Heeyyy! We fancy now!” Rai voiced her approval, before taking a seat next to the snack bar.

“Eee! I’m glad you approve!” Boogie clapped her hands with glee before telling the driver to proceed to the first stop for luxury mani-pedis and massages at the day spa.

As they all settled into the back seats to get comfortable, Rai filled and passed out champagne glasses, proposing a toast.

“To the Buttacreme sisterhood! May we always have each others’ backs!”

“Cheers!” ____________________________________________________________

“This place is legit!” Boogie called back to the girls as they waited at the crosswalk, to cross the street. “Wow, you ladies sure look nice, today.” and older white, gray-haired gentleman commented, looking over their collective outfits.

“Thank you, Mister!” Jayti bubbled, particularly happy with her colorful spring dress of choice.

“Do you mind taking our picture?” Boogie asked, handing the man her phone, as the light changed. “Sure! Ooh! You all should line up over the lines of the crosswalk, like the Beatles!” he said excitedly, walking backwards to line up the perfect shot as they crossed the street. “Who are the Beatles?” Dejah whispered, to Jayti, who shrugged, before serving face to the camera.

As they all entered The Pampered Palm: Nail Bar, they were met with the acrid scent of Acetone and Enamel- the combination of a sweet chemical smell that excites the high maintenance part of the human female brain; and there were exclaims of “Yaasss!” and “Okurrr!” that rose from the 8-woman group as the cushy pink upholstery and silver damask wallpaper welcomed them into the lap of luxury.

As half the crew sat to get manis, the others got pedis, and a kind uniformed woman served champagne and mimosas which Ju knocked back in a matter of seconds.

Boogie looked worried. “I’m concerned.” she whispered suddenly to Rai, sitting next to her, sipping slowly from her champagne flute. “She’s fine.” Rai said, before shooting Boogie a sympathetic look, “You know how she is… she’s coping.” Boogie, stole a peek at her friend once again, now on the phone, withdrawn from the present moment and enthralled with pondering what color to paint her fingernails next.

“Have a happy birthday!” Rai insisted, raising her glass,

Boogie sighed, shaking off her dark feelings, before smiling and clinking glasses with Rai.

_______________________________________________________

After a couple of hours of pampering, they all made their way to the new Pomerado Luxe Beauty store. As per usual, Boogie went overboard, buying the latest this and that from the Gisza collection.

“Ladies, get whatever you want!” Boogie laughed, placing her hands on her hips as they all winced, when her store receipt printing from the cash register began to resemble a trail of toilet paper.

They were all much more economical in their choices, even though she was paying.

Xai landed on a metallic pink lipstick, Ju found a red to add to her collection, Desty landed on a spring eyeshadow palette, and everyone only chose one thing, except the baby of the Buttacreme bunch who wanted six. “Dejah!” Deenie picked the excess glosses and highlighter from her basket. “NO!”

“Boogie said we could have whatever we want!” She frowned.

“Yeah! But out of courtesy, you shouldn’t be greedy!” Deenie reprimanded with a wag of her finger.

“But-” “No buts, put it back and pick ONE!” Dejah began to protest when Jayti gently squeezed her arm and shook her head.

Leaving the store, everyone was smiling and happy with their purchases, except Dejah who fell behind, pouting a bit and feeling irritated by Deenie.

“She gets on my nerves sometimes, Jay,” she confided in Jayti, “Like, you’re not my mom!”

Jayti pulled Dejah aside a moment, holding her shoulders.

“You’re right. She’s not, and she does have that way about her. But D, she has been there for you- for all of us. It’s just makeup. Don’t let it make you too mad, k?” Jayti comforted her.

Dejah rolled her eyes with folded arms, before drawing a deep breath and nodding, agreeing to let go of her animosity toward the woman.

“Good,” Jayti smiled mischievously, “becaaaaaauuuse-”

Jayti suddenly opened her bag to reveal it full of stolen shit.

“Byyytch!!!!” Dejah burst out laughing so loud, the others turned around, wondering what was so funny.

Jayti hastily zipped up her purse while Dejah made some weird ass excuse about a meme she saw on the internet before rushing the procession onward to their next destination.

________________________________________________________

La Luz Hotel was situated in the middle of downtown. It was rumored that famous people stayed there all the time, and as they walked into the lobby, they were promptly greeted by the staff.

“Miss Patel! You’re just in time for your surprise party!” The girls snickered and Ju scoffed at the woman looking annoyed.

“Well you just ruined the surprise part!” she hissed.

“I apologize,” the woman looked sincerely confused, “Since she planned it for herself, nearly 6 months in advance, I assumed she already knew about it.”

Her words seemed sarcastic, which further irritated Ju, but the look on the woman’s face was choked up as if she were about to cry. So Ju, backed off, uncomfortably.

“Sorry-Lead the way,” she said, exchanging a nervous glance with Desty and Xai.

The Suite was on the 34th floor, with high ceilings and party snacks and favors that meticulously decorated the luxury suite.

“Ahh! This is so cool!” Desty giggled, barely able to contain her excitement.

“So glad you like it!” Boogie laughed, passing out whistles and party poppers to the girls as Xai pulled out her phone to take a pic, “Now Everybody say ‘SURPRISE!’” They played trivia games, danced and talked about the past 10 years of ups and downs they’d all shared- from the happiest moments, to the saddest breakups. They all laughed and cried and caught up from the beginning to the present, resolving past fights and issues that were buried among them all. At that moment, Boogie, busted out the champagne and began pouring glasses for everyone before stating,

“I have an announcement to make,” she said, clearing her voice. “These past 10 years have been such an experience! I’m grateful to each and every one of you for helping me grow into the person I am today! I used to be selfish, spoiled and heartless, but living with you guys helped me evolve into a better person,”

Her voice cracked with emotion and her eyes got hot with tears.

“Thank you so much for being my friends! I’ll always love all of you, so with that, I’d like to announce that I’m going to be-”

“Married!” Ju shouted, slurring her words, “I fucking knew it!”

