#I kept waiting to see if jon was alive

[thehauntingofharrenhouse]

oh also last night I dreamt twow came out and it was exclusively new pov characters from affc/adwd

[axelsagewrites]

Hii, I had a request...Robb and Jon having a crush on the same girl, maybe she could be the Bannerman daughter or something, just lots of teasing and rivalry and angst :)

Robb Stark and Jon Snow*Share

Pairing: Jon x f!reader, Robb x f!reader

Platonic: Sansa x reader

Word count: 3975

This is part one. Part two will be the smut.... (this was just too long to make into one part)

Masterlist Here

A/N: This is set with Sansa as being 15 and Robb, Jon, and the reader being 18. We’re also gonna pretend Westeros is still in a chill time with King Robert drinking away their money with Ned still alive and safe in Winterfell.

Robb and Jon were used to random Lords and Ladies staying at Winterfell for periods of time but when they saw their newest guest both had the same though. Gods she’s pretty. Your family where Bannerman’s of House Stark, ever loyal to Lord Eddard. Sansa had recently started whining, much to her brother’s dismay since it was all she talked about, that she had no need to be cared for by Septas or wet nurses any longer. She was determined she was old enough to not need to be constantly watched. However, when Catelyn suggested a lady in waiting Sansa jumped at the idea.

This was how you now stood in the courtyard at Winterfell, preparing to start your new journey. It was an honour for your house when you got the raven. Sansa was slightly younger than you, but you had remembered meeting her before at feasts and balls. You had also met Robb and Jon at these events but neither one had taken notice of you till now.

Robb slapped Jons shoulder to get his attention when he noticed you climbing out your carriage. “Is that (Y/N)?” he asked his half brother who looked up from where he was plucking arrows out the target he had just been practising with.

Jons eyebrows scrunched as he looked at the now woman who climbed out the carriage, “She did not look like that last time,” he said with a low voice.

“Tell me about it. Wait is she Sansa’s lady in waiting then?” he said, eyes not leaving the lady who was now being greeted in a hug by his mother.

“Your mother told us that last night,” Jon said rolling his eyes before glancing at the woman who was now merrily chatting with his half-sister, “Do you ever pay attention?”

“Not really,” Robb said with a chuckle as he took the bow from Jon, “Maybe I should from now on,” he joked. Robb did not attempt to hide his glances like Jon did. After all Jon was a bastard whereas Robb was used to the attention of the Northern ladies. However, this one had yet to look at either boy. “C’mon give me some arrows,” Robb said

“You hate archery,” Jon said despite handing him one of the arrows he had just plucked from the target. He moved back to allow Robb to line himself up with the target but couldn’t help noticing the glances he kept firing at (Y/N) while he began to load the bow. “Oh, gods you’re trying to woo her with your shit archery?” Jon smirked at his half-brother.

Robb shot Jon a glare, “Will you shut it?” he hissed glancing over to see if she had heard, which of course she had not, “Besides im not shit,”

“You’re not good,”

“Fuck you,”

“No thanks,”

“Fuck off Snow,”

Their scawbling however did get them noticed “Boys!” Catelyn called across the courtyard with a sharp look before turning back to the girls.

While Jon smirked Robb had noticed you looking over at him, a faint smile ghosting your lips that made him even more determined to show Jon he was wrong. Robbs eyes kept flickering back to you as he knocked his arrow and drew the string back. He enjoyed the feeling of your eyes on him as he did so. He finally turned his attention to the target. Taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders back, he lined up his shot, breathed in then. Release.

The arrow hit the second inner ring of the target. Robb grinned to himself, knowing secretly that Jon was right about his shooting skills. But when he looked back, he realised you were no longer there. He sighed but when Jon began to laugh, he felt his skin grow hot. “Fuck up,” he said, shoving the bow back into Jons hands.

“You tried to woo her with archery, and she didn’t even stay to watch,” Jon couldn’t control his laughter. He had noticed you walking away as soon as Robb turned his attention to the target but did not say anything as he wanted to enjoy the view of you undisturbed. The bonus was of course his brother’s ego being knocked off its high horse.

“Please like you could do any better,” Robb grumbled as he retrieved the arrow.

“I could,” Jon said, chest puffed, and shoulders raised, “Girls like me,”

“What girls?” It was Robbs turn to laugh, “I can’t even imagine you flirting,”

“You tried to flirt with an arrow,” Jon shot back.

Robb rolled his eyes, “Mate trust me,” Robb said, putting a hand on Jons shoulder which he quickly shrugged off, “She likes me,”

“She’s been here for two minutes,” Jon rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,”

“Yeah. We will,”

“Fine,”

“Good,”

“Whatever,”

Theon walked over to the bickering duo, “What are you two on about now?”

“Nothing,” The brothers said in unison before storming off in separate directions.

----

What did Robb know about girls anyway? Jon wondered as he walked the halls of Winterfell. Sure, he had girls’ attention because of his position but that doesn’t count. Besides Jon knew how to flirt. All be it he didn’t do it very often, but he was sure in theory he would do just fine. Why did Robb deserve you more than him anyway?

His mind soon went from frustration to thinking of you and suddenly his problems began to melt away. When he had noticed you, it was like all the air had been knocked out his lungs. Out of all the ladies he had seen you were by far the prettiest. The wide smile you wore when greeting his sister had warmed his heart from all the Norths cold. All he had been able to see was your hair and face due to the large clock you had been wearing but as his mind wandered, he couldn’t help but wondering what you looked like beneath it.

Jon was quickly snapped out his thoughts when he felt someone clash against his chest. His arm shoots out to grab the persons arm to steady them. “Apologies my- “Jon looked up to the person he had literally ran into and he felt his cheeks flush. “My lady I did not see you,” he stuttered, eyes flickering away from you in embarrassment.

“Jon?” You asked and he could hear the smile in your voice, “I hardly recognised you. It has been so long,” Jon couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he saw your wide grin. “You’ve grown,”

“As have you,” he said before his face fell, “not like that well like not in a bad way my lady- “

“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I know what you mean Jon. You have never been anything kind to me,”

Jon cleared his throat as he tried to stand tall, pretending he hadn’t made a complete arse of himself in front of you, “Are you off anywhere particular this evening my lady?”

“So formal,” you laughed hitting your shoulder as you continued your walk, Jon quickly turning to follow, “I was going to sneak to the kitchens to try squeeze a snack in before dinner. Mother forgot to pack us any food for our travels,”

“You don’t have to sneak my lady. You are a guest im sure lord stark would be more than happy to see you fed,”

“But is it not so much more fun this way?” you said in a low teasing voice, “I remember how we used to sneak away with Robb during feasts. Don’t act like you don’t like it this way,” Jon blushed at your words as a completely different potential scenario flashed across his mind, “Perhaps you could escort me to the kitchens?” your voice snapped him back to reality.

Jon cleared his throat, “Of course my lady,” Jon said as he took your arm you had outstretched to him.

You rolled your eyes as your arms linked, “You don’t need to be so formal Jon. No ones listening anyway. Besides we have so much caught up to do,” Jon had almost forgotten how chatty you had been but was glad to see the quality had not gone away.

Jon laughed along in your conversation, and grinned when his own jokes made loud laughs come from your mouth. Within minutes he was already so comfortable beside you like he had spent a lifetime by your side. However what Jon hadn’t noticed was Robb Starks icy glare when he spotted the two sneaking down the kitchen stairway.

---

When dinner time had rolled around you were informed by Sansa you would be joining the Starks at their table, which you found out included Jon which you were secretly pleased about. When you walked in the room the only ones at the table were Catelyn and Robb who grinned when you entered. You tried to hide your blush when you noticed his perfect smile. Robb had also changed from when you last saw him, and he had grown at least a head in height.

At both ends of the table sat a larger chair, one of which Catelyn was currently occupying. Three chairs ran down one side of the table, four on the other. Robb sat beside his mother on the side with three chairs, leaving two left. “Lady (y/n),” he greeted when you entered, “I hadn’t known you were joining us my lady,” he had. He had asked his mother who shot him a silent questioning look, “Allow me,” he said as he pulled the chair next to him out for you.

You laughed lightly as you took your seat, Robb pushing it in for you with a smile before taking his own chair. Sansa rolled her eyes at her brothers’ antics as she sat beside you, “She’s my friend not yours,” she grumbled.

“Sansa!” Catelyn said sharply, “She is our guest as much as she is your lady,” you did your best to not laugh but a small smile graced your lips, “Sorry about that (Y/N),” she said with a sorry smile.

“Its okay Lady Catelyn,” you said.

“Call me Cat,” she said with a smile, but the conversation was interrupted as the youngest three Starks sprinted into the room. “Behave you lot,” Cat said as she helped the youngest Rickon into the chair beside her. Bran and Arya took the two closest chairs to the empty one at the head of the table, leaving the one across from you free. Robb mentally scowled at his siblings but figured sitting beside you had the far superior advantage.

When Jon arrived, their father was with him and as the two took their seats the food was brought out. The way you and Jon smiled at each other made Robb wanna roll his eyes, but he resisted as he acted the perfect gentleman. As dinner went on Sansa kept stealing your attention which Robb figured was at least better than Jon doing so. He thought he would never get to talk to you.

Until that is you turned to him, “Don’t you think so too Robb?” your voice brought him back from his daydreaming about you. he hummed in response as he came out his daze, “I was saying to Sansa how she should go horse riding more often. Riding can be so thrilling after all,” Robb tried not to blush when he thought of what he would rather you be riding. “You do still enjoy horse riding?” you said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yeah of course,” he said quickly, “Sorry my mind has been preoccupied lately,” he said causing Jon to roll his eyes, “but Sansa trust her there are few things better than it. (Y/N) always knew how to have fun,” he said with a smile which made you blush and quickly turn to face Sansa, but Robb had saw it. he looked at Jon with a slight smirk which only made the boy roll his eyes and look away. When Robb heard Sansa and you discussing plans to go riding tomorrow, he had a plan.

-----

Robb wasn’t being weird by being close by the stables around the time he knew you would be coming by. He just was tending to his own horse. Definitely of course, a complete accident that he was there when you appeared with Sansa in tow laughing about something. “Robb,” you exclaimed when you noticed him, “Are you joining us?” you said glancing at Sansa.

Sansa quickly shook her head saying a firm no. Robb rolled his eyes at his little sister, “I was just tending to my horse my lady,”

“That’s sweet,” you said as Sansa went off to retrieve her mother’s horse which she had said she could borrow before they decided to get her one of her own, “So many lords just toss their reigns aside when they’re done,”

Robb chuckled as he stepped away from his horse and followed you to yours, “Do you ride often my lady?”

“I try to at least go a few times a week,” you said as you took you went to saddle your horse only for Robb to step in.

“Allow me,” he said as he readied your horse for you.

You laughed gently, stepping back to allow him to do so, “Thanks Robbie,” you said as he did up the leather and clasped.

Robb couldn’t help his blush at the nickname you had been using with him since childhood, “Its no problem,” he assured before stepping back from the horse, “That’s you all set,”

“Help me up?” you asked as you stepped closer to the horse. Robb couldn’t help but notice your slight smirk when you had asked and with a quick inhale and a sudden wave of confidence, he stepped forward to pick you up by your hips and place you on your horse. You giggled as he did so and quickly steady yourself on the saddle, “I didn’t realise how strong you had got,”

Robb grinned at your comment, “Thank you my lady. Sometimes I don’t notice my own strength,”

“Then I feel bad for whoever ends up at the other end of your sword,” you laughed.

“You should watch me practise someday,” Robb said, “I do almost everyday at the training grounds,”

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled down at him as Sansa trotted over on her horse. “Ready?” you asked the girl.

“I am if you stop flirting with my brother,” she smirked before riding out of the stable. Robb would’ve been embarrassed if he had not seen how your face had flushed and how you quickly rode after her. wait till Jon heard what you had been saying.

----

“You can’t just grab a ladies’ hips,” Jon said, wide eyed. The pair were in the training yard getting ready to practise some sparring.

Robb smirked, “Really? Cause I did,” he said as he grabbed his practise sword off the rack, “Good hips by the way,” Jon rolled his eyes at his brothers’ antics, “You’re just mad that she likes me,”

“Maybe she was blushing because she was so embarrassed at the idea of flirting with you,” Jon said making Robb grumble, “At least she thinks im funny,” he added while he took his stance across from Robb.

Robb struck first. “Funny looking,” he said as their swords clashed.

“Fuck up,” he snapped, and Robb grinned. The grin fell when Jon took his own strike, quicker than Robb and harder too, “Are you really gonna let a girl come between us?”

As soon as Robb caught up to his brother’s speed, he replied, “If you won’t admit she likes me and not you then yeah,” Robb smirked only making his brother groan and knock Robb hard enough to drop his sword.

Robb cursed under his breath as he picked it up and took stance again. However, as he was doing this Robb happened to notice a certain someone walking into the training yard, arms linked with his sister. Robbs jaw almost dropped as he saw the new dress you must have recently made that was far more form showing than any of your other cloaks had been. He could see your curves even under the thick fabric and it made him strike his next blow even harder.

Jon was almost caught off guard at his brother’s seriousness however he had sparred with Robb long enough to know he only fought like this when he was angry. While he didn’t see the anger in his eyes, he knew how he would mess up. Jon only had to spar another few blows with the Tully boy before his footing got sloppy and Jon was able to knock his legs out from under neath him. “Cheap shot,” Robb spat as he pulled himself up from the hard ground.

Soft claps rang out over the training ground and Jon spun to see what had caused his brothers sudden intensity. And gods did he understand when he saw the smile perched on your lips as you clapped for him. Jon turned back to his brother with a smirk, “You’re just made she likes me,” he said emulating his previous words.

