#Snow ->Torches -> The nights watch -> And a hill up north

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

There’s something weird I never noticed before. So in ASOS, Stannis tells Davos that he saw the upcoming battle against the Others in one of Melisandre’s fires.

The ashes were white, rising in the updraft, yet all at once it seemed as if they were falling. Snow, I thought. Then the sparks in the air seemed to circle, to become a ring of torches, and I was looking through the fire down on some high hill in a forest. The cinders had become men in black behind the torches, and there were shapes moving through the snow. For all the heat of the fire, I felt a cold so terrible I shivered, and when I did the sight was gone, the fire but a fire once again. But what I saw was real, I’d stake my kingdom on it.

- Davos IV, ASOS

The “men in black behind torches” seems to suggest Night’s Watchment who are in the process of confronting the Others (“shapes moving through the snow”). I think it’s quite interesting that there is a sort of Azor Ahai imagery with these men, as they hold burning torches.

But then as I was reading this passage, I was suddenly reminded of one of Patchface’s jingles.

“Under the sea, it snows up,” said the fool, “and the rain is dry as bone. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

- Prologue, ACOK

And I got to thinking, it seems that Patchface and Stannis are seeing the same thing (snow “falling” upward). Stannis also sees snow falling downwards, which kind of evokes a cycle. We don’t really know exactly what Patchface saw since the entire section contains several broken up and vague “prophecies”.

But regarding what we do know, my initial assumption was that Patchface’s jingle was essentially about death and the rising of wights. But then I also considered that he could also be referring to Jon Snow who seemingly dies at the end of ADWD and might be resurrected in TWOW.

They found Her Grace sewing by the fire, whilst her fool danced about to music only he could hear, the cowbells on his antlers clanging. “The crow, the crow,” Patchface cried when he saw Jon. “Under the sea the crows are white as snow, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.” Princess Shireen was curled up in a window seat, her hood drawn up to hide the worst of the greyscale that had disfigured her face.

- Jon XI, ADWD

P.S: Coincidentally, Jon would (more generally) be among the men in black presented in Stannis’ vision since he is a member of the Night’s Watch; these men are also referred to as crows.

And speaking of Jon, we know that Melisandre has received visions of Jon’s death and possible rebirth.

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. Now he was a man, now a wolf, now a man again. But the skulls were here as well, the skulls were all around him. Melisandre had seen his danger before, had tried to warn the boy of it. Enemies all around him, daggers in the dark. He would not listen.

[…]

“What do you see, my lady?” the boy asked, softly. Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.

[…]

Yet now she could not even seem to find her king. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R’hllor shows me only Snow.

- Melisandre I, ADWD

So Mel is seeing Jon in danger, but the “now he was a man, now a wolf, now a man again” seems to suggest that he will return. She has tried to rely this information to Jon and we get a rather funny exchange, where Jon assumes that the “snow” Mel is talking about is frozen rain.

“And what of Mance? Is he lost as well? What do your fires show?”

“The same, I fear. Only snow.”

Snow. It was snowing heavily to the south, Jon knew. Only two days’ ride from here, the kingsroad was said to be impassable. Melisandre knows that too. And to the east, a savage storm was raging on the Bay of Seals. At last report, the ragtag fleet they had assembled to rescue the free folk from Hardhome still huddled at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, confined to port by the rough seas. “You are seeing cinders dancing in the updraft.”

- Jon X, ADWD

Note: I searched “updraft” and got this definition: “an upward current of air.”

Jon thinks Mel is talking about the very literal snow moving upward(?) in the air, but she says,

“I am seeing skulls. And you. I see your face every time I look into the flames. The danger that I warned you of grows very close now.”

Not snow, but Snow.

And just a final (random) thought to wrap this all up,

“One bird croaking my name was bad enough,” said Jon, “and snow’s nothing a black brother wants to hear about.” Snow often meant death in the north.

- Jon II, ACOK

Hmmm 🤔



[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Eight

I don’t know what to say other than I like this one. Rendog enjoyers come get your free angst!

Scott filled the pages of his sketchbook gradually at first. He sat at his window and drew what he saw, focusing on putting shapes on the paper. Many times he was unhappy with the finished product, almost ripping out and throwing away his limited space.

He had to learn to be okay with it. The next time it would be a bit better, and a bit better, until the tree he’d been slaving over didn’t look half bad.

Soon his interests turned to drawing his friends. Their faces would pop up on his pages, drowned in eraser smudges at first. Then it became easy. Like second nature, he could memorize Grian’s knowing grin, Jimmy’s downturned eyes, Martyn’s slightly crooked nose.

He drew the way he saw Ren’s piercing yellow eyes that night, the way they were shadowed by his brow.

It felt better. To have a place where his memories could stay exactly the way he saw them. Scott even pinned some up on the wall of his room.

Soon his supply of paper started dwindling, Martyn told him if he needed more drawing paper to come back and ask him for some. So he did, after Jimmy went to bed and the world was quiet under the snow.

Scott made a trip to the Renchanting base, entering through the tunnel hidden under the mountain. It took him right to the storage area. Which was dark and deserted. Only a clock ticked on the wall, everyone else must have been in the sleeping quarters or back at their bases to fend off the Phantoms.

He took a torch from the “stuff chest” and started making rounds, looking at each storage container. Food, Armor, ores, wood, stone, and redstone. Until there was a wall of chests with people’s names on them.

Everyone in the Red Army had a chest, from left to right there was Ren, Martyn, Etho, Skiz, Impulse, Tango, Joel, and then Scott.

The last chest on the right side, Scott’s name was carved on top. It hadn’t been there before. He placed his hand on the lock, wondering if he should even bother opening it. Someone had cared enough to dedicate a space for him to put things. Under the roof of Dogwarts no less.

His torch flickered and Scott decided he’d spent too long lurking around, so he flipped the lock up and quietly opened the chest. Slowly so it wouldn’t creek.

Inside there was a single stack of drawing paper. Hand-sewn like the one Martyn had given him.

Scott placed the torch down and retrieved the paper. He knew it must have been Martyn. A smile found its way onto his face, and he let it stay there. This time, when nobody was looking.

Blowing out the torch and closing the chest, Scott gathered the sketchbook and decided to just leave through the front. It was almost midnight anyways.

Up the stairs and to the double doors of the enchanting room. The book on the table rose from its position and opened towards him as he walked past. Scott still had his hand on the doorknob when he opened it and stepped out into the frigid night.

Of course he didn’t expect to see anything, so when he did see something he froze in place.

In the spot that Martyn would typically occupy, on the very top of the walls sat Ren. His grey cape was bundled around himself to keep out the cold and his pointed ears were pressed low on his head. He was facing away from Scott.

Huddled on the perch, Ren’s shoulders were shaking. Silently, he cried.

Scott stood in the doorway motionless. He couldn’t believe the scene in front of him. Ren wasn’t one to cry. He was calculating and smart, rarely loosing his temper to even the worst of setbacks. A humorous man in charge of an Army of vagabonds, he never cried. He never expressed so much as a single weakness, he couldn’t afford that.

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really, that the Red King would save his sorrow for when nobody should be looking. Under the loneliest arm of the Milky Way, coldly gazing down on him. The weight of every star in the sky on his shoulders.

It made him look small.

Scott backed away from the door and ran back to the tunnel he came from, the kind of running you do when you are convinced your worst nightmare is snapping at your heels; and maybe for Scott it was.

He sprinted home without looking back. Trying to shove the image of Ren out the back of his mind.

That night he crept quietly back into bed, doing his best not to disturb Jimmy. Who stirred momentarily before simply turning over.

Scott stared at the arm of the Milky Way through the window until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Days pressed by, Scott slithered too and from the walls of Dogwarts under the noses of his allies and between Spy Ring meetings. The first page of his new sketchbook lay empty, because whenever his pencil hovered above that damn page all he could see was a man huddled up under a galaxy of stars that would never return his wishes.

So when he was called out on night watch to the Renchanting base, Scott snuck out with his empty sketchbook held close to his chest. He arrived to a sleeping base, aware that his shift would be over in an hour and he would get to go home when the next guard showed up.

He yawned and stared out the window, at the stars above the wall. A pencil came to his hand and he started drawing what he saw. The shape of the wall against the glowing sky. He drew it, but it wasn’t right. The image in his mind came back to the front.

A weeping man holding a million stars on his shaking shoulders, the end of his frayed cape flaring out when the breeze kicked up. Tiny compared to the infinite sky. Scott’s fingers and palm turned black with graphite as he crafted the cosmos onto that paper.

His scribbling and smudging consumed all his thoughts as he focused on making the scene perfect, the pencil dulled and threatened to snap under the pressure.

“Major,” a stern voice came from right behind him.

Scott seized up in his chair, a feeling of terror so pure exploded in his chest that his vision left him for a few seconds. He gasped and turned around with his jaw on the floor.

Behind him was Ren. Clad in his winter jacket, a hand on the back of Scott’s chair. He stared directly into the other’s eyes from behind the dark lenses of his aviators. All the color had gone from his face.

Hoping the Red King hadn’t seen what he was drawing, Scott moved his hand to close the book.

It was too late. Ren had been watching him draw for long enough to know.

“You saw me?” Ren asked, but it was phrased more like a fact. It was.

Scott’s hesitation was enough of an answer. He stared up into Ren’s glasses, reminded of a familiar time. This time was different though, and this time Scott wished he could see behind the lenses.

He nodded and tore his eyes away, it felt intrusive to be staring.

“Ren,” Scott said to the floor, but was dismissed.

“No. Just go home. Now,” the other man ordered with a wavering voice.

Scott didn’t nod, he didn’t look at Ren. He gathered the sketchbook and slammed it shut within five seconds.

He didn’t say goodbye as he fled the walls. Scott ran from Ren, and this time he felt bad about it.

Scott didn’t return to Dogwarts for a week after that. Nobody called him to the night shift, nobody asked him to run any supplies. Maybe he was grateful for that, in the sense that he wouldn’t have to look Ren in the eyes again.

Until one night he couldn’t sleep. The clouds cast a dark blanket over the sky. Scott huffed and crawled out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. He pulled his boots on and took his coat off the hanger.

A walk is what he told himself he was going on, but really he knew where he was going. He didn’t know why, but for some reason Scott had a feeling he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep.

This time instead of entering Dogwarts through the underground he rounded the front, cresting the hill right in front of Big B’s house. Scott scanned the top of the wall and saw what he was looking for. He shoved his hands in his pockets and entered Dogwarts through the front door.

Scott climbed the ladder and balanced himself as he walked over to Ren, who was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the wall. His jacket was pulled tightly around him. Scott didn’t greet him when he sat down, Ren had seen him coming a mile away.

Ren didn’t look at him, he breathed in heavily, then sighed out a burst of vapor into the cold air.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Scott started the conversation this time.

“Wouldn’t matter if I could. I’m on night watch,” Ren said after a beat of silence.

Scott nodded, turning his head to the dark sky, “it’d be nicer with some stars, hm?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ren trailed off. He stared at his shoes.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’ll just-“ Scott made to get up and leave but Ren interrupted him.

“No, wait, you can stay,” Ren pulled on the sleeve of Scott’s elbow.

Scott nodded and pulled his knees closer to his chest. A pocket of clouds had moved, creating a window that let the moon gaze upon the Earth.

“Do you stargaze a lot?” Ren asked, this time he looked at Scott.

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

“I try,” Scott replied, “there’s this huge book I found uh, In a village library a while ago. It has everything you can possibly see from down here in it,” he mused.

“Have you ever read one?” Scott asked.

“Uh, an astronomy book?” Ren’s eyes flicked to the left in thought, “I mean I’ve seen them. I haven’t read them. You like astronomy?” he asked.

Scott nodded, then pointed north, into the cloud cover, “you can’t see it now, but Ursa Major would be right over there,” he said.

Ren looked over like he was trying to imagine it, “you like Ursa Major?”

“Easiest to remember,” Scott said plainly.

“I’ll bet. S’ like a namesake,” Ren rested his chin on his palm, “I wish I had a constellation with my name,” his ear twitched on his head.

Scott’s metaphorical ears perked up, “Oh well, there’s one kind of like that,” he said. Ren’s actual ears perked up.

“It’s called Canis Major. It means Great Dog, or Big Dog,” Scott pointed south, “it will always be easy to see on a clear day. One of its stars is called Sirius,” he explained.

Ren nodded, “I’m familiar. Brightest in the sky, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right,” Scott replied.

“Canis Major huh?” Ren repeated. Scott nodded.

“Canis Major, and,” he looked over at Scott, “Scott Major,” Ren nudged the other on the shoulder.

“Right,” Scott said, and suddenly the sky didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Not when you have a friend to share it with.

[the-roanoke-society]

boys and girls of every age...

wouldn’t you like to see something strange?

happy halloween, my flowers!

this year hasn’t been the best--and the list of reasons why is as varied, as wide and as deep as all of creation.

it has, essentially, sucked on a truly cosmic level.

but!

it doesn’t help anyone to look at the big picture and only focus on the dark parts. because for all the truly horrible, disastrous events we’ve had to slog through together (first time crying every day for months, first time being taken by ambulance to the er--truly a year of firsts, at least for me, personally), there have still been good things.

for example, did you know that this year we celebrated the 6th anniversary of the release of kingsman: the secret service? and the 3rd anniversary of the release of kingsman: the golden circle--which means next month it’ll be the third birthday of the ronaoke society!

our house might’ve gotten quiet--but it still stands.

i love all of you very, very much, and halloween is still my favorite holiday of all time. so all this month, i worked on the aus you’ll find below the cut. i’ll have to post this in parts over the next while, as there’s thirty-one total--one for each day of the season, of course.

honestly--it felt fantastic to dig back into my horror roots. roanoke’s entire conception was inspired by the fact that for as much as i love the kingsman universe, i also love things that go bump in the night.

and i don’t like having to choose between one thing or another.

be forewarned: if you choose to look into the source material for these aus, be prepared for possible graphic violence, gore, disturbing themes, explicit sexuality and jumpscares. i sort of walked through the proverbial garden and just grabbed fruit where i could find it--you’ll see what i mean. and as always, the endings are in your hands. these ideas are gifts, to do with as you please.

so journey below the cut... i̷̛̝͎͎̝̣̹͊̓̂͛̃̋͟f̛̯̟̱̖͔̌͊͐̏̃̓̇̎͠ y͈͇̙̘̬̓͌̑̈́͛̿͌͠ở̴̢͉͉̳͙̞͈̻̀́̎̄́̈͢͡ȗ̵̬̳͙̫̥̜͍̲̔̐̽̃̀͒̑͜ ḑ̙̩̼̤͓̫̟̥̈͑̐̚͡a̧̢̦̟̙̤̠͐͌̾̆̑͌͡͞r̷̡̰̲̣͓̣̝͒́̿͊̉̀͒͠͝͠ͅe̫̯̣̰͍̤̬̭̺̒̿͊̾͊.

blackbird on the old church steeple - a butterfly knife au inspired by the silence of the lambs

rae clementine doesn’t frighten easily. in her line of work, fear is not a friend. so when she’s abruptly pulled out of her fbi training at quantico to interview none other than the notorious harry hart, known for his--let’s say unusual appetites--she’s less intimidated and more annoyed.

but women are being taken, and found without their skin, if they are even found at all.

if hart’s insight into the mind of a psychopath can help her find the infamous buffalo bill, who has repeatedly evaded arrest--then she is more than willing to sit across from the gentleman in a pristine cell, and be continuously surprised that for a murderer, his gaze is surprisingly gentle.

in the back of her mind, she remembered all the things her mother had ever told her about lucifer--how the king of hell himself was utterly wicked, but catastrophically beautiful.

charm could hide blood. polished etiquette could hide bodies.

“most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from the victims.”

“i didn’t.”

“no. you ate yours.”

she’d felt this kind of intrigue before, and given the face it wore this time... well.

focus on the case, she thought. find buffalo bill. watch yourself. get out alive.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ajr, ‘bang!’ + tame impala, ‘the less i know the better’ + barney bigard, ‘readdy eddy’

dogs & deadbolts guard the night - an au featuring @roanoke-after-dark​‘s the gremlin and @agentjotunn​ inspired by resident evil, particularly the released imagery for resident evil: village

santi’s first thought was that the rumors were just blatantly untrue. an entire village of people? suddenly vanished? he doubted it. besides, winters this far north were brutal--and could be fatal, if you weren’t careful. they had probably just all tucked in for the season, he reasoned. the snow and ice would’ve made travel impossible, anyway.

weeks passed. the stories faded from his thoughts as he minded his garage, and people spoke less and less about it.

until one evening, when an old friend knocked on his door with blood on his jacket and no color in his face.

“bradley? jesus, what hap--”

“grab your gun. something’s happened, and we need to leave now.”

“but what--”

“i’ll explain on the way, just go!“

right before he slammed the passenger side door of bradley’s jeep closed--wheels appropriately chained to keep a grip on the iced over roads--he heard a deep, long howl from some distance away.

there hadn’t been wolves this close in fifty years.

santi broke the silence in the car gently: “... you look like you’ve seen the face of the devil. what exactly happened?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ac/dc, ‘highway to hell’ + think up anger ft. malia j, ‘smells like teen spirit’ + marilyn manson, ‘sweet dreams’

the light under the door - a body shots au inspired by dark skies

the blacks weren’t superstitious. jason wasn’t, just like his father wasn’t before him, and now that he’s finally settled down happily married to joanne--finally, he thought, finally married to his jo--he is more than ready to see what the next chapters will bring. they moved into a house not too far from his parents, so he could still see his siblings regularly.

and he did.

which means he and jo both noticed when his younger brother christopher began to act a little--off.

they noticed when the bruises appeared.

they noticed when he kept copying the same strange symbols onto papers in crayon over and over and over and over--

and jo definitely noticed when she walked into their own kitchen in the middle of the night to find every single cabinet door open, with all the contents arranged into an impossibly perfect pyramid on the center island.

“i--are we being haunted?” she wondered out loud, the next morning. “this--and weird things are happening at your parents’, too, jason, something isn’t right here. i know you don’t believe in ghosts or anything, but...”

and this wasn’t a haunting.

it was something much worse.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: kennyhoopla, ‘how will i rest in peace if i’m buried by a highway?’ + cannons, ‘fire for you’ + days, ‘the drums’

permission access eternal - an au featuring @siggy-the-meme-master​ and technical officer wyvern, inspired by a.m.i.

it was supposed to be the world’s most cutting edge ai software. and since jeremy and dodger were both at the top of their class at m.i.t., of course, nobody was surprised when both their names were on the finished product--even if there was just one prototype to start.

and it wasn’t an ‘it.’ it was a she. jeremy insisted. repeatedly. “let’s call her ami!” he’d been flush with booze but his eyes were so bright and his expression so sincere, dodger just let him have it. and jeremy clapped his shoulder, “we did it, man! we have built the jessica rabbit of ai programs!”

they had one last test run to prove they’d metaphorically kicked the ass of everyone else in their field before they began the work to begin mass production. so, dodger set ami up as a sort of overhead assistant for their shared lab. she controlled temperature, lights, she could make phone calls, keeps schedules and most importantly of all, place takeout orders. the more she proved she could do, the more power, and control, she was given.

two weeks passed. they gave ami a voice, gave her a large proverbial eye to see through, making tweaks as they went to polish her off.

dodger was so proud of his work his heart could’ve exploded.

so imagine how he felt when he realized he’d left his cell phone in his car--and realized he couldn’t open the door.

“ami? ... ami. can you unlock the front door please?” he stared up at the red lens, and a silent point of light stared back at him.

“... i’m sorry. i cannot do that. dodger.”

“... uh, jeremy?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: cage the elephant, ‘social cues’ + sneaker pimps, ‘6 underground’ + saint motel, ‘preach’

in hell i’ll be in good company - a lies & lessons au inspired by underworld

for centuries, a war has raged between vampires and lycans, completely outside the notice of the general human population. lauren is a death dealer, a lethal and beautiful member of an elite squad of vampiric assassins who have been charged with finding all the remaining lycans in the city and taking them out one by one.

when she realizes the lycan pack seems to be looking for an ordinary man--a medical student named jack daniels--she tracks him down herself, narrowly escpaing lucian in the process. (as soon as they were in the car he was already screaming, “what the fuck is goin’ on?!” with a southern twang she hadn’t expected) she takes him under her wing, still baffled at why the lycan pack could possibly want him.

he’s only human, after all.

... right?

as it turns out, vampires and lycans have a single common ancestor.

jack is a direct descendant.

and after being bitten in an attack--becomes a hybrid, carrying the powers of both species.

between unraveling the truth surrounding the death of her family, what really happened between lucian and kraven, and her growing feelings for jack--who is rapidly trying to understand his role in the story that’s been unfolding without his knowledge for generations--lauren finds herself at a crossroads, and her loyalties tested to a breaking point.

but as long as jack is at her side--perhaps it doesn’t matter where the road goes from here.

as bullet-riddled and blood-soaked as it will turn out to be.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: wallows, ‘are you bored yet?’ + cage the elephant, ‘shake me down’ + puscifer, ‘rev 22-20′

ash, fog & rust - alternatively titled ‘@gaygent​, @agent-judas​ and agent seraphim finally take that road trip to pennsylvania’

it was time to hand over the torch. that’s what lilith had finally decided. between the white patches in her hair, the strain it was putting on her relationships (especially with hamish)--morgan only had to return to the hills one more time as envoy.

and she wasn’t going alone.

“after this, anything that comes through this area, anything that hits our radars, is going to end up on both your desks,” she began, glancing at z in the passenger seat, and meeting cillian’s eyes once in the rearview mirror.

“so this is--what, a test run?” z asked, head slightly tilted. morgan hummed.

“this place--this town--it--” she huffed, frustrated. cillian could hear the leather wrapped around the steering wheel creak as her grip tightened. “it’s hard to explain, to someone who hasn’t been there. and i’m glad that neither of you have had to go before this, but...” another sigh. “i couldn’t think of any other duo that i could entrust this to. not something this big. you--” she pointedly lifted her brows at z, “--have experience with creatures that aren’t from around here. and you--” this time her gaze went to cillian. “--do too. just in a different shape. it’ll take both of you to handle centralia. and i couldn’t introduce you without coming along.”

“how long, exactly, has roanoke been keeping tabs on this place?” cillian asked. he’d spent hours going over everything he could find--mission logs, reports, feeds and images housed in the media room. morgan looked at him again. her eyes were still kind--but very, very tired.

“... a long time.”

i’ll admit that this is less an au and more a canonical event that i just haven’t gotten around to writing more about. but i couldn’t make this list without at least one entry paying homage to a franchise that’s had a huge influence on not just me as a writer, but on roanoke’s canon as a whole.

for the sampler, i will simply redirect you to this post here.

the devil’s gonna set me free - an anchored hearts au inspired by horns

joseph moretti had been in love with louise franz since fifth grade.

granted, he didn’t realize it until he almost drowned because of that stupid dare--a dare that not only almost killed him, but took two of lee’s fingers when that goddamn cherry bomb went off in his hand.

the same cherry bomb he’d traded to him for fixing louise’s broken necklace--a small silver pendant, shaped like an apple. she’d worn it every single day since he could remember. the image of her and snow white were eternally tangled in his head.

that necklace--it’d been the start. he’d woken up because of an apple. louise, did, too.

the hours they spent in that treehouse, listening to david bowie and memorizing every scar and curve of the other--he wished that could have been his eternity. just him. and her. ... well, and bowie. every good love story needed a soundtrack.

but... but...

his head pounded as he lifted it off the counter in his parents’ kitchen. his mouth was dry, and he blinked, causing a half-empty bottle of vodka to come into focus.

louise is gone now, he thought.

and they thought he was the one who did it. he, the one who loved her more than anyone else on the planet.

he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

he was going to prove his innocence even if it killed him. no matter what happened.

even if he sprout horns.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: machine gun kelly, ‘bloody valentine’ + the black keys, ‘go’ + david bowie, ‘heroes’

moonlight rising from the grave - alternatively titled ‘that time @agent-nightcrawler​ and agent iuniore found a haunted mansion,’ inspired by disney’s haunted mansion

“hello? ... hellooooo?” the massive door let out a huge groan as sylva pushed, putting one hand on tina’s shoulder as it swung open. “uhm--i’m really sorry to bother you, but we hit a deer and we just...” sylva sighed, her voice lowering in volume. “... need to use the phone...”

“this place is gigantic,” tina whispered, close at sylva’s side as they stepped out of the pouring rain into a very quiet, very elegant foyer. “and look! there’s lights, and all these lit candles... someone has to be here,” she continued as the door came to a gentle close behind them, muffling another roll of thunder.

“good evening.”

both of them yelped, sylva immediately yanking tina closer to her and whirled around in time to see--a butler? he was dressed like a butler.

and his clothes were... he was...

“sylva! why is the butler see-through!” tina whispered harshly, all while the spectral gentleman just looked at them expectantly. sylva clamped a hand over her mouth.

“hi!” she answered brightly.

this is a ghost. i’m talking to a ghost. this is fine. everything is fine.

“uh,” she coughed, beginning again, “we’re just having a little bit of a car emergency, is there a way we can call our head office? so they can come get us?” this is what i get for being out where i have no bars, and neither of us have our specs...

the ghostly butler nodded. his hair, glowing faintly, waved around his head as though he was underwater. “of course. please--follow me. the master of the manor will want to meet you.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the chordettes, ‘mr. sandman’ + bobby pickett, ‘monster mash’ + bastille, ‘survivin’’

mercy no more - a magic & mischief au inspired by the evil within

aly had been kieran’s partner at the krimson city police department for years. she’d walked with him through the death of his daughter, the disappearance of his wife.

neither of them acknowledged the spark. they didn’t then, and--as she met his eyes once in the rearview mirror, trying to pay attention to connelly and joseph as they talked about beacon--they wouldn’t acknowledge it now.

as soon as the hospital came into a view, a high-pitched ringing overame every other sound in the cruiser, every other sound period. aly slammed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t seem to help.

as soon as it started--it stopped. connelly had to swerve to avoid getting into the wrong lane.

“what--what was that?” aly asked, her palms still hovering by her ears.

“it was probably just a problem with the radio,” joseph suggested, pushing his glasses up as they drove pass the established police barriers.

the last dispatch team, they said, hadn’t come back. it was up to the three of them to find out what happened to their colleagues.

aly was close by kieran’s side as they walked through the rain. her gut twisted at the sight of the entry doors.

the smell of the blood and the slaughter hit her nose before she saw the bodies.

“what on earth happened here?”

“i don’t know. stay close. let’s find the surveillance room. if we can find the security cams, we’ll find out answer...”

if only that had been the end.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: all time low, ‘monsters’ + bastille, ‘what you gonna do???’ + gary numan, ‘long way down’

and the wind will be my hands - an au featuring @agent-sentinel-official​, @agent-chimera​ and @gaygent​, inspired by session 9, with a special appearance by @agent-thorn​

walter vaughn was an expert in abestoes abatement. so when he put in a bid to take on the entire danvers state mental hospital, the owners of the rotting estate welcomed him on board.

and as they did, he brought on two crewmates--xander, and z--to help him.

“we’ve got three weeks, so, no need to rush,” he explained on the first day, the sun beating down on his broad shoulders and half his hazmat tied around his waist. xander and z trailed behind him as they approached the massive building. “and i know, i know it’s still a big undertaking--but the money will be worth it. trust me.”

“you fellas our cleanup crew?” a tall, thin man in a suit with dark hair and a pair of ray ban sunglasses walked towards them, smiling broadly. he extended a hand, “carter jensen. the ah, danvers’ estate board sent me on their behalf to give you a tour of the building, let you get a good assessment of what you’re dealing with. i’m not entirely sure what they’ll do with the property when this is done, but we know for sure nothing can happen until this part’s complete. come on, the entrance is just this way... i’ll make sure to give you a master key ring.”

xander leaned down by z’s shoulder, muttering, “dude this place gives me the creeps... but maybe there’s still some cool old stuff left in there. like maybe, possibly, the trapped souls of the damned. you think it’s haunted?”

z answered, murmuring, “if not by ghosts--then maybe by something else.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the talking heads, ‘psycho killer’ +  lou barlow, ‘choke chain’ + sublime, ‘doin’ time’

[lj-todd]

#25: “I’m not expecting anything from you.” Aegon Blackfyre / Harry Strickland / Jon Snow.