“No- I’m actually going to be-” “A lesbian!” She cut her off again.

“Ju, relax,” Deenie, squeezed her arm, prompting Ju to snatch away, stumbling toward Boogie. “Sorry, I’m trying to pretend to be psychic like you do.”

The girls winced at the dig, suddenly backing away, giving the two space, as had happened so many times in the past when a fight was about to break out.

“Ju, what is your problem? You’ve been acting like this all day.”

“You always thought you were better than me- NO! ALL OF US! Just because you had money, and you would flaunt it in our face and pit us against each other and you’re JUST WICKED! Forgive me if I’m not buying the ACT, Boogie! You are the same selfish bitch you always were, with a shiny new coat of paint and a nose job!” “Ooh! Somebody stop her!” Rai interjected as Jayti’s arm shot out to stop her from jumping in. “I didn’t get a nose job!” Boogie lied as her finger self-consciously touched the tip of her nose.

“See? So self-absorbed. That’s the only thing you took from EVERYTHING I just said!? Fuck you, Boogie!”

It was as if in slow motion. The raspberries floating in the bubbly champagne flute hit her in the face first then the drink splashed over her immaculate beat, melting her mascara and eyeliner instantly.

“No. The. FUCK. YOU DID NOT!” Boogie shrieked.

“I think I just did.” Ju said flinging the last remaining drops that were in the glass, at her, to make sure she made her point.

A Table skid across the floor, flipping over. Purple and blonde weave was flying, the thud of them collapsing to the floor sent all the girls into a frenzy trying to break up the fight before the cops were called. The freshly manicured raptor claws were out, and even though there were 5 of them, trying to pull the two apart, they were so heatedly engaged, it was nearly impossible. Finally Boogie pinned Ju flat on her back, holding down her wrists, which was pure luck combined with the fact that Ju’s drunkenness had made her lose her balance.

“You ARE A FUCKING LIAR!” Ju shrieked, bucking and thrashing under Boogie’s modest weight, when suddenly, Boogie kissed her.

The gang gasped, Rai’s hands flew to the sides of her eyes, shielding her peripherals as her jaw dropped, Jayti looked like she might faint, Dejah’s face contorted with shock and disgust, while Deenie’s hands flew to cover her young eyes instinctively trying to protect her. Desty and Xai however, exchanged a wide-eyed look that simply prompted them to take another sip of their drinks.

After about 30 seconds of them full on making out on the floor, they finally stopped and looked up at the collectively confused faces of their housemates.

Boogie slowly stood up, lending a hand to Ju, who wobbled to a stand as well…

“So… I guess you’re all wondering, what that was about.” Boogie started.

The awkward, tense silence hung thick in the air, as they were all rendered completely speechless.

“We maybe...hooked up...a few times…” she trailed off.

“WHAT?!?!?” Dejah shouted from behind Deenie’s knitted hands over her face.

“There was this time… with that Australian guy...Tristen… we might have had a threesome.” Ju added in, guiltily.

“WHAT?!?” Dejah exclaimed once again.

“Anyway… after that, things changed a bit between us… We just hooked up, but it didn’t mean anything!” Boogie dismissed.

“Clearly it meant something to ME!!” Ju glared at her, shaking, with tears watering her eyes, when she finally threw her hands up and stormed out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind her.

Boogie reluctantly went after her, and found her standing outside on the hallway balcony of the hotel, smoking a cigarette.

“You smoke now, too?” Boogie jested.

“What do you care?” Ju dismissed her, flicking ashes to the ground.

“Ju, I’m sorry, if what we did, confused you. I’m not a lesbian. Sure, we tried some shit, but it wasn’t like I made a full commitment to gayness! It wasn’t THAT GAY.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Ju sneered. “It wasn’t just a ‘few times’ like you’re convincing yourself. I mean, I wasn’t counting, but the fact that I LOST count, means that you’re trying to minimize it to something meaningless.”

“But, you’re not a lesbian either!” “That’s not the fucking point!” Ju rebutted, “You can’t just treat me like one of your little fucktoy boyfriends; use me and leave.”

“Wow, okay, I didn’t use you anymore than you used me!”

“REaALLy?!” Ju snapped, “ because as I recall, I never, not once, came to your room in the dead of night like a stray cat scratching at YOUR door.”

Boogie groaned with exasperation.

“Ju! I wasn’t trying to use you! I just thought we were having fun!”

“It was. Until you broke my heart.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Correction: You didn’t care.” Ju said, grinding the cigarette butt into ash and flicking it over the balcony. “As soon as you started traveling all the time, it was like you couldn’t WAIT to leave and have an excuse not to talk to me. You wouldn’t even answer my calls or texts, and most of the time it only about regular shit, like ‘Bring home some toilet paper.’”

“Ju, I’m sorry!”

“You ghosted me like some fuckboy. You KNOW how my relationships with men have gone… and now you’ve ruined women for me too...”

“Ju, I swear to God, if I had known how you felt-”

“Stop playing coy. You knew how I felt when I left you those dusty, sappy ass voicemails when you were gone. You knew how I felt when I made you come 4 times in one night.You just didn’t want to commit, and I get it. But you can’t just buy back my fucking friendship and, for once, throwing money at the problem ain’t gonna make it disappear, Boogie.”

“Ju…” Boogie reached out touching her shoulder, teary-eyed, when Ju shrugged her off “ I really am sorry…”

“You’re right about one thing: I’m not a lesbian- hell I never even considered myself bi, but what I am willing to admit, is I am damaged. In spite of that, I trusted you, because we were friends, and you made me feel accepted, only to turn around an reject me on the basis that you’re ‘not a lesbian’. I’d never been with a woman before you; how about you, Boogie?

Boogie’s eyes were glued to her champagne stained shoes with guilt.

“Fuck you.” Ju said, with her back facing Boogie as she pulled out another cigarette. “I never want to see you again.”

Boogie, slowly nodded before hesitantly turning around to pull the door open to see cast shadows on the floor scrambling from around the hallway corner, that let her know everyone heard everything.

