#taking me back to those early night vale days

[wick-de-la-vela]

shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals <3

Let's gooooo. Doing my big 57 hour playlist for this one for maximum randomness.

1.

2.

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4.

5.

@sasseffects @thecardiganslife1995album @jekkiefan @burgerpents @illumi-nati-png @cyan-kelpie @cherrycoula

(I am just now reading this is an ask game and not a tag game. In my defense your honor I can't read)

[batsplat]

Wait what’s the tea on Valentino’s sleep patterns 👀👀 (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)

oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life

tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will

before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):

The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.

and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):

On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!

and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):

'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'

we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):

Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.

and from 2001, in valentino's own words:

Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.

only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):

"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"

also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):

I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.

how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race

so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race

and here's the autobiography passage:

My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. It’s as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I don’t live the life of a professional athlete. It’s true, I don’t live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense — early to bed, early to rise and all that — but this does not mean that I’m not careful about what I eat and drink or that I don’t train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. It’s just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when I’m training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. That’s why, even if I’m travelling all over the world, I don’t experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. It’s much more likely that I’m just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because it’s the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, I’m Valentino Rossi. I’m wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, I’m always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. I’m proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because that’s actually when problems can arise — if it’s you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I don’t know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because it’s absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. They’re in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, I’ve been a man on the run. And there’s no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply can’t engage in when I’m back in Italy. I can’t go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I can’t walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I can’t stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, I’m screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, I’ve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.

Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. It’s just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I don’t like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. It’s like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. That’s why I’ve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, “Gente. della notte” (“People of the night”). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I don’t change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I don’t really change. Obviously, I don’t go to bed at dawn, but let’s just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there aren’t many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I don’t leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. That’s why I’ve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. I’ve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I don’t think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I don’t actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. It’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.

During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. There’s always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that I’m at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. That’s where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldn’t find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just don’t have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. I’m like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just don’t have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up — usually it’s Jeremy, because he doesn’t trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.

"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. it’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (24)

24. SnowStorm

MASTERLIST

Summary: An unknown ray of hope

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, war, and all that comes with it, implied forced imprisonment, and implied non-con, pregnancy, angst, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: I don't know what is gotten inside of me, I'm inspired hehehe, remember that the timing on this has been paced by x3 haha

Nobody talked to you, nobody told you anything, but you could tell something was wrong, very, very wrong.

People seemed nervous and skittish, Aemond was gone for most part of the day, and night, he left you alone, and you took the opportunity to relax in your bed

You were grieving, but it was so hard, you had no process, no nothing, Cregan was far away, and suddenly he was dead, but you couldn’t process it, you couldn’t even think about it

A single tear fell down your eye as you touched your belly

Was it Cregan’s? or was it Aemond’s?

You couldn’t possibly know

Yes you had bled, but the maester said it was common having a little spotting in early stages of pregnancy… but still… you were showing up quite early if you were to believe it was Aemond’s 

But you couldn’t help but wonder…

You guessed you had to wait until it was born.

You hoped it was a girl but… if it was Cregan’s you doubted Aemond was going to let you keep it, you could only pray that he would take the time to take it to Winterfell where she or he could be safe… but if it was his…

You cried louder

Once you stopped crying and were laying on your bed, Aemond entered the room

“I have news”, he said, his voice sounded strangled, you sat on the bed and looked at him wide-eyed

“What?”, you asked

“I will take you out of here”, he said, like it was good news, perhaps they were

“Are we going to King’s Landing?”, you asked, your voice plain

“No, I’m taking you to your home in the Vale”, that really surprised you

“What?”, you asked, not believing him

“I’m already making the arrangements”, he said, he was serious, but not like always, he did not have that superiority demeanor that always accompanied him

“And King’s Landing?”

“No”, he answered sharply, he wouldn’t tell you anything, a war had broken outside these walls and you didn’t even know what was happening, but one thing soothed you… If Aemond was here, he was not in the field, possibly killing members of your family.

The love of your life and father to your babies might be dead, but at least, at least, with your personal sacrifice, you could help your family in gathering and preparing, distracting the man with the biggest dragon in the world

it was a consolation

But not knowing what was going on outside those wretched walls did make you feel uneasy, the fact that Aemond was here the entire time made you believe that rather things were going terribly well with the Greens, or he was out of it completely

Aemond after looking deep into your face, prepared to leave

“What happened?”, you asked him, and then he looked at you, his eye then fell to your belly

“You are with my child, this is a terrible and dark place, you need to be in a more nicer place, if we want the child and you to thrive”, he said so seriously, like he was talking about a political arrangement 

You wanted to remind him that it was Cregan’s baby, but you stopped yourself, one because you didn’t want him to… “get rid of it” as he threatened you he would do, and two, you weren’t even sure.

“When?”, you asked

“Tomorrow”, he said shortly, and then he abandoned your room.

You were almost blinded when you took a step outside, having seen the sunlight directly in months. You almost had forgotten what the clear, pure air smelt like, being trapped in that hellish room. Some days you thought you had lost your mind.

But here you were

You should be happy that you are going back to your own home, some place you had the advantage in, but then… the advantage for what exactly?

Trying to kill him again?

That would backfire terribly

Trying to escape?

And where would you go? back to Winterfell? your loved ones would pay the price of your actions, you knew it.

And if it was Aemond’s baby?

You whimpered when you realized… there was no way out of this, of him…

Vhagar roared in front of you both to prove it, in a greeting, and she made you tremble. Aemond grabbed your hand and led you towards her, your own dragon wasn’t even in sight, Aemond helped you up the ropes first and then he followed you closely.

Under normal circumstances you would be on the other side of the castle away from this wretched beast, but you didn’t want to fight, you didn’t want to upset him. 

You accommodate yourself in the saddle, and Aemond arranged the leather straps around your thighs carefully and then he chained himself to the saddle, you felt him at your back his hand surrounded you to take the reins 

You didn’t miss his fingers ghosting over your belly.

Vhagar was heavy and slow and yet, she took flight easily. Soon you were in the skies, the last time you had done so, was when you surrender yourself to Aemond

You leaned back, your body fully pressed against Aemond, trying to push up your own body was making you have a cramp, and you didn’t have the strength to endure one, not right now.

Aemond smiled, he took to the skies, with you in his arms, your body leaning completely on his, his baby in your belly, he felt like the King of the world, and how could he not?

“When I’m in the skies… it feels that this is where I belong”, he whispered in your ear, “specially with you in my arms”

And the funny thing is, you also felt the same when you were in the skies.

“This is why they say Targaryen are closest to gods than to men”, you said back, wanting to avoid the subject

The flight was longer than you had expected, Vhagar being slow. Or perhaps it was the company that made it dreadfully tiring

You were glad the wind made it difficult to sustain a conversation.

You wondered how Aemond knew exactly where your home was, but you tried not to dwell on it too much, for your own peace of mind.

Vhagar landed heavily on the ground, right in front of it. It was just like you remembered, from four years ago when you escaped the Red Keep when… When Aemond tried to pressure you into giving him your maidenhead

People started coming out of the castle, to your surprise, they didn’t even seem surprised to see Vhagar there, they had been expecting you… although… The people, your own people, seemed scared to see you, you remembered some of them, specially from when you escaped the Red Keep and spend here a couple of months, but they even dare to look at you

Perhaps this what Aemond had meant when he said “he had already made the arrangements”, meaning terrorize the servants of the castle out of their loyalty to you

The Vale was loyal to Rhaenyra, he surely needed to make sure nobody was going to open their mouths about you being here.

“It is quite beautiful”, Aemond said, placing his hands on your hips, encouraging you to enter your childhood home, where your father had raised you with his kindness and his love. You were sad it had to be tainted by Aemond, and what he was going to keep doing to you

You entered your home slowly, drinking everything in, you had missed it, it had huge windows and wide, colorful, sunlit rooms. It wasn’t as big as the seven great castles, but… it was a castle nonetheless 

He walked the halls as he knew them, perhaps he had been here in your absence, and that made you even more scared, about how deranged Aemond was

You wanted to go towards your room, but Aemond continued down the corridor towards what it was your father’s old room

“Aemond”, you called, “that is…”

“The master bedroom of this castle I took”, he said, opening the double doors, signaling for you to enter behind him.

You weren’t fazed to enter the room, your father’s things had been taken away years ago, and.. you don't quite remember it from your childhood when he was alive.

The room had huge windows, a balcony, a huge bed freshly made, you could tell, a table with chairs in one corner, and nightstands on each side of the huge bed with a wood canopy. 

“I could get accustomed to this”, Aemond said, you didn’t look at his face, but you could picture perfectly his smug face, “you, and me, reigning our small castle, with an army of silver haired children”, you sighed, already tired of his fantasy, you walked towards the windows and looked over at the sea and the risks of the Vale. You placed your hand on the window, longing for freedom, even though you wouldn’t know what to do with it.

Cregan was gone.

You felt the bed move behind you, and you turned around to see Aemond sitting on the edge of the bed. He taped the mattress by his side

“I want to feel you”, he moaned, and you only walked towards him, surrendering yourself to him, so broken to even fight him on this

What you didn’t know is that the greatest army the North has ever seen, had been gathering, marching from every corner to the coldest realm, already recuperated from the Winter, and ready to eliminate any threat to the reign of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Northerner Army met in Caitlin’s Vale, all around the castle of the same name.

Nobody knew who was going to lead said army. They had been called by Lord Roderik, to avenge their Lord, and they had all answered to the call.

For avenging Lord Cregan Stark. 

Cregan 

The huge camp was a sight to behold, each house of the North, the great one and the smaller ones, all of them had come.

And as their leaders met in the middle, to discuss strategy and where they were going to meet the Knights of the Vale, the remains of the Winter Wolves marched into the camp, leading them, as a hooded figure.

Every soldier made way for the huge stallion that led the main leaders of the small army, as they bowed their heads, they didn’t know who it was, but the bare figure demanded respect 

The leaders of the Great army both payed attention to the group approaching, and it was only when they were in front of them, that Cregan removed his hood, revealing himself to the camp amongst gasps and cheers

“CREGAN CREGAN CREGAN!”, they started chanting for their Lord 

“They embushed us!”, he shouted, “they burnt us! and yet… we are here!”, he said, to everyone’s cheers, “Aemond Targaryen, the Kinslayer, has taken my wife, the Lady of Winterfell, his brother the usurper, has taken our Queen’s throne!”, he said and he heard them booing, “For our burnt fathers and brothers, for your lady of winterfell, for the justice for the traitors, WE MARCH!”

With those words the army was fired up to march south, to kill every Green that stands in their way, to recuperate you

Cregan joined the leaders in the main tent.

“This time, we will not be alone”, he said firmly, “Daemon Targaryen and his dragon will meet us in the Crossroads Inn, he said, pointing to a map, but we, before that, we will join the Knights of the Vale, right about there as well”

“And the Rogue Prince will take care of the dragon?”, asked Lord Cerwyn

“That is what is expected, yes”, said Cregan.

“Is the Lady (Y/N) going to be in Harrenhal?”, asked another

“Our job is to take the castle, the real battle will be after we take Harrenhal and march souther still

“This is the greatest army the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen!”, said Lord Roderik, “it is impossible that we are going to march undetected through the Riverlands”

“In that case, the Baratheons and the Royal army of traitors will be there to meet us”, said Cregan, “and that will work to our advantage, it will save us a trip, we end half of the Green forces in one attack, they will have no chance against us”

The determination of their lord inspired all the men, this time, they will not fail

And so they started the slow march, as their number tripled the one of the last time, the pace was three times slower. 

Cregan wanted them to know, he wanted all his enemies in one place, to kill them all at once. You were the only thing on his mind. 

This was going to take him months, much to his dismay, but he knew his Queen held the Capital, he knew his son and his home was safe, and he knew you were alive, that monster might take you, but he wouldn’t harm you or he would have learnt about it by now.

You were waiting for him, he knew it

It was all that kept him sane, the thought of you, waiting for him. 

It was in moments like this he wished he could fly, just like you, he wished to be strong just like you, his beautiful wife, mother of his child.

He wondered if you thought he was dead, he really didn’t hope so, although he knew the Kinslayer would have told you. He wondered if you were pregnant with his baby, he was sure you were when he left you in Winterfell, he had learnt to know you and your beautiful body.

He sighed as he saw his army march from over a hill

The only thing he wanted to do was to have you by his side, cuddling you, and his son on his chest, your pregnant belly pressed against him. 

Soon, he thought 

Aemond looked at you, you yourself were looking at the window, touching your big belly, he could not tell if what he felt in his chest was something good or something bad, it was a crippling feeling, a burn so intense he believed it could burn him whole. 

He had to leave you for a few weeks, having to go to the battlefield, but his return was swiftly. His brother, the King, was missing, his mother was captured, his grandfather executed, and his other brother…

They said he died on his successful campaign as his burning tent fell on top of him, others say he was murdered in his nightshirt by a myrnise. 

Anyways, they were losing this war

The only front that was winning was the seafront on the East, and the Lannister Army on the West, this was not lost yet, but his sister, was also a prisoner of Rhaenyra, he was scared of what they might do to her after the murder of his nephew, 

And rumors had reached them that a huge Northerner army was marching from the North, he was longing to face them on the battlefield, to burn that wretched country once and for all. 

He did not feared them, for they had no one to lead them, the last remaining Stark couldn’t even talk, it was a baby in a crib 

Which led him back to…

“When I fantasized about being with you, I have never picture this”, he said bitterly, you turned to look at him, seriousness in your eyes

“You didn’t expect to kill my husband?, threatened my infant son? rape me? go figure”, you asked, you had become more bold as your pregnancy progressed, Aemond said it was because of the dragon inside of you, he had never been rough with you, he has been rather patient.

“I said you were mine and I was going to do anything to prove it”, of course it was your fault, perhaps if you had accepted the marriage with him in the first place, nothing would have ever happened, maybe Cregan would still be alive, “but there is no point on dwelling of what might have been”, he said, his voice plain.

