#MY WIFE AMBER GRIS...

[ethersierra]

Good good things with oksamber? :3

from the palettes here (you can send some in, it will be a while before i get to em tho<3 )

[nillial]

i just think that she'd pose holding a blinkshark like those straight dudes on tinder do with a bass

[orykorioart]

Rule of Ethersea: Everyone’s got a…n Italian Cold Steel Cinquedea…?

/

Wanted to play around with brushes and sketching style, and I was missing Ms. Amber Gris, so… two birds one stone ;-)

[duck-newton]

Justin be honest with me. does Spoker have two spectral arms that she can summon at will. Or does she perhaps excel in shark-fighting.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 5

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Glenn is the goofiest sexiest character there is and I will die on this hill! I will ride into battle for him! what Dndads created is truly unique and Glenn is a key part of that and for that he deserves to win. I said it before and I'll say it again - GLENN SWEEEEEP

Can we talk about how he says ‘baby’ casually? Like he just calls people that?? That’s HOT. THAT IS HOT!! He’s also bilingual and knows Japanese!!!! He’s a big dumb idiot with a lot of charisma!!!!!! HE WORKED AT A BDSM PLACE FOR TWO SEPARATE ONE SHOTS. HES SO SAD BUT PLAYS IT OFF LIKE HE’S CHILL ALL THE TIME!! HE DOESN’T THINK OF HIMSELF AS SINGLE BECAUSE HE DIDN’T DIVORCE HIS DEAD WIFE!!! He’s like.. the perfect guy. We need this win.

I’d also like to add the fact I made this. Which is the first 11 episodes edited to (almost) only have Glenn in them <3 which is a level of insanity I hope to reiterate. These took hours to make. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea):

Middle aged woman who punches sharks to death. My hero

If you love me you'll vote for amber gris I swear to everything holy on earth amen

Amber is butch, instant win

Amber Gris has a negative charisma modifier and she pissed her pants on purpose in order to trick a guard and knock him out. She tied up a dude. She once killed an evil magic shark (they're out for murder. not like real sharks) by punching it and then picked it up and smashed it into another shark, also killing it. She talks in a southern accent. She calls people guppy because it indicates a lack of respect. She has a big pair of magical green arms that come from her stomach. She got a fancy jacket and immediately ripped its sleeves off. She has a gay thing going on with one of the political leaders in the city. She gets in fights with people and doesnt do vulnerability and tries to lay low and not get in any social trouble she doesn't have to. She jumped through a portal into a new world because she could. She's now the god of said world, alone with only afformentioned political leader, who was previously possessed and she had to fight. She spends her time in a bar called the Cloaca. She calls people she doesn't like claspers, because it means shark penis. She and her friend, an old man named Uncle Joshy, sneak attack each other and yell VIBE CHECK! She tries to talk fancy to impress people and she's really bad at it (verily).

She’s everything and more. She’s irreverent. She punches sharks for a living. She becomes God. What more do you need in a butch.

amber gris propaganda: she is straightup the physical embodiment of "women want me, fish fear me." also she's an appalachian post apocalyptic sea captain. that's just objectively cool.

AMBER GRIS IS PUNCHES SHARKS AND IS (one of) THE MOST BADASS BLACK WOMEN PCS IN DND SHOWS IVE EVER SEEN. SHES INCREDIBLE AND A WIN FOR DYKES EVERYWHERE

amber's creator said she was based off of the type of working-class woman you commonly see in appalachia where "this is the sort of woman that you see walking past CVS, and you know that a truck could hit her and it would just split around her as she continued to go pick up whatever she had to do that day." and that's pretty hot

guys Amber becomes lesbian god of the new world with her childhood “”friend””

#amber gris is LITERALLY a middle-aged butch #she would win this entire tournament in a just world

Last time Amber got horny was when she killed that shark

"it was a savage bummer though, don't-- trust me, there's nothing that great about a history. You know? I got one. What did I do, killed a bunch of sharks? Last time I got horny, god and christ I can't even tell you-- well, it was when I killed that shark. But! Hey. We're all just kinda figuring it out."

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia):

She's a hot elf with mushrooms growing on her. She has 1 level of barbarian. She's bisexual. She shapeshifted into a dragon and ate a god.

how tf does the post not mention Moonshine’s giant boobs her greatest asset

Moonshine has canonically gone down on a woman for a solid hour without asking for anything in return. Moonshine edged a dryad just by kissing them. Moonshine faced down someone being controlled to kill everyone in his path and told him if he still wanted to hurt her, she would take his blows as a friend. Moonshine makes jambalaya for her family and friends. Moonshine mispronounced someone’s name for a month and that woman still wanted to hook up with Moonshine. These are just a few of the reasons why Moonshine is sexy.

shes illiterate

canonically huffs dirty water from a bong

has big tatas

wears a belly chain with a demon trapped in it

almost became the queen of hell

ate a god

turned into a pregnant moose & gave birth

The woman she went down on for an hour asking nothing in return is still hung up on her, 200 years later. Moonshine is unmatched

To be clear the woman whose name Moonshine mispronounced for a month and then hooked up with is the same woman she went down on for an hour, and the same woman who is still flustered over her 200 years later. The rizz is unparalleled. She’s also incredibly kind and accepting of others, and goes out of her way to bolster her friends. The party always requests one big bed.

moonshine cybin is a druid who learned counterspell through sheer force of will. moonshine cybin turned one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse into a dolphin, flew him 60 feet up into the air, dropped him on the ground, and then spit spores into his face to kill him. moonshine cybin turned into a dragon and bit the head off of a double god. moonshine cybin was willing to confine herself to an eternal hell to save the world. moonshine cybin is a dragon rider. you know what you must do.

Amber and Moonshine Together

Look at them. They should not have to fight when they could be gay instead. Imagine the power they would have combined... Every lesbian in a hundred mile radius of the post would swoon. It may be an odd alliance, but from an Ethersea fan to Bahumia fans, i believe this will strengthen both our odds. I have always been insane about Amber Gris but through this poll I have also learned about Moonshine and come to love her too. Take my hand... We can do this together...

OKAY HEAR ME OUT MOONSHINE AND AMBER WOULD GET ALONG SO WELL

appalachian sapphic solidarity!

Art of Amber and Moonshine from @pirateknight.

[ethersierra]

💍🧎

I’ll actually post these eventually but

Here’s some sneak peaks of the most woman of all

[soontobecyborg]

Of all the head canons I've come up with for my fics I think I finally outdid myself. I came up with a list of everyone's signature scents.

Guillermo: Spice Blend, Dior. In the past he didn't have the money to indulge in things like this, but now that he does, Guillermo goes straight to the private collection. Warm, fresh, spicy, soft. Spice Blend is masculine and confident, but it also smells like a great hug.

Nandor: Kredo, Nishane. Much like Nandor, the cardamom and oud tell a loud and colorful story. But pay closer attention to the notes underneath: playful pink pepper, soft suede and delicate floral osmanthus. Only then to you really get to really know him.

Nadja: Shalimar, Guerlain. For many, it takes time to appreciate Shalimar. Initially off-putting to those who might not be familiar with her— animalic, tough, leathery— the beauty just beneath the surface is astounding and memorable. It is complex but worth getting to know. Like Nadja.

