#<— just read chapter 1 of rugged old cross

[figurehater]

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[deliciousangelfestival]

We're Not Okay - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x veterinarian!Female Reader

Summary: Two people, each carrying their own trauma, find themselves in a place where they can begin to heal their wounds and mend their hearts together.

Words Count: 3,400

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“This is the first time I’ve heard a fox's voice,” said your father, Toni, as he shivered, pulling his jacket suit tighter around himself. The cold air bit at both of you as snow threatened to fall. Toni, at 50 years old, stood taller than you, his grey hair contrasting against the bleak sky.

He kept close behind as you worked at the conservation center, his eyes darting downward to ensure his pristine Italian leather shoes avoided mud or puddles. Unlike him, you wore a rugged outdoor outfit, complete with sturdy boots, befitting your role as a veterinarian and co-owner of the conservation—a job you’d been committed to since leaving home at seventeen.

“You could have waited in the visitor’s room,” you said, glancing over your shoulder while examining the fox.

“I can’t,” he replied, his voice tinged with anxiousness.

You let out a long sigh, turning your attention back to the fox—a sleek creature with bright orange fur streaked with hints of white, its ears flicking nervously as you checked for injuries. Its amber eyes watched you warily, a mix of fear and exhaustion evident.

Once your work was done, you exited the cage with Toni following closely. Both of you headed toward the main house, the crunch of gravel underfoot breaking the tense silence.

Toni’s eyes caught something unusual. “Wow. What’s that?” He pointed toward a cage set apart from the rest.

“Wait…! Don’t go near—” you shouted, but it was too late. Toni had already stepped closer.

“AHH!” He fell to the ground, his face pale and eyes wide. He trembled as he stared at the creature inside.

The white wolf looked directly at him, its majestic fur glistening like freshly fallen snow. Though intimidating with its piercing blue eyes and muscular build, it limped, favoring one injured leg.

You rushed over and dragged your father away from the cage. “I can’t even get close to him,” you muttered, exasperated.

Toni stood, brushing the dirt from his customized jacket, his face a mixture of frustration and fear. “I’ve been spat on, peed on, and now nearly eaten by the animals here.”

“Why are you even here if you hate it so much?” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just like my two older brothers. They come here, disrupt my work, and complain.”

“Ew… this place stinks. How do you stand it?” your first brother had sneered on his last visit.

“This owl is interesting. Do you sell them? I know plenty of people who’d pay,” the second one had added.

“GET OUT!” you’d yelled, seething with fury.

All the men in your family despised the outdoors. City people, through and through, they were consumed with managing their nightclub empire—a world you had rejected wholeheartedly. That life, everything they represented, was what drove you away to this sanctuary of yours.

Toni shifted nervously, glancing at you with rare vulnerability. It was an odd sight—the formidable nightclub owner and fierce businessman, now reduced to unease in your presence.

“Here’s the thing. I need… No.” He shook his head and corrected himself, “We need your help.”

“Me?” You arched an eyebrow. “How?” The question dripped with skepticism. You, a conservationist and veterinarian, had severed ties with their business long ago.

“Because of COVID-19, many businesses have been hit hard, including ours,” Toni said, his shoulders sagging.

You crossed your arms tighter, a flicker of resentment surfacing. After you’d left home, you’d turned a blind eye to everything related to their business. “Well, good. I hope that place burns to the ground.”

Toni’s face fell. “I know you hate it, but it’s my livelihood.” He sighed deeply. “Business is bad. There’s a chance it’ll go bankrupt.”

“Then sell it,” you said with a dismissive wave. “Most men your age are enjoying retirement.”

“Bah! No. I’m still in my prime!” He straightened his back defensively.

“Get to the point. What do you want?” you demanded.

“There’s someone willing to invest. But… there’s a catch,” Toni admitted, his eyes pleading. “Do you know Barnes?”

“Hmm… Yeah. The family that donates a lot to wildlife causes, including this place.”

“That’s right.” Toni nodded eagerly.

“So Barnes wants to invest in your nightclub?” You were incredulous. “Why?”

“That’s how Barnes gets richer—diversifying. And they’ve chosen our business. But there’s a condition.” Toni’s expression grew grave.

A pit formed in your stomach. Whatever it was, you knew it couldn’t be good.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

“The Barneses want to send their oldest grandchild here,” said Toni, his voice low as if dreading your reaction.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “This isn’t a daycare or rehab facility for humans.”

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands defensively. “That’s what I’ve been telling them. But they won’t budge. If I don’t bring their grandchild here, they won’t invest in the nightclub.”

“Ridiculous!” you snapped, your eyes narrowing. “Why drag me into this? The animals here are victims, and this place is their sanctuary, not some personal favor zone.”

“I knew you’d hate it,” Toni said, shifting uncomfortably. “But I thought you might change your mind after hearing me out.”

You crossed your arms, skeptically raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m all ears. What kind of offer could possibly make me reconsider?”

“This… isn’t easy for me,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “But I’ll give you what you’ve wanted for a long time. I’ll remove you from the family registry.”

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Wow. You must really need this investment.”

Toni nodded, his shoulders slumping, revealing the weight of his desperation. “But you don’t…” His voice faltered, as if hoping you’d ask for anything else instead of severing family ties completely.

“Fine.” The single word was delivered coolly as you turned on your heel, walking away without looking back. Toni’s face fell, his hope visibly deflated.

“Do you really hate me that much?” he called out, his voice cracking slightly. “That you want nothing to do with us?”

You stopped mid-step, your back still to him. “I do.” The words were blunt and final, hitting him like a physical blow.

A silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind. “Because of you, I’m reminded of that incident,” you said quietly, more to yourself than him, before walking away, leaving him standing there, hurt and alone.

That night, sleep eluded you. Memories from your childhood swirled in your mind, refusing to let you rest. Growing up as the child of a nightclub owner was no fairytale. Your home was a chaotic tangle of bright lights and dark secrets. You’d seen things a child shouldn’t—dangerous deals, late-night arguments, drunken patrons—and it left scars.

The confusion was only magnified by two stepmothers and two stepbrothers. Making a family tree in school was always a nightmare. That business stole away what innocence you had left. That was why you fled, finding solace in the simplicity and quiet resilience of animals.

"Owooooooo," A wolf’s howl pierced the still night air, low and haunting.

The sound sent a chill down your spine but also pulled you from your thoughts. Grabbing your jacket, you decided to check on the white wolf.

The wolf’s enclosure was isolated from the others. Previously placed near the fox, it had made every nearby animal skittish and restless, so it was moved here. The wolf stood under the pale moonlight, its white fur glistening like freshly fallen snow, every movement tinged with raw strength despite the noticeable limp in its gait. It tilted its head back and howled again, a mournful, soul-stirring sound.

You stepped closer to the cage, your breath fogging in the cold air. The white wolf’s piercing blue eyes locked onto you, unblinking. When it first arrived, it had been painfully thin, its ribs visible under its fur, and its injured leg had been in dire condition. Despite its weakened state, it had always reacted with hostility—growling, baring its sharp teeth whenever you approached.

You stopped just outside the cage’s boundary. “Can’t sleep?” you asked softly. “Me neither.”

The wolf let out another long, mournful howl, as if acknowledging your words. Its gaze was intense, wary, but something flickered in its eyes—pain, maybe even recognition.

“You’ve been hurt a lot,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. The wolf’s ears twitched, a small but telling sign that it was listening, though its muscles remained taut, ready to spring at the first hint of danger. You leaned against the cold metal bars, feeling the chill seep through your jacket. The wolf’s intense gaze never wavered, its blue eyes seeming to pierce right through you, mirroring a pain you recognized all too well. This raw, unfiltered connection made the air feel heavier, the silence more profound.

This was why you worked here. It wasn’t just about caring for wounded animals; it was about caring for yourself. The conservation was a sanctuary, not only for those with fur and feathers but for a heart battered by memories of your past.

Every injured creature, every frightened animal you helped heal, was a step toward mending yourself. You’d left a life that was full of noise, chaos, and hollow family ties that never really felt like home. Here, there was simplicity in purpose and purity in your connection with these beings—no lies, no hidden motives, only survival, trust, and the instinctual drive to heal.

When you saw the wolf growl and lash out in fear or defiance, you understood. Its isolation mirrored your own self-imposed solitude. You, too, had learned to push others away to protect yourself. In mending its wounds, in helping it trust again, you hoped to do the same for yourself. Piece by piece. Scar by scar.

You sighed, your breath visible in the cold air. “It’s going to be okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than the wolf. It didn’t respond, of course, but its ears twitched again. You let yourself believe that, maybe, it understood on some level. Maybe, just like you, it wanted to believe that healing was possible—even after so much pain.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

The inside of the luxurious jeep exuded opulence—soft leather seats, dark wood paneling, and the faint scent of expensive cologne mingling with polished leather. In the spacious backseat sat two men.

One of them, Jimmy Barnes, carried himself with a commanding presence. His gray hair was impeccably styled, and lines of experience etched his face, giving him the aura of a leader used to control. Everything about him, from the sharp cut of his suit to his steely gaze, spoke of power and purpose.

Beside him, his eldest son, James Buchanan Barnes—known as Bucky—stared blankly out the window. The passing landscape rolled by, ignored and unremarked upon, as the silence between father and son stretched uncomfortably. The trip had already dragged on for four hours, and not a single word had passed between them.

Jimmy shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He glanced at Bucky, his eyes softening momentarily before hardening again as he struggled to maintain composure. He drew a breath and spoke, his voice firm but tinged with an edge of weariness.

“Bucky.”

There was no response. Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on the blur of trees outside, as if he hadn’t heard anything at all.

Jimmy clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the cane resting against his knee. He let out a deep sigh, exhaling the frustration he’d been holding. “Bucky,” he repeated, more gently this time. Still nothing. Jimmy's shoulders sagged slightly, a rare crack in his usually impenetrable facade.

Bucky, his firstborn from his marriage to his late first wife, hadn’t spoken a word in years. As a child, something had happened—something that had stolen his voice and left scars too deep for therapists and experts to reach.

Every attempt to coax him out of his silence had met with failure. Over time, Bucky had also developed acute anxiety around people, making even the simplest social interactions a nightmare. Recently, though, they’d discovered a sliver of hope: Bucky seemed calmer, even a little more at ease, around animals.

Jimmy’s thoughts drifted back to his meeting with Toni. What had started as a business discussion quickly shifted when Toni mentioned his daughter—a veterinarian with her own conservation center. The idea had taken root then and there.

This might be what Bucky needed. It was a desperate measure, but Jimmy would go to any length to see his son improve—for Bucky’s sake, and for the sake of their family legacy.

Jimmy shifted again, leaning closer to Bucky, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “We’re going somewhere different today,” he said, trying to inject warmth into his tone. “You’ll like it. Animals, open air… it’s good.”

Bucky didn’t move, but a slight tension in his shoulders betrayed that he’d heard. The silence lingered heavily between them, but Jimmy took it as a small victory. He leaned back, looking out his own window, his expression hardening once more. He needed this to work. Bucky had to get better—for himself, for the company, and for the legacy he would one day inherit.

The jeep rolled on, carrying them both toward an uncertain future.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

When Jimmy and Bucky arrived, the scene was more than just a simple visit; it was practically an event. The luxurious jeep pulled up, its polished exterior gleaming even in the muted light. Two men stepped out, flanked by a small team of guards who maintained a cautious but respectful distance. You observed the scene with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Guards? It felt excessive.

Toni walked over with a strained smile, clearly trying to mask his nerves. He gestured toward the older man with an air of forced calm. “This is Jimmy Barnes,” Toni said, his voice firm but tinged with unease. “Jimmy, this is my daughter.”

You extended a hand politely, meeting Jimmy’s piercing gaze. His handshake was strong, controlled—a man used to holding power. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, maintaining eye contact.

Jimmy nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Thank you for having us,” he replied. “I’ve heard good things.”

“Of course,” you said, feeling the weight of his words. There was a formality in his tone, but a glimmer of desperation lingered beneath. You turned your attention to the younger man beside him. “And you must be Bucky.” You spoke gently, but Bucky didn’t respond. He barely seemed to register your presence, his gaze fixed on the ground or wandering elsewhere.

Jimmy’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. He shifted his weight, a sign of his frustration, though he kept his voice even. “Bucky,” he said again, a touch softer this time. There was no answer. Only the quiet rustling of leaves in the wind.

You looked at Jimmy, feeling the tension simmering beneath the surface. “He can take his time,” you offered quietly, hoping to ease the pressure. “There’s no rush here.”

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. “Thank you,” he said, his tone softer now. “It’s… difficult. You understand.”

“I do,” you nodded, choosing your words carefully. “We all need space to find our way. Animals teach me that every day.”

Bucky, seemingly oblivious to the exchange, took a few hesitant steps toward the enclosures. You and Jimmy watched as he moved, his posture guarded but curious.

“He’s calmer around animals,” Jimmy said, almost to himself. There was a mix of hope and despair in his voice. “People make it… harder.”

You nodded, choosing to focus on Bucky. “I’ve seen it happen before,” you said quietly. “Sometimes, animals understand what we can’t.”

Jimmy studied you for a moment, as if weighing your words. “I hope you’re right,” he said finally, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his otherwise controlled exterior. “This has to work.”

“It’s a journey,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “There are no guarantees. But we’ll do our best.”

As Bucky moved closer to the enclosures, something strange happened—the animals turned their attention to him. Every single one of them stopped what they were doing and sat down, as if sensing something unseen. You blinked in surprise, feeling a chill run down your spine. This wasn’t normal behavior.

The white wolf, isolated from the rest due to its intimidating presence, suddenly stood. Its pristine fur gleamed in the sunlight as it limped toward Bucky. You held your breath, instinctively stepping forward in case something went wrong. But Bucky extended a hand, slow and gentle. The wolf hesitated for a brief moment before closing the distance, nudging Bucky’s hand with its nose. Your eyes widened. This was the first time the white wolf had willingly approached anyone. Even you—who spent countless hours caring for it—had never been received this way. It always kept its distance, aloof and wary.

Jimmy watched the scene unfold, his eyes brightening with a mix of hope and disbelief. He turned to you, his voice low but firm. “I have a feeling this place can help him.” There was a pause, heavy with meaning. “If it does, I’ll donate a substantial sum to support your work here.”

“Thank… thank you,” you managed, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. You inclined your head, feeling the weight of his words settle on your shoulders.

Jimmy nodded and began to walk back to the car, the guards moving in step with him. Toni lingered for a moment. He stepped closer, his expression softened as he took your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his grip warm but trembling slightly. “Help me this time.”

You bit your lip, uncertainty swirling within you. “I’m still not sure about this.”

Toni’s eyes met yours, a mixture of hope and desperation. “You can do this. You’ve always managed to handle things on your own.” He gave you a thumbs up, a strained but genuine smile on his lips, before turning to follow Jimmy.

You watched him go, your heart tightening. “No, I’m not,” you whispered to yourself, your shoulders sagging as the weight of the situation pressed down. Outwardly, you might appear strong and unshakable, but inside, the scars of the past left you vulnerable and weary. Every act of strength was a battle, every decision a reminder of what you had to protect.

When the car disappeared from view, you turned your attention back to Bucky.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

You and Bucky stood in awkward silence after the initial introductions. The air was heavy, almost stifling, as you struggled to find the right words. Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder, his expression distant and unreadable. Finally, you sighed softly, deciding to break the silence.

“Come on,” you said gently, gesturing for him to follow. “Let me show you your room.”

Bucky fell into step behind you, his movements quiet but tense. As you walked, you explained, “We keep things pretty simple around here. Meals are communal. Everyone—workers, volunteers—we all eat together.” You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “You don’t have to join if you’re not ready. No pressure.”

Bucky’s only response was a brief nod. It was mechanical, almost detached, but at least it was acknowledgment. You offered a small smile, even though he wasn’t looking at you. “There’s food available whenever you want it,” you continued softly. “And if you need anything, just let me know.”

He said nothing, his eyes wandering to the walls as if searching for an escape. You let out a quiet breath, your heart heavy. You knew this kind of pain—it mirrored the animals you cared for here. The ones who recoiled from touch, who couldn’t trust, who flinched at the slightest movement. Healing took time. It required patience, and you were prepared to give him both. You just hoped he’d let you.

When night fell, the dining room filled with the usual chatter of workers and volunteers unwinding from the day. You scanned the room but didn’t see Bucky. It wasn’t surprising—socializing with strangers was probably overwhelming for him. Silently, you prepared a tray of food and carried it to his room, setting it carefully in front of the door. You didn’t knock. You didn’t want to intrude. Instead, you walked away quietly, hoping he would eat when he was ready.

As you settled into your own bed later that night, a strange unease crept over you. The quiet felt oppressive—too quiet. Usually, the white wolf’s mournful howls punctuated the stillness, a sound you’d grown oddly comforted by. Tonight, there was nothing. It gnawed at you, pulling you from bed and urging you out into the night.

Your steps quickened as you made your way toward the white wolf’s enclosure. The moon cast pale light over the grounds, and there, standing face to face with the wolf, was Bucky.

Neither of them moved. They simply stared at each other, as if sharing an unspoken language that only they could understand. The wolf’s icy-blue eyes were locked onto Bucky, unblinking, while Bucky’s expression was raw, a mixture of pain and something else you couldn’t quite name—recognition, perhaps.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. “Hi…” you said softly, taking slow, cautious steps forward. You didn’t want to startle either of them.

Bucky flinched at the sound of your voice, his head snapping toward you. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a split second, you saw fear flash across his face. He turned and bolted, his footsteps muffled by the grass. As he disappeared into the shadows, the white wolf turned its attention to you. It let out a low, warning growl, its body tense and protective.

'What was that?' You froze, raising your hands slowly in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay,” you murmured, though your pulse raced. The wolf’s eyes never left you, its growl deepening. You felt like an intruder—like you’d interrupted something sacred.

What had just happened? Why did it feel like you were the outsider, the third party in whatever silent connection Bucky and the wolf shared?

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He Chose You (Pt. 2)

Lucifer/Reader

Rated E for the smex coming next chapter I SWEAR. ((Also there will not be any non-con in this fic, so please don’t worry. You’ll see when you read.))

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

Tag Requests: @loslox, @for-hearthand-home, @navierkalani

‘The worst thing they could be are swingers.’

Your heart was racing, and you felt ridiculous for how uppity you felt at the prospect of having dinner with your two elderly neighbors. 

Normally, meeting new people would cause a healthy amount of anxiety in you. You’d grown up into a recluse and upholding social niceties took most of your energy. It was even worse to be in their home, and among people that you likely did not have much in common with. 

These were personal reassurances that you told yourself after denying the first invitation for dinner with the Farrows. The guilt you felt, paired with the subsequent relief of not having to spend more than five minutes with your chatty neighbor, stirred an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

Of course you’d been unable to stop thinking about what a wretch you were, how karma was going to bite you on the ass for denying an old couple some company. 

And oh Karma did come back to bite you. Hard. 

You felt like you were hanging by a thread at work. Three weeks into the job and you’d already been reprimanded. Even the memory of your supervisor looking down her nose at you from the other side of her desk made your eyes water. 

“We have a ‘three strikes’ policy here. I’m afraid this will count as your first.”

Never having been fired from a job notwithstanding, you felt like the idiot your parents always purported you to be. 

If you’d have just stayed in your hometown, living off your parents’ good graces and kept your head down, instead of prancing out the door as if you had self-respect and no need for a safety net… 

Maybe things wouldn’t be so dire. 

Maybe you wouldn’t be on the verge of having a panic attack at this very moment, feeling the anxiety and restlessness from declining the previous invitation tenfold. 

With a deep breath in and out, you crossed the hall with the hesitance of a mouse approaching a snap-trap. You knocked on the door to Unit 606 with a shaking hand.

There was a moment left to blanch at the realization that you hadn’t brought anything with you. Like the shittiest, most thoughtless guest ever.

——

“You made it!” Mrs. Farrow held her arms out dramatically. “Come in! Come in! You’re right on time! Oh and you look lovely dear!”

“Thanks.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks as the door closed behind you. 

The layout of the apartment was a mirror image to yours, but you were overwhelmed by just how much stuff had taken up the space. From the kitchen to the living room, the apartment was brimming with kaleidoscopic color. Antique statuettes of unknown deities, handcrafted vases and sculptures in-set with gems and gold filigree, expertly framed posters of old Hollywood, and Persian rugs beneath well-worn furniture were visible from just a cursory glance. 

It distracted you from the unusually bitter, earthy smell that assaulted you upon entering. 

“Wow,” You said in genuine awe. “Your home is lovely.” 

“Aw, you’re too kind sweetheart. Too kind. Here, let me take your shawl - we’ll hang it up on the rack here, see.” She took your cardigan and placed it on an old hat stand before steering you out to the living room by the back of your shoulders.

There was a man sitting in a leather armchair adjacent to the couch. He was wearing a tweed jacket and his silver-blond hair had been combed back finely to show a pale, wrinkled face and eyes so dark they shone almost black in the lowlight. 

He looked at you with interest once you’d finally caught onto his presence, and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Quack!’ 