As she walked back into the suite, everyone was behaving so over the top in trying to act normal, Boogie couldn’t help but call it out.

“I feel so dirty.” she admitted. “Look, guys, I’m leaving… for good. I didn’t want things to end like this,”

“Aww! Boogie” They exclaimed and began coming in to hug her goodbye when she held up a hand, stopping them and backing away toward the door.

“I really don’t deserve it,” she said, teary eyed, “I just wanted one last good memory, for old-time’s-sake, but I’m sorry, ya’ll; I can’t do this… “

“Boogie, wait!” Dejah called out as Boogie opened the door to leave.

“I’ll send for my things. Goodbye.”

As the door shut behind her, the room fell silent with a heaviness that left them all feeling disconnected and hollow. The candy nipples and crumbled BDSM gingerbread men littering the floor along with smashed cupcakes and spilled champagne, prompted them all to begin cleaning up the mess, while humming “happy birthday” in such a somber tone it sounded like a negro spiritual.

___________________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed stretched into a month, and as the weather started to become warmer, the Buttacreme house welcomed a new college sophomore who moved into Boogie’s old room and mostly kept to herself.

The awkwardness surrounding the birthday party, had created a moody tension around Ju, that, at the slightest mention or reference to Boogie seemed to set her off into a funk that would last for days.

Other than that, some normalcy was returning with the intro of the new girl, Kayla, since she was unaware of the drama and simply offered up baked goods to anyone and everyone who was interested.

“She’s cool.” Rai said to Jayti, taking a sip of lemonade as they sat out on lawn chairs in the backyard, soaking up the springtime sun.

“Yeah, she’s so innocent though.” Jayti laughed, “Remember when we were that age?”

“God, I don’t think I was ever so baby-faced in my youth.”

Jayti sighed and opened up her magazine to read up on the latest gossip.

“Oh my god!” Jayti’s jaw dropped.

“What?” Rai looked up suddenly, from her phone.

“House meeting…” Jayti said, flipping the magazine and showing Rai the article.

__________________________________________________________________

It was dark by the time Ju came out of her room. As she bound down the stairs, headed to the kitchen, she saw the entire house, save for Kayla, seated in the living room, surrounding the coffee table, whispering quietly amongst themselves. It looked suspicious to say the least.

“What’s up?” She asked, taking a detour into the living room to see a single magazine in the center of the coffee table.

They all remained silent, not certain how to break the news.

Dejah grabbed the magazine, and flipped to the page, handing it to Ju.

Upon seeing Boogie’s photo, Ju scoffed, pushing the quarterly, back at Dejah, with rejection, when Dejah, pushed it again, for Ju to take a closer look.

“...The 34 year old best-selling author was reported missing on April 6th 2020 soon after she arrived in Japan, when she unexpectedly didn’t show up for a book signing, and subsequent attempts to contact or locate her yielded no results. The police began an ongoing investigation that led them to the local den of Yakuza who are known to use spiritual mediums situationally.

Ichigo Soichirou, the lead detective on Blaire Patel’s case, reported that it “isn’t uncommon for the Yakuza to outsource to a foreigner as they are harder to track.”

April 12th, only 6 days after the initial report, Miss Patel’s body was found in a Freight container at a commercial loading site in Tokyo Harbor. The case is ongoing, suspects are being interrogated and arrests have been made, but the tragedy of Patel’s sudden and violent end has undoubtedly shaken her family and fanbase to the core. Prayers and condolences to the family and close friends of ‘The Ratchet Medium’ author. She will be missed.”

Ju’s breath shuddered, prompting Deenie to stand up and hug her, when she pulled away, hyperventilating for breath.

“She’s….gone.” Ju sobbed.

Desty ran to hug her oldest friend, stroking her hair and whispering comforting words to her, when Ju pulled away, turning her back to them and slowly, ascending the stairs as they called after her, worried.

Once she got to the landing at the top, Desty’s voice called out emotionally.

“JU! We all loved her! Stop pushing us away! We need to heal together!”

Ju’s hand gripped the wooden stair banister, digging her nails into the varnished finish, when she slowly turned her head looking down at the lot of them, standing and looking up at her, with deep concern ingrained into their facial expressions.

“These are the last tears I cry for Boogie.” Ju announced. “Good Riddance.”

With a final wipe of her tears, her footsteps receded and her bedroom door slammed shut; leaving them all frozen in a moment of time wondering what would happen now?

#ju #jayti #boogie #rai #Xai #deenie #desty #Dejah #Birthday #HouseofButta #Farewell

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ofcloudsandstars · 5 years

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so the Sagittarius full moon was wild. I finally moved to a place I’ve always wanted. It was almost a shock cause it feels like everything I’ve manifested came true. I did magic around spring equinox with a very mercurial witch (going to see her summer’s eve on Thursday!) who helped me with a spell using her type of singing magic. She does sound baths and singing chants and she taught me a chant she used when she was homeless to open a path for her to find an ideal home for her. The road opening chant worked and we made charm bags with natural ingredients inside such as dried organic petals that I would bury once I found my home.

Well I decided I was going to finish that ritual last night but also a great Sagittarian witch friend lives in North London and wanted to celebrate my move by getting drunk at the local tavern. So we caught up with life and drank a lot of whiskey (I bought some woodford oak shots in honor of sagittarius full moon), beer, and when we were getting broke we drank house whiskey and ginger beer. After we were drunk I was ready to part with her since she had to get up early then run off to the heaths to do my ritual but her being a sagittarius was like: Let me come with you fuck getting up early we gonna do some magic.

