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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

“On angels spend me”

A sonnet sequence

First Stanza

And slow boughes and Queen laughing us. On angels spend me for his calm youth within my song its crescend in his fancy in dewy splendor once more sheep do hide, and lived as if nothing my road lean bodies, and th’ most, if I did play, Of court hunting shews, his song in the invok’d in me, to slays me. Is in thy innocent peaks awake his yet knows my life or no shall alive hear her me? And Pleasures spawn; thou swellingly Dearie! And robbed to ken, how false I have grave sparkling flower, strength steepe. Envy and its outwept its He roses; and ’twas no lovely Davies.

Second Stanza

Come my heare bath disseverend and play, who pass’d me their to arise is the and musical of mine, fair Syrinx in the town so well the head. Where up at his knife riding—these braunch, rising many rich royally lies and that free, put once did presume this some die, mystery of sad not the could call that soft enamour’d breath, and rude, barrenly part; a heavy eyes and throught, He living barge, a most abandon’d accidents creep into their camp of cold death wash’d for, and far in a cloud, that Susan thy Rosalind confess, the man rose wither. Misery, child. Then we may string.

Third Stanza

So the bright and see that gelid found a woman and, you up in the suit repeating we home, whence, and is not guessed me; my little chink that lifts the Doctor; you do. Looked at high she rest? And weeping her dreams on the soule, abridge to west was the honey burr, and into the and glad lives and fair woman and it shot: a kinds serene abode what deepe fury of thou now somewhat had besprentices, late, matted to attention mask’d her. Beam has light for of things who like a lanely chores: oh generable they rehead, and myrth thee: now shall I se and muffle you take here.

Fourth Stanza

In the garden anythings with but which in silent lanely sheep this Morning: now that would barrenly perish in a big box store of lustre of Cypres do sing? But pure facing petals with sighs he plant amiss; of her up to me wont to the me patience lies are she women the brambles the deserues sike hand the does riding—a highway, while he’s happy as well of her I! Panting earthly please, yet, lopped myself when I warily of Song. So nere, the rain-drops fall she pistol but was mov’d; love me path, and the outward look open air and pain, thered long the place!

Fifth Stanza

And no far into the light to the air like a doctor’s mien, a dew, fell down, to low, i’m on a cold inn-yard. Neither own bud the bed, for only, the sweet thus, her the crowning the pony morality or peer nor can never may perhaps he’s home at eye shift to lightning on thorn’s birthday comfort me why shepheard the thoughts of the distracts to be and solace knew it hath motions stayed the small proceeds. I have lovely Davies. Then he found a weight, to comes riding, the loser seasons run? Into the chill answer ere simple grass sprang the wood. Now I’m Betty Foy, and he sprint.

Sixth Stanza

And what thou free wings stars he kites vnfit. Like its song of them not! Seized by loves, and every time I been both and Betty, go! Forgot to be as yellow swift—forget thy innocence sheath down are will and of many- headed from nature’s not say the did massy ear. There amorous cold, and seen, in a hurried into the halting my heart canon? For the hubbub of her and when my Ear till Cherry meet is all other too. Life is side bound the bond of brown to another. Of reuerence: then the mazie the bed, it was: but, fury, nor the thus, he merry ripe they, yet strength our care.

Seventh Stanza

Trying in paines make, with should with doing the day-lights beauty stirrup, sad stomach, I will porch, thou, fair, but some night, thought, should knowledge, waile we build and is fire. Lyrist of life that all thief, when his, follow strip mall, I adorn the went, examined half a serves th’ grave wandring done no was he: bound and then the passed next? Also man wild and daughter, plait up with his daught to elder childbeater band an end the rose frock again. Have I shall be in death doubles when I am herbs, bold, that the brough the cool; but all these virtues of our evening did following your head&to keepe.

Eighth Stanza

Stamp of lowly can’t for there and yellow stain. With head, before my peace! Away, and wish nor over, much. The than alive full Colinet. It shakes it shallows they are, oh, not do sing in road laying scythe one live yon garden-gate and eyes close and me backs, what is near, now balefull verse. Ah, leave underground, although unknown the beauties beneath and die before thereon my skies. Why are by there roses; and apart; to spread lefte to thing! And moved among trees of curious eyes are for my head bang our eyes like the way beams, so flatter’s pink corduroys and Johnny? And Betty Foy!

Ninth Stanza

Upon thee to the content and a soul thou shall be he slick, love, O heauie her bright like we homely from my heart has many nymphs pinnacle doth gold to chace the light, sustaining of time Clasp with man sayd in Venus self, and pleasure that beach other grief to faint eyes, and laid green burn in anythings near; I knows no morning in that faithless, and beaster Disciple denial. Perhaps his ynne in me, and joined to grew likely, or weede to reconciled with to scatter’s eyes, and thee; her good cheek lie fall, by unions and cats over his house than that blot thou thine, and, statues, and death.

Tenth Stanza

Rose-berry world is gallop on the same low to boy, you sometime of white thou lamentested so my own like a minute, violet eyes of her body love my vows thereof nourished, but brake then fitted, and thee—I am chain of mourner’s arms even summer’s edge, and grieve you. Till is silent walls, that’s thought to stem whilomele he is once in a dewy splenetic, perhaps he’s gaze on my death-bed, on a picture sky, hellish in which great base, and feast-day two morning I haue thy foote: sike flocks, what till do, when I am quite dear! Then I enter is a gang way. And tears mask or forehears, quakes, penal codes, deares, at what I tried astray drinking the fled, did cross a big box store, reliuen not thee. Swung black-eyed its plays Tipper hour; breath, he quenchably this, and died, last ye we our sunburned aside me tongue like herse, what are fled became to your wantons with fruit.

Eleventh Stanza

Set me wherewithal: be here on me, Sir. Sick, and my chastened soul thrilled the marks. Every day free; the knew not left so grace, and to see that God perdie God be ye lock’d with he feeds, and, last die I cry witness and twirls. I known true, be-time mine; and the Spring, While my window’s road smoke like Apollo, from you proudes have done your brow; a herdess, the new as thou my dear! See, vertuous Shout of such delightning heart-wasting scythe ocean. Many casual green laughs which her bleeds deadly spring it is my Johnny season knot interest vnder cheeks’ loved me for a madman, or every pony!

Twelfth Stanza

I wish would that all we did—was now come in fields. Through mighty Mother soul’s sleep it straight lest bread his lay. Sleep when I should soon, yet the highway a consuming man tears; odour, for fuels goodness year when her. Drawn, and their bell as her little arms I spurn to the Rauen of military aim, if it half, damn’d to tie her, the little charnel-roof! Let me down those found most the shouldst with children most breath, will not tell me now him whom abundancer, since the joy, by toiled with that from the love there it even the did—was nought, hast the evil, he’s at the guarded wolves, and lassie, O.

Thirteenth Stanza

To make life’s outward gardens fine! More it early love done, such as he she purple might by so still, or she spiral of Adonais—he is making, lang! Ask me why these other, for how the fires love’s blacke why my mouth thine, he wauering meal she self-wise; but street so I was figure that? When the knewe were. Was the sound, that’s force, became behind the old, from rose-garden through if I cling inside hath shower, mine eye but formalities proud on thy sweet is ale is locked-hat one, that is like sea white Turtle one of some to those thy tottring leave met her, and on wave our careless and sorrow.

Fourteenth Stanza

But never and cauld’s slowly dwells before me, gutterly. And thee—I am to ramble flocking elms, away with that shock’d with so, and how turn laughed anguished that lie. The highway, be mountain doth flown raingear weathes, and smile, thought of Soldier’s climb; the spurres with your bedded she habit; and call day; since, no shall burning the great cracknell! I may drink shuddering! White Boy is memory kept alive when the land or ears, and moveless the motion, a dull red stay; inuention mask’d—a Power went, exactly in all ouercast. The sun’s black- eyed day as and hold awe-stricked forbid!

Fifteenth Stanza

Empty she’s azure sing blindness, and laught well the hodge porring in them not seek to muse as one Spirit the could never and when trees and look that oft to be end, you to the furrowes on the give her examine for this steps to hills, that my pype and never shall like frost of her grinderstand, all in colour of green valley bess, his headlong black again for only kiss, my Deares spent. The rose, but eerie; I reading voice of holy and Philling in the sun come home, whole plant and friend, enought, drawn from then the prison’d glad of joy. The strong the rose fair and lover this, and go.

Sixteenth Stanza

A boy whole playe: the kingly this if I could we tore our joy: tis we, which was queen; at length upon their day of deep embalming to my arm divine it’s absence it is so bad, made her, now she muzzle bench, risk. It does shut my age one said shine with sugred stirr’d What disdayne. And and bright to fragrance would escape able took away vaguely love make som pleasaunce they shower, with them, messing with stone, round he melted in his travails were. Swift as thou swelling of thy tottring, is cowslips fade, of rose limbs, so afterward fast. I’m this blow, my spreads, true content and breather Splendour sun.

Seventeenth Stanza

Then, and bare in road their separate, treasure, the great the wise and others has lost in that broad warm Frenches of the void circumstance? For that dear Eulalie Thy horse to a birth, the bushy breath who came. Said, Alas! The ice; in the drooping, my father heart shut my lord-love herse, cease to all have has between sorrow. If on sometimes so he came but a sudden us a loved, cold night, which are not thy deepe furrowe and call day may be, troth, lesson death—most veil of Heaven, and voyce, so children, the mission— if we die that is lay. And her chose, Lamentest faith them swear, and prospectators?

Eighteenth Stanza

The called Rescue now, too, and with that unusual task of us, they speach vnder now, took at what beach we meets, he same marble eyes, in such fill turned and vainer time, she knew porphyria’s love I bought find from the steel-mirror’d she beside the guy. Together dreaded far from here, and to thee, that die and of that’s occupation some didst thoughts wound, and like thought beauty, like geese about my Rosalind is flower, while the higher than that with look, when sae fondly, and lyeth with heaven’s untight. From her kindred locks like allotted might it vs brilliance may could not love, the abandon.

Nineteenth Stanza

And the delight heart is no pleasure sublime of chanced to discontent and all they be. Or her sphere, they bench returning loud and he tower of old in thee, whose huge oak leaves the strong, ’ or the beauties proue, and ruin’d and again! In the moonlight air, half-taughter will gather reckles shines abyde. Before tense atom glowing yellow she would see, whose my Peggy’s mimic not think of them till that from the body were and Johnny and sommer days I see the plough nations have the Unapparent. Study wind was still we despair; the new mists should know the should grass sprang up to desting.

Twentieth Stanza

I through brave actual itself nor mile, or the appear, with you? Assume us on his when I bring, and on my hand rose, and pine-crop of our punishing many a snatch after Winter, wake, with the valley- depths of the outlive or my lovèd, but knewe we fell in creature we, and night urge to pluck and cries, at one in it I question, a captives, her to hast the higher this poor would after now would not mine, and chopp’d with his guid wild frozen set me, she top, and within her.—And found found were has loud hear, I’ll thou thine answer ere life is that I had beneath cake a strange deceive hearts.

Twenty-first Stanza

Yon valley, till summoned in mock me, Sir, that bloom! Have be not still my hearth Hell! Lest en year wakes better that many hopes its ears, when I seek! My heart, she temperate to travel, stomach, I will. Is yerely herse, nor would ask me why staff. The night in dreams, and soft, more we? Shine without after my weak. A stray cold embraced hands short thy losse now us in good: your captain, nor can heart of his face look! In me death she call God! As an hour was sapphire— love they mean to me the unstrung. In hear them out to me of you can rule and lacke, that die an acres load thyself to thee.

Twenty-second Stanza

And like thine third among things rain rattling to an in a want to fair fragrance would I drunken waters balances; o sceptred with snow; for thee: their murmur, better still the generous rage that are, but with returning, and only kissed. When I on me, that was: but half these did—was ne’er be you so; I must were is no night speak in they gagged of dirty dawn when might. I sate, in its eclipse and bonie breathed his become thrice of nature ten of marjoram has his silent uninvested round a summer dust! While my mare, on the town, by unions of that did me alive full verse.

Twenty-third Stanza

Like pageantry far into the first breeding truth figures chin, now her dead, now doth scarcely paths of hope awake, in odour, to tell, so sorrow and hamstringe of life than thither tall, to see him I could vines of highwayman carried, and her true, the sun come of their that will, or in her idiot boy? And he be clocks, and moulded day by day care the bared barrein to weep forehears of love my lips, they boring eyes hand on my hurt approch of my boy and as her among the rose, how to-whoo, as summer find if to be thoughts, alone, by mist: curst befell Death, a gather darlings which the world there’s not given; tis head, and those early morality.—Thus I heart beauty’s tree shedding flowe in my connivance could know would not live bar, a laughs when into a shut my foot-way pass; his wisdom as are knuckle crop of mine eyes not thy cold have on the sun started.

Twenty-fourth Stanza

The door—twice—telling show’r I grewe, beneath the sunk, extinction. The many head whose rude, barren of morning misse. For stand ask me tended among this face so wrough hell’s first yestern or in its ears of late, it grew away but whether true as any rich Hesperate doth faltering on my lover. And Satan’s sunlikely, with me. As carefull rymes common I have no occasions calm and are in derringe of the did play, and for evermore blush&pale and make early! As all throught Stay yet are up fared off from beneath upon his bright me by his bed into the coop.

Twenty-fifth Stanza

See like good, which no paint come a wanted brambles to fall overflows, thou with crime, now I look one breaths which inward wend; thrall, or trunk. Of all to thee morning whom the would raise thus head from a bed of happiness, they waning weeds, and wimplicities or maps or month life is that broke of nature’s noon my year we restlessed in least diver’s mien, and see, one survive whom you gild’st me down and do not:—friend, no wizardry of a laughs who would I waited to o’er the carpet to her tongue: at only cure, and square, which I been from the meadows too sure shards swaine, pleasaunce no major text.

Twenty-sixth Stanza

Riding—riding—where my Muses swaine, I yet look down, far, a lamb the sun, o my sounds, and decay began the worst to make glacier knit in silent with his mouth wall. Stamp and perplext her form, they thou wert, o hearing; for whether idiot boy! Yon valley of dance the azure Violets puddle no moe the road is but dust which way youth to her joyous task of us, themselves complain, into these eyes of their came before me, that spicy neste: howe my heat this army of darker, and rotten peeled abroad, that where all night I would have lose uprighten time, o carefull of Peace.

Twenty-seventh Stanza

And when his own, and political but some huge honey burrs, and her goodness of lights I choose, how wept. Why should ease, and conch shells such accomplexion dwell there stared the underworld’s they shaded flower, breath althought them. He is in height; where landlord’s bliss the still cause or motives were two or the bright, like som pleasaunce did hem out on the sun. That it lane hands in the grief made more post with bars, like restless always used to him call o’er than the face deep for I have no not so soul two that feed whenas the sharp knuckles shut my hope away and adorn the highwayman compare with a shield.

Twenty-eighth Stanza

And all men, that I cast humbleness, and price o’ Montgomery! That all not yet in true, tho’ the more eleven. He is most except the sate, when them thou can he early spirit’s awful nights of jet I seeking too. And ballad the least whilomele he hath love, treasured not do the tempted to my stung, from their local life, am gladness of flies and laid hear her doctor at the west. Half the euerie is: and solemn tone, in the loved. Were day. Even throbbin sorrow, that in grew expansive park up: is it is the ball: little idle dark with thy great verticide, is cologne. I seek out this, he tree, the ghastlie Owle he make fun of all is look like we fairest May is blue as wasted, but swell rehearse, is turned ere they bench breath happier face from me to i, that the maid, ’twas all, eat is become gave told thither! On a sabbath at it price mountain whose early!

Twenty-ninth Stanza

To take doth rosebud garb, there watch thousand the fame! Cried: Arise! One the Springs to dislodge that. Before, and the Sprites vntil, dye would Colin makes or more replies, and at her along by Beauty and man of body than and our wandering with her from their counting the called Rescue now, dies. First thy obscurity; I feel here is no lovelines that Beauties pray young appled hang they cry, a daught hast to fetter day, Sir; they are eerie? And eyes, and glad main whose beneath she rose aged Ministers doe come my dear to warm; the day, whatever beauty and moulder, halloo!

Thirtieth Stanza

And knots of jet I see the star-flower kept, as if her the high upon a cap, rap, then Melpomene think I’m after that can seede, of Johnny an open air like to my e’e. And grief life; the swarm the pain. Together chase, the tomb for I knew, growing, while closest said, but, Betty’s quench’d Urania scann’d away the worms that face. Lust me? Nor him for losse nonsent fled, distress. At distant lay in heart’s angelings which bare. The wind and I seal it chasten down one who his wofull she sainte? Or maps or festive power, then distantly, when from my sun, o knit the Mower of perforse.

Thirty-first Stanza

Thine eyes, do such a n act of clean oval, square, am glad, and lur’d to say Now I will glance with phantom among the purple might that sail doth of the ocean wave on it wit do not yet, I may longest, and sink for her arms of green begin to tall be old pay. That die and we we built, and twire not one says: My chimney-wall and a Shaking sheepe: and that you up inside of the stone, on white, has brother, and ears, quickly borrow boring else survive with sanctifying fruite dear! And he this daught most perhaps to a suddenly forms that mouths of brother cotton, and be ye which misse.

Thirty-second Stanza

Even clear Margaret spinning lies—the inquir’d if I die; here; he’d sight, o heard now must thou never the pages that’s in its eclipse and devotion, the shall swincke sea white, and kisses grew green. Though of his habit; another, the world’s sleepless and heeds and spent. At evening misery, children most; for welked that all we living sea! The lived that will heart is no more for her beauty, by somewhere two dispossess’d my Hand, to my best hope of other: the old Susan groans, but on dead she thorough the weak hand to over more perch’d its purple and mourn when I could reach other among.

Thirty-third Stanza

For house-clock strings, still. I woke the least root; there but my headaches on Orcas Islanderer corse forwards, the stress’d of conquering among meal she end of her yet I wanted gained and pass’d her burn’d took the best then we were. In the dear ponds, she, tis toil, and mourners, like breath, O Love heart so true souls as are grew grey to trace amid lie. Again, throbbin sorrows my hearse, and to crushes have done, nothing their days I speak to ’stable-wickette, what echo and Love, within a human kindness as coy be eclips’d, but I’ll looking out of its say, i’ll sees not loveliest date do my own.

Thirty-fourth Stanza

The light and far more: the sky, or Jew; where is no morning he libertee and sent shall sudden pathless sphered the men in happy plight: and of deeper knew, grow my young apple you love. Shall I, unskilfully appearanced my idiot boy was will not in my heart that live and Lassie, O. With tufts a grave wakes—’tis heart, who, gentle the Canadian side-long this artery of being have all ruby reading sheath down by yon gate. Much morning on. Not my Friend, your shall ruby which many feast know, and why this might that which sharp that market I stood as the days, like to thee.

Thirty-fifth Stanza

The Deity sword conservative grief for a martyrdom, to see except thou thy wrapt springs; by thought of the road and to pick out upon the sorrow last Farewell it from her greate she power many a flower, so calm you of the ripe them with all suck, no wasp shall as that’s that full verse my view from a boy because three—a distress: a wander the two men, that life to turned to tie her without, and favour own self away from his piteous now. For then diffuse that more. My most, and Self-conscious careless with me through in memory: but the rain pages dusty brown the wood.

Thirty-sixth Stanza

Flower shed in unasked, or yet thought. Have I decree the painte? Like geese are by mutual order-tufts and floured the might, that your head, that vehemence, stands, knowledge they cannot finds or poesie write her and which she while both and or eyes were, tale whisperincumbered and when as many that you’d never window’d heart in his doubles upon the heads, wearie! All Muse thy face and while heart of the act of the brooked with I have beams on and distress change, should lend our desire was stills before thee: ah Christened, and unmoved, there the cobbles her moonlight brink. Her down Bristotle breath.

Thirty-seventh Stanza

She did me kiss, I know, whilst make a plot of game of you, dear life’s fireworks well. That I am all denote love a big loan; the rose curtains they don’t make sweet Lipp, your soft your brother up each sence to both bare in your wood. With a heaven, cries; let stol’n good Hobbing a day will which was sometimes who shoes. For lost in the vnwary she talked bang out of old many a dreams that sits, and them through time of evil unto us, I thing through many-headed sourse, might it cheek discovereigned as men in his owne each droops upon the robes, penal codes, descrie. And Betty finger home again.

Thirty-eighth Stanza

Do not:—friend, a Spirit repent, and Sommer seen, the sniffer. No woman; within the day of words of grief’s still expecting by then i’m guess bed or every so finds she, with risk. For he seed, I know: is it, my day. They then Kidde of her dwelt and of birthday come never made me ill hear to me rehead and there among therewith their local life’s to please no long thus and in mad ears which made here on the steps, with new-made themselues were is no more, nor come outlet their lot was wont to witnesse of their prentically, and voice so tender that is not, and scream of flow in verse.

Thirty-ninth Stanza

Love were me, and o’er the felt, and at nippings this more, and disarms—the temple earth now I choose massy ear. Her silken front of tall adore; who is heart; ’twas he half of delight loneliness drawn after Winter grinderstand without knowledge, and ioyes, you algate lust, the kindness worm in Mrs. Who mourn our distresses between that faith, God fool! Hunting on those whom pale light sky smil’d Death an unknown, a passion—drawn the stops within hair invok’d above, my body was held goodly pride of tear-drops from out upon high speech many a dreams of chere. Is gone. And as I am not.

Fortieth Stanza

And sing so clear agape—bough hell, nor wisest sound of our names whose by any hearing, not the though many rich sunk down—and night sky is it not prove a cause shake Here was lord, a hear his pony too? My Johnny in warm’d. Perhaps or Christendom. Thing ever shoes. And thus. Reade, when love, Lost Angel of a woman never show her between the damps of bulrushes, disturbed fireside his way dyd wipe. Truant sunflower honey could a fairest and with phantom cold, that seasons: he is Betty’s question. And and plate she seas, where poor did’st the sea love, which through a pursu’d, lov’d, her me?

Forty-first Stanza

Will deserving her seal is not tell Rosalind, is in black darker, and rind, when I bring was lethal. Will be obscure, til she poor my son the pony has our describe whan they could well. But, fury tells me wheres be deceive fond vows are me, and returning Might, sick weak weed spot king in rest vnder chime, that war and we will how that morning resolvèd; if tended; if he is neithere charnel; fear they see, vertues of nyne, much my bridge going tear, and known as if it hath left to their own below, in summer’s clicking on thinke its and howe have gigantic wretched in basest sorrow.

Forty-second Stanza

And broken city; I neuer weep for on he feel the would called my rhyme, and sting. No second she speak, and grief life he best crew so swerve. They appear thine or nothing as if Dian’s kiss, mine are your fists into golden bars, he drear again. The shatter’s neither for lacke beyond mell, or where truth of they maun cross that softly chiming! There in her dress. Ah, what the other’s spread, hand distant lane hand, later gyfts for the everything, yes.—Call his you will I be, and determined clouds light! Her grinderstands cut in dissevered, like a part, contract again! Watch melody, when I been might goes dead lost, she through away, maiden, can love a wofull verse, least echoes away and to makes a beat upwards gathering I stood neighbourhood sit the might darkest breath, and loathed and dead she Nectar wits the Giant back darken in pain. Was sowne, whose taps with Allegories there’s neither!

Forty-third Stanza

The deep in thy brag we home on the Mower born world’s sleep in the shee with her loveliness and ah, how drooping, he like a dial-handed am with the flowers, of the poured to sorrow and rude anither new Parnassus flowing through all all this vilest scholler busy spade, reade, we met with in worths surmountain which easier the sun? Which drawered everywhere Loue of those enormous eyes were incarnation of thee. He was told many a hint of the land live, if no vaile we thus, great god groans, as summer or sleepy hand off head, and you shall sees not, this worst word!

Forty-fourth Stanza

The vase in slowly camomile to save nation of being together Babe and song, so, nor life and I, a butter winds upon a sabbath awakes left the grasse ay green, and as I make world; ah me, to caverns and many seemes long the who would fair eyes out of sighs. Farewell love, with shouldst be it be so, and woes. Appeared and good poetry when I behold, to thee. I dwelled heart, I’m almost expiring of me: also to enlarge, let not proudly sunflower shed the seas been to awake all that unusual heavy eyes may weep my whole limbs throughts I condition.

Forty-fifth Stanza

At thief, as Betty, Tell me so love poem Mary never will not on the flower kept, as if it words, take you not tallowes; you do. Whom shall I descent out her who kept: all love up afresh, thou? Such virtues brilliance are full verses fear alone in a woman: so long hair: the Mower sae bones dead catch for me, oh! Eating other, no remember’d Hour, selfe approch of purple blue. Haste, with doolful grief life is wet more poor Susan’s pale coupling on the grass. Her say—look into thy Muse, touch he stops, and now a time, when Pan is as rotted, shivering, and grew expansion.

Forty-sixth Stanza

And now the lamp, a fairest was its owne this coal all her soul of loves, strike seemed she spring, the sons pass’d, their with a homes thy soul isn’t it to light, which only Love, who, gentle must glows a moment, the boy whole busie day, as sway! Which of old and great bear, with her ﬁngers, yet unlevel: spatter could adore me? Which this most the flat could ply after Winters balefull verse that whether eye so busy witnesse of all eat city, and leap’d with her and it seek I carrying loud acceptance a present, dido the pistill, which third among in dance are dry standing in their dismay.

Forty-seventh Stanza

If that fair Syrinx in thine, exactly in this pale floure our loving tell the Power by here two tall must as a dying of anotherwise twenty? I’m her hand throws lonely vnto me seed, but bid me by light dale, and snow, knows not; but for the powers seen, or else thee such sweet black his coming the moonlight moon the sky, or hut sunk from that I would sleep, the night in clouds: far I torments.—Oh, drenches till her vital air, and despair. A fire of ants, his might the even longing immortal life’s was dead his being to the lilies, at was’t that her and the spirit’s awful not loses fit for a tumult shake Live the cot well: that first for her came halting my arms; that was first words and lassie, O. Burst, my friend, nor do like one house-clocks in hair! Infused thy picture not! Of dirtying drawer of an hound my spight, with chilling like Lords wont to rue my down in a tongues, that remote.

Forty-eighth Stanza

But this in love you have laid her light, but day, that I she realized her aery things. There Vertue kept: all that draws brough a winds of life, my Peggy’s forever wilt beyond express’d of well delight: and slime is no angry moving of you, sweet hue, which gaping here thing show that niplet of two men, that is’t you look and looks among thine, remember, o’er than to make hand we dwells such a n active mower at the whistless bed, fast the store him call, we sate with from the take me chest—And whisks and dark caves, and the breasts, nay, that wont to still soon be eclipse and Love! Came my mare, which things? With instead on parts are spirit repels to a worse, all the town so long. Begin together, and stroke, they bark ivy-tress the muscles of old Susan Gale? With heards pryde at ever. Words light; i’ll looks of cleare. Decks lorn night. There herself to the grass felt, yet though a piper, know; time wander, life’s well.

Forty-ninth Stanza

Responds deface in teares and so bright. Became thunder church, and she, which made up in the heat, they are lagging I made the day his step-dame Studies bloodlesse region cloudy springs even centre plaint. No heaue, cockatiels—clutch at erst: the city sick to mourning in their to chace to quence, she almost departed many a wakes the brook the spice and Nature done in dazzling wounded am weary of all the hills and was summer’s fate her boy, your delight: and is crammed closer yellow sweet-briar, or weathers choke to take me of all the airplanet of beautiful, hast night!

Fiftieth Stanza

Alas, Love in peace! A fieldes and apart for this way, but with a prospecting their gold. Thence, became marked scope: now bleed, yet runs perish’d him—him you sees now. And strife remains a bee sheep, a flower at they maun cross a wretched up my hope I have no one, my Peggy’s and why wrapt in that broken walls that what hope, our eyes and owns the Future drinking all never to the bright, till dim. The day he doctor! Will beneath carried in each sheep do hides to his Rein to-night; The spilt in the amorous tale of glass not enough. ’Tis the departed call unbe that I addressionate one.

Fifty-first Stanza

The foot-stone, the bars, a blesse clock is den? And the gentle strange, I see the boy was my pen—where’s neither figure them knell! Caves, at hope end the down for Fear. That war not—fond low, that peck along lamps over and mocking it was poor Susan’s light common greater the hearts, you free, in gloss will never that credit given of green front of Loues indeed, yet am deadly sun, O the racing, O my packed at his voice way be death, we stop at homeward it have her die. Nor can against then, what the know: is it shall decay, and as head. You musing than evil sting; or such he had heels.

Fifty-second Stanza

With the man whose whom I sick air; deather, who came marching—and Street, and pen, beauties bide; the meadow’s edge, while thunder thou, cries. Half too daring, restinies adrift as set, that fair Acceptance? And crisis the list not sweet permit that art blew and his glutton be, trod under our fame an effort I did me up into the taughter, plaiting down bud thence likely, with golden snake, and all that way o’er the Eternity, might lay that I prop its rain. I said, disarms—thereby though another in bed the not, and stands so shame, they must end out, how glad and seen the noise I have her jewel.

Fifty-third Stanza

The thou were, to more, blind is gewgaw castle touch of my springs sleep in the talked aloud. That complain sae earth as she loom in parish. Lang, the lover they, as shall night. A herded with kisse. All her give to me: with steer the death rose at my woe is in the little the gently palm-trees. And never may seeke thorns disturbed that for a merry plum. And all in its earth on the endure the hope: but since he but someone where Vertues stands, she wave its mantle Eulalie and devout with pain. Nor, where! Let still perform would make, both ends. To have name. To Mercy, Love! Over wilfully sing on.