It was hard to know what was going on inside his head, really

“I want to know what is happening”, you said firmly, looking back at him

“What do you mean?”, he asked

“What is going on with the war that broke out when you killed Lucerys?”, you asked firmly, he chuckled darkly

“What would you know about the intricacies of war?”, he mocked

“Is my family dead?”, you asked firmly

“If it was, do you think we would be hiding here?”, he asked

“Perhaps they all are, your brother regions on his usurped throne”, you bit back. He looked at you, analyzing your face, really wondering if he should tell you about what was going on

Perhaps if you knew Rhaenyra sat the Iron Throne, you would be persuaded to try to get away from him, perhaps you would try to escape him, knowing the blacks were winning

“i don’t know where your cunt of a cousin is, but my brother sits the Iron Throne”, he said bitterly, and you lost your attention off of him and back to look outside the window

He didn’t know if you did that because you didn’t believe him, or rather, if you did and you believed everything was lost, that you were irrevocably his

“I arranged for a short ceremony”, he said then, you turned to face him once more, frowning

“A short ceremony for what?”, you asked, angrily

“We are to be wed”, he said

“No”, you whined

“Yes”, he said firmly, your eyes filled with tears

“NO!”, you screamed, “why?”, you cried, accusing him

“You are a widow, and you are carrying my child, there is no discussion”, and his heart broke when he saw the utter despair and hate in your eyes who looked so much like his own. 

more notes: is the baby Cregan's? Or Aemond's? what do you think?

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[hotmessmaxpress]

i need Vale‘s pov of picking up Marc from Pesaro, because Marc wasn’t the only one worried, vale definitely was down bad just as much. The man of his dreams, who he almost lost before, is coming over to visit him. To meet him the first time as the person he really is. What if he only liked Vale for his money? Or if it just was some kind of hero worship? Valentino may have parked horribly, but that man was nervous, give him a break

Thank you for waiting so patiently, anon.

Here's another Vale's POV interlude, this time of Vale being Down Bad at the train station.

You should come. 

To Tavullia. Come ride with me.

When Vale invited Marc to Tavullia to come ride with him, he hadn’t really been thinking. He knew he wanted to see Marc, so he invited him without thought of the consequences or how he would explain things to his family, friends, and staff. He’s too excited to take back the invitation, though, so as soon as Marc agrees Vale throws himself into planning. 

He carves out a long weekend that he’s sure he can block off, and he starts firing off messages to all the normal visitors to the ranch and his home that he will be busy those days. Uccio is noticeably suspicious, so Valentino gives up and explains that Marc is visiting. 

Uccio isn’t pleased, but they’ve known each other long enough at this point that Uccio knows when he’s lost a battle and he doesn’t push back too much. Vale makes him promise not to show up, and threatens that the other man may see something he doesn’t want to if he shows up. Even with the threat Vale isn’t convinced Uccio won’t try something, but he’s at least confident that if he does turn up it won’t be a huge argument. Vale can survive a little awkwardness if it means having Marc by his side, finally.

They negotiate travel plans and Vale pays for everything. He was tempted to completely throw out Marc’s itinerary and send a private jet for him, but he forces himself to play it cool at least a little bit. There’s still part of him, lurking in the back of his mind, that thinks Marc could be using him. He hopes that when he meets Marc in person the fear and anxiety will dissipate. 

Allowing Marc to fly commercial doesn’t stop Vale from obsessively checking the timing of Marc’s flight, though. He stays attached to his phone throughout Marc’s travel day, ears open and listening for the notification that Marc has landed.

As soon as Marc lands, Valentino is in his car and off to the train station. He knows he’ll have to wait, and that he’s going to arrive far too early, but he can’t help it. He’s far too restless and excited to continue sitting around. 

He’s in the car when the message pops up that Marc is on the train, and he forces himself to slow down. Driving faster won’t make Marc’s train move faster. 

It is late enough at night that Vale has no qualms about parking right up front. He pulls haphazardly into an empty taxi space, and tries not to count the minutes until Marc’s train will pull into the station. He tries to talk himself down from being nervous, but now that he’s seated in his car with only music for company, a thousand thoughts run through his brain. This may be the moment that he finds out that Marc really does only want him for his money. Where will he be then? He knows Uccio won’t say “I told you so,” because he won’t have to. Vale will hate himself if things go wrong with Marc.

He desperately wants the younger man to be genuine. He wants his feelings for Marc to be reciprocated and warranted. He wants the chemistry that they have online to be true in real life.

He also can’t wait to touch Marc. A bitter part of him whispers that if Marc is using him for his money, at least he’ll get to have the weekend with him. 

The minutes tick down as Vale nervously spirals, turning his music up to try and drown out the thoughts of insecurity. 

When Marc walks out the station doors, Vale can’t help but climb out of the car to greet him. He’s not exactly keeping it cool, but Marc is simply too beautiful. Vale is drawn to him like a moth to flame and he wraps Marc in his arms. 

Marc is small. He’s tiny in Vale’s arms, but Vale can feel the solid muscle beneath the warm hoodie he traveled in. His mouth waters as he pictures the hard muscle and tanned skin he knows is underneath the sweatshirt. 

He forces himself to let go of Marc, who is positively beaming at him. It’s overwhelming, seeing that enthusiasm and joy in person. It’s even more overwhelming to know it’s directed at him. All at once Vale’s thoughts that Marc might be using him disappear. There’s no way the joy in his smile could be hiding an ulterior motive. There's no way any person, no matter how talented at acting, could fake such genuine happiness. It nearly brings Vale to his knees.

When they climb in the car, Marc asks him why he wasn’t afraid of people photographing them. Vale, after all, had stood publicly in front of a train station and held Marc in his arms. 

Vale is stunned into silence for a second. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he should probably try and keep some semblance of privacy when picking Marc up. He tries to shrug and play it cool. 

“It’s late at night. People will leave us alone.”

He hopes that is true and he hopes Marc buys his explanation. 

The tension in the air is thick, and Vale considers pulling off the road to drag Marc into his lap and ravish him. Every time he glances at Marc, beautiful, joyful Marc, it’s all he can think about. By the time he pulls the car through the gate and up toward the house nearly half an hour later, he thanks every god in existence that he managed to get them home without crashing. 

Vale promises Marc a tour and some riding in the morning, before carrying Marc’s bag into the house. 

They barely make it inside the house before they’re on each other. Vale drops Marc’s things unceremoniously somewhere near the door, and then his arms are full of the small Spanish man. Marc is positively sinful, moaning into Vale’s mouth as he slides his hands underneath Marc’s shirt. 

Marc is so satisfying to hold, and Vale promises himself he’ll take the entire weekend to fully map Marc’s body. He has a sickening moment of hoping Marc will let him have this forever; that Marc won’t want to leave him once he is bored of having sex with his hero. 

Vale guides an enthusiastic Marc toward his bedroom, and his heart nearly stops when Marc freezes in the doorway. For a moment, Vale thinks Marc has gotten cold feet and is going to turn around and insist he be driven back to the train station. 

“You really do have a bike in here,” Marc says, awed. “You won a championship on this.”

The wide-eyed look on Marc’s face goes straight to Vale’s cock.

“Sit on it,” he says, hungry at the thought of seeing the younger man on his bike. He has fantasized about this hundreds of times, and as Marc settles onto the seat Vale thinks he might burst into flames at the sight. 

They’re both hard, and Marc climbs back off the bike as Vale grabs the smaller man and manhandles him onto the bed. 

He’s wanted this for so long, and as he strips both of them of their clothes and gets his hands and mouth on Marc, he knows without a doubt  that he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep this forever.

[razorblade180-heated]

Early Christmas Gift

[Warning, smut. Like the whole thing]

It had been a looooog day for Jaune Arc. The end of a crazy mission that had far too many explosions, the loss of his wallet for half the day which forced him to miss his boat, and finally, bad turbulence on a flight all the way back to Vale. Now it was the dead of night and he was wheeling his luggage down the sidewalks. At least he didn’t vomit on the ride, this time.

“Note to self, Vacou kids are amazing pickpockets.” He mumbled aloud. Thank goodness Ren was quick on his feet and that Nora could be as scary as she could be sweet. If not, things could’ve been worse. Now that he was back in the city, his Scroll was practically blowing up with messages. Notably, his girlfriend, Yang, called a little more than Ruby. Before he could finally return a call, his scroll rang with Yang’s name.

He laughed nervously and smiled, preparing himself as he answered. “H-”

“SO YOU ARE ALIVE!? WHAT THE HECK MAN!?” The blonde yelled, relieved and annoyed.

Honestly, less aggressive than he expected. “Hi baby. I’m sorry.” Jaune deflated as he spoke. “Today has been a day.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Weren’t you supposed to be home seven hours ago? Did the mission go south? You didn’t get hurt did you?”

“No, the mission was pretty Nora core. All and all we made good time but then someone stole my stuff, missed my boat; lots of other very, very exhausting stuff. I’m walking home as we speak.”

“Wow. That’s…definitely a lot. Wait, you’re walking? It’s nearly midnight. You could’ve called me or someone to pick you up from the port.”

“I figured everyone was asleep.”

“Get real. Do you really think I’d be sound asleep before I knew you were okay?”

Those words warmed his heart greatly. “Thanks Yang. I’m fine though. Vale isn’t some ghost town at night. I am sorry though. We had plans to meet today. You must’ve been waiting a while.”

“You…could say that.” Yang laughed sheepishly. “Here I was, ready to see my boyfriend after we finished our missions and his annoying personal challenge was achieved.”

“A month without sex is a test of will and power.” He defended.

“November is the time for good food and being thankful. Anything else is wild. Besides, we’ve both gone years without fun stuff. Why add a month?”

“Heh, I don’t think being a single or a virgin counts. You’re just opted in at that point. How did your mission go by the way?”

“Got home on time.”

“Ouch… where’d the warmth go?” He teases.

“I know you’re fine now. If you want warmth then…maybe I should see you?”

“You’re an island away. Even if you caught the final flight I’d feel guilty. Though if it makes you feel better…I’ve been missing you all day.”

“…Always the charmer. I’ve definitely been missing you too.” She said, a little more bashful than usual.

“There’s always tomorrow. I’m definitely not going anywhere. Aside from grocery shopping.”

“Have you eaten?”

“My apartment should still have something edible. I’ll probably grab a snack, bathe, and crash.” He finally reached his building’s street. “Anyways, I’ve officially made it home safely. Just several feet away. Now you can have pretty dreams knowing I’m safe.”

“Nope. Not until you go through your front door. I’m not hanging up until you do.”

“Okay, okay. Heh, honestly with my luck something crazy would happen if I hung up early.” He laughed.

“Please don’t jinx yourself.”

Jaune made his way down the hall, up some annoying stairs, and to the front of his door.

“Kay, now you are free to sleep.”

“Have a wonderful night, handsome.” Yang made a kiss noise over the phone and hung up.

Just like that, Jaune felt the warmth again. She was so good to him. He’d definitely have to treat her to a dinner or some kind of club date. The man found his keys and went inside his home at last. Instantly his nose was greeted with wonder and bliss. That was…odd. He put down his belongings and walked over to the kitchen; a flick of the light revealed a hot box of pizza. Jaune had to do a double take to make sure this was his place. He then noticed Yang’s emblem drawn in orange on the box.

“Ah, that’s why she asked if I ate.” He smiled before quickly going back to being confused. How was the pizza hot? Yang had a key to his place but when was she over here? Did she leave briefly before he called? Unless…

Jaune looked towards the absolute darkness that was his living room and squinted. Not that it helped with the balcony blinds shut. “Yang?”

His call was answered with snickering. “Hehehe, I do love watching your brain at work. Although…” She pulled the metal lamp string next to her to light up the room. “You’re also cute when it’s derailed.

And derailed it was. There his cute girlfriend was, sitting on his black leather recliner his family had bought him. Her smile was cheeky as well as ear to ear. She sure caught him by surprise, but the real shock was her outfit. A silly little Santa hat on top of her head jingled while the only thing on her body was a red tube top with white frills that was fighting for his life, a matching miniskirt that barely went halfway down her thighs, and very, very long red stockings that compensated for the skirt’s lack of…well, skirt.

Jaune’s mouth went dry and his eyes embarrassingly wide. It was as if Yang had knocked the exhaustion out of them. He wasn’t quite sure where he should’ve been looking at first, but then noticed despite how confidently the lady sat there with her legs crossed, her cheeks were branded pink and her gaze, while excited, was also avoiding complete eye contact.

“For the record, I’ve been in this for quite awhile.” She said, breaking the silence. “It took guts to commit to this surprise.”

“Now I’m curious what you would’ve done if I had called you to pick me up!”

“Then Remnant would’ve gotten a hot Mrs. Claus on a motorcycle.” She smirked. “Although I’m actually very relieved that was not the case. It’s cold out there!”

Not the issue Jaune thought she was going to say but he rolled with it. Not that he had much choice. Yang finally stood up and slowly walked towards him, draping her arms over his shoulders and giving a more endearing grin despite her obvious flustered face. “Welcome home. As you can see, I missed you.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I can feel the yearning. Hehe, you look…wow. Talk about an early present.” His hands automatically went to hold her waist.”

Yang got on her toes and gained a very sweet and joyful kiss. She’s glad her efforts paid off, but she could tell Jaune really had a long day. “Go grab a slice and unwind yourself. I’m not going anywhere so- mmph!?”

Her offer was outright denied, thrown to the side as Jaune pulled her body closer and back into a more passionate kiss that fluttered her heart and stole her breath. The longer kept her in his arms, the more she found herself melting into the embrace to the point her knees buckled before he allowed her to breathe again.

Frazzled, Yang found herself stammering and chewing on her bottom lip. “I um- I uhh can wait a while longer for you to rest.”

“I’ve made you wait long enough.” He said with yearning and restrained lust as he pulled her back into a kiss that took custody of her tongue.

Yang felt herself rise up onto her toes as Jaune’s hands found residence on her shapely rear. He didn’t think twice about squeezing it as he picked her up and allowed her legs to wrap around his waist. It didn’t take long before her man went a step further in sliding his hands under the provocative skirt. Jaune quickly ended their kiss to gaze at her as her face grew red from his curious expression.

“No underwear huh?” He said, sinking his digits into warm flesh. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Funny. I was wondering the same thing.” Her hands rubbed his broad chest. “Come sit on the couch for you me will ya?”