So 15 minutes later (which, it would have taken at least 15 minutes to walk to the heaths if I lead us but I let her do it) we are walking up nearing highgate and I am like WHEEEREEE are you taking us??? and its like old bougie cinematic tudor and gothic houses shrouded with ivy and old trees and essentially she lead us to the entrance of the swimming ponds. And it was really cool there were lots of groups of women out there like all clearly witches (I mean the Heaths is like incredibly magical and feels like another realm and it has not only become my sacred place but its like a living church to me but a lot of other witches obviously feel the same) but there were a trio of women in long white gowns with drums that were lost and we all greeted each other with Happy Full Moon! and helped them get back to the main road. We then descended into the darkness of the woods, like one path was so dark you could not see anything but you felt like you were diving into a black ocean with the waves of nightly breezes through the bodies of massive trees you could hardly see. The canopy blocked out the sky and any moonlight or light pollution. The energy felt so intense that my anxiety pulsed an electric-like feel up to my neck and ears that made me light headed. To be safe I did a quick protection spell with some incense I got when my dumbass was high and wandering around Amsterdam a few weeks ago and stumbled upon some fairy themed shop where they sold ridiculously named incenses such as Goblin’s Lair (the one that made me buy all of them cause I was just imagining burning that shit and my poor roommates going like: what the fuck is that smell?? And I would be emerging from my room in my long black gown like: ahh yes it is the ExquisiTe smell of my Goblin’s Lair incense.. but yeah once I bought that I bought all of them. The red is Demon’s Lust which smells kind of like a deep musky floral and I burned it before a date came over and the sex was FIRE, the yellow was Wizards Spell which was mainly patchouli based which is what I bought to the woods, the green is goblins lair which is earthy and cinnomanny, the blue is Fairy’s Mist which smells like airy floral or like violets and the purple is Unicorn’s Grace which is Aloe. ) Anyway I was burning the wizards spell incense around us making a shield then we carried on the path.

We reached the gate which in near-pitch darkness we had to climb over. I nearly busted my ass but once we reached the other side the energy changed Drastically! Like we entered another realm. It felt like a party vibe and when we got to the swimming ponds there were another group of women that were just finishing that greeted us with a happy full moon. They loved my incense and I gave them a stick lol. My friend and I went to the edge of the pond and I set up an altar space with a selenite tower, amber tealights and we did some manifestation spells. Then this girl just.. strips.. naked.. She’s like: Ok going in!! And like.. dives into the abyss of the pond.. It was NOT the warmest night. The water was like the void. But she swam out all the way to the middle and was howling: The MOOON!!! IT’s sooo beautiful!! I could only see her cause she is pale and the silver light reflected off of her just floating in darkness. Anyway I was kind of like: it’s sagittarius full moon go hard or go home, so I took off my clothes and tried to get in but my foolish ass at the time was like: oooh my godd I don’t want to get my haiirrrr wetttt (cause that would mean 2 hours the next day washing, blowing it out and straightening again) so I thought I could slowly descend into the icy abyss then wade over so most of my head would not go under which means I went in SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY oh my god when that water touched my ass OOOLORDTTT and she was all gleefully swimming in the distance all like: Look at the bats!! and I was just hoping my ass wouldn’t get sick lol. Anyway I finally got in and it was like.. the closest thing my physical body got to astral projecting. It felt like you were swimming through the veil. The water was black but moved around you like shimmering fabric that shined silver due to the moon’s reflection. I was trying to not think about it too much cause it was a bit psychedelic and eerie (and I can get visually overstimulated easily) but I was floating through this ice-fire abyss under the bright light of the moon. It was both so lunar yet so plutonian. Like my body felt so energized like it was on fire but it was an icy fire and I was so aware of my spirit. I was trying MY BEST! to not think about anything underneath me cause you could not see a THING in that water and my dumbass who loves watching horror movies was just trying to not let my imagination take the best of me wading through pure darkness so with every wade I was using my energy to also make a protective shield lol. Finally I get to her and we are having the best of time in this eerie other world looking at the MASSIVE silver moon in the sky. It felt unreal swimming under the full moon. I always have this heightened sense of energy around full moons like I wake up when it hits my bed but being in water underneath it felt like something was being awakened. Anyway we swim back cause its cold and my ass is out of shape and I am PANTING like I have ran a marathon so we get back and oh my god we were sooo wet. I used my shirt as a towel and just wore my dry sweater. We tried to warm our wet bodies over the arrangement of tealights in our makeshift altar but our bodies were just extinguishing the lights with all the water dripping on it haha. My hair is fully wet at this point and I am freezing, and I just pick a tree to go to to scatter the remains of the charm bag then we set off back into the dark path. The woods felt less intense and more welcoming like somehow our spirits were transformed and we were one with the shadows of the heath.

We got to the edge of the road and tried to order and uber and though both of our phones were at like 15 percent they DIED. So I was like: I just moved here I don’t know how to get home. And she’s like: I’ll walk you!! And it’s about 12:30AM. Anyway she takes me through ALL the most bizarre places in the area, like we pass through a gated community of tudor apartment complexes, the highgate cemetary, then at the end we find The Holly Village. We did not know what it was at the time (we thought it was some religious thing) but she realized the gate was open and before I knew it her curious fox-like snooping ass just wiggles into there and so I had to chase her down the moon lit gardens to Get Out before some old man in a cult notices us but the only local who noticed was the landlord (well it was a big fluffy cat that was watching us stoically from one of the old gothic home’s doorsteps, like we thought it was a statue or one of the gargoyles but she eventually moved) and she kept following us around no matter which garden we snuck around in to make sure we weren’t getting into trouble.

We eventually get home at nearly TWO AM and I am like you have to stay over with me cause you gotta get up early for work. So we have a cozy sleep and I knew my dreams were going to be wild that night which I had a really wild short dream. Basically it was really vivid, and I was there in this world of just blackness, but facing an endless black mirror. And my reflection I was dressed up ceremoniously. I started walking towards myself and the glass would ripple like water. I was going to walk into the wall of water fusing with this reflection but then I woke up.

#long post #full moon #personal #witchy shenanigans

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arelya-andaria · 5 years

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Vampire AU - Vines of Blood and Music - Extract 2

Wasn’t expecting to post this tonight, but as a thank you for the lovely words I’ve gotten, here’s a Christine POV, following from part1 https://arelya-andaria.tumblr.com/post/187061420290/vampire-phantom-of-the-opera-au-extract :

Ever since he died, she hasn’t had the courage to go to that house. Lost in the middle of Provence, an ancient thing passed down in her family for generations. It’s a beautiful house, made of old pink stones, with few windows to keep the fresh air in, and a roof of red tiles. A garden of wild flowers and fruit trees.