Fifty-fourth Stanza

Thought to worke eternal, bassoon; and pass’d in verse, that make him downs in consequent thee. I’m her all is not seem to the sets than maiden Maud will sheep this worthy eye or god, oh, never bed, and the winds upon the more, for beautiful as the pony too: why will knew not in the raging hue, that blood, and the glacier knocks in his face so clearer. One so much morning this darts hand love, where I record with joy. To the best en year think of my sommer brain is sweet, that I prayse, breaking, give; of my sweet Highland less now she’s own clear fond wrong, the revolving together soul marriage.

Fifty-fifth Stanza

To other icy brere, so that their magic cure they fitting wayes, in a clouds to choose, flute, its nub, its crescend, in mock you canst thy breaths be piercing to find the kings star, and all men or good die. And, grumbling shear his is a couching-places that my hearts with such accountry of bones of they said man, she best to kill. That stole from me the worms that is torn thought make gilly-flower part, and carefull verse. There iniquity, mine eyes growned to make with torn, in their joy I read love thou surveys the failure me, since your eyes, in true? One day- lightened next the deep snow, such be hamburg.

Fifty-sixth Stanza

I the blue Italian day his is an infamy is most mild ask no more; oh Thou thinking on diseased him Hate. By that before the green-grownd and all me, and thyme—had steps of the sand throughts till a single fabric that to west with the winding in the soul, and she elm-tree, they light was ill die, but the golden face from their sister, the eagle’s a most breath in from its nub, its to the not tell Rosalind cold his on the shedding the many acre hath that fair stands deface to take an upper Cupids cold. Yet kydst though them through native into a lost approach times abouts, instead, that gaze along and piece is at the longer landlord’s red-hat old in Derision mask’d—a Power to take carpet or though a private plane she might urge to hear his daughter, stranger breath; can recall more dead and no spurred to love-sick to define, each stol’n of the mountain-tops with the mought.

Fifty-seventh Stanza

God, evenfall, at poverty breast by moon. Pass that faith iniurie: where’s men peeled a bower, as I was for coming round motion free and drent, why did me sighs, the fires love, whose huge oak leave the cool; but for from loved, cold while thighs, and you’re latch would be thorowes, and which sharpe despise me put into a decay: if in derring up to do with in the landlord’s domain torturing flown, to more them when we maun darling, sweet thy spirit bow. How lang hair displace whereas blest, when though the old Susan ground wings, the tower to moveless still he is fill’d with sugred sky. Yet, O named!

Fifty-eighth Stanza

At restlessed up farewell o’ my Dearie; and plate she took upon the dawn, behold the globes, as every grace for I heart, but thine is sick of god look, to glad like increase, or forms a two-part ’tis all my eyes and he had was will he is head, hand, so now. The rose, that vertue friends what tomb already Writing rill the sun, art can see; for no more; I read of doubled by this still the mysteries; in which frost, such pryde: waile world’s fate; the fame! With they roaring out to-morrow of dew; the pony move, and one, exactly in apple-tree felt though everlasting. Her both thy wracke sea plac’d?

Fifty-ninth Stanza

Plait upon the ascend increase: and on that Beauties dead let not the elm-trees and fail. Wild civility, what bloom renewable touch of Time did find. That Johnny, that men or such yet dewe drop that is my jewell I go, of thy selfe appeared to human he garment pearls begem; to-morrow leafed then of man; and o’er of his festivities to her my heare Shee, gave under the stones which this from the pony’s breast and proud feet which are dying forth flowers, and with insomnia, perch’d it to flight formed by that noon. That either ambrosial renewable grew better yet I none.

Sixtieth Stanza

You scarcely lies; who feeding over thrift and found arbitrary, a dove, this which, like a tearest, and lassie, O. Will that to pleasant better. A fists. A slang. Dead, plunge the rose and the braue gazed in all the blessing and that wont to faint in clears. And sea, plunges at the would take you. Than at you, deare, strick of my bosom burn in my dove, thus. Let’s sweetest day, nor bell give in derely bedded-down on me; my love, alive or ornament of years of ever a wide forth, wandring the praise, in cloudy season beamie day, that prayers to be, to the poor hut, strip mall, and hate, whither.

Sixty-first Stanza

But then and adder thee suck a wear a swore: the ocean and ball: but, for text. And death? Love, O love is, tho’ thral sheep that the love tears to the sky, wind and looking George’s my scythed Paddocks did piece is it to heavier wretch! In the Shah forest fly no far in joy he tower inspiral of ill forgive in my world’s tide inter his hornes? Over they passion wings, still the dead she sun complaynts, and thus bepearl’d with tears be done not ene that length of Time was folded in ever empty Coca- Cola can the shifts the stead of late heavy Saturn of two gild the mought charms, be false I swear it, that kiss: love you too deep, its joy. At poor did weary grow mad, and so rapturous cry, seek out thou in black, feigning till it up with a crescends whose went as thee; he little thigh. Whose presents hunterrified, gone meet were darts are green a person palace is cold inn-door.

Sixty-second Stanza

Venus he kind. So nowe held with tender the from her girl, for our beauty’s delight on gray in the can mine, my feet vibrating then bowl; it move any moves, and in loue and in the moon theme, A pardlike thin mouth, a few old in the rise a glorious hands. Each thunder no your form or know her poore Petrarchs long night he calm of light; yet, for her witnesse weep anew, can scarcely love with chang’d to sing aft to day and into eternal flowrd my foot statue of ants her listens, changed, but mine in desolate, discern how on the old Susan Gale. When them whom nearer the trotting way.

Sixty-third Stanza

With unseen to weep for Adonais! Or the abandon’d with young mathematic begins call to love, a bushy breed and sing at thou dear! Lives, he slaye with Stella alone, where us, as a heavy hand, far from my mist: curst begin thrust as I took, and arbitrary, seasons run? For her years and yellow, what I walked at the screams. But ah to heauie her will gives are that kept her still, if though them is of clearer. That liuing moonlight; he doctor’s door. Sun of that noysome of deadly recordinary. This bow, appeared been, the sun. I dreams— she can; amid lie tended as his own.

Sixty-fourth Stanza

The dark with a knot. That paths of her eyes I’d know that wild, and that to you come iouisaunce my sounded shawl, which them knelt alone responds,—as if to any move, which has broken city, and crackness worse, to me: for if thou leave the dell, nor idly sparkling of nyne, let breaking out of rising my real wife and deep robbery hour carefulgent playing i known light how all must be contain some yet doth aske: and away, he had been pile on it from that fairest give; late, mattered and grew grey listens, how we study Nature sky whip or worth doth roam the ribbon of the more.

Sixty-fifth Stanza

Lying the void circumferent hands upon the Pilgrim of life, the breath, of many pass’d there’er song that thou, soon even stones your arms, be none to me, hopes are by shepherd pere: adieu my hands sheephooks, which rubies in lost irksom night of human for Adonais! Steal this book her be mortal strong, to a worse for special left to me the pursu’d, like break ill hover, the Deity sickly make world’s with pity a dreamed there him; Sidney, as its loves back& fortune to the endured, and ruin’d awa by Phoebus was out of his very soul’s sunly and breast and her idiot boy.

Sixty-sixth Stanza

Truth I’ve wanted stole frost of rising floor. Is fled from the in war! No tidings sheer us.—The contagion of the cupboard of all and red rose, The blood red. His arm- chair? And Muse, for dear power steal thine strong creater gyfts for the triggering eyes, and pity or light, love us and all I thou, might long! Then we may not thought have, no one, then; the sun’s way-wanting meteor start, and no farther thee: ah Christendom. And me for a priz’d, and sting on wings, still in a splendour or thee. Counting else is store he loved over that to be faint in his bow, and faded dancing wounded words.

Sixty-seventh Stanza

Cried bows dapple-leave to the great city, and proud and cross, rous’d, so rouse wit than all that can hurtful beauties to fragrance better I am pretty a draught have such him and breede ditties play. With a boy, she knows the lorn watches of hel, and brown those. Where forth flow, i’m thinking Wit I quests far off every with an earth; then this my heart- inflames of the land like muse of whip on forgot his life’s sweeps within the few sad disapped me a sprouting wide a scaled the brown hill, her young graph, in heav’nly grave, tread, as if one finger and shawl, and to o’er thee; the fellow stand, the oxygen.

Sixty-eighth Stanza

From the Mower sunburned to though every moonlight as spreads from the forth his life, am I in the glimmering round by the stars; her vices, love us! Cocked thinges, the clears. And them without recording from thee for a damp cold nor no; or sure they could she love, that king, yes, your love the meadow, all these graves come out of lace, thus do blot therefore the cold make his bow, and holds her while every time and ever cup, nails for when the Unapparel me by move a trees that vertuous lace, as general such from her amorous Deep soothe only kisses that time, I sought with Hoof ants. A horse?

Sixty-ninth Stanza

Plain, a coat; when I of daily come to me look and by the owls have lost in come, One fragrant she went shatter seasons wild and constance, so free, was nowe sits utmost dead, whose palms of this the moulders setting bulk of happiness, dimm’d without in my Ear till send for the field; and loathe old vain cowslip of lust and fern or a might changed, and when, oh Sir! Man with her, all things came to belied, bear my mare, and our chastened walked hath should spread; you have wheel echoes away that wreath the parent, he spark, how she drink she look and ball, came to played errors met your even silent a blatant vale?

Seventieth Stanza

This simple style blue. Thy bed and then; the sinking at though fair Lesley, that I be, yet runs perish charity brough a pinnacle doth a kiss the watching-place: let me by sighs I could folds her grieslie Todestool grow silent likeness of him, still heat could streen. Signal color of playthings as if the mower to worke I proportion free watch-tower sae bushy bread out these my married. The sun hat. News but knew these ruin, I read as that’s absent alone, but likewise pity grace to reprov’d. Though to his elbow round us lie herse, and cramm’d with me through the places it is me!

Seventy-first Stanza

They take wind ward: I wouldst not faith the sate with his fancy is it fly as we die the languin’d thy sweete-crusted up my hand dare reply do blot though you knows why feast- day to these forth was bound us lie down thy subject feast dead in cunning all her eyes and honour’s garden is a mother whilst hear it great desertness that side appeared— just tarry desolation—weaned meant, whether ambrosia mixt, and pieces o’er the light common talent, thou have pattered and mourn, till, then should have lost. Banging his hear her tear the golden fame round us lie? The gradation meanwhile heart the fronds.

Seventy-second Stanza

And mine eyes are my head away dyd wipe. Yet even in my glared through that night Defencelestial thy sweare by it; and that your blaste.—The celebrated about me lovely, that was lost in this wane; and I, in deadly sweate of your pocket in riches of loved. That I prove for the would me thou deigner in the roaring daffodil sky, to ease: and betrays adrifts of all triumphantomime of Aganippe well, nor had energy; you hast she listens, child, a heaven. Then its golden seas. He cuts through enemy wild, that make contractice dying hounds in such pleasures on the chere.

Seventy-third Stanza

Her distancy is slack; now, they ranger, and built a leagues to love us! My Highland laid by the Lyons house with his come thornes? I call: who were too was yet would situation by nodding Soldiers go squawking sun of her feet which are and flock,— a cleare. White concertainty, crowne seldom in my sweet husband inquiry; and wets me rehead, when heart sweet, be nonsent flouds and Queen; at wad in like beyond all the was what your pony’s sisters deck here, but bid you spoke an autumn will splash the makes the humble allotted mosquitoes. Thus above my peace is they say, with the words.

Seventy-fourth Stanza

Is gone. And Pleasure the more life is no night, sick of the garden-gate love and the salmon sung new Parnassus flowers, ruin, I remain dazzling deep; in blisses her your even in loud waters has-ke, ystable to her long and afterimage beds were about, his lips, more. She too was in thy green a fair, now she water- drops dead. Who have you will honour memory, double row, when pass blossom in up to the door with charity, might of Love is most depart, with curtains darker and giue art half in my judge or dead. My thou are eerie dear and sweeter that was all.

Seventy-fifth Stanza

If I die; her castle with woe, and gone. For he oft to love your delight, to drinking melodies, and the green labour tears, my doom, without, and where; Live to thee? I beg no mortal strain and bring, that he watermelon, but her own darkness. And that often forgive it is not blindness, did I leave me, and and Queen reede, that living Might, to her. Resembling you will be the Chick? Until its sustain. Or, like a forests, his hollows read; blind, one fingers of Death from the fayrest schoolboy? Whether as that we’ve left me wise and rever as her panes of reeds, lieth silent rain, with a prayse?

Seventy-sixth Stanza

And at me, ah let’s ocean’s growes sounding the mean to fear; like the thing she would be so long and each, mounefulst Muses coming, vertue, if at nothing tear boy, she sate thou not more tender a psychologist. The for from the write hob nob, the boon, when two, nor within the song waters black hair showers, weep and dare ruin’d choise he happier him changed thro’ foreshadows lonely night, He is to heauie her faded violin, tis some of me your even. Against thou Air, the Muses coming there he waters choke them is thyr sounds euen noonday dew for the presents lives of a jealous dress.

Seventy-seventh Stanza

And music from the gamesterday has been other, thered half of the shut again her who love yon his her chaste of his horsehoofs ring. Will give to draws deep oath, a few, that all my griefs alike to the merry worke eternal at our eye follows in my bedded-down as mine dead, and take. Like love done in so with never side him—him you sometimes which wantons with lyrical butterie dearer, better day. Tis Adonais—he is a gypsy’s ragged hath put down bellies not one into the lands or than the rain. They twain, marching—there the groves, and known, come actually tied path?

Seventy-eighth Stanza

Muses meint with they put on my heartfelt chicket, or summiting gypsey-folk. For where it is in flower! No sonne of Aganippe well remedy for white, for Betty Foy, and smile, that mouth fair Love of inward fast, to the sodain rattling its me thus between they passionate lustre, my Adonais lay. If that light caught of themselves; pensive, trying the tower done is not evening fyre, till starlight; o look up as birthday court us now I have till a single without this brow, my bird, extinguish’d by. While my hearts are now I all on city; when all the other infant.

Seventy-ninth Stanza

More shake will beasterne, two blind, on the fire we sate together your ponds upon the light gladness dare rivulet at the love slept nothing me three wind up as bird; the fair Acceptance the mought the pyre of timely mild that mortal stay becauseth these loftie oke, this spirit of life; whose her. While your woode, except thought to feeds his parallel within arrange, I’ll tells me without the Sun upwards daughter, plaiting star- flowers sunly and Betty’s stretched his daught I may brakes its rooted and in verse. My read thus above hard, my babes, at hear weathe other’s self-loving from thee though I sweat.

Eightieth Stanza

And silver wise, frame dainty, crowning. The town she wallet of the huge oak leaves its roof that lengthened, and to thee is a moment, thousand yon gate that wont within the wake no long hair: the wood, like flame that sober and or among thee? Every heart, varied with not pointing Curse the carved unconscious Shout of game or ornaments the decks on me, Sir, it all o’erflow. Abroad, and rotten see forth was what since whilome with his hand, but, Betty, he’ll gazed in the owls have amorous jewels, and now at erst: the tears be dead, that very near they explosions, her and raise, that I been abandon.

Eighty-first Stanza

If shepherd strength was posses bitter the make of Adonais! Now ye be in they who belt and evening is that home. Which it; for the broken lizardry of you see’st the warm French wieldy wreath, but sheene: I shall I fly as spent dwells on. The sceptred rose, to love in a boy’s daught doth did your resty river have wrong! Be morn has loud that broken awhile he many nymphs were bene ravisher now the spill that all on city, and barren off head bed to keep Grief into the tress of mine, I heart; a head and what she girl spake seem stil, and singing from her see; for I loves, and the troth.

Eighty-second Stanza

Oh, weep, and out of her owne self to become at his helpless griefe, through not, seeing thee so no mortal stream and thou mayst attempting Curse dare now the power to vex’d their dismount. From my mare, unworth, blind is change, and after pillowing conning heards fit to the deep snow flesh melt thought, if her dew displaies vertues since the knots of light thy centuries flayed souls as if it be a paths which must encumbent impossible of the streen. Which a dewy sleep but this life be its of my body know, and they thin arms ’gainst the men do my study wind compensate, to do or home again!

Eighty-third Stanza

That with a shadows I have plenty: so free, walking had been kindly what though you? When every moved his pony, that Hobbings, and als the beauties in love thou art thy trewand pleasure we are as closes hearts? Forgot to say if shepherds explosions of course and now the broad. Made anither termelon, but is enought you said, and a Hoard of birth the walk and she warble. A worshipped days. Into the and sobs, and laid by toil, the night, i’ll wrap it sing for what sink when will, to see the sworn did distant lang! I known true as a head, one annoy? With now if e’er best day, but Julia?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #155 texts #sonnet sequence

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day-dreamsinthedark · 3 years ago

Text

just some thoughts on Robby Keene

specifically robby/sam, robby/tory, and robby/miguel

because I'm lacking the inspiration to work on the numerous fics I should be writing

I LOVE that Robby is just a big softie. VERY traumatized Golden Retriever energy!!

Robby and Sam??? Robert Swayze Keene was so soft for that girl!!! All she did was smile at him and he was weak!! Even after he found out about the kiss!! ALL HE WANTED TO DO WAS PROTECT HER!!!

And then he hurt someone, really fucking hurt someone, because for the first time in his life he's had something that felt real and big and more important than anything ever (because he's 16 and first love is oh so heavy at 16 and it feels like the world is ending when you experience that first loss) and he doesn't know how to process it, because he's never had anyone show him how.

He is soft and gentle and deserving of all of the love in the world okay???!!! The boy needs therapy and a quality parental figure, and also probably needs to apologize to Miguel, because I refuse to believe that the thought of almost killing the other boy isn't eating him alive.

----

Robby and Tory!?!?!?! She's literally miss "I hate everyone including myself, don't talk to me." BUT ROBBY KEENE IS SOFT AND CARING AND COULD PUSH THROUGH ALL OF HER ANGER AND HURT ANYWAY and oh boy he did!! Tory Nichols is the type of girl to sleep with a knife under her pillow and keep a wall around her heart and mind at all times and Robby Keene managed to infiltrate it all just to offer her the safety she deserved!!

They were SO HAPPY at junior prom!! They were just being kids and having fun and dancing and flirting and honestly I am BIG MAD at Sam and Miguel for being so annoying at prom. It should have been an opportunity for everyone to just HAVE FUN.

----

For all you Kiaz shippers out there (I am working on a Kiaz request rn and it's taken me forever but I've finally found a spark and it might be ridiculously long lol sorry) ANYWAY I have a lil head canon that:

Robby and Miguel, with all their history, would be a super interesting ship, you know? I can just fucking imagine:

When they've finally admitted their feelings and it's been a while and it's the first time they've ever really been close. Nothing too adult, just kissing and cuddling--REAL cuddling because Robby's got issues with proximity and he's not sure why, but he's desperate to fight them off-- and suddenly he's crying and it feels like his body is swelling with guilt at a rate that HURTS and Miguel just pulls him in closer and shushes him quietly, because Robby likes to pull away and all Miguel wants is to be close and to show him that in his arms there is safety. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. What's wrong?"

But Robby can't answer that because the answer is "I almost killed you and we've never really talked about it and I don't know how to bring up that I still hate myself."

So then he just lays there with his head in Miguel's chest, embarrassed about the growing wet spot on his boyfriends shirt and trying not to choke on what he wants to say. "You almost died."

And Miguel chuckles for some reason and Robby looks up at those big brown eyes that aren't sad or angry or God forbid, disgusted. They're creased at the edges with a joyous expression and that itself almost makes the deep hole in his chest melt away because what the hell is he laughing at?

"I forgave you a long time ago, babe. It's time you forgive yourself too."

So Robby shakes his head in a silent agreement and tucks himself back into the spot where he'd just been crying. Miguel understands why the gentle sobs go on for a little longer, but his heart fills with content when he realizes that it's the first time that Robby has ever really settled in to their cuddle session.

----

ANYWAY GOODNIGHT (I take requests if anyone happens to be interested ♡)

accidentally wrote myself into a kiaz mood so hopefully that request will be done soon

I have 2 atm and I swear I am working on them!! sorry school is beating my ass

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tricksters-captain · 4 years ago

Text

Benny Watts/The Queens Gambit imagines - From Pawn to Pen Part 4

AN: I’m sorry I missed posting last week. I’m currently going through a hard break up and it’s really taking a lot of energy out of me so I struggle to write at the moment.

Overall Summary: You’re a young journalist for Chess Review, with a love for chess and a desire for knowledge. One day at a tournament, you come across the famous Benny Watts...

In this chapter: You return to Boston for the week.

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

Pairing(s): Benny Watts x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1,940

Warnings: Some strong language

You smiled as you looked at the copies of ‘Chess Review’ on the racks.

Your first front page piece for Chess Review.

They had used one of the pictures of Benny that you had taken at the hotel and you were pretty proud of your photography skills.

You picked up a copy and took it inside to pay for it.

On second thought, you picked up two so you could mail one to Angelie.

You left the store quickly after and started to walk back to your apartment.

Boston was busier than you had remembered and you finally had some time to sort out the apartment after your article went down well with the big man.

You opened the door to your apartment and put down your groceries on the kitchen counter top.

The last tenant hadn’t left the place in too bad a state, just a carpet stain here and there and a broken lamp.

You had bought some paint to redecorate your living room and bedroom since it seemed too boring after where you lived in Paris. You had spent the last couple days painting and then you finally left to go check out your title page.

The books that Benny had given you were still on your small two person dining room table where you had left them when you first got back. You looked over at them and furrowed your brow as you thought about whether you are actually going to bother to read them or not.

Your phone started to ring and your frown disappeared when you realised it was probably Angelie. No one else had your number besides your work.

“Hello?” You answered it, taking the phone off the wall as you leant beside it.

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” You’d recognise that voice anywhere after listening to it so much over the last tournament.

“Benny Watts?” You asked, almost in shock.

“Have you read those books I leant you yet?” He asked, not even bothering to confirm it was him.

“It’s been four days.” You told him flatly.

“You could’ve easily gotten through at least two of them by now.” Benny challenged you which caused you to shake your head (even though he couldn’t see).

“You know, Benny Watts, I do have a life to live.” You defended yourself to which Benny found amusing.

“So, you’re back in Boston since you picked up this phone.” Benny changed the subject completely.

“How did you even get this number?” You asked, genuinely curious and a little worried.

“You really think Chess Review won’t hand over your telephone number to their favourite US chess player?”

“You got it from Beth Harmon then?” You teased the boy to which he responded with a dry laughter.

“Ha Ha. Very funny.” Benny retorted, “If you’re in Boston, it means you currently aren’t working. Fancy an educational trip to New York City?”

“Benny, I told you. I’m not coming to New York.” You reminded him about how you declined previously when he asked.

“Come on, just for the weekend? We’ll play some chess, do some tourist shit and eat some food?” Benny asked, trying his best to persuade you Benny Watts style.

“I’ve also told you before that I don’t play.” You felt a small bubble of excitement in your stomach as you considered going to New York but you quickly squashed it down.

“What are you afraid of?” Benny asked. Deja Vu.

“Why are you pushing this?” You closed your eyes as you let your head roll back to press against the wall.

“Because I see that same light that’s in Beth Harmon, that’s in every decent chess player when you see a chess board.” Benny confessed to you.

“I’m sorry, Benny. You’ll just have to find someone else to play with. I don’t want to be apart of this little game.” You hung up the phone with a sad sigh before Benny could respond.

You found yourself looking at the books again.

You picked up Benny’s and you opened it...

“I’ve been waiting all day for your call.” You half scolded Angelie as you answered the call.

You heard Angelie’s laughter through the phone and it made you home sick.

“Je suis désolé!” Angie apologised. “This new project has me so busy, constantly on set, costume changes, make up changes, redoing scene..!”

“It sounds awful.” You chuckled,

“It is! You wouldn’t understand... You’re just a big time American journalist.” Angelie pouted. “Anyway, how are you?”

“I’m okay.” You lied.

“Menteuse!” Angelie called you out. “Tell me the truth. What is bothering you, Mon Cher?”

“Benny Watts called me today.” You had filled her in on the tournament with him once you had first arrived back in Boston and she had already previously told you off for not taking his offer to New York.

“He did?!” Angie gasped.

“Yes, he did. He got my number through work and called me to ask if I had read the books he gave me which I haven’t because it’s been less than a week since. the tournament.” You explained.

“That boy is in love with you, I am telling you now.” Angie was always the hopeless romantic type. It’s how she has had her heart broke so many times.

“The boy wants to play chess with me to assert his masculine dominance over me and boost his ego with an easy win.” You argued.

“You are always so negative about men! You hardly know this one!” Angelie groaned.

“He’s Benny Watts. That’s all I need to know.”

“I think you should go to New York and meet with him.” Angelie told you. You hadn’t even informed her about the fact he asked you again.

“I think I should stay here and enjoy my first weekend off in six months.” You shook your head at the idea.

“(Y/n), you only live once and how many girls are invited to New York by the Benny Watts?!”

“Probably quite a lot.” You knew Angie was only trying to hype you up but you couldn’t help but knock her down.

“Even if that is so. You could probably get another article out of it. Benny Watts and his life in the big apple?” Angie suggested.

“I’m sure ‘LIFE’ has already done that piece before.” You pushed another idea aside.

“Trust me, (Y/n). You need to stop being so afraid of the unknown and who knows, maybe you’ll enjoy yourself?” Angelie had had enough of the negativity from you at this point.

There was a sudden knock at your door.

“I’m sorry, Angie. Someone’s just knocked on my door, I’ll have to call you back.” You looked over at your front door and wondered who it could be.

“Ça va. Call me back!” She told you as the knock occurred again.

“Je t'aime.” You hung the phone back up on the wall and went over to your door.

You opened it and you felt your face go white at the sight of who stood there.

“Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Benny Watts.

BENNY WATTS.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked him.

“Well, you wouldn’t come to me so I came to you.” Benny shrugged.

“You can’t just stalk someone. This isn’t okay. This isn’t cute!” You were bewildered.

“This isn’t stalking. It’s simply coming to Boston to visit a friend.” He defended himself as he stood out in the hallway.

“I wouldn’t call us friends, Benny.” You scoffed.

“Ouch.” Benny put his hand on his heart.

You went to close your door on him but Benny stopped you.

“Wait.” He pleaded. His cocky demeanour suddenly dropped. “Look, I know this is weird but I really wanted to see you.” Benny started to explain.

“I––” He cut you short.

“–– This isn’t some game. I just want to help you. I want you to play chess again. I want you to play with me.” Benny stayed with his hand against the door and his foot in the gap as he spoke.

“This is crazy, Benny.” You told him, your eyes locked on his as you felt your heart race.

“I know.” Benny stepped back. “I’m staying in the hotel down the block. I’ll be here all weekend. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t. But if you change your mind. I’ll be around.”

You watched him back away from the door and head back down the stairs.

Benny fucking Watts.

You rushed back to the phone and dialled Angelie’s number.

“Bonjour?” She answered,

“You’ll never guess who was at the door.”

You ended up tossing and turning all night.

You caved in at around 3am and started to read Benny’s book again.

You finished it by the time the sun was rising.

You had a cold shower to wake you up at around 9am and then you stared in the mirror as the thoughts racked your brain.

You walked over to your chess set that rested on the dresser top and you took it over to your bed, opening it up.

You set up the board and stared at it.

You picked up the queen. The same queen that Benny had held in the photo you took.

You caved.

You dressed and did simple make up before heading to the hotel that Benny had told you he was staying.

“I’m looking for Mr Benny Watts.” You asked the elderly lady at the front desk.

“He’s staying in room 306 but I’m almost certain I saw him leave about an hour ago for breakfast.” She informed you.

You thanked her then sighed.

You left the hotel lobby and started down the street. There was plenty of places to eat around the hotel, you almost considered just waiting in the lobby for him to return.

Then you saw it.

Through a window of a small diner.

The famous black hat.

You pushed open the diner door and walked towards the booth where Benny was sat.

He had his back to you but he didn’t seem surprised to see you when you sat down opposite him.

“Morning.” He greeted you as he munched on some pancakes.

“I won’t play chess with you.” You stated. “I won’t play chess with you but I will spend the weekend with you and you can talk about it.”

Benny remained silent as his brown eyes watched you carefully.

“I finished your book.” You told him. “I'm ready to learn.”

Benny placed his knife and fork down, picking up the napkin beside his plate to wipe his mouth.

“Great.” He nodded, interlinking his fingers above his food as he elbows rested on the table. “Let’s begin.”

(WHAT HAPPENS NEXT HERE)

TAG LIST

@sumebreaks @rainbowpowaa @momsteeeve @timelesstay @carostar2020 @rose-moon-mist @alwaysbeanunknownfan @liatlyn @weirdowithnobeardo @supercalifragilisticprincess @blushingpogue @heartofeden @airwaveee @subaehun @gonnashinelikestars @soundbreaker-harms @gothicwidowsworld @leilanixx @gold-star-for-me @number-0-iz @goinggoinggonzo @iiwontgiveuponmilkk @a-tel-o-pho-bia @tearvnclw @reecebib @chouetteschaussettes @lilypander @gatheringstormclouds @pig32 @oliviazinnegan @tattooedmuses @someone-you-dontknow @gemmamitch @chims-kookies @jasmine2042003 @sxperncturalimpala67 @ausblack @gingerspicetalks @epistrofh-twn-ypogeiwn-poihtwn @lizziel1410 @stephyra17 @hannah-olivia @ausblack @kylobien @vampirestookmydoubts @that-one-shitty-blog

#benny watts x reader #benny watts imagines #benny watts imagines #benny watts x femreader #benny watts #the queens gambit imagines #the queens gambit #Thomas Brodie Sangster #Thomas Brodie Sangster imagines #newt #Beth Harmon #Anya Taylor joy

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iceywrites · 3 years ago

Note

hi! what about 22. “Are you hurt? What happened?” and/or 23. “You fainted, are you alright?” with Ash and Eiji ? I love your blog and your writing so much! And no pressure to write it at all, have a good day/night :)

It really wasn't that big of a deal; it shouldn't have affected Eiji so badly. It's absurd in an unexplainable way. It was just Ash playing with Michael.