(So, went AU with this one, Nonnie. Jon, instead of joining the Night’s Watch, goes to Essos and ends up with the Golden Company shortly before they invade the Stormlands. Hope you enjoy!)Jon had not seen or set foot in Westeros for nearly four years. He had left, barely thirteen, on a merchant ship out of White Harbor bound for Pentos, chased from the only home he had known by the harsh and cruel words of Lady Stark. He had had no plan other than to leave. To escape the life he had been shackled to because he was a Snow.It had been difficult, that first year. And he had spent more days hungry than not and he had barely been able to find people willing to trust a skinny foreigner to handle. He had counted himself lucky when a man, Tristan Rivers, an exiled bastard knight from the Riverlands, had happened upon him during a scuffle that had ended with two men, both larger than Jon, unconscious and bleeding on the ground.Tristan, a sellsword Jon would later learn, took Jon under his wing, took him to his captain and commander of The Golden Company. Jon, like all children of Westeros, knew of the sellsword company, knew its history, but, for the first time in his life, he finally felt that he had a place. He finally felt that he had a home.

The company’s captain-general, Harry Strickland, had only been so not quite a year, having taken command after the former captain had died and, trusting Tristan, he had accepted Jon in. They formed a close friendship, he and Harry, and Jon found he quite enjoyed the quiet company of the sandy haired man and Harry, who boasted loudly one night, felt that Jon was always meant to be one of them. That the gods, Old and New, had brought them together.So, three years later, when Harry marched the company south to, he claimed, meet with the true king of Westeros, Jon had not questioned, merely ridden alongside his captain-general.He was with Harry when Tristan escorted three men into the captain-general’s tent. It was the youngest of the trio who caught Jon’s attention. Perhaps a year or two older than Jon himself, tall and broad, with fine silvery hair and deep purple eyes that spoke of a hard life. The young man, the supposed true king, was introduced as Aegon Blackfyre, last son of House Blackfyre and rightful and true king of Westeros.Jon had not been impressed but was quick to learn that Harry had, years ago, upheld a deal made by the former captain-general to support Aegon should he ever seek to take the Iron Throne. Jon could not care less who sat the throne of Westeros and he voiced as much when Harry asked him if he could count on his sword.“So long as I’m getting paid I don’t rightly care who sits that pointy monstrosity,” Jon said, leaning back, watching as Aegon looked at him. It was a calculating look. “You realize the North will never support you though? That Lord Eddard Stark will never side with you so long as Robert Baratheon breaths? And, even if you conquer the South, the North will not yield. Not if Lord Eddard doesn’t. Odds are, in truth, if Robert falls the Northern Houses will declare Lord Eddard King in the North.”“And what do you know of the North,” Aegon asked, not harshly or mockingly but seemingly genuinely curious.“I know, if they break with the Iron Throne, they will know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.” Jon shrugged. “And I know it took your ancestor having three dragons to force mine to bend his knee and give up the Crown of Winter.”Aegon blinked. “You are a Stark?”“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon confirmed, smiling bitterly. “And Lady Stark is not my mother.”“He is Ser Jon Snow,” Harry cut in quickly, hand resting on Jon’s arm lightly, a gentle squeeze before the captain-general stood. “And I trust his word on matters with the North. But, my King, as of yet that is not a concern. What is concerning is getting a foothold in the southern lands.”And with that the conversation turned to war and invasion and planning. Weeks later and the company sailed. The Stormlands fell. And Robert Baratheon declared war while the company took castle after castle. The peoples either fleeing or submitting. Once they took Griffin’s Roost, Jon felt a growing tension between Aegon, Harry and himself.He was not blind. He saw how Aegon looked at him. Looked at Harry. He knew that look. He had seen Harry look at him like that several times over the last year. His captain-general clearly wanting something yet unable to bring himself to ask. To take. And he would be lying if he said he had never looked at the pair the same way. That he hadn’t been thinking of it almost daily. More so after walking into Harry’s tent and finding the two entangled in Harry’s bed. He had left without a word. Pretending he had not seen it. Pretending they had not seen him watching for the heartbeat it took to force himself to walk away.The night a scout reported back that Robert Baratheon was marching his forces against them, that Eddard Stark was marching his forces south to join with the king, was the night everything came to a head.Jon was hiding away in a tower of the castle, watching the dark hills, searching for some sign of the approaching armies, blood singing in his veins, when Aegon and Harry came looking for him.“Jon,” Harry spoke in that quiet way of his, the flickering torch light turning his sandy hair almost golden. “We need to talk, pup.”Jon said nothing, merely watched, waiting.“We will be facing an army tomorrow,” Aegon said gently, moving nearer to Jon. “And I…we…did not want to lose the last chance we have at this.”Still Jon said nothing, though he did let out a soft, breathy sound when Harry stepped over to him, clever fingers carding through his hair, digging against his scalp in a pleasant way.“Come to bed with us, Jon,” his captain-general said, as blunt and forward as ever and Jon barely twitched even as Aegon grunted.“Crass,” the would-be-king grouched, giving Harry a reproachful look before giving Jon a gentle one. “We’re not expecting anything from you, Jon. We…We will not force you or pressure you to be with us but…” He glanced at Harry, who nodded, and then that beautiful purple gaze was on him again. “But, on the off chance that we fall tomorrow, we would like to be able to go to whatever awaits us knowing we had at least one night. The three of us. Together.”“Only if you want to, pup,” Harry murmured and Jon looked up at the man. “We’re not expecting you to say yes just because I’m your captain and he’s your King. We’re…We’re hoping you’ll say yes because you want us as badly as we want you.”Jon did not answer. Instead, he surged upwards, capturing Harry’s lips in a bruising kiss, the man’s beard scratching against his skin and he felt rather than heard his captain-general’s gasp. He heard Aegon move closer, jumping slightly when the young man’s hands brushed over his sides, the heat of his body pressing against his back even as Harry deepened their kiss, hands tangling in his hair while Aegon began peppering Jon’s neck with kisses and nips.Only the gods knew what awaited them in the morning. Only the gods knew what fate would bring them.But, for one night, they could pretend. They could simply be.Together.

[hillgoers]

First camp of the year

I knew I’d be in the tent last Friday night but I hadn’t decided on the exact location before I left the house in the morning. I did tell Sarah my route though and gave a few options of where I might end up. My first thought was at the col of Lochnagar, just down a bit from Meikle Pap, that’s what we discussed anyway. The forecast was perfect, light winds, clear skies, chance of a meteor shower and perhaps an aurora! I first camped at the col with Sarah circa 1995, can’t remember for sure, but this time I was a little more prepared.…

Before that though I met up with my chum Struan and we took the boys for a stroll to Shielin of Mark Bothy. The hard frost crafted ice formations on the burns and made the usually damp walk to the bothy quite easy across the peat hags. Dropping down to the bothy in beautiful sunshine we had our picnic by the fire (to add to the bothy experience) and played a game of top trumps, in which I came last. We had both carried in and left fire wood for the next visitor. Be warned though, the chimney is a bit like me, no good at drawing!

The 4 of us and very happy dog left the bothy (with fire out) and enjoyed our walk back over the heather to the path. The boys tried to smash as much ice as possible, icicles fascinating them as usual. We met another nice chap outside the bothy, carrying two large cameras and enjoying the sunshine and fading light on the way back. We probably disturbed his afternoon but he didn’t seem to mind. Walking back we admired Lochnagar in the distance and I was looking forward to extending my walk along the road. I walked back to the car park with them and waved them off while I changed over bags and boots. By this time the sun was already getting low and I walked up towards Allt-na-giubhsaich as the light faded.

This was my first longish day since the festive period and I was feeling it with the heavier pack. The walk up the track was quite slow for my usual standards, possibly because of the weight in my bag and around my waist!

At the path junction before the walk up to the col I stopped for a break to decide what I was going to do. The mist was starting to form and I contemplated turning back for a comfy night in the van. I put on my stove for a cup of tea then out of the darkness I heard footsteps approaching. Thinking to myself ‘who could this be’, along walked Bill Dallas. I used to work for the same company as Bill and we’ve crossed paths a couple of times since. I told him I wasn’t sure where I was going to end up that night. Being a member of the Braemar Mountain Rescue Team he probably wasn’t too impressed with this indecision but he did kindly offer me to join him on the top. I would support that view and it’s not advisable to wander in winter if you don’t know what you’re doing. To explain, I gave Sarah a full late back procedure, including route and times of contact. In winter I also carry Spot SOS tracker, I know the area very well and I’m a qualified Mountain Leader. Camping up high in winter is life threatening if you don’t understand and mitigate the risks. Serious stuff over. Bill left me and my boiling stove and I stood looking at the stars, occasionally I could could see him switch on the head torch as he wandered up the hill. It’s amazing the difference a wee hot drink and a snack can make to your energy levels. Inspired by Bill’s efforts I decided to plod on, soon reaching foxes well where I filled my water containers for the trip up top, the best water in Scotland. I didn’t carry my tripod which was a mistake so balancing my camera on a rock I took a couple of poor photos of the corrie before continuing on up the ladder and over towards the top.

There was some ice on the ground but mostly avoidable. A snow patch on the path before the climb to Cac Carn Mòr was avoided by staying closer to the corrie rim. I didn’t continue onto the top, I decided to leave Bill to the solitude he probably went up for. I pitched my tent on the flat spot west of Cac Carn Mòr, by this time getting tired and hungry. I only saw one meteor but the glow of the northern lights and huge skies above was eye opening, utterly beautiful. I pitched my tent with the door facing north, sat in my sleeping bag and watched the display eating a lovely...chicken curry. About 10:30 I was dozing off and I heard another couple of voices and torches approaching near the Cairn. Bill’s solitude was about to be disturbed by another couple of team members as I found out in the morning when speaking with the Aberdeen team who were out training.

During the night the cloud came in and the frost came too. I don’t think it was overly cold but there was a good deposit of rime on anything exposed. I woke up a few times through the night, opened the door at 6 ish and quickly closed it again! Then awoke about 8 for breakfast, still in cloud. After packing up the cloud began to lift and I had a great walk down enjoying the clouds drifting below and chatting to folk as they walked up.

Long story short, pick your day, know what you’re doing and go for it. Watching that sky at 1140m is something I’ll never forget. I’ll keep the camping in winter for myself but if you’d like to experience this in summer get in touch.

Happy New Year all, Garry.

[toaquiprashippar]

always there II

Hey, y’all...part II here, as promised. I hope you guys like it, still feels weird sharing, cause this is like my baby and me and @porrabett spent so much time working on this, I don’t know if I feel relief to let it out or a bit...weird. lol 

anyway, I hope you guys like it, it comes from my fangirl heart and my dear friend’s too, this girl could be an editor, just saying...

His first night in Dragonstone was a repeat of his last in Winterfell, his Lady friend was there, but this time there was no Ghost, nor a Weirwood tree, she was at the beach. She did not run, she walked, her hair was loose and her dress was blue, it was night but it was a full moon and he could see her from the back perfectly.

“My Lady?” She was five steps ahead of him, perhaps she wanted to be alone, yet, she had her hand behind her, as if she wanted him to follow him.

“Ma’am?” He walked faster, but she was still there, still the same distance ahead of him, no matter his speed. Which was odd, she was not tall nor was she speeding up, but she was unreachable.

She looked to the side, and he could almost see her face, except he could not. Then she stopped in front of the Castle, and ran to it. Jon ran after her. When she touched the long, large doors, she turned to him, her face was so sad. He knew that face, where did he knew that face from?

“He wanted you here. You are home”

Dark turned to silver; grey to lilac, blue to black, and it was not his shadow friend anymore; it was Daenerys Targaryen, gazing back at him. Before any of them could do anything, he heard her dragons from afar.

He woke up in a bed of sweat, still stuck in lilac seas, ignoring words that did not make any sense to him.

The moment he held that torch and took her into the cave, he knew she was the girl from the dream. The girl his favorite ghost turned into. It was all there. The sound of the waves, the stars – that now he knew for sure, were all Dragonglass reflecting the lights creeping in –, her silver braided hair, even her outfit were the same. He did not stop nor let himself think, he would do that later, alone in his room, he had a Queen to convince to join their cause, but somewhere in the back of his mind, that scared him.

Were dreams really a warning, or visions? Prophecies?

The moment Jon saw the Queen coming back from her trip from the Lannister army, he remember those words: “don’t let her fly away”.

He was not going mad; he remembered waking up to them, as if the wind told him a secret, as if the wind had a woman’s voice. Daenerys was flying back to Dragonstone, like the warrior Queen that she was, how beautiful she looked from here, or from anywhere, really.

‘Don’t let her fly away’

Jon remembered Old Nan telling him and Robb how all over Westeros, there used to be Weirwood trees, watching the Children of the Forest, and protecting them, as they carved faces and prayed for their Gods for such protection, but after the First men arrived and cut down the trees, the wind became their way of speaking to us in the South, if you wanted to hear the Old Gods, just speak to the wind, and listen to it.

Jon was not important enough to have the Gods attention, but he wish he could have Daenerys’.

The beast was approaching, but he would not move from here, he wanted to touch it, he would not miss this for the world. She would not fly away nor would he move an inch.

He took off his glove and approached slowly, touching the dragon’s rough and hard skin, and it felt like nothing it ever felt before.

He thought of those strange words:

Welcome home, Jon.

He was not home, but somehow, this felt so right, this fit so properly. Daenerys got down from her dragon and walked to him, as if she did not just had one of the greatest and fastest victories Westeros had ever seen.

They watched the animal leave, and while the Queen seemed momentarily offended by the King in the North calling her children “beasts”, he could only stare at her, like he wish he could do for the rest of his days. He knew this was not what he was here for, they had a war to win, the greater evil to slay, but for a moment, he could not stop himself from wonder what it was like to want something and just have it, without guilt or shame, take it.

She would fly alright, he would not stop her he did not know what those words meant, but seeing her receive Lord Commander Mormont’s son, see how she did not like to use her dragons just as much as he did not like to use his sword, his guts told him that he’d grown used to her, how strange it would be not have her around.

They had to go north…True North, beyond the Wall and not everyone knew what that meant. But he did, Jon knew exactly what it meant.

A long time ago, it meant the Free folk, he couldn’t help but think of Ygritte, Mance and his time amongst them; now it only meant not knowing if he would ever come back, if he would ever see Arya and Bran again like he did Sansa, or Daenerys Targaryen.

She tried to make him stay, use her authority over his, but he was still a King and he knew his mission, his duty, he did not have a choice, Jon had to go. If they had a chance of gathering proof so they could show it to Cersei Lannister, and bringing the living together to fight the Dead, he would do so.

That night he dreamt of Dragonstone once more, although it was dark and there was no one but himself, and the Queen’s dragons. He found himself on the hill Daenerys landed with her black dragon the other day, but this one was not him, it was the green one.

The boy inside him wanted to touch him too, he had been fascinated by dragons ever since he could remember, and so he did. The dragon seemed to welcome his touch, closing his eyes with his contact; the feeling would never cease to amaze him. Although knowing this was but a dream, the dragon positioning his wings for him to go up on him, as if he wanted Jon to ride him shocked the King in the North and his winter blood.  

Legitimate or not, Jon was a Stark, no person without valyrian blood running through their veins could ever ride a dragon, could they?

However, this was not real, so he could do as he wanted, and that he did. Jon went to the dragon’s back, and it felt like nothing else in the world.

How much faster could they reach the Wall? How much faster could they catch a Wight, if only they could go on a dragon’s back? If this was a dream, there were no harm, he could try.

Sōvēs

However, the dragon would not go, he only knew the valyrian word to make him fly cause read it in a book, long time ago, but even so, the dragon would not obey.

He would not even look up, like a spoiled child. Like knew what he was being asked to do, but he still would not do it; his ears moved to Jon’s poor pronunciation, after all he never heard it properly, only read it in books, but the green dragon knew exactly what it meant, just chose to ignore him. He would not go.

Sōvēs

Perhaps only a Targaryen can fly a dragon.

Jon pet the animal once more, going down through his wing. Once he was the ground, he saw big eyes staring back at him, as they wanted to tell him something…To ask him something. However, he did not. He opened his wings and fly away.

The King in the North could not hide his disappointment. He really wanted to ride that dragon.

Oh, to be a Targaryen and to fly…If only.

It was said hell was made of fire, but after fighting the Night King once more and nearly succumbing before him, Jon was sure it was built of ice. Hell was white and it was infested with blue-eyed corpses, frozen monsters and dead creatures. He was about to stay there forever when his uncle rescued him, and gave his own life for Jon’s.

After years not knowing whatever happened to Uncle Benjen, he came out of the snow and burned them again, gave him a horse and sent him on his way to his Queen. To his savior.

Jon was sure he was going to die beyond the Wall. He was sure he would never again hold his little sister Arya, nor see his brother Bran or kiss Sansa’s forehead. When you see yourself in a field of death surrounded by enemies and neither weapons nor numbers at your favor, you prepare yourself to go.

He would miss his family and the reunion they would never get to have; he would miss Sam, Edd and he would miss his home, Winterfell; lastly but definitely not less important, while wielding Longclaw on the Dead, his mind wandered to silver and lilac. When he heard the dragons screeches and saw her, like a vision in the sky, to save them, he could deny himself no longer: he had feelings for The Dragon Queen. She had come for them. She cared.

The moment she fly his way, he remembered his dreams and those words: “don’t let her fly away”; somehow, Jon knew Daenerys was the one his ghostly friend warned him about, she was meant to save him, were they meant to something else? But he did let her fly away, had he gone, she would fall with him and he could not accept a world without Daenerys Targaryen in it. He would make sure she survived, to save them and bring better days.

Before they could react, her child fell. Blood raining from the sky, one could hear his brothers cry from miles away, mayhaps Essos could her it. It was not a dance, it was a cry, the dragons wept their brother and so did his Mother.

He send them on their way, never looking back. He could not, he would not or he was lost. Until he fell. Until Uncle Benjen, until he saw thousand blue eyes, fireballs and black thick hairs. He could barely gather his surroundings; he called for Benjen to go with him, knowing he would not.

He felt weak and heavy, right before sleep claimed him, and it was as if he was being held gently in the horse seat, he heard that old, familiar voice whispering in his ear.

You are fine now, my pup. Benjen saved you for me. She awaits you; she will not leave without you. She also will not let you fly away, my winged wolf.

And just like that, darkness overtook him, involving him in dreams of silver hair and lilac crying eyes, a red rain pouring over the North, and a beautiful lady with gentle eyes in a beautiful white dress with silver and blue embroidery, blue winter roses all over her long wild black hair being held by a tall, lean yet strong man, on his back, that sang beautifully a sad song, while they watched the rain. He also had silver, long hair and his broad shoulders covered in a black doublet were all Jon could see of him. They were all standing at the Winterfell’s highest tower, watching the blood pour and taint the snow fields, yet no one would do anything.

As if she knew he was watching and what he wanted to know, she looked at him with those grey eyes, and her voice was as sad as the song the silver man sang.

“Winter is here, child. The Great War has begun.” She said.

“I am not strong enough…I can’t…” Jon felt so weak.

“You are stronger than you know, Jon.” She smiled. “I am sorry you have this burden layed on your shoulders, but you two are the only ones who can end Him. You were not the only one that was promised, child.” She touched his face, and turned back to the man beside her and the blood rain he watched.

When he woke up, any memories of promised ones and songs were gone. He woke up to his beautiful Queen, and her pained face. She was all he could think of, he could almost feel her pain.

I am sorry. I am so sorry…

He could feel the winds blowing in and out of the cabin and the heat off the melting candles, but no heat was stronger than the feel of their bodies brought together.

She was pure warmth, her skin was smooth and hot; her eyes were a pool of lilac lava and her hair glowed under the moonlight. No sight was prettier, no feel was better, no taste was sweeter, after a life of putting himself second to other’s desires, and he found something he wanted more than anything…Something worth fighting for. Her.  

It was an odd feeling; imagine that his lifelong shadow friend would warn him about her before they met. It was almost unsettling how many times she had appeared in his dreams and thoughts. He had never experienced such emotions, not even with his first love, his wild Ygritte.

She was there, she warmed his heart but even with her beside him, he would still feel cold, he would still feel alone. Here, in this bed, Jon felt like he belonged.

After their lovemaking, Daenerys drift off to sleep, legs tangled up in his, body leaned into his very own, her weight a light yet comfortable reminder, that he was not alone. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, before closing his eyes.

He slept all through the night, no dreams to welcome him in his sleep. How could his imagination be any better than the reality of such a night?

He did not understand the need of his ghostly friend claim Dragonstone as his home, but he was starting to think she did not mean it as a place, but its Queen.

His Queen.

They had stayed at White Harbor for at least five days, during the time which their ships and forces could settle and be properly ready for their journey to Winterfell.

Jon missed his Queen.

They were trying to keep their nights to themselves, each holding a room and actually sleeping in it throughout the night, to avoid suspicions from the Manderleys and everyone else, for now. He was sure Tyrion, Davos and Missandei were quite aware of how they spent their nights, they were not exactly so subtle on their trip, but they were in the North now, and they had his kingdom to convince to pledge to Daenerys…Thoughts of her seducing their King to make him kneel would not help now.

Missing her weight over his body, he fell asleep amidst the distant smell of blue roses, under the moonlight.

Sleep claimed him and took Jon elsewhere.

They were somewhere warm, he could feel see the sun up in the sky and the place looked like a weak attempt for a Godswood, this was more likely somewhere in the South.

A knight was taking off his helmet off, but it was not a man, it was a woman, she had her back turned to him, but she seemed in a frenzy. Not many women could horse ride like she did, nor could they use an armory like this girl wore.

Arya would be like this, he thought.

She was getting rid of whatever mismatched pieces of armory she wore. She was setting her hair free when he heard the horses and before the girl could hide, a nobleman mounted in a dark stallion was in front of her. His face was long and curious, with his deep indigo eyes. He had long silver hair, and Jon could clearly see the three-dragon symbol in the man’s chest, this man was a Targaryen.

What is this? What am I seeing?

Before the lady knight could turn his way, he heard a knock on the door, barely audible for anyone, but enough for a former brother of the Night’s Watch.

“Come in” Jon spoke in a rough voice, filled with sleep.

“Jon?” His eyes opened quickly, realizing it was Daenerys at the door. His cloak covering her thin shift, her long silver hair loosely braided hiding her chest.

“Dany?” He stood and made room for her to sit on the bed.

“I could not sleep. I had to see you” She seemed so small in her shift, once she let the cloak slip her frame and pool at her feet.

“I keep dreaming of my brother and a woman, watching the skies rain blood.” She layed next to him, tangling her legs to his.

“Viserys?” Was she dreaming the same things as him?

“Rhaegar.” She did not want to sound crazy, but she knew it was her older brother she was dreaming about. Having seeing him at the House of The Undying, and also having dreamt of him many times, she knew his face, his smile and even his voice.

“You never met him, how can you be sure it was him?” He didn’t doubt her, he just wanted to understand.

“I just know.” She did not know how to explain, she just knew.

“Who was the woman?” He asked. “What was she like?” He wondered if she had wild black hair, and a tall, slim and strong frame.

No answer ever came, only her silent breathe. Being next to Jon, safe in his arms, sleep was claimed her.

When he looked to her, she was deep asleep. He could not help himself, but smile, he missed her. He missed the peace he felt around her.

If the man in his dreams was Rhaegar Targaryen, was the woman, Lyanna Stark? Why would he dream of her? Why would she be all around him, all these years?

He feared the answered, and honestly, he did not want to know.

He did not want to know, but it did not mean he would not.

When they arrived at Winterfell, it was the happiest Jon had ever been in years. Seeing Arya, Bran and Sansa, once more.

He held his little sister like there was no tomorrow, especially since mayhaps there would be none. How he had missed her. She still had Needle, and now she knew exactly how to use it. She was a grown woman, even if she would always be his little wolf.

Bran was changed. They all had changed since leaving Winterfell, but none like Brandon Stark. The joyful kid was gone, and he was now solemn and distant, like a wise master or a servant of an order. Jon could only imagine the horrors little Bran had to go through to have changed so much and his heart ached to think he could not protect his brother from it all.

Truth is, they all had changed so much since they left home all those years ago. They were happy, safe and innocent, but after leaving the walls that made them, they met nothing but pain, misery, suffering and death.

Sansa left her love for songs and knights dreaming of nothing but the very home she once wanted to leave behind her, while Bran learned so much more than a person ever should, seeing the downfall of everyone he loved, he would never be the Kings guard he always dreamt he would, and his beloved Arya saw her world crumble around her many times, until she let it consume her and she became revenge itself.

He could not let himself think of his father, Robb or Rickon. Even Lady Catelyn. She might have hated him, but he would never think of her death with anything but sadness. The North will never forget.

After greeting and hugging each one of them, it was time to introduce their new Queen. It would not be easy, to make the Northern Lords bend to Daenerys, but Jon was determined. She had proven herself to him, she cared and she deserved it.

Daenerys presented herself, and spoke to everyone in the courtyard, she was humble and gracious, it was hard to resist her. Jon would know.

As he imagined, Arya was a little wary at first, but her eyes shined with the sight of dragons, it was as if she was meeting Visenya Targaryen herself, her childhood hero. Bran was nor impressed or anything else, he knew they were coming, but he was nothing but polite. Sansa was every bit the Lady she was taught to be, but she did not seem to trust Daenerys the slightest. They would have to work on that.

Sam was there too. His best friend, he would need him here, if they wanted to defeat the Walkers.

“Jon, there is something me and Brandon have to talk to you. You and the Queen. Alone” Sam had a weird look on his face.

“Me and Queen Daenerys? Alone with you and Bran? Does it have to be now? We just arrived, Sam” Jon wanted nothing more than to settle in his room and bathe before starting their plan to present Daenerys to the Northern Lords and start their defensive against the Night King.

“It is a matter of urgency.” Sam was serious.

Arya and Sansa had curious faces, so they did not know what was it about; Jon preferred them being there.

“Can Arya and Sansa be there? I would like them to.” He insisted.

“If you don’t mind. It is something about you.” Sam answered.

“They are my sisters. I don’t mind.” Jon was being honest. He looked at Arya with love once more, and Daenerys was looking at them, from a short distance. She had never received such a look from Viserys. He had once been a good brother, yes; but never had he looked at her with such love, with such a devotion. Jon loved his sisters, asking nothing in return, and she loved him even more for it.

“We should go to the crypts.” Bran finally spoke. “I think the Kings of Winter won’t mind the presence of Queen Daenerys, given the matter we have to discuss.” Everyone was curious; Brandon Stark was being very mysterious.

Off to the crypts they went.

Jon had the odd feeling of being watched, and not by the many people actually watching them on the courtyard, but by known eyes.

As they walked towards the crypts, dreams and memories of his childhood passed through Jon’s mind. Him and Robb hiding through the stone images; him challenging Theon to spar; his Lord Father grabbing winter roses to take to his sister’s grave.

Before his mind could wander further, they stopped in front of said sister’s grave.

“Do you know who this is, Jon?” Bran’s voice was solemn.

“Father’s sister. Lyanna Stark” He was confused. Why were they there? Was this some kind of trick? To make Daenerys uncomfortable? Everyone knew how Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped and raped her, and how his father had found her dying of a fever in a tower in Dorne, months after Robert’s Rebellion had started.

He could feel Daenerys moving restless next to him, she let go of his hand and she seemed like she wanted to be anywhere but down there.

“Yes. Lyanna Stark. Father’s sister.” Bran answered. “Your mother.” He spoked loud enough for everyone to hear. Enough to silence the room for a whole minute. Brains processing the information, questions being formed.

“I don’t understand. What are you saying, Bran?” Arya was the first to speak. Jon looked like he was about to collapse.

“Jon is not Father’s son. Neither trueborn son nor bastard. He’s Father’s nephew. Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Bran spoke again.

“This is not funny, Bran. This makes no sense at all.” Sansa did not believe it. Daenerys was too shocked to say anything, dots being linked in her mind: Drogon let Jon pet him, her instant connection to him, Rhaegar appearing in dreams to her, the blue winter rose in a chink of a wall of ice, blood of my blood. Everything else was white noise around her, while her mind worked miles per hour and she tried to make sense out of things.

Jon, on the other hand, was about to pass out. He did not know if he ran or shout. So he was a product of rape? He could handle being a bastard, after all these years, he had finally made peace with it, regardless of who his mother was, no one could take away from him the fact that his father was Lord Eddard Stark, the most honorable man of Westeros. He was always proud to be compared to him; now he was robbed of that too.

“Jon? Do you hear me?” Sam was shaking his arm.

“What?” Jon was lost between wanting to punch something and crying.

“Robert’s Rebellion was built on a lie. Rhaegar didn’t kidnap or raped Lyanna. He loved her, and she loved him. They ran away together, he annulled his marriage to Elia Martell, and they got married in a secret ceremony in Dorne. Gilly and Samuel found the papers, all signed and described by the High Septon Maynard. You’ve never been a bastard, you’re the Heir to the Iron Throne.” Every word sounded foreigner to his ears, distant to the reality he grew up knowing. Rhaegar and Lyanna loved each other? He was a trueborn son? He was a Crown Prince? He was the Heir to the Crown? Before he could answer anything, he looked at Daenerys, she was pale, crying, her beautiful eyes were wet as was her face, streaming down the confusion and fear. What did that meant for them?

