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justasimplesinner · 3 years

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Please for the love of fuck give me a happy ending to the riddler/scarecrow breaking hcs that may or may not start off with the reader running into them again and being understandably pissed. I just want to throw a vase at Eddie. I can have a mature conversation with Johnathan with some raised voices and some crying from both parties but I want to throttle that green goblin lookin motherfucker. I want to see fear in that man's eyes as I curbstomp his stank ass for living in my head and never paying rent. Cause that shit broke me no pun intended.

I'm a soft bitch I need someone to put a bandaid on the hurtie and kiss is to make it feel better.

ugh, you fuckin' softies. continuation of this post

Arkham Knight!Riddler getting his happy ending hcs:

like i stated in the previous post, you two may have not been together anymore, but that didn't mean he'd leave you alone. you were the last bit of his sanity, at this point, he didn't know how to live without you. he was constantly lying to himself and you about the motives behind his calls and visits, but truth was, he was just trying to cling on. he couldn't let you go, you were his raft in the middle of the fucking ocean, if he let you go, he'd... he wouldn't survive that. he didn't know how

but it doesn't mean that this whole thing sat well with you. fucking bastard, neglects you for years, treats you like the very dirt he walks on and now has the gall to fucking invade your private space? ruin you completely? it's like it didn't matter if you were with him or not, he'd still find a way to fucking destroy you. and you, on one hand, genuinely wanted out. you wanted him out of your life, because you had only one and you didn't want to live it in misery, you didn't want to just suffer and take it like a good puppy. you weren't even sure he realised the extent to which he fucking hurt you, because he was constantly focusing on himself and no one else, because selfishness was his coping mechanism and he wouldn't change

it was only logical that at some point, you'd have enough. you didn't want to fucking live like this. he didn't have a right to just sit there and do nothing and yet simultaneously do damage. he was a grown fucking man and it was time he made a grown fucking choice

– Well, well, well, look who decided to finally show up-... – you didn't give him the chance to finish, your fist connecting hard with his nose, or maybe it was his cheek, though you hoped it was his eye so it'd hurt the most. You didn't really know, you didn't really care, you've had fucking enough. You knew he was there, in your house, before he even opened his yapping mouth, and you didn't fancy being greeted in your only safe (or, apparently, not-so-safe) space by a fucking insult from the man responsible for all your current misery.

You didn't feel a pang of regret, quite the contrary, his stumbling form and widened eyes gave you this weird feeling of satisfaction. You kind of understood why Batman did what he did, beating Ed's ass was just too rewarding.

– I've had fucking enough of you and your stupid charade! – you didn't plan on beating around the bush anymore, it was time he was fucking faced with the consequences of what he did.

He didn't have the time to recover from your last blow before the first thing you could grab collided with his shoulder - a vase, apparently, and it shattered into small pieces upon impact. Great, now he fucking ruined your favourite vase, too, as if your life wasn't enough for him!

– You have no right to fucking invade my house and treat me like shit even after I've dumped you! – with every word, with every step you took forward, he took one back, eyes wide in genuine fear as he tried to back away from you, maintain a safe distance, as if anything could save him from your wrath now.

– If I mean nothing to you, then why the fuck are you even here?! Why the fuck do you insist on getting me all tangled up in your stupid games?! I'm not gonna fucking sit here and take it like an obedient pet just because you can't get over the fact that we're not together anymore! – you raged on, and you had no intention of stopping, you watched him back away, you watched him stupidly bump into the side of your couch and fall on his stupid fucking ass. He deserved to fall on the floor, not on a set of nice, comfy pillows. But he had no way out now. He had nowhere to run, not when you fucking rounded up on his shock-still form.

– I-... – he dared to try and interrupt you and it was truly the last straw, it was all you needed to have angry tears blur your vision and your hands clenched in fists again.

– You never even fucking apologized to me for anything either! Did it ever fucking occur to you that if, instead of tormenting me and calling me an idiot, you just fucking said you're sorry, pushed your idiotic pride aside and genuinely fucking said you're sorry, then I would've taken you back?! That maybe we wouldn't be here, in this fucking situation, if you just weren't selfish for once and apologized for all the shit you did to me, all the pain you've put me through-

– I'm sorry. – it was so quiet you almost didn't hear it. So shaky and breathy, so fucking... guilty. Heartbroken. So utterly pathetic. Just like he was, just like he looked. Just like you wanted him to be, but now that he was, you hated it. You hated his glossed over, wide eyes, the shame in them, the guilt, the pain. You hated his arms, slightly risen in a protective manner because he expected another blow. He deserved another one, but... it's like he was just a child then. Just this small, broken boy that was afraid to admit he was wrong, that was afraid of the punishment that awaited for him. And all over again, he made you want to pull him close to your chest and kiss it all better, make it so he'd never experience this pain again. And you hated yourself for it.

you've destroyed the fucking dam then. you haven't heard this man apologize to you once in your entire life, and suddenly, you were swarmed with sorries, with regrets and sorrows and his tears. suddenly, he remembered every smallest thing he ever did that made you upset, and he apologized over and over, for everything and anything, and you thought he was going to suffocate with how he was crying and rambling on your couch

god, he wasn't fucking worth it, you knew that, but suddenly, he was in your arms again, and you were soothing his shaking form, again. you were back there to ground him, to comfort him, to make him feel loved, even if he didn't deserve it. you were there to listen to his - probably empty - promises to change, even though you knew he most likely didn't have the power to change at this point, and god dammit - you believed it. or wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that maybe you were important and that maybe he will put the effort in changing for you this time as you kissed him breathless and let him cling onto you for dear life. you wanted to believe that he deserved a(nother) second chance and that there was still hope for him as you clung right back. you missed having him right there, in your embrace. despite everything. and maybe you were just plain out stupid, or maybe he truly made a promise he, for once, intended to keep. and honestly? you weren't sure if you were ready to find out

you also apologized for throwing a vase at him. he wasn't mad. if he was, you'd throw another one. he had no right to be mad

Arkham Knight!Jon getting his happy ending hcs:

Jon genuinely thought about seeking you out, hoping that maybe that would give him some closure, that it would make him able to work and function properly again. but he realised how stupid, how selfish and disgusting that was. he swore to himself he won't even fucking force you to look at his ugly mug again. he had no right to come to you, expecting the person he pushed away in order to work to help him get back to work. he didn't fucking deserve to even breathe the same air as you

he kept tabs on you though. he had to know where you lived now, where you worked, and knowing where you were at all times would be ideal too, but he didn't dare go that far as to have someone stalk you. it's not out of some creepy obsession, it's actually out of... concern. sounds ridiculous, especially since he hadn't expressed any concern for you for the past few months, but he... he really didn't want to ever hurt you again. even accidentally. even if you were to be collateral damage. he needed to know the places he could target and the places he couldn't, he needed to know when, where and on who he could test his freshest batches and when, where and on who he couldn't. he hurt you enough. he destroyed your mind enough. he wasn't about to subject you to your worst fears too

but a reunion was inevitable, it seemed. one way or another, fate was bent on bringing you two back together. and so, he missed the fact that you changed your jobs and started working at Ace Chemicals, front desk actually, passing around exactly the information he needed about the company, it's building and resources

You genuinely couldn't believe your fucking eyes. You couldn't believe his cheek. The gall he had to be standing right here, in front of you, in his tattered, dirty "glory", milky eyes seeming wild behind the mask, as if he didn't expect you to be here. As if he hadn't planned it all.

– What are you doing here? – you didn't even have the strength to get angry at him anymore. You just resigned yourself to the fact that he was going to haunt you every single day for the rest of your life, be it in person or as a fleeting thought in your mind. You weren't allowed to get rid of him. You weren't allowed to forget.

– I could be asking you the same question. – his tone was hard to decipher. As if it was emotionless, but at the same time wasn't. Like there was something behind it, something he didn't want you to see. Something he himself wasn't ready to face.

You were already too exhausted mentally to give a shit.

– I work here. – you sighed, using that mocking tone he always used on you whenever you asked "stupid" questions. Funny, how one day he tells you there are no stupid questions and that you can always ask away, that he will always listen, and then treats you like an idiot when you do.

And yet you still loved his sarcasm, loved his quips and biting remarks. This was who he was, and you did, after all, love him as a whole.

– I didn't know that. – you were actually ready to believe that, what with how he was still standing there, practically in the doorway. He didn't round up on you yet, he didn't corner you like you were his prey. Actually, it seemed he thought you were the predator, like he was... scared to come closer.

Maybe that was better for the two of you. Who know what you'd do if he started to come at you like he owned you and this whole place.

– Oh, didn't you now? – you couldn't allow him to know though. It was his turn to get the cold shoulder for once. Not that he cared enough to be hurt by it. Not that he ever cared. About you, about anything. Anything but his work.

Jesus, fuck, you couldn't break down in front of him. You already did in the past. Way too many times. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand.

– You shouldn't've gotten a job here. – he seemed to feel as if he had it anyway – I work with chemicals on a daily basis and you know I'm planning to gas the entire city, it is only logical for me to take advantage of having a huge chemical factory right in the middle of it. It was obvious I'd come here sooner or later. – every word he said, he took a step closer to the desk. Every word he said, he beat you down into the ground harder. Obviously, you were in the wrong. Yet again. Always your fault. Why would you distract him from his goal yet again? Why would you meddle? It seemed that even if you didn't want to, you proved to be an inconvenience, a chink in the chain that was his research. It didn't matter what you did, it was never going to be good enough.

You two weren't compatible, after all.

– Yep, I'm stupid, I get it. Go on, psychoanalize me too, tell me how I did it knowingly just because I wanted to see you again. – you couldn't stop yourself from snarling at him. As always, he only came to you to break down what you've so carefully built back together. It was always that way, if you really thought about it. Every time you were starting to get used to his absence, starting to truly live on your own, he suddenly appeared, acted like everything was fine, acted like he loved you, and you believed it like the fool you were. You believed it and then he left you alone again. You believed it and then you woke up to an empty bed again. Every single time.

Maybe you really were a fucking idiot.

– And did you? – or maybe he was one, because this comment only resulted in riling you up more and yet he dared to fucking ask.

– I fucking hate you Jon. – you weren't ready to believe that what he just did at your words was flinching. That it hurt enough for him to physically move away. – If I wanted to look at your face again, I'd just turn on the news.

– I don't want to hurt you. – that was bullshit. He never did anything else. Hurting you was what he was best at, and he prided himself in it. – But I need access to the vast supply of chemicals your workplace has to offer. – even when you two fucking argued, it always came down to his work. Even when you told him you hated him, all he offered back was that he didn't care and came here just to get shit done. He didn't even fucking care enough to at least say he hates you back.

– You don't want to hurt me? That's a new one. – you were really tempted to just roll your eyes and go back to work. To ignore him, like he always did to you. But suddenly, you realised just how close he was. Practically leaning over the desk. His scarred face hooded and covered in a mask, hidden away from you. That face you wanted to stare into every time you woke up, that face you wanted to be the last thing you saw every day you went to sleep. That face that you wanted to kiss better, to make him know. Make him know you didn't mind. Make him know he was still handsome as ever. He never believed you, and you saw that. You saw that very clearly in his milky eyes. It's like they were fogged, like his mind was surrounded with fog and blurred reality with imagination, like there was this barrier between the two of you.

It wasn't there at first. But then he changed, and you didn't really know who he was anymore.

– I'm sorry. – it felt like pity. Like he pitied you. Like he was saying it just so you'd shut the fuck up and move out of his way at last.

And maybe it was better if you did.

– Save it. I won't get in the way of your plans, don't worry. I'm not getting paid enough to sacrifice myself for this place either way. – you were gathering your things, leaving the computer on, the information unguarded. You could use a day off, anyway. To cry in peace or whatever.

No such luck apparently, since Jonathan immediately had you in a grip, his fingers flexing against your arms.

– No, (Y/n). I'm sorry.

you really weren't ready for that conversation. not at all. you would never be ready for that. seeing Jon apologizing, hell, seeing him crying, genuinely crying in front of you, over you, wasn't something you ever expected to see. Jonathan, despite being a skilled psychologist, never really talked about his emotions. he was always hellbent on talking through yours - well, at the beginning he was, until the whole "spiralling into his obsession" thing started. then, he stopped, because he didn't have time for you. or, as he now explained, didn't have the courage to face how much he's hurt you. you really wanted to fucking punch him then, when he told you that he knew. that he knew all the time what he was doing, and yet never stopped, as if he purposefully sabotaged your relationship so you'd leave him. you knew he had his problems and you couldn't blame him for that, but you could blame him for running away from them. you could blame him for treating you like shit since he woke up from his short coma after the incident with Killer Croc. hell, he took the blame full on

you've never heard him so... bare. so raw. so vulnerable. when he apologized to you, thanked you for everything you ever fucking did, for always helping him, for sticking by him for that long, for enduring him and showing him how it feels to be loved, he was but a broken man. for the first time in... assumably ever, Jonathan didn't hide behind any walls and just... let the words flow. both of you knew that wasn't enough to compensate for what he did. nothing will ever be enough. he will never give you back everything that he took from you, and your heart will never fully heal. even if you two got back together, he wouldn't resign from his research either, and more likely than not, it was all going to end exactly the same, with him hiding away from you because apparently, acting like he didn't love you saved you from the heartbreak, and you having to mend your broken heart on your own, alone, knowing you will never get all your lost time back. you will never get back the time you spent crying in your home because you knew he wasn't coming. and yet, you - like the idiot you probably were - dived right back in. because you fucking loved him. and maybe it was stupid, and maybe his arms clinging onto you as you kissed him for the first time in months were stupid too, but if being stupid meant being happy, even for just one moment, you were going to take it

Jonathan still had a lot to make up for. you didn't think he will ever manage, honestly. but you were excited to see him try

#riddler #edward nigma #edward nygma #the riddler #jonathan crane #scarecrow #the scarecrow #arkhamverse #batman arkham knight #my writing #headcannons #drabble #angst #a sprinkle of fluff #kinda bittersweet #panshrekual iii

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

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Lost and Found [Part Eleven]

Masterlist | Ao3

Despite the fact that he didn't get to bed until 2 AM that morning, Damian still woke up at 6 AM with the sunrise. Sleep deprivation was the last worry on his mind when his Soulmate - beautiful, breathtaking Marinette - was sleeping just one hall down from him.

He met Alfred in the kitchen, already preparing for the meals of the day. The waffle batter was already mixed, coffee was already brewing, and butter was already softening on the counter. "Do you need any help preparing breakfast?"

Alfred shook his head. "Thank you for the offer, but I pride myself in my ability to keep this kitchen under control, no matter how many visitors we have. Besides, I'm sure you would rather spend your morning getting ready for your day with your Soulmate than in the kitchen with me."

Damian nodded. "I'll see you at breakfast, then."

"I look forward to meeting Miss Dupain-Cheng."

Damian left the kitchen and made his way to the gardens, thinking about the night before.

They had gotten back to the Manor at 1:30 AM, too late for the Parisian guests to meet the Wayne family. Damian walked Marinette to her room to let her get some rest, wishing all the while that they could stay up together until the sunrise. Rationally, he knew that Marinette needed her sleep, especially with the drastic time change, but his emotions refused to let her go so soon. However, logic won out in the end, and he kissed her cheek and wished her goodnight. As Damian walked Chloé to her room, taking over for Jason while his brother packed his bags back in his Gotham apartment, Damian asked Chloé for a favor. There was a certain plan he wanted to put into action, that he needed some assistance with. Chloé agreed to help him out and their plan was set: in the morning, Chloé would bring Marinette to her room so that the two girls could get ready together, while Damian brought to Marinette's room a vase of fresh-cut flowers and a handwritten letter asking to take her on a date.

Chloé called his plan "sickeningly romantic", but said it with the sort of wistful smile that made Damian send a text to Jason advising his brother to bring flowers for his own Soulmate. Maybe it was sickeningly romantic, Damian thought over the concept, but he knew that it wasn't a bad thing. Emotions had been difficult for him at first, growing up the way he did, but he now knew better than to try and hide that part of himself from Marinette.

Damian already picked out which flowers to cut days in advance, fragrant purple wisteria and delicate white roses, which he got from the garden before the morning dew had burned off of them. He placed them in the glass vase, arranging and re-arranging them the whole way up to Marinette's room. He knocked on the door, and when there was no reply, he nudged it open. A flash of red by the window caught his eyes, but by the time his eyes focused on the spot, nothing was there. Shrugging it off as a trick of the light, Damian placed the vase of flowers on her bedside table and set down the note beside it. The note, which despite its simplicity had taken several drafts to perfect, read: Dear Marinette, I hope you slept well last night. Breakfast will be served at 8:00 AM. With your permission, I would like to spend today showing you around the city. Once the wedding approaches, I'm certain that we will both be busier, so I would like to get as much time with you now as possible. Sincerely, your Soulmate, Damian

With his plan completed, Damian left the room to go get ready for his first day with Marinette. He quickly sent a text to Chloé, giving her the all-clear to let Marinette return to her room.

Damian had just gotten out of the shower when he saw a note sitting on his bathroom counter. In what was unmistakably Marinette's handwriting, Dear Damian, I would love to go on a date with you today. Sincerely, your Soulmate, Marinette.

Damian breathed out a sigh of relief as the lingering doubt that Marinette might have changed her mind in the last six hours faded away. It is a silly fear, one that Damian wasn't used to indulging in. However, Marinette seemed to bring out all the little human characteristics that the League of Shadows had trained out of him when he was young. A younger Damian would have hated Marinette for it, but in the present day, in the privacy of his room, Damian smiled and let the feeling of relief wash over him.

——————————————————————

Marinette, Chloé, and Nino were all at the dining room table with Jon when Damian entered the room. Marinette brightened up as soon as she saw him. "Damian!" If Damian thought that Marinette looked beautiful last night (which he did) with tangled hair and tired eyes from a seven-hour plane ride, she looked downright breathtaking that morning, in a pretty pale pink dress, with her hair done up in a bun, tendrils curling around her face.

"Good morning, Marinette. I hope you slept well."

"I slept great." A look of annoyance took over Marinette's face. "Even though someone woke me up early on someone else's orders." Marinette's expression shifted from indignation to a bright smile. "I did appreciate the flowers, though, so thank you for those."

"You're very welcome." Damian was pleased that she liked them. He was a little troubled by how intently he was watching her facial expression. "Concerning our date tonight-"

Damian was cut off by the sound of voices coming down the hallway. Richard walked in beside Babs in her wheelchair, the couple having a lively debate about what to do for their respective bachelor and bachelorette parties. "We have to hire one. How often in your life do you get the opportunity to hire a stripper?" argued Babs.

"Alright," conceded Richard, "We get one stripper, and we have him split time between both parties. Now onto decorations - I'm thinking we each pick the decorations for each other's parties, and then it's like a surprise when we get there. And I'm not only saying this because I found the best bachelorette decorations on eBay and I already placed a bid."

Chloé broke the silence that followed in the dining room, as a muffled laugh escaped the hand she had pressed over her mouth. "I'm sorry, but aren't you Waynes billionaires? Can't you afford to hire two strippers?"

"Not billionaires," Tim chimed in as he walked into the room with Connor. "Every time Bruce comes close to being a billionaire, he increases the wages of all Wayne Enterprise employees except for himself and donates a ton of money to charity."

"I suppose we could hire two strippers, but then what if one of them is better than the other. That wouldn't be fair," mused Barbara.

"We could have them switch halfway through, that way we each get the same experience," Richard added.

"How about, instead of arguing the logistics of strippers, you greet the Soulmates who just arrived last night?" asked Jon, with a tone of voice that very clearly demonstrated how absurd he felt their conversation was. Damian had spent too much time with Richard and Babs over the past few weeks of wedding planning - nothing that came out of their mouths phased him anymore.

"Oh, hello Soulmates of my brothers and Soulmate of my brother's Soulmate's brother. I'm Dick."

"Babs," said Babs with a wave.

"Tim."

"Conner."

Richard started pointing to each of the Parisians. "You must be Marinette, Damian's Soulmate. You're Nino, Jon's Soulmate. And you are..?"

"Chloé, my platonic Soulmate," said Jason as he walked into the room.

"I can introduce myself," snapped Chloé, glowering at Jason, who looked a bit sheepish as he sat down in the chair next to her.

Jason picked up his fork and waved it between Chloé and Marinette. "So you two know each other."

Marinette nodded. "We've all known each other since we were kids. Chloé, Nino, and I have been in the same class since maternelle - which you call kindergarten in America. We've been best friends for years now."

"Now that's a coincidence. Both sets of three Soulmates knew each other before they met up with their other halves." Richard nodded, looking the three Parisians up and down.

"Coincidence is putting it mildly. Statistically, it's incredibly improbable. I didn't run the numbers, but I'm sure if I did, it would be in the range of one in a trillion," Tim piped up.

"Good luck, I suppose," said Marinette with a shrug.

"Luck, coincidence, statistical improbability - call it whatever you want to call it. It's still mind-boggling that out of 7 billion people, you three - best friends who go to the same school - end up with Soulmates who are all family."

The conversation turned to other topics as the table waited for Bruce to arrive before they started breakfast. Richard got Marinette talking about her aspiring career as a designer, and it instantly brought Marinette out of her shell. Her passion and enthusiasm were contagious; Damian couldn't help but smile softly to himself as he watched her explain to Richard and Babs the inspiration behind her latest collection of dresses named The City of Lights, which incorporated elements of Parisian fashion throughout the ages, with a focus on finding innovative ways to incorporate light into the dresses. As Marinette was explaining in depth the pros and cons between tea candles and real candles (according to Marinette, an open flame near your hand-crafted creation is a very big con, but she felt so strongly against tea candle that she would rather her dress catch on fire than ruin the integrity of her design), Bruce walked in, wearing a bathrobe with the words World's Best Dad on the back, plaid flannel pajama pants, and fuzzy slippers. Overall, he looked nothing like the intimidating Batman and everything like a regular Dad on a Saturday morning. Damian had to admit, it was a good strategy for putting their new houseguests at ease, especially Marinette and Chloé, who were meeting their Soulmates' father for the very first time.

"Good morning everyone," said Bruce. He grabbed his coffee mug off the counter, filled it to the brim, chugged it all in one go, then refilled it and took it to the table. "What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes," Alfred replied as he walked in with a platter stacked full of them. "Please don't spill any syrup on the tablecloth, it's a pain to get out. And before you ask, yes, I am talking to you, Richard."

"One time," Richard grumbled. "You spill an entire bottle of syrup on the tablecloth one time, and suddenly that's all anyone remembers."

Marinette laughed. "I take it I'm not the clumsiest person at the table, then."

"I'm not clumsy. I'm just sporadically situationally unaware," Richard defended.

"Clumsy," teased Babs, flicking Richard's nose and stealing the last bite of pancake off his plate. They were so effortlessly domestic, affectionate with each other all the time in a way Damian was beginning to envy. Damian kept his expression still as he sat in internal shock at the realization that he was jealous of what Richard and Babs had together. Damian was a naturally private person; he had assumed he would despise public displays of affection. However, with Marinette, he could see the appeal. Marinette had flipped his whole worldview on its head. Now he wanted romantic outings and for everyone to know that she was his. It was a strange and foreign feeling, but deep down it felt right.

——————————————————————

As breakfast winded down, Damian offered to show Marinette around the house. The first place he took her was to the gardens. Damian knew that Marinette didn't like surprises all that much, so he planned on explaining to her exactly what they would be doing for their date.

"The gardens are so pretty!" exclaimed Marinette. "Is this where the wedding will be held?"

"Yes. The ceremony will be at the gazebo in the center of the rose garden."

"I'm sure it will be lovely," said Marinette with a soft smile on her face.

"For our date today, I was hoping I could show you around some of my favorite spots in the city. If you would rather stay at the Manor, I understand but-"

Marinette cut him off. "I would love that. I might need to change my shoes though." She gestured to the three-inch heels on her feet."

"I would advise bringing along a pair of good walking shoes. I would hate for you to get hurt."

"It would be a shame to break my ankle on our very first date," agreed Marinette. "I'll just go grab a change of shoes and my purse, and then we can go."

Damian smiled at her. "I'll wait for you here."

Damian watched Marinette leave, thinking of all his favorite things he could finally show her, and all of her smiles he could finally see.

