#Jon was just a person who tried and sometimes failed

[jewishjon]

Look, I love Jon as much as the next person but I think some of you have gone so far along the ‘Jon is a sad little man who did nothing wrong’ route that you’ve genuinely forgotten all the times he held power in a situation or like. Made a decision that hurt people

[spider-jaysart]

Okay soooo, first time I'm doing something like this, but I wanna introduce a fave oc of mines today that I've been working on for a longtime now :)

Her name is Nadja Al Ghul-Wayne-Kent and she's a Damijon kid

(Click for better quality)

@camo-wolf @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65

The name Nadja means "hope" in Arabic. My very dear friend @theredheaded-stuff was the one who helped me pick it. And her hero name is Super Canyon, which is inspired by the Canyon Wren bird

(More under the cut)

(Edited some stuff on this post now btw)

Backstory:

After being inspired by the story of how Kon was created, a secret group of no good scientists, who just love causing chaos with many of their inventions, decided one day to create a mixed clone of both Damian and Jon, thinking they can do better than Lex did, so they collected both of the boys DNA's after one of their recent battles in public and got to work. Once their experiment was supposed to be done, they saw that their machine had actually created a baby girl instead of a grown, powerful clone like they had wanted, so they were ready to dispose of her as a failed subject, but were suddenly stopped just on time by Damian and Jon who broke into the place and kicked their butts after finding out that a recently committed crime they were investigating was caused by them. When they were done, the boys found Nadja and were surprised to find out she's a clone related to them both. They decided to take her with them and made her their daughter to raise together after that.

Personality:

She's helpful, stubborn, is as intelligent as Damian is, friendly but also tough when she needs to be, observant, sometimes a little too honest about things but doesn't always mean it as rude, courageous (a trait that can be pretty helpful sometimes, but also get her into really big trouble during dangerous situations too), a prankster, and very protective of others, especially her loved ones

Abilities and skills:

She has the usual Kryptonian abilities, which are flying, super strength, superhearing, superspeed, superbreath, ice breath, invulnerablity, x-ray vision, and laser vision that's purple instead of the usual red (because Lois has purple eyes, so it's something unique that was passed onto her that way). Sometimes they don't always work though and can accidentally get out of hand too since she's still growing and learning, but Jon aways tries his best to help her get better at using and controlling them. Nadja also uses many concentrating tips from Damian too for improvement, like meditating for example and other things like that, and he helps her practice them

And because she's half Kryptonian, she also has a couple of unlocked special abilities of her own too, which is invisiblity, the ability to phase through walls and objects, plus the power to also transfer the heat of her laser vision into the palm of her hands to burn who or whatever she touches and she can also let it absorb her whole body too if she wants, which makes her even more untouchable and at the same time lets her release a strong fiery blast around herself onto enemies or incoming threats (her body glows completely purple whenever she does this and if it's just her hands, the same happens to them too). Nadja hasn't been able to properly master these special powers yet though, only one of them, which is the invisiblity one

For skills, thanks to teachings from Damian, plus Talia whenever she visits her, Nadja knows how to use a sword and fight well in combat in case her powers aren't working the way she urgently needs them to during patrols and missions

Random facts:

She calls Damian Baba and Jon Dad.

She calls Clark "Grampops" and Bruce "Grampbats". For Talia, she calls her "Grandmother" and for Lois, she calls her "Grandmama".

Her best friend is her same age Cousin Dick II, the Son of her much older Cousin Jake Grayson and his Wife Meredith Robinson. In the Batfamily (besides Damian), she's close with all her Aunt and Uncles. And for the Al Ghul's, she also gets excited whenever she visits Talia and Ra's. And while she definitely also gets along a lot with her other relatives who are in the Superfamily, the person she's most closest to there (besides Jon ofc) is Kon, due to them both being created as clones meant for evil but turned out good instead, which got them to bond even more as Uncle and Niece.

Her voice sounds like Clementine's from Telltales the walking dead games, but specifically the version of it from season 2 for the tween age she's in right now.

She has messy hair like Jon when she lets it loose. Jon is the one who always has to brush her hair whenever it gets tangled up, since the steel strength of it is just too difficult for Damian to actually handle himself.

Nadja laughs at Damian's jokes all the time since she gets his dark humor and he loves that. They always laugh a lot about it together but when Jon's around, they're Iike "You wouldn't get it" and he gets all offended.

Jon passed his love for noodles onto Najda and Damian's usually like "That's not healthy!!" And tries cooking her vegetarian meals more often or healthy ones that Talia would used to make him back when he was a kid, just so that Najda will eat real food lol. Najda also really loves the meals that comes from Damian's culture too and gets happy whenever he makes them for dinner.

For nicknames, Jon will sometimes call her "Sweetpea", "Sugar cookie", and "Tootsie pops", while Damian calls her "Habibti", "Thamin" (meaning "precious" in Arabic), and "Galbi" (which means "my heart" in Arabic)

Damian matches his outfits with Nadja all the time just like Talia would always used to do with him when he was a little kid. He does this with Jon included too and they take pictures together.

When making her hero suit, Damian was the one who helped Nadja out in drawing the designs and brainstormed ideas with her. When she had finally found one she liked and was ready to make it, Damian and Jon could've helped her sew it and everything, but they didn't have many materials that she could use or a sewing machine either, only a regular sewing kit that they use to fix up their own suits whenever they get damaged, so they let her make it with Ma's help instead at her place when they visit her and Pa again, since she actually owned a machine and also had a sewing room filled with many useful materials. When asked, Ma didn't mind letting Nadja use her stuff at all and was instead delighted about it since it would just give them the chance to spend time with eachother while doing one of her favorite hobbies together.

And next time, while having their usual Mother and Son days out together, Talia helped Damian pick out the sarong skirt for Nadja while hanging around stores, since they thought it would be nice for her to have one. Jon was the one who bought Nadja the red sneakers while shopping together with Kathy, since it reminded him of Kathy's old purple, rainbow ones, but with a twist of red thrown onto it, which also reminded him a lot of his favorite old ones that he used to always wear as a kid too. Dick and Cyborg helped her insert digital tech into her cuffs, which lets out hologram screens that let her know whenever she's over using her powers since she's still mastering them and it does plenty of other useful things for her too.

Najda was also given a mask to go with her suit at first too since she thinks it's annoying to wear glasses in her regular life everyday, but then it got lost during a fight and some villains saw her face, so she was still forced to go with the glasses route in the end anyways.

As adults, Jon's a scientist and Damian's a veterinarian. Najda likes visiting both of her Dads at their day jobs after school and doing her homework there while they work. She always promises to behave and not get in the way and if she has no work to do, she'll help them out too, which they appreciate. She also loves watching what they do and let's them happily explain their favorite stuff about the job to her. She knows a lot about taking care of animals and science because of this.

Nadja loves music and making it too. She even thinks about playing rock music for a living when she grows up. Damian and Jon support her in this and buy her the instruments she needs and they also listen to her songs when she wants to show it off to them. Because of them being in a band themselves back when they were kids, Damian, Jon, Chris, and Jake give her lessons sometimes on how to better play her instruments.

Civilians and especially interviewers always question about how they had Nadja and just assume that she's adopted or assume that just because she looks more like Damian, she's probably from a secret ex girlfriend he had before being with Jon. The last one annoys both Damian and Jon so much, especially Jon since Nadja is actually his kid too and he gets jealous at the thought of the ridiculous idea. Both him and Damian hate these rumors and just want everyone to mind their own business.

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (22)

22. Rains of Fire

MASTERLIST

Summary: Your personal sacrifice is not enough to Aemond’s thirst 

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader, one sided Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen Reader

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, incest, hinted non-con, involuntary imprisonment, non con adultery, kidnapping, a little choking, body shaming (Aemond is a c*nt, I imply Reader had chubbier hips from giving birth), death of characters, war and all that comes with it, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.1 k

Notes: Ufff this was hard to write. I know I have to update Dragons' mistress and the White Dragon, but I had to write this first, I was just taped to the computer writting this

Cregan hand’s shaked as he read the urgent words of his sister, his eyes filled with tears as he whined, like a wounded animal 

His fist landed on the table on his tent.

He so childishly thought he could protect you, but not even an army of a thousand men could get between a dragon and his desire. He was marching to fight a war, and yet, it wasn’t enough

“How long until we reach Harrenhal?”, he asked his most trusted man, Jon, the second son of Lord Roderik 

“Two weeks Lord”, he whispered shakily

“We need to pick up the pace “, he grunted, “my wife just…”, he looked at him and he straightened his posture, “she tried to take matters into her own hands”

“Is the Lady of Winterfell alright?”, he asked, fearfully, “is the heir…?”

“The heir is fine”, he said shortly, “but the Lady of Winterfell is in enemy hands”, he said shortly, "we need to reach Harrenhal as soon as we are able, and send a raven to Dragonstone for the old gods!”, he said quickly, “we are facing the largest dragon in the world!”

The man that was around his age left the tent in a hurry, and Cregan bit his bottom lip strongly, enduring the need to cry

You had been threatened and flied willingly to the enemy hands

He didn’t know Aemond in his entirety, but… he was a man, a dark man… with dark desires. He didn’t have to be a genius or a wizard to know what that man wanted to do to you

His wife, his beautiful, smart, sweet, loving wife who had fled her own home to marry him, to escape that monster, who trusted him to protect her and care for her and keep her safe.

He had failed

In a rage he threw everything he had atop his desk to the dirty ground

You threw yourself to the jaws of the dragon to spare him, he hasn't been fast enough, powerful enough, to protect you, his own wife.

And he could only pray to see you again

It had to be at night

You had manage to hide a small knife in a gartner around your thigh, but for it to work, Aemond needed to be impossibly close, and impossibly distracted and relaxed for it to work

The mere thought made your stomach turn, but it was the only way, and if it was at night, you had a better chance to escape in the night, with Vhaelar being so close

She was injured but you could hear her sing at nights, missing you, so it was clear she was ready to fly away if needed be. 

You shook in anticipation, he had left to arrange some things, and left you alone to put on a very flamboyant dress and jewelry, like the one he gifted you in Winterfell. You whined, scared out of your mind, but you had to remind yourself that you were doing this for a reason, a good reason, for the survival of your family, your husband, your son, Sara, the North, all of them. 

You were getting claustrophobic in this windowless room, it was beautiful decorated, yes, and the candles lit up the room and their scents prevented you from smelling the burn stone and wood and the moist of something that had never seen the sunlight, but they were there, you knew it, like ghosts

Sometimes in those hours he left you, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

A shaky maid brought you water, wine, bread, cheeses and fruits to calm your needs, and left you without even looking at you. You knew it would be futile to try and talk to her. You knew what Aemond did, killing everyone in the castle, he probably filled it with people loyal to the Greens. 

You were not proud to admit that you drank the full pitch of wine, out of nervousness, and by the time Aemond walked back into the room, you were tipsy, and on your nerves

Aemond didn’t take long to see that

“I’m sorry for leaving you for so long”, he seemed disgustingly pleased with himself, and amused by your tipsiness, “believe me when I say, I wouldn’t have left at all”

“You are here now”, you said, fighting to make it an even voice. He smiled darkly 

“I am”, he took one step towards you, and you couldn’t help but take one step back, making him smile darkly

“You know why you came”, he said

“I know”, you whined, “but Aemond… I need to know…”, he was bored pretty quickly

“Get on the bed”, he commanded, and you whined

“Please”

“I don’t want to force you”, he said simply, clasping his hands together behind his back, “it will be better for the both of us if you surrender yourself to me”, he said simply, with the edge of his mouth turned upwards, in a sick little smile

“Aemond”, you whimpered.

Of course before you kill him, you wanted to see if you could convince him to retreat, but as you could see, there was no going back on his darkness 

“Do it”, he only demanded. By your count, it was already nighttime, so this was it, this was the time to do it.

You walked towards him, turning off your brain and all your thoughts, and you kissed him roughly. He released his own hand and grabbed you almost tenderly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. But then he kissed you back, taking control, his hands got rough, grabbing your arms, and then your sides, squeezing your flesh

“I‘m enjoying your initiative”, he whispered darkly and your lips left his, but he wasted no time in kissing you again, biting on your lips, making you cry out. When you realized what was about to happen, you needed to fight with yourself to tune yourself off. You needed to be in control if you were really going to go through with your plan.

So you needed to be in control. 

He seemed to sense your urgency, so as he kissed you roughly he led you to the bed.

You fell on top of it hazardously, a mix of limbs and arms, but you were determined. You manage to be on top of him, and your took a sharp breath, the flimsy fabric of your dress already up your thighs 

He looked up at you with wonder in his eye

This was it

And as you accommodated yourself on top of him, you looked down at his face, and he immediately could see that something was wrong, as you couldn’t hide your anger and your hate any longer, you took your hand under the skirt that was already hunched around your thighs, and uncovered the dagger

You were quick, taking both hands and raising the weapon over both your heads, Aemond opened his eye widely, his arms under your knees, he couldn’t do anything. 

His heart was your aim, and as you were lowered the knife into him, he went in so slow you cursed yourself, that is what it felt like, but as you were lowering the knife with was like incredible speed, you were pulled backwards, as sharp nails grabbed you by your hairs and scalp

You whined in pain as you landed on the floor in what seemed to be slow motion, you tried to protect yourself from hitting the stone floor but your arm landed awkwardly, your leg twisted as well. You were not injured, but hurt. Something or someone kicked your hand, the knife flying over the other side of the room, and as you tried to stand, Aemond had done so, and right by your side, was a woman with long dark hairs, sharp green eyes and her face twisted in rage

Aemond could not believe what his eye was seeing

“Do you think she would’ve come freely if you hadn't threatened her?”, she asked bitterly, “she came here to kill you”

“Fuck you!”, you screamed, your nerves in the edge of your skin, you had failed, fatally 

Aemond looked at the scene developing in front of him, his witch, Alys Rivers, the woman he had taken to bed to assert dominance, he could have never imagined she was the owner of a dark power, and then, the woman he truly wanted, on the floor crying in anger, married someone else and had his child, having tried to kill him after she pretended to wanted to be with him. 

Even though Alys knew what his aim was -you-, she even helped him to get to you, and yet, she, as any person would be, was jealous of you, she believed she was the one Aemond should be with, should want, she could give him a child, she could give him everything you could, and more, she could give him dark powers.

Aemond soon was angry, he had lost control of the situation, he had let himself be blinded by you. 

“It’s me who you should be with”, she said bitterly, looking at you still on the floor, pitifully, “it is me who had been faithfully by your side all these months, and it is me who can give you everything you want”

“Get out”, he said bluntly, taking Alys by surprise

“What?”, she snapped, still not impressed

“Get out”, he was fuming, Alys contained her anger, walking away from the room, closing the door with a surprising strength

“Aemond”, you called, scared of what you were seeing, he was very angry, enraged. He grabbed you by the neck, not squeezing but still you couldn’t breathe, he threw you on the bed and as you recuperated, he went to the door, opening it and barked orders to a soldier on the hallway that you couldn’t hear, and the he turned towards you, grabbing his own dagger from his belt

“Please!”, he threw himself on you, straddling your middle, making it hard for you to breathe but he immobilized you. “Please!”