Robbs sword moved before Jon even had a chance to raise his own causing him to need to duck to dodge the blow. Sansa had never seen her brothers practise with such intensity or for any of their sparring to last so long. she glanced at you who was watching the pair intently and suddenly seemed to realise her brothers’ peculiar actions for the past week. “We should go,” she said softly.

At this point Robb had just managed to knock Jon to his feet. Again, you clapped before reluctantly drawing your eyes away and continuing your walk with Sansa. You couldn’t resist waving to the pair however as you were walking past. You smiled at the dopey grins on their faces as they waved back.

----

For the next few weeks, the pair continued their relentless bickering and it turned into a competition of sorts. Every time one managed a private moment alone with you the other was around the corner to get the same. Jon would go out of his way to escort you to places you already knew the way to such as the kitchens or gods wood, but you never complained, enjoying his jokes along the way. Robb began to escort you and his sisters horse rides, much to Sansa’s annoyance, and suddenly took far more of an interest in the library after he noticed your frequent visits. One of Robbs favourite sights was watching as you curled up with a book in an armchair by the fire in the library. He thought you didn’t notice his shameless stares and gazes, but you had.

You had also noticed the way Jons cheeks tinged pink each time you laughed at his joke or touched his arm. Robb did not blush the way Jon did, but you began to notice his lingering touches when he helps you on your horse or past you a book off the top shelf. The attention was something you had grown rather fond of and weren’t about to complain about.

Sansa however was a different story. She was sick of her brothers bickering, something all the Starks agreed upon but only she had noticed why. She was also sick of her brothers both crashing her talks with you or stealing you away. “You do realise they’re both totally in love with you?” she asked as you sat with her in her chambers doing some embroidery, the one place they wouldn’t disturb you.

You blushed at her words, “I wouldn’t say they’re in love,”

“Okay but you do know that they like you like you,” she clarified rolling her eyes. You had grown fond of the admittedly sassy Sansa Stark, “They’re gonna end up killing each other,”

“That’d be no fun,” you fake pouted before laughing as she rolled her eyes, “What do you want me to do? I didn’t ask them to fight over me,” even as you said it the words felt silly. Sansa sat her threads down, giving you the classic Sansa face you had grown to hate and love all at once. “Fine, I’ll talk to them,”

“Thank you,” she smirked before turning back to her threads, “Maybe they’ll finally give us some peace,” she said and all you could do was laugh at the irony of her demanding your attention while being upset about her brothers doing the same.

---

You hadn’t expected to talk to the boys as soon as you left but as you were walking from Sansa’s chambers to go find them you paused when you heard Robbs voice around the corner. “Maybe you should just back off,”

“Why do I need to back of?” When you heard Jons voice you slowly crept closer to the corner, pressing yourself against the wall just before the bend to hear properly, “Not everything is about you Stark,”

“Same for you Snow,” the venom was practically dripping off their voices. It would be concerning if the sound hadn’t sent a shiver up your spine at the hotness of the situation. The two most handsome men in Winterfell arguing over you? how could you complain?

“Well maybe we let her choose,” Jon said.

“Maybe we should,” Robb spat back.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to reveal yourself as you walked round the corner. Jons eyes grew wide when he saw you emerge and Robb quickly spun on his heels, his jaw slackening slightly at the sight. “My lady- “he began to stutter.

You held your hands up and he quickly stopped. You took a deep breath as you glanced around the corridors, “I think its time we had a little talk,” you said to the boys as you walked closer. The two almost hung their heads in shame, “Let’s go somewhere more private,” you said as you brushed past them and began to walk to your chambers.

The pair followed silently, tails between their legs when they realised, they had been caught. “This is your fault,” Robb mumbled but he groaned when Jon stuck his elbow into his side.

Luckily your room was not far, and you were soon ushering the pair in, latching the door behind you before facing them with your back pressed against the door. “What exactly am I supposed to be choosing?” you asked, eyebrow raised with a secret idea toying in your mind.

“My lady we can explain,” Jon began to stammer, cheeks going that cute shade of pink again, “Robb and I well we- “

“We both have an affection for you,” Robb continued trying to sound confident, but his voice failed him, “And we have been uh debating,” Robb said causing you to laugh.

“Debating?” you questioned, “It sounded more like an argument,” this time it was Robbs turn to blush.

Jon continued for his brother, “We just were trying to figure out which one of us you liked. Assuming you do like one of us,”

“I might,” you said with a slight smirk causing both boys heads to snap up, their eyes watching you intently.

“Well, which one of us is it?” Robb asked with eager eyes. He was internally praying to the gods to give him some luck or at least to have him swallowed up by the grounds if he was wrong about your affection. Jon was silently thinking the same.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Who said it was one of you?” you said with a slight smirk. Both boys looked confused at your words. Pushing yourself off the door, you walked closer to the pair, “Would it be so bad if I didn’t choose? Were you not taught how to share?”

Part Two Here - Competition

Game of Thrones Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

[syndrossi]

You know this ask-post of yours? It feels kinda cracky when I start to think about it instead of "semi happy" as you put it for best case scenario? But maybe that's me because when I actually start writing anything at all I always end up with an conversational and humorous tone, I guess? So that might just be me.

And I have no idea where this idea came from, as far as I know it has no basis in any asoiaf/got media, but I kinda like the idea that Jon, despite looking so much a Stark that Ned's children (sans Arya) look less Stark than him, all his /expressions/ are all Targaryen. You wouldn't know it without comparison, but when Winterfell suddenly has the late Queen Rhaella and an alive and for some reason a teenage Prince Reaghar in the courtyard all confused like and someone sees Jon near them they suddenly have a lot of questions! Especially when they pull the same face as a reaction to something in sinc! It's uncanny.

Also, in that au, though I guess it could be in both this one and restoration too, but in either of those, after confirming that Jon does, in fact, remember and is still /his/ Jon, would Reaghar freak out (even just in the privacy of his own mind!) over the fact that Jon, for some reason, omitted the fact that he happened to be his /son/? Whom he aparently didn't even have the opportunity to raise! It would be funny to read that in a morbid sort of way? I mean they are Targaryens! Their mothers are their aunts and cousins they should be used to weird family relations, but still!

I mean, the premise of Restoration itself (which isn't too different from "Rhaegar and Rhaella show up in Winterfell at the start of AGOT with dragons") is more than a little cracky. I'm just your opposite, where I like to take crack premises (Arthur Dayne appears suddenly and tries to join the Princesguard!) and try to treat them seriously. 😅

Well, the good thing about Jon potentially have very Targaryen expressions (quite possible if he inherited, say, Rhaegar's mouth and brow) is that not too many people are around who would even recognize them, including Ned. It's not like Ned was buddy-buddy with Rhaegar, and I doubt he ever got closer than twenty paces to Aerys or Rhaella, assuming he ever visited KL when younger. But I could see him studying Jon's face on occasion and going "that's not my sister's expression." And spending a moment panicking before reminding himself that no one would possibly make a Targaryen connection.

Except if you suddenly throw two suddenly-not-dead Targaryens into the mix, including Rhaegar at the same age as Jon, when their similarities would be most apparent!

I'm assuming the two of them get a quick history lesson while Ned is internally screaming about what to do with the smoking dragon guns pointing directly at Jon saying EXTRA TARGARYEN THAT I'VE KEPT HIDDEN RIGHT HERE. Fortunately, their dragons (or hatchlings, depending on age) mean they do have some leg up.

(Wait, does Ned try to pull the same Restoration AU story with Rhaella and Rhaegar??? *squints* Basically "this is Jon's baby mama, and uhhh he had a twin who my lover demanded to keep, so we split them up." Surely not. But he does need to buy some time for the dragons to be effective, and that will involve "hiding" Rhaella and Rhaegar somehow.)

But yes, just like Restoration AU, Rhaegar is going to be very upset about Jon withholding very pertinent information such as Rhaegar having been his (dead) father, WTF JON.

[beauty-and-passion]

TMA - Chapters 91-100: Criminals, weirdos and one (1) wet cat

I said we were back and here we are, back again with ten more episodes.

This season started with a bang and I can’t wait to learn more, so let’s not waste too much time and jump right into it.

<< Main Masterlist <- Previous post

_______________________________

MAG 91 - The Coming Storm

It’s Michael time! I mean, Michael Crew time! And he wants to talk about stuff! But only after dissing Jon too, because dissing Jon is apparently a hobby among these supernatural shits.

So I was right regarding Michael’s past: he’s the child struck by lightning and that event helped him “connect” to The Vast. And I love how he talked about it. Actually, I really like all the times humans talk about their connection with the supernatural entities: there’s always a mix of longing and reverence in their stories, they are always searching for that connection and, when they get it, they experience freedom and a deep sense of liberation. Michael literally searched among all the cursed Leitners to find the right one and get the exact kind of liberation he wanted.

And while doing it, he offers us more names! The Filth (which I don’t remember if I already saw before - and if I did, please help me remember), and the one he calls his “tormentor”: an “arcing branch of the Twisting Deceit”. What a fucking cool name <3

I also really like how Michael talks about this entity as a tormentor or a figure “chasing him”. It’s as if, after “marking” Michael with that scar, the entity kept searching him for years - and Michael chased the entity too, trying to find a way to bind it to the book.

Actually, that’s the part I don’t really understand. Why did Michael “bound his tormentor to the book”? What does that mean? Didn’t he bind “the tormentor” to himself? Jude told us that, if you kill yourself, you get closer to your god - and that’s what Michael did, right? But the book played a role too? Maybe I’m missing something.

So: Daisy woke up, went to the bar and ordered a coffee with a spoon of extra violence and a side dish of hitting Jon, because this season is apparently the “let’s beat Jon up” season. Thank god Basira was there to save his ass again, otherwise he would be a mush on the floor by now.

Shit, Daisy, calm your tits: it’s not Jon’s fault, and I’m not saying it because I’m biased. Can’t you see this man? He radiates the strongest wet cat energy ever, he's not the criminal mastermind here.

Elias, on the other hand…

Wait, what? What do you mean by “grab a spade”? Did you kill Michael, Daisy? My man Michael Crew just died?! What the fuck, Daisy, you can’t just kill characters like that! What about The Vast, now? Also, are we sure he really died? You know, there’s always a chance these little fuckers pop back alive and well.

_______________________________

MAG 92 - Nothing Beside Remains

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS INSANE

*

Growing up means loving Elias

This MAG taught me something very important: that growing up means accepting and understanding what someone does right and even more what they do wrong. And this is why Elias is my favorite character now.

Look at him. Just look at this smug bastard. First, he calls the police because he knows Daisy is coming - and of course he knows, since he’s The Eye or its high priest or whatever. And once he gets his ass covered, he makes a statement (because it’s always feeding time for Mr. Eye), and casually comments it, by talking to Jon.

And here we can see Elias casually telling us that Jonah Magnus was also an Archivist or a servant of The Eye at least. Good to know that supernatural shit kept lurking around for centuries.

Look at this little shit. He’s The Eye (more or less) and he’s so satisfied because, for the first time, he experienced the influence of his own power on himself.

And you know what? I get the appeal. If I were a supernatural know-it-all who can compel others to talk, I would be curious to try that power on myself as well. Also, it works for the kind of supernatural god it is: since The Eye is characterized by endless love and search for knowledge, wanting to know how its own power feels sounds right up its alley.

Not only Elias is a smug bastard, but he’s relatable now. I am in love.

So:

Elias casually reconfirms he’s The Eye, since he’s the heart of the Institute and the institute is inextricably tied with The Eye.

That basically explains why Tim cannot leave. Since he became part of this “organism”, trying to leave would be like cutting an arm off: the organism survives, but the cut arm cannot. It dies. And that’s why Tim had to come back. I LOVE that there’s such a great explanation.

Elias fucked up everyone, all while hiring more people to work for him.

Elias fucked Daisy too and saved his ass exactly as he planned.

Elias is an insane bastard and I love him.

"Our master” what? You are The Eye, you little shit. Or maybe, since you’re, like, its embodiment on this planet, you are not exactly The Eye but like… a representation of it?

*

Melanie is my spirit animal

Melanie’s comments throughout the whole MAG have been peak. I loved everything, from her casually commenting “Uh… good?” after Jon told everyone Elias is going to confess his crimes, to her “Bloody hell!”, to her constant sense of confusion about everything.

I love her. So. Much. She just wanted a job and first she got weirdos as colleagues, then her boss admits he killed some people, then she finds out she’s stuck in that weird place because of some supernatural shit, then a police lady draws out a gun and all Melanie wanted was to just have a normal day and come back home all in one piece.

*

The Unknowing!

And now Elias gives us some answers! Okay, now I completely forgive him for killing Leitner. It was a dick move but hey, everyone has flaws and Elias is a clever, smug bastard, so he gets extra points and a free pass on a couple of killings.

So, the Unknowing is a ritual and it’s a way for The Stranger to change reality enough to make it closer to the place where it is.

You know what? That’s FUCKING COOL and I wish to see it. It would be insane and maybe destroy life in the universe, but it sounds so incredible!

Also, it kinda answers one of my previous thoughts, when I wondered about how those entities feel regarding our universe. Well, apparently one of them (aka The Stranger) likes it enough to try and make it its own. Now I wonder if we’ll get to know what other entities think about our world too.

*

Elias is everything

Oooh, so the war is between known and unknown. Well, that explains the two sides of the battle a little more: I get why one side is made of beings like The Dark, The Vast (aka part of the Twisted Deceit), The Distortion, the creepy dolls and so on. They’re all beings that thrive and are associated with the hidden and the unknown.