“Lou!” You laughed as the duck came racing over on its little legs. 

Without delay, the bird climbed onto your flats with an impatient flap of its wings, trying to balance while looking up at you adoringly. 

You couldn’t help but reach down and pat his little head, murmuring ‘hellos’ and ‘how you doing buddy?’ softly and sweetly. 

The man opposite you both smirked. “My wife was right. He’s quite taken with you.” 

“I’m always right!” Mrs. Farrow called out from the kitchen. 

You looked to the kitchen and back to, presumably, Mr. Farrow, an uncertain smile on your lips. 

“Welcome to our home.” The elder man’s voice was almost hypnotically deep. His hand was outstretched and waiting. “Please excuse me for not greeting you properly. When you get to be as old as I am, your body does everything it can to make you stay put in one place.” 

You shook your head. “Oh no, please don’t worry about it! I understand.” 

Mr. Farrow’s smirk seemed to soften as you spoke. 

“Please make yourself comfortable, my dear.” When he gestured to the couch, you awkwardly shuffled to sit down. Lou was right on your heels, loathe to spend even a second without your warmth. 

The duck ended up snuggled on your lap after begging to be lifted as you sank into the plush sofa. And you were grateful, hugging Lou to you gently as if he were a plush toy. 

It helped take your mind away from that spine-tingling feeling when it made a comeback — the way Mr. Farrow’s eyes glittered when he looked at you and his duck. 

‘Oh god, they probably are swingers. And they lure in their targets with this crazy well-trained duck.’ You thought, punching yourself in the face mentally. ‘And you fell for it. Walked right into their den of debauchery. You stupid bitch.’ 

“Here’s some water, honey. We’ll save the stronger stuff for dinner.” You jumped in your seat when Mrs. Farrow appeared at your side, setting a glass of ice water down on the end table beside you. 

You reached for the glass as its contents sloshed over the edge. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Farrow.” 

Mrs. Farrow beamed. 

“What did I tell ya, Warren? Isn’t she lovely? Just a peach. Lou is smitten.” She patted your shoulder. “And it’s Cassie, honey. Call me Cass.”

“You were right, Cass.” Warren Farrow intoned. 

He took on a conspiratorial tone as he addressed you once more. “You must know, my wife hasn’t stopped talking about you since you met the other day. I wondered if she was preparing us for a new roommate.” 

Heat flooded your face for the second time. “Aw.”

“Oh poo, as if you wouldn’a done the same.” Mrs. Farrow sniffed derisively. “Dinner in 5 minutes!”

Her exit left room for you to start a conversation, but you couldn’t find it in you to say anything. Mr. Farrow kept staring, smiling, which made you stroke Lou’s feathers for comfort that much more. 

The silence lasted a little while, save for the clinking, crackling, thudding from the kitchen dining room. Aside from catering to Lou, you surveyed your surroundings in an effort to avoid bouncing your legs.

The Farrows didn’t have a TV, only a large fireplace that they’d positioned their furniture around. There were displays on either side of the grate. On one stood an oversized chalice with intricate, swirling patterns. The other had a statuette of a goat-headed figure sitting crisscrossed on a throne, one arm poised to reach out to the sky.

“Baphomet.” 

You turned from the sight, head swiveling to face your human companion. He was eying you keenly again. 

“O-oh, the statue is…?”

Warren nodded. “Baphomet. Conceived as a false god around the time of the crusades. Most people see him as a depiction of Satan these days.” 

The association wasn’t too far-fetched, you figured with another look at the figure. Its goat-head and large horns were the most eye-catching thing about it. 

“I apologize if the sight upsets you, dear. I hadn’t thought to remove it before your arrival.” 

“Oh no, please. It’s alright.” You said. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s very interesting.” 

The rumbling hum at your side seemed to signal approval, or maybe general geniality with your neutral response. “Are you religious by chance?”

You turned to Warren again. 

“Ah, no.” You replied apologetically. “I grew up in a Christian area, but I was never very involved with the church.” 

Warren nodded. “That’s just as well. The institution and its practices can be stifling. I was never very involved with it myself.” 

“Religious artifacts have always been fascinating to me, however. There’s no shortage of temples and synagogues in this world.” 

“Have you been to many? For the history?” You were genuinely curious. 

The old man nodded again, stately and dignified even as he puffed up in his armchair like a peacock. “Cass and I are seasoned travelers. We’ve been to all 7 continents at least twice, seen the wonders of the world from the Hindu shrines in Malaysia to St. Basil’s Cathedral. I have a particular fondness for those countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. I was able to convince Cassie another trip to Rome wouldn’t put us in the poor house last year.” 

Your little huff of laughter was sincere, though the idea of traveling to Rome - or anyplace outside of the familiar - sounded amazing. “I’d love to be able to do that.” 

Warren’s head tilted to one side. “You’re quite young, I’m sure you’ll get the chance if you haven’t already.” 

“Sure.” You scoffed before immediately falling into contrition. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me —”

“Dinner time!”

Mrs. Farrow hollered from the kitchen, stopping you from trying to come up with a suitable excuse for yourself. 

Luckily, Mr. Farrow chuckled good-naturedly. He rose from his chair stiffly, legs visibly straining. “No need to apologize, my dear. But we best get going before the Missus comes out and drags us by our ears.”

——

All things considered, the dinner was perfectly fine. 

The jitters never left your frame, but you had chalked that up to a simple byproduct of your skittish nature. The red wine that Cass had insisted upon you made you feel warm and solid, at least. 

As did the fact that Cassie Farrow could hold entire conversations all on her own with very little effort or input from yourself. 

“You got a boyfriend, honey? Or girlfriend? No shame in that at all. We may be old but by no means bigoted. We’ve been all over the place, seen so many things - what’s natural to you and me could be the furthest from, in certain places. Isn’t that right, Warren?”

“Men in Ancient Greece often had relationships with other men.” Warren replied. “Royals in Europe had extramarital affairs with different sexes. It was all about keeping the bloodline pure, but romance was a different thing altogether.” 

“I haven’t dated in a while, actually.” You said. “It’s not been a priority.” 

Cassie nodded, exuberant as she drank from her wine glass. “That’s good too! Plenty of independent women these days! It’s about time, I say.” 

‘Quack quack’

Lou was beside you, red eyes locked in as he gazed upon you at the dining table. It made you giggle.

“Mm!” Cassie had a spastic moment. “I almost forgot!” 

The chair lurched out from under the old woman as she rose and scuttled out of the room. It left you blinking, and out of the corner of your eye you saw that same smirk on Warren’s face before his wife had returned. 

She had a small wicker basket in her arms. 

“This is for you, honey. Housewarming present from your kooky neighbors across the hall.” 

As she drew nearer, you caught a glimpse of the contents, some of which shone beneath the light of the overhead chandelier. 

“Thank you! You really didn’t have to.” The basket was pressed into your arms and Cassie was back in her seat before you’d finished your sentence. 

“Nonsense. It’s the least we could do. I still can’t believe no one welcomed you for a whole week!” 

The basket was lined with shredded filler, and nestled in between were little gemstones and crystals.

“There’s jade and ruby in there, and I believe there’s moonstone as well.” Mr. Farrow recalled. “Is that it, Cass?”

“Yes, yes, and carnelian too. It’s all scattered about there, with the Scrabble and the socks and the hand cream and oh!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Forgive us honey, we saw that little rubber duck and just had to get it for you.” 

There was a little rubber duck. It was a novelty type, with a tiny red jacket and a tiny black top hat. 

“It’s a carnival barker. No, it’s something like that. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Your nose scrunched in thought. “Oh, a circus ringmaster!” 

“Exactly! See, what’d I tell you, Warren? She loves it!” 

“I believe I was the one who suggested it.” His voice carried through the otherwise silent dining room. 

“Oh well maybe it was, so what. She likes it. Don’t you, honey?”

“Yes, but…” You felt funny again. Tingly. “This is too much. Really. You’re both so kind but I can’t accept this.” 

A hand laid gently on your shoulder and you looked up at a frowning Warren Farrow. “It’s no trouble at all, my dear.” 

“The cost must’ve —”

“No cost, really. Gemstones and crystals are quite popular these days. You can find them all over. And the little trinkets are just the same. Given to you in good faith of course.” He patted your shoulder gently. 

You swallowed, eyes once again roving over the little mundane treasures. Silken feathers brushed against your ankle under the table and you met those red eyes, sparkling like the crystals in your basket. 

Lou was such a funny little thing. So expressive, he looked as if he were waiting as he stared at you. 

So funny. 

… You felt funny. 

Perhaps the anxiety from before was doubling back, just like that prickling sensation. It was less of a tingle and more a shiver or chill as you sat there. 

“I think it’s about time for dessert, don’t you?” Mrs. Farrow was saying somewhere far away. “You like chocolate, sweetheart? I made mousse, all fancy-like. It’s not as fancy as the kind you get at that restaurant downtown, the Ivy, but they’ve got fancy ingredients and such…” 

Reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from your forehead, you felt heat coming off from between your temples. With a shaky breath, you slumped down in your seat. 

The basket was gone. 

Your chair was scraping against the wooden floor as it was pulled out from the table. 

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

Wrinkled hands swept the hair from your face as your eyes rolled in their sockets. Words couldn’t get past the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. 

“It’s the wine, the wine. Said she’s not much of a drinker, it has to be the wine.” 

Cass’s voice was dampened and thick, like it was trapped underwater. 

Or perhaps you were trapped. Your head was spinning, limbs heavy as if you were a puppet sans strings. You had to be picked up from under your arms like a toddler and pulled upright. 

The next second you were walking through your neighbors’ kitchen, the door held open for you. 

“Maybe we oughta call a doctor? Honey, can you hear me?”

“I… yes. I can hear you.” It felt like an Olympic feat, but you spoke clearly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happening.”

You stumbled against the wall and strong arms caught you when your knees buckled. It was Mr. Farrow allowing you to lean on him, solid as a rock. 

“Cass is right, you had quite a bit of wine.” He said. Another pat to your shoulder.

Did you? You could’ve sworn it was just a glass. 

Your apartment was barren and blank, the smell of laundry comforting against the memory of that earthy incense smell. 

“Get some rest, honey. We’re right across the hall.” 

“Thank you.” You breathed, lying on your sofa bed. “Again, I’m very sorry. Thank you for the welcome.” 

“Oh no, thank you.” 

——

When you opened your eyes next, you were shrouded in darkness. The outline of your entertainment system was in front of you, and the kitchen at your right. 

It was raining outside; little raindrops smattering against the glass. The sound was normal, no longer muffled until you were straining to hear it. 

‘Well that’s good.’ 

The heavy feeling in your arms was still present. 

‘That’s not so good.’

You felt perfectly sane and hysterical at the same time. It was like being caught in the eye of a storm. The danger had abated momentarily, but would begin again shortly. 

Your door opened, and in your peripheral you saw a shadow cut across the wall as a new figure emerged from the hall. 

You squinted in the dark. ‘Lou?’ 

The duck’s silhouette stilled as if you’d spoken aloud. You could feel something shift in the air, tension breaking through to your mind when it could not seize your body. 

That shift grew stronger, sucking in the air around it until a dazzling flash and crack of light blinded you. 

Lou’s shadow was gone. Or… it had changed. The shadow on the wall wasn’t a duck anymore it was… 

Your blood ran cold as the man stepped into your apartment and let the door close behind him. 

“Hello there!”

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | chapter 2

chapter 2. before the storm

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 4k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and share xo this chapter is slower than chapter 1 but crucial nonetheless! ;)

14th September 2003

“This is my friend, Jihoon, and his son, Jimin.”

At first you felt nervous, looking between your dad and the big stern looking man beside him. Glancing at your grandma, you eased up when she nudged you and smiled. 

“Why don’t you say hello, Y/N?” she said.

Your dad kneeled down as you looked up at the man. “You can say hello if you want, sweetie.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N,” the man said, his lips curving into what must’ve meant to have been a smile — you thought it made him look scarier. “I’m your uncle Jihoon.” He extended his hand. 

Timidly, you shook it. Then your gaze fell to the boy standing behind him.

“Jimin.” Jihoon’s voice was suddenly sharp as he summoned his son to come forward. 

Looking up at his father in what you could only interpret as fear, he took a few steps forward and stopped in front of you. “Hello, I’m Jimin,” he said quietly, putting his hand forward just like his father did. 

“Hi, Jimin,” you said, reaching for his hand and shaking it once. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, why don’t you show Jimin some of your books while I talk to his dad for a bit, hm?” your dad asked, looking at you and smiling as he rubbed your back reassuringly. 

“Okay,” you nodded. 

Feeling braver, you stepped forward and took Jimin’s hand to lead him out of the room and upstairs to your bedroom. You could hear your parents and Jimin’s dad chuckling at your little action. Jimin and you walked in silence to your room, and when you got there, you turned to him and smiled. 

He smiled back, nervously. 

“Do you like reading?” you asked. 

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do you want to read with me?” 

“Um, okay.”

Satisfied, you led Jimin over to the reading corner in your room. “I have lots of books,” you boasted, pulling him down onto the rug and pulling out your biggest books to try to impress him. “These are my favourite. We can read them if you want.” 

Jimin smiled, taking the book from you. “I’ve read this one already.”

“How?” you questioned, frowning in disappointment. “My teacher told me this is a third grade book.”

“I am in third grade,” Jimin said, putting the book down. “I’m eight.”

“Oh, I’m six,” you said, slightly downcast as you realised that Jimin was older than you. “Have you read this one?” you asked, picking up another one of the longer books. 

Jimin nodded.

“Oh…” you sighed, looking down. You weren’t sure how else to impress your new friend. 

Then Jimin spoke up nervously. “C—can I read these ones?” 

You frowned when you saw the books he was pointing at. You read those when you were four; they’re all very short, but beautiful picture books. 

“They’re kiddy books,” you stated, picking one up. 

“I like the pictures,” Jimin said, smiling as he looked at it. But this slowly disappeared as he muttered, “My dad doesn’t let me read them but I like them.” 

Even as a six year old, you could tell something was upsetting Jimin and you didn’t like seeing the little boy in front of you look so sad.  So you pulled the rest of them out and smiled. 

“Okay. Here, this is my favourite one” — you placed the book in his hand. Two animated bears gracing the cover, a father and son. Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear? 

Jimin’s eyes lit up as he stared at the cover. It made you happy to see. 

“Shall we read it together?” he asked, looking up at you. 

“Okay,” you grinned, moving on your knees to sit beside him.

You picked up two of your stuffed animal toys from the corner and gave one to him while you cuddled one to your chest — something you always used to do when reading. Jimin took it with a shy smile, copying you and bringing the stuffed puppy toy to his chest before holding the book out in between you.

He would read one page, and you would read the next, with both of you taking time to admire the pictures on every page. 

After the first one, you read another, and another the same way with both of you alternating pages. However, half an hour passed with different books and you both got bored, so you decided to take advantage of the fact that no one had come to put you to bed yet considering it was nearly 9pm and your usual bedtime was 8pm. 

“Shall we play tag?” you asked Jimin. 

He chewed on his bottom lip, looking at you in worry. “My dad will tell me off.”

“But it’s my house,” you said confidently, taking his hand and walking with him towards your bedroom door. “We can tell him it was my idea, I know my dad won’t tell me off.”

You pulled open the door and stepped out into the wide hallway. “Pretty please,” you pouted, still holding his hand.

A smile found its way to Jimin’s lips, a big one. It made his eyes transform into little crescents and you decided then that you liked this new friend of yours. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Your arms flung around his neck for a brief hug before you moved back and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Tag, you’re it!” you yelled, running down the hall away from Jimin who followed right on your heel with the biggest smile on his face. 

You played together freely, running in and out of the many rooms of your mansion home, winding around the furniture and crawling under beds. Then, after what felt like an hour, you heard your housemaid calling your name as she looked for you and you immediately grabbed Jimin’s arm and pulled him into one of the guest bedrooms. 

“I think you’re gonna go home now,” you breathed, heart beating hard in your chest. 

“I don’t wanna go,” Jimin frowned, breathing just as hard.

“We can hide in here,” you said, pulling on his hand to hide under the bed. 

Both of you shuffled in, listening to the footsteps of your housemaid getting closer as she still called your name, and Jimin’s too. You giggled together, thrilled to be hiding from a grown-up, until the housemaid called again… 

“Jimin, your dad is waiting for you.”

Jimin’s face dropped and the same fear you saw in him earlier returned. “I should go,” he said quietly, not even waiting for your answer as he belly crawled out from under the bed. 

You followed him, frowning as he walked with drooped shoulders out into the hall. 

“Ah, Jimin, there you are, sweetheart, your dad is ready to go now, have you got all your things?”

“Yes,” he said, turning around to face you. “Thank you for reading and playing with me, Y/N, I had lots of fun.”

“Me too,” you smiled, hoping he would too. And he did.

“Come on, kids,” your housemaid said, leading you back down the hall together. 

As you passed your bedroom, the door had been left open and you could see your reading corner from here with the books laid out. “Wait,” you blurted, grabbing Jimin’s hand and pulling him into the room. “Which one was your favourite?” you asked, pointing at the picture books you’d read together. 

“The same as yours,” Jimin smiled, pointing at Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear? 

You picked it up and held it out with a smile. “You can keep it.”

Jimin looked puzzled. “But it’s your favourite?”

“I know, but my mommy said it’s nice to give people things they like, so I want to give it to you.” 

“Are you sure?” Jimin asked tentatively, fingers fiddling. 

“Yes, you’re my friend now,” you said, grinning and pushing the book forward again. 

Jimin smiled shyly, taking it from you. “You’re my friend too.”

“Kids, your parents are waiting,” your housemaid reminded you again from the door. 

Jimin and you listened this time, following her downstairs with smiles on your faces. Although you noticed how Jimin’s faded as he approached both of your dads in the main entryway. 

“There you are,” your dad grinned, ruffling your hair and Jimin’s as you stood next to him. 

Jihoon frowns. “We were looking for you, Jimin, why did you not come?”

“We were playing,” you answered boldly, remembering your promise earlier to say it was your idea, which it was. “I told Jimin to hide with me.”

“That’s cheeky, Y/N,” your dad says, raising a brow sternly. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just wanted to play with Jimin because you said I can’t invite my school friends to the house, and now I’m friends with Jimin.”

“Alright,” your dad sighs. “But next time, at least come and ask us for more play time, hm? You know I get worried when you don’t answer, anything could’ve happened, Y/N.”

“I know,” you pouted, “I’m sorry, dad.” 

“It’s okay, kid, just don’t do it again.” 

You nodded, smiling as your dad took your hand. He always expressed his concern over you being careful even in the house. All you knew is what he had told you — there’s some bad people in the world and they might try to come into the house. You were awfully scared when he had told you that, but he cuddled you and reminded you of all the security he has in place for your home. He also told you that’s why it’s so important you listened to him, so you understood why he was stern with you just now. 

As you held your dad’s hand, you looked towards Jimin and noticed how he stood stiffly next to his dad, cuddling the book you’d given him to his chest. 

“Jimin, what is that you’re holding?” Jihoon asked, frowning at Jimin. 

“Oh, um, it—it’s a book,” he stuttered. “Y/N gave it to me, she said I can keep it.”

Jihoon still didn’t seem pleased. “You don’t take things from people, Jimin, that’s rude, give it back.”

Again, Jimin’s face dropped as he held the book out towards you to take.

But you stepped forward and gently moved it back to his chest. “Uncle Jihoon, I want Jimin to have it. My mommy told me you should give your friends presents and I gave it to Jimin. He has to keep it because we’re friends now.” You looked up at Jimin’s dad with a big smile. 

“Very well, Y/N,” he nodded, still seeming displeased. “If you insist.” 

You nodded and he turned to your dad to say goodbye, while you looked at Jimin again and smiled. 

This time, he barely returned the smile. 

You didn’t see Jimin again until two months later. 

“I won’t be long,” your father said, pulling away from the hug. “Your mother will be back tomorrow evening and until then, Jiyoung will be here to look after you.”

Shyly, you smiled at the older girl and she smiled back reassuringly. You’d only met her a few times before, but you knew her as Uncle Han-jae’s step daughter and since he’s a friend of your dad’s, you automatically considered her a friend to you too.

“Okay,” you nodded, trying your best to be brave in front of your father despite feeling anxious at the thought of him leaving. The last time he had to go away for a few days, your mom was with you the whole time, but like he said, she’ll be here soon.

“Good girl.” Your dad kissed your head once more before rising. 

At the same time, a few familiar faces entered the room. You recognised Uncle Han-jae whose house you were in, and behind him came Uncle Jihoon – he looked different from when you last saw him, his face a little scarier to you as his features were more gaunt and hollowed. 

Then, Jimin appeared. He looked miserable is what you first noticed, no brightness in his eyes which he kept downcast.

“Are we ready?” Jihoon asked.

“Yes,” your father answered. “Ah, Jimin, you’re here too, Y/N and you can spend some time together.” 

Jimin, however, only looked up with his eyes rounding in apprehension as he glanced between your father and you.