Laszlo: Chergui, Serge Lutens. Tobacco, honey, amber and hay. Laszlo was never much of an equestrian but the scent reminds him of the times he spent hiding in horse stables near Grasmere when he was supposed to be courting that duchess his father kept pushing on him. Having no idea he'd soon meet Nadja, he ran away to the stables and drowned his sorrows in honey wine and stablehands.

The Guide: Feminite du Bois, Shiseido. Woody, spicy, feminine, complex. A scent for a woman who knows herself. The Guide has several bottles of the original from the 1990s that are being preserved in a special vault. The newest reformulation under Serge Lutens is a travesty and she will tell you all about it. At length.

Abraham van Helsing: Musc Ravageur, Frederic Malle. Warm, spicy and exuding an intoxicating musk, this aptly-named fragrance will lure your forbidden lover to you no matter how sour the smells of the docks at night.

Colin Robinson (adult): Mister Hijinks. It's a cologne/aftershave mix and he found it in the bathroom at work. Described by many as a disgusting putrified smell, like a snake in heat, Colin thinks it's nice.

Quinn: Marescialla, Santa Maria Novella. Woody and earthy, this smells like a bygone era. Countess D’Aumont, the wife of a French marshall, used a powdered version to perfume her gloves. Her interest in alchemy aroused suspicion of witchcraft and she was burnt at the stake. Quinn was a young alchemist at the time and she wears it as a homage... and a fond remembrance.

Tessa: Velvet Orchid, Tom Ford. Rum, orchid, honey, vanilla and myrrh. What's not to love? Just because she has vampire semen keeping her young doesn't mean she wants to fall behind on the latest trends. She didn't become a witch to linger in the past. Tessa keeps one foot in the supernatural world and the other in Sephora.

Derek: 1 Million, Paco Rabanne. Derek bought it without even smelling it because the bottle looks like a gold bar and that's fancy. Once he got back to his place and tried it out... he liked it! There's a lot of cinnamon, some citrus and woods... he's not sure why but he feels confident wearing it and that's what matters.

Thomas: Paris – Édimbourg, Chanel. Juniper, cypress, cedar, vetiver, lavender. Thomas found it in a male victim's suitcase two years ago. His master didn't want it— Nigel called it "department store rubbish"— but to Thomas it smells like wide open spaces and freedom. The bottle ran out just before the familiar fights and he bought a new one with the money Guillermo gave him.

Dr. Sharon: Gris Dior, Dior. Designed as an embodiment of the color gray, it's actually quite nice.

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author’s note: it’s getting interesting here ;) enter prince charming Sugu-kun to save the day.

IX.

https://youtu.be/uhoiqVPmURE

Satoru was afraid of making a move, least he tipped you over the edge and made you bolt; he didn’t want that. Swallowing hard he looked into your eyes… God… he had missed your beautiful E/C eyes so much. Waking up every morning without you by his side, without you kissing him awake cause he was going to be late for work… again. Your absence had left a literal infinite void in his heart that he was unable to fill.

“I know I don’t deserve anything from you Y/N, but I love you and I cannot give up on us… We said forever when we got married. And I want that… with you” speaking from the heart was not something Satoru ever did. He always preferred to cover any emotions with inappropriate jokes and double entendres. But he knew he couldn’t play his stupid games, not with you and most certainly not now.

You pulled away in that moment, as if his touch was burning you. He allowed it, doing his utmost effort not to pull you back in. His hands itched resting at his sides, missing the warmth of your body.

|||

It was you and me, it seemed to last forever

The way you taste and I still remember… the sounds we made.

|||

“It would have been nice if you felt that way before you decided to ruin this marriage. Where were those promises of forever when you fucked someone else?” You asked piercing his eyes with yours. He cowered under your glare. Satoru had never been on the receiving end of your wrath and now he understood why most people chose (wisely) to not mess with you. Every single one of your words was chosen carefully to cause the most damage. At the same time… what hurt the most was that you were right.

“Leave and don’t ever come back… you and I… are through…” Satoru noticed how you avoided calling him by his name, he hated it. As if uttering his name would leave a bad taste in your mouth “Y/N…” he whispered pleadingly when you took another step away. But this time he didn’t have the courage to stop you as you disappeared inside your apartment and locked the door behind you.

|||

I bet you wish you had me back! Another chance to gain it, just like that. The best you ever had.

|||

Satoru was fucked.

—————

The next morning Suguru’s plane landed. JFK international airport was as busy and chaotic as one would expect. After collecting his luggage he made his way to a cab giving the driver your current address.

He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink during the trip, his mind swarmed with all the possibilities of what could be happening right now. Satoru didn’t play fair and of course… you loved (probably still love) the lucky bastard.

With a sigh he decided to focus instead on the city going by through the cab’s windows. It wasn’t the first time he was in New York and his mind was much more occupied torturing him instead of appreciating the landscape.

After 40 minutes, Geto stood before a very nice and modern building located in the upper east side called Hawthorn Park. You sure knew how to live in luxury. He approached the doorman and let him know his name and that he was here to see Miss Ekaterina Petrova to which the kind looking old man responded by using his intercom to contact you. Geto was soon granted access and guided to the elevator.

The elevator doors opened on the 21st floor, he walked to the door of your apartment which was already open and you were waiting for him. His smile fell once he noticed you have been crying “oh Kitten” dropping his luggage on the spot he surrounded your body in his arms “I’m so sorry…” one didn’t need to be a genius to know Satoru had found you.

You both moved inside your apartment. Settling on the spacious couch you buried your face on Suguru’s lap as you cried. He stroked your now darker strands of h/c hair without a word exchanged. He knew you needed to let it all out. After what seemed an eternity you sat back up. Suguru gently dried your eyes.

“He was here last night…” you whispered in a raw and scratchy voice, result of your endless hours of distress before his arrival “he told me he loved me, that he left Sookie” scoff “and hear this… he left her because the baby wasn’t his!” Talk about karma at its best. Suguru already knew that but he was surprised to hear Satoru had come clean about it to you “He probably thought I would fall for that! But I didn’t” you added firmly.

Suguru was proud of you. He knew how hard it was for you to resist Satoru but you stood tall and proud when it mattered the most. “What do you want to do now?” Where you planning on moving again?

-

“I’m not leaving…” you said looking into Suguru’s liquid amber gaze. You couldn’t help but notice once again he had such pretty eyes, like a cat. You’ve always liked them, specially when they looked at you with such tenderness. You have missed him dearly during all this time.

“I can’t keep running away from him; I mean… it’s obvious he won’t stop and I… I am tired of molding my life to adapt to his whims. I’m staying here whatever happens. Sugu… I got the part for the Swan Lake!” You added remembering you haven’t talked to him during the last week and so he didn’t know about your latest accomplishment.

Geto’s eyes enlarged before a huge smile split his handsome face and his massive frame engulfed you in a tight hug. Of course he knew everything about ballet, he was your best friend after all. This was huge! Probably as big as making it in the ballet world meant “I’m so proud of you Kitten!” He said excitedly kissing your temple. Maybe not everything was as bad as he thought.