“You are just a tricky little whore!”, he shouted, you had never seen it this angry, he was usually so contained within himself 

“Aemond please don’t do this, please!”, he sliced the top of your dress and then he ripped it off with your own hands, at once you were completely naked underneath him, and then a shaky soldier entered the room, in his hands there was two thin, short chains

“No”, you whined with tears in your eyes, “NO!”, Aemond trapped one of your wrists no matter how hard you fought him, he was stronger than you in aspect, quicker, smarter…

He closed the other ends around the wooden frame of the bed. 

And one you were immobilized in one arm, he went for the other , and he chained you to the bed like you were an animal

The guard left without even looking at you, but you could tell he looked troubled, but there was no time for you to concern yourself with such things, Aemond was looking down at you with a hunger in his eyes that scared you

“You are certainly looser that the last time I saw you”, he mocked, grabbing your chubby hips, you whined, motherhood certainly had taken a toll on you

“Fuck you”, you spit out

“But no matter”, he whispered, “it is still you”

“Please Aemond, it is not too late!”, you begged, “please don’t do this”

“Why can’t you see?”, he growled, “you had been mine all along, it was a mistake on my part to make you believe you had a choice”, you cried underneath him, once he realized you were tied up nicely and tightly, he separated himself from you to undo his breeches, he didn’t even undressed fully, he didn’t even get his clothes off

“Like I said, you are already married, so for now, you are my whore”, he growled, “But I will not forget what you tried to do, you tried to kill me, and your husband will pay the consequences”

“NO!”, you cried, twisting and turning underneath him, crying bitterly, “you promised”

“You have to understand, that my promise is no longer valid after you tried to stab me in the heart”

“You have no heart”, you cried, “please don’t do this”

“I could have been nice, and gentle”, he growled, “but you are more dragon than lamb, are you not?”, he teased, he released his cock, and you whimpered at the sight 

“You are going to give me real children”, he whispered darkly, “dragon princes”, you only shook your head, but you had to look away as he pushed your legs open and placed himself between them

You couldn’t even look at him as you let him take you.

They weren’t advancing fast enough

Cregan thought bitterly, two weeks had passed since he receive the dark news from Winterfell, he knew Aemond had you in his power and he knew what he was capable off

They had already passed the Crossroads Inn and he knew it was a matter of a few kilometers until they could see the burn and cursed towers of Harrenhal

His army was great, he had met men in all the Northerner cities he went through on his journey South, he had a power of ten thousand men 

He would siege the Castle, he knows it will take the lives of many men as Harrenhal was huge and completely defendable once you could take it, but if he could convince the Kinslayer to come and face him face to face, relying on his hate for him, he could take him in a hand to hand combat

But his plans were… mercilessly destroyed

They came at first light, storming his camp, an army of Baratheons and soldiers from the Royal army as well

The surprise factor did take them by surprise but only for a moment, as they retaliated fiercely, they were the winter wolves, the wildest army Westeros has ever seen.

The battle was brutal, mounted soldiers galloping through the tents and breaking havoc, hard tall men throwing them off their horses with axes of war hammers

Cregan, fueled by rage, cut enemy soldiers in half with the strength and power of Ice, his Valyrian sword, screaming in a rage, seeing red everywhere, the battle was soon pretty even, even though the wolves were being attacked by double the numbers

But Cregan had no space on his mind but for one thing

“KINSLAYER!”, he called, freezing everyone around him, and for his luck, or curse, Aemond answered the call, appearing through the soldiers and smoke, and destruction

“Stark”, he called back, soon they were in the middle of a circle, surrounded by men that had stopped the slaughter just to witness something that was going to be written in the storybooks 

“Where is my wife?”, he asked, on guard, with his sword between his hands

“My whore is in Harrenhal, waiting for me in my bed”, he wanted to jump him, cut off his head, but he had to be smarter, he had to beat him. 

“Release her, and I will march away”, he said firmly, Aemond only chuckled, his own sword on his hand, ready for the kill

“I will carve your heart out and present it to her as a wedding present”, he breathed out

“You will have to kill me first”, he threatened, putting himself in a position for attack

“After you are dead, I’m going to fly to that wasteland you call home, I’m going to take your widow in your bed, and I’ll give her my children”

“You are never going to touch her again!”, he growled

“I already did, make her bleed on my cock”, that was not true, but Cregan didn’t care as that was the last straw, with a war cry he threw himself towards Aemond, Ice on hand

The clash was brutal 

Both blinded, one by power and lust, another for love and desperation. It was a fight for the ages, the single strength shown by both in their encounter made the hearts of everybody who was seeing it clench.

The battle around them also continued, each soldier inspired by their leader, soon Cregan and Aemond both got pushed around by the own fights going around them

“But don’t worry, I don’t care about that little brat, I’m going to leave it there”, Aemond teased, “lets see how long it takes your bastard sister to find him in the snow after I take her eyes”

“ARGH!”, Aemond's sword, that was not Valyrian steel, got split in two by the sheer force of Cregan and Ice, Aemond grabbed a shield from the ground, Cregan was stronger than him, but he was way faster and leaner. quicker on his feet, so he managed to dodge every heavy attack, slower by the size of the sword. 

With a growl, and fighting against himself, Aemond retreated, taking advantage of his soldiers around him, Cregan tried to reach him, but his path was cut by Green soldiers 

“FIGHT ME AEMOND!”, he screamed, “CRAVEN!”, but the silver haired man disappeared between his men, walking away from him.

The royal army with the Baratheons surrounded the Northmen, making them so tightly against one another they could barely move

Cregan could barely breathe, as he looked around in desperation, it was a sickening moment, in which for him, all hope was lost. Jon was by his side on a second

“My father is leading half the army to surround them, we are going to be fine!”, he managed to scream, Cregan had to believe him, but the sheer force of the attack was unbelievable, the worst part wasn't even… Cregan gasped loudly, as he watched frantically for the skies. 

They had placed his camp on a valley, that was their first mistake, even though he had placed watchers on any high point around it, they had been clearly slain without anybody knowing, so they were in the worst place possible 

It was moments that felt like hours, as the Northmen fought their way to make room, to recuperate ground, but they were having a hard time doing so, and that is when… all hell broke loose

“DRAGONFIRE!”, screamed another one

“COVER OUR LORD!”

“NO!”, it all happened so fast, Cregan remembered being pushed to the ground, in the reduced space, in the mayhem, in the midst of battle, someone hit him in the head, it could have been a foot, it could have been a shield of the pointless part of a spear, but he lost himself in the roar of battle.

More notes: THIS WAS INTENSE, I couldn't bring myself to write *that* scene, but still you get the picture... Don't hate me please, you know, or at least some of you know, that I'm a sucker for happy endings... hehe this isn't over yet!

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[melandrops]

The Magnus Archives, as told through the song Melancholy Man by the Moody Blues

Jon Sims, a man doomed by the narrative from the start. At the beginning of the end, he Knows all but Understands very little. As he trudges through the barren wasteland of the apocalypse, his failures cling to him like tree sap.

Martin has been through life event after life event, each more tragic than the last. By the time Peter comes to him he doesn't even have the energy to grieve what he knows will be his own demise. Holed up in Peter's office, Martin can do nothing but watch the person he (used to) love struggle as monsters throw themselves at Jon. He puts his head down and keeps working. This is what he can be good for.

The panopticon begins to crumble and there stand two broken, abused men who have been to hell and back. Their world has fallen to pieces around them and it only gets worse from there. Martin looks on in devastation as the love of his life becomes a god and can't help but feel true rage. They didn't ask for this.

The last thought Jon has before he dies is of the people he used to call friends. Tim, Sasha and Martin, the best people he's ever known. The people he clings onto his humanity with increasing desperation for. He can remember the way Tim spat vile curses at him, the way he said "I don't forgive you," right before he died. Jon is and always has been convinced that he doesn't deserve forgiveness. His friends were victims (so was he) and deserved better.

In the split second before Jon and Martin die, they see into the thousands of other universes before them. They see a world where they met as anyone else does, and fall in love not through trauma but through the sweet nerves of first and second dates. Perhaps there is a world where Martin's mum was never sick, and Jon never picked up that book. There are versions of Jon and Martin who are happy, who have seen difficulty but never anything like the life-ending trauma of what they've been through. They are the same people, to be sure, but the life they live is so alien to the two men who lay dying in the ruins of the panopticon.

Loss after loss after loss. Betrayal and grief and suffering one after the other. A body that doesn't feel like his own anymore. Skin that burns when he thinks about the cool feeling of lotion. Dead bodies of the people he tried to protect lay behind him as he walks forward. The dread of knowing that his every move has been choreographed. What good is knowledge and sight without the ability to use it to protect people? When the Oracle speaks a prophecy, knowing it does not make it stoppable.

Jon hopes and prays that history will be kind to him. Or at the very least, forgetful. He hopes that the people who tell his story will understand how hard he tried to be good. To do right. He hopes that they will see his wrongdoings, his horrific crimes and have the compassion to see him as someone who just wanted to be free. He hopes that they will believe him if he ever has the chance to say he never wanted any of this.

Jon and Martin were both doomed from the start. They never had a choice but to fail. Sometimes, in quiet nights, they hold each other and grieve. Their fear is a black hole in their chests, eating up all that is good in their lives. They ache for what could have been. But it could never have gone any other way.

[dspd]

HI HELLO POLISH MARTIN????

First of all, this really goes along with something nearly all Martin fanart has - huge ass forearms and large, strong hands. Have you tried baking? Bakers have an unusual amount of upper body strength that's developed as you stir and knead bread daily.

For Jon, Martin's baking is amazing because there's a difference in how machine mixed bread and biscuits and pastries taste compared to manually mixed items. There's no rhyme or reason (and studies show machines are a better, more consistent bake) but Jon has known since he was a tiny kid still living with his parents that hand made has a slightly different taste that he prefers.

Martin has also developed amazing vegetarian options to traditional, meaty polish dishes like cabbage rolls, bigos, krokiety, and pierogi. He's not vegetarian by any means but in the last 6 months of caring for his mom, she had developed stage 2 kidney disease and he'd learned vegetarian and peskitarian versions of the food she'd grown up with in Poland to try to keep her health up. As her health declined and her pain increased, she'd have wild emotional swings and sometimes toss the dishes onto the floor if he made them this way and he'd spend miserable minutes gritting his teeth, eyes stinging, as she sobbed and muttered in Polish into her pillow on the bed above him.

Personally, he dislikes bigos because of the mouth-feel of sauerkraut (yes yes he knows he's an unpatriotic pole for this thought) but during vacations he had a constant pot on when his mother was still alive because she loved it so much.

One of Martin's favorite memories is from right after he was hired at the institute and he brought chłodnik to a summer potluck and his dish was the last to be tried and first to be emptied. His then new coworker, Sasha, raved about it for days before he tentatively offered to give her his recipe and she nearly squealed in happiness before hugging him. You can't convince me Martin isn't a touch starved plushie who nearly forgot he was gay for a hot minute after the serotonin rush.

Martin's middle name is Krzysztof but he never used it because people struggle with the pronunciation of the "szt" and he also thinks he's terrible at Polish, something that his mother never failed to point out when she was on a tear and listing the ways he disappointed her. Of course, later, when her symptoms had abated, she'd tearfully cry and promise she didn't mean what she'd said, that it was the devil eating her brain, holding his hand between her own, increasingly fragile fingers.

So, yeah, Polish Martin who randomly breaks into polish muttering just like his mother when he's muttering to himself and thinking through a task out loud. Once, a distressed, lost polish immigrant came into the institute for help and a small crowd has gathered to try to help her, unsuccessful because no one even recognized Polish, until Martin, luckily walking past, overheard her and called out to her, startling Jon with his familiarity of the language and the way the woman's wrinkled face lifted and brighten and the way she pulled him down for an overfamiliar kiss on the cheek before she left. When he asked Martin if he knew her, carefully recreating the name he'd heard, bahb-chuh, Martin blushed and said no, that's how the Polish community treats each other. He called her babcia, grandmother, and she'd treated him as a grandson in return. This was the first spark of interest Jon felt about Martin, who otherwise had been a boring yet vaguely troublesome and annoying employee, if only for the fact that he seemed to know less about his job duties than Jon did about his own. This obviously happened after episode 12 when Jon doubts Martin's ability to translate Polish.

Martin, in another show of breaking from Polish practice, uses endearments for Jon. He tried kochanie once but Jon wrinkled his face in distaste, the Eye poo-pooing on the lovefest by maliciously helpfully translating at an inopportune moment. Instead, Martin prefers słoneczko (sweetheart) and słońce (sun/sunshine), especially fond of the second one after watching Jon unconsciously following the sunlight across the room like a cat while reading on the floor of the cabin of 161.

Archivists and cooking:

Sasha:

So good at cooking

watch her throw spices into a pan like a fucking wizard tending to their potion

Shit at baking :(

sorry Sash they appreciated the effort of you making brownies to bring to lunch that one time but they weren't amazing

Tim:

Shit at cooking

Shit at baking

No explanation it just came to me in a prophetic vision

Listen. He's a whore. He either gets a takeaway or goes on dates when he's hungry.

Jonny boy

Everyone headcanons good at cooking and I am inclined to agree it tickles me

But he's not good at cooking in a sasha making up your own recipes way but in a control freak in the kitchen, follow it to the T, complicated ass meals if he had the time/effort/wasn't constantly suffering kinda way

Shit baker.

Could probably do it if he wanted to. Tried once and was bad at it. Never did it again. Said he didn't have much of a sweet tooth anyway. (He's lying)

Marto:

Fairly decent cook

Had to take care of his mum so I'm guessing he was forced to get really good at a few fairly quick, comfort recipes

(I like polish!Martin here, cause he can make like polish comfort dishes, I don't know much about them, anyone who does feel free to add your thoughts)

AMAZING BAKER.

Cliche but a good cliche. Baker Martin SLAPS don't even try to deny it. 1. Strong arms, 2. He'd look good in an apron, 3. He's just so domestic, baking bread and cookies for Jon like you can just imagine it

He feels safe with the rigid recipes and instructions you get with baking

Will bake a plate of cookies and bring them in to the institute and they will be IMMEDIATELY GONE. he turns around and everyone is sprinting off in opposite directions.

Jon's like "Biscuits and tea seem to be a (insert long ass complicated positive adjective) combination, Martin. Don't bring them in again, they're disrupting work flow."

Martin's like "...well you took one."