“Excuse me”. He did not know what to say, so he said nothing at all, he just ran. Fast. Away from them, away from the truth and what it all meant for him, his past and his future. Most of all, from his present.

so??? 

part III coming as soon as I’m done with it! <3 

This work is also on AO3. here. 

[thirst-order-confession]

so, like regular hunter!hux is cool n all. it was cute. but... like... monster au hux. with how much he hates witchcraft? i feel bad for the witch who tries to help him. he would be such an ass to her. but... kay... you typically write strong scary female characters? there needs to be a witch who is just as strong willed as him, doesn't deal with his snooty shit. yet is kind to creatures. shows him the craft can be helpful. nsfw or sfw? i just want some lovely badass witch to kick his ass

This got really long and out of hand. Was way overdue time wise. There was supposed to be a lot more to this story but I felt like I needed to stop somewhere before it was a novel. There could be more story if you guys wanted there to be some but otherwise, we can just leave it at this. 

The air was biting as it nipped the skin of his face, pale skin turned pink from the exposure to the cold. Eyes narrowing as he peered through the trees ahead, he cursed quietly as he slipped in the snow, nearly falling over as he clutched tightly at his rifle as he struggled to regain his purchase on the uneven ground. 

Eventually, he was able to steady himself on a nearby tree, hand braced against the pale bark.

When stable once more, he took a steady breath, the vapor from the heat swirling up into the air around him. 

Hux’s eyes scanned the forest around him, feeling both unsettled and wary of the woodlands. However, he suddenly caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned, a very human-like shape moving through the snowy landscape. 

Narrowing his eyes, he took a few steps closer and stepped around another tree to watch as the huntress moved easily through the glade, back heavy with supplies, faithful horse trailing behind her by the reins. 

Grip tightening on his gun, he moved forward once more through the trees, careful to hang back so as to alert her of his presence. 

She had been disappearing so often lately. For days at a time sometimes. In the dead of winter. 

And actions like those had made Hux highly suspicious of her actions. Perhaps in the spring or summer, it would be reasonable. But during the harsh winter, temperatures would drop to deadly lows in the night. So he had followed her.

If anything, to see where she held up during the night for future reference. 

Yet, as he watched her move through the trees, rounding a bend of a rocky outcropping that led into a small fissure in the mountainside, the barest hint of a valley of sorts… he lost her. 

The tracks she had been leaving behind in the snow seemed to slowly disappear, as did the horse’s hoof prints. Seemingly having vanished in this fissure. 

Frowning softly, Hux proceeded forward in search of her before he retraced his steps, thinking that perhaps he had missed a turn off they took or a different route. 

What was even more unsettling was the fact that when he returned to the tiny valley, the tracks were gone entirely. 

And it had failed to snow since then. 

Was he… going mad? 

Was the endless white wasteland of the Glade getting to him? Was he just being paranoid? Was he dreaming? 

He knew that there were wards and magic that could make such things possible, disappearing. 

Yet Miss Kalliope said that only the strongest of witches could make them. Could make a charm that could essentially erase people’s presence. 

When he had first met the huntress and she had shown him around the woods, he first believed he was a witch. Threatened to kill her if she was one. And this strange behavior now was only reaffirming all those assumptions. 

No wonder she was one of the best hunters in the village. 

And yet, the sun was sinking lower in the sky before he knew it, the trees and mountains around him unfamiliar in the darkness settling in. It became harder and harder to tell which direction was which, where he had come from and where he had already been. 

His only salvation was the full moon in the sky, its rays reflecting off all the snow and giving him some sort of torch to chase away the shadows. And despite that it was the dead of winter, the woods around him seemed to be full of life. Seemed to whisper. The trees around him creaking in the cold winds as if communicating with one another. 

For every step he took, the grip Hux had on his rifle tightened. 

The further he went, the more lost he seemingly became. 

Still, his surroundings were hard to distinguish from each other despite the darkness. 

When he attempted to circle back around to the fissure where he saw the huntress disappear, he found that his own tracks had vanished, the snow seemingly undisturbed by his earlier arrival. 

Turning sharply, he felt suddenly as though eyes were upon him. Watching him. Embracing his panic and fear. His paranoia. 

And then he was striding quickly through the fissure, further into the dark woods in hopes that he would stumble upon his female companion.

Hux wandered for a long while, the cold slowly settling into his bones and still biting viciously at his face and lips. 

He only stopped when he heard a crash in the distance, the sound similar to that of a tree falling over to lay in its final resting place. His heart pounded in his chest, his body automatically dropping into a defensive stance as he gripped his gun tightly as he listened to the sounds of a struggle, heavy thuds on the ground and the terrible sound of flesh tearing followed by a horrible shriek of pain that could have maybe been a rabbit but it sounded far more foreign than that. 

And then he heard nothing. 

Not a sound. Not a single breath of wind. 

And then there was a near deafening roar that sounded ahead of him in the trees and Hux was automatically clicking the hammer of his gun back, finding that he was shaking no doubt both from the cold and in response to the bodiless beast that just screamed out their want for blood. 

He felt his eyes grow wide, though, as a massive form came crawling over the hillside before him, pale shaggy hair blowing in the cold wind as the beast snarled down at him, all lanky limbs and a burly chest. 

The werewolf’s eyes seemed to glow amber in the moonlight, their lips pulled back in a snarl, muzzle coated in blood and gore from their recent kill. The nostrils on its glistening nose flared, drinking in the scent of its next supposed kill. 

The North didn’t have werewolves but Hux had heard plenty about them. Knew that the huntress of the village had enough experience with them, was in fact the one the Guild sent out to hunt down the beast if one became a problem. And now he stood facing one, teeth the size of daggers and no doubt the claws on the paws sunk into the snow were just as sharp, if not more so. 

Armitage didn’t remember any of what the huntress had said about fighting a werewolf. Only knew that silver was effective against them. 

However, as he watched the beast sit back on it’s haunches, raising up and standing to an above human height above him, Hux felt he should run. He knew he shouldn’t, that would only egg the beast on. 

But that’s what he wanted to do. 

And despite not running, the burly beast threw its head back and howled, low and guttural into the night air. A shiver had never ran faster up and down his spine before. 

Despite not running, the beast charged down the side of the hill.

Armitage’s adrenaline kicked in and his instincts sprung into action in that moment, taking aim and firing at the man-wolf. The bullet hit it square in the shoulder and yet it only yelped, stumbling sideways a moment but it was undeterred, still thundering toward him. 

Hux didn’t have silver bullets. 

He fired twice more in rapid succession, the bullets only deterring the wolf a moment longer, the man’s feet carrying him unknowingly back away from the approaching beast. 

However, knowing that werewolves could rapidly regenerate and heal their wounds, he instead chose to turn and run as fast as he could, the ginger man spraying up snow behind him as he barreled back through the little valley, rifle still clutched tight in his hands. 

Unfortunately, Hux could only get so far before he was being tackled to the ground, slammed down with his face buried in the snow that burned unmercifully at his bare skin. 

A strangled, pained scream seized a moment in the hunter’s chest before it erupted into the empty forest air as he felt dozens of those dagger like teeth sink into his shoulder. 

The weight of the beast upon his back was seemingly suffocating as it bore down upon him, the only reprieve in the experience being that the werewolf was at least a warm invitation to keep away the cold. However, Hux disregarded that idea when the beast decided it wanted to try and start ripping at him, sharp claws raking into his back as it began to shake its head with the want to rip him to shreds. 

This is where he would die, Hux was sure of it. 

There was little he could do besides squirm; scramble for purchase in the loose snow in hopes of getting away. 

He could already feel the uncomfortably warm trickle of blood down his arm and back, the sticky liquid already saturating his clothes, making them stick to his skin. 

Perhaps it would hurt less if he didn’t struggle. 

Still, despite him resigning himself to his fate, the pain was immense and fat, hot tears of anguish poured down his face. He was sure he would pass out soon from the overwhelming and continues stabbing at his already fried nerves. 

Release would come soon, he hoped. 

And then all of a sudden, it did come. And yet the pain still lingered yet the incessant tearing of the wolf had stopped. The beast’s weight was still on his back yet it had stopped and in the silence of the woods around him, Hux could hear the beast sniffing the air suddenly. 

Without warning, the werewolf was bolting so suddenly off of him, jostling the half-dead man’s wounds. Hux could only lift his head in confusion slightly, some snowflakes clinging to his lashes as he watched the blurry form of the wolf dart off through the dark trees, its tail held between its legs as its low whimpers reverberated off the trees. 

Somehow over the roaring of blood in his ears, he was able to hear the soft crunch of snow behind him and sluggishly looked the other direction, a shadowy form having appeared behind him through the trees. 

And yet, Hux found that he was too tired—to in pain— to care, his cheek once more resting in the snow as he felt himself drift under into unconsciousness. 

He first registered the near blindingly bright sunlight shinning down into his face, the pain from the assault causing his face to scrunch. He made to lift his arm to block out the sunlight but instead found his nerves strung out and a soft groan of pain left him as he felt his wounds pull taught, threatening to break open once more. 

Suddenly, there was an audible smack smack and the sun was disappearing altogether. Now no longer in such distress, he allowed himself to fall back into the warmth surrounding him, his hand dropping weakly back to his side. Beneath his palm, there was fabric, weighted and warm. A quilt perhaps draped over him and — wait… where was he? 

He couldn’t be home nor at the Guild, there was too much of an herbal scent lingering in the air, a hint of flowers — maybe lilac? — accompanied with earthy undertones of soil. 

Out of habit, Hux decided to flex his feet, the pads of his toes rubbing against a strange softness that lay just beneath the quilt. Silk… perhaps? 

He found that the same fabric also seemed to drape over his chest — his bared chest?! Well, considering the pain, he supposed treating a patient would take extra effort if he was closed. 

There was also the faint snap of a fire somewhere near his head, the heat from the flame delightful. There was also the gentle murmur of something bubbling but what broke through the lingering haze in his mind was the sound of boots moving across a wood floor. 

Miss Kalliope? 

“Close but not close enough,” an unfamiliar voice came suddenly, startling Hux into a more awakened state. 

His eyes, however heavy they may be, peeled themselves open and once more, he tried to sit up, startled. Again, he hissed in pain, the thought of his wounds now refreshed in his mind as he eased himself back down. 

Almost immediately, he was able to find the owner of the new voice, for you stood just across the room for him, hair loose and free as you faced away from him, her shoulders hunched slightly as you leaned down and read over something in a large book that was laid out on a table before her. 

Hux attempted to speak but instead paused to clear his throat, finding it to be very dry, his voice hoarse with disuse. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been sleeping a very long time Mr. Hux,” you turned a page, still with her back to him. “Or would you rather I call you Armitage?” 

“Uhm. Just… Hux is fine,” he narrowed his eyes slightly, once more trying to sit up and failing, groaning once more as he held his shoulder as he dropped back down onto the padded cushions. 

“It would be in your best interest to stay still. Or you’ll rip yourself open. Again.” 

Hux hissed slightly, face still contorted as the pain took its time fading from his nerves. 

“Again?” 

“In the beginning, I think you were having nightmares. Tossed and turned a lot in your sleep. At one point you were bleeding almost as much as when I’d found you lying nearly in pieces.” 

“You’re the one who saved me?” 

“Mmm, well, no one else was going to. And you were certainly doing a fine job of it yourself. Flopping about like a dying fish,” you glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he could almost sense her rolling them. “You’d think that one of the infamous hunters in the Guild would have come more prepared for something as mundane as a werewolf.” 

Hux scowled over at her, “It was supposed to be a simple day trip. If I knew that I was going to be gone longer, I would have brought my supplies with me.” 

“Or should you always be prepared instead?” you were suddenly walking over to the fireplace. You had what looked to be a small glass bottle in her hand and you uncorked it before dumping a hint of its’ contents into the pot that was hung over the flickering flames. “Just like that… mmm, girl… running around the forest. Or the Glade as you call it?” 

“You’ve seen her about? The huntress?” He got no response. He slowly narrowed his eyes then, “What about her?” 

“She’s an intriguing little thing, really,” the lady straightened and finally rounded on him, leaving him with a firm stare. “Impressive, really. Observant. She learns about the animals — about the monsters — and doesn’t kill them unless they do harm to your people. It’s admirable really, how she comes and goes so easily. You’d think she would have been snared in by now. Seduced so easily like others.” 

“What do you mean?” Hux frowned, “Seduced by what?” 

For a moment, the female said nothing, your hands folding in your lap as you stood before him, proud and unwavering. 

“That’s really none of your concern, now isn’t it?” You turned away from him then, heading back to her book and her table. You faced away from him a moment more before you picked up a vile filled with yellow powder and a bucket with a ladle in it. 

Approaching him now, he only stared suspiciously up at her, worry furrowing his brow. 

“Hold out your hand,” fixed with a hard glare a moment after he failed to comply, he slowly extended his his. You sprinkled some of the powder onto his palm. “Lick this and then drink some water. It’ll help with the pain and to help you sleep.” For a moment, he again looked skeptical and you sighed heavily and rolled you eyes, shifting your weight onto her other hip. “If I wanted you dead I could have so easily left you to bleed out in the cold so for the love of the Gods lick your damn palm.” 

His hesitation slowly passing, Hux did as he was bade and licked at the powder, his face scrunching up at the surprisingly bitter taste assaulting his taste buds. A moment later, he reached up the short distance for the ladle of water, mindful of his wounds. 

He lifted his head, craning towards the promised drink when he suddenly felt a hand cup beneath the back of his skull, careful fingers aiding him as he touched his lips to the wooden ladle and drank. Evidently he did not realize how thirsty he was before, taking down the first portion in a few sips before he returned the ladle to the water twice for more. 

When he was finished, he set the ladle back down carefully and you eased his head down carefully, back onto the warmed surface of the pillow. And he only could stare up at you, suddenly so baffled at the surprisingly gentle touch. His eyes scanned your face a moment, gliding over your features as your fingers slipped from beneath his skull to pull the old quilt further back up higher on his chest. 

“It will help with the pain so you can sleep easier. You’re still very weak and there’s still chance of infection. You need to be strong if you’re to fight off the coming fever.” 

“Fever?” 

You nodded, meeting his gaze a moment as you crossed your arms and leaned against the edge of the bed, “You were bit by the wolf multiple times. Surely you know such bites left untreated turn you into a wolf yourself?”

Hux nodded slightly, brow furrowed. 

“I think I’ve managed to contain the infection for now though my methods will bring forth a terrible fever to sweat out the beast that wants to fester inside you.” You turned then, walking back across the room to busy herself with other things, a few pots clinking softly as you opened a cupboard and rummaged inside. “You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. I’ve seen many good people succumb. You’ll be fortunate enough to survive it.” 

His eyes widened, “What?” 

“Enough. You need to regain your strength. Sleep.” 

Hux felt himself bristle then, his confusion leading him more down the path of fear the more cryptic you became, “No. I demand to know what you’re talking about. What do you mean—” 

He never finished his sentence as you turned towards him, your hand extended in his direction and he only barely registered his eyes shutting before he was pulled beneath the black haze of sleep. 

When he next awoke, it was to the rumbling of his stomach and the parched burn of dryness in his throat. Peeling his eyes back, he registered the gentle humming that filled the silence of the small cottage. 

For awhile he just lay there and stared into the fire, the flames snapping across the way, nighttime having fallen across the land who knows how long ago. The orange glow of the flames cast interesting shadows throughout the modest room, illuminating the face of woman across the way, busy at work stirring something in the pot hung in the fireplace. 

The winter winds whipped outside, howling through the cracks in the widows nearest him and yet somehow, it was a comfort. All of it was more comfortable to him now. At least somewhat familiar. 

“You’re hungry,” it wasn’t a question that you asked him. “And thirsty.” 

“Yes,” he said softly, taking a moment to clear his throat, his voice still rough with disuse.

“As I heard.” 

You left the food to cook then, fetching the bucket of water once more, the pale refilled with the cool liquid.

Just as before, you helped him to lift his head, her touch surprisingly careful in comparison to her brash attitude when he last awoke. He drank once more from the offered ladle, the water easing the dryness in his throat. 

When he was finished, you went to move away again, “You’re welcome, Hux.” 

For a moment, the man debated on responding, realizing his misplaced manners but something in him refrained, soured by it all. 

“How is it that you know my name but I don’t know yours?” 

You picked up a bowl from the table and approached the fire before you ladled some of the contents of the pot inside it. 

“It was not important at the time. But if you must… Y/N will do fine, I suppose.” you said.

The man watched as you spooned some liquid into the bowl, some of it dribbling down the side. After replacing the ladle into the pot, you swiped your finger up the side and stuck it into her mouth, cleaning it of what Hux imagined was soup. 

After setting the bowl aside a moment, you grabbed a few cushions from a chair across the room and approached him.

Hux himself seemed to have read your mind, gritting his teeth slightly as he tried to sit up. Everything hurt and burned, his skin pulling taught as if it wanted to shred itself. Instead, you were quick to adjust his pillows as he moved, stacking the extra cushions behind him, your hand on his shoulder to guide him to lay back again when you were finished. 

The pain slowly began to fade from his nerves once he was relaxed back, the quilt slipping down his chest to expose his bared torso to the warmed air in the room. Even still, he could finally look down and examine the bandages spanning his chest, most of them old in appearance and stained with discolored liquids. 

“We’ll change those in a bit. Here,” you handed him the bowl of soup, a wooden spoon resting it it. “Eat first.”

It looked highly appetizing, he decided. Rich and thick. Full of potatoes, beans, and herbs. 

It reminded him of his mother’s cooking. 

He lifted a spoonful to his lips to blow on it.

“You shouldn’t need to blow on it,” you said suddenly, causing Hux to look up at you. You were facing away from him, getting her own bowl. How did you know he was even going to eat some already? “It won’t burn you.” 

Cautiously, he took the spoon into his mouth and oddly enough, it was the perfect temperature. Warming and filling yet it didn’t burn his mouth. 

Strange. 

He felt his brows raise, “It’s very good.” 

“Thank you.” 

“So… where are we? Technically speaking?” He looked up at you as he spooned another portion into his mouth. “Close to Occult?” 

“Mmm, no. Pretty far actually. Hours from Occult.”

Hux’s brows raised, “What?”  

“You’ve somehow seemed to wander pretty far then, Mr. Hux,” you explained. “Occult is hours from here.” 

The man frowned softly and blinked at you, “How… is that possible? I-I mean… it’s not.” 

“The Glade is a strange place. Dangerous. Sometimes, when people are never found, they were not eaten by anything that resides here in the trees. Instead, they only lose their way and are left to wander for the rest of their days.” 

“How do you know this?” Hux was suddenly suspicious, eyes narrowing slightly. Regardless, he continued to eat his food. 

“I’ve seen people come and go. I’ve helped to send them back to where they belong.” 

“Like the huntress?” He took another bite. 

“No,” you explained. “She comes and goes as she pleases, unhindered by this anomaly in the woods. It’s as if there is nothing stopping her.” 

“But it stopped me?” you nodded in answer and he watched you as he ate more soup. “What could be the cause of this?” 

You spooned some soup into your own bowl and sat down across from him, slipping some past your lips as you ate, debating how you would answer. 

“Could be a number of things. Someone doesn’t want you finding them, doesn’t want to be disturbed. Could be some sort of… I don’t know… a witch…?” you ate another spoonful, “…or a monster of some sort, perhaps?”

“She’s a witch then?” 

You snorted softly, “Gods above, no. The little huntress is no witch. Just… favored… by something.”  

He took a moment then and looked down, his bowl of soup empty. He felt surprisingly good, a little more human now that he had food in his system. Regardless, all of what you were telling him was troubling news to be heard. His mind was racing with the possibilities. Still, he didn’t protest when you took his bowl from him and refilled it for another portion, almost as if you had read his mind. 

The two of you ate in silence after that. 

“We need to change your bandages,” you said suddenly, causing Hux to look up at you. You rose, finishing the last bit of your own meal just as the man finished his own. 

Taking his bowl from him, you walked over to your table and set them down, pausing a moment as you focused. 

Without warning, the bandages wrapped around his chest loosened significantly, almost falling open slightly. What had done that? They had been so secured before he was sure. 

You were approaching him then, quiet as you began to unravel the dirty bandages, mindful of the stitched up wounds and the bits of dried blood and puss that came away with it. There was sign of infection but that was to be expected; the wolf still needed to be pulled from him. 

You would need to start the fever soon if it didn’t start on its own. The next full moon was not too far off and starting the fever yourself would make the procedure that much worse. That much more painful. 

Behind his back, you held out your hand and the pin once in place flew carefully through the air to settle into your palm. Setting the bandages aside, you took a moment and seated yourself on the edge of the bed, your hands going to his shoulder to check him over. Your fingertips were light as they pressed over the rows and rows of stitches, your work only messy because of the overlap in the wounds. There hadn’t been much flesh left of his shoulder by the time you got to the scene of the attack. 

“Gods… it’s so ugly.” Hux breathed, looking down and over at his shoulder, at the angry flesh and the mess of stitches holding him together. No wonder there was constant pain niggling at his nerves. 

“I will do my best to keep most of it from scarring,” you said quietly, understanding his concern. He hadn’t seen the extent of it all yet. 

“How, though? Nothing on Earth could fix this.” 

You laughed softly, moving your hand up further to rest over the majority of the wound. Hux hissed as you lightly rested your palm over the bulk of the stitches, eyes scrunching shut for a moment. And then there was a calming warmth spreading through him, soothing his fried nerves and the ripped tendons. 

“Why are you so upset, hmm? Scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They tell stories of all sorts. Stories of our lives. Of our mistakes and of our triumphs. Or are you afraid you won’t be such a pretty boy after this?” 

Ignoring your last remark, Hux allowed his eyes to slowly open and he found that there was a soft, golden glow that filled the room. For a moment he met your gaze, the gold glowing in your own irises. And yet, when he looked down at his shoulder, he found the source of the glowing. Your palm upon his shoulder; upon his angry wound. 

For a moment, he didn’t understand what was going on, the relief brought onto his shoulder making him lightheaded. It was so sweet suddenly, the lifting of his pain. Of all his pains ailing him. The slight crick in his back that was seemingly always there was gone as well, vanished. 

And then all of a sudden, he was realizing what was happening. What you were doing. What you were, evidently. 

Haze clearing from his mind, Hux was grabbing your arm at a near frantic rate and wrenching it off of him. The look he gave you was one of disgust, a sneer distorting his features.

“I knew something was different about you,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “Something… wrong. And here you are, a bloody witch.”

“The bloody witch that is helping your ungrateful hide.” You tore your hand our of his grasp, his healing muscles stretching painfully. Hux hissed and reached for his own shoulder as you sat, leveling him with a hard glare. “It took you long enough, you naive child.”

“Get away from me, you hag.”

A humorless laugh escaped you, “Mmm, how original. Do keep trying though. Your insults may start to improve.” You stood up then and moved away from him. While approaching the table for herbs to lace his wound with, you extended your hand and the dirty bandages floated towards you through the air, slowly twisting towards you and around Hux. “You humans are horrible ungrateful, do you know that?” 

However, for a moment, Hux felt fear fill him as he watched your back. Of what you may have done to him. Of what you would do to him. 

“Take me back to Occult.” 

You paused a moment and looked back at him, “Pardon?” 

“I want to return to my village this instant. And you will take me there.” 

“And if I don’t?” You muse, grinding a handful of herbs thrown into your mortar, pestle in hand. “What shall you do to me, O Great and Mighty Hunter?” You smirked to yourself. “You’re going to crawl home then, tear open your wounds? For I have no horse. And by the time you’ve reached Occult, crawling, spring will nearly be over with and something else scarier than a werewolf will have eaten you by then.” 

The ginger just continued to glare at you, quiet now as you returned to his side. However, when you reached out to touch him, he grabbed your wrist; your eyebrows lifted into your hairline. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

Unimpressed, you rolled your eyes, “And if you refuse treatment, you will die, if not become one of the werewolves. But please, be my guest. If you wish to be so horribly asinine, it would leave no mark on my conscience to just toss your rotting body out into the snow until the woods thaw in a few days. And then the animals can have you, pick you clean. Or, if you’re lucky, you can be hunted by your own people? I’m sure the huntress wouldn’t mind tracking down your sorry hide, pin your furry ass on her wall.” You stood a moment, your brow set in a hard line over your eyes as you glowered down at him now. 

For a moment Hux continued to glare up at you, eyes ablaze as he internally struggled against his hatred for you. Because he wanted to live. Wanted to see the huntress again. 

Now quiet, he turned away from you, his hold on your wrist loosening. His shoulders drooped slightly in defeat. You couldn’t help the soft curl of your lips as you stepped forward once more, victorious. 

“That’s what I damn well thought.” 

You finished your work swiftly, having called the mortar of crushed herbs and bandages over to you. The man was silent the entire time, unmoving and breathing slowly as your hands carefully worked over his wounds. For a moment, he found himself spacing off, eyes staring unfocused across the room, mind in a lull for a moment. He forgot for a moment what you were and instead found his eyes almost drifting shut as your hands flitted carefully across his chest, the man only reawakening slightly when your chest was suddenly close to his back as you wrapped fresh bandages around his torso, winding them tight to keep pressure on the herbs placed there. 

Then without a word, he eased himself back onto the bed, rolled onto his side, and slept without a word of thanks given to you. 

You shook your head softly, turning away with a quiet sigh. 

You’re welcome, Armitage Hux. 

Hux didn’t feel the pain until it was too late. 

He only awoke to the searing pain, the seemingly suffocating grip on his lungs. He remembered waking up, eyes shooting open as his nerves lit on fire once more, pain streaking up and down his body. 

A choked gasp left his taught body, his back bowing off the bed as he writhed, eyes slamming shut. 

And Gods above, he was hot. It was as if he was being held over an open flame and the fire was licking through his very soul. 

When another wave hit him, a strangled shout left his lips, his hands curling into taught fists beyond his will as he felt parts of his muscles spasming and twitching. 

What is happening to me? 

He could only think to himself, the pain leaving him beyond words. 

Hux was so far gone, he couldn’t feel the cool towels draped over his feverish skin, the fact that you cut the legs of his trousers short to help remove an extra layer of clothing from him while maintaining his modesty. 

There was little you could do besides stand beside and watch from across the way. The day passed quickly enough, Hux’s grunts and cries soon falling to the back of your mind as you went about taking care of things around your home. And this continued to well into the night. 

Still, you always brought him damp towels, wrapped snow in a few of them and laid them across his skin in hopes of cooling the fever. You wondered how long it would take to break; the tome you read said it varied from case to case. It could range anywhere from two days to two weeks depending on the infected person. 

At one point during the night, though, you realized that your house had grown quiet. Fearing for the worst, you returned to the man’s side… only to find that he was still breathing. Just unconscious from exhaustion and the pain, no doubt. The human body can only take so much.  

You wondered when next you could properly sleep and sighing, crossed the room to mix something up for yourself to help you through the long days and nights coming. 

Having been busying yourself with washing and boiling the old bandages, sorting through more of your ancient tomes for something to help, and making dinner for yourself, the cries began again. 

And no matter how rude he seemed to be to you, you couldn’t help but feel pity for the man as he once more began to writhe, his skin seemingly always glistening with sweat as the fever took its time working through his system. 

For a long while, again, all you did was stand there and watch him, a disturbed and uncomfortable look upon your face as his choked sounds continued to pervade the air. Still, you let him be, helpless really for the time being. 

It was when the man finally was able to speak up, the sun setting on his third full day of the fever that you hesitated. 

“P-P-Please,” he sobbed out, if barely able to do that. “K-Kill me.” 

You rose from your place where you had been tending to the fire, brows lifted nearly to your hairline in surprise. 

When you approached, you weren’t surprised to find his cheeks tear-stained and his eyes red from the agony he was going through. 

“Just k-kill me,” he begged you suddenly, his eyes screaming shut again as another wave of pain washed through him. “Please… Please e-end it. E-End my s-suffering.” 

That would be too easy. And in his desperation, you knew it was not what he truly wanted. He wanted to live and you would grant him this. 

He just had to be strong enough to get through it. 

“No.” 

You turned to walk but was once more surprised when Hux lashed out and there was a tight grip upon your wrist, holding you back. When you did turn back to face him, you found that the ice in his eyes had melted as if the fever had thawed him out. Instead, you saw desperation and need for relief. 

It had been a long time since you had seen anything so pitiful. 

Sighing and resigning yourself to your fate, you took hold of his hand and pried it off you, just the barest hint of your own strength enough to overpower him. 

But unlike the other times, you did not leave to sit back across the room. 

Instead, you sat on the bed beside him, your hands cradling his head as you placed it into your lap. Evidently, the man couldn’t find it in himself to care that you were a witch anymore and instead accepted his fate as your hands brushed his sweat-slicked hair back from his forehead. 