You were upset, it was true. But then again you were not prepared last night. Satoru had taken you by surprise. Now… you knew he was here and more or less knew what to expect from your soon to be ex-husband.

“Thank you Sugu…” you stopped and pulled back just slightly to look into his eyes from your height. He was a very tall man compared to you “I missed you” you said with a bright smile to which Geto replied with one of his own before pulling you in again for another hug “I missed you too Kitten” stroking your back softly Suguru decided he was happy to be here… with you.

-

https://youtu.be/3oSXqLgoSq4

|||

She's given up, been holding on for way too long

She's had enough

He's coming home again

But it's too late 'cause she won't stay with him

|||

The sunshine hitting his face was what woke him up. With a grunt Satoru rolled over on his side only to fall unceremoniously from the couch where he had passed out last night. The last thing he remembered was warping back to his hotel after you left him on the roof. The memory of you, turning your back on him and walking away squeezed his heart in a painful grasp.

Alcohol was never something he was attracted to, he liked to keep his brain constantly alert and stimulated. It served a purpose of course, it kept his infinity barrier on at all times, even when he was asleep. But last night he hit rock bottom. He didn’t care anymore…

As soon as he got back to the hotel, hopelessness made a home in his chest, sitting heavy on his heart. Walking to the fully stocked bar placed on the corner of his suite he opened a bottle of whiskey. He started slow since most everything was too bitter for his taste, so he went through the process of trying every single bottle until he found something to his liking.

Two hours and about fifteen different shots of everything he decided to settle for a bottle of Amaretto, some fancy Italian liquor made of apricot kernels. It was sweet.

Everything else after that was blur. Moving his sore body from the floor he forced himself to go to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help ease his misery. Peeling off his clothes the smell of booze clinging on them made Gojo cringe. He decided to brush his teeth before showering. Looking in the mirror he couldn’t recognize the man starring back at him. He was a mess.

|||

Are we just ghosts out in the night?

Are we just waiting for a light that doesn't shine?

Are we just faking or is this real?

'Cause I don't know how to feel

Are we just ghosts now, you and I?

|||

Last night he had been so desperate, so hopeless and broken hearted. That’s when it hit him… his wife didn’t hurt him, she didn’t cheat on him (unlike himself), she didn’t do anything to him and yet he was feeling as if the world was collapsing around him. He lied, cheated and fucked up everything for them both.

Guilt…

Unadulterated, burning and suffocating guilt was consuming him. He felt bad before but it wasn’t until last night that he grasped the concept that Y/N didn’t owe him anything at all and that HE didn’t deserve it anyways.

The plan originally had been to get back in your good graces by doing penitence, submitting to your every whim and desire by becoming your devoted slave for as long as you would have it. He never even considered the possibility that his wife DID NOT WANT to forgive him in the first place.

He thought you left to give him a lesson, that you would eventually come back to him after he had a taste of what it was like to lose you.

But even after you both shared such a searing kiss, so passionate that every cell in his body was humming, aflame with desire you still managed to walk away from him as if it meant nothing to you.

What good did it do to him to be the strongest when he couldn’t even protect his wife… from himself.

After showering, changing clothes and ordering every sweet pastry and desert from the room service menu Gojo stopped to rethink his strategy.

What?…

Did you think he was going to stop there?

Absolutely no, love!

If anything, your rejection had only fueled his need to get you back.

“Time for plan B” sighing he pulled out his phone it rang a couple times before someone answered “good morning Mrs. Mazzo, this is Gojo Satoru. I’m going to need you to forward to me Miss Petrova’s rehearsal schedule…”

—

“This is really good!” You hummed happily after swallowing a bite of your steak. Suguru sat across from you at Keens Steakhouse, with a grin he watched as you indulged yourself in what you called your ‘cheat meal’ of the month. Being a professional ballerina was a tough and demanding commitment that controlled every aspect of your life, from how you train to what you eat. Despite it all, Geto knew you always found a happy balance that worked just fine for you.

Seeing your big smile made his heart jump in his chest, you were as beautiful and alluring as the day he met you. If only he had told you he liked you before Satoru did. This question kept him up at night, playing all sorts of scenarios in his mind. If he had taken the first step… would things have been different? Would you have ended up together? Married? Shaking his head he tried to focus on what you were actually saying. Deviating his thoughts to that kind of scenarios was dangerous. He also didn’t want to push it when he was perfectly aware you were still healing; he wasn’t a low life piece of shit to take advantage of your vulnerability.

But when you smiles at him as if he was the only thing in your world, when you held his hand across the table, playing with his finger, his throat felt dry and tight.

“What do you think Sugu?” Your curious and expecting eyes caught him like a deer in the headlights “I’m sorry Kitten, I was distracted. Could you repeat that please?” He asked with an affable smile.

You chuckled and stroke his hand softly “you look tired, did you sleep at all in the plane?” He shook his head “no, I didn’t. I never can, it’s uncomfortable” he hid on purpose the true reason why he hadn’t been able to sleep “come on Sugu! Let’s go back home! I bet you are tired” you said offering him a sweet smile.

After paying your bill you walked the few blocks back home. Suguru of course would be staying with you in the spare room of your penthouse. Holding hands while you talked to him about the activities the city had to offer, your schedule and how you intended to fit the time to do some tourism with him. “You don’t have to bother Kitten, I know you are busy enough with your job, I will be fine” he insisted.

You stopped on your tracks and stood in front of him, pouting, making him chuckle. You looked every bit the kitten he knew you to be, all bothered and moody “no! I want to spend time with you too you know! I haven’t seen you in so long! I’m not going to waste this chance!” You insisted to which Suguru threw his hands up in the air “I surrender Kitten! Do with me as you will” you giggled and then blushed. “Uh… eh… ok! I will!” He took your hand again and you both resumed your walk.

-

Satoru warped to the roof top of the building adjacent to yours, the lights were out in your apartment and he couldn’t sense your presence inside. You left? Where did you go?

Before a second though he warped inside your apartment but he saw all your stuff was still there, maybe you went out for groceries or something?

After a few minutes sitting on your couch he decided to wait for you on the street so he could see when you got home.

(Almost an hour later)

Oh… he wasn’t ready for what he saw.

“That mother fu….” Satoru grinds his teeth watching you walk down the street holding onto Suguru’s hand while talking distractedly. From his hiding spot in front of your building he closed his hands in a tight fist.

Well, this complicated things… a lot more.

————-> Chapter 10

———————————-

@sleepyamaya

@cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

@coldvillainess

@vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife

[aekeneto]

‘‘I don’t need backup, I’m Amber Gris!’’ 

me,sobbing: everybody, come meet my wife

[unknown-limes]

I totally fell behind on TAZ, but I thought I'd keep posting my thoughts since I caught up really quick.

First off, love fan-favorite character Dr. Shaq, that is my boy and I have a strong desire to protect him. I also love their ship, the naming session was real cool. Like, fuck yes! Phantom Sea Coast Co. is the best shop they've ever had, blessed be catfish man Felix. I almost feel it's weird how many sea-life-people they have so soon after the world ended, but that's like a nitpick and doesn't matter. It's still cool to see all these folks around every corner! Also love gremlin child Urchin, that's my little guy!