[reginarubie]

The younger, more beautiful Queen - Cersei and Sansa (and Daenerys and Margaery; and Brienne of Tarth)

When Cersei recalls Maggy the Frog's prophecy about her being casted down by a younger, more beautiful queen we were all ready, thinking that younger, more beautiful Queen was supposed to be Sansa; then Margaery entered the picture and how could anyone actually ignore the dragon queen in the east and the threat she posed to Cersei and everything she stood for?

At which point many theorized each and every of three girls, younger and all described as beautiful may be the younger, more beautiful queen and would fulfill a part of Cersei's prophecy, each taking something she cared for from her. Which has many merits, especially thinking about how much Martin dislikes prophecies and likes playing around with them nudging towards the realization that we as people are the one who make our own destiny with Cersei being the real catalyst of everything Maggy the Frog prophetized for her.

Under the cut, my own personal vision of this prophecy and why I think that, no matter who will actually cause Cersei's downfall directly, Sansa (assuming she ending as QitN is also book!endgame, which we have good reason to believe it shall be so) is actually the younger, more beautiful queen.

People way more talented than me have already talked about this matter, but I wanted to give my input about it as well because I like to talk and this has been sitting in my files way too long and now I've decided to share with you all to see what you think about it.

Beneath her golden curls, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement. For years after, she took those words to mean that she would not marry Rhaegar until after his father Aerys had died. "I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be ... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her."

Maggy 's prophecy has haunted Cersei all these years since first the words had been uttered and it's no wonder. Now, we know Cersei married the king - Robert Baratheon, first of his name - after he had won the Realm through conquest and we also know that the other part of Maggy's prophecy, about Cersei having three children and the King many more than her. So it stands to reason that this part may also come to be true in some way or the other.

Though show!canon has derailed and distanced itself from book!canon, it must hold some kind of importance that Cersei asks Jaime to find Sansa and kill her especially if we connect it with what child Cersei told Maggy the Frog "if she tries I will have my brother kill her"; while she easily, in the show, decides she will be the one to cause Margaery demise as well as Daenerys's.

But let's break the prophecy and try to determinate what exactly it may mean to Cersei now.

Maggy tells her that she will be the Queen for a time, which we know to be the truth, and that she will have three children while the king (Robert) will have over seventeen. She also tells Cersei that one day another may come, that she will be younger and more beautiful.

Note, the first person we know Cersei describes as beautiful, by her words, is Sansa both in show and the book.

In the very first episode of the series, when Martin was still very much part of the writing process of the episodes, Cersei comments on Sansa's beauty and on how it would be wasted in the North (foreshadowing in my opinion Sansa growing past her enamourment with beauty and return North to stay, but I digress).

While in Sansa VI, AGOT, she states "such a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you"

Also, note that this is said about Margaery Tyrell in AFFC in Cersei III: “When all the vows were spoken, the king and his new queen stepped outside the sept to accept congratulations. "Westeros has two queens now, and the young one is as beautiful as the old one," boomed Lyle Crakehall, an oaf of a knight who oft reminded Cersei of her late and unlamented husband.”

(Guess maybe it can’t be Margaery after all tho I do remember someone saying someone else, someone younger — Catelyn about Sansa — would grow even more beautiful than she was and though she did not mean to confront Sansa with Cersei, but with herself, the phrasing did stuck me as strange)

So this girl coming to cast Cersei down will be younger (and all candidates for the place are younger than Cersei) and more beautiful (now this could be as simple as a math count of how many times each candidate is described as beautiful and confront that number with Cersei's).

The counts now stands as following:

Sansa: 18 times (without sharing those times with anyone, all on her own; 2 times she is defined as more beautiful than someone older)

Drawing by @innocent-enyo; sorry I took your pics, I fell in love with them! If it bothers you I will take them down!

Cersei: 17 times (thyo sometimes shared with Margaery so the counts, if we count the shared times with Margaery goes up to 20)

Drawing always by innocent-enyo.

[honorable mention] Brienne of Tarth: 8 times (wouldn’t it be just perfect if Brienne did manage of convince Jaime to fuck loyalty and follow her instead of Cersei? Oh wait… that’s already show canon) after all if every girl can be the another younger, more beautiful who will take (something) everything from Cersei why not Brienne the Beauty?, especially since it’s said sarcastically yet she is far more fair and beautiful in character than Cersei is. I would appreciate the irony and the twist, all I am saying 🤷🏼‍♀️

Drawing by Lucas Werneck.

Margaery: 7 times(of which 3 shared with Cersei)

Margaery Tyrell by innocent-enyo as well.

Daenerys: only 5 times (?! I am surprised as well, tho to be fair she is described as the most beautiful woman in the world once and she was asked if she had grown more beautiful in a lapse of time, but never confronted to another older)

Daenerys Targaryen by innocent-enyo again!

So we have a neck-to-neck between Sansa and Cersei.

And tho I do think each girl will fulfill part of the prophecy (to save Margaery from her marriage to Joffrey he is killed, which catalyses the series of events which brings to Tywin’s death and Myrcella’s; Brienne did convince in the show Jaime to leave Cersei behind for a time; Sansa took her legacy in a way becoming the second ruling queen of a kingdom of Westeros; Margaery in a way took away Tommen as well in the show since learning of her death he committed suicide; Daenerys took the throne and the promise of the child in the show) I think Sansa will be in the end the younger more beautiful queen because the stress on the prophecy is put on the fact that this Queen will take everything Cersei’s holds dear…

…what did Cersei want? [note; now we enter in the show only realm and book hypothesis of the story since we have yet to see the last two books]

To save and protect those she loved; she failed by her ultimate fault;

have the younger, more beautiful queen and enemy killed by her brother (lover)

To sit on the throne as queen regnant because she feels she deserves it.

To be with the man she loves publicly.

What did Sansa achieve by the end of the show:

She marched her troops South and managed to get Jon free and her plotting assured that her siblings were safe (they protected her as well)

Her “brother” (lover?, Martin I have faith in you) killed her rival (Daenerys) to protect her and their family.

She gains the North independence and is named Queen in the North and is the queen with the strongest power love and loyalty (“Ned Stark’s daughter will speak for them, she’s the best they could ask for” and “we didn’t choose you to rule us m’lady but perhaps we should have”)

I truly believe in the books she will end up (or it will be hinted at) with a man she loves or will grow to love.

So, imo, while each and every girl may take something from Cersei and perhaps none of them (fAegon I’m looking at you, sweetie) or only one of them will manage to directly cause her death and defeat in the end Sansa will be the younger, more beautiful Queen because all that Cersei held dear and wanted she managed to achieve and she will be remembered the way Cersei wanted to be remembered, which is ultimately imo the true meaning of Maggy the Frog’s prophecy.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

The Purrfect Alternative

Premise: Why would there be a cat in the archives? An archive cat fixit.

2.7K words

Rated G

(Tw: A bit of violence but it's against Jurgen Leitner)

This is a fic dedicated to the @jonsimsandcats event! Hope you enjoy it :)

"Sorry, you haven't seen a cat, have you?"

Jon gaped at the larger man who suddenly barged into the office. 

"I-I'm sorry, a what?"

"Uh, a cat, tabby I think." The man hurriedly explained.

"No. No I haven't. Is it.. Supposed to be here?" Jon knew book shops sometimes kept cats. Perhaps archives did as well. Maybe Gertrude had a soft spot in her after all.

"N-no actually. I, uh, I was feeding it on the way in but when I got up with my things, well, my hands were full you see, so when I managed to open the door it sort of slipped in with me? I'm so sorry, I have to find it before-"

"Okay okay calm down, stop." Jon held up his hand and let out a sigh. First day of the promotion and he's already stressed. But it's fine. He's fine. He can handle a cat. He's good with cats.

"Where do you work? Upstairs? Are you sure it came down here?"

"Yes, I saw it. And I just started working down here today? I'm Martin. Blackwood." He offered a hand. Jon automatically took it. Big and soft. He let go a bit too quickly and coughed. 

"Work here? Are you certain?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to let Jonathan Sims know about becoming an archival assistant. He's the head archivist Elias told me to talk to."

"Well that's one thing to cross off your list." Jon smirked. "I'm Jonathan Sims. Jon, if you please. And Elias did not mention you. Tim and Sasha were supposed to be the only new recruits." Jon frowned to himself. He'll have to have a word with Elias about this. It's fine now that it happened but keeping Jon updated could really help in preventing these kinds of awkward introductions with people he's supposed to work closely with.

"O-oh! Well, here I am now too." Martin chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper.

Jon hummed "So you are I suppose. Well, let's not waste time on trivial matters, there is a cat that needs to be found." Jon got up from his chair.

"O-oh god, you're right. I'm so sorry for this." The other man apologized, remembering why he was there in the first place. It was clear that he now realized that the fact that the person he's asking to help him clear up his mess is his new boss could be very problematic for him. Jon easily sympathized with that kind of familiar pressure.

"It's alright, let's just, get this sorted." Jon was not willing to admit that a part of him was also just looking forward to seeing the cat. It would help distract him from his own stress, as it were.

Ten minutes later the two of them sitting on the floor in the stacks with a chubby tabby cat sprawled on Jon's lap. Jon was petting it affectionately while amicably getting acquainted with his new assistant. The man turned out to be a library veteran with useful cataloging skills that could help with the mess that was left down here. Having calmed down considerably, Martin had stopped fidgeting and was cooing at the cat who was head butting his large palm. Their presence soothed Jon in a way that surprised him. In the tranquil, quiet atmosphere of the stacks, sounds of cat purrs and Martin's low murmurs, he felt almost optimistic that despite his lack of experience and the large task ahead of them, he would be alright. 

-------

Paper meowed loudly behind him as Martin hurried down the tunnel with Jon and Tim at his tail. Martin glanced back as he reached an intersection and noticed they were too far behind, Jon limping on his injured foot. He hesitated, stopping and waiting for them to catch up. Paper came up and rubbed his leg before trotting down the tunnel on the right, tail held high and confident. Martin inhaled deeply to catch his breath, starting to walk again, this time more slowly. They managed to leave most of the fast worms behind and the ones down here were few and sparse enough to easily stomp down individually. Paper was making a game out of it.  He kept leaping onto some that crawled ahead of them, squishing them loudly with his paw. 

Jon and Tim caught up and the three followed Paper down the dark passage. 

"Yeah, get the damn crawlers." Slurred Tim. The CO2 he inhaled was not helping his coherency. 

"You know," gasped Jon, "I actually think they're larvae, given Jane's statement and-" 

"Jon, I'm going to have to ask you to stop now." Martin said, as calmly as he could, his voice a tad too high and loud. 

"... Sorry." Jon said sheepishly. 

They followed Paper down the forking paths, hoping the cat knew where in the seven circles of hell they were. 

Eventually they stopped seeing any worms as the path sloped up, ending in a sudden door. There was daylight filtering in from beneath it. Paper was eagerly pawing at it. 

"Uh, I think we found a secret way out of the institute." Martin could hardly believe their luck. 

"Excellent, now I can ditch work and no one will know I even left." Tim mumbled. 

"Tim, if you wanted to succeed in that endeavor, you should have not said that next to your boss." Jon commented dryly. 

The worm threat no longer being imminent, Martin allowed himself a nervous chuckle. 

They pushed at the door and with a bit of group effort, eventually managed to pry it open into fresh air. They came out into a narrow alleyway which turned out to be not far from the institute. As they walked (limped) down the street to find access to a working phone they heard someone cry out. 

"Jon? Tim? Martin!" They spotted Sasha hurrying towards them, carrying heavy bags of cat food. 

"Sasha! You're okay!" Martin exclaimed. "We were worried you'd get back and be caught in it like Tim had."

"Where have you been?" Jon inquired, straining to stand upright on his own. Martin came closer, gently supporting him by the hip on the opposite side of Tim. 

"We ran out of food for Paper, I figured I'd pop by the store for a moment to get some." Sasha said. "I came back when the building was being evacuated."

"Oh good, at least the alarm worked." Tim said tiredly. 

"What in god's name happened to you three?" She inquired worriedly. 

"Prentiss, we'll fill you in later. We need to make sure the ECDC is informed regarding the CO2 in the fire suppression system that needs to be activated."

"And get you to a hospital." Martin chastised, squeezing Jon's side. 

"Yes yes." Jon waved dismissively but all the while leaning further into Martin's side. He really wasn't discreet, Martin thought smugly. 

Sasha was about to say something else when a loud meow interrupted her. Paper was nosing into the bag, fully aware of its contents and who they were meant for. 

Jon dislodged from Martin and Tim and hobbled towards the cat. 

The cat turned and moved back into Jon's welcoming arms, as the archivist picked him up and stroked him fondly. 

"We are lucky on all accounts that Paper is such a smart cat." He murmured into the soft fur, injury forgotten for the moment. 

Tim chuckled, "cats always ruin evil people's plans, it's a well known fact. Anyway, Sasha, please call an ambulance for us?" He said, and promptly sat on the floor. 

Martin sighed with relief. For now, they are all safe and together. And that's all that matters. 

-------

It was all almost too much to take in. Luckily Paper was held tight in his arms as he listened to Jurgen Leitner ramble on about powers and fears and monsters and Jonah Magnus. He had been chased by a distorted form of his boss, who was apparently replaced by a monster Jon and the crew tried and failed to destroy, thus separating in the ensuing pursuit. In light of these events Jon now needed something soft to ground him in the face of so much new information. 

The discovery of Elias' death was a shock, especially given the fact that apparently it happened when he was trapped in artifact storage during the Prentiss siege a half a year back. 

He (that is, his doppelganger) told them back then that he was trying to reach the suppression system switch when he tripped down the stairs over one of Paper's many scattered toys, alerting Jane in the process and was driven back into the storage area. His account seemed to check out given he was rescued from there by the ECDC after Jane was dealt with. And given the few toys strewn about the stairs leading to artifact storage. Why Paper kept scattering his toys all over the building was beyond Jon but that wasn't the main issue at hand. After trapping the creature in the walls of the tunnels, Jurgen Leitner proceeded to reveal himself. Once Jon dragged him back to his office, and picked the protesting Paper up to calm himself down, he unveiled the truth of Elias', or Jonah's, whole operation. 

Turns out Jonah Magnus decided life was too short to enjoy once and did exactly what eventually happened to him. Talk about karma. Leitner explained that Gertrude's plan was to stop Jonah from... Something he was planning. Perhaps a ritual to end the world in a way the others would fail to do. That bit of information was on a tape of Gertrude which Leitner played for Jon. By the time they reached the part where Leitner said, “they needed to kill Jonah's main body then burn down the archives.” Martin, Tim and Sasha had arrived back at the office as well. 

"Jon? Jon! Are you okay?" Martin rushed forward, hugging Jon tightly, ignoring Paper's loud yowling at being squished in between them. Jon sighed, "Martin, thank god. I-I'm fine." He hugged him back, relieved his boyfriend was safe, as well as his other assistants of course. "It chased after me but he stopped it."

Tim raised his axe, "Jon are you sure he's not... Another one?"