“He’ll be coming with us,” Jihoon said curtly, patting Jimin’s shoulder to motion him to walk towards the door. 

“Excuse me?” You looked up to see your father looking at Jihoon, astounded. “Jimin is coming with us?”

“Yes.” Jihoon seemed unaffected by your father’s tone. “He is getting old enough and the younger he starts, the better. I’ve already suggested Taemin accompany us as well, but he’s still in the States.”

Sehun looked at Han-jae who nodded to acknowledge the statement. “Perhaps next time.”

Taking another look at Jimin, Sehun frowned. He stepped forward, muttering something quietly. Then, he and Jihoon were walking out of the room and you caught the irritated expression on Jihoon’s face. 

You don’t know what they said in those few moments of privacy, but when they returned to the room, Jihoon appeared even more annoyed, yet it seemed your father successfully convinced him to not bring Jimin along.

“You’ll stay here with Y/N,” Jihoon said abruptly, barely even sparing a glance at Jimin. “Do as you’re told and don’t cause any trouble.”

Jimin looked up, nodding quickly. “Yes, father.”

Even as the young girl you were, you could recognise the relief that flooded through him then.

Perhaps that’s why you spent the rest of the evening trying to cheer him up, letting him choose whatever activities Jiyoung offered to do and having him choose dinner and dessert. With your efforts, it didn’t take long for Jimin to be running around the halls with you, laughing and playing excitedly as Jiyoung chased you both down for bed.

24th August 2006

“Can we help, mom?”

Jimin held your hand as you stood together on the grass, messy hair, messy clothes but big grins on your faces from having spent the last hour playing freely in the expanse of the Park estate. 

Jimin’s mom beamed, a smile you likened to the flowers she was planting for she had rosy cheeks and kind eyes, the same features you’d noticed in Jimin. 

“Of course you can.”

She handed you a spade, and Jimin a fork. With simple instructions, she helped Jimin and you place the small flowers into the ground, guiding you as you used the tools to surround them in soil. 

“What flowers are these called?” you asked, admiring the pretty petals. 

“These are hydrangeas,” Jimin answered, looking just as delighted as you.

“That’s right,” Jimin’s mom nodded, taking off her gardening gloves and smoothing down Jimin’s hair. She looked at him with such fondness and it reminded you of your own mother. 

Every time you saw moments between Jimin and his mom like this, it made you feel sad for him. You saw your own mom often, but for some reason, Mrs Park wasn’t always around despite her having such a good relationship with Jimin. You could see how different he was with her, especially when his dad was away on business, and after having seen Jimin downcast so many times before, this was something you wanted to see more of. 

Jimin stood up, dusting off his knees. “Can we water the other plants too?”

“Yes, let’s do it.”

Together, Jimin and you helped Mrs Park tend to her garden. You didn’t get to come in here often as it was often locked, so on these rare occasions, you were happy to be able to help. 

There were a lot of plants, small trees and flowers, spanning across the square and even growing all over the walls that secluded this beautiful space from the rest of the estate. In the centre was a beautiful fountain with a statue at the top. It was a woman sitting, draped in loose cloth and she looked down, a hand on her heart and a mournful expression on her face. She reminded you of Jimin’s mom. 

“Y/N, honey, do you want to help Jimin dig out these weeds?”

You nodded, smiling as you walked over. Jimin looked up at you and grinned, shifting over to make space for you in front of the soil that needed clearing. 

It took a while but eventually, Jimin and you managed to dig out all the weeds while his mom pruned some of the taller trees. 

As the last of the weeds were pulled, Jimin’s mom came over and knelt beside him. She smiled, brushing a little dirt off his cheek.

“Ma’am.” The soft voice of their housekeeper, Ara, interrupted them. “The car is ready.”

Jimin’s mom went still and a shadow flickered across her face, though she quickly masked it with a gentle smile. 

Jimin’s smile faded and he sat a little straighter. “Do you have to go?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She rested her hand softly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she replied, her eyes soft but distant, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she stood up. With one smile and nod your way, she walked towards the house.

As Jimin watched her go, his shoulders drooped and he clenched his small hands to keep his composure. You wondered why he didn’t at least hug her goodbye, but something about his stiff expression told you he was used to this, almost like it was his duty to not feel sad. 

You nudged him and smiled. “Hey, we still have some flowers to water. She’ll want to see them all done when she’s back, right?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he picked up the watering can again. “Yeah… let’s make them look perfect for her.”

Together, you set back to work in the garden, his laugh returning, filling the quiet space she'd left behind. Through a trace of sadness lingered, your playful banter slowly brought the light back to his face.

3rd September 2008 

The last time you saw Jimin was when you were 11. 

Despite having only seen him a handful of times over the past few years from when you first met him, you always had fun as the young kid you were, and every time, it seemed you had a subconscious mission of making Jimin smile and laugh as much as you could. You always succeeded.

However, the last time you saw him, you were struggling to get him to laugh as much. He had just turned thirteen two weeks earlier, and yet it felt as though he’d aged six years instead of one. You supposed that had something to do with the private conversation you’d accidentally heard earlier on in the evening.

While you were supposed to be helping your grandma and the house staff prepare dinner for the Lee’s and Park’s, you were too excited about giving Jimin the birthday gift you had prepared for him. As you finished tying the bow around the carefully wrapped gift, you felt as though something was missing and skipped downstairs, out of sight of any adults to sneak into the gardens and find a few flowers to decorate it with. After gathering a few (by recklessly breaking the stems – much to the dismay of the gardener and your grandmother), you snuck around the front of the house to avoid some of the family guards on their shift as they patrolled the house. 

It was the sound of a sharp slap, followed by a harsh tone that had you pausing, instinctively treading lighter as you approached the source of the sound. You didn’t recognise it was Park Jihoon’s voice until you were met with the sight of him standing in front of Jimin just outside their car. 

Your heart dropped when you saw Jimin standing with his head lowered, nodding with everything Jihoon said. You couldn’t make out what was being said yourself, but by now you had learned that Jimin’s father wasn’t like yours, so you could only imagine the conversation was one to scold or berate Jimin for something – not that it was deserved.

After a short moment, Jihoon turned to walk towards the house and Jimin followed wordlessly. Knowing you weren’t meant to be seeing it, let alone even being out, you ran back towards the back of the house, managing to avoid the guards as you dashed back to your room. 

When Jimin and his father finally entered the house, you got yourself and Jimin excused as fast as you could, rushing upstairs to your room. He seemed wary as he entered, but you quickly pounced on him in a long hug.

“Happy late birthday, Jimin!” you beamed.

“Thank you,” he muttered in response, almost shyly. 

As you pulled back, you saw the small smile on his lips. “Come on, I got you a present.”

Jimin followed you as you walked over to your bed, watching as you pulled the gift out from underneath it. You leapt on the bed, bringing Jimin down with you and motioning for him to open it. He smiled at the flowers you had stuck behind the bow, pulling them out first to admire them.

“Geraniums.”

“Huh?”

“Geraniums,” he repeated, lifting the flowers in his hand to look at you. He laughed softly when he saw your puzzled expression. “These flowers are called geraniums. My mom grows them in her garden.”

“Oh…” you paused. Jimin never spoke about his mom often when she wasn’t here, but you knew one of the ways they bonded was through her love of botany. 

Jimin’s smile softened and he shifted, moving the gift out of the way from between you. Delicately, he pushed your hair out of the way and slid one of the stems behind your ear. “There, you look even prettier.” 

You felt yourself growing shy but had no time to even dwell on it as Jimin picked up the present and placed it on his lap. A few seconds later, he had unwrapped the gift, revealing a board game which you loved so much, you wanted him to have one too.

As his hand slid down the edge of the box, Jimin’s smile faltered.

“You don’t like it?” you asked immediately, lips pouting in a frown – you weren’t offended that he didn’t like it, only upset that he wouldn’t be able to have fun with the only gift you’d prepared for him. Just as you began to wonder what else you could ask your dad to buy him instead, Jimin shook his head.

“No, it’s not that..” he hesitated, still looking down at the game.

“Oh,” you realised he just turned thirteen – maybe some teenagers don’t like to play board games anymore. “You’re too big for games now?”

“No,” Jimin shook his head again, sighing. “I do.” He looked up and you could see the apprehension in his expression again. “It’s just that my father doesn’t like me playing games.”

You didn’t understand it, and it only added to the dislike you already felt towards the man, but you knew not to question it. So instead, you proposed an idea.” Well, if you still want it, we can keep it here and play when you come?”

The corners of his mouth turned up again, and he nodded.

That was enough to satisfy you, and you smiled back even brighter, wanting to see him do the same.

He did, enough that his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. “Thank you.”

note. thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and if you have any questions, let me know! <3

[roseghoul26]

Chapter 11: On Begged And Borrowed Time

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Arthur Is Bad At Emotions, Confessions, First Time Together, Cunnilingus, Missionary, Doggy Style, Handjobs, Mirrors, Party, Semi-Public Sex, Quickies, Unsafe Sex, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: sorry this took so long! Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay@nn-hh192 @photo1030 @just-pure-trash @julialoopeezz @hqxee @salientseraph Chapter List

Failed Robbery in Saint Denis: 2 Dead, 1 Arrested, 6 Missing

You’d lost track of how many times you’d reread the article, the newspaper creased where your hands gripped it. You already knew what the article stated, yet you reread it at every free moment.

The Van Der Linde’s bank robbery had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. Pinkertons had been quick to arrive on the scene, resulting in a shootout that killed two members of the gang, as well as arresting John. 

There was a pang in your chest when you saw the sketch of Hosea provided. You hadn’t been close with him, not like Arthur was, but you respected him deeply and were quite thankful for him. To see him listed as nothing more than a failed bank robber and lowlife was disheartening; you knew better. 

There was another man pictured alongside Hosea, someone you didn’t recognize. You had been shocked when you first saw him, as he looked barely old enough to be an adult, let alone a part of the gang. Leonard “Lenny” Summers, his name read, and you took a mental note to ask Arthur about him later. 

A deep sadness washed over you when you thought of Arthur. Unimaginable relief had flooded you when you hadn’t seen his picture in the newspaper article, meaning he was one of the six on the run. You just hoped that wherever he was, he was alright. 

Glancing at the date at the top of the newspaper, you sighed deeply. It had been printed three weeks ago. Three weeks since you last saw Arthur, and possibly for the last time.

You quickly shook that thought from your mind. You refused to even entertain the idea that Arthur might’ve died. Until you saw his body, you didn’t let yourself think that he was anything other than alive. Worse for wear, but alive. 

“You reading that damn newspaper again?” Hans’ voice startled you, and you dropped the paper like it burned you. He stood in the doorway of your bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, staring disapprovingly at the newspaper that had fallen back onto the nightstand.

Hans’ demeanor had turned sour over the past three weeks. He was more irritable, a constant scowl on his face, barking at you instead of speaking evenly. You figured it was the stress of his moonshine operation falling apart, and from nearly entrusting his operation’s security into the hands of the failed robbers of Saint Denis.

“Sorry, it’s just…” you sighed. “It’s just so shocking. They seemed so nice!” 

“That’s what they want you to think. Can’t fault you for falling right into their trap.” 

You’re the one who fell into their trap, you fool. You nearly rolled your eyes, but you forced them to remain still. “It makes me wonder how many liars I’ve trusted.” Like you. 

Hans remained silent for a moment, the furrow in his brow deepening, making it almost look like he was glaring at you. “A thought that has passed my mind as well,” he finally said, sounding more like a threat than anything. He didn’t get to see your bewildered expression, though, because he disappeared from the doorway. 

His words unsettled you deeply, anxiety brewing in your mind. Did he know? Was he suspicious? Or was he just speaking in an angry tone, with no idea what you were up to?

Grabbing the newspaper, you decided to hide it from your sight, realizing it was doing you more harm than good. Out of the clear of your husband, you grabbed the lockbox, and it took quite a bit of forcing to fit both newspapers in there. Next time Hans left, you’d have to clip out the important parts and discard the rest. 

Your mother’s letter appeared as you were messing with the papers, a mixed sense of dread and happiness washing over you. You hadn’t told Hans about your letter. You couldn’t. You weren’t supposed to have reached out to your family, and a part of you dreaded that your mother was coming over because then you’d have to explain yourself to him. 

You had no idea when she was coming over, but you knew it had to be sometime soon. Ever since that letter arrived, you’d been expecting her arrival daily, just adding to the stress you were feeling because of Arthur. To say the last few weeks had been difficult would be an understatement, but you pushed through. 

Tucking the box away, you headed downstairs, the bedroom causing too many emotions for you to handle right now. You didn’t have to knock to know that Hans was in his office, the door locked shut when you passed.

Sitting on the couch, you picked up the embroidery you were working on, a hobby you’d taken up over the past two weeks to try and distract yourself, Hans permitting, of course. It barely worked, operating as more of a means to pass the time than anything. 

Your thoughts were always occupied with Arthur, your stomach constantly in knots. You hadn’t had much of an appetite, and it was starting to wear you down, the bags under your eyes prominent. 

It had been a startling discovery, seeing yourself in the mirror after these weeks. You looked how you did when you met Arthur, the sparkle of joy in your eyes that he brought vanishing. Your cheeks were gaunt, and you just looked exhausted. 

A light knock at the door startled you, nearly stabbing yourself with your needle. You waited for Hans to emerge from his office; maybe he was expecting someone today. 

But when a minute passed and he didn’t emerge, your heart hammered in your chest. Another light knock made you move, setting your embroidery on the couch. Shakily, you made your way to the front door, and you took a deep breath before opening it. 

On the other side stood your mother, looking a few years older, yet still the same woman all the same. People always joked when you were a child that you were just a younger version of your mother, but as your eyes fell on her, you realized how right they had been. 

A warm smile appeared on her face when she saw you, a smile that had brought you so much comfort. Even now, you feel like all the weight on your shoulders has been lifted. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to move, emotions rendering your legs useless, staring at your mother like you’d just seen a ghost. 

It was when she said your name softly that the spell you were under finally broke. A sob tore from your throat, and she had barely opened her arms before you were crashing into her, your own arms clinging to her. Right now, you weren’t Mrs. Kerrigan. You were just someone who needed the comfort of their mother. 

Immediately her hands were soothing you, one running through your hair, the other rubbing circles into your back. Your tears were staining her dress, but neither of you cared. For the first time in weeks, you finally let go of all the emotions that had bottled up inside of you, stress and sadness and grief pouring out, unable to hide them any longer. 

You’re not sure how long she held you for, letting you cry on her shoulder. You’re sure your commotion caught the attention of Hans, but that was an afterthought. Eventually, your sobs receded, and you pulled away, your eyes puffy and cheeks red.

Tears of her own flowed down her face, and you felt her gently wipe your cheeks. “My beautiful daughter…” she murmured, and your bottom lip trembled. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” you sighed. “How… how is everyone?”

“They’re well. But sweetheart, are you well?” You felt one of her thumbs brush beneath your eyes. “You don’t look it.”

“These past weeks have been… tough,” you admitted. “But that’s a conversation for later.” Where Hans won’t be able to hear me. “Oh, where are my manners? Please, come inside.” You took a step back, gesturing to the still-open door. 

“Since when have you worried about manners?” Your mother teased, but you missed the slight bit of concern in her voice. “Before we head in, there is someone else who would like to see you. Margaret?” Your mother shouted to the carriage that you now saw behind her, and an even larger smile appeared on your face as you watched your sister step out.

If you looked exactly like your mother, then she was a carbon copy of your father. But when she smiled back at you, you swore you saw yourself. Her excitement was contagious as she practically ran to you, skirts bunched up in her hands as she bound up the stairs. YOu nearly toppled over as she barreled into you, and a fresh stream of tears poured down your face as you held her.

“Maggie!” You exclaimed, partially in shock. “You’ve grown so much!” It was true. Long gone was the young teenager you’d left back at home. In front of you was a grown woman, a maturity in her eyes that you weren’t expecting when she pulled away. But it was astounding to see she hadn’t lost her energy, her joy for life. A part of you almost felt envious, as much as you hated to admit. 

Your name was barely audible, muffled as she hugged you, making you laugh. “You should’ve seen her when she saw your letter,” your mother smiled. “We haven’t had a moment of peace since.” She didn’t sound upset about it. 

“Is that true?” 

Maggie nodded her head, leaning back to look at you, her arms still wrapped around your body. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“It ain’t a competition, but I think I’ve missed you more.” Maggie playfully rolled her eyes, and you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She was still shorter than you, but you weren’t about to comment about that now. “Let’s get inside. We’ve got a lot to discuss!”

With your arm around Maggie, you led her and your mother into your house for the first time. Their eyes danced around the spacious downstairs, and although they were used to seeing wealth, they could still appreciate the beauty of your home. If only you felt the same. Even with your family in it, it still felt foreign. 

You led them to the living room, letting them sit on the couch before excusing yourself to the kitchen, going to grab drinks. Or at least you tried to until your mother stopped you with a gentle grasp of your hand. “Sit, sweetheart.”

“But-”

“You don’t have to bring out the formalities for us. We just want you, improper and perfect.”

Biting your trembling lip, you nodded, letting her sit you between her and Maggie. She didn’t let go of your hand, her other hand resting atop yours, and Maggie adjusted so that she was sitting closer to you. “You’ve got a beautiful house.” You nodded, an empty thanks leaving your lips. “Although it’s quite… empty.”

“If you’re asking about children,” you laughed, albeit bitterly, “I’m afraid me and my husband haven’t been blessed in that department.” Thank God. You weren’t opposed to children, no, but you did not want them with Hans. He’d make a terrible father, and you’d be stuck managing them by yourself. 

“Is your husband around?” Maggie asked, and you struggled to come up with a response. How could you say that he was, but he locked himself away in his office at every spare moment?

You didn’t have to respond, though, because a loud cough from the staircase behind you answered for you, all three of you turning to face the noise. “Her husband is around and is quite confused. Care to explain, dear?” The endearment was dripping with vitriol.

You instinctively grasped your mother’s hand tighter. Confusion and concern were written across her face, already not liking the confrontational tone Hans had adopted. “Hans, this is my mother, Irene, and my little sister Margarete. Mother, sister, this is my husband, Hans Kerrigan.”

“I know who they are,” Hans interjected, slowly stepping towards you all. You failed to notice the slight panic in his voice. “What are they doing here?”

Your mother opened her mouth to respond, but you cut her off, afraid that she would mention the letters. “I don’t know,” you lied, and you missed the look Maggie and Irene shared. “They just showed up. Isn’t it great?” 

If Hans believed you, you couldn’t tell. A forced smile found its way beneath his beard. “Great, yes.” If you thought your lying ability was terrible, his was even worse. “A pleasure, ladies.”

“Mr. Kerrigan, as lovely as it is to meet you, I’m afraid that we have… business in the city we must attend to.” Panic gripped you. “All three of us must attend to.” 

Your husband's expression was unreadable, and you had no idea if he’d let you go. “Can I?” You asked, hating that you sounded like a child asking their parents if they could play with their friends. This was your family, you didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to be with them. 

It seemed your mother felt the same way, cutting your husband off before he could agree or disagree. “No daughter of mine needs permission from anyone. She’s going with me.”

A tense silence filled the room, making you shift uncomfortably. The look Irene gave Hans was deadly, her head cocked to the side like she was daring him to say something against it. Her actions confused you, though. She was advocating for your independence, yet she had no protest against a marriage against your will. Yet again, she had seemed surprised about your marriage, so maybe she didn’t have as much say as you thought. Just another thing you needed to ask her.

Hans’ eyes flicked to you, almost disbelieving. He didn’t respond, merely scoffing before retreating upstairs. You could feel the anger rolling off of him, and you knew you were in for it later. 

Your mother stood, rather abruptly, yanking you to your feet as well. “We’re leaving,” was all she said. 

You knew there was no room for argument, but you tried anyway. “But we just sat down-”

“We are leaving.” You didn’t offer any further protests. The house was suffocating right now, and you needed to escape. After putting on your shoes, Irene brought you back outside, Maggie hot on your heels. The tense silence still hung in the air, even as you sat in the carriage, your sister sliding in beside you, your mother across you.

Even as the carriage began to move, heading anywhere but here, no one spoke for a good five minutes. You were the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry,” you began, “he’s usually more… amicable than that.” It wasn’t a complete lie. 

“You don’t need to apologize-”

“You left us for him?” Your sister interjected, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice.

“Maggie,” your mother warned, but she just shook her head.

“No, I can’t believe it. You left us for him?” Her voice rose in anger. “Here I thought you ran away because you were in love, because you found someone who treated you well. But you ran away from us, from… me, for him? You ran away when I… I needed you. I needed my sister.”

So she also thought you ran away, and was rightfully angry at you for something you didn’t do. “I’m not sure I know what you’re sayin’. I didn’t run away.”

“Don’t lie to me. I found your note.”

“What note?” You were truly bewildered now, looking to your mother for clarification. You hated that she looked upset at you as well. 

“The night you disappeared, you left a note on your bed, detailing why you were leaving. That was the last time we ever heard from you. You don’t remember?”

You felt like you were losing it. “I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.” You scoffed, “You of all people should know that I didn’t run away.”