Episode 7 began a concerning trend of this campaign focusing a lot of time on Devo. I'm perfectly happy bc I love this fuckin' dude and his journey to figure out who the hell he is outside of his religion, but I would like to see more fleshing out for Amber and Zoox. Maybe it's too early in the campaign to be concerned about this and them taking on a Benevolent Parish job is the main part of it, I really don't know. I just wanna see my wife open up to her new friends or maybe get a one-on-one conversation scene with Ol' Joshy. Furthermore, the nature of what Zoox is could very quickly become a huge thing and I'm just waiting for Clint n Griffin to make that character choice.

Beyond my concern, goddamn they're writing Devo really well! As much as his huge amount of screentime so early is concerning to me, I think he's a really strong character already. He reminds me of cult survivors making their way out while still being trapped in a society that is pretty unaware of less favorable actions happening within it. Alternatively, bc of the constant use of a name he is very clearly uncomfortable with, uhhhhh, trans boy who came out after leaving a toxic household and his family members desperately want him to come back but they're still deadnaming him and treating him poorly? Either idea works I feel.

I will once again say Amber is my fucking wife. Had a gay panic moment over her threat at the end of episode 9. This has been a moment of Simping For Amber Gris.

The fucking twist at the end of episode 9 about what the Clam is actually caught me off-guard, but it makes sense. Trash had to go somewhere! It was weird hearing them say Gushy Wolves again after not hearing it for several weeks, but that's not too big a whoop.

Overall, fuck I love this campaign so much! It's got the same wonderous and new feeling that Balance had while still maintaining its own identity. I feel like even some of the bonus episodes with the Balance crew didn't have the same feeling, especially the ones they recorded so long after the campaign had wrapped up.

[thesevenofbirds]

My gender through Taz is: Taako's chaos clothes/fashion, but also make it a little Argo Keene. Barold bc i want to embrace my inner cool, self-confident wife guy. I want Amber Gris' muscles (& swagger tbh). Likewise on some vibes with Mama.

[ethersierra]

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Tuesday, 17th September 2019 – Alsace Wine Tour (Strasbourg, Obernai, Dambach-la-ville, Ribeauvillé, Bergheim)

We made an early start because we needed to meet the tour guide from Ophorus Tours at 09:00 outside the Tourist Information office in Strasbourg. We’d booked a full day tour of Alsace, stopping off at three different wine growers on the way. This was organised through Winerist who we’d used for a Bordeaux tour last year. The experience had been so good that we’d had no hesitation in seeking them out again for a trip around our latest destination. There are a number of reasons for using them not least because they employ genuine experts in their field who originate from the region they work in or know it perfectly, speak excellent English, and hold the WSET level 2 in Wines & Spirits, the course I’m going on in January next year, which means they know a great deal about the wines and winemakers they take you to visit.

We arrived a tad too early and struggled to find anywhere open to get a coffee. When we eventually did, we shared a small kougelhopf between us and then arrived back at the meeting place five minutes before time. We were soon rounded up along with the other 6 people on the tour and set off out of town towards Obernai. It was a bit of a cold day at this point and I must admit I was wishing I’d brought a sweater. However, we stopped outside town initially and noted that although the Vosges mountains were being rather shy, the cloud was beginning to lift. Our initial stop was at the Mémorial National des Incorporés de Force, which was inaugurated in 1956 in memory of the 272 inhabitants of the canton who dies or disappeared during the Second World Ward when they were forced to serve in the German Army, and, to prevent them from deserting or turning against their own “side”, were sent off to the Eastern Front and never came back – because most combatants sent there didn’t come back (my uncle Herbert for one, my Dad’s twin brother, who was from Leipzig not Alsace, but who was sent to Ukraine aged 18 – nothing was ever heard of him again).

The monument offers a fantastic view over the town (and makes it easy to see the old street patterns) and towards Mont Sainte-Odile. It’s also surrounded by vineyards, and our guide, Olivier, had us all taste the fruit, which was sweet and ripe and really tiny, being almost all pip and skin. It was a bit odd because you could almost sense the tannin in it as well. It was an interesting insight. The grapes he’d raided were Pinot Noir. He then went on to explain about how wine works in Alsace. It’s different to everywhere else in France, but then again French regions vary wildly anyway in what you can and can’t do as a winemaker. Alsace wine is mostly white and is the only Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée region in France to produce mostly varietal wines, typically from similar grape varieties to those used in German wine. Wines are produced as Alsace AOC (white, rosé and red wines), Alsace Grand Cru (white wines from 51 classified vineyards) and Crémant d’Alsace sparkling wines.

In 2006, vines were grown on 15,298 hectares (37,800 acres) in 119 villages in Alsace, and 111.3 million litres of wine was produced, corresponding to 148.4 million bottles of 750 ml, generating 478.8 million euro in revenue. 25% of the production is exported, and the largest export markets for in terms of volume are Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark and the United States. The geography of the wine growing area is determined by two main factors, the Vosges mountains in the west and the Rhine in the east, with the vineyards concentrated on a narrow strip running roughly north–south. The Vosges mountains provide shelter from rain and maritime influence, and the region is dry and sunny with Colmar being the driest city in France. The grape varieties they are permitted to use are Riesling, Sylvaner, Muscat, Pinot Blanc, Pinot Gris, and Gewürztraminer for whites, with a couple of variants such as Klevener de Heiligenstein, and the only red grape is Pinot Noir.

Anyway we swiftly moved on from the memorial to the first of the three vineyards we’d be stopping off at Robert Blanck, who have been winemakers since 1732, using old-fashioned methods (no stainless steel tanks for them, thank you very much). We tried a number of wines, made a lot of notes, and then made enquiries about their opening hours so we could go back with the car. I wasn’t about to lug several boxes of wine around on the tram system, not matter how efficient it was. We would drive past the following day and pick up what we wanted in between doing some sightseeing. I was interested to note that they were members of the Vignerons indépendants de France, an organization that supports independent winemakers throughout France. Their members must respect their terroir, work and harvest their own vineyards, make and bottle their wine themselves and generally maintain viticultural traditions. Whatever their methods, they make some very good wines, and they provided a ridiculously generous tasting.

They also explained that, unlike in Bordeaux, Alsace barrels go on for years and years and years, because in the main they are not interested in using barrels that will hugely affect the taste of the wine, so new barrels are not something they are at all keen on. This would turn out to be significant information with regard to the second vineyard we went to. Some of the barrels in use are a couple of hundred years old, with some very fine decorative work. They also have the tiniest doors, which are used by the cellar masters to get inside the barrels when they need cleaning. You can’t be fat and be a cellar master it would seem.

  Speaking of taste, our guide told us more about the wine in the barrel held by the Hôpital civil in Strasbourg. In their historic cellars there is what is believed to be the oldest wine barrel in the world, dating back to 1472. The cellar itself was built in 1395, and was needed because back then patients sometimes paid for their treatment by donating land, and around these parts much of that land would have vineyards on it. As wine was also used for medical purposes, wine cellars were common in hospitals, though of course there aren’t many left. This one even survived a fire that destroyed the rest of the hospital in 1716, and they simply rebuilt around the cellar.