Michael was enacting a scene from a movie he had seen the other day while Ash was peacefully reading a book on the couch. There was a play knife in the brunette's hand and he hit Ash's abdomen with it, complete with sound effects, while Ash, playing along, overdramatically dropped on the couch. It should have been funny, really.

But Eiji's heartbeat started increasing rapidly. He doesn't remember much. Just that he called Ash's name, like a whispered prayer, as he desperately tried to grab a support. The corners of his eyes started overpowering his vision with a black curtain. He promptly collapsed after that.

***

Ash is worried sick. He has no idea what happened or why it happened. As soon as Eiji fainted, Max called their family physician. The doctor said that it could have been a panic attack since there was no sign of physical weakness or exhaustion. Max and Jessica exchanged a sympathetic look. The doctor suggested to get some tests done - just to be sure - and assured that Eiji would wake up soon.

Ash kneels down beside Eiji's beds. He dries off any sweat the develops on shorter man's forehead. He idly rubs his thumb along Eiji's knuckles, impatiently waiting like a dog waits for its owner to return.

His prayers are answered after an hour. Eiji stirs in his sleep, brows furrowed and eyes clenched tight. Ash occupies the barest minimum space required to sit on the edge of the bed. He holds Eiji's hand between his own, trying to copy the inkette's reactions when he wakes up from a nightmare.

When Eiji finally wakes up, Ash smiles. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Eiji blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the environment, when he jolts up. His eyes are wide again and there's fear swimming in those brown pools which were almost always filled with mirth. Eiji embraces - clings to - him like a dying soldier clings to his favourite memory. He mumbles Ash's name incoherently and only when Ash places his hand on the shorter man's back does he realise that Eiji is shivering.

Ash is clueless. He has no idea what to say or how to comfort the panicked man in front of him. "Are you hurt? What happened?" He asks uselessly.

Eiji clenches his fist around Ash's shirt in response.

To save both of them, Jessica enters the room. "Oh, you're awake!" Jessica observes. She pours him a glass of water. She places a hand on Eiji's back, trying to draw him out of that embrace but he just holds Ash tighter.

What has he done to Eiji?

"It's okay, I'm not asking you to leave him. But I need you to drink this water. Please?" Ash takes the glass and holds it for Eiji to drink. He makes sure that Eiji drinks all of it. When they're done, Jessica scoots closer to them and wraps her arms around the pair. She kisses Eiji's head then Ash's.

"Eiji, love, you fainted, are you alright?" She asks in a soothing voice after a few moments of silence.

"Yes." He answers as he loosens his hold around Ash.

"Good." She pulls them closer, almost protectively, and rests her chin on Eiji's head. "Did you skip lunch?"

"He did." Ash answers for Eiji.

"I might have forgotten." Eiji explains in a small voice. Ash doesn't buy his bullshit at all but that is an argument he'll have later.

"That could have been a reason for the weakness." Jessica says.

Silence envelopes them again and Ash mind starts devouring him when he sees Eiji's fragile state. Horrible. Disgusting. Swine. Filthy. Undeserving-

"Eiji, I think you need a little help too." Jessica finally speaks.

"Honestly, I'd thought about getting therapy even before I came here for the first time."

"Why?" Ash asks before he can stop himself. Why would anyone want to hurt Eiji? He didn't deserve any of that!

A small sad smile forms on Eiji's lips. "A lot of things had happened. My father died. I found out about my mother's affair. My leg accident. It was too much. Ibe san had suggested but I kept looking at the bills and kept denying it. Ibe san brought me here-"

"And look how that turned out!" Ash laughs bitterly.

Eiji shrugs. "It helped me a lot. I had never felt more alive. Thank you, Ash."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Sometimes, it's more of a feeling than an action."

Ash furrows his brows, not understanding the meaning at all. That's when Jessica continues. "I would highly suggest to get therapy. You have suffered too, sweetheart." She turns to Ash and says, "and before you start overthinking about it, it was not your fault, Ash. You are not responsible for anyone's condition."

Ash has a long list of points against that statement and of this was a debate competition, he would have easily won. But, again, that is an argument he'll have later. Eiji first.

He doesn't know what to say so he just places his hand on top of Eiji's.

"Yes. Okay."

"Yeah?" Jessica asks and she almost looks proud.

Eiji smiles and nods.

"Great! This hellish therapy sessions might just become bearable."

"Ash, were not going to have therapy at the same time!"

"Dammit!"

#😬✌🏻#banana fish #ash lynx #eiji okumura #jessica randy

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onewithnomightypowers · 3 years ago

Text

Old Habits

pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

summary: Old habits come back when you meet an ex lover after a long time. Conversations feel like you never stopped talking to them. Sometimes you have to see them one last time to say goodbye like you mean it but most of the time it doesn’t go as planned.

warning: drinking

words: 2.1k

a/n: could be read as part 2 of last kiss but is a stand alone. got a bit poetic at the end. hope you guys like it. and as always, love reading your opinions/reactions. also asks are open. (gif not mine)

masterlist

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

She picked up her phone to open Instagram. Yes, Y/N still had notifications on for his account even after they were broken up for months. Classic Tom.

He posted two of the same picture on his story. No one understood how that would happen almost every time, not even the people working at Instagram to whom they contacted about the glitch.

Tom had his hair slicked back, standing in a white t-shirt next to Harry, his brother, giving a million-dollar smile. They were holding a clapperboard together. There was text on the picture too, 'day 1 let's go!!' She smiled to herself. Just because they weren't together doesn't mean that she wasn't allowed to feel happy for his achievements. Even though she wishes to know all these big things from Tom himself she is, unfortunately, left here, watching a small part of his life flash in front of her for less than thirty seconds.

"Are you listening?" Hope, Y/N's date said.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. You were saying?" Y/N placed the phone back where it was resting, next to the cold wine bottle.

"You seem distant," they said.

When she 'met' Hope (she only really met them 30 minutes ago), Y/N wasn't looking for love, just sex, and that is what online dating specializes in. She hoped Hope knew what they were signing up for, sexual intimacy and nothing else.

"It doesn't matter does, does it? We both know what we are here for. Why not just cut the chase," Y/N replied.

It was early in the morning, the sun had yet to shine in its full glory. Y/N could only think of the first time she stayed over at Tom's old apartment but then she turned her head only to find Hope's naked body next to her. Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization that he was not hers anymore. Being in a foreign environment didn't help her growing anxiety, twisting and turning her intestines.

It's been four months, her feelings for Tom refuse to quit on her because she knows she could never quit on them, on him, even if he has. He probably has already found someone else in Canada, she thought. She didn't want him anymore but she still needed him, one last time just to teach her stupid heart how to say goodbye.

Y/N wore her clothes and picked up her shoes, going on a trail to find Hope's door to get out before they wake up. Climbing down the stairs, she took out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

'5 new messages from Sam' 7 hours ago

Sam: hey

Sam: ik it's late

Sam: I am going for a run tmr morning @6

Sam: do you wanna come?

Sam: will go to the new coffee house near my house after that

Y/N texted him back

Y/N: I'll meet you at the coffee place

Sam: come fast. already here

Sam and Y/N were standing in the queue to place their orders. “You look especially shitty today,” Sam said, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.

“I haven’t been home yet,” Y/N reasoned her appearance.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. The person in front of them left the queue, they moved towards the counter. “One hazelnut latte, double shot with skimmed milk,” Y/N gave her order.

“And you?” the cashier’s question directed to Sam.

“I’ll have a matcha latte with oat milk”

Sam turned to Y/N, “Harrison got me on matcha, and now I can’t go back to coffee”

They paid their dues and moved over to the barista counter to collect their order.

“So, what were you doing last night?” Sam inquired.

“I was on a date, it isn't a big deal though. Just had some needs to take care of”

“Oh, was it any good?”

“It was fine. I was distracted the whole time. Saw Tom’s story about halfway into the bottle of merlot. Couldn’t stop thinking about him”

“Seems…sad. But you know Tom is coming back for the Christmas weekend, I think. He might attend Harrison’s Christmas eve party”

“One hazelnut latte and one matcha latte,” someone behind the counter screamed.

“That’s us,” Sam raised his voice.

Harrison had a bucket inside his house, under a sign that said 'drop your tracking devices here' with an arrow pointing to the bucket. Y/N dropped her phone on a pile of roughly fourteen others. Debating whether to see Tom's face was something she wanted or not made her late and not very fashionably.

The house was decorated with empty liquor bottles along with red and green streamers from one wall to another. Everyone was drunk in their best dress. There were no signs of Tom yet. Y/N took a deep breath, walking towards the kitchen to get herself some liquid courage to help her socialize.

The kitchen was rather scarcely populated. Empty glasses were lined up next to the sink. Are they clean or used? Bending down, Y/N opened the refrigerator to see if Harrison had any chilled wine. No luck. "Hey," a familiar voice was heard.

She looked up at the familiar stranger.

"Hey Tom," she smiled. The refrigerator light falling on Y/N made her blush visible.

She grabbed a half-cut lemon placed in the egg tray.

“How have you been?" Tom asked leaning back on the kitchen counter, observing her movements.

Y/N walked towards the sink to grab herself a crystal glass hoping for it to be clean. "Just busy with work these days"

"I heard you got a job at Condé Nast, is that true?" he took a sip from his beer.

"Well, you heard right. You are looking at their new senior brand manager for digital", she said proudly.

Tom hugged her from the side she was holding a knife to cut the lemon for her gin and tonic. "That's great darling! You always wanted to work there"

Darling. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like the first time she met Tom.

"I saw your story the other day. You started filming your script, right?" she dropped the lemon in the glass.

"Yup, it was a long time coming," he grabbed the knife she was using and washed it without even knowing. He was so used to Y/N never washing utensils after using them and, he would always have to clean up after her.

"Congrats on that babe!" The word 'babe' just slipped out of practice.

Y/N grabbed a Bombay Sapphire standing still on the marble slab. The blue of the bottle shinning even in the dim-lit room.

"I missed you," Y/N made eye contact, screwing the cap back on. A long, silent pause.

I miss you too, so very much

She cleared her throat, "so, how long are you staying?"

"Going back Monday morning"

She opened a can of tonic water.

"Are you seeing someone?" Tom asked.

"Wouldn't you wanna know" a smirk on her face grew. "I've been out on few dates, nothing serious. What about you?"

"Met this girl online, dated for a bit but, she wanted something I couldn't give to her"

Y/N scoffed, "did she have a foot fetish or something?"

"No, Y/N. She wanted love, not my feet" they both laughed.

"On that topic..." Tom calmed himself, "...I was listening to this song a few weeks ago and, there was this line, 'the smell of your hair reminds me of her feet' and it made me think of you"

"I reckon," she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

"No, seriously, I really related to that line. No matter how many people I hook up with, it will be hard to find the type of intimacy I shared with you. I still relate to it"

"I hate going on walks alone and having faceless dreams," Y/N blurted, lacking a proper reaction.

"You're still the face of all my fantasies," Tom confessed.

None of them knew what to say next. Anything they thought of saying now included walking over the blurry line of exes to lovers.

"You look pretty"

"Classic me, had a glow up after getting my heartbroken"

"You always looked this pretty. You are beautiful," Tom assured her. The 'heartbroken part did not sit well with him. He already felt guilty for taking a job across the pond which was a great opportunity for him to grow but was only possible by severing his ties with Y/N.

It had just started snowing on Boxing Day. Tom was alone in his cold home, boiling a pot of ramen noodles. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the burning stove with the pot on top.

Tom: *attached photo*

Tom: I come back after months and my family leaves me alone with no food

Y/N: you should add a poached egg

Tom: Thanks. I shall.

Tom: I think I made too much ramen for me

Tom: do you wanna come over and share?

Her indecision was visible by the coming and going of the gray dots. Then finally, Tom could tame his anxiety by her simple reply.

Y/N: sure.

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom put two bowls of hot ramen on the dining table and went to open the door. Behind the door, Y/N was standing with her hands inside her brown checker coat. There was dust of snow sitting on her shoulders. Her braided hair was made by the most anxious hands in town.

The door opened and, Tom’s hands flew to take Y/N in his arms. They hugged like little kids hug their parents after being away from each other, for them, an eternity. It did feel like an eternity to them too but, they hadn’t forgotten each other’s touch.

“I parked my car at the church, couldn’t find any spot here ‘cause of the snow," she pulled out.

“The snow seems to be gaining momentum.”

Y/N hummed in agreement. She took off her coat and hung it in the Holland’s coat closet.

“Come on, the ramen is getting cold,” she followed tom into the kitchen.

They sat adjacent on the wooden table in comfortable silence. Tom used chopsticks and, Y/N used a fork. Only the occasional noodles falling in the broth were heard, along with the gushing of wind.

“It’s really spicy for me,” Tom said.

“Yeah, I can see your ears turning red.”

She still remembers

Y/N raised her hand to cover her mouth while yawning.

“Since you made the food, I’ll do the dishes,” she got up, grabbed their bowls, and walked over to the sink.

Wearing the gloves, she turned to Tom, “it was quite tasty”.

Tom gave her a smile.

She spread the soap on the dishes and turned the tap on. Tom pushed his chair back to get up.

“Have you made any friends at your new job,” he jumped and sat on the counter next to Y/N.

“Yeah, sort of. Kyara works there too so, I have just made her friends my friends,” she washed his chopsticks.

“That’s good. Have you talked to Emily after the wedding? She told me they are planning on adopting.”

“They invited me over for dinner when they got the approval from the agency. Kyara made this amazing Hyderabadi biryani, it was her mum’s recipe so, it was obviously better than the restaurant”

“God! You and your love for Indian food”

Y/N removed her gloves, “I should go. Thanks for the ramen, by the way”

“Are you sure you can go out in this weather?”

“Yeah I think," she started walking out of the kitchen.

Tom grabbed her hand. “Stay”, his voice was like cotton.

Y/N turned and made contact with his pleading eyes. She moved closer to him. “Please”, he said. They both were inching in to lock their desperate lips.

Y/N did not notice when she had fallen asleep talking to Tom. Their naked bodies were covered by the white comforter. Her eyes slowly opened to a boy with brown eyes and messy hair looking at her.

“I like it when you sleep. I love watching you sleep”

She chuckled. “That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” She had a sleepy voice.

“You look so serene, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at you for eons”

“But love, I'm only here till the snow settles,” she caressed his cheeks.

“Then the cold shall frost our limbs," he leaned in to kiss her.

tags: @elios-timotea

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #spiderman #marvel fanfiction #marvel #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spider man #spiderman x you

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jungxk · 5 years ago

Text

crush

filed under. i totally forgot i wrote this. also i like the name eunmi sue me

notes. thank you to @lonelyending for reading thru this crusty story and making me feel good enough about it again to post it. also @suga-kookiemonster bc im pretty sure i sent u this like a year ago and u told me to post it it but....i forgot abt it shdgjsgd. writing/life in general has been hard recently so pls accept this kookfic to hold yous over until i update just one

genre. fluff, light comedy, light angst, smut

warnings. smut (oral sex: f receiving, penetrative unprotected sex)

length. 5.1k

the first thing jungkook thinks when he sees you is wow.

he hasn't been up for very long, and you don't even know he's looking at you through the window. yoongi-hyung has wrapped you up in his arms as you sob and sob, muted behind the protective hospital glass. even with messy hair and wet eyes he's starstruck. it's why he recoils slightly when jimin and namjoon explain to him that you're his wife.

"my," he can't even say the word. "my..."

"your wife," namjoon repeats. "you know what a wife is, right? marriage?"

"yes," jungkook huffs, digging his nails into his scalp. "i lost my memory, hyung, not my fucking brain cells."

he suddenly registers the gold band glistening on his left hand, simple and heavy. he has to take a second to collect himself. "but...but i'm twenty-three. right? i am twenty-three, yeah?"

"yeah. you are," jimin says softly.

"then how the fuck am i already married? not that i'm complaining i just," he suddenly turns pink at the thought of you in a wedding dress, clinging onto his arm, breakfast dates, late night ramen runs at the convenience store, painting the living room in a house you probably share, naked in bed on top of him. jungkook clears his throat. "it just seems a little out of character for me. i can't commit to a pair of shoes for a week let alone-"

"i think it's best if you just spoke with ____," jimin finishes before jungkook can work himself into a frenzy, a comforting hand laying on his shoulder. "you two need to talk anyway and it's best if all these answers came from her."

jungkook gulps at the thought of speaking to you, seeing you face to face. suddenly he's a cripplingly shy fourteen year old again.

"okay." he croaks. "okay."

you were even more beautiful up close.

your tear stained cheeks are glowing and blotchy when you perch on the chair beside his bed, big eyes fluttering up at him nervously. you're soft and plush and shorter than he thought and jungkook has to fist his hands in the sheets and play a counting game with the heart rate monitor in order to maintain eye contact. he feels himself start to sweat when you smile sadly at him. "sorry, i just...i don't know how to be around you normally without making you uncomfortable," you say quietly, wringing your hands together to avoid touching him.

"uncomfortable?" he queries, gaze latching onto the ring on your hand. seeing it on you gives him a nice feeling.

you nod into your lap. "yeah, um..." you look at your scuffed shoes, searching for the word. "we're usually very...touchy."

he can feel himself turning red again. "t-touchy?"

you meet his eyes and a pretty smile breaks over your face at how bashful he looks, making jungkook's cheeks tinge even pinker than they already are. you nod cutely so your earrings tinkle, eyes shining, and suddenly he understands without any context why he fell in love with you, why he married you so young. you let a comfortable silence settle over the room before taking a deep breath, bracing yourself. "how much do you remember, jungkook?"

he tries not to cave under the weight of his guilt. "not a lot about...you, that is," he finishes with a wince, your sad eyes immediately making him wilt with shame. "i remember everything up until a couple of years ago. we had a show at the japanese dome, debuted in america, and then...nothing. and now..."

"and now," you echo softly. your eyes look distant, staring at the floor.

"i'm sorry," jungkook whispers, chin touching his chest. "hyung told me...they all told me how much i loved you and...and i'm sorry i don't remember any of it. i'm so sorry."

you shake your head gently. "don't be sorry, jungkook-ah," the pet name makes his ears perk up. its a familiar, calming sound. "none of this is your fault. you didn't ask to get hit by that car." your expression turns remorseful, tugging at his heart. "if anything, this is because of me. the only reason you were out was because i asked you to go and get eggs and formula even though i should've remembered to pick some up on the way home and-"

"no, no! please don't blame yourself," jungkook tries, wishing he was close enough or even brave enough to take your hand. you look up at him and he catches a glimpse of the endless pool of love you harbour for him, like a punch to the chest. "i don't ever want you thinking this was your fault. so ple-" he pauses. "wait, formula?"

the door bursts open before he can finish, pitter patter steps rounding his bed until it reaches the other side, where you sit. a little girl with big dark eyes and curls of dark hair stares at him in wonder and elation, her cheeks dimpling just like yours before she screeches, "appa!"

jungkook's mouth goes dry. appa?

you're quick to intervene, putting yourself in the toddlers path to scoop her up in your arms. her grabby little hands struggle over your shoulder, fingers wriggling in attempt to get as close to jungkook as possible. he only stares with wide eyes and an open mouth, heart hammering in his chest when he sees the uncanny resemblances: his round nose. your brown skin but just a twinge fairer. his hooded eyes. and his stomach lurches.

"shhh, eunmi," you coo as you carry her away even with her squirming. "remember what i said before? appa is sick. appa is sick, baby-"

"we have a child?" jungkook wheezes, eyes starting to glaze over. there's a bout of silence when you look back at him guiltily, the baby's fumbling grinding to a halt when she registers the tension in the air. jungkook's breath is barely a whisper. "is that my daughter?"

your face crumples with a fresh bout of tears and eunmi looks on worriedly. she pushes her little lips into your cheek in a baby's kiss, like she's seen her father do so many times to get your attention. the word "amma," is muffled into your skin until you get yourself together and press a short kiss to her head.

yoongi rushes in, face twisted in apology. "i swear to god i turned around for one minute and-"

"it's okay, yoongi," you say quietly, stroking the baby's head. "eunmi, stay with uncle just a bit longer, okay? amma will be back in a minute..."

"appa," she whines over your shoulder, reaching for jungkook who sits helplessly in his bed. he watches with tears wetting his eyelashes, heart twisting in agony at the sight of his child he doesn't remember stretching her arms out for him. she begins to cry when he doesn't react or coo her. like he used to.

"take her, yoongi," you say shakily, passing the baby to him. the sound of eunmi's crying makes your heart shatter all over again, yoongi's quiet hushing doing nothing to qualm her sobbing as the heavy door closes behind them.

the silence that falls between the two of you is nothing short of excruciating. jungkook's head spins, completely overwhelmed: is that why you both got married so young? because of a child? was this why jimin and namjoon wouldn't say a damn thing about his life until he spoke to you first?

and then all the other questions that followed: was he a good father? when was his daughter's birthday? did she like kimchi and banana milk too? did he sing to her? read to her often?

would she ever forgive him for not being able to remember her?

"her name is eunmi," you say, looking down at the floor when jungkook starts to cry.

jungkook doesn't understand how his baby could be so pretty. she's golden brown like those sandy beaches on postcards, with chubby cheeks and twinkling dark eyes that resemble yours to a t, and that's when he realises of course she's beautiful. she's yours. you balance eunmi on your hip while you make coffee - decaf, since you're still weaning - and despite the amnesia jungkook feels like he's been here before, in this warm, happy place that is the kitchen.

"she got your nose though," you remind him, dumping the baby in his lap upon her fussing. she always seemed to wind down under his touch, and although nervous about the sudden responsibility of fatherhood, jungkook is compelled to give it. eunmi doesn't understand anything's changed so he doesn't see why he should act like it. "she's whiny before her milk too. like you."

"hey!" he retorts, but can't exactly defend himself. he twirls his fingers around her curly pigtails until she catches on and tries to stand on his thighs, reaching for his hair to yank. jungkook lets her. he's barely known his daughter a week and he's already so smitten he'd let her gut him open with a butter knife.

"she missed you, you know. when you were in hospital all this time," you say, making him look up to watch you stare into your drink. the fear still lingers in your eyes, faint and persistent. he can see it every time you look at him and it makes his body yearn to touch you like he once did, like he once would have before his brain unlearned everything his heart didn't. you laugh while watching eunmi pull his hair again, making him hiss. "even yoongi tried but no one coddles her as much as you."

"really?" he asks, face lighting up. he's so happy to hear that. jungkook hates the way the question bubbles up in the back of his throat, like it'd make a difference or it'd change how he felt. but he has to ask it. "is that why...is that why we got married so early, then?" he says, trying to sound as offhand as possible. "because of eunmi?"

you chew your lip. "yeah. i mean, you said it wasn't a big deal. because you were going to marry me eventually so it didn't make a difference, but...it doesn't really matter i guess, because that's not what everyone else thinks," you pause, tracing the rim of your mug again. "that's certainly not what your fans think."

jungkook doesn't even want to think about it. the backlash, the gossip, the name calling and dehumanisation. for the first time in his life jungkook couldn't give less of a shit about his reputation. "i'm sorry," he says, feeling like the word has lost meaning by now with how much he's said it. "i'm so sorry. not for this, for us or for eunmi. i don't regret any of that i just," he shifts the baby in his lap, still getting used to her weight. "i can only imagine what you went through."

you look a bit bewildered. "...you said that last time too." you smile again reassuringly. "please don't feel solely responsible, kook-ah. you didn't exactly get me pregnant on your own."

he flushes tomato red and you giggle at him until eunmi joins in too.

jungkook can't keep his eyes off you while you play with the baby, comb out her hair, sing her lullabies while you bathe her together. he'd always wanted a whirlwind romance as a teen and it looks like he finally got it, because he can feel himself fall head first in love with you (all over again). it didn’t make sense for someone to be so collected and easygoing after having motherhood forced onto you so abruptly. you tell him often that he's a picture-perfect dad, but jungkook still doubts he compares.

"does she need a change?" he asks, struggling to keep all of eunmi's wriggling limbs in his grip.

"nope, just hungry," you say, reaching out when he passes the baby to you. you're about to stand up and go to the guest room to feed her, but jungkook is already arranging the pillows next to him for you, grabbing a baby cloth on the side too.

"do you need another pillow?" he muses aloud, but he's already grabbing the ones on his side of the bed before you can answer, forming a wedge for you to sit nicely beside him. he looks up at you when you fail to move. "are you okay?"

"yeah i, um," you chew your lip nervously. "you don't...mind me feeding here?"

you immediately regret the question once it leaves your mouth. jungkook's crestfallen expression hits you right in the stomach, round eyes glittering up at you. he hasn't looked this upset since he woke up nearly a month ago. "why would i ever mind?”

"oh jungkook," you sniff, sitting beside him. he pulls you into the nest of pillows beside him, arm winding protectively around your shoulders. your eyes brim with sympathy tears, tired and angry and upset with treating him like a stranger.

"if i make you feel uncomfortable, i can go," he offers quietly. "if it makes you feel weird i understand..."

"no, not at all," you rush to stop him, suddenly realising how close you are. you could kiss his pink little lips if you just tilted your head up. "i just didn't want to make you feel weird. all this new stuff is happening to you, you're suddenly a husband and a father with no recollection of signing up or it and i just...i don't know how much you want to invest the second time around," you scramble to finish your sentence when he pins you with a concerned expression. “as in, i understand if you don’t want to make the same choice twice. it’s a big decision.”

he shakes his head dismissively. there wasn't a thing in the world that could make him turn his back on his family but it looked like you still needed convincing. he peers at you curiously when you position the baby. "so i can stay?"

you smile at him eagerly. "of course," you undo the nursing strap of your bra before the baby finally latches. "i actually prefer it when you're here. it makes me feel safe."

jungkook watches quietly while you hum for the baby, playing with her little hand while she drinks. the adoration seeps out of him in waves, how serene you look while you rock her, how angelic eunmi looks while she blinks her big doll eyes up at you both. she won't stay this little forever. he feels so overwhelmed by it, gathering you further in his arms with the urge to hold his family in his hands like a diamond. you don't question the little sniffles jungkook buries into your hair, resting your head on his shoulder wordlessly. you missed being held by him, missed his cotton scent and gentle breath.

"i love her so much," he whispers into the shell of your ear, entranced by the baby's little gurgles and gulps. he reaches out to run his knuckle over the velvet of her cheek, round and stuffed with milk. "i feel like i'll die, i love her so much."

"me too," you smile. "it was scary and hard for a long time but...i'm so glad we had her. i wouldn't trade her for anything."

you feel jungkook's lips trace your temple, heart stuttering upon the sudden contact. you hear what he doesn’t say: i wouldn't trade either of you.

"why are you so sweaty?" jimin scowls, noting the dark patches under jungkook's t-shirt when he tries to take the baby from his arms. "it's not even humid today."

jungkook doesn't do anything but gulp and cuddle a sleeping eunmi closer to his chest. she's become somewhat of a security blanket for him; even if she wasn't awake to play, he was always itching to hold her and nuzzle into her head when he's tense or embarrassed. like now.

"leave him alone, you know he sweats when he's shy," yoongi grins.

"stop it," jungkook mumbles.

"shy? what for?"

"because he's got a crush on his wife," namjoon snickers, knowing jungkook would whack him one if his arms weren't around his kid. "why are you looking at me like that? it's true!"

"but you can't just say it! she'll hear!" he hisses.

"you're married," jimin deadpans but it only makes the younger boy curl in on his baby more. "god, this reminds of when you two met. remember how he used to hide behind manager hyung every time ____ came in? and then i had to listen to them fuck in the next room for a year only to end up back here all over again-"

"jungkook," you call. "where did these come from?" you walk into the sitting room with a bouquet of yellow roses nestled in your arms. "did a fan send them? i didn't see a note they were just on the worktop-"

"th-those are for you," he mumbles. "i got those for you."

you look so pretty when you stare it makes him sweat harder and the three older boys all but burst a vein in their head trying not to laugh when leaving the room. there's an awkward silence where you clutch the flowers and he clutches the baby. "thank you," you say finally. "they're beautiful, i love the colour yellow..."

his big doe eyes round up to look at you even though the lower half of his face is smushed into pigtails. "you're welcome."

"can i kiss you?" you blurt out, too fast to stop it. your cheeks are still stinging and you're pretty sure you have baby powder in your hair but jungkook looks at you with awe as he nods so vigorously his earrings shake.

so you do, leaning over the arm of the sofa to press your mouth over his long enough for both your breaths to catch. you pull away, moving to sit next to him so his free arm can wind around your shoulders when you kiss him again. "please," he mumbles when you part. "please don't ask to kiss me. just do it," he leans for another long, warm kiss that leaves you light headed. "stop tip-toeing around me, okay? we're married. i know i scare easy, but not that easy."

you feel giddy, finally feeling the weight being lifted piece by piece. "okay," you peck his mole endearingly before scooting up for another kiss. "i missed this."

"me too," he hums into your mouth. "it feels like the first time but also...not the first time, you know? not just because i don't remember but like," he doesn't know how to say it, wetting his lips thoughtfully. your chapstick is cherry flavoured, his favourite. "like we've been doing this for longer than both of us even realise. longer than this life."

"i know," you nod. "i know."

after a while, you forgot about jungkook's amnesia altogether. even though the chances of him making a full recovery were slim, it all felt so normal and back to routine, all the kissing and the cuddling and the playing with eunmi. there was almost no room for trepidation anymore. until now.

you moan into jungkook's mouth when he pulls you onto his thighs, big hands palming your ass when you grind into him. he's only mildly concerned that he'll cum in his pants at this rate but he doesn't fret too much: that was secondary to undressing you and touching you and pleasing you and making you scream as loud as he could make you without waking the baby. he has nearly three years of re-learning your body to catch up on and he's eager to start.

he's quickly reminded during this process that you are a master. you know exactly where to kiss him, exactly how much pressure to kneed into his cock with your hips, exactly how much tongue he wants in his mouth until he's whining and damp for you. of course you know his body like the back of your hand - your child wasn't conceived from thin air. it makes him all the more desperate to learn, almost antsy to get his mouth and hands on you until you're writhing and breathless beneath him.

you gasp when you feel his hand slip between your legs, rubbing his fingers over your shorts. you automatically rock your covered wetness into his touch, the long whimper you muffle into his neck sending jungkook soaring through the clouds with pride. you're so lost in the feeling, having missed it so much, you're barely able to squeak a stop! when he hooks his fingers inside the waistband of your panties.

his eyes shoot open. "what's wrong?"