Now it was her turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

“You think I wanted this? To be stuck with a man that hates everything to do with me, who controls me like I’m just his goddamn toy? In no world would I run away from my family to be with someone like him.”

“Then why did you leave?” Maggie asked, her voice surprisingly soft. 

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Father set up this marriage to save the family from falling into financial ruin. I did this to help us. You know this, mother!”

You didn’t know if you should be relieved or concerned when you saw her shake her head, pure shock on her face. “He did what?” Her words were clipped, upset, but not at you anymore.

“You… you didn’t know? He officiated it and everything!”

She continued to shake her head, leaning back against her seat. “He wouldn’t…”

“But he did. He did it easily.”

Tears had begun to pool in her eyes, and a hand came to cover her mouth. “But why? How?”

So you told them. You told them how your father had woken you early in the morning, barely letting you get dressed before escorting you to the carriage that sat outside. Your belongings had already been packed, but he had not explained anything, not even during the few days of travel south. When you finally reached your destination, you had been whisked away, stuffed into a dress, and sent to the altar, where you met Hans for the first time, and then married. You realized now that the reason it had just been you, Hans, and your father at the wedding was because he wanted to keep the rest of the family in the dark. “I found out later it was done for financial security. We were about to lose everything.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either.”

“No, I mean I don’t understand why.” Her next words made you pale. “We’ve never had financial troubles. At least not severe enough to warrant… this.”

“Maybe he didn’t tell you?” If your father had withheld the details of your marriage, then it was likely he kept the details of the family’s finances from them as well. But maybe you were desperate for the last two years to have any sort of meaning, for it to not all be in vain. 

“He couldn’t have hidden financial troubles from us. Not as well as he hid, well, you.”

“Then what was it all for?” You whispered, your voice on the verge of breaking. “These past two years, what were they for?”

“I wish I could tell you, sweetheart.”

“So I didn’t have to leave? So I could’ve stayed at home, where I was happy, where I would’ve taken over the family business, where my dreams wouldn’t have been put on hold?” You were rambling, but you didn’t care. Tears poured down your cheeks, mourning a life you could’ve had. “I could’ve had that?”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Your sister asked, her hand finding its way to yours. 

“I couldn’t. Mainly because I was under the impression that my marriage was what was keeping you well, and I couldn’t jeopardize that. But I didn’t have the means to leave either. And where would I go?”

“You could’ve come home!”

“I had no idea where you moved to, though. The only reason I was able to write to you was because I had a… friend find your new address. Why did you move, by the way?”

“Father didn’t say, although I’m beginning to suspect it was to keep you from finding us.”

“Why would he do that though? What would require such secrecy?”

“I have no idea.” Those words seemed to be the running theme of this conversation, and you sighed, your cheeks still damp. You had no idea how to process all this new information, anger and betrayal clouding your thoughts.

“You said you had a friend,” your mother began. She was trying to distract you, which you were grateful for, but thinking of Arthur just made your heart heavier. “Who’s she?”

“Well, he…” your mother and sister shared looks, “he’s kind. He’s helped me a lot over the past months. But… But I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Do we know him?”

“How often do you read the newspaper?” You joked, with no humor in your voice. 

“Every Sunday. Why?” Maggie asked, hesitantly. 

“You’ll know him then. His name’s-”

Shouting from the carriage driver announcing you’d arrived in Saint Denis cut you off. It felt like no time had passed, and you weren’t expecting to be in the city already. The rest of your family seemed to be feeling the same way, a sense of wariness shared between the three of you. 

“Come. Let us forget about this, if just for a moment,” your mother wiped at her face, forcing a smile on her face. “Terrible revelations aside, I wish to spend the afternoon with my daughters.” She got out of the carriage first, a gentleman escorting her out. Maggie was next, and you took a moment to compose yourself before stepping out. 

The sound of the city hit you first, shouting and bells and whistles assaulting your ears. The stench was next, and your sister had a poorly hidden expression of disgust. “You’ll get used to it,” you whispered to her, remembering that she’d never been to Saint Denis. Glancing around, you saw that you were near the outskirts of the city, close to where Bronte lived.

Your mother extended an arm to each of you, and you both linked your arms with hers, walking beside her as she led you further into the city. You tried to distract yourself with the colorful imagery around you, yet your mind kept wandering to the words that had been spoken in the carriage.

You truly had no idea why your father would marry you off. You were his eldest daughter, set to be the heir of his business, his pride and joy second to his children. Your entire life, that is what you were led to believe would happen, and he seemed to believe it too. Why would he disrupt everything by sending you away? 

So caught up in your thoughts, you failed to notice the different atmosphere the city held today. It was lively, sure, but it seemed almost on edge. No one greeted you as you passed, even if they recognized you, and people seemed to be almost somber. 

“You’d think someone just died,” you heard Maggie mutter, pulling you from your mind. 

She hadn’t been quiet, though, and the couple walking in front of you shot her each a dirty look. “That’s because someone has, girl.”

Her eyes widened. “My apologies,” she stammered, embarrassed. “Who?”

“Angelo Bronte.” Your responding gasp didn’t deter them. “They found his body in the swamp, eaten by gators. Maybe read the paper before spewing such ignorant things.” 

Your mother and Maggie weren’t affected by their words, their attention was immediately on you and your reaction. “Did you know him?” Your sister asked, and you nodded.

“Not personally, but I’ve been to plenty of his parties. He was a prominent figure here, a rich one at that. He practically runs… ran this city.” You lowered your voice so only they could hear, “I’d say he got what was comin’ for him, though.”

“That bad?”

“That bad.” You sighed. “But let’s just hope the city doesn’t collapse without him.”

Your mother turned down a street, not having joined in on the conversation yet, but she was paying attention. You and Maggie continued to chat lightly, and for a moment you’d managed to successfully forget the worries in your mind. That was until you passed a wooden board, something you didn’t pay attention to until a familiar sketch caught your eye. 

You suddenly stopped, much to the confusion of your sister and mother. But you didn’t hear their concerned questions; the only thing you could focus on was the bounty poster in front of you, which contained a sketch of someone you now saw to be Arthur. His features were almost shaper, the artist making him look as intimidating as possible. He was depicted like he’d been described in the papers, a bloodthirsty bank robber, a ruthless vagrant, pure evil in the public eye. 

Yet even this depiction could not lessen the love you felt for him. 

“Sweetheart, what is it?” You finally heard your mother, who was shaking your arm gently.

“I… I know him.” You shook your head. “Sorry, it’s nothin’.”

“Arthur?” It was incredibly strange hearing his name from your mother’s mouth. Recognition flashed across her face, most likely having read about him in the paper. “Did he hurt you?”

“What? No! Never!” You rushed to say. “He’s my… friend that I was takin’ about.” You were certainly more than that, but you were not about to explain that to your mother.

That surprised her, and she didn’t have any words. Maggie stepped in for her. “The outlaw with the five-thousand-dollar bounty is your friend?” She was in just as much disbelief as your mother, and you shushed her. 

“Just tell the whole damn city while you’re at it,” you hissed. “Yes, he is my friend. Yes, I know it’s ridiculous. No, I will not go into further detail.” You spared one last glance at the poster before continuing down the road, dragging your family along beside you. Seeing him, even as just a sketch, made your heart ache. Maybe Arthur had hurt you, just not in the way you thought. 

You hoped your mother didn’t see the way you reacted when you saw him, an expression you’re sure that filled his longing. An expression that wouldn’t be appropriate for “just a friend”. You hoped your sister hadn’t seen the tears that had sprung to your eyes as you read Wanted: Dead or Alive sprawled across the top.

They both didn’t question you about it, even though you knew they were dying to. They left you in silence, letting you process your emotions, which you were grateful for. If they made you talk about him, you were certain you’d burst into barely contained tears. 

Your mother let you lead the way for a few more minutes, but she eventually took the reins again, steering you and a very curious Maggie to a tailor. She ushered your sister inside first but halted you when you tried to follow. Any protest died in your throat when you saw the adamant expression on her face, and so you let her take you by the arm to the narrow alleyway adjacent to the building. 

“Talk to me.” Her voice was demanding yet kind.

“Mother-”

“You love him, don’t you? Your ‘friend’.” You cast your gaze to the ground, fighting tears. Were you that easy to read? Hesitantly, you nodded, and she softened. “Sweetheart…”

That broke the dam, a stifled sob leaving you as she pulled you into a hug. “I’m sorry,” you managed to get out, and you felt her shake her head.

“Why are you sorry?��

“Because I love him.”

“That is nothing to be sorry about,” she nearly laughed, pulling you back to look you in the eye.

“But I’m married. I’m… we’ve… it’s not right.”

“Maybe not,” she agreed, “but perhaps it’s what’s best. You’re miserable with Hans, and I can’t blame you. Why your father would ever agree to marry you to him is beyond me…”

“Are you sayin’ I should leave him?”

“Yes,” she responded with no hesitation. “You’ve no reason to be married to him any longer, no? It’s terrifying, but is it not scarier to imagine a life where you’re stuck by Hans’ side for years to come?”

The idea did make you shudder, especially now that you had Arthur. How long would you be able to keep your affair hidden? How long would you be able to pretend like Hans’ very presence didn’t revolt you? You guessed a few more months, tops. “Would he even agree to a divorce?” You whispered.

“I can’t answer that. But when you’re ready to ask,” she took your hands, “I’ll be right there by your side. We all will.”

“And if I don’t ask?” You blurted out. “What if I just… ran?”

“Then you’ll be running for the rest of the time Hans is on this Earth. Although, it seems like you’d have someone beside you who is quite good at not getting caught.” She sighed. “I can’t tell you what would be the best decision. But just know that whatever choice you make, I’ll support you. All I wish is to see you happy.”

You nodded, a new sense of hope growing within, something that had been lacking for a while. “If Arthur returns, I’ll do it.”

“When he returns,” your mother corrected. “Have some faith. If he cares about you nearly as much as you do him, he’ll make his way back to you.”

“He always has…” you muttered under your breath. “When he returns, I’ll do it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She smiled warmly at you after planting a kiss on your damp cheek. “Now, let us join your sister before she comes looking. If you couldn’t tell, she’s not the best at being subtle.”

You laughed, wiping away your tears, letting your mother lead you to the store. “I’ve noticed.” 

The bell chimed as you stepped in, Maggie rushing to your sides as soon as you did. “What took you so long?” She whisper-shouted, making you laugh harder. She was as inconspicuous as a bull in a china shop. “What?”

“I told you.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

By the time the three of you had returned to the carriage, the sun had long since set, the moon washing the world in a cool white light. The vehicle was not only stuffed with you, Maggie, and your mother, but various bags and gowns from a successful shopping trip to the city. Your mother had not been lying when she said the family was not struggling financially, as she had easily paid for your new dresses and other items. Laughter flowed easily from the three of you, your minds fully distracted from the information of the morning. 

That cheery mood lasted the whole ride, up until the driver turned down the familiar road leading to your house. Your smile fell, and you felt your mother grab your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “You won’t have to deal with him for much longer, sweetheart. You’ve got this.”

“Can it be over now?” You practically whined, anxiety bubbling in you. 

“Why can’t you just come home with us?” Maggie asked, having been informed about the conversation you’d had with your mother. 

“I’m not leavin’ without Arthur. Once he comes back, I’m gone.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing them or yourself. 

She didn’t let go of your hand, not until the carriage came to a halt. “It’s been wonderful seeing you both,” you began. “If I’m not gone in the next few weeks, come and get me. Please.”

“Gladly,” your mother responded. “If you and Arthur need a place to stay, to lie low, just know that our, your house is available. With or without your father’s permission.”

“Get some answers from him. And give my regards to everyone else.”

“I love you, sweetheart. Always remember that.” She kissed your cheek. “We’ll see you soon. That’s a promise.”

Hugging Maggie, at least as best you could, you left the carriage before your nerves rooted you in place. With your arms full of items, it took some careful steps, but you eventually made your way up the porch. You watched as the carriage drove away, smiling as brightly as you could at your sister through the window, before letting it fall away completely.

Taking a deep breath, you walked into your home, heading straight to the staircase. Climbing up the stairs with all the stuff was also difficult, cursing under your breath when you kept stepping on the skirts of your new dresses. It took longer than necessary, but you managed to stumble into your room. You’d only taken a single step in until an unseen force hit the back of your head. 

Your vision went black before you made contact with the floor. 

[diazheartsbuckley]

High school sweethearts?

Hi Ashley! Long time no see, so glad that you’re back 💗

I made a moodboard and an introduction to the story here but I’m posting a snippet as well 👀

Buck’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face or rather - one particular familiar face - at his high school reunion. Life hadn’t been so easy for him back then but now when he had become a public figure, people that he had never spoken to, took a sudden interest in him. But there was only one face that he truly longed to see.

And that’s when he saw him. Eddie Diaz, the man that he had loved since he was 16. And hadn’t seen since he was 19. That was over a decade ago now.

The brown eyed man bore clear signs of aging, small lines starting to form around the corners of his eyes. Yet he hadn’t seem to have changed at all - a big, bright smile plastered on his face as he greeted old classmates and friends.

Buck discreetly slipped his fingers under his shirt, fingers seeking the silver chain that held the promise ring that Eddie gave him back in high school. It rested against his skin, concealed from view but stayed a constant reminder of the chapter of his life that had meant everything. Eddie had been his whole world for years.

Hesitant yet excited, he approached Eddie on unsteady feet and as soon as Eddie’s eyes turned to him, a wave of nostalgia washed over him, setting back time instantly.

“Eddie, is that really you?” He chuckled like he could ever forget the face of a man that he had loved for almost half of his life. Eddie turned to face him and somehow the world seemed to stop spinning, memories of shared laughter and secret glances clear as the summer sky.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice held a hint of disbelief. The stark blue eyed man in front of him had aged amazingly, standing like the masterpiece that he was in front of him.

It took another moment for the two of them to share an embrace and a laugh of nervousness escaped Buck’s mouth.

“Wow you look-…”

“Older? Taller? More rugged?” Buck joked, unable to take the situation seriously. As much as he had longed to see Eddie again, it stung. Years had passed, years that Eddie promised that they would spend together and then never did.

“I was going to say good but sure, yeah, that too” Eddie returned the laugh, still able to read Buck’s voice and body language like an open book.

A bit painstakingly awkward, the two of them started to catch up and for a moment, everything seemed to be exactly like it was back then.

The love was never lost, it just wasn’t their time.

Until Eddie raised his hand to comb through his hair - something he did when he was feeling out of place - that Buck saw the wedding ring on Eddie’s finger.

“Married, huh?” He questioned, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

Eddie's expression shifted, a mix of emotions crossing his face. "Yeah, I met someone after college. Her name's Shannon, and we have a son called Christopher”

Buck nodded, trying to mask the disappointment that he felt. “That’s great, Eddie. I’m happy for you. Glad to see that you’re doing well” Buck’s words were laced with something that resembled a mix of sarcasm and sadness.

Just as the conversation settled into a slightly awkward silence, a woman approached, wrapping her arm around Eddie's waist. "Eddie, who's this?" she asked, glancing at Buck with a careful smile.

Eddie introduced them, "Shannon, this is Evan. He’s an old friend”

They were never just friends.

Ask me about my wips 💗

Using this as my Tease Tidbit Tuesday cause ya girl is a mess because of exams 😐

Tagged by @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @athenagranted mwah mwah mwah 💋

Tagging!! @watchyourbuck @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @giddyupbuck @fionaswhvre @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @honestlydarkprincess @butraura @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz 💗 🦋

[copiousloverofcopia]

No ask, just super excited for more young nihil fic!

I hear you Ghestie... and I have wonderful news.

As a special VALENTINE'S DAY/LUPERCALIA treat I present to you all the first chapter of my fic featuring the original Emeritus Cassanova, YOUNG PAPA NIHIL!

Here it is......................

Glitter Wasn't Gold

Nihil Emeritus is the only born son of Papa Inizio Emeritus, head of the Satanic Church. When his father fails ill, it is decided that he shall ascend as Papa but only after making a promise to carry on the Emeritus bloodline.

Chapter 1: Duty of the Son

Also available HERE on AO3!

Read below the cut!

He could hear the bell ringing as he approached the Abbey. Knowing all too well, what it's chiming signified. The days were drawing closer and closer to the time when Papa Inizio Emeritus would pass. A time when his only son Nihil, would rise in his place to become the leader of the Ministry. 

Nihil was only 18 years old and still had a whole lot of life and learning ahead of him. Conceived in his father’s twilight years, he was hardly the type someone would expect to lead the church. An impetuous and reckless child at the best of times, his only saving grace as he grew up was that he was Inizio’s son. Constantly causing trouble for all those who crossed his path. 

The black cat of the Ministry. Known to bring with him a bit of bad luck and an air of mischief. He had been abroad in the Americas for a few years, when the Ministry summoned him back. Nihil knew instantly, from the moment he saw the seal of the letter, what was inside. His time to ascend to the Miter was now.

When he entered the Abbey, two suitcases in either hand, he was guided by the familiar walls of Luciferian tapestries towards the grand staircase. His senses overwhelmed with the nostalgic scent of ash and frankincense. The sounds of chattering, filling his ears as he stepped closer and closer to the floor of the Papal suites. Stopping just outside the last massive oak door at the end of the hall that led to his father’s chambers. 

Before Nhil could knock, he was beckoned inside. Rows of bishops and cardinals were there to greet him as he stepped into the room. Towards the shadowy figure that lay tucked into his father’s canopy bed. To Nihil, it might as well have been a courtroom. Knowing that the second he walked inside he was being judged. 

Capturing all the eyes of men Nihil had known his whole life—secretly doubting him, patronizing him to his father’s face. All the while knowing how much they disapproved of him. How much they all wished to be in charge in his place. The position Nihil was born into, felt deserved as the next Emeritus in line for ascension. 

As he stepped up to the bedside, looking down at the once powerful man who ruled the Ministry, he was taken back. Feeling nothing but pity inside him. Staring at this man who once commanded the strongest of armies behind the scenes, revered as the highest of ghoul summoners—now was but a pile of skin and bones. Wasting away into the nothingness from which he came. 

“Nihil… Nihil is that you?” Inizio asked, unable to fully open his eyes. Coughing so ferociously that Nihil thought he would die right then and there. The sound of it echoing through the room and into the corridor. A sound that would haunt Nihil for the rest of his days. 

“Yes, I’m here.” Nihil replied. Taking a seat beside his father on the bed. His father, trying his best to sit upright to greet him. Helped by Cardinal Angelo, a respected family friend who had helped a great deal with Nihil in his childhood. Keeping his more distasteful antics under the rug from otherwise prying eyes.

“My son. I have not long for this world. There is no time left…so I want you to pay very close attention.” he told him. At that moment all of the other clergymen in the room began listening intently. Waiting for what would inevitably be said. The tension was thick within the air. So thick that Nihil felt the need to clear his throat. Need to loosen up his black clerical collar, leaning in to hear better.

“Go on.” he urged his father.

“I will not let you be Papa.” Inizio began. 

With his words the room suddenly erupted with gasps and widened eyes. All the cardinals and bishops, wondering to themselves who among them would be chosen as Papa, if not the only remaining Emeritus son. If one of them would receive the cursed eye—a gift given to the Emeritus descendents by Lucifer himself. Proof of his favor for them to rule on Earth in his stead.

“What?” he asked, anger fuming inside him. Standing up from the bed, ready to strangle the feeble old man right where he lay. 

“If you do not ascend, all will be stripped from you. Your title as cardinal, your wealth—your power. You will live your life as a simple man.” his father continued. As if this unsettling turn of events weren't enough the thought of losing his only real interest in the Ministry, wealth and power, infuriated him. Realizing he was to lose all hope of phoning in his rule, while reaping the benefits when he replied. 

“You can’t be serious. It is my right. I am your only son.” Nihil hissed. The room, waiting with bated breath for Inizio’s response.   

“That you are…and the only way figlio that I will allow you to take the Miter is if you agree to take on a Prime Mover.”

“You gotta be joking? Cardinal Angelo are you in on this?” Nihil laughed nervously, but it was clear that his father was indeed serious.  

“It is no joke Nihil, your father is quite certain in this. There will be no changing his mind.” Cardinal Angelo assured him. Nihil began to panic inside. Feeling the cold sweat dripping down the small of his back. His black shirt, beginning to stick at his spine. His heart, racing. 

“And if I refuse?” he asked. His father, coughing hard before he was able to speak again. Nihil, silently taking note of the blood staining his father's neckerchief. 

“Allora sarai fuori sul tuo culo, piccola merda ingrata!” Inizio said, coughing once more before Cardinal Angelo came to help adjust him in bed. The coughing fit raging for what seems an eternity. His father's mouth, covered in blood and spittle. “You would disgrace the family name. I would rather someone else take up the Miter than have you tarnish it with your selfishness.” he growled. 

“Father I—” Nihil began, cut off by his father lunging unexpectedly towards him. A raised skeletal finger in Nihil's face.

“No… you will meet with Sorella Violetta at once.” 