He followed her quest and sat right in the middle of the couch. Yang was about to get off him for the next step, but was clearly taken by surprise when his teeth tugged her tube top down, freeing her massive chest before ravishing them. A jolt ram through her spine as his warm tongue lapped around her nipples. His hands kept her waist pressed down on her lap to the point she had no choice but to feel his pulsing cock through tight jeans. Nevertheless, Yang couldn’t stop her hips from grinning along it, dampening the fabric severely.

“H-Hey…wait! I-mmm” Her voice shook, feeling him sink his teeth into her. Jaune leaned forward, putting Yang on her back as he continued devouring her body. “Jaune! Hold on~ I…had a whole routine~” Yangs mewls only served to make him more daring. His tongue trailed up her neck, causing her entire body to arch as he met her lips again for another kiss. Yang was overwhelmed with the scent of the boy and his rough day, which she increasingly found more and more dulling to her senses. She didn’t even notice Jaune had unzipped his pants until she felt his buring hot tip rubbing along her folds. “Mmmph”

Jaune could already feel her lips quivering as they coated his cock. To get this excited so quickly; he wasn’t one to talk though. He began pushing his hips continuously into the molten warmth.

“Aaaaah!” Yang felt the wind leave her body as Jaune’s thick cock spread her body apart and filled her inch by inch until she felt the weight of his balls against her ass. He slowly began dragging himself out halfway before plummeting back in as he grunted. “Ah fuck!” Yang gripped his forearms as her body tripped to adjust.

“Gods, I missed you. You’re so wet.”

“Who’s fault is that!?” Yang’s breathing became sharper as Jaune started moving. “Nng, too big. Rock solid too~”

“It has been a long month. I’m dying for a release.”

“How do you think I feel!? It hasn’t been easy for me either.” She pouted. Suddenly she felt his movements slow. “Jaune?” He raised himself up and looked down at her with a shocked look from between her legs. “What?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t touch yourself the entire time?”

Yang felt heat rush to her face. Looking at him became a lot harder so she turned her head to the side. “What would be the point? Even if I used a toy, I just wouldn’t feel as good as you.”

A brief silence fell on them. Yang awaited his response when she suddenly felt him twitch inside her. Jaune’s hands held her waist tightly and raised her lower body off the couch with ease, causing her to look his way. “What are you-” was all she could manage before seeing Jaune thrust his hips forward, causing another series of jolts as he began to go all out.

Yang’s mouth fell open and stayed that way as voiceless, broken cries left her throat until a scream finally broke out. “AAAAGHN~” her brain became a mess, her eyes fluttering at the sight of jaune mercilessly fucking her pussy until their sex became loud and wet. Her stomach felt like fire as her hips became numb with the pleasure of being turned inside out. Each deep rub made her gasp for air she couldn’t gain while her chest bounced to the rough rhythm. “B-baby. Baby! Aaah!” Yang reached for him and he gladly returned to her embrace. She knew despite her pleas, his pace would not falter; nor did she want it to. Their pleasure had built too quickly to turn back now. With a final raise of his hips, Yang felt the man bury himself deep inside and release a rush of heat that made her body squeeze him for more as her vision blurred momentarily. When she recovered, Jaune was already pulling out slowly and giving both of their bodies a break. Still, if you were to go by appearances, Jaune’s body hadn’t calmed down in the slightest.

“Looks like all of you missed me.” Yang huffed, sitting up as her legs gained some feeling. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to have a kid.”

Jaune watched the woman run her middle finger along her slit to pick up some of the lust he left dripping in her. Yang looked him dead in the eyes as she lapped up the naughty taste, making him blush.

“I had an entire routine planned out and you threw it to the side. Not that I mind.”

“You can’t say the things you said a

and wear this without expecting me to get riled up.”

“Heh, touché.” Her gaze fell on his erection, the near seven inches of solid flesh was still ready. Might as well start her plans now, Yang thought. She leaned forward, crawling on hands and knees until she was in the perfect spot to lower her head.

Jaune shuddered as he felt her hot lips wrap around his length to lick him lavishly. Now he knew Yang was horny for sure. Giving head was never her favorite activity in this fun process, but now her face was happily burying itself in his lap repeatedly. His left hand brushed the blonde bombshell’s hair aside for an unobstructed view of her work.

Yang ran her tongue up and down the girth base, polishing it while making faint moans and wet smacks to turn him on more. She must’ve been losing her mind because the way his taste and smell overwhelmed her senses in the best way possible. Her grip on reality only came back when Jaune's hand struck her rear suddenly, his middle and ring finger slipping inside her body to stir her desires harder.

“Mmmm~”

Jaune couldn’t stop his smirk. “Oh you like that?”

“Mmhmm~” Yang readied herself and pressed down in one motion to feel this man in her throat before coming up for air. Yang could feel his digits grow relentless as they sped up. Unable to focus, she freed Jaune from her mouth in a fit of panting and mewls. Her hips couldn’t stop shaking, pushing against his hand to feel each knuckle rub deeper. “Gods, why is this so good?”

“Cum if you need to. Let me see that pretty face.”

“No~ I…I wanted to use my tits on you. But now I…I’m…” Yang let out a long, heartfelt sigh. How did things get this messy so fast? “Put it back in me. I want it.”

Jaune retracted his fingers and did his best to regain his own composure; a difficult task when the love of his life not only pleaded, but brazenly kissed along his shaft in a stupor of want and desire. “Ngh, Yang, get on my lap if you want it.”

Yang got on her knees then swung her right leg to the other side of Jaune’s waist. The boy wasted no time massaging and kneading her chest, riddling it with bits as Yang cooed. Her body dropped slowly, piercing herself onto Jaune’s flesh.

“Aaaaghn~” her hands ran up his chest and gripped his shoulders as Yang started bouncing on his lap, putting all her weight down each time to feel her womb get knocked on. Jaune’s mouth stayed busy where it was but his hands returned to her rear, molding it like clay as he helped push her down to the base. Her hips buckled. “Fuck!”

Heavy, wet smacks echoed every time her ass slammed onto Jaune’s lap. The man couldn’t believe the tightness that surrounded him; the way it clung it his length and coated it with ecstasy that reached his thighs. Engulfed by Yang’s heat, Jaune finally took a second to separate his lips from his body and removed his shirt. Yang’s arms all but sprang out towards him right after, pulling him into a feverish kiss while her hips moved on their own before his hands returned.

“You’re so in love with my ass tonight.” Yang hummed.

“I’m in love with it every night.” He continued kneading it, his fingers rubbing all of it. “Hey, so how much did you prepare for today?”

Yang didn’t get the question at first, until she felt a single finger tracing her asshole. Yang couldn’t hide the state of blushing red he put her into with his pesky intention. To make it worse, her body already gave him the answer to the question. Yang buried her face into the crook of Jaune’s neck and quivered as the naughty middle finger pressed into her slowly. A moan came from her throat and her hips worked over time on his cock as Jaune began to play his little game.

He could already feel her walls frantically twitching but he knew he could make Yang go crazy. He wanted to make the month of emptiness mean everything. He nipped at her ear as he continued fingering her. “You’re such a good girl, you that? Doing all this for me; allowing me to cut loose~” he thrusted up suddenly.

“AAAHH!” His nipping turned into feverish licks as well. Yang tried staying strong but now he was meeting her thrusts and pumped his finger into her more quickly. Her body became repeated jolts of pleasure to the point Yang could only bite her lover’s shoulder as a way to soften her growls.

Jaune’s only panting became like a drunken breath as he approached his end. “Good girl~” he cooed, leaning right into her ear and whispering it one more time. “Gooood girl.” He pressed her hips down against his waist, going as deep as possible. “Here’s your reward!” He grunted, cumming for the second time.

Every muscle in Yang’s body tensed all at once. She was certain she’d scream, yet the immense rush of pleasure stole voice, leaving nothing but a silent yell as she clung to him like a girl on a wild roller coaster. Pulse after pulse, she felt her insides get marked by Jaune. The dork was brazen enough to call it a “reward” and she had half a mind to thank him for it. They were going crazy. Not that she hated it for a second.

Yang felt Jaune relax under her body while she found the strength to set up after his hands finished toying with her. “Wow, that was- hmm” Yang stopped short as she witnessed Jaune struggling to keep his eyes open. Poor guy was spent! It was almost hard not to laugh. “Pfft, gee, looks like someone should’ve eaten.”

“I was hungry for other things.” He groaned, wrapping his arms around her torso and resting his face in her chest. “But now that pizza sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Oh what to do with you?” Yang giggled, her hands combing through his hands. Truthfully, she wanted him to stay inside like this a little longer, but the last thing she wanted was her boyfriend withering away. Yang kissed the top of his head. “I’ll go fix you a plate.”

“You’re wonderful.”

“And you’re outstanding. My hips are still floating.” She said, embarrassed by her own honesty.

“Let’s wash up together after we eat.”

“Only washing?” She teased, only to feel him twitch inside of her. Yang gasped a little. Jaune raised his head to look into her eyes with a gaze that made her chew on her bottom lip again. Tonight was going to be a long night. “Welcome home.”

[bridgyrose]

Fear was a strange emotion. Heart racing, blood almost freezing, the way Penny’s body could barely move as she stared face to face with an ursa, unable to get her body to obey any order she wanted to give it. Not that she remembered how she got here beyond a pain in her chest and then wishing she had one more chance to live her life. And now, here she was, feeling her heart race, her muscles tense, and the desire to do nothing more than survive.

“Leave her alone!” Yang yelled out. 

Penny turned out of the way just in time for Yang to slam her fist into the ursa, her body almost relaxing when she saw the familiar sight. As the grimm disintegrated in front of her, her knees finally gave out and she dropped to the ground, struggling to keep her breath. 

Yang knelt down next to her and placed a careful hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay sis? Its unlike you to freeze up like that.” 

“I-I am… fine,” Penny finally spoke once she was able to catch her breath. She gave a quick smile to Yang and stood up. “I do not know what came over me.” 

“You should be more careful. I thought dad told you not to leave the house without your weapon.” 

“I did not plan to go far, but I guess I ended up getting a bit farther than I wanted to while trying to figure out my semblance.” 

“Its okay if you dont know what your semblance is.” 

“But dad said you knew when you were younger.” 

“It was an accident that I found out that early.” Yang rubbed Penny’s back. “Even if you dont know your semblance now, that doesnt mean you cant be a huntress. All it means is that it’ll take time to figure it out. Who knows, maybe yours is a passive semblance.” 

“Yeah but… I…” Penny let out a soft sigh and turned around to hug Yang tightly. A few tears ran down her cheek that she wiped away as she started to feel overwhelmed by the memories and emotions that started to come to her. Her grip tightened around Yang before she relaxed and pulled away. “Do not have too much fun at Beacon without me, okay?” 

“You know I wont. But we should start getting home. Dad wants to take us out to Vale so I can grab a few more things before I head off in a month.” 

“I bet I can get back there faster than you.” 

Yang smirked. “Are you sure about that?” 

Penny nodded and started to race home. She remembered that Ruby had told her something important had happened this night, but couldnt remember what exactly it was. There was a dust shop and a present for Yang… enough she remembered that she could try to follow those footsteps. And then maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to find out where Ruby was. If she was here, that was. 

As she made it back to the house, she felt another rush of memories flood into her, almost stopping her in her tracks. She could remember the first day Taiyang picked up Zwei, going to Signal and being taught how to fight by Qrow, even getting help with making sure her weapon pack would work the way she wanted it. But even those memories felt like they were a world away from the one she remembered. 

Penny nearly fell into the door as she opened it, panting for breath, and fell to her knees just as Yang came in behind her. “S-see?” she said with a smile. “I-I told… you that I could beat you.” 

“Yeah… you still… can…” Yang said as she dropped onto the couch to catch her breath. “I thought I had you this time.” 

“Alright girls, go get changed before we go out,” Taiyang said as he placed his own work pack on the table. “We’ll go out for dinner first, and then we can go shopping for a few more things Yang will need before classes start-” 

“I was hoping I could go off on my own after dinner,” Penny interrupted once she caught her breath. “My order of dust came in and I need to pick up.” *And get a gift for Yang,* she thought as she stood up. “The dust shop is out of the way so I can go on my own and meet back with you both once you are finished with Yang.” 

“I dont know if you should go off on your own-” 

“You’re always telling her she needs to start doing things on her own, a trip to the dust shop shouldnt be too bad for her,” Yang pointed out. “Besides, its not like she’ll be completely alone either. We’ll still be close by.” 

“A-and I will keep my scroll on me!” Penny said as she gave Yang a thankful look for having her back. “That way if anything happens, I can call.” 

Taiyang sighed and nodded. “Alright, but call me if anything happens.” 

Penny smiled and rushed over to give him a hug. “Do not worry dad, I will be fine.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Penny adjusted the pack she wore on her back as she walked down the streets of Vale, still not sure what she was thinking about getting Yang. Getting her a plush to keep in her dorm sounded like a great idea, but the longer she thought about it, the less she knew what Yang would actually want for a plush. She wasnt into grimm as much as Penny was, and a lot of the plushes that Penny came across seemed to be more cutesy than she wanted to give as a gift. An action figure or two didnt sound like a bad plan, but then came the issue of space or where to place them. She let out a sigh and walked into the dust shop to take her mind off trying to find something for Yang. 

“Welcome to From Dust till Dawn,” the shopkeep said in almost a low grunt. 

Penny nodded and started to look around the shop until she made her way to the magazines. She paused as she picked one up that was placed backwards, staring at the Schnee icon as she felt a few tears roll down her cheeks. Weiss. Another name she remembered but was slowly losing why she knew it. Had to be someone important, someone close to Ruby. If she could find one of them-

“Hey kid” a man growled out as he pulled on her shoulder. “I said give me your money.” 

“Are you… robbing me?” Penny half said as she took a quick glance at the dust shop behind her. She hadnt realized she’d been that engrossed in the magazine to not notice anyone coming into the shop, much less with how noisy these men were with grabbing dust and breaking glass. 

“Yes!” the man said. 

Penny smirked and, in one swift motion, pulled two swords out of her pack, slamming the blunt ends into the man behind her. She winced as she heard the glass of the window break followed by another voice outside yell out. 