Always felt like a fairytale home, especially when she was a young girl and her father drove them there to spend the summer, after a school year in Paris in their tiny flat.

She would spend her days running through the vines, drunk on the open air, the smell of lavender and pine.

The hills in the distance. The olive trees with their green grey leaves, the sun hot on her shoulders, the wind, strong and warm tangling her hair. The river that flowed down their property, lazy and quiet.

Her father would play, as well, and she was called home by the echo of the melody on the wind.

It was their refuge, two months during which she ran and sang and just was, free to be and live just as much as she wanted. They would play in the markets, in the small villages around their home, each more pittoresque than the other, on silent hills, nestled around forests and rock pits.

It was as if time had no empire on these stones, life going on as slow as it had been nearly a century before. The roads were still small and sinuous, passing through thousands of vine lands and around the hills. The cicadas’ incessant buzzing drowning every other sound, and the wind, moving in the trees.

It was that life she remembered, with tears in her eyes, as she made her way down from the capital. As she left the highway and took the small roads to reach their house, feeling the sun’s hot gaze on her hair, as unblinking as it had been five years ago. The last time she had made the journey, with her father.

Now she was alone, and she felt him by her side, could remember the giddy excitation she’d felt every time she took that road, the promise of two months of lazy walks in the paths around their house. The smell of the barbecues they made, how they would stare at night at the sky, how he would name every star they could see.

It felt like a lifetime ago, that giddiness and freedom.

After a day on the road, she reached the small path leading to their house. Her house, now. Everything belonged to her alone, now.

She couldn’t remember her mother, dead of cancer while she was still an infant. Her papa had cared for her, been her only anchor in that whole wide world, her stone house in the midst of a violent thunderstorm.

Now that he was gone, she was drifting, not knowing her way.

Still, she’d gone on with their shared dream: of becoming part of the Conservatoire in Paris, in singing. She had the voice of an angel, her papa always said, and she had attempted the concours, not once, but twice.

After this failure, she’d quit. Left Paris on a snap, taken the first road, back to where she’d started. Her dream had been everything to her, the only thing keeping her sane after her papa had left her.

And now…

Now…

What would she become?

What would she do?

Perhaps the answer was hidden in that old house, where her dearest memories still lay.

Her fingers were shaking when she opened the door. Inside, nothing had moved. The air felt stale, and she could see the small dress she’d forgotten on the top of a shelf, and how she’d whined when they’d left and she found it missing.

“You won’t need it,” her father had said. “We’ll get you another one for next spring, and you’ll get it when we come back.”

He had never come back.

She threw open the windows, letting light and wind enter what felt like both a tomb and a sanctuary. A place untouched by the sadness she’d felt.

On the mantel of the fireplace were her most cherished photographs: the three of them, mother, father, and baby Christine, here, for her first summer. She was a year old, and already had the first wisps of golden hair, and “the bluest eyes he’d ever seen”, her papa had told her.

She looked like her mother now, all Swedish, with perhaps a bit more flesh than she’d had, generous curves that had never bothered her.

Strong arms and thighs from running up and down the hills, from helping her papa whenever there was work to do to renovate that old thing they called a house.

In his eyes, she’d always felt beautiful.

Now all she could remember were the lines of thin girls waiting for their turns during the rehearsals she’d attended to prepare herself. They wouldn’t stare, of course, but that was what perhaps hurt the most.

She was invisible.

A shadow, alone and cold, in a city as grey and cold as she felt.

Now, with the sun hot and vibrant over the green hills, and the colors of a thousand flowers, she would feel alive again.

She wasn’t very sure where to begin, though.

Her parents’room, next. The bed, cold, and uninviting. The wardrobe, a huge wooden thing, sculpted when her papa would have a moment, one panel at a time.

She quickly left it alone, blocking the memories that threatened her.

Her room hadn’t changed, of course. There was still her teddy bear from her childhood, one she’d won at a nearby fair. The years and her constant attention had not been kind to it. He was missing an ear, and one of its eyes was nearly blind. Part of his face was half-chewed, from when a stray dog had found it in her errands and she’d screamed it away. Her papa had done his best to mend it, but he would always bear the marks of the encounter.

Still, he was fluffy and smelled nice and comforting when she hugged it, letting that small token calm her heart.

Erik, she’d called it. From the fairy tale her father had always told her, in the book from her mother’s childhood. A mermaid’s prince, mysterious and gifted, one she’d always loved.

“He will bring you luck”, her papa had said.

He had, over the years, as she grew into her talent, hoping to make a career out of that, as her papa had done. But it seemed now all the luck had run out, and she drew her gaze away from his warm but misshaped eyes, to sink into her bed.

She was weary and dirty from the road, with just some food and drinks waiting for her in her car, and she fell asleep.

When she woke up, it was night. The cicadas had quieted, the moon had risen, and there were no other lights than the stars, white points in a sea of impenetrable darkness. The wind was quiet in the trees, and it felt still warm.

She felt hungry, and went to her car to retrieve a few things to spend the night. She showered, and climbed onto the roof to watch the night sky, a sandwich in hand.

She could see her shadow, so bright was the moon. Her cheeks still felt wet and aching, from her earlier tears. Had it been a mistake, coming here? After all, if Paris had reminded her of her father, every single day, how could this place fail to do it, when every stone bore his mark? When they had put their love in each corner, every strike of paint on the walls?

The tears came back, when she had sworn a few months ago they never could, so much had she cried and cried. A great, deep well, never to end, never to dry, fueling the pain in her heart.

Numb. Despite the warmth, the silver glow of the moon, she felt cold and numb.

And during those times, there was only one thing that could ever hope to soothe her heart if only for a moment.

She closed her eyes, and started to sing. Her voice echoed on the surrounding hills, the sound pure and clear, despite the tears in her voice, the shaking at times, and she let it ring, over and over, the same verses never feeling quiet enough, never meaningful enough.