"Yes I'm sure. That" Jon took a deep breath, "is Jurgen Leitner."

After the team's loud exclamations of disbelief he and Leitner updated them on everything they had discussed. As he was being hugged by Martin and holding the fluffy cat he slowly began calming down.

After Leitner was done a long moment of silence ensued.

"So," Sasha said slowly, "Gertrude's dead?"

"Yes, she was shot and then hidden by Jonah in the tunnels. Unfortunately I couldn't get out to allow for a proper burial, so I had to leave her there." He seemed sad admitting it. Jon did not feel sympathy for him. This man deserved none for his past and cowardice.

"And now, we need to, what, somehow find the center of the maze of tunnels to kill Jonah completely and burn the archives?" Sasha asked skeptically. 

"Yes, the whole institute in fact. I have a gas main in the tunnels ready to be ignited once we find the center." Leitner said.

"How do we do that?" Martin frowned.

"Maybe Michael knows?" Tim quipped. "He just helped us out of that situation with his own… corridor labyrinth. Maybe he'll be able to help."

"Okay, okay let's first take a breather and calm down. We'll figure out how to solve this." Jon said, raising his hand to slow them down.

"Yeah, I'll make us some tea." Martin added, "At least now that... Thing won't bother us for a long while."

"Let it burn along with this hell of an institute." Tim said harshly. Knowing how his brother was killed almost the same way, Jon felt strong sympathy for Tim rush over him.

Which was replaced with a different emotion the moment he turned to the man who saved him.

"Thank you for your help, now Martin, I need you to hold Paper for a moment."

Martin, looking baffled, took Paper out of Jon's arms. "Jon wh-"

Jon swiftly approached the older man and proceeded to sock him in the nose with the full force of his fist. The crew gasped in unison. 

"That's for everyone you hurt with your idiocy, you stupid old coward." Jon seethed and punched him again. He heard Martin chuckle and Tim whoop as the man whimpered and attempted to protect his face.

Jon was glad they were spared the horrible plans of a 200 year old evil man and that they had some semblance of a strategy moving forward. He was, however, equally elated for this opportunity to do what he fantasized about since learning of Leitner's existence.

And, he supposes, all of this can be indirectly attributed to Paper, the archive cat.

-------

Jon woke up to the warm snuggle of his lovely fiance and a mouthful of cat fur. 

"Pffff, Paper geerroff," he mumbled, uselessly trying to push the stubborn cat away. The chirping of birds mingled with the sound of highland cows grazing in the field near their cabin. 

After the success of their plan to end Jonah, after the fire had already burned down the horrors of that evil place, it took a while longer for their troubles to be resolved. They had to endure endless questioning and investigations of the police. Jon, who was weakened by the ordeal to the point of needing hospitalization, took a long time to recover and regain his strength. Leitner claimed it was lucky he was cut off from the Eye this early, or the consequences would have been much more serious. The others seemed to have been less affected, but once the archives were completely reduced to ashes they recovered, their jobs burned down along with everything else. 

Sasha found a new job as a researcher in a prestigious institute, nothing supernatural involved. Tim moved on to journalism, utilizing his curiosity and charm to their full potential. Jon and Martin opened a tea & book shop, if only to make Paper a real bookshop cat. They have been slowly setting it up and settling down until... Well, Jon proposed and they took a break. Traveled to Scotland with Paper on an early honeymoon to see the cows and enjoy the quiet. 

And quiet it was. Until Paper shamelessly began purring as loud as a train right in Jon's ear. Jon huffed in fond annoyance and got up, leaning down to give Martin a kiss on the head and then shooing the crime of a cat off to the kitchen. 

"You can't give me a moment of reprieve, can you?" He stretched and followed the cat out the bedroom. 

He filled Paper's bowl and sat on the floor leaning his back on the cabinet, closing his eyes as Paper chewed his food noisily. 

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he was awakened by a soft tap on his head. He looked up blearily and smiled. The cat had long since finished eating and found a home in Jon's lap. 

"Morning love." Martin murmured softly, matching his tone to the serene atmosphere. After hesitating a moment, he bent down and sat next to Jon. Jon looked at him adoringly as he absent-mindedly stroked Paper, humming along to his purrs. Martin joined him, petting Paper, their hands occasionally (and very purposefully) brushing against each other. 

After a few minutes of calm silence, Martin spoke up. 

"You know, this reminds me of that first day we met. In the stacks."

Jon smiled at the memory. "Ahh yes, all three of us had a very fateful meeting there, didn't we? God, I was so stressed back then." 

"You handled it pretty well I have to say. Handled my nervousness pretty well too." Martin chuckled. 

"I was lucky you were there. You really helped me calm down." Jon admitted. "Well, you and Paper." Jon added fondly. 

"Paper was a really good archive cat wasn't he?" Martin said, leaning into Jon, pressing a warm, still sleepy kiss on his cheek. Jon closed his eyes, grateful for the events that led up to this moment of pure happiness, with his fiance and his cat. 

"Yes, the best cat in the world."

[cellsshapedlikestars]

So Jon and Sansa both see a crime being commited and become prime witnesses to arrest this big crime mastermind (Petyr? Or maybe Tywin?) and they have to go to witness protection... Only witness protection makes them pretend to be a married couple when they actually don't know each other. Does that sparkle something in that brilliant brain of yours as a prompt?

Look I'm in a Mood™ today and wrote this in a weird fugue state so don't @ meeeeee. I also like barely edited this so who knows if it makes sense, and grammar? I barely know her.

Also, I don’t really know how to do trigger warning tags, so this is my warning that there are vague mentions of blood/gore/violence.

.

.

Sometimes when she wakes up, she forgets.

But then she looks around the room that isn't her room and she has to tell herself that it is. This is her room. This is her home. That is her husband downstairs making breakfast.

(And sometimes she wakes up unable to breathe, the dreams are so real; the blood and brains and pieces of skull spraying the wall in front of her, the sounds of men pleading for their lives. The strong arm wrapped around her, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the only thing that kept her still and quiet and hidden under the desk, the only reason she's alive. He's downstairs making breakfast.)

….

If there was ever a place to get lost, she thinks, it's here.

She stares out the window of her house, the same as every other house on the street. Row after row of identical houses. Neighborhoods of them, the suburbs stretching on forever. They've been here for two months and she doesn't even know her neighbor's names. The one across the street is Edmond, she thinks. Maybe. Edmure? No, if it were Edmure, she would remember, because of-

(But Alayne Stone doesn't have an Uncle Edmure.)

“I'm headed out.”

She turns to look at her husband.

“Have a good day,” she calls, just like she does every day. She watches him walk out to their nondescript grey sedan, just like he does every day. He backs it out of the driveway, then drives west, towards the main road.

…

They don't talk about before.

He is Aemon Stone. They met in college, in a geography course that they both almost failed, and they fell in love. They just got married and moved here - not that any of their neighbors have asked, so she's only had to tell that story to her new coworkers at the craft store.

They're trying to start a family.

(Jon, she thinks his name is, she remembers the agents calling him that, before they were handed folders with their new lives inside. But Jon is not her husband. Aemon is.)

…

Sometimes she likes to think she's a hero, giving up her whole world just to take down the bad guy. She's a hero, a martyr, the protagonist of her own daydreams. Her actions will save the lives of countless others.

(The reality is that she had no choice. They gave her one, technically, she doesn't have to testify against Petyr Baelish, but they all knew there was no choice. If she stayed, he would've found her. He would have killed her and anyone she could have possibly told about what she saw. She knows Aemon had no choice, either, and sometimes she wonders what he gave up. But they don't talk about before.)

…

She tries not to let her mind wander too much, but it's hard not to. Her life is routine. Mundane. She makes friends with her coworkers but she can't – she won't– let them get too close.

The problem with all her free, mundane time is that it gives her space to think – gives her time to regret.

She remembers that weekend, remembers thinking what harm could it do? Remembers thinking the bachelorette party sounded so fun. Remembers taking cash out to play the slot machines, ordering drink after drink until she felt numb.

It all goes a bit fuzzy after that. No matter how hard she tries, she can never remember how she got into the back halls of the casino, to the places where guests aren't allowed. She remembers a strange man kissing her, large, with scarring across his face, who told her that a pretty bird like her shouldn't be back here and demanded a kiss as payment. She remembers running, running, running.

If only she hadn't run.

If she hadn't run, she wouldn't have found herself in that room. She wouldn't have heard the door opening, turned around to see him, watched his face twist in horror when he saw her. He wouldn't have had to tell her get down, hide.

She remembers not being able to move, frozen to the spot at the sight of the gun at his hip. She remembers the way he'd pulled her down under the desk, one arm around her waist to keep her still, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, just in time, just before the door opened again.

(And she remembers the men who came in right after, the gruff where the fuck did Rivers get to?)

…

She's seen the tattoo.

(She doesn't think she was supposed to. Aemon Stone shouldn't have a tattoo.)

They try not to get in each other's way – he works days, she works closings. She sleeps in the master bed, he sleeps in a guest room down the hall. He wakes up early and makes breakfast and leaves her a plate. She eats while he goes for a run. But every once in a while...

That day he'd been coming back from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. She's never upstairs when he takes a shower, but she had gotten the urge to read, for the first time in months, and had gone up to grab one of the books that came with the house when she ran into him in the hall.

And there, on his chest, right above his heart, the mockingbird tattoo.

(Aemon Stone is her husband. He is not one of them.)

(But Jon Snow was.)

…

She probably should be scared, but she can never find it in her to be. Their handlers wouldn't have put them in the same house if they thought he'd hurt her.

(He's the reason she's alive. His arm around her waist, his hand over her mouth. Get down. Hide.)

…

Sometimes she wants to ask – why?

Why did he hide her?

Why is he here?

He was one of them, there's a tattoo on his chest that proves it.

Why did he save her? Give up everything for her to live?

…

She slips, once.

She's at work, in the break room, heating up a mug of soup in their tiny, low watt microwave. The break room TV is on, the news is playing, and then he's there.

Petyr Baelish, donating a giant check to an orphanage. Everyone's clapping and cheering him on and all she can hear are the screams of two men, pleading for their lives. Begging Petyr Baelish to stop. (They had wives and children and their screams echo in her head and-)

“Alayne?” her coworker, Myranda, shakes her arm. “I think your food's done?”

She's shaking so hard that the soup sloshes over the side of her mug and she apologizes as she cleans it up and Myranda asks if she's sick or something. She has to go home early because she vomits into the break room trash can.

At home, Aemon is watching football on TV and he's surprised when she comes home early. All he says is, “everything ok?” and she knows what he's asking.

“Everything's ok,” she tells him and he nods and she goes upstairs.

They don't talk about the past, but they don't talk about the present, either.

(And they definitely don't talk about the future.)

…

There's one time she doesn't wake up confused or breathless.

She wakes up screaming.

In her dream, he finds her. In her dream, Petyr Baelish walks around the desk and bends down and reaches under and pulls her out. In her dream, he tortures her like he did those men. In her dream, he puts a gun to her head, just like he did-

She wakes up screaming.

The door to her room slams open and she takes a gasping breath and looks up at her husband, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand. His hair is wild and his eyes are wide as they search her room and she tries to tell him it's all in her head but she can't make her voice work. When she tries, the words just come out as a small sob and she watches his tensed shoulders relax and he sets down the baseball bat.

She curls into herself and cries into her bent knees – for her dreams and her fears and the knowledge that this might never end. It's a choking, clawing abyss in her chest that's been growing as the days and weeks and months slide by – that she will never see her family again. She'll never eat mom's cooking or hear her dad yell at the TV when his team loses or see Robb's infectious smile or argue with Arya or talk about philosophy with Bran or watch one of Rickon's basketball games. She'll never get to play with Lady again.

She has kept them locked away inside her, tried to forget about them because Alayne Stone doesn't have a family.

The bed dips and she lets out another gasping sob as she feels an arm settle around her shoulders. “Alayne,” he says, and then again. Again and again, until - “Sansa.”

“I'm not Sansa,” she whispers when she finally looks up.

“Sometimes you need to be,” he says, his voice is steady and he brings one hand up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It's hard, not everyone can just change who they are. Especially not like this.”

“You say that like you're some expert,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks now that her tears have slowed. She feels like a mess – her eyes feel hot and puffy, her nose feels raw, her throat is sore, but she also feels more human than she has in months.

He hesitates, seems to think hard about something before - “Aemon Stone isn't the first person I've had to become.” She jerks back a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

(He saved her life.)

“Who else?”

“Before this, I was Aegon Rivers.”

“I thought your name was Jon Snow? That's what they called you.”

“Jon Snow,” he says, voice low and soothing and she feels herself relax, settles into the warmth of his arms a bit more, “is a federal agent who went undercover with the Mockingbirds two years ago.”

She looks at him, then – really looks at him. At his grey eyes and his long face and his black hair wild from sleep, at the scar that runs through his eyebrow and the dark stubble that he meticulously shaves off every morning.

“Jon Snow fits you better,” she tells him.

“And Sansa Stark fits you.”

“I'm not Sansa Stark anymore,” she reminds him again, feeling her voice waver, though she thought she was past it. “This was just a bad dream, I promise I'll do better.”

“Like I said, sometimes it's hard,” he tells her. “And sometimes it's easy to forget who you are.”

“Is it for you?” she asks. He doesn't answer, but she thinks he doesn't need to, she can see it in him and she wonders how much of Jon Snow he remembers. Two years is a long time to be someone else. “I don't...” her voice breaks and she has to drop into a whisper. “I don't want to forget them. I know I have to-”

“What if,” he cuts in when her words fail her completely, “what if we're Jon Snow and Sansa Stark here?”

“They told us we-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don't mean... not in the house. Not during the day. But how about, once a week, at night, when it's just us, when the rest of the world is sleeping – I'll come in here and just for an hour, we can remember.”

The words make her ache and she nods and looks over at her clock. One hour – one hour to remember who she is and where she comes from. One hour to talk about anything and everything – about the past and the present and the future. It's not a lot and it's a risk and against the rules, but-

“Yes. Please.”

He nods and looks a bit grim and she wonders, once again – why? She doesn't think he wants to talk about Jon Snow. He's doing it for her – he's saving her life again and she still doesn't know why. Maybe she'll find out, some day.

“Ok,” he breathes, like he's jumping off the deep end, “Sansa Stark – what's your favorite color?”

[cuttoothed]

Day 8 of @jonmartinweek for the “AU” prompt.

This week has been such a delight to write for, and it’s the most productive and inspired I’ve been in a long time. I've really enjoyed all the great content coming out of this week. Thanks to the organizers for this wonderful event!

CW here for depiction of depression, though the term itself isn’t used. Depression symptoms are also shown to spontaneously improve over time, though it is stated that this is not a complete or permanent recovery.