“What is taking so long?” a man with red hair said as climbed in through the window. “All you had to do was take the dust and-” he paused as he looked at Penny. “Oh great, a huntress.” 

The world almost seemed to slow down for Penny as her green eyes started to glow almost like they were L.E.Ds. She took a step back as images of everyone around her moved in various ways, almost as if she could see what actions everyone could take. Then, as if on instinct, she moved to block a few strikes with the blades in her hands. A few more blades came out of her pack when she pressed a button on the hilt of her left sword, moving each blade as if it was an extension of her own body to keep from getting hit. As the last of goons dropped, she pointed her sword at the man with red hair. “Stop before I-” 

“I dont think so,” he said as he aimed the end of his cane at Penny. “Now be a good little huntress and die.” 

Penny’s eyes widened as she watched a rocket come out of the cane. Without another thought, she lunged forward and swung her swords at it, sending it out the dust shop, taking cover from the explosion. As the dust settled, she picked herself up. “W-will you be okay if I go after them?” she asked the shopkeep. 

The shopkeep nodded. “I-I’ll be fine.” 

Penny smiled and put her swords back into her pack and ran down the street to chase after the dust thief. Her eyes caught him climbing up the side of a building and she ran after, trying to keep up. As she made it to the top of the building, she froze in her tracks as an airship pulled up to the side of the building. A woman with glowing amber eyes held the palm of her hand out to her as a fireball started to build up. She put her arms up in front of her to brace for the impact, looking away as the fireball was launched to her. As the heat of the flames around her died down, she opened her eyes to see a glyph protecting her and a huntress standing next to her. 

She put up a nervous smile as she spoke. “Thank you.” 

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” the huntress said with a glare. 

[elizacinnamon]

We almost have to go back and add end of s5/ the beginning of S6 proper to sort out some semblance of a timeline for S6:

5x19 was late may into June time reference for the impending summer plus having had american Mother’s Day / Betty’s graduation.

Then if we kinda disregard 6x01-6x05 even though time progressed we still technically end up with the 5x19 timeline even though its “fall” for some of the episodes.

6x06-6x11? Is supposedly summer time in theory but it was filmed in the fall / beginning of winter in real life in Vancouver. Its why in I believe in a lot of the exterior shots they are wearing thick jackets/ can see their breath at times.

6x12 - a calendar on Betty’s desk references the month of january (also indicating that barchie have been a couple for roughly 5/6 months at this point ? Idk but it makes the whole “what are we ?” Conversation starter seem cheap / the writers couldn’t find a true organic way for her to bring up the subject of possibly being pregnant. As well as the timing of their ILY coming seemingly late by conventional standards.

6x13 til end of season seems like late winter/ to approximately mid spring almost bordering on summer time?

Also we have to remember that I believe its from 6x18 i think it is, until the end of the season its literally only a handful of days that pass in world. Like there is a few references of from end of 6x18 to end of 6x19 it’s been like 2 days… then 6x20 is like possibly 1/2 days, 6x21 is like 1 day and then 6x22 is not really a full 24 hours.

So I guess if there was a pregnancy arc so to speak… she was 2 weeks late mid Jan. As I went back and checked the episode and it seemingly is like Jan 15th when she’s looking at her calendar and that night she tells him she’s 2 weeks late. Plus we know from further context that she’s not on the pill but they were using some form of protection besides that “one time”which us as the viewer has no context to truly. Which could have if we had seen any part of that interaction it could have deepened their relationship further as they both recall that moment meanwhile the audience is left like “EXCUSE ME WHEN WAS THAT?”. Anyway, meaning possibly around late november/early december.. is when it could have happened. Meaning that depending on when it would have happened… the baby would be like September / october? WHICH strangely enough in a way links to their 6x01 Vale plot of them conceiving in the “ fall time” as that is kinda when those episodes were plotted as in a strange way.

Just some random thoughts about the most unconventional plot timings hahaha

This ask made me realize just how chaotic Riverdale time is. But thank you for your effort and time to write all this out!!!

I agree that 5x19 is clearly in June but 6x06 already seems fall-ish? In my mind, 6x06-07 take place in summer and there’s a jump when Betty leaves that lands us closest to Fall.

I also think there’s a jump from 6x10-12, which lands us in winter.

All that to say, if Betty did in fact get pregnant and was around ~6 weeks~ mid January, she would’ve gotten pregnant late November/early December.

I agree it’s crazy Betty asks Archie if they are dating because they would’ve been together six months at this point! But I think she was super insecure and they had so much going that I kind of get it. Also, if you’ve ever dated a friend, I understand the transition can be weird. I also agree that “one time” haunts me and wish we could’ve seen it! I assume they were using condoms and simply ended up in a location where they didn’t have one. Betty was a bit silly to not be on birth control but that’s another conversation.

Allllll that to say, her baby (in this alternative timeline haha) would’ve been a late August/September baby. It’s interesting you mention Rivervale, because that’s an interesting possibly to tie everything together.

Thanks again for your thoughtful work. I will do my best to write the fic and bring it all together. I do feel that I have some flexibility with the timeline bc it’s Riverdale and all time is relevant :)

[juliansummerhayes]

Daily diary: Thursday, 16 May 2024

KEEPING THE STAR

Keep this star for when you lose the world, when grief and desire become a blurred door that floats away across a plain room without books or kisses. Look to what grows dark beyond the walls, that in night which holds the blue sky singing in its black embrace. It's all spun around a necessary star, star of prisons. Keep it: It has the power to burst from dull thoughts, breathe in airless colors, and roll back the filth of our neglect. Let it pour through the chimney hole patched with tin! Unloved objects-- empty jars, faces in clippings, balls of hair spurned by the brush-- all the children of failure will step forward in its blinding wind, sons and daughters of that before which there is no trivial being.

-- from Keeping the Star, New Rivers Press, copyright 1988 Thomas R. Smith

It’s 05:22 as I type the above words – I am big fan of Thomas R. Smith’s work. I have a cup of coffee waiting to be poured; and the sun is just beginning its ascent across the blue/black sky.

Such is the start of my day.

Why do I do it?

What?

Get up so early?

A habit I suppose; and it’s one that’s been with me for as long as my ragged and dishevelled memory can remember. I know why. Because I feel I’d be wasting my life otherwise. Odd, eh? Very odd. But there it is. It’ll be with me, or so I expect, until the bitter end. 

As of today, well, I’ll do a bit more tidying up of my office and I need to check over my camping gear. I’ll tidy up the house – there’s not much to do – and, as I did yesterday afternoon, I’ll go for a walk. I’m thinking of heading out towards the South West Coast Path or at least close to the sea. I don’t want to drive very far but it would be good to breathe in the sea air and feel the waves beneath my feet.

After today, I’ve got Friday left before I start at my new in-house job. I can’t say that I’m approaching it with any relish especially because I was hoping that my wife and I might have left behind, even if temporarily, our “work” to go on a pilgrimage around the British Isles. Sometimes, these things are not meant to be. Still, I should be grateful for small mercies and if it means I’ve got to spin plates for a few more months then so be it. I mean, what else will I do with myself?

I’ll also read Tim Lilburn’s wonderful book “Living In The World…”. The writing is on another level, and it’s making me want to read Plato which he references a few times in the book. After I finish his book, I’m hoping that “Vale Royal” arrives. This is the book by Aidan Andrew Dun that I shared a while back via a talk that he gave on the book. If you didn’t see that then below is what is said on Aidan’s website about the book:

VALE ROYAL

The valley of the lost Fleet River in Kings Cross is surrounded by the old hills of London, the high places. Vale Royal is a geographical vessel, a symbolic container of the quiet mind, a perfect place to realise the vision of oneness. In the poem Vale Royal the cosmic lifecycle of the Sunchild, the Mighty Youth, born with a vision and dying an early death, reflects the exiled life and redemption of the artist. Chatterton and Blake play his role in the work’s two movements.

Vale Royal moves with the ease and clarity of a fresh spring over ancient stones, making its myths casual even colloquial – an impressive achievement.

Derek Walcott

He has an extraordinary sense of the past. He’s one of those people, along with Blake and Chatterton and others, who are like a divining rod for history.

Peter Ackroyd

So, all in all, a nice quiet day.

If there’s a postscript to today’s diary it’s the fact that Eddie and Alf are now with daughter #3 which makes the house very quiet. But I will do my obligatory walks around South Brent if only to see if I can capture the light with a few photos which has been my way for a very long time.

Take care one and all.

Blessings, 

Julian 

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 73

Heaven and Hell/42

"Heaven and Hell"

Plot description: Anna recalls her past and Sam and Dean understand why Castiel and Uriel want her dead

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died. Yeah.

Is Sam, the first person to call Castiel Cas??? I feel like it's just been me this whole season...feels weird

So, what did Anna do that is so bad that the angels want her dead??

It's weird to see Dean being nice to Ruby...or at least TRYING to be kinda nice to her. He said "thank you," okay??

Pamela. Ma'am...that's sexual harassment.

Hooooooly shit...sorry, what? Anna's an angel?

We about to get a Sam Winchester exorcism training montage? Mmmm, he's refusing.

GOD this girl needs to meet Aziraphale and Crowley. Think she would throw both of them for a loop. Stationed on Earth for 2000 years before ripping her grace out so she fell? Because she had to take it on blind faith that god exists? Because she wanted to feel emotions the way that humans do? She's the perfect adoptee for those two

But also, Dean can understand what she's going through...I wanna hug him

Bet either Cas or Uriel (or both) took Anna's grace

Oh. The "I dragged you out of hell, I can throw you back in" threat was NOT EMPTY

Is.........is Dean...oh. Yeah, that's gonna happen. This is not the angel I've been led to believe Dean would be doing that with in the back of his car, but okay. (Was a better scene than Sam and Ruby, anyway)

I'm sorry. I can't take Dean saying "I guess I just like being a pain in the pooper" seriously. Pretty sure you can say ass on tv.

My blorbos seem to always get told, verbally or through actions, that they can be replaced...

Also, rude that Uriel is keeping her grace

How wonderful (absolutely drenched and dripping in sarcasm), we're torturing a nearly fully nude Ruby.......I don't even like her (but that's the writers' fault) but she doesn't deserve that.

Yeah, Dean's obvious pressure point is Sam...you threaten to kill Sam, Dean's gonna cave IMMEDIATELY

I don't think they should have let Cas get absolutely knocked on his ass this quickly. We're half way through the season he's INTRODUCED. He's not even BEEN in all the episodes, and he's getting his ass handed to him? They could have dragged out the "Cas is INSANELY POWERFUL, NIGH INVINCIBLE" a LITTLE longer (not disappointed in Dean whacking a demon upside the head about it though)

Oh...oh, Anna's FULL angel again, and SHE is nigh invincible. I'm...Dean knowing she's not happy about it :'(

Deeeeeean. I can't imagine what that must feel like. When you look at the total time Dean was in hell, which because time in Hell is even more fucked than Night Vale, you think okay, for 30 out of 40 years, he resisted the torture he was put through. He was in unimaginable pain himself but still refused to put anyone else through that at his hand. 75% is still a passing grade. It's not GREAT, but it's passing...til you remember he didn't think he was getting out. He was going to be there for all eternity for all he knew, and then you realize why it's so hard for him to forgive himself even when anyone else would (and has) told him he should. ANNA, THE ANGEL WHO USED TO BE CASTIEL'S BOSS (and might be again? i dunno), TOLD HIM HE SHOULD FORGIVE HIMSELF, BUT HE JUST WON'T.

"Been On My Mind...": Dean's tryst with an angel has put us at 10 again

"42"

Plot description: Trapped on a spaceship careening toward a boiling sun, the Doctor and Martha have only 42 minutes to save the day

Why do I feel like they reused.......this is the BBC why am I asking why it feels like they reused some of the sets from...either The Satan Pit or The Girl in the Fireplace? If the Doctor and a companion wind up landing the TARDIS on another space ship, of COURSE the interior is going to be reused

I really do like how Doctor who established super early on how far across the universe humans have traveled in the future. It makes explaining why they meet so many humans half a universe away from Earth REALLY easy. No, YOU'RE throwing shade at Supernatural.

I'm not saying they're reusing the plot of The Satan Pit too but I'm not NOT saying they haven't dressed it up slightly differently. A space ship dangerously close to a space thing that could destroy them? And there's a guy on board who went mad and sabotaged it? I mean....it's hardly an original storyline anyway, but it still makes me sad for Martha. She's still going on the same dates the Doctor took Rose on. If the Ood sho up, I'm turning this episode off (that IS and empty threat)

Okay...but honestly, recreational mathematics sounds like a fun class. I would take a recreational mathematics class. If it was just about finding fun patterns in numbers instead of having to just solve for one thing or another? It's kind of why I liked geometry class and none of the other math classes I took in high school

THE "BEE-AT-LZ" I'm dead. OMG Martha, just phone a friend...at home...in your own time to find out who had...YES, THAT'S MY GIRL. Except, maybe you should have called your sister not your mom.

I can't believe they're doing trivia to save the spaceship.

Oh shit. That's the same effects with the eyes Supernatural uses for when angels do some weird shit. Except angels only burn people's eyes out, not completely vaporize people.

So...what exactly has possessed this guy?

It's half trivia, half almost obstacle course? with just a dash of slow -moving slasher-movie villain thrown in for good measure. OH MY GOD IT'S OLMEK'S TEMPLE FROM LEGENDS OF THE HIDDEN TEMPLE

DIDN'T THE DOCTOR TELL YOU TO STAY PUT??? Oh, the captains gonna die, like, RIGHT now, huh?

How're you gonna stop Martha from getting jettisoned INTO THIS SUN

Man, this dude is a MAJOR downer.

Ohhhh, 1.) Martha calling her mom to tell her she loves her (but also the sort of betrayal of her mom working with Harold Saxon's people behind Martha's back), and 2.) the gentle forehead kiss the major downer dude gives her when she hangs up...because he knows this was hard and he knows the Doctor isn't gonna save them in time (he's wrong, but he's convinced) and it's one little sign of affection that he knows she needs in this moment, which for all they know is one of their final ones

That's DEFINITELY the same space suit he wore in The Satan Pit.

the SUN IS ALIVE??? (<-if i'd been saying this out loud, i would have made it a quote by one of the Todoroki parents...mostly the one I hate)

I don't know what I want less: everyone but Martha and the Doctor dying or everyone but Martha, the Doctor, and the captain dying so she has to live with the conseque.......well, turns out she's making a sacrifice play, but they're not out of danger yet.