I miss you.

I love you.

How can I ever say goodbye?

Feeling like a waste of space, feeling like she would never be enough, never be good enough to fulfill their dreams. Her dreams, the fire in her heart, the star she’d kept burning, low and so vulnerable.

When she finished, her voice hoarse and tired, she didn’t move. The moon had moved, crossed the sky over to the west, and the stars had dimmed ever so slightly.

She could feel the tremors of dawn, the barely there brightening in the eastern sky.

Now her body felt numb, but some of the ache had quieted. Her head felt clearer than it had been when she’d begun. Not nearly enough to be sane, but it would have to suffice.

For now.

*-*

Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot!

#phantom of the opera #my writing #phanfiction #poto #vampire au

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disappearingground · 5 years

Text

The Jenny Lewis Experience

The New York Times July 24, 2014

A version of this article appears in print on July 27, 2014, Page 18 of the Sunday Magazine with the headline: The Jenny Lewis Experience.

By Jeff Himmelman

“They’d put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on,” Jenny Lewis said. We were sitting in a restaurant in Laurel Canyon, not far from her home, and she was describing her early childhood with parents who made their living performing as an itinerant Sonny-and-Cher-style lounge act called Love’s Way. “We lived in hotels,” she said. “My sister and I, they would just keep us in the hotel room, and they’d go down and play.” When Lewis was born in 1976, her parents were doing a stand at the Sands. They split up when she was 3, and her mother — herself the daughter of a dancer and a vaudeville performer — took Jenny and her sister to Van Nuys, in the San Fernando Valley, where she worked as a waitress and struggled to keep her family afloat. “We were on welfare,” Lewis said, before describing the day their fortunes changed, when an agent picked young Jenny out of a crowd at her preschool. “I think mostly because I was a redhead,” she said. “And I was a weird little kid, a weird little tomboy.”

She soon landed her first commercial, for Jell-O, and came under the wing of Iris Burton, an eminent children’s agent who represented River and Joaquin Phoenix and Fred Savage. Lewis started working steadily in commercials, television (“The Golden Girls,” “Growing Pains,” “Mr. Belvedere”) and film (“The Wizard,” “Troop Beverly Hills,” “Pleasantville”), living the surreal and somewhat communal life of a child star in the ‘80s. She spent her days being tutored on set and her evenings at places like Alphy’s Soda Pop Club in Hollywood, which catered exclusively to kids in the industry. At a party there when Lewis was 10, the actor Corey Haim handed her a cassette tape with Run-D.M.C. on one side and the Beastie Boys on the other. “There have been a couple of cassette tapes that have changed my life,” she said, “and that was the first one” — the tape that got her hooked on hip-hop, which eventually led her to songwriting.

I asked Lewis when she first fully realized the role she played in her family, the depth of their dependence on her. “Eight years old,” she said. “I remember the moment. That’s a pretty big thing for a kid to realize. And I remember the power in that.” By the time she was 14 or 15, with nobody to answer to, she could be as wild as she liked as long as she showed up to work and hit her marks. “I was up for it, honestly,” she said. “I loved the work and I loved the people, and it kind of prepped me for what I do now.”

What Lewis does now, the music she makes, is hard to characterize. She is often compared with Joni Mitchell and Emmylou Harris, and there is a kind of timelessness to the way she writes and sings. But the throwback stuff doesn’t quite capture her. Among some music fans — including many other well-known musicians — Lewis is considered a kind of indie goddess, a stylish performer who defies genre and salts her songs with a sly and off-kilter intelligence. Her first band, Rilo Kiley, signed a major-label deal with Warner Bros. Records in 2005; her first side project, the Postal Service, led by Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie, sold more than a million copies of its debut; and she has released two well-received solo records since then. Next week, she will release a third, “The Voyager,” her first solo effort in six years. It has been a battle to get it out. Among other things, she has dealt with the death of her father, writer’s block and bouts of insomnia so severe and debilitating that she said they left her almost unable to function for nearly two years.

You’d never guess that from meeting her, though. She talks like a true child of L.A. — the “bro"s and “dude"s flow freely, without affectation — and her go-to traveling costume is a vintage Adidas track suit, Adidas shell-top sneakers and, on the day I first met her, hot-pink lipstick and oversize sunglasses. She lives with her longtime boyfriend and collaborator, the musician Johnathan Rice, up a long canyon road in the hills that separate the San Fernando Valley from downtown Los Angeles. Her house (called “Mint Chip” for its brown-and-light-green exterior) is set into the hillside, looking out over a ravine. There is a rehearsal space with a drum kit, a P.A. and some vintage gear, an old piano in the living room and a vinyl edition of James Taylor’s “Sweet Baby James” propped up beside the fireplace. Beyond the small pool in the back yard there’s a windowed gazebo that Rice uses as his songwriting space. Whatever you are imagining of the California light and the laid-back lifestyle: yes.

Historically, nearby Laurel Canyon has been synonymous with a certain kind of lush ‘60s acoustic-and-multipart-harmony sound, but Lewis’s musical roots spring from the ‘90s and the smart indie rock of Elliott Smith and Pavement. When she was 20 or so, her acting career wasn’t where she wanted it to be, and she saw that she needed to make a change. “I was the best friend,” she said. “I was the friend, forever. I wanted the big, juicy roles, and they didn’t come to me.” (She read for the part of Bunny in the Coen brothers’ film “The Big Lebowski,” for one, but didn’t get it.) She had known Blake Sennett, another former child actor, since she was 17, and they began writing together and eventually formed Rilo Kiley.

She and Sennett dated and broke up and kept playing together. The relationship was always fraught (Gibbard remembers Lewis screaming at Sennett over the phone during the first Postal Service tour), but Lewis said it gave her the confidence she needed to become a real songwriter. “Through my partnership with Blake, I found a voice within myself that I didn’t know I had,” she said. “It sounds kind of cheesy, but I figured out who I was.” From the first lines of the first song on Rilo Kiley’s debut record, a track called “Go Ahead,” you can hear the DNA of the musician Lewis has become nearly 15 years later — a floating, distinct voice, an unpredictable melody, a wryly subverted rhyme.