Taglist: @fanboy7794 @mikantsume @hetalia-lover-is-here @howtoshuckatlife @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @redscarlet95 @derpingrainbow @friedchickening @melicmusicmagic @beautym3 @kunstner1 @shizukiryuu @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @crazylittlemunchkin @black-streak @darkshadowguardian @mystery-5-5 @trubel43 @fandomfan315 @vincentvangoose @royalchaoticfangirl @mooshoon @drama-queen-supreme @kae690 @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @zoerayne2426 @littleredrobinhoodlum @lunar-wolf-warrior @dani-ari @sam-spectra @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @interobanginyourmom @northernbluetongue @eliza-bich @romanoff-queen @scribblinggraveyard @dur55 @jeminiikrystal @sassakitty @miss-mysterys-blog @aegyobutpsycho2 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @chaosace @pepelachanel @sturchling @amayakans @athenalovesredsblog @boxercity1

#maribat #daminette #maridami #miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #marinette x damian #lost and found #my work #fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic

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schnoogles · 3 years

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shots

@jonsadungeonsanddrabbles new year event! Day 4: Competition Read on Ao3

“So I’m not the only one that knows this can’t end well, right?” Jeyne asked no one in particular. “Like we should probably put a stop to this.”

“No no,” Arya said, not taking her eyes off her older siblings. “I want to see how this ends.”

Sansa and Robb had gotten into a slightly heated argument earlier. He made a comment about how “girls can’t hold their alcohol like guys can” and ignored Sansa's protests. That was Robb’s first mistake.

So here they are, gathered around the corner booth at The Smoking Log. Watching Sansa and Robb match shot for shot. One would think that Robb has the advantage here. And he thinks so too. As a former frat boy, he’s gone to his fair share of college parties. He’s used to drinking strong liquor. He also scoffs at Sansa’s constant choice of fruity drinks. But that’s his second mistake. Robb doesn’t actually know how many different types of alcohol are in those fruity drinks of hers.

After downing another shot, Sansa slammed the glass down and dabbed the corner of her lips daintily. She then smiled sweetly at her brother. “Looks like we’re done with this round, Robb. Theon, can you order another?”

He looked between his two friends. “I really shouldn’t.”

Robb, passed tipsy at this point, pouted. “Why not? I need- I need to prove myself here, Greyjoy!”

“Maybe Theon’s right,” Sansa snorted.

“Drunk already, little sister?” Everyone winced at how loud he was. Not one take back down, Sansa pulled out her card and gave it to Arya, who backed away and made Theon take it.

“I’m doomed,” he said. At Jeyne’s questioning look, he explained. “When Jon gets here, he’s gonna kill me for letting Sansa drink this much. And after, Tal will bring me back to life only to kill me again for letting Robb drink this much.”

“But it was their choice,” argued Gendry.

“You try telling them that,” Theon muttered under his breath as he walked to the bar.

And as fate would have it, just as Theon was coming back with another tray of shots, Jon and Talisa arrived.

“Theon,” Talisa started.

“Not my fault this time!” he immediately said, raising his hands up in surrender after setting the tray down. After catching Jon and Talisa up to speed, he set two more shots in front of Sansa and Robb.

“Darling?” Talisa prodded Robb.

“Yes, m’love?” he slurred to his wife.

“You’re drunk already,” she chuckled.

“Am not!” he said petulantly.

“Sounds a lot like you are, Robb.” Sansa had the most annoyingly smug smile on her face right now. “It’s okay to admit defeat. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Jon’s eyebrows rose and he smirked at his fiancée. “Yeah, that’s right. But I suppose if Robb’s being a sexist pig, you’ve got to put him in his place.”

“Jon!”

“Sorry Talisa, gotta stand by my girl.” Jon looked anything but sorry. Everyone else was too busy watching the exchange to notice the look of disdain flicker across Sansa’s face.

Sansa was unlocking the door to their apartment as Jon was getting the keys for her car back from Arya, who had driven it over. After Jon and Talisa arrived, Sansa and Robb took about three more shots until Robb had promptly stood up and said he had to puke. They called it a night after Sansa’s short lived victory dance.

When Jon closed and locked the door behind him, he turned around and crossed his arms. He returned her sheepish smile with a pointed look.

“So, from a scale of one to ten-”

“Fucking eleven!” she declared dramatically. Jon laughed at her as she leaned pitifully in his arms. “My head has been spinning nonstop.”

He wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up. He shook his head as he walked towards their room. “You should have stopped when you knew you were drunk, love.”

“No! That was barely four shots in,” she protested. “And I had to win. My pride was on the line!”

“Four sho- Sansa!” Jon looked down at her disbelievingly. “That last tray Theon brought back had ten, how many had you guys done before I even got there?” Sansa ignored him.

“And I was so close to getting Tal to take Robb home, you just had encourage me to keep going!”

Setting her down in bed and slowly undressing her, Jon snorted. “Honestly, I wanted to see if anyone else caught on that you were way passed drunk.” After a few more moments of getting her ready for bed, he flipped her hair out of her nightshirt and smiled at her. “You good to brush your teeth on your own?”

Sansa blew a stray hair out of her face and grumbled. “Yeah. High-functioning drunk, remember?” She got up and walked towards the restroom, lightly crashing into the door. She turned around and pointed warningly to Jon as he tried to muffle his laughter.

Once they were both settled in bed, she turned to him.

“So what gave me away?”

Jon laughed before answering her. “You called me ‘baby,’ remember? You hate that pet name. Says it reminds you of Joffrey and his mommy issues.”

“Seven hells, please don’t bring up my ex and his kinks into our bedroom. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

Jon pulled her close and snuggled his face into her neck. “How ‘bout we talk about your kinks then, hm?”

“Hmm, better,” she sighed as Jon kissed her neck. But then he promptly pulled back.

“Alright, love. Time to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Jon,” she whined.

“You know very well you can’t have drunk sex. Last time we were drunk, you fell asleep with my head between your legs! That does something to a man’s ego.”

Sansa laughed at the memory. That's fine, she'll just have to try her luck in the morning.

#actuallyjonsa #jonsafic #jonsanewyeardrabbles2021 #jonsanewyear2021 #look. i just love me some starkling shenanigans okay??#jonsa #jonsaaaaaa #my writing #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT #*yeets the fic into the tumblr abyss* BYE

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didanawisgi · 3 years

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China's push to control Americans' health care future

U.S. officials say the Chinese government is trying to collect Americans' DNA, and they believe a recent offer from a Chinese company for assistance in COVID-19 testing was suspicious. Jon Wertheim reports.

For all the polarization that grips Washington, here's a source of rare consensus: the emerging threat of China's push to acquire our health care data, including the DNA of American citizens. U.S. officials tell us the communist regime's aggressive collection of our most personal information presents a danger both to national security and our economy. As alarm bells ring across agencies, parties, and presidential administrations, different branches of government have taken action over the past year to stem the tide of our medical data flowing to China. The quest to control our biodata – and, in turn, control health care's future – has become the new space race, with more than national pride in the balance. Our investigation begins with an unsolicited and surprising proposal that came from overseas at the onset of the COVID crisis.

Early last March, the state of Washington was the site of the first major coronavirus outbreak in the U.S. As COVID rates and the need for tests were spiking, BGI Group, the world's largest biotech firm - a global giant based in China - approached the state of Washington with an enticing offer.

In a strikingly personal letter to the governor, BGI proposed to build and help run state-of-the-art COVID testing labs. BGI would quote "provide technical expertise," provide "high throughput sequencers" and even "make additional donations."

It seemed like an offer the state couldn't refuse, especially given the desperate need. But officials were suspicious about BGI and its connections to the Chinese government.

Bill Evanina: They are the ultimate company that shows connectivity to both the communist state as well as the military apparatus.

Bill Evanina recently stepped down as the top counterintelligence official in the U.S., a veteran of both the FBI and CIA. He was so concerned by BGI's COVID testing proposals, and who would ultimately get the data, that he authorized a rare public warning: "Foreign powers can collect, store and exploit biometric information from covid tests."

Bill Evanina: We put out an advisory to not only every American, but to hospitals, associations, and clinics. Knowing that BGI is a Chinese company, do we understand where that data's going?

Jon Wertheim: Tens of millions Americans getting COVID tests this year, you don't think a lot of them are thinking, "Boy, where is this data going, what third party's involved in this?"

Bill Evanina: I would proffer no one's thinking that. But this shows the nefarious mindset of the Communist Party of China, to take advantage of a worldwide crisis like COVID.

Evanina suspects these lab offers are modern-day Trojan horses. BGI comes to the U.S. bearing gifts, but harboring other motives. It's unclear whether BGI, or any COVID tester, would get DNA from nasal swabs, he says, but the labs are a way to establish a foothold, to bring their equipment here, start mining your data, and set up shop in your neighborhood.

Edward You: You have to take a step back and ask yourself who has access to that data.

Supervisory Special Agent Edward You is a former biochemist turned FBI investigator.

Edward You: And with that, there's a very uncomfortable truth that comes out, that in the last decade or so, you'll see that China has heavily invested, through the purchase or acquisition of actual companies, access to our data.

Jon Wertheim: If the question is where is this data going, all roads lead to China?

Edward You: They are the biggest player right now.

The authoritarian government of China and its leader Xi Jinping have been boldly open about their ambitions to beat the west and reap the benefits of advances in DNA science and technology. The communist regime even has a published manifesto with a catchy name.

Edward You: They have something called Made in China 2025. And in these national strategies, they absolutely call out wanting to be the dominant leader in this biological age. So wanting to be the leader and being able to develop vaccines, precision medicine.

For all the classified briefings about China that Bill Evanina received, the threat really hit home when he called home.

Bill Evanina: This is the argument I would have with my dad. Is ten years from now-- my dad gets a phone call and is told, "Hey, by the way, we understand you're gonna develop hypertension. And you're on the verge of Parkinson's. Here are three medicines you should take moving forward to help alleviate some of the symptoms." My dad's gonna be like, "Well, how do they know this?" And the company's from China. Because they've already micro-targeted my dad based upon his DNA. And my dad says, "Okay, (CLAP) I'll do it."

Jon Wertheim: The devil's advocate argument would say, "Listen, if you're able to pinpoint something in my DNA, I'll sign up for that."

Bill Evanina: That's exactly what my dad said. (LAUGH) So my argument is, to him, from a long-term existential cost to our nation, do we want to do that? Do we wanna have another nation systematically eliminate our health care services? Are we okay with that as a nation? If we are as a nation, then so be it. But that's what's happening.

Our dependence on China during COVID - for PPE, for masks - will pale in comparison to our potential health care dependence going forward, according to Edward You of the FBI.

Edward You: What happens if we realize that all of our future drugs, our future vaccines, future health care are all completely dependent upon a foreign source? If we don't wake up, we'll realize one day we've just become health care crack addicts and someone like China has become our pusher.

Jon Wertheim: Health care crack addicts, you say?

Edward You: Right. If they're in a position to be able to offer you personalized, effective, low-cost health care, would we be in a position to say no, I don't think so?

Jon Wertheim: How close are we to that?

Edward You: I don't know how close we are, but I can feel it breathing down our neck.

Jon Wertheim: This sounds a little xenophobic. I mean, if China is the industry leader here, why wouldn't you do business with them?

Edward You: Well, at the end of the day, it's not about the Chinese people. It's about the Chinese government.

He says China's government understands that their future success hinges on accumulating large amounts of human DNA.

Edward You: They are building out a huge domestic database. And if they are now able to supplement that with data from all around the world, it's all about who gets the largest, most diverse data set. And so, the ticking time bomb is that once they're able to achieve true artificial intelligence, then they're off to the races in what they can do with that data.

Jon Wertheim: You're saying biggest data set wins?

Edward You: Correct.

Think of DNA as the ultimate treasure map, a kind of double-helixed chart containing the code for traits ranging from our eye color to our susceptibility to certain diseases. If you have 10,000 DNA samples, scientists could possibly isolate the genetic markers in the DNA associated with, say, breast cancer. But if you have 10 million samples, your statistical chances of finding the markers improve dramatically, which is why China wants to get so much of it.

Edward You: It is one-sided, though. China passed a law last year. The Chinese government has absolutely clamped down on any access to their biological data or their biological samples. So it is a one-way street.

Jon Wertheim: So, their data's not leaving China but they're sucking it in from all over the world?

Edward You: Right.

It's not just DNA, according to Bill Evanina. He and his colleagues have been tracking China as the country uses less-than-honorable methods to vacuum up all sorts of data from outside their borders.

Bill Evanina: They do it both legitimately and illegitimately. They steal some data, but they're very strategic in how they acquire it from around the world.

Jon Wertheim: You're saying at least in some cases, China's hacking to get this information.

Bill Evanina: China is number one in the world at any kind of hacking capability, and they're brazen about it.

In December, John Ratcliffe, then the director of national intelligence, went so far as to name China as the number one national security threat to America, citing specifically, their theft of data and technology.

Bill Evanina: You have probably five or six health care companies the last five years who have been, I would say, penetrated, exfiltrated, hacked by China.

Jon Wertheim: What's the likelihood you and I have been hacked by China?

Bill Evanina: 110%.

Jon Wertheim: Personal data?

Bill Evanina: Personal data. Current estimates are that 80% of American adults have had all of their personally identifiable information stolen by the Communist Party of China.

The concern is that the Chinese regime is taking all that information about us - what we eat, how we live, when we exercise and sleep - and then combining it with our DNA data. With information about heredity and environment, suddenly they know more about us than we know about ourselves and, bypassing doctors, China can target us with treatments and medicine we don't even know we need.

Edward You: Think about the dawn of-- the Internet of Things and the 5G networks and the-- and smart homes and smart cities. There are going to be sensors everywhere. It's gonna be tracking your movement, your behavior, your habits. And ultimately, it's gonna have a biological application, meaning that based on the data that gets collected, they'll be able to analyze that and look at improving your health. That data becomes incredibly relevant and very, very valuable.

Jon Wertheim: You're describing data almost as-- as a commodity.

Edward You: Data is absolutely gonna be the new oil.

All this may sound like a premise for a dystopian futuristic science fiction movie, but U.S. government officials say the picture gets even scarier given how China is already using DNA strategically against its own citizens today.

Sophie Richardson: These are some of the most serious abuses that the Chinese government has committed in modern history.

Sophie Richardson, director of the China program for Human Rights Watch, says China has rounded up more than a million Uyghurs, Chinese citizens who are a Muslim minority, and jailed them in camps. The U.S. government calls this a crime against humanity.

Sophie Richardson: They're being subjected to political indoctrination. They can't use their own language. They're not allowed to worship. Those people are highly restricted in how they can live their lives.

Jon Wertheim: This is a population under constant surveillance?

Sophie Richardson: Yeah. It's-- it's a region that's awash in surveillance technology, ranging from, you know, facial recognition software, surveillance cameras, data doors, Wi-Fi sniffers.

Part of the social control includes the forced collection of DNA. Under the guise of free physicals for Uyghurs, Richardson says China is actually collecting DNA and other biometric data that's then used specifically to identify people, target other family members and refine facial recognition software. And those, national security officials say, are just the uses we know about.

In response to the Uyghur repression, last July, the U.S. Department of Commerce sanctioned two subsidiaries of a Chinese biotech company. That company? BGI, the same one offering Washington state the COVID testing lab.

Edward You: Those companies were identified to have been facilitating the collection of genetic information of ethnic Uyghurs. If anything, that should serve as a warning signal for all of us that that is potentially what can happen if our data gets out of our hands, how it could be used.

It's not a coincidence BGI is involved in the Uyghur crisis given the company's close relationship with the communist regime. In 2010, after receiving $1.5 billion from China's government, BGI was able to expand dramatically.

Bill Evanina: They're monstrous. They have contracts with over 60 countries globally to provide not only genomic sequencing, but also to provide analytics.

Jon Wertheim: They say, "We're a private company." Are they?

Bill Evanina: There's no such thing as a private company in the Communist Party of China.

Under a series of laws unthinkable in western democracies, Chinese companies like BGI are obligated to share data with the Chinese regime. It's as if, say, Google, Amazon and Facebook had to turn over their data to the CIA, on demand.

Jon Wertheim: So you're trying to tell me that the Chinese government, whether it's biotech or-- they can say, "Hey, we want your information. Please provide it."

Bill Evanina: Absolutely. You must provide any and all data that's asked for by the Communist Party in China. Which, the scary part is, sometimes it's not all their data. If you are in a joint partnership, a joint venture, their data is now susceptible to go to the Chinese Communist Party.

As BGI touts on its own website, the company has been steadily developing partnerships with hospitals and biotech companies inside the United States, giving BGI — and by extension, the Chinese government — potential access to our DNA data, sequencing technology and analytics.

Jon Wertheim: How does BGI partner with U.S. companies?

Bill Evanina: So they do it, first of all, with money. So investment. I wanna invest $10 million, $20 million, $80 million in your company. Every company says yes, come on in. At the same time they're gonna have an unwritten rule that they're gonna be able to take that data and your sequencing capabilities. And what they don't know is China's keepin' it and they're givin' you a copy back.

BGI declined our request for an interview and said in a statement, "the notion that the genomic data of American citizens is in any way compromised through the activities of BGI in the U.S. is groundless." They said they are "a private organization" founded "to benefit human health and wellbeing."

Remember BGI's proposal to build COVID labs for the state of Washington? 60 Minutes learned that the company made similar proposals to more than five other states, including New York and California…. And, after federal officials warned against partnering with BGI, each state said no to BGI's labs.

It's not just China that's recognized what a valuable commodity your DNA can be. As you'll hear: some of the fastest-growing U.S. tech companies are in this space, as well. In fact, you may have already surrendered your DNA by spitting in a tube.

#china #fifth generational warfare #geopolitics #wuhan virology lab #covid-19 #biological WMD

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modernwizard · 4 years

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Why I love Dhawan Master #26: His Delgadesco flourishes!

In no particular order, here is an illustrated list of reasons I love Sacha Dhawan’s Master, most of which boil down to the way that Sacha Dhawan so expertly embodies the Master to such a degree that we can look into this character’s mind as we never have before.

H/t to @ventingbouto and the Little Things That the Master Does That I Just Love series, which inspired this.

#26: His Delgadesco flourishes!

The first Master was played by Roger Delgado, and no one has been able to do as amazing a job as him since. For one thing, the guy was a super talented actor. Classical or comedy, he could do it all, with gravity, pride, and pathos.

For another thing, the role was kind of written for him. Thus he was able to own it in a way that no other Masters can. They’re just borrowing it from Roger Delgado...

For another thing, he brought so much extra to the character. Jon Pertwee, who played Three, and Roger Delgado were very close friends, and that just shines through on the screen. Take a look at any episode with Three and Delgado, and you’ll see how much fun they’re having, how comfortable they are in each other’s presence, and how much they just plain like each other. That genuine emotional attachment gave the supposedly villainous Master a warmth and likeability that really grounded Delgado’s portrayal. Why yes, Delgado Master is an over-the-top embodiment of ham, cheese, and probably bananas, but Delgado’s ability to infuse the character with real-life emotions makes the Master that much more believable.

Wait a minute. This is not a paean to Roger Delgado. This is supposed to be a paean to Sacha Dhawan! Ahem. Sorry.

Anyway, Delgado Master is the bestest, and you just can’t argue with facts. Since I love Delgado Master, I enjoy any other Master’s references to him. Therefore, Dhawan Master, who revives some of the spirit and the aesthetic of the Delgadesco years, pleases me immensely.

I’ve listed some of these traits out in separate entries, but let’s gather together some of my favorite Delgadesco flourishes:

1. The tissue compression eliminator or TCE. It’s the classic Master’s preferred weapon. It first showed up with Delgado Master, looking like a cigar.

Ainley Master also wielded the TCE frequently, although his looked more like...well...a vibrator:

In a call back to “a classic,” as he calls it, Dhawan Master uses the same weapon, but with a different form. As I’ve previously discussed, it’s now a nifty little steampunk gizmo.

Sometimes reinventions of the old favorites lose the charm of the original, but the latest TCE retains all of its old flair. The flair, of course, consists in its ability to kill people by tuning them into dolls. The charm of the original was not the fact that it looked like a penis. Clearly Dhawan Master has improved the Incredible Shrinking Device!

2. The dapper self-presentation. As you can see from the picture above, Delgado Master is always immaculately and expensively attired, with fastidious attention to details [such as matching tie and pocket square]. Dhawan Master too enjoys bespoke ensembles with strong matching elements. However, his double-double-knotted shoelaces, cockeyed pants cuffs, and dusty shoes signal that this version of the Master is less preoccupied with details and a little messier than Delgado.

3. The use of assault. As I noted when I was talking about Dhawan Master’s weaponized intimacy, hand-to-hand combat is a rarity among Masters. Delgado, however, regularly karate chops, jumps on, and otherwise physically subdues the chumps who try to resist his psychic powers. By the same token, Dhawan Master chokes Thirteen. Neither of them, for all their dapperness, are afraid of getting their hands dirty and doing the brutal deed themselves.

4. He’s cool with the companions. Delgado Master and Jo, Three’s companion, had an interesting sort of relationship that approached respect sometimes. When he wasn’t trying to kill her, Delgado Master tended to treat Jo with courtesy [calling her “Miss Grant”], seeming concerned when she was hurt [”I’m sorry about your coccyx, Miss Grant”], and regarding her more with avuncular amusement than hatred or wrath. I theorize that, since she was the only companion who ever figured out how to resist his mental coercion [by reciting nursery rhymes], he grudgingly admitted that she was perhaps a worthy opponent. ^_^

As for Dhawan Master, I’m probably going to regret saying this when he murders the fam and fingerpaints with their blood, but I like how he seems pretty cool with the companions. Ainley Master was a sadistic asshole who stole Nyssa’s dad’s body and then lurked around, snickering, just to torment her. Simm was a flamboyantly misogynist, racist, and homophobe who tortured Martha, Jack, and Martha’s family and killed Bill. Missy played cat-and-mouse with Clara and psychologically abused Bill. By contrast, Dhawan Master has [so far] behaved in a rather, uh, pleasant manner toward Yaz, Ryan, and Graham. He saves his wrath and pain for their true target -- Thirteen -- and [so far] doesn’t bother fucking with the companions.

In fact, he even has some kind of relationship with two of them, at least in the person of O. He picks up on Graham’s curiosity about the Doctor’s past and teases him with his shelf full of information about Thirteen.

He’s also totally flirting with Yaz, for example, at Daniel Barton’s gambling party.

Master: Well, you know what they say. “Unlucky at dice, lucky at love.”

Yaz: Do they really say that?

Master: No. :(

And, during his dramatic in-flight revelation, he appeals directly to Yaz: “Stick with me, Yaz, because I control...everything.”

I have no idea if the Master’s teasing of Graham carries over from the O persona because he doesn’t address Graham after coming out as himself. The Master’s interest in Yaz, however, does carry over. Does he like her? Does he want to get in her pants? Is this foreshadowing for future manipulation in the form of some massively stupid plot where he tries to destroy the Doctor by seducing a member of the Doctor’s fam to evil? Please, God, let it not be the last one. Anyway, it’s nice to see a Master who’s not hellbent on humiliating, torturing, and killing the companions [yet]. Dear BBC -- for once can we have a Master who doesn’t kill the companions?

#dhawan master #the master #delgado master #HELP I WUVS HIM #dw meta #doctor who #tissue compression eliminator #tce #worthy opponent #why I love Dhawan Master

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romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years

Text

Sweet Dreams are Made of This

Another continuation of the WCBI AU! Just wanted to write a small one-shot of them being teenagers for once. :D

(Reading the Origins arc is not required to understand this fic outside of one or two sentences)

Words: 3,048

Warnings: NSFW mentions, copious amounts of making out, allusion to the crusades, mentions of neutering, killing mention (in the form of jokes)

Ships: Romantic Remile, Platonic NaRemile, platonic LAMP

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck @madly-handsome @strickenwithclairvoyance @limitededitionsanderssidesblog @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @ab-artist @sometimeswritingsometimesdying @because-were-fam-ily @gattonero17 @analogical-mess @joaniejustwokeup @whycantihavemorethan32characters

---

Remy walked into school with an old pair of fleece space pants he had stolen from Logan and a night mask with the words “Lights Out” painted on sitting on top of his head. He always claimed to participate in school dress-up days out of irony, but anyone who knew him well knew better.

He smiled as Emile stepped out of the car next to him, dressed head to toe in a Stitch onesie with matching blue Converse. His heart melted as he took in the sight of his boyfriend. “Aloha,” he teased, stepping closer and greeting his boyfriend with a gentle kiss.

“No PDA in the parking lot!” Narcissa yelled, interrupting their moment. Emile giggled as Remy kissing him again while flipping her off. “You two are disgusting.”

“Disgustingly cute maybe,” Remy said with a wink. He looked up and down at her Falling in Reverse pajamas. “Has anyone told you punk is dead?”

“Has anyone told you that I don’t give a shit?” she asked with a smile as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, showing off the multitude of piercings she wore. “Plus, Roman roped me into this whole thing. I’m sure he’s running late in an Olaf onesie somewhere.”