And now I get it why The Eye is on another side. But still don’t know who is could be on its side among the ones we know: maybe the Spider Gang? And what about the Lukas family? Do they stick around because of the connection between their ancestors and Jonah Magnus?

I am so excited, there are a ton of things I still need to know.

How could I even hate this man? He confessed he killed two people and yet, he got everything he wanted, he got new people attached to the Institute, he got his ass covered, he got his Archivist back and made him work on saving the world from the Unknowing. All of this in the span of 30 minutes more or less. What an icon.

And in the end, he casually tells Jon that hey, there’s no problem with form and notes, he will get everything covered in no time ;)

Also, “I have work to be getting on with”: oh, Elias, we all know it’s not true because you don’t work. You sit on your lazy ass all the time <3

I apologize for all the bad things I said about him in the past: I was young and naive and still didn’t know Elias is a little bitch. Now my eyes have been opened and all I can say is that I stan him and his insanity <3

_______________________________

MAG 93 - Contaminant

So, the statement can be resumed as “Mouldy Entity took over Greg Russell” and I have no idea what the Mouldy Entity is - even though it reminds me of The Filth mentioned by Michael Crew, so… maybe they’re parts of the same?

What’s truly important here is the umpteenth mention of Breekon & Hope, our favorite delivery boys. And apparently, Jon is asking the same questions I am asking myself: are they part of The Stranger or a third, neutral party that just loves going around and moving stuff? Are they the Uber drivers of the supernatural entities?

But what really matters here is the conversation with Georgie, which can be resumed as follows:

Elias, by being the wonderful bitch he is, took the first people he found and gave them random roles they were not qualified for, just because they had the perfect psychological profile for his deeds.

Jon proved he knows nothing about his job and its requirements. But don’t worry, apparently no one does. The Magnus Archives are run by a bunch of desperates who have no idea what they’re doing and I love it.

Jon’s resume of the situation is: there are weird gods outside our universe and they push through in the form of monsters. And they choose people as avatars, who gain super abilities, but lose their own self. Yep, pretty accurate.

These gods are considered patrons by their avatars/servants. Again, pretty accurate, considering they are seen and described as entities who help, support, and give freedom to the people they choose.

The Stranger's servants want to perform a ritual meant to remake the world, by bringing it closer to their master. And since Jon has to stop it, he’s literally trying to save the world. Jon is our hero… and it’s because the bad guy gave him this role. Or is Elias a good guy now? Are there even “good” or “bad” guys? I love it when a story plays so much with common roles and concepts like good and bad.

What happened with The End? What did Death/The End ever do? Did it do something bad to Georgie? Please no, she seems such a sweetheart.

_______________________________

MAG 94 - Dead Woman Walking

Clearly the dead woman was an avatar of The End or a smaller servant or whatever. And it’s really interesting how it affected Georgie: the idea that there’s no difference between present and future and everything is destined to end reminds me of the philosophy of presentism, a theory according to which the only existing events/objects are those that exist in the present. And yes, the importance, the weight of realizing how everything is destined to an end truly seems to hint at the importance and power of an entity that is literally called The End.

I also really like how this realization didn’t just affect Georgie in the short term: she got influenced by it, she recovered, but the effects are still here, in the form of an inability to fear anything anymore.

Understandable: once you realize that everything is destined to an end, there is no eternity after, the end is already here and it will always be part of everything... well, it makes said everything much less intimidating.

And yes, Georgie is right when she says she feels as if fear was stolen from her. Because can you really live and experience life, if you don’t feel any fear anymore?

_______________________________

MAG 95 - Absent Without Leave

O-oh, a statement about an Italian guy! And he’s from Teramo, so he’s close to my city too! That’s cool :D

But even if the guy is close to me geographically, we’re separated by an abyss when it’s language time: “Sono andanti marcio” is exactly the kind of terrible, wannabe Italian only a shitty computer translator can produce XD

Mr. Sims, ask me next time: as it is now, this sentence means “They going rot”, which almost makes sense in English, but it makes zero sense in Italian :P A much better translation would be:

“Stanno marcendo” (they are still going rotten)

“Sono marciti” (they are already rotten)

Bad translation aside, this statement reminds me of something else, especially the introductory part, which seems to refer to the song “La guerra di Pietro” by Fabrizio De Andrè. This song is a beautiful poem and, even though it's hard to convey the same depth and beautiful musicality in another language, this translation on Genius.com is quite accurate. I also suggest listening to the original song here on YouTube, just to get an idea of why this is still one of the most beloved songs and why De Andrè is one of the greatest Italian artists (and one of my personal favorites).

Basira is productively spending her time! Is she a prisoner in the institute? No problem, the situation will change in the future, so it's much better to spend time gathering more info and doing something, rather than whining and protesting. Great mentality, I really like her.

_______________________________

MAG 96 - Return to Sender

As soon as I heard the name “Alfred Breekon” I jolted: o-oh, will we listen to a statement from the boss of Breekon & Hope Deliveries? I’m ready for it.

Okay, despite being not particularly important, this statement was still quite interesting: first, we found out Hope isn’t a real person, but another name put on by the original owner of the company. Then, that our two favorite delivery boys were never hired. They just followed this plan:

appear one day

scare the shit out of Mr. Breekon

steal his name and truck

start delivering stuff everywhere

???

Profit, somehow

Cherry on top, this statement has been left for Jon by Elias, whose job is now to anticipate Jon’s next steps. What a bitch, I love him.

Okay, so now Jon and Daisy are a dynamic duo that goes around, beating the shit out of the avatars/servants (and occasionally killing them), to stop The Stranger and the Unknowing? I didn’t know I needed this in my life but it turns out I need this a lot. Please, more of Daisy radiating killing energy and Jon radiating wet cat energy together.

One last thing, as a personal reminder: one of the ingredients of this ritual is the oldest piece of taxidermy in the world, aka gorilla skin from Carthage. I hope to get all of these ingredients, I’m curious to see if I can deduce what happens during the Unknowing just by knowing them.

_______________________________

MAG 97 - We All Ignore the Pit

I like that this statement’s title is an advice. The people who survived the most in this series are the ones who ignore everything, so yes, I will gladly ignore the pit with… whoever you are.

And so did Mr. Ellis. And he survived, thus proving my point: ignore the weird shit happening around you and you will come out alive. Unless the weird shit grows interest in you. In that case, you’re fucked.

The statement per se is weird and mysterious. I have no idea about this pit, even though the constant “earthy movements” reminded me of the supernatural meat. Also, who are the old lady and the guy with deep blue eyes? Are they important? Is Gertrude and someone else? No idea, but I’ll try to remember them.

Glad to know I’m not the only clueless one: Jon has no idea about what this statement means too. At least we’re together in this. Now, if only Elias would be so kind to give us more clues, it would be great.

But he’s also having so much fun, throwing bits of info… oh, I can’t stay mad at him, he can do as he pleases <3

OMG Nikola Orsinov paid Jon a visit! And she’s adorable, creepy and adorably creepy! I loved the aghast “No!” when Jon asked her if she wanted to kill him, only to be followed by “I mean, yes”. Ah, good old supernatural shits, always trying to kill Jon. Seriously, this season is the “Jon keeps asking if others want to kill him” season: that’s what he says most of the time!

Soooo… the gorilla skin is basically a ball dress? That’s hilarious. And Nikola wants to wear it when she “dances the world new”. The implications are beautifully terrifying and it keeps reminding me of Azathoth at the center of the universe, surrounded by endless dance and music.

_______________________________

MAG 98 - Lights Out

Oh, some time with the other characters! Tim, it’s been an eternity since I saw you!

AAAnd this is why you're still great. I love Tim.

Sure, he’s 300% done and every time he appears, he’s more done than the last. And yes, he has “DEAD” written all over his face. But since he’s still alive for now, I will enjoy every second of him.

I love the meta of sentences like this, because I know Martin is talking to the recorder and, indirectly, to The Eye. But we can also see it as Martin scolding us, the listeners. We are like The Eye, hungrily listening to every private conversation these people have.

The statement per se is okay: we have another story regarding Maxwell Rayner, the ex avatar of The Dark. And we also get some sort of… physical form of The Dark, I suppose: a long, thin figure with an open mouth from which pours down an endless amount of black sand. Pretty cool, I like it - especially the sand detail and the associated sound. I can almost hear this soft hiss of the falling sand.

And then, just like every other woman in this series, Melanie too decides to wake up and choose violence. However, her violence comes with a side dish of stupid, so she decides to poison Elias. The magical know-it-all.

Bless her clumsy attempt, she's too precious <3 Even Elias knows it and forgives her: Melanie must be protected at all costs.

_______________________________

MAG 99 - Dust to Dust

The statement per se is kinda useless: a weirdly magical sand associated maybe with the Spiral and Gertrude talking about The Hunt, The Buried and Jan Kilbride. No idea what those things are, but whatever.

What’s important is that Jon is sure Gertrude’s assistant is Michael. Okay, but which one? Micheal the Good Boyo or Michael Crew? I suppose Michael the Good Boyo, even though I cannot be sure - I suck at recognizing voices. Anyway, something happened to her assistant and he became an avatar. And Jon is clearly afraid something similar is gonna happen to his assistants too.

That’s very fascinating. Will they become avatars too? Elias is one already and Jon feels he’s becoming one too. But what about the others? Will Martin become an avatar? And Melanie? And Tim? Maybe I had the wrong impression about him and he won’t die, but become an avatar? Or maybe I was right, since you have to die to become an avatar.

This also explains Jon’s fears and why he’s trying so hard to escape from everyone else. Once again, his psychology and actions make sense, thanks to a clear, logic explanation.

And since Jon is a well-written character and he’s a clever guy not an idiot, he realizes what he's doing is wrong, he accepts Georgie’s advice and says he will try to stick with the others and help with “Elias’ new management style”.

The laugh I gave when I read this. The utter laugh. What does “new management style” even mean? Hiring random people was his old management style, so what's the new one? Actually doing something for once, instead of sitting on his ass 24/7? I love Elias, I want him as my boss too.

Holy shit the ending! Breekon and Hope literally kidnapped Jon, to bring him to the creepy puppet lady. And this reconfirms:

This is truly the “let’s beat up Jon” season

Jon is even more of a wet cat than ever

All the supernatural shits want to kill Jon

The puppet lady will come back in all of her creepiness and I can’t wait for it

_______________________________

MAG 100 - I Guess You Had to be There

So that’s “Elias’ new management style”? Making everyone record statements? Well… why not? He hired these bunch of people not because they knew how to do their job - actually, no one knows how to run this place, not even the Head Archivist.

So, being the thoughtful boss he is, Elias decided that:

They should do the only job that matters, which is feeding time for Mr. Eye the archivist’s job

Everyone should do it, because that’s the most chaotically evil thing ever - and it makes me laugh

Everyone is being efficient all day, so Elias can sit on his ass and do nothing as always

The more time passes, the more I stan Elias.

So, let’s see these wonderful people who came to the Archives with their totally real stories:

*

Lynne, aka The MoneyGrabber: she went to the Institute just to get some money. The ghost story is probably just some stupid shit she dreamt and decided that hey, why not try and give it to these people? She can make easy money for that!

The idea could’ve worked, unfortunately the Magnus Archives is not the kind of agency she hoped for and all she got from her story was something like 20 cents for a coffee.

*

Mr. Smith, aka The Conspiracy Theorist: when he said the Government kidnapped his friend, I died on the spot and came back alive, just to laugh more.

I can bet my ass the true story was something like: Mr. Smith & partner tried to steal something, then his friend got rightfully arrested or got lost somewhere because they’re clearly a couple of idiots, so now he thinks it’s the Government’s fault, it’s “they”, it’s the New World Order, it's whatever, what’s important is that they’re hiding something from us, wake up people!

Unfortunately for Mr. Smith, the agency that could’ve helped him wasn’t the Magnus Institute, but a mental hospital.

*

Robin, aka The One Who Wants To Get Killed: Basira got tested and she got severely tested, because if I were her, I would’ve sent this guy away right after he started to ramble the first time.

He clearly has some death wish and his story was an attempt to get killed by Basira. Unfortunately for him, she didn't fall for that - even though the temptation was very strong. So she just sent him away to bore someone else to death.

*

Brian, aka The Fucked Up: but not because The Web & Spider Gang attacked him, oh no. It’s because there’s another goddamn Lukas, who did something weird to him.

And, wait, is he the same Peter Lukas mentioned long ago? Let me check.

*one check later*

Yes, he was mentioned in MAG 33, in the story about the supernatural fog! Wait, is the distorted sound associated with the same fog? Is that what he did with Brian? Did he stick this guy in the supernatural fog or something similar?

Also, I know the Lukas family is creepy, but I like this guy: he introduces himself with such a happy tone, he gives funny vibes. And he’s searching for Elias because I suppose they’re pals, so I hope he will be a funny guy - albeit creepy and scary and associated with some other supernatural shit.

_______________________________

In conclusion

The more statements I read, the more this series becomes funnier.

The characters are amazing. I love every one of them, from Nikola Orsinov in all her creepiness, to this Peter Lukas filled with happy vibes. I want to know more, I want to see The Stranger and the Unknowing - and I want to know about Peter Lukas too. Is it finally time to learn more about this creepy family and the supernatural fog? Will we also learn more about Michael? Will Jon escape? Or will his friends come to save him? Will Elias ever stop being a chaotic bastard?

I hope not for the last one.

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

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[cult-of-the-eye]

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski as a jmart song:

"there's nobody better than you/it just took me a while til I knew"

Fuck it's so Jon talking to Martin. He sees Martin as a better person than him, both morally and literally in terms of humanity and it fits his whole S1 ew martin to S4 oh martin arc so well

"but you knew from the start it was us, didn't you/it just took me a while til I knew"

Yep yep yep that's Martin. He loved Jon from the start. Of course Jon's admitting that. And of course he's doing it in such a self deprecating way.