The 1472 barrel is 450 litres in capacity and holds 350 litres  of wine at present. This wine has only been tasted on rare occasions, in 1576 in honour of the delegation from Zurich that came to prove how quickly they could arrive to help their allies in Strasbourg (presumably in celebration of the centenary of the Hirsebreifahrt of 1476), in 1718 for the reconstruction of the main building after the fire, and in 1944 when Strasbourg was liberated during World War II. A select group of wine-makers are permitted to mature their wines in the cellars, where they are aged in oak barrels, a practice that is no longer common in Alsace. Profits from the sales of the 150,000 bottles of wine produced each year being used to purchase medical equipment.

Although it isn’t tasted, the wine was checked in 1994 to ensure it hadn’t turned to acid, as it would then no longer be considered wine. The wine is still technically wine, at least according to the oenologists from the interregional laboratory of the DGCCRF in Strasbourg. They said the wine “has a very beautiful bright, very amber color, a powerful nose, very fine, of a very great complexity, aromas reminiscent of vanilla, honey, wax, camphor, fine spices, hazelnut and fruit liquor”. However, I doubt anyone is ever going to be allowed to drink it so we’ll have to take their word for it.

Remaining on the subject of barrels, we now travelled on to the absurdly pretty little town of Dambach-la-Ville, which set off some excitable rushing about by the Japanese couples on the trip. Here we visited Famille Hauller. They have been in business since 1776, when François-Joseph Hauller, a master cooper, set up his workshop in Dambach-La-Ville. Eventually the family also started to make wine alongside making the barrels to keep wine in and then, finding that the market for barrels was limited by the fact that Alsace’s wine makers do not buy new barrels for reasons outlined earlier, shifted entirely to wine making by the end of the 20th century. He did first create a wonderful barrel for his wife…

Louis Hauller, the son of Léon Hauller, was the last master cooper in the family, and he was the one who made to move to make viticulture their core business in the 1970’s. He produced his first bottles which he sold directly to customers at wine fairs across France. Since then, Claude Hauller, his son joined the business in 1990, and while they still run the business, the next generation have now also joined in the shape of Claude’s sons, Ludovic and Guillaume. It was Ludovic, who looks after marketing, who showed us around and conducted the tasting, as well as showing us round the cooperage, where his grandfather seems to have amassed more tools than anyone could use in a lifetime.

We tasted a number of wines here too, though less than at Robert Blanck. We also had some further explanations around the making of wine (some people on the tour were starting from a position of considerably less knowledge than others, and our guide was brilliant at handling that). We learned more about the cleaning process by which every few years a residue that forms during the wine-making process is removed from the inside of the barrels. This is what can lead to sediment in bottles of wine, and is apparently sold on to various other industries. I’ve not been able to find out exactly what is done with it, but I’m sure if I keep digging, I’ll eventually get the information.

We again made notes of the wines, though I had to do it by photographing and remembering what we’d had. The tables in the tasting room were made out of old barrels, with racks of wine bottles lining the walls.

We tasted a Riesling Cuvée Prestige, a Riesling Grand Cru Frankstein, a Pinot Gris Cuvée Prestige and a Gewürztraminer Cuvée Prestige, and I would happily have bought several bottles of each. This would turn out to be rather too difficult to achieve, but I have them filed away in my mind for future trips or even buying online. It was now lunchtime, so we headed into Ribeauvillé, another of the picture postcard pretty towns that dot the Alsace wine route from top to bottom. After we’d grabbed the last parking place in town we headed off to find something to eat, taking our guide’s recommendation that we try out the historic Caveau de l’Ami Fritz for some proper local specialities.

It was utterly heaving outside in the garden and on the terrace so we made our way inside into the cool of the old cellars, and grabbed a table. It took quite a long time from ordering to the arrival of our food, but luckily we had a couple of hours to spare. We ordered a main course each and decided we didn’t need anything else. We’d seen the size of the portions…

Here are the liver dumplings that Lynne had.

And this is my Coq au Riesling (a leg thereof) cooked in Riesling with spaetzle.

And that’s before we talk about the bowl of potatoes that came with the dumplings…

Or the salad…

Suitably replete, we staggered out to rejoin our party, having run out of time to look around the town beyond a cursory look at the main street. We had one more wine grower to meet, the splendid Sylvie Spielmann, over in Bergheim.

Here there was much discussion or terroir, unavoidable given that the history of the domaine is linked to the old gypsum quarry which the family had mined for more than a century. For a century or so there were several quarries in the area, but the Spielmann family was the last to continue operating the quarry, while also starting wine growing. Later, Sylvie decided to fill in the old quarry and it now supports 8 hectares of vines from which she creates very fine wines that reflect the uncommon nature of that particular patch of vineyard. The other soils are the much heavier clay, marl and limestone and we were shown samples of each.

She also has two of the 51 grand cru vineyards, Grand Cru Altenberg de Bergheim and Grand Cru Kanzlerberg. Just to add to the fun there are also the Blosenberg and Engelgarten vineyards, which “possess particular qualities that merit a separate winemaking process”.

Although she’s been wine making for quite some time, she remains open to new ideas and in addition to becoming a certified organic producer, she’s also been experimenting with things like “orange” wines and natural wines. Sadly we didn’t get to taste any of those, though we did work our way through quite a lot of different wines. Again, we made a list, and checked that we could call back the following day to buy.

Right now the harvest was in full swing (it had been declared a couple of weeks earlier but that just means that people can start any time they want after that), there was bottling going on, and for good measure Sylvie was having to deal with a bunch of tourists who didn’t look like they were going to buy much (she’d get a pleasant surprise when we turned up the following day and bought 30 bottles including some very fine and quite expensive vendange tardives).

It was getting late-ish now and everyone seemed to be quite tired after all that tasting. I was grateful I didn’t need to drive and that we could again use the tram. Back in Alsace we called in at the gingerbread shop and the chocolate shop to buy some presents for people, including us, and then caught the tram back to Illkirch-Grafenstaden. We stopped at the supermarket on the way and bought some duck parmentier for dinner before retreating to the apartment where we dined on that, along with the previous day’s bretzels and some on the cheese leftover from the ferry trip. We drank a local Pinot Noir and started packing up ready to move on the following morning.

Travel 2019 – Alsace and Baden, Day 5, Strasbourg, Obernai, Dambach-la-ville, Ribeauvillé, Bergheim Tuesday, 17th September 2019 - Alsace Wine Tour (Strasbourg, Obernai, Dambach-la-ville, Ribeauvillé, Bergheim) We made an early start because we needed to meet the tour guide from…

[wendynerdwrites]

@jonxsansaremix

Jon x Sansa Remix: Day Two - Comics/Graphic Novel Couples: Fables - Bigby Wolf x Snow White

(Reposting my fic from last year since I did this couple. But the photo edit is new and I’m actually pretty proud of it)

“Then she gets even more frustrated, meaning I turn back even further, and There’s too much to hide, so I can’t go to work, then she gets even more upset, and it’s just this whole cycle!”

Jon quietly swears under his breath as he enters the main office. Of course Beauty and Beast are the first visitors of the day. He and Sansa clearly don’t have enough headaches to deal with.