The trio walked through the school gate. “I’m sure he’s already in the chorus room,” Remy said. “God knows he loves to be early.”

Narcissa groaned. “Remember when he made us get up at six for a chorus concert?”

“I have never wanted to kill him more than I had at that moment.”

“I’m the only thing stopping you two from killing each other,” Narcissa bragged with a laugh.

“Only because you’re going to kill one of them first,” Emile laughed. “Now, of course, I’d never tell you to bring harm to Roman, I’d just like to suggest you keep my boyfriend alive.”

Narcissa laughed as she looked Remy up and down as if scanning him. She winked at Emile. “No promises.”

Emile pouted and Remy swooped in with a quick kiss. It was hardly a matter of seconds before they were back to making out. Narcissa took her water bottle out of her bag and poured some of the ice-cold contents on Remy’s head.

“YOU BITCH!” he screamed, jumping back as his white shirt became halfway soaked.

“We’re getting you neutered after school.”

“I should get going,” Emile laughed, mostly dry. “I’ll see you at lunch.” He blew a kiss towards Remy and skipped off towards the science building.

Narcissa took a sip of water with a smirk. “Ah. How refreshing.” Remy punched her in the arm.

+++

Virgil always loved to go all out for pajama day, so it was no surprise to see him in plaid pajamas with slippers and a bathrobe on. It was, however, surprising to see Logan sitting in a Batman onesie.

Virgil wolf-whistled as he sat down. “Didn’t take you for the vigilante type.”

“I’ll have you know, Bruce Wayne is a brilliant deceive.”

“And?”

Logan sighed, mumbling, “And my English teacher gives extra credit to anyone who participates.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Virgil laughed affectionately. “Princey will never let you live this down.”

Logan sighed, hitting his head against the desk. “I’m well aware.”

+++

Patton had grown used to eating lunches alone. He wasn’t particularly upset about it, in fact, he found the time alone to be peaceful. So it was quite a surprise when Emile grabbed his hand and ran with him to a crowded lunch table.

“I’m not letting my best friend eat alone on this momentous holiday,” he proclaimed.

“It’s... it’s not a holiday,” Patton stammered but no argument could stop Emile from sitting Patton down between himself and Roman.

“Are those Christmas Pajamas?” Logan asked, scanning him with knitted eyebrows.

“It’s never too early to celebrate Christmas!” Roman said, fully clad in a Pikachu onesie.

“Halloween was last week,” Virgil and Logan both argued.

“And then Christmas!” Roman yelled.

“Forgetting something there, babe?”

“In this house, we don’t stan Thanksgiving,” Narcissa said, biting into a slice of pizza.

Logan looked at her for a long second before taking a sip of Virgil’s soda. ��I will never understand today’s youth.”

“You’re seventeen. And a coke stealing thot.”

“I’m the thot here?” Logan asked, pointing at Emile and Remy. Emile was sitting on Remy’s lap, legs around his waist as they made out.

Roman gagged, covering Patton’s eyes with his hand. “That’s practically foreplay.”

“I’m calling the vet,” Narcissa said, her phone held to her ear. “Getting this horny bitch neutered.”

“Who wants my cousins dick?” Virgil teased. “EMILE PICANI, YOU PERV, PUT YOUR HAND DOWN!”

“You’re corrupting the innocent child,” Roman scolded.

“I’m fifteen.”

“Exactly. You are small like baby.”

“You’re only three years older than me.”

“Three cold and hardening years,” he said pressing a hand to his chest and moving his forearm to his forehead dramatically. “You’ll understand when you’re my age. You’re basically a sixth-grader.”

“I’m a tenth grader.”

“Being an asshole to Sophomores,” Logan laughed. “Another thing you’ll understand when you’re his age.”

“I thought Juniors are the ones who are supposed to be mean to Sophomores.”

“No, no, no,” Virgil said. “Juniors hate freshman.”

“This is exhausting,” Patton groaned.

“You know what’s not exhausting?” Narcissa asked, jumping up onto the bench. “Going to a party at my house.”

Patton, Logan, Roman, and Virgil all exchanged glances. Virgil pulled his bathrobe down over his arms as Patton ghosted his fingers over his eye.

“How many people?” Roman asked.

“Just us,” Narcissa said. “I’ll give rides to anyone who needs it.”

“My mom doesn’t let me ride with student drivers,” Patton said sadly.

Narcissa nudged his foot and winked. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“What’s your plan for dealing with He Who Shall Not Be Named and his dreidel?” Virgil asked.

“If anyone gets a boner I’m kicking them out,” she said. “And I mean anyone. Logan gets a boner? They’re out.”

“Dreidel,” Roman laughed. “I just got that.”

“My house, after school. I’ll get Dad to order some pizzas.”

“Pizza from Papa Draco,” Roman said.

“If you call him that tonight, I will kill you.”

“Logan, write my will.”

+++

Patton didn’t like lying to his mom. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie he was at a friend’s house after all, but he wasn’t truthful about the reasons why. He hated lying, but he didn’t want this to be the first trial of whether or not his powers work over the phone. He sat in the back of Narcissa’s car with Virgil while Logan sat in the front.

“So, Patton,” Narcissa said, “house rules are simple. Don’t swear too loudly and try not to spill anything on the carpet. Oh- especially nothing purple. Remy spilt grape juice once and he was banned for a month.”

“True story,” Virgil verified. “He wouldn’t stop pouting about it. You would have thought he was banned from seeing you or something.”

“Was this the legendary Draco party I keep hearing about but never get details on?” Logan asked.

“It’s one thing Remy and I have in common,” she teased. “What happens at our parties, stay at our parties.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Narcissa said.

“Yes,” Virgil replied.

Patton felt a knot twist in his stomach and sink into him like an anchor. This was going to be a long night...

All three cars arrived at roughly the same time, allowing the group to follow Narcissa as she unlocked the front door. “Dad! I’m home!” she yelled. “And I even brought all my male whores with me!”

“Don’t get pregnant!” he yelled back from somewhere deep within the house. “Pizza’s on the stove!”

“Aww fuck yeah,” she said, grabbing a box. “Thot, Hoe, you grab the other two.”

Patton stood in mild surprise as Remy and Emile immediately followed suit. Then he remembered lunch and was less shocked. He followed everyone upstairs towards a door painted black.

Narcissa’s room was just about what Patton expected from a friend of Roman’s who wore all black and probably ten earrings at a time. The walls were painted black and dark blue. However what he did not expect was a large blue, pink, and white flag covering most of the wall above her bed. Patton smiled and Narcissa nudged his shoulder, “Got a demisexual one for Roman for Christmas. I can send you the link to the Etsy shop I use if you want some pride shit. You’d look cute with a rainbow lapel pin.”

Patton laughed, settling between her and Virgil as all of them took a seat around a circular purple rug on her wood floors. Emile passed around paper plates and they all started grabbing slices of pizza.

“Let’s play a game,” Remy suggested with a sly smirk. “Spin the bottle?”

“I think we’ve seen enough kissing for one lifetime,” Logan said. Roman stuck his finger down his throat and gagged.

“Good old fashioned game of truth or dare?” Virgil suggested. “Think of it as a housewarming for Patton.”

“Oh boy.”

“Oh boy, indeed,” Logan laughed, a sly grin growing upon his face. “I’ll go first-“

“Nope!” Remy yelled. “Roman! Truth or dare!”

“I was going to ask first!” Logan protested.

“House rules,” Remy said, “he who wears the leather jacket goes first!”

“He who shall go fuck himself,” Logan murmured earning a laugh from Virgil.

“Truth,” Roman said.

“Who was the last person you had a crush on?” Remy asked with an innocent smile but devil eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Roman glared daggers at him. “Jon Cozart. Patton, truth or dare?”

“That’s a lie!”

“Prove it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Patton, truth or dare.” Roman never took his eyes off of Remy and Narcissa.

“Uh, truth,” Patton mumbled weakly.

“I dare you to kick Remy’s ass.”

“He said ‘truth’, Roman,” Emile said sternly.

“Fine. What’s your favorite color?”

Patton fidgeted with his sleeves. “Blue. Emile, truth or dare.”

“Dare,” Emile said, leaning into Remy’s side.

Patton swore under his breath as he tried to think of something but his mind was drawing a blank. Virgil tapped his knee, prompting Patton to lean into him. He whispered something causing both of them to laugh. “I dare you to stop making out with Remy for an hour.”

Emile rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone. “Once this timer is over I’m sucking his dick in front of every single one of you.”

Narcissa threw a pizza crust at him. “I’m neutering both of you.”

Roman rolled a water bottle towards him. “Since you wanna be so fucking thirsty.”

Emile gave a hand gesture that Patton was honestly surprised to see from his best friend. (How well did he actually know anyone here?) “Narcissa, truth or dare?”

She bit into a piece of pizza contemplatively. “Dare.”

“Exchange an article of clothing with someone of your choice.”

“Virgil, hand over your hoodie,” she demanded. As Virgil sighed and took off his jacket, she made quick work of taking off her bra from under her shirt. She threw it at Virgil and snatched his hoodie within the same second.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said. “I’m not putting this on.”

“Virgil, truth or dare?” she asked.

“Tru-“

“I dare you to put the bra on.”

“I picked truth.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think you did,” Narcissa said with an innocent smile, pulling up the hood of Virgil’s jacket.

“Sounded like dare to me,” Remy said.

“He said dare,” Roman confirmed with a smirk.

“Princey,” Virgil said as he took off his shirt, “you are fucking dead to me.” Remy took careful note of the eyes raking over every inch of Virgil’s skin as he struggled with the bra.

“Do you need help?” Patton asked.

“No- No, I got- I can do this- I-“ Virgil sighed. “I need help.”

Patton rolled his eyes and did the clasp in one easy move, handing Virgil his shirt to put back on. “Not that hard.”

“Oh-Em-Gee, you know what this means?” Remy asked loudly with a look of false shock. Patton’s eyes went wide and his heart started racing. “Patton’s a fucking wizard.” He relaxed slightly but Narcissa made sure to take his hand where no one could see as she rubbed gentle circles against his skin.

“This wire is a bitch,” Virgil said.

“You’re a bitch,” Narcissa corrected.

And so the game continued into the night. Some small secrets revealed and many ridiculous dares completed. When an alarm went off on Emile’s phone everyone groaned loudly. He gave Remy a gentle peck on the cheek and they continued playing.

“Who wants to stay the night?” Narcissa asked with a yawn. Roman and Virgil both quickly volunteered while everyone else gave regretful glances. Patton sunk in on himself slightly.

“I, uh, need a ride home,” Patton said quietly.

“You live by Emile, right?” He nodded. “Cool, I can drive you.”

“If I may be at your mercy as well-“

“Yes, Logan, I’ll drive you home. If you don’t mind stopping by my place for a few minutes first. I need your input on something.”

“Oh?” Emile asked curiously.

“You’re not getting anything out of me,” Remy stated.

Emile moved closer, putting his hand on Remy’s knee and slowly dragging his fingers towards his hip. “Anything?” Emile asked innocently, pressing his body against Remy’s.

Narcissa pointed at Remy’s dick. “If that gets hard I swear to fuck I’m banning you from my house again.”

“We’ll have more fun at my house anyway,” Remy said with a smirk.

Virgil put his hands over his ears. “LA LA LA I DON’T HEAR ANYTHING NOPE NOTHING IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.”

“Oh please,” Remy groaned. “You’re not the only one here who has to deal with people in this room wanting to suck your cousin’s dick.”

“Patton,” Narcissa said. “Can you help me bring the boxes downstairs?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he uttered, grabbing two empty boxes into his arms. Once they were in the kitchen, Narcissa put the boxes on the stove and gently laid a hand on Patton’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I saw Remy get under your skin a little- he doesn’t mean anything by it, I’m sure he doesn’t even know.”

“Remy’s... fine,” Patton said. “I’m just a little paranoid.”

“And that’s okay,” she said. “But I want you to know you’re safe here. Obviously, no one is going to ask you to disclose that information, but if you ever did, you’re one of us now and that means we’re going to support you. All of us.”

“How did you, you know, talk to them about it?” Patton asked shyly.

Narcissa smiled, soft and genuine. It was the first time Patton saw her as anything other than another scary upperclassman. “I know I give Remy a lot of shit but, if not for him and Roman, I don’t know if I ever would have come out. But they helped me,” she explained. “Remy’s easy. He makes it all seem so effortless, you know, using the right name and pronouns.”

“And Roman?” he asked nervously.

“Roman helped make me who I am. He’s the reason I stayed in chorus. He’s the reason I came out to my parents and why I get to be myself today.” Her smile grew a bit brighter. “I’d do anything for him.” She leaned in closer to him and whispered, “Plus, it was nice knowing Roman’s charm had no ulterior motivation.”

“Motivation?” Patton asked.

Narcissa grabbed the boxes from the stove and winked at Remy who stood at the base of the stairs. “I think that’s a story for another party,” she teased. “Preferably one with more alcohol.”

“Um, yeah,” Patton mumbled.

“Almost ready?” Remy called out.

“Emile’s a lucky guy,” was all she said. “Goodnight, Patton.”

Patton was faced with the familiar feeling of reading a new book, gears turning as the reader is faced with unfamiliar worlds and characters. Narcissa was something far greater than a new protagonist; she was something mysterious and fantastical, a great dragon hiding far from the edge of the kingdom.

He got into Remy’s car, sitting in the back with Logan. It was a silent drive, Remy preferring to have the radio off to stay focused on the road, with only the sound of the wind coming from the small way Emile’s window was cracked open and the gentle tapping of Logan’s fingers against his book bag. Patton held his bag to his chest, growing desperate to take off his binder. It was calming and peaceful, a state of tranquility men have killed to achieve.

When they pulled in to Emile’s driveway, Remy walked him to the front door. Patton and Logan watched in silence as the two lovers held hands tightly and pressed a gentle kiss to each other’s lips. It wasn’t as passionate and hungry as they usually were in public and Patton almost felt awful for looking, yet the tender moments of domesticity are what draw us in and capture our hearts. Patton couldn’t look away until they were once more two separate individuals.

“I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” Logan said stoically.

“That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

Logan let out a laugh, but no joy or humor, and twisted his face in such a way that was unreadable in the shadows of the car. “Friends,” Logan repeated. Patton felt a tug at his heart that he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was he was feeling, he certainly wasn’t a fan. “It’s... nice, I suppose, all four of us being in the same room with no powers or arcane beings to worry about.”

“Oh! Speaking of, Morality-”

Logan pressed a finger to Patton’s lips to silence him. “I was just commenting on how nice this break is. Please do not disrupt that, this is not the time for us to be heroes.”

“Right,” Patton said. “Sorry, Logan.”

Remy and Emile met for one final kiss as Emile unlocked his front door with his free hand. They said their goodbyes and goodnight wishes as Emile disappeared behind the door.

“Do not apologize, Patton,” he instructed.

Remy got back into the car and the rest of the evening was silent, peaceful. The rest of the evening was what men kill for.

#We Could Be Immortals #Sanders sides fic #Platonic lamp #Remile #Romantic Remile

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

Text

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch33

AO3 link

Dragonstone

Tyrion knows it was wise for him to stay on Dragonstone with Varys when Danaerys flew north. That didn’t stop him from feeling like he was twiddling his thumbs the whole time.

He passes the time listening for gossip. He hears of the tragic fall of the house of Arryn, now headed by a weak-willed lordling. He hears of his brother’s disappearance from King’s Landing, and with each day his hope is dashed that that meant he would come to follow him, He hears of his nephew, the increasingly unstable king.

He, of course, has his part in what the maesters have discussed calling “the great visions” and he hears the smallfolk whispers of “winter madness”.

He almost dares not believe his vision. He dares not believe the image of himself, with a heavy beard, but the burden of many of his vices lifted. He almost dares not believe the pride in his chest, the memory of being trusted, and respected.

And the memory of Sansa’s face, trusting and open. He had seen that face before, and he knew it to be real.

The haze his mind is in in the days following is interrupted by the arrival of a single ship from the north.

It should bring more panic, the sign of the Baratheon banners, returning home to their appropriated castle. But the handful of men just seem ecstatic to see other human beings.

After a rushed conversation that tells that they have all been seized by these strange visions, the captain quickly asks to be lead to the castle.

“It’s the Lady Baratheon. Since we were all overcome by this madness, she has twice attempted to take her own life. We need to keep her under constant supervision.”

Tyrion watches as the sailors off board, surrounding the thin, wane form of Selyse Baratheon. He would have barely recognized her as a person beforehand. He wonders what she saw.

Over the next weeks, at loss for anything else to do, Tyrion sits with her, reading. She wakes, and seems to recognize him, but will usually just roll over and return to her fitful slumber.

One morning, for some reason, when she rouses, she turns to him and speaks.

“What did you see?”

Tyrion chuckles. Those may be the words spoken to nearly the whole of Westeros over the coming years.

“A vision of a man others have told me I am but I can scarcely believe.”

Selyse chuckles mirthlessly, before rolling onto her back.

“I saw something that if asked before, I would have said it was a good thing,” Tyrion notes that she still does not say what it is, “But seeing it horrified me to the bone, and feeling that made me realize how incredibly wrong I had been about so very many things.”

Selyse returns to silence. When it breaks again, her words are gravelly. She’s not telling him exactly what she saw that day, but she is still saying so much.

“I haven’t seen my daughter in so long. I wonder if I would even recognize her.”

Tyrion thinks.

“Last I heard she was when your husband went north to aid the Night’s Watch. She was under Lord Stark’s protection, her sworn shield by her side.”

There’s a decent chance Shireen could be fine, he thinks.

Selyse rolls away from his gaze.

“Alive and well,” she whispers, “No thanks to me.”

Tyrion lets her stay with her thoughts after that.

The Kingsroad

The guilt Jamie felt over leading his men north now befuddled him. They were soldiers after all, they should know that death is a possibility.

If any of them were as taken by the visions as him, they should know what they might be facing.

North of Moat Cailin, the ground is solid and wide. That’s where they are when the dead lunge for the men at the head of the company.

As Jamie realizes they have no weapons effective against the dead, no Valyrian steel, no dragonglass, despair begins to set in. They build fires, but he doubts it will be enough. The ground is open on all sides, they could attack from any direction. And there are not enough of them to be sure none get past and go further south.

He doesn’t know how many days they’ve been fighting. Long enough that no one paid attention when the sky opened up.

Everyone paid attention when the dragon swooped down from the heavens and burned a line along the countryside.

Jamie can barely hear his own voice over the wind and screaming when calls out to the rider.

“Our weapons won’t work on them!”

“Drive them into piles and ditches,” her voice calls out, “I’ll burn as many as I can!”

Jamie nods, and amidst the chaos, he lifts his sword and fights.

Winterfell

Ned trusts Maester Luwin’s opinion, but he still can’t wrap his mind around the words.

“Are you sure?”

The older man nods solemnly.

“The bits of the broken sword are still inside your chest. As you continue to move, they will too, and I believe from the position, that they will eventually cause bleeding inside or damage to your lungs, and there will be nothing that can be done.”

“You can’t remove them?”

“Attempting to do that risks both the same things.”

Ned sighs, resting his head in his hands. Things have finally begun to slow. The sun has returned, the wounded are beginning to heal, the hungry to be fed. And this.

“How long?”

Maester Luwin shakes his head.

“No way to tell. It could be two days, or two moons, or two years. You don’t seem to be in pain now, which is encouraging.”

Ned’s eyes make their way over the rest of the Great Hall, the injured. It’s night now, and most are sleeping, or trying to.

Robb has finally regained enough strength to leave and join the others in trying to plan strategy to take out the rest of the wights. He had been privy to part of the conversation between him and Val when he had finally come out of the haze.

Robb had stared vacantly at the space where his arm had been for a good long while before breaking the silence.

“You cut off my arm,” he tells her, voice disbelieving.

“If you had preferred I just slit your throat, let me know, I can still do it.”

“No,” Robb had told her softly, and his eyes were serene. The next time Val had come, she had motioned for him to stand and pushed an axe into his remaining hand.

Arya and Gendry had spent too many nights sleeping in here, trying to outrun the wounds they both refused to acknowledge. Luwin had had to take two of Gendry’s toes which had become frostbitten. Regaining his balance had taken time that the lad did not have patience for, eager to regain the others outside.

As for Arya, she had woken fitfully the first several nights, complaining of the buzzing. Luwin had said the explosion had ruptured one of her eardrums, and that while the buzzing might fade, he doubted she would ever regain full hearing in that ear.

But after several days, she had seemed to be able to fight through it, to force herself to ignore it. There were fewer archers needed, but more fires to put out, bodies to burn, debris to clear, rebuilding to begin.

Even Ygritte had ended up down here, loathe to admit that ever since she had taken the arrow, she hadn’t been able to feel two of her fingers. Luwin had bowed his head when he told her it was likely permanent. She had rolled her eyes and muttered something about how at least it was only her bow arm and not her drawing arm.

Ned watches one by one as his children leave the Great Hall and he remains. Ned had not seen any sign of Rickon.

Rickon was outside when Arya and Gendry woke and stepped outside the Great Hall. He doesn’t say a word, merely nods. He’s covered in blood, in varying stages of drying, but doesn’t move like any of it’s his.

The two of them eventually find Jon and Brienne, still holding their heads high.

“The first scouting parties are going out tomorrow morning. It shouldn’t be too intense, since it seems like we’re just cleaning up.”

Arya nods, forcing herself to ignore the buzzing.

“Will the two of you be with us?” Brienne asks.

Arya and Gendry exchange a gaze.

“What time are we riding?” Gendry asks.

“First light,” Jon replies.

They exchange another look.

“We’ll see.”

They stagger off, still leaning on each other. Eventually they find solitude in what used to be a stable. The horses still in Winterfell all have riders, or else stand about waiting for a new one, thin and wane.

If pushed, both of them would say a pile of straw and a horse blanket are marginally better than a pile of grain sacks.

They’re scarred and filthy and somehow still exhausted, but somehow their hands still reach for one another. Gendry rests his weight on his arms and loves her with what little strength he can find, not letting himself go until her sighs and groans rise to a peak twice, writhing underneath him and her hands grasping at his shoulders.

Afterwards, he still clings to her.

“Helping save the world has made you greedy,” Arya whispers idly, playing with his hair, grown out long now.

He squeezes her tighter.

“I can’t help it, It’s been...gods, months, since I’ve touched you.”

Arya hums softly in response, and he continues.

“I remember how I felt last time, when I found you after in the springs. We thought it was all over, Davos said something about Danaerys meaning to give me my father’s name...I wanted to get down on one knee right there, ask you to be my lady-”

“Thank you for not, I would have run and screamed if you’d phrased it like that.”

“Didn’t get a chance now did I?” Gendry rubs his cheek against her shoulder.

Arya shifts underneath him,

“Months since we’ve bathed too,” she starts, remembering the last months of only buckets of wet snow, “Want to go and find one of the hot springs?”

Gendry shrugs, and they stand.

Walking through Winterfell is like walking through a corpse. Walls stand broken down, pathways littered with debris, the ever present smell of fire and rotted flesh. She’s grateful when they follow a staircase down and the hot springs under the Great Keep appear the same as always, as immovable as the mountains.

It takes longer than before to wash the muck from their bodies, and Arya is grateful too that the water seems to be no different for it. The warmth is making her sleepy, but she forces her eyes to open. She swims over, and presser her chin against Gendry’s back, wrapping her arms around him.

“Will we be at the gates tomorrow?” she asks.

There’s a pause.

“Ask me in the morning, once we sleep.”

Bear Island

The sky was clear as it hadn’t been in ages. One could see straight through the water to the bottom on a day as clear as this.

Which is why Osha has no words when she stares out over the sea at the lumbering bodies that walk straight into the sea and keep going.

Panic rises in her throat, but she finds no words. Confused, Gilly walks up beside her. When she looks out, Osha can see her stiffen.

“Start a bonfire,” she tells Osha with an unusual amount of authority, “The biggest you can. I’ll go and get the others. Lyra and Lyanna are good enough with their weapons.”

Osha can barely move for the fear, the wood begins to pile. It looks pitifully small until the large stable boy comes up near her holding an armful that looks like it could warm a whole castle in itself.

He turns towards Osha and meets her eyes.

“Hodor,” he says, softly, and Osha feels her eyes prickle with tears, much in the way she had in that day of the strange dreams.

“I’ll try, sweet giant.”

By the time they are ready to light the fire, Gilly returns to the beach with the rest of the ladies in the keep.

Hodor lifts two of the smallest children under each arm, and another climbs on his back. The children are silent, staring.