He let out a physical moan of relief and even pleasure when your hands, chilled with your magic began to stroke across his face. Your finger tips were light as they danced across his heated flesh, pausing at his temples to massage some of the tension away from there. 

Hux, in his fever haze, lifted a hand and once more held your wrist. Not moving it, just holding on as if it ground him to reality. 

However, another wave of pain spiked through him and he cried out once more, body twisting almost unnaturally a moment and yet you continued to soothe him as it passed. 

“Hush,” you cooed, your thumb tracing down the side of his cheek. “You’ll be alright.” 

Whether it be by your command or by his own accord, the man did indeed grow quieter. Though Hux was loath to admit it, your gentle caress was grounding him back into his own body, beyond the pain. And he craved for more of this relief.

As if in a dream or trapped within his own subconsciousness, he nuzzled further into your cool, calming touch. 

Your own eyes widened when your hand left him for a fraction of a moment to itch a scratch on your nose and the hunter whimpered, brow furrowing not from pain but from your fingers’ absence. 

So, you stayed and sat with him, unable to truly move away. At one point, you were able to get him to drink a bit of water to help keep his system hydrated. 

You also found yourself wondering when the last time was that someone had even touched Hux like this. Touched him… in any manner, really. 

For with the frantic way he would act when your hands left him, his lips, at one point, seeking out your chilled palms, you were apt to believe that it had been a very, very long time. 

And at one point, you came to realize that Hux had grown rather quiet. Before you looked back down at him, you would have assumed he was asleep but felt your own face growing a bit warm upon the realization that the ginger man was instead staring up at you from  your lap. 

His eyes, though hazy, seemed to be studying your features, his lids blinking slowly with contentment as your thumbs continued to absentmindedly stroke his red cheeks. His irises seemed to glow in the dying light of the sun, ablaze with the orange and pink hues of the winter sky. 

How… beautiful. The train of thought coming out of nowhere, catching you entirely of guard. How unlike Hux typically is. 

As if to further comfort him, you once more brushed his hair back from his face, the man’s eyes slipping closed as you continued to pet his hair long after your first brush of his forehead. 

His breathing evened out after a long while, no longer so haggard for the time being. However, he was still worryingly warm from the fever. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. 

Lightly brushing against the edge of his mind, though, you found he was drifting off to sleep and that he very much liked your gentle stroking of his hair. And just before he disappeared beneath the black comfort of sleep, his voice, hoarse from yelling, could be heard. 

“Thank you.” 

[lady-alayne]

Game of Thrones: An Angry Recap

Season 7 Episode 5: Eastwatch

Winterfell:

Bran wargs a bunch of birds, sees that the army of the dead are approaching, and concludes that maybe it's time to tell people. Wait, what? The Night's Watch have been trying to tell people this since Season 1 Episode One 0:00:00 sec, but only now that a creepy kid is saying it, people are beginning to believe it? Ugh.

Meanwhile... Ohhhhh, Sansa is ruling the North like a pro! After the King in the North left the North to go shack up with some blonde emo chick with a bunch of dangerous pets, the Northern Lords are not too pleased about their ruler and go to his trueborn sister, WHO SHOULD BE THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH ANYWAY, to complain. They are joined by the Vale Lords, who for some reason 1) are still hanging out at Winterfell (who's holding the Vale at this point??? Shouldn't the hill tribes have taken over the Vale by now???) and 2) suddenly remember that they came in to help Sansa and not Jon, even though they had no problem proclaiming him King in the North last season instead of Sansa, WHO IS NED STARK'S OLDEST LIVING CHILD AND HEIR AND THE ONE THEY CAME IN TO RESCUE I'M STILL BITTER.

So anyway, the Northern and Vale Lords complain about their brand new king leaving them all. It's a brilliant opportunity for Sansa to do what she does best, which is being diplomatic and wonderful and handling explosive situations with charm, but also not taking anyone's shit. I would say Petyr has taught her well, but then I remember that Petyr never taught Sansa in the show because D&D decided to rape her instead, and I am angry again. Ugh. So apparently Sansa just picked these things up along the way, because the FIRST RULE OF STRONG FEMALE CHARACTERS(TM) dictates that being abused and raped always makes you a stronger woman, and is generally a wonderful thing for your character development.

Speaking of empowered abused women! Arya is not really on board with Sansa being the flawless Queen she is. Even though Ed Sheeran and his friends were super nice to her like three episodes ago, she still believes killing people is always the best way to solve problems and wastes no time suggesting just that to Sansa. The two sisters naturally disagree over this, and this ends in a very petty fight that came out of nowhere and made absolutely no sense but I guess the plot commanded it so of course it's perfectly acceptable and yet another reason why D&D totally deserve all the Emmys. Wait here while I go scream into a pillow.

Also screaming into her pillow, I am quite certain, is Random Northern Girl, who is the newest piece in Littlefinger's game. I mean, did you see how she leaned in when she was talking to him? That beautiful face of his will stay in her thoughts for a while, I am sure. Not to mention that she was close enough to smell him. Random Northern Girl, you're living the dream.

It turns out Littlefinger is kind of back to his old self again, and trying to scheme his way onto the Iron Throne and/or into Sansa's skirts. He super discreetly and not suspiciously at all obtains a very mysterious letter and hides it in his room to use that letter... to bring forth the Long Night, probably, because Petyr is so evil, according to people on the internet. (So it must be true.) But oh no! He forgot about Arya! That psycho killer child knows how to lurk! And how to break into his chambers! And how to search his chambers! Whooooaaa!!!! We find out the mysterious and suspicious letter was sent by Sansa wayyyy back in Season 1, asking Robb to come to King's Landing and bend the knee to Joffrey. BUT IT WAS A DOUBLE LURK YOU GUYS!!! Because just as Arya is leaving Petyr's chambers we find out that while he was suspiciously being suspicious and Arya was suspiciously lurking and watching him, he was suspiciously lurking and watching her suspiciously lurking and watching him suspiciously being suspicious! I'm so glad Petyr is back to his old, scheming self before he will inevitably meet his doom in two episodes.

The Reach:

Jaime has survived his fall into the lake, because apparently Bronn dived in right behind him and dragged him out. Seriously? So Jaime's armor does not weigh anything??? After we explicitly read in the books that knights who fall into bodies of water always drown because their armor is dragging them down? Oh, but I forgot, the show and the books are not the same.

A few miles down the road, and...

Oh boy. Daenerys is not done with her humanitarian mission, and rallies the surviving Lannister soldiers to “give them a choice:” Bend the knee, or burn alive. “I'm not here to murder,” she tells them after having murdered a bunch of people. “Now bend the knee before I murder you.”

Most of the soldiers bend the knee because, OF COURSE THEY WOULD, THEY DID NOT HAVE A CHOICE. Not so Randyll Tarly, who politely explains that he has moral concerns bending the knee to a foreign woman who just flew in on a mystical killer dragon and torched a bunch of people. Tyrion, who is... also there for some reason, urges Dany to chill the fuck out and maybe let him go to the wall, but Dany refuses to do so. Classic, and how very kind of her. I can totally see why people would want to follow her!

I wonder what happened to those other people who bent the knee. Did they have to follow Dany to Dragonstone? Or were they free to go home? Is anyone keeping track of the people who have bent the knee? Would it be possible to just bend the knee to avoid getting murdered, and then go back to King's Landing and rejoin the Lannister army?

Not to mention that we kept hearing about Randyll Tarly being a dick for, like, 6 seasons, and now he's the only man who still uses his brain and genuinely cares about his son beyond the “You shall be my heir” minimum. Speaking of his son... DICKON DID NOT DESERVE THIS. Rest in peace, House Tarly. Also, HOW DID DROGON KNOW WHO TO INCINERATE AND WHO TO SPARE???

Dragonstone:

Dany returns from her humanitarian mission of burning people, and it's heaving petting with Jon! Well, he pets Drogon, but close enough; Dany is turned on enough as it is. Jon chides her for murdering all those people, and Dany respons that she only killed them so she could help them. So she murdered out of love! That makes it totally acceptable.

Dany is just about to ask Jon about his res-erection, when Jorah returns AND IT HURTS WHAT WAS THE POINT OF HIM HAVING GREYSCALE ANYWAY AND HE IMMEDIATELY RUNS BACK TO HER AND IT HURTS TO WATCH HIM FRIENDZONE HIMSELF OVER AND OVER. He explains he found a cure for greyscale, one of the most deadly diseases known, and everyone is like, “Read: 2:53 pm.”

Jon Snow's only words to Jorah are that he served with his father, thus once again reminding everyone that he was A MEMBER OF THE NIGHT'S WATCH, and NO ONE thinks of asking him how he could possibly be King in the North, given that, you know, members of the Night's Watch vow to WEAR NO CROWNS AND WIN NO GLORY.

Meanwhile, Tyrion and Varys get drunk in the throne room and bond over their mutual predicament of serving a pretty mad tyrant queen who burns people alive when they displease her. A raven scroll reaches Jon, and he finds out Arya is still alive. ARYA, the girl he gave needle to. ARYA, his favorite sister. ARYA, the one he literally died for. But Jon seems to have forgotten all that, because all he wants to do is catch a wight! Oh dear, that sounds like a very stupid idea. Also, can we please talk about that camera angle? Was that the Dany going down on Jon POV shot? Yikes.

And so Jon and the gang make their way to Eastwatch...

King's Landing:

Jaime returns to Cersei, and the two hold an impromptu war council. “This isn't a war we can win,” concludes Jaime, which makes Cersei wonder about a possible armistice. Jaime also tells Cersei that it was Olenna who killed Joffrey because...... she wanted to be the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms?!?!?!?! FOR FUCK'S SAKE. IS EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER ON GOT TRYING TO BECOME RULER OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS????? And thus Olenna sadly joins the other cardboard cutouts of “generic person who wants the Iron Throne because reasons.” Queen of Thornes, you were deeper than that.

A little while later Davos and Tyrion have teleported to King's Landing and Tyrion sneaks into the dungeons beneath the Red Keep for a little brotime with Jaime to convince him to let them have an audience with Cersei once they have caught a wight. For a reason unfathomable by me, Bronn knew all of this before and thus was able to lure Jaime into the dungeons for this. Logic!(TM)

The brothers agree on an armistice, and Jaime brings Cersei the good news that Dany is not planning on incineratingher in the near future. Cersei also shares her good news: She's pregnant, and she will reveal her twincest, and then the family will live happily ever after! Aww, romance is real.

Meanwhile, Davos is on a tour through Flea Bottom looking for someone, and then.... IT'S GENDRY, YOU GUYS!!! He did not row all the way across the sunset sea, he rowed straight back to King's Landing and into his old job! While casual show watchers try to remember who the fuck Gendry was, snobby book readers rejoice when they see his badass war hammer; just like the one his dad good ole King Robert used to fight with (except Robert's war hammer was probably not so obviously made out of plastic).

Gendry joins the band because HE WANTS REVENGEEEE ON THE LANNISTERS, once again underlining the message of Game of Thrones: Violence begets violence, and it's awesome! GRRM would be turning in his grave. What's that, you say? He isn't dead? Then where is The Winds of Winter??????

Speaking of violence, Gendry immediately puts that war hammer to use to mindlessly kill two gold cloaks who are admittedly a bit nose, but in no way nosy enough to deserve such a cruel death. RIP Member of the City Watch #1, and RIP Member of the City Watch #2.

Oldtown:

OH MY GOD. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. WHAT THE FUCK. D&D JUST DECIDE TO CASUALLY MENTION THAT RHAEGAR GOT AN ANNULMENT FROM ELIA LIKE IT'S NO BIG DEAL. OH MY GOD. I THOUGHT THE WHOLE “SAM FINDING A CURE FOR GREYSCALE IN EPISODE 2” THING WAS THE MOST RIDICULOUS PLOT COMING OUT OF OLDTOWN BUT THAT WAS BEFORE THE WHOLE “RHAEGAR GOT AN ANNULMENT FROM ELIA” THING.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? AN ANNULLMENT. AN ANNULMENT?????? RHAEGAR WAS MARRIED TO ELIA OF DORNE AND THEY HAD CHILDREN AND IT WAS ALSO A POLITICAL ALLIANCE FORGED FOR VARIOUS POLITICAL REASONS. IT'S NOT LIKE RHEAGAR AND ELIA GOT DRUNK MARRIED IN LAS VEGAS TWO DAYS BEFORE. THEY HAD A LEGIT WEDDING CEREMONY AND THEY HAD CHILDREN. YOU CAN'T JUST ANNUL A MARRIAGE BECAUSE, OH, YOU MET SOMEONE HOTTER A WEEK AGO. OH MY GOD. NO. NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Eastwatch:

Davos is really teleporting all over the map this episode, and he reaches Eastwatch after a short row in a tiny little rowboat. I guess that was because the sea is generally so smooth in winter, and not frozen at all. Jon and gang sit down to talk to Tormund about Operation Catch a Wight, and he is understandably not convinced, but eventually decides to give them a little help by hosting a quick speed dating round of men wanting to go beyond the wall, which—surprise!—includes the Hound and Beric Dondarrion! Reunion #2556123 in Season 7 alone!

Because they are all breathing, the men decide to set aside their differences, and embark on their next adventure. Let's hope Jon makes it back in time for the epic boat sex.

[patheticnugbaby]

Change

Thought I was gonna write a sweet little three or five page drabble about their first kiss and I slammed out nine fucking pages AGAIN.

Solavellan first kiss because I wanted to. Have some fluffs.

Adahla opened the new door, finding a short little hall that opened into a wide, rounded room, well lit by evenly spaced torches and braziers along the wall of it. In the middle was a lone desk with a tall-backed chair. Even if it’d been only a few days since the Inquisition’s arrival to Skyhold it was already heaped with papers and books.

“Hello?” She called into the room from the hallway.

“Hello, Inquisitor.” She heard Solas’s voice and allowed herself a smile.

She clucked her tongue as she walked in, “Not used to that yet. I don’t think I like it. ‘Inquisitor Lavellan’ makes it sound like I interrogate people.”

“You will grew accustomed to it, in time.” He replied, just to the right of the door, hand on the stone wall before he turned back to her, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, if you had time I would like to talk for awhile,” She gestured to his desk, “but you look busy. Josephine says I have the rest of the evening to myself, though I’m to expect more work in the morning.” She smiled ruefully, turning to look around the room, “You’ve claimed this room, I’m told.”

“I have something in mind for it,” He said, walking up to her side, careful space between them, “and I do have some time, despite appearances. Was there something in particular you had in mind?”

“I was actually hoping to talk a little more about you, and your studies,” She hoped she hadn’t tacked the last part on too horribly.

Solas smiled in a way that made her think he noticed, “That is... Surprising, Inquisitor. Come, let us talk.” he lifted a hand like he was going to touch her arm but just hovered his hand a few inches away, gesturing to a sofa that was pressed against the wall.

Adahla sat before he did, folding her legs under herself and leaning on the armrest-

She was walking in the snow. It crunched pleasantly under her boots, like it had just barely frozen over the top. A pleasant, crisp wind tugged at her shirt collar, it made her want to unbind her hair. Adahla giggled softly and crouched down, gathering snow in her hands before throwing it out in front of her, turning to Solas with a sheepish little smile.

“Sorry. I’d never seen snow before I came this far south. I love it, even if it’s a little cold.” She wiped her hands dry on her coat.

“You don’t need to apologize, Inquisitor.” He smiled a little wider when she wrinkled her nose at the title, “Is it better or worse than ‘Herald of Andraste’?”

“A little better. At least with ‘Inquisitor’ I’m not directly tied to a human god, or whatever she’s supposed to be for them.” Her left ear twitched, then she squinted her eyes, “Are you avoiding talking about you?”

“You haven’t asked me a question yet, Inquisitor,” He almost smirked, walking a little ahead of her.

“You didn’t say much of where you grew up. Just that it’s a little village in the north.” She followed, running her fingertips along the rough bark of the trees, “Was there really nothing interesting about it?”

“Not really. I did not stay there long,” He paused, ears flicking a little, “Perhaps, had I stayed longer I may have found something valuable in it, but even if I had I would’ve left eventually. There were too many wonders to find.”

“Do you think it’d be possible to see all of them?”

He chuckled, “Not in one lifetime. Not in a thousand, I imagine.”

“Good,” Adahla smiled and took a few skipping steps ahead of him, “After all of this I think I’ll try to find some.”

“After this?”

“If I make half-baked plans for what happens after, should we do the impossible, should we somehow manage to right all the wrongs, stop a false god with an archdemon from the beginning of human chantry tales, it’ll keep me from remembering the very clear reality that all of this may just kill me before it’s over.” She stopped short, putting a hand to her heart, “It should’ve killed me already. Probably twice over.”

“Your heart still beats, lethallan, and this world is better for it.” He set a warm hand on her shoulder, she leaned a little into the comfort of it.

“Yes, I know. Without me you’d all be, oh what did Varric say? ‘Ass-deep in demons forever’?” She smiled a little sadly, looking at her left hand, the bright flash of green that was the Anchor, then shot him a sideways glance, “Or is it because you enjoy my company?”

“Both, actually,” He let go of her shoulder, “though I’m quite fond of your company.”

She blushed a little in the tips of her ears, flicking them a little, “Thank you. I am partial to yours too.”

“I had noticed,” He sounded almost like he wanted to laugh, but he only smiled, “you come by often, usually with an excuse.”

“I’ll have you know I don’t make excuses,” She sniffed with mock indignance, “I just happen to have reasons to see you.”

“Such as?”

“Wondering how you got that little scar on your forehead,” She tapped her own to indicate the spot, he lightly touched it, like he’d forgotten about it. “Your eyebrows tug on it when you frown. Which is a lot.”

His smile softened a little, “These are not happy times, Inquisitor, reasons for cheer are few and far between.”

“All the more reason to smile more, then, don’t you think?” She bent, gathering snow in her hands again, “The world is dark and huge and terrible. If I can make it a little brighter then I’d like to, even if it’s just by giggling at the snow.”

“You have a bright spirit, lethallan. I pray that never changes,” He shot her a wider smile, almost a grin, before turning away and walking up the hill.

Adahla’s lips curled mischievously as she started to ball the snow in her hands. She drew back as if to throw it, the trees seemed to part, revealing Haven, still in the quiet of early morning, the sun shattering through the Breach. She dropped the snowball.

“Haven,” She breathed, a sharp pang in her chest that she couldn’t place.

“This place will always be important to you,” He said, standing at the edge of the trees, waiting, “The beginning of everything.”

“I wish I remembered what happened before,” She admitted, coming up to stand next to him, perhaps a little closer than she should, “but I can’t. Every time I try it’s just me waking up in that cell, this burning pain in my hand.” Adahla held up her left hand, squinting in the light of it.

“Does it still pain you?” His face creased sadly, it made him look much, much older.

“Not often. It hurts when we’re near rifts, when it reacts,” She turned her hand, wiggling her cold fingers, “it stings a while after closing a rift, kind of like when you stub your toes.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t do this.” She gave him a warm grin, lightly touching his shoulder with her fingertips. “I easily got hurt worse than that just being dalish. Getting my vallaslin hurt more than this does.”

He was a little quiet at that, ears twitching a little before he started to walk with her. They entered the hallway before her cell, it was exactly as she remembered it. Dark, dank, cold. Empty manacles in the center of the room. It smelled of mold and old blood and the yellow sourness of fear.

“I sat beside you while you slept. Studying the anchor.” His eyes were fixed on the manacles in the center of the room.

She chuckled, almost nervously, forcing down the memory of waking in this dismal little place, “Must’ve been quick. My hand’s a green torch now, excellent for night reading.”

“No,” He smiled, turning to look at her, “it wasn’t. A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to the Breach? I could’ve taken weeks, if we had the luxury.” He frowned a little, tugging on the scar, “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

“Of course she did,” Adahla groaned a little, covering her face with her hands, “When I woke up she asked me why she shouldn’t kill me now. Honestly I never want to be on her bad side ever again. Do you know how threatening she looks in this light?”

He tilted his head back with another chuckle, almost a laugh, “Yes, I do,” Solas put a hand to her shoulder, leading her away from the little room. “You were never going to wake up,”

“I live to shock you, apparently.” She grinned, gently bumping him with her shoulder, he smiled and nudged her back.

“You did. By all reasoning you shouldn’t have woken up. A mortal sent physically through the fade?” He frowned again, ears pinned close to his head, “I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach.” He bowed his head a little, one ear flicked, “I wished to help, but I had no faith in Cassandra... Nor she in me. I was ready to flee.”

She chuckled almost derisively, “Where? The Breach threatened everything, everyone, everywhere.”

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before it reached me,” He smiled, ears pricking forward, as he glanced down a little sheepishly “I never said it was a good plan.”

Solas stepped away, turning to the slow-turning maelstrom that was the Breach. She stepped behind him, nearly close enough to touch. He raised his hand towards the Breach, as though to touch it.

“I told myself: One more attempt to seal the rifts.” He took his hand down, stepping back to her side, still staring into the Breach “I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, I resigned myself to flee, and then-”

Boiling green light. The stench of burned and festering flesh on the air. A hand grasped tightly around her left wrist and thrust her at the rift, the hissing of angry, roiling magic thrummed in her ears before it cracked like a whip, throwing her back.

“-It seems as though you hold the key to our salvation.” He had turned back to her now, warm, soft eyes and smile, butterflies in her chest. “You had sealed it with a gesture... And right then I felt the whole world change.”

Adahla blinked, unable to help the heat that crept up on her cheeks and her ears. A little smile, soft and hopeful curled her lips, she shifted her weight to her other foot, left hand on her cocked hip.

“Felt the whole world change?”

“A figure of speech,” He replied smoothly, his ears twitched a little.

“I’m aware of the metaphor,” She took a few small steps up to him, something hot and confident rising in her chest with the butterflies, “I’m more interested in the word ‘felt’.”

“You change... Everything.” He admitted, leaning back as though he was going to try and retreat, then took a small step forward, inches away.

“Sweet talker,” She looked away, a bashful little smile on her lips, butterflies swarming in her, she nearly felt a little nauseous.

Adahla idly noticed that her heart was pounding, it felt so loud she was surprised he didn’t hear. Her ears flicked wildly, she felt like her face was on fire and yet, that warm and powerful feeling washed over her again. She bit her lip, just for a moment before glancing at him. He had just started to look away.

She lunged at him, catching the edge of his jaw with the tips of her fingers and turning his face to plant a soft, hurried kiss on his lips. Adahla pulled away, her cheeks and ears blazing. Her heart thundered in her chest and she turned as if to run.

His hand caught her arm, turning her back to kiss her. She pressed her hands up against his back to press him close, then to hold herself up as his thigh pressed between her legs, prompting a soft mewling sound. She felt his tongue at her lips and she let him in, feeling his hands tighten at her waist and her back, nearly holding her up on his own. He pulled away all too quickly, wet lips and heated eyes. He gave a little shake of his head before he leaned in to kiss her again, her hand laid on his neck, a softer, sweeter kiss before he pulled away again.

“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right. Not even here.” He stepped back, his voice nearly trembling, softer than a whisper.

“What do you mean ‘even here’?” She wanted to reach for him again, hands slightly outstretched to him.

“Where did you think we were?” His smile turned sly as he tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

She took a slow look around, Haven, snow, the Breach, “I’m dreaming? Are you-?”

“I’m real,”

Adahla allowed herself a winsome little smirk, “Good, but this, this isn’t.” she gestured expansively at the town.

“That’s a matter of debate... Probably best discussed after you,” He leaned a little closer, then whispered: “Wake up.”

Adahla jolted awake, ears flicking wildly as she looked around. The round room, the torches and braziers having burned down, dimly bathing the room with an almost red light. She moved her legs, wincing as she felt the tingly not-quite pain of numbness shoot up them. Her eyes went wide, searching for him.

“Sleep well?” He stood up, he’d been in the chair, there was a warm smugness in his voice.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” She paused, ears flicking, “on a number of levels...”

He chuckled, a warm, content sound before he cleared his throat, lacing his hands behind his back, “I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered. I should not have encouraged it.”

Something sharp clenched in her chest and she stood, “Solas, I thought you were, interested in me,” she knit her fingers together nervously, “If I misread you, I apologize.”

“No, you have no need to apologize. I-” He stopped, like he wasn’t sure what to say, “It has been a long time, and things have always been... Easier for me in the fade.” Solas paused, looking down before meeting her eyes again, “I am not certain if this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

Adahla took a moment, wringing her hands a little, “That doesn’t exactly sound like a ‘no’, Solas.”

“It isn’t. I-” He stopped again, ears flicking, “I am... Entirely too fond of you to refuse you outright.”

“Then,” She paused, standing up and walking up to him, keeping a respectable distance, as much as she’d like to close it, “I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.”

“I-” His voice caught, ears flicking forward, then pinned back, the tips tapping his head, “Maybe, yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are... Considerations.”

“Of course, take all the time you need,” She smiled, reaching out with her hands before she pulled back to allow him his space.

“Thank you. I am not often thrown by things which happen in dreams,” He paused, looking down before looking back up to her, “but I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you’d still like to talk, I would enjoy your company.”

“I’d like that,” She smiled, tilting her head a little, “you can start by explaining that little scar. You never did.”

“You’re right,” His smile was warm, mischievous, it made butterflies in her chest, “Would you like to sit?”

“Will I fall asleep again? She grinned, playfully nudging him.

He chuckled softly, nudging her back, “Not unless you’d like to.”

She laughed, moving around him to take a seat on the only cleared corner of his desk, “After you explain your scar, would you tell me a story, Hahren?”

“The scar is less interesting than my other stories,” He admitted, taking a seat in his chair, “Is there a story in particular you’d like to hear, lethallan?”

“One I haven’t heard before. One that’ll help me forget that I have to be Inquisitor Lavellan.” She said, turning towards him with a little smile, “Can you manage that, Solas?”

“Only if you promise not to interrupt,” He chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests, lacing his fingers together.

“I would never,” She grinned and leaned forward, lightly tapping the scar on his forehead, “now tell me.”

“Ma nuvenin, lethallan.”

[circe-pendragon]

“What are you doing here?” he asked her. “I heard water. I wanted t’ see how deep the cave went.” She pointed with the torch. “There’s a passage goes down further. I followed it a hundred paces before I turned back. “A dead end?” “You know nothing, Jon Snow. It went on and on and on. There are hundreds o’ caves in these hills, and deep down they all connect. There’s even a way under your Wall. Gorne’s Way.” “Gorne,” said Jon. “Gorne was King-beyond-the-Wall.” “Aye,” said Ygritte. “Together with his brother Gendel, three thousand years ago. They led a host o’ free folk through the caves, and the Watch was none the wiser. But when they come out, the wolves o’ Winterfell fell upon them.” “There was a battle”, Jon recalled. “Gorne slew the King in the North, but his son picked up his banner and took the crown from his head, and cut down Gorne in turn.” “And the sounds o’ swords woke the crows in their castle, and they rode out all in black to take the free folk in the rear.” “Yes. Gendel had the king to the south, the Umbers to the west, and the watch north of him. He died as well.” “You know nothing, Jon Snow. Gendel did not die. He cut his way free, through the crows, and led his people back north with the wolves howling at their heels. Only Gendel did not know the caves as Gorne had, and took a wrong turn. Deeper he went, and deeper, and when he tried t’ turn back the ways that seemed familiar ended in stone rather than sky. Soon his torches began t’ fail, one by one, till finally there was naught but dark. Gendel’s folk were never seen again, but on a still night you can hear their childen’s children’s children sobbing under the hills, still looking for the way back up. Listen? Do you hear them?” All Jon could hear was the falling water and the faint crackle of flames. “This way under the Wall was lost as well?” “Some have searched for it. Them that go too deep find Gendel’s children, and Gendel’s children are always hungry. There’s naught to eat in the dark but flesh.