Rarely does the Deputy Mayor of Fabletown have an easy time receiving petitions— Ichabod Crane, her loathsome predecessor, left a mess with his departure. And even if he’d been a model civil servant, there is never enough money, time, or magic to solve all the problems the citizens of Fabletown have.

Sometimes, Jon wishes he hadn’t taken Sansa and King Cole up on their offer all those years ago and let them turn him back into a man. It’s true that as Sheriff, he has fewer bureaucratic nightmares to handle than Sansa, but she had so little support that Jon is compelled to assist her whenever possible.

Not that he is great at the whole diplomacy thing. Even without his past as The Big Bad Wolf and the whole “brought back from the dead” baggage, Jon isn’t much of a people person. Being stabbed by one’s brothers didn’t inspire much of an inclination towards trust, and though it’s been years since he was a full-time wolf, many of his more base, animalistic instincts remain.

Still… he couldn’t ignore Sansa’s problems even if he wanted to.

It’s been both better and worse since The Farm. Better for Arya’s sake. Most Fables, whether they were from Planetos or some other homeland, had trouble adjusting to life in the Mundy World. Planetos was one of the more brutal of the homelands even before the adversary came and ran them out. But Arya had a particularly hard time adjusting. Decades spent causing trouble, partying, messing around with that idiot, Jack. Sansa and Arya never got along well, but that didn’t stop the older sister from worrying about her constantly.

Arya found her element in the Farm, though. The sisters even found a way to communicate. And with that part of her life stable for the first time in centuries, Sansa is in a better place mentally.

But then there are the physical injuries. Sansa still needs her cane sometimes. Even now, it is propped up against the side of her desk, an oddly modern-looking thing amidst the scores of medieval-style magical artifacts the littered the cavernous main office.

The sounds of Beauty and Beast’s complaints echo off the enchanted, ever expanding walls. It is hard to believe that a woman as small as Beauty can make so much noise. But then, she always does.

Sansa sits as perfectly prim as she always does, but Jon can smell her the tension on her. He could smell it from his cigarette-filled apartment three floors up. She’d been in a decent mood this morning, too.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything other than what I always tell you when this matter arises,” the Deputy Mayor says in her most neutral tone. Jon can tell she’s longing to rest her head in her hands the way she always does when frustrated, but she stays firm and tall now. “Either you resolve your issues so that the curse no longer makes Beast change back, buy a glamour from the 13th floor, or go up to the Farm.”

This has happened a thousand times. The nature of Beast’s curse, contrary to the Mundy version of their story, mean that his appearance depended on the feelings of his wife. When Beauty was happy, Beast looked like the handsome prince of Happily Ever After. When Beauty wasn’t, he began to regain his more beastly features: eyes turning red, teeth becoming fangs, horns protruding out of his temple. At the moment he was still man-shaped, but fairly demonic in appearance nonetheless.

The couple are utterly devoted to one another. But they also had a bad habit of living outside their means. Their elegant Woodlands apartment does not reflect the piles of bills they hid within their 18th century french cabinets.

“You cannot possibly expect us to live amongst those…. Animals!” Beauty cries out, as she always does.

“It’s not so bad, Beauty,” Jon says, walking towards the desk. They all turn to see him. He gives a sardonic smile. “Most of them up there are a fair sight tamer than I am.”

Sansa’s lip twitches for half a second. Beauty scoffs at Jon and turns back to the Deputy Mayor.

“The cost of glamours these days is absurd, and it is only climbing. We couldn’t possibly afford one. And I’m a lady! I can’t just sleep amongst the the pigs and toads and badgers! That might be well enough for that vulgar sister of yours, but—”

Sansa gets to her feet at once, eyes flashing. Even Jon steps back a couple of feet. He hasn’t seen her this furious since Beauty mentioned the dwarves.

“My sister is leading the Farm and contributing to this community. Which is more than I can say for you. I’ve given you your options. Now get out.”

The couple get to their feet. Beast keeps his red eyes fixed firmly on the ground as Beauty drags him out. Once they’re gone, Jon pulls out a cigarette and lights up. Sansa’s emotions are overpowering his senses. There are a few moments of silence before he gingerly approaches her desk.

Sansa’s face is in her hands. “How many are in line outside?”

“Only a half dozen,” Jon says, as gently as he can, “Boy Blue said you wanted to see me?”

Sansa glances up at him. “I just wanted to know if you have any news on Goldilocks.”

Jon cringes. Their favorite terrorist. It was thanks to Goldilocks that Sansa had that cane. “Nothing new, I’m afraid. I just… I don’t get it. You’d think I’d be able to sniff her out. But she’s just… Disappeared.”

“Do you think she may have gotten her hands on any magical artifacts?”

Jon groans. “I didn’t want to admit it, but it seems more and more likely each day. What I don’t understand is—”

“—How she got it. But we have to find out. If there’s some unauthorized enchantments out there again…”

Jon nods. “I’m making Goldi my first priority, before anything else.”

“—I may just have a lead for you on that!”

Jon groans. Wonderful. He turns and Sansa rises to greet the Fabletown government’s primary financial benefactor, Bluebeard.

Of all the Fables that had fortunes in the homelands, Bluebeard somehow managed to be one of the few that retained his. He supposedly had endless treasure rooms in his Woodlands penthouse, and as such, he was the source for much of the government’s funding. Meaning they had to keep him happy. As with most Fables, that was easier said than done.

The former pirate strides in, as he always does, as if he owned the place. His head shines so brightly that it makes Jon wonder, not for the first time, if he shined it with the same polish that went on his italian loafers. The pirate���s hand is planted firmly atop the pocket of his brocade vest. Jon tensed up. He could smell the magic.

“I think you may want to look into that criminal, Greenleaf,” Bluebeard says smugly, coming close to the desk.

Jon rolls his eyes. “We’ve told you before, Bluebeard, Greenleaf is now a legitimate enchanter and part of the 13th Floor, under the employ of Fabletown. She is not—”

“—Once a criminal, always a criminal!” Bluebeard insists, reaching into his pocket.

“Is that so?” Sansa says, brushing a lock of her red hair back and giving Bluebeard a pointed look. The pirate has the decency to blush.

“That was before the amnesty! But she… She’s been dealing black market enchantments for years, and I don’t believe she’s stopped!” Bluebeard pulls something from his pocket— a carved wooden trinket, like a wine cork, but with a stopper— and plants it on Sansa’s desk.

Sansa and Jon both lean over to look at it.

“It certainly looks like one of Greenleaf’s…” Sansa glances at Bluebeard. “Any idea what it is?”

“A glamour, of course. Just like last time.”

That would make sense. Glamours could mask scent. Jon tentatively reaches for it and opens it.

Blackness.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Jon feels amazing, in his element. He isn’t in his wolf form, but he is definitely closer to nature.

Swimming, in fact. In a proper river rather than one of those chlorinated monstrosities the humanoids prefer. Languidly, Jon reaches out and grabs one of the salmon swimming by him. It’s only when he feels the satisfaction of the fish squirming in his hands that he realizes something is amiss.