Lyra puts her hand to her brow to stare across the sea. Osha can hear crying and whimpering from the group behind her and tries to steel herself.

Lyanna’s voice rings out.

“Light more fires, at least enough to line the beach. If they think they will find us an easy fight, they have something else coming.”

Greywater Watch

The debate over names had gone back and forth a thousand times.

The debate was still going one morning when a group of them were going out scouting to see if there was enough thaw to the bogs for Greywater Watch to move safely. It had been in one place unusually long. Near everyone in the keep were being packed into rowboats to go on ahead and signal the new destination, lightening the load and making the crannog's movement easier.

Bran was sitting in a canoe, waiting for the others, and holding his daughter. He touches her forehead for a moment.

“Arra,” he says, turning his head to look at Meera, who’s climbed into the canoe with him. She sits gingerly, despite having exclaimed happily three days ago that she finally seemed to have stopped oozing blood, and she was starting to feel like herself again, “What do you think?”

Arra was a Stark name, the first wife of Cregan Stark, the old man of the north. And very close to another.

“Well it will definitely get your sister off our backs when we see her again.”

There’s another of those words that catches between them, “when”. With a cough, Bran turns their words back.

“Maybe she’ll be blessed to be like her then. Brave, fierce.”

“Willing and able to fight us every step,” Meera adds with a smirk. She picks up an oar.

“Do you want the baby or the oars?”

Considering it, Bran nods. He’ll keep Arra.

After several minutes of rowing, Meera replies.

“Arra works for me. We could only hope her to be as fierce as her aunt.”

She would need to be that fierce, if the world continues on the way it is. She remains silent as Bran holds her, watching the scenery of the swamps go by. It’s still winter cold, but the sun has shined brightly for nearly a whole moon’s turn, the fog only lingering in the very early mornings. The fishermen and trappers seem almost confused at being able to see so far out in front of their noses.

Everything feels alive here, he thinks. Everything moving and drifting, as if the whole world, plants, animals and people alike, were just a single organism, moving autonomously, but parts of a larger whole.

They pass a patch of water marked with a flag with a black “x” upon it. In one of the other boats, one packed with more people, Bran can hear Jojen whispering to Shireen. He’d heard it before too, that patches of the swamp would have so many piles of dead and decaying things in spots that gas would build up. Swimmers would get choked or intoxicated by it, so they marked them when they were found.

“Also, that’s where we try to dump waste,” Jojen adds, “So you definitely want a warning not to swim, or fish, or drink in areas marked with black flags.”

After three-quarters of an hour or so of rowing, they pause. They’re further out towards the sea, the water is deeper and hardly any is frozen. Meera speaks to several of the other men in the boats, and then nods.

“This is a good spot, send word back.”

The process of moving Greywater Watch is still so alien to watch, to see the whole keep float along the water as if it weighed nothing. Even the process of it being anchored still feels almost magical. But Bran watches it done, trying to acclimate himself, trying to remember that he will come to call this place home.

When everyone’s getting out of the canoes, and tying them back, another one that hadn’t been with them approaches the keep. Howland and Jyana are inside fixing the anchor, so Meera approaches to speak to the men in the boats.

Jojen is just whispering to Shireen about how the crannogmen can always find Greywater Watch, wherever it is, when Meera whirls around violently, and raises her voice.

“Everyone! Get any weapons you can and get to higher ground!”

In Bran’s arms, Arra begins to cry hearing her mother yell. When the others around him begin rushing, Bran rushes to meet her.

“What’s happened?”

“The dead are coming south. And it appears they can now cross water.”

Bran’s chest tightens. Meera reaches and takes Arra, who is still wailing.

“Get my mother and father and get to the top of the keep. I’ll find my bow and meet you.”

When Bran tries to rush after her words, he hears her telling the men in the boats to spread the word, but to use the trees if they can, since the waterways won’t be safe.

“And tell them to use fire.”

It’s a mess, trying to gather the weapons, flint, anything that might possibly be flammable. By the time Bran follows Howland and Jyana up the steps, his bad leg is aching and throbbing, about to give out.

When he finally lets out a breath, Sansa roughly grabs his hand and drags him to a crate so he can sit.

Sansa’s clutching her bow, the one Meera and Arya made for her all those years ago.

“Aren’t you glad you brought it anyway?” Bran asks her.

Sansa nods, her face pale. Her lips move silently, and Bran realizes she’s praying.

Everyone spreads out so that all directions are covered, just in case. Bran feels his throat tighten, at all the people they led down here to keep them safe from the wights, and now they were here anyway. Greywater Watch doesn’t have much of a household, but there are enough bows running around each side. Spears won’t be of much use here.

Bran takes his place next to Meera, who has her bow in one hand and Arra on her back, in the sling Sansa had helped her sew out of fishnets while she was healing so the babe could be carried with her hands free.

Arra’s fussing, but not crying openly. Bran moves to kiss her head, and run his fingers over the strands of her thin reddish hair. Tully red, he realizes grimly. Meera meets his eye, and he can see the fear that she will never speak.

Jojen finds them, and hands Bran his own bow, still a bit dusty from where it’s sat with years of disuse..

“We don’t have enough pitch and oil to waste this on myself, I’m such a sorry shot.”

They are as ready as they can be, and all they can do is wait.

The first one appears before sundown, lurching through the waters and rushes. When the mud does what it can to stick it, someone takes the first shot, and the body burns.

And they keep waiting. Another comes, two more.

Night falls. Bran has persuaded Meera to sit down by his crate and try and sleep after feeding Arra. She has claimed waking every few hours to feed a crying infant is nothing compared to running through the snow being pursued by dead men, but her eyes betray her. Bran has tired to share her burden when he can, and he’s spent much of these weeks more tired than he can remember.

But Bran can’t sleep, his eyes are still peeled on the horizon.

At some point, pacing and weapon-less, Shireen passes behind him. There have been no signs of wights since the sun has left the sky.

Tired, she mutters.

“Maybe now that the sun has come out, they can see there’s solid ground underneath the water.”

Bran can’t even make himself consider that, and he hopes Shireen doesn’t think on it too hard.

After a few hours, Arra wakes again, and once she’s fed, Meera tugs on Bran’s hand until he’s seated beside her, and idly rubs the back of his neck until he feels himself drifting.

“It’s been quiet,” she murmurs, half gone, “Sleep.”

The sun comes again, and they wake to a shout and another shot taken.

Later that day, when the food is being passed around haphazardly, Sansa quietly mentions.

“I think Shireen’s right. None came at night.”

With the sky tilting towards night again, Bran has an epiphany.

He steps a bit to the side and nudges Sansa.

“We left the wolves near Moat Cailin right?”

Sansa nods softly, thinking.

“That was the last we saw them, since they don’t much care for marshes. “

“If we can warg them, we could use them to drive the wights closer, so we can get them more easily, and they won’t attack places that aren’t armed.”

Sansa’s face is uncertain.

“I don’t know if I can warg Lady from this far away.”

“Sansa,” he implores, “Try. Try it with me.”

Sansa inhales roughly, before nodding. Bran grips her hand before shutting his eyes tightly.

Summer’s mind is easy to recognize, even now. He begins in the dry areas close to Moat Cailin and then runs south.

The swamp he begins to run through smells of a thousand things at once, wet and green and rotted. His own scent isn’t remaining, and Bran doesn’t think a trail would be easy for Summer to follow.

The dead are easy to find though. They don’t smell right. Not alive, not rotting. Cold, even in the sun.

They move aimlessly, no longer having a leader commanding them. They do seem to be avoiding Bran’s howls and barks, his plan is working. He pushes them together. It’s only Bran’s vague knowledge of where Greywater Watch is that tells him Summer’s herding them in the right direction.

The smell shifts suddenly, becoming reminiscent of bad eggs, overly rich and vile. Summer whines at it, and the sudden heat.

When Bran pulls himself off, he stares off through the horizon, at the black flags along the water.

He pats Sansa’s shoulder again.

“Any luck?”

“Some”.

He points.

“Guide them to the bits there. Once night comes, they’ll stick.”

Sansa nods, still unsure, but her eyes turn white like his. Staggering a bit, stiff in his own skin, Bran stands to go and tell his plan to the others.

Dusk comes, and with a gasp, Bran returns to his skin. There’s two dozen creeping, that’s all they could find, with the wolves and the ravens searching as well as they can.

He picks up his bow, and joins his spot in line between Sansa and Meera.

There’s twelve of them here armed. Twelve bows, with cloth wrapped arrows dipped in pitch, lit.

Twelve arrows sail through the sky at twilight, into the clearing filled with swamp gas, already smothering several underground fires.

And at twilight, twelve wights are violently ignited.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #breera #time travel fix it #fic

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gigsoupmusic · 4 years

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INTERVIEW - MICKO WESTMORELAND ON 'VELVET GOLDMINE' AND LIFE WITH THE MELLOTRONICS

Micko Westmoreland first came to the public's attention as the enigmatic Jack Fairey in the star-studded glam rock fake biopic 'Velvet Goldmine', and since then has done everything from making electronica as The Bowling Green to the sharp edged new wave of his current project Micko & The Mellotronics. With that band on the verge of releasing their second single, a double A-side with the timely 'Noisy Neighbours 'and 'You Killed My Father' (featuring the late Neil Innes), he spoke to Gigsoup to tell all... Starting at the beginning, you got your first break appearing in the film ‘Velvet Goldmine’… Quite a baptism of fire! Yep, I was fresh out of film school with little acting experience. So I did a ton of research, suspended all activities other than glam rock ones; late mornings, blurry eyeliner, became a kind of ‘Our Lady of the Flowers’, to quote Jean Genet. I did appear on set however with well prepared sleeve notes. Ziggy/Hunky and early Roxy had been teenage territory. Toni Colette really helped me during filming, showing me where and how to move and stand in frame etc. which I really wasn’t aware of and she was such a wonderful person to hang out with. Ewan McGregor was enormous in the 90s but treated you like a complete equal. I’ve acted the fiction of being a sensational rock star, my embalmed alter ego is now moth balled and hermetically sealed for posterity. What do you make of the film’s recent re-appraisal – it was panned at the time but now it’s considered a cult classic A lot of the film heavyweights liked it at the time and have consistently sung its praises over the last 20 years, which has contributed to its legacy, plus Todd Haynes is now seen as a 24-carat auteur. 1998 wasn’t ready for a kaleidoscopic pansexual odyssey. Velvet Goldmine truly tapped into a teenage hormonal feeling, so the audience is responsible for its longevity I think, people have grown old with it and new fans have discovered it. You had quite a lot of success making electronic music as The Bowling Green but then switched tack to making more song-based stuff. What’s the story there? The music I was making was becoming increasingly filmic, so I moved into movie sound tracks for a while and did two film scores and a few documentaries with my brother; acclaimed director Wash Westmoreland (Still Alice, Colette). One of them, Echo Park L.A., won best drama at Sundance in 2006! I was becoming more attuned to a literary narrative and was listening to Dylan’s Time out of Mind and Beck’s Sea Change at the time – couple that with improvements in technology that weren’t so reliant on sampler and keyboard. I started playing much more guitar again, my first love and now my primary instrument for writing. You made a couple of albums under your own name but then formed Micko & The Mellotronics – your first ‘band’ project. What was the thinking behind that move? I was very much used to working on my own. I made a couple of solo albums, one which Terry Edwards (P.J. Harvey/Holy Holy) released on his Sartorial label called ‘Wax & Wayne’, and ‘Yours Etc Abc’, on my own Landline records imprint, which I believe was the main unconscious projection into putting a live act together. The person doing PR for it asked, ‘Who’s in the band?’ When I realized I didn’t have one, it made sense to look for folk to start pushing sounds around. How would you sum up the band to someone you hadn’t heard you before? Can you name us a few bands that have influenced its sound? We get compared to the Buzzcocks quite a lot, I’ll take that. I’ve loved Magazine since teenage, Television too. I also dig Serge Gainsbourg majorly and bands like The Silver Apples. I’m really into Iso Tomita, the 70’s electronic musician and of course Mr. Eno too. People have commented that the double A side, soon to be released, is like early Genesis but I think it’s much closer to The Rutles. Patrick from R.O.C. said there was violence to the sound. I do pride the writing on an intricacy and eccentricity but without getting prog about it. Talk us through the Mellotronics members and their individual flavours... Nick Mackay a friend referred me to. He was playing in a two-piece called ‘Barricades’, and was clearly a very good drummer, real flare as a player/performer and had the magic ingredient for any band – he was a thoroughly decent chap you could spend a ton of time with. Jon Klein is our very own rock star hiding in plain sight. He has a CV better than the rest of us put together: Banshees, Sinead O’Connor to name a few and of course his own band Specimen. I lent Jon my amp when we were on the same bill. I gave him a copy of my previous album and he contacted me the next day, which I considered a big thumbs up. He’s very quick, obscenely talented and has revolutionized day-to-day working practice. In short a turbo charged V12 engine has been carefully placed inside a Hillman imp, with fresh brake pads added. Vicky Carroll the bassist also came through personal referral, Haydn Hades who does stand up. At the time she was playing in a band the ‘Owls of Now’, a very bright lady indeed. She really got what the band was about and had great style. The dynamic of now the band get on and its chemistry is essential to longevity. Having a woman on board was important to us, so we really lucked out by finding such a smart cookie in Vicky. So far, you’ve shared ‘The Finger’, your first single, and now two new tracks, which will (eventually) be released as a 7” single. Talk us through ‘Noisy Neighbors’ and ’You Killed My Father’. Noisy Neighbours came about from my experience with dealing with serial complainers whilst living in a housing co-op. We shot the video with filmmaker Ashley Jones (www.thechaoesengineers.com) in the next door location the inhabitants of the song were occupying, so we had to be quiet. Of course some complaints are genuine but most were more telling of the complainant than complainee. There are control issues, which come about as a result of trying to micromanage your environment beyond your own four walls. I wanted to make a witty statement about that without being over critical or condemning. Raising a single eyebrow over that type of behavior. ‘You Killed My Father’, the double A side was inspired by Neil Innes R.I.P. (Monty Python, Bonzo Dog, The Rutles). So of course I was thrilled when he agreed to play on it. I was introduced to him through an artist friend Harry Pye. We inadvertly created a supergroup together called the Spammed and meet up once a year to record for the Teenage Cancer Trust. Last session Tony Visconti produced a cover of Bolan’s ‘Get it on’, for us. It comprises, Rat Scabies (The Damned), Horace Panter (The Specials), Neil when he was with us and actor/comedian Kevin Eldon on vocs, I play guitar. The song relates to my childhood, growing up in Leeds and has a Shakespearean quality. I checked the prose with an expert to make sure I hadn’t over egged the pudding. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5iswf8GG6o You seem to be able to attract some interesting names to collaborate with - Horace Panter of The Specials and the late Neil Innes recently, but also members of The Blockheads, Madness, Stranglers and Goldfrapp in the past. Who would be top of your collaborative wish list? I’d love to do something with Eno again. We became friendly during the mid nineties. I was tutored by him, whilst working on an art show called ‘Self Storage’ with Laurie Anderson but never made it into the studio. A wild card like Wendy Carlos, famed for the soundtrack of ‘A Clockwork Orange’ would be great too. Likewise, your videos have featured some interesting names from British comedy… What do they bring to the party? Anyone else you’d like to get on board if you had free reign? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDr7nkOQN9Q All the comedy connections came from Kevin Eldon initially, a super bright and truly wonderful guy. He introduced me to Paul Putner at a Specials gig. Paul’s a brilliant bloke and really likes the band. He found the remarkable Suzy Kane for us. All three have taken excellent roles. Suzy had a lot of input in Noisy Neighbours, suggesting wardrobe and even shots to Ashley as we were making it; we really have had tremendous fun with our contributors. Obviously, Chris Morris would be fantastic but I’m a little afraid to knock. We hear the debut M&TM album is close to completion – what have you got in store for us? A psychedelic mish mash of fable, sound collage and idea. With the new single, 3 of the songs are now out there. On a musical front Horace Panter out of The Specials has guested on a couple of tracks for us and of course we have one of Neil Innes’ last performances too. I’ve written a song about Imelda Marcos, she seemed like a person who was way ahead of her time, a modern template for a highly manipulative battle-axe. I have an author friend in his 60s who’s an eminent psychologist, (Georg Eifert - Anxiety Happens) so I wrote a song called ‘The Fear’, with a lot of his theories in mind. There’s also one too called ‘Sick and Tired’, it’s not about what I’m eed up about, but like Noisy Neighbours it’s a comment about complaint. When writing I try to look at what gets talked about by everyday people and base some of the songs around those themes. Earwig on phone conversations on buses, pick up discarded bits of paper, when you get into the habit you’ll be amazed what you find. So I get on the 38 and set my brain to record. There’s also a fair amount about growing up on the record too, which I hope all can relate to. I think you have to start with a good idea, that’s on any level otherwise you’re unlikely to get far. From my art college days I got into the habit of noting things down, if you don’t it often escapes you. It’s difficult to marry a multitude of ingredients and let’s face it the world is full of plenty, pair it down and make it resonate. Anyone who tells you otherwise is telling porkies. To make something that stands the test of time is more difficult still. But I’m not afraid of the work and I enjoy ‘the doing’, for me that’s what it’s all about. I believe that as individuals we have a natural tendency to evolve, if we choose to see it that way and trust, it’ll ‘self fulfill’. If you’ll allow yourself to tap into that expansion creatively, you’ll always find inspiration. Micko & The Mellotronics release 'Noisy Neighbours / You Killed My Father' on Landline Records on April 17 with the 7" single schedule to hit the shops on June 27. Read the full article

#MELLOTRONICS

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butterflies-dragons · 5 years

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Hi! 😊 Do you think these two quotes are connected in a way? "She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire.” “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 scorpion's curled and venomous tail”.. One is saying Sansa wraps herself with a blood and fire cloak, while the other one is saying in her place of arms there is a bat or a dragon with wings. What do you think about the two?

Hello Anon!!!

My answer ended up being a very long Jon x Sansa meta.

I’m going to start citing the quotes you are referring to:

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

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

Are these quotes connected in a way? The answer is yes. Both quotes contain Targaryen references: Blood and fire and wings of a dragon immediately make me think of the sigil and motto of House Targaryen.

The blood and fire imagery is present in Sansa’s chapters three times. The blood and fire are always referred as a stain that soils a white/off-white fabric.

The most “famous” white fabric in Sansa’s story is the Hound’s Kingsguard cloak, and I believe this is a distraction factor, because the connection between Sansa and the white cloaks of the Kingsguards is -by far- larger than that.

The importance of the white cloaks of the Kingsguards in Sansa’s story resides in the deconstruction of the idea that “white” and “beauty” equal goodness and its purpose is Sansa’s disillusionment of knights in her arc.

Besides, on a deeper level, the presence of the blood and fire imagery in Sansa’s chapters as a stain that soils a white/off-white fabric serves as hint of Jon Snow’s true parentage. It is there to tell us about a broken betrothal and the hidden union of a Stark maiden with a Targaryen prince that produced an heir; and probably to foreshadow another union of the same parties in the future.

The bat/dragon wings imagery present in Dany’s chapters is also linked to Sansa in one of Arya’s chapters.

This is subtler, but combined with other hints hidden in the Books, it tells us about the future union of a Stark maiden with a Targaryen prince.

I’m going to develop all these ideas under the cut.

A WHITE KINGSGUARD CLOAK STAINED BY BLOOD AND FIRE

About the first quote, let me start by saying that Sansa Stark has a very interesting imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire.

A few readers have already pointed out about this very interesting and particular topic. I talked about it with @lostlittlesatellites a few times last year and she has already written about it here: [x] [x]. I’m going to expand on it and give you my approach on the subject.

Sansa’s Ivory silk dress stained with blood orange juice and ashes

“Liar,” Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers.

“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.

“You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said.

It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed you instead of Lady!”

(…)

“Arya started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.”

(…)

“Sansa stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At least not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the door and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. “I hate her!” she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night’s fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

When the king’s herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she’d had them dye it black and you couldn’t see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Take note that the ivory silk dress was a “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black” so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all.

Oh George! Your wording here is just genius!

Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her moonblood and fire

When she woke, the pale light of morning was slanting through her window, yet she felt as sick and achy as if she had not slept at all. There was something sticky on her thighs. When she threw back the blanket and saw the blood, all she could think was that her dream had somehow come true. She remembered the knives inside her, twisting and ripping. She squirmed away in horror, kicking at the sheets and falling to the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid.

But as she crouched there, on her hands and knees, understanding came. “No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

Madness took hold of her. Pulling herself up by the bedpost, she went to the basin and washed between her legs, scrubbing away all the stickiness. By the time she was done, the water was pink with blood. When her maidservants saw it they would know. Then she remembered the bedclothes. She rushed back to the bed and stared in horror at the dark red stain and the tale it told. All she could think was that she had to get rid of it, or else they’d see. She couldn’t let them see, or they’d marry her to Joffrey and make her lay with him.

Snatching up her knife, Sansa hacked at the sheet, cutting out the stain. If they ask me about the hole, what will I say? Tears ran down her face. She pulled the torn sheet from the bed, and the stained blanket as well. I’ll have to burn them. She balled up the evidence, stuffed it in the fireplace, drenched it in oil from her bedside lamp, and lit it afire. Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move. Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.

In the end it took three of them to pull her away. And it was all for nothing. The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

Even if the color of the bedclothes was not stated as white/off-white, it’s very probable that they were of white or an off-white color, like ivory. So, again, we find this very interesting imagery in Sansa’s chapters: white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire.

And this passage of a bed stained with blood that must be hidden makes me think about Ned’s dream of Lyanna’s death:

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

So I think there is another pattern here: betrothal, marriage and giving birth.

As I said before, the ivory silk dress was a “betrothal gift” from Cersei; and, as Sansa stated, the bedclothes stained with her moonblood was a proof of her having reached her womanhood and thus able to do her duty and marry Joffrey and bear his children.

Moreover, after Sansa’s first moonblood, she had this conversation with Cersei:

“I don’t blame you. Between Tyrion and Lord Stannis, everything I eat tastes of ash. And now you’re setting fires as well. What did you hope to accomplish?”

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

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

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

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Less … less messy, and more magical.”

Queen Cersei laughed. “Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman’s life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you’ll learn that soon enough … and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all.” She took a sip of milk. “So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?”

“It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded,” said Sansa, “and to bear children for the king.”

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

As you can see, GRRM has plagued Sansa’s chapters with Jon Snow’s true parentage hints.

An ivory silk dress, a “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black”, so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all, sounds pretty much like Lyanna Stark’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon being “stained” by Rhaegar Targaryen. And then, of course, of Jon Snow hidden in the Wall as a Black Brother/Black Knight of the Night’s Watch.

Again, Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her flowering blood and then with fire to hide the stain, sounds pretty much like Lyanna Stark’s bed of blood after she gave birth Jon Snow, the baby that had to be hidden so his Targaryen identity couldn’t be seem at all.

A white wool cloak stained by blood and fire

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

Out of the three passages with this imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire, this one, the one you asked for, has the more evident references of Jon Snow’s true parentage as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Here we have Sansa huddled beneath a white kingsguard cloak stained by blood of the death during the Battle of the Blackwater and wildfire.

I think most of the readers get distracted from the Jon Snow’s true parentage hints here, because they romanticize this scene and believe it foreshadows some romantic future events for her involving the Hound, based in the fact that Sansa had covered herself with “the Hounds cloak” twice. But the relationship between Sansa and the white cloaks is -by far- larger than that; it has more to do with the ideals of knighthood and chivalry, than with the men wearing them.

White Cloaks

Thanks to the recently published Fire & Blood Volume I, now we know that Queen Visenya Targaryen created the Kingsguard brotherhood and modeled their vows on those of the Night’s Watch:

Many kings had champions to defend them. Aegon was the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms; therefore, he should have seven champions, Queen Visenya decided. Thus did the Kingsguard come into being; a brotherhood of seven knights, the finest in the realm, cloaked and armored all in purest white, with no purpose but to defend the king, giving up their own lives for his if need be. Visenya modeled their vows on those of the Night’s Watch; like the black-cloaked crows of the Wall, the White Swords served for life, surrendering all their lands, titles, and worldly goods to live a life of chastity and obedience, with no reward but honor.

—Fire & Blood - Volume I

Here we have the origins of the famous white cloaks as a symbol of goodness, beauty and greatness, the seven knights of the Kingsguard were cloaked and armored all in purest white the text says, and this is something that Sansa Stark repeats in her first chapter in AGOT:

One knight wore an intricate suit of white enameled scales, brilliant as a field of new-fallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. When he removed his helm, Sansa saw that he was an old man with hair as pale as his armor, yet he seemed strong and graceful for all that. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

But what does GRRM say about this concept?