*

There is a land with many gods. Gods of war and of peace; of harm and healing; of storms and snows. Gods of life and death; gods of hearth and home. The smallest village has its own small god; the cities have thousands, all clamoring for attention.

There is a valley with a kind and gentle god. He makes sure that the rains fall in spring, and in summer that the sun shines on the fields of growing crops. In winter he tempers the cold winds, gentles the frosts to spare the valley worst of the chill. The people love their god, and trust that he will always care for them.

Until one spring, the rains do not fall, and the clouds do not part to let the sunshine through. A freezing fog rolls in, blanketing the little village and the lands around it; the fields remain frozen, and those few plants that sprout from the frost-bitten earth rot in the clinging damp. The people despair, because their god has never let them down before. Have they done something wrong? Angered him somehow? They will have enough stores to survive one year without harvest, perhaps two; if their god’s kindness does not return by then, they will have to abandon the valley that has been their home for centuries.

The most senior leaders from the village go to speak with the god, in his shrine on the hillside. The god is distressed at their plight, but he tells them he cannot help; his soul is mourning, and he does not know why. He has tried to call on the sun, on the soft rains, but his heart is too sorrowful, and all that comes is fog.

The people of the valley try everything they can think of, to restore their god’s happiness. They bring him gifts, recite stories and songs; they throw a carnival in the foggy village square, with costumes and games and music. They offer to search for anything that will make him happy, if he will only tell them. But the god cannot tell them, and nothing brings him joy, and the fog remains.

*

One day, a scholar comes to the village. Jonathan Sims is from the city, from one of the temples of knowledge, where they have heard about this valley and its inconsolable god. He walks through the cold, mist-shrouded streets, and up to the hillside where the god’s shrine is.

The shrine is a cottage, small and quaint, with lights in its windows and smoke curling from its chimney; it isn’t like any shrine Jon has seen before. He hesitates before knocking on the door, unsure if this could truly be the home of a god. The person who opens the door looks like a man, with a kind face, and rough, home-spun clothing; he is quite unlike the gods of the city, who are sharp and polished and alien. But one look at his eyes tells Jon that this is the god: they are ageless and endless, swirling like silver-gray fog.

“I’m sorry,” says the god, “I’m not really in the mood for visitors at the moment.”

“Please,” Jon says, before he can shut the door. “I’ve brought jasmine tea—I heard you enjoy it?”

The god hesitates a moment, then says:

“All right, you can come in—but just for tea.”

The inside of the cottage is what Jon would have expected from its outside, cozy and cluttered, with a fire crackling in the hearth. The god fetches saucers and cups and brews a pot of the fragrant jasmine tea, and there are little cakes with dried fruit and honey, which the god tells him were a gift from the village.

“I’m not much of a baker myself,” he admits, pouring the tea. Then he asks: “What’s your name?”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon. What, uh, what should I call you?”

“I don’t have a name,” says the god. “The people around here just call me “the god”, and I’ve never thought to ask them for one.”

“You could always choose one for yourself.” The god gives him a curious look, as if that’s not something that had ever occurred to him.

“I suppose that I could,” he says. He takes a sip of his tea. “This is very nice, thank you.”

Jon has never had tea with a god before. The god asks him about the city and his work for the Temple of Beholding, and Jon finds himself talking freely; this god is very easy to talk to. His face is open and kind, and he listens attentively as Jon talks about the city, its people and its gods, about the work of the Temple to gather knowledge, to understand their world.

“Why did the Temple send you to me?” the god asks at last.

“We heard of what happened in the valley—of the fog,” says Jon, and sees guilt flash across the god’s face, the silver-gray of his eyes darkening. “I came to see.”

“Not to try to cheer me, then?” the god asks. There’s a bitter note in his voice.

“No, not to cheer you. Just to speak. To understand.”

“I’m glad you aren’t wasting your time, then,” says the god. “My people have done all they can to lift my sorrow. And I have tried, every way I know how, to send this fog away, to clear the skies, but I cannot—”

He shakes his head in frustration, lines of worry and grief etched across his features. Jon has the sudden impulse to reach out and comfort him; but this is a god, and besides, they’ve scarcely even met.

“I’m sorry that you carry such a burden,” he says. The god looks at him, and his mist-colored eyes are grieved.

“My sorrow isn’t important, only that it causes me to fail my people.” He turns away, his expression pained. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles. It’s probably best that you leave.”

Jon wants to protest, but he thinks it’s probably not a good idea to refuse a god’s request. He sets down his teacup and puts on his coat, and at the door he pauses.

“May I come back tomorrow?” he asks. The god considers, and then nods.

“I would like that,” he says, with a faint hint of a smile.

It’s quite a lovely smile, Jon can’t help noticing.

*

In the village, Jon asks about the god. The god has always been there, he learns. The god has always cared for them, has always ensured their harvests are bountiful and their winters are mild. The people of the valley don’t understand why their god is so unhappy now, but they hope it doesn’t linger too long. They need him to be the joyful, attentive god he has always been; they depend upon it.

The next day, he walks back up to the cottage on the hillside; the door opens to his knock, and the god smiles in greeting. They drink tea by the fire, and Jon asks about the valley—about how it is, when the fog isn’t here. The god talks about the farms and the orchards, the beauty of this place in both summer and winter; he talks about the lives of the people, their joys and their trials, how they rely on him for their wellbeing.

“That sounds like a great responsibility,” says Jon.

“They need me to care for them,” the god says simply. “So that is what I do.”

They talk into the evening, and the god insists Jon stay for supper; a rich stew of root vegetables and herbs. The god smiles shyly when Jon compliments the meal.

“I’m a better cook than a baker,” he says.

It’s coming into night when Jon leaves, and the god gives him an oil lamp to light his way to the village. His fingers brush against Jon’s as he hands him the lamp, and there is a jolt of electric sensation; a reminder that he is still talking to a god.

“Walk safely,” says the god.

“May I come back tomorrow?” Jon asks, and the god smiles, his eyes shining silver-gray.

“I look forward to it.”

*

Jon comes back the next day, and the next day, and the next. Sometimes he and the god talk; sometimes, when the god’s sorrow is too deep for conversation, Jon makes tea and they sit together quietly. Some days they walk in the hills, where the fog coils around the god’s feet like a cat. Jon brings the god the books he’s carried with him from the city, and the god—eventually, shyly—reads Jon a poem that he’s written. Jon is no aficionado, but the soft sincerity of the god’s voice makes something warm curl in his chest.

Their fingers brush over tea cups and the spines of books, each touch sending that little electric thrill through Jon’s nerves, and a warmth that has nothing to do with divinity. He knows it’s foolish—utterly ridiculous—to harbor such feelings for a god. But the god is kind and caring and clever; he sometimes makes terrible jokes, and when they walk, he insists on stopping to greet every shaggy brown cow they see.

The god is also sad, a bone deep, aching sorrow whose roots are unfathomable. He tries to explain it to Jon: he has always felt such sorrow, from time to time, as if all the joys of life were far away, seen from behind glass. But it has never lasted for so long, and it has never before prevented him from fulfilling his duties; he has always been able to push it aside, to do what he must.

That, Jon thinks, is part of the problem; his god is too kind, too devoted, too willing to sacrifice himself for his people.

His god, and when did Jon start to think of him that way? Not in worship, but in growing affection?

*

More than anything, the god loves to hear of Jon’s travels. He has journeyed far and wide in service to the Temple, and the god listens raptly as he describes distant places he has been, sights he’s seen, people he’s met.

“I’ve never traveled anywhere,” the god admits. “It sounds quite wonderful.”

“It can be,” says Jon. “Though it’s best when you have somewhere to return to.”

*

One morning in midsummer, the fog curls denser than ever, and Jon can scarcely find his way to the cottage through the murk. He hurries as fast as he can, worried that something might be astray. He worries more when the god does not open the door to Jon’s knock; Jon wonders for a moment if he might not be home, but they had agreed to walk and visit the cows today. His god would not forget.

He hesitates, then lets himself in.

He finds the god curled by the fire, sitting on the floor with a heavy blanket around his shoulders. His face is drawn and tear streaked, and as Jon approaches another shuddering sob tears itself from his throat, fresh tears flowing from his silver-gray eyes.

“Oh—” Jon drops to his knees on the hearthstone, his hands flying up as if to touch the god’s face, but instead hovering helplessly above his shoulders; they have never touched, but for those accidental brushes. Does he have the right?

“Jon…” the god says, his voice rough and choked. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Don’t say that,” says Jon, distraught. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” says the god, even as another sob shakes his shoulders. “I’m—there’s nothing wrong, not really. I’m just being...selfish. Absorbed in my own foolish melancholy when my people—“

“Forget your people!” Jon snaps, more sharply than he intends, and he sees his god flinch. “Just for a moment, think of yourself. I beg you.”

“My people—this place—they are me,” says the god. “If not for them, what would I even be?”

“You would be dear to me,” Jon says, hoarsely, and the god’s fog-colored eyes go wide, startled. The truth, then, and this time Jon does press a hand to his god’s soft cheek. The touch sends that familiar, tingling thrill through his palm, the feeling that Jon has learned to love.

“Oh,” the god whispers, and his hand comes up to cover Jon’s on his cheek. He leans into Jon’s touch, smiling even as the tears continue to flow.

*

There comes a day, in autumn, that dawns with sunshine and blue skies.

Jon wakes with his god curled beside him in the warm nest of their bed, and watches the light shining in through the window with wonder. It isn’t precisely a surprise: the fog has been lessening these past few weeks, the clouds growing less gray, but still he had not dared to hope that the sun might return—to the sky, and to his god’s heart.

After a time, the god wakes as well—slowly, as he always does—and his tousled head turns towards Jon. His eyes blink open, and their color is the clear blue of summer skies.

“G’morning,” he says sleepily, and Jon’s heart swells with love for him.

“Good morning,” he says. “The sun is out.”

*

The people of the valley rejoice with the return of the sun. This year’s harvest is lost, but they can begin to plan for next spring’s planting. The leaders of the village go to the shrine to give thanks to their god, but the strange scholar from the city answers the door and refuses to let them inside.

“He’s busy,” the scholar says, and shoos them away.

*

“You know that the fog may return, in time?” The god’s fingers twine gently with Jon’s. “I love you more than breath, but love cannot guard against such inborn sorrow. It comes when it wills, regardless of life’s joys.”

“Let it come,” says Jon. “I have loved you in the fog, and I will again. You own my heart, however heavy yours might be.”

He lifts his god’s hand and kisses his fingertips, feeling the buzz of bright sensation against his lips.

“My dear,” his god murmurs. “My heart.”

*

It isn’t long before Jon receives the letter that he knew would come; the fog has lifted and there’s no more to be learned, he is to return to the Temple at once.

He reads the letter once, then burns it.

*

“We should go somewhere,” Jon says, one evening. His god smiles, fingers stroking through Jon’s hair, leaving little trails of electric sensation behind.

“That’s a pleasant fancy,” he says. “I would love to travel with you, see those wonderful places you’ve told me about.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Jon urges. “Just for a time?”

“I-I couldn’t,” the god stutters. “My people—“

“Your people would carry on without you,” says Jon. “You have given everything that you are to this place and its people for so long; you’ve suffered through pain and sorrow in silence, until you could conceal it no more. You have thought of nothing for yourself, love, and so I must think of it for you.”

His god is staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and wet with tears. Jon grasps both of his hands, feeling the little sparks of divinity dancing across his skin.

“Come away with me,” he pleads. “Be selfish, for a little while.”

“Jon…” His god breathes his name like a prayer, and Jon wonders at the fortune that brought him here. His god smiles, bright and glorious.

“Yes,” he says.

*

They lock up the cottage before they leave, an empty shrine, but only for a time. The spring sun is shining, and in the valley below they can see people working in the fields, planting for their next harvest. The god gives a worried sigh, and Jon takes his hand.

“Your people are well,” he says, gently. “And we won’t be too long away.”

“I know,” says his god, and squeezes his hand. Then he smiles, wry and mischievous. “I had a thought; since we’ll be out in the world, I should choose a name. I expect most people won’t take kindly to calling me god.”

“That may be wise,” Jon agrees, laughing. “Have you thought of the name you might want?”

“Well…” his god says. “I was fond of the protagonist in that novel of yours—The Life and Adventures of Martin Blackwood?”

“Martin Blackwood, eh?” Jon says, considering. His god—Martin now, perhaps—tilts his head quizzically, his blue eyes shining.

“What do you think?” he asks, and Jon smiles.

“I think it suits you.”

[boombox-fuckboy]

I saw your post on "30 other horror podcasts", and some of them look interesting, but I also don't like being scared, or despair. (I'm fine with body horror though, and I enjoy, I guess "weird fiction" was the term you used.) Would you be able to go through some of them in more detail? These are the particular ones I thought I might like, from how they were described: A Voice From Darkness, The Hotel, How I Died, Maps of the Lost, Mistholme etc, The Petrol Station, Video Palace.

Thanks for waiting! I'll do my best. For anyone else reading who wants context, you can find the original post here.

A disclaimer that I don't scare easily (by horror at least, I do still get startled by the toaster) and also don't know what you find spooky, so I may not be the best judge here. None of them try to convince the audience that they might be next or in danger or anything? And to clarify, weird fiction is kind of that space between sci-fi, fantasy, horror, but not quite any of them? But can be paired with them, too.

Right off the bat, from what you've said, I think you'll be fine with Mistholme and Maps of the Lost. If you enjoy them, also consider checking out The Godfrey Audio Guide (which is kind of like an art gallery sibling to Mistholme).

A Voice From Darkness is set up like a radio show. Dr Malcolm Ryder hosts a radio show, called A Voice From Darkness. In each episode, he takes a call from someone in the middle of a supernatural problem and tries to help, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing to. He also tells the audience about strange happenings in America to look out for, which tend to be more creative than scary, and what strange and significant events have happened on that day in history. In some episodes, people leave him voicemails instead. The history and events are fictional in our world but real in his. Each character is voiced by a different person.

The Hotel is about a hotel that kills people. It appears to singular people in various locations and in different forms, and they believe they have booked in there. Her staff, The Lobby Boy, The Manager, and The Owner are human-shaped entities that serve it, but are just as much at her whims as any guest. Episodes are from one or two of these character's points of view, a single person telling the story, (with maybe a line or two from the guest) as they recieve a hotel guest, who books in, is shown to their room, and then inevitably dies in some creative, horrific, and vaguely supernatural way. It's the one on the list most likely to impart dispair/scare I think.

How i Died. I'm actually not up to date with this, because while entertaining, the recent season was giving me terrible second-hand embarassment on the part of the lead character. Said lead is Jon Spacer, a forensic pathologist/coroner who's just moved to a new town, and can see ghosts. The episodes are formatted as him going over the body to find out what happened, while talking to the ghost of the deceased person. There's also some kind of supernatural history/mystery to the town going on in the background. It sometimes touches on heavier topics but managed to feel light for horror to me, I suppose because it has a good sense of humor, too. It's a full cast, with you listening in as if a fly on the wall.