There's something that takes all the bite out of a countdown, and it's called "there are still twelve and half more seasons after this episode"

God, I love that Martha's leaving a trail of broken hearts across all of time and space. Good for her. (I am deliberately ignoring the cause being her unrequited crush on the Doctor. I'm choosing to celebrate Shakespeare writing sonnets about her, and giving this random astronaut someone he can believe in for the first time in a long time)

Episodes Since the Doctor's Last Attempted Genocide: I HAVE LOST COUNT. IS IT 4 NOW? This is part of the drawback of doing this show every other day

[paperanddice]

The Barrowhaunts are not the only curse laid down upon the Gray Downs. The destroyed hill clans who refused to retreat from the encroaching Nerath empire as the Tigerclaw and others did fought to the last against the intruders alongside their fierce hunting hounds. Long after their utter annihilation, these hounds stalk the hills where their masters died, furious and vengeful.

Later Nerathans who regretted the genocidal action of these first invaders built a great barrow to try and put the souls of the hill clans to rest, honoring those who had fought and died, and this seemed to have satisfied the hounds... somewhat. They vanished after the last of the bodies were interred, but on foggy nights it is said that the hounds can be seen once more running across the downs, pining for their lost masters.

On those nights, the hounds hunt the living at the behest of an unknown master. Rarely do they attack their prey directly, instead chasing it through the cold night, terrifying howls nipping at the back of the target's mind until the hounds have satisfied their instincts. At that, they release one final, mournful cry before vanishing into the fog. These survivors cannot enjoy it for long, as ill luck soon follows them. Dangerous accidents and near fatal encounters follow quickly, ragging at their mind and driving them to panic and despair. It is said that only by appealing to the gods or entering the downs and finding the greatest of the hounds of ill omen Bragga can one survive this curse.

Originally from the 4e Monster Vault: Threats to the Nentir Vale. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I'm working on, consider backing me there!

5th Edition

Hound of Ill Omen Medium undead, unaligned Armor Class 15 Hit Points 52 (7d8 + 21) Speed 40 ft. Str 16 (+3) Dex 20 (+5) Con 16 (+3) Int 4 (-3) Wis 14 (+2) Cha 14 (+2) Skills Perception +4 Damage Immunities poison Damage Resistances acid, cold, fire, lightning, necrotic, thunder, bludgeoning, piercing and slashing damage from nonmagical attacks Condition Immunities grappled, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned, prone, restrained Senses darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 14 Languages - Challenge 3 (700 XP) Ill Omen. A creature that regains hit points while within 10 feet of the hound has its speed cut in half until the end of its next turn. Incorporeal Movement. The hound can move through other creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain. It takes 5 (1d10) force damage if it ends its turn inside an object. Radiant Susceptibility. When the hound takes radiant damage, it must succeed on a DC 14 Constitution saving throw or lose all of its damage resistances except for necrotic until the end of its next turn. Actions Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +7 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 14 (2d8+5) necrotic damage. Howl Of Doom (1/Day). Each non-undead creature within 60 feet of the hound that can hear it must succeed on a DC 12 Charisma saving throw or be cursed. The cursed target takes 3 psychic damage each time it misses with an attack, fails a saving throw or ability score check, or all targets of a spell it casts save succeed on the saving throw against the spell. Every 24 hours that elapse, the target must repeat the saving throw. On a failure, the psychic damage it takes from the curse increases by 3. If the cursed creature fails this check three times, it dies. Once per day, the target can use an action to attempt a DC 12 Intelligence (Religion) check to appeal to the gods for salvation, ending the curse on itself on a success.

13th Age

Hound of Ill Omen 3rd-level blocker [undead] Initiative: +9 Vulnerability: Holy Ghostly Bite +8 vs. PD - 8 negative energy damage Natural 16+: The target is also dazed until the end of the hound’s next turn. C: Howl of Doom +6 vs. MD (1d3+1 nearby enemies) - 4 psychic damage and the target is cursed (see below) Miss: 2 psychic damage. Limited Use: 1/battle. Curse: While cursed by the hound, the target takes 3 psychic damage each time it misses every target with an attack power. Until the curse is removed, after each full heal-up the target must make a DC 20 ability check to appeal to the gods for mercy. On a success, the curse is removed, but on a failure the psychic damage for a missed attack increases to 6. On a second failure, the damage increases to 9, and on a third failure the target immediately dies. Ghostly: The hound has resist damage 16+ to all damage except force damage. The hound can move through solid objects, but can’t end its movement inside of them. If the hound takes holy damage, it loses this trait until the end of its next turn. Howl of the Pack: 1/battle, as an interrupt action when a dazed creature willingly disengages from the hound, it can make a howl of the pack attack against the target. [Special Trigger] Howl of the Pack +8 vs. PD - 4 thunder damage, and the hound and its allies gain a +2 bonus on attack rolls against the target until the end of its next turn. Ill Omen: Any nearby enemies that heals using a recovery loses its next move action. AC 19 PD 17 MD 13 HP 38

[enby-crisis]

Past Missions (Five Hargreeves x reader) Valentines Special

Summary: A Flashback revels how (Y/n) and Five got married.

Word Count: 1357

Warnings: None?

A/n: This was supposed to be the Valentines Day Special and a former apology but there were some minor set backs involving a broken computer. Enjoy!

A Gentelman pt 4 Masterlist

"Five is the mission done?" You ask as your partner stumbles in, clearly enjoying the alcohol at some wedding held at the casino you were staying at. Being in 1934 was weird for you. It was as close to your own time as you've been since you left. It made you nervous at the possibility that someone could recognize you but you lived in New York and this was all the way across the country. "No he wasn't there." Five slurs. "Well it seems you enjoyed your stake out. Did you gatecrash that poor couple's wedding Mr. Hargreeves? " You tease. You already knew of Five's relationship with alcohol. You would never tell him this but he focused better when he drank so you minded less. Even if he was a bit of a blotto and seemed to drowned in the stuff. You stared at your work notes at the though of you not minding him being drunk. You should. You should. You tried to catch yourself but quickly realized that you might actually be pinning after this man. He was sarcastic but kind, arrogant and impulsive but you liked that he never treated you like that. He was playful but wasn't mean and not only knew your boundaries but tried his best to respect them. "You okay?" You jump, not noticing the older man hovering above you. "What were you thinking? You zoned out there doll." He mocked. He only called you doll because in your time it was used as a term of endearment and it was the only word he knew from your era. It was actually a term used after you time but you didn't want to correct him. "Yeah I'm fine." You dodged. "Okay but you didn't answer my other question. What were you thinking?" He smirked as he got closer to your face. You backed up as far as you could without falling out of the small wooden chair. "Nothing. please just-" "Drop it?" He finished. "Sure yes. 'drop it' as you say." You roll your eyes and pick up your pen to return to your report. "Look (Y/n) I don't know what's gotten into you but ever since that mission in Paris-" "We were in Versailles. Not Paris." You correct. "We were basically in Paris! Don't correct me." His voice rose an octave then went back down to a softer tone. "What's this about?" You deadpan, quickly losing interest. "You!" He shouts now. "Me?!" You stand, "I have yet to do a thing!" "You hide things from me. All. The. Time." Five calmly replied, drinking more from his bottle. "If it is so important then ask me anything." You try to mellow out too. Not wanting to get into a fight with a man who was intoxicated. "What were you thinking. When I walked in?" He asked again. "I..." You blush, "You. I was thinking about you." You spoke softly, afraid that Five would shame you for your feelings. It wasn't uncommon when a man would do so. "What about me?" He quirked an eyebrow. A mix of curiosity and suspicion on his face. Stupid old man. You think before slowly closing the gap. You put a hand on his face and smile when his breath hitches. You then quickly place a kiss on his lips before pulling back just as fast. "Not fair." He grunts before pulling you back to his lips for another heated kiss. You move with him, letting him guide you back to the desk. He lifted you up on the desk, moving his hand up your mid-length dress. "Five..." You pulled away. "Mh?" He hummed against your lips as he kissed you again. "I-I'm not- It's just- Five I'm a virgin." You rush out, and he pulls away. "So?" He starts to kiss down your collar bone. "Technically so am I." "Technically?" You push him back now. "Yeah.. Delores doesn't really count. She's my companion from the apocalypse. She was a mannequin I found in a clothing store." "I really don't want to ask what happened with you and a mannequin Five." You hush. "Then don't." He sasses and gives you that smirk. But Five was too smart not to know there was something else going on that had nothing to do with his past companion with the real doll. "Okay I'll bite. What is the problem then?" "We're not married..." You whisper, looking down and fixing your dress.

"That's what this is about?" The man huffs, exasperated by the trivial subject such as marriage. However after a moments contemplation Five seemed to remember where you came from and the importance to asking ones hand in marriage. "Then marry me."

You freeze, half expecting what he said to be caused by his drunken state. When Five doesn't take it back you respond, "You're drunk Five." And hop off the table with a pout.

The grey haired man wrinkles his nose at the accusation. "I am not that drunk sweetheart." He pause "But you already know that!"

"Prove it then. Ask me again in the morning you lousy, ossified, hard-boiled,  upstaged  oyster!" You shout back startling the man before you..

"Fine." Five calmly says, confused by most of the insult of slang he didn't understand. Without another word he pivots on his heels and leaves.

You grunt and turn back to finish your commissions report.

Practically done the door to the hotel room opens back up and Five walks in with an early 1950's style tea length wedding dress and a cardbord box.

You stared at him dumbfounded and quite curious.

"(Y/n). Remember that mission to London to make sure Orwell contracted tuberculous?" Five started, putting down the dress and box on the bed.

You were too busy staring at the lacing on the long-sleeved dress to do more then nod your head. You were too scared to touch the dress in case it was some twisted illusion.

"That's when I knew I loved you. Watching you go though and pet all the dogs at the road side market made laugh." Five continues to talk while he picked though the box, finding what he was looking for he smiles and holds a smaller wooden box in his hand. "When you walked away to get us food and I went to look for a jeweler I bought a ring, your ring, because I saw you pick it up when we stopped by the first time." As if seeing your hesitance he shows you the space themed sapphire ring and you tear up.

"On the mission to Greece?" Five says holding up a golden crown.

The mission to Russia? The one you hated so much you cried?" He holds up a vale.

The mission to California? You sat on the beach and watched the stars. I came back and you were asleep so I carried you to bed." He held up a tan tie with sea stars on it. By now you had a steady stream of tears down your face.

"I fell for you so hard (Y/n). Every time I wanted to tell you- I couldn't. I settled for buying things because you know I hate communicating and I knew you wouldn't believe me if I did tell you. Fine maybe not tonight but one night I want to marry you. Some night. I know you are terrified because of all that time you spent alone, having to fight for yourself but I am here now.  Fighting seems so unlike you. I know if you had a choice you wouldn't be here but I fell for you. No I didn't fall in love with you. I fell in love with how you saw the world and it was through those eyes that I saw what I was missing. Sweetheart I saw home. I saw you and me forever. I saw a future which knowing where I came from was the scariest feeling in the world but I still would marry you but you have to say yes." Five finishes, only steps away from you  as he waits for your answer.

Once more over come with lack of words, this time due to the insistent sobbing you simple nod your head and kiss him.

Taglist

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[catxsnow]

AFTER HOURS chapter two

Summary: Enemies to the public, friends to their close ones, friends with benefits between them. Rival companies and an attraction that can’t be ignored. 

Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: swearing, mature content, smut, 18+ only, mention death of parents, car crash mentions.  

A/N: Chapter twooooooo it shall be getting more interesting next chapter😏 

Word Count: 3.6k

It seemed that her life seemed revolve around business meetings. Nine in the morning, another at eleven, two at noon but there was no way to attend both, a final one at three. Meeting after meeting, and for what? To hear the same things over and over again? Some people choose to do this for the rest of their lives.

There was something about the busy Gotham streets that always caught her attention. Maybe it was the sound of the horns, or the people yelling within their cars. Gun shots or screams. There was always something to distract her from whatever meeting she was forced to listen to. Maybe it was because she didn't want to listen to it at all.

Of course, running this company was important. Without her parents, she had to take control of it. It was an important company too, just along side WE, they worked to make Gotham, and the world a better place. That didn't mean that she wanted to here about the statistical analysis of it all.

Not to mention that the weight of her parent's anniversary was heavy in her mind. Four years since they had been gone, four years of blaming herself. They went to Gotham to visit her, if they had just stayed home, they would still be home. Car accidents happen all the time, but that didn't make it any easier.

The second that the final meeting was over, she couldn't seem to get out of that room fast enough. She just wanted to be in the privacy of her own office. The door nearly slammed shut as she closed it. Back against the wall, heavy breathing as she tried to hold herself together. It was always hard on that day of the year.

A bright bouquet of flowers was on her desk. With a shaky breath, she headed over to see who they were from. It wasn't rare for her to receive flowers. Gotham's greatest bachelorette - more like people wanted her for sex and money. Without that company, she wouldn't have been idolized like that.

The bouquet was grand: flowers of every color and kind poked out from it. Whoever this was, they had spent a lot of money on it. (Y/N) picked up the small card and read what it said.

For your parents. I know days like these aren't easy, I'm sorry. - T.D.

"Those are pretty."

"Ms. Vale," her jaw clenched at the sound of the voice behind here. Great, this was the last thing that she needed to deal with today. Vicki Vale had a tendency to show up on her worst days. "What do I owe the pleasure of today and who let you into my office?"

"I let myself in," she said. Vicki Vale stood tall and proud. She had a large purse over her shoulder which surely held a plethora of notebooks and pens. Always ready to catch a story and always eager to stir up drama within the city. "Hope you don't mind. Just wanted to ask you a few questions about this new business deal that you're about to make. But, now I'm curious about the flowers, who're they from?"

"Why don't you tell me?" She sat in her chair as Vicky sat in the one across from her. "You do enjoy making headlines about me and my, as you say 'promiscuous life'." There had been many titles about (Y/N) - between her risky clothing, the second that she were talking with a man outside of business, or her attempts for normal dates - she was there.