Read more cause this is long

"now I lay as I study a blank wall/would you spare me your voice if I call?"

Ok so we're in Martin's Peter Lukas era right now, Jon is fully pining he's completely checked out and dissociating and he needs Martin to ground him, to be his anchor and he's reaching out in a way that puts the focus on Martin's next move as opposed to him calling which is SO HIM

"Cause you waited and watered my heart 'til it grew/you just grew a little smarter, too"

Fuck he's like you treated me so well, you waited so long for me to like you back but then you realised it was futile and stopped, but obviously you would do that because you're an angel and blameless

"So, I don't blame you/If you want to bury me in your memory/I'm not the girl I ought to be, but/Maybe when you tell your friends/You can tell them what you saw in me/And not how I turned out to be"

Jon's love is just so self deprecating I feel like, he's so acts of service, he's like it's ok that you don't want me, I get it, I'm not loveable but at least I seemed loveable for you to have crushed on me for that long

And and cause Martin's separated from jon, the only thing he has left is his memory of him, the one that lives in his head

"There's some kind of burning inside me/It's kept me from falling apart"

Oh yeah this is so them like Jon's had this drive within him, this incessant need to keep going, to keep finding things out, to keep burrowing deeper into the problem and it's kept him alive cause it's kept him ambitious and it's kept him from being stagnant but it's also been destroying him from the inside cause he can't stop

"And I'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart/But it's kept me from falling apart"

But Martin sees this, Martin knows who Jon is and it's almost a plea to try and accept that what's driving him isn't a good thing

"Now here I lay as I wonder about you/would you just tell me what I'm meant to do?"

Jon's like how do I get Martin to come back, how do I get him to be near me, ive tried everything, just tell me and I'll do it

"Cause I've waited and watered my heart 'til it grew/you can see how it's blossomed for you"

Its like a look, you waited for me, now I'll wait for you, I'll take care of myself in your absence to show you how much I care about what you've done for me, I do love you, finally, thank you for waiting all this time

"And I don't mean to make your heart blue/But could we be what we're meant to be?/I'm just about to beg you, please"

God I'm so feral for this last bit

Jon's like I know me begging you to come back is hurting you but I'm finally giving into what you want, you need to come back so we can be together like we're meant to, he's at the end of his tether, he's pleading while threatening to plead

"And then, when you tell your friends/You can tell them what you saw in me/And not the way I used to be"

I'll be better for you, I promise vibes.

[spicy30]

The Grand Devourer

Pairing: Daario Naharis x Tall!Baratheon!Reader, Jon Snow x Tall!Baratheon!Reader (separate)

cw: Childbirth, death

Rating: 16+

tags: AFAB reader

(Not Proof read)

“Today is a grand day, my Lord.” The words fall on deaf ears as Stannis Baratheon hears only the cries of his wife from the room beyond. He waits outside, expecting the twins his wife is carrying to be stillborn. Yet, a part of him—though unwelcome—hopes that because they are twins, there is twice the chance for survival.

He stares out the window. It is, indeed, a fine day. The seas are calm, and the sun shines brightly over Dragonstone. The screams of his wife cease. Turning away from the window, he strides quickly toward the room, half expecting to see sorrowful faces, though he hopes for none. Entering, he observes the faces of those present—expressions he hasn’t seen since the birth of their first stillborn child.

“Is there a child? A live one?” He stares at the wet nurse, whose worried and confused face offers no clarity. “Well!?” This is his child—or perhaps children—who may have lived longer than any of their previous siblings. He has the right to know where they are and how they fare.

“Where is my son? My daughter? Where are they!?” His attention shifts to his wife, who cries out deliriously. He supposes he should tend to her, but what of the children?

“She writhes but makes no sound, my Lord!” the wet nurse says.

“Maester, what do I have you here for if not for the sake of my wife and children? If you don’t know the problem, then find out, or I’ll find another who can!” It had been some time since Stannis Baratheon had lost his temper, even slightly. He is typically calm, and oriented—a rock for others to lean on. But being kept in the dark never suited him. Is anyone calm in darkness?

Even with the sun shining brightly, this room feels darker than any he’s ever stood in.

“A knife! I need a knife! The babe chokes!” the maester yells in desperation. Stannis pulls out a knife—faster than he ever has, he thinks. Before he knows it, he is in front of his child—a daughter. His first time seeing her, she writhes in pain, her skin purple. He has never truly been a father, though he has come close on several occasions. But to see his flesh and blood suffer—it is a pain he cannot describe. Not even when his own brothers were injured in battle did he feel such anguish. But for this child— his child—his body shakes with pain. Something overtakes him, and he cuts the umbilical cord from around her neck. Only then does he hear a pleasing sound.

The sound of his little girl crying.

The cries of his future heir of Dragonstone. The loud, long-awaited cries of the future of his name—the legacy he will leave on this unforgiving world. He holds her up, hands steady, certain that this child will live. Walking toward his wife, daughter in hand, his smile falters as his wife cries out again. Another child? Perhaps—the boy is next.

He holds his daughter close as he stands by his wife’s side. She grips his clothing for support as she begins pushing again. He holds his breath, standing stiffly as he watches her.

The stretch of the fabric in his wife's hand loosens.

This one is much faster than his daughter. The maester pulls something out—red and bloody. He swallows his disappointment. Can he really long for something that was never alive?

“Is that my son?” Selyse Baratheon cries.

“No, my lady. It is afterbirth. There are no more children—only your daughter.” The maester hands the placenta to the wet nurse, instructing her to save it, as it is known to help the mother recuperate after birth.

“You told us my wife was pregnant with twins. Where is my son? Whether dead or alive, where is he?” Whether alive or dead, a father has a right to his son.

“I do not know, my Lord. Lady Selyse would have birthed him, but she hasn’t. The afterbirth has passed. There is nothing left to push out.” The maester washes his hands, eyeing the babe in Stannis’s arms.

“Say it. Say what you must, but give me a proper answer.” Stannis stands firm, holding his daughter.

“There have been occurrences…” The maester trails off. Stannis passes his daughter to his wife to nurse. “Where the second child has vanished without a trace. No bleeding, but the second baby is still lost.”

Stannis steps forward, towering over the maester, casting a shadow. The Baratheons always towered over others. “Where is my son?” He glares down at the maester, who looks from Stannis’s face to the child in his wife’s arms. Stannis shifts his gaze to his daughter and then back to the maester. “Why do you look at my daughter?”

“There is your son,” the maester answers.

“My daughter shows no sign of being a boy. I will ask you once more before I cast you out—where is my son!?” Stannis is appalled by the suggestion that his daughter is anything but what she is. He has half a mind to toss the maester from the window.

“Your son…has been absorbed…by your daughter,” the maester says quietly.

Stannis’s head snaps toward his daughter, who eagerly nurses at her mother’s breast. His tiny, innocent daughter has absorbed her brother? Has she taken him, unwilling to share the womb? He stares at the babe, unsure of how to react. “Will she be healthy?” he mutters. If she has taken the life of his son, she must be strong.

“It is expected, my Lord. But only time will tell.” Content with the maester’s words, Stannis leaves without another word, leaving his wife and his creation behind.

Next I Series Master List

Note: This is a new fandom I’m venturing into, and it has been somewhat challenging to depict Stannis as accurately as possible since most of what we know of him comes from Ser Davos’s POV in the novels. The show doesn’t help much either, as his character there is quite different. However, I drew inspiration from the show in terms of the heartwarming scene between him and Shireen, which for me solidified just how much of a family man he is, even though it's canon that he burns his daughter alive. This is my best attempt with the unfinished novels and what I know of him.

To be added on Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑/Gen Masterlist

[zahri-melitor]

Newish Comics 6 March 2025:

My apologies in advance for a few of these, because I’ve got about negative patience today.

Absolute Superman #4: we got Jimmy! Also look, both Clark AND Lois hate comic book ChatGPT equivalents, will they find their point of agreement? There was some great art this issue, particularly around Clark and his powers (and those long flowing locks of hair).

Batgirl #4: …honestly the thing I was happiest about in this entire issue was Nyssa, and the fact it openly mentioned Cass’ evil arc. Maybe, almost TWO DECADES LATER, we can convince more people that if you actually sit down and read it and realise it is all of 8 MAYBE 9 issues, 4 of which are the storyline undoing it, that they started walking it back as quickly as DC could commission stories to do so, and the arc does contain a solid chunk of interesting storytelling around it. Like, at this point with Nyssa alive, and with the fact we already had Lynx ‘die’ twice back when the storyline was running? What is there left to fuss over. Let it be a time when Cass was manipulated by Slade and David. Use it for the interesting context it brings (like Shiva dropping by to check on Tim and ask what Cass is up to, my beloved, that scene makes me laugh every time)

Because seriously? This issue felt competent but mostly dull debates and beating people up. Sorry.

(Also you can tell I know Cass’s stories far too well that when people were like ‘there is a Kasumi deep cut!’ I was expecting something more like…a reference to the fact that Cass has stabbed Kendra Saunders with swords twice by accident, rather than Shiva just saying ‘Kasumi’)

Batman #157: I am going to do a retrospective on the whole Zdarsky run separately, but what I think I want to note from this issue in particular: firstly, I see your nod to the opening Rebirth storyline of Batman, Chip, with the plane. It was noticed. Secondly, I think on balance I preferred the fact that we did get the reveal that Bruce doesn’t have another potential half-sibling running around rather than have it sit there as an unknown, ignored, because tidying it out of the way from anyone in the future coming back to it was probably the right thing to do with this Batman: Family of a storyline.  It’s better to have gone ‘nope’ rather than leave it stuck in “we’re too ethical to check” or a “Lonnie thinks he’s Joker’s kid because the story didn’t get around to walking it back before ending” situation. And thirdly, in terms of the plot for this: “actually everything is secret Russians out to cause trouble in America by assuming the colouration of US patriotism” is a pretty contemporary story, and was even more topical when this would have been written and turned in.

In general: I think Zdarsky spent most of this issue tying off loose plot ends to get things in order to hand the title over. Time to wait to see how much status quo Loeb decides to blow up from being completely unfamiliar with it.

Birds of Prey #18: this remains a delight to me. Dinah and Sin sparring! The ‘you cannot read my body language when it is a video game!’ joke. Just how family the title feels with the core being Dinah and Barbara and their little sisters plus Barda. (Also Barda and Cass bouncing off each other remains hilarious) I really liked the double meaning conversation at the safe house, even as part of me kept giggling and going "You're going to a House on the Lake? Is it a Nice house?"

Poison Ivy #30: I love me a novelty issue! Two simultaneous stories converging! Also it’s fascinating that both the Parliament of Trees and the Grey are busy trying to manipulate things in this. I am certain everything will go smoothly and nobody will betray anyone else…

Shazam! #20: I got 5 pages into this and gave up. I’m sorry, why is Jon in this fill and could the title actually be about the characters listed on it? (And not only that, but the bit of Jon I read before my exasperation kicked fully in seemed facile at best)

Two-Face #3: I am really glad they put Ivan Plascencia on colours for this comic, because his aesthetic and approach to storytelling via colour is contributing a lot, particularly in terms of distinguishing Harvey from Two-Face. In other news, it is WILD to me that this storyline is simultaneously juggling The Reaper (classic Mike Barr early post-Crisis drama that’s never really fully linked to ongoing continuity) with Baby-Doll (a BTAS original villain).

The Warlord #87: this week in the lost kingdom of Skartaris we have a sea battle with New Atlantean slavers who've kidnapped a lot of Shamballans. We are finally so back! And then they fight ANOTHER pirate: the Dread Pirate Hawkins the Red-Hand, known as the Sea-Snake!

Travis isn't having any of it:

Bless his cotton socks, he's all over this.

Anyway old Captain Hawk here invites Travis over to discuss terms over them splitting the New Atlantean ship cargo and...

We have never been so back, foeyay is back on the table. If Travis had managed to get himself tied up this would be the perfect issue.

Instead the Captain here keeps plying Travis with drinks, probably to try and accomplish this, but Travis is suspicious.

It's like you don't trust this hot scarred pirate, Travis! What's changed for you, was it being President of the Future United States? (no I am not ever going to give up on dragging that)

Unfortunately for us all (as Grell is no longer on the book) instead the Captain sends some men to kidnap Tara. It's like they don't realise that's a terrible idea.

This is like Tuesday for Tara, and bondage games are 100% part of her relationship with Travis. She's not that concerned, pirates.

Travis loads himself into *checks notes* his own ship's catapult to board the pirate ship again.

LOOK at Tara's face. They're going to have the best reunion sex tonight. (Seriously, my compliments to Dan Jurgens for that expression)

Look, what did I say. Bondage is 100% back on the table.

So Captain Hawk farewells these two, trying to claim that this was all part of his nefarious plans.

Cmon mate, if you wanted to have a threesome with them, just ASK. Or tie them both up. They like that.

I do enjoy his optimism that nobody will have hard feelings over any of these negotiations, and he's totally going to be able to swap recaptured slaves for gold (and tbf, he's probably correct in his assumption there)

Amazing. So glad this title is back on form. I've missed it.

[rookfeatherrambles]

So i actually did try writing this at one point! Here's the draft I found. Liminal season because no one is dead and everyone is fine (I assume the Unknowing was stopped without a hitch as well :) Anyway, here ya go! MORE CURSED CAT AU!

When Martin Blackwood opened the door to the Archives with his keycard at 5:45 in the morning, the last thing he expected to see was the entire cast of the archival assistants, and his boss, (and unrequited crush) all standing around in the bullpen, and clearly engaged in heated conversation. Martin blinked, his mouth opening a little in shock. Late nights were depressingly common in the Archives, but this was… new. And concerning. It was just Jon staying late, that Martin knew. So what was everyone else doing here?? Not only was it incredibly early, it was Saturday! Jon saw Martin from across the room and his expression shifted from tense to something like relief. But the irrational warmth that flooded Martin’s chest disappeared the moment he scowled, pushing his way between Melanie and Daisy. “You’re late,” he said, his usual sharp tone maybe a little sharper this morning, and Martin had to fight back the annoyance that rose up.. He bit back his retort - ‘No, actually, you’re all early,’ because Jon was already moving away again. Martin shrugged it off and started unwrapping his scarf,  soft wool he’d knitted himself, and then Tim was there, appearing at his elbow with two mugs. “Welcome to the madhouse,” he said by way of greeting, and thrust out a cup of tea. “I see you also got that phone call.” Martin took it, noting the grogginess in Tim’s eyes. “Yeah, I did, what’s that about?” The hot ceramic warmed his chilled hands and woke him up further. Tim groaned. “I don’t know, none of us could get a proper story out of him, he just kept insisting we all had to arrive first before he’d tell us… and that meant you, and you arrived 15 minutes late.” Tim sighed, rubbing at his eyebags. “It has to be something important though, why else would Jon have dragged us out of bed like this?” He paused. “I know he’s Jon, and paranoia and manic episodes are very much the cours de jour with him… but this is different. It better be, or I’m going to kick him where it really hurts.” Martin opened his mouth, then closed it and followed Tim’s gaze as Jon stood at the front of the room. The murmuring all died off. “Thank you all for coming. I know it's early for most of us, and I appreciate that you’re all here. Now, I have some… frankly baffling news to share.” Tim spoke up from where he was leaning against his desk. “It's not another bloody apocalypse is it?” Martin watched Jon, waiting for his mouth to twist, his expression to sour. But he didn’t react the way they’d expected over the past few years. He looked… thoughtful. “I don’t…” And there he paused. “I don’t know.” Martin saw Tim and Sasha exchange glances, saw Daisy shift in place, and he could feel the tension growing in the air. That was impossible. Jon… From what Elias had gloatingly said once, the whole point of Jon was that he Knew things. Melanie was next. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know?’ Aren’t you the literal equivalent of an eldritch search engine? How do you just Not know??” Jon made a face. “Firstly, that is not remotely how it works, and secondly-” He reached down behind the desk and picked up something that was covered in a towel. Martin strained to see, just as everyone did, as he gently placed the towel clad thing onto the desk. Was it a group of Leitners? That could explain why Jon was being so careful and why it was covered. Or maybe it was an artefact, and he couldn’t break it or touch it with his hands. But from the way Jon settled the thing without so much as jostling it, that theory didn’t fit. No, if Martin had to make an educated guess… he’d say that whatever was under that towel was alive.

1/2

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 14 (+18)

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Smut | Angst | War

Word Count: 1981

You finally made your way underground and saw the big back of your man rising up after placing the big wooden box on the floor.

"Sandor..." Your voice was breathy and weak, but loud enough for him to hear you and turn around immediately. You ran to him and jumped in his arms. He held you tight and immediately kissed you passionately. It was so intense. The way he held you was not out of sexual desire it was out of pure love and devotion.

"Sabrina..." He had to break the kiss so you could both breathe. "I have loved you since the first time you locked your eyes on me. I cannot believe you agreed to be my wife." His thumb caressed your cheek.

"Once I got over that bloody wall... I knew the only reason I had to resist that hell, those white walkers, was you. I wanted to come back to you, to my wife. Being away from you not knowing if I would ever see you again was almost as painful as having my face shoved into fire. I know I angered you many times by not having the right words, but..." He stopped, trying to hide his face from her, one tear coming down his cheek. You brought your hand to his face wiping his tears away and turning his face back to you.

You kissed him, grabbing the back of his neck and pushing him to sit down on one of the old wine barrels stored in there. You sat on top of him, knees on the sides of his legs. You never felt so attracted to him. Maybe because it was the first time he ever truly showed vulnerability without any wine or ale.

Your tongue entered his mouth and his hand on your hips squeezed you tighter, his other hand already grabbing your chest. You felt he was getting harder each second and you grinded on him making your husband growl. Suddenly a loud noise outside, a giant creature roared.

"The dragon queen. You should go." Sandor held your face and placed a small kiss on your lips.

"Sandor wait! I need to talk to you about your brother!" You tried to make him stop, but he just put you back on the floor and walked over the wooden box.

"We'll have time later, I promise." He said grabbing the big wooden box and making his way upstairs.

You ran back upstairs, trying to tidy up a bit before facing the house leaders. You sat back in your place just in time to see your husband finishing to walk up the stairs in the middle of the arena.

After the white walker demonstration, the queen agreed to send some men north. Sandor walked up to his brother to say some threatening words. He did notice a difference in him, but he just thought he had gotten uglier, maybe out of sickness.

Once back in Winterfell, you found Sandor who arrived a couple hours after you. You didn't give him any time to settle, just pulled him by the arm and dragged him to your room. Once you closed the door he grabbed you, kissing your neck.

"Sandor wait!" You chuckled, surprised by his hunger for you. He grunted as he didn't want to let go of you. You pushed him to bed. He sat there watching you. He could tell you were nervous to tell him something.

"Remember I had something to tell you about your brother." You explained trying to avoid his gaze. He kept his eyes on you, serious and trying to read your emotions.

"Well, he..." You gulped. "He's not alive anymore." You watched the small confusion on his face. You took the time to explain everything you knew and everything you saw in him.

"You mean I can't kill him?" He questioned with a slight anger tone.

"No one can Sandor." You sat next to him. "He's already dead. There's not much of a difference between him and a white walker now..." You placed your hand on his thigh.

"White walkers can be killed, by dragon glass or..." He mumbled

"Fire." You looked up at him.

"Fire." He repeated quietly.

"Sandor, my love, please don't let this revenge blind you." She begged. He saw how much this hurt her. She didn't want to think he would risk the life they could have together just so he could kill a soulless body.

"It's alright love, there's nothing I want more than to be with you." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her soft skin as if sealing a promise. He didn't lie, but he lived his whole life to kill his brother, so it was a challenge to stop now.

You started to undo his thick armored vest. He watched softly as you undressed him. There was no insecurities anymore. No fears and no regrets. Both of you were finally completely raw with each other, in every sense of the way.

You finally removed all of the intricate clothes off him, he had now only his undergarments. You stood up to pull off his shirt, and as you did his hands placed themselves on your hips. He started undoing his dress while you looked at him tenderly. The thick fabric fell to the floor leaving you completely naked. He realized you had prepared to meet him.

He smirked and pulled you to sit on top of him, just like the last time in the underground of King's Landing. You kissed him passionately sliding your tongue into his mouth, grabbing the back of his neck by the hair, and touching his chest. He grabbed your ass tightly with one hand making your hips grind against his member, while his other hand cupped your breasts, massaging them softly.

He lowered his lips to your neck, licking, biting, and sucking, making you moan. You grabbed his hair tightly when he lowered himself to your breasts, sucking at your nipples, flicking his tongue, and sending shivers down your spine. You pushed him to lie in bed. You pulled out his pants revealing his throbbing member.

You looked at each other both of you drunk with lust. You climbed on top of him and laid all your body weight on him, not that it made much of a difference for him. You kissed him and his hand rested on your ass, while the other pushed your hair off your face.

"I love you." You whispered. Maybe it was the intensity of missing each other, of knowing you might die fighting against the white walkers. But both of you were craving each other like no other time before.

"I love you, Sabrina." He kissed her again.

You stopped kissing him and turned to his cock. You grabbed it and licked from the base to the tip, noticing the tip was already dripping. He grunted in pleasure. He watched as your ass was almost on his face. The pleasure of your mouth on his cock combined with the view of your ass and cunt near his face was driving him insane. He slapped and grabbed your ass, pulling your cunt to his face.

He kissed your cunt and licked your lips. His entire mouth was on your cunt. The warmth of his mouth covering your sensitive area, licking softly, putting pressure and sucking the right places was making you moan while still having his cock in your mouth. The vibration of your moans while his cock was in deep in your throat send more pleasure waves through his body, making him focus even more on licking your cunt.

He started licking with more pressure around your cunt, you started flicking your tongue harder on his tip. It was almost as if you were competing to see who could lick and suck better. You felt overwhelmed with pleasure and knew you wouldn’t last long.

“Stop!” You announced as soon as his cock left your mouth. You get off him so he wouldn’t reach your cunt anymore. He looked at you confused. You smiled to assure him it was nothing serious.

“Fuck me Sandor.” You bit your lip, you had no more control over your body, it was all about pleasure now.

He grunted and got on his knees he pulled your legs and you gasped on how quick she shoved his cock into you.

“That’s what you want? My cock inside ya?” He said gritting his teeth trying to hold back the amount of pleasure that had taken over his body.

“Yes, now fucking move.” You ordered him.

He started fucking you, it was messy and rough. The sound of his grunts were almost hidden by the loud moans coming out of his mouth.

“You sound like a fucking whore.” He grabbed and slapped your breasts.

“I’m a whore for you only.” You tried to sound sane while he pumped his cock into you. He pushed your lower belly down putting the right amount of pressure, his cock hitting the right spot inside of you. You closed your eyes and felt it coming.

“Harder” You begged.

He trusted harder, faster, and deeper. Your insides twisting and contracting against his cock. You could not avoid the feeling anymore and you let out a loud cry. He let you ride off your high and he pushed your legs up to your belly, stretching your cunt more, he liked watching his throbbing cock disappearing inside of your tight and wet cunt. He focused on your pretty cunt and look back into your lustful eyes. It was enough for him to reach his peak. His seed filled you for the second time ever. This time was the most intense one.

You lied together in bed, just looking at each other’s eyes, exchanging slow kisses and soft touches. If you were both about to face hell. You would enjoy the moments in heaven first.

An hour later both of you were getting ready to face this war. Sandor kissed your forehead.

“Stay alive, that’s an order!” You said firmly.

“Yes, My Lady.” He smiled softly.

You grabbed your pups and guided the women and children down to the crypts. Luckily, Gendry had built a type of exo skeleton armor for your dogs, with spikes made of dragon glass on the tops of the head and torso, in such a way that if the dogs charged at white walkers they would be hit by the spikes placed on their head or bodies.

It was a genius way to use the leftover dragon glass that Gendry had.

After locking the doors, you waited. Not longer later you could hear sounds outside. The entire time you prayed to the gods to protect your husband. To aid him and to end this war.

There were sounds at the door, a couple white walkers came inside. Chaos took over and you and your dogs charged onto them. You didn’t have much fighting skills, but with the dogs doing most of the work you just needed to give the final blow to the head.

They kept coming, but you kept resisting. Just one bite from your dogs was already enough to break an average healthy man’s bone. So these decomposing skeletons were a child’s play to these big pups, especially since they were protected by the exo skeleton armor.

Suddenly they all dropped dead for good. Someone had killed the Night King. You immediately ran out, calling your dogs to come find Sandor with you. You didn’t even have to leave the inside because he clearly had the same idea to look for you. You bumped into each other. Both well and alive. A miracle.

You held each other tightly and you cried in relief.

“It’s alright, you’re alright now.” He whispered to you, the same way he did the first time he said those words.

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

One More First Kiss - Chapter 3

There were a lot of instances, really, that could be considered their "first kiss."

Continuing on with my fic for @jonmartinweek! Chapter 3 features post-kidnapping hurt/comfort, and another potential first kiss. Check it out on AO3, or read below:

It was daytime when Jon stepped through Helen’s door and into the living room of Georgie’s apartment. It had probably been daytime when he’d stepped through the door in the House of Wax, but he couldn’t be sure. There were no windows where he was kept, and his own internal clock had gotten quite badly out of whack.

When he turned around, the living room wall was blank and bare again. There had never been a door there.

He supposed that was only to be expected. It wasn’t as though he’d been planning to invite Helen in for a cup of tea. But it was unnerving, being alone so suddenly after so long spent in that place, surrounded at all times by a hundred waxwork figures – most of them inanimate, some of them not. Judging by the angle of sunlight coming in through the window, it seemed to be about midday, so Georgie was almost certainly at work. Jon was alone.

He went to the kitchen and found Georgie’s charger plugged into the outlet as always. He plugged in his phone. It had been maddening, feeling the weight of it in his pocket the whole long month, feeling it buzz and buzz until its battery gave out, knowing that the means to call for help were so very, very close, if only he could get his hands free.

When his screen blinked to life, he was almost instantly bombarded with notifications – work emails, and facebook friend requests from people he hadn’t spoken to since uni, a chipper notification telling him his screen time was down from his average this week, for some strange reason. And several missed calls from Martin.

His thumb moved without any real input from his brain, swiping left to return the call. He raised the phone to his ear numbly and listened to it ring.

“Jon?” Martin asked as soon as he picked up. “Thank God, I was getting worried – Where have you been?”

“I–” Jon’s voice came out choked and hoarse. He sounded panicked. Was he panicked? He couldn’t tell quite what he was feeling, just then. “I was kidnapped.”

“Again?” Before Jon could respond, Martin quickly corrected, “Sorry, I didn’t mean– Look, where are you? Are you safe?”

“Georgie’s flat. And– A-And I’m not sure.” He’d been here – just a few feet away from this spot, in fact – when Nikola had threatened him. If she wanted him back, he doubted there was much he could do to stop her.

“Who’s Georgie?”

“An old friend. I’ve been staying with her since– since Leitner…”

“Text me the address, I’ll be right there.”

“It’s a workday,” Jon muttered helplessly. If he was more in his right mind, he wouldn’t have argued – he wanted to see Martin, desperately, needed to have him near – but his trauma-muddled mind fixated on the detail. It was the middle of the workday, Martin couldn’t just leave.

“Sod work, Jon, you’ve been kidnapped!” he sputtered. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait, don’t hang up!” Jon said. “I-I’ll text you the address, just– could you just stay on the phone with me? I don’t want to be alone, right now.”

Martin sighed into the microphone, sending a pleasant murmur of static over the line. “Sure,” he said, sounding marginally less frantic. “I can do that.”

Jon put his phone on speaker while he sent the text. It took a few tries to type it out correctly – his hands were shaking quite badly – but he managed. Martin monologued to him while he did. He seemed to catch on quickly that Jon wasn’t up for saying much, just listening, and he shouldered the burden of keeping the conversation alive with admirable smoothness. He filled Jon in on his day, what he’d missed at work, what had happened in Martin's life in the month he’d been gone.

“Mrs. Mei, my neighbor across the hall, just moved into a care home last week,” he said. “I can’t believe it – she’d been living here since the 70s, I think, I can’t even imagine this place without her…”

Eventually, the call cut out when Martin lost reception on the underground, but before it did, he assured Jon he’d be there soon.

“Google says 15 minutes,” he said. “Just hang on.”

It stretched on for an eternity. Jon’s skin was still slick with moisturizer, and crawling with the memory of being touched by cold, plastic hands.

He took out his phone again. Georgie always kept her phone off at work – she couldn’t risk it ruining the audio – but it wouldn’t hurt to leave a voicemail.

“Hello, Georgie, it’s Jon. I’m alive. I’m at the apartment right now, and if all goes well and I’m not kidnapped again, I will be when you get home. Call me back when you get a chance.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the knock on the door. (That would be easier now, he suspected – his skin felt like it had been loosened over the past month.) His instincts screamed at him to throw open the door immediately and let Martin in, but he fought them long enough to check the peephole. Now was not the time to throw caution to the wind.

Martin stood on the doorstep, anxious and alive.

Jon wrenched the door open.

“Martin!”

“Jon!” Martin’s hands were on him in an instant, roving over his shoulders, his chest, his sides – checking for injuries, or perhaps just assuring himself that Jon was real. “God, I’ve been sick with– I knew something was wrong, I should have looked for you, I should have–”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon said, though he was shaking.

Martin stepped inside and shut the door, then resumed his frantic once-over. “Did they hurt you?”

Jon shook his head. “No,” he whispered, and he was almost being honest.

“What happened?”

Jon explained, as best he could. He was calm enough at the start, or at least he thought he was – he felt oddly disconnected from himself, like his emotions were somewhere to the left of him. At the very least, his voice was level and his hands were only trembling the slightest bit. The more he spoke, though, the more real it became – that he had nearly died, and that he was alive – that he was safe now, and that he hadn’t been safe in a long, long time – and he couldn’t finish for a wave of wracking, choking sobs.

Martin pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him as though he could ward off all the dangers of the world.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered nonsensically, because he’d always hated making a scene. Martin just shushed him and squeezed him tighter.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” he murmured softly. “You’re safe.”

He pressed his lips to Jon’s temple, right at his hairline, and Jon shivered at the contact.

They stayed like that for a very long time, Jon crying into Martin’s shirt while Martin all but held him upright and whispered reassurances into his ear, until Jon finally calmed. His breathing steadied and his heart rate slowed and he found himself possessed of the strange, unsteady calm of someone who had just had a long-needed breakdown.

He didn’t bring up the kiss. He didn’t ask why Martin had kissed his forehead; he didn’t even ask him to do it again. He just straightened up, and slipped out of Martin’s arms, and whispered a hoarse, “Thank you.”

He didn’t know what else to say.

[rei-ismyname]

Ororo, late in the Genesis war, holding the Uranos Trigger like Yorick's skull, thinking about all she's seen and done after choosing to insert herself in this culture - 'Arakko doesn't have drama kids bc everyone is like that all the time. I've never felt so fucking alive. I wish everyone who made fun of my weather incantations and invocations to goddesses I'm related to could see me now. Exodus would love it here.'

Jon Ironfire, sweating bullets bc he's had the worst day of his life 3 weeks in a row + he is grieving his malewife who *entrusted him with his sword* - 'Why do you hesitate? If you're not strong enough to press the button to summon the demigod who killed half the planet like a month ago then I will!'

Ororo, waiting for Roberto to and to create suspense *WORDLESSLY FRIES THE TRIGGER TO SLAG WITH A HECTIC LIGHTING BOLT*

Roberto, nodding 'fuck yeah'

Fisher King, having constant PTSD flashbacks and overwhelmed by merging with a sentient swarm of insects plus the thousands of years of memories that come with it - stares at the giant fish and mutters incoherently.

Jon Ironfire, horrified - 'Why did you do that crazy and dramatic thing? I'm going to be rational and try to kill my malewife and his 99 ride or die soldiers by myself.'

Dick Rider (Nova) watches, appalled but trying to not be judgmental. He's grateful that he's immune to the call of Drama Kid Swag. Out of the corner of his eye he spots a plague arrow flying straight at Storm. He acts quickly and *undramatically*

Everyone is shocked but they totally get why he did it. It looked super cool. He's beyond fucked up though, and morale is low. They wonder if majoring in theatre was a useless degree, if it's incompatible with being a warrior. Silent prayers are mouthed, a sign is needed - a champion of violence and monologues. 'Magneto!' They think, but it's a forlorn hope. His heart was torn out last war, he kept himself alive using rage and dramatic timing - long enough to slay one final enemy and redefine philosophical deathbed soliloquies.

...

...

A portal opens.

The First Drama Kid. En Sabah Nerd. The ancient marriage of war and elocution. Favourite son of Space Gods. Slayer of Glee club. Cause of the Bronze Age Collapse. Having a wild act 3 face turn

[fandomficsnstuff]

The Dragon's Daughter - 21

(Warnings: Angst, angst, mentions of burning alive and being eaten by a dragon (good Raemor *pats his head softly*) and more angst and sadness. Sorry lovelies!<3)

Dothraki will be in bold

High Valyrian will be in cursive

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhaella was hesitant as she entered the chambers, her heart in her throat as she held her breath, awaiting the anger that would without a doubt meet her. She turned to Ezzo once she found her mother with the babe in her arms, a few tears in Rhaella’s eyes that she tried to hide “wait outside” she ordered and he nodded and bowed his head, leaving, Rhaella turning to her mother again who dismissed everyone in the room, Ezzo closing the doors behind him once everyone was out. Rhaella stepped a small step closer to her as she sat there in the loveseat, a pillow at her back and the child in her arms, dark curls at the crown of his head. “Mother… I-” Rhaella cut herself off, voice shaky as she felt tears build up in her eyes, awaiting her mother’s wrath, but all she got was a soft smile “come, sit” she offered and Rhaella hesitantly approached. “I thought-... I thought you’d be angry with me” Rhaella admitted as she sat down next to her mother, glancing hesitantly at the boy in her arms. “I’m not angry, my night’s sky.”

“Sad?”

“No.”

“...Wrathful?”

“Never to you.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not once have I ever been disappointed with you” Daenerys answered honestly with a soft smile before looking down at the boy in her arms. “Jon and I are not quite certain of a name… we’ve talked about a few, of course, but none seem to fit…” she admitted, gently rocking the sleeping babe. “He’s so… small” Rhaella mumbled and Daenerys chuckled “you were this small once, too… small and perfect” Daenerys hummed before turning to her daughter again “would you like to hold him?”

“I-I-... what if I drop him?!”

“You won’t” Daenerys assured, already handing her the baby boy and Rhaella nervously accepted him, staring down at him, his black curls, eyelashes softly resting on his chubby white cheeks as he slept. “He’s so… quiet… I thought babies were supposed to-... be noisy… is he alright?”

“He is just fine. And you were this quiet too, once you were in my arms after I woke up” she admitted and Rhaella smiled softly at her mother. “So… a name… Jon and I are uncertain…”

“What names have you picked out?”

“There are of course Baelor, Aemon, Darion… Aegon…” Daenerys admitted, noticing how Rhaella stiffened a little at the last one, “but Aegon was the one Jon was the least fond of, can’t say that I disagree” she added and Rhaella eased up a little, continuing to look down at the small babe “what about… Daron?” Rhaella asked after a while, looking up at her mother who smiled fondly at her “Daron” she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue, her smile growing even bigger “I like it…”

“As do I” a voice suddenly spoke, both of them turning to see Jon who had sneaked into the chambers, not wanting to disturb the mother and daughter. Jon approached and Rhaella seemed almost just as horrified as she had been when she’d first entered the chambers, yet Jon’s smile kept her at ease. He approached and kneeled down in front of Rhaella, smiling at the baby boy in her arms before looking up at her “it’s good to see you, Your Grace” he spoke softly and Rhaella seemed much less horrified, her breath hitching and she smiled, relief flooding her and it could be seen in her eyes. “I’m hosting a tournament, in Daron’s name” she suddenly revealed, turning to look at her mother with a grin “it’ll be-... w-well it won’t be now, but it will be when you are able to-... be around others again… and with Daron, if you want. It’s in his name, after all” she stated, now seemingly so much happier and Jon smiled at Daenerys at the sight of Rhaella’s joy. “I’ve asked Tyrion to speak with Grand Maester Ricardo about when you’ll be able to-... do-… activities with Daron, it will only be hosted then” she stated more firmly and with a hint of stubborn pride that conveyed that nothing could change her mind on that. Rhaella looked back at Daron with fondness. Until he began to squeal and cry, neither Daenerys nor Jon had ever seen her golden eyes grow so wide, a deep frown forming on her brows and she stared at the child in utter panic, turning to her mother, hoping she’d at the very least relieve her of the screaming child. “Uh… Mother, he’s-”

“Let me” Jon stated, gently taking the babe, rocking him and soon he calmed down, Rhaella still looking horrified as she watched her step-father rock her brother back to sleep. “I-... should get on with my day” she muttered, forcing a smile and Daenerys chuckled at how put-off her daughter had been when she heard her brother cry, as babies usually do. “Good day, Your Grace” Ser Brienne greeted when she walked outside of the chambers, Rhaella nodding nervously, standing there like stone until she cleared her throat “he, uh… began to cry… Daron, I mean, not Father, of course-”

“Daron, Your Grace?”

“Yes… my brother” she stated with a hint of pride, her nerves all but gone now and Brienne smirked “a fine name, Your Grace. Should I remain here at your mother’s side?”

“No, not if you do not wish to. I’ve missed your looming presence- I mean no offence, of course!”

“None taken, Your Grace” Brienne answered with a sincere smile and Rhaella nodded, letting out a breathy sigh as she continued down the hallways to her own chambers, work waited for no one, not even the Dragon Queen.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhaella was quiet as she stood with Raemor behind her, looming over her like a shadow, an aspect of her, an extension. Both watched coldly as Tyres was dragged before the pair of them, Rhaella holding her head a little higher, the crown sitting perfectly on her head, all eyes on her and her dragon as Tyres was forced to the ground in front of the Queen. At her side stood Ezzo and Ser Brienne, Jon standing a little further back, having insisted on joining her. Not because he looked forward to seeing someone burning alive but because he knew that despite her regal facade, this weighed heavily on the new Queen. She did not take this lightly.

“Tyres Westford, you have been charged with attempted murder and assault. You have demanded a trial by combat, and a trial you shall have” she stated casually and coldly, stepping aside after gesturing to him, Rhaella moving to stand next to her dragon instead, still a little in front of it yet not between the two. Tyres’ chains were suddenly unlocked and he was forced to stand, being pushed a little further away from the Queen and her dragon, a sword and shield being thrust into his hands and Rhaella turned away, moving to the side where she stood, a cold look in her eyes as she turned to Tyres. She raised a brow at him, almost as though challenging him, and Tyres studied the large dragon nervously “Your Grace, I-... I’m sorry, please, forgive me! I beg of you, please show me mercy!”

“I have shown you mercy more times than you deserve. You demanded a trial by combat, if the Gods deem you innocent, then you will win” she stated coldly, Raemor growling lightly at him, hot air drifting from his nostrils as he watched the poor man with malice. Tyres hesitated before charging at the dragon, the dragon immediately opening it’s mouth, fire spewing forth from it’s lips, the entire courtyard echoing with the piercing screams of the man burning alive, Rhaella watching him flail about in agony before dropping dead, Raemor turning to glance at her and she nodded subtly, Raemor growling, letting out a brief roar before beginning to tear Tyres apart, not even waiting for the flames to die out. She had promised him that he’d tear Tyres apart, back when he’d first wounded her, and she wouldn’t break her promises, especially not to her dragon, her twin. Once nothing but blood and ashes were left of Tyres, Rhaella walked over to her dragon, reaching up and placing a hand on his bloody snout, feeling his entire body rumble as he purred quietly, eyes closing briefly before opening to look at her once more. “Thank you, for being my champion” she whispered before dropping her hand, looking down at the blood that now covered it, a strange feeling settling in her gut. The last time she had blood on her hands, it had been her own and because of the man her dragon had just eaten. Quite the fitting end, if anyone asked her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The entire Keep was in a bustle, the day of the tournament for Daron Targaryen had arrived, only a fortnight after Tyres’ execution, knights and nobles from all over had been invited, carrying gifts of all kinds for the young lordling to welcome him into the world. The site for the tournament had been set and Daenerys was currently being guided up to the Royal box with it’s view cast out over the jousting range, Daron in her arms as Jon helped her up the steps, guiding her to the chairs next to the throne the Queen would sit in. The Queen who was nowhere to be seen, apparently. Daenerys sat down closest to the throne with Jon on her other side, both of them looking around for the Queen. The galleries and viewing boxes were all full, the knights waiting, the horses armoured and prepared. The only thing missing was the Queen, Ser Brienne, Ezzo and her hand. Grand Maester Ricardo and Maester Sam were there, the other Queensgarde posted around the Royal Box, hands on their swords, as was their duty.

Suddenly, trumpets began to play and everyone stood up, even Daenerys with Daron in her arms, turning to the entrance of the box to see Rhaella appear. She was dressed in a brilliant red dress, off the shoulders and with a sweetheart neckline, gold trimmed along the edges of the dress and it’s long sleeves, around the edge of her skirts, a dragon embroidered in gold trailing up her dress from the bottom, almost as though it was twisting itself around her, wrapping and cloaking her, keeping her under it’s embrace. Her hair was pulled up in intricate ways, yet not a single braid was there, the hair turned and twisted around itself, pulled up, wrapped around something, but not a single braid was visible. “I present; Rhaella Targaryen, first of her name, the White Dragon of the Great Grass Sea and the Khalasaar, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Westeros, Queen of Dragons, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Ruler of Westeros and protector of the Realm” Ser Brienne announced loudly, Rhaella taking in all of the people before picking up the front of her intricate gown, walking down the steps and to her post, Ser Brienne staying put by the entrance, Tyrion following after Rhaella and Falia stayed by the entrance as well, Tyrion moving to stand in front of the seat to the left of the throne. Rhaella looked out over everyone before deciding to speak up, making sure that everyone heard her, even those in the box across from them and the jousting lanes. “Today, we celebrate the birth of my brother, Daron Targaryen, and the strength of the woman who brought him into the world. May my brother live a long and prosperous life! Let the games begin!!” she shouted and clapped her hands once, people cheering loudly and with excitement, knights and squires getting into place, horses being brought forth, spare lances held at the ready and Rhaella sat down in her seat, everyone else following, chatter filling the air and Rhaella watched the smiles on everyone’s faces with a gloomy look on her face.

“My night’s sky?” Daenerys asked softly, Rhaella forcing a smile as she turned to her mother, Daenerys frowning at her “what is it?”

“Nothing, mother, everything is fine-”

“It’s not. I can see it on your face…” she whispered and gently rocked Daron, Rhaella’s eyes moving to the sweet, innocent boy in her arms. “I’m merely lamenting the fact that my first tournament will also be my last” she admitted quietly before looking ahead, Daenerys glancing at Tyrion from across Rhaella, Tyrion giving her a remorseful look and a subtle shrug. What would he tell the Queen that she had not already been told before? She was steadfast in her belief that the Realm would always want a man on the throne, that she was doomed to be cast aside in favour of her half-brother, so why not try to embrace it with a smile, instead of bitterness and anger? She was wise to try and be accepting, should her fears be true. But they weren’t. The Realm adored her, many beginning to believe that it should always be a Targaryen Queen on the throne, the commoners whispering amongst themselves that they’d never had such a peaceful reign as they have under Queen Daenerys and Queen Rhaella.

As the jousting and games continued, knights and noblemen asking favours of either her or her mother, which were granted with smiles, true or false, Rhaella seemed to drown further in her pit of despair, a pleasant smile on her lips whenever her favour was asked of her, small woven crowns of flowers, twigs and ribbons being passed down onto the lances. Daenerys felt powerless. All she could do was watch her daughter’s misery unfold, her precious daughter, her beloved child, her first born, her white dragon… and her white dragon was miserable, this entire event a reminder that to her, she’d soon be deposed, soon people would start to wish for Daron to take the throne when he comes of age. Daron appeared to be a normal, healthy baby boy, he had his father’s dark hair and his mother’s lilac eyes. But he had no scales, no dragon eyes, no bond with a dragon yet, the egg in his crib still not having hatched. Jon felt just as powerless. Rhaella might not have been his blood, but she was his daughter. She’d called him her father the second he’d married Daenerys, she’d supported him, confided in him, treated him as if he was her real father, yet the birth of his own son, his flesh and blood, caused so much distress to the young woman he cared so much for. He knew she couldn’t help it, they all knew that, and they knew she wished no ill will towards the baby boy, or his parents, the current tournament being proof of this, but it pained her all the same.

“Your Grace, I have heard from the harbour masters that the ship from the Shadow Lands should arrive soon, within the next tenday. I have a feeling that they’ll contain even more eggs-”

“It will be the last ship” she interrupted quietly, turning to look at her hand with a small frown “eggs or no eggs, there will be no more voyages to Ashai, Valyria, anywhere. Too many women have been made widows, too many children have lost their parents. No more” she degreed softly, Tyrion watching her with a small sigh “dragons are your sigil, Your Grace-”

“That does not make me their owner” she interrupted again gently shaking her head “we have dragons already. I have a feeling that my brother’s egg may soon hatch, soon he will have a dragon” she stated softly, forcing a smile as though the idea made her happy. “Your Grace… you don’t need to do all of this, you don’t need to pretend-”

“Pretending is better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“That my brother’s birth has triggered my own inevitable demise” she admitted in a whisper without even needing to think about it, Tyrion frowning even more at her “I-... Your Grace, that’s not true. The commoners-”

“I heard what some of the newly arrived nobles called my brother, they called him ‘Prince Daron’, as though he is to ascend the throne. Everyone expects him to.”

“Your Grace, those are treasonous words, if you’d only point them out-”

“Having an opinion is not treason, Lord Tyrion” Rhaella argued with a faint smile, as though it didn’t bother her one bit what people said, even though it was a lie and they both knew it. “An attempt on my life, that is treason. Planning to overthrow me or dethrone me, that is treason. Wishing for my crown to pass to my brother is not” she explained further, turning to look over her shoulder, her eyes landing on Ezzo and she gave him a faint, forced smile, the Dothraki Screamer, giving her a genuine smile in return, and it made her own smile a little more genuine as well. Tyrion turned to look at who managed to make the Queen smile, his eyes catching the Dothraki Screamer, who’s smile instantly vanished when the Queen turned away and he saw Tyrion staring. And more importantly that Lord Tyrion had noticed the change that smile brought out in the Queen.

Tyrion looked ahead again, his eyes moving to the Queen next to him out of the corner of his eyes, finding her smile gone once again and he had to admit, it pained him to see it gone so soon. She was a good Queen, and an even better person, hosting a grand tournament for her newborn brother despite thinking that he would dethrone her when he came of age, if not before that. Yet she hosted the tournament, glorified the birth of her brother and the hard work her mother had to do to bring him into the world, wordlessly announcing her adoration and love for her new family member. He didn’t doubt that she loved him in some way, he knew she did, if nothing else then at least because he was her mother’s son, but her fears ruled her, gripping her heart in a vice grip that was close to shattering it as she was forced to sit through the tournament as though it pleased her. In a way, he was proud of her for doing so, for not hating her brother. Her fear may have ruled her, but it was obvious that she would not let it rule him, not her brother.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me - a Magnus Archives AU, Chapter Five

This is a DARK AU; it is not a kid-fic, though Jon is young. Bittersweet ending ahead.

Spoilers for the whole show, though this is very much an alternate universe.

Something truly new was coming this way—new to Jon, new in a way that frightened him, and he was so unused to being scared that it took the breath right from his lungs.

It approached, this thing, like a storm, like the tide, and everyone else in the room turned and bowed toward the door as if they were puppets on a single string.

AO3

Art by @iiiumihottie

Jon thought the carriage was amazing. He ran his fingertips over the dark red lacquer, stared with wide-eyed wonder at the gilded framework depicting battles and ocean waves and indistinct kings, studied the patterned seat fabric, which was unlike any fabric he’d yet encountered.

Martin kept checking around them. The next wave of Fingers weren’t close yet, so they should be okay.

“So you’re saying the date has to wait,” Mike said.

Martin gave him a look of such exasperation that Jon decided, on the spot, that he liked them both. 

Before Martin could answer, Jon said, “What’s it like being a vampire?”

Martin and Mike both stared at him.

“How… did you know that I am?” said Martin.

Jon blinked. “I mean. Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?” said Martin. He looked at Mike for confirmation.

Mike shrugs. “Not really, no.”

“Oh.” So he’d said a weird thing. The yelling would come next. Jon dropped his gaze.

But Martin didn’t yell. “You can actually see that?” he said, light and chipper and not at all accusing, and Jon risked a single glance up. 

Huh. No yelling seemed to be forthcoming “Yes.”

“What does that look like?”

In Jon’s entire fourteen years, no one had ever asked him that question. “I see red inside of you,” he began at once, leaning forward. “I see it like mist, just beneath your skin, but mostly from the side, not exactly if I look dead on. It’s a little like the purple storms that come sometimes, stealing life the moment they rain, but nobody else can see those, apparently, so I don’t know if you can, or if you know what they look like.”

“Purple,” Martin began, but Jon couldn’t stop now. 

“I look at you, and I can see hunger, and feel hunger, and I can tell it’s for blood, and I’ve read books, and I know there haven’t been vampires like you since the First Iteration, but here you are, and that means you’re either very old or very young, because the Will of the End decided the new vampires were no good and got rid of them, though I certainly don’t know why, so either you somehow survived that ‘cleansing,’ or somebody made you new, and that’s just baffling because why would the Will of the End have left you alive so long, anyway? And also, what is it like to drink blood?”

Mike started laughing. 

What was with this kid? “You see all that, do you?” said Martin.

“Yes,” said Jon, half hyper, half terrified. Any moment now, he’d be told to shut up. “So what’s it like?”

“Hungry,” said Martin, answering softly. “All the time. It means very patient friends who… help.”

“They let you have their blood,” Jon said.

“I want it to stay personal so it doesn't turn... wrong,” said Martin quietly, and redirected, tilting his head toward Mike. “What do you see when you look at him?”

“Whoa, now,” said Mike.

“You laugh, you’re part of the show,” Martin said primly.

Mike stuck his tongue out at him.

Jon looked. Jon shivered. “Tall jagged mountains, dark brown and spattered with white. I don’t know where they are,” he whispered. “Cold and sharp like knives. So far away you can’t make out the details. I think they’re enormous. The wind is so loud that it feels like your ears are bleeding.”

They all stared at one another.

“Eye?” suggested Mike again.

“Then why can’t we see him clearly?” said Martin.

“I’m not Aligned,” said Jon. “It never happened.”

“That really isn’t possible,” said Martin.

Mike nodded. “Looking right at you, I can see you… sort of. But if I turn my head away, I don’t—and I almost forget you’re there. It’s weird.”

“I think that's why nobody came,” said Jon. “When I turned ten.”

Martin sighed. “Maybe we’ll find out.”

“Bet your friend Sasha could make out a thing or two,” said Mike.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Who’s Sasha?”

“Works for the Heart of the End with me. She’s a natural philosopher.”

Ooh! One of those people who did experiments and discovered things. “So what does she do? Test things with fire and acid and such? Hey—is the Will of the End separate from the Heart? The books sometimes speculated Jonah Magnus was both.”

“Where did you read that? No, they’re two people,” said Martin. “Oliver Banks is the Will of the End.”

“How does that work?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it was all set up.” Martin checked out the window again, visibly nervous.

“Should… should we just let them get me?” said Jon. “The empty things were coming for me, after all.”

“The Fingers?” said Mike.

“Yes. Hey, why are they called Fingers? They have full bodies.”

“Because… well, I suppose because they reach out and grab whatever the Will of the End wants,” said Martin.

“Oh,” said Jon. “That’s more boring than I’d hoped.”

“What did you hope?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jon. “Maybe they all came together like clay and made a huge, single hand. That’d be pretty frightening, right?” he said, demonstrating with his hands an approximation of clay being mushed together.

“I like this kid,” said Mike, and Jon reddened.

The carriage angled suddenly, front end tilting so Jon was pressed back into his seat. He gasped. “Are we falling?”

“Oh—no, we’re on the path,” said Martin.

Jon stared at him. “What’s that?”

“Ever made it to the far end of London?”

“No, I… it felt like I shouldn’t.” His past self had said to stay away from this side of the city, so he had.

Martin wrestled with the window, which opened with a squeak. “Take a look.”

Jon carefully stuck his head through. At first glance, they seemed to be floating. All around them was a precipitous drop, terrible all the way down to white, foaming ocean. Jon, of course, leaned right out the window to see more.

Martin grabbed the back of his jacket, discovered its structural integrity was suspect, and held his arm instead.

Jon gave him a panicked look.

“Just so you can look without falling,” Martin says. “It’s all right. Go on.”

Permission to see?

Permission to see! Jon never got permission to see. He leaned back out the window.

The cab (and dead horse) trotted along a gently curving path that rose from the ocean like a wall, and it was so narrow that the wheels skirted right along the edge. There was no room for error; there was no room for another carriage. Fascinated, Jon looked back at London.

He had never imagined anything like it. Books did a fair job of describing things, but they were nothing like sight. London sprawled. It smoked like one big chimney. People like ants crawled all over its streets, and carriages of various sizes and wealth reflected sunlight like knives. It was gloriously ugly; uneven, asymmetrical, an absolute mess of housing and occasional manors.

And Jon realized with a shock that he could not tell where his home had been.

He had no reference point. There were many alleys, many row houses like he’d seen from his windows, many old, out-of-date buildings looming between the newer builds. The place he’d grown up was… lost to him. He hadn’t liked it, but still. This was a very, very weird feeling.

(And a familiar one. You can never go home again came to him from his past self, which he didn’t understand, but felt hollow and powerful and true.)

Martin tapped his shoulder. “Look the other way,” he said.

So. That might have been the reason his gut said to stay away, because once he'd got an eyeful of this place, he wouldn’t have been able to. 

This palace—fortress?—seemed to rise from rock thrust up from the sea, and it was a strange, black stone laced with purple chunks and purple branches, castellated and columned. Its edges matched the edges of the foundational rock on which it sat, and so its shape was odd; it had so many windows (and so many floors) that Jon was overwhelmed, forgetting how to count, and had to crane his neck to look up, up, up at the tallest, narrow tower, which rose so high in the air that its top seemed to narrow to a point.

“It’s something, right?” said Martin.

Jon didn’t want to come back into the carriage, but if he didn’t, he couldn’t ask questions. He compromised by pulling partway in before speaking. “It seems… large?”

Mike snorted.

“It is,” said Martin.

“Why is it so large?”

“The Heart of the End likes fancy things,” said Martin.

Well, it seemed fancy. “When was it built? How?”

“That’s before my time, I’m afraid,” said Martin.

“So you’re a young vampire,” said Jon.

Martin smiled. “I’m not that young—been doing this for over a century. Not entirely sure how long—lost a couple of years there, after my change.” 

“It’s called the transformation, ” Jon informed him primly. 

Mike snorted again.

“Be nice,” said Martin said to him. “I’m the only vampire right now, and the Heart called it the change.”

Jon looked betrayed. “He changed the name?”

Don’t laugh, Martin told himself. “He did.”

“I don’t like it when they change the names of things,” said Jon, his voice cracking. “Then nobody knows anything.”

“Probably half the reason he does it,” Martin muttered.

“Don’t need to know anything, though, do you?” says Mike. “It doesn’t really matter.”

And fuck, did the carriage get cold, and huge, though nothing had changed, and no one had moved, but suddenly they were so far away from each other that they could not see one another’s faces. Martin gasped. The irrelevance hit him in the chest, like it always did. They’d fucked like this, a couple of times, and it had its pros—all about pure sensation, no sense of self—but he didn’t honestly enjoy forgetting who he was or why it mattered.

It didn’t affect Jon that way. It didn’t affect Jon at all. “But it does matter!” Jon shouted, not angrily, but just because everyone was far.

“Mike, please!” Martin gasped, his voice sounding distant and tinny and tinny.

Jon looked around. “This is so weird!” he shouted, then winced at his own volume.

Mike frowned, and suddenly the carriage was normal. “He’s Eye,” he said. “Can’t mark him for the Vast.”

“He’s not marked by the Eye, either, according to Annabelle.” Martin was shivering. “Warn a guy, would you?”

“Sorry. But he should’ve been marked.”

“By all means, take it up with the disembodied eyeball.” Martin said, and rubbed his face as the carriage finally came to a halt. “Thank the grave, we’re here,” he muttered, hopped out, and held the door for Jon. 

Jon looked fine. He hopped down, nearly lost his footing, and leaned into Martin’s grab. 

This boy was skin and bone. “When did you last eat something?” said Martin.

“Yesterday,” said Jon. “I’m not hungry right now.”

Martin sighed. “Sure. Come on. It’s time to meet my natural philosopher friend.”

“Sasha.”

“That’s right.”

Mike followed.

“You sure?” said Martin to him, over his shoulder.

“Just because they don’t ring your bell like I do,” said Mike, left it at that, and followed.

#

Jon tried to see everything as they went inside; to note the pillars and archways, to wonder at the windows so high nothing could see through them, to ponder at the dark shadows left and right. So many doors, so many pathways. The floor hid some kind of shiny pattern in polished, dark stone; his boots, still soaked from his dunk in the sea, slipped on it more than a little. But then they turned away from this main, broad foyer, and through one of the arched and pointed doors.

It was a hall. Lined with more doors, and only a stone flag floor instead of shiny patterned black. This was a far less intimidating area.

Still. The weight of this enormous structure seemed to press down on him, and Jon hunched. “I’m sorry, I’m making a mess,” he said.

“It’s okay. Someone will clean it up. Come on.” Martin sounded like he meant it.

“Hey,” Jon said. “Are you nice because you’re a vampire?”

Martin blinked at him, pausing with his hand on yet another door. “What?”

“You’re nicer than anyone I’ve met,” said Jon. “The only factor not shared by others is that you’re a vampire. So. Does that make you nice?”

“Uh… I think being nice makes you nice?” said Martin, who had absolutely no idea where to go with this.

Jon looked dissatisfied. “That’s like saying fire burns because it’s hot.”

Martin took another turn. “All right, well,” he said. “I think being kind—which is more important than nice—is a choice.”

“Why is it more important?”

What was with this kid? “Nice is fake. It’s being polite when you don’t actually mean it, and not bothering when it costs you anything. Being kind is better. It means you don’t get anything out of it, and you’re choosing to do the right thing to others whether or not it hurts you.”

Jon suddenly felt off. “Is being kind to me hurting you?”

“What? No, no, it… I mean, it doesn’t always hurt.”

“Oh.” But something did. Jon knew. Martin’s kindness to him was dangerous to Martin, or… or…

He couldn’t hold onto that answer, and it was gone. He sighed.

“You’ve really never met anybody who’s just even nice to you?” said Martin.

“No.” Jon was quiet. 

Martin took that in. “I’m sorry. People should’ve been,” he said, and opened another door.

It was a dark room, very dark, with a single table under bright white light and two silhouettes of people.

“Marto!” said a man. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I have a conundrum,” said Martin.

“And so you bring your problems to me, as always,” said a woman with cheer, and stepped out of the gloom. She was pretty; her kinky hair was thick and pulled back in a bun. She was dressed in an odd white uniform, a long coat with too many buttons to be decorative, and on her head was some kind of bizarre contraption of brass and glass and limbs to move the lenses around. “Ugh. You could’ve just said it was him.”

“Yo,” said Mike over Martin’s shoulder.

“What? No, it’s this kid,” said Martin.

Both people startled.

“What… what the fuck is that?” said the man, coming forward into the light. 

Jon knew him. Knew Sasha, too. He was beginning to get a feeling about all of this regarding his past self. 

This man wore a positively indecent white shirt that didn’t even have buttons and just closed in a vee under the red sash around his waist. His black pants were so tight that Jon could see far too much; his earrings sparkled (and didn’t match, but that was somehow better). His lips had to be artificially pink, and so did the blue shading around his brown eyes; dark hair, tanned skin, and a grin that made Jon want to grin back all felt like something he knew like the back of his hand, though he had definitely never met this man before. 

“This is Jon. So it’s hard to see him,” said Martin.

“Yeah, can see that. Why?” said the man.

“I can’t tell what I’m…” said the woman, who had to be Sasha, and bent down a little to make eye-contact. “You’re alive, right?”

“I think so,” said Jon. “If not, I’m annoyed that I still get hungry and need sleep.”

“A valid point.” She smiled. “I’m Sasha.”

“I know. Martin told me.”

“Did he, now?” she said, glancing over his head at Martin.

The man (Jon almost had his name) leaned in, peering. “What happened to you? You look like a wet cat.”

Martin sighed. “Kind of a lot? I had to fight Fingers.”

“Oh, nasty,” said the man with relish.

Sasha frowned, eyeing Jon’s clothes with clinical precision. “Underfed,” she said, leaning in. Her eye through that single goggle was enormous. “And you are Uncertain. I don’t know how, but you are.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m fourteen, Ms. James.”

“Tim, can you get some clothes for them both?” said Sasha. “Jon, you can use my chemical burn shower. Martin, use the one in my room. You both need it fairly badly.”

“Sorry,” said Martin.

“Can I watch?” said Mike.

“Not helping,” Martin muttered at him.

Tim grinned and opened his mouth to say something, and then he froze.

They all froze.

Something truly new was coming this way—new to Jon, new in a way that frightened him, and he was so unused to being scared that it took the breath right from his lungs.

It approached, this thing, like a storm, like the tide, and everyone else in the room turned and bowed toward the door as if they were puppets on a single string.

Jon panicked. Should he hide? What should he do?

Steady, said that self, that past, that source of Answers, telling him to brace, to be still, to be smart.

Jon tried to calm his mind, but couldn’t help holding his breath.

chapter six

[brienneevenstar]

You know, seeing as Sansa isn't the heir to Winterfell (two legitimate brothers alive, disinherited in favour of Jon, a sister who was presumed dead but never disinherited also still alive) what Sansa can do is go to Tarth to serve Brienne as her lady in waiting. Brienne can save Sansa's life, and in gratitude for Brienne's struggles, Sansa can pledge her service to Brienne and join her household on Tarth. Because, you know, Sansa will owe Brienne, and Brienne is the one who is going to inherit.

i still don’t understand why stansas were offended by my lady-in-waiting post 😇 they kept banging on about how lady-in-waiting was a super duper important role in medieval society, so why was it so bad for sansa to be a lady-in-waiting to dany or brienne 🤔

[shoggoth-the-bitch]

The Eye Opens

A name like that, I'm not sure how I feel about where this episode is going... last episode of the season, let's have it.

Where are they then? Scotland, apparently?

Did the hunters and Not-Sasha kill everyone in institute? That's rough buddy.

So they really are just hanging out in a little town in Scotland?

I don't trust the fact that you specified the tapes. Why did you do that Jon? What's on the tapes? Scratch that, don't listen to the tapes.

Wait, I saw memes about "good cows." I understand another meme!

Waht?! I misspelled that but I'm upset! Oh, this is a bad thing!

Jon, you need to try a little harder to fight this... or not, I guess.

Jonah, you are SUCH a tool.

Smirke really did ruin everything by getting other people involved in this garbage... apparently all of Smirke's rituals were innately flawed. Sounds about right.

Gertrude is, as ever, a scary bitch and I can't help but love and respect her for this... Wait, the Desolation killed her cat? They used to say Gertrude doesn't make jokes but I doubt that more and more.

Nah, no one quite like Gertrude, I think.

Hm... interesting. I can see this, I guess.

EXCUSE ME?! Jonah! Jonah, don't you DARE! God dammit.

Okay! I actually realized something like this ages ago! I don't know if I ever said it in a post but I remember thinking how interesting it was that the characters kept getting scares and marks and just in general kept changing through out the series and thinking about how this series probably wouldn't work as well if it was a visual medium. Because visual mediums are often so married to character models. I also remember thinking something to the effect of "all the fears are gonna take a stab at Jon before this series is over at this point," and I guess I was right?

Well damn. This sucks! Jon, hon, I'm so sad for you!

Jonah, you bastard! I hate you SO much! The worst! The absolute worst!

THAT'S why he hired Melanie? Pure evil, sir. Pure evil! That woman gouged her eyes out over this!

God dammit! I knew going to Jared was a DUMB idea! Jon! Why?! Lost two ribs and helped this man's evil plan become a reality. I love you Jon but early to mid season four you was an absolute fool.

Don't bring up Martin! Leave the man out of this!

Oh god, no! What's about to happen?

Okay then. That sure did happen!

Oh good, Martin is at least alive and with you for the end of the world.

Jon, buddy, you laughing there or crying? I guess it doesn't really matter, huh?

Well... just 40 more episodes. This can only end well, I'm sure. T_T

[fishchomp]

you're money, baby. you're money.

dreams are a sort of sacred place. but last night you appeared and you read all of my journals (ones that don't even exist in realife, secrets that i would be too embarrassed to admit) and you laughed and i was there to watch but you never spoke to me, you just laughed. sonow im scared to see what tonight may bring. we watched that movie swingers last night, and now we've seen 6% of all of vincevaughns movies even though it feels like we've already seen a lot of them. jon favreau ran from new york to LA because his exgirlfriend found someone new and he was sosad even though he was that one who left her, and he was so sad that its all he could think about. all he did was wait for her to call, but she never did.and vince vaughn kept saying no, youre money baby, youre money. but he wouldn't listen. but then he met this lady named lorraine and they went swing dancing (which i guess is where the title comesfrom) and then his ex girlfriend calls him but he hangs up on her because lorraine is on the other line. i guess the only cure to heartbreak is a girl who can swing dance. i think things are getting distant again, but its not myfault.it actually never is, because im not the one that's going away (except i also am). im going to keep trying, ill never stop trying, but i dont know if its because i love you or because im building a case against you. i watched a bunch of grown men fight in my text messages yesterday and i waited six days to open a text because i was soscared of what it said but then it just said things like "its okay" and "i understand". well, pain is just another thing to feel. love is just another thing to feel. nothing real is really real. you feel? i slept on the amtrak twice this week. its a very [vulnerable / humiliating]* experience. and its honestly not even a pretty view. a 20 year old kid gave me an edible and i took myself dancing and i bought myself a new york strip steak and i scoffed when they asked for my ID, because don't you know who i am on the inside? my grandfather brings people to the bar he built in his basement and he has them sign the walls and many of those peoplearen't alive anymore, and some of them weren't even that old. i wonder what will happen to the walls in that house one day. we've gotta do karaoke. we've gotta goto that 70s themed club with the rainbow dance floor in the west loop.we've gotta keep eating out even when we shouldn't and we've gotta visit each other again soon and we've gotta keep saying yes even when we're tired. we simply gotta. in the war on celebrities, julian is going first, by the way. *though i guess vulnerability and humility are the exact same thing in a way. you cannot truly be exposed to the world without feeling so uncharacteristically shy. one day i wont even care what [you / anyone] thinks. "where do we go from here, i’ll say, youre a shining star, you'll do great in LA, and i keep fixing every habit that i break"