Maps of the Lost probably won't present you with any issues. This is formatted as an audio.guide book to strange people, places, events, and things, across the UK (or maybe just Britain? I don't recall). It feels almost like little creative writing prompts, three per episode. It's just a calm, soft voice telling you about them. Barely horror, very weird fiction.

The Mistholme Museum is not always horror, sometimes more upbeat weird fiction, but it has it's moments. A sweet and friendly tour guide AI will lead you through the museum, telling you the story behind each item within. You will probably want to befriend it (The Guide). There's 1-3 items per episode, and the stories are always strange and interesting, often spooky, but occasionally stray into horror territory. The latest episode, for example, was very much a horror. Mistholme also has content warnings in the transcripts.

The Petrol Station carries a very similar level of spooky to The Magnus Archives, which you seem to have heard. It's only 5 episodes, but it's a petrol station attendent telling you about the supernaturally strange things she's seen on the job, as if recorded and submitted to a website, asking a paranormal investigator for... Well, more just needing someone to tell. Because this one is so short, I will write up a list of content warnings for you if you want.

Video Palace is comparable to The Black Tapes in format, but without the excessive advertising, drawn-out converations, or unneeded plot twists. I don't know if you've heard that though. It's hosted by a dude. After he watches a strange white video tape he starts talking, chanting almost, in his sleep and decides to investigate the stange tape, and make a podcast about it, with his wife when she's not busy. So it's formatted as his podcast, complete with chatter, phone calls, interviews, etc. The tapes turn out to be something almost of an urban legend, and connected to strange meetings at an old, grand video store: the video palace.

I'm not sure if this is what you're after (if not, pop into my DMs and I'll answer any questions) but fingers crossed it helps.

[snothing]

Mar’i’s going on a date Drabble

I wrote this a while ago, and never really finished it. I decided oh what the hell and posted it. Sorry for any spelling mistakes! 

Also, love triangles, jealousy, and protective (immature) twin brother galore! 

“I can’t go on the mission tonight.”

Seven pairs of eyes peered at the seventeen-year-old Prince of Tamaran. Jake was out of his Nightwing uniform, donning instead a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt. He looked out of place amongst his fellow Titans, who were all donning their superhero uniforms.

“Are you joking, Grayson?” Damian growled, getting up from the monitors. The Boy Wonder stalked right up to Jake, the opaque lens of his mask glared at the younger boy. “We’ve been staking out the warehouse for an entire week! You can’t just bail now.”

“Yeah, Jake. There’s literally a shipment coming in tonight,” Lian spoke up, arms crossed. She tried her best to rein in her disappointment, but the displeasure was evident in her features.

“Sorry, guys,” Jake responded sheepishly. “Sometimes things just pop up, but hey, tomorrow, I’ll be back in duty and ready to unleash some Tamaranean hell.”

“Like that’ll do us any good,” Jai West snorted. “You’re like one of our heavy hitters.”

Irey was inclined to agree with her brother. “Yeah, Jake. We could really use you in the air with Jon. Are you sure you can’t come tonight?”

Jake shook his head apologetically. “Positive. Look, I’m really sorry, guys. I know I really dropped the ball on this, but it’s really out of my hands.”

“Tell me, Grayson,” Damian narrowed his eyes. He resisted the urge to look up. Even though they were only two years apart, Jake held two inches over him, a source of contention for the ex-assassin. “What’s more important than stopping an illegal shipment of kryptonite firearms?”

Jake glared and stood his ground. “It’s personal.”

“Oh come on, Jake,” Jon elbowed him. “You can’t just quit on a mission like that and not tell us.”

“Yeah, tell us, Jake!” Colin Wilkes sang from the couch. “And we were supposed to get nachos after, remember? How can you say no to nachos with your bro?”

In a blink, Jai was behind him, looping an arm around his neck. A friendly smile played on his mouth. “Whatcha got that’s so important, Jakey baby? Got a hot date or something, hmm?”

Lian frowned as she eyed Jake sharply. “Well?”

“Oooh, look at his face! Jake’s gonna see his girlfriend tonight!” Jai teased, oblivious to the darkening cloud on Lian’s face. “He’s gonna get some of that-” he made crude thrusting gestures.

“Ew, Jai, stop it!” Irey scolded, hands on her hips. She smiled kindly at Jake. “Jake’s a gentlemen. He’d never be so vulgar.”

“You should hear him when we game,” Cerdian grumbled. “Boy’s got a foul mouth.”

“It’s okay, bud,” Collin patted his shoulder understandingly. “I’d chose a lady over nachos any day.”

“Tt. Figures, Grayson,” remarked Damian, haughty. “You can at least try to take this job seriously. If you weren’t so busy thinking with your-“

“I’m not going on a date!” Jake blurted out. “Mar’i is!”

Oh shit. He was not supposed to say that.

The shadows on Lian’s face disappeared. She let out a sigh of relief but slyly cast a glance at the gobsmacked Robin and SuperBoy. They looked as if Jake had slapped them in the face.

“What?” Jon asked, failing to keep the crack in his voice at bay. Beautiful, studious Mar’iand’r Grayson— his secret crush of THREE years— was going on a date— with someone— who was not him? “Mar’i? Date?”

Damian tried to tame the storm on his face, knowing damn well that Harper and Wilkes were analyzing his every move. Still, even he could not help asking dumbly, “Mar’i as in your sister?”

“What other Mar’i would it be,” Lian chided before grinning micheviously. She knew she was treading in dangerous territory, but the chaotic side of her couldn’t resist. “She’s going on a date? That’s great! It’s about damn time someone asked that girl out!”

Lian swore she could feel someone’s heat vision on her, but whose, she was not quite sure. Damian would no doubt make her pay in training later.

“No, not great, Lian!” Jake retorted, cross. “The pokar’s name is,” he paused to gag dramatically, “Brendon.”

“Oh, I remember her talking about Brendon!” Collin said thoughtfully. “They’re both in the Astrophysics club at your school, right? She said he was a senior?”

“Ooh! Mar’i’s dating a senior!” Irey exclaimed happily. “How exciting!”

Jake, Damian, and Jon all shot the speedster a glare. “Yes, Brendon. He asked her out yesterday. Said he wants to take her to get milkshakes and,” Jake stopped to shudder, “tour the observatory.”

“Oh, that’s kind of romantic, right? They’re both into space stuff— well, she’s from another planet! I think it’s sweet,” Irey tried to appease him.

“It’s tacky,” Damian snorted, arms crossed. “Who takes a girl to get a cold beverage and see stars? Overplayed and overrated.”

“Not to mention racist! Yeah, take the alien girl to an observatory! She has other interests, too, you know! Like gardening, old movies, and birdwatching!” Jon snipped. The team was shocked to see him react this way; he was characteristically optimistic, rarely ever showing aggression outside the battlefield, and now, he looked ready to explode.

“Don’t you think you three are being too harsh?” Lian asked, eyebrow raised. “It probably took a lot of courage for this guy to ask Mar’i out.”

“Uh, no, Lian, I don’t,” Jake answered, indignant. Lian promptly rolled her eyes.

Damian turned to him. “Does Grayson know about this?”

“Uh, yeah, Damian, I’d think Mar’i’d know if she were going on a date.”

“Not Mar’i, idiot. Your father!” Damian snapped. Dick was very protective of his children, especially his darling Mar’i. 

“Use our first names, dummy! If you hadn’t notice, my mom, my sister, me, and my dad all share the same last name!” Jake shot back. “And of course, he does! He’s not happy about it either, but Mom-- the traitor-- made him agree to it!”

“So what are you going to do, Jake?” Lian inquired. She eyed him suspiciously. “You better not be thinking about ruining her date.”

“Do I look like I have a death wish? She’d kill me if I did that!”

“Then what? Last time I checked, Mar’i was the same age as you, and —get this— totally capable of making her own damn decisions!”

“I disagree with Harper, ruin the date.”

“Damian!”

“I’m not going to ruin the date. I am simply going to ensure this Brendon behaves in an honorable fashion,” Jake interjected. 

Lian frowned. “So you’re gonna spy on them?”

“Yeah, essentially,” Jake conceded. “But I’d like to say reconnaissance. This ‘Brendon’ is perhaps a form of ooze monster in disguise. If that’s the case, her dear brother Jake is here to save the day! And hopefully, she’ll see that dating is gross and never do it again.”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?” Lian sighed, exasperated. She always knew there would come a day when Mar’i would go on a date and Jake would freak out, but honestly, she expected it would either be Damian or Jon. She could not even imagine the fallout from that.

Jon cut in, placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. Normally, he’d never condone something this immature, but today, he would make an exception. “I don’t think so Jake. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

A grin blossomed on Jake’s face. Feeling validated, he turned to the archer, a smug grin on his face. “Thank you, Jon! See, Lian, at least someone understands me! I’m just doing my brotherly duties. 

Lian rolled her eyes. 

[somuchbetterthanthat]

To my dearest Chloé : it’s not much, but I hope you like it. Happy birthday!!!!  Takes place in season 1, very mild d/s and sexual imagery ahead.

“That,” said Martin, “is just disgusting.”

“You’re just squeamish,” Jon retorted, with the kind of condescending tone Martin had dreaded only a few weeks ago. It didn’t sound that bad now though, with Jon leaning weirdly against the back of his chair, lips curled in that small, smug grin that Martin was coming ‘round to see as Jon being playful. 

He was still very much being a twat though. 

“Yeah, I am,” Martin told him, “like a normal person, Jon. Have you even had to deal with rotten meat before? Because, let me tell you, the smell? Just -- awful. And, and the -- texture --”

“There’s your mistake right there,” Jon cut him off. “Why would you touch it?”

“I didn’t touch it, I got rid of it --”

“Huh-huh,” 

“God,” Martin told him, “you are insufferable.”

Jon’s grin widened. Martin did not tell him that it was, in fact, insufferably cute, although it really, really was. He tried to remember that Jon would have torn him apart in a few cutting words, less than four months ago, but the memory was hard to hold unto when, by now, he’d spent more time eating take-out with his boss and sharing the workplace with him after work hours than being outright reprimanded by him. 

It was almost like having a roommate, Martin thought sometimes; or a... someone. A proper someone. Not that he and Jon were...

“I do hope you’re not envisioning the meat monster again --” Jon started and Martin’s thought faded away as he unceremoniously decided to hit Jon’s leg under the table, making Jon laugh. It was such a nice noise, from someone who was such a terrible brat --

“That’s enough,” Martin declared, “I’m not listening to you anymore.”

“That’s rather rude,” Jon pointed out. “You’ve invited me to dinner.”

“And you brought up the most awful statement we’ve got in there --”

“Really, Martin? The meat monster is the worst you can think of?” Jon’s eyes gleamed. He had such pretty eyes. It was all quite unfair. “Let me tell you about --”

“Don’t you dare,”

“I’m merely trying to have a conversation...”

“Well, I think you should stop talking,” Martin decided boldly, and Jon raised his eyebrows at him. Absolute brat. Had he done this on purpose? Martin licked his lips,  feeling the atmosphere shift ever so slightly. “Come here.” he said, putting a little more firmness into his voice. That, he’d found out lately, worked wonder on Jonathan Sims.

Jon’s eyes fluttered. Never failed. Martin’s neck was hot, and his hands were a little bit sweaty. Not the high of sexy, but, well; well. Clearly, it was happening, so. Jon got up obediently, going around the table, and Martin moved backward to leave him enough room to straddle his lap.

“How is this?” Jon asked, as if Martin wasn’t already growing hard and they weren’t very much both aware of that fact.

“That’s still talking,” Martin answered and grabbed a fistful of Jon’s hair, pulling him towards him. Jon made a soft noise that went right to Martin’s dick, and melt properly into Martin. Their noses brushed against each other, and Martin crossed the inch that was still between them to kiss him. “There,” he breathed. “You know you don’t have to be an arse, yeah? You could just be --” he licked his lips, hoping the words weren’t going to sound as corny as they were in his head. “A good boy for me.”

Jon’s hands, which had settled on his shoulders, tightened around him. His hips jerked ever so slightly. Right. Right. Not corny, then. Spot on, even. It was Martin’s turned to grin as he brush his own fingers over Jon’s thigh.

“You want to be good for me?” he asked, feeling slightly dizzy. He didn’t know what it was about this new, not-just-your-awful-mean-boss Jon that was making him feel so -- so confident, but he was slowly getting addicted to it. To all of this.

“You’re having a lot of fun right now, aren’t you?” Jon retorted, his eyes very, very dark.

“Yup,” Martin said, stealing another kiss. “Very much so.”

“Well,” Jon said, “In that case...” he tilted his head, staring a moment at Martin, until his lips quirked up again and he leaned back down, nuzzling Martin’s neck in a way that reminded Martin of a very affectionate cat, and whispered in Martin’s ear, voice low and oh so very sweet: “Yes, Martin. I really do want to be good for you.”

“Oh,” Martin said, feeling like all the air had left his lungs, heat rising up his chest and his head. “Oh you bastard --”

Jon still looked incredibly pleased with himself when Martin lifted up to the table and started to undo his pants. I love this terrible man, Martin thought, giddy and affectionate and so, so horny, but he didn’t let himself ponder on it too long, because this was not the time for spiraling into pathetic questions over what the hell this was and what they were doing and if this meant anything for Jon.

Right now, the only thing he had to focus on was to teach a lovely lesson to his very impertinent, gorgeous boss.

[kalgalen]

Day 1: lantern, sea, prophecy

There is a statue on the beach.

It's made of stone, old and beaten by the elements; it is shaped like a person, but if it ever had a face, it's long since been eroded by the rain and the sand. At the end of its extended arm, a lantern hangs, swinging softly in the wind - black, wrought iron, durable. No one remembers who erected it or what for, but it is said that anyone who lights a candle in the lantern when the sun disappears under the horizon will see a wish granted.

Jon doesn't think that's true; he prides himself on having left behind credulity and childish beliefs long ago. His grandmother, who raised him, never tried hard to entertain his belief that Santa Claus was real, and he's never been drawn to legends and prophecies. Jon needs concrete proof to believe in anything, and old wives' tales are only just that: tales, pretty lies without foundation. 

(And if there's a part of him that still enjoys reading children's books and fantastic stories at the ripe age of sixteen because the magic in them contributes to making his daily life a bit more bearable - well, that's his own business.)

Long story short: there's a statue on the beach, and it might simply be an old chunk of rock, but damn him if Jon isn't tempted to go light that lantern to see what happens sometimes.

And then one day, after a particularly hellish school day that had resulted in one of his books being ripped from his hands and torn apart at recess - "What's that? A story for kids? You're so weird" - he takes his decision: in the evening, he will walk to the statue on the beach and blow the lantern out. It most likely won't work, but he's miserable, tired and lonely, and he just wants a friend. Just one, someone who will understand him and appreciate him instead of mocking his books and his clothes, and making him feel as if he's unworthy of being loved.