Vicki casually reached her perfectly manicured finger tips towards the card from the flowers. Before she could even come near, (Y/N)'s palm slammed down on the desk. She pulled the card towards herself and out of the reach of Vicki. The last thing she needed was for the reporter to put two and two together to realize T.D. was Tim Drake-Wayne.

"Another hopeless lover of yours?" She raised an eyebrow. There was no answer. "I just wanted to ask you what you thought about Wayne Enterprise's attempt to stop the progress of your new development? Mr. Drake - sorry, Mr. Wayne, had lots to say on the matter, I hope you do as well."

"As a matter of fact, I don't." WE's attempt to stop the development was futile. Even Tim had told her that. There was no reason for them to try and stop it when in the end it would benefit both companies. They just wanted their name on it rather than hers. Everyone in both companies knew that.

It was for namesake that there was disagreements about the development. She was lucky enough to have beaten Tim to it first. This was going to a be a massive break for the company, one that would sky rocket sales and put you neck and neck with Wayne Enterprises once again.

"Mr. Wayne is your biggest competitor, aren't you worried?" She continued to pry. (Y/N) had gotten skilled over the years of not letting the curiosity of others get to her. She was able to keep her face straight and her mouth shut - even when she had lots she wanted to say. 

"Mr. Wayne has always, and will always be my biggest competitor. Unfortunately for him, I was the one to give the statement first about this new addition to the city. I will become Gotham's biggest economic resources, just as I have always tried to do in the past - and just as Mr. Wayne has always done in the past."

"So, you're saying that you public enemies?" Vicki pressed. She had always known about (Y/N)'s vendetta against the WE, but there had never been a statement that she tried to take the company down so hers could thrive. That was never her intention, they could co-exist always.

"I'm saying, Ms. Vale, that Timothy Drake-Wayne is a smart man. He knows when to push through fights, and he knows when he is losing. This time, he's lost. The next time, I won't be so lucky. Those who are fighting for the same cost are never enemies," she firmly stated.

"Will you be attending the Wayne Gala?" Vicki continued. Of course, there always had to be questions that weren't related to the company. She wanted anything to see (Y/N) with a man, just to make a headline for the decade. In all these years, not once had she been caught in the dating scene.

"No. I've made a donation, but I will not be attending," She answered. The tag from the flowers seemed to burn the skin of her hands. Tim sent those flowers because he worried, not because he wished to impress her. "Don't you have some better reporting to do rather than finding strings to cling onto of my personal life, Ms. Vale?"

"That'll be all for today."

><

Tim's bouquet of flowers felt heavy in her hands. The weight of having to visit her parent's graves was always a hard task to do alone. As time passed, it seemed easier to go visit them. Years of working hard to make them proud, years of showing them how much the business they started thrived.

There was nothing more that she wanted than to make them proud. Even as a child - working hard in school, playing sports, everything that would have brought a smile to their faces. In death, it felt like she needed to work even harder. Then again, as time passed, she forgot the sound of their voices, the crinkle by their eyes as they smiled, she forgot the warmth of their hugs.

As time passed, she forgot that she could be happy.

Work consumed her in the past four years. Late nights at the office, early mornings, weekends even. She lost friends, disconnected from family, deterred everyone away. Running this company had changed her life, and not necessarily for the better. The responsibility of it all was almost too much to handle on her own.

"Mr. Wayne's son bought these for you," she spoke to her parents graves. Tim's flowers sat on the grass, bringing some brightness to that gloomy day. "Surprising, I know. He's very kind, I think you guys would like him if he wasn't running Wayne Enterprises. At this point though I think you would like any man that I talked to.

"I miss you both, a lot. I'm securing a new development in the company, it's really going to pull us ahead this time. Dad would have thought it would have been a risky move, but I did it. I beat them for once. I hope you guys are proud of me up there, I'm really trying to make this city a better place in your name.

"Happy anniversary mom and dad, I love you," she sighed once more before heading back to her car. The walk back seemed long. Her shoulders hung low and she furiously wiped away the hot tears that threatened to spill down her eyes.

To her surprise, Tim was there, leaning against his own car right next to hers. He was reading something on his phone, but as he heard her footsteps, he looked up. "Mr. Wayne, thank you for those flowers, they were beautiful. What are you doing here?"

It wasn't often that they met up in public without there being some sort of business meeting along with it. Tim shoved his phone in his pocket and gave her a smile filled with sympathy. To be honest, he was visiting his own parents. Their chat the previous night had edged him to go visit their graves.

It just happened to be lucky timing that she was there as well. Tim didn't want to disturb her, but he did wish to speak to her. He always wished to talk with her - not just about business. He liked being with her, she was refreshing in his life of darkness. Without evening knowing much about it, it seemed she understood him more than anyone.

"I was in the area," Tim vaguely answered. He knew that he could tell her that he was visiting his parents just like she were but he felt deterred from doing so. Besides, upon seeing the redness in her eyes, he didn't want to worry about anything besides her. She had been crying, it was evident for someone like him. "I'm glad you liked the flowers, they used to be mother's favourites."

"They stirred up quite the fuss with Vicki Vale today," she tried to joke. Tim rolled his eyes at the sound of her name. He wasn't her biggest fan, in fact he was far from it. Vicki had single-handedly meddled into his life and forced him to live an entire year with a fake spinal injury and crutches. He had gotten off of them just before meeting (Y/N).

"She came to see you too, huh?" Tim shuddered at their meeting that afternoon. Question after question about his involvement with Ms. (L/N). Vicki was sure that there was something going on between the two of them - and for once she was right. "The new development or your latest hot date?"

"Considering my latest hot date is non-existent, it was the development. But, she was pretty eager for me to say something about you," She half-smiled. Tim shook his head, of course. Vicki was always trying to start a turf war or make the two of them fall in love. "I know you just came over last night... but I could really use a distraction from today."

A distraction. That seemed that was all he was to her. Nothing more than something to get her mind of the life she was thrown into. Of course, that was what it was all about at the start. Fucking to forget. He knew it, he went into their benefit relationship knowing it but as time grew...

"There's nothing wrong with taking a break from work," Tim changed the subject a little too quickly. In the four years he had known her, she had aged. Worried creases were around her eyes and scattered on her forehead. Dark circles always under her eyes. It worried him. "I'm not saying leave or anything, but you can have fun every once in a while. It's a Friday night, why not go to the bar with your friends? Let loose and live a little."

Tim was right. She wasn't the young eighteen year old anymore that would have been chastised for having a drink. It was legal for her to go out and have fun, maybe tonight was the kind of night that she deserved. Her parents wouldn't want her to sulk over their deaths, they would have wanted her to live her best life.

Going out was exactly what she needed. Not a distraction, not something that would keep her mind busy for a couple hours just to fall back in her pit of despair. She needed a genuine change in her life, and maybe that started with connecting with old friends and making some new ones.

As no words came out of her mouth, Tim took the time to realize that it was his moment to leave. She was obviously deep in thought with his words. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it before getting into his car. "I hate when you call me Mr. Wayne," he told her.

It was true, not only did it make him feel old, but it also made him feel like they didn't know each other at all. That was far from the truth, they both were far closer to each other than they would like to admit. Tim knew of her desire to keep their relationship business - and emotionless sex. They were after all, public enemies.

><

For the first time in years she woke up with a hangover. Pounding head, upset stomach - it was a feeling that she didn't miss. It wasn't rare for her to sleep naked in her own home, but it was to feel a heavy arm across her waist. Dark hair, muscular back - for a second she swore it to be Tim, but this man wasn't nearly as broad as he was.

Aside from the thumping in her head, memories of what happened the night before started to resurface. She had taken Tim's advice and called up her friends to go get a drink. One drink turned to two, which turned to shots and getting plastered. It had been so long since she had seen them all that letting loose was almost too easy.

She knew that she shouldn't have gotten that drunk, but having fun like that for the first time since she started working at that company was exhilarating. Unlike she had thought - her friends accepted her right back in. They knew that she was under a lot of pressure and that making time wasn't easy. They were just thankful for that night.

So, with a small reunion at the front of the bar, they headed in and got hammered. She treated her friends round after round - partially because she easily could and partially for an apology. It didn't take long for them to become a laughing mess while catching up and remembering the old days.

By the time the night was coming to an end, her friend pointed out the man that had been eyeing her up for hours. Whether it was the alcohol, the need to continue her good night, or to show her friends that she was just as fun as ever, she went to the man. Minutes later, they were walking out of the club and into a taxi.

Now, he was asleep in her bed and she had no idea whether or not anyone outside of her friend group knew what had happened. The man stirred. He pulled himself closer towards her as he woke. Warm brown eyes met hers, a genuine smile. What was his name? Jacob.

"Good morning beautiful," his voice was hoarse, sexy. Her mind raced between the option of soaking up some more moments of fun or getting back to her usual self and kicking him out. She went with the first one as he glided his hands along the curves of her side before placing his hand at her jaw.

It made her falter. This man... as good looking and as sexy as he was, he wasn't Tim. He didn't please her like Tim did. He didn't make her feel as good as Tim did. Even the sound of his voice didn't bring her the same amount of excitement. Why did she feel like she betrayed him? They were allowed to sleep with who they wanted.

She pushed away the feeling. Tim was the one to tell her to go out and have fun. Let loose from the burden of running a company and just the kid that she was. Sleeping with men, getting drunk, that was all part of her teen years that she missed out on. Tim wanted her to have this.

"Coffee?" She asked. Maybe that would stop the ridiculous headache she had. Or maybe she was using it as an excuse to get out of bed with him. Jacob nodded. He pulled her in for a long kiss, lingering against her for just a moment too long. The two of them grabbed whatever scattered clothes they could before going to her kitchen.

As the smell of coffee beans filled the air, she checked her phone for the first time that morning. Unlike the endless abundance of emails that she had gotten - there was a plethora of missed calls and texts. This was far from usual. Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened up the one from her closet advisor.

A picture of her and Jacob leaving the club, pictures of them kissing, her taking shots and drinking with her friends. Is she really mature enough to run this company? Black bold letters stared back at her. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. The media had taken her one night of fun and turned the city against her.

"Fuck," she breathed out.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked. Genuine concern was in his eyes for why she was suddenly upset. She was frozen in her spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. Jacob stood behind her, hands on her shoulders as he glanced over the article itself. "Oh." He never assumed that the media would do this.

In the bar, he knew who she was. Everyone in Gotham knew who she was, however he never expected her to be that beautiful in person. His friends had been hyping him up all night to go talk to her, but he knew it would never be a success. So, when she came to him, he couldn't say no.

Now, he worried that in one fowl swoop, he had tainted everything that she had worked so hard for.

"I think you should go," she told him, not trying to be rude. This wasn't his fault, none of this was. It was her fault for agreeing to her friends to go after him, it was her fault for agreeing to Tim's idea. Tim. This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't offered. Was this a ploy to get her company to fall so he could come out on top?

"I know it doesn't really mean much from someone like me, but... No matter what Gotham has to say about you, I think you’re the only one keeping this city somewhat sane," Jacob told her. He genuinely thought her to be a good person - not just some chick with a nice ass and easy access. There were people in Gotham that wanted to see her succeed, regardless of her age.

It was a hard idea to get through her head - people believing in her for her brain, not her body. So many articles, just like the one she read this morning, forced her to a life that made her weary of trusting people. She wanted to be seen as powerful, influential - not as a little girl who ran around sleeping with people.

"Thank you," she smiled. "If it means anything, I did have a great time last night." Jacob chuckled, but agreed. He waved a final time and left her home. Reluctantly, she went through the rest of the texts that she had gotten over the night. All of them were the same - reminding her that she was still an immature kid.

The board of directors, her friends, advisors - everyone seemed to have seen it before she had. It was the text from Tim that stood out to her the most. I see you took my advise, hope you had fun last night. Don't worry to much about the paps.

Don't worry? Don't worry? The great Tim Wayne had nothing to worry about, ever. Her on the other hand? She was constantly under scrutiny. In the eyes of society, Tim was the perfect candidate to take over WE. He was smart, cunning, he had a way with the people. It seemed that there was never anything bad for someone to say about him.

Her life on the other hand? She fell under Gotham's microscope and was picked apart until there was nothing left beside the mistakes she had made. This was another mistake, another mishap that would push her back and make her fall under the hand of Wayne Enterprises. The same man that tried to convince her that this was the best thing that she could do for herself.

This was Tim's fault, and she was furious.

@julia-and-comics @unknowntoanyone @willieoo @kindashittywriter @subtleappreciation @yandereforyou @pricetagofficial @because-icanhide @magicisabluewish @hyp-oh-critical @littleredwing89 @boy-georgina @sparkleofpizza @craptainlou @timtimmersdrake @hauntingsonofrobin​ @anothertimdrakestan​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @vvipgot7be​

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - March 9th

Gandalf and Pippin reach Minas Tirith at dawn, probably near 6am. Practically all the events of the chapter “Minas Tirith” happen on this day, so this and “The Passing of the Grey Company” are out of chronological order. Since most of the first section of The Return of the King centres on the defence of Minas Tirith, it makes sense that Tolkien wanted to start out the book by introducing us to the city and to its danger, so readers would understand why Aragorn considered matters desperate enough to take the Paths of the Dead.

There’s already an indication, early on, of Denethor’s use of the palantír.

Gandalf: For I have not ridden hither from Isengard, one hundred and fifty leagues [450 miles], with the speed of wind, only to bring you one small warrior, however courteous. Is it naught to ypu that Théoden has fought a great battle,and that Isengard is overthrown, and that I have broken the staff of Saruman?

Denethor: It is much to me. But I already know sufficient of these deeds for my own counsel against the menace of the East.

He turned his dark eyes on Gandalf, and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire, drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame.

... [Pippin’s musing broke off, and he saw that Denethor and Gandalf still looked each other in the eye, as if reading the other’s mind. But it was Denethor who first withdrew his gaze.

“Yea,” he said, “for though the Stones be lost, they say, still the Lords of Gondor have keener sight than lesser men, and many messages come to them.”