From "Storm of Swords", by George R. R. Martins "A Song of Ice and Fire"

[readbookywooks]

Tyrion

The north went on forever. Tyrion Lannister knew the maps as well as anyone, but a fortnight on the wild track that passed for the kingsroad up here had brought home the lesson that the map was one thing and the land quite another. They had left Winterfell on the same day as the king, amidst all the commotion of the royal departure, riding out to the sound of men shouting and horses snorting, to the rattle of wagons and the groaning of the queen's huge wheelhouse, as a light snow flurried about them. The kingsroad was just beyond the sprawl of castle and town. There the banners and the wagons and the columns of knights and freeriders turned south, taking the tumult with them, while Tyrion turned north with Benjen Stark and his nephew. It had grown colder after that, and far more quiet. West of the road were flint hills, grey and rugged, with tall watchtowers on their stony summits. To the east the land was lower, the ground flattening to a rolling plain that stretched away as far as the eye could see. Stone bridges spanned swift, narrow rivers, while small farms spread in rings around holdfasts walled in wood and stone. The road was well trafficked, and at night for their comfort there were rude inns to be found. Three days ride from Winterfell, however, the farmland gave way to dense wood, and the kingsroad grew lonely. The flint hills rose higher and wilder with each passing mile, until by the fifth day they had turned into mountains, cold blue-grey giants with jagged promontories and snow on their shoulders. When the wind blew from the north, long plumes of ice crystals flew from the high peaks like banners. With the mountains a wall to the west, the road veered north by northeast through the wood, a forest of oak and evergreen and black brier that seemed older and darker than any Tyrion had ever seen. "The wolfswood," Benjen Stark called it, and indeed their nights came alive with the howls of distant packs, and some not so distant. Jon Snow's albino direwolf pricked up his ears at the nightly howling, but never raised his own voice in reply. There was something very unsettling about that animal, Tyrion thought. There were eight in the party by then, not counting the wolf. Tyrion traveled with two of his own men, as befit a Lannister. Benjen Stark had only his bastard nephew and some fresh mounts for the Night's Watch, but at the edge of the wolfswood they stayed a night behind the wooden walls of a forest holdfast, and there joined up with another of the black brothers, one Yoren. Yoren was stooped and sinister, his features hidden behind a beard as black as his clothing, but he seemed as tough as an old root and as hard as stone. With him were a pair of ragged peasant boys from the Fingers. "Rapers," Yoren said with a cold look at his charges. Tyrion understood. Life on the Wall was said to be hard, but no doubt it was preferable to castration. Five men, three boys, a direwolf, twenty horses, and a cage of ravens given over to Benjen Stark by Maester Luwin. No doubt they made a curious fellowship for the kingsroad, or any road. Tyrion noticed Jon Snow watching Yoren and his sullen companions, with an odd cast to his face that looked uncomfortably like dismay. Yoren had a twisted shoulder and a sour smell, his hair and beard were matted and greasy and full of lice, his clothing old, patched, and seldom washed. His two young recruits smelled even worse, and seemed as stupid as they were cruel. No doubt the boy had made the mistake of thinking that the Night's Watch was made up of men like his uncle. If so, Yoren and his companions were a rude awakening. Tyrion felt sorry for the boy. He had chosen a hard life . . . or perhaps he should say that a hard life had been chosen for him. He had rather less sympathy for the uncle. Benjen Stark seemed to share his brother's distaste for Lannisters, and he had not been pleased when Tyrion had told him of his intentions. "I warn you, Lannister, you'll find no inns at the Wall," he had said, looking down on him. "No doubt you'll find some place to put me," Tyrion had replied. "As you might have noticed, I'm small." One did not say no to the queen's brother, of course, so that had settled the matter, but Stark had not been happy. "You will not like the ride, I promise you that," he'd said curtly, and since the moment they set out, he had done all he could to live up to that promise. By the end of the first week, Tyrion's thighs were raw from hard riding, his legs were cramping badly, and he was chilled to the bone. He did not complain. He was damned if he would give Benjen Stark that satisfaction. He took a small revenge in the matter of his riding fur, a tattered bearskin, old and musty-smelling. Stark had offered it to him in an excess of Night's Watch gallantry, no doubt expecting him to graciously decline. Tyrion had accepted with a smile. He had brought his warmest clothing with him when they rode out of Winterfell, and soon discovered that it was nowhere near warm enough. It was cold up here, and growing colder. The nights were well below freezing now, and when the wind blew it was like a knife cutting right through his warmest woolens. By now Stark was no doubt regretting his chivalrous impulse. Perhaps he had learned a lesson. The Lannisters never declined, graciously or otherwise. The Lannisters took what was offered. Farms and holdfasts grew scarcer and smaller as they pressed northward, ever deeper into the darkness of the wolfswood, until finally there were no more roofs to shelter under, and they were thrown back on their own resources. Tyrion was never much use in making a camp or breaking one. Too small, too hobbled, too in-the-way. So while Stark and Yoren and the other men erected rude shelters, tended the horses, and built a fire, it became his custom to take his fur and a wineskin and go off by himself to read. On the eighteenth night of their journey, the wine was a rare sweet amber from the Summer Isles that he had brought all the way north from Casterly Rock, and the book a rumination on the history and properties of dragons. With Lord Eddard Stark's permission, Tyrion had borrowed a few rare volumes from the Winterfell library and packed them for the ride north. He found a comfortable spot just beyond the noise of the camp, beside a swift-running stream with waters clear and cold as ice. A grotesquely ancient oak provided shelter from the biting wind. Tyrion curled up in his fur with his back against the trunk, took a sip of the wine, and began to read about the properties of dragonbone. Dragonbone is black because of its high iron content, the book told him. It is strong as steel, yet lighter and far more flexible, and of course utterly impervious to fire. Dragonbone bows are greatly prized by the Dothraki, and small wonder. An archer so armed can outrange any wooden bow. Tyrion had a morbid fascination with dragons. When he had first come to King's Landing for his sister's wedding to Robert Baratheon, he had made it a point to seek out the dragon skulls that had hung on the walls of Targaryen's throne room. King Robert had replaced them with banners and tapestries, but Tyrion had persisted until he found the skulls in the dank cellar where they had been stored. He had expected to find them impressive, perhaps even frightening. He had not thought to find them beautiful. Yet they were. As black as onyx, polished smooth, so the bone seemed to shimmer in the light of his torch. They liked the fire, he sensed. He'd thrust the torch into the mouth of one of the larger skulls and made the shadows leap and dance on the wall behind him. The teeth were long, curving knives of black diamond. The flame of the torch was nothing to them; they had bathed in the heat of far greater fires. When he had moved away, Tyrion could have sworn that the beast's empty eye sockets had watched him go. There were nineteen skulls. The oldest was more than three thousand years old; the youngest a mere century and a half. The most recent were also the smallest; a matched pair no bigger than mastiff's skulls, and oddly misshapen, all that remained of the last two hatchlings born on Dragonstone. They were the last of the Targaryen dragons, perhaps the last dragons anywhere, and they had not lived very long. From there the skulls ranged upward in size to the three great monsters of song and story, the dragons that Aegon Targaryen and his sisters had unleashed on the Seven Kingdoms of old. The singers had given them the names of gods: Balerion, Meraxes, Vhaghar. Tyrion had stood between their gaping jaws, wordless and awed. You could have ridden a horse down Vhaghar's gullet, although you would not have ridden it out again. Meraxes was even bigger. And the greatest of them, Balerion, the Black Dread, could have swallowed an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben. Tyrion stood in that dank cellar for a long time, staring at Balerion's huge, empty-eyed skull until his torch burned low, trying to grasp the size of the living animal, to imagine how it must have looked when it spread its great black wings and swept across the skies, breathing fire. His own remote ancestor, King Loren of the Rock, had tried to stand against the fire when he joined with King Mern of the Reach to oppose the Targaryen conquest. That was close on three hundred years ago, when the Seven Kingdoms were kingdoms, and not mere provinces of a greater realm. Between them, the Two Kings had six hundred banners flying, five thousand mounted knights, and ten times as many freeriders and men-at-arms. Aegon Dragonlord had perhaps a fifth that number, the chroniclers said, and most of those were conscripts from the ranks of the last king he had slain, their loyalties uncertain. The hosts met on the broad plains of the Reach, amidst golden fields of wheat ripe for harvest. When the Two Kings charged, the Targaryen army shivered and shattered and began to run. For a few moments, the chroniclers wrote, the conquest was at an end . . . but only for those few moments, before Aegon Targaryen and his sisters joined the battle. It was the only time that Vhaghar, Meraxes, and Balerion were all unleashed at once. The singers called it the Field of Fire. Near four thousand men had burned that day, among them King Mern of the Reach. King Loren had escaped, and lived long enough to surrender, pledge his fealty to the Targaryens, and beget a son, for which Tyrion was duly grateful. "Why do you read so much?" Tyrion looked up at the sound of the voice. Jon Snow was standing a few feet away, regarding him curiously. He closed the book on a finger and said, "Look at me and tell me what you see." The boy looked at him suspiciously. "Is this some kind of trick? I see you. Tyrion Lannister." Tyrion sighed. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. You are what, twelve?" "Fourteen," the boy said. "Fourteen, and you're taller than I will ever be. My legs are short and twisted, and I walk with difficulty. I require a special saddle to keep from falling off my horse. A saddle of my own design, you may be interested to know. It was either that or ride a pony. My arms are strong enough, but again, too short. I will never make a swordsman. Had I been born a peasant, they might have left me out to die, or sold me to some slaver's grotesquerie. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the grotesqueries are all the poorer. Things are expected of me. My father was the Hand of the King for twenty years. My brother later killed that very same king, as it turns out, but life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king and my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of my House, wouldn't you agree? Yet how? Well, my legs may be too small for my body, but my head is too large, although I prefer to think it is just large enough for my mind. I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind . . . and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge." Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon Snow." The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. "What are you reading about?" he asked. "Dragons," Tyrion told him. "What good is that? There are no more dragons," the boy said with the easy certainty of youth. "So they say," Tyrion replied. "Sad, isn't it? When I was your age, used to dream of having a dragon of my own." "You did?" the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him. "Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back." Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. "I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister." Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. "Don't look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You've dreamt the same kind of dreams." "No," Jon Snow said, horrified. "I wouldn't . . . " "No? Never?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Well, no doubt the Starks have been terribly good to you. I'm certain Lady Stark treats you as if you were one of her own. And your brother Robb, he's always been kind, and why not? He gets Winterfell and you get the Wall. And your father . . . he must have good reasons for packing you off to the Night's Watch . . . " "Stop it," Jon Snow said, his face dark with anger. "The Night's Watch is a noble calling!" Tyrion laughed. "You're too smart to believe that. The Night's Watch is a midden heap for all the misfits of the realm. I've seen you looking at Yoren and his boys. Those are your new brothers, Jon Snow, how do you like them? Sullen peasants, debtors, poachers, rapers, thieves, and bastards like you all wind up on the Wall, watching for grumkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about. The good part is there are no grumkins or snarks, so it's scarcely dangerous work. The bad part is you freeze your balls off, but since you're not allowed to breed anyway, I don't suppose that matters." "Stop it!" the boy screamed. He took a step forward, his hands coiling into fists, close to tears. Suddenly, absurdly, Tyrion felt guilty. He took a step forward, intending to give the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder or mutter some word of apology. He never saw the wolf, where it was or how it came at him. One moment he was walking toward Snow and the next he was flat on his back on the hard rocky ground, the book spinning away from him as he fell, the breath going out of him at the sudden impact, his mouth full of dirt and blood and rotting leaves. As he tried to get up, his back spasmed painfully. He must have wrenched it in the fall. He ground his teeth in frustration, grabbed a root, and pulled himself back to a sitting position. "Help me," he said to the boy, reaching up a hand. And suddenly the wolf was between them. He did not growl. The damned thing never made a sound. He only looked at him with those bright red eyes, and showed him his teeth, and that was more than enough. Tyrion sagged back to the ground with a grunt. "Don't help me, then. I'll sit right here until you leave." Jon Snow stroked Ghost's thick white fur, smiling now. "Ask me nicely." Tyrion Lannister felt the anger coiling inside him, and crushed it out with a will. It was not the first time in his life he had been humiliated, and it would not be the last. Perhaps he even deserved this. "I should be very grateful for your kind assistance, Jon," he said mildly. "Down, Ghost," the boy said. The direwolf sat on his haunches. Those red eyes never left Tyrion. Jon came around behind him, slid his hands under his arms, and lifted him easily to his feet. Then he picked up the book and handed it back. "Why did he attack me?" Tyrion asked with a sidelong glance at the direwolf. He wiped blood and dirt from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe he thought you were a grumkin." Tyrion glanced at him sharply. Then he laughed, a raw snort of amusement that came bursting out through his nose entirely without his permission. "Oh, gods," he said, choking on his laughter and shaking his head, "I suppose I do rather look like a grumkin. What does he do to snarks?" "You don't want to know." Jon picked up the wineskin and handed it to Tyrion. Tyrion pulled out the stopper, tilted his head, and squeezed a long stream into his mouth. The wine was cool fire as it trickled down his throat and warmed his belly. He held out the skin to Jon Snow. "Want some?" The boy took the skin and tried a cautious swallow. "It's true, isn't it?" he said when he was done. "What you said about the Night's Watch." Tyrion nodded. Jon Snow set his mouth in a grim line. "If that's what it is, that's what it is." Tyrion grinned at him. "That's good, bastard. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it." "Most men," the boy said. "But not you." "No," Tyrion admitted, "not me. I seldom even dream of dragons anymore. There are no dragons." He scooped up the fallen bearskin. "Come, we had better return to camp before your uncle calls the banners." The walk was short, but the ground was rough underfoot and his legs were cramping badly by the time they got back. Jon Snow offered a hand to help him over a thick tangle of roots, but Tyrion shook him off. He would make his own way, as he had all his life. Still, the camp was a welcome sight. The shelters had been thrown up against the tumbledown wall of a long-abandoned holdfast, a shield against the wind. The horses had been fed and a fire had been laid. Yoren sat on a stone, skinning a squirrel. The savory smell of stew filled Tyrion's nostrils. He dragged himself over to where his man Morrec was tending the stewpot. Wordlessly, Morrec handed him the ladle. Tyrion tasted and handed it back. "More pepper," he said. Benjen Stark emerged from the shelter he shared with his nephew. "There you are. Jon, damn it, don't go off like that by yourself. I thought the Others had gotten you." "It was the grumkins," Tyrion told him, laughing. Jon Snow smiled. Stark shot a baffled look at Yoren. The old man grunted, shrugged, and went back to his bloody work. The squirrel gave some body to the stew, and they ate it with black bread and hard cheese that night around their fire. Tyrion shared around his skin of wine until even Yoren grew mellow. One by one the company drifted off to their shelters and to sleep, all but Jon Snow, who had drawn the night's first watch. Tyrion was the last to retire, as always. As he stepped into the shelter his men had built for him, he paused and looked back at Jon Snow. The boy stood near the fire, his face still and hard, looking deep into the flames. Tyrion Lannister smiled sadly and went to bed.

[tripstations]

A local’s guide to Miyazaki, Japan: 10 top tips | Travel

Visit Aoishima shrine

The subtropical island of Aoshima, about 10 miles south of the city, is connected to a golden beach by a bridge straddling the ocean. The tiny island is surrounded by long furrows of black basalt – a geological phenomenon known locally as the “devil’s washboard”, created over millions of years of pounding waves. At the centre of the island is Aoshima shrine, a red Shinto shrine tucked into thick jungle and first established in 1501. It’s dedicated to the god of matrimony, making it popular with couples – a reputation that solidified during Miyazaki’s heyday in the 1970s, when about 35% of Japan’s newlyweds would honeymoon here for the sun, sea and sand. Sunset is the best time to visit – sit by the shore on the north side of the island and watch the sun sink into the mountains on the mainland. • Admission free, shrine open daily 5.30am-6.30pm, though outside these hours access to the island is still possible

Go surfing

Photograph: Matthew Loots/Getty Images

Miyazaki has some of the best surf in Japan. The waves are long, even – and make you feel more talented than perhaps you are. The main action happens at sandy Kisakihama beach, a big, open break about eight miles south of the city centre, which will host surfing qualifiers for next year’s Tokyo Olympics from this weekend. Locals are always on the waves here, from sunrise to the last glimpse of light, but especially before 8am and after 6pm. In the evenings, a lot of surfers head to Aoshima Beach Park (dishes from ¥500, around £4), a 10-minute drive away, where a collection of beach shacks serve burgers, beer and “natural wine” tapped straight from the barrel.

Eat Miyazaki chicken

Chicken Nanban at Ogura Honten

Many Japanese towns and cities claim a regional dish or speciality as their own: in Kyoto it’s tofu, Kobe takes beef and Miyazaki claims chicken. The prefecture’s free-range jitokko breed is popular nationwide, with many claiming it to be the tastiest chicken in the world. Try the chicken nanban: succulent deep-fried pieces coated in a kind of creamy tartare sauce. Tourists often visit Ogura Honten (3 Chome-4-24 Tachibanadorihigashi) to try it (the dish was said to have originated here in the 1960s), though I prefer Momotetsuen, an intimate restaurant-bar. Dishes here start from around £3 and there is an eight-dish menu from £27. I also recommend trying a dish called jidori no sumibiyaki (chicken grilled over charcoal, usually served with yuzu kosho, a spicy citrus seasoning). Many restaurants in Miyazaki serve chicken sashimi-style: raw. Maybe try it before you judge – it’s really good.

Drink shōchū

Photograph: Getty

Pretty much every bar in Miyazaki serves shōchū, a liquor made from rice, sweet potato or barley. While the west normally equates sake with Japan, on the south-western island of Kyushu (where Miyazaki is) shōchū is king. It differs from sake in strength – usually 25%-30% compared with sake’s 15%-18% – and it is distilled not fermented, giving it a stronger flavour and smell. Drink it with ice, though locals often mix it with a little cold water in summer and hot water in winter. In Miyazaki prefecture, as well as in neighbouring Kagoshima prefecture, imojōchū (shōchū made from sweet potato) is popular, having originated in this region. A great place to try it is Bar Rai on the corner of the Wakaksa-dori, one of the city’s main bar areas. If straight shōchū isn’t your thing, the mixologists there will whisk up a chuhai, mixing shōchū with juice or flavoured soda. • 880-0805 Miyazaki, Tachibanadorihigashi, 3 Chome-2-12 2F, on Facebook; open daily from 6pm; drinks £5.40

Stroll around Heiwadai Park

Heiwadai Park and peace tower. Photograph: Panithi Utamachant/Alamy

Also known as Peace Park, Heiwadai lies on a hill above the city and is dominated by a “peace tower” built in 1940 to celebrate the 2,600th anniversary of the ascension of Japan’s first emperor. The tower was the starting point in the torch relay for Japan’s 1964 Olympics. However, it has long caused contention among locals: it was rededicated in 1965 as a symbol of peace, having previously sought to honour Japan’s imperialist legacy and ambition. Walk down to the park’s lake, where terrapin swim, then back round to the Haniwa Garden, where more than 400 haniwa (terracotta clay statues) stare back at you. • Admission free, Koshigasako-6146, japan-guide.com, open 24/7

Support independent shops

The Rosa Coffee. Photograph: Facebook

Big-name chains have started arriving in Miyazaki but independent stores are still holding out. One of my favourites is The Rosa Coffee (coffee from £3.10), a cafe not far from Miyazaki station that handpicks coffee beans from farms across Japan and roasts them in-store. At the beach, check out Aoshima Hammock, a cafe and hammock shop with hand-dripped coffee and seasonal salads. Hammocks are hung between palm trees that can be rented by the hour (£3.90) or day (£11.75). There’s also a local brewery, Beer Market Base (BMB), with craft beer on tap.

Soak in an onsen overlooking the sea

Outdoor onsen. Photograph: Matjaz Corel/Alamy

Japan has thousands of naturally occurring hot springs, and Miyazaki has them bubbling up near its beach. These provide ocean views while soaking in the tub – rare in a country dominated by volcanoes and mountains. One of my favourite bathing spots is at Aoshima Cinq Male – a J-shaped hotel that juts out into the water. The online pictures don’t show it but there’s a small outdoor bath overlooking the ocean, tucked away on the side that visitors shouldn’t overlook (be warned: you do have to enter it naked). It’s not necessary to be a hotel guest to use it, though it’s better to book a trip in advance. • Admission £4.75, hot springs open 10.30am-9pm, cinqmale.co.jp

Explore the Wakaksa-dori at night

Pollo. ‘A bar that serves up ice-cold shōchū alongside deep-fried sticks of kushiyaki.’

There are two major bar areas in Miyazaki, on either side of the Tachibana-dori, the city’s main throughfare: Ichibangai to the west and Wakakusa to the east. First-time visitors will probably find themselves around Ichibangai, lured by the neon lights, but drinking on your own here can be hard: many bars are several storeys up, so it’s not possible to see what they look like (or if they’re busy) before committing. So I’d suggest drinking around Wakakusa. At first glance, this area looks more intimidating, with dimly-lit alleys that splinter off in different directions, but you only have to walk for a few minutes before you spot where the action is happening. Different places are busy on different nights, so follow your nose and ears to find the busy bars and good-smelling food. I often end up in Pollo, a bar that serves ice-cold shōchū alongside deep-fried sticks of kushiyaki (vegetables, cheese, meat or fish that are coated in breadcrumbs and dipped in a sticky sauce). • Pollo is on Facebook, food from around £4

Try zousui in the early hours

In most of Japan, the late-night equivalent of the kebab is ramen. In Miyazaki, it’s zousui (also zōsui), a light seaweed-based broth, packed with white rice and topped with anything from seaweed to raw egg. Zousui Seigo is a 20-seater shop just off Wakasa-dori that usually stays open until at least 5am. Food is normally accompanied by a lot of singing, guitar-playing and some rowdy bongo drums as merry locals make use of the owner’s instruments. It’s also open for lunch – a calmer experience – as dad runs the day shift before his son takes over at night. • Zousui from £5, opening hours usually 11am-5am, on Facebook

Day trip down the coast

The seven Easter Island replica Moai statues at Sun Messe Nichinan. Photograph: Kat Davis/Alamy

Pick up a car from Miyazaki station and head south on Highway 220. About 50 minutes (22 miles) along the coast is a park called Sun Messe Nichinan, home to the world’s only sanctioned replicas of the Moai statues on Easter Island. The statues are the main attraction but the park also has great ocean views and a museum that details Japan’s restoration efforts on Easter Island in the mid-to-late 20th century. Ten minutes further down the road is Udo-Jinja, a red-and-turquoise shrine in a cave at the edge of the ocean. It’s pretty any time of year but especially popular on 1 January, when people come to watch the first sunrise of the new year. Keep driving another hour south, to the point when the road goes no further, and arrive at Cape Toi – a rugged, wind-sculpted landscape overrun with rare wild horses and monkeys. It’s Miyazaki’s southernmost point and has a chalk-white lighthouse for ocean views.

Stay

Aoshima Fisherman’s Hostel. Photograph: Facebook

Overlooking the beach at Aoshima, the Fisherman’s Hostel has private and shared rooms. It has ocean views, natural hot springs, fresh-caught seafood in the restaurant and a prime location for surf and sunset. • Bed in a shared room from £15.50, private room from £77, aoshima-hostel.com

When to go Miyazaki’s coastal location means the weather is milder than much of Japan. Winter rarely sees snow, while temperatures begin to warm up around mid-February. Spring brings cherry blossom, usually blooming around late March. Summer is hot, though great for beach visits and is usually when festivals are in full swing. Autumn is warm until around mid-November.

Sean Carey is owner of The Bar Miyazaki

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[tube-thoughts-blog]

tube thoughts vol. 7

zero stars - terrible, 1/2 a star - dull, 1 star - folly, 1 1/2 stars - lacking, 2 stars - fair, 2 1/2 stars - decent, 3 stars - terrific

Rifftrax presents "Cool As Ice" --1991-- *Snow aka Justin Bieber gives Bella Swan goosebumps and crotch-rocket road rash.* 3 stars with riffing or running from zero to 1 star without

"Dumb and Dumber To" ---2014--- *Sloppy seconds.* 2 stars

VH1 --sneak peak-- "Suave Says" --2014-- *A "thrilling" inside look into the post music career, current evangelical motivational speaking venture, and wealthy domestic drama of a one hit wonder pop star from wayback in 1991. Gerardo aka Rico Suave.* 1/2 a star

"That's My Boy" (2012) *Topics like underage student and teacher sexual relationships and incest are dealt with maturely by Adam Sandler, Andy Samberg, and Vanilla Ice. Of course not, but this isn't even creatively controversial or riotously raunchy in any remarkable way. It's just another formulaic Adam Sandler movie that hits all the same notes as usual.* either zero stars or 1 star

The Tom Green Show -Rogers Community Tv- -The Comedy Network- (1998) *Bemused, pertubed, fumed. These are just a few of the reactions Tom illicits from anyone not in on the joke.* 2 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark: The Tale of Laughing in the Dark *"Pick the right door, and you'll go free. Pick the wrong door, and there he'll be." He being a cigar puffing, nightmarish, funhouse clown.* 3 stars

"Housebound" ---2014--- *"An active mind in an inactive environment." The Brits make a superbly spooky mystery with dry and subtle humor.* 3 stars

"Chonda Pierce On Her Soapbox" (1999) *Folksy entertainment variety and jubilee from a real life Peggy Hill.* 1 star

Buckmasters -Young Bucks- "The Misadventures of Bubba" (1992) *Near fatal hunting accidents hilarity with a Jim Varney caricature.* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

"Dancing Outlaw, Jesco White" (1991) & Jesco Goes to Hollywood (1994) *''Sorrow, hatred, and madness. '' "If you wanna get to heaven, you got to raise a little hell."* Heaven for Jesco is dancing at Elvis' star on the Hollywood walk of fame and guest starring on Roseanne or huffing fumes.*        3 stars

Fargo: The Crocodile's Dilemma *"What's the policy? See, I'm sort of a student of institutions." Billy Bob Thornton can play indifferent malice like no other.* 3 stars

15 Storeys High: The Sofa *Lord Snooty's couch, club card, co-opting of other people's conundrums, and crisis 'cause he can't stand to be cuddled.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

12:01 Beyond-- Christmas Special 2014 -------------------------------

*World Friendship Society - Please Just Go (music video)* close to 2 1/2 stars

*Le Passage (movie trailer): More badass than Home Alone and Rambo.*          3 stars

*Lobo for the charity "Socks for Tots" gently used socks for children at Christmas at the North Pole. Lonely odd socks for lonely odd kids.* 2 1/2 stars

*Ninja, the Mission Force: "Clam chowder can only mean a ninja challenge."*     2 1/2 stars

*Lobo argues the Holiday Blues with his potted plant, Ms. Mittens.*         between 2 & 2 1/2 *

*Fleischer Studios - Superman - The Arctic Giant: A kaiju nearly destroys Metropolis and swallows Lois whole.* 3 stars

*Treevenge: sentient x-mas trees turn the tables on crass Christmas celebrations and begin tearing the merry folk to shreds.* 3 stars

*Lobo fills holiday stockings full of leftover Halloween Candy.* 2 1/2 stars

*Lobo meets Ro-Man the Robot Monster from the 1950s B sci fi movie, at the north pole, and suggests he kidnap Santa Claus.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

*Reverse Pharmacology: Incredibly hilarious imagined symptoms of a placebo taken by medical test subjects under lab conditions.* close to 3 stars

*Pueblo Sleep Solutions presents 'The Bedtime Bruiser' (commercial)*               2 1/2 stars

*Don't Open Till Christmas (movie): Scotland Yard is on the case of serial slayings of Santas.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

*Lobo gets an 8 track player for X Mas* 2 stars

*The Lobo (DC Comics character, not the guy from the 12:01 skits) Paramilitary Christmas Special: The Easter Bunny hires the meanest bounty hunter in the galaxy to hunt down and take out the fat man and his elves.* 3 stars

*Sleigh Runner: The Communist tradition of Christmas is put to an end by a Eastern European Rob Zombie lookalike cowboy killer.* 2 1/2 stars

*Happy Holidays to all the fans of the New Mission Impossible (tv series).*          3 stars

*"This Christmas forget milk and cookies. He wants blood." TWo Front Teeth (low budget movie trailer). The elves in this flick look pretty nightmarish and the characters, especially the black cowboy, look interesting. Interest peaked.* 3 stars

*Republic Pictures Serial -The Crimson Ghost- Chapter 3- The Fatal Sacrifice:  The Crimson Ghost's hideous high wire act.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

*The metal band HEMI perform the song Dust to Dust live in a club.*           close to 3 stars

*Neon Harbor presents Space Ninja the animated movie: A cyber dystopia mixed with feudal Japan. technology and swordplay eyecandy-gorgeous must see for me.* 3 stars

*Ro-Man mistakenly beheads Santa for Lobo who claims no responsibility for the death of the mythical character.* 2 1/2 stars

*Action International Home Pictures presents the "Gruesome Holiday shocker." "Elves" starring Grizzly Adams (retro movie trailer)* 3 stars

*Vinegar Syndrome presents on Blu Ray "You Better Watch Out" aka "Christmas Evil": And they've added a beautifully twisted painted portrait of the movie's tragic hero on the box art.* 3 stars

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

Tales from the Crypt: The Ventriloquist's Dummy *Pathetic weirdo and hack ventriloquist comedian Bobcat Goldthwait's idol Don Rickles isn't really a retired, bitter legend of ventriloquism. He's actually a prisoner of his own responsibility to keep his beautiful-woman-hating, conjoined twin freak brother from ever killing again.* 3 stars

Freddy's Nightmares: Deadline ----------

*Writing obituaries does seem like the typically morbid Summer job that a Springwood teenager would have.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

*Springwood, where suicidal teenagers wish they were dead so that they can be reunited with their ghost bff(s) and douchebag, ponytailed dreamlovers.*      2 stars

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

Red Shoe Diaries: Safe Sex *A smooth talker brings a sad, vulnerable business professional lady in out of the rain, and she still makes him wear a raincoat in bed. So, so, softcore stories sent in to a personal ad's post office box and then picked up and retold by shadowy anywhere North America David Duchovny character, which is nice trimming for the show, but damn is the sensitive lite soul torch singing background music awful. I prefer a cheesy, solo saxophone over this -Lifetime For Women lyrics- boner killing tripe.* close to 2 1/2 stars

Brian De Palma's "The Black Dahlia" (2006) *I'm a sucker for Los Angeles noir settings, slaughtered pretty girls like Laura Palmer, and conspiracy art like Alan Moore's From Hell.* 2 1/2 stars

Transparent: season 1 -episode 1 *Three self absorbed siblings can't see past themeselves enough to be aware of their father for what he truly is and themselves for what they might actually be. The conservative side of me wants to say that this is more of liberal Hollywood's agenda to undermine traditional America by saying everyone secretly wants and would be happier with an alternative lifestyle. Also, I can't remember the last time I saw so many aesthetically interesting (not exploitive or trying too hard to be sexy) glimpses of comfortable nudity.* 3 stars

Weird Science: Cyrano DeBraniac *"The savage game of sexual attraction" requires all of one's synapses to be firing and it doesn't hurt to have a time and space manipulating genie, who's also sexy, to unzip Einstein's undead brain out of the fourth dimension.*             2 1/2 stars

Thundarr the Barbarian: Den of the Sleeping Demon *A pair of clumsy junior adventurers, and their huge bird friend, help rebury a genetic research monstrosity that was given a high voltage reawakening.*      3 stars

--- Swamp Thing: The Dark Side of the Mirror

*Everyone in this town is so stupid and easily manipulated that Arcane could have probably just walked up to the new determined district attorney, at dinner in a fancy restaurant, and shot him in the head, instead of genetically mutating the musclebound moronic deputy into a Swamp Thing double assassin.