He just wants a friend.

It starts raining just after dinner, and Jon almost decides to reschedule his attempt - but as he sits alone in his bedroom, the silence becomes so heavy it physically weighs on his heart, and he springs up from his bed, unable to stand the crushing feeling any longer. He goes down the stairs, quiet as a cat, then slinks by the open door of the living room where his grandmother is watching the telly, and wraps himself up in his most waterproof coat. He makes sure his keys are in his pocket, as well as a box of matches and a tea light, and then he's off.

The bad weather keeps people inside their homes, and Jon doesn’t come across anyone as he makes his way down the streets and toward the shore. The sculpture is situated in a rocky area of the beach, and Jon struggles to keep his balance when his shoes fail to grip the wet stone. Water is running down his neck and he can barely see in front of him due to both the droplets on his glasses and the diminishing daylight. Not for the first time, he thinks about giving up; but he’s so close, turning back now is out of the question.

Eventually, after many curses and much flailing, he reaches the monument. The sun is barely visible behind the rolling clouds, and he wonders if this whole undertaking is doomed to fail because of the elements. Gritting his teeth and feeling like an utter fool, he slips the candle in the lantern and fumbles with the box of matches. It's a fight to get it to stay lit long enough for him to blow it out himself, but when he finally succeeds he takes the time to close his eyes and think, as forcefully as he can:

I don't want to be alone anymore.

The flame is flickering weakly when he opens his eyes again. Then he blows on it softly, and it dies out.

He stands expectantly for a bit, shivering in the storm. Nothing happens - of course. Jon refrains from giving the statue a resentful kick, and decides to go home.

Then - despite the rain beating against his hood and the waves breaking around him - he hears a cry. A sob, really; he looks around for the source of the noise… But there's no one out there. Thinking he must have imagined it, he starts to leave. 

He only has a second to realise what's happening. Time slows down as his foot lands on a particularly smooth stretch of stone, and he slips. The waves crashing against the rocks on his right seem to rise up to meet him -

And then he's under water, and everything is dark.

[robinrequiems]

ok BUT consider this,genderbend damijon and normal damijon meet,both dames don't like each other,the Jon's love it though,it's like having a twin

LMAO I. ME. STUPIDLT. DELETED ALL THE THINGS I SAID FOR THIS

• the genderbends go to damian and jons world, I just saw the genderbends are from earth-11, but instead of everyone is genderbent, it’s just the supersons

• damian and dami were the ones who saw each other first, there was a security breech and Damian got there first and immediately attacked dami since dami threw a birdarang at him

• jon had heard damians heart beat race. so he immediately went to where he was and saw two robins fighting while a super was trying to coerce them to stop

• josie just waved at jon, and he waved back

Josie: hey!

Jon: hi- uhh.. who’re you

Josie: supergirl.. who’re you?

Jon: superboy..

Josie: oh my god- robin!

Jon: hey, Robin- get off her, come here

• jon and josie get their robins off each other and are hugging them tightly from behind

Damian: who are you, cockroach

Dami: cockroach??

Josie: this is Robin

Damian: ugh, reminds me of the robin wars all over again

Jon: be nice

Josie: i don’t think we’re from here.. but this place looks like ours- we’re in the fortress right?

Jon: yeah.. the fortress of

Jon and Josie: attitude! Jinx! Double jinx! Krypto!

Damian: my gods, shut up.. what earth are you from?

Dami: earth-11

Damian: earth 1.

Josie: if I let you go; will you be calm?

Dami: I’m not feral

Damian: sure seems like—

Jon, places hand on his face: sorry, he’s moody today

Josie: don’t worry- my Robin is the same way! but I’m Josie

Dami: we shouldn’t give our identities out, you idiot-

Jon: jon!

Damian: mmmabsour!

Jon; removes hand: this is Damian

Damian: asshole!

Josie: this is Dami! my beloved girlfriend!

Dami: ohmygod.

Jon: you two are dating..?

Damian: let go of me, I need to go contact batman

Josie: uh yeah, you two arent?

Jon: err.. complicated

Dami: tt. complicated

• damian just went off and went to the super computer and began typing out a message to batman, hoping he was still on earth

• jon was blushing red, Dami found it funny, it’s how Josie was when Josie asked her out. but dami also knows how she was when they were dancing around each other, awkward and easily angered. Also. blushing hard. Which her counterpart was doing

Josie: hey, do you have any spare clothes? and a shower, we just had a fight in the sewers.. and I smell and dami does too

Dami: hey!

Jon: yeah! dames, I’ll be back!

Damian: whatever.

• damian was. very. overwhelmed. dating. those two were dating. Damian had a very big crush on jon, and jon did too, but each time they tried to talk about it? it was hard.. they always got interrupted or Damian just ran away

• dami tried to run away, but Josie didn’t let her

• damian and jon haven’t dated anyone ever since their feelings became known when Damian got hit with fear toxin and accidentslly blurted out his feelings and let it be known that his biggest fear was failing jon. maybe future tim got into his head that one time a lot. and then Damian just said that he liked jon a lot and didn’t want to lose him

• dami and josie confessed when Josie came back from her space adventure. Josie went off for a few weeks, and came back damis age. Dami hugged Josie as soon as she came back, Josie confessed her feelings and dami tried to run away, but Josie didn’t let her. Josie heard her heartbeat, saw how she was flustered, and took a leap of faith and kissed her

Josie: ohmyrao

Dami: do it again

• but jon and Damian were a different story, they are the same age, jon never left, but this.. was different, alright? they have known each other for years.. Damian didn’t want to lose his truly first best friend. but jon was always there. even when Damian kept running away. Jon wants to stop him, but he doesn’t want to.. overwhelm Damian? Damian runs away to collect himself, jon doesn’t want to lose damian, but jon knows they have to talk. and they will. hopefully.

• josie and dami got changed into their counterparts clothes, Josie cooing at Dami and calling her cute while Dami just glared.

• there are some differences to the counterparts. Dami used a bo-staff, Damian used a sword. Dami is trying to separate herself from her assassin last while Damian is trying to grow from it

• jon and josie have different suits, but they are older in this abd it’s not the jeans, imagine one of jons new superman outfits but.. better and here’s josies: I got onto injustice 2 just to do this:))

• I know I said no skirt.. but it’s pretty -

• in the fortress, goliath was there just sleeping since Maya was out of the country doing stuff and suren

Damian: fathers being useless and isn’t responding

Jon: well we can have fun then!

• jon and josie wanted to have a race and Damian and dami had to watch. Dami speaks to Damian

Dami: why haven’t you manned up?

Damian: huh?

Dami: why aren’t you two dating, idiot

Damian: why’s it why of your business?

Dami: I’m a curious person, surely you understand that. answer the question

Damian: what if he declines

Dami: he won’t, have you not seen the way he looks at you, he’d say yes. hes not gonna leave you either

Damian: what if he dies?

Dami: what if he doesn’t

Damian: ugh.

Dami: if you get stuck in your head, you might lose him without even seeing what could happen. you know the complications of our stupid lives, just take a leap of faith.

• it’s so stupid that his own self is giving him a prep talk

Damian: you sound like a mix of richard and stephanie

Dami: they taught me how to express my emotions and gave me hope

Damian: “there’s room in our line of work for hope” stephanie is way too into inspirational quotes

Dami: but we love her?

Damian: sometimes unfortunately

• meanwhile josie and jon talk before the race

Josie: we both know how our D’s are just.. uhh bad at emotions sometimes. Your D won’t make the first move, mine didn’t either. but he likes you

Jon: i know he does, but it’s just sometimes difficult with him. I love him, yknow?

Josie: I love my D, I think she’s the only reason why I survived those years in space. You gotta make your move. If I win; you make your move, got it?

Jon: as if you’ll win

Josie, fist bumping jon and grinning: bring it on, twin!

• they tie. but batman got in contact with the JL and cyborg has come to make a boom tube to earth-11 for the superdaughters

Damian: hope you never come back

Dami: hope I never do too, you suck

Josie: see ya’! It’s been fun!

Jon: it has! hope this doesn’t happen again!

• the girls leave, leaving jon and Damian alone. Jon wanted to confess, but Damian looks tired

• not yet. but soon

[jackoshadows]

While developing characters, writers use certain literary tools to add depth to these characters and advance the plot.

Literary Foils and Mirrors

This is arguably the simplest of the devices. Foil characters share few or no values or traits. Maybe one character is lazy and boring, and his best friend is energetic and a go-getter. These are foil characters. Put them together, and they’ll highlight each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The most common foil characters are the heroes and villains, who stand for different values and want to achieve separate goals.

Mirror characters are used for a similar purpose. They tend to share several qualities and are used to complement and highlight each other’s traits. Common mirror characters embark on parallel plots, sometimes to achieve a single goal, which tests them and highlights their traits in different ways.

Arya Stark and Sansa Stark for example are literary foils.

Arya was one of the first characters created. Sansa came about as a total opposite b/c too many of the Stark family members were getting along and familes aren’t like that. Thus, Sansa was created; he ended by saying they have deep issues to work out. - GRRM

GRRM SSM November 11, 2000

You may be as different as the sun and the moon - Ned Stark, AGoT

Foils have contrasting personalities, a different set of values and are often used to highlight a character’s particular qualities. Snobby Sansa is used to highlight Arya’s socializing with the smallfolk and non-conformist Arya is used to highlight that Sansa is a proper lady. Arya rushes to help the butcher’s boy, Sansa is more concerned for the prince.

And then we have the mirror characters who share similar traits and qualities, again used to highlight and complement our characters. They may have parallel plots, give hints and clues as to how one characters journey could end the same or be different to the other.

In ASoIaF, Arya Stark and Lyanna Stark are mirror characters, in that, the author is using a tertiary character like Lyanna to complement and give us more information about our main character Arya.

“Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.”

“Lyanna was beautiful,” Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya. - Arya, AGoT

So here the author gives us some information about how Arya might look in the future as well as demonstrates Arya’s low self-esteem with regards to her appearance.

Lyanna is used to highlight Arya’s interest in wielding a sword:

Beyond, in a clearing overlooking the river, they came upon a boy and a girl playing at knights. Their swords were wooden sticks, broom handles from the look of them, and they were rushing across the grass, swinging at each other lustily. "Arya?" she called out incredulously. Joffrey glanced from Arya to Sansa and back again. "Your sister?" She nodded, blushing. - Sansa, AGoT

Now two children danced across the gods wood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy.  But that couldn’t be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. - Bran, ADwD

Bran sees a vision that parallels Arya/Mycah and even Arya/Bran with Lyanna and Benjen. Notice how Sansa is both incredulous and embarrassed at Arya dueling with Mycah -  highlighting the differences between Arya and Sansa and at the same time paralleling Arya and Lyanna.

Horse riding.

You ride like a northman, milady,” Harwin said when he’d drawn them to a halt. “Your aunt was much the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember.” - Arya, AGoT

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. - Arya, AGoT

Notice how Arya and Lyanna are paralleled to highlight that Arya is a good horse rider, like the Northerners. And again, notice the contrast to Sansa. One character is a mirror here and one character a foil.

And again, with the flowers:

Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. […] “I bring her flowers when I can,” he said. “Lyanna was … fond of flowers.” - Ned. AGoT

Then to Sansa she said, “When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion.” - Sansa, AGoT

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

Text that is used to mirror Arya and Lyanna as liking flowers. We have Ned taking flowers to Lyanna and Arya bringing flowers to Ned. And again we have Sansa disparaging this. Mirrors and foils.

We have Arya and Lyanna stepping in to help people. Mirrors used to highlight Arya’s personality.

“Stop it!” Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince’s head - Sansa, AGoT

They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. ‘That’s my father’s man you’re kicking,’ howled the she-wolf.” The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. - Bran, ASoS

Arya and Lyanna step in to help their father’s men and people like Howland Reed and Mycah. Sansa stepped in to help her Lannister prince.

Lyanna is deemed wilful and wild and comparisons are made to Arya.

“She was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” - Arya, AGoT

And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful.  - Jon, AGoT

“[…] This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience … at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up.” Arya, AGoT

So we get a warning for Arya that her predecessor with a similar personality had a tragic ending. Will Arya head down the same path or will she make different choices from her mirror character?

And then there is Arya’s relationship with Lyanna’s son Jon Snow. The fact that Arya, Jon and Lyanna all look the same - and have the Stark look.

I think the writing in the books makes it clear that Arya and Lyanna are literary mirrors and Arya/Lyanna are literary foils to Sansa.

In what way is Lyanna a mirror for Sansa? How does Lyanna in any way complement Sansa as a character? What information about Sansa do we get from the Lyanna call backs in the text? What can we glean about Sansa’s personality and how she would react from Lyanna’s traits? There is no information about any of this in the books.

Which is why it’s baffling when some sections of fandom keep talking about the many parallels between Sansa and Lyanna. There are no parallels here, none.

We first hear of Lyanna when Robert mentions that unlike his failed engagement to Ned’s sister, this time around, Ned’s daughter and Robert’s son can marry to unite house Baratheon and Stark. This is GRRM setting up the scenario to subvert tropes.

Readers expect that Lyanna is a Sansa like character but as we keep reading, it’s revealed that the daughter who is similar to Lyanna is Arya and not Sansa. Even Arya is surprised when Ned tells her that it is she who will have Lyanna’s beauty.

Lyanna and Robert do not get married because Lyanna went against the wishes of her family. Meanwhile Sansa wanted to marry Joffrey against the wishes of her father. Character foils. If anything the Robert/Lyanna and Joffrey/Sansa pairing demonstrates how much Sansa and Lyanna are as much foils as Sansa and Arya.

Lyanna could see through Robert, that not even his closest friend Ned could do. She was not taken in by appearances.

“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.” Ned, AGoT

Unlike Sansa, she did not believe that fairy tales were real. She was not idealistic about love. Contrast her with Sansa - who continued to love her sweet, beautiful prince after seeing him sadistically maul another child and try to harm her sister and after her own father warns her that Joffrey was not good

At first she thought she hated him for what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya.She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate - Sansa, AGoT

“Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted her his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.”   - Sansa, ACoK

Much is made of Lyanna crying over Rhaegar’s song. As if this is a quality specific only to Sansa in ASoIaF. Cersei talks about how Rhaegar made her weep with his silvery harp. Arya likes songs and Arya cries. Arya and Sansa just like different songs and we have no idea what Rhaegar’s song was even about. Arya named her direwolf pup Nymeria from the songs.

Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs - Bran, AGoT

Arya wanted to become an outlaw like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs.

Tom and Hot Pie resumed their song on the other side of the brook, with the duck hanging from Lem’s belt beneath his yellow cloak. Somehow the singing made the miles seem shorter. - Arya, ASoS

Ygritte cries over songs about the last of the giants and Ygritte reminds Jon of Arya. Again, Ygritte and Arya are literary mirrors to remind Jon of his sister and highlight Arya’s personality and other characteristics.