The link between songwriting and autobiography is a tantalizing but tenuous one, and Lewis prefers to preserve as much mystery as she can. But she affirms that she has never written anything more personal than “Better Son/Daughter,” one of the strongest tracks off Rilo Kiley’s second record, “The Execution of All Things.” The song is about waking up in the morning and being unable to open your eyes or get out of bed: “And your mother’s still calling you, insane and high/Swearing it’s different this time.” Eventually it opens into an anthem of wounded fortitude, the kind you can imagine cars full of young women screaming along to. The actress Anne Hathaway, one of Lewis’s close friends, told me that she still turns to that song whenever she’s struggling. “It’s become almost like a prayer,” she said.

Outside whatever veiled references she makes in her music, Lewis doesn’t talk much about her mother. She acknowledged that it was a “difficult relationship” and that she didn’t have a “traditional upbringing,” but that was about it. At one point, I referred to a report in The Boston Globe in 1992, when Lewis was 16, noting that she owned a house in Sherman Oaks and a townhouse in North Hollywood. “We lost all of that,” she said, with a blankness I hadn’t seen from her before. I asked her why. “We just lost ‘em,” she said. “I achieved a lot as a child, I supported my family, but in the end we lost it all.”

In 2004, Rilo Kiley toured with Coldplay, but Lewis was still scraping by, living in a small apartment in Silver Lake with an Iranian rockabilly musician she found on Craigslist. In her bedroom, when she wasn’t on tour, she wrote the songs that would become “Rabbit Fur Coat,” her first solo record. The idea for it came from Conor Oberst, the songwriter (also known as the frontman of Bright Eyes) who helped form Saddle Creek Records, which had put out “The Execution of All Things.” “I encouraged her,” Oberst told me. “You know, why don’t you step away from this thing that is obviously causing you a lot of distress and make a record on your own?” Sennett had already made a solo record, which upset Lewis. “I was so jealous if someone else got Blake’s musical attention,” she told me. “I was shattered by it.” She made “Rabbit Fur Coat,” she said, in part to prove that “I can do it too on my own — I don’t need you.”

The songs on “Rabbit Fur Coat” are ethereal and haunted, rooted in deep Southern and gospel-inflected melodic traditions. On the record’s title track, Lewis’s lyrics again invite comparison with her family life:

Let’s move ahead 20 years, shall we? She was waitressing on welfare, we were living in the valley A lady says to my ma, “You treat your girl as your spouse You can live in a mansion house.”

And so we did, and I became a hundred-thousand-dollar kid . . . But I’m not bitter about it I’ve packed up my things and let them have at it And the fortune faded, as fortunes often do And so did that mansion house

Where my ma is now, I don’t know She was living in her car, I was living on the road And I hear she’s putting stuff up her nose . . .

After the record was done, Lewis went on tour with Rilo Kiley. When the band played the Showbox in Seattle in 2005, Gibbard picked her up after sound check. They’d become friends during the Postal Service tour a few years earlier. As they drove around in Gibbard’s car, Lewis played the new songs for him. “I just remember, all hyperbole aside, being completely blown away,” Gibbard said. “It was undoubtedly the best thing that she had done.” The press shared Gibbard’s reaction, and Lewis got more attention on her own than Rilo Kiley had ever gotten as a band. “Everything was so easy for the first time,” she said. “It just unfolded so naturally. And then going out on the road and touring was the most fun I’ve ever had on tour. There was no tension for the first time.” Rilo Kiley would put out one more record, but it soon became clear that it would be their last.

“I want to show you something,” Lewis said. We were talking in her kitchen about her second solo release, “Acid Tongue,” which she recorded over three weeks in 2008 at the legendary Sound City Studios in Van Nuys. The record had a bunch of special guests on it — Elvis Costello, Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes — but the most meaningful one was Lewis’s dad, who died in 2010. In the living room, she pointed out a glass vitrine on top of the piano that held one of her father’s chromatic bass harmonicas. Before the “Acid Tongue” sessions, she hadn’t spoken to her father in years, but she felt comfortable enough with the musical family she had created around her — Rilo Kiley’s drummer, Jason Boesel; Johnathan Rice; some other musicians from the Laurel Canyon set — that she thought she could handle having him around. He played on the track “Jack Killed Mom,” and the reunion helped Lewis forgive him for leaving the family all those years ago. “He was playing lounges in Alaska,” Lewis said of when she tracked him down and asked him to play on the album. “That’s why I never saw him. It was not a malicious thing. My dad was a savant. He never drove a car, he never had a bank account,” she said. “I don’t even know if he realized that he wasn’t around, you know? I think he was just playing his gigs, trying to make a living.”

“Acid Tongue” was also a step toward recording everything all at once, live, to an analog tape machine — instead of in pieces to a computer. It’s a process that Lewis has developed a devotion to, and one that the songwriter and producer Ryan Adams would push to an extreme on “The Voyager.” (After “Acid Tongue,” Lewis and Rice released “I’m Having Fun Now” in 2010, an underrated duo record that failed to get the kind of traction they hoped for.) For the last few years, Lewis had been sitting on many of the songs that would make up “The Voyager,” battling insomnia and struggling to get them down. She ran into Adams in Los Angeles and told him she had some songs she was working on, and he invited her to come by his studio, Pax-Am, on the Sunset Strip. She played a few of the tunes for him on her acoustic guitar.

‘My dad was a savant,’ Lewis said. ‘He never drove a car, he never had a bank account. I don’t even know if he realized that he wasn’t around, you know?’