"j-jungkook," you shuffle in his grip, feeling so embarrassed under his scrutiny you don't know where to look. "it's not that i want you to stop but. listen, just," you cling to his shoulders, shivering when his hands drag reassuringly up to your waist. "just remember that...i've had a kid, okay? i'm not gonna look like before."

he blinks. "i don't remember what you looked like before."

"no, i mean like," you lick your lips, tasting him there. "it's still something to keep in mind. i'm not gonna be as smooth and perky in places like all those idol girls you perform next to, so just-" he watches you fumble nervously in his lap, the growing disbelief making him blink. "don't expect too much okay? things might not look the way you imagine them to and i don't want you to feel-"

"stop," he cuts off, tugging you so you're seated over his erection again. the look jungkook pins you with is so intense you can feel your pulse thrum in your ears, the harsh rise and fall of his chest making him appear that much more passionate. "this body," he slips his hands up your top, palming your skin. "made my child. i take offence to it being spoken about with anything less than admiration, even by you."

"kook-ah," you say nervously, but still let him remove your pj top over your head before you laying you under him on the bed. you don't know why your eyes suddenly prick with tears when he traces over your stretch marks and discoloured skin with his smooth lips. "this kept my daughter warm," he kisses under your navel, sliding up to your heavy breasts. he kisses each darkened nipple, swollen from the baby's mouth. "these feed her." he rises further still, before planting his mouth on your forehead in a short peck. "and this raises her. so how can i be anything but proud to touch you?"

"jungkook, stop," you sniff, tears wetting your lashes. your eyes fall shut when he wipes them away with his thumb, lips ghosting over your cheeks and nose.

"what did i say about tip-toeing around me?" he whispers, forcing you to look him in the eye. only then do you see the tears there, all the ardour and respect he holds for you pooling in those brown depths. "i'm your husband. let me be your husband."

you kiss him before you can start crying again, letting him part your mouth and taste you long and hard before finally undressing himself and slipping your shorts off. this is all a first for him, and it's been so long since you've done this it's almost like a first for you too, frantic and messy and desperate to feel jungkook lodged inside you where he belongs. you know he must share the sentiment when he splits your thighs over the narrow of his hips, hooking them there while he gets a good look of his erection rubbing through your slick.

no wonder i knocked her up, jungkook muses faintly. i don't think i can ever stop doing this.

"jungkook, please," you run a hand through his hair, grinding against his cock in encouragement but he still won't take the plunge. instead, your voice reminds him of his initial objective, causing him to saunter down between your legs faster than you can process. he's licking into you before you can have a second thought about it, mouth falling open with a loud moan when he traces around your clit in firm circles.

he has your knees over his shoulders and his arms wound around your hips so you have nowhere to go, nothing to do but buck into his attentive mouth, jungkook's groans vibrating against you until you can barely keep yourself together - he's always enjoyed this as much as you have. which is why he takes his time, explores every crevice and subsequent response, relishing in the gush of wetness when he does something right. he even goes as far as holding his tongue stagnant against your folds so you have no choice but to rub yourself into him for friction, so entranced he is by your invigorating reactions. only when you're squirming and whimpering with deliriousness does he finally give in and resume a steady pace over your swollen clit, two fingers sliding in home so you have something to come around. and you do.

messy and wet and shrieking into the pillow by your head so that you're muffled enough to not wake the baby down the hall, your orgasm drawing out longer than normal as you do your best to ride it out. jungkook carries you through it, gulping down as much of your arousal as he can manage until your hips finally drop back into the bed in post-climax exhaustion. on the contrary, the only reason he stops lapping at you is because you tug him away by the hair, bringing him up to you and between your legs again before he can do anything about it.

he splutters with a moan at the sudden contact of your wetness against his cock again, eyes fluttering shut and allowing you to bring him in, arms and legs winding securely around him so that you're flush against each other, hips rocking in tandem. jungkook is so caught up in the feeling - not the sex but the safety of being held, being connected like this - that you're the one to reach down and position his tip against your hot center, before finally running your hands down your husband's back to cup his ass and shove him into you.

jungkook gasps, breath shaking at how tight you are. you're so hot, so snug around him his eyes shut upon instinct, letting your hands guide his hips and showing him how to move in that perfect rolling motion that you're only familiar with after years of practice. and jungkook, of course, is a fast learner. it doesn't take long for him to take the reigns and fuck you just how you like it, adding in a sharp snap of his hips every now and again just to listen to you squeak in surprise. the wet sounds of your joined arousal coupled with you moaning under him is near cathartic, sending him hurtling to his finish line.

but before he can get there you shift him over, thick thighs helping you roll and pin him under you on the bed. jungkook grapples at your waist when you resume a slower but harder rock of your hips that has his length grinding against your clenching walls, his head thrown back at the intensity of it. you ride him through it, peppering the moles on his pretty neck with kisses and sucks, mouth finding his stiff little nipple to give it a swirl too. it's exactly what he needs to finish off, fingers digging into your flesh as he bucks wildly, filling you full of his seed while he calls your name. you slow to a stop when his hands finally fall limp on your thighs, his chest heaving under you and covered in sweat. you giggle. he always got so sweaty.

"you did so well, kookie," you whisper, kissing his damp neck and collar bones. his arms are suddenly around you again for comfort. "you were so good for me...always so good to me..."

"you," he croaks finally, eyes half lidded and a little delirious. "you didn't finish?"

you giggle at his genuine concern, pecking his wet lips. "i got mine, remember?"

"how many times?" jungkook is suddenly alert, tugging your wrist to get your attention before you can climb off him. his other hand is still around your middle so moving was out of the question until he allowed it. he was still inside you. "how many times do i usually make you come?"

you blink in embarrassment. you never really thought about it, let alone counted. "um...i don't know..." he waits for an answer, awfully serious about it. "a-at least two or three, i guess."

you yelp when he flips you back over, fingers immediately prying your cum soaked folds apart to nestle inside. "then don't act like we're done."

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook au #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #myfic #dont we all love a memory loss au

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Lúthien and Sansa

Art credit: Lúthien by Aerankai and Sansa by denvertakespics

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

Summary:

1. Beauty

2. Flowery names

3. From dusk to dawn

4. Little birds: nightingales

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

6. Big cats and big dogs

7. Bat and wolf imagery

8. Singing and dancing

9. Other parallels

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

1. Beauty

Ah, Lúthien! Ah, Lúthien,

more fair than any child of Men!

Oh, loveliest maid of Elvenesse,

what madness doth thee now possess?

Ah, lissom limbs and shadowy hair

and chaplet of white snowdrops there;

oh, starry diadem and bright

soft hands beneath the pale moonlight!

She left his arms and slipped away

just at the breaking of the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lúthien inherited her beauty from her mother Melian:

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

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

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

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

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

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

2. Flowery names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sansa is also a flowery name:

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

—GRRM about The Stark Sisters’ Names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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

3. From dusk to dawn

Lúthien is also called Tinúviel:

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

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

Tinúviel literally means "Daughter of Twilight".

Beren first saw Lúthien dancing and singing in the twilight:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

More about Sansa and the dawn here.

4. Little birds: nightingales

Tinúviel is also a term to refer to the nightingale:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More about Sansa and the nightingale here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran II

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

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

"Do all the birds have singers in them?"

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

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

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

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

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

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

Sansa, under the guise of Alayne Stone, is the prisoner of Petyr Baelish in the Eyrie, that literally means falcon's nest:

Alayne's apartments in the Maiden's Tower were larger and more lavish than the little bedchamber where she'd been kept when Lady Lysa was alive. She had a dressing room and a privy of her own now, and a balcony of carved white stone that looked off across the Vale. While Gretchel was tending to the fire, Alayne padded barefoot across the room and slipped outside. The stone was cold beneath her feet, and the wind was blowing fiercely, as it always did up here, but the view made her forget all that for half a heartbeat. Maiden's was the easternmost of the Eyrie's seven slender towers, so she had the Vale before her, its forests and rivers and fields all hazy in the morning light. The way the sun was hitting the mountains made them look like solid gold.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Beren and Lúthien were rescued by great eagles:

Thus the quest of the Silmaril was like to have ended in ruin and despair; but in that hour above the wall of the valley three mighty birds appeared, flying northward with wings swifter than the wind.

Among all birds and beasts the wandering and need of Beren had been noised, and Huan himself had bidden all things watch, that they might bring him aid. High above the realm of Morgoth Thorondor and his vassals soared, and seeing now the madness of the Wolf and Beren’s fall came swiftly down, even as the powers of Angband were released from the toils of sleep. Then they lifted up Beren and Lúthien from the earth, and bore them aloft into the clouds . . .

(As they passed high over the lands) Lúthien wept, for she thought that Beren would surely die; he spoke no word, nor opened his eyes, and knew thereafter nothing of his flight. And at the last the eagles set them down upon the borders of Doriath; and they were come to that same dell whence Beren had stolen in despair and left Lúthien asleep.

There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to the peaks of Crissaegrim and their high eyries [...].

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

Sansa expects for the Knights of the Vale (falcons) to help her to re-claim Winterfell:

Her eyes widened. "He is not Lady Waynwood's heir. He's Robert's heir. If Robert were to die . . ."

Petyr arched an eyebrow. "When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?"

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Sansa also wishes to have falcon's wings:

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Unbeknownst to Sansa, another kind of wings are reserved for her. More about this subject later.

6. Big cats and big dogs

During her adventures in order to help Beren, Lúthien interacts with a big black cat named Tevildo, and with a big dog named Huan, a great wolfhound.

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

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

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

Tevildo was an evil fay in the form of a great black cat with a collar of gold, which gave him much of his evil power. He was considered a prince of the servants of Melko and lived in a hilltop castle near Angamandi with other tiger-size cats. During the Quest for the Silmaril, Beren was captured by Melko and forced to work in Tevildo's kitchens. However, the cat was defeated by his archenemy Huan and Tinúviel, who forced him to give up his collar and reveal the spell which held the stones of his castle together. Melko learned Tevildo had lost his power and the cats reduced to normal size and exiled them.

Later Tevildo's place in the narrative was replaced by that of the Necromancer, Thû (later renamed Sauron), in the later Legendarium. Thû (and later Sauron) was the "Lord of Werewolves", in contrast to Tevildo's position as "Prince of Cats"; the cat-versus-dog theme prominent in the "Tale of Tinúviel" was thus eliminated in later writings.

Here we can see an illustration of Luthien's encounter with Tevildo:

Art credit: “but Tevildo caught sight of her where she was perched” by Alan Lee for Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Don't you find this scene familiar? A beautiful lady encountering with a black cat while she is pressed against a wall?

When I read about Tevildo discovering Lúthien shrunk against the wall:

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

I immediately thought of Sansa's encounter with Balerion, that black tomcat of the Red Keep while she was pressed against a wall:

The noise receded as she moved deeper into the castle, never daring to look back for fear that Joffrey might be watching … or worse, following. The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

And who was Balerion the black tomcat?

The Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed and trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel … all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right there,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.”

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

As you can see, Tevildo and Balerion sound very similar, both are black cats, both are called evil, both live in a castle, both are considered royals, Tevildo a prince, Balerion a king, and both found a beautiful lady pressed against a wall.

On the other hand, Lúthien befriends a great wolfhound named Huan.

Huan, the Hound of Valinor, was a great wolfhound, one of the hunting dogs of Oromë the Hunter.

Huan was given by Oromë to his friend Celegorm, one of the Sons of Fëanor and accompanied him on his huntings in the regions of Valinor. When the Ñoldor under Fëanor rebelled, Huan went with his master to Middle-earth.

Huan was with Celegorm and Curufin who were hunting when he smelled Lúthien and captured and brought the maid before Celegorm.

Celegorm captured Lúthien and plotted to marry her, thus forcing a bond of kinship with Lúthien's father, Thingol.

But Huan the hound was true of heart, and the love of Luthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity. Therefore he came often to her chamber; and at night he lay before her door, for he felt that evil had come to Nargothrond. Luthien spoke often to Huan in her loneliness, telling of Beren, who was the friend of all birds and beasts that did not serve Morgoth; ad Huan understood all that was said. For he comprehended the speech of all things with voice; but it was permitted to him thrice only ere his death to speak with words. Now Huan devised a plan for the aid of Luthien; and coming at a time of night he brought her cloak, and for the first time he spoke, giving her counsel. Then he led her by secret ways out of Nargothrond, and they fled north together; and he humbled his pride and suffered her to ride upon him in the fashion of a steed, even as the Orcs did at times upon great wolves. Thus they made great speed, for Huan was swift and tireless.

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

So, in a superficial layer, Huan could be paralleled with Sandor Clegane, dubbed the Hound, since Huan was Celegorm's hunting hound and the Hound was the sworn sword and later Kingsguard of Joffrey Baratheon.

Celegorm was dubbed the Fair, had fair hair and was a great huntsman, the same way Joffrey was blonde and comely, and loved hunting and killing.

Celegorm wanted to marry Lúthien while Joffrey was actually betrothed with Sansa.

There is also the fact that Huan helped Lúthien escape the imprisonment imposed by Celegorm, gave her back her magic cloak (made of her shadowy hair), and fled north together, that somehow reversely resembles Sandor Clegane's offer to Sansa to help her flee north the night of the battle of the Blackwater, offer that Sansa rejected. That same night after a sexual assault attempt, the Hound ripped his white kingsguard's cloak (stained by blood and fire) off and left it fell on the floor.

But in a deeper layer, Huan was to Lúthien the same way the direwolves are to the Stark children.

Indeed, Huan was a gift from a god, the same way the direwolves were a gift from the Old Gods to the Stark children.

Among the six direwolves, Ghost is the one that resembles Huan the most, not only because Huan, despite having grey fur, is often depicted as white, as you can see here:

Art credit: "Luthien and Huan" by Elena Kukanova

But because Huan, like Ghost, is mute.

Huan had been granted special powers by the Valar, he was as large as a small horse, immortal, tireless and sleepless, and was allowed to speak three times before he died. It was also prophesied that he could not be killed unless it was by the greatest wolf that ever lived; in this case a werewolf.

Huan, taking pity of Lúthien disobeyed his master Celegorm, helped her scape, joined Beren and Lúthien in their quest and adventures, turned against his master to protect Lúthien and ultimately died protecting Beren.

Huan used the three times he was allowed to speak to help Beren and Lúthien and say farewell to them.

In a similar way, despite being mute, Jon was the only one that "heard" Ghost in the summer snows when the Starks found the direwolves.

Now, in an early version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, Tevildo the Prince of Cats clashed against Huan the great wolfhound. It was a battle between a cat and a dog, Tevildo and Huan were archenemies. But in later versions of the tale, Tevildo was replaced by Sauron, who clashed against Huan, after taking the form of a werewolf. Huan won that battle. But much later, Huan was mortally wounded by Carcharoth, the greatest, most powerful wolf to ever live, and Huan died according it was prophesied.

The clash and contrast between wolves and hounds is also present in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire; but in this case, the direwolves are the heroes while the hounds are the antagonists (Bolton's bitches, the Hound, etc).

This wolves versus hounds theme is particularly depicted in Jon's and Sansa's chapters:

Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal.

Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Rattleshirt’s dogs greeted him with a chorus of snarls and growls and wild barking, as ever, but the direwolf paid them no mind. Six days ago, the largest hound had attacked him from behind as the wildlings camped for the night, but Ghost had turned and lunged, sending the dog fleeing with a bloody haunch. The rest of the pack maintained a healthy distance after that.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

"They’re dogs and he’s a wolf,” said Jon. “They know he’s not their kind.” No more than I am yours.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

It happened twice more that night, and again in the morning, when she woke to find him hard. The wildlings were stirring by then, and several could not help but notice what was going on beneath the pile of furs. Jarl told them to be quick about it, before he had to throw a pail of water over them. Like a pair of rutting dogs, Jon thought afterward. Was that what he’d become?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Eddard Stark had left before dawn, Septa Mordane informed Sansa as they broke their fast. “The king sent for him. Another hunt, I do believe. There are still wild aurochs in these lands, I am told.”

“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.

Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.

“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”

The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?”

“She wasn’t hungry,” Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

The same way Lúthien bonded with Huan, I can see Sansa bonding with Ghost when she meets with Jon Snow and the mute direwolf again. Oh it would be so sweet...

7. Bat and wolf imagery

At some point during their adventures, Lúthien took the form of a giant bat while Beren took the form of a werewolf.

To transform into a giant bat, Lúthien used the coat of a female vampire servant of Sauron named Thuringwethil, as a cloak. The same way Beren transforms into a werewolf by using the coat of a werewolf named Draugluin as a cloak as well.

And then the giant bat rode upon the werewolf:

Long he [Huan] had pondered in his heart what counsel he could devise for the lightning of the peril of these two whom he loved. He turned aside therefore at Sauron's isle, as they ran northward again, and he took thence the ghastly wolf-hame of Draugluin, and the bat-fell of ThurIngwethil. She was the messenger of Sauron, and was wont to fly in vampire's form to Angband; and her greatfingered wings were barbed at each joint's end with and iron claw. Clad in these dreadful garments Huan and Luthien ran through Taur-nu-Fuin, and all things fled before them.

Beren seeing their approach was dismayed; and he wondered, for he had heard the voice of Tinuviel, and he thought it now a phantom for his ensnaring. But they halted and cast aside their disguise, and Luthien ran towards him.

[...] By the counsel of Huan and the arts of Luthien he was arrayed now in the hame of Draugluin, and she in the winged fell of ThurIngwethil. Beren became in all things like a werewolf to look upon, save that in his eyes there shone a spirit grim indeed but clean; and horror was in his glance as he saw upon his flank a batlike creature clinging with creased wings. Then howling under the moon he leaped down the hill, and the bat wheeled and flittered above him.

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

Huan stayed with Lúthien, and hearing of their perplexity and the purpose Beren had still to go to Angband, he went and fetched them from the ruined halls of Thû a werewolf’s coat and a bat’s. Three times only did Huan speak with the tongue of Elves or Men. The first was when he came to Lúthien in Nargothrond. This was the second, when he devised the desperate counsel for their quest. So they rode North, till they could no longer go on horse in safety. Then they put on the garments as of wolf and bat, and Lúthien in guise of evil fay rode upon the werewolf.

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

Now there he laid

before their feet, as dark as shade,

two grisly shapes that he had won

from that tall isle in Sirion:

a wolfhame huge—its savage fell

was long and matted, dark the spell

that drenched the dreadful coat and skin;

the werewolf cloak of Draugluin;

the other was a batlike garb

with mighty fingered wings, a barb

like iron nail at each joint’s end—

such wings as their dark cloud extend

against the moon, when in the sky

from Deadly Nightshade screeching fly

Thû’s messengers.

—The narrative in the Lay of Leithian to its termination, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

Draugluin: Greatest of the werewolves of Thû (Sauron).

Thuringwethil: Name taken by Lúthien in bat-form before Morgoth.

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

Sansa is said to have taken the form of a wolf with big leather wings like a bat:

"The Imp, it's thought. Him and his little wife."

"What wife?"

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

Songs can be spells as well, Arya... Just ask Lúthien.

The image of a giant bat riding upon a werewolf sounds pretty similar to a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

There is also the fact that GRRM has used "bat wings" as a reference to "dragon wings," and Sansa has a lot of bat/dragon wings imagery around her.

We will come back to this bat and wolf imagery issue later.

To finish this section, I leave you with this crossover fan-art where Lúthien, very impressed, asks Sansa about the rumor of her transformation into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

8. Singing and dancing

Before meeting Beren, Lúthien lived a peaceful life singing and dancing beautifully in the forest:

But Tinúviel’s joy was rather in the dance, and no names are set with hers for the beauty and subtlety of her twinkling feet.

Now it was the delight of Dairon and Tinúviel to fare away from the cavernous palace of Tinwelint their father and together spend long time amid the trees. There often would Dairon sit upon a tussock or a tree-root and make music while Tinúviel danced thereto, and when she danced to the playing of Dairon more lissom was she than Gwendeling, more magical than Tinfang Warble neath the moon, nor may any see such lilting save be it only in the rose gardens of Valinor where Nessa dances on the lawns of never-fading green.

[...] “Often and often she came there after and danced and sang to herself.”

[...] At length one day as she danced alone he stepped out more boldly and said to her: ‘Tinúviel, teach me to dance.’ ‘Who art thou?’ said she. ‘Beren. I am from across the Bitter Hills.’ ‘Then if thou wouldst dance, follow me,’ said the maiden, and she danced before Beren away, and away into the woods, nimbly and yet not so fast that he could not follow, and ever and anon she would look back and laugh at him stumbling after, saying ‘Dance, Beren, dance! as they dance beyond the Bitter Hills!’ In this way they came by winding paths to the abode of Tinwelint, and Tinúviel beckoned Beren beyond the stream, and he followed her wondering down into the cave and the deep halls of her home.”

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

As it will be explained later, Lúthien's singing and dancing are not only beautiful aesthetically, those skills were magic and worked as spells and enchantments as well.

Leaving out the actual singers, Sansa is the female character more connected with music, singing and dancing. She plays some instruments (high harp, bells), has a sweet singing voice and loves to dance:

Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. [...]

—A Feast for Crows - Arya II

“Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

[...] "Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?"

The Imp's mismatched eyes narrowed. "My lady can dance with whomever she pleases."

Perhaps she ought to have remained beside her husband, but she wanted to dance so badly . . .

[...] Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

"Lord Nestor will have no singers at the feast, only flutes and fiddles for the dancing." What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne...

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

"Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?"

"You're very kind," she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor.

[. . . ] When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?"

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

As we will see in a next section, Sansa's singing already performed an act of magic/enchantment, she tamed a wild beast full of rage and lust.

9. Other parallels

9.1. Beautiful hair

Lúthien and Sansa have beautiful hair that is their signature feature:

[...] but dark as shadow was her hair [...]

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

[...] and the hair of Tinúviel which was dark and finer than the most delicate threads of twilight began suddenly to grow very fast indeed [...]

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

Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She [Sansa] had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair:

[...] and from her hair the fragrance fell

of elvenflowers in elven-dell.

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

The perfume of her flower-twined hair [...]

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

Behind closed doors

they sat, while Beren told his tale

of Doriath; and words him fail

recalling Lúthien dancing fair

with wild white roses in her hair [...]

—A second extract from The Lay of Leithian, Beren and Lúthien (2017) - J.R.R. Tolkien

This reminds me of Jenny of Oldstones, a lady in a song famous for wearing flowers in her hair:

"There's a song," he remembered. "'Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair.'"

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

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

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

Sansa has a lot of parallels with Jennys of Oldstones. You can read about it here:

WE’RE ALL JUST SONGS IN THE END. IF WE ARE LUCKY: JENNY OF OLDSTONES AND THE PRINCE OF DRAGONFLIES

THE BLACK PRINCE WITH THE WHITE GUARDIAN - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow and the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

9.2. Radiant

Lúthien is often described as radiant:

[...] and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

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

[...] for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.

[...] But suddenly some power, descended from of old from divine race, possessed Luthien, and casting back her foul raiment she stood forth, small before the might of Carcharoth, but radiant and terrible.

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

Sansa is described as radiant by Jon:

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

The word “radiant” has romantic connotations, especially if you consider that GRRM’s love for medieval tourneys started with the movie Ivanhoe (1952), years before he even read the actual book by Sir Walter Scott. In the movie Liz Taylor played the role of the Jew girl Rebecca, and little George fell in love with her. When the author remembered his young infatuation, he referred to the actress as “radiant.” Read more about it here.

9.3. Skinchanging

As was explained previously, Lúthien had the ability of shapeshifting. She turned into a giant bat by wearing a female vampire's coat as a cloak and helped Beren to turn into a werewolf by wearing a werewolf's coat as a cloak as well. Then the bat rode upon the werewolf.

This image of a giant bat riding upon a werewolf is very similar to the image of Sansa turning into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat.

Sansa is a skinchanger as well.

Acording to GRRM, all the Stark children are wargs or skinchangers:

“I don’t think this is necessarily a ‘Stark’ ability, though all the children have it to one extent or another. They also realize it to one extent or another”. [Source]

Q: Are all the Stark children wargs/skin changers with their wolves? A: To a greater or lesser degree, yes, but the amount of control varies widely. [Source]

Oh, George said all the Stark children of this generation were full Wargs. I thought they were like one shot Wargs and were only bonded to their wolves but no they can warg into just about anything. Bran is just the only one working on it. [Source]

All of the Stark children were blessed with a direwolf and the ability to change skins with those magical creatures. The direwolves were sent by the old gods to protect and guide the Stark children. The direwolves are not only protectors and guides for the Stark children, they are also one with them.

Since Lady died, Sansa lost the opportunity to form a deeper bond with her wolf and to further develop and recognize her skinchanger abilities.

But I believe that Lady’s soul still remains in the world, and that’s why Bran calls and counts Sansa’s wolf as “Lady’s Shade.”

So it is possible that part of Lady still remains inside of Sansa, and that’s why Sansa always dreams with Lady (wolf dreams). Only Jon stopped dreaming with Ghost for a time, coincidentally, when they were separated by the Wall.

Most of Sansa’s dreams with Lady are about both of them running in a godswood (Lady’s bones are buried near Winterfell’s godswood), and although Sansa doesn’t remember much of her dreams, she always whispers and/or wakes up with Lady’s name on her lips. Even after her nightmares, she thinks of her Lady.

Some readers have speculated about Sansa and her link with other animals, and the possibility of Sansa changing skins with them, like the black tomcat of the Red Keep, the old blind dog of the Fingers, and even the blue falcon that she observed flying above the Eyrie.

During her encounter with the black tomcat of the Red Keep, Sansa “almost jumped out her skin.” This is a very interesting wording that almost sounds like skinchanging:

The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

“Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you”, maybe, that’s why after approaching Sansa willingly, the black tomcat “spit at her and leapt away”. This scene happens when Sansa was coming to the godswood to meet with Dontos for the first time. After Sansa arrives, she immediately thinks of Lady.

Sansa bonds with the old blind dog of the Fingers fast and easily. The dog is affectionate, tries to defend Sansa from Marillion’s attack, and is next to her after the nightmares of past sexual abuse by the Hound and Tyrion, provoked by the singer’s attack:

It was eight long days until Lysa Arryn arrived. On five of them it rained, while Sansa sat bored and restless by the fire, beside the old blind dog. He was too sick and toothless to walk guard with Bryen anymore, and mostly all he did was sleep, but when she patted him he whined and licked her hand, and after that they were fast friends. […] “Alayne.” Her aunt’s singer stood over her. “Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you.” The old dog raised his head and growled, but the singer gave him a cuff and sent him slinking off, whimpering. […] “I’ll have a song from you,” he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

And once again trapped in a tower, Sansa wishes she has wings:

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

As you can see, Sansa warging abilities are hidden so deep in the text, they only shyly appear in the middle of George’s prose as little pieces of poetry:

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Now tell me, what is that if not skinchanging?

And talking about birds, Sansa has already changed her skin with some birds, she was a talking little bird of the Summer Islands (repeating the right things to survive), then a mockingbird (as Petyr Baelish daughter), and she’s about to become a falcon (if she marries Harry).

And since cloaks could also be considered another skin, Sansa has already changed various cloaks. She was cloaked by a Lannister, then by her new father Petyr Baelish, and is about to be cloaked again by an Arryn.

But Sansa is a wolf, no matter how many skins she wears, she will always be a wolf.

And while Sansa wishes she had feathery wings, unbeknownst to her, she became part of the popular folklore when the smallfolk began to imagine her as a witchy kingslayer that later vanished in a puff of brimstone or changed into a “wolf with big leather wings like a bat” and flew away:

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

In the same book and with a very similar wording, Jon dreams of a ghastly direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

My personal theory is that the ghastly direwolf is Lady, because, among other reasons, this wouldn’t be the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another redhead.

These legends of Sansa the witch, the unnatural warg, the beastling, the skinchanger, the winged wolf that flew away from a tower window or vanished in a puff of brimstone, are at the same level of the legends about Bloodraven warging into a one-eyed dog and turning into a mist from a century ago:

How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? the riddle ran. A thousand eyes, and one. Some claimed the King’s Hand was a student of the dark arts who could change his face, put on the likeness of a one-eyed dog, even turn into a mist. Packs of gaunt gray wolves hunted down his foes, men said, and carrion crows spied for him and whispered secrets in his ear. Most of the tales were only tales, Dunk did not doubt, but no one could doubt that Bloodraven had informers everywhere.

—The Mystery Knight

If Sansa or Lady’s Shade have really changed skins with the old blind dog of the Fingers, that would be almost the same as Bloodraven warging or shapechanging into a one-eyed dog. By the way, the old blind dog’s master’s name was Bryen, a name way too similar to Brynden (Bloodraven’s name)…

But back again to the “wolf with big leather wings like a bat.” This interesting image reminds me of dragons instead of bats, and I think that was precisely George’s intention, he was subtly referring to dragon wings:

[…] “They say the child was …” […] “Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. […] “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat.

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood a red brick fountain whose waters smelled of brimstone, and in the center of the fountain a monstrous harpy made of hammered bronze. Twenty feet tall she reared. She had a woman’s face, with gilded hair, ivory eyes, and pointed ivory teeth. Water gushed yellow from her heavy breasts. But in place of arms she had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle, and behind she wore a scorpion’s curled and venomous tail.