He’s not supposed to be here. Wherever this is. He guesses the wilderness of Washington State or Oregon, judging by the smell of the trees. It’s evening, just the beginning of sundown. And for a lost wolf, he feels amazing. More amazing than he’s felt in… He’s not sure how long.

And he can smell her. Sansa. Gods can he smell her. He can smell more of her than ever. Jon braces himself and bursts towards the surface. Her scent— lemons, roses, sunlight, vanilla, oak, ink, alcohol and amber gris from that perfume she always wears— almost knocks him out. There’s something else there, too. And Jon immediately knows why he feels so good.

Uh-oh.

Jon calms himself and processes the situation. Sansa will probably be waking as well, or soon. He’s not sure if whatever enchantment that brought them here affects full humans differently than wolves.

Whatever reason they’re here, it can’t be good. He curses. Finally, after years and years of waiting and hoping and dreaming… And he can’t even remember the act!

Then there’s Sansa herself. Gods, this isn’t good. She’ll be horrified. After everything she’s been through, mating under magical influence… She can’t know. Not yet. Not until Jon knows they’re safe.

He bursts out of the water and follows her scent back to the camp they apparently made. Jon is a bit shocked. They have everything— brand new camping equipment, including one large tent and what appear to be all new hiking clothes— strewn all over the ground of their camp site. Khaki cargo shorts, t-shirts, new boots, thick white socks, a sports bra…

Jon glances down and realizes he’s naked as his Name Day. He thanks whatever gods might exist that no one saw him walking back. He grabs his shorts off the ground and pulls them on before gingerly venturing into the hub of that smell, the tent.

He almost faints again. There she is, lying amidst a collection of water-resistant sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows, in all of her glory. If Jon couldn’t smell it on her before, he’d know for certain now that the two of them had slept together. She lies on her back, legs spread, dried fluid clinging to her inner thighs.

Jon stops moving for a short while and just stares at everything he’s dreamt of for the last four centuries. Her pink-tipped breasts, the thatch of auburn curls between her legs, the swell of her hips, the whiteness of her skin. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to pounce on her.

He can’t let her know, not yet. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, and he can smell it. Danger.

Jon works fast and carefully. With every ounce of grace he has, he manages to slip her shorts and t-shirt on. He even does the socks, but doesn’t dare to try with the bra or panties. Thankfully, she stays asleep, but begins to stir when Jon gets her second sock on. Jon tries to play it off, purposely jostling her and whispering her name. “Sansa… Sansa, wake up.”

Her eyes flutter open, and Jon recalls the Mundy tale about her being woken by a prince’s kiss. He wishes he could wake her that way now. But no. Whatever they did under that spell, it was only magic. She’s not his.

Sansa sits up suddenly, her face a mask of panic. “J-Jon? What is going on?! Where am I? Why are we—?”

“I’m not sure,” he confesses, “But you can bet there’s some kind of magical element to it.” He rubs his normally clean-shaven chin, estimating the growth there. “I say we’ve been gone for about three days. We’re in Washington State.”

“Washington—” the blood drains from her face, “Oh gods.” She looks around. “Goldilocks?!”

Jon lifts his nose and inhales deeply. He can smell it. Amidst steel and motor oil and paint. “Yes. She’s behind this. And if she has even half the ballistic power I’m catching off of her, then we need to move. And quickly.”

“Where’s my cane?!” Sansa asks, looking around.

Jon sighs. “Sansa, I don’t think we can afford to have you moving like that. You’re going to have to ride me.”

She blanches. “I—”

Jon shakes his head. “No, I mean literally.” He grabs her hand. “Come on.”

He drags her out of the tent, closes his eyes, and concentrates. He thinks of darting through the woods, the smell of blood on his muzzle, the wind at his fur. He feels himself expand and rise.

When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer a man. He’s gigantic, covered in white fur, mounted on four legs. Sansa stands a few yards off, hand over her mouth. Jon crouches down, lowering his massive neck.

“Get on,” he growls. He can smell her fear, but she grits her teeth and mounts him, straddling his neck and fisting his fur.

He bolts, traversing the woods and climbing the mountain ahead. Sansa clutches him as tightly as she can, but still bounces. Jon keeps going and going, feeling his muscles strain themselves. He can’t possibly escape. Not yet.

He finds a remote ledge surrounded by trees and stops short.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asks.

“Resting. We’re not going to outrun her entirely. We need her to catch us so we can get rid of her once and for all.” Jon sighs. “But before she does, I need to get a few hours sleep while it’s still dark enough to conceal us. And so do you.”

He gets on his belly and closes his eyes. Sansa slides off of him, nodding, and settles herself against his side. “…Jon.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t help but notice… There was only one tent and sleeping bag. And I’m not wearing a bra.”

Jon groans internally and opens his eyes. “You want to talk about that now?!”

Sansa scowls at him. “Don’t give me that. You’re the one who made that absurd overture.”

Jon rests his left forward paw over his muzzle and tries to look away. Right. The night he made a complete arse of himself at the Remembrance Day Ball. When he’d used her sister’s disappearance to trick Sansa into being his date. Not one of his brightest moments. Even now, she’s looking at him with the same expression as when she told him that if he really wanted to get the girl, he should be honest with her and not use a potential tragedy to mislead her.

It had been months since, but he is still reeling from it. “And you’re the one who rejected me. What’s your point?”

“There was one sleeping bag, one tent, and no bra. So answer me. You and that nose of yours would know. Did we or did we not—?”

“No,” Jon lies, not loving himself for it. He can tell her later if he needs to. But now he needs her rested and clear-headed. That’s not happening if she knows. “If I had to guess from the amount of tracks I spotted, I’ve spent this entire trip in wolf form, sleeping under the stars.

The look of relief on her face stings a little. “Good. But Jon…”

“What?!” He asks impatiently. He’s exhausted.

She bristles at his tone. “You can’t blame me for worrying. And wondering about this attraction you suddenly have for me.”

Sudden. That’s hilarious. “Sansa, I’m exhausted…”

“I can’t sleep, Jon. I’m too wired by everything. I need to know, though. We’ve known each other our entire lives. We’ve been reunited for centuries. Why, after all this time, are you interested in me?”

“It’s not ‘all of a sudden’, Sansa.”

“What do you mean?”

Jon decides to change back. This was better expressed in his human form. Once back, he grabs her hand. “Come on, if we’re going to be awake, we might as well be moving.”

She stumbles behind him, “Come on now, you’re stalling.”

Jon sighs. “You know I spent a long time as Ghost, right?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Well, I spent enough time as the wolf to adopt more than just the physical form before Melisandre brought me back. And while I was a wolf, I sort of…. Became part of the community.”

“The direwolf community?” She giggles.

“Don’t laugh, it’s real. Wolves have their own intelligence, their own customs, and their own legends. And while I was with them, I learned of one of them. It was about mating. And how we find our mate in the person or wolf who just… Smells right. And after we find that person, we’re attached to them. When we found one another again, I caught your scent and after that you became… the woman I can’t ignore.”

She almost trips. “That’s flattering.”

“It’s the truth. I can always smell you. Not just your presence, but everything about you and what state you’re in. It’s part of the reason I smoke so much— to block out the smell. And why I went rogue for so long. I knew you’d never be interested, so I tried to stay away. But I couldn’t. I could still smell you.”