There’s no way for anyone to have reached Minas Tirith faster from Isengard with news than Gandalf has on Shadowfax. Denethor asserts that the palantíri are lost to throw Gandalf off, but it’s hard to see what other information source Gandalf could expect. But Gandalf says of Denethor that he has some of the abilities of the old Númenoreans: “He has long sight. He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men, even of those that dwell far off. It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try.”

Gandalf also says that Faramir is similar in this regard, and we can see some of that in Faramir’s earlier interrogation of Gollum: “There are locked door and closed windiws in your mind, and dark rooms behind them. And later, to Frodo: Malice eats it like a canker, and the evil is growing. He will lead you to no good. And: He has done murder before. I read it in him. (And the murder of Déagol is something that even Gandalf had a hard time getting out of Gollum.) There’s something rather Elvish about this limited quasi-telepathy of the descendents of the Númenoreans, reminiscent of Galadriel’s testing of the Company in Lothlórien.

At any rate, Pippin meets Beregond at 9am for orientation. They get some breakfast and eat and talk on the walls. Pippin sees wains going south, evacuating the last of the civilians from the city to South Gondor. He also sees, from Mordor, a darkness rising: the gloom was growing and gathering, very slowly, slowly rising to smother the regions of the sun. This is the darkness that will indeed block out the sun by the next morning. Beregond tells Pippin of the fleet of the Corsairs of Umbar. And Beregond is wiser in his way than the Lord of the City: “This is a great war long-planned, and we are but one piece in it, whatever pride may say. Things move in the far East beyond the Inland Sea, it is reported; and north in Mirkwood and beyond; and south in Harad.”

They talk until noon, then go to lunch and meet the men of Beregond’s company, and then Beregond suggest that Pippin (who has no further duties) go meet Beregond’s son Bergil, who can show him around the city. They watch Gondor’s reinforcements ride in in the late afternoon and evening: 200 from Lossarnach; 300 from Ringló Vale, 500 bowmen from Blackroot Vale, various untrained men from the Anfalas by the sea, a few from Lamedon, 100 from Ethir (the mouths of Anduin), 300 from Pinnath Gelin (north of the Anfalas) and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth with a company of knights plus 700 infantry. Less than 3000 total, and much less than hoped; many regions are holding back forces to defend against the Umbar fleet. Most of them are from land through which Aragorn and the Dead will ride.

And Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the Dúnedain are already in those lands of South Gondor. Today at dawn they set out, followed by the Dead, from the Stone of Erech, and reach the crossing of the River Ciril by sunset. They are passing through the aforementioned regions of Morthond Vale and Lamedon, and are almost at the Ringló Vale; Pinnath Gelin and the Anfalas are well to their east, Dol Amroth is south of them (it’s on the seacoast and a clear target for the corsairs, so it says a lot that Imrahil came to Minas Tirith personally).

Théoden, the Rohirrim, and Merry arrive in Dunharrow at sunset. Now we learn that when Gandalf and Pippin were at Edoras three days ago, Gandalf brought word from Théoden ordering the muster of Rohan. This is invaluable - it means that instead of starting to gather their forces now, which would bring them to Minas Tirith far too late, they are already ready to ride out. In the evening Hirgon, errand-rider of Gondor, arrives with the Red Arrow, calling for urgent reinforcements from Rohan. The news of a massive assault from Mordor actually causes Théoden to send less than he otherwise would have - six thousand rather than ten thousand - keeping some back for defence of Rohan’s strongholds. He estimates reaching Minas Tirith a week after the morning of the 10th; he actually make it in five days, by the morning of the 15th.

Frodo, Sam and Gollum walk through the day, and still the land is silent and waiting and free of the scouts of Mordor. The lands are still pleasant ones, open woodland with large trees (holly [I had to look up what ‘ilex’ meant, and it means holly], ash, and oak) and hyacinth and anemone flowers growing among the grass. At sunset they reach the road between Minas Morgul and Osgiliath.

On the same day, Faramir leaves Henneth Annûn, and spends the night at Cair Andros, as the fastest way back to Minas Tirith; most of the rest of his forces he sends back to Osgiliath to reinforce it.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

**

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

**

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

**

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

**

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,�� Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

**

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

**

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

**

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040​ @paintballkid711​

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Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [2] [3] [4-5] [6] [7] [8-9] [x]

PART 10 – Domestication

Yang blinks awake. She wonders why her pillow is so dense until she realizes that she's patting down Jaune's chest. Her hand is dangerously close to his waistband.

She wants to move but can't. Below her, her hands run through the threads of someone's dark red hair. Ruby wriggles at the touch. She'd come back a week earlier. In time for the dance but she'll be gone again when it's over.

It's like her baby sister is slipping out of her hands. She wants to scream and shout. To demand that Ozpin give her back… but he wasn't the one who could make that decision for her. Her dad had made it clear, Ruby is the only one who gets to choose, and she chose Ozpin.

She dreads to think on what Ruby's actually chosen. What she'd picked over everything else. Her friends, her family, her team, maybe even her dreams of being a huntress.

Yang bites her lip. Ruby isn't a huntress-in-training anymore either. She's licensed and fully-fledged. Has jobs and is on record as the youngest to join an academy and the youngest to graduate.

Peeling back her bangs, Yang spots the scar running along her forehead. It's deep and an ugly pinkish-red. Jaune asked where she got it. She'd gotten too close to a behemoth and got clipped trying to dodge its tusk. She'd killed it, somehow. She wouldn't tell how, just that she did. If she really tried, Yang could probably extract the story from her; global secrecy or no. But she can't. Won't.

Suddenly respecting her privacy feels like a vice on her lungs.

Ruby grabs Yang's hand suddenly. She's still and her breathing is rapidly pouring out of her, but then Ruby tugs the arm into her chest and nuzzles into it.

It's like they're eight and ten again, when Yang would spend the day working herself to exhaustion to make sure Ruby had a fulfilling day, only to collapse in her arms. Then and only then did Yang permit her little ten-year-old self to breathe, rest easy, then finally sleep. She recollects it like a blur of sweat and aches she was entirely too young to have, but now that they've passed, Yang can hardly remember what any of those pains felt like.

How differently could things have gone if she'd had a father and mother to tend to them instead. Maybe not long enough to mind Ruby themselves, but at least long enough to rub her hair and tell her she did good at the end of the day.

Calloused hands run through her hair. She looks up to see Jaune spying her out of one eye.

"You're getting that scary, thoughtful look on you again." Not quite the loving encouragement she'd expected, but close enough. "I'd warn against developing some early wrinkles but I can't help but feel they'd look good on you too."

She laughs. "You can't be serious. Were you checking out my mom?"

"Pfft! Sure. Let's go with that." She rolls her eyes. He ruffles her hair. "But in all seriousness, you can't blame a guy for admiring that kind of craftsmanship." His thumb runs slowly down her cheek. "They chiseled you out good. You have all their best parts."

She blushes but pushes the feeling down. "God, Jaune, were you checking out my dad too?" she teases but her eyes widen at his brief pause. "Oh my god."

He waves it off. "It's nothing like that. Despite looking like he could bench-press a truck, your dad still manages to look the least threatening when he's got some alcohol in him. I had thought that the day I'd meet my girlfriend's dad, I'd be most worried about being hated. Instead, I ended up worrying I'd just disappoint him. Like making him sad was worse than getting him angry."

"Yeah, Dad's got a wounded puppy look on him. I think it's why Zwei listens to him all the time. Like he even makes the dog feel responsible for keeping him happy."

"He's a dangerous man."

"I hope the title is hereditary."

"Ha! What was that you said on our first date? You could total a car, or something? I think that qualifies as dangerous."

"Hm… Is that a turn on or does that make you afraid? Both, maybe?"

"I think I'd qualify as crazy if it was both. Do you qualify as crazy if you're still into me after that?"

"We could be crazy together." Her fingers run circles over his abs. "I could live with that…"

Ruby curls up and covers her ears. "Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross!"

Yang ruffles her hair. "Good morning to you, too,"

"Sleep well?" Jaune asks.

"Too well…" Ruby grumbles. "I don't think I could go back to pillows ever again. Maybe I'll sleep on Zwei or something… No, that doesn't feel right…"

Yang pulls her head up, inching enough along Jaune's chest to rest her head up against his chin. "I think it's the company. Missed your big sister that much, huh?"

Ruby's nose scrunches. "Yeah, I do." She crawls into them and snuggles in. She takes Jaune's hand and tugs on Yang's till they're hugging her now. "I'll miss you all so much when I'm gone…"

The way she words that digs a pit in Yang's chest. She squeezes her a little tighter. Her chest feels hollow for a little longer.

Ruby pulls out and Yang lets her go, but she jerks back a bit cause Jaune hasn't let go. "Sorry…" Jaune says. He looks like he wants to hold on.

"Don't be." The softness of her hands press warmly over his, and her smile shares its qualities. "I'd miss me too." She means it like a joke but it stops showing on her eyes and a frown worms its way into her cheeks. "I have to go get ready."

She glances over to the rest of the bed. Only Blake is there, her back turned to them. "Pyrrha's probably waiting for me downstairs. I'll see you two tonight, alright?" When she's pulling fresh clothes out of her travel bag, she calls out, "If Blake gets up, tell her we'll see her on the bullheads and grab a bite in Vale if she's late!"

JNPR's bathroom door shuts behind her. The door feels tiny from where they are, on the opposite side of a giant bed in the RWBY dorm room. Its distance echoes with the thrum of the muffled shower.

Jaune pulls Yang up and against him. "Sorry about this. I know you were looking forward to going with me."

"You shouldn't have to feel sorry for giving my sister a good time," she says. He can tell that she means it. "She's going to miss you too, and this might be her last chance to feel like a normal girl for a change. Besides, it's only sophomore year. We'll still have plenty of school dances to go to."

"I guess… Save me a dance?"

"I think I'll need a little more than one."

The distant pattering of the shower is notable when it stops in the quiet of the twin rooms. Jaune eyes Blake and realizes that her bow is on. "Didn't Blake stop wearing that?"

Yang shifts over his stomach and realizes how broad her outline is. "I don't think that's her."

They share a look before poking her in the head.

Ren groans and swats his hand away. He wiggles out and takes off the wig he's wearing, scratching his head.

They snort. "That's a good look for you," they say, realize they've said it at the same time, and high-five.

He groans again. "That's never not going to be weird."

"Not as weird as you in a wig," Jaune says.

Yang notices he's in Blake's pajama top too, sagging off his shoulder since it's so much smaller. "…Or in her nighties."

"It's called a jinbei." Ren shakes his head. "Before you ask, I lost a bet."

Jaune shrugs. "We figured. Not like we expected you to wear that for fun or anything."

He pulls on the delicate fabric. "Aside from the wig, it's very comfortable."

"Oh, I'll bet."

Ren rubs his eyes. "Jaune…"

He throws his hands up. "I'm kidding! … Not really. You want one in your size?"

"…Yes." He blushes which is weird cause Ren doesn't blush. But he does and it's adorable. They snap a picture. He can only summon the energy to scowl for a breath's length. "I should get going too."

"Why are you up so late anyhow?"

He blushes and he doesn't bother answering. They don't need one anyway.

-0-

The echoed bass of this year's dance bounces off the walls of the hallway just outside of reception.

Yang hasn't been on a dance floor in months and now the sounds feel alien. She used to attribute clubbing as a part of her, even as a freshman who could pass for eighteen. Breaking it down, it's clear that she only went out there to have fun. And she's been having a lot of fun elsewhere this year.

"I don't really wanna go in there," Oscar says beside her as they make their way to reception. They're both wearing green, to match hues with her eyes and to contrast his. "I'm starting to get dizzy on just the sounds of it."

"You get used to it," she says. "It's mostly just sensory overload. Just let it sink in and you'll hardly even register the music. It's meant to be white noise anyway so no one has to talk in silence."

"So it's, what, a social tool? Like a distraction?"

"Most of partying is. For all the awkward folks, it means they can hide behind something else while they get their wings. For the rest of us, the ones who've got it down, it lets us keep going. Longer than the night sometimes."

"I never thought of it that way."

She pats him on the shoulder. Even in flats, she's so much taller than him. "Try not internalize it too hard. It's easier when you're letting a conversation happen instead of trying to force any advice you hear into it."

"And if I end up in awkward silence with someone?"

"Then maybe you aren't talking to the right people. Take Ruby for instance." She points ahead of them, at Jaune and Ruby dressed in red together. They're talking and laughing. "You ever have a conversation just stop when you talk to her?"

"Yeah."

"Then she isn't the right people." She catches Ruby's glare but she goes back to Jaune pretty quickly.

"Uh… Oh! You're joking!" Oscar exclaims.

"Whoa! Hey! Don't take me seriously all the time. Half of me is comedy."

"It's often bad!" Jaune calls back.

"Shut up!" Yang giggles. "I have the worst boyfriend," she whispers loudly. Jaune pretends to be wounded by it.

"So…" Oscar rolls his hands. "I'm getting mixed signals here. Is it okay to have awkward silence?"

"Yeah! I mean… I guess had a bad example. It's okay if a conversation stops, but not when it drops."

He squints. "I feel like you're deliberately confusing me."

"I'm just not the most articulate person. Not like I learned to be social on a quotable handbook or anything. So when you talk to someone on something you're interested in, like, say, coffee –"

"-Or milk."

"Or milk. Yeah, let's got with that. Say you like skim milk – you monster –" he laughs cause he does, "then you know you've found someone you can talk to if they don't try to derail the conversation once they find out."

"Cause I brought up skim milk?"

"Cause they're still interested in talking even after you mention it. Someone you can talk to might agree and keep at it, or disagree but wants to hear your side of why you like it so much. Someone you can't talk to will try to change the topic after finding out what you like or not about something."

"I thought it was all about finding things in common."

"I think it's just as interesting if you don't. I hate Seven Rapids cause they're all noise and not even music to me, but that's precisely why Jaune loves them. Jaune and his sister used to be afraid of thunder, so when a storm hit their hometown, it was the only band they could listen to on the same pair of earphones without having to block out the other ear with something."

"That doesn't sound like he particularly likes it either."

"But it's a story I wouldn't have heard otherwise if I switched gears! Now we know each other a little better."

The bass thumps in their ears after they sign on in the registry and come through the doors. Blake is already dancing with Penny, Sun and Pyrrha are expectedly missing, and Nora is a having a subdued moment with Ren by the punch bowl.