“You mean…”

“Shh…she has been chosen for you as a suitable match. Nihil you will take her as your Prime Mover and you will do as your position requires of you and that is FINAL! Angelo, get him out of my face.” Papa Inizio said, waving away as he began coughing once more. The group of cardinals, led by Cardinal Angelo, taking Nihil away from his sight.  

Nihil was dragged down the hall by them. Knowing just how much these fools, these false prophets must be enjoying his dissension. Smiles on their pious faces and whispers of amusement on their tongue. Nihil, continuing to whine and struggling against them as they walked.   

As they reached the end of the hall, Cardinal Angelo signaled for them to let Nihil go. The group, dropping him to the ground, his body thudding against the floor.  Angelo dismissed the others, allowing them to return back to  Papa Inizio’s bedside. Hoping that he could talk to Nihil alone. Angelo, slapping him across the face, gaining his attention and effectively stopping the young Emeritus’s sniveling in its tracks. 

“What is the matter with you? Pull yourself together or you shame your family even now.” Cardinal Angelo snapped, rubbing his sore hand, reddened cracking off Nihil’s face. Nihil himself, wiggling around his jaw to make sure it hadn’t dislocated from the impact. A loud pop, heard as it dropped into place. 

“That fucking hurt, you Stronzo!” he yelled at him. Rubbing his jaw and his white eye burning with fury. 

“Good, maybe now you will pay attention and stop acting like a fucking child.”

“I am no child Angelo… though he will never see me as anything other than—”

“Stop your insolence. You can pity party for yourself another time. Now you must do as he says and quickly.” 

“Now?”

“Now or…or I am to take your place if you do not do as you are told.” Angelo confessed. Looking around to make sure that no one else had heard him.

“You?”

“Sí, do you really want that? Are you that fucking stupid?” Cardinal Angelo asked him. Nihil paused, taking a moment to suck in a deep breath through his nose, then exhaling slowly from his pursed lips. Trying his best to regain some modicum of composure. This wasn’t what he wanted, but he had no other choice. If he didn’t agree he’d be no better than a sibling–if that. 

“You’re right.” he began, spitting out a bit of blood that had pooled within his mouth. “I don’t want anyone else taking what is mine.”

“Good, then you'll come with me.” Cardinal Angelo insisted, holding a hand out to help Nihil get up. Nihil stood up, refusing his hand, grunting as his sore body lifted from the floor. Working quickly to brush himself off a bit before they continued on their way to wherever Angelo would lead them. 

“You are a stubborn ass, you know that?” Cardinal Angelo remarked. Nihil let out a half hearted chuckle. 

“Always.” He replied. The two of them, remaining quiet for the rest of the walk. Only the sounds of footfalls on the marble titles between them. When they finally arrived at the chapel doors. 

“Here? Why?” Nihil asked him.

“In the chapel, Sister Violetta waits for you. You know what you need to do.” Cardinal Angelo explained. Nihil nodded his head, his palm placed on the door as he took in another deep breath. Pushing it open slowly to see the dimly lit room. His eyes zeroing in on the only thing he could see.

Down the nave, illuminated in candlelight was a woman. Adorned in a long black lace veil, quietly waiting in the pews. Her face turned away. Her hands brought up in prayer as she looked to grucifix.

“Here goes nothing.” Nihil whispered under his breath as he approached her. Cardinal Angelo watching silently from the doorway. 

As he got closer, the sister remained still. Her unintelligible words of prayer whispered between her and Lucifer. When he finally reached her pew, he could see just how beautiful she wasl. Her smooth olive skin and luxurious dark hair, tucked beneath her veil. Beautiful brown eyes, blanketed in lush lashes. A natural beauty–no makeup on her that Nihil could discern. He was thrilled that if someone had to be picked out for him, at least they chose someone he would approve. 

“Good evening sorella.” he said, waiting patiently for her response. He was surprised when she smiled, but not the innocent smile of a naive virgin. No—this was a smile of a woman who was in no way clouded by his position or his charm. A woman who was intelligent, self assured–seeing right through him even before he spoke.

“Good evening Cardinal.” Violetta responded, calmly turning to face him. Nihil was beginning to feel a bit threatened by her, however more so intrigued. She seemed to disarm him from the minute he sat down. He was fascinated by her already.

“Well now. Not sure how much you've been told but it seems you and I are supposed to get to know each other… seeing as they expect us to—”

“I am well aware of the expectations. You won’t get any push back from me.” Violetta told him.

“Is that so?” He asked, curious that she'd answered in such a calm, collected way. No emotion that he was used to dodging when it came to the more feminine type. 

“I make no mistake in thinking this is anything other than a diplomatic relationship.”

“I see.” Nihil responded, surprised once again by her candor. 

“There is no need for you to pretend you love me. We are both only doing this for the church—the Ministry.” she told him, the smile from her face falling into a thin straight line. Nihil began chuckling to himself, sitting back against the pew and putting his arm around Violetta. She stared over her shoulder at his hand, as it rested on her, with an expression of acceptance–seeming to resolve herself to the situation. 

“Fine with me doll face. Glad we are on the same page.”

Notes:

Allora sarai fuori sul tuo culo, piccola merda ingrata.- Then you will be out on your ass, you ungrateful little shit. 

[glorious-spoon]

in the night we trust [9-1-1 | Buck/Eddie | COMPLETE]

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: ~ 10k this chapter / ~29K total Warnings: Canon-typical violence Other tags: Porn with plot; Sharing a bed; Idiots in love; First kiss; First time; Feelings realization; Love confessions Summary: Eddie and Buck start sleeping together during lockdown. It still takes them almost three years to notice that they’re in love.

CHAPTER FOUR ON AO3

“Sorry I don't have a couch anymore,” Buck says, the first time Eddie comes over to visit after Taylor finally moved all her shit out and returned Buck’s keys. The space feels echoingly empty now, with less furniture to absorb sound from the brick walls and marble floors. Eddie prefers it like this anyway. It looks different than it did when he was living here, but it does at least look like it belongs to Buck now. These days, he's capable of recognizing the reasons that he mostly avoided the loft over the past year. Even when Taylor wasn't there, the evidence of her was everywhere, like fingerprints she left on Buck's life. They're gone now, and Eddie feels like he can breathe in this space. He'd feel guilty about it, but for the fact that Buck also looks more relaxed in his own home than he has in months.

"Taylor's couch sucked anyway."

"Yeah, well. Probably shouldn't have given my old one away."

"Probably not," Eddie agrees, knocking his shoulder against Bucks as he leans across him to set the pizza down. It's just the two of them tonight; Christopher has science club, and then a movie night hosted by the school which Eddie is explicitly not invited to. He's coping, sort of. "We can eat in the kitchen."

"Can't play video games in the kitchen," Buck says mournfully.

Eddie laughs. "Cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I should get a couch, huh?"

"Yeah, you think?"

"Yeah," Buck sighs, and reaches for the pizza, and they drop it for the time being. They end up playing video games sitting on the floor in front of his TV—the coffee table also went with Taylor, but at least there's a rug—which Eddie is probably starting to get too old for these days.

He trounces Buck at Mario Kart six times in a row, and after the last game, Buck throws up his hands with a laughing groan and shakes his head when Eddie suggests one more round. His eyes are sparkling and his lower lip is red where he's been chewing it in concentration.

It would be so easy right now to just lean across the space between them and kiss him.

Continue reading on AO3

[borrowedtimeandspace]

So Close, Yet So Far

1. Enchanted

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Time After Time; a Twelve AU in which Zepheera had once traveled with the Doctor and got separated long ago, and may have finally found him again.

Note: So... spoiler alert, this year's GT July inspired a lot more of this scenario to expand into a proper AU. I've slightly revised one of the previous chapters, and there is now a separate AU story listed on my Ao3 called Time After Time, where all other related prompts and shorts will be posted together!

~~~

Zepheera waited with bated breath as Bill was led into the office of the lecturer who went by 'the Doctor'. Any movement Bill made, even as it seemed she was moving to sit down, was irrelevant as long as that other giant was still around. 

That wasn't for long, to Zepheera's relief. After some off noises outside the pocket, she heard the sound of the door closing and thudding footsteps receding into the distance.

"He's gone," Bill confirmed under her breath just before Zepheera felt the lurch in gravity once again as the bag moved. Very slowly and carefully, Bill set it down on the floor, slightly leaning it against some sort of vertical surface to keep it upright. The borrower's heart leapt into her throat to finally feel solid ground beneath her feet, and she wasted no time in leaping out.

Her landing was cushioned by an ornate rug. To her left was the sheer cliff of a wooden desk that cast a soft shadow on her from a window far ahead of her. To her right sat Bill, towering overhead even from her chair. Zepheera caught her eye, ignoring the gawping she'd come to expect from humans, and threw a thumbs-up in her direction. They'd made it to this step, whatever number it was. No adjustment needed, no being trapped in Bill's bag the whole time.

Then it caught her eye, right there in the corner. It was hard to miss, standing much taller than any human and filling up the corner beside the door. Something that Zepheera should have expected to see, and yet it caught her breath anyway.

~~~

Bill was just about to give Zepheera her own thumbs-up in return, but before she could, the tiny woman took off sprinting across the hardwood floor. She wondered briefly what was going on with her. She seemed quite determined, crossing the floor surprisingly quickly considering her little legs. Probably best not to ask, though. If the lecturer was here like he was supposed to be, he might overhear and wonder who Bill was talking to. That'd blow their cover.

It was still quite weird, being near someone so small. Bill considered herself fairly average height and not the clumsiest of individuals, but with Zepheera around she suddenly felt all big and bumbling. Like anything she did could shake Zepheera up. That thought was the main thing keeping her in her seat, especially while Zepheera was walking along the floor. As much as Bill's curiosity itched at her, nagging her to get up and look around the office, she resisted.

It was a bit of an odd office, though. More like a study or library, straight out of an old manor that Scooby and the gang would explore. Minus the dust and (hopefully) ghosts. It was spacious, had a bunch of statuettes around and paintings on some walls, massive shelves full of books, and what looked like a reading nook set up in the window.

What was really odd, though, was the big wood box adjacent to that nook. Hard to miss its wood siding, the distinctive look of those old police telephone boxes. Leaning over, Bill noticed it even had a sign on the handle that read "Out Of Order". And for whatever reason, Zepheera was heading straight for it. Didn't even bother looking around at anything else.

Briefly, Bill wondered what made Zepheera so captivated by the box, but soon enough more questions about it overpowered that thought. It looked a bit too sturdy to have been made from a kit, and it was too big to have ever fit through the windows or the door. How much trouble was it to get that thing in here?

The clock on the mantelpiece behind Bill gently chimed four times, announcing the hour. Bill remembered why she was here in the first place, and settled back in her chair. With an internal shrug, she resigned herself to wait around for a bit. That didn't stop her wondering, or glancing around the curious knick knacks on the desk that sat before her. A couple of picture frames were surrounded by oddities, facing away from Bill. What really caught her eye, ultimately, was a pen cup that was full of…definitely not pens. They were bizarre sort of tubes, some with shapes or what looked like lights on the end. The cup was right in her reach. 