He feels her tense up, smells her trepidation. “Jon, I—”

“I never wanted to force anything on you, Sansa. Even after you all came looking for me, I didn’t come to Fabletown expecting anything. But I decided that if I couldn’t ignore you, I could try to satisfy my feelings by protecting you.”

“Still, though, you can’t expect me to react well to you stalking me all these years.”

“I can’t help it!” He scowls. “And it’s not just— I mean, yes, I know where you are every second of every day. Not because I want to. I just do. I’d stop if I could. But it’s not just that. I know your mood, your health. The rare times those smiles you fix for the community are genuine. The periods where you feel so overwhelmed you’re almost ready to give up, but never do. I know when you’re thinking about the time you went to Cersei back in the homelands and when you blame yourself for Father’s death, which is all too often. I know when you’re blaming yourself for Arya’s troubles. I know when you’re in your bathtub crying, which happens at least twice a week. I know when you’re wondering if it’s somehow your fault your marriage to Harry ended the way it did. I know when you’re afraid, like now. But I also know that you’re starting to understand.”

She takes a deep breath. “Jon… I’m tired.”

“Just a little longer, Sansa,” Jon says, picking up the scent. “She’s getting closer.”

~_~_~_~_~_~

They’re at the John F. Kennedy airport, exiting the gate, when Sansa speaks to him for the first time in hours. There’s been a lot of silence. Jon likes to tell himself that it’s over the ax Sansa drove into Goldilocks’s head, but he knows better.

“Jon…”

“—Look, if you want me to move out, I can.” He says quickly. “Whatever you need.”

She shakes her head. “No. Jon… Look. At this point in my life, I’m not interested in tricks or grand gestures or whatever you thought you were doing with that stunt at the Remembrance Day Ball. That being said, I’ve been thinking about it. And… If you’re willing to give me some time and then ask me out nicely, in an honest, straightforward manner, to go out with you… Well, I might not say no.”

Jon feels his heart leap in his chest. “Really?”

She nods. “Really. But I mean it. Honesty and time. I need both.”

Jon pauses and takes a deep breath. “Well, then, Sansa… There’s something you should probably know…”

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

CNN's Dickensian Trump / Mueller tweet brought out the Twitter peanut gallery in force

If you write something silly or foolish on Twitter, you're gonna get dragged.

CNN is getting a firsthand lesson in that universal truth after a Saturday tweet went decidedly off the rails. It was supposed to set the scene, pulling a particularly descriptive line from a story about Donald Trump's first evening in a post-Mueller Report world.

SEE ALSO: Two CNN reporters wore matching green jackets, and of course they got green screened

Instead, it set off a minor uproar as Twitter's forever-savage peanut gallery responded with a swarm of one-liners. To its credit, CNN chose to let the wave of snark break over the tweet rather than just deleting it (which would have surely made things worse, let's be real). Good sports over there at CNN.

Here's the offending tweet:

On the evening Robert Mueller submitted his report to the Justice Department, President Trump was on the tiled patio of Mar-a-Lago, bathed in golden light, with his wife and son Barron, who had reached teenagerhood two days earlier https://t.co/hJ6Mtvkqru pic.twitter.com/STbnNwEQYi

— CNN (@CNN) March 23, 2019

"On the evening Robert Mueller submitted his report to the Justice Department, President Trump was on the tiled patio of Mar-a-Lago, bathed in golden light, with his wife and son Barron, who had reached teenagerhood two days earlier."

It paints quite a picture, right? You can almost see the fading Friday sun's rays rippling across Trump's unusual skin shade of radioactive orange. It's like a scene out of some really messed up Charles Dickens story.

Troll Twitter trotted out its best material for this one. A bunch of people pondered about the literary inspiration behind the tweet. (It's actually a line from the linked story, FWIW.)

Is Danielle Steel writing for CNN now? https://t.co/rzg5vZovjE

— Judi Garcia (@JudiSGarcia) March 24, 2019

Somebody fed the CNN AI a copy of Gilgamesh. https://t.co/XbfQ3Mylqg

— Bill Kartalopoulos (@bkny) March 24, 2019

Ah, a bold choice to try and channel Fitzgerald? 'Gatsby' isn't a bad choice, but poorly executed. Re-read the text or just the quotes. https://t.co/PPWSXdTRQD

— Julie Wilcox WX (@JulieWilcoxWX) March 24, 2019

CNN just completed a creative nonfiction writing seminar and desperately wants someone to ask how it went. https://t.co/Ya2Ajsg3ch

— Dwayne David Paul (@DwayneDavidPaul) March 24, 2019

Wasn't aware Nicholas Sparks was writing for CNN... https://t.co/PH8ApbMfLZ

— Andrew Donaldson (@four4thefire) March 23, 2019

reads like the opening of a Vonnegut short story where some booj suburban parents eat their kids https://t.co/VZ1gaNIKYu

— please @ me for access to my powerful brain (@ChrisCaesar) March 23, 2019

Others couldn't help noting the tweet's use of the word "golden," and that word's connection to a certain alleged incident referenced in Christopher Steele's infamous dossier.

Bathed in golden what now? https://t.co/HpUrrCv8Os

— David Stassen (@davidstassen) March 23, 2019

being showered with golden light you might say https://t.co/TpQ8exmu1j

— Adam (@sooner930) March 23, 2019

*whipping head around like Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock* bathed.... golden.... golden shower.... pee tape https://t.co/CcM4iYtHxK

— Bud Tendy (@alexqarbuckle) March 23, 2019

A bunch more got creative and flexed their chops as writers.

And as the president glistened with luxuriant amber gris, he looked directly into the solar eclipse and saw God. https://t.co/E4wyvJPDVC

— lvl 45 thetans potus (@thetomzone) March 23, 2019

, and whose hand shook as he gripped the ceremonial knife and watched the sacrificial bull be led toward the dias, its horns festooned with fresh flowers. But this was the rite that all boys of the Order must perform. https://t.co/goT8S9jXMl

— Emma (@Merman_Melville) March 23, 2019

STATELY, PLUMP TRUMP DONALDO CAME FROM THE OMELETTE STATION, bearing a television remote control on which lay an emolument and an Adderall pill. A thread-of-gold dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air. He held his hair aloft and tweeted: https://t.co/2laSemw6tm

— Kurt Busiek Resists (@KurtBusiek) March 24, 2019

A few people asked the most obvious question of all.

pass the blunt, CNN social media editor https://t.co/oPc3Yc3Nmh

— Tony Webster (@webster) March 23, 2019

how high are you guys right now https://t.co/DpTToFuxEC

— Christian Vanderbrouk (@UrbanAchievr) March 23, 2019

But my very favorite of all the tweets immediately tickled my grammar nerd sensibilities.

pretty amazing that the poor syntax implying he is married to his son is only like the third weirdest thing about this sentence https://t.co/1Kpnc1JfEi

— Anthony Oliveira (@meakoopa) March 24, 2019

GGWP, Twitter.

WATCH: Steve Carell to reunite with 'The Office' creator for Netflix's 'Space Force'

[eldrigeonsss]

i miss my wife tails... amber gris where are youuu

Hi :3