“My initial impression was there were some really minimal but necessary things that had to happen,” Adams told me. “I could tell that she had sat with them a little too long.” (Lewis agrees: “I was like: ‘Dude, go for it. Help me.’ ”) On the first song that they worked on together, “She’s Not Me,” they changed the key to relax Lewis’s voice, and then Adams and his production partner, Mike Viola, strapped on electric guitars and rolled through the full song, three times, with Lewis playing and singing live with a backing band. Adams pronounced the track finished for the time being and said they would move on, without even listening back to what they’d done. “For Jenny, revisionism wouldn’t have worked,” Adams said. “The version she would play on the couch in the control room, we would just stand there, like, ‘Wow, this is classic songwriting.’ Every time. So that was sort of my mission. How do we get an ‘unmind’ vibe here and then go back later and look at these beautiful raw takes and just splash a little bit of watercolor on them.” Lewis ended up recording the bulk of the record with Adams over 10 days. (She worked on the single, “Just One of the Guys,” separately with Beck before she and Adams went into the studio together.)

“The Voyager” is an older and more direct record than her previous two. Her characters are still drinking and doing blow and cheating on each other, but there is a kind of weariness to it all. One line in particular has caught the early attention of some of her many female fans, during the bridge of “Just One of the Guys”: “There’s only one difference between you and me/When I look at myself all I can see/I’m just another lady without a baby.” She has been hesitant to acknowledge what that line specifically means to her. “I wanted to communicate some very basic things,” she told me, without saying what they were. She was already starting to regret having talked about some of her other struggles while making the record, including open discussion of the insomnia that plagued her. “Now everyone’s asking me about insomnia, which I’m terrified is going to happen to me again,” she said. “You can’t think about it too much, and everyone’s asking me about it, and I’m like, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ But, [expletive], am I not going to get to sleep again?” You could hear the fear in her voice. “It’s my fault for putting it out there,” she said.

The video for “Just One of the Guys,” which got more than a million views in its first 24 hours online, was made with the actresses (and Lewis’s friends) Anne Hathaway, Brie Larson, Kristen Stewart and Tennessee Thomas. It’s an entertaining video, part Robert Palmer, part Beastie Boys, with the women spending half the time playing a sleek female backing band and then switching into male roles, clowning around in Lewis-inspired Adidas track suits and fake mustaches. Lewis, as herself, holds up a positive pregnancy test, to which Lewis-in-drag-and-fake-goatee responds, “It’s not [expletive] mine.” When she gets to the “just another lady without a baby” line, she smiles at the camera and then dances. It’s a house of mirrors, a romp through emotionally treacherous terrain.

When I visited Lewis in June, she and Rice (she calls him “Rico”) showed me an early cut of the video in the bedroom of their house, with Lewis calling out “bra shot” whenever we caught a glimpse of her cleavage. Driving down the hill toward dinner later, we got to talking, if somewhat obliquely, about the expectations of her female fans and the sexuality that is inseparable from who she is and the music she makes. She didn’t like to talk about feminism, she said, and in particular the trend of women criticizing one another for not being feminist enough: “What does it matter what I think of Lana Del Rey?” In the months before the release of “The Voyager,” Lewis has taken to wearing airbrushed suits for her live shows, rather than the sexier get-ups she used to wear onstage; she has said she feels “androgynous” these days and wants her costume to reflect that. But not always. As we made our way down the ravine, she told a story about the day President Obama came to visit a compound not far from Mint Chip. She wanted to go out for a run, but a Secret Service member stopped her and told her she needed an ID if she wanted to get back through the security cordon. “I was like, ‘Dude, I’m wearing short shorts,’ ” Lewis said. " ‘You’ll remember me.’ ”

After recording and touring mostly with men in the early days, Lewis now consistently seeks out women for her band and even tried to put together an all-female crew for the “Just One of the Guys” video, which she also directed. She said her desire to work largely with women was a response to the dissolution of her relationship with her mom. “The more I surround myself with women, the easier it is to reconcile my past in a way.” It seems to be serving a kind of psychic need, to replace the female relationship that once dominated her life with a kind of surrogate family of her choosing, a family that has stood behind her through the struggles of the last few years.

“I’m happy to see her making records,” Beck told me. “I just feel like music needs her. It needs someone doing what she’s doing. She’s got a special voice, as a writer, and then as a musician. She’s this great combination of so many things.” Conor Oberst shares that view, describing Lewis as one of the most important songwriters and performers in contemporary music. “Go see her play,” Oberst said. “Because we should all feel lucky to be around while she’s doing her magic.”

On a night in early June, at a sold-out show at the 9:30 Club in Washington, Lewis had her magic all lined up and ready to go. Backstage, she was relaxed, joking with her band and casually doing her makeup in the mirror on the wall. Just before show time, one band member disappeared, but Lewis was unperturbed. “It’s O.K.,” she said with a smile when he showed up, apologizing, just as they were about to go on. “You made it!” She took a sip of red wine out of a plastic cup and then walked up the steps to the stage.

‘I just feel like music needs her,’ Beck said. ‘It needs someone doing what she’s doing. She’s got a special voice, as a writer, and then as a musician.’

To watch Lewis perform live is to understand what Beck and Oberst and other musicians admire in her. “She turns into this other person on stage,” Gibbard said, “this unbelievably powerful performer” — and it’s true. Lewis is both a natural and a pro. Throughout the night, she had big middle-aged guys and teenage girls — “teeny little chickens,” as she called them later — singing along to every word. During the encore, Lewis sang the ballad “Acid Tongue” accompanied only by her acoustic guitar and the rest of her band grouped around a microphone behind her. “To be lonely is a habit,” Lewis sang, her voice ringing out in the near-silent room, “like smoking or taking drugs, and I’ve quit them both. . . . " The audience and her band belted along with her as she finished the line: “But man was it rough.”

It was one of those lovely moments you hope for in live music, when everything in the room connects. But it was also a kind of emblem of where Lewis has been and of where she is now. She has overcome all kinds of obstacles to get here, often with great style, but it hasn’t always been pretty. Whatever demons stole her sleep for these last few years, they’ve surely been with her forever, in one form or another. But they are also what gives such depth and soul to what she does. “I’m not looking for a cure,” Lewis sang, and as she stood in the spotlight at the 9:30 Club, nobody there would have thought she needed one.

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