I am particularly irritated by fantasy where you can always tell the bad guys because they are ugly and wear black. That’s why I deliberately pulled a twist on that with my Night’s Watch. Sure they are criminal scum but they are also heroes and they wear black and I wanted to play with the convention a little. As for the knights, sure, I think it’s an interesting question too. It not only affects fantasy but our history, too. We’ve always had a class of “protectors.” The church divided us into knights and those the knights were suppose to protect, with the church praying for both. The worker, the prayer and the fighter. Of course, the way it often worked out is the people the peasants often needed the most protection from were their own protectors. I think there is a powerful story in that. The ideals of knighthood embody some of the finest ideals the human race has ever come up with. The reality was somewhat less than that, and often horribly so. Of course, that is true in the Seven Kingdoms as well.

—A Conversation With George R.R. Martin - November 2000

Indeed, GRRM has twisted this idea of white/beauty/goodness vs black/ugliness/evil, by making the Kingsguard knights with their white cloaks capable of beating innocent little girls for the amusement of a King like Joffrey, the same way Aerys’ Kingsguards never moved a finger to protect Rhaella of the King’s abuse, Ser Barristan Selmy included. And when Jaime Lannister, a Kingsguard, saved King’s Landing from death by wildfire and killed Aerys, he became the greatest oathbreaker.

At the same time the Night’s Watch with their black cloaks have been defending the realm from the White Walkers for thousands of years at the Wall, and counts among its members a guy like Samwell Tarly, who, according to GRRM himself, is kind and smart and decent and devoted.

So Sansa Stark, the character with the greatest and profoundest admiration and faith in knighthood and chivalry is the instrument that GRRM uses to deconstruct the concept of white & beauty equal goodness. So far, every man wearing a white cloak has failed Sansa, they beat her, they disrobed her, they humiliated her, they sexualized her and they even attempted to rape her.

But Sansa, being the person that she is, still grasps the latest vestige of chivalry that is left: the white fabric. All the men wearing the white cloaks had failed her, they have soiled their cloaks, but the white fabric alone, even soiled, has shielded her.

Sansa Stark and the White Cloaks

In the Books, there are three times where Sansa used a white kingsguard cloak as a shield. Let’s revisit those three times chronologically:

“Ser Barristan looked up sharply. “A hall to die in, and men to bury me. I thank you, my lords…but I spit upon your pity.” He reached up and undid the clasps that held his cloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered from his shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. His helmet dropped with a clang. “I am a knight,” he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. “I shall die a knight.”

(…)

Your Grace,” Littlefinger reminded the king. “If we might resume, the seven are now six. We find ourselves in need of a new sword for your Kingsguard.”Joffrey smiled. “Tell them, Mother.”

“The king and council have determined that no man in the Seven Kingdoms is more fit to guard and protect His Grace than his sworn shield, Sandor Clegane”.

(…)

“When the king’s herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she’d had them dye it black and you couldn’t see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.”

(…)

“The Lady Sansa, of House Stark,” the herald cried.

She stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan’s white cloak lay puddled on the floor beside his helm and breastplate. “Do you have some business for king and council, Sansa?” the queen asked from the council table.

“I do.” She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up at her prince on his fearsome black throne. “As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King.” She had practiced the words a hundred times.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Sansa knelt on the white kingsguard cloak Ser Barristan Selmy left on the floor so as not to spoil her gown, that was precisely her ivory silk dress that she dyed black.

After Ser Barristan was expelled from the Kingsguard, the Hound replaced him and maybe he even took the same white cloak for himself.

The second time Sansa used a Kingsguard cloak as a shield was when, ironically, a Kingsguard beat and stripped her in front of Joffrey’s court:

“I’d shoot you too, but if I do Mother says they’d kill my uncle Jaime. Instead you’ll just be punished and we’ll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn’t yield. Dog, hit her.”

“Let me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a “morningstar” whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all. He trotted his broomstick around her, shouting “Traitor, traitor” and whacking her over the head with the melon. Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew to pieces.

Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

Joffrey did not so much as snigger. “Boros. Meryn.”

Ser Meryn Trant seized Dontos by the arm and flung him brusquely away. The red-faced fool went sprawling, broomstick, melon, and all. Ser Boros seized Sansa.“Leave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.”

Boros slammed a fist into Sansa’s belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes. It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows.

“Enough,” she heard the Hound rasp.

“No it isn’t,” the king replied. “Boros, make her naked.”

Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa’s bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. “Beat her bloody,” Joffrey said, “we’ll see how her brother fancies—”

“What is the meaning of this?”

The Imp’s voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. She stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged. “Is this your notion of chivalry, Ser Boros?” Tyrion Lannister demanded angrily. His pet sellsword stood with him, and one of his wildlings, the one with the burned eye. “What sort of knight beats helpless maids?”

“The sort who serves his king, Imp.” Ser Boros raised his sword, and Ser Meryn stepped up beside him, his blade scraping clear of its scabbard.

“Careful with those,” warned the dwarf’s sellsword. “You don’t want to get blood all over those pretty white cloaks.”

“Someone give the girl something to cover herself with,” the Imp said. Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was scratchy against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

There are a lot of things to say about this passage. The first thing is how the knights wearing the white cloaks failed Sansa and how the “no knights” were the ones who tried to help her as much as they each could.

Joffrey ordered the Hound to hit Sansa, but Dontos, the Fool, intervened directly and hit her with his melon morningstar. The melon juice stained Sansa’s hair and blue silk dress, which I think is a direct reference to the blood orange juice and ivory silk dress passage.

We don’t know if the Hound would have hit her. Many readers would argue that he wouldn’t, but in the end he just said “enough” but only after Sansa lost count of Boros Blunt blows. Dontos lacked the strength, height and fighting skills of the Hound, but did a bit more than him. Sansa recognizes Dontos attempt to protect her by calling him “My Florian” and thinking she would have kissed his not so handsome face for it.

Then comes Tyrion that actually stopped the beating and orders for someone to give Sansa something to cover herself with. It was at Tyrion’s order that the Hound tossed his Kingsguard cloak at Sansa, so she could cover her nakedness.

Then we have this exchange:

“What sort of knight beats helpless maids?”

“The sort who serves his king, Imp.” Ser Boros raised his sword, and Ser Meryn stepped up beside him, his blade scraping clear of its scabbard.

“Careful with those,” warned the dwarf’s sellsword. “You don’t want to get blood all over those pretty white cloaks.”

Here we can appreciate how the Kingsguard knights that blindly follow their King’s orders without questioning are soiling their white cloaks with the tears and blood of the innocents. And George wrote a mirror scene with Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly to show us what a True Knight must have done:

“Let us hope you are not as inept as you look,” Ser Alliser said. “Haider, see what Ser Piggy can do.”

Jon Snow winced. Haider had been born in a quarry and apprenticed as a stonemason. He was sixteen, tall and muscular, and his blows were as hard as any Jon had ever felt. “This will be uglier than a whore’s ass,” Pyp muttered, and it was.

The fight lasted less than a minute before the fat boy was on the ground, his whole body shaking as blood leaked through his shattered helm and between his pudgy fingers. “I yield,” he shrilled. “No more, I yield, don’t hit me.” Rast and some of the other boys were laughing.

Even then, Ser Alliser would not call an end. “On your feet, Ser Piggy,” he called. “Pick up your sword.” When the boy continued to cling to the ground, Thorne gestured to Haider. “Hit him with the flat of your blade until he finds his feet.”

Haider delivered a tentative smack to his foe’s upraised cheeks. “You can hit harder than that,” Thorne taunted. Haider took hold of his longsword with both hands and brought it down so hard the blow split leather, even on the flat. The new boy screeched in pain.

Jon Snow took a step forward, Pyp laid a mailed hand on his arm. “Jon, no,” the small boy whispered with an anxious glance at Ser Alliser Thome.

“On your feet,” Thorne repeated. The fat boy struggled to rise, slipped, and fell heavily again. “Ser Piggy is starting to grasp the notion,” Ser Alliser observed. “Again.”

Haider lifted the sword for another blow. “Gut us off a ham!” Rast urged, laughing.

Jon shook off Pyp’s hand. “Haider, enough.”

Haider looked to Ser Alliser.

“The Bastard speaks and the peasants tremble,” the master-at-arms said in that sharp, cold voice of his.” “I remind you that I am the master-at-arms here, Lord Snow.”

“Look at him, Haider,” Jon urged, ignoring Thorne as best he could. “There’s no honor in beating a fallen foe. He yielded.” He knelt beside the fat boy.

Haider lowered his sword. “He yielded,” he echoed.

Ser Alliser’s onyx eyes were fixed on Jon Snow. “It would seem our Bastard is in love,” he said as Jon helped the fat boy to his feet. “Show me your steel, Lord Snow.”

Jon drew his longsword. He dared defy Ser Alliser only to a point, and he feared he was well beyond it now.

Thorne smiled. “The Bastard wishes to defend his lady love, so we shall make an exercise of it. Rat, Pimple, help our Stone Head here.” Rast and Albett moved to join Haider. “Three of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal. All you need do is get past the Bastard.”

“Stay behind me,” Jon said to the fat boy. Ser Alliser had often sent two foes against him, but never three. He knew he would likely go to sleep bruised and bloody tonight. He braced himself for the assault.

Suddenly Pyp was beside him. “Three to two will make for better sport,” the small boy said cheerfully. He dropped his visor and slid out his sword. Before Jon could even think to protest, Grenn had stepped up to make a third.

(…)

He could think here, and he found himself thinking of Samwell Tarly… and, oddly, of Tyrion Lannister. He wondered what Tyrion would have made of the fat boy. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it, the dwarf had told him, grinning. The world was full of cravens who pretended to be heroes; it took a queer sort of courage to admit to cowardice as Samwell Tarly had.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Jon Snow took a step forward, protested and finally defied Ser Allister Thorne orders and fought to protect Samwell Tarly, inspiring Pyp and Green to do the same. Jon Snow, and Pyp and Grenn, did what any of the Kingsguard must have done at the prospect to beat a helpless 12 years old girl in front of the court.

It’s fascinating how similar both these scenes are; Sansa’s first beating at Joffrey’s court and Samwell first training at Castle Black. GRRM has used a mirror situation: defying an unjust order involving a helpless victim or blindly obeying it; and he also used the same keywords like: “the flat of the blade” and “enough”. But what make these linked scenes even more fascinating is how similar the characters that play the helpless victim role are: Sansa Stark and Samwell Tarly, and the use of romantic connotations to describe Jon Snow actions regarding Sam.

I have discussed this subject with @lady-in-a-song and @lostlittlesatellites before, how similar Sansa Stark and Samwell Tarly are. They have a lot of common interests and they sure would be the best of friends:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

And yes, during a few passages in the Books you can read how Samwell prays to the Mother: “Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy.”

Also, Allister Thorne calling Sam “Ser Piggy” and “Lady Piggy” reminds me of this meta [x] by @fedonciadale.

So, after reading how similar Sansa and Samwell are, the use of romantic connotations to describe Jon’s actions defending Sam makes me think of the possibility of a future romance between Jon and Sansa:

“It would seem our Bastard is in love,”

“The Bastard wishes to defend his lady love,”

“Three of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal. All you need do is get past the Bastard.”

Lady Sansa Stark would have enjoyed a story like this one, of a valiant Bastard defending his lady love from her abusers. She would also appreciate Jon’s actions defending Samwell and praise his honor and courage; maybe she would call him a True Night or compare him with a hero from the songs, like she did with Dontos, calling him “My Florian”.

But Samwell Tarly is not the only male-Sansa that Jon Snow met at the Wall, we also have the boy called Satin:

The boy claimed to be eighteen, older than Jon, but he was green as summer grass for all that. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and boiled leather of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. He was pretty as a girl with his dark eyes, soft skin, and raven’s ringlets.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VII

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins,” they said, as thousands had said before them. Satin’s voice was sweet as song, Horse’s hoarse and halting, Arron’s a nervous squeak. “It shall not end until my death.”

(…)

He could smell Horse’s unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant’s overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. ”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. Jon judged that wise. He did not like the way some of the queen’s knights were looking at the steward, particularly Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain. That one wants to shed a bit of blood, he thought. He is looking for some provocation.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X

For a man who doesn’t like the “lady like type” in a woman, Jon Snow has a very strong will to protect Samwell and Satin, two boys considered soft and weak with a lot of feminine inclinations whose descriptions match Sansa’s bit by bit. It’s pretty clear that Jon cares and appreciates both boys, and enjoys their companionship. After all, Sam became his best friend and Satin his steward.

I wonder how Jon would have felt listening Samwell Tarly telling him he likes to dance and sing and eat lemon cakes and wear pretty clothes; or how he would have felt while watching Satin dance gracefully or hearing his sweet voice singing. But this is a subject for another time. Let’s go back to the white cloaks.

The third time Sansa used a white kingsguard cloak as a shield was during the Battle of the Blackwater.

We all know the context. It’s a very disturbing scene, a rape attempt at blade point, a sexual assault to a 12 year-old girl in her own bed. In the text you can read how she was feeling: “frightened” “scared” “terrified” “feared”.

The Hound stopped his actions only after Sansa sang the Mother’s Hymn, a prayer for mercy. But before he left her room he ripped the white cloak he was wearing and left it on the floor. Moments later Sansa crawled out of bed and found the white cloak. A chill wind was blowing, Sansa felt cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

Every time I read this scene I only can think of a sexual assault victim feeling herself scared, vulnerable, naked, defiled and cold. Sansa felt so cold that when she huddled beneath the white cloak she was shivering. If you make a search for the word “shivering” in Sansa’s chapters, you would only find extremely frightening or sorrowful situations for her. This event deeply traumatized her and that’s why she recalls the event a lot of times in her mind and dreams.

Sansa used the white cloak to protect herself from the cold, and I’m sure the shivers she had, had more to do with the assault she had just suffered than with the chill wind.

So once again, the white fabric alone was her shield, not the man that wore it and left it soiled on the floor.

I have covered the first role that the white kingsguard cloak plays in Sansa’s chapters: being the last vestige of knighthood and chivalry that Sansa grasps at, so she doesn’t lose faith in the concept of true knights. She keeps that hope and faith hidden deep down inside her, the same way she kept the soiled white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. Despite her disillusionment of the knights (the men) she still has hope and faith in the ideals of knighthood, symbolized by the white fabric alone.

Jon Snow and the White Cloaks

A subtler role that the white Kingsguard cloak plays in Sansa’s chapters is being part of a very interesting imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire, that I believe is a hint of Jon Snow’s true parentage. Summing up, we have this so far:

An ivory silk dress, “betrothal gift” from Cersei, that Sansa later had to “dye it black” so the “blood and fire stain” couldn’t be seen at all, that reminds us of Lyanna Stark’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon being “stained” by Rhaegar Targaryen. And then, of course, of Jon Snow hidden at the Wall as a Black Brother/Black Knight of the Night’s Watch.

Sansa’s bedclothes stained with her flowering blood and then with fire to hide the stain, that remind us of Lyanna Stark’s bed of blood after she gave birth Jon Snow, the baby that had to be hidden so his Targaryen identity couldn’t be seen at all.

A shivering Sansa, huddled beneath a white Kingsguard cloak stained with death people blood and wildfire. The blood and wildfire are clearly Targaryen references. But what does Jon Snow have to do with a white kingsguard cloak?

Well, many readers have pointed out the answer already, like @occupyvenus [x]. The cloaks of the Kingsguard knights are often described as white as snow:

Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned …

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as fresh-fallen snow.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

Afterward, Ser Oswell Whent helped Jaime to his feet, and the White Bull himself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, fastened the snowy cloak of the Kingsguard about his shoulders.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV

Cersei’s gown was snowy linen, white as the cloaks of the Kingsguard.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa V

And the more evident association between the white cloaks and Jon Snow is said by Jaime Lannister, a Kingsguard himself, in one of Catelyn’s chapters:

“I’ve never lain with any woman but Cersei. In my own way, I have been truer than your Ned ever was. Poor old dead Ned. So who has shit for honor now, I ask you? What was the name of that bastard he fathered?”

Catelyn took a step backward. “Brienne.”

“No, that wasn’t it.” Jaime Lannister upended the flagon. A trickle ran down onto his face, bright as blood. “Snow, that was the one. Such a white name … like the pretty cloaks they give us in the Kingsguard when we swear our pretty oaths.”

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

So, Sansa huddled beneath a white Kingsguard cloak stained with blood and fire, reminds us of Jon, covered beneath the northern bastard surname Snow, to hide his true parentage as a Targaryen, represented by the stain of blood and wildfire on the white Kinsguard cloak. And this also reminds me of this exchange:

“Kings are a rare sight in the north.”

Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The blood of the dead in the Battle of the Blackwater reminds us of the blood of the dead after Rhaegar’s actions and the wildfire reminds us of the Aerys’ attempt to destroy King’s Landing with wildfire during Robert’s Rebellion, which was a direct consequence of Rhaegar’s actions.

Finally, as I said before: i) the stained ivory silk dress represents a betrothal; ii) the stained bedclothes represent giving birth; so following this pattern, the stained white Kingsguard cloak must represent a marriage. I’m going to talk about this linked with the second quote of your question.

THE WINGS OF A BAT OR A DRAGON

Finding Targaryen references in Dany’s chapters is not a surprise, but finding them in Sansa’s chapters is always very interesting. And even more interesting is the fact that you can find this same imagery of bat/dragon wins directly linked with Sansa in one of Arya’s chapters.

I wrote about this before in my post Sansa Stark: A Wolf with Dragon Wings. I speculated that the bad/dragon wings imagery foreshadows Sansa wearing a Targaryen Cloak in the future. Let’s see:

A Targaryen Cloak

In the Books Sansa is in the Vale under the guise of Alayne Stone, eating lemony lemony lemon cakes and trying to charm, entice and bewitch Harry the Arse the Heir, her fourth betrothed:

Harrold Hardyng, often called Harry the Heir and sometimes the Young Falcon, is a gallant, handsome squire, and a ward of Lady Anya Waynwood. He is the heir presumptive of Lord Robert Arryn and would ascend to rule the Vale as “Harrold Arryn” should Lord Robert die without issue. [x]

The Arryn sigil is a sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon on a sky-blue field. [x]

Shortly before Sansa found out about her fourth betrothal, while observing a blue falcon, she wished she had wings, but not precisely falcon wings; she just wanted to fly from her tower/cage and be free:

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, she is imagined by the smallfolk as a ‘winged wolf’ who freed herself from her captors and flew away:

“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

Big leather wings remind me of dragons instead of bats, and I think that was GRRM’s intention, to subtly refer to dragon wings:

“Tell me how my child died.”

“He never lived, my princess. The women say …”

(…)

“They say the child was …”

(…)

“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. “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. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

Viserion launched himself from the ceiling, pale leather wings unfolding, spreading wide. The broken chain dangling from his neck swung wildly. His flame lit the pit, pale gold shot through with red and orange, and the stale air exploded in a cloud of hot ash and sulfur as the white wings beat and beat again.

—A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer

As you can see, dragon wings are usually described similar to bat wings or leather wings; so, the fascinating image of Sansa as a wolf with big leather wings makes me think of Sansa wearing a Targaryen Cloak in the future.

Again, the possibility of the marriage of a Stark maiden with a Targaryen prince is directly linked with Sansa in the Books.

I think this imagery of Sansa wearing a Targaryen cloak complements the imagery of white/off-white fabrics stained with blood and fire.

As @jennyoldstone has stated regarding the white kingsguard stained by blood and fire [x]: “The white cloak could also represent a Stark maiden’s cloak”. “A Stark maiden’s cloak stained by fire and blood is quite a heavy foreshadowing for a Stark woman + Targaryen man union, if you ask me… and the cloak itself could also represent Jon - a child born of such union”.

Indeed, the white cloak could also represent a Stark maiden’s cloak. Let’s take a look at Sansa’s maiden cloak when she married Tyrion Lannister:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. “The cloak,” she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. “Your father’s colors,” said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden’s cloak. Sansa’s hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared.

Afterward, she could not remember leaving the room or descending the steps or crossing the yard. It seemed to take all her attention just to put one foot down in front of the other. Ser Meryn and Ser Osmund walked beside her, in cloaks as pale as her own, lacking only the pearls and the direwolf that had been her father’s. Joffrey himself was waiting for her on the steps of the castle sept. The king was resplendent in crimson and gold, his crown on his head. “I’m your father today,” he announced.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sansa Stark’s maiden cloak is described as pale as the cloaks of the Kingsguards escorting her. So, Sansa covered by a white kingsguard cloak stained with blood and fire is probably foreshadowing Sansa wearing her maiden cloak during her wedding with a Targaryen prince.

And this is also connected to Sansa being betrothed to the Dragon’s heir, that was foreshadowed in Sansa’s first chapter in ACOK:

The morning of King Joffrey’s name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. “What do you think it means?” she asked him.

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. “I’ve heard servants calling it the Dragon’s Tail.”

“King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son,” Ser Arys said. “He is the dragon’s heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey’s ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies.

“Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey’s enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king’s command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet was red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn’t the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?

— A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Joffrey is Jon’s foil here, the bastard disguised as prince/king in the place of the true prince/king disguised as bastard.

Jon is the dragon’s heir and Sansa will be his betrothed and wife.

We also have the Tourney at Ashford Meadow theory that says Sansa Stark’s first betrothed would be a man of House Baratheon, as it actually was. Joffrey Baratheon was Sansa’s first betrothed. And Sansa’s fifth betrothed would be a Prince of House Targaryen. That Targaryen prince is Jon Snow.

For more references about Sansa and Jon betrothal, I highly recommend you to read my dear friend @lady-in-a-song metas: [Part 1] [Part 2].

Summarizing:

The stained ivory silk dress represents the broken betrothal between Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon, thanks to the intervention of Rhaegar Targaryen;

The stained bedclothes represent Lyanna Stark giving birth Jon Snow and dying after.

The stained white Kingsguard cloak represents Jon Snow covered by the northern surname Snow to hide his Targaryen identity and Sansa’s Stark maiden cloak and her future wedding with a Targaryen prince;

The wolf with big leather wings represents Sansa Stark wearing a Targaryen cloak after marrying a Targaryen prince.

The Targaryen prince that is going to marry Sansa Stark is Jon Snow.

Thanks for the Ask Anon, and I hope my answer satisfies you.

#Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #Sansa x Jon #Jon x Sansa #jonsa #my post

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ansheofthevalley · 4 years

Text

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said - Chapter 3 “The Dark Knight, the Young Wolf and Prince Charming [Part I]”

The stadium was packed. And with good reason; today's match was the most important of the year. It was the KLC's Dragons against Eastwatch U's Giants. South against North.

Even though winters were a lot more forgiving in the South than in the North, it was still chilly. Under her black cardigan, she was wearing the team's jersey, which was black with red stripes. She also wore a pair of skinny jeans. She completed her look with a pair of black Vans. It was her go-to outfit when she assisted to the Dragons' matches. Kind of a superstitious habit. Margaery would always tease her, telling her she looked like 'one of the boys' girlfriends'. She would usually dismiss her teasing; but now, looking at Jocelyn Whent (who was dating Lancel Lannister) sitting beside her, she realized they were twinning.

As if she were a fucking mind reader, Marge turned to her, looking her up and down. "Look at you" she said, her voice and expression equally playful. "You fit right in with the girlfriends' group. You-"

Sansa shot her a look. "What happened to no more teasing?" she interrupted her, quietly, in case Jocelyn heard. "You can't even last a day?"

"Well, you didn't let me finish" her friend protested. "May I continue, Lady Sansa?"

"You may, Lady Margaery" she sighed. Better to let her get it out of her system, she thought.

She looked at her again, one of her perfectly-trimmed eyebrows quirked and a half-smile blossoming on her lips. She's so amused right now. "I was going to mention that you haven't even gone on a date with the guy" she whispered, then gestured with her head towards a really tall guy with broad shoulders. Dickon.

He turned around just as she was about to respond, and the sight left Sansa a little shaken. Gone was the cute guy that liked talking about movies she met at Harry's party. The young man standing a few yards from her was what she thought what a superhero would look like in real life. Saying his physique was incredible would be the understatement of the year. His arms were huge and incredibly toned, same as his legs. She must have been staring at him (like a schoolgirl who was hormone-crazy), because next thing he was dedicating her a gorgeous grin and waving at her. She waved back and tried her very best to give him a seemingly normal smile, even though she felt far from normal. She just knew her cheeks were flushed and she also knew she looked thirsty as fuck. That's because you are thirsty as fuck, the rude voice in her head added.