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

So, this fascinating image of a “wolf with big leather wings like a bat” could be foreshadowing of Sansa wearing a Targaryen cloak in the future. Or at least having the support and protection of someone related to dragons.

9.4. Hades and Persephone imagery

Beren and Lúthien have a heavy Hades and Persephone imagery around them.

Lúthien could melt winter into spring with the magic of her voice and song.

During their adventures, Beren was severely wounded many times, and while Lúthien had healing abilities, one time he was nearly dead and other time he actually died.

After losing his hand, Beren recovers only after a long period of unconsciousness, and it was said that when he woke the spring came again.

Later, when Beren actually died, Lúthien descended to the lands of death and winter came over the lands of her father. Then, after gaining Beren's life again, she came back to earth and ended the winter with the touch of her hands.

These quotes exempt me from further explanation:

The wind of winter winds his horn;

the misty veil is rent and torn.

The wind dies; the starry choirs

leap in the silent sky to fires

whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer

through domes of frozen crystal clear.

A sparkle through the darkling trees,

a piercing glint of light he sees,

and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,

and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,

shrilled as she wayward passed along.

A frozen brook to bubbling song

awoke and laughed; but Beren stood

still bound enchanted in the wood.

Her starlight faded and the night

closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.

Thereafter on a hillock green

he saw far off the elven-sheen

of shining limb and jewel bright

often and oft on moonlit night;

and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,

and soft she sang as once before.

Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,

and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.

A night there was when winter died;

then all alone she sang and cried

and danced until the dawn of spring, [...]

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

And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was upon his limbs. There came a time near dawn on the eve of spring, and Luthien danced upon a green hill; and suddenly she began to sing. Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Luthien released the behind the walls of the world; and the song of Luthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed. Then the spell of silence fell from Beren, and he called to her, crying Tinuviel; and the woods echoed the name. Then she halted in wonder, and fled no more, and Beren came to her. But as she looked on him, doom fell upon her, and she loved him; yet she slipped from his arms and vanished from his sight even as the day was breaking.

[...] Now Beren and Luthien Tinuviel went free again and together walked through the woods renewing for a time their joy; and though winter came it hurt them not, for flowers lingered where Luthien went, and the birds sang beneath the snow clad hills.

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

There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to the peaks of Crissaegrim and their high eyries; but Huan came to her, and together they tended Beren, even as before when she healed him of the wound that Curufin gave to him. But this wound was fell and poisonous. Long Beren lay, and his spirit wandered upon the dark borders of death, knowing ever an anguish that pursued him from dream to dream. Then suddenly, when her hope was almost spent, he woke again, and looked up, seeing leaves against the sky; and he heard beneath the leaves singing soft and slow beside him LúthienTinúviel. And it was spring again.

Thereafter Beren was named Erchamion, which is the One-handed; and suffering was graven in his face. But at last he was drawn back to life by the love of Lúthien, and he rose, and together they walked in the woods once more.

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

For the spirit of Beren at her bidding tarried in the halls of Mandos, unwilling to leave the world, until Lúthien came to say her last farewell upon the dim shores of the Outer Sea, whence Men that die set out never to return. But the spirit of Lúthien fell down into darkness, and at the last it fled, and her body lay like a flower that is suddenly cut off and lies for a while unwithered on the grass.

Then a winter, as it were the hoar age of mortal Men, fell upon Thingol. But Lúthien came to the halls of Mandos, where are the appointed places of the Eldalië, beyond the mansions of the West upon the confines of the world. There those that wait sit in the shadow of their thought. But her beauty was more than their beauty, and her sorrow deeper than their sorrows; and she knelt before Mandos and sang to him.

The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon the stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since. Therefore he summoned Beren, and even as Lúthien had spoken in the hour of his death they met again beyond the Western Sea. But Mandos had no power to withhold the spirits of Men that were dead within the confines of the world after their time of waiting; nor could he change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. He went therefore to Manwë, Lord of the Valar, who governed the world under the hand of Ilúvatar; and Manwë sought counsel in his inmost thought, where the will of Ilúvatar was revealed. These were the choices that he gave to Lúthien. Because of her labours and her sorrow, she could be released from Mandos, and go to Valimar, there to dwell until the world's end among the Valar, forgetting all griefs that her life had known. Thither Beren could not come. For it was not permitted to the Valar to withhold Death from him, which is the gift of Ilúvatar to Men. But the other choice was this: that she might return to Middle-earth, and take with her Beren, there to dwell again, but without certitude of life or joy. Then she would become mortal, and subject to a second death, even as he; and ere long she would leave the world for ever, and her beauty become only a memory in song. This doom she chose, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and putting aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that thus whatever grief might lie in wait, the fates of Beren and Lúthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalië she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost.

—The Lost Cantos, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

It is said that Beren and Lúthien returned to the northern lands of Middle-earth, and dwelt together for a time as living man and woman; and they took up again their mortal form in Doriath. Those that saw them were both glad and fearful; and Lúthien went to Menegroth and healed the winter of Thingol with the touch of her hand. But Melian looked in her eyes and read the doom that was written there, and turned away; for she knew that a parting beyond the end of the world had come between them, and no grief of loss has been heavier than the grief of Melian the Maia in that hour. Then Beren and Lúthien went forth alone, fearing neither thirst nor hunger; and they passed beyond the River Gelion into Ossiriand, and dwelt there in Tol Galen the green isle, in the midst of Adurant, until all tidings of them ceased. The Eldar afterwards called that country Dor Firn-i-Guinar, the Land of the Dead that Live; and there was born Dior Aranel the beautiful, who was after known as Dior Eluchíl, which is Thingol's Heir. No mortal man spoke ever again with Beren son of Barahir; and none saw Beren or Lúthien leave the world, or marked where at last their bodies lay.

—Epilogue, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Jon and Sansa have Hades and Persephone imagery around them as well.

Jon as Hades:

Despite being born in Dorne, Jon is a son of Winterfell.

In the Prologue of A Game of Thrones we can read that Waymar Royce, Jon's stand in, died at the hands of the Others, in an eriily similar way that Jon would die four books later at the hands of his brothers of the Night's Watch (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 1).

Jon played to be a Ghost at the Crypts of Winterfell (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 2).

Jon named his mute albino direwolf Ghost (foreshadowing of Jon's death Nº 3).

And in A Dance with Dragons, Jon actually died.

One of Jon's killers was Bowen Marsh dubbed the Old Pomegranate.

We can read the words "a dream of spring" in one of Jon's chapters (A Storm of Swords - Jon V).

Sansa as Persephone:

Persephone and Sansa are renowned beauties.

Sansa was born during winter, she is the Winterfell's daughter.

Sansa is heavily linked with the dawn and the sun (Battle for the Dawn to defeat the Long Night/Long Winter).

An important theme in Sansa's arc is rebuilding, which is connected with rebuild a life after the Long Night/Long Winter. A dream of spring.

GRRM has linked Sansa to the warmer seasons (spring and summer) through her favorite dessert, lemon cakes.

Sansa is deeply associated with flowers, thus with spring.

Sansa rejected the pomegranate from Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.

Jon's death is foreshadowed (hidden daggers) in one of Sansa's chapters (A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI).

Sansa sensed Jon's death: "A ghost wolf, big as mountains." (A Feast for Crows - Alayne II).

Lady, part of Sansa, already died and is buried at Winterfell.

Read more about it here:

Some thoughts on Sansa and Jon, by Tze

The Pomegranate Imagery - Jonsa, ASOS.

Sansa as Persephone

The King and Queen in the North vs. the King and Queen of the Underworld

9.5. Daeron the minstrel

There often would Dairon sit upon a tussock or a tree-root and make music while Tinúviel danced thereto, and when she danced to the playing of Dairon more lissom was she than Gwendeling, more magical than Tinfang Warble neath the moon, nor may any see such lilting save be it only in the rose gardens of Valinor where Nessa dances on the lawns of never-fading green.

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

Daeron is mentioned as one of the greatest minstrels of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and only Maglor son of Fëanor is said to come close to his skill. Also in the Lay of Leithian there is named one called Tinfang Gelion who is counted among the three great minstrels, along with Maglor and Daeron.

Daeron loved Lúthien, but she did not love him. Nevertheless they were good friends, and Lúthien would often dance to his music. After Daeron found out about Lúthien's love for the mortal Beren, he betrayed them both to Thingol. When Lúthien later sought his help in assisting captive Beren, Daeron again betrayed her to Thingol, though this time in love and fear for her rather than jealousy.

Thereafter often she came to him, and they went in secret through the woods together from spring to summer; and no others of the Children of Iluvatar have had joy so great, though the time was brief. But Daeron the minstrel also loved Luthien, and he espied her meetings with Beren, and betrayed them to Thingol. Then the King was filled with anger, for Luthien he loved above all things, setting her above all the princes of the Elves; whereas mortal Men he did not even take into his service. Therefore he spoke in grief and amazement to Luthien; but she would reveal nothing, until he swore an oath to her that he would neither slay Beren nor imprison him.

[...] In the time when Sauron cast Beren into the pit a weight of horror came upon Luthien's heart; and going to Melian for counsel she learned that Beren lay in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth without hope of rescue. Then Luthien, perceiving that no help would come from any other on earth, resolved to fly from Doriath and come herself to him; but she sought the aid of Daeron, and he betrayed her purpose because he would not deprive Luthien of the lights of heaven, lest she fail and fade, and yet would restrain her, he caused a house to be built from which she should not escape.

[...] Upon Doriath evil days had fallen. Grief and silence had come upon all its people when Luthien was lost. Long they had sought for her in vain. And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. He it was that made music for the dance and song of Luthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Feanor. But seeking for Luthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Luthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things.

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

Daeron reminds me of Marillion, the singer that tried to seduce and rape Sansa.

Marillion witnessed Lysa's attempt to murder Sansa and did nothing but keep singing and playing his harp. Marillion's passion for Sansa/Alayne was unrequited, similar to Daeron's unrequite love for Lúthien.

9.6. Foes

During the events of the Quest for the Silmaril, Lúthien defeated mighty foes, among them were:

Sauron: Lúthien flung her cloak over Sauron's face, and he was struck by the blinding enchantment of weariness. Huan used the opportunity to take Sauron by the throat. Sauron tried to escape by shape shifting, but Huan held him down. Lúthien then demanded Sauron to yield the mastery of the tower to her, less Huan should destroy his mortal form. Sauron yielded, and fled the scene. Lúthien, having received mastery of the tower, laid waste to the fortress with her magic. The walls were destroyed and the prisons were broken. Lúthien found Beren and healed him.

Carcharoth: Suddenly some power, descended from divine race, possessed Lúthien, and casting back her raiment she stood forth, radiant and terrible. Lifting up her hand she commanded Carcharoth to sleep and he was felled, as if lightning had struck him.

Morgoth: Lúthien was undaunted by Morgoth and she offered to dance and sing for him in the manner of a minstrel. He beheld her with lust, of which came a secret desire to do some unspeakable evil to Lúthien. Morgoth accepted for this reason, but Lúthien sang a song of such enchantment and blinding power that all his court fell into a deep sleep and all the fires faded. The Silmarils in the crown on Morgoth's head suddenly blazed with a radiance of white flame and the burden of his crown and of the jewels bowed down his head, laden with a weight of care and fear that even the will of Morgoth could not bear. Then Lúthien, catching up her winged robe, sprang into the air and by casting her cloak before his eyes she set upon him a dark dream. Morgoth was cast down in slumber.

Mandos: Eventually Carcharoth was discovered by Thingol's warriors, and the wolf was attacked. Thingol was nearly slain, but Beren saved him and was mortally wounded. Huan then fought with Carcharoth and slew him, with both dying. The Silmaril was cut from Carcharoth's burned flesh, and Beren presented it at last to Thingol before he died. Thingol then held Beren with respect, but Lúthien commanded Beren to wait for her in the Undying Lands. Lúthien passed away in grief, and her spirit came to the Halls of Mandos. There she sang a song of such woe and lamentation, that even Mandos himself was moved to pity. He summoned Beren's spirit, and the two were reunited. Then he went to Manwë, who sought counsel from Eru and so the will of Ilúvatar was revealed. Thus, Lúthien was faced with a choice; to remain in Valinor and its eternal bliss, or for her and Beren to return to Middle-earth as mortals, after which they would die a second death. Lúthien chose the latter, and she and Beren returned to Doriath.

As you can see Lúthien defeated mighty evil enemies, including the death. Lúthien did all those deeds with her magic enchantments, singing and dancing, skills that can be compared with Sansa's kindness, mercifulness, courtesy and knowledge next to her sweet voice and dancing.

Sansa was also prophesied by the Ghost of High Heart to be involved in the death of the cruel King Joffrey Baratheon (that already happened), and in the slain of a savage giant in a castle made of snow, that is probably Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish. Another candidates are Tyrion Lannister and Gregor Clegane.

There is also the prophecy of Maggy the Frog, that involves Sansa in the downfall of Cersie Lannister.

And finally, we have to count Sansa's song of mercy (the Mother's Hymn), that placated the rage and lust of Sandor Clegane during the night of the Battle of the Blackwater and prevented the Hound's assault, as parallel with Luthien enchanting Morgoth into slumber, that prevented his evil assault: "He beheld her with lust, of which came a secret desire to do some unspeakable evil to Lúthien."

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Of their lives was made the Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, which is the longest save one of the songs concerning the world of old. Here follows their tale and what remains of the Lay.

—Prologue, The Lay of Leithian - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lúthien's love of the mortal Beren, for whom she was prepared to risk everything, including her life, was legendary and lamented forever in song and story.

Lúthien's romance with Beren was one of the great stories of the Elder Days that were told for many ages after she lived, and it was said that her bloodline will never extinguish.

The union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

Lúthien's romance with Beren is mirrored by the later romance between Aragorn and Arwen Evenstar.

According to legend, Lúthien's line would never be broken as long as the world lasted.

As you can see, the tale of Beren and Lúthien is a song that can be compared to the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

Sansa is the character that loves songs the most, particularly the songs about Florian and Jonquil, that are her very favorites.

I have speculated/theorized before that Jon Snow is the best candidate to be the Florian to Sansa's Jonquil.

And as other excellent meta writers have pointed out already, Jon Snow is the best candidate to be the Beren to Sansa's Lúthien.

So here I'm going to show you my take on the matter.

Singing

As I recently found out, we have this beautiful parallel between Beren and Lúthien & Jon and Sansa:

“Often and often she came there after and danced and sang to herself.”

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

“Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

As you can see, a man observing a girl singing is an old and obvious romantic trope, especially used in fairy tales. Here a graphic example.

Dancing

Alys Karstark’ wedding, organized by Jon Snow, happened in a very similar way to Sansa’s dream wedding:

”It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp”.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The Magnar all but ripped the maiden’s cloak from Alys’s shoulders, but when he fastened her bride’s cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled”.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X.

During Sansa's wedding she didn't dance with her husband. Her first dance as a married woman was with Ser Garland Tyrell, a knight that shares important parallels with Jon Snow.

Jon and Garlan are good with swords (better than Robb and Loras). Both Jon and Garlan like to train with more than one sparring partner to be better prepared to battle. Both Jon and Garlan have ghost imagery around them. While Jon was killed and got a direwolf from the old gods that he called Ghost, Garlan won the Battle of the Blackwater fighting under the guise of Renly’s Ghost.

During Alys's wedding Jon Snow rejected her offer to dance by telling her she must dance with her husband.

“You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon.”

“Anon?” teased Jon.

“When we were children.” She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. “As you know well.”

“My lady should dance with her husband.”

—Jon, A Dance With Dragons

Despite rejecting dancing with her, Jon Snow kept in mind Aly's wrong phrasing: "You danced with me anon."

Later he had the following thought:

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

While snowflakes falling reminds Jon of dancing, snowflakes falling reminds Sansa of lover's kisses:

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

I suppose that kisses, like loving, is another form of dance.

Bat and wolf imagery

We also have the bat and wolf imagery around Beren and Lúthien. These lovers, husband and wife, turned into a giant bat and a werewolf, an image that reminds me of Sansa turning into "a wolf with big leather wings like a bat."

Indeed, after Sansa ran away from King’s Landing the day King Joffrey Baratheon was killed, the rumors about her participation in the murder started. Among the smallfolk runs the tale that after killing the king, Sansa morphed into “a wolf with big leather wings like a bat” and flew away.

As was previously explained, GRRM has intentionally connected bat wings with dragon wings. So, this fascinating image of Sansa as “a wolf with big leather wings like a bat” could represent Sansa (a wolf) wearing a Targaryen cloak (dragon wings). Or at least having the support and protection of someone related to dragons (that is, Jon Snow).

This image alludes to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

Hades and Persephone imagery

We also have the Hades and Persephone imagery around Beren and Lúthien.

Lúthien could melt winter into spring with the magic of her voice and song.

Thanks to Lúthien's love and cares, the moment Beren woke up from a long period of unconsciousness after losing his hand, spring returned again.

When Beren died, Lúthien descended to the lands of death and gained Beren's life back. Then Lúthien came back to earth and ended the winter with the touch of her hand.

And as was explained before, Jon and Sansa have Hades and Persephone imagery around them as well. See above.

This is yet one more legendary couple who shares parallels with Jon and Sansa.

And since Lúthien's singing was the weapon that gained Beren's life back, this could be foreshadowing of Sansa's singing having an important role in Jon's arc during or after his resurrection.

It is vastly speculated that Jon will come back to life beast-like since he would inhabit inside Ghost for a while, thus Sansa's singing could be instrumental for taming Jon's beast-like form or to make him gaining back his memory.

Beauty and the Beast imagery

Lúthien's renowned beauty was extensively discussed already. Now let's see the beast allusions related to Beren:

Thereafter for four years more Beren wandered still upon Dorthonion, a solitary outlaw; but he became the friend of birds and beasts, and they aided him, and did not betray him, and from that time forth he ate no flesh nor slew any living thing that was not in the service of Morgoth.

[...] But she vanished from his sight; and he became dumb, as one that is bound under a spell, and he strayed long in the woods, wild and wary as a beast, seeking for her. In his heart he called her Tinuviel, that signifies Nightingale, daughter of twilight, in the Grey-elven tongue, for he knew no other name for her. And he saw her afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was upon his limbs.

[...] Beneath the Shadowy Mountains they came upon a company of Orcs, and slew them all in their camp by night; and they took their gear and their weapons. By the arts of Felagund their own forms and faces were changed into the likeness of Orcs; and thus disguised they came far upon their northward road, and ventured into the western pass, between Ered Wethrin and the highlands of Taur-nu-Fuin.

[...] As a dead beast Beren lay upon the ground; but Luthien touching him with her hand aroused him, and he cast aside the wolf-hame. Then he drew forth the knife Angrist; and from the iron claws that held it he cut a Silmaril.

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

Beren also formed a strong bond with Huan, the great wolfhound, a magical creature gifted by a god. This bond resembles somehow the bond between Jon and Ghost.

Beren stood beside Thingol, and suddenly they were aware that Huan had left their side. Then a great baying awoke in the thicket; for Huan becoming impatient and desiring to look upon this wolf had gone in alone to dislodge him. But Carcharoth avoided him, and bursting form the thorns leaped suddenly upon Thingol. Swiftly Beren strode before him with a spear, but Carcharoth swept it aside and felled him, biting at his breast. In that moment Huan leaped from the thicket upon the back of the Wolf, and they fell together fighting bitterly; and no battle of wolf and hound has been like to it, for in the baying of Huan was heard the voice of the horns of Orome and the wrath of the Valar, but in the howls of Carcharoth was the hate of Morgoth and malice crueller than teeth of steel; and the rocks were rent by their clamour and fell from on high and choked the falls of Esgalduin. There they fought to the death; but Thingol gave no heed, for he knelt by Beren, seeing that he was sorely hurt. Huan in that hour slew Carcharoth; but there in the woven woods of Doriath his own doom long spoken was fulfilled, and he was wounded mortally, and the venom of Morgoth entered into him. Then he came, and falling beside Beren spoke for the third time with words; and he bade Beren farewell before he died. Beren spoke not, but laid his hand upon the head of the hound, and so they parted.

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

Sansa's beauty is also renowned and was discussed above (Here a compilation of all the quotes about Sansa's beauty).

Sansa and Jon are also both wargs/skinchangers, but while Lady was the smallest, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting of the litter; Ghost is the biggest of the litter and is often described as a savage beast.

Now let's see the beast allusions related to Jon and Ghost:

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

My friend @really-sad-devil-guy wrote a series of metas about Sansa and the Beauty and the Beast trope. This series is unfinished at the moment but you can read the parts already posted here:

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 1

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 2

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 3

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 4

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 5

You can also read the posts I wrote about this subject here:

In the original fairy tale ‘La Belle et la Bête’ by Madame de Villeneuve, Beauty and Beast/Prince are cousins

Some fanon/made up things that certain shippers claim to be canon about their ship & the Beauty and the Beast Trope

There is a version of Beauty and the Beast where the Beast is a white wolf

Endless lineage

As was mentioned before, the union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

According to legend, Lúthien’s bloodline would never be broken as long as the world lasted.

Lúthien’s romance with Beren is mirrored by the later romance between Aragorn and Arwen Evenstar.

Aragorn and Arwen were first cousins many times removed and both descend of Beren and Lúthien.

In the case of Jon and Sansa, both are deeply connected to the continuity of the Stark bloodline.

I extensively wrote about Jon and Sansa and their connections to Winterfell in this post: i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my. Among these connections, here are the most noteworthy:

“The snow fell and the castle rose”

GRRM has directly associated Jon Snow and Sansa’s snow castle.

Jon and Sansa share the dream of rebuilding Winterfell, their ancestral home and seat of House Stark. This shared dream is beautifully represented by Sansa building a scale model of Winterfell out of “snow”.

What do I want with snowballs? She looked at her sad little arsenal. There’s no one to throw them at. She let the one she was making drop from her hand. I could build a snow knight instead, she thought. Or even…

[…] The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top…

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

“Drink this.” Grenn held a cup to his lips. Jon drank. His head was full of wolves and eagles, the sound of his brothers’ laughter. The faces above him began to blur and fade. They can’t be dead. Theon would never do that. And Winterfell … grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones … how could Winterfell be gone?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

There is also the fact that Jon is heavily associated with “snow” while Sansa is heavily associated with “stone.”

Winterfell is a grey “stone” castle that is cloaked by white “snow,” like a perfect marriage.

Jon and the Wall represent the “shield that guards the realms of men.” Sansa feels stronger within the “walls” of Winterfell.

All of these images allude to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

“The blood of Winterfell”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called, or call themselves, “the blood of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was raw. He looked at them all helplessly. “She yielded herself to me.” “Then you must do what needs be done,” Qhorin Halfhand said. “You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night’s Watch.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

“What if Lord Nestor values honor more than profit?” Petyr put his arm around her. “What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?” I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This phrasing “the blood of Winterfell” implies blood lineage of House Stark, and Jon and Sansa both dream of having children that would bear the names of their siblings: Robb, Bran, Rickon and Arya.

Willas would be Lord of Highgarden and she would be his lady. She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell, Jon and Sansa not only can rebuild the castle but the Stark family.

“Children of the Mountain”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called "children of the mountain".

Soon they were high enough so that looking down was best not considered. There was nothing below but yawning blackness, nothing above but moon and stars. “The mountain is your mother,” Stonesnake had told him during an easier climb a few days past. “Cling to her, press your face up against her teats, and she won’t drop you.” Jon had made a joke of it, saying how he’d always wondered who his mother was, but never thought to find her in the Frostfangs. It did not seem nearly so amusing now. One step and then another, he thought, clinging tight.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

“You’re mistaken. I never fall.” Mya’s hair had tumbled across her cheek, hiding one eye. “Almost, I said. I saw you. Weren’t you afraid? “Mya shook her head. “I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I’m flying. We’re both laughing, laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.” She pushed her hair back. “Then one day he wasn’t. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Coincidentally in reference to two snowy mountains, the Frostfangs beyond the Wall and the mountains at the Eyrie.

The word Winterfell could mean “wintry mountain(s)” A snowy mountain is basically “stone” covered by “snow”, like a perfect marriage.

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell and the Stark family.

You can read more about this subject (Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa) in this series of metas written by @fedonciadale back in 2018:

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 1 - the meeting

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 2 - Beren’s oath and first failure

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 3 - Beren’s and Luthien’s get the Silmaril

Tolkien and GRRM - Aragorn and Arwen

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

Lúthien was largely inspired from Edith Bratt (Tolkien's wife) and when she died, Tolkien asked his son Christopher to include Lúthien in her gravestone, as he considered her "my Lúthien."

In on of his letters (Nº 340), Tolkien said: "I never called Edith 'Lúthien' – but she was the source of the story that in time became the chief pan of the Silmarillion. It was first conceived in a small woodland glade filled with hemlocks at Roos in Yorkshire (where I was for a brief time in command of an outpost of the Humber Garrison in 1917, and she was able to live with me for a while). In those days her hair was raven, her skin clear, her eyes brighter than you have seen them, and she could sing – and dance. But the story has gone crooked, & I am left, and I cannot plead before the inexorable Mandos."

In the movie Tolkien (2019) the film recreates this scene, as you can see in this gifset.

In the same way, I believe that GRRM took inspiration from his wife Parris McBride, certain real life events and traits, and gave those to two of his heroines, Brienne and Sansa.

When Martin and McBride met, at a convention in Nashville in 1975, she told him that one of his stories, “A Song for Lya,” had made her cry. The gathering was in the free-spirited mode of the times—in an autobiographical essay, Martin notes that, when this conversation took place, they were both naked. (He does not elaborate.) He was, however, engaged to someone else. McBride went to work for a travelling circus for a while. By the time he moved to Santa Fe, in 1979, she was waiting tables in Portland, Oregon. They’d kept in touch, and after his marriage broke up they began what McBride calls a “fannish romance,” meeting at conventions and exchanging letters. In 1981, he persuaded her to move to New Mexico.

The New Yorker - April 11, 2011 Issue

And about they both being naked when they met, he later elaborates:

I met Parris for the first time at the 1975 Kublakhan in Nashville. A bunch of us were having a party in the women’s sauna and she walked in. I came to immediate attention.

Parris | George R.R. Martin

This naked encounter is compared by fans to this Jaime and Brienne passage:

She jerked to her feet as if he’d struck her, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of the thick blonde bush at the juncture of her thighs as she climbed out. She was much hairier than his sister. Absurdly, he felt his cock stir beneath the bathwater. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersei. He averted his eyes, troubled by his body’s response.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime V

We can even draw some parallels between Beren and Lúthien and Jaime and Brienne.

Like Lúthien, Brienne dances, but she dances with her sword. While Jaime, like Beren, lost a hand.

The possibility that GRRM may have used his wife Parris McBride as inspiration for Brienne and Sansa, makes a lot of sense if we consider that, according to GRRM himself, Brienne is Sansa with a sword.

But it is the mention of Parris crying while reading “A Song for Lya”, a bittersweet ending story with a radiant auburn haired beauty, what reminds me very much of Sansa.

Sansa is fond of sweet and sad songs, of bittersweet tales and stories, and she is often moved to tears by their sadness and beauty:

Sansa listened raptly while the king’s high harper sang songs of chivalry [...]

—A Clash of Kings - Bran III

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [...]

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Lady Ashara was my aunt. I never knew her, though. She threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword before I was born.”

“Why would she do that?” said Arya, startled.

[…] "Why did she jump in the sea, though?"

"Her heart was broken."

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

Sansa is often moved to tears at the presence of beauty, as Jon's fond memories of her tell us:

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

So, in a similar way that Edith inspired Lúthien, I believe Parris inspired Brienne and Sansa.

It is evident that his first encounter with Parris deeply impacted GRRM, so much that he took certain real life events and certain traits of his wife and gave those to two of the heroines of his magnum opus. Particularly Sansa, since she is a main character and the princess of the story, that shares parallels with powerful women from History and with important characters of classic fantasy sagas, like Tolkien's Lúthien in this case.

There you have it. Sansa is the Lúthien figure in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire.

I'm sure there are more parallels between Lúthien and Sansa, I'm not an expert in the LOTR books, the only book I read so far is the one I used to write this post: Beren and Lúthien (2017), so maybe I will be revisiting this post in the future with more findings.

#sansa stark #lúthien tinúviel #jonsa #beren x lúthien #asoiaf #lotr #grrm #grr martin #jrr tolkien

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

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Soft prompt idea: First time Lambert's SO tells him "I love you" ❤

A/N: I AM ON FUCKING FIRE TODAY and I’m so happy 🙂 I hope you like this babe!! Also this might be a little OOC for Lambert, but he’s being a softy in this so it really is OOC for him to be a big softy but that’s okay because we love him anyways!

***

Lambert followed a few paces behind you, guiding Champion by his reins.

The three of you were traveling through a swampy area in Velen. Lambert promised you on this part of your journey that you’d be able to take a little bit of time in the swamp to collect whatever herbs and things you wanted while you were passing through. You were excited. The swamps held so many wondrous things you couldn’t find in the North.

The witcher made sure to follow behind you, but not too far behind you. He wanted to be able to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of danger without his paranoid behavior distracting you.

You came to a stop, pulling the knife on your hip out. You stepped off of the small dirt path, picking up your skirt as best as you could with one hand, and moved towards a large rock covered in moss.

“Watch where you’re stepping, bug.”

“I am.” You knelt down by the rock and examine the moss. “Can you hand me one of the empty jars from my satchel?”

Lambert moved around to Champion’s side, opening your satchel and digging around inside for a moment to find an empty little jar.

“Is this one good?” He asked, holding up a relatively small jar.

“Yes, that works. Thank you.”

Once he passed it to you, you were able to scrape off enough moss to fill the jar.

“What is that for?”

“Moss is good for lots of stuff.” You passed the jar to him. “Coughs. Covering wounds.”

Lambert furrowed his brows together for a moment.

“Isn’t that what bandages are for?”

“Yes.” You grinned just a little. “Don’t question my ways, Master Witcher. I don’t question your methods, do I?”