The town formed an extremely enraged mob, in a matter of minutes, and even the longest running protagonist human characteron the show (Jim's mom) is willing to throw her morals aside for blind vengeance.

Thank goodness Jim's brother Will, the new female lead Kari Wuhrer, and Swamp Thing are decent characters.

I'm glad for the upgrade from Jim to Will. Will is a better character and it gives the show more of an adult cast and less of a Timmy fell down the well and needs to be saved, each week, routine.

Still, some of the acting is low quality from the extras.

Feels like they used the stunt man from the fight scenes to do the lines, to save money, when it would have been better to switch him out for a real actor.*

between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

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

Paranormal State: season 1 -episode 17 *A wild goose chase for the legendary Mothman. The leader of PRS probably doesn't realize how much he comes off like X Files' Fox Mulder as he keeps repeating the phrase "I want to believe."* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

Kolchak, the Night Stalker: The Sentry *"Don't linger in the shadows." It will "rile the bile" about lizard-men living deep within the earth where corporations and shadowy government organizations are storing their darkest secrets. The most daring reporter,ever, of tabloid monster mysteries makes his last (documented) stand down there.* 3 stars

"Room 237" (2012) *"The past doesn't exist." But film historians, and fans, are still dissecting the ghost of Stanley Kubrick and the symbolic filmic events surrounding the almost mythical Overlook Hotel.* 3 stars

Lucio Fulci's "Conquest" (1983) *Cro-Magnon man was ruled by a cruel dominatrix / naked lady performance artist / new-age goddess, along with her band of fanatical furries. That is until Ronnie James Dio & Luke Skywalker changed things. Conquest establishes itself apart from other low budget and dumb sword & sorcery flicks, of the early 1980s, with its dreamlike aesthetic and gore-crazy practical special fx.*   between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

"Begotten" (1990) *Imagine a super 8mm National Geographic hallucination of twitching, early 20th century mental patients being tortured and abused in the ruins of a 19th century pastoral southern gothic wasteland lurked over by pre-modern-civilization tribal sacrificial rites that are even more hellish and nightmarish than actual pagan practices predating contemporary times. Black mold on the walls of farmhouses with sun peeled paint and holes in the tin roof where the sound of dripping rain and viscus is constant on rusting metal surfaces that lie just beyond open rock quarries crawled over by lepers, in rags, dragging shaved and mutilated Christ-like figures who spew black stigmata from their weeping eyes and mouths.* 3 stars

Squidbillies: Taint Misbehavin' *A dying Dan Halen requires the citizens of Dougal County to join him in the paradise of the afterlife. Granny and Early get giddy because they mistakenly believe they're going to a resort town in Tennessee, when they're actually heading for the ancient Egyptian land of the dead.* 2 1/2 stars

Workaholics -2015 Season- --preview trailer-- *Some Comedy Central money went into a 2 minute parody of the new Mad Max movie, popular crime tv shows like Sons of Anarchy, strippers, bullet porn fx, and "cool" explosions.* close to 2 1/2 stars (for the misguided effort)

Hannibal: Apéritif *The mongoose meets the cobra.* 3 stars

Jonny Quest: The House of the Seven Gargoyles *An icy fate for an acrobatic dwarf creeping around a castle posing as a gothic statue and trying to choke his unsuspecting victims.* 3 stars

Dr. Who (4th Doctor - Tom Baker): The Android Invasion *A Benedict Arnold astronaut returns from being lost in space, now brainwashed by aliens carrying a shipment of human replicants and a deadly virus.* 3 stars

Farscape: Jeremiah Crichton *Crichton becomes a castaway on green planet inhabited by a tribal, and somewhat peaceful people, although there is some jealousy when the daughter of the chief becomes smitten with Crichton. After spending part of a cycle looking for Crichton, Rigel and Dargo find him all scruffy and weather beaten. In a Return of the Jedi C3PO twist, Rigel is the tribe's prophesized messiah and the three must save these exiled, forced by forcefield to be primitive people, or else be sacrificed themselves due to stupid politics and a conspiracy of priestly hierarchy.* 3 stars

Bob & Margaret: For Pete's Sake *Bob's brother is a pretentious tv chef, and when he gets a gig in India, Bob and Margaret have to look after his two annoying brats.* 3 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark: The Tale of the Dark Music *The power to control demonic forces, living in the root cellar, lies in the sounds on the radio. A tired of being picked on paperboy uses this knowledge to payback the scummy metal-head bully next door and his mean, little sister.*       3 stars

"The Initiation of Sarah" (1978) *This feels like a hazy 70s tv movie version of Carrie the college years. Two sisters pledge and go through the occult like Greek sorrority ceremonies. The good looking one gets picked by Morgan Fairchild's meangirl sisters and has to be cruel to the other. The timid one has her telepathic powers exploited by a witch wannabe Shelly Winters in the rival plain Jane house complete with a maze backyard.* between 2 1/2 & 3 stars

---Thrashin'--- (1987) *Square jawed Josh Brolin is too straight laced to be taken seriously by skatepunks in the 80s L.A. skatescene. The leader of a gang of Lost Boys also wants Brolin to stay away from his out of town and just visiting, Idaho pretty tomato younger sister. It hits all the right notes for an 80s extreme sports fun adventure flick.* 2 1/2 stars

Tales from the Crypt: Fitting Punishment *A cheapskate ghetto mortician is willing to cut corners no matter the cost to human decency. He embalms using dirty tap water. He buys cheap coffins from China. He clips out the gold and silver teeth of the deceased. He even blames his orphaned nephew for being a financial burden and cripples him, then sells his Air Jordans to pay medical expenses. When that's not enough, he murders him and saws him a foot shorter above the ankles so that he can stuff the boy into a cheap coffin for Chinamen.* 3 stars

Hill Street Blues: Film At Eleven *Llama stolen from the zoo and almost used in a slumland apartment voodoo ceremony. Cops style film crew documenting the precinct. Herman Dracula, alledged wannabe vampire. It's funny until he commits suicide in his private cell. Ballistics confirms that they've found the handgun used in the near fatal shooting of officers Renko & Hill. Relief comes with uncertainty. It's raining in the police station, the roof is leaking and everyone is getting the flu because of it. This show can't help but end on a melancholy note due to all the lingering emotions. Rollercoaster, as usual.* 3 stars

Tru Tv- --South Beach Tow-- --Bernice's Top 20-- *"Best of" countdown of fake reality show beatdowns by an angry black woman?* 1 star

Botched: Vagina Bomb! *The same network (E!) that encourages viewers to idolize trainwreck celebrities and their fake bodies, also exploits sick individuals who've butchered their own bodies in order to achieve that phony Hollywood dream. Of course this show is under the guise of "fixing" plastic surgery mistakes, but the client/patient usually receives even more body enhancements and still looks like a nightmare.* either zero stars or 2 stars

True Detective: The Long Bright Dark *Heathen homicide in a hick shit-haven where if one doesn't parrot the standard beliefs of others, and oddly speaks in a stream of consciousness like Cormac McCarthy, then one's peers tilt their heads and cock their ears like a confused dog in misunderstanding and disbelief.* 3 stars

---- New Year's Movie Marathon ---------------------------------

Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: Time Runner (1992) *Spoilers, for The Force Awakens, ahead. Be Warned. Years after Return of the Jedi, Luke is having a midlife crisis and skynet is using star destroyers to blow up Los Angeles. So he travels back in time to the Washington Canadian border getting in ugly rental car chases with human looking alien Rae Dawn Chong and gunning down well armed baddies, along side the goofy deputy from Twin Peaks, & watching  their hilarious death throes. All while making sure Senator Palpatine can't prevent Seth Rogen and James Franco from nuking North Korea thirty years in the future. Make sense?* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: 12 To The Moon                      ---plus---                       "Dream to Design" -short- *The woman of the future visits the satellite of love and turns the robots crow and tom servo into kitschy househould appliances. meanwhile, the united nations of nasa proves earth's worthiness to the lunar neighbors.*                     2 1/2 stars with riffing and between 1 1/2 and 2 stars without

Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" *A depressed Da Vinci with his wings clipped by the dulled scissors that society can no longer cut all the red tape with.* 3 stars

Fritz Lang's "Metropolis" *In my life of relative ease, I watch this movie on my cheap consumer electronics provided for me by workers in horrible third world conditions.*           3 stars

"Starry Eyes" (2014) *Ambition. Attrition. Ascension. All the way from Hooters Girl who can't get taken seriously at low-grade movie auditions to transforming into a Hollywood harlot comes at the price of one's soul taken by the Satanists who run the movie industry and helped sanctified with blood and betraying those closest also climbing the ladder.* close to 3 stars

"Messiah of Evil" (1973) *What if, after Thanksgiving, America honored the Donner Party Massacre by having Black Friday be masses of mad people tearing into raw red meat at supermarkets? This flick is like the eerie calm before an apocalypse. Too weird, almost, to describe, and if one tried to, a bug would appear on their tongue and they would cough up insects and lizards.* 3 stars

"Strange Days" (1995) *"Memories were meant to be forgotten. They were designed that way." Let old acquaintance as well. 20 year old predictions about the new century, by James Cameron, are still pretty relevant. Questions about the abuse of police force. Urban upheaval and riots. Voyeurism being a social media (though it's not as seedy as it's imagined in this movie).Things James Cameron got a little off are plenty too. Musicians stopped being, for the most part, political messengers. Trainwreck skank rock queens like Courtney Love aren't nearly as talented as James thinks or as worth going through hell over, but they're still a huge part of the media's obsession. Found footage and virtual reality may just be entertainment fantasy, but the themes in this movie are played out daily on actual viral videos.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

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

Max Headroom: Academy *What if corporations had their own legal systems? What if a death penalty trial was turned into a tv game show? Viewers of the HLN network sort of get to experience this. What if criminal profiles were assigned to innocent people who fit a certain stereotype? Wait a minute....* 3 stars

Joe R. Lansdale's "Cold In July" (2014) *A considerate and well adjusted family man has to stand his ground, on shaky legs, but isn't in the overzealous camp of his hometown neighbors who wanna pat him on the back for it. He never feels right about the incident and his remorse pulls him into a world of Dixie mafia killings, Texas Mexico border crime, and a friendship with a flamboyant and dogged private detective and the deeply burdened man who mistakenly stalked the family man's family when he was wrongly convinced the family man slayed his son in the stand your ground incident. In a bizarre twist, the three men come together to help the deeply burdened man solve his burden of putting down his wayward son who's making snuff films with hookers. It reminds me a lot of William Devane's "Rolling Thunder," another revenge flick with a lot of bitter sorrow and dark themes.*      3 stars

The Tom Green Show -Rogers Community Tv- --The Comedy Network-- (1998) *Tom is an absurdist comedian who can sometimes be traditionally clever in his humor. He drinks purple koolaid with a cult who worship an alien version of Jesus Christ's brother, he ruins an Elvis impersonator street performance and almost gets his ass kicked for it, and he continues to try to prove he's the biggest idiot in the room.* close to 2 1/2 stars

The Prisoner: The Schizoid Man *The Village have number 6 convinced he's twice the man he was using an uncanny double.* 3 stars

Game of Thrones: season 3 episode 7 *"People work together when it suits them, they're loyal when it suits 'em, they love when it suits 'em, and they kill when it suits them."* 3 stars

"Under the Skin" (2013) *Scarlet Joe Handsome is an enticing alien, in a black wig and brightly painted lips, driving around Scotland, in a pedo van, indifferently observing all the quiet, everyday human suffering and luring horny, confused men back to her abandoned building / nest / spaceship(?) --where they step sinking into a surreal black pool of liquid.* either 1/2 a star or 2 stars

American Horror Story- -Coven -The Replacements *Sober Santeria. What other show is going to have a pothead, white trash mom molest her patchwork monster, back from the morgue, college boy son? or let a juicy and morbidly obese black virgin finger herself in front of a minotaur? not many spring to mind.* 3 stars

Gargoyles: The Edge *Zanatos uses the steel clan and a Tony Stark type tech gargoyle suit to frame the real gargoyles for the museum heist of 'the eye of Odin,' in order to have the cops chasing them all around town and scare them into coming back under the wings of his 'protection,' which would have the gargoyles inprisoned in a research lab.* 3 stars

Rifftrax - Total Riff Off - Man vs. Monster *"Meeting the channel's factual quota, we now return to the bullshit." Rifftrax skewers another one of those pretentious explorer douchebags, from National Geographic Wild,  that are always trying to turn a simple creature of nature into a tall tale monster.* 3 stars with riffing 1 star without

Son of the Beach: With Sex You Get Eggroll *satire of sex slaves and sex jokes, both smartly done.* 3 stars

Carman -Yo Kidz! -The Vidz *Gnarly Jesus dudes, hip musical kids, and cumbersome cat costumes.* 1 star

Morton Downey Jr.: Cults *A man who once had a cult-like tv audience examines mind control organizations and self-help pseudo-religions.* close to 3 stars

Mel Brooks in "High Anxiety" *Side-splitting neuroses.* 3 stars

Tales from the Crypt: Korman's Kalamity *A cartoonist's monstrous creations come to life after years of nagging from an abusive spouse and his recent forced use of an experiment male potency medication.*  2 1/2 stars

"Al-TV" -April Fools Day 1984 *"I could just watch videos all day until my brain turned to mush. Couldn't you?" Weird Al takes over MTV from its bland video disc jockeys and turns the channel into the absurdity it should be.* 3 stars

"Traxx" (1998) *"Be good, be gone, or be dead." Shadoe Stevens is one tough cookie as he parodies every 80s action hero vigilante and western cowboy cliche come to clean up a Troma version of a Texas town in one of the weirdest, left field comedies ever.* 3 stars

Hippies: Protesting Hippies *Simon Pegg tries to spark a Y2K revival of the comedic rebelliousness of The Young Ones with a Britcom That 60s Show.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Northern Exposure: Pilot Episode *A "Jew, New York doctor" finds unspoiled land, wildlife, hell... even people (patients) "just waiting to be fondled" in middle-of-nowhere, Alaska.* 3 stars

X Files: Space *Otherworldy phantom sabotaging shuttle missions. A study on how stifled and subdued the space program has become.* 2 1/2 stars

"Freaks, Nerds, and Weirdos" -MTV (1994) *MTV NEWS looks at Generation X's social outcasts like nerdy hipster college kids, quirky celebrities, and alternative musicians and they talk about their struggles with being different from "the norm." Ironically, the show is framed with commercials featuring beautiful skin care and fashion model young people bragging about how great it is to be one of the in group of the beautiful ones.* 2 1/2 stars

"The Myth of the American Sleepover" (2010) *The last bittersweet days of Summer and the pre-conceived notion of sublimity for a group of suburban teenagers. Indie movies about the adolescent rite of passage to adulthood aren't as fun as exploitation flicks about the same thing, but the delicate and thoughtful manner in which the subject matter is approached allows for more personal reflection for the viewer.* close to 3 stars

Turner Classic Movies: Beneath the Planet of the Apes *Twice as bleak of an ending as the first.* 3 stars

--- "Bates Motel" (1987)

*After spending his youth in the looney bin with Norman Bates as his father figure, Bud Court (Harold & Maude), and a great casting choice, inherits the Bates Motel from the deceased Norman whom he carries around in an urn afterwards.

With the help of a spunky squatter (Lori Petty) and a Morgan Freeman esque handyman, he reopens the falling apart eyesore and deals with the rumors of the place being haunted and the fast moving yuppies of the 80s who wanna exploit the property to keep with the changing and advancing landscape of the times.

Tonally a weird mixture of maudlin and mockingly humorous. Whoda thunk they could take a legacy of a Hitchcock suspense thriller and throw in one those feel good fixing up the place montages, a Happy Days 1950s teen ghosts dance party with a dreamlover angel Jason Bateman, and Scooby Doo villain plot twist?*

either 1 star or close to 2 1/2 stars

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

"An Evening With Bobcat Goldthwait, Share The Warmth" (1987) *Bobcat chugs two six-packs of TAB and then proceeds to frighten uncomfortable laughter out of a group of yuppies in a nightclub.* 2 1/2 stars

"Beyond Vaudeville" (1986-90s) *Best of a weird NYC public access variety show with guests and acts like Grandpa Munster, Tiny Tim, "the Edith Bunker of massage," climbing Harpo's ladder with Wavy Gravy, Burt Reynold's fantasy Turkish woman (possible delusional stalker), Greg Brady, the arm and the giant from Twin Peaks, the theme from the Flying Nun on spoons, Rock Around the Clock in Yiddish, an Underdog / Dracula enthusiast / interpretive dancer, and many other pathetic bizarre folk. Sammy Davis who?* 3 stars

Morton Downey Jr.: Central Park Squatters *A heated shouting match between freaks and fascists over the issue of gentrification.* 3 stars

"Scoundrels" (1982) a Cecil Howard adult film *"Life's too fucking short." Ron Jeremy is the long dick, long suffering dad, just like Kevin Spacey, in a sexually frustrated slice of American Pie.* 3 stars

American Horror Story -Murder House- "Rubber Man" *"What is it about being dead that makes me so horny?" Hysterical lady troubles.* close to 3 stars

"The Guest" (2014) *A psychotic super-soldier gone awol and come to roost with the troubled family of a fallen comrade. Pulses like an homage to 80s action movies in the vein of John Carpenter.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Justified: season 1 episode 1 *Bluegrass Helter Skelter.* 3 stars

Chrisley Knows Best: The Great Outdoors *Chrisley reluctantly takes his sons camping at the lake, while wishing he were more like his hero Oprah and scaring his 8 year old with the legend of Jason Vorhees.* 2 stars

Comic Book Men: Ghostbusting at the Stash *Sitting around ye ole podcast table and sharing spooky stories about things like the Jersey Devil.* 1 star

"The White Buffalo" (1977) *Charging out of Hell and into Heaven were men like Wild Bill, Crazy Horse, and Charles Bronson.* 3 stars

Kung Fu, the series: Dark Angel *Words lost, eyes blinded, and riches not found, but, at the same time, roots replanted, senses regained, and faith restored.* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Invasion U.S.A. (feature) & A Date with the Family (short) *Rigid dinners with loved ones, or heavy drinking with a group of barflies, is a great opportunity to discuss how every American should do more in their part to combat the Red Menace.* 3 stars with riffing 1 star without

"My Mom's A Werewolf" (1988) *An underappreciated housewife goes to the pet store to get a flea collar for the family dog, and winds up having the mom jeans charmed off of her, and replaced with fur, by a hair-piece wearing lycanthrope (John Saxon).*                2 1/2 stars

Freddy's Nightmares: Black Tickets ------------------

*A young Brad Pitt runs over himself running into himself running away from his problems.* 2 stars

*Having a baby is hellish, even if Brad Pitt is the daddy.*                           between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

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

USA Up All Night -with host Rhonda Shear -Valentine's Special -----------------

*Lovers Lovers (feature movie): Neurotic & horny 30 something year old professionals in the city of Angels. It's like a softcore version of Seinfeld.*          2 stars

*Starburst California Raisins style commercial where the Starburst candies get taken to the bad side of town called Twisted Town.* 2 1/2 stars

*The Girls of Paradise (phone sex commercial): 3 stars

*Rhonda hangs out in the honeymoon suite with a amorous bell boy who has chest hairs a plenty.* 3 stars

*Twix commercial parodies the plane crash movie "Alive" in a funny scenario where one guy tricks the other into thinking they're being rescued so that he can have both Twix candy bars to himself.* 3 stars

*Rhonda tries to get a honeymooning and arguing couple's bride out of her hotel room bathroom.* 2 1/2 stars

*Free brochure for TV Parental Ratings guidelines* 3 stars

*"Mel" (taking his name from a PayDay caramel candy bar wrapper) calls up a phone sex hotline to talk to the horny chick about covering her in peanuts and creamy caramel in a funny PayDay commercial.* 3 stars

*"Every day people like me and you are proving why the 'Psychic Solution' is so popular." Obvious payed employees of this phone scam network give false testimonials about their amazing experiences talking to phone psychics.*    either zero or 3 stars

*"Imagine being forced to make love. Now, imagine thousands will die if you dont. Will she? Won't she? Or will she just kick some ass?!" La Femme Nikita preview for an upcoming 1997 episode. Haha.* 3 stars

*Rhonda coaches sweet talk to a dumb husband who gets all her amorous advice lines all wrong.* 3 stars

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

Weird Science: Magnifico Dad *Mom gets her birthday wish for dad to turn into male supermodel hunk Fabio.* 3 stars

Son of the Beach: Silence of the Clams *"The beach is meant for solitude, not senseless orgying. Cancel Spring Break or else."* 3 stars

Thundarr, the Barbarian: Fortress of Fear *A many eyed wizard wants Ariel as his bride.* 3 stars

Swamp Thing: Silent Screams *"Eye of the hurricane, listen to yourself turn. World serves its own needs, Dummy, serve your own needs." Arcane is selling eco-terrorism to the highest bidder. First in line to be served, shadowy agents of the U.S. government, and they're willing to sacrifice a small, swamp town to test the effectiveness.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Jonny Quest: The Invisible Monster *Turn off the life light, don't let it shine or else be taken in by the hungering Pac-Man esque ghost of an animated mass of energy. Look out, because it's a one-eyed, giant, purple, people-eater.* 3 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark: The Tale of the Super Specs *Do "They Live" or is it just an April Fool's Day trick of the mind thanks to a phony trick gifts shop's surprisingly effective super specs glasses?*             close to 3 stars

Friday the 13th, the series: Shadow Boxer *A bum fighter uses cursed gloves to separate his dark side from his body and sends the shadow out to stick it to his opponents.* 3 stars

Paranormal State: season 1 episode 18 *Penn State freshman lions turn themselves into fraidy cats with the passing around of campus legends and the playing of an ancient Japanese ghost story game called '100 Candles.'* 2 stars

Penny Dreadful: season 1 episode 1 *For a moment, I thought Frankenstein and his monster were going to passionately kiss on the mouth. It was weird.* close to 2 1/2 stars

Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital: season 1 episode 6 *"He eats disease. He likes to be scratched behind the ears. He's horrible, beautiful." 3 stars

The Outer Limits: If These Walls Could Talk *CGI Ryan Reynolds. He's not Green Lantern. He's possibly a 'Casper' or at the very least a molecular anomaly. His mom can't let go of the mystery around his disappearance and his frequenting of a so-called haunted house. She's a paranormal believer. She swears she hears him crying out in the haunted house. She befriends a pyschic phenomena debunker. They get drunk, share their hearbreak over the afterlife or lack thereof. They stir up spirits or at least a cold case crime scene. They  learn about the mystery behind a previous owner who was a reclusive scientist and find his hidden room complete with strange meteor. It ends with them covered in ectoplasmic goo.* 2 1/2 stars

"Father Guido Sarducci Goes to College" (1985) *Vatican City versus Disneyland.* 2 1/2 stars

Tales from the Crypt: Mute Witness to Murder *Some enchanted evening, you may meet a stranger. And some enchanted evening, you may witness a brutal murder. That enchanted evening may damage the psyche.* 3 stars

Red Shoe Diaries: Double Dare *Necessity is the mother of virtue. A business professional lady needs the thrill of an erotic game of show and tell via fax machine dirty messages and flashes of bare flesh across facing office building windows with a sexy stranger, but she can't take it to the next step and cheat on her husband in person.* 2 1/2 stars

"Computer Beach Party" *Weirdly played, and ridiculously overdubbed, dorky sex comedy that maybe comes close to deserving cult status.* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

Total Riff Off: Animals Behaving Badly *Horny deer. Smoking ape. Rascally raccoon. Pooping cheetah. Shoe humping tortoise. Horny dolphin. Indian woman breastfeeding a calf. Chicago city coyote. rat infanticide, and the classic panda attacking jacket guy.* 3 stars with riffing between 2 and 2 1/2 stars without

"RoadRacers" (1994) a Robert Rodriguez film *David Arquette as a scumbag greaser, James Dean wannabe with Salma Hayek as his main squeeze. Sounds unconvincing, but somehow they pull it off. Also, great tunes from the era of rockabilly, decent villains like the town asshole cop William Sadler, and Deadwood's Saul Starr as the sci fi and sinful thrills obsessed sidekick.*  2 1/2 stars

Richard Linklater's "Boyhood" (2014) *Maybe the best ever use of scripted reality in dramatic entertainment. Following two siblings for over a decade as we watch them grow and deal with their movie parents a psychology student-into-teacher mother (Patricia Arquette) and their sometimes deadbeat other times often extremely caring and liberal-slacker poet papa (Ethan Hawke), along with step siblings, abusive drunk stepfathers, plus all the growing pains and life steps that happen along the way to young adulthood.* 3 stars (for achievement in the portayal of life) or zero stars (for every character being so unlikeable)

--Starz-- --The Missing: episode 1 *A wrenching, quiet, and moody look at the frantic hours around parents dealing with the disappearance of a child and how the effects of that trauma are still haunting them, and others involved with the memory, years later.*         3 stars

American Gothic: Damned If You Don't *Dang ole' tornado of the soul.* 3 stars

"Din of Celestial Birds" (2006) *inherent iniquities* 2 1/2 stars

True Detective: Seeing Things *Pussy, fantasy, illusion, delusion, hallucination, justification, nightmare, and revelation.* 3 stars

X Files: Fallen Angel *Toxic cover up and lies with an official seal.* 2 1/2 stars

"Night Dreams" (1981) xxx *Bound by wild desire, Dorothy LeMay fell into a ring of fire.* 3 stars

--- MTV's True Life: I'm Preparing for the End of the World

*An obese, and (from how he's presented on this docu show) low i.q. suffering, young  father moves his pregnant wife, two young boys, and yummy pet rabbits & chickens to an isolated farm in the mountains.

There he rambles about doomsday scenarios and his family assists in setting up booby traps that are more dangerous to themselves than anyone else.

My advice is to lay off the extra bunny, at dinner, and to not homeschool the kids about the proper way to filter goat piss into a drinkable water alternative, but instead to exercise as a family and to get out in society and work towards not ending up with an apocalypse.

Next, we have two priviledged college twins who are so quirky and idiotic that they jokingly form a two person cult where they bother college campus students and the city's homeless population with their pretend rhetoric.