"Ruby?" They're instantly stopped by Cardin Winchester of all things. His date, Velvet, trails behind him and crashes into Ruby first.

"You're back!" Velvet cheers. "For how long?"

"Not very," she says sheepishly.

"That big a deal, huh?" Cardin guesses. He continues before she can get uncomfortable. "We missed you at Leadership. Jaune cried."

Jaune rolls his eyes and lets it be… For an entire second. He punches Cardin in the arm and they laugh.

"I missed you guys too. Even the class. Ugh! Can you believe I miss waking up early for class?"

"I miss that feeling too," Velvet agrees. "When you're Juniors and Seniors, you lose half your classes and you're not even expected to attend most of your sessions. We're usually out on the field taking low threat missions. Even a noisy classroom is quieter than the woods."

Ruby rubs the back of her head. "I kind of know what that's like now, actually."

Jaune and Yang trade looks. Oscar tries not to look them in the eyes.

"We should get going," Cardin says, reading the room. "We'll catch up later." Velvet takes him by the arm and waves off.

Ruby, like Oscar, doesn't look them in the eyes either.

"It's okay!" Yang says soothingly, her a voice a titter with a laugh. "We won't pry. Just happy you're here."

"C'mon," Jaune says, taking Ruby's hand, "let's see how well Oscar taught you how to dance."

Ruby slaps a hand to her lips, trying feebly to hide her blush. "The punch bowl first, please. If it's spiked, I can pretend to be good at anything."

"Not a chance," Jaune teases. He kisses Yang on the cheek before leaving her with Oscar.

"He really is the worst," Oscar says, sarcasm bleeding off his cheek. "He's so sickeningly sweet. Wanna trade dates? I'd take him."

Yang slaps him on the back. "Ha! That's the spirit. I can see you're getting more comfortable."

Oscar shrugs. "I think you're just easy to talk to. We should go, too. I'm starving."

-0-

Ruby might have been right about the punch. Nora is loud and all over the place, but Oscar remembers a few stories about her and asks, "Is this how she normally is?"

Ren laughs, it's quiet and patient. He sounds older than he looks. "I don't think she qualifies for normal."

Nora crashes into a few people he doesn't recognize but they laugh and stand her up. They're all friends here. Or maybe Nora just has that effect on people.

"Here." Ren is standing in front of him with a plate of sushi, a black dip of some sort, and what looks like green clay. "Try one of these."

"You ever have these in Mistral?" Yang asks.

"Only the cities. Funny how my first time with it will be in Vale of all places."

Ren demonstrates with chopsticks, expertly grabbing the rolled sushi, dipping, then grabbing a dab of the clay before inserting it into his mouth. "Now you try."

Oscar takes a fork, stabs the sushi, dips it, end curves the fork's teeth into the clay-like thing, and shoves it in his mouth. He can only register Ren's panic when it's already too late.

"You took too much wasabi," he breathes.

Yang is already grabbing a cup from the punch bowl. Oscar's mouth explodes in heat. Then the rest of the night is a blur.

-0-

Ruby was right. Someone did spike the punch.

By now it's too late and they devolve into a flurry of laughter and dancing. No one seems to care that there's suddenly alcohol present, but a cursory glance reveals that the staff isn't even present. Coco does mention seeing Ozpin and Glynda alone in the plaza, and much of the staff was huddling in the dark trying to eavesdrop on them. Seems mischief is ageless.

Jaune and Yang don't dance. Ruby is too important for them to let the night be about them, so they dance with her instead. She's at least thankful that Jaune chose to lead her in a slow dance. She doesn't think she can keep up with him otherwise. Yang, on the other hand, is an expert on matching her pace. She's her big sister after all.

Oscar doesn't get to dance with her either but he's fine with that. What he isn't fine with is being completely hammered by one watered-down drink. Yang thinks its funny how similar he is to Jaune but the similarities end there. He gets swung around by Nora on the dance floor and the alcohol doesn't help.

Remembering this night mostly comes out as a thousand flashes. Their scrolls roll the whole night, and the photos flood the memory banks like they'll struggle to remember this night when it's over. Which doesn't happen because the alcohol doesn't make them drunk. Unlike Oscar, all the alcohol just serves as an excuse for everyone else to let loose.

Joan shows up in a dress and everyone has flashbacks of first year. Ruby jokes loudly about Jaune filling the dress out real well this time and most people momentarily forget that Jaune has a twin sister.

Somewhere down the line, they pour out of the dance and sing off-key in the garden, count stars in the courtyard, and then they're out on the roof where half their class has turned up for a grill off.

Jaune and Nora get so into it that they're scared out of themselves when Cardin shows up in an apron and a grill of his own. Yang remarks that Weiss would have loved the smell.

Oscar kisses Penny and Ruby doesn't know what to do with that. Yang lets her figure it out cause she's growing up and she can ask her whenever she's ready.

Nora's corsage gets caught in the wind somehow and Ruby jumps into action. She weaves through the crowd in a stream of red and rose petals. She's over the railing and she shows no fear as she leaps off the edge and curls over the shattered moon with the pink flower in her hands. Her smile is stunning, her confidence brimming off her cheeks.

Jaune and Yang hold hands at the sight. She's a burst of beauty that steals hearts.

There's a cheer when she effortlessly blurs back and falls into the crowd. She doesn't think what she does is anything special, but it is. She is. And everyone knows it.

And just when their spirits are highest, it rains.

Ruby doesn't leave the roof when it does. Her friends stay with her, Jaune and Yang especially. The look in her eyes tells them that she's barely holding something back.

They stand with her, letting the chipped pieces of them fall apart together so Ruby doesn't feel like she's alone. She tells them she's afraid. They tell her they are too. But fear doesn't get to take residence, it doesn't get to loiter and sink into the upholstery. They'll kick and scream until it's gone cause they never go down without a fight.

It sounds like they're all struggling blindly, but Yang tells her that defiance is only the first step. And that also makes it the most important.

In a moment of solidarity, Ruby screams at the top of her lungs as the rain hides her tears and her friends drown out her pain with defiant roars of their own.

And in the next she's on a bullhead, barely out of her dress, and she disappears in a sea of stars.

-0-

It's the weekend again, and Yang convinces Jaune to come to the apartment for the day. Walking back into it feels like a lifetime has passed him by. There's a layer of dust on everything and he resists the urge to wipe it all down. He can't spend the one day they're here this month cleaning. Maybe next month when he's got the lien to cover his half of the rent.

No, that's an excuse. He could just as easily ask for an advance on his allowance or pick up an extra mission to cover the gap. He wanted to push them both to stay in the dorm, but when Yang pushes passed him with a box full of last night's freshly developed photos, he can see the forced curl of her cheek that's just a little too wide.

Ruby's been again for a week. She might not come back. Yang needs a breather to reconcile with that.

She plops the box down on the coffee table as Jaune sorts out their dinner across the room in the kitchenette.

"Anything good?" he asks.

She waves a photo in the air. "You in a dress!"

"Ha, well… Wait, no, I didn't do that this year! That's Joan!"

"Pfft! Not when I post it and tag you. I expect continued confusion from the campus."

"Yang…"

"C'mon, it's funny!"

He tosses an orange in a basket and reminds himself to eat it later. It's not gonna stay ripe if they leave it behind. In his head, it suddenly sounds like a shitty metaphor. "You're allowed to be sad about Ruby leaving, y'know?"

She chuckles and whips back to him. "So are you."

He doesn't know how to answer that. He spent a lot of that night dreading her leaving but he hadn't expected her to up and go before midnight even hit. It's still jarring, unreal even. Like he could walk back onto campus and bump into her, cause that night was a blur and he might have just dreamt it ending the way it did.

A hip bumps into his, and he drops the pork chops back onto the counter. Yang doesn't look sorry but she hides her face in his chest and he lets her hold onto him.

"It feels like I'm still halfway down a landslide. With my parents and uncle are off to god-knows-where, and Weiss and Neptune fighting for the soul of her company, it felt inevitable that Ruby would just… follow after. And it's a little scary, y'know? I don't know when all of this stops. I don't know if I'm gonna keep losing people." She doesn't cry, but her chest feels tight. "It's like I'm either waiting to see who's next or if I'm gonna crash when I hit the bottom…"

She'd been putting up a strong front, but her bravado feels like it's slipping, and she already feels like it's going to break her. Finding JNPR had stemmed the tide. She even thought she might stop slipping altogether but then Ruby comes and just goes into the night…

Jaune's pulls out his scroll and she can hear him clicking. She only then realizes that his other hand is squeezing carefully on her waist.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding people."

"What? Who?"

He brings the scroll close to his face. There's a call and it goes through almost immediately. It's a voice she doesn't recognize but she can guess who it is. She's already familiar with the stories about her.

"Hey, runt!" comes a woman's voice. "Caught me at a good time. Coral's burning the eggs again and she could use a few pointers from her big brother." Yang can practically feel her wink.

"It's nice to see you too, Sable. You're the eldest in the house now, don't you know how to cook it?"

There's a snort on the other end of the line. "Please. Wouldn't know my way around the kitchen unless I crashed a car into it. And even then I'd only familiarize myself with the quickest exit."

Jaune groans. "You can't keep getting take-out and engorging everything your pit crew gets you. One of these days you're gonna regret never learning from mom. At least Coral's trying."

"Well, Coral doesn't have a job."

"Hey, I totally have a job!" a muffled voice shouts.

"And besides, the track keeps me busy."

Yang mumbles into Jaune's chest. "That sounds like an excuse to me…"

Jaune laughs.

"Jaune… who was that?"

"She's the reason why I called you in the first place." He's already propping his scroll up against a bundle of uneven loaf.

"Ooh! Do we finally get to meet this elusive girlfriend of yours?"

Yang sucks in a breath. It feels like she's stepped into a different space altogether and she's nervous now for very different reasons.

"Girls, this is Yang."

"Hi there." Yang hopes she doesn't sound awkward.

On the screen is a set of huddled blondes all crashing to get a view through the screen. In the middle is the cheeky one she guesses is Sable. Unlike her sisters, her hair is red fading into blonde tied in a braid over her shoulder. "Hey yourself. I'm Sable. I heard you're good with bikes. We should talk. Grease monkey to grease monkey."

Another blonde in a bob cut and glasses pushes into her cheek. "God… hi. You're so pretty. Are you sure you're a huntress? Jaune, please don't let this be a prank." She seems all over the place.

"That's Coral," Jaune supplies. "Don't mind her. She'll make proper sentences when she starts calming down."

A dark-skinned girl with dirty blonde hair is pushed into view. Yang remembers Jaune mentioning having an adopted sister with dirty blonde hair. The dark hues accent her and it's all the more stunning when some of the white strands she has makes it clear that all that hair natural. "Ahem, I'm Dahlia," she says with the tiniest smile. She looks fourteen but she doesn't sound it.

She tilts her head to the side revealing another fourteen-year-old hiding behind her. "And this is Liona."

"Uhm!" Liona nearly screams, "H-hi!"

"Is she alright?" Yang asks.

Sable waves it off. "Oh, it's nothing really. She's just -"

"See?!" Liona points at the screen, looking at the other girls. "It's another blonde! The curse is real!" And she's gone.

Dahlia sighs and gets up. "I'll go after her. It was nice meeting you, Yang."

"She's polite."

Sable shrugs. "Grew up in a strict house. We're still trying to shake it out of her but enough about that, why don't you tell us how you got all that hair to behave? Mine spazzes out if I don't tie it down and there's only so many ways to tie long hair before I have to cut it down."

Yang starts going on about products she uses and Jaune slowly starts slipping away. There's an excitement brimming off her cheeks, a confidence to bury any embarrassment she might have had. It's like she's not even here anymore. She's in Clove with his sisters.

He feels a tightness on his wrist. Yang gives him a dangerous look. "Oh, no way, buster. You're staying here so I don't collapse in on myself." She tugs him in and wraps an arm around his.

They're shocked when another voice comes in. "We'll aren't you two cute," says Helia, Jaune's mom as she peeks over Sable's shoulder.

The afternoon is a blur of conversation. Bikes and Cars are both similar and different enough that Yang and Sable get along quick with always something interesting to add.

Coral has a distinct fascination with Yang's hair and has non-stop questions. It's got loose strands and is the furthest thing from perfectly straight but Yang makes it work somehow and Coral has an intense need to know how. Jaune just calls it Xiao Long magic.

Liona and Dahlia, despite being respectively excitable and largely subdued, ask Jaune and Yang both about being huntsmen. Yang catches the way Dahlia's eyes go a little wide at the excitement and terror of their stories, and Jaune never fails to point out every time Liona chews her lip like she can't decide if being a huntress is for her. He lets her sort it out until she's ready to talk about it.

The only sister Yang hasn't met yet is Cori, the second eldest, and that's cause she's in Atlas. Jaune notes that she's keeping an eye on Weiss and Neptune for them. They stop the conversation when Sable tells her that they're really allowed to talk about it.

Helia – she still insists on Aunt Hess but Yang's still getting the hang of it – reminds them that they promised to have dinner with her and her husband.

And when it's all over and they wave their goodbyes, Yang's eyes are as bright as she remembers. "I wanna meet them," she says when they're on the couch.

"This summer then. I was planning on coming home. Sable might have to run a summer circuit for her sponsors but she'll still catch us. And Cori will be there for a week. We can even get Saph to come join us."

"Yes. That. Please?"

He pulls his scroll off the coffee table. "Alright, alright. Calm down. It's happening. Let me just drop Cori a line so we can figure out when it's best."

She hugs him. "Thank you," she whispers.

"For what? I only called up my sister."

"For this. Them. All of it. I really needed to get out of my own headspace."

"Back to Remnant?"

"Not quite. It still hurts. Just a little. I can't shake the feeling."

He gently pushes her away, grabs her waist, and thumbs her cheek. "Maybe a classic distraction will suffice."

She giggles. Her cheeks are warming up. "I missed this. Just you and me."

They press their lips together. She pulls him down with her against the armrest of the couch.

While he's holding her steady by the waist, her own hands can't seem to settle anywhere. One minute she's clutching the back of his head grabbing a fistful of hair, the next she's tugging on his shirt and