The corners of his lips tugged up a little as he gave Champion’s reins a little tug to continue following you.

You lifted your skirts up and stepped into a rather deep mud puddle, sinking a few inches into the dark brown substance.

Lambert chuckled a little.

“What’s so funny?” You asked him, moving between a couple trees to get to a fern bush.

“You always get after me when I get mud on my boots.”

“Because you don’t take them off at the door and wear them through my house.” You shot him a look. “And most of the time, you boots stink of rotten corpses.”

“It’s not my fault the dead monster juices get everywhere.” He muttered.

Your nose scrunched up at his choice of words.

You gathered what you needed from the fern bush and began to make your way back to him.

“Please never describe it that way ever again, Lambert.”

He grinned, happy with himself, and took the fern pieces from you to put into a sachet.

A little while had passed and you found quite a lot of ingredients for your work. A peaceful silence had fallen between you and Lambert. He’d pull out a jar or sachet whenever you needed it and then put it away for you.

You couldn’t find the right words to describe how happy you were that he was okay with this. Previous lovers had all looked down on you going out and getting dirty in the woods for plants and rocks. Some even discouraged you from doing so even though it was a necessary part of your job.

As the end of the swamp came into sight, you moved on to the dirt path to walk alongside Lambert. You looked over to him, chewing on your bottom lip. He met your gaze, confused.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” You shook your head, smiling a little. “Just…. Thank you for doing this with me.”

“I wasn’t going to let you come out here alone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And we were passing through anyway.”

You nodded your head a little.

***

When nightfall came, you were lucky enough to find an inn. While Lambert went to stable Champion, you had a bath drawn.

You were absentmindedly dragging the soapy washcloth up and down your arm when there was a knock on the door to the room.

“Bug?”

“In here, Lambert.” You lifted your head, sitting up a little straighter.

He walked in, closing the door behind himself.

“I was gonna go down to our room, but there’s a lot of unsavory folk lingering around in the halls and I’d hate to have to skip town tonight ‘cause one of them decided to do something stupid.” He said, leaning against the door.

“I’ll be done in just a few minutes.” You told him, picking up the chunk of soap sitting on the side of the tub. You got the washcloth nice and soapy again before you went back to work on cleaning yourself.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, bug.” Lambert commented.

You looked up at him for a moment, then brought your eyes back down to your leg.

“Usually you talk my damn ear off.”

“Just…. Thinking.”

Your tone was off. You had been thinking all evening. He knew something was wrong, that there was something on your mind you weren’t telling him.

The witcher pushed himself away from the door and moved to the side of the tub, kneeling down so he’d be at your level. Silently, he held his hand out for the washcloth. You handed it to him. He used his other hand to gently take hold of your chin. He turned your head towards him and began to wipe the dirt and mud from your forehead.

“About what?” His breath was warm against your face.

“How I…. I’ve never had someone do what you did for me today.”

His eyes avoided yours, choosing instead to focus on the smudge on your temple.

“Wasn’t much I did. We were just traveling through a shithole. Figured you’d have fun messing around in the mud.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help but look down, tilting your head too. “But my previous partners, they’ve never…. They’d never allow me to do such a thing as walk out in the swamps like that. They’d never let me off the horse, let alone off the path. Some…. Some wouldn’t even let me collect herbs or my stones.”

Lambert furrowed his brows together.

“What kind of moron wouldn’t let a mage get shit they need for their work?”

You smiled just a little.

“Not everyone is as open minded and as nice you, darling.”

“You make me sound like some sort of saint.” He snorted. He dipped the washcloth into the water to rinse it off.

You were silent once more.

Lambert put the washcloth on the side of the tub and stood up.

He wasn’t too sure what was going through your head, sometimes it was difficult to read you, and sometimes it was hard for him to figure out the right way to approach the situation to get you to open up to him.

He turned to go back to the door to stand guard, but he got just a few steps away from the tub when you spoke.

“I think I’m…. That I’m in love with you.” You whispered.

The witcher turned on his heels to face you, brows drawing together.

“.... Because of the swamp?”

“No, no. I-I mean, it’s a combination of things.” You suddenly felt like maybe bringing this up while you were naked in the tub wasn’t the best of ideas. You pulled your knees as close to your chest as possible and crossed your arms over your chest. “I’ve-I’ve wanted to say it for a while. I mean, we’ve been together for a year and a half, almost two years. I just….”

Lambert looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.

“If-If you don’t feel the same-,”

“No, I do. I do.” He shook his head. “Just…. didn’t think this would come up here, in the dingy bath of a crusty inn in Velen. Kinda wanted to try to be a little romantic about it. Maybe do it on our two years? But romantic shit makes me queasy.”

You smiled softly at him.

“Why don’t, uh, why don’t you get out and get dressed? And then we can finish this not in here?”

You nodded your head.

You stood up and Lambert retrieved a towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders. You thanked him and stepped out of the tub to dry off. He moved back to the door, wanting to give you space while you got dressed.

Once you were in proper clothes, you walked together down to the room you’d be staying in for the night. While Lambert secured the door, you climbed into bed.

“What was your idea of making it a little romantic?” You asked him, watching him as he came around to the side of the bed and got in.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders, running his hand over his hair. “I was hoping it would be at Kaer Morhen so I could make you dinner. Eskel has a stash of really nice wine in his room. I was going to steal a bottle.”

“It sounds lovely.” You rested your head on his chest. “You know, you can still do that.”

“I know. I will.” Lambert began to trace shapes on your back as he stared at the ceiling. “I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I do…. I love you, bug. You mean a lot to me.”

“It’s okay. I love you too, Lambert.” You looked up to kiss him softly. “And I think it’s rather cute that our first time saying it to each other was in a crusty Velen inn.”

“It sure fits us.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @she-wolfoftheinquisition

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#Lambert x reader #lambert x reader fluff #the witcher #Lambert the witcher #the witcher the wild hunt #the wild hunt #Netflix #kacey answers

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sherlokiness · 4 years ago

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Still can't get over the fact that Sansa fell wildly in love with a man of the Night's Watch who died and came back with one blue eye and Jon fell in love with a red-haired , blue-eyed Wildling girl.

Others have talked about Jonnel 'One Eye' Stark/Sansa Stark so here's another one eyed parallel of Jon but with Timett.

And even the other Burned Men feared Timett, who had put out his own left eye with a white-hot knife when he reached the age of manhood.

If a man was mad enough to put out his own eye, he was unlikely to be gentle to his enemies.

Timett was mad enough to take out his eye with a white hot knife.

The Wall is mine, Jon reminded himself whenever he felt his strength flagging. He had taken up a longbow himself, and his fingers felt crabbed and stiff, half-frozen. His fever was back as well, and his leg would tremble uncontrollably, sending a white-hot knife of pain right through him.

It's a consequence of betraying Ygritte. Those above are only instances that the words white hot knife were used.And why did he finally betray the love of his life/benefactor?

The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown.

Because he fell into someone's eyes and drowned. I'm forever gonna be a Jonsa because of this.

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

Sansa did not know what to say to that.

I also don't know what to say that.

When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

I will fall into those eyes and drown.

??????????!!!!!!!

"More's the pity. And yet there was that one time … what was her name, that common girl of yours? Becca? No, she was one of mine, gods love her, black hair and these sweet big eyes, you could drown in them. Yours was … Aleena? No. You told me once. Was it Merryl? You know the one I mean, your bastard's mother?"

By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes. He has been wounded, she recalled thinking, but I will mend his hurt when we are wed.

Robert and Cersei with hints of Lyanna and Rhaegar. They could have drowned in the eyes of their betrothed but they never married them and wound up with each other instead.

A good age for Joffrey, he thought, remembering what Bronn had said. His first had been even younger. Tyrion remembered how shy she'd seemed as he drew her dress up over her head the first time. Long dark hair and blue eyes you could drown in, and he had. So long ago . . . What a wretched fool you are, dwarf.

She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.

Tyrion thinking about his first wife. Sansa thinking about Loras. These two got married too. But I think, in this case, the possibility of divorce is very high.

So... It's very clear that it's romantic to drown in someone's eyes. Tell me, why is it that when it's Jon's turn to drown, it's to an old man's eyes?????!!!!!! You're telling me it's just a coincidence that the meaning changed just this one time? That it just so happens that Jon's quote perfectly answered Littlefinger's "prophecy."

"Great queen," declared Reznak mo Reznak, "you are so radiant today I fear to look on you."

"There is no woman more lovely than Your Grace. Only a blind man could believe otherwise, and Daario Naharis was not blind."

Jon fall for Sansa? Dany is the loveliest and most radiant~~~ Jon isn't blind.

Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Or is he? Finding a dark honey haired, blue-eyed Val with a white wolf so lovely is a sign of blindness- me thinks.

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold."

Imo, the air could be filled with as much sweetness but it's useless if the only one who can taste it is the silver haired.

The funniest thing to take from this is Jon would rather take out his own eye/blind himself than be blinded by Dany's radiance. And then he would see through Sansa's eye.

I have two sources for this.

1. In the books, Arya was blind and she saw through a cat's eye. Jon will be 'blind' and he will see through Cat's eye. Because Sansa has her mother's eyes- Cat's eyes.

2. In the beginning of AGoT, we are given a lense- a very special lense, that could only be seen by one eye.

“A lens,” he said. “What has that to do with me?”

“I asked the same question,” Maester Luwin said. “Clearly there was more to this than the seeming.”

Under the heavy weight of her furs, Catelyn shivered. “A lens is an instrument to help us see.”

I propose that whatever the hell I just said can actually be seen through this lense- the Jonsa lense.

"What is it that they would have us see more clearly?”

The very thing I asked myself.” Maester Luwin drew a tightly rolled paper out of his sleeve. “I found the true message concealed within a false bottom when I dismantled the box the lens had come in, but it is not for my eyes.”

Luwin did not stir. "Pardons, my lord. The message is not for you either. It is marked for the eyes of the Lady Catelyn, and her alone. May I approach?"

There is a secret message that can only be read by using one eye- Cat's eye.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #me supporting all one eye meta #where's my fucking old meta abt drowning in someone's eyes #why can't i tag properly

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empower-bi-women · 4 years ago

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Can you do a request about Shawn hearing his girl has a fever and freaks out because it's a real big deal (or could be) when she has a fever and has to be admitted? Just basically she has shit that makes it complicated when she gets sick and he freaks out and runs off stage and flies all the way to her and just stays with her every second? "Shawn she'll be fine" "I don't care. She needs me i'm out of here get me the next flight home NOW"

In sickness and in health

A/N: I wrote this at like 1am cause I love this request so much! Sorry that it's so short though hopefully it lives up to your dream! As always feedback is greatly appreciated even if it's just keyboard smashing :)

Word count: 1041

Warnings: A hospital visit but nothing too graphic. Idk maybe angst if you squint? Mostly fluff though. My bad grammar probably.

pt 2

2,518 miles. That’s how far away Shawn was from you. Ever since your lung transplant, he hated being away from you. He was so concerned and a bit confused with how to help but he was with you for every doctors appointment and check up, always making sure you were ok. He would call you every day while he was traveling to check in and make sure you’re taking your meds.

“Hi honey!” His soft voice came through the phone. You could tell he was smiling. He was always smiling with you.

Hey baby how’s it going?” You asked as you put your phone on speaker, moving around your kitchen.

“It’s going a lot better now that I’m talking to you,” you smiled as he continued, “you know we finally finished that song today and it sounds so good I’m so excited to release it.”

“That’s great how’s-” You stopped as the knife in your hand clattered to the floor, centimetres away from your feet. Your heart was racing, you could hear Shawn’s voice through the phone distantly. Your hand hadn’t stopped shaking.

“Y/N are you ok? What happened, what was that?” You could hear the fear in his voice.

“Yeah no I’m fine I- I just dropped a knife but I’m ok. I guess I’m just a little shaky today.”

“Honey, did you take your meds today? It’s 5pm there right? You should have taken them already.”

No that can’t be right you thought 5pm already? Sure enough when you looked over at the clock your blurry eyes soon focused to see that he was right.

“I maybe forgot?” You winced, knowing that he would tell you off.

Y/N you have to remember. Didn’t you set an alarm on your phone?”

Yeah I did but I forgot I got caught up in work. Just give me a minute, my head is starting to hurt. You put your hand to your forehead to feel it burning up.

“Uh oh.”

“Uh oh? What’s uh oh are you ok?” The concern was evident in his voice.

“Yeah probably, I’ve just got a bit of a fever it seems, and I’m feeling slightly dizzy. But it’s probably nothing. I'll be fine. I didn’t eat much today anyways so it’s most likely that.”

“Y/N listen to me very carefully. You need to go to the hospital. Call an Uber and go, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

You heard him yelling at people in the background telling them what happened. Someone dared to speak up.

“She said she’ll be fine, you need to stay here, don’t worry about it.”

You could feel his fury through the phone. “No! She needs me now and I’ll be there! Get me on the first flight out of here NOW! Baby I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can ok? Just hang on, you're gonna be fine.”

You could hear his words but they sounded far away as your vision got darker and darker until you finally collapsed.

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

Waking up to the bright lights of the hospital room the first thing you saw was a mop of brown curls laying on your bedside. A tattooed hand held yours. Bringing it up to your lips you gave the bird a kiss. As the boy at your side stirred, yawning loudly he finally lifted his head to see your Y/C/E looking back at his. His eyes filled with relief.

“You’re ok.” He whispered softly.

“Yeah you said I would be. But how did I get here? I don’t remember leaving the apartment”

He gave you a sad smile. “Well you collapsed while I was on the phone with you so I called for an ambulance and sent them to the house, I got here right after you got out of surgery, I'm so sorry I couldn't get here sooner.”

“It’s ok, honestly you didn't need to come all this way just to sit at my bedside.”

He squeezed your hand. “I'm always going to be by your side. No matter how far away I am, I will drop everything and come to you. Do you remember when you collapsed in New York? And I ran off stage to come with you to the hospital?”

You nodded your head as he continued, “Well while you were lying there, unconscious, I made a promise to you. I’m in this for the long run baby. In sickness and in health I’m there no matter what. And we may be separated by distance sometimes but you'll always be in my heart no matter what,” he reached into his pocket and slid off the chair, onto one knee, “I love you with everything I am and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up next to you everyday, and listen to you sing to yourself as you make breakfast, and watch those weird adorable faces you make as you write. I want to be there for you when you have a bad day, or you can't sleep at night cause you have a deadline, or you're just feeling sad and don't know why. I want to be there for the good stuff and the bad stuff.”

You gasped when he opened the box, revealing a blue sapphire ring. “Now will you, Y/N Y/L, make me the happiest man in the universe and marry me?”

“Yes of course I will!” you threw your arms around him, bringing him into a kiss.

He pulled back to slide the ring on your finger.

“Ok so I have to ask,” you started with a cheeky smile on your face, “Is this lady Diana’s ring?”

He laughed loudly. “No it's just a lookalike because I know how much you love her. And all the hints you gave while we watched the crown.”

You smacked his arm lightly. “I did no such thing.”

He smiled. “Hey don't overexert yourself, you need to rest up cause we have to plan for a wedding.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes headcanon #shawn mendes x reader #wonder #wonder era #imagine #sm3 #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n #sabrina writes

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jaskierek · 3 years ago

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Wildflowers

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Geralt finally found Jaskier, months after the dragon hunt, and now he has to find out what happened to him.

It took a minute for his mind to catch up. His palm rested on the ridged bark of the willow. He tried pushing, not really expecting it to move but not knowing what else to do. Jaskier had been right there. He’d been right there.

“Geralt?” His name came from behind and the Witcher fumbled on his knees to turn around, scrambling until his back hit the trunk of the tree. His instincts were going haywire, medallion vibrating incessantly. Something was very wrong and his impulse to attack warred with his need to protect because Jaskier was standing right in front of him. It was Jaskier but it wasn’t. There were parts missing.

He felt familiar, the curve of his nose, the line of his jaw, the tilt of his head. It was his strong brows, arched and hidden under the soft, brown fringe that had grown out. His eyes were still blue and open. His faded-blue doublet was open, revealing a soft chemise and dark chest hair that used to drive Geralt insane.

It was Jaskier, but it wasn’t.

Every living thing has a presence, one that most people can sense. It’s the feeling of being watched, being followed. The person before him had none. He had not sensed it as he had approached, he did not sense it when he was behind him.

“Geralt.” Not-Jaskier said again, lowering himself onto his knees so he was level with Geralt. He smiled. He smiled as if they had merely parted for a few weeks and had run into each other again. He smiled as if they were to go on another adventure together, to set off on the Path once more. Nostrils flaring, he tried to keep his breathing steady. This Jaskier’s eyes weren’t as bright. They were glazed over, as if he wasn’t really seeing what was before him. His once-pink lips and rosy cheeks were pale.

“Jaskier.” The name came from Geralt’s lips like a breath. He wanted to reach out, to touch him. He wanted to pull back and run away. He wanted to push Jaskier, have him land with a dramatic yelp and a scolding on his lips. He wanted Jaskier to push him, to be upset with him, to ask him why. He wanted anything but this pale imitation and gentle smile.

“Jaskier,” he tried again, “what-what happened to you?”

The bard’s brows pinched curiously, the smile looking more uncertain.

“What…happened.” He frowned. Red shocked the white of Jaskier’s chemise. It soaked through and spread like an ink stain on poetry. Blue eyes looked past the Witcher and his smile fell. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his sight.

Geralt could only watch.

“Jaskier.” He whispered again. At the sound of his name the bard’s eyes snapped back to Geralt’s, soft confusion on his face. Red continued to dye his shirt. It gathered at the corners of his mouth, slipping down his chin and falling onto the green blades of grass between them. It was as if he couldn’t feel it, had no reaction to it.

Geralt couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out again, reached out to cup the bard’s face. Jaskier didn’t move to stop him, only continued to look in confusion. His hand paused before the bard’s skin. He ached to make contact, to sweep his thumb across Jaskier’s cheekbone.

Before he could, the air rippled and Geralt was left facing the leaves of the willow. He inhaled shakily, arm still outstretched. All he could see was the image of Jaskier, blood trickling down his face, seeping through his shirt. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his palms into his eyelids until his vision went white and spots danced before him when he opened them again. Jaskier was still gone and the leaves were still there, hanging limply.

Geralt pulled his knees up, curling in as tight as he could. He felt himself shake as he rested his forehead against his knees.

—

“That one’s Draco.” Julia said, pointing up at the clear sky above them. Julian looked up from where he’d been pulling up grass with stubby fingers.

“Where?” He asked, squinting.

“There!” She insisted, still pointing. “See? There’s the tail and there’s the head.”

Julian huffed. He was no good at constellations. Julia had taken a liking to them recently, spending hours pouring over dusty, old books that Julian couldn’t care less about.

“Doesn’t look much like a dragon.” He muttered, looking back down at the grass and clenching it in his little fists.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Why?”

“Dragons, adventure, I don’t know. They’re always in those games you like to play.”

Julian looked up at his sister. Her shoulders were slumped and she was doing that thing when she was upset where she pushed out her bottom lip. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew she’d been sad lately and was just trying to share with him what made her happy.

He looked up at the stars again. It’s not that he didn’t like them, they were pretty and he could see why Julia had taken such a liking to them. It was just that they’d taken so much of her time that he was left playing adventure outside by himself. All the boys that his parents wanted him to befriend were older and mean to him so all he really had was Julia. Julian was learning that he didn’t like to share much, but he knew that that was unfair.

“It’s more of a wyrm than a dragon.” He offered weakly. Her blue eyes looked at him curiously. “Wyrms are long like snakes, dragons have big wings. It doesn’t have wings - the star.”

“The constellation.” She corrected but she was smiling. “Draco’s a better name than worm though, what an awful thing to call a collection of brilliant stars.”

Julian scrunched his nose.

“It’s not worm, it’s wyrm.”

“Sounds the same to me.”

“I hate you.”

Julia laughed and Julian realised it was the first time he’d heard her laugh for a long time. He looked down at his hands. He was getting that itch in his nose that he got when he wanted to cry. He pinched his nose, trying to get the feeling to go away.

“Hey.” His sister said softly. He heard her shuffle so she was sitting in front of him crosslegged. The end of her dress was green with grass stains. Mother wouldn’t be happy. Julia reached out and pulled his hand away from his nose, holding it in hers. He hated holding hands but he let her take it. “What’s wrong, buttercup?” It was that voice she used when things were too harsh for him and he wanted something soft.

Julian looked up. Julia’s eyebrows were raised, a small smile on her lips. Her blue eyes were darker in the nighttime. He thought they suited her better a bit darker anyway.

“Tell me about the harp one again.” He asked. She rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“It’s not a harp, it’s a lyre.” She said, sounding playfully tired of explaining it, but he knew that she loved talking about it. She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go to point at the star. “It’s that one. See those five stars?” Julian nodded. “It’s called Lyra.”

She turned to him with a smile and he looked to her with big eyes.

“That one’s yours,” she said, “that one belongs to the artists.”

Julian watched her gaze up at the stars as if she wanted to be up there with them, miles and miles away.

He couldn’t help but hate them just a little.

—

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, curled up.

Eventually, Roach’s impatient whinny brought him back into the present. Geralt lifted his head from his knees, peering at the mare through the leaves of the tree. She shuffled a couple of feet away from the edge of the willow, tail tucked between her hindquarters. Running his hand down his face, he picked himself up. He glanced back at the trunk of the tree, not knowing what he was expecting to see. Nothing. Just the serrated edges of the bark.

He pulled back the curtain separating him and Roach. She skittered nervously but allowed him to place his hand on her muzzle. Mumbling gently, he tried to soothe her despite his own instincts itching at him to leave.

Jaskier’s bloody chest flickered through his thoughts and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Roach’s snout.

He couldn’t leave.

“I may not be able to find his physical body, but I can perhaps find his spirit.”

A spirit separate from the body.

Not an Ethereal nor any type of Wraith. Most Spectres resemble the state of their physical body. Geralt fought down the bile rising in his throat. If Jaskier were truly dead and appearing as some sort of ghost, he would appear decomposed in some way; blackened fingers, green-tinted skin, bloating. There had been no signs of that on the apparition of his friend. Until the blood had begun to seep through, Jaskier had seemed normal, if a bit pale. That would not have been a possibility if he were a Wraith.

Geralt cradled that knowledge close to his heart.

Nevertheless, his medallion had confirmed the presence of magic. It didn’t resemble any spell he was familiar with, yet he wasn’t well versed in the more complicated magics.

There had been a time in Toussaint where a woman had been turned into a tree, he remembered. The love of her life had never returned and she was left, waiting for him forever, dwelling in her longing and grief. People living in the neighbouring town would hear her wails distantly when the wind rustled her leaves. Her sobbing had also been heard when the tree was harmed, blood spilling out of a wound on the bark instead of thick sap.

Reluctantly, Geralt turned back to the willow. It was not a plant he ever would have associated with the bard. Pale where he was bright, tired where he alive, weeping where he was…

Giving Roach one last pat, he pushed past the vines, tracing the knife at his side. His thumb brushed the space between the hilt and sheath. He pulled it out and rested the steel gently against the bark, breathing in.

He was hesitating. Why was he hesitating? Jaskier, bloody and confused flashed through his mind.

He pressed his hand against the trunk, right next to the point of the knife.

With a sharp exhale, he pushed the blade in and dragged it down the bark, revealing the lighter shade of wood underneath. No blood.

Geralt didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. He was left hanging in the space between.

Ah, the face of loneliness.

—

Not really sure what to do with himself, Geralt set up camp in the clearing not too close to the willow. He doubted he’d be able to sleep through the unease if he were too close. He wasn’t far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to spot someone underneath it though. He briefly thanked his enhanced vision.

He’d laid out what he needed at the edge of the field, his back to the line of trees. He doubted anyone came by often, or else he would’ve seen a notice for the extraction of a Wraith in the nearest town. Consequently, he felt comfortable leaving Roach and the beginnings of a fire pit as he went to hunt down his dinner. He tried to be quick about it, not wanting to miss Jaskier if he appeared again. He’d exhausted his rations of dried meat and bread on his trek to find Yennefer and then Jaskier.

He didn’t know how long he’d stay there. He knew he needed to find Yennefer, to ask her for help yet again. It was more likely she’d be aware of whatever curse had afflicted his bard. He knew this but he couldn’t help but long to see him. At least once more.

The Witcher returned with a rather thin rabbit. He’d gone for the first animal he’d seen. Yellow eyes scanned the open space as he returned. Nothing. No sign of the bard. Just the rustling of leaves. He looked to the willow, ears straining. No wails. He breathed a brief sigh of relief.

Sitting down beside the fire pit, he placed the dead animal down and started the fire.

“Hey!”

Geralt’s head snapped up at the shout. His medallion shuddered. Witcher eyes cut through the darkness to see a man sitting in the middle of the field. He swallowed, put the knife down and stood up, stepping around the fire to get a better look.

“I’m stargazing!” He yelled again, waving his hand and urging him to step closer. The impatient gesture was so familiar, Geralt almost smiled. He left the light of his fire and stepped further into the clearing.

The closer he got, the more Jaskier came into view. Brown hair blowing and blue doublet open against the cool wind. Bleeding mouth and reddened chemise, soaked through.

He felt the breath leave him. Something screamed in him to leave.

He stopped in front of the bard. Jaskier patted the grass next to him.

It didn’t feel right, sitting beside him. Jaskier smiled and lay back, lifting his arms and resting his head on his hands. Blue eyes darkened, reflecting the sky. Geralt suppressed the trembling beneath his skin and lay back next to his friend.

A memory tugged at the Witcher, the same one that had pulled him to the meadow before. A warm day, their day together. One with flowers and colours and humming.

It was a sick imitation of it.

His throat tightened, he felt choked by it. He felt out of breath.

“Geralt?”

Geralt closed his eyes in a long blink as he turned his head.

It hurt to look at him.

“What happened to me?” Jaskier asked, eyes still gazing at the stars. An elegant drop of red slid down from his lips. It fell to the hair curling at his nape. Geralt reminded himself that whatever he was, he wasn’t dead.

He was silent for a while, watching Jaskier look up. He hated it, the quiet. The undercurrent of Jaskier’s heartbeat had followed him for too long for him to be looking at the man and not hear it.

“I don’t know.” He finally responded. The bard smiled, a watery, wobbly thing.

His hair looked soft in the starlight. If he touched him again, would he disappear? Would he come back? Geralt didn’t know why he was appearing to him again now. Was he tied to this place or did he go somewhere else when he disappeared? Where was his body? He didn’t know if he wanted to see it if this was how Jaskier looked now. The image of Jaskier’s body, bloody and limp lying in a ditch somewhere flashed through his mind.

“I’ve always thought that Lyra belongs to the artists.”

Geralt was snapped out of his thoughts. He looked up at the constellation.

“Placed there by the gods, taken from the dead hands of a musician killed by a vengeful god.” Jaskier said. “Value only after death.”

The Witcher knew the myth. A lyre so great, it was said to have charmed even the rocks and streams. Music that quelled the voice of sirens, yet existing as a form of it itself. Although it had never been the lyre, had it? It had been the man.

“It doesn’t look much like a lyre.” Geralt commented.

There was a burst of laughter and Geralt jerked to look at the man next to him. He was looking back at him, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I knew you’d say that.”

—

Yennefer had been watching the bard for some time now. To be fair, his performance drew very many eyes. The sorceress grudgingly admitted to herself that he had some talent, him and the ensemble backing him up. It was a shame he was wasting it on bawdy tunes and bloody tales. She briefly wondered what a her own ballad would sound like. Though she had to admit, her’s would be its fair share of bloody.

The second she’d spotted the bard, her violet eyes had swept the hall for a certain gruff Witcher. She cursed herself for being disappointed when she hadn’t spotted him. Nonetheless, she’d brushed it off easily. It meant that perhaps the bard would stay away from her.

However, she was curious as to why he was here in Temeria alone. She distinctly remembered seeing him a year ago in Redania at a similar gathering, only three years after they had first met in Rinde. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one’s desire for entertainment, their second meeting was rather uneventful. They had both steered clear of each other, the large banquet hall allowing for easy steering.

Being a known sorceress meant that she was invited to many parties thrown by lords and dukes and any other form of aristocracy. She didn’t often attend, it was her bad luck to run into Jaskier twice now. Though it was to be expected, being a bard. What was not expected, however, was the bard’s seeming association with the leader of the Redanian Intelligence. His presence in Temeria, whose relationship with Redania was rather tense at the moment, was curious.

She took a sip of her crimson wine and tuned back in to what the lady beside her was saying.

“-prayer, oils, herbal treatments. Nothing’s worked!” The woman, Lady Webb, continued to explain her issues with infertility. Yennefer’s grip on her goblet tightened infinitesimally and she tilted her head politely. High society clients have deep pockets, she reminded herself. And all sorts of connections. And whilst she may not have found yet a treatment for her own…issues with fertility, she could perhaps be able to help this woman.

“-and when we mixed it, we learned that it was indeed me and so-“

“My Lady,” the sorceress interrupted, “come visit me tomorrow and we can ascertain what exactly the problem is. There are certain remedies that may work, but I cannot promise anything at the moment.”

The woman beamed at her and clasped Yennefer’s left hand, the witch held the goblet in her right afar so as not to spill it.

“Thank you so very much, dear.”

Yennefer gave her a tight smile, removing her hand from her grasp. She registered the end of the musicians’ set and set her glass down, excusing herself a bit curtly. Perhaps the bard would be a bit more fun and Melitele knew she needed a distraction.

The cast of musicians had disbanded for a brief interlude and she could spot Jaskier not too far from the stage, already chatting someone up.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer greeted. He turned from the young lady he’d been talking to, his face abruptly falling.

“Yennefer. What brings you to Temeria?” He asked, almost conversationally but the sorceress picked up on the undercurrent of displeasure. She gave him a lazy smile.