Low point being when they claim to be getting prepared to raise their consciousness beyond the normal soulless zombie, just before tossing a twenty dollar bill into the air for a group of hungry homeless and junkies to wrestle over.*

1 star

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

Morton Downey Jr.: Feminism *Mort and feminist lawyer Gloria Allred go toe to toe and almost mouth to mouth with the sexual tension between them (just kidding).* close to 3 stars

Tales from the Crypt: Television Terror *A t.v. station scores big ratings, when Morton Downey Jr. is murdered, live on the air, while investigating a haunted house.* 3 stars

"Too Young To Die?" (1990) *A trailer trash teen runaway (Juliette Lewis) gets the death penalty for the murder of her soldier guy former lover, thanks to her hick pimp/pusher (Brad Pitt).*  2 1/2 stars

American Horror Story -Asylum- "The Coat Hanger" *Forgiving trespasses. Ian McShane almost seems too good for any show after his iconic role in Deadwood, but he finds one here as a blackly humorous and blasphemous sinner/killer in a setting that keeps getting more depraved and strange. Bucket of KFC chicken and skinning victims alive killer mixed piece joke. Priest drowning at a baptism. Priest crucifiction. The dirty history of pre legalized abortions. Cruel head nun gets on the other end of looney torture. A Nazi butcher / mad scientist seeking aliens because he appreciates their eugenic techniques and getting sent his own Mary with a possible alien seed in her belly.* 3 stars

Hannibal: Amuse-Bouche *"It takes one to know one." A human fungus wants understanding.* 3 stars

Bob and Margaret: Friends for Dinner *"Another domestic dilemma." Bob and Margaret continue to define themselves different from their rude peers, while still retaining a flawed quality that makes them so relatable to the average person.* close to 3 stars

15 Storeys High: The Model *"If she learns to swim, next thing she'll want to learn to drive." A nutter doesn't want his nude centerfold wife to take swimming lessons. Olives on pizza distaste, and a compulsion to pull any wallpaper off the wall -weirdness. Also, the swimming lessons oath includes everyone but practioners of karate and the pop star Sting.* 3 stars

Hippies: Hairy Hippies *The animals of Aquarius are gonna tear your prick off.* 3 stars

Farscape: Durka Returns *"The difference between a knife attack and life saving surgery." The outer space adjustment bureau can turn anyone they want into an attitude corrected slave.* 3 stars

Max Headroom: Deities *When it comes to matters of the spirit, people often forget what it means being human.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark?: The Tale of the Captured Souls *Sometime in the early 90s, the Obamas and their daughter nearly had the life sucked out of them by a mirror-spy-tech mad-science-geezer posing as an ole timey tween boy with a ridiculous hairstyle that was almost as bad as Obama's soul glow mullet of the time.* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

American Horror Story --Coven-- "Fearful Pranks Ensue" *supreme sacrifice* close to 3 stars

Red Shoe Diaries: You Have The Right To Remain Silent *A lady cop kidnaps and forces herself on a strong willed guy who won't show her any attention at the gym. I would have laughed if it were a case of her not having any gay-dar.* close to 2 1/2 stars and 1 1/2 a stars for the safe sex sales pitch

Hill Street Blues: Choice Cut *supermarket standoff with a side of beef.* 2 1/2 stars

Fargo: The Rooster Prince *"Savagery, pure and simple."* 3 stars

American Horror Story: Freakshow "Orphans" *The most sympathetic character on the show, Pepper, has a continuation of maybe the most tragic character arc of any character in all of American Horror Story, with a cameo from a character from Asylum.* close to 3 stars

MTV's "Eye Candy" extended peak *Disney channel(?) teen pop idol and now hacker (rolls eyes) in a serial killer stalker show with MTV style "edgy" (crap) aesthetics. The psycho stuffing smartphones in the mouths of victims is unintentionally ludicrous and laughable.* 1 1/2 stars

"Living With Michael Jackson" *"We would wake at dawn and go up in the hot air balloon. I have the footage. It's all very charming and innocent. That's ignorant. Who's the Jack the Ripper in the Room?" Was it exploitive journalist Martin Bashir or delusional Peter Pan wannabe Jacko?* either 3 stars or zero stars

Prime Time Thursday -ABC- Martin Bashir on his Michael Jackson documentary (2003?) *ABC gets a few more nasty kicks in to the wounded weirdo.* 2 stars

The Michael Jackson Interview, The Footage You Were Never Meant To See *--FOX--* (2003)

*"Becareful what you do, because the lie becomes the truth."

Maury Povich pauses from hosting & revealing ghetto / white trash paternity tests to take an investigative behind the scenes footage look at the Martin Bashir documentary on MJ.

An almost propaganda piece trying to repair Jackson's image and justify his strange behavior, but it does shine a light on the deceitful approach of Bashir's manipulative tactics in getting close to Jackson via gaining his trust with comments approving of Michael's generosity and attitudes towards children and Michael's personal life in other ways, and then turning  around and only showing the most sensational things in his "Living With Michael Jackson" documentary.*

2 1/2 stars

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

The Greatest American Hero: pilot episode "UFO Encounter" *The teachers of troubled teens, those are the real heroes. This show has great music, and I don't just mean the cheesy wonderful theme song.* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: I Accuse My Parents (feature) & The Truck Farmer (short) *Cultivate, refrigerate, exaggerate, denigrate.* 2 1/2 stars with riffing 2 stars without

Son of the Beach: In The G-Hetto *"Read my lips, I'm going down there and I'm going to lick your posse, and I'm going to enjoy it."* 2 1/2 stars

Black Sails: season 1 episode 1 *Blackbeard's snatch. Captain Flint's fluoride smile. Long John Silver's sexy good looks. I doubt these third world bandits were really this stylized.*               2 1/2 stars

Fred Olen Ray's "Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers" (1988) *Heaven for guys who like big tits and Hell for guys who don't like to be chopped into little bits.* 3 stars

Hollywood Hillbillies: Headin' For Hollywood *Another internet infamous sensation extends he and his grandmother's 15 minutes of fame by acting as crass and crazy as possible for the reality tv cameras.* 1 star

TLC presents My Husband's Not Gay *These Latter Day Saint women believe that they have it made, because, with another woman, their husband would never stray. I wonder if the LGBT community would stand up for the rights of the "same sex attracted" who don't act on it for religious reasons, or if... ha... of coure not.* either zero                   or 2 1/2 stars

"Monster" (2003) *A look at someone, on the fringes of life, whose feral impulses sadly couldn't be justified even though she endured a life of inhuman treatment.* 3 stars

Viper: Pilot Movie *Not just a tv show promoting a crime fighting futuristic Dodge motor company concept car, maybe also a question of whether giving career criminals a clean slate of memory is violating their civil rights or not.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

"Midnight Plowboy" xxx (1971) *Welcome To The Jungle as performed by Going To The Country's Canned Heat.* 2 stars

Woops!: pilot episode (1992) *99.999999% of the world's population has died in a fiery hot flash, but a few quirky yuppies survive to yuck it up on a small farm. Cue the laugh track.*        2 stars

X Files: Eve *bloodthirsty replicas* 3 stars

"Nomads" (1986) *Searching too deep beneath the surface of reality, a cultural archaeologist starts being stalked by a skid row spirit-tribe.* close to 3 stars

Manimal: Manimal *Transmutation is not for the faint or feint of heart.* 2 1/2 stars

---- "Tusk" a Kevin Smith film (2014)

*20th century man spent his time doing amazing things, and had tales to tell later.

21st century man spends most of his time talking about ridiculous things.

This time 21st century man accomplishes one of those ridiculous things.

How to go about summing up something like this...

3 stars for the crazy screenplay.

3 stars for the incredible walrus special fx by Robert Kurtzman.

3 stars for Michael Parks' truly demented serial killer / world's most interesting man character.

2 stars for Haley Joel Osment's nerdy twenty something podcast comedy partner.

almost 2 1/2 stars for Justin Long's obnoxious and self absorbed hipster mustached podcast comedian.

3 stars for Justin Long's suffering through hell tortured and experimented on in the most gruesome way possible walrus-man.

1 1/2 stars for all the podcast nonsense.

either zero stars or 3 stars for Johnny Depp's Mike Myers esque eccentric inspector character.

and to finish out the whole whacked out affair, either 1 star or 3 stars for the absurd ending.*

===================================================================

Wizards and Warriors: The Unicorn of Death *Mind over matter. Also, lightning hawks, hawks that shoot lightning.* 3 stars

"Don't Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood" *"One fish two fish red fish blue fish, knick knack paddywhack give a dog a bone, Two thousand zero zero party over oops out of time, my bacon's smelling fine." The Wayans, just off of In Living Color and a handful of blackspoitation movies, take on Boyz in the Hood & Friday with their brand of satire that hadn't quite soured just yet like it would with the Scary Movie series. Somewhat not bad, nowhere as good as say an episode of Chapelle Show, but almost on the level of something like Comedy Central's Key & Peele.* 2 stars                      plus 3 stars for Bernie Mac's cameo speech

Freddy's Nightmares: School Daze ----------

*No more homework, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks. Just robotic students.* close to 2 1/2 stars

*Standard Achievement Torture.* 2 1/2 stars

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

"Ben and Arthur" (2002) *I'm sure that everyone involved with this shot-on-video "movie" had their big, gay hearts in the right place, but the results are so oddly misguided that it cursed the gay rights movement and set queer equality back at least a decade.* 1 star

Tales From The Crypt: My Brother's Keeper *Two guys attached at the ass-cheek, now that's freaks. And it's definitely a wild half of the siamese situation if Timothy Stack is the straight laced one.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Cannon Video: Fifty Fifty (1993) *A couple of "in it for the money" mercenaries find a change of heart and purpose, when they're sold out by the U.S. government after initially being hired to train a  ragtag group of villagers to overthrow a cruel dictator.*                 close to 3 stars

Jonny Quest: Double Danger *monkeying around with hallucinagens* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000:  Operation Double 007 *"Terrorists were a lot more fun back then." Thankfully, Sean Connery's brother, Neil, also didn't try to rip off Highlander 2 or Zardoz.* 3 stars with riffing 2 1/2 stars without

The Prisoner: The General *Blind memorization is a learn-ed way for a slave to show its appreciation to its masters.* 3 stars

Paranormal State: season 1 episode 19 *"Balancing faith and science" as the lead investigator questions whether or not he should debunk a crazy lady's haunting experiences.*                           between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

Swamp Thing: Walk A Mile In My Shoots *Arcane and Swamp Thing trade places.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

American Horror Story: Coven "Burn, Witch, Burn" *Ask me no questions and I'll tell thee no lie. Mama's little baby love shortenin'. Fry fry fry. Febreeze will get the odors out of any room where dead things lie.*   3 stars

American Gothic: Dead to the World *Denial ain't just a river in Bum-Fuck, Egypt.* close to 3 stars

Justified: season 1 episode 2 *Rhythm, romancin', runnin', and rippin' up the floorboards.* 3 stars

"The Census Taker" (1984) *"An outrageous invasion of privacy."* 3 stars

Hannibal: Potage *Manipulation in Maryland, Minnesota, and the media.* 3 stars

X Files: Fire *amorous arsonist* 2 1/2 stars

12 Monkeys: Pilot episode *Hourglasses of the hydra.* 2 1/2 stars

"The Thirteenth Floor" (1999) *"Hate to see that evening sun go down." Digital virtual deja-vu.* 3 stars

The Outer Limits: Birthright *Senator Al Gore is all about shooting up with supplements and saving the environment by saturating it with methane for his alien race to take over and inhabit.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Northern Exposure: Brains, Know How and Native Intelligence *singing the body electric and fixing the plumbing.* 3 stars

Son of the Beach: Love, Native American Style *firebush and big hose* 2 1/2 stars

Thundarr, the Barbarian: Island of the Body Snatchers *Ariel almost loses her mind and her body in the mystery zone.* 3 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark?: The Tale of the Twisted Claw *Wish in one hand, let a vulture shit in the other.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Eegah! *RRRR! Richard Kiel is really big and really lonely and he wants to rape a gal named Roxy. It's like King Kong set in a resort desert town where a Ricky Nelson reject is constantly rocking out.* 3 stars with riffing 2 without

Weird Science: The Feminine Mistake *The guys get turned into chicks and experience what the other sex has to go through with horny guys like themselves.* 3 stars

Jack London's "Call of the Wild" starring Charlton Heston & featuring "Buck" the dog *Buck worth more than all the gold in the Klondike.* 3 stars

"Ax Giant" *"All strut and no gut." Paul Bunyan puts a cgi sawblade through Grizzly Adams' bear-sized head for eating his blue ox named Babe.* 2 stars

MLK Day Tribute ---------------

Morton Downey Jr.: Racism with Dr. Charles King (2 appearances on the show) *One of the last ballsy, crazy, and passionately confused conversations about race conducted by the media before political correctness closed the door.* either zero or 3 stars

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

Abel Ferarra's "King of New York" (1990) *Max Shreck, magnanimous and soulful.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

X Files: Beyond the Sea *Serial killer -Brad Dourif- claims to channel the beyond and a grieving Scully's recently deceased dad. but is he just a coward staying execution?* 3 stars

Lucio Fulci's "The New York Ripper" *quacking misogyny* 3 stars

Red Shoe Diaries: Talk To Me Baby *"You gonna believe your eyes or are you gonna believe me?" Shared feelings and Samson-haired Bud "tries" to be less of a horndog for other women, but he's only a man afterall and after a night at the bar watching a wet t-shirt contest. If his hot foreign accent nympho girlfriend don't forgive him and talk, he's gonna flip his muscle car and go out Romeo style with her in the passenger seat.* 3 stars

William Friedkin's "Cruising" (1980) *assault, alarm, assuage, acclimate, assplay, and arrest* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Girl In Lovers Lane *Drifters and the females who foolishly fawn over them. A Route 66 romantic tragedy.* 3 stars with riffing 2 1/2 without

American Horror Story: Murder House "Spooky Little Girl" *The apparition of the Black Dahlia is misdiagnosed with acute anxiety.* 3 stars

Nic Cage is "Left Behind" (2014) *Bono raptured. U2 concert postponed.* either 1 star or 2 1/2 stars

Freddy's Nightmares: Cabin Fever -----------

*Fly the Freddy skies.* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

*Freddy finds his Laura Palmer.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

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

True Detective: The Locked Room *Scarred snowflakes* 3 stars

"Night Warning" (1983) *"Fuckin' deviants, the world is full of 'em." Hoop dreams, ''homophobia'', and a hilariously insane Susan Tyrrell.* 3 stars

Svengoolie: House of Horrors *Creepin' on art critics.* close to 3 stars

Tales from the Crypt: The Secret *Blue hued and sweet toothed tale of a wolf boy adopted by vampires.* 3 stars

Charles Bronson in "Cold Sweat" *A History of Violence in a French fishing village with American muscle car action.* close to 3 stars

Viper: Once A Thief *Viper-Man takes a suped-up stroll down memory lane with his delinquent former protege, Robin.* 2 1/2 stars

Son of the Beach: Two Thongs Don't Make A Right *The Devil's butt floss and daddy's B.J.* close to 2 1/2 stars

Betsy Russell is a "Tomboy" *Battle of the sexes in a light-hearted, cheesy reality that's not afraid to get raunchy.* 3 stars

American Horror Story: Freakshow "Magical Thinking" *Weak men and strong women.* close to 3 stars

Paranormal Witness: The Visitors *It's either one of two scenarios for this episode: A) A door to door salesman is duped into believing he's cursed with demons and uses his scientific background, and connections, to explain it. or B) A bored, middle-aged former scientist, and his tech buddies, try to establish a hoax with alledged proof of the paranormal.* 2 stars

The Greatest American Hero: The Hit Car *Heavier than air, heavy like Shakespeare.* 3 stars

"Killdozer" (1974) *Grizzled workmen in an isolated setting sci-fi horror that's similar to and yet almost a decade ahead of John Carpenter's "The Thing."*                          between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Black Sails: Season 1 Episode 2 *Cooking up a kingdom, of reprieve, through barter and betrayal.*            between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Dolph Lundgren in "Dark Angel" aka "I Come In Peace" (1990) *Phantasm's The Tall Man the cyberpunk / heavymetal years, now available on projectile compact-disc, just in time for a White-boy's Christmas.* 2 1/2 stars

Tim & Eric -Bedtime Stories: The Endorsement *Subversive swipe at Sunset BLVD* 3 stars

Puppy-Bowl: Unnecessary Roughness *Puppies wrestling at the "50 yard line" and hamsters overhead in a tiny blimp. This is okay with PETA, yet I can no longer go to my cockfights on Friday nights.* either 1 star or 2 1/2 stars

Kung Fu: Blood Brother *Dignity should not remain surrendered or buried in the mire.* 3 stars

Shaw Brothers: Roar of the Lion *(Traditional Chinese costumes) Lion versus dragon in a kung-fu dance off ceremony that's also comedy gold in a stunt filled comedy filled flick.* 3 stars

Manimal: Illusion *Manimal predicted the Siegfried & Roy tragedy, and Richard Lynch plays a diplomatic immunity villain before Lethal Weapon does the same.*           between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

King of the Hill: It Ain't Over Till The Fat Neighbor Sings *"What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again." In Hank's reality, he loses it when he can't micro-manage any poor decision making that's always hilariously exaggerated.* 3 stars

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia: The Gang Group Dates *Dennis comes unhinged when women rate him, online, as a zero. Frank can't keep Mac & Charlie from offending their blind dates, and he can't keep his cockring from slipping off. Dee's plan to stick it to men by giving them one night stands winds up backfiring.* 3 stars

Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital: Season 1 Episode 7 *Black noises, thirsting voices striking, impeaching.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

15 Storeys High: Blue Rat *All of the energy, none of the fuss, plus a pony.* 3 stars

Paranormal State: Season 1 Finale *A is for anxiety and or African American spirit girl humming to a sensitive, young medium girl.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

[ariel-herman]

Prayerful exodus from former Oceti Sakowin. Standing Rock, North Dakota.

A group of BIA cops surrounded three men who’d been caught smoking weed on camera. I took a seat in one of the leather chairs of the lobby and watched to police detain the three men to look for priors. The youngest of the three was physically nervous, the second seemed like he just wanted to get out of the situation. The third and largest man was a firekeeper from camp. He refused to step to one side while they detained them to look for warrants. An officer pulled his taser and threatened him.

With his arms up, he refused to leave his friend’s side. A captain came over and pulled his arm behind his back. He resisted the captain. Once he pushed his arm back up, he was potentially guilty of resisting arrest for disorderly. It was amazing how well they’d set up the precedent to make a non-violent man appear unreasonable. With a snap, the taser prongs landed in his chest. His ribs were broken there from a fall in camp. He screamed and fell over a chair, then onto the colorful carpet.

Structure fire, Oceti Sakowin.

I woke up on February 22nd and headed to camp. Camp leadership and media waiting on 1806 in a light sleet for the general from the Army Corps of Engineers and his entourage. They approached followed by an excavator. The players negotiated how those in the camp in passive resistance would be treated. It was agreed there would be people in prayer. The general listened, nodding with acknowledgement. The governor’s spokesman asked if heavy equipment could come in today during the day with police escorts to begin cleanup. Leadership declined, asking for our camp to be given time for closure. Media would be provided with a designated media zone up on 1806, but would have to leave after 2pm to make room for the army to move in.

After 2pm, anyone left in camp would be guilty (minimally) of federal trespassing charges. One legal source posited that this was good – federal court would have less intrinsic bias than North Dakota.

That night I’d stayed up worrying. A rumor had circulated that there was a weapons cache in camp. According to a former military specialist in camp, this was a classic FBI/AFT move – to plant weapons by way of an infiltrator, thereby demonstrating that the true nature of non-violent movements is in fact militancy. It might sound like a cooked up conspiracy theory, but there is a strong precedent already in existence. We had no way of knowing if the rumor was true per se.

Rumors and wishful thinking are the two most abundant resources. As an idea, it was deadly. The entire movement could have been dragged to its knees with the loss of any life, especially if our side appeared to fire first.

The team deployed to Standing Rock. Our media group searched for salient optics in camp. I slogged across the muddy fields of former Oceti Sakowin. The thaw had softened the ground and bled the snow into a thick, tire-torn sludge. Chunky snowflakes were falling. I remember when this land was prairie grasses padded down from the heavy foot traffic of protectors in service to the Sioux and water. Those hard grounds were as to this mud as the cold nights of November cold were to the deathly cold sunny days of January. I walked out to see the Hogan burning in a soft circle of orange flames. I didn’t talk to anyone there. Time was slowly ending in camp. Structures were lit up by folks of spiritual inclinations and rascal convictions; the wood burned just the same. Ash and snow became indistinguishable as they fell from the sky.

  Ritual burning of shelters in Oceti Sakowin.

By noon I began to grow tense. We had a significant resource atop media hill – a large school bus – and I wanted to save it. Part of us felt a strong ‘fuck it’ attitude. Let’s ride this out and let the bus sail into history with Oceti Sakowin. It was up to everyone to decide what their part needed to be. As the hours passed, no one had a clear answer if they wished to stay and face arrest or leave.

People congregated in the 7th Generation kitchen for coffee, snacks, and to thaw out by the barrel stove. Veterans, water protectors, renegades, rascals, rapscallions, patriots and political prisoners; all hung onto the last few hours in a place that had cultivated us with truth and beauty for many months. The prior day, a great thundercloud came out of the west drawing flashes and purpled fingers and roaring over the camp and police reminiscent of tephra.

At 1pm, a call was put out around camp for a ceremony. A sacred fire was burning by old flag road. Water protectors gathered around the speaker. A man spoke… We will not give them the satisfaction of taking us by force. We will, instead, offer a prayer and a round dance before walking to the evacuation busses by Echo 2 (the southern gate of Oceti Sakowin). Anyone who wished could, of course, stay and make a stand for treaty rights. An elder spoke, thanking us all for having come in service in fighting the black snake (DAPL). I stood with a boot in both worlds then, one as a white journalist, the other as someone whose heart had fallen for the movement. Men and women cried around the fire in a collective release.

The protectors marched up flag road to Echo 1 (north gate). I rushed alongside in the mud and snow, trying to take a photo that wasn’t filled with journalists trying to take the same shot. Behind them, a structure was going up in an immolate blaze casting a stream of black smoke to the sky. They marched through the gates and onto 1806. A Gadsden flag hung on the gate, harkening to the American Revolution with the classic defensive rattlesnake and the motto “Don’t Tread On Me” whipping on a northern wind. A makeshift spike strip (2×4 and nails) was laid out after them, razor wire drawn across the entrance, and the main gate into former Oceti Sakowin.

A friend found me at Echo 1. He’d been at court that morning for his arrest on Last Child Hill.

You made it back!

Yeah, I made it. I had to help out. There’s too many people here I need to help – to keep safe.

His eyes were moist and his voice waivered slightly. He was the kind of man who wants to keep everyone safe while at the same time abandoning their own well-being. His demeanor was like that of many die-hard water protectors.

I embraced him and pleaded, don’t forget to include yourself in the list of people that need saving. This place is a runaway train. Please, take care of yourself, too. These people have made their choice – that doesn’t make it your responsibility.

Yeah, but I do feel that way… I can’t not be here.

We parted ways. The security volunteers by Echo 1 prepared the checkpoint for ritual annihilation by filling it with hay bales and timber before generously dousing it with gasoline. Behind the building was 1806 covered with media and cops. Those on the ground took a few steps back as the security volunteer struggled to light the torch. With a soft underarm, the torch went through the door. FOOM! The instant force of the explosion ripping the walls from the 4x4s at each corner.

  Debris in Oceti Sakowin.

Black smoke rose toward the reservation in the south. We could see a Toyota pickup burning from atop media hill. Random booms came from a nearby structure fire as compressed gas bottles (LP or propellant canisters) ruptured deep in the flames. My friend Erick stationed himself with a few friends in a yurt next to the medical tent on the hill. He’d stay and attend the sacred fire. I did not have the same resolve to stay in my heart, or if I did, I was too scared to embrace it. To the south, people marched across the frozen Cannonball River dragging their possessions in sleds like refugees escaping a war zone.

At 2pm, media members scrambled to get one of our vehicles off the hill. The white van was sliding down the slick eastern face of the hill. We threw straw and cedar compost shavings behind the tires and tried to pull backwards. The van peeled out from its slick position, rolled back up the knoll and turned around down the northern slope toward Echo 1. I’d forgotten to tell him it was shut. A minute later the van blasted across the mudded fields like a great white torpedo and made exodus through Echo 2.

We stayed until 3pm. The risk of arrest increased each hour. Without confidence in this showdown being 100% peaceful, I left. It took us until 4pm to jump the bus. In the last hour, I pinched out a palm full of tobacco and prayed and said goodbye. As the bus warmed up we angled our descent from the hill.

The bus had no breaks whatsoever. Once we began, it would have to be perfect or the top heavy 19,000lb bus would slide down into camp like a sinister, albeit hilarious, textbook demonstration in friction coefficients, mass and gravity. Two other protectors keen on escape joined us, and we began the descent. As we began the police lined up outside Echo 1.

The bus pulled to the right and rolled into the first depression, then up another slight hill before dropping down the snowy southern slope. The bus rocked side to side as we slid down ice and mud toward piles of logs and random debris at the bottom. With no shortage of relief we arrived at a rare grassy patch in the south of camp completely surrounded by mud of unknown depth. After was Echo 2 cleared of traffic, the bus pulled forward like a great steel mud puppy. A lamp hanging on a hook swung around and smacked into the driver side bulkhead knocking the D-batters down into the stairwell. The driver cranked the wheel to the right then accelerated up the graveled exit toward 1806 with a guttural roar.

  Water protectors writing the legal support number on their arm, Oceti Sakowin.

After several BIA checkpoints we made it to the casino. The high emotions and levity faded throughout the evening. We waited around for the team to come back. By time dinner time, I hadn’t eaten a meal in 12 hours.

Our chief of media, John Bigalow, took the team out to the haute Hunters Club at the casino. It was a kind gesture, meant with a spirit of gratitude and celebration, but it felt wrong somehow. I’d gone from slogging across camp in sleet ash to sipping California Syrah and listening to oldies music beneath turtle shell glass chandeliers. Our friends were still down there. The police hadn’t moved on them yet. Camp was still standing, and here we were with two sizes of forks and waiters who attentively refilled my water glass every five minutes. I couldn’t handle it.

Two members hadn’t made it back, so two of our team left the dinner table before the food arrived to go find them. I tried to comment on the confusion of contrast between muddy camp and posh dining, but it wasn’t a happy table topic. I felt grief and shame welling up in me. My colleagues tried to gently coax me back to appreciating the moment. They didn’t understand. I excused myself from the table and went to the gaming floor.

I smoked a cigarette by a slot machine that paid out at exactly 96.40% and smoked a cigarette that was 100% killing me. My friend from camp walked by. He read me quick and sat down. I started to sob as quietly as I could and told him I regretted leaving camp and being here. Camp was like a mother to us. I’d prayed with comrades and dropped my tobacco in ceremony. I was heartbroken for a place which I had never wanted to lose, and yet had allowed myself to leave. At the time, it felt pragmatic. I was happy it had ended – I had wanted it to end – I did not know it how much it would hurt to let her go.

Now that I was in this casino, I couldn’t use my journalism to protect people there or inform the general public. I’d let myself down, and them – and we were of the Oceti Sakowin. Fillet minion tastes like shit when you’ve lost the battle.

He listened quietly. After I’d shaken some of it out, he made me eat my own words…

What’d that you said back in camp? Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too? I’m here right now because of what you said to me, and because other folk also told me the same exact thing…

Erick praying at gunpoint. Photo credit: Christopher Francisco, Oceti Sakowin Camp Media.

Oceti Sakowin was raided the next day by heavily armed law enforcement officers. They radiated south from Echo 1, systematically sweeping structures and arresting everyone. Erick sat with eyes closed by the sacred fire waiving turkey feathers over a bundle of sage and cedar. His prayers were not intended as a political statement, but they made an impact online when photographer Christopher Francisco videoed him being confronted by police brandishing M4 assault rifles. His image went viral. What had been a deeply personal act for Erick had become the epitome of Standing Rock down to her last protector. He reminded me why I had come to Standing Rock, how beautiful life can be when we shamelessly pursue what matters most, and to tend our fires ceaselessly.

After Francisco was arrested and his camera feed cut, the sacred items were ripped from Erick’s hands and his face was pushed into the mud. A knee was put to the back of his neck, and after 5 hours wearing zip-tie cuffs, he permanently lost sensation on the top of his thumb.

The line of armored police pushed across camp up to the northern banks of the Cannonball River. A Customs and Border Patrol helicopter low-buzzed the riverbanks sweeping wide around camp. On the frozen river were a hundred or so water protectors.

Everyone needs to affirm their sovereignty. Part of the problem, to me, was how many seemed to base that affirmation on the presence of a dominator rather than an abundance of intrinsic conviction. That aspect doesn’t account for the numerous reasons for people being on the river that day, brandishing medicine wheels and political banners. Yet I wondered if it were true in a collective sense. If so, it is a huge distraction to getting a significant dialogue going between all sides regarding the collective existential threat of ecological ruin awaiting future generations.