She stared. She thought about it. Eventually, her hand moved of its own accord.

~~~

Zepheera's sprint slowed down as she approached the looming box. She'd had so many dreams just like this that she could hardly believe it was happening. Her lips tried to smile, beyond elated to lay eyes on it once again, but it twitched back down, mitigating her joy for the moment. A trembling hand reached out to touch the bluest blue wood side of the police box, just to prove to herself that it was there, that it was real . That she wasn't just dreaming all this up.

Before she could, an ear-splitting noise shattered the silence of the office, and Zepheera was startled into running once again. By the time she slipped between the box and the wall, safe in its shadow, it sank in what that near deafening sound was.

An electric guitar, playing Beethoven's Fifth in power chords.

Bill gave a pointed cough, and the noise stopped. Then, a much more distant warbling noise rang out from a side room further on. That sound brought so many memories flooding back for Zepheera, and she sneaked back to the edge of the police box to take a peek.

The man who came out to greet Bill was certainly not the Doctor that Zepheera knew. He looked older, but she knew that meant very little when it came to his actual age. The Doctor was a man of so many faces, and Zepheera wasn't familiar with each and every one of them. 

But it was him, that much was certain. She couldn't explain why, other than he felt like the Doctor.

Bill took up his attention, giving Zepheera ample opportunities to sneak more looks at him as though it would fill in any of the gaps. She couldn't tell if this was the Doctor from before or after her time with him, and it was risky to just approach him when she had no idea how he would react.

Zepheera had found him, though, at long last. If there was one thing she had that brought her to that point, it was patience. A few more days of hiding out in his office and observing him would be worth it, just to be on the safe side.

[soulsfthebrokenwarrens]

About

Ran by: @starmeadowsystem, with aid from @rougewitchfox

Age Rec: 17+

Content Warnings: genocide, fascism, torture, blood, intense violence, dismemberment, fear-based imagery, mild/potential sexual content, major character death. This is not an exhaustive list, and more tags will be added as the story goes on.

Genre: dark fantasy, horror

Synopsis: You are a mysterious winged rabbit. You don't have access to your past, but you do know you're still alive for a purpose far bigger than yourself.

For years, the nation of Veldant has been killing rabbits and has already left a large body toll. They have made it clear that they won't stop until they're all dead. The task at paw is clear, is it not?

Maybe you can live a little, too.

So this is going to be like an interactive comic/cyoa with at least one image per decision because honestly I really want to tell this story in some way and I think this would be an interesting medium for it. The only problem with hosting this on Tumblr is that it may not be its permanent home. Who knows thus far tbh.

Archive under the read more click.

Prologue

Start

>Naturally rugged look, couldn’t groom themselves even if they wanted to. Friendly-looking face. Pale gray, a dusty blue speckle. Dark eyes. skinny, hungry frame. Long twitching ears. Old bite scar on the flank.

>?????

Chapter 1

>Fly up to see if you can spot anything in the distance. Find a nearby vantage point of some kind (a rock or small hill) and get a good look of the surroundings.

>head upstream along the river, where it should be narrower, in search for a crossing.

>Brace yourself and prepare for an attack.

>Take a moment to get your heartbeat back under control. "It's ok.. You're also alone, I can ask you the same question"

>Juniper and his warren seem to be the only chance we have for survival in this desolate land, we should follow him. "Sure, why not."

>Despite just meeting this guy, you trust him. Plus mysterious blue orbs won't hurt you... Right? Go in.

>It’s probably best to break this awkward silence. “Uhm.. hello there. Could someone please tell me what’s going on?”

>"...are you sure that was me? I don't remember living on an island. Then again, I don't remember much in general..."

>We start walking along with Juniper, waiting to be shown around. “Uhm.. I- why do we need to travel outside? Isn’t it dangerous up there?”

>"Den cause that seems cool"

>Let’s walk up to some friendly looking rabbits, hopefully we can make some friends, that would chime in useful.

>"I just want to talk, are you busy?" Friendliness engaged, also s h e

>"Yes.. What happened up there.. To all the rabbits?"

->

[bearbluebooks]

Chapter 14 Christmas in Velaris

“You sit back and relax, sunshine,” he replied. As she watched the scene unfolding in front of her, she couldn’t help the humming that escaped her mouth. Whenever she was nervous or very happy, her vocal cords would find release in the comfort of song. When she caught herself doing it, she looked at Azriel to gauge his reaction. Some people found it annoying or distracting. When she looked into Azriel’s eyes, she found her own emotion reflected back- the rediscovery of home and all the ease and absolute bliss that accompanied it.

Read Chapter 1 here or Chapter 14 here on AO3

17th December, 17:12

They stayed in bed all morning, where he held her tightly in his embrace until her stomach growled so loudly, he proclaimed “You need food”, and went out to get pastries from the corner shop. He even remembered her coffee order- vanilla late with sugar.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in pure bliss, as they alternated between lounging on the couch and in bed.

They left Gwyn’s home for an hour to pick up her car. Azriel brought his tools and fixed Betty on the spot. Gwyn couldn’t help but be in awe of the man in front of her. How he rolled up his sleeves and repaired her car with the speed and knowledge of 17 year old Azriel who still worked at Lenny’s garage. And he looked great doing it.

When he offered to cook dinner, she practically yelled “YES” in response.

Not just to taste his excellent cooking, but also to finally see his evil lair.

To her surprise, they didn’t drive into the city towards a penthouse overlooking the city. Instead, he parked the car in a driveway, in front of a gorgeous townhouse next to the Sidra.

But that didn’t really matter, because she hadn’t seen the inside yet.

She had already pictured his place thousands of times- the sleek interior, the mission impossible to find any other color than black, the lack of Christmas decorations. Maybe she would even find a control center with TV screens that had a surveillance feed of every house in Velaris.

With wide eyes and an ever wider smile, she opened the enormous door that revealed all the answers.

What she found was a surprisingly lavish yet cozy space. 

The primary color was still black, but there were paintings, plants, and even a rug? “Did you decorate this yourself?” she asked in equal shock.

“Not what you expected?” he said with a smirk.

“I haven’t seen everything yet,” she challenged with her arms crossed in front of her.

“No secrets here,” he said as he put his arms up in mock defeat.

She did have a secret. One she hung up on his bedroom wardrobe- Christmas lights that glowed in blue, red and green. One preconception was true, and she was determined to grace his home with at least one Christmas light.

As soon as she fixed the problem, she let curiosity guide the way as she opened door after door.

“How big is your house?” she yelled from the upstairs guest room. “Right behind you,” he said with a smile that even reached his hazel eyes. Gwyn practically jumped into the air when she saw him leaning in the doorway when she expected him to still be in the kitchen.

“Big enough,” he said with that same look on his face, as he walked behind her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Do you like it?” he asked slightly worried.

“I love it,” she said truthfully.

“I want to show you something,” he said as he pulled her by her hand towards the living room.

When she entered the huge space, her heart skipped a beat. He had filled every empty surface with candles.

The entire space was bathed in warm light as soft jazz music played in the background. He had created such a natural and cozy ambiance, she couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her body.

“Take a seat,” he said as he walked towards the marble counter. “We’re having spaghetti. I hope it’s still your favorite.”

With a smile as bright as the candlelight, she said “I love it.”

As he rolled up his sleeves, his muscular arms were revealed. Before she could stop herself, her hand reached out to touch the obsidian swirls that extended down his arms.

“You didn’t have these before,” she said whilst she thought of all the other things she missed when she was gone. The thought saddened her.

“I’ll show them all if you want,” he replied, as if he could read her mind. And she knew he meant ‘I’ll show you everything you want to know’.

“I can’t wait,” she said in response to both.

“Can I help?”

“You sit back and relax, sunshine,” he replied.

As she watched the scene unfolding in front of her, she couldn’t help the humming that escaped her mouth. Whenever she was nervous or very happy, her vocal cords would find release in the comfort of song.

When she caught herself doing it, she looked at Azriel to gauge his reaction. Some people found it annoying or distracting. When she looked into Azriel’s eyes, she found her own emotion reflected back- the rediscovery of home and all the ease and absolute bliss that accompanied it.

When the pasta boiled, and the sauce simmered. Azriel reached out his scarred hand once again and asked “Care to dance?”

Even when they were younger, dancing was a weekly occurrence. Azriel’s mother taught him how to dance when he was just a little boy. Dancing was one of the few ways he received love, and he had shared it with Gwyn as soon as he taught her how to dance too.

When she placed her smaller hand in his much larger one, he pulled her into his chest in one powerful motion. A small gasp escaped her mouth at the sudden strength of the action. “Increase the volume”, he instructed as he placed her hand on his left shoulder. His other hand moved to the small of her back whilst she rested her head on his hard chest.

When he connected their hands again, he guided them towards the empty space in the living room, where she let him spin her around the rest of the night.

The joyful tunes of jazz music played in the background, as faint smells of pasta dominated the air. Candlelight softly illuminated Azriel’s handsome face, as she listened to his heartbeat underneath her ear, she felt it beat to the same rhythm as hers and she couldn’t help but think this was all she ever needed in life.

Him.

[turkeysandwich]

One Bed

Ian Duncan x Original Male Character

Read here on ao3

Chapter 1/?

——————————————————————————

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, a single shared dorm!?” Alex shouted the second he was sure no one could hear him from the comfort of his car, he had just gotten done with the twice-monthly teacher meeting with the dean.

Apparently the school had been having a shortage of dorms, which aligned terribly with Alex not being able to find a proper apartment in Greendale's county. So of fucking course he had to endure yet another one of the cheap rug pulls of Greendale, Just two and a half more years of this hell, then I’ll be at SCAD, I can do this. He thought to himself, it had always been his dream to be a teacher at the one school he wanted to go to, but never could.

Years before he ever was ever considering being a teacher, he had attended Greendale along with his brother, graduating with a bachelor and going through teaching prep a small while later.

A few years of being a commission artist, and doing random freelance jobs, briefly moving back down to texas for a few years. After doing fuck all for that time, Greendale had contacted Alex asking him to come back and teach art three for a few years, which as he was told, would look great on a resume.

And this was how Alexander N. Luna ended up in an old pickup truck gripping his phone so hard that he was sure it would crumble in his hand at any moment. Dean Pelton had been taking his sweet time delivering the email that told the teachers their new dormitory and teacher that would be rooming with them.

Alex simply took a deep breath before he turned the key and turned on the pick up, supposedly they had two days before they moved into the new dorm. Might as well just pack it all up now and get that off their hands, he figured he would just get his dinner from some random store he found while scouting the area. Mexican sounded good to him, therefore, he pulled out his teacher assigned parking space, and started on a path to the nearest restaurant he could find that served good tacos.

Alex seemingly never broke the habit of announcing when he got home, even when it was to no one. He figured he should get started packing, and that started with taking down all his wall art and putting them into the cardboard boxes that he moved in with half a year ago. He started carefully taking down the band posters that scattered his walls, even his newest DOOM poster came off easy, next came off his two flags, one pan and the other trans.

He then packed up his computer before falling into his rickety bed, he picked up his phone and went straight to email, he crossed his fingers and looked in his inbox, he opened the newest one he saw.

Hello Mr.Luna, Thank you for complying with this newest change, you will be sharing dormitory #323 with Prof. Ian Duncan, have a great day, and remember to be fully moved into your dorm by Monday!

Alex had heard of Ian before, never actually meeting him; he was infamous for something he called the Duncan principle, apparently he had been a student at Greendale about the same time as Alex.

Alex woke up late that saturday, figuring it was his last full day in his old dorm he got up, made himself breakfast and went right back to packing up all his things, he thought his roots were getting worse and worse so he took a trip to the nearest Sally beauty to pick up bleach and a new color of hair dye, intending to use it some time next week.

Yet again he grabbed a monster and mustered up the energy to pack more and put all his things in boxes, figuring he would leave some food for the new students moving into the dorm. He checked the clock; it read six-thirty so he made himself dinner, he looked in his fridge, pasta for one seemed obtainable.

He woke up that Sunday surrounded by boxes and a suitcase. He got up, made himself tea and got to putting everything in his car. He drove a few miles to the dorm complex over, and took a deep breath, hopefully his new roommate wasn’t loud or annoying.

Alex groaned as he picked up a box, trying to crack the problematic places on his back, he carried the box up to room #323, he climbed the stairs and tried his very best to not fall down the stairs. He looked around the hallway and tried to find the dorm number, he saw a few teachers he recognized all equally annoyed.

He spotted his dorm and checked his phone, looks like he might be running fashionably late. He saw someone leaning against the wall and nervously checking a wrist watch. Almost the second he saw Alex his mood brightened and he waved him over.

“Hello there! Alexander Luna, right!?” He said in a shockingly British accent, shooting a hand out to shake, taken aback by the accent Alex stopped in place.

“Ian Duncan, you can call me Alex by the way?” Alex shook his hand, being let into the dorm by the taller man, he looked around the exceedingly small, one-room dorm, and immediately noticed something that stood out to him.

“Oh my God…”

“What?”

“One. Bed.”

The layout of the dorm went like so; a compact kitchen to the left, shifting into carpet the floor was covered by a single loveseat in front of a tv stand that already had one as supplied by Ian, to the side of the seat was a single bed that was in a corner, mirroring a window, a door to a small bathroom sat opposite to the bed.

“Yeah…” Ian cringed, who had already taken a look through the dorm. “I would offer you to sleep on the floor or the couch, but all we have is a loveseat and no floor space.”

“Just don’t do anything too gay.” Alex gave a pitiful laugh and put a box on the table, seeing Ian had already majorly moved in. “I get up pretty late, you take the outer side, I’ll take the one next to the window.”

“Yeah, sure.” He said, a blush rising across his face. “I guess I should help you move in huh?”

“It would be much appreciated.” Alex smiled, letting a slight Texas drawl seep through his words. “Please and thank you.”

Alex walked out the room, Ian treading quick behind him.

“So you're southern huh?” He asked, looking at the boxes sprawled across the bed of Alex’s truck.

“Yes I am, grew up on a longhorn ranch in Texas.” Alex answered, sliding two boxes towards himself and two more to Ian. “I can get these two, you're too scrawny to carry these.”

“Hey!” Ian sounded offended but the tone quickly wore off. “You’re probably right but that still hurts, I can carry shit.”

The two continued their strange banter bringing in the boxes that cluttered the bed of Alex’s truck, maybe Ian had been purposely stalling his time by grabbing less boxes each time.

“So that's the last box, you got anything left in your truck?” Alex shut the door to their dorm.

“Just a few things but you're going to have to promise to not make fun of my car.” Ian sighed, signaling Alex to follow him

The two walked down to Ian’s car, Alex following Ian quickly, Alex had been trying to crack Ian, question after question along the lines of what car do you have? When the pair arrived at the car, Alex really had a sight to behold.

“Well… that is certainly… a car?” Alex giggled. “Do you even have a trunk?”

“No, I had to make two trips.” He admitted, opening the door and grabbing one of the milk crates full of books, mugs and random trinkets he couldn't place.

The two yet again went about their day, both moving into the tiny apartment best they could, Alex had put up almost all his wall art, he hadn't known Ian for long enough just to put up his flags.

“I’ll cook you clean?” Alex offered, both men had grown hungry.

“Sure.” Ian said. “I’m a great housewife.” Making Alex giggle.

The two cooked, ate, and cleaned together, trying to prepare themselves for the awkward night ahead. When the time eventually rolled around, it was Alex who first crashed into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. Ian needed to get done with the grades he had been putting off, but when he eventually crawled into bed with an already sleeping Alex, he couldn't help but get butterflies. If only he could reach over and touch him.

[butterflies-dragons]

Lúthien and Sansa

Art credit: Lúthien by Aerankai and Sansa by denvertakespics

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

Summary:

1. Beauty

2. Flowery names

3. From dusk to dawn

4. Little birds: nightingales

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

6. Big cats and big dogs

7. Bat and wolf imagery

8. Singing and dancing

9. Other parallels

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

1. Beauty

Ah, Lúthien! Ah, Lúthien,

more fair than any child of Men!

Oh, loveliest maid of Elvenesse,

what madness doth thee now possess?

Ah, lissom limbs and shadowy hair

and chaplet of white snowdrops there;

oh, starry diadem and bright

soft hands beneath the pale moonlight!

She left his arms and slipped away

just at the breaking of the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lúthien inherited her beauty from her mother Melian:

Melian was a fay. In the gardens of [the Vala] Lórien she dwelt, and among all his fair folk none were there that surpassed her beauty, nor none more wise, nor none more skilled in magical and enchanting song.

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

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

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

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

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

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

2. Flowery names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sansa is also a flowery name:

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

—GRRM about The Stark Sisters’ Names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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

3. From dusk to dawn

Lúthien is also called Tinúviel:

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

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

Tinúviel literally means "Daughter of Twilight".

Beren first saw Lúthien dancing and singing in the twilight:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

More about Sansa and the dawn here.

4. Little birds: nightingales

Tinúviel is also a term to refer to the nightingale:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More about Sansa and the nightingale here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran II

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

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

"Do all the birds have singers in them?"

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

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

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

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

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

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

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Beren and Lúthien were rescued by great eagles:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Sansa also wishes to have falcon's wings:

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

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

6. Big cats and big dogs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

And who was Balerion the black tomcat?

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art credit: "Luthien and Huan" by Elena Kukanova

But because Huan, like Ghost, is mute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

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

7. Bat and wolf imagery

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

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

And then the giant bat rode upon the werewolf:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now there he laid

before their feet, as dark as shade,

two grisly shapes that he had won

from that tall isle in Sirion:

a wolfhame huge—its savage fell

was long and matted, dark the spell

that drenched the dreadful coat and skin;

the werewolf cloak of Draugluin;

the other was a batlike garb

with mighty fingered wings, a barb

like iron nail at each joint’s end—

such wings as their dark cloud extend

against the moon, when in the sky

from Deadly Nightshade screeching fly

Thû’s messengers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What wife?"

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

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

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

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

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

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

8. Singing and dancing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

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

—A Feast for Crows - Arya II

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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

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

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

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

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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

9. Other parallels

9.1. Beautiful hair

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair:

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

of elvenflowers in elven-dell.

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

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

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

Behind closed doors

they sat, while Beren told his tale

of Doriath; and words him fail

recalling Lúthien dancing fair

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

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

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

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

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

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

9.2. Radiant

Lúthien is often described as radiant:

[...] and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

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

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

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

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

Sansa is described as radiant by Jon:

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

9.3. Skinchanging

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

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

Sansa is a skinchanger as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

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

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

Now tell me, what is that if not skinchanging?

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

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

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

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

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

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

9.4. Hades and Persephone imagery

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

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

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

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

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

These quotes exempt me from further explanation:

The wind of winter winds his horn;

the misty veil is rent and torn.

The wind dies; the starry choirs

leap in the silent sky to fires

whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer

through domes of frozen crystal clear.

A sparkle through the darkling trees,

a piercing glint of light he sees,

and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,

and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,

shrilled as she wayward passed along.

A frozen brook to bubbling song

awoke and laughed; but Beren stood

still bound enchanted in the wood.

Her starlight faded and the night

closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.

Thereafter on a hillock green

he saw far off the elven-sheen

of shining limb and jewel bright

often and oft on moonlit night;

and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,

and soft she sang as once before.

Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,

and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.

A night there was when winter died;

then all alone she sang and cried

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon as Hades:

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

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

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

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

And in A Dance with Dragons, Jon actually died.

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

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

Sansa as Persephone:

Persephone and Sansa are renowned beauties.

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

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

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

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

Sansa is deeply associated with flowers, thus with spring.

Sansa rejected the pomegranate from Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.

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

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

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

Read more about it here:

Some thoughts on Sansa and Jon, by Tze

The Pomegranate Imagery - Jonsa, ASOS.

Sansa as Persephone

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

9.5. Daeron the minstrel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.6. Foes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Singing

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

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

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

Dancing

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X.

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

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

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

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

“Anon?” teased Jon.

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

“My lady should dance with her husband.”

—Jon, A Dance With Dragons

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

Later he had the following thought:

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

Bat and wolf imagery

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

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

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

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

Hades and Persephone imagery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beauty and the Beast imagery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Endless lineage

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The snow fell and the castle rose”

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

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

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

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

“The blood of Winterfell”

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

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

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

“Children of the Mountain”

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tolkien and GRRM - Aragorn and Arwen

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

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

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

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

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

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

The New Yorker - April 11, 2011 Issue

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

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

Parris | George R.R. Martin

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime V

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Bran III

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

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

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

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

"Her heart was broken."

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

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

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

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

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

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 1 ~Stories She Wrote~