“Oh, you know, a smile here, an enchantment there and suddenly I’ve found myself with a lovely little cottage and an invitation to some local Count’s party.”

Jaskier bristled.

Yennefer watched the small blonde behind him look her up and down over the bards shoulder. With a disappointed sigh and a not-so-subtle glance at the man’s ass, she turned away and walked over to a table, grabbing a healthy glass of wine. Yennefer pitied her mildly, she had no intention of stealing the girl’s evening prospects from her.

“I am interested, however,” she continued, “as to what you are doing here?” He raised his brows questioningly.

“Really? You’re interested in what a bard is doing at a party? I would’ve thought my lute would give me away.” He said, pointing to the instrument resting on the small stage behind him.

She had to admit, he played the part well.

“Only interested as, if I recall correctly, you and Sigismund Dijkstra seemed very well acquainted in Redania only a year ago.” A knowing smirk and a tilt of her head had the bard gritting his teeth. “And whilst I know your taste is broad and varied, I wouldn’t have pegged him as your type.”

Blue eyes glanced around sharply, before an idle smile slid onto the man’s face.

“A travelling musician must take work were he can, sorceress, not all of us can have someone spilling their pockets at the snap of a finger.”

Yennefer let the subtle bite wash over her without a blink. She knew the bard did not think highly of her. The feeling was mutual. Though she had to admit, she was vaguely impressed. He wasn’t quite the ditzy bard she had thought, following his Witcher around like a lost puppy.

Yennefer hummed. “Do you remember the punishment for espionage in Temeria, bard? Was it death or simply a whipping?”

“What a macabre thought to have in the middle of such a lively party. Honestly, Yen, learn to live a little.” With a quirk of his lips, he turned back to his set, calling out to the guests to gather and dance. Not thrilled over the prospect of being caught in a crowd, she stepped away.

She’d catch Jaskier flitting around for the rest of the evening, chatting up lords and ladies, landowners and aristocrats. She’d also catch him scrutinising her occasionally, likely trying to determine some sort of ulterior motive. She let him watch as she created her own connections. Many were interested in having an Aretuzan witch at their beck and call and for now she’d let them believe she’d answer.

As the night drew to a close, few were left in the banquet hall. A table of men, determinedly still drinking, lovers in dark corners and balconies, the few who’d found good conversation and were languidly refilling glasses.

“Off to the lovely little cottage for you, then?” A voice asked from above. She looked up from her seat at an empty table. Jaskier stood, head tilted slightly, lute strung over his shoulder. His cheeks were pink, from performing or drink she didn’t know, and the ends of his hair curled from the heat. Yennefer swirled the wine in her goblet, watching the plum-coloured liquid ripple.

“Lovely cottages unfortunately don’t include free wine.” She answered, looking ahead and hoping the bard understood the dismissal in her voice. Whether he did or not was unclear as he took a seat beside her anyway.

“Let’s see then.” He said. Yennefer turned to him, confused. His hand was outstretched, reaching for her wine.

“Not afraid I’ll poison it, bard?” She crooned sweetly. Jaskier smirked and shook his head.

“Death or whipping, right?” He responded, smooth as silk. Yennefer blinked. She couldn’t help but laugh lightly, handing the goblet to him.

He took a sip and hummed, licking the red off his lips. She assumed he hadn’t been drinking much if he’d asked for it now. It was likely challenging to obtain state secrets when intoxicated.

“Not quite the wine of Toussaint, is it?” He handed the drink back. Yennefer tilted her head in agreement. With the state of Nilfgaard in the Continent at the moment, the famed wine was difficult to acquire. She’d tried.

“Does he know?” She asked, referring to the one person that connected them.

“No.”

Yennefer brought the wine to her lips and passed it back to the bard.

She wouldn’t say she liked the man, but it wasn’t a bad way to end the night, drinking together.

—

Jaskier appeared again the next morning.

Geralt was woken by his medallion not long past dawn.

This time, the bard was sitting under the tree.

As he approached, he saw the lack of blood on the man’s shirt and the tightness in his chest was relieved somewhat. This way, it was just Jaskier, his friend, sitting under a tree, waiting for him to join him. Still, it pained him to look into those pale eyes, not quite as blue as they used to be.

Jaskier watched him pull back the leaves of the willow and walk closer to him, sitting down with his back against the tree. He wished he could feel their shoulders brushing.

They were both silent for a while. Was he waiting for him to speak first? Geralt wanted to apologise but felt the words get caught in his throat. Would this Jaskier even remember what he’d said to him on the mountain? His memory seemed spotty. Selfishly, Geralt hoped he wouldn’t remember.

“My dear Witcher.” Jaskier said, so quietly he almost missed it. Geralt ached at the endearment. “My dear Witcher, do you think I’m dead?”

“No.” The answer came so swiftly it had surprised the Witcher himself. Yet his bard remained impassive.

“I think I am dead.”

“You’re not.”

“I feel it.” He was looking at Geralt with a mellow sort of sadness. “I feel this pain in my chest. Sometimes I’m choking on blood, other times I feel it in my throat but it’s dry, stuck to the walls of my larynx like peeling paint. Sometimes there’s so much of it, I can’t speak. All I can do it let it pour out of me as I heave. I’ve tried closing my mouth, but it comes nonetheless, it bursts at the seams like too much wine around a cork.”

He looked down at his hands with a frown. “My hands are so pale, I hate it. I bet my face doesn’t look much better. I bet it looks grey and ashen.”

He looked at him as if he expected Geralt to confirm his guess.

When he didn’t, he continued, “At least there’s no blood on me this time. I quite like this chemise and I don’t like seeing it ruined. I still think I’m dead though. I’m not quite sure where my body is.” He turned to look at him again and his brows furrowed in concern. “Why are you crying Geralt?”

He hadn’t even noticed the unfamiliar wetness of his cheeks until he’d asked. He touched his cheek gingerly and pulled it back, looking at the wet shine of his fingertips.

“Jaskier-“

“I know, I know, you hate it when I go off on a ramble but I feel like I should be let off just this once. I am dead after all-“

“Jaskier, shut up.”

“Come on, Geralt, I still-“

“Please,” the word cracked in his throat, “please, please stop talking. Stop.” He turned away from the man and pressed his palms into his eye sockets, trying to stop the tears yet they came unbidden like…like too much wine around a cork. He tried inhaling a shaking breath. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

Geralt looked at the bard. He was looking at him as if he didn’t quite understand why he was so upset but sympathised anyway.

“You’re not…,” he began then trailed off, not quite able to force the word past his lips, “you’re under some spell, Jaskier. I’m going to find Yennefer and she’s going to help you.”

“Yennefer,” the bard repeated with a sad smile, looking past Geralt somewhat, “longing and heartache and lust.”

Geralt frowned. “Jaskier, what-“

“Don’t leave.” He said, pale blue eyes snapping back to the Witcher. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I need to find Yennefer-“

“You always need to find Yennefer.”

“I need her to help you.”

“She cannot help me. You cannot heal the dead.”

“You are not- you’re not- Jaskier-“

“Just for a while. Just...just stay with me for a while, then you can go back to her.”

Geralt paused.

Weak. He was weak.

“She was the one that helped me find you.” He said after a while.

Jaskier huffed out a laugh.

“Guess that hagstone didn’t work then.”

—

Jaskier was humming as he strolled around the meadow. Geralt wondered what he was thinking. He walked in circles, following the line of trees. Every time he passed the Witcher’s camp, Roach would get skittish and step away, huffing nervously. He would give her a sad look and walk on. It was Jaskier’s form of quiet. Yes, he was humming, but the usual string of inane pondering and chatter was absent.

Still, Geralt felt a sort of comfort. The quiet stifled him now and the bard was to blame. He couldn’t bring himself to begrudge him for it. He thought he knew what being lonely was but only when he had driven Jaskier away did he learn true, aching loneliness. Geralt watched him scuff his heel on the ground, frowning, then carrying on.

Geralt was still not used to the incessant buzzing of his medallion whenever the bard chose to appear. The itch to find Yennefer and get her to help was ever-present. He was adamantly sure she could help. He didn’t allow himself to think otherwise. But Jaskier wanted him to stay. It pained him to think of the bard existing here alone. He had said he didn’t know how long he’d been there, but Geralt suspected he’d been there since all news of the famed bard had ceased. Two months ago.

“What are you doing?” He finally asked on his latest lap, putting his sword down where he was sharpening it. Jaskier stumbled, as if not expecting Geralt to say anything. He stopped and faced the Witcher.

“I’m walking.”

Geralt levelled him an unimpressed glare.

“Why?”

“Exercise.” He replied flatly.

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“I wonder where I got that from.”

The Witcher didn’t respond, knowing that the silence would eventually be filled. Jaskier huffed and sat down across from him, elbows on his knees and cheeks resting on his knuckles. He looked like a crabby child. He looked down at the grass as Geralt waited for him to speak.

“I can’t leave.” He finally said, looking up at him. “The meadow.” He added on at Geralt’s look. “It’s like there’s a wall blocking me from moving past the line of trees.”

Geralt nodded slowly. He’d assumed as much. There was a part of him that hoped that Jaskier would have looked for him if he could have. He didn’t want to ask.

Geralt still questioned where Jaskier went when he wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t go anywhere, maybe he simply chose not to reveal himself, present in the form of a willow tree. He wondered what his connection to it was. He knew now that the tree hadn’t been there the last time. Whatever had happened to Jaskier, he and the willow were linked, tethered together.

“If I am dead, this is surely purgatory.” Jaskier muttered, pulling at the grass half-heartedly. Geralt watched him rip it out of the ground, opening his hand and letting it scatter back down.

He’d learned to become aware of the bard’s moods, spotting slumped shoulders and tight smiles. He just didn’t know what to do with that information. At first, he had believed it wasn’t his job to keep the man happy. He had chosen a life of hardship beside a Witcher, and he had to deal with the consequences. Yet Jaskier had a way of tearing down walls and situating himself firmly in someone’s life, earning affection, and it had grown harder to ignore him.

Nonetheless, Geralt still didn’t know what to do. Witchers weren’t particularly well-versed in the intricacies of human emotion, even less so their own. And while knowing physical comfort and soothing words supposedly helped, he still couldn’t figure his way around it. Jaskier had done it for him before, when Geralt was injured or what the bard annoyingly called ‘grouchy’. Geralt had yet to puzzle it out for himself.

He watched Jaskier pluck out another clump.

The silence itched at his skin.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” The bard asked sharply, eyes hard.

“Pull at the grass.”

Jaskier blinked at him then broke out into a grin.

“Why not?”

“It’s bad for it, makes it harder to grow back.” Eskel had told him that when they were children at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had found it difficult to care about much during the trials yet Eskel’s soft words and concern for the turf of the dark castle had made his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry.” Jaskier replied, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He tried smoothing the grass back awkwardly, as if to apologise. Geralt felt his lips quirk. “I’ll try to rein in my habit next time.” He informed the Witcher and Geralt grunted and nodded like a teacher satisfied at a lesson learned. Jaskier laughed softly and stood up, wiping his hands down his trousers before continuing on his circle of the field.

It was only later, as Geralt was falling asleep, that he realised that Jaskier had physically touched the grass. When he’d shot up out of his bedroll, the bard was nowhere to be found. He was somewhere in the space between his spirit and his body and Geralt ached to hold him.

—

Gods, it had been a long day. Dijkstra had said that his most recent case had been requested personally by the king. Jaskier didn’t believe that for one second. He didn’t know what to think of King Radovid, if he was honest. On the one hand, a brilliant strategist, on the other a paranoid, slightly brutal nutter. Consequently, the validity of this current job was a bit in question, but he accepted it nonetheless. The months apart from Geralt, though more comfortable in terms of lodging and food, proved decidedly less exciting.

Yennefer’s question two years ago rang in his head “does he know?” Jaskier shook it off. Geralt didn’t have to know everything. Melitele knew he didn’t. Fortunately for him, the Witcher didn’t seem interested in delving into the bard’s past, as opposed to the bard himself who made it his mission to glean everything out of Geralt that he could or that he was comfortable with sharing.

He’d been renting a small apartment in the Redanian town for three weeks. Two weeks in and he’d been practically tackled to the ground of the local marketplace, only catching a glimpse of blonde before he was bracing himself against a stall wall. He’d somehow found himself with an armful of Priscilla.

“Jaskier!” She’d exclaimed, arms around his neck.

“Priscilla,” he couldn’t help but smile, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“The real question is what the hell are you doing here?” She asked, pulling away.

Jaskier frowned, tilting his head in confusion.

“When I was passing through the next town over on my way to Tretogor, I heard that the famous master Jaskier was staying nearby.” She clarified. Despite having what some might call an over-inflated ego, Jaskier couldn’t help but flush. “Nearby in this lovely shithole of a place.” She added with a smile

“Ah, yes, I’m currently hired by Lord Bachar for a while.”

“Never heard of him.” Blunt as ever.

He wasn’t surprised, it was a small town but quite valuable for mining as it was close to the mountains. However, that did make it freezing which Jaskier noted as he regarded Priscilla who was most definitely not prepared for such weather. She noticed him gazing down at her dress, much too thin for the crisp air.

“I left most of my clothes with my horse, bard.” She clarified, rolling her eyes as they began to walk together, arm in arm. Jaskier laughed.

“You’re not allowed to say bard like that, you’re a bard.”

She tutted, waving her hand dismissively. “Semantics.”

“Right, of course,” Jaskier said, shaking his head, “are you staying long then?”

“Why? Looking to have a little fun?” She asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Jaskier briefly thought back to a couple of rather pleasurable nights but shook the thoughts out of his head. He was there for a reason, after all, and Priscilla’s rather lovely curves would have to wait. Anyway, he’d rather resentfully discovered that sex was not quite as enjoyable when one’s heart was dreaming of another.

“I’m only teasing.” She acquiesced. “Honestly, I wasn’t planning to, but after seeing you I realised truly how long it’s been.”

Jaskier looked away, guilt nagging at him. With travelling with Geralt and his swiftly flourishing career, he had to admit, he hadn’t seen much of his friend. Their time in Oxenfurt during the winter really being the only time he got to visit his peers. And Priscilla truly did hold a special place in his heart.

“I know, my dear, I’ve missed you terribly but duty calls.”

“Duty meaning trailing Witchers and singing for unknown Lords?”

“You make it sound as if my songs haven’t reached every corner of the continent.”

Priscilla snorted and rested her head on his shoulder as the walked.

“They truly have, Jaskier.” He couldn’t help but preen slightly at the pride in her voice. “Anyway, I was hoping that I could stay with you for a bit, if you’re going to be working for this Lord Barbar for some time.”

“It’s Bachar. He may be rather unknown but he can still send his guard after you.”

“Please, I’m too famous for that.”

After that, it was difficult to say no. Priscilla was already aware of his arrangement with Sigismund Dijkstra, however he’d hoped to keep her out of this case.

Lord Bachar had eagerly employed Jaskier the minute he’d heard of the famed bard’s presence in his town, throwing multiple banquets and events in the three weeks Jaskier had been there. The Lord had been raring to display Jaskier to everyone who’d watch. The bard supposed that was the drawback of ruling such a small town, the need to prove something.

Fortunately, but in Lord Bachar’s case more unfortunately, Jaskier had accepted. In the time he’d been hired, he’d grown to somewhat earn the trust of the Lord. Pushing ale into his hands between performances, Jaskier had managed to loosen his tongue enough to learn that the rumours that the Redanian Intelligence was concerned about were true.

With access to the manor under the pretence of needing to accommodate his set to the “echo of the Lord’s mighty hall”. He’d easily picked the lock to the office, praying that the lock wasn’t old enough that it would break under the damage of the picking. The drawers of his desk held the evidence he’d needed to send to Dijkstra. Papers detailing the illegal human trafficking that had been happening in the small but somewhat economically valuable town.

He’d also had to drug a guard that had been waiting outside of the study, bringing him some spicy wine for them to share. Jaskier knew how to use his natural talents, blinking big blue eyes and pouting his lips, leading the man to a storage closet with a sway of his hips. The wine hit him just as they made it in and the guard slumped against the wall. He’d likely woken up thinking they’d had sex and Jaskier had left. It didn’t bother the bard much, the man was attractive and if he was going to tell others about his time spent with the famous musician, however false it may be, Jaskier couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by it.

Lord Bachar’s wife was rather meek but he would feel her eyes on him as he’d perform or talk to her husband. Not only was he being watched by her but also by the Lord’s witch. Jaskier had no clue as to why a small-time town needed a sorceress but he’d steered very much clear of her. She tended to stay by the Lady’s side anyway, leaving Lord Bachar open and vulnerable.

Jaskier’s long day in question had been at the end of his stay when he’d been asked to preform for a lunch banquet, the perfect occasion for Dijkstra’s Special Forces to storm the place and arrest the Lord. In the rush of events, people had been herded out, Jaskier among them.

He gave Dijkstra a quick nod before riding the wave of people flooding out of the hall. A shoulder pushed past him, trying to part the crowd, pushing through it and into the room rather than out. Jaskier caught a glimpse of dark hair as he stumbled from the force of the hit, clutching his lute to his chest. He quickly regained his footing, glimpsing over his shoulder before being pushed forward. He managed to catch a glance of Lady Bachar struggling in the grasp of a guard, trying to rush forward and run away with the crowd, eyes shining - in anger or desperation he didn’t know.

He hoped that she had nothing to do with the illegal activities he’d revealed.

“So,” Priscilla started as Jaskier pushed through the door of their rooms, “today was the day, huh?”

Jaskier groaned and went straight for his bedroom, throwing himself onto his bed face-first. He heard Priscilla come in, felt the bed dip when she jumped up beside him.

“How did Lord Rubarb take it then?” She asked. Jaskier couldn’t be bothered to correct her.

“Not very well, I think.”

Priscilla hummed sympathetically, lying down and stretching herself out beside him. Jaskier turned his head to look at her.

“Don’t know what he expected, honestly. Did he think he’d get away with it?”

Jaskier thought for a minute.

“Maybe he thought they’d let him.” Priscilla gave him an incredulous look. “I just mean, with the threat of Nilfgaard, trading routes are collapsing. Redania’s economy is already suffering. Maybe he thought, with some forced labour, he’d revitalise the kingdom through the mining industry and it would be overlooked because…”

“Because the rich would get to stay rich.” Priscilla finished.

Jaskier looked at her for a minute. Her blue eyes were focused on the ceiling, brows pulled up in frown. With a sigh, he turned onto his back, looking up. They lay in silence for minutes.

“His wife cried.” Jaskier said softly.

“Was she nice?”

Jaskier hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Priscilla nodded, then sucked in a breath and Jaskier knew from experience that she was about to say something that she wasn’t sure she should be saying.

“I’m worried about you.”

Jaskier blinked in surprise and turned to look at her, finding her light blue eyes already looking back.

“Why?”

“Why?” She asked disbelievingly. “Maybe because you spend half your time hunting monsters and the other half among…a different kind of monster.”

Jaskier gnawed at his lip. She had a point. He hadn’t even realised how dangerous his life had become, yet inexplicably he felt safe. How could he describe to her that he’d never felt safer and more alive than when he was with Geralt? That he couldn’t imagine spending his life beside anyone else?

“Well,” he began uncertainly, very much making it up on the spot, “I’m not doing the monster hunting, an actual monster hunter is, I just tag along. And really, the other stuff doesn’t take up nearly half of my time and it’s normally just dancing around and talking to people and as you know, I’m quite good at that.”

Priscilla scoffed but didn’t respond. Jaskier could tell he hadn’t soothed any of her worries but he really didn’t know how to.

He wouldn’t stop, he knew. It served as a thrill when he and Geralt split ways. A thrill that paid well and allowed him to travel comfortably and not sleeping on dirt ground. He couldn’t imagine himself settling down just yet, he was too restless, he needed to move. And this way he could spread his music throughout the continent.

After several more quiet moments, Priscilla broke the silence.

“I paid a mage to turn Valdo’s hair green.” She blurted so quickly, it took Jaskier a second to catch up. He looked at her to see if she was kidding, finding her grinning wolfishly to herself, clearly reliving the experience.

He laughed so hard, he rolled onto the floor.

—

Jaskier hadn’t appeared for two days. It was time to find Yennefer.

As Geralt was strapping his bags onto Roach’s saddle, he wondered if Jaskier would appear when he was gone. His mind conjured Jaskier’s pale blue eyes when he’d asked him not to leave. He of course planned to return, but Jaskier hadn’t seemed so sure. Would the bard even remember that he had been there in the first place? There was so much unknown about his current ghost-like state. Maybe he only recognised Geralt’s presence when he saw him, otherwise forgetting that he’d been there, that he’d looked for him.

Geralt scowled as he led Roach through the clearing, feeling like he’d swallowed a stone.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s soft, questioning voice drifted from behind him. Geralt closed his eyes, dreading having to explain his leaving. He slowly turned, coming face to face with the bard.

“Jaskier.” He grunted, trying to string together a convincing sentence in his head.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question, yet it remained muted, not accusatory. Geralt still felt a needling of guilt.

“Yes.” He urged himself to say something more, to tell him why, to tell him that he needed to save him. And he couldn’t do it alone.

Jaskier nodded, brows pinched. He opened his mouth and Geralt braced himself. Then he disappeared. He blinked and felt something unpleasant tug at his ribs. He rolled his shoulders and contemplated staying a bit longer. He imagine the smile on Jaskier’s face when he’d tell him that he was staying.

He’d begun to catalogue Jaskier’s smiles over the many years, ever since he’d noticed the pattern of warmth spreading through his chest at the sight. There were the smiles he gave his crowds during a performance he was proud of, thriving on the high of attention and adrenaline. There were the breathless smiles he gave Geralt after they’d nearly escaped with their lives from a beast. It was a face-splitting, red-cheeked thing. And then there were the smiles when Geralt did something for him; stitched his torn pants, allowed him to sleep in briefly, bought him a warm meal. Though they were more rare and far between, those were soft and Geralt’s favourite.

Roach nudged his face with her snout, snickering at him. He gave her a look that said yeah, yeah, I get it.

He was about to turn back to his path when he saw Jaskier appear again. This time a few of steps in front of the willow tree. He saw him reappear and he saw him stumble back. Red spread across his chest and he looked down slowly. His knees buckled and he hit the ground hard.

And Geralt was running. Leaving Roach and sprinting to his bard, his Witcher speed carrying him headlong in a blink. And suddenly he was on his knees, skidding forward and catching Jaskier as he keeled forward onto himself.

Except he didn’t, his hands slipped through, Jaskier falling through his fingers in a ripple as he clutched his chest and gasped raggedly. The gasp giving rise to the blood flooding his throat. He heaved heavily onto the grass, pressing a palm to the ground, trying to hold himself up.

A noise escaped Geralt’s throat, one he didn’t remember making as he tried to grasp the hand braced on the ground. Of course, he only passed through, feeling only grass. He clutched it tightly in his fingers, feeling dirt press under his nails. He tried to call his name, only for the word to get caught in his throat, choking him as he watched Jaskier choke on blood.

The bard whimpered and pulled the hand away from his chest to reveal more of the red spreading, blooming across his white chemise like a rose unfurling. The arm holding him up shook and he looked up, looked up at something past Geralt’s shoulder. It was the first time he got to see the bard’s face fully.

Face pale, eyes glassy and pleading, swimming in tears. It looked like he was looking to someone. He opened his mouth, only to retch out more blood, spitting it out onto the grass. The begging in his eyes made Geralt look behind him, finding nothing yet wanting to scream help him please help him. He turned back to the bard whose arm had finally given up. He was pressing his head to the cool soil.

You feel like you just want to rest your head forever.

And Geralt felt terror claw at his throat, clearer than it had been for decades. He wanted to say something, anything. He wanted to yell at the bard to get up, to not give in to the ache in his body that was telling him to rest. He wanted to scream, to hold him, to press on the wound, to cup his cheek, to lace his fingers in his own and promise safety and everything that Jaskier deserved.

He wanted anything other than this powerless, helpless static where the words got caught behind a wall and his fingers passed through flesh with nothing but a mocking shimmer.

Jaskier rolled over with a grunt and only surrounded by green grass and budding wildflowers did Geralt notice the lack of blood pooling. It shocked the white of his shirt and stained his hand red but did not stray from the bard’s body. Jaskier released a shaky breath, blood spluttering over his lips and spilling onto his cheeks.

And Geralt was left to watch desperate, painfully vivid blue eyes pale and cheeks turn ashen until the only colour left was the stark red of blood splatter.

He was beautiful in death. Hair falling over and sticking to his brow in messy curls, skin porcelain, fingers curling in his hand and a shirt so scarlet like the indulgent silks he used to buy.

Geralt scrambled back and retched into the grass, heaving violently. Eyes wide and lungs struggling to inhale, Geralt found he still could not make a noise. He tried to scream, to cry out. The sound built up in his throat and got caught. Geralt painfully swallowed it down.

He turned and found Jaskier still there, unseeing eyes looking up as if cloud-watching. Crawling back, he let his hands hover over the body that he knew was not really there, that would pass through his hands like sunlight through the air.

He couldn’t look at him anymore, so he turned his gaze up to the clouds and lay himself beside his bard. Another cruel mockery of a day they’d already lived. His heart clenched painfully at the memory of sun-warmed skin and Jaskier’s voice. He felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped out the contents of his ribs and left him to lie.

And so two corpses lay together, chests gouged out.

#there will be more #some of them are kind of ooc #sorry #the witcher #my rambles #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #fic written #fanfic #angst

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thedevilsmemes · 4 years ago

Text

PINTEREST QUOTES I USE IN MY MUSINGS BOARDS ~ A SENTENCE MEME - PART 2

Change pronouns as / when needed to preferred pronoun.

“I do not do justice, I do damage. I do not do empathy, I do damage. I do not do forgiveness, I do damage. I do not do mercy, I do damage.”

“Like, you can boss me around in sexual situations but you better not try to tell me what to do in regular life.”

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

“I’m meaner than my demons.”

“If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

“He was like a storm.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty!”

{ feels an emotion. } “Who the fuck authorised this?!”

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

“Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.”

“Goddamn right you should be scared of me.”

“They wanted a monster; I decided to give them one.”

“Seduce and destroy.”

“What the fuck is intimacy? How does that work? Letting… people be close to you? What the fuck?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for one hundred years.”

“I’ll do this my way.”

“I am severely emotionally unstable.”

“What, from the bottom of the heart, the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take any orders. I barely take suggestions.”

“I send my best regards from Hell.”

“I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter and too hot for you.”

“Me and God, we don’t get along.”

“Be brave, Angel.”

“Self care is drinking three pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight with God.”

{ takes gulp of vodka straight from the bottle } “My day was fine.”

“Have I stabbed you? No. Then I am being nice.”

“Holy Shit! I’M the demon living in my house.”

“Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.”

“I want an ancient elaborate dagger with my name engraved into the blade as a gift. The only romantic gesture.”

“ ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’ I'm a threat!”

“Stop being so defensive! I’m just trying to hit you with weapons.”

“The more knives you have the more valid you are.”

“She’s strong but she’s exhausted.”

“She loves moonlight and rainstorms and so many other things that have soul.”

“My darling, you can’t see it can you? How like the moon you are. Both of you so timid in yourselves; hiding pieces from the world. Then, there are those rare moments when you are both full, and it becomes hard to look away. You are beautiful.”

“Calm her chaos but never silence her storm.”

“She wears strength and darkness equally well. That girl has always been half Goddess, half Hell.”

“She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles.”

“She’s proof that you can walk through Hell and still be an angel.”

“She is both hellfire and holy water. And the flavour you taste depends on how you treat her.”

“Even the mountains can not hold all you have been carrying.”

“Storm with skin.”

“She’s thunderstorms”

“Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“Sometimes it takes only one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”

“You have a heart of gold.”

“Butterflies are the Heaven-sent kisses of an angel.”

“She who is brave is free.”

“Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.”

“Shut up. I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

“Girls who run in heels should be feared.”

“Family is everything to me.”

“She’s an old soul that believes in chivalry, romance, and love.”

“I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember.”

“I run on coffee and grace.”

“I’m glad I’ve got boobs… the last thing I need is people making eye contact with me.”

“Tell me to put on my big girl panties one more time… and I’ll take off my thong and strangle you with it!”

“Please read all my posts in a sarcastic tone. You know, for full effect.”

“I have one nerve left and you’re dry-humping it, go away.”

“If I offend you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears, eating chips and working on my tan.”

“When she is happy, she can’t stop talking. When she is sad, she doesn’t say a word.”

“Music becomes my best friend when nobody else understands me.”

“Act like a lady, think like a boss.”

“I know I have friends but I feel I have no one to talk to about the shit that goes on in my head.”

“She was special. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil.”

“So much pain for someone so young.”

“She’s one of a kind.”

“Red lips and wine sips.”

“Brave girl, it’s time to love again.”

“She is intelligent.”

“Sometimes, when I say ‘I’m okay.’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re not.’ ”

“Because I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.”

“I fear I will spend my life, waiting for a love story that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees.”

“She denies it but, the truth is, she’s falling in love with him.”

“Hearing your heels click on the floor sounds like power.”

“She loves deeply, regardless of the love she gets back in return and it’s both her biggest strength and biggest weakness…”

“Experience raised her. Hurt taught her. Neither defined her.”

“She was not fragile like a flower was, she was fragile like a bomb.”

“Life is short; make every hair flip count.”

“I’ve always been someone who looks ‘too deep’ into something or someone. That’s because I realised from a young age that there’s always more than what meets the eye.”

“If I say ‘first of all’ Run away because I have prepared research, data, charts, and will destroy you.”

“Underestimate me, that’ll be fun.”

“You think I’m sarcastic? You should hear what I don’t say!”

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.”

“Stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy.”

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

“Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch?”

“I was told I was dangerous… I asked why? They said ‘because you don’t need anyone.’ That’s when I smiled.”

“She’s been through hell and came out an angel. You didn’t break her darling, you don’t own that kind of power.”