But just as she was to turn away because she was so damn sure she was turning as red as a dragon pepper, she saw Jon. Looking at her. He was even further away than Dickon, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze, how he turned to see who was she waving at and then return his attention back at her. And it was right in that moment she felt her heart go wild as a beast in her chest. Even with the cold, even with the distance between them; she could feel the fire in his eyes, pinning her down to her seat. All she could do was let out a sigh (more of a shaky breath, really). After a few seconds (which felt more like years), the spell was broken. He turned to one of his teammates, and she apparently remembered how to breathe like a normal person.

Maybe he wasn't looking at me, she thought, trying to keep panic at bay. Because there was no reason to panic, not really. It's a big stadium and he's far away. Maybe he was deep in thought and looking at an invisible spot, like Bran used to do when he was younger whenever he had to speak in public, she tried to reassure herself. It's not like he can spot me in a crowd of hundreds of people.

That rude voice in her head that always liked to counter-argue whispered things she really didn't want to think about. He was looking at you. He turned to see who were you waving at. Panic was slowly overtaking her mind. He looked jealous.

He was probably just being overprotective. Just like Robb is, she tried to rationalize with herself. But then she remembered those 8 words on her screen.

And ruin my chance for my treat? NEVER

Fuck

Shit

Margaery's incredibly loud laugh snapped her out of her thoughts. People were starting to turn around to see what was so funny that caused her to laugh like a fucking maniac.

"What is your problem?" she chided, but her voice too high and sharp to reach the effect she desired.

"Oh, Gods" she was slowly breaking free from the hilarity attack that had possessed her only seconds ago. "People might call your brother the Young Wolf" she started "but you, my friend" she was pointing a manicured finger at her, "you are the Red Wolf". Marge was looking at her with a weird mix of pride and disbelief. It only made Sansa squirm on her seat.

"Please, for all that is holy, do not give me a nickname" she practically begged her. "The Red Wolf? Seriously?"

"Who knew you had such a good eye while drunk?" her friend was talking to herself if else. "Seriously, kudos to you, girl" she congratulated her, leaning back on her seat. There it was again; that 'pride-disbelief' look.

Gods... She didn't notice Jon.

She made a mental note to visit the Great Sept and spend a shit ton of money on candles. The Seven deserved it.

She put a hand on her friend's arm, as if she was trying to explain the obvious to an oblivious child. "Marge, I didn't even go out with him" she reminded her, her panic slowly fading away. "We've just been texting each other for a day".

"And yet you were giggling like a kid all afternoon yesterday" she retorted.

"Well, that's because he's funny"

Margaery shot her an incredulous look. "We just talked about movies" she added.

She moved closer to her. "Well, I doubt you'll want to text just about movies after today" she whispered.

Sansa couldn't believe her. She was seriously insinuating about sexting Dickon near people she knew. People that could easily eavesdrop. People that could gossip. She needed an out.

"I'm gonna get a coke" she announced, quickly getting up from her seat.

"Be a dear and get me a bottle of water. Ice cold" she heard her shout.

(Continue reading on AO3)

#this fic is getting longer than anticipated #oh well #that's because i really feel the need to include every teeny tiny detail of what the character is thinking and feeling #and sometimes deviate myself a little bit #\ (ツ) /#jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #sansa stark x jon snow #jonsa fanfiction #actuallyjonsa #got #my writing #my fanfiction #my stuff

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lainelannister · 5 years

Text

So as I mentioned earlier today...I did some #MeToo-inspired re-writing to an old modern AU of mine, “Slayers and Stones”. You’ll find the edited version below- I’d love any feedback anyone can provide! If you’ve read the old version, I’d love to hear if the edits are working for you...and if this is your first time reading, those responses are also super valuable!

Her father calls her into his study early in the morning, a rare smile on his serious face as he passes her a laminated name badge. “Your internship begins tomorrow.”

Sansa looks down at the red-and-gold tag. The Lannister Inc. logo emblazoned across the top, her pseudonym (“Alayne Stone,” she likes the sound of it well enough) in bold font below, and beneath that...

“Marketing and PR?” She cannot keep a dark frown from pulling at her lips; Lannister Inc. has a top-notch corporate analysis program, and she’d hoped that she might have a chance to experience it first-hand...

But of course, this isn’t strictly a learning experience, is it?

“It’s the best place for you. You’ll be privy to every nasty rumor that passes through that place, which is very, very useful to us.” Ned Stark still wears his smile, but it has yet to reach his eyes- corporate espionage is not attractive to him, and if not for Jon Arryn’s urging, she doubts that he’d be encouraging her to do this in the first place.

“Besides, the PR department handles press releases, events, parties...it would be the most fun for you, love.”

Sansa grinds her molars together at that; she may have graduated cum laude from Bryn Mawr with plans to start at Harvard Business School in the fall, but in her father’s eyes, she’ll always be that giggly, vapid seventeen year old, throwing a tantrum because another girl wore the same dress to the prom.

But she just smiles back and nods. “I’m sure you’re right, Daddy. I’ll go and do my best.”

“That’s my girl.” And in spite of her annoyance, Sansa feels a flush of pride at her father’s affectionate words, and she eagerly steps into his open arms and lets him hug her tight.

“You’ll fit right in over at Lannister. They’ve got a thing for blondes.”

Sansa glares at her brother, who leans casually against the doorframe of her bedroom. She reaches up to run a self-conscious hand through her newly-highlighted hair; auburn curls now shine strawberry-blonde, and she has yet to become used to it.

When she doesn’t answer, Robb steps into the room and crosses his arms over his chest, a bright smile on his handsome face. “What are you planning to wear?”

“That.” She gestures to her closet door, where she’s hung the sensible pantsuit that her mother gave her right after graduation- “Classic, good for interviews,” Catelyn Stark had said.

Robb plucks at the fabric before shaking his head in distaste. “Sansa, I’ve been to Lannister Inc. You can’t wear that...you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

It’s not like her brother to pay attention to women’s fashion; the novelty of the conversation is enough to hold Sansa’s interest. “It’s a high-powered corporation. You’re telling me that the women don’t wear business suits?”

“They do...but not like that.” She’s starting to understand his implication, and her cheeks blush, just a little.

“Then what should I wear, Robb?”

To her surprise, her brother opens her closet door and begins to rifle through her clothing. It’s a comical sight, and she laughs.

“You seem to know your way around a girl’s closet. Do you pick out outfits for Jeyne, too?”

He makes some retort, but his head is buried deep enough in the closet that she cannot make out the words. Finally, he re-emerges, passing her a set of hangers and a pair of shoes.

“There. That’s what you should wear.”

Sansa huffs an incredulous breath through her nose- her brother has selected a black cocktail dress, short and tight. The other hanger holds a fitted black blazer, and the shoes are four-inch stiletto heels.

“What, is Lannister, Inc. an elaborate cover for a fancy prostitution ring?”

Robb rolls his eyes and smirks before heading to the door.

“Fine, don’t listen to me. But you’ll go there tomorrow, and you’ll see that I was just trying to help.”

When Robb leaves, Sansa evaluates her options. And with a beleaguered sigh, she places the sensible pantsuit back in her closet.

When she arrives at the skyscraper that houses Lannister Inc., Sansa realizes that Robb was completely correct. There are more svelte, leggy blondes here than there are at Conde Nast, everyone dressed to the nines. And not just the women; every man here looks like he walked off the set of a GQ photo shoot. She thinks for a moment of the lax dress code at Stark Incorporated: her father’s worn Frye boots, Robb’s polo-and-khaki uniform, Theon’s leather jacket. The comparison makes her giggle under her breath.

After a brief meeting with Kevan Lannister, the head of HR (an older, somewhat stern man, but pleasant enough), she’s ushered into the office of Genna Frey, the director of marketing. She takes a seat beside a handsome blonde man who appears about her age; her heartbeat skips when he smiles at her and asks her name, but the excitement quickly abates when he continues to speak, and she realizes how dreadful, pompous, and unpleasant he is. She makes a mental note to stay clear of this one ( Jeffrey, was it?) and turns her attention to the heavy-set, no-nonsense woman behind the wide mahogany desk.

The tasks she sets for the interns are very menial at first: archiving press clippings, calling publications to follow up on print deadlines. Sansa is a good listener, always has been, but even her best efforts at eavesdropping reap few results. She returns home each evening with dread building in her stomach, for she hates to look at her father and Uncle Jon night after night and tell them that no, she still hasn’t learned anything new. Failure sits heavily on her shoulders and keeps her awake deep into the night.

And yet she forces down coffee after coffee (even sneaking the occasional Adderall from Arya’s medicine cabinet) and throws herself into the work. Tedious as it is, she strives to surpass the other interns, and when Ms. Frey lectures her co-workers, holding up Alayne’s work and declaring, “This is how you document. I don’t want to see any more half-assed shit from you people, I want to see this ,” she blushes as brightly as she does at her father’s praise.

Finally, at long last, Sansa receives a reward for her hard work. There’s a meeting scheduled with the senior executives to discuss “the family matter”, and Genna invites her to come along and take notes.

(She does not invite Joffrey into the closed-door session, in spite of his Lannister blood, and Sansa feels a sudden admiration for Genna’s value of talent over nepotism.)

Sansa is, of course, well acquainted with the PR disaster that has befallen Lannister Incorporated. In fact, it would not exist at all without Ned Stark and Jon Arryn; they gained knowledge of the story from an executive at the Baratheon Corporation, and they’ve installed Sansa at Lannister to report on the fall-out.

Goosebumps prickle up and down her arms as she takes a seat beside Genna. The CEO is not present- in the weeks since she started here, Sansa has never once seen the mysterious Tywin Lannister, and she finds herself imagining him as a disembodied head surrounded by smoke, like the Wizard of Oz. But Kevan is here, along with CFO Petyr Baelish, Junior Vice President Tyrion Lannister, and Senior Vice President Jaime Lannister.

Everyone at the table appears tense, but as she looks at the man seated directly across from her, she thinks that she’s never seen a person more drained and empty-looking than Jaime Lannister.

She’s noticed him before, of course, sauntering down the hallways in his perfectly-tailored Italian suits, golden hair neatly combed back, tall and confident and devastatingly handsome. The junior associates whisper his legend in the break room and by the water cooler- he’s a ruthless, predatory raider, known for crushing smaller companies beneath his feet and pillaging the spoils. “The Slayer,” they call him in tones of hushed reverence. She’s watched with distaste as assistant after intern after associate tries to flirt with him, only to be rebuffed by a distant smile and words of cool courtesy. He’s only spoken to Sansa once, asking to borrow a pen and Post-It. But he winked at her when he handed the pen back, and she’s sure that the smile she gave him in reply was every bit as insipid as the ones she’d seen from all those other silly girls.

But now he does not look at anyone. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes as Tyrion catalogues the leaked information. And it is, as Genna would say, an absolute shitstorm. The former junior vice president, Cersei Lannister, had listened to some extremely bad advice and made an absurd, careless power play for the company. Her illicit dealings and failed investments cost Lannister Inc. millions of dollars, and reports of her questionable character and distasteful personal life brought shame and derision upon the mighty Lannister dynasty.

Tyrion concludes his report by informing everyone that Cersei has been removed from public view and will be unable to do any more harm to the family or the company.

“Where is she?”

Jaime’s voice rings out rather more loudly than is appropriate, and no one can bring themselves to look at him.

(Sansa thinks of some of the more salacious rumors that Jon Arryn has drummed up about Cersei Lannister and her handsome brother, but Uncle Jon has always had a flair for the dramatic...)

“It doesn’t matter, Jaime...”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” He turns on his brother, emerald-green eyes flashing with rage, and Tyrion, usually so poised and glib, actually appears a bit frightened.

But the moment passes quickly, and the younger Lannister brother speaks in as even a tone as he ever does.

“I mean that we need to distance ourselves from her, for the sake of the company. Any outward show of support would make us all look weaker...but if she’s just the bad egg, that’s something that could happen to any family. She’s an embarrassment, and we need to acknowledge that.”

Suddenly, Sansa feels a discordant twang in her stomach at the coldness of it all. Yes, Cersei Lannister is a class-A fuck-up, but she’s still their sister, still one of them...and to just abandon her like that...

Her voice sounds strange in her ears, as though it belongs to someone else. “But she’s your sister.”

Every head whips around to stare at Sansa; Genna’s face glows red with rage as she mutters, “Alayne. Be quiet.”

“What was that, Miss Stone?” Tyrion asks.

She knows that she should shut up, that she must shut up. But the words fall from her lips of their own accord- “She’s family...how can you just hide her somewhere and...and throw her away…?”

“Alayne. Go get my Starbucks order and leave it on my desk. Now, ” Genna seethes.

As she rises from her chair, trying and failing to keep from shaking, she happens to glance across the table. Jaime Lannister watches her, beautiful eyes unblinking and intense.

And then his lips curve into a smile.

When she arrives at work the next day, Sansa finds herself immediately re-routed to HR. Her stomach sinks; she hasn’t told her father about the disaster of yesterday’s meeting, and she has no idea how she’ll explain getting fired...

But Kevan Lannister barely even speaks to her before directing her to a conference room. “Go in, please,” he says.

She mentally steels herself for an apoplectic Genna or a sneering Mr. Baelish, but she finds herself face to face with Brienne Tarth instead.

Sansa took an immediate liking to Jaime Lannister’s executive assistant; she rejects the couture that is the office standard in favor of loose, comfortable suits (“Probably buys them at the Big and Tall Men’s Wearhouse,” one of the catty, pretty office drones once snarked), and she gives off an undeniable air of competence. She’s calm, collected, capable, and discreet, and Sansa considers these qualities far more valuable than any pretty facade.

“Please sit down, Miss Stone,” Brienne says, gesturing to a chair. Sansa sits and waits for the other woman to continue.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve just been promoted.”

“Oh! Congratulations,” Sansa replies, and Brienne’s pretty blue eyes crinkle in a grin.

“Thanks. It’s a great opportunity for me- I’ll be a junior associate in the Boston office.”

“Then you’re leaving?”

“Yes, I move at the end of the week. And that’s why I’ve called you in.”

“Oh?” Sansa lifts a brow in surprise, while her insides jiggle in a hopeful dance- maybe I’m not getting fired...oh, thank God...

“The thing is, this all happened really suddenly, and HR’s been so backed up lately that they haven’t really had time to deal with new hires. Finding a replacement for me will definitely be a long process, lots of interviews...I’ve been with Jaime for five years, and he’s...very particular.”

“Of course.” Five years, that’s a long time...but it makes sense, he obviously relies on her so much...

“Anyway, until we can find someone he’ll like, we need a person to sit at that desk and answer his phones and manage his calendar. It will be a lot more hours than what you’re used to, at the same intern pay rate, so I completely understand if you don’t want to take on the added responsibility-”

“You want me to be Jaime Lannister’s assistant?”

She must be quite a sight- eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar- because Brienne laughs brightly before nodding.

“He asked for you specifically. Will you do it?”

Sansa thinks of the locked folders on the company drive, filled with information only available to the top executives and their assistants- she imagines having access to Jaime’s calendar, intimate knowledge of the second-in-command’s comings-and-goings...she begins to salivate, and she swallows it down.

A red-gold ponytail bobs up and down as she eagerly nods.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

She should have known better. Sansa curses herself for her naivety; just because Jaime gave Brienne the password to the locked files doesn’t mean he’ll hand it over to a twenty-three year old intern he’s barely met. She lets herself wallow in disappointment for a few brief moments, but then forces the feeling aside- there’s got to be another way. She’ll just bide her time; she’s good at being patient.

And so she fields phone calls and handles his e-mail correspondence and schedules meetings. The scheduling is by far the most interesting part of the job; he’s on the board of numerous organizations, and every night is a different gala, a different opening night, a different photo op.

She’d seen his picture on Page Six that morning, taken at a heart-disease benefit the evening before. He wore a tuxedo- he’s even better-looking in a tux than in a suit- and stood with his arm wrapped around his date’s narrow waist: Margaery Tyrell, the heiress to Highgarden Communications, beautiful and striking in Alexander McQueen. The Lannister PR machine desperately wants New York to believe that Jaime and Margaery are romantically involved, but when she considers that she must always arrange for a separate car for Margaery at the end of these events, Sansa thinks it rather unlikely.

Maybe he’s gay, she thinks to herself as she returns from the dry cleaner and enters Jaime’s vacant office, hanging his tux on the door and placing the newly-shined dress shoes beneath it. He certainly dresses well...and Margaery’s gorgeous, but he’s definitely not sleeping with her...

She crosses the room to water the little tree in the corner; Brienne schooled her carefully in the care and keeping of the plant.

She bends over to tip the watering can toward the back of the tree, and she does not hear the door open behind her. When she stands upright, she locks eyes with Jaime, who watches her with a peculiar expression.

“I think it has enough water. You’ve been very thorough.” Sansa nods and places the watering can down as Jaime furrows his brow, gesturing to the tuxedo.

“Where am I going tonight?”

“The opera, Mr. Lannister,” she replies, taking a small step toward the door, in spite of the fact that he’s directly blocking her path.

“Fuck, that’s right.” He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and sighs. “Which one is it?”

“’La Boheme’,” she replies.

“Hmm. I haven’t seen that before.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sansa volunteers with a soft smile. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“You like opera?”

“Yes.” She’s nearly at the door now, but he still hasn’t moved- she’s near enough to catch the scent of his cologne- musk and sandalwood- and her mouth begins to go dry... snap out of it, you’re being an idiot...

“Duly noted.” He grins at her, pivoting his body just enough to give her space to slide through the doorway, but not enough to keep her from brushing her chest against his arm as she tries to pass. “I’ll get you tickets next time.”

“I..I would like that very much. Thank you.”

When she closes the door behind her, Sansa falls into her chair and presses her palm to her heart. She scowls at the quickness of the beats and restrains the urge to smack her head on the keyboard over and over again.

It’s nearly midnight, and she’s completely alone. She’s sure of it- even the cleaning people have left for the weekend. Still, her eyes dart about anxiously as she retrieves the zip drive from her purse and plugs it into her computer. It will work...it has to work.

Bran had been surprised, when she approached him to ask about computer hacking. “I hack into gaming sites, Sansa,” he’d sighed with exasperation. But the same principles must apply, she imagines- she adjusted the codes, tweaked the infrastructure on her own computer, saved it all to the drive. And now she’ll be able to get into the locked files and secure her father some information far more valuable than the Cersei Lannister gossip.

Her toes tap and her fingers twitch with exhilaration- this is it, this is it, I’ll really prove myself now...

So engrossed is she that she does not notice the door behind her swinging open, not until a low voice echoes through the empty office-

“Still here, Alayne?”

She shrieks, whirling her chair around. Jaime stands in the doorway of his office, tie loosened and shirt untucked, a tumbler of scotch in one hand.

But no, I saw him leave for the museum gala, I called the car and got his tux...when did he have time to come back? When I was in the bathroom, maybe...God, I should have checked his office first, stupid, stupid, stupid...

She tries to push her self-loathing aside long enough to answer his question. “Yes, Mr. Lannister. Just trying to finish up the agenda for the next board meeting before the weekend.”

“I appreciate your dedication,” he drawls with a smile. “But can I persuade you to take a break?”

He opens the door to his office wider and gestures to her to enter. She hastily closes the open windows on her computer and complies, shutting the door behind her.

“Do you like scotch?” he asks. She doesn’t really, but her brothers and uncle are fond of it, and she knows she can hold it down when necessary.

When she nods, he fills another tumbler from a crystal carafe and hands it to her. “It’s good, smooth. Aged seventeen years.”

She takes a sip, trying not to wince at the burn of the liquid as it courses down her throat.

“Thank you.”

He sits on the sofa at the corner of his office and nods pointedly to the space beside him. As she lowers herself down, he removes his tie and tosses it on a side table, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt. Sansa fights to keep from staring at the glimpse of his chest left exposed...she takes another sip and regrets the squeakiness of her voice when she asks,

“Why aren’t you at the gala?”

Jaime replies with a dry laugh. “I’m not in a very festive mood tonight.” His eyes darken a bit, and Sansa is reminded of the calls she’d forwarded to him that day from the private investigator. They still won’t tell him where she is, he has to hire his own detective...it’s insane.

She finds herself unable to keep the sympathy out of her expression when she nods. His gaze sharpens, but his tone remains calm and still.

“So, Alayne. Are you enjoying yourself here?”

“It’s a great opportunity for me. I’m learning a lot.”

“And what is it that you want to do? What’s your big career dream?”

Sansa answers with more candor than she originally intended. “I want to go to business school, then become an analyst. And eventually, I want to run a company like this one.”

“Not exactly like this one, I hope,” he sniffs derisively. “But you’re ambitious...everyone loves ambition here. They eat, sleep, and shit ambition.”

He refills her glass before she has time to protest, and the hard set of his jaw prompts her to change the subject.

She’s an easy conversationalist, and she turns the talk to music, art (he has an impressive collection), higher education. He makes her laugh with stories of his undergrad fraternity days at Yale, recommends business schools (he went to Harvard himself, and she bites her lip to keep from revealing her acceptance and inundating him with questions). And he keeps the liquor flowing, until Sansa drops her heavy head onto the back of the sofa, just a hairsbreadth away from his shoulder.

“May I ask you something?” She looks up at the clean profile of his face and breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of peat and alcohol and expensive cologne.

“Whatever you like.”

“Why did you ask for me? When you were picking an intern to help you, I mean. Why me?”

He reaches for her tumbler, and she relinquishes it. After placing both his glass and hers on a nearby table, he reclines back against the sofa and runs a hand through his thick golden hair.

“It was what you said in the meeting that day. About family...there are plenty of ambitious people around here, like I said. Lots of smart people and driven people, but there aren’t a lot of compassionate people.” He props his elbow on the back of the couch and leans closer; she can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and she inches nearer...

“What you said...it was very human of you. And that’s fucking refreshing.”

Their knees are touching now; if she moves her head just a fraction, her brow will fall against his. She sees the prickling of stubble along his jawline, the way his eyelashes become light at the tips. A lock of her hair falls across her face, and he reaches up to smooth it back behind her ear.

“You’ve got a lot of red in your hair,” he comments, twisting the strands around his finger. “Very pretty.”

So, so tacky, a cutting voice reverberates at the back of her mind. Powerful executive trying to get into his young assistant’s pants...he honestly couldn’t be more cliche if he tried.

His mouth barely hovers over hers at this point. And she’s not sure whether it’s defiance against those bitter voices coursing through her head or simply a total lack of fear (a middle-aged guy acting inappropriate with an intern, even in this day and age...that’s just sad), but she figures that she has nothing to lose.

She tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against his. Jaime cups her cheek in his hand, and the way he kisses her- soft, patient, gentle- stokes a fire in her belly, sending tingles up and down her limbs and between her legs.

Jaime’s tongue teases at the seam of her lips, and she opens her mouth for him willingly, knotting her fingers in his soft hair. He massages her tongue with his, and when he wraps a strong arm around her and eases her down onto the sofa cushions, she’s almost embarrassed by the ease with which her legs fall to either side, giving him unambiguously-direct access.

“Oh-” she sighs when she realizes that he’s settled his hips into the space between her thighs, his mouth lavishing attention on her neck, kissing and biting and sucking (enough to make her whimper and writhe, but not enough to leave marks- won’t have to break out the concealer, at least....).

It’s all moving along at an alarming pace, and the sensible side of Sansa, the one that regularly talked Arya down from her more fantastical flights of fancy and stopped Mya and Jeyne from becoming the subjects of especially-vicious high school gossip, urges her to slow things down-

“Mr. Lannister,” she begins (not very convincingly- she doesn’t actually want him to stop, although she knows it’s the right thing to do)-

“Jaime,” he pants into her skin, his tongue dipping into the groove of her collarbone. “It’s Jaime.”

“Jaime,” she repeats- it’s a good name to whisper nearly breathless, a good name to sigh- she imagines herself screaming it as she comes, and she spreads her legs wider, quivering with anticipation.

(And the practical part of her slinks into the wings, completely forgotten for the time being.)

Her nimble fingers slide between them, unfastening the buttons of his shirt. Her hands roam over the perfectly-contoured muscles of his body, and she’s momentarily distracted by the thought of the personal-training appointments Jaime’s had her schedule for 4:30am every day. “Who gets up that early?” she’d asked Kevan’s assistant Joy after sharing this story at one of their impromptu mid-afternoon coffee breaks. Joy had replied with a smirk, rolling her green eyes as she muttered, “Someone with something major to prove.”

He fingers the hem of her camisole, and she helps him pull it up over her shoulders, nearly surprised by her own lack of hesitation- she hasn’t been touched so intimately since she broke up with Harry almost a year ago, she should probably be more reluctant, more shy...