PICTURE SOURCE

PART 2 OF  WONDERWALL SERIES

Hey guys, I'm back and thrilled to give you part 2 of WONDERWALL series, Miles Between Us. It is a continuation from my holiday ficlet, All I Want For Christmas Is You. If you haven't read the first part, I suggest you do if you wish to get an insight into Jamie and Claire’s history (Here is the link) Otherwise, this ficlet can also be read as a stand-alone.

I know All I Want For Christmas Is You ending was bittersweet, but it had to be done. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been a Part 2 in this series. I had to leave the story open to possibilities if it is to have a chance of growing. And besides, making this into a series allows me to take breaks from writing and refresh my brain in-between ficlets. So I hope this next part of the story will make up for leaving you hanging all these weeks.

Anyway, before you continue, I'd like to thank you for reading, commenting and giving feedback to my stories. They're all very appreciated even if I sometimes don't comment back. As a hobby writer, I always look forward to your response, and they spur me to continue writing. Without the readers, I wouldn't be here. So thank you for being part of my writing journey.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

So now everything is said, without further ado, I wish you all happy reading. ❤️

 Previously ...

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp and James Fraser met and fell in love during the Holiday Seasons. Unfortunately for their budding relationship, after two weeks of a whirlwind romance, Claire has to return to London to finish some work commitment that could take a year to fulfil. It doesn't help matters that Jamie's PTSD condition prevents him from visiting her as loud city noises can trigger panic attacks. They are both in love with each other and are willing to find out where their relationship will head to. But can they find a compromise to bridge the gap of hundreds of miles to give their love a chance?

    After sitting on her bed most of Saturday working on her laptop, Claire Beauchamp rolled her neck and stretched her back, her arms extending above her head. She flinched when her joints cracked. 

Over the past few days, her boss, John Grey, forwarded manuscripts and drafts from the author she was working with. She hadn't eaten anything all day, and her stomach was beginning to grumble, and her eyes blurry from reading.

She'd read so much in the past hours, she was practically cross-eyed, and the bridge of her nose hurt where her specs rested. Words upon words had sifted through her brain, but now the lines were beginning to blur together.

She glanced back down on her laptop and opened a file in her document folder, her eyes scanning through lines she knew by heart. She'd been going through her own work lately wondering if she had what it takes to be a writer. Someone who would give her an honest opinion ought to read it before contemplating getting herself a literary agent if she was to start a new chapter of her life and take that leap of faith in her dream career.

A sudden urgency took over, and she needed Annalise to read her work, like right now. Which reminded Claire, her friend was away with Willie, shopping and sight-seeing. He was staying over their place for the weekend for the first time since she and Annalise left Lallybroch. After declining their invitation to join them earlier, the loved-up couple left her to her work with the promise of dinner when they returned.

She was about to reach out for her cold coffee from the bedside table when Raiders of the Lost Ark's theme song blared from her phone. At the same time, a picture of her uncle Lamb appeared on the screen. He was wearing a high-crowned, wide-brimmed, weather-beaten fedora hat and had a lopsided grin plastered to his thickly stubbled face. Rugged, she thought, just like her favourite pair of distressed leather boots, and very Indiana Jones.

Smiling, she tapped the answer button and put the phone on speaker. "Uncle Lamb! Long time no speak!" 

"Sweetheart," he started in a deep familiar voice, "how are you?"

She frowned and pushed her laptop aside. Something was off. "Oh you know, same old ...just finishing work and ..." 

"On a Saturday?" he asked, cutting her off.

"Look who's talking."

He chuckled. "You're young. You should be out. There are so many things to do in London ...especially on a Saturday. "

Claire rolled her eyes but opted to change the subject instead. She wasn't ready to give her reason for working overtime nor share her future plans nor talk about the handsome Scot she met during her holidays. Not just yet, anyway. "So ...to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice, dear uncle?"

"What?" he said gruffly, pretending to sound offended. "Can't I call my favourite girl in the world and check up on her?" 

She mentally sighed. Something must be up since her uncle never called. It was always she who usually phoned, and when he did call on a rare occasion, it was either because something had happened or he was in London. She dismissed the latter since she knew he was in Papua New Guinea. The next conclusion she landed on was his health but thought it absurd. Her uncle was strong as an ox, ate healthily, only smoked the occasional cigar and regularly went for doctor's check-up, a requirement in his job as an archaeologist travelling to remote places.

Unless. "You sound suspiciously chipper. Let me guess ...you met someone. There's a woman in your life." 

He coughed like he was choking on a drink. "No! Why would you say that?" 

Alright, he sounded repulsed by the idea enough. Or was that denial? "I don't know. You seem so ...how shall I say it ...unlike yourself. You normally skip the niceties and get to the point." 

He lets out an impatient breath. "Claire, darling, am I really that awful?"

"No," she replied, ignoring the ache in her throat. She missed their time together but tried not to make it apparent in her tone. He was a busy man, and the last thing she wanted was her uncle worrying. "You don't seem like you're rushing off to anywhere. It's rare you sound this relax."

"It's way past my bedtime already," he sighed. "And besides, work is on stand-by at the moment until we get the license to start digging on site. People here are so damn laid back, and nobody seems to be in a hurry to process the paperwork. I'm not about to hand out cash to speed things along even if bribery is rampant here."

"I see. So you're in Port Moresby then?"

"Yes. As soon as we have the license sorted out, we'll be flying to Lae first thing tomorrow. Hopefully, anyway." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of paperwork, I received an email from my lawyer. Your trust fund has matured, dear. I'll send you the details where to go to and who to contact, and maybe you can start planning your life. Perhaps take a sabbatical and travel with me if you wish."

Ah yes, the trust fund. 

After her parents died, everything they had owned was put into her trust fund by her uncle to secure her future. She'd already received a small lump sum when she turned eighteen, and the money had afforded her, though small and cramped, a decent rental two-bedroom apartment in London with high windows, which was premium in this expensive city. And Annalise, her best friend and roommate made enough money to help pay the ridiculous expensive utility bills. Her own wage just about covered the other expenses with almost nought left for savings, but she hadn't worried knowing there was money in place in her name. She was counting on it to support herself when she pursued her dreams of writing.

"About that, I think I'll let that sit in the bank for a while. It's not like I need the money right now, nor do I have the time to spend it."

"As you wish," her uncle replied. "And another thing I need to discuss with you ...South Lodge ..."

"What about South Lodge?" South Lodge should have been her family home if her parents hadn't died, and she knew it was a highly coveted property because of its historical significance. It was never put into the market for sale since her uncle thought it wasn't his place to decide. It was put on a twenty-year lease to a high profile politician, its payments going towards her trust fund.

"The lease is up, and the occupants will be moving out soon. Unfortunately for you, that information made it to the local news and you were mentioned as the legatee. So don't be surprised if you're bombarded with offers now that your name is out. I'm willing to bet, property investors and developers will be itching to get their hands on it."

Claire took off her specs and pinched the bridge of her nose. God, she hated adulting, paperwork and dealings with lawyers. Maybe she should just sell South Lodge and be done with it, so she could concentrate on her future plans. What do I need a five-bedroom house with one acre of garden in Oxford for? "I'll think about it, uncle. I just have a lot of things going on at the moment. I'm quite sure those things can wait."

"Of course dear."

"Thank you for letting me know." She thought of Jamie, and the Highlands and how much life was a lot simpler there. She really needed to double her effort to tie up loose ends in London and have a heart to heart talk with Annalise. Is her relationship with Willie serious? If not, her friend would have to eventually find a new roommate. After quickly glancing at her bedside clock, she realised they would be here soon and hopefully with a takeaway. Annalise did mention something about sorting dinner out tonight.

"And Claire?"

"Yes?"

"Your upbringing hasn't been the most ideal. Enjoy the money and treat yourself. Don't spend your life doing things that don't bring you joy."

She smiled. Her uncle must have had a rude awakening of some sort to sound so philosophical. Or probably, he did meet someone special. Either way, she wasn't going to push for any answers for now. She really needed to get out of bed, do a few stretches and have a shower before Annalise, and Willie arrived. "I'll try," she finally said.

"Good. I'll let you get back to whatever you're doing."

"Sadly, yes." She shut her laptop and got out of bed. "Take care of yourself, alright? And I'll phone you sometime next week after I've figured out our time differences." 

"Absolutely, sweetheart. Talk soon." 

"Love you, uncle Lamb." 

"Love you, too." 

She terminated the call with a swipe on her screen and rubbed her eyes. She'd been working for seven hours straight, and her eyeballs felt like they're made of sandpaper. Glancing at the corner table, she smiled when she saw Jamie's gifts. Willie had brought them with him when he arrived last night from Inverness. She knew Jamie was making up for his absence, but it couldn't be helped when there's the danger of his PTSD condition worsening in the city. To her delight and surprise, he'd sent her a leather-bound journal, a framed selfie photo of them together, driftwood bookends he made and a box of her favourite Lindt chocolate.

With a contented sigh, she made a mental note to call Jamie after dinner. And to ask her boss first thing Monday morning if she could take her work to Scotland the following weekend to surprise her boyfriend. After all, she was just taking her uncle's advice, and after the work, she'd put in the last couple of weeks, and the extra hours she planned to do the next few days, she deserved a little joy in her life.

..........

Claire leaned forward, and nervously examined her best friend's face. Annalise was hunched down, scrolling her laptop, tongue darting out as she read the paragraphs on the screen. 

What's that look for? Doesn't she like it? She couldn't tell. It was the first time she's showing her work to anyone, one of the stories she had written during her spare time before embarking a career as an editorial assistant for Dreamcatcher Publishing Company. She needed to hear her friend's opinion to know if she even had a small chance of becoming a writer.

Annalise took her sweet time, and Claire wasn't sure if her inscrutable expression was a deliberate act to prolong the suspense, or if she genuinely had no reaction to what she's reading. If it was the latter, Claire would definitely kiss her dream of being a writer goodbye. If it's the former, she's going to strangle her friend for making her suffer. 

She heard the door to the apartment open and close, followed by the sound of keys jangling and heavy footfalls, announcing the arrival of Willie. He'd stopped by to order some food at a local Indian takeaway while Annalise headed straight home to prepare the table for dinner. Instead of calling out to him, she held her breath for Annalise's response. 

Just when Claire was starting to accept her hope of being a writer would never amount to anything other than a pipe dream, she saw the reaction she impatiently waited for. Annalise's mouth formed a comical O, followed by her eyes' widening and random shallow sighs. 

Yessssssss! 

This was massive. Despite Annalise having seen works from established authors Claire had edited for, she'd never witnessed her friend looked this excited. Annalise simply couldn't hide her gobsmacked expression, even if she tried.

"Oh, dear Lord," she whispered, her gaze flicking to Claire and then back to the screen. "Why didn't you tell me you had this? I knew you wanted to be a writer, but this ..."

"So?" 

Annalise took a massive deep breath, her fingers almost shaking. "Oh my God, Claire." 

"Oh my God, wot? Oh my God good or oh my God, bad?" Claire asked, even though she already knew deep in her bones, what the answer was. But she desperately needed to hear the words.

"This is bloody good," she said, as she went back to a previous page, and reread it all over again. After a couple of minutes more, a slow smile started to spread across her face, as she stole a few cheeky glances over at Claire.

Claire knew she could rely on her friend to tell her the truth. If her work had been bad, friend or not, Annalise would have been forthright and told her the hard facts. Nevertheless, she tamped down her own growing excitement. "The question is though ...is it good enough for the mass?" 

Without hesitation, Annalise nodded vigorously, her blue eyes big as saucers. "Oh, Claire, are you kidding me? You really have no idea, have you? Of course, it is! I need to read the rest. Please tell me it's finished." 

Claire relaxed for the first time and slumped back against the headboard of her bed, relief soothing her wild heartbeat. "It's finished."

Annalise let out a whoop as she gripped the laptop tightly. "Oh my God! Give me everything ...I won't be able to sleep tonight if I don't read at least one more chapter of this story." 

"I've got ten more finished materials."

"Oh my God, oh my God! You're killing me. I want it all."

Willie poked his head by the frame of the doorway to her bedroom and eyed them suspiciously. She wasn't sure what he expected to find, but his eyes narrowed when he saw Annalise's flushed face. 

"What are ye both up to?" he asked, frowning. "Ye sound like ye're looking at porn on the internet." 

Annalise grinned and motioned him over. "Sort of." 

Willie hesitantly entered the room. "Sorry?"

"In actual fact, much better than porn ..." Annalise announced, smirking at Claire.

"Annalise!" Claire wheezed when it dawned on her, her friend must have been reading the sex scene part.

Annalise reached out and reassuringly squeezed Claire's hand whilst looking at Willie. "Take a look at this. Claire wrote it."

Annalise handed the laptop to Willie, and both of them earnestly watched his face to gauge his reaction. As he sat down on the edge of the bed and read, Claire knew he would be the real test. Willie being a bloke, she didn't expect him to have the same reaction as Annalise, but she hoped he would appreciate the storyline and plot. Claire already understood, if her story was going to be good enough to be published, its success would be based on women's purchasing power. If he liked her style of writing even a smidgen, then she would be laughing. 

Claire held her breath in anxious anticipation, and approximately a minute and a half later, she got her response. 

His eyes bulged out, and then the tips of his ears glowed with red. In all sort of ways, he was so similar to Jamie but yet so different. But there's no mistaking how vibrantly their ears always lit up when they're embarrassed. Or moved. 

"Kind of explicit," he commented hoarsely, before tucking a tongue into his cheek as if trying to find the right words to say. "But it is an intriguing story with great flow and interesting characters. It's no' the genre I would typically read, but the first few paragraphs of what I've seen so far are riveting. It makes me want to read more."

Annalise, enthusiastically nodded in agreement and waved a hand in the air. "There it is." 

"Ye have a gift, Claire," Willie added, eyes still fixed on the screen and working overtime as his focus became more intense. "The dose of mystery ye've woven into the lines is remarkable and intelligent."

She felt herself beaming in vindication. "Thank you." 

He briefly glanced up at her. "Now that I remember, Jamie did vaguely mention ye wanted to be a writer."

"That's the plan," she beamed.

"Good. Because if ye can produce something like this, then yer talent is wasted on editing other people's work."

"She's got ten more finished stories," Annalise piped in.

Willie arched an eyebrow at Claire and continued reading, and when he finished, he shook his head and let out a low whistle. "Is Jamie the inspiration for this story?"

Her face heated. "I ...ah ...wrote that years ago. And ...um, I've revised and edited it a million times in the past. I wanted Annalise to read it first and find out if it's good enough to be published."

Annalise grinned at Willie, still looking a little flush like she was having a physical reaction to the few lines she'd read earlier. "So what do you think?"

Willie didn't miss Annalise's excited reaction to the story. "It's verra good but I didnae realised graphic scenes affected ye so much. Ye're beet red!" 

"Only when it's very well written," Annalise smirked, taking the laptop from his hands and moving towards him to sit on his lap. 

Willie pulled Annalise closer and kissed her, and Claire sighed. It's both beautiful and terrible being in the presence of people, so in love. While she's ecstatic to see her best friend smitten and happy, it made her sad that Jamie couldn't be here with her. She missed him terribly, and it's only been a fortnight since she had last seen him.

After a few seconds of watching them unashamedly snogged in front of her, Claire clapped her hands, and they both immediately pulled away. "Right, that's enough you two. So, where's the dinner I was promised?"

Suddenly looking self-conscious, Willie promptly lifted Annalise from his lap, plonked her down onto the bed and jumped up, and Claire couldn't help but grin at him.

"Right on it," he muttered, before disappearing from her bedroom.

Annalise laughed and playfully shoved her shoulder. "Passion killer."

Claire ignored the jest. "So you really think I should publish my story?"

Her friend nodded excitedly. "Absolutely! You should have let me read it sooner. From what I've seen so far, you have good, solid material, and I'm convinced, when I read the rest, it will not disappoint." She stood up and smiled. "Come on, in as much as I'm all fired up after reading your story, I'm famished." She got up and left the room.

Instead of moving from her position, Claire stared at her work for a few seconds and just breathed. Although Willie and Annalise were sincere with their praises, she couldn't help but still feel nervous. This next step in her life could either turn out to be huge, or it could get her mocked out of a dream career she loved. 

Pushing aside her doubts and thinking of Jamie, she quickly compressed a copy of her story's file and sent it to him via email to read, hoping he would like her written work too. Who knew, maybe, after reading it, he would be as fired up as Willie and Annalise. 

After hearing the whoosh of the email sent, Claire launched herself off the bed to join her friends, looking forward to Jamie's reaction later and daydreaming of a future in Scotland with her love.

[big-dong-zhong]

1 - Melt

Update: I see that this post still gets new notes, so allow me to redirect you to the updated version of this chapter, HERE!

Words: 1,873

Rated [T+]  - Here is an explanation of my rating system.

Tartaglia/Lumine, fluff (i guess?), sorry I really don’t know what to say here.

Lumine is ill-prepared for Snezhnaya’s weather.

Notes: I read somewhere that Childe has two older siblings as well, but since I’ve written this I’m not 100% on that and I’m too scared to look it up. I also wrote this on impulse and never went back to it, only spiraled it into complete chaos.

Tartaglia lay in his childhood bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had been years since he had last slept there, and the scratching of the wool against his skin gave him a nostalgic sorrow, like he had left something behind. The other bed laid empty, another single wool blanket carefully draped over it. He put his arm over his eyes, wondering if it had been a good idea to return so soon.

The door opened quietly followed by light and hurried footsteps over the rug and to the other bed. The wood frame creaked under the weight of someone sitting upon it for the first time in years. A loud huff. Tartaglia could feel eyes on him. It was nearly impossible not to crack a smile, but he would pretend that he was asleep for now unless she addressed him.

"T-Tartaglia?"

"Lumine?" He grinned and quickly pulled his arm from his face and turned his head to look in her direction. Lumine was sitting upright on the bed, completely wrapped in the wool blanket with only her face visible, and she was pouting. Her cuteness caught him off guard and his heart may have skipped a beat or two, but he quickly regained his composure.

"It's cold," she grumbled, pulling the blanket even tighter around herself.

"Of course it's cold! We're in Snezhnaya. I really hope you didn't forget that somehow." He let out a laugh. "You could always come over here and I'll keep you warm." He turned to his side and lifted up his own blanket to invite her into his bed.

"No!" Lumine whispered harshly. "No way! I am not sharing a bed with you!" She shook her head as she declined.

"Well I guess you'll just freeze then," Tartaglia conceded and rolled back over. "A shame too. How will I ever be able to explain this to the Knights of Favonius? I guess I'll just have to run away and change my identity. They'll surely come after me if they think I let something happen to you out here." The sounds of the other bed creaking, and then footsteps toward him.

Got her.

"I didn't tell them," she mumbled. He turned to face her again, this time he was confused. It must have shown on his face because she continued. "I didn't tell anybody I was coming here. Not the Knights of Favonius or even the Adventurers’ Guild. It's not everyone's business what I'm doing every second of every day. I'm allowed to do things on my own, contrary to popular belief."

Tartaglia snorted, then laughed at the situation. Everyone really wanted a piece of her, didn't they? This girl who looked like a dumpling wrapped up in his brother's old wool blanket pouting at him was so important that several organizations felt the need to constantly keep tabs on her. It was only fair though, he figured. She was incredibly strong, not to mention nobody knew where she came from. She was very intriguing. He wanted to know more about her as well.

She sniffled. Tartaglia could see that her nose was getting red, and she kept scrunching her face like she felt a sneeze coming.

"Come on," he chuckled, "you can bring the blanket with you; just get in." Lumine glared down at him and very reluctantly sat on the edge of his bed, her back toward him. She scooted herself back on top of Tartaglia's blanket then lifted her legs into the bed and laid down, never once removing the blanket she already had around herself. He laughed. "Well this isn't exactly what I had in mind. It's not going to make a lot of difference if you're still under just one blanket."

"Then give me both of the blankets," she mumbled.

"Now that's cold, Lumine. You would let me freeze in the night? And after my family showed you so much hospitality. Imagine how upset my poor little siblings would be to find me frozen solid in the morning: a big brosicle!"

"Argh, fine!" Lumine had finally had enough of his antics. She jumped out of the bed and threw the second blanket she had wrapped herself with onto Tartaglia's face. "Make it up however you want, just do it fast okay!"

He laughed as he sat up, grabbing the blanket and unbundling it to toss over his own to make a double layer. Once he was satisfied that it was good enough he glanced toward Lumine and saw what she was wearing. A very short, white night dress with a frilled hem and collar, the latter of which rested halfway down her shoulders, exposing bare skin as well as her collarbones. He could see how delicate her legs were beneath the hem, which only barely covered the tops of her thighs. The fabric also seemed to be quite thin; silk from Liyue perhaps? Her arms were crossed over her chest so he couldn't gauge exactly how sheer the fabric was. Unfortunate, but he could live with the mystery for now. He grinned.

"Well no wonder you're cold," he teased her and lifted up the blankets. "Come on now before you freeze." Lumine glared down at him in contempt. "I'm not going to do anything weird," he insisted. She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Promise?"

"Maybe I wouldn't go that-"

"I'm sleeping in Tonia's room," Lumine said as she began to turn around.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I promise I won't do anything weird." Tartaglia urged. She pursed her lips into an unsure frown and climbed into the bed, directly facing him. He nearly forgot to breathe in that moment, she was so close. Her toes brushed against his shin for a moment and he felt how ice cold her skin was. She really hadn't prepared for this trip, had she? At least she wasn't in Snezhnaya alone. She shuffled her arm to her front and placed her hand between their faces, her fingers curled except for one in particular.

"Pinkie promise me you won't do anything weird."

"You really don't trust me, do you?" He didn't even finish before she pushed her hand closer to his face. He was tempted to lightly nip at it just to get a reaction out of her. However, he knew she would be furious if he did, and he wasn't awake enough to chase her down in the snow. He sighed with a small laugh and brought his own hand to meet hers. He hesitated at first, his heart skipping a beat when their fingers first touched. "You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life," Tartaglia started.

"You break a pinkie promise," Lumine continued and narrowed her eyes, "I throw you on the ice." Their little fingers wrapped around each other.

"The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend." He tightened his grip, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. He hoped that she didn't notice how fast his heart was beating.

"The frost will freeze your tongue off, so you never lie again." They unclasped their little fingers and let their hands rest between them, not quite touching, but Tartaglia could start to feel her body heat under the blankets.

"Feeling warmer now that you're with me?" he asked with a smug grin. Lumine nodded and let out a small, breathy yawn that tugged on his heart strings. He wished he could fall asleep as fast as she did. If anything, laying next to her made him even more anxious. Every time she let out a deep breath he held his, unsure of what to do. Of course he knew he should just close his eyes and go to sleep, but he couldn't stop looking at her. She looked so small and calm, unlike the fury and excitement she radiated while awake. Tartaglia liked this side of her too. He stroked her arm with the tips of his fingers, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin, the sensation making his heart beat faster. He had promised he wouldn't do anything weird, but now he wasn't sure what Lumine's definition of weird could be. She stirred in her sleep, startling him to pull his hand away from her. It may have been just a nursery rhyme, but he knew Lumine would literally cut his tongue out if he broke his promise.

He held his breath, waiting for her to wake up and scold him, but she didn't open her eyes. Instead she moved closer to him, and closer to him. One of her legs slid between his, which in turn caused her dress to ride up and expose her abdomen to his own bare stomach. Her hand slid over his navel and reached around to his back under his shirt. The sensation of her smooth skin sent what felt like a bolt of lightning through his body, though somehow far different from any electro powers he’d used. Her face was only inches away from his. Lumine was so close to him that he couldn't breathe for fear of waking her. Yet, the anxiety he felt was invigorating. It was a new and foreign kind of excitement to him that he never even dreamed of experiencing. In fact, he'd never given any thought at all to this kind of intimacy with another person. Lumine. Her thoughts, her feelings, and her body; they were a whole new battlefield for him, one he wasn't sure if he could ever conquer, but that made the idea all the more exciting.

Tartaglia's breath finally escaped his lungs, involuntarily shaky and vocal. He moved his tongue around inside his mouth to get rid of the dryness that had taken hold. Luckily the cold had made it so he wasn't sweating from all of the new sensations he was experiencing. He was starting to feel lightheaded from all of the times he'd held his breath, but that in turn with their combined body heat had also started to make him sleepy. His breath steadied and Tartaglia was finally starting to relax. Lumine was definitely fast asleep, and it didn't look like she was going to wake up to any small movements he made. He decided that wrapping arms around each other wasn't anything weird and moved his arm to cradle her back.

He already knew that he liked her. Since the moment he'd met her he had wanted to be involved in her life, and fighting her had brought him exhilaration he could have only dreamed of. Now he felt that they could have something even more. Lumine was in his home, in his bed with him, the rest of his family sleeping soundly within the house. She didn't belong and yet she fit in so well. He didn't want to let her go. If they could lie there and hold each other forever he might even have been happy with just that. The tiredness was finally beginning to take over. He was as relaxed as he had ever been in her embrace.

Tartaglia shifted to grace Lumine's forehead with a long and chaste kiss, holding her body against his own. He rested his forehead against hers, and finally he was able to let sleep take him.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Destiny

Ch 1- Breaking Point

Chapter Summary: Struggling to cope following the birth of their youngest, Katie has been hiding her feelings from Steve until an incident at home causes her to blow. Later, she takes a drive to clear her head and ends up in a familiar place, where she encounters an even more familiar face.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. Deals with the subject of Post-Partum Depression so please avoid if this triggers.

Chapter Pairings:  Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So this little Mini-Series is coined from an idea @icanfeelastormbrewing​ sent to me a while ago. It deals with some gritty subjects and is going to be quite angsty in places. I really hope I’ve done this sensitively.