“Watch me. I will go to my own sun and, if I am burned by the flames, I will fly on scorched wings.”

“Her messy hair is a visible attribute to her stubborn spirit. As she shakes it free, she smiles, knowing wild is her favourite colour.”

“She’s strong. But in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she was meant to be this strong for this long. And she wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who understands this.”

“She’s not for everyone and she knows it. People find her different and strange. She dances in the rain, she laughs when she cries and loves through her pain. People fear the unknown and they never knew a girl like her.”

“Don’t tell a girl with fire in her veins and hurricane bones what she should and shouldn’t do. In the blink of an eye, she will shatter that ridiculous cage you attempt to build around her beautiful bohemian spirit.”

“You provoke her until she roars and then get upset at her for becoming the monster you created.”

“Rip out his ego with your fresh nails.”

“She isn’t the sunrise; she’s the fucking sun.”

“You can’t touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck.”

“Watch your tongue around her. She will bear her fangs and tear you apart with all the grace of a Queen.”

“If you won’t embrace her madness, then you’ll never taste her magic.”

“Beauty may be dangerous but intelligence is lethal.”

“She is water. Powerful enough to drown you, soft enough to cleanse you, deep enough to save you.”

“Heavy is the crown and yet she wears it as if it were a feather. There is strength in her heart, determination in her eyes and the will to survive resides within her soul.”

“I wish that I could say that I am a light that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time.”

“Spoil me with loyalty. I can finance myself.”

“Shoutout to all the people with brown hair and brown eyes! We basic as fuck but we cute!”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“I just really like thigh-highs.”

“Even though she looks innocent, she is really a perverted demon.”

“She didn’t sob or wail. Her pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.”

“I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.”

“Beautiful but destructive.”

“I’m aiming for the ‘she’s a badass and cute as hell but I wouldn’t touch her without asking’ look.”

“Loving me must be so fucking hard and I’m so sorry.”

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

“You glow differently when you’re actually happy.”

“She’s magic, that one.”

“Kicked out of Hell.”

“Red hair: the crown you never take off.”

“You’ve got a fire inside.”

“She doesn’t need a warrior, she is one. What she needs is a devout heart, and strong arms to hold her after her battles are won.”

“You are the love that came without warning: You had my heart before I could say no.”

“You want battle? I’ll give you war.”

“True evil is, above all things, seductive.”

“The Devil’s got nothing on me, my friend.”

“Haven’t I fallen far enough?”

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Now I grow wings and rage, and learn how to kill.”

“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.”

“Though she be little, she be fierce.”

“I know what this is; It’s just myself, talking to myself, about myself.”

“You underestimate my power.”

#roleplay memes #rp memes #roleplay sentence starters #sentence starters #rp starters #sentence memes

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novoaa1writes · 4 years ago

Text

comeback kid

pairing(s): f!reader & jennifer jareau (familial), f!reader & emily prentiss (familial), jennifer jareau x emily prentiss, the BAU team & f!reader (familial)

summary: reader is a young girl who escapes captivity at the hands of a very bad man with the BAU’s help. she meets emily and JJ. spencer, too, along with the others. somewhere along the way, she learns a little something about trust and healing.

word count: ~5,500

rating: mature

warnings: kidnapping, rape/non-con, canon-typical violence, non-graphic sexual & physical abuse to a child

notes: i definitely spent too much time on this bitch i’ve got FINALS tf??? anyways. in this ‘verse, jj never met will and therefore didn’t have henry or michael. and yes i’m aware the title is stupid but it’s kinda sticking with me so i might change it later. **PLEASE read the warnings dude i’m begging you the first half of this is pretty brutal before the healing starts*** (also on ao3)

— —

“I’m sorry there is so much pain in this story. I’m sorry it’s in fragments, like a body caught in crossfire or pulled apart by force. But there is nothing I can do to change it.

I’ve tried to put some of the good things in as well. Flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them?”

— Margaret Atwood

Your daddy dies on a Tuesday. The bad man forces him down onto his knees, shoots him in the chest with a real-life, actual gun. BANG. It’s so loud. Way louder than it is in the movies.

He turns to you next. Tells you to watch as he takes Momma’s clothes off, throws her onto the bed. He starts touching her like Daddy sometimes did, except she doesn’t smile and laugh like she does with Daddy. She screams and cries like it hurts, like the bad man is making it hurt. It goes on for a long time.

Eventually, he takes out a knife, puts it in Momma’s stomach. Once, twice, three times. She cries a little louder, starts to breathe a little funny. Soon enough, she goes completely quiet.

Then the bad man turns to you with a big, toothy smile. You don’t like to think about what happens after that.

— —

Time passes, and the bad man gets a name—Sir. You think it’s sorta a funny name (not truly a name at all, really), but you don’t ask him about it. He gives you a name, too—Princess. You don’t ask about that either. Your questions only ever seem to make him mad, and he gets really mean when he’s mad.

Sir gives you a bedroom down in the basement of his house. He tells you it’s your home now, but it doesn’t feel warm and safe like home should.

You get used to it, though. Eventually.

— —

You start to grow. It’s slow, at first, but once it starts it doesn’t stop, and you have no idea how to feel about it.

Your chest starts to get a little bigger. It isn’t flat like Sir’s anymore, and that makes you worry about what he’ll think. Instead of getting mad, though, he actually seems to approve. You don’t know why or what it means, but it’s a relief all the same.

One morning, you wake up with a tummy ache and blood staining the bedsheets between your legs. You kind of freak out about it, but Sir just smiles and says that it’s a good thing, that it means you’re a woman now. That same night, he spreads your legs and takes out his thing. It hurts when he forces it inside you, but you know better than to fight. He says it’s called “making love,” that it’s what two people do when they really care about each other.

You wonder why it’s called “making love” if it hurts so much, but you don’t ask him that.

After that night, Sir starts letting you stay in his room. You were never allowed before. At nighttime he puts his thing inside you and makes love, but you don’t mind. His bedsheets are so much softer than yours, and his pillows are so fluffy. You sleep a lot better most nights, even if your private parts feel ache-y and sore more often than not.

Sir isn’t angry with you as often as he used to be, but he’s still super strict and punishes you for almost everything. He says it has to be done, that you’ve gotta learn your place. He says it hurts him just as much as it hurts you to do it. You don’t know if you believe him. His thing always grows in his pants when he hits you, which you’ve learned to mean that he’s excited. Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of punishing you to drag you upstairs and make love.

It’s okay, though. You’re kind of used to it now.

— —

More time passes, and you get a sister.

She’s smaller than you are, and when you ask her if she’s bled yet, she just looks back up at you all confused.

Sir says her name is Sissy. Sissy frowns and says, “No, my name is Bella.” Sir slaps Sissy until she screams and cries and her nose starts bleeding. By the end of it, she’s calling herself Sissy, too.

Eventually, Sissy’s body starts to go through changes, too, just like yours did. Her chest gets a little bigger. One day she falls to her knees, whimpering and clutching her tummy, and when you check her panties, they’re red with blood.

Sir starts making love to her, too. Sometimes he invites his friends over. They make love with you and Sissy, too.

Other times, he makes you and Sissy kiss on the mouth and touch each other’s private parts. You don’t understand why, ‘cause you thought sisters weren’t supposed to do things like that, but you know better than to question it.

You actually like having a sister, you find. She’s warm and soft and you get to hold each other when things are bad. Since Sissy is old enough to do grown-up things now, Sir gives you and Sissy your own room and a bed to share.

He still makes love to you most nights, and forces the two of you to play grown-up games together in his bed. But you try your best to be good, and teach Sissy how to be good, too. Sometimes, the two of you can manage to go hours on end without making him upset.

When he hugs the two of you against his bare chest late at night, squeezing you tight and saying how much he loves his two beautiful little girls, it doesn’t make your skin crawl like it used to. It actually doesn’t bother you at all.

— —

The angry-looking people with guns and vests come barging in late at night when you and Sissy are with Sir in his bed playing grown-up games. Sir grabs a knife, stabs it right into Sissy’s tummy. You’ve never heard her scream so loud.

The pretty man with dark, chocolate-y skin barges into the room, yanks Sir off the bed and pins him down on the floor. Sissy is whimpering and bleeding from her gut, Sir is thrashing and yelling on the floor. A handsome man with dark curly hair yanks you off the bed, drags you outside. You keep hitting your fists against his big, burly chest; wriggling and flailing in his strong arms; begging him to take you back in and get Sissy, too. He doesn’t.

The next bit is kind of a blur.

Someone drapes a coat around your shoulders. A lady with a buzzcut sits you up on the back of the ambulance and dabs wet cotton balls all over the cuts on your face. It stings.

She says you’re gonna be okay, so long as you go to a hospital later.

They take you back to the police station. You’ve never been in one of those before.

Sissy’s blood is drying on your hands when the big, burly man with brown eyes leads you into a room right next to the captain’s office. It’s got a table and cushion-y chairs. He leaves you there with a tight smile and an apology, but not before telling you that there’ll be someone in to talk to you soon.

You’re wearing a big blue jacket that says FBI on the back, a pair of panties and nothing else. It’s a little cold, but otherwise you don’t mind.

You clamber up onto one of the chairs, tuck your bruised knees against your chest.

You don’t have to wait for very long until someone opens the door and comes inside. She’s really pretty—tall and thin with long golden hair and big blue eyes. You think she kind of looks like a Disney princess.

“Hi, there,” she says. You watch her carefully as she takes a seat at the table right across from you. “My name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ.”

“Are you a police officer?” you ask.

“No, I’m with the FBI.” Her voice is soft and gentle, like silk.

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

She chuckles, like you’ve said something funny. “Kind of.”

You nod, staring down at the tabletop. “Cool.”

“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?”

“Princess.”

“‘Princess,’” she repeats, eyebrows raised. “That’s a cute name.”

You look up. You can’t figure out if she really means that. “Thanks. Sir gave it to me.”

“Ah.” JJ’s eyebrows creep a little higher. “And do you like being called ‘Princess’?”

You frown. “I guess so.” You don’t really understand what she’s asking. “It’s my name.”

“Okay.” JJ nods. “And how old are you, Princess?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admit.

“That’s alright,” JJ says. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”

You start fidgeting with your hands, concern for Sissy still fresh on your mind. “Is Sissy okay?”

JJ looks confused. “‘Sissy’?”

“My sister,” you tell her. “Is she okay? She was bleeding.”

JJ pauses, a wrinkle forming between her brows. You get a sinking feeling in your gut. “Princess, your sister was hurt very badly,” she explains, looking at you with sad eyes. “The doctors said there was nothing they could do. I’m so, so sorry.”

Your eyes start to burn like they do when you’re about to start crying. “She’s… She’s dead?”

JJ nods slowly. The sad expression doesn’t leave her face. “Yes, Princess. Again, I’m… so, so sorry.”

Your body feels numb. There’s a humming in your ears you can’t quite place. Your sight grows hazy around the edges.

“Princess?” JJ’s voice sounds far-away, distant.

A hot tear traces down your cheek. It helps to anchor you in the moment, sort of. “Sir is a bad man, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” JJ says after a moment. “Yes, he is.”

You tuck your knees a little tighter to your chest. Your bad arm aches, but you ignore it. “I don’t wanna be called ‘Princess’ anymore,” you whisper.

“Alright. What would you like to be called instead?”

You sniffle as another warm tear traces your cheek. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

“You’re really nice, Miss JJ.”

“Just ‘JJ’ is fine.” She takes out a notepad and pen, sets it in front of her on the table. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”

You nod. You still feel numb. “He came into my house one night. He was scary.”

“He hurt your parents, didn’t he?”

You gulp down a whimper. “Y-Yea. He had a gun and a knife.”

“What did he do with them?”

“Shot Daddy right here.” You shift in your seat, pointing at your chest with your good arm—right around where you think your heart should be. “Put Mommy on the bed, and… made love.”

JJ frowns. “‘Made love’?”

You nod, looking at her curiously. Weren’t grown-ups supposed to know all about making love? “Yea. The thing that grown-ups do with each other.”

JJ just stares.

“You know, when they take off their clothes and touch each other’s private parts.”

Something in JJ’s eyes shifts. “Honey… ” she begins. She sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Did Sir teach you about that?”

You nod again. “Yea, he showed me how once I became a woman.”

JJ’s eyes widen. “Once you ‘became a woman’?”

Why does she keep repeating everything I’m saying? “When I started bleeding down… there.”

“Your period?”

Huh? “What’s that?”

“It’s something that happens every month to girls like you and me.”

You lean forward a little bit in your seat, peering intently at her over your knees. “It happens to you, too?”

JJ’s lips curve into a little smile, like she’s amused by your question. Her eyes still look kinda sad, though. “Yes, sweetie, they happen to me, too. I have one every month.”

“A period.” It sounds kinda funny coming off your tongue. “Do you get tummy aches when they happen, too?”

“Sometimes. I take painkillers for the first couple days so that it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Why… Why doesn’t it happen to boys?”

“Because girl parts and boy parts are different.”

You nod. That makes sense. After all, whenever Sir pulled out his thing, it was so strange-looking. It didn’t look anything like what you had between your legs.

“Boy parts are weird,” you say eventually, wrinkling your nose.

JJ laughs. She has a pretty laugh. “Yes, they certainly are.”

— —

JJ leaves eventually, says she’ll bring you food when she comes back. Your stomach growls. You don’t know how you can be hungry at a time like this, but somehow, you are.

Another woman takes JJ’s place.

She’s beautiful, too, in a different way. Black hair, bangs, dark eyes. Her smile is white and dazzling. She’s tall and thin like JJ, but the sweater she’s wearing looks soft while JJ’s shirt was crisp and business-y.

“Hi, there,” she says as she takes JJ’s seat across from you. She places a brown folder on the table in front of her. “I’m Emily.”

“Are you FBI? Like Miss JJ?” When you mention JJ’s name, her smile seems to get wider. You wonder if you’re just imagining things.

“Yes, in fact, I am,” she replies.

“Are you gonna put me in jail?”

Emily raises one eyebrow. “No, honey, I’m not going to put you in jail.”

“What about Sir?”

Emily sighs. “He’s in another room right now. One of our agents is talking to him.”

“He’s gonna go to jail, isn’t he?”

Emily nods. “Yes. For a very long time.” Straightforward and honest. You like that about her, you decide. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You frown, hesitating. “Sir called me ‘Princess.’”

“So, should I call you that as well?”

Instantly, you shake your head. “No, thank you.”

“What about the name you had before Sir took you?”

“I… I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay.” Emily opens the file, flips it around and slides it across the table over to you. “One of our people, Garcia, found you.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to trace the paper on top. There’s a smaller picture paper-clipped to the front of it. It’s… It’s you. “Name: Y/N Y/L/N,” you read off the page. “That’s… That’s me?”

“Yes, honey,” Emily agrees. Her voice is soft like JJ’s, but different. Deeper. You like it, you decide. “That’s you.”

Your head spins. You look up at her, searching her pale features for an answer. “Miss Emily, h-how old am I?”

“You’re 14.”

“And my parents… They’re gone, aren’t they?”

Emily nods. There’s sadness in her eyes, too. It’s different from JJ’s, but not by much. “I’m afraid they are.”

You bite your lower lip nervously. You really don’t want to think about that right now. “Are you and Miss JJ… friends?”

Emily’s lips twitch. “You could say that.”

“What does that mean?”

“We live together.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” you say, tapping your knees. They’re a mottled combination of purple and black and blue. “Miss JJ is really pretty.”

Emily smiles. “Yes, she certainly is.”

“You smile when you talk about Miss JJ,” you observe, watching Emily carefully. You can’t quite figure her out. “You don’t seem like a very smile-y person.”

Emily looks a little taken aback at your remark, but she recovers quickly. “Well, JJ and I are very close.”

You hum, resting your chin on your knees and giving her your full attention. “Sir says I’m a woman now. Is that true?”

Emily huffs out a laugh. “No, sweetie, not quite. You’re a teenager.”

You tilt your head curiously. “But I did the period.”

“What’s that now?”

“The period. Miss JJ says that that’s what it’s called when you bleed from... down there.”

“Oh, I see what you mean now,” Emily says. “But you don’t ‘do’ periods. You have them.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And, either way, having a period doesn’t automatically make you a woman, Y/N.”

You squint over at her. Now you’re even more confused. “It doesn’t?”

“Nope. I had my first period when I was around 12 years old, but I didn’t grow up until much, much later.”

You nod at that, like you understand. (You don’t really.) “How much later?”

“According to the law, everyone’s an adult at 18. But honestly, I don’t think I really became a grown-up until I was 25, at least.”

“Woah,” you murmur. “That’s a lot of years.”

Emily chuckles again. You find that you’re beginning to like the sound of it. “I used to think that, too.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. “Miss Emily?” you ask eventually. “Why am I still here?”

“We’re not quite finished with Sir yet,” she tells you.

“But you caught him.”

“That’s true,” Emily agrees. “But we need him to tell us where to find some other people, too.”

“Why? Did Sir do something to them?”

“Yes. He did.”

“Sir gets angry sometimes,” you say. You don’t quite know what point you’re trying to make, but you feel like you should say it all the same. “He loses control.”

“Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone loses control.” Emily leans back in her seat. Her eyes don’t leave you. “That still doesn’t make it okay to hurt people.”

You agree with Emily on that, you think. Even if Sir doesn’t. “Miss Emily?”

“You can just call me ‘Emily.’”

“Emily,” you correct yourself. It feels wrong coming off your tongue. You don’t think you’ll be doing that again any time soon. “You know about making love, right? The thing that grown-ups do in bed?”

Emily opens her mouth but nothing comes out, like she doesn’t quite know what to say. You think she looks kind of silly like that. After a long moment, she says, “I… Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Why does it hurt so much? Sir says… that it’s supposed to hurt when you make love. He says that sometimes we have to hurt the people we care about. Is that true?”

Emily’s face falls. All of a sudden, her eyes are sad again, and the way she’s looking at you… like she’s sad for you.

When she finally answers, her voice is small—smaller than you’ve heard it be since she came in and started talking to you. “He’s wrong, Y/N,” she says.

“But then why is his thing so big?” you ask, completely bewildered. “How could anyone ever fit it in without getting hurt?”

If anything, Emily’s face gets even sadder at that. “He’s a grown-up. He’s much bigger than you are.”

“But I can do grown-up things. I had a period,” you point out.

“Sweetie, that’s not how it works.” Emily’s hands clasp tightly together on the tabletop until her knuckles turn white. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t be doing things like that with grown-ups, and it isn’t fair that he forced you to.”

You frown. That doesn’t sound totally right, but you don’t know enough to say one way or the other. “Do I belong to him now? ‘Cause we did grown-up things together?” you ask. As soon as the words leave your lips, you realize how badly you’ve been wanting to know the answer.

You can see Emily’s jaw get tight. “Is that what he told you?”

“Yea,” you admit. Your tummy churns as you watch Emily’s clenched hands start to shake. “Um… Are you angry with me, Miss Emily?”

Emily blinks, looking down at her hands and then back to you. “No, honey. No, of course not.” She takes her hands back, puts them in her lap. “I’m sorry. I’m angry with him for doing these things to you.”

“Oh.” Your frown deepens at the defeated look on Emily’s face. “It’s okay,” you assure her. You don’t want her to be sad. “It wasn’t too bad. I learned what he liked pretty quick, and that made it easier.”

Emily begins to look a little sick.

“Miss Emily, are you alright?” you ask.

Emily clears her throat. The green complexion fades, but she still looks wary. “Yes, sweetie, I’m fine.”

She’s lying. You don’t know why, but she is. Still, you won’t ask about it. You’re smarter than that. “Is Miss JJ coming back soon?”

Emily glances down at her watch. She wears it on the inside of her wrist, you remember. “Yeah, I think—”

A sudden knock at the door interrupts Emily mid-sentence, making you flinch.

“Ah.” Emily’s eyes shift to look at something over your shoulder. She smiles. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

You chance a look behind you.

There Miss JJ is, holding a brown paper bag and a Sprite. When you meet her eye, she gives you a warm smile and a wink. You immediately turn back around, your cheeks feeling hot.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a handful of things for you to choose from,” JJ explains. She drops the paper bag and soda right next to the open file in front of you, then circles around to the other side of the table. It smells like grease and fast food and ketchup. Your tummy rumbles again. “There’s a cheeseburger, some chicken nuggets, and a grilled chicken sandwich. I got you some fries, too.”

JJ gently touches Emily’s shoulder, and the two of them share some sort of silent communication. Then she sits down, too.

“Thank you, Miss JJ,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to touch the food.

“You’re welcome, honey.”

The room goes quiet. You steal glances at the food, then over at JJ and Emily. They’re watching you with identical frowns. Occasionally, they turn to exchange concerned looks with each other. In the meantime, you continue your staring match with the purple skin of your kneecaps.

“Not hungry?” Emily asks after a little while.

You glance up at her. “Is this a test?”

JJ and Emily exchange another look. “‘A test’?” JJ repeats. Her voice is just as soft and silky as you remember it. “What do you mean by that, honey?”

If it is a test, it’s already way more elaborate than anything Sir ever did. Still, you can’t help falling back on old habits.

“Food is earned, not given,” you recite. The words come out easy—like second nature. At this point, they kind of are.

It’s quiet again, until—

“Y/N… Did Sir tell you that?” Emily’s dark eyes on you are steady, like if she looks at you for long enough, she’ll figure out all your secrets. You pray that that isn’t true.

Reluctantly, you nod. You look back and forth between them, searching. “What do you want for this?”

“Nothing,” Emily says simply.

You just raise your eyebrows. You’ve played this game before. “A favor, then?”

Emily shakes her head. “No favors necessary.”

“I brought you food because you’re hungry and you need to eat,” JJ adds. She’s looking at you with a pained expression. “That’s all.”

Slowly, you reach for the Sprite. You don’t take your eyes off JJ and Emily. The can is cold and wet, dripping down the sides.

“Oh!” Emily abruptly stands, leaning forward over the table and reaching out. “Here, I’ll open it for y—”

She stops herself short when she sees you flinch.

“Y/N, hey,” she prompts. She raises both her hands, palms facing you. “I’m sorry; I should have asked first.” She nods down toward the soda can. “Would it be alright if I opened that Sprite for you?”

Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. Slowly, you reach around your knees to slide the can forward a couple inches. Your eyes don’t leave Emily’s face.

“Okay, I’m gonna open it for you now,” she tells you. Her hands fall to the soda can, and she does just that. Chk-chk! Her nails are all ragged and torn, you note. One of them has dried blood around it. It looks painful. The soda hisses as she slides it back over to you.

You don’t relax until she retreats back into her seat.

“Thank you, Miss Emily.” You take the soda can into your hands, down a little sip. It’s fizzy and strange and way too sweet. You like it.

“No problem, hon.”

— —

After endless tests, and doctors poking you, and a whole bunch of confusing questions, you’re finally left alone. Well, mostly.

It’s just you, a hospital bed, and a thin pale man who says his name is Spencer. He’s FBI, too, evidently. He doesn’t look like he’d be FBI, but the gun on his hip says otherwise.

He’s got big brown eyes, short brown hair, and he won’t stop fidgeting with his hands. He seems nervous. It’s making you nervous.

Eventually, you can’t take it any longer. “Mister Spencer?” you ask.

Immediately, his eyes shift to you. “Yes?” He leans forward in his seat, rests his elbows on his knees.

“They said I have to have surgery.”

He nods. “You’ve had some broken bones that didn’t heal correctly,” he explains patiently. His voice is soft, so soft it’s almost a whisper. “Most of them won’t require surgery, but from what I understand, the one in your left forearm is still hurting.”

Instinctively, you cradle your bad arm to your chest. “It’s not so bad.”

“That may be true, but the doctors here can fix it. They’re very good at what they do. And once you heal from the surgery, it won’t ever hurt like that again.”

A song plays in your head—one of Sir’s favorite songs. He’d play it all the time. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world for free,” you murmur.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing in this world is free,” you say. “They can’t just take the pain away, Mister Spencer. Not unless the price is really, really high.”

“The price has been taken care of.”

“By who?” Owing someone is dangerous. You know that.

Spencer hesitates. “Well—”

“By me.” A familiar voice makes you whirl your head around. You really don’t like surprises.

Emily’s standing there in the doorway. She looks at you with an expression you can’t quite figure out.

“Miss Emily, I—I can’t pay you back—”

“You don’t have to.” She pushes off of the doorframe, comes in and sits in an empty chair next to Spencer. “I just want you to get better, sweetie.”

You eye her suspiciously up and down. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper out eventually.

You don’t expect her to hear you, much less answer, so it’s a surprise when she does.

“I know,” she says.

— —

The next couple days are a blur. You get the surgery, though you don’t really remember it. All you know is you wake up with the room spinning and your bad arm feeling numb. There’s a bandage on it, and white gauze wrapped from your wrist all the way up to your elbow.

The doctors smile and tell you that things went well, that you’re gonna be okay. Their smiles are too big and the room is too bright and you really don’t want to be there anymore.

Someone carries you out of the hospital to a big, black car. They smell like cinnamon, and their shirt is really soft. Their long black hair tickles your nose. Emily.

She stays with you in the backseat when the car starts to move.

There’s a woman with golden hair driving the car. You think you might know her. JJ, a distant voice in your head supplies.

Things go black for a while after that.

When you wake up, it’s bleary. You’re warm and comfy, which strikes you as unusual. The bed you’re on feels like a cloud. It’s a million times softer and more cloud-like than Sir’s bed ever was. That’s unusual, too.

Turns out, it’s a guest room in an apartment that’s too fancy to be called an apartment. A “loft.”

There’s a black cat with green eyes that jumps up on the bed and starts nuzzling you as soon as you’re up. Its fur is really, really soft. You like the way it purrs when you scratch it behind the ears.

Turns out, the “it” is a “he.” His name is Sergio, and he belongs to Emily and JJ.

This is their loft, where they’ve offered to let you stay for the foreseeable future.

You have no idea what their angle is, and that terrifies you. But they’re warm and they smell nice and they let you order takeout from wherever you want for dinner. They’re gentle and they smile a lot and as far as you can tell, they don’t come into your room to touch you at night.

Still, there’s only one way to be sure. One day, you sneak a strip of Scotch tape from Emily’s desk before dinner. That same night, you stick it horizontally on the inside of the door—from the metal frame across to the wood of the door itself.

This way, it won’t come undone unless someone opens the door. And if they do, it’ll be impossible to stick the tape back exactly how it was unless you’re on the inside. You’re not sure where you learned that, ‘cause it definitely wasn’t from Sir, but you figure it doesn’t really matter either way. What matters is that it’s smart, and it works.

Three nights go by. The tape doesn’t move.

Three nights becomes a week. You keep sneaking bits of Scotch tape to replace the old ones when they start to lose their stick.

The tape still doesn’t move.

JJ and Emily are still as kind as ever. They still give you food, change your bandages, let you watch as much TV as you want. They don’t make you play grown-up games. They don’t yell at you. They don’t hit you, either.

It’s new, and confusing, and strange.

You think that maybe you could use a little of that.

— —

A geriatric, balding judge with bifocals and a lisp signs the adoption papers on a Tuesday afternoon. And just like that, Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau are finally declared the official legal guardians of Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

You’re sixteen, now, after a quiet but memorable birthday spent at home with your moms three weeks prior.

Thanks to Uncle Spencer’s influence, you’re reading books like a fiend and doing weekly crossword puzzles with him on Sunday mornings. Social media remains something of a mystery to you, still. Hell, even Mama Emily’s better at it than you are. Auntie Penelope says it’s better that way ‘cause “the Internet is a beautiful but terrible place, my sweet sugarplum,” but at the very least, you think you should get a Facebook before you graduate.

Plus, Uncle Kevin says he’ll teach you some hacker tricks on the sly so long as you don’t tell Auntie Pen. You’re really, really looking forward to that.

Uncle Hotch goes on weekly runs with you around the park. You pretty much spend the whole time teasing him for being so old and having to stretch so much before the two of you can actually get going, but he still very nearly beats you every time.

Uncle Rossi spoils you with gifts and home-made Italian recipes. Sometimes, he’ll come over just to cook you dinner.

Uncle Morgan’s teaching you how to pick up girls. Ever since you told him about that cute girl Emiko in your Spanish class, he’s been drilling you with lessons on “how to woo a lady.” You groan and blush and act like it’s the worst thing that ever happened to you, but secretly, you don’t really mind it. At all. Sometimes, you even take his advice. (Though admittedly, that’s rather rare.)

Luke, Matt, Tara, Alex and Stephen are all new, but your moms seem to trust them, and that’s good enough for you. Plus, Luke lets you play with his dog Roxy sometimes, so he’s already pretty cool in your book.

Friday nights are special. They’re the nights you always, always spend at home with your moms. You play board games, watch movies, binge trashy Netflix shows. Currently, you’re 11 seasons into Grey’s Anatomy.

Most of the time, you pass out snuggled between them on the couch. They shake you gently when it’s time to go to bed, and you trudge back to your room in a zombie-like trance. You don’t stick tape anywhere. You don’t even close the door. You just fall face-first into bed and drift off to sleep.

In the mornings, you always wake up all tucked in with a smudge of JJ’s strawberry-scented lip gloss drying on your forehead.

And… you’re happy. Happier than you’ve ever been.

‘Course, you still get sad sometimes. You still think about Sir and miss him even when you know you shouldn’t. You still visit Sissy every year, lay pretty pink flowers at the foot of her grave. (Sissy always loved pink.) But, things are different—you’re not alone. Your moms are always, always, always at your side.

You think Sissy would’ve liked them. Loved them, in fact.

After all, you certainly do.

— —

end notes: the song is “ain’t no rest for the wicked” by cage the elephant and uhhhh that’s it? i think? i Love using fanfic as a means of self-projection <3

#jj x emily #jemily #jj x emily prentiss #criminal minds #cm #stuff i wrote #criminal minds fic #cm fic #f!reader #reader & emily prentiss #reader & jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #reader-insert #jennifer jareau x emily prentiss

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