But the way Jaime presses his face into her chest and softly kisses the tops of her breasts...the way he mouths her nipples through the thin cotton of her bra...the deft way he reaches beneath her to pull the hooks open- nothing like Harry at all.

“You like that, don’t you?” he breathes as he scrapes his teeth over her left nipple. She pulls his hair tight and whimpers in response, and he laughs, taking one breast in each hand and pushing them together until he can suck both nipples into his mouth at once.

She lets out a little peep of objection when he releases her breasts, but then his lips trail lower, skimming over her stomach, tongue swirling into her navel. He lifts her skirt up and slides his fingers over her through her underwear, and she digs her nails into the leather of the sofa.

When he replaces his fingers with his mouth, kissing her through her boy-shorts, she growls his name low in her throat, surprised by her own abandon. The tip of his tongue teases at her clit, and the warmth, the soft pressure, the friction of the fabric- she reaches down to grip his shoulder, scratching at the golden skin, while her other hand kneads her own breast.

“Oh, please...” she begins, but soon interrupts herself with a sigh of delight as he catches her underwear in his teeth and pulls them down her legs. Jaime peppers soft kisses on her ankle, the inside of her knee, all up and down her inner thighs before spreading her folds and licking into her.

He’s slow and patient in his exploration, taking his time to discover the way she likes to be touched. When he curls his fingers inside her just so, his tongue softly massaging her swollen outer lips before resting flat on her clit, she finds herself moaning just the way Harry always wished she would, bucking her hips up and feeling her wetness pool over his fingers and his lips.

He kisses his way back up her body and then captures her mouth- she licks her own release from his lips and tongue. She can feel him pressed against her belly, and she quickly unbuckles and unbuttons until he’s in her hand, hot and hard. Sansa kisses along his jaw and takes his earlobe in her mouth as she begins to stroke; her other hand pinches his nipple, and he grabs her hip tight and releases a breathy trail of obscenities.

Then she brings her hand to his face and looks him in the eye, those gorgeous cat’s eyes, set in this laughably-perfect face- “The Slayer”, they call him, he has no soul, no conscience...but would a man with no soul care so deeply for his disgraced sister? Would a man with no soul place such a premium on compassion, on “human” behavior?

She kisses him again, hungrier than before, as she rubs the head of his cock against her. He moans into her mouth- “Alayne”, and she tries not to feel a prick of sadness- and his hips start to shift-

“Do you have a condom?” she thinks to ask him, just in time. His brows knit together, and she’s blessedly able to stop herself before she rolls her eyes. There’s something strangely vulnerable about him as he leans down to retrieve his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and fishes within until he finds a Trojan.

“Not sure how long this has been there…” he begins, trying to sell the curve of his lips as a gesture of good humor...but he’s fragile in a way she can’t quite understand, and she chooses to be merciful.

She takes the rubber from him and tears the package open with her teeth, sprawling flat on her stomach to apply it with her mouth.

Once this crucial task is complete, she guides him into her and lifts her knees to her chest, savoring the deep thrusts, the hard grip of his hands on her thighs.

Jaime lifts her legs so that her ankles rest on his shoulders, and he lowers one hand to caress her, turning his head to kiss the side of her calf. She comes again, even harder than before, and when he slides out of her, she wraps her hand around him and pulls off the condom before raining kisses over his shoulders and neck and chest until his ejaculate leaks over her fingers, pooling in the spaces between.

They do not move right away, content to stay coiled around each other, exchanging leisurely kisses with generous tongue. Sansa starts to truly consider what she’s done- this man is her father’s rival, a top executive in the company that Stark Incorporated is trying to destroy.

And these facts shouldn’t make her want him more. That’s childish nonsense...but there’s an appeal here that she can’t deny, can’t ignore. Between the leather and the sandalwood and the musk and the scotch and this powerful, beautiful man sucking on her lower lip-

But then she remembers the red zip drive conspicuously plugged into the side of her computer, and she pulls away.

“I should finish up and go home,” she murmurs. He does not object, but he keeps his arms around her as she tries to put her clothes back on, slowing down the process with his kisses and touches and wicked insinuations.

After she slips her top back on and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, he whispers, “Come home with me. I want to fuck you in the back of the town car-” He brushes his lips beneath her ear- “-and in the elevator-” His stubble scratches at her collarbone as he moves down- “-and in every room in my apartment.” He gently squeezes her breast, and she shifts closer, nearly sitting in his lap-

But then she stops. She pulls away and stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

“Not tonight,” she replies with a soft smile. He looks disappointed, but when she reaches down to brush an errant lick of golden hair out of his eyes, she can feel him smile against the thin skin of her wrist.

“We ought to clean ourselves up,” she says, watching as he tucks his cock back into his pants and crosses toward the closet. He drops a kiss on her shoulder as he passes her, opening the closet door and retrieving a clean white dress shirt.

“Very sensible, I’m sure.” He slides the shirt over his arms, and the fabric clings to his sweat-dampened chest as he fastens the buttons.

Before she loses her wits entirely, Sansa hastens out the door, shutting it behind her.

She gathers her things quickly, shuts off the lights, powers down her computer (but not before ejecting the zip drive and slipping it back into her purse).

Jaime emerges from his office a few minutes later in perfectly-clean clothes, briefcase in hand. He approaches her, graceful steps putting her in mind of a lion stalking its prey. When he closes in on her, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, her lower back pressed against the desk, she feels that she wants to be ravaged and savaged and ripped apart. Of course, she reflects as she observes a thin scratch on his neck, courtesy of her sharp fingernails, I’d be able to give plenty of my own back, too.

“Will you let me drive you home, at least?” he asks, and she forces her head into a vehement shake.

“No, thank you. The cabs are lined up around the block at this hour.” She tries to straighten her posture, but he holds her fast against the desk. Just one more, she thinks as she pulls his face down to hers, the force of the kiss pushing her up onto the desk, her leg rising to wrap around him again-

A clatter of metal, and they both look down- she’s knocked her stapler and tape dispenser onto the floor. They separate, and she leans down to retrieve the supplies. When she stands back up, Jaime places a thumb on her lips, just a gentle pressure.

“Good night, Alayne,” he whispers before turning on his heel and heading toward the elevator bank.

She waits by the window until she sees his town car pull away. Only then does she leave; she opts against taking a cab, choosing instead to walk the thirty blocks to her parents’ townhouse.

Sansa strolls out to the river park, walking along the water that frames the west side. She slips a hand into her purse and closes it around the zip drive. And then she thinks.

Regardless of what just occurred between them (a #MeToo moment waiting to happen...she’s ashamed of the flippant nature of this thought, at the ease with which she left her own complicity out of the equation), Jaime seems to be a decent person. And Genna is decent in her way, and Kevan and even Tyrion...is it fair, is it right to help her father tear their company up like this? The information she’s stolen has the potential to obliterate Lannister Inc.... Can she...will she...?

She rests her hand on the railing that separates the pathway from the water below. The little red drive nestles in her fist, and she loosens her fingers-

But instead, she returns the drive to the inner pocket of her purse. Shutting the bag with a resolute zip, Sansa continues on her way home.

#my fics #jaime x sansa #modern au #fanfiction time travel #rewriting my stories from 7 years ago #you know #like you do

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wildflower-daydreamer · 5 years

Text

When We Were Young - A Jonsa One-Shot Story

When We Were Young by Adele

Everybody loves the things you do / From the way you talk to the way you move / Everybody here is watching you / 'Cause you feel like home, you're like a dream come true / But if by chance you're here alone / Can I have a moment before I go? / 'Cause I've been by myself all night long / Hoping you're someone I used to know

You look like a movie / You sound like a song / My God, this reminds me / Of when we were young

Let me photograph you in this light / In case it is the last time that we might / Be exactly like we were before we realized / We were sad of getting old, it made us restless / It was just like a movie / It was just like a song

I was so scared to face my fears / Nobody told me that you'd be here / And I swear you moved overseas / That's what you said, when you left me

You still look like a movie / You still sound like a song / My God, this reminds me / Of when we were young

When we were young / When we were young / When we were young / When we were young

It's hard to admit that everything just takes me back / To when you were there, to when you were there / And a part of me keeps holding on just in case it hasn't gone / 'Cause I still care, do you still care?

It was just like a movie / It was just like a song / My God, this reminds me / Of when we were young

When we were young / When we were young / When we were young / When we were young

Let me photograph you in this light / In case it is the last time that we might / Be exactly like we were before we realized / We were sad of getting old, it made us restless / Oh, I'm so mad I'm getting old, it makes me reckless / It was just like a movie / It was just like a song / When we were young

“This should be fun!“ Gilly said enthusiastically as she, Sam, and Jon exited the car. Gilly and Sam barely ever had nights out without their 3 little kids, so it was easy to see why she was so giddy about their bar night.

It wasn’t going to be just a normal bar night though, it was a reunion of sorts. With Christmas happening that weekend, most of Jon’s old group of college friends were in town to see families. Their college was located in Jon’s hometown and he stayed around the area after graduating. His childhood best friend Robb was from the area too and he, his little sister Arya, and their parents still lived there. Sam had a bad relationship with his father and didn’t want to go home so he moved there permanently, met Gilly, and started a family. A lot of friends drifted to other cities and states throughout the past 12 years. Through careful planning and many group texts, Robb was able to plan out a night for everyone to meet up at their old college hangout bar called The Wall.

Jon pulled the heavy door open and let Gilly and Sam enter the bar and he followed. He forgot how dimly lit it was inside, how loud the classic rock music was that played over the speakers; it had never been a classy bar and he was glad it hadn’t changed. They used to think of themselves as kings in that place and even though it had been so long since he last set foot in there, he could almost feel those young, prideful, foolish feelings come back. He shook off the nostalgia with a slight shake of his head and a smile.

“Snow!“ a booming voice came up beside him and put his arm roughly around Jon’s shoulders.

“Tormund, it’s good to see you!” Jon said, giving the tall, wild looking man a big hug.

“Come, meet my girlfriend!“

“So you’ve finally found one that can put up with your shit?”

“Yes! She challenges me. I love a challenge,” Tormund half growled at the equally tall blond he introduced as Brienne.

Jon then greeted his old friends Davos and Edd. Robb and his girlfriend Margaery came in and as he talked with them, he noticed a group of people on the other side of the bar. Through the dim light, he could spot Arya, Theon, Jeyne, Grenn, and Pyp clustered around someone. Grenn shifted his head for a moment and Jon could see a flash of red hair brighten the darkness. Surprise and nervousness began to fill his gut. Nobody had told him she’d be here.

“Ah, yeah, Sansa’s here,” Robb said sheepishly when he noticed where Jon was looking. “She flew in this morning to surprise the family. Look, I’m really sorry for not telling you, we just didn’t want you to change your mind about coming here tonight,“ he said in an apologetic tone.

Sansa Stark. Robb and Arya’s sister. Jon’s ex.

Jon had essentially been a part of the Stark family since he met Robb when they were 7 and Jon had a crush on Sansa as they grew up. Nothing came of it though until she started to attend the same college. She suddenly tired of all the rich pretty boys she had grown up around and wanted to hang out with Robb and Jon and their definitely not rich friends because they were more “real”. Jon finally worked up the nerve to ask her out after he walked her back to her dorm from a party. He was surprised by her shy but excited smile when she said yes. They had fun for a while but then she began to feel restless. She worried about getting old and not having lived life to it’s fullest before youth flew by. Eventually, she decided she didn’t want to feel tied down and wanted to move to London to finish college. She told him as gently as she could and tried to put into words how much she really did care about him but had to do this for herself. He tried to be understanding and decided to not tell her he was in love with her. He told himself he was young and didn’t need to be tied down either. Over the next few years, he’d see some girls and have his fair share of hook ups, trying to erase the memory of Sansa. He didn’t try to have an actual real relationship until he met Ygritte. Her red hair reminded him of Sansa but that’s where their similarities ended. Ygritte was a good and long distraction. But that’s all she was, a distraction. He ended things with her when he realized he didn’t actually love her. She took it hard and she eventually moved away. And now it had been 12 years since he had seen Sansa. He had learned from her family that after England, she hopped around to the Netherlands, then France, Italy, Switzerland, and Australia was the last Jon had heard.

All of their old friends would come up and greet her and they would listen intently to her stories from living abroad; she was the star of the night. She looked gorgeous like she was in a movie, just like she had when she was 20. Her long legs covered in tight jeans, her black top unbuttoned low on her chest. Her voice sounded like a song. Like the pretty songs she’d sing in the shower when she didn’t realize Jon could hear her. It all brought him back to when they were young.

“Are you just going to stare at her all night and not talk to her?“ Arya asked as she plopped herself on a barstool next to him.

“She’s busy talking to everyone.“

“You’ve been here for an hour now. Face your fears, Jon. Just talk to her.“

“I don’t fear talking to her.“

“You fear being rejected by her again. Although, I wouldn’t necessarily say she rejected you back in the day.“

“Well, what would you call it when someone doesn’t want a relationship with you?“

“It’s not like she didn’t like you. She felt restless and needed to act on it. I’m glad she did it before you two got really serious and not after.“ Arya turned to face him. “But it won’t hurt to just talk to her. Just say hi at least, you’re gonna be seeing her for Christmas anyways.“

“Oh, God, I didn’t think about that. Maybe I’ll have a quiet Christmas with just Ghost this year, that sounds relaxing.“ Jon had always spent Christmas with the Starks since his parents passed away when he was younger. Sansa hadn’t been back for Christmas since she left for England.

“Jon Snow, you are not spending Christmas alone with your dog! Stop being a broody little baby and go say hi to her.“ With that, she jumped off her stool and went to talk to some friends.

Jon drank the last gulp of his Jameson and Coke, set his glass down, and tried to casually walk towards Sansa as she talked with Margaery in the corner. Sansa’s back was turned towards him but Margaery saw him coming and he could see her raise her eyebrow in excited curiosity. She quickly made an excuse to go get another drink and left Sansa standing alone.

“Hey, Sans,“ Jon said as he came up beside her. He did his best to act cool and relaxed as he desperately hoped she was still the same Sansa he used to know.

“Jon! I’ve been meaning to come say hi to you but I keep getting pulled away. How are you?“ Sansa asked and gave him a little hug. Her simple hug reminded him of the one she gave him as a thank you for walking her home, right before he blurted out the words asking her to go on a date with him.

“I’ve been doing well. How’s life in...Australia, is it?“ Jon asked, as coolly as he could manage.

“It was good, but I’ve actually decided to move back home. Figured it’s time I laid down some roots and what not,” Sansa said with an easy smile. “Plus, I think my family misses me too much,“ she said loudly as Arya walked by them, causing Arya to roll her eyes as she walked away.

“Well, that’s good. I know your mom must be extremely happy.“

“Yeah, she definitely is. I just told them when I arrived this morning. Now she’s trying to convince Bran and Rickon into moving back here. So where are you living now, Jon?“ Her blue eyes were shining like they always used to, even the dull lighting in the bar couldn’t hide it.

“I still have my parents’ house. I’ve been working on remodeling and updating things in there.“

“I’m sure you’re making it look really good. I always loved that house,” Sansa said, smiling.

Flashes of them having sex in every room of the house ran by in Jon’s mind. “Will you be staying at your parents’ house?“

“Yeah, while I apartment hunt here in downtown and wait for all my boxes to come in.“ She paused for a sip of her cocktail. “So how’s the love life?“

“Non-existent these days.“

“Oh, I heard you were dating someone.“

“Ygritte? No, we broke up a while ago.“ Jon couldn’t help but wonder if he could sense the tiniest amount of jealousy coming from her. He told himself it was just his wishful thinking.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, it just wasn’t meant to be. How about you?”

“Same. There were a few boyfriends but they never lasted long. Especially when I’d get restless and move to another country,” she said with a small laugh. “But I’m over that now.”

Suddenly Gilly came up to them with her phone in her hands. “Smile, you two! I’m trying to get pictures of everyone!”

Sansa leaned in close to him, placed her hand on his chest, and smiled her lovely smile as Gilly took their picture. He worried she could feel how fast his heart was pounding with her hand on his chest.

“Jon, I just want to apologize for everything,“ Sansa quietly said as Gilly walked away to take more pictures.

The shift in her tone caught him off guard. She went from relaxed to what he could only describe as shyly apologetic.

“It’s okay, Sans. We were young.“

“I know. But I still hurt you and I never forgot that.“

“You had to do what was best for you, I understood that.“

She smiled a small, grateful smile at him. “Thanks for understanding,” she said, reaching out and giving his hand a little squeeze. He could feel how soft her skin was. The soft skin he used to touch and kiss and lick. He had to admit to himself that her every touch, her eyes, her voice, the way her mouth moved, just everything took him back to when they were young. When he had her. When he went from shyly asking her out to having no fear when he was with her.

They continued talking and friends would join in their conversation from time to time and Sansa would regale them with her stories from other countries. As he listened and watched her, he shamefully realized that he had been holding on to his feelings for her over all these years. It was something he knew deep down but he always refused to admit it to himself. But as she was there in front of him, he fully accepted that fact. And now she was moving back and he didn’t know how he was going to be able to handle her being so near to him.

All too soon, it was last call. They all paid their tabs and began to say goodbye and go their separate ways. Eventually, it was just Jon, Sansa, Sam, and Gilly standing outside the bar.

“You guys go get warm in the car, I’ll meet you there as soon as Sansa’s Uber arrives,“ Jon said to Sam.

“Thanks, Jon,“ Sansa said and squeezed his hand again.

“I’m not going to leave you standing alone out here at 2 in the morning to get taken,“ Jon said with a laugh.

“Aw, my knight in shining armor!“ Sansa teased. “I’m happy to be back home.”

“I’m glad you’re back too.“ He looked over at her, her sweet smile and sparkling eyes looked back at him.

All Jon could think was that he’s getting too old to hide his feelings for her. Her Uber pulled up and without thinking, he grabbed her waist, pulled her to him and recklessly kissed her. His desire and affection for her poured into his kiss. But suddenly, his mind came back to reality and he pulled away, embarrassed.

“I - I’m sorry.“ He quickly turned around and walked quickly to Sam’s car, leaving Sansa confused.

After Sam and Gilly dropped him off at his home, Jon laid in his bed, wide awake, and thought of how stupidly reckless he was. He had no idea how Sansa might feel about him and yet he kissed her. It was spur of the moment, and his body took control. It was almost like muscle memory, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her in for a kiss. All of the nostalgia of that night, being around all of his old friends and her, it all brought him back to when he was 22.

His phone vibrated with a text message and he felt dread that it was Sansa telling him to leave her alone. He picked up his phone and thankfully it was just Gilly sending him some of the pictures she took that night. One of them was the picture of him and Sansa. His heart ached as he looked at it; with Sansa leaning in close, her hand on him, and his own old familiar smile, they looked exactly like they used to when they were happy together. Older, but still the same.

He gradually drifted off to sleep, replaying the kiss over and over in his head. Feeling his embarrassment, the familiar and unforgettable softness of her lips pressed to his, and that fleeting second he thought he felt her kiss back before he hastily pulled away. Or was that just wishful thinking again?

Two days later, it was Christmas Eve. He kept to himself since the night at the bar but it was tradition for him to join the Starks for Christmas Eve dinner, followed by watching A Christmas Story, and then each person opening one gift before bed. But Jon couldn’t get up the nerve to go so he texted Robb that morning and said he wasn’t feeling well. Robb called bull shit on his excuse but Jon didn’t back down. Around noon, he ignored Arya’s call and simply texted her back saying he was trying to sleep it off. At 3, there was a pounding at the door.

“I swear to God, Arya,“ he mumbled to himself as he went to answer it. But instead of Arya, Sansa stood there, her bright hair standing out against her white sweater that bore her lovely shoulders.

“I’ve come to collect you, Jon Snow,“ she said simply. Jon opened the door wider and she slipped in. Ghost happily greeted the new face and she bent down to pet him. “Well aren’t you adorable!” she said in a cutesy voice to him and stood back up. “This place looks amazing, Jon.”

“Thanks, it’s a work in progress. I just finished the kitchen last month,“ he said, pointing towards the clean, bright, white kitchen. She walked to it and looked around.

“Are you avoiding me?“ Sansa suddenly blurted out, turning back to him.

“No, didn’t Robb tell you I’m not feeling well?“ Jon tried to say innocently.

“You look perfectly fine, Jon. You’re trying to avoid me by not coming today.“

Jon rubbed the back of his neck uneasily as he tried to figure out what to say.

“I thought we had a fun time the other night,“ Sansa said, leaning her butt against the kitchen island and trying to keep Jon’s eye contact. “It really felt like old times again.”

“It really did, and it really was fun,“ Jon said, leaning against the fridge.

“So then why are you avoiding me?“

“You know why, Sans.“ Jon looked away, embarrassment filling him again.

“The kiss?“ she said softly. “You know, it felt like a movie to me. The whirlwind of nostalgia, the dark street, you pulling me in for a kiss, pulling away and saying you’re sorry, and then walking away. But usually in movies, you would turn back around and rush to me for another kiss, happily ever after, roll credits.“

Jon looked back over to her, curiosity in his eyes.

“Why did you kiss me, Jon?“ she asked softly.

“I don’t know. Something came over me. Like you said, it felt like old times, everything felt so familiar.“

“It did surprise me but you didn’t exactly stay long enough for me to react. You looked really regretful when you pulled away and then you just kept walking.”

“I was embarrassed, Sans. I shouldn’t have done that.“

“I was glad you did.“

“You were?“

“I know it’s not fair for me to say this, not with me having ran away and hurting you all those years ago. A part of me has kept holding on to you, onto us, just in case our chance hasn’t gone away whenever I decided to come back home. It was my choice to leave and I don’t regret it, but no guy has ever come close to comparing to you, Jon. I still care about you and with that kiss, I had hoped you still cared about me.“

“Sansa, I never stopped caring. I kissed you because I was still holding on too.“

A relieved, happy smile spread across her lips. In one quick step, Jon moved to her, slid his arm around her waist, and pulled her into another kiss. This time she kissed back immediately, her hand on the back of his head and her fingers entwined in his dark curls.

He gently pulled his lips away and placed small, light kisses along her bare shoulder. “Will you go on a date with me, Sansa?“ he whispered.

“How about tonight? Christmas Eve dinner with my family,“ she said with a smile.

“Sounds good to me,“ Jon said, pulling her into another kiss.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jon snow #sansa #game of thrones #fanfic #modern au #adele #when we were young

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redshirtgal · 5 years

Photo

When last we left David L. Ross, we discussed a few bits of information he had shared about his role as Lt. Galloway/Johnson and himself. It seems he did many interviews and several conventions after his acting career was over and that provides us with enough information to flesh out his background.

During his days in high school in the town of Momence, Indiana, David’s main interest was playing backfield on his high school football team. He never took a drama class and never considered acting as a career. After graduation in 1956, he enlisted in the Navy and never looked back (he was assigned to underwater demolition before the SEALS were formed). Once his service was over, David left his hometown for Las Vegas and did construction work. In fact, his acting career started when an agent noticed him as he was working with the crew building the Sahara Casino and Hotel. She talked him into going to Hollywood and even cooked up a fake resume for him. David’s first role was playing one of the soldiers in an episode of Combat! After that, he did find enough acting jobs on TV to build up an excellent resume of his own. He even took acting lessons from well-known Hollywood coaches such as Lee Strassburg. But ironically, it was his role on Combat! that caught Gene Roddenberry’s eye. Gene had already started casting for Star Trek and had filled the main roster. But he still needed a Security Chief and thought David L. Ross would be perfect in that role. When Gene offered him a contract, the young actor thought it over and decided that even though he liked the part, he didn’t want to get typecast as a “space cadet.” So he asked if he could do the part as recurring role and the studio agreed. That gave him the ability to work on other shows such as The Big Valley and Batman. So Ross’s part became a regular security officer named Galloway. He does mention the time Gene Roddenberry was invited to visit one of the NASA facilities and came back to find that Lt. Galloway had been killed off. But he liked David L. Ross so much, he went out of his way to make sure David returned for two more episodes, one as Lt. Johnson and the other as the inexplicably resurrected Lt. Galloway. Over the years, David made friends with a number of actors he met on the backlots of Desilu and Paramount and was even allowed to watch some of them being filmed. He became good friends with Barbara Streisand, Rock Hudson, George Peppard, Charlie Bronson and Steve McQueen. Michael Caine was even part of David’s wedding party. So even once Star Trek ended, David still had plenty of contacts in Hollywood and did not suffer for a lack of work. When the first Star Trek movie was in the works, Gene’s representative called David L. Ross and told him there was a part for him. But he would get very little money up front. Even though David was promised a piece of the pie from the profits, he had been burned on that once before. So he passed. Fast forward to after the movie showed there was still an interest in Star Trek. David called up Gene and asked if he could be part of the second movie since he could tell there definitely was enough public interest to make one worthwhile. To his surprise, Gene told him no. Evidently, Gene felt he had backed David during the series and when David turned him down the first time, that was it. However, David L. Ross still feels proud of his acting career. Besides Star Trek, his other credits include dozens of TV shows, such as McMillan & Wife, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., I Spy, The Wild Wild West, and M*A*S*H. His film credits include Rocky II, Mother, Jugs & Speed, and others that he takes more pride in, such as Tora! Tora! Tora! An interesting side-note from an interview -at one point, he was in the running for the lead in Midnight Cowboy. It came down to himself and Jon Voight. David thought he had aced the screen test and was excited to get a call from the studio asking him to come in. They told him they loved his screen test, but the role was going to Jon Voight.

In 2009, David’s acting career came to a halt when he had a heart attack and need a quadruple bypass. Hollywood studios refused to hire him any longer since he was an insurance risk. So he decided to move back to Indiana where he now lives in Morocco, close to his mother’s family. But mainly, he enjoys catching up with his family and doing the occasional parade with his 1954 Pontiac Chieftain.

He never was fond of going to the Star Trek conventions, even when most of the main cast were still alive. However, in 2015, he was invited to and did attend the Las Vegas convention in honor of Leonard Nimoy. David agreed because he always considered Nimoy as one of his good friends. Other than this, David has pretty much stayed away from his old Trek life and prefers being a homebody, staying with his daughter Leiana who is his unofficial nurse.

#Star Trek TOS #David L. Ross

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jordan202 · 6 years

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My Boys: Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 2

Link to the previous chapter is HERE

thank you @jia911 and @em-m-j for help proofreading and to my dearest @bluebelle18 for helping me out!

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon – Chapter Two

Dear Kate,

It kind of breaks my heart not to know how you are doing. I am writing this email in the hopes it reaches you before your next destination.

I have decided to take the spot at Grey Sloan. I suppose I might regret this decision at some point, but I just long to be with my family for the time being. Koracick called me from Hopkins yesterday and my ears still ache after his thirty-minute monologue about how I am screwing up my entire future. I came to LA before heading back home. You won’t believe this, but Lucas is also moving to Seattle. I spoke to my mom this morning and she told me the twins are flying in from West Point next week. I haven’t seen them since Christmas, so I am excited we’re all going to be together again.

I also saw Joey today. He is still working as Lucas’ assistant while juggling his career at the agency. I honestly don’t know how he does it. I think they might have to canonize him before we understand why he puts up with my brother.

I wish I could tell you all of this in person.

Love,

Thomas.

“Are you seriously contemplating leaving?” Thomas asked with a smile at the same time he pulled up his sunglasses, revealing his light blue eyes that matched the clear water inside the pool he was in. “I honestly don’t see a reason to.”

Lucas looked around and smiled with a mix of mischief, pride and satisfaction.

Because of the time zone difference his body was still in, Thomas had woken up at six on that Saturday morning. He’d gone into the kitchen to get something to eat but to his surprise, had found his brother outside surrounded by a group of people he’d never seen before. He’d noticed that, as a general rule, none of them had much to say, but they were pretty interesting to look at.

Especially the girls, Thomas realized.

“Welcome to LA,” Lucas raised his glass in an imaginary toast and crossed his legs at his ankles, leaning back on his chair.

“I should have visited you more often,” Thomas decided when two young women left the pool exhibiting their shapely bodies.

“You never listened to me,” Lucas gave him a wink of wisdom.

The older brother wanted to ask if that meant Thomas was single now, but it wasn’t the right time or place to have that conversation. Lucas knew that while his brother was a normal guy and like any other noticed attractive women, never had he ever shown real interest in anyone besides his girlfriend. And Thomas and Kate were the steadiest couple he knew, so it seemed illogical to even consider that.

“Hey, do your team mates know you’re moving to Seattle?” Thomas asked with curiosity. Some of Lucas’ friends who were there were also athletes in his team but so far, no one had touched the subject.

“No, I can’t tell anyone before the Sounders make the public announcement,” Lucas explained. He was bound by a contract and couldn’t disclose the information until the following week, when the marketing department at his new team decided on a new campaign to promote their big hire.

“Is that why you haven’t called mom and dad yet?”

“Precisely,” Lucas replied with a wink. He couldn’t wait to share the news with the rest of the family but he knew how easily information could spread around if the secret was out. “Joey is going to bring me some documents to sign tonight and then I am officially released from my team. Then we can fly back home.”

“Awesome,” Tom replied, looking forward to seeing his old time friend again, but mostly to go home.

“We gotta go out to celebrate it,” Lucas decided, getting his phone to send a message to Joey.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Thomas noticed it was past ten am and his brother had been up and running since the previous evening. He knew Lucas had gone to a party the night before but judging by the mess on the terrace of his house, they had extended the fun to the afterhours. And now he was planning a new outing for that evening.

“I think I am just about to,” Lucas replied, struggling to contain a yawn. He was finally getting tired.

“Where is your… Your… Where is Rachel?” Thomas asked with curiosity, looking around in amidst of all the people.

“I don’t know,” Lucas answered with casualty, getting up from his chair in an obvious motion to leave.

“Wait, are you going to bed, just like that?” The young doctor looked over his shoulder, noticing there were at least a dozen friends of his brother still present. Judging by Lucas’ reaction, he planned to simply go inside and leave all the guests there. “What about all these people?”

“They can carry on with what they were doing,” Lucas shrugged, unaffected.

It wasn’t until a couple days of spending time with his brother that Thomas came to notice the situation wasn’t uncommon at Lucas’ place. The house felt pretty much like a summer camp, where a lot of people would come and go. Some would spend the night, some would stay during the day in a giant game room, playing videogames and pool, and others would simply spend the sunny afternoons inside his swimming pool. There was always someone to talk to, and Thomas found the situation quite unusual, but nonetheless entertaining.

When asked about it, Lucas had simply answered he liked having people around. But the shadow of sadness behind the playfulness of his brother’s eyes caught Thomas’ attention. He had no idea how much of that was involved in Lucas’ decision to move out. But Thomas only hoped that whatever it was that prevented his brother from being happy stayed in Los Angeles for good when they finally made it back home in a few days.

“I told you for the sixth time, already, Hunt. I am not going out with you tonight.”

“You know, there was a time in your life when you very much wanted me to take you out,” Lucas teased, sending a teasing flirtatious wink in Joey’s direction, misinterpreting his friend’s words on purpose.

Joey Avery rolled his eyes with playful impatience and followed his best friend to the terrace outside, holding a glass of expensive wine in one hand while carefully scanning his eyes through a long stack of documents.

“I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man left on Earth,” Joey replied, hiding his smile behind a sip of his drink. “You are way too straight.”

“That’s just mean,” Lucas said with pretend offense and sat down on the marble counter near the pool. “I liked you better when you were into me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that ship has sailed long ago,” Joey couldn’t contain a chuckle. “You will always be the love of my life, but I haven’t been into you since the moment I experimented what was out there.”

“Still, I was the first guy you kissed,” Lucas gloated with a smile. He had spent the past seven years pestering Joey about it and probably would for the rest of his life. “I am going to tell Jonathan that,” he added, referring to Joey’s long time boyfriend.

“Yes, what was I thinking back then?” Joey replied with a look of self-criticism, not bothering to take his eyes off the document to deal with Lucas’ recurring jokes. “Jon already knows that story, by the way, smartass.”

The two remained in silence for long seconds while Joey carefully read through documents and Lucas played with the label of his wine bottle.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

It was the change of tone in Lucas’ voice rather than the question that made Joey finally look up to meet his friend’s eyes.

Joey Avery had known Lucas Hunt ever since they were little kids and they had always played soccer together but it wasn’t until adolescence that the two of them became best friends. Joey easily remembered the day when he, as a teenager confused by his sexuality, had misinterpreted Lucas’ words of encouragement and kissed the guy.

Back then, Joey had completely understood Lucas’ irritation with his impulsive move. And he’d sort of expected the guy to make fun of him or expose him to the rest of the soccer team. After all, in Joey’s opinion, despite having a crush on the boy, Lucas had always been a bit of an empty head that was way too popular and didn’t take anything seriously.

But instead, Lucas had offered him selfless support and been the first male friend Joey had come out to. During his senior year in school, Lucas had become one of Joey’s closest friends and the only one besides Kate Karev who knew about his struggle.

After Lucas had graduated and left school to go to University of Washington, Joey had only seen him in a few occasions. But then, when Joey had also moved out to go to UC Berkeley in Los Angeles, Lucas had dropped out of university to play for the LA Galaxy and before the two of them could even realize it, they were living in the same city and had become best friends.

And once inside a college campus and away from the judgment of everyone he knew and loved, Joey had been able to come out in public and embrace his sexuality, always leaning on Lucas’ full support. The youngest Avery kid had never dreamed of becoming a professional athlete, but he very much enjoyed sports and liked working with it. So while Lucas’ career skyrocketed, Joey finished his degree in college, only to slowly find himself being the one to represent his friend in his business deals and professional contracts, which later on became his own career.

“Oh, Luke, you know I hate leaving you alone, especially when I know you couldn’t cook spaghetti if your life depended on it,” Joey mocked Lucas at the same time he felt genuinely sorry to see his friend go. “But I have a company to run and how the hell am I going to run an LA based enterprise if I go back to Seattle?”

“I know, I know…” Lucas sighed, trying to accept it. He perfectly understood why Joey couldn’t go with him, but it didn’t mean he hated it any less.

“But, for all that’s worth, and we know it’s worth a lot,” Joey said with a sad smile, “Tom is also going to be there and I am going to count on him to take care of you.”

“How amazing is that?” Lucas asked with his most boyish smile, leaving Joey touched by how genuine his friend’s love for his brother was. “I couldn’t believe it when Tommy told me.”

“I couldn’t either.”

Lucas noticed in Joey’s expression that he knew more than he was trying to show and furrowed a brown in question.

“Hey, Joe, where is Kate?” Lucas tried to sound casual and realized instantly the discreet change in Joey’s expression. “Is she going to a different hospital for her residency?”

“I don’t think she has decided that yet,” Joey replied and Lucas sensed he was telling the truth.

“What’s going on between Tommy and her?” he straightforwardly asked. Kate was very close to Joey and if there was anyone she would have shared that with, it was definitely him.

Joey took a deep breath, apparently pondering what to say.

“Look, I don’t know the details, okay?” he said, and once again Lucas felt like he was being genuine. “All I know is that they had a big disagreement about what to do after the graduation. Kate told me they had a big fight and I think that’s why she traveled to London, to be away from everything…” Joey confessed with a heavy frown. “I am not even sure if they’re together anymore.”

Lucas scoffed with incredulity.

“What are you talking about, of course they are,” Lucas affirmed, unable to believe any other possibility. “I am sure this is just a phase. Tom and Kate are meant to be together… They are like Carl and Ellie, ok? If they can’t work it out, no one can.”

“Except life isn’t a Pixar movie, Luke,” Joey gently reminded him.

“It can be,” Lucas stubbornly chided. “For some people, it can be.”

Joey was just wondering if Lucas needed to believe in that fairy tale love because of his brother or for himself when Thomas walked outside, warmly greeting Joey.

“Hey, dude, I didn’t know you were already here.” He threw a censoring glance in Lucas’ direction, condemning his brother for not letting him know.

“We were talking business,” Lucas justified with excessive dignity.

“Actually, we were talking about Up, the movie,” Joey corrected him.

“It’s my favorite movie,” Lucas defensively scowled at his friend.

“Oh, so your favorite movie is a cartoon?” Thomas raised one eyebrow. “I can’t really say I am surprised…”

“It’s called an animated film, thank you,” Lucas grumpily answered.

Thomas looked from one to the other, trying to understand why his brother was in a foul mood and Joey was so quiet but none of them said anything else, so the youngest guy gave up soon after.

“So… Are we going out tonight or what?” he asked, getting a positive grin from his brother in return at the same time Joey raised his arms in surrender, realizing he had just been outnumbered.

“By the way… how was your date last Friday?”

Megan lifted her eyes from the computer on her hands to meet her best friend’s mysterious expression. Claire was Maggie Pierce’s only daughter and had been Megan’s best friend since the day they were born. There was nothing they didn’t tell each other and now, Claire had the same kind of expectant/joyful face as her mother often did when they were excited about something.

“I was going to wait until Marianne got here to ask you that because we’re dying to hear it, but I have no idea where she is and I can’t wait any longer,” Claire confessed with a wide smile.

Megan noticed the curiosity mixed with excitement and was amused by her friend’s clear high expectations.

“It was okay.”

“Okay?!” Claire asked with disappointment. “That’s a not good enough answer. I want all the details.”

Megan gently closed her laptop screen and looked at her friend. They were sitting in the living room of her house simply hanging out together as they often did during school breaks.

“Claire, you’ve known Aaron for as long as I do,” the girl stated with conviction. “What could I possibly tell you about him that you don’t already know?”

Claire seemed to think for a second and then nodded her head in acceptance. After years of vouching for everyone else’s happiness and acting like a modern version of Jane Austen’s Emma trying to bring couples together, Megan had finally accepted to go out with someone. Claire knew her standards were high and just because she was admired and well liked in school, Megan didn’t take advantage of it. So if her friend had said yes to Aaron, Claire expected him to be special. She was very pleased with the girl’s choice, considering they all knew each other since their earliest school years.

And the fact that Aaron played in the school’s football team with her own boyfriend also wasn’t a bad detail. Claire longed for double dates and she wasn’t one bit sorry for pushing Megan towards the guy in such an obvious manner.

“So, how serious is it?” Claire didn’t give up. “Are you officially dating him? Are you two seeing each other again? Did he kiss you?”

“Oh my God, slow down on the questions…” Megan answered with a chuckle, too entertained by her best friend’s devotion. “And yes, he did,” the teenage girl added, unable to prevent the rush of blood to the cheeks that became obvious on her very fair skin.

Claire had just opened her mouth to ask for more details when the doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts. Supposing it was their friend Marianne, who had been mysteriously absent for the past few days, Megan got up and fixed her shirt before distractedly opening the door.

But her eyes grew wide with shock and raw contentment when she spotted the two young men standing on the doorway with huge smiles on their faces.

“Megan, why are you squealing, I am trying to…”

Amelia’s words trailed off and her face transformed when she walked into the living room. Ignoring everything about the reprimand she was just about to give her daughter for disrupting the quietness when she was trying to focus on her reading, the neurosurgeon took large strides forward and immediately wrapped one arm around each of her son’s necks, nearly strangling them both.

“What are you guys doing here?” Megan asked with excitement, surrounding Thomas’s waist with her arms for another embrace.

“We wanted to surprise you,” Lucas said with mischief in his eyes, feeling his heart blissfully happy with the warm welcome. “Hey Claire girl,” he stepped inside the room while Amelia closed the door after them. “I haven’t seen you in a bit, how are you?”

Amelia watched as Tom dumped two duffel bags next to the couches and proceeded to greet Claire too.

“Where is dad?” her second son asked, looking around.

“He’s still at work. Does he know you were coming?” she asked with wide eyes, ready to murder her husband if he knew about it and hadn’t told her the news.

A few years before, Miranda Bailey had had to step down as Chief of Surgery and the position had been offered to Owen. At first, he’d been reluctant to take it back, but after an honest conversation with his wife, who’d wisely pointed out their kids were basically raised and he had more free time to pursue his own projects while she went further with her Harper Avery Award winning research, Owen had taken the position, ultimately finding pleasure again in it.

“Nope,” Lucas chuckled, reading the unsaid threat in his mother’s eyes. “He is in for a surprise just like you two.”

Amelia smiled and completely forgot about the paper she was planning to read, decided to focus on a much more pressing matter instead: her adored sons.

“But, wait, did you two set this up? Did you fly in at the same time…?” she asked with confusion.

“No, I actually went to LA a couple of days ago to meet Luke and then I was going to come here,” Thomas replied with a wide grin, anticipating his mother’s reaction with the news he was about to share. “I had no idea he planned to come too,” Thomas added with honesty. “But I had to be here in person to tell you about my news.”

Amelia knew her son had just graduated med school. A couple of weeks before she, Megan and Owen had flown to Boston to be there for the ceremony. Her other sons hadn’t been able to make it but they had been in touch during the entire week, catching up with Thomas’ remarkable achievement.

“What?” Amelia asked, excited and curious.

But as Thomas smiled grew wider by the second and he just kept staring into her eyes with the thrilling look of someone who had something amazing to share, Amelia had an epiphany.

“No way…!” she shouted with exhilaration, unable to believe. “Are you serious?! Are you…?”

When Thomas nodded yes with his head, Amelia let out a hysterical shout that Megan promptly classified as squealing and wrapped her son in a hug so tight that she left them both breathless.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re coming back home!” she added with sheer joy.

Thomas had been debating with his parents quite a lot in the past year about where he should apply and choose to go for his medical residency. Amelia knew her son wanted a career in neurosurgery and therefore he took into account everything she had to say about the matter. Unsurprisingly, Thomas had matched all the places he was interested in. And in the end, he’d narrowed down his choices to going to Hopkins to study under Tom Koracick, staying in Boston to go to Mas Gen where he knew everyone already or moving back to Seattle to work at Grey Sloan.

Amelia had been as impartial as possible while giving her son professional advice but in the end, she hadn’t been able to hide she favored Seattle as a choice, exactly because she wanted him near.

“I can’t believe this, I am the happiest I could be!” the surgeon proclaimed, unable to stop grinning like a child.

“Are you sure?” Lucas asked her with a teasing smile.

“Am I sure of what?” she looked in his direction, trying to interpret the meaning of his words and that smug smile on the corner of his lips.

“You couldn’t be happier than you are now?” he asked, looking her in the eyes with heartfelt joy.

“I don’t think that’s even possible,” Amelia answered with honesty.

“Well, what if I told you I am coming back to Seattle too?”

The silence that followed Lucas’ question let him know he had just left both his mother and sister in shock.

“I’d say you are kidding,” Amelia defensively looked at him, hesitant to believe it because it was too good to be true.

“I wouldn’t judge you on that,” Lucas playfully replied, knowing he had no credit whatsoever considering how often he was pranking people. “But yeah,” he looked into his mother’s eyes and saw how thrilled she got when he delivered the news. “This time it’s true. I am moving back to Seattle.”

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” she felt tears accumulating in her eyes and pulled Lucas in for a hug.

Amelia took a while to be convinced that those amazing moves were actually happening and sooner after, Owen returned home, proving to be just as surprised and pleased as she was. Together, they had dinner with Megan and the boys, eager to hear every single detail of the decisions.

When his parents inquired him about what Kate had decided for her residency, Thomas said that so far, she was still going for Mas Gen as her top choice but hadn’t fully made her up mind yet, only planning to do so when she returned from London in the following days.

Lucas kept staring at his brother, trying to pick up more than what Thomas was saying but he couldn’t achieve anything. When he looked sideways, he noticed Megan had been doing the same and the girl instantly met his eyes, silently agreeing that she was just as unconvinced as he was.

By the time dinner was over, the teenage girl had already decided the plans for the following days, unsurprisingly devoting most of her brothers’ time to her. Since Thomas and Lucas hadn’t yet made any living arrangements, they were very excited with the idea of moving back home temporarily.

And even though it had been a while since Amelia had had so many of her children together sharing a meal with her, when Lucas came with a horrible pun to tease his dad and Thomas made a sarcastic comment about it, it felt like nothing at all had changed.

“Why do you have that sad look on your face?” Owen asked arranging the pillows near the bedframe as he looked at his wife. “I thought you would be smiling for days after the surprise the boys gave us tonight.”

“I know…” Amelia turned her head over the shoulder, standing near the window through which she’d been gazing outside, lost in her own thoughts. “It just kills me that Danny and Robbie aren’t here.”

Owen silently went in her direction and wrapped his arms around her from behind, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek before gently touching her shoulder with his chin. He didn’t say anything because there was nothing to be said. It took a toll on him too, but he knew that for Amelia, the twins’ departure had been especially worse. As she liked to say it herself, that day the twins had left for college, she’d “lost” two at once and that had it made it twice as hard to bear.

“They are okay,” Owen settled for saying, staring at the dark sky outside from behind her.

“I know they are,” Amelia intertwined her fingers with his and leaned backwards, putting the back of her head on his shoulder. “It’s me that is not.”

Owen chuckled lightly and gave her another kiss, settling for silently contemplating the quiet view outside. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe the amazing things he and his wife had built together and how far in their journey they’d come.

But all it took was one happy evening like the one they’d just had to remind him that, despite the absences and the time apart that their kids’ education demanded, he felt absolutely accomplished and proud of all five amazing people he and Amelia had raised together.

Thomas took large strides through the well-known halls of Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. On his way to the education department, he passed by a lot of friendly acquaintances and had to make several stops to catch up with people he’d known all his life.

The soon to be intern knew that having his father as his boss and his mother as his direct mentor weren’t details that would exactly make his life easier, but all things considered, Thomas was up for the challenge. He supposed that, like his brother, he longed to be near his family after so many years living away from home.

He’d expected to see a lot of familiar faces during his time there, even on the first day he set foot inside the hospital. But there was one person Thomas had absolutely not imagined crossing paths with him that afternoon.

“Emily?” he frowned, confused, and hurried to catch up with the girl who walked in the same corridor, just a few yards ahead of him. “Emily Spencer?”

A short, petite woman with auburn hair turned around at the sound of her name. She had dark circles around her eyes but they were every bit as hazel as they’d ever been. And judging by the look on her face, Thomas supposed she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“Tommy?” she hesitated at first but after a second, a genuine smile lit up her entire face. “You’re… You’re… You’re so grown!” She chuckled, noticing the differences that time had invariably caused. Thomas looked just as friendly and angelical as ever, but his facial features were more evident and masculine. “Is that an attempt to a beard?” she teased, watching him laugh with delight.

“Is it really so bad?” he asked with consternation, running his hand through his own face trying to find almost inexistent facial hair. “When I asked my sister about it, she said that I aimed for Ryan Gosling and hit Mrs. Elliott,” Thomas confessed, making Emily crack up laughing at the mention of their high school chemistry teacher who now taught Megan too. The woman was a nightmare and students mercilessly made fun of her rough appearance as a way to rebel against her tyranny. “I suppose she didn’t mean it as a compliment to me,” he added with good humor.

“Or to Mrs Elliott,” Emily stated, trying to be serious but failing. Once she was finally able to stop laughing, she breathed in and added with genuine longing. “How is Megan?”

“She is great,” Thomas answered, happy that Emily had asked. “She is starting her senior year soon and she is determined to beat all my school records,” he added, unable to hide how proud he was of his sister.

“Sounds kind of impossible,” Emily teased him. Thomas had an outstanding school record. Even though Emily had graduated a year before him, everything Thomas had achieved before she left had already been remarkable.

“Nah, she is making me look like a dud,” Tom exaggerated, smiling with modesty. Megan was just as good as he’d been but she was a lot more organized and assertive going after what she wanted than he had been as a teenager.

“And how are you, Tommy?” Emily gave him a fraternal smile. She hadn’t seen him in five years and none of them were exactly active on social media to stay in touch through that time. “You look good.”

“I feel good,” Thomas said a bit quickly, hurrying to change the subject. “I’m actually here to hand in some documents,” he smiled, happy to share the news with Emily. “I got into the surgical program.”

“Oh, wow, really?” Her eyes got wide with amazement. “That’s great, Tommy, I’ve always known you’d achieve everything you set out for yourself…” she smiled, but the shadow beneath her eyes caught Thomas’ attention.

“Thanks, Emily…” he studied her further, unable to define her expression. “And what about you?” Thomas blinked to focus again on the conversation and stop seeing too much into things. The girl seemed hesitant to reply, even a bit uncomfortable, so he tried to make it easier for her to talk. “Are you back to visit your folks?”

The insistent hesitation from the girl alarmed him and it was then that Thomas realized the full extent of the context they were in.

As far as he knew, Emily Spencer lived in New York and had been doing so for the past years. He hadn’t heard much about her because she was a forbidden subject whenever Lucas was around and there was no one else Thomas could ask. But now, she was standing in the middle of a hospital corridor, back in her hometown, looking paler and more drained than Thomas ever remembering seeing her.

Almost instantly, a red flag rose in his mind and even though he knew he was being nosy, Thomas cared too much not to ask. Trying to be as gentle as possible and hoping to somehow be able to help her, the young doctor looked deeply into her eyes before asking.

“Emily… Are you sick?”

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