I walked along the southern shore from Sacred Stone to Rosebud by 1806. Abandoned camping supplies littered the upper banks. There were shelves with stacks of food and between unoccupied army tents and tipis. A campfire of large rounds steadily burned in the middle of an empty camp. To the north, an excavator was destroying buildings from what had become a runaway construction effort. Atop a single building, a water protector wove a flag at police. It was quiet. Oceti Sakowin had been like our mother. We were exiled in dreams of the afterbirth, imagining where the next frontline would be. Could we afford not to oppose the Trump Administration’s insulting disregard of the Constitution and the earth? No, this was too soon, we still needed to grieve over a warm corpse.

Fifteen BIA officers entered at 1806 and began to march toward me. It was time to go.

Customs and Border Patrol helicopter over the Cannonball River. To the left is Rosebud, to the right is former Oceti Sakowin.

Cables make getting across thinning ice less precarious. Above, law enforcement officers take the upper bank and last section of Oceti Sakwoin Camp.

We’ve all had to say goodbye to someone we loved. There is a kind of goodbye that hurts more than any other. It comes when we let go of someone who, upon later reflection, we wish we’d fought harder to keep. From my hotel suite down the road from Standing Rock, it’s hard to arrest my speculation – did I do everything in my power to save her? Was it ever possible to keep a place like that?

The answer to both is no. For many reasons, it is good that it ended.

From death to deadlines, the rules of heaven are, according to Aristotle, unchanging and unwritten. He also reminds us that, an education of the mind without an education of the heart is no education at all. In this respect, it has been an immense education.

How We Say Goodbye to Oceti Sakowin A group of BIA cops surrounded three men who’d been caught smoking weed on camera. I took a seat in one of the leather chairs of the lobby and watched to police detain the three men to look for priors.

[ruanaich]

Failed astro shots but stunning scenery

I had taken Friday off work as I had to get the car headlights sorted. I’ve banked a load of days to take for my sliding addiction and need to start using them before the end of March. There is still a severe lack of snow around so I’ve been seeking alternatives to snowboarding. So I decided to pack up camera gear and a sleeping bag, find replacement headlamps then aim for the hills.

After as short stop at Halfords where the headlamp issue was resolved, I checked the weather forecast, and decided to visit Glen Etive. It never fails to impress when it comes to scenery and the weather looked like changing from misty to clear overnight. I wanted to shoot some astro photos followed by a morning taking in the views.

It was near dusk as I drove down the Glen on a recce drive. Glen Etive can be busy, and I wanted to see how it looked. As I drove down the road made famous in the James Bond movie, Skyfall I spotted a cyclist making his way towards me. This would be a nice spot to cycle I thought. I’ll put that on the to-do list.  Stopping frequently, I took some moody evening shots with mountains disappearing into the low cloud then eventually made it down as far as cars can go. I pulled up in the carpark and sat back, contemplating just staying here for the night. It was around 5pm, I had enough food and my stove to see me through, but then people started turning up. I’d hoped that in January it would be quieter, but it wants to be. The visitors unloaded a couple of tents and started seeing up for the night. While I cant begrudge them the beautiful camp spot, they kept shining their head torches into the car. They probably thought I was a weirdo sitting in a darkened car park and were worried for their own safety! I decided to head back up the road, I get something to eat and look for another spend the night on the way.

My thought was to go to the Kingshouse Hotel for some dinner, but on arrival I found it was closed for renovation. Luckily they have set up bunkhouses and a The Way Inn where I could get some food. It was a bit sparse and cold looking compared to the old world charm of the Kingshouse, but it is only a stop-gap until they complete renovations.

I ordered something to eat and got chatting to the only other guest who turned out to be the cyclist I passed earlier. We got talking about skiing, hiking cycling the Western Isles and its archeology.

At around 8pm I decided to get back to Glen Etive and seek out one of the spots I found earlier. There were a few vehicles parked up, many of which would be climbers planning an early assault on the hills. My spot was 5 minutes from the end of the Loch and consisted of a grassy turnoff, with raised banks either side that hid the car from view. It also meant I could get a bit of height above the road when taking starry photos later in the night.

So I settled in for the night, tucking myself into my sleeping bag in the passenger seat of the car. Sticking a movie on my iPad I never mad it to the end and drifted off to sleep.

I woke up around 5:30am with a bright moon shining though a frozen passenger side window. There were still a few hours of darkness left so I did the best I could to ready my gear and get out to photograph the stars to the North. I thought I could capture a nice circumpolar shot. I tried to remember all the settings and timings and fitted my intervalometer, with a view to capturing around 300 star shots over the next few hours.

So once set, I left my camera shooting away and returned to the car to get reheated and stop my finger tips from turning blue. I drifted back to sleep listening to podcasts in the now warm car.

As the sky lightened I plucked up the courage to face the frost outside and collect my camera and review the images I’d captured. On picking up the equipment and was alarmed to see that my lens was completely covered in condensation. A patch of warmer air must have passed by and condensed on the cooler glass. I was hoping out of three hundred shots, I’d get a few minutes time lapse. Unfortunately it turned out that the mist must have arrived shortly after I left the camera as the resulting footage turned out to be only 3-4 seconds at a paltry eleven frames per second – major fail on my part. Someone on Instagram kindly suggested I try strapping some hand warmers to the lens to prevent this in future. Better luck next time, you live and you learn.

The disappointment from my astro photography was alleviated briefly with a warming coffee brewed up on my stove and a fruit salad breakfast followed by a granola bar.

The sun was getting higher, not yet over the hill tops as I drove down towards the loch head and the carpark I’d visited the evening before, stopping a couple of times for a few more shots. I left the car and took a wander down to the pier area. This pier consisted of a steel hull with to piles for legs. This hull was coated in a very slick frost and I was risking a fall as I shuffled my way across to get views up and down the loch. The moon was still visible and the sun light was skimming the very high peaks above the valley.

The still waters and shady valley was the subject of my photography for a while before I  returned to the car to make my way back up the Glen, hoping I could get a shot of a stag or two as I’d passed many in the darkness of the previous evening.

As I left in the car I passed the ‘Smiddy’ which I think is a rental property and was very disappointed to see the grounds littered with ‘tonic wine’ bottles, empty beer bottles and pizza boxes. The remnants of what I’m sure was a great night under the stars, but I was saddened the occupants hadn’t bothered to use the bins provided. It looked like they were sleeping off there hangovers, but all the oncoming tourists I passed on the way to this beauty spot would have been faced with this sight on arrival. Glen Etive and its residents have been facing an increase in unsavoury behaviour from passing visitors. This has become more of an issue since wild camping bans have pushed more people out of the national parks. You can find out more at the Facebook page devoted to this issue here: https://www.facebook.com/Glenetivethedirtytruth/

My journey up the glen improved under bright blue skies with occasional fog banks that hugged the sides of the hills. I kept an eye out for deer and in particular stags which are well known for frequenting this road, but I only found one youngster who turned out to be less than cooperative when it came to having his portrait taken. It was a Saturday morning and many a visitor was making the most of it. So maybe the deer decided to take themselves to  higher pastures and make the most of the fair weather themselves.

As I passed the Buachaille, the most famous of Scottish mountains I watched a drone whizz along parallel to my route. I’d never seen one in the wild before, and it wasn’t long before I saw my second further along on Ranch Moor!

I stopped in at Glencoe Mountain Resort, for a second breakfast of roll and sausage, which has to be done. If they cant arrange for enough snowfall this year, then at least I know I can still get a tasty snack in their cafe! Its also a great place to catch grab some wifi and edit some of my shots while staring out go the large glass wall with probably the most impressive views from any cafe in the United Kingdom.

I  didn’t get the star shots I aimed for, but the weather had been beautiful in the morning giving me some serene images to go home with. Still a success in my books.

Glen Etive Failed astro shots but stunning scenery I had taken Friday off work as I had to get the car headlights sorted.

[readbookywooks]

Jon

Sam?" Jon called softly.

The air smelled of paper and dust and years. Before him, tall wooden shelves rose up into dimness, crammed with leatherbound books and bins of ancient scrolls. A faint yellow glow filtered through the stacks from some hidden lamp. Jon blew out the taper he carried, preferring not to risk an open flame amidst so much old dry paper. Instead he followed the light, wending his way down the narrow aisles beneath barrel-vaulted ceilings. All in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye. Black moleskin gloves covered his hands; the right because it was burned, the left because a man felt half a fool wearing only one glove.

Samwell Tarly sat hunched over a table in a niche carved into the stone of the wall. The glow came from the lamp hung over his head. He looked up at the sound of Jon's steps.

"Have you been here all night?"

"Have I?" Sam looked startled.

"You didn't break your fast with us, and your bed hadn't been slept in." Rast suggested that maybe Sam had deserted, but Jon never believed it. Desertion required its own sort of courage, and Sam had little enough of that.

"Is it morning? Down here there's no way to know."

"Sam, you're a sweet fool," Jon said. "You'll miss that bed when we're sleeping on the cold hard ground, I promise you."

Sam yawned. "Maester Aemon sent me to find maps for the Lord Commander. I never thought . . . Jon, the books, have you ever seen their like? There are thousands!"

He gazed about him. "The library at Winterfell has more than a hundred. Did you find the maps?"

"Oh, yes." Sam's hand swept over the table, fingers plump as sausages indicating the clutter of books and scrolls before him. "A dozen, at the least." He unfolded a square of parchment. "The paint has faded, but you can see where the mapmaker marked the sites of wildling villages, and there's another book . . . where is it now? I was reading it a moment ago." He shoved some scrolls aside to reveal a dusty volume bound in rotted leather. "This," he said reverently, "is the account of a journey from the Shadow Tower all the way to Lorn Point on the Frozen Shore, written by a ranger named Redwyn. It's not dated, but he mentions a Dorren Stark as King in the North, so it must be from before the Conquest. Jon, they fought giants! Redwyn even traded with the children of the forest, it's all here." Ever so delicately, he turned pages with a finger. "He drew maps as well, see . . . "

"Maybe you could write an account of our ranging, Sam."

He'd meant to sound encouraging, but it was the wrong thing to say. The last thing Sam needed was to be reminded of what faced them on the morrow. He shuffled the scrolls about aimlessly. "There's more maps. If I had time to search . . . everything's a jumble. I could set it all to order, though; I know I could, but it would take time . . . well, years, in truth."

"Mormont wanted those maps a little sooner than that." Jon plucked a scroll from a bin, blew off the worst of the dust. A corner flaked off between his fingers as he unrolled it. "Look, this one is crumbling," he said, frowning over the faded script.

"Be gentle." Sam came around the table and took the scroll from his hand, holding it as if it were a wounded animal. "The important books used to be copied over when they needed them. Some of the oldest have been copied half a hundred times, probably."

"Well, don't bother copying that one. Twenty-three barrels of pickled cod, eighteen jars of fish oil, a cask of salt . . . "

"An inventory," Sam said, "or perhaps a bill of sale."

"Who cares how much pickled cod they ate six hundred years ago?" Jon wondered.

"I would." Sam carefully replaced the scroll in the bin from which Jon had plucked it. "You can learn so much from ledgers like that, truly you can. it can tell you how many men were in the Night's Watch then, how they lived, what they ate . . . "

"They ate food," said Jon, "and they lived as we live."

"You'd be surprised. This vault is a treasure, Jon."

"If you say so." Jon was doubtful. Treasure meant gold, silver, and jewels, not dust, spiders, and rotting leather.

"I do," the fat boy blurted. He was older than Jon, a man grown by law, but it was hard to think of him as anything but a boy. "I found drawings of the faces in the trees, and a book about the tongue of the children of the forest . . . works that even the Citadel doesn't have, scrolls from old Valyria, counts of the seasons written by maesters dead a thousand years . . . "

"The books will still be here when we return."

"If we return . . . "

"The Old Bear is taking two hundred seasoned men, three-quarters of them rangers. Qhorin Halfhand will be bringing another hundred brothers from the Shadow Tower. You'll be as safe as if you were back in your lord father's castle at Horn Hill."

Samwell Tarly managed a sad little smile. "I was never very safe in my father's castle either."

The gods play cruel jests, Jon thought. Pyp and Toad, all a lather to be a part of the great ranging, were to remain at Castle Black. It was Samwell Tarly, the self-proclaimed coward, grossly fat, timid, and near as bad a rider as he was with a sword, who must face the haunted forest. The Old Bear was taking two cages of ravens, so they might send back word as they went. Maester Aemon was blind and far too frail to ride with them, so his steward must go in his place. "We need you for the ravens, Sam. And someone has to help me keep Grenn humble."

Sam's chins quivered. "You could care for the ravens, or Grenn could, or anyone," he said with a thin edge of desperation in his voice. "I could show you how. You know your letters too, you could write down Lord Mormont's messages as well as I."

"I'm the Old Bear's steward. I'll need to squire for him, tend his horse, set up his tent; I won't have time to watch over birds as well. Sam, you said the words. You're a brother of the Night's Watch now."

"A brother of the Night's Watch shouldn't be so scared."

"We're all scared. We'd be fools if we weren't." Too many rangers had been lost the past two years, even Benjen Stark, Jon's uncle. They had found two of his uncle's men in the wood, slain, but the corpses had risen in the chill of night. Jon's burnt fingers twitched as he remembered. He still saw the wight in his dreams, dead Othor with the burning blue eyes and the cold black hands, but that was the last thing Sam needed to be reminded of. "There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it. Come, I'll help you gather up the maps."

Sam nodded unhappily. The shelves were so closely spaced that they had to walk single file as they left. The vault opened onto one of the tunnels the brothers called the wormwalks, winding subterranean passages that linked the keeps and towers of Castle Black under the earth. In summer the wormwalks were seldom used, save by rats and other vermin, but winter was a different matter. When the snows drifted forty and fifty feet high and the ice winds came howling out of the north, the tunnels were all that held Castle Black together.

Soon, Jon thought as they climbed. He'd seen the harbinger that had come to Maester Aemon with word of summer's end, the great raven of the Citadel, white and silent as Ghost. He had seen a winter once, when he was very young, but everyone agreed that it had been a short one, and mild. This one would be different. He could feel it in his bones.

The steep stone steps had Sam puffing like a blacksmith's bellows by the time they reached the surface. They emerged into a brisk wind that made Jon's cloak swirl and snap. Ghost was stretched out asleep beneath the wattle-and-daub wall of the granary, but he woke when Jon appeared, bushy white tail held stiffly upright as he trotted to them.

Sam squinted up at the Wall. It loomed above them, an icy cliff seven hundred feet high. Sometimes it seemed to Jon almost a living thing, with moods of its own. The color of the ice was wont to change with every shift of the light. Now it was the deep blue of frozen rivers, now the dirty white of old snow, and when a cloud passed before the sun it darkened to the pale grey of pitted stone. The Wall stretched east and west as far as the eye could see, so huge that it shrunk the timbered keeps and stone towers of the castle to insignificance. It was the end of the world.

And we are going beyond it.

The morning sky was streaked by thin grey clouds, but the pale red line was there behind them. The black brothers had dubbed the wanderer Mormont's Torch, saying (only half in jest) that the gods must have sent it to light the old man's way through the haunted forest.

"The comet's so bright you can see it by day now," Sam said, shading his eyes with a fistful of books.

"Never mind about comets, it's maps the Old Bear wants."

Ghost loped ahead of them. The grounds seemed deserted this morning, with so many rangers off at the brothel in Mole's Town, digging for buried treasure and drinking themselves blind. Grenn had gone with them. Pyp and Halder and Toad had offered to buy him his first woman to celebrate his first ranging. They'd wanted Jon and Sam to come as well, but Sam was almost as frightened of whores as he was of the haunted forest, and Jon had wanted no part of it. "Do what you want," he told Toad, "I took a vow."

As they passed the sept, he heard voices raised in song. Some men want whores on the eve of battle, and some want gods. Jon wondered who felt better afterward. The sept tempted him no more than the brothel; his own gods kept their temples in the wild places, where the weirwoods spread their bone-white branches. The Seven have no power beyond the Wall, he thought, but my gods will be waiting.

Outside the armory, Ser Endrew Tarth was working with some raw recruits. They'd come in last night with Conwy, one of the wandering crows who roamed the Seven Kingdoms collecting men for the Wall. This new crop consisted of a greybeard leaning on a staff, two blond boys with the look of brothers, a foppish youth in soiled satin, a raggy man with a clubfoot, and some grinning loon who must have fancied himself a warrior. Ser Endrew was showing him the error of that presumption. He was a gentler master-at-arms than Ser Alliser Thorne had been, but his lessons would still raise bruises. Sam winced at every blow, but Jon Snow watched the swordplay closely.

"What do you make of them, Snow?" Donal Noye stood in the door of his armory, bare-chested under a leather apron, the stump of his left arm uncovered for once. With his big gut and barrel chest, his flat nose and bristly black jaw, Noyc did not make a pretty sight, but he was a welcome one nonetheless. The armorer had proved himself a good friend.

"They smell of summer," Jon said as Ser Endrew bullrushed his foe and knocked him sprawling. "Where did Conwy find them?"

"A lord's dungeon near Gulltown," the smith replied. "A brigand, a barber, a beggar, two orphans, and a boy whore. With such do we defend the realms of men."

"They'll do." Jon gave Sam a private smile. "We did."

Noye drew him closer. "You've heard these tidings of your brother?"

"Last night." Conwy and his charges had brought the news north with them, and the talk in the common room had been of little else. Jon was still not certain how he felt about it. Robb a king? The brother he'd played with, fought with, shared his first cup of wine with? But not mother's milk, no. So now Robb will sip summerwine from jeweled goblets, while I'm kneeling beside some stream sucking snowmelt from cupped hands. "Robb will make a good king," he said loyally.

"Will he now?" The smith eyed him frankly. "I hope that's so, boy, but once I might have said the same of Robert."

"They say you forged his warhammer," Jon remembered.

"Aye. I was his man, a Baratheon man, smith and armorer at Storm's End until I lost the arm. I'm old enough to remember Lord Steffon before the sea took him, and I knew those three sons of his since they got their names. I tell you this—Robert was never the same after he put on that crown. Some men are like swords, made for fighting. Hang them up and they go to rust."

"And his brothers?" Jon asked.

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends. And Renly, that one, he's copper, bright and shiny, pretty to look at but not worth all that much at the end of the day."

And what metal is Robb? Jon did not ask. Noye was a Baratheon man; likely he thought Joffrey the lawful king and Robb a traitor. Among the brotherhood of the Night's Watch, there was an unspoken pact never to probe too deeply into such matters. Men came to the Wall from all of the Seven Kingdoms, and old loves and loyalties were not easily forgotten, no matter how many oaths a man swore . . . as Jon himself had good reason to know. Even Sam—his father's House was sworn to Highgarden, whose Lord Tyrell supported King Renly. Best not to talk of such things. The Night's Watch took no sides. "Lord Mormont awaits us," Jon said.

"I won't keep you from the Old Bear." Noye clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "May the gods go with you on the morrow, Snow. You bring back that uncle of yours, you hear?"

"We will," Jon promised him.

Lord Commander Mormont had taken up residence in the King's Tower after the fire had gutted his own. Jon left Ghost with the guards outside the door. "More stairs," said Sam miserably as they started up. "I hate stairs."

"Well, that's one thing we won't face in the wood."

When they entered the solar, the raven spied them at once. "Snow!" the bird shrieked. Mormont broke off his conversation. "Took you long enough with those maps." He pushed the remains of breakfast out of the way to make room on the table. "Put them here. I'll have a look at them later."

Thoren Smallwood, a sinewy ranger with a weak chin and a weaker mouth hidden under a thin scraggle of beard, gave Jon and Sam a cool look. He had been one of Alliser Thorne's henchmen, and had no love for either of them. "The Lord Commander's place is at Castle Black, lording and commanding," he told Mormont, ignoring the newcomers, "it seems to me."

The raven flapped big black wings. "Me, me, me."

"If you are ever Lord Commander, you may do as you please," Mormont told the ranger, "but it seems to me that I have not died yet, nor have the brothers put you in my place."

"I'm First Ranger now, with Ben Stark lost and Ser Jaremy killed," Smallwood said stubbornly. "The command should be mine."

Mormont would have none of it. "I sent out Ben Stark, and Ser Waymar before him. I do not mean to send you after them and sit wondering how long I must wait before I give you up for lost as well." He pointed. "And Stark remains First Ranger until we know for a certainty that he is dead. Should that day come, it will be me who names his successor, not you. Now stop wasting my time. We ride at first light, or have you forgotten?"

Smallwood pushed to his feet. "As my lord commands." On the way out, he frowned at Jon, as if it were somehow his fault.

"First Ranger!" The Old Bear's eyes lighted on Sam. "I'd sooner name you First Ranger. He has the effrontery to tell me to my face that I'm too old to ride with him. Do I look old to you, boy?" The hair that had retreated from Mormont's spotted scalp had regrouped beneath his chin in a shaggy grey beard that covered much of his chest. He thumped it hard. "Do I look frail?"

Sam opened his mouth, gave a little squeak. The Old Bear terrified him. "No, my lord," Jon offered quickly. "You look strong as a . . . a . . . "

"Don't cozen me, Snow, you know I won't have it. Let me have a look at these maps." Mormont pawed through them brusquely, giving each no more than a glance and a grunt. "Was this all you could find?"

"I . . . m-m-my lord," Sam stammered, "there . . . there were more, b-b-but . . . the dis-disorder . . . "

"These are old," Mormont complained, and his raven echoed him with a sharp cry of "Old, old."

"The villages may come and go, but the hills and rivers will be in the same places," Jon pointed out.

"True enough. Have you chosen your ravens yet, Tarly?"

"M-m-maester Aemon m-means to p-pick them come evenfall, after the f-f-feeding."

"I'll have his best. Smart birds, and strong."

"Strong," his own bird said, preening. "Strong, strong."

"If it happens that we're all butchered out there, I mean for my successor to know where and how we died."

Talk of butchery reduced Samwell Tarly to speechlessness. Mormont leaned forward. "Tarly, when I was a lad half your age, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was like to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware of weasels." He waved a brusque dismissal. "Off with you, I'm too busy for folly. No doubt the maester has some work you can do."

Sam swallowed, stepped back, and scurried out so quickly he almost tripped over the rushes.

"Is that boy as big a fool as he seems?" the Lord Commander asked when he'd gone. "Fool," the raven complained. Mormont did not wait for Jon to answer. "His lord father stands high in King Renly's councils, and I had half a notion to dispatch him . . . no, best not. Renly is not like to heed a quaking fat boy. I'll send Ser Arnell. He's a deal steadier, and his mother was one of the green-apple Fossoways."

"If it please my lord, what would you have of King Renly?"

"The same things I'd have of all of them, lad. Men, horses, swords, armor, grain, cheese, wine, wool, nails . . . the Night's Watch is not proud, we take what is offered." His fingers drummed against the roughhewn planks of the table. "If the winds have been kind, Ser Alliser should reach King's Landing by the turn of the moon, but whether this boy Joffrey will pay him any heed, I do not know. House Lannister has never been a friend to the Watch."

"Thorne has the wight's hand to show them." A grisly pale thing with black fingers, it was, that twitched and stirred in its jar as if it were still alive.

"Would that we had another hand to send to Renly."

"Dywen says you can find anything beyond the Wall."

"Aye, Dywen says. And the last time he went ranging, he says he saw a bear fifteen feet tall." Mormont snorted. "My sister is said to have taken a bear for her lover. I'd believe that before I'd believe one fifteen feet tall. Though in a world where dead come walking . . . ah, even so, a man must believe his eyes. I have seen the dead walk. I've not seen any giant bears." He gave Jon a long, searching look. "But we were speaking of hands. How is yours?"

"Better." Jon peeled off his moleskin glove and showed him. Scars covered his arm halfway to the elbow, and the mottled pink flesh still felt tight and tender, but it was healing. "It itches, though. Maester Aemon says that's good. He gave me a salve to take with me when we ride."

"You can wield Longclaw despite the pain?"

"Well enough." Jon flexed his fingers, opening and closing his fist the way the maester had shown him. "I'm to work the fingers every day to keep them nimble, as Maester Aemon said."

"Blind he may be, but Aemon knows what he's about. I pray the gods let us keep him another twenty years. Do you know that he might have been king?"

Jon was taken by surprise. "He told me his father was king, but not . . . I thought him perhaps a younger son."

"So he was. His father's father was Daeron Targaryen, the Second of His Name, who brought Dorne into the realm. Part of the pact was that he wed a Dornish princess. She gave him four sons. Aemon's father Maekar was the youngest of those, and Aemon was his third son. Mind you, all this happened long before I was born, ancient as Smallwood would make me."

"Maester Aemon was named for the Dragonknight."

"So he was. Some say Prince Aemon was King Daeron's true father, not Aegon the Unworthy. Be that as it may, our Aemon lacked the Dragonknight's martial nature. He likes to say he had a slow sword but quick wits. Small wonder his grandfather packed him off to the Citadel. He was nine or ten, I believe . . . and ninth or tenth in the line of succession as well."

Maester Aemon had counted more than a hundred name days, Jon knew. Frail, shrunken, wizened, and blind, it was hard to imagine him as a little boy no older than Arya.

Mormont continued. "Aemon was at his books when the eldest of his uncles, the heir apparent, was slain in a tourney mishap. He left two sons, but they followed him to the grave not long after, during the Great Spring Sickness. King Daeron was also taken, so the crown passed to Daeron's second son, Aerys."

"The Mad King?" Jon was confused. Aerys had been king before Robert, that wasn't so long ago.

"No, this was Aerys the First. The one Robert deposed was the second of that name."

"How long ago was this?"

"Eighty years or close enough," the Old Bear said, "and no, I still hadn't been born, though Aemon had forged half a dozen links of his maester's chain by then. Aerys wed his own sister, as the Targaryens were wont to do, and reigned for ten or twelve years. Aemon took his vows and left the Citadel to serve at some lordling's court . . . until his royal uncle died without issue. The Iron Throne passed to the last of King Daeron's four sons. That was Maekar, Aemon's father. The new king summoned all his sons to court and would have made Aemon part of his councils, but he refused, saying that would usurp the place rightly belonging to the Grand Maester. Instead he served at the keep of his eldest brother, another Daeron. Well, that one died too, leaving only a feeble-witted daughter as heir. Some pox he caught from a whore, I believe. The next brother was Aerion."

"Aerion the Monstrous?" Jon knew that name. "The Prince Who Thought He Was a Dragon" was one of Old Nan's more gruesome tales. His little brother Bran had loved it.

"The very one, though he named himself Aerion Brightflame. One night, in his cups, he drank a jar of wildfire, after telling his friends it would transform him into a dragon, but the gods were kind and it transformed him into a corpse. Not quite a year after, King Maekar died in battle against an outlaw lord."

Jon was not entirely innocent of the history of the realm; his own maester had seen to that. "That was the year of the Great Council," he said. "The lords passed over Prince Aerion's infant son and Prince Daeron's daughter and gave the crown to Aegon."

"Yes and no. First they offered it, quietly, to Aemon. And quietly he refused. The gods meant for him to serve, not to rule, he told them. He had sworn a vow and would not break it, though the High Septon himself offered to absolve him. Well, no sane man wanted any blood of Aerion's on the throne, and Daeron's girl was a lackwit besides being female, so they had no choice but to turn to Aemon's younger brother—Aegon, the Fifth of His Name. Aegon the Unlikely, they called him, born the fourth son of a fourth son. Aemon knew, and rightly, that if he remained at court those who disliked his brother's rule would seek to use him, so he came to the Wall. And here he has remained, while his brother and his brother's son and his son each reigned and died in turn, until Jaime Lannister put an end to the line of the Dragonkings."

"King," croaked the raven. The bird flapped across the solar to land on Mormont's shoulder. "King," it said again, strutting back and forth.

"He likes that word," Jon said, smiling.

"An easy word to say. An easy word to like."

"King," the bird said again.

"I think he means for you to have a crown, my lord."

"The realm has three kings already, and that's two too many for my liking." Mormont stroked the raven under the beak with a finger, but all the while his eyes never left Jon Snow.

It made him feel odd. "My lord, why have you told me this, about Maester Aemon?"

"Must I have a reason?" Mormont shifted in his seat, frowning. "Your brother Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A king for a brother."

"And this too," said Jon. "A vow."

The Old Bear gave a loud snort, and the raven took flight, flapping in a circle about the room, "Give me a man for every vow I've seen broken and the Wall will never lack for defenders."

"I've always known that Robb would be Lord of Winterfell."

Mormont gave a whistle, and the bird flew to him again and settled on his arm. "A lord's one thing, a king's another." He offered the raven a handful of corn from his pocket. "They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You'll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they'll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon . . . and I'll name you a liar, and know I have the truth of it."

Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. "And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?"

"What will you do?" Mormont asked. "Bastard as you are?"

"Be troubled," said Jon, "and keep my vows."