Please let me know what you think- comments and re-blogs muchly appreciated.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Destiny Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chaos. That was the only word to describe the Rogers household at that point in time. Flossie was teething and screaming as a consequence, whilst Katie was trying her best to soothe her, but to no avail. Emmy was supposed to have taken Jamie and Rori out for the day, but she’d been invited out with friend and because Katie didn’t want her to have to spend her spare time helping her out instead of doing something fun, she’d told her not to worry about it and that she’d manage. And for the most part of the morning she had.

But not now.

Katie sighed as the yelling from the Den grew louder and rolled her eyes. She turned to the only one of her kids that was quiet at that time, Harry, who was sat at the kitchen table colouring, his little tongue poking out in concentration.

“You okay for a minute baby?” Katie looked at Harry as she juggled a very grumpy Florence in her arms.

He nodded, not looking up from his activity book. “Yup.” She looked at him, before she headed to the den to see what carnage awaited. When she walked in the door she saw Jamie stood there, the body to Rori’s Barbie doll in one hand, head in the other. Rori was screaming and stamping her feet.

“What the hell is going on?”

“HE BROKE MY ARMY BARBIE!” Rori screamed.

“Not on purpose!” Jamie countered, rolling his eyes.

“YES YOU DID!” Rori continued “You PULLED it and said that…”

“Okay, okay.” Katie sighed, cutting her off. “Jamie, why did you even take it from her in the first place?” “She was hitting me with it.” “Rori is that true?” Rori looked down at the carpet, dragging her toe slightly across the light blue rug. “Maybe.”

“You know, I don’t need this today.” Katie sighed. “Flossie’s mouth hurts, your dad is busy with stuff at work…” “It’s a Saturday.” Rori pouted “He should be with us.” “Yes, and he said he was sorry.” Katie looked at her “But he explained to you this morning he had to help some of his students as they have exams next week. He’ll be home soon and said he would make it up to you both tomorrow.” “But I want him here now.” Rori stamped her foot and Katie felt her temper starting to snap.

“Well, too bad!” She said loudly and Rori looked at her, blinking. “Sorry, but you’ll just have to put up with me, and I know I’m a huge disappointment compared to your father.” she shifted Flossie in her arms who had finally stopped crying. “Now, Jamie, go put the doll on the side in the kitchen.” Jamie walked out of the room as she turned to Rori. “Daddy will probably be able to fix it when he gets home.” “Okay.” She nodded.

“And In future, don’t hit your bother with your toys” Katie looked at her “Because then stuff like this happens.”

Rori opened her mouth to argue but one look from Katie made her shut it again. “Now, why don’t you bring the Scrapbook and do it at the table whilst Harry colours? Let Jamie play his computer in here alone.” “Okay, Momma.” Rori nodded.

Satisfied that splitting them up would at least, for the time being, solve the issue, Katie waited for her to gather the various bits of craft stuff she wanted to use and she pottered into the kitchen. Jamie was stood next to Harry who was enthusiastically pointing at something on the page and talking to him animatedly. She had to give it to her eldest son, when it came to Harry and Flossie, he had the patience of a saint but Rori…well, she pissed him off and to be honest Katie could understand why. She could be a damned nightmare and when she was in one of those moods, the only person that seemed to be able to quell her bad behaviour was Steve. One annoyed look from her Daddy and she would stop dead, it normally took Katie a little longer and as for anyone else, well, they might as well just all go to hell.

Taking a look at Flossie who was now mouthing at her collar bone, she moved to the freezer, grabbed a teething ring and settled her in the little bounce chair, the five month old seemingly calmed for the time being.

“Mom, can I see if Seb can come over?” Jamie asked.

“No chance.” Katie shook her head. “You just broke Rori’s doll, absolutely no way is your friend coming over.” “What?” Jamie blinked.

“Actions have consequences, Jamie.” She shrugged.

“But it was an accident.”

“Yeah, the doll’s head just fell off in your hands did it?” She looked at him.

“No, it was-” “Did you pull it?” “Yes, but-” “So what exactly where you trying to do if not break it?”

Jamie fell silent.

“Exactly,” Katie shrugged, “so no, he’s not coming over. If you behave then maybe tomorrow he can come stay, you can play in the pool.” “Dad said he was taking us to Coney Island tomorrow!” Jamie whined “So Seb can’t come then!” “Oh, how hard it must be to be you.” Katie rolled her eyes sarcastically “Choosing the Fair or your friend.” Jamie glared at her, folding his arms. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” “My dad always said it was a metric for potential.” Katie shot back, shrugging as she turned to the dishwasher which she had been halfway through unloading before until Flossie had started screaming. “Guess I’ll be a great woman one day.”

With her back to Jamie she smiled gently at the memory of the words her father had once said, and Tony’s reaction. And had she been any deeper in her memories she wouldn’t have heard the little jab that Jamie made.

“God living here sucks.” “Well feel free to pack a bag and leave.” Katie shrugged simply as she turned round to look at her son. “In fact, tell me where you wanna go and I’ll drop you off myself.”

“Maybe I will.” He shot back.

“Like I said, go ahead, I’m not stopping you.”

“Whatever, Mom.” He rolled his eyes. “You can’t kick me out. I’m only ten!” “I’m not kicking you out. You said you wanted to go, I’m simply not stopping you.” Jamie arched an eyebrow, his action making him look even more ridiculously like Steve and his hands dropped to his hips. “Fine, then I’ll just go to Uncle Bucky’s.” “Okay,” Katie nodded, closing the dishwasher. “Go pack a bag, Uncle Buck can deal with your attitude because I don’t want to anymore.” She held Jamie’s gaze, refusing to look away. Eventually her son’s eyes flickered away from her and he turned around with a groan. “Sometimes you’re like the worse mom in the world.”

It shouldn’t have annoyed her as much as it did, because God knows she’d said far worse to Tony when she was younger, and it was a stupid flippant comment, she knew that. But, coupled with everything that had gone on that morning and how much she’d been struggling in general with the kids recently, her patience which had been hanging by a thread, finally snapped. She could quite happily have slapped him right across the face but instead she took a deep breath and shook her head, glaring at him.

“You know what? I’ve really had my fill of you today James, get up to your room.”

“What?” “You heard me!” Katie’s voice rose as she pointed to the door. “Get out of my sight and up those fucking stairs now!”

Jamie blinked at her, she had never sworn at him like that before and his mouth dropped open and he swallowed.

“I’m telling Dad you used bad language.” He stuttered in response and Katie gave a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, are you? Well guess what? I don’t give a shit. You can tell him about that one too!” She blazed “Now I won’t tell you again. Go. To. Your. Room.” “I hate you.” Jamie seethed, and with a final glare at his mom, he wheeled round and stomped from the kitchen, his feet echoing loudly down the hall and up the large staircase. Katie heard his door slam before she leaned on the kitchen counter hanging her head, her eyes filling with tears. And then Flossie started to cry again.

“Momma?” Harry asked tentatively and she wiped her eyes and looked up, smiling.

“Yes, honey?” “I no hate you.” He said softly and she gave him a little smile.

“Me neither.” Rori whispered softly. “Jamie was mean.” Katie shook her head as she crossed the room to pick Flossie up. “He’s just angry because I told him off, don’t worry about it. Now can you two just behave in here for a second whilst I take Flossie into the living room and try calm her down, please?”

“Promise, Momma.” Rori nodded and Katie smiled softly. This was the other side to her daughter, the sweet, gentle, sassy but well behaved one that nine times out of ten the little girl displayed. She took Flossie with her, gently rocking her and soothing her again until her cries became little sniffles. And then she pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Steve.

***** Steve had just finished with the last small group of Students when Katie’s call came through.

“Hey, Doll, that was good timing.” He smiled gently, “I’ve just this minute finished.” “Hi, I just wanted to check what time you’d be home.” “Oh, erm…” Steve hesitated, “look, about that. Bucky called before and asked if I fancied meeting him and Sam for a drink before I come back for pizza like we promised the kids. Just I’ve not seen them in a few weeks really and-” “Oh. Okay.”

Steve frowned, that wasn’t like her. Normally she didn’t give a shit about stuff like that, in fact half the time she encouraged him to go out and socialise. “Sweetheart, if it’s a problem I can come home straight away?” “Please, I wouldn’t normally ask but-” And then to Steve’s horror she began to cry.

“Baby, what is it?” He grabbed his car keys and his jacket before he picked up his briefcase and strode from his office, locking the door behind him.

“I just…” she took a deep shuddering breath, “the kids have been driving me crazy. Well, okay not all of them, but Flossie is teething and won’t settle, Jamie and Rori have been fighting and Jamie pulled the head off her doll…” “Hang on.” Steve frowned as he walked out of the main door to the Art Faculty and took a right towards the parking lot. “I thought Emmy was taking those two out to give you a chance to keep an eye on Floss.”

“She cancelled earlier, said she’d been invited out. I didn’t want to spoil her plans, I mean like she said, they’re not her kids to babysit-” “Woah, she said that?” Steve reached his car and unlocked it, his frown growing deeper. “She actually said those words?” “Pretty much.” Katie sighed. “But she’s right, Steve. They’re our kids, my issue to look after them. Emmy has been working all week and-” “Katie, you asked her for one favour. One favour because Flossie hasn’t been well. It’s not like you ask her all the time. She shouldn’t have said that.” Steve tossed his jacket into the back of the car, shaking his head in frustration at his eldest. “Well that’s two of us saying things we shouldn’t.” Katie sniffed

“What do you mean?”

“I really lost it at Jamie. I wouldn’t let him invite Seb over because of the doll and then when he threatened to leave I said I’d pack his back and drive him wherever he wanted to go and then he called me the worse mom in the world and-” Steve paused, leaning against the open door of his car taking a deep breath.

“He hates me too, apparently.” Katie continued with a sniff. “And I know he’s lashing out and saying stupid crap because he’s angry but I lost it at him, told him to get up the fucking stairs and, Jesus, Steve I really wanted to hit him.” She started to cry again and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated hearing her like this. She had been up and down since Flossie had been born but had insisted it was merely hormones and tiredness. As he stood there, the guilt washing over him at the fact he’d left her alone today in the first place, he was starting to wish he’d forced her to go to the Doctors months ago instead of accepting her insistence that she would be fine.

“Did you hit him?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“No, of course no!” She bit back, angrily “What do you take me for?”

“I don’t take you for anything, Sweetheart.” He replied not rising to her anger, despite the fact he felt equally as pissed at his son’s attitude. “I’m merely making the point that it doesn’t matter what you felt. The fact is you didn’t.” “But-” “Honey, stop.” He spoke firmly but gently “Look, I’ll be home in about half hour. I’ll deal with him then and I’ll take them all out for a walk with Stark before dinner okay? Give you a little peace.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to ruin your plans or-” “You haven’t. They’re my kids too. We’re a team, we always will be.”

She sniffed again “Okay, see you soon.” “Yeah, hey. I love you.” “Love you too.” He cut the call and got in the car, starting the engine and as soon as his Bluetooth had synched up, he instructed the voice control to call Emmy.

“Hey Pops-” “Don’t hey pops me, I have a bone to pick with you Emily Jayne Rogers.” He spoke sternly as he set the car into reverse. “Did you actually say to your Ma that you weren’t helping out with Jay and Rori today because, and I quote, they’re not yours to babysit?” There was a pause “No, that’s, those weren’t my exact words.” “Well what were?” He asked, pulling the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Emmy sighed “I just said that I’d been invited out and seeing as I’d been working all week and they’re not actually my kids, I didn’t want-“

Steve let out a growl “For fucks sake Em!”

“Woah, hang on-” “We asked you to help us out today because Flossie’s been bad with her teeth and your mom needed a bit of time to just concentrate on her.”

There was a pause. “Well why didn’t she just say that before?” “Because she’s your Mom, and she won’t ever ask you to do something like that when you don’t want to, you know this.” Steve replied. “And now I’ve just had her on the phone, crying her eyes out as Jamie’s told her he hates her…” he sighed

“Sorry Dad.” Emmy said quietly. “I didn’t….if I’d have realised it was that big of an issue…” “We know they’re not your kids but if we ask you to help out it’s a last resort.” Steve continued, “I’m well aware you and Queens have your own life to lead too and we don’t want to take it for-granted that you can drop everything to help out, but sometimes, well, especially with everything that happened with Flossie, your Mom just needs a hand ok? She’s done enough for you over the years. She still does.”

“I know.” Emmy sighed, her tone contrite. “I’m really sorry.”

“Okay, well let’s leave it there then.” He said, his tone softer. “Are you home tonight or…” “Yeah, I’ll be home around ten. I’ll apologise to Mom then too“ “Fine, I’ll see you later.”

After another apology from Emmy, Steve cut the call and took a deep, calming breath as he slowed to a stop at a set of lights. He was dreading what he was going to walk into when he got home. He hated being ‘Bad Cop’ but there was no way Jamie was getting away with what he said, regardless of whether or not Katie had snapped at him.

True to his word he arrived home just under thirty minutes after speaking to Katie. He let himself in, giving Stark a quick pat hello before he was accosted by a flurry pink t-shirt, green corduroy dungarees and brown hair.

“Hi, Daddy!” Rori grinned at him as he swept her up into a hug.

“Hey Princess.” He smiled, giving her a kiss to her cheek. He then smiled at Harry who was toddling towards him, and with his other arm he easily picked him up too. “Hey, Buddy.”

With a kid in each arm, he followed Flossie’s soft cries to the living room.

“Hi, Sweetheart.” He said, smiling at Katie who looked at him as she gently rocked their daughter to and fro in the little rocking crib that stood by the sofa. He took a deep breath as he looked at her face. She was exhausted, he could see that. Her eyes were red from crying, she was pale but she still managed a soft smile at him.

“Listen, can you two go play and let me speak to momma for a few minutes? I promise I’ll come through in a little while okay?” Steve looked from Harry to Rori who gave a dramatic pout but one look from Steve stopped her in her tracks and she sighed.

“Ok, Daddy.” “Thank you.” He smiled as he placed them both down and they headed out of the room.

“C’mere.” He sighed to Katie as he dropped down next to her and she leaned straight into his open arms as he pressed a soft kiss to her head. “You wanna tell me properly what happened?” So she did. She explained all about the fight between Jamie and Rori, the broken doll, her argument with Jamie afterwards. She was sobbing by the time she finished, and Steve simply sat still, his arms round her as she pressed her face into his chest.

“So you cursed at him.” Steve said, and Katie nodded “I’m sure he’s heard far worse from TV and Bucky and Sam for that matter.” “That’s not the point.” Katie shook her head, pulling back. “I lost my temper, big time. I shouldn’t have done. I could have quite happily smacked him straight across the face.” She sniffed “What kind of mother feels that?”

“Katie, what he said was downright nasty. I’m not surprised you reacted the way you did.”

“I know he was pushing the boundaries and what he had said was out of order but still, he’s a kid.” Katie swallowed. “I should know better than to argue back with him or scream at him the way I did.” “Honey, you’ve had a really, really stressful year one way or another.” Steve took a deep breath and wiped her tears with his thumb. “I do think though that you should see a doctor, just to talk about things.” Katie shook her head. “I’m just tired Steve.” “Katie, you said this the other month when I suggested it and you’re clearly not just tired.” He replied, a little sternly.

“Steve I don’t need to see anyone.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“I just need a nap. I’m exhausted.”

“Katie…” “Just leave it, Steve.” She said a little louder. “Please.” Steve took a deep breath.  “Fine, I’ll leave it for tonight. But this conversation is not over.”

She looked at him, her green eyes flashing angrily before she shook her head and stood up “Whatever, I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

“Do you want me to order you any dinner?”

She shook her head “Just get what they want, I’ll eat something later.”

He watched her go before he glanced down at Flossie who was sleeping and headed through to the kitchen.

“Daddy we get eeza?” Harry looked up at him from where he was once more sat colouring and Steve smiled, dropping his hand to the back of his head.

“Sure are.” He smiled “What kind d’ya want?”

“Ham and ‘ineapple.” He nodded.

Steve pulled a face “Pineapple does not belong on pizza.” “Does.” Harry insisted giggling. “You silly.”

“Oh am I?” Steve asked, his hands shooting down to his son’s side as he tickled him slightly, Harry giving a squeal as he squirmed away from his touch. Steve chuckled and dropped a kiss to his head as Rori watched him.

“I agree with Harry.” She said. “Ham and pineapple is the best.”

“Well I’ll get you a large one and you can both share it, that okay?” Rori nodded and Steve smiled. “Good, now Princess, I need you to do me a huge favour. I need to go and speak to Jamie. Flossie is sleeping but if you hear her wake up I need you to come get me okay?”

“He broke my doll.” Rori said, frowning, “Look.” She pointed to the side and Steve looked up, taking a deep breath as his eyes fell on the beheaded toy.

“I know, and that’s what I’m going to speak to him about.” He looked back at his daughter. “Now, Rori, I want you to tell me honestly, what were you doing to him to make him break it?” She looked at him, her green eyes round as she blinked and then looked down at the table. “I hit him with it.”

“Why?”

“He was being annoying, he wouldn’t let me watch my programme on TV.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Steve looked at her sternly. “That was naughty.”

“I know. Sorry.” She looked down again before she glanced back up. “Momma said you might be able to fix her.” “I’ll have a look.” He nodded

“If not then Jamie can buy me a new one with his allowance.” Rori shrugged.

“No he can’t.” Steve shook his head. “It serves you right for hitting him with it in the first place.” “But, Daddy!” Rori exclaimed, utterly horrified.

“Aurora,” Steve looked at her, shaking his head, “don’t argue with me.” She pouted and then let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine.” “Now, can you do what I asked whilst I go speak to your brother? And then once I’m done we can go to the park for bit before we order dinner.”

“Yay! Park!” Harry cheered as Rori nodded. Steve ruffled her hair before he headed up the stairs.

He knocked on Jamie’s door and then walked in, closing it behind him. Jamie glanced up at him from where he was sat on his bean bag playing on his Xbox, and one look at Steve’s face made the ten year old avert his eyes.

“Yeah, you might as well look like that.” Steve spoke sternly “James, I’m so disappointed in you. Do you have any idea about how upset your Mom is after you told her you hated her?”

“I didn’t mean it.” Jamie looked down at his hands, his voice quiet.

“I should hope not.” Steve shook his head, sitting down on the edge of Jamie’s bed. “Why did you say it?”

“Because she was shouting at me and she made me angry.”

“You make us angry too sometimes.” Steve looked at him. “How would you feel if we told you we hated you?”

Jamie looked down, swallowing as she shrugged a little. “Sad.”

“Exactly.” Steve watched him. “Now, you know why was your mom was shouting don’t you?” “Because I was fighting with Rori and broke her doll.” Jamie said, before he took a deep breath “But she was hitting me with…”

Steve cut him off, holding his hand up. “Yes, I know she was being a pain in the ass but she’s younger than you and sometimes you just need to rise above it. We’ve told you before, if she’s annoying you, you come find one of us to deal with her.” “But Flossie was crying so I didn’t want to give Mom more to deal with.” Jamie sniffed and Steve saw him reach up to wipe his eyes. “I’m sorry.” “It’s not me you should be apologising to.”

“I know.” Jamie looked down. “Is Mom still upset?” “Yeah, she is.” Steve nodded “But she’s gone for a nap so you can apologise later when we get dinner.”

“Okay.” Jamie nodded “Do you think she will forgive me?” “Of course she will, she’s your Mom. She loves you, we both do, more than anything.” Steve spoked softly, watching as his boy raised his head to look at him. “But that doesn’t mean what you said is okay or that it won’t hurt anymore. And if I ever hear you saying that to your Mom, or anyone of us for that matter I’m gonna be really mad, you got that?” Jamie looked down, his tears falling onto his carpet. “Yes, Dad.”

Steve took a deep breath and then spoke again, this time his voice was a lot gentler. “You know Rori wants me to make you buy her another Doll out of your allowance.”

“I will if I need to.” Jamie shrugged and Steve smiled, reaching out to gently lay his hand on his son’s head.

“Well, I’ve told her if I can’t fix her doll then its tough luck because she shouldn’t have hit you with it” Steve shook his head. Jamie looked up at him and gave a soft smile. “But that doesn’t mean you breaking it was acceptable.” Jamie nodded to show he understood.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go check on your momma then we can take Stark for a walk. Get some fresh air at the park. But when we get back, you’re having dinner and going straight to bed. Actions…”

“…have consequences, yeah I know.” Jamie let out a sigh.

“Alright, get your stuff and grab Stark’s leash and I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute.” “Okay, Dad.”

Steve stood up and headed out of Jamie’s room, over to the landing. He quietly opened the door and as suspected Katie was curled up on the bed, the TV playing gently in the background, her eyes closed as she slept. He walked over to her, dropped a kiss to her head before he turned off the TV and headed back out of the room, closing the door behind him.

*****

When Katie woke the house was quiet and empty. It wasn’t quite six pm yet, so she assumed Steve had taken the kids out as he had suggested before. But the quiet was as suffocating as the noise had been earlier and she needed to escape. She headed into the hallway, grabbed the keys to her Range Rover before she hesitated, and with a smile took the ones to her Camero instead.

She drove and drove, not paying any attention to where she was going. Just letting the feel of her beloved car sooth her as she turned the steering wheel, the leather smooth in her hand, the noise of the engine reminding her of the day Tony had given it to her, singing along to whatever her shuffle threw up over the speakers.

When she finally focused on her surroundings, she realised she had driven herself to the old compound perimeter fence. She kept going a little further round, finding the parking lot for the Memorial Gardens before she parked and climbed out. She hadn't set foot on the Garden grounds since that day, five years ago almost, when the President has opened them. Once the rubble had been cleared from the grounds, the remaining area of the facility had been refurbished and she had agreed with Pepper to donate it to a Military Charity, although Katie had her suspicions that Ross had gotten his claws into it, even if she couldn't prove it. That area stood behind a huge fence but the rest of the grounds has been converted into public gardens. The lawns were well kept. Shrubs pruned, flower beds well-tended. You would hardly know that a brutal battle had taken place here. But Katie knew, she remembered it like yesterday, and her eyes could pick out that spot from here.

The spot she had watched her brother succumb to the injuries he sustained from wearing the gauntlet. She didn't need the little plaque that told her where it was. She could find it in her sleep. Her eyes strayed to the right, to the path that led to the woods round the side which contained the clearing where she had spent so much time with Steve and Nat, and suddenly she craved for it. She craved the peace and sanctuary that little clearing has given her. She strode over the lawns, ignoring the curious looks she was getting from some people who were out in the gardens and slipped through the gaps in the oak trees and headed along the now overgrown track until she came to the little clearing. Smiling, she saw the initials still carved into the tree. SR KS in a heart, Steve's joke one afternoon as they'd snatched half an hour at lunch between his training drills.

“Seriously?” she snorted as Steve turned to her, grinning as he folded his pocket knife up and slipped it into his utility belt.

“This is what we did in my day, Doll, no graffiti.” He grinned and she’d shook her head, snorting.

“No, just vandalism on a poor, defenceless tree.” She laughed as his arms circled her waist, his chin dropping to her shoulder.

“Not like the tree can feel it.” He replied with a shrug, kissing her neck.

She gave a little snort at that, wondering what exactly Thor’s friend Groot would do if Steve tried to carve their initials into him... The ground was dry thanks to the summer weather so she happily dropped to the grass, her back to the trunk of the aforementioned vandalised tree and pulled her knees to her chest. She took a deep breath, allowing the silence to wash over her, to calm her. She thought about all the times she had spent here and on the compound. The good times had far outweighed the bad, in fact one of the happiest days of her life had been on the lawns out there- her wedding. What a beautiful day that had been some fifteen years ago. A time before The Accords, a time before Thanos, a time before the death of her best friend and her brother had ripped a huge hole in her life. Laying her head back against the rough bark she took a deep breath and her mind flicked to the events of the day and how bad she felt about her outburst at Jamie. No one had told her motherhood would be easy. In fact, quite the opposite. But she had coped. And to be honest she thought that her and Steve had done a pretty good job so far. But Flossie had been hard work from the start. She had struggled to feed, struggled to settle at night, the only one out of her and Steve's four biological kids to ever fall sick for longer than a day at a time and all this coupled with the fact it had taken Katie almost two months to recover from her operation had left her feeling helpless.

She hadn't been able to drive to any of the paediatrician appointments, any of her follow up hospital appointments, hadn't been able to take the kids to school, sports clubs or take Flossie out anywhere to escape the house without help. Steve had stepped up, because he was that kind of man, a good one doing right by his wife and kids, but still the fact she was limited to leaving the house when Steve or someone else was there to lend a hand had been hard on her mentally. This hopeless, dark despair had festered in her chest and she felt useless because she hadn't been able to look after any of her kids alone. And then, as if by magic, the cloud had lifted. She had still been a little down on some days, but on the whole just better. She was given the all clear to exercise so threw herself back into that, losing not only the baby weight from Flossie but taking it a little further and finally ridding herself of the extra 15lb Harry had given her before that. She felt good, she looked good all things considered, and it showed. She felt happier at work, happier at home and far happier in the bedroom, Steve seemingly couldn't keep his hands off her...but she knew that he would have been like that regardless of what she looked like. That was one thing in her life she was confident in- that her soldier loved her no matter what.

All this meant the noise in her head had quietened to a point where she could shut it out completely, she could get on with life, concentrate on her husband and children, control her emotions, well, until her outburst today.

Fuck, maybe Steve was right. Maybe she did need to speak to someone. They had warned her at the hospital that she’d feel some mood swings- all part and parcel of recovery as her body went through the damned menopause, thanks to her hysterectomy, and they’d told her that support was available…but the thought needing it made her feel even worse. After everything she had faced, through her SHIELD and Avenging days, her suffering at the hands of HYDRA...she’d never once had PTSD or depression beyond a few nightmares and panic attacks. The thought that she now might need counselling of some description because she was struggling to cope with her baby and her damned emotions made her feel weak.

“What kind of mother can’t cope with her own children?” She mumbled out loud to herself. “I mean, what on Earth is the point of me even being in their lives if that’s the case?”

She fell silent again, as she wiped a tear from her cheek before she closed her eyes, remaining quiet simply listening to the birds and noises of the stream which ran through the woods to the lake…and then a voice spoke. A voice she hadn't heard for seven years bar in her dreams. A voice she had known all her life. A voice that had comforted her, disciplined her, argued with her, encouraged her...

"I like what they did with the place. A little smaller memorial than I would have liked, but, suppose it’s the thought that counts." Her breathing grew erratic and her eyes flew open, the tears now steadily pouring from them. With a shuddering breath, Katie scrambled to her feet and looked straight into the deep brown eyes of her bother.

Her dead brother.

Her dead brother who was standing in front of her, dressed in one of his usual three piece Tom Fords, that typical Tony Stark smirk on his face as he glanced at her, his smile growing even wider.

“Hey Kiddo.”

 **Orignal Posting**