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon, ASoS

"If you kill a man, and never meant', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon, ASoS

There were tears on Ygritte’s cheeks when the song ended. “Why are you weeping?” Jon asked. “It was only a song. There are hundreds of giants, I’ve just seen them.” “Oh, hundreds,” she said furiously. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.” - Jon, ASoS

Ygritte displays both grief and anger at the fate of the giants in the song -  emotions that Arya often exhibits.

So GRRM compares two women who cry listening to songs with Arya in the text and yet the parallel here is somehow with Sansa?

Besides, let’s not forget Lyanna’s reaction to Benjen laughing at her crying:

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle, but when her pup brother teased her for crying she poured wine over his head - Bran, ASoS

Who does this remind us of?

“You be quiet, stupid,” the girl (Lyanna) said, tossing her own branch aside. - Bran, ADwD

Who does this remind us of?

GRRM is deliberately writing in Lyanna Stark as a literary mirror to Arya Stark in the books. There are three possible reasons for this. One, to highlight and complement Arya’s personality and add depth to her character. Two, to highlight her strong connection to the North. And three, for a plot that he’s leading us towards, that will either parallel or connect to Lyanna’s story in some way.

GRRM sees no such need to connect Sansa and Lyanna because that is not Sansa’s story. Her similarities are with her mother Catelyn Stark. Her story has been revolving around Littlefinger for 5 books and Littlefinger is infatuated with her because she looks like Catelyn. The author has even talked about it.

My Littlefinger would have never turned Sansa over to Ramsay. Never. He’s obsessed with her. Half the time he thinks she’s the daughter he never had—that he wishes he had, if he’d married Catelyn. And half the time he thinks she is Catelyn, and he wants her for himself. He’s not going to give her to somebody who would do bad things to her. That’s going to be very different in the books. - GRRM

If there is an aunt that the character parallels, it is Lysa Arryn and not Lyanna Stark. Will Sansa fall to Littlefinger’s machinations and suffer the same fate as her mother and her aunt? Or will she forge a different path when facing same tests?

So why the obsession with Sansa and Lyanna parallels?

Sansa stans have this weird way of reading the text where everything is subconscious and not written on the page. This idea that what’s on page is not important but some sneaky, secretive subtext is what’s actually going foreshadow future events. So GRRM investing in Jon and Arya’s relationship in the text of the books means that Jon and Sansa are going to end up together. Or GRRM is making subconscious parallels between Lyanna and Sansa.

Sorry, but that’s not how GRRM writes. Everything that GRRM wants us to read and connect to is on the page.

“I’ve been planting all these clues that the butler did it, then you’re halfway through a series and suddenly thousands of people have figured out that the butler did it, and then you say the chambermaid did it? No, you can’t do that,” Martin reportedly said while addressing whether fan theories and online speculation influence his writing process for the “Song of Ice and Fire” series of novels on which HBO’s adaptation is based.

It’s easy to do things that are shocking or unexpected, but they have to grow out of characters. They have to grow out of situations. Otherwise, it’s just being shocking for being shocking. But this is something that seems very organic and natural, and I could see how it would happen.

Then there’s the misogyny. Beauty, songs, romance and love should only be associated with Sansa. Arranged marriages are only for Sansa, being used as a pawn for power is only Sansa. Only Sansa suffers the separation from family. Can’t associate any of that with Arya because she is ‘masculine’. Despite Catelyn arranging a marriage for Arya with a Frey and despite Ramsay marrying Arya to hold the North, only Sansa is the key to the North. Arya sees through Elmar Frey as easily as Lyanna sees through Robert Baratheon, but it’s only Sansa who is associated with an unwanted betrothal.

Every female character in this series has a betrothal plot, every female character is used as a pawn at one point - even Daenerys. We know nothing about Lyanna’s story - whether she was in love with Rhaegar, what she was doing in the Tower of Joy, why she eloped. We know nothing, just assumptions and headcanons. This is a character of whom we only get flashes here and there to add to Arya’s character for  plot reasons and the mystery of Jon’s parentage.

In my opinion, this obsession that Sansa stans have with connecting the character to Lyanna arises from a need to prove Sansa’s Northern/Stark credentials. Sansa stans are fanatical about the North. Parallels to Catelyn and Lysa evoke Sansa’s Tully lineage rather than her Stark one and for people that are obsessed with the North, this will not do.

Unless it’s the idiotic Ned/Cat Jonsa parallels where they theorize that Jon is attracted to a girl who looks like the woman who emotionally abused him 😒. Of course, with the new batch of Sansa stans who ship Jonsa there is now an added reason for pushing the Lyanna-Sansa parallels as a connection they want for Jon and Sansa.

So, in the text of the story, the author writes Arya Stark and Lyanna Stark as mirrors and Arya Stark and  Sansa Stark as foils. The author does not intend to have Lyanna and Sansa act as mirrors in my opinion. Rather, an examination of what little we know of Lyanna shows her to be a complete contrast to Sansa in all ways.

[wordsintimeandspace]

All That Haunts Us (13/14)

Jon and Tim have seen their fair share of strange things while working in Research at the Magnus Institute. They still didn’t quite expect to rescue Martin, who has been missing for a year, from a supernatural encounter during one of their investigations. Together, the three of them hunt for answers and try to find a way forward, but they all have things that haunt them.

Meanwhile, Elias sees the perfect opportunity to set his plan into motion…

Jon/Martin/Tim, rated T, ~2100 words for this chapter. Read on tumblr or AO3!

Martin is afraid.

He’s more afraid than he’s ever been, with the fog swirling around him and the cold biting his skin. Maybe it should be familiar by now, this excruciating isolation and loneliness, but it doesn’t help that he went through it before. This time, it feels even worse because of what he’s leaving behind.

A sob escapes his throat as he blindly stumbles through the thickening fog, desperately looking for a way out even though he knows there is none. Desperately searching for a familiar face even though he knows he won’t find it. He’s wandered this place for so long before, and the only person to ever find him was Jon.

The thought of Jon sends a sharp stab of pain through his chest. “Jon,” Martin whimpers, voice muffled by the fog. “Tim?”

There’s no answer. Of course there isn’t. It had been Jon who needed his help this time. Who needed him there to stand up against Elias. And Martin, useless as he is, just got himself trapped once again. Why would Jon come after him, once again risking his life to save Martin when Martin failed to do the same for him?

Tears spill down his cheeks. Finally, he stops his frantic pacing through the fog. There’s no point in looking for anyone. No one is coming for him this time. All the happiness, all the friendship and love he has experienced over the last weeks, has dissipated into nothing but fog. The sooner he accepts that, the less it’s going to hurt.

Martin lets out a shuddering breath. He swallows his tears, and stops fighting the fog.

Instantly, it closes in on him. From one second to the next it’s surrounding him so thick that he can barely see his hand in front of his face. On the next inhale, it flows into his lungs, cold as ice. On the exhale, it takes everything away - thoughts and feelings and memories and all that he is. It hollows him out with just a single breath, but when the numbness finally settles over him, overflowing the constant ache in his chest, a part of him can’t help but be relieved.

~~~

For a long while, there’s nothing. Martin wanders through the fog, slowly, without aim. There’s nothing else to do, really.

Sometimes, he talks to himself. His voice is nothing but a quiet murmur. Everything else feels too oppressive in this place. It’s huge and empty and he’s all alone, but it still feels like his voice might disturb someone. He tries to be quiet, make himself small. It’s for the best, really, not to alert anyone to his presence, to wander deeper and deeper into the fog until he’s finally shut everything and everyone out.

 “Don’t shut us out.”

Martin stills. The words pop into his head without warning. Slowly he repeats them, lingering on every syllable. The voice saying these words sounds familiar, even though he can’t place it. He can’t shake the strange feeling that someone has said these words to him, not too long ago.

He frowns. That doesn’t make any sense. He’s all alone in here. There isn’t anyone around to tell him something like that. And there isn’t anyone who would talk to him like this - soft and gentle, but firm at the same time. Not firm in a bad way, firm in a way that lets a deeper affection shine through. Firm because someone cares.

The thought sends a sharp pain through his chest, piercing through the numbness. Martin gasps against the ache, his legs buckling. It’s more than he can stand. Desperately, he lets the fog carry away the memory. It slips away, until the words are nothing more than a distant echo. Of course there isn’t anyone who cares. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it?

And it’s fine, really. He’s used to being alone. At least this way, he can’t get hurt. Nothing hurts in this place.

It’s better than the alternative, better than the hurt he’s been living with for so long. Even now, in the fog, he can still hear his mother’s voice ringing through his head. He doesn’t remember her face, but he distantly remembers how she made him feel. With every purse of her lips, every roll of her eyes, every time she snapped or shouted or sighed at something he did or said. He can’t really blame her. Really, she must have had a point. It’s no wonder that he’s on his own now. It’s just what he deserves, isn’t it?

 “It wasn’t your fault that you were on your own, and you certainly didn’t deserve it.”

Martin’s breath catches in his throat. There is that voice again. He should remember it, shouldn’t he? It not only sounds familiar, but it feels that way too - it makes a warmth curl in his chest, faint and flickering, as if that’s all that can make it through the fog. This time, he tries to focus on the feeling, lets it spread, even as it sends a sharp pang of longing through him. Despite the ache, it feels right. Comfortable, comforting, exciting in a way that he hadn’t thought would be possible for him until he met Tim and Jon.

Martin gasps.

 Tim.

 Jon.

He whirls around, panic suddenly clawing its way up his throat. How could he have forgotten them? Where are they? He swears they were with him just a moment ago. Martin hesitantly takes a step forward, muscles tense and ready to run towards them at just the smallest glimpse, but there is nothing but fog in every direction. Martin sobs and blinks against the tears welling up in his eyes. Did they leave him behind? Leave him here, alone all over again-

 “I can’t promise you it’s not going to hurt, but I can promise you you won’t be alone”

No. No, that can’t be right. Jon had promised, back when they first met. He’d promised he wouldn’t be alone, and he kept his word every step of the way.

He wasn’t alone in all the good moments, and he wasn’t alone in the bad ones either. Through nightmares and tears and all the times the fog had threatened to pull him back under, Jon and Tim were right there. Through all the danger, they stood by his side. They said he was worth it, and even if he hadn’t believed them, he had believed that they meant it. They wouldn’t just leave him now.

Martin lets out a shuddering breath, clenching his hands into fists. He’s just… lost. He didn’t mean to be here. He didn’t choose it, and he doesn’t deserve it, and Jon and Tim are coming for him.

He's not lonely anymore. He has friends, and he’s in love, and he will not forget this again.

Around him, the fog swirls and dances, its movements speeding up. It reaches out to him, like tendrils or claws ready to burrow into his flesh, but this time he manages to shake it off. He remembers, and that alone seems to be enough for the fog to recoil around him. It’s still there, lurking just out of his reach and obscuring everything around him, but at least he can think clearly.

“Jon!” he cries out, his voice ringing in his ears after the silence of the fog. “Tim!”

For a while, there is nothing but his frantic breathing, but then a voice comes through the fog, thin and quiet. Despite that, he immediately recognizes it.

“Martin!” Jon calls out, far away from somewhere behind the mist. Martin’s heart skips a beat. Without a moment of hesitation, he starts running.

“Jon!” he calls out again. He nearly trips over his feet, but he doesn’t dare to slow down. Jon yells his name again, his voice a little louder this time. A moment later, Tim calls out for him as well. Martin speeds up his movements, desperate to reach them and leave the fog behind.

In the end, it happens quite suddenly. One step and he’s still in the fog, his footsteps soft and muffled, the sound swallowed by the mist. The next, and he steps onto polished granite flooring, firm and hard beneath his feet. Solid in a way the other place wasn’t. The change is so sudden and disorienting that Martin stumbles, crumbling to the ground into a trembling, wheezing heap.

His head is spinning, his ears ringing with the blood rushing through his veins. White spots dance in front of his vision. Breathing hard, he blinks to will them away. When he finally manages to take in his surroundings, he immediately recognizes the corridors of the Magnus Institute - shining floors and panelled walls, high ceilings and soft lighting. And then footsteps on the ground, running towards him, voices calling his name.

He manages to push himself upright just in time for Tim to reach his side and throw his arms around him. He barrels into him hard enough that they nearly tumble back onto the floor. A second later Jon is at his side as well. Martin wraps his arms around them both, burrowing his face in the warmth of Tim’s neck that feels nearly impossible after the harsh coldness of the fog.

“Are- are you okay?” he manages to get out, voice trembling. “Jon…?”

“Fine,” Jon says, breath warm against Martin’s shoulder. Martin pulls back just enough to look at him, relieved when he sees the soft smile on Jon’s lips despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s… it’s over. We’re done here.”

“What- what happened?”

“What happened to you?” Tim asks instead, voice trembling. “How did you get out of there? We- we thought, we thought we lost you.”

“You didn’t,” Martin says softly, reaching out to cup Tim’s cheek. “I’m right here.”

Tim’s breath hitches. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I- stopped Jon, said that we would find a way to bring you back, and then I didn’t- Christ, I couldn’t do anything. All this time we’ve been trying to keep you safe from the fog and then-”

“But you did,” Martin protests. He lets out a soft laugh and brushes his thumb over Tim’s cheek. “You did keep me safe. All this time, you’ve been doing exactly the right thing. I- I could never have gotten out of there without you. Without knowing that you wouldn’t just leave me there.”

“We wouldn’t,” Jon agrees, tightening his grip around Martin.

Tim smiles, his eyes shining. “Course not.”

Affection surges through Martin, warm and exciting. He resists the urge to kiss both of them, too aware of where they are and still too shaken after his journey through the fog. “What happens now? Can- can we get out of here?”

“Yes. We- we should leave,” Jon says, throwing a nervous look down the corridor. “No need to push our luck any further.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, reluctantly stepping out of the embrace. “Let’s do that. Before Bouchard changes his mind about just letting us walk out of here.”

He takes Martin’s hand and gives it a squeeze, reassuring and grounding. With a smile, Jon reaches for his other hand. Martin’s heart skips a beat. It feels like a dream, holding both their hands as they lead Martin through the corridors of the Magnus Institute towards the entrance.

The foyer is still empty, seemingly deserted, and for a moment Martin fears that they might still be trapped somewhere. In a different version of the fog perhaps, where it’s just them in the endless corridors of the Institute, without any connection to the outside world. But then Tim pushes open the doors and he’s greeted by the warmth of a sunny autumn day and the sounds of the city all around them. People pass by on the sidewalk, talking and laughing over the noise of cars driving past and sirens in the distance. Millions of people in this city, and Martin is one of them, alive and present and very much not alone as Tim and Jon lead him away from the Institute and into the sunshine.

Martin smiles. For the first time in what has probably been years, he looks forward to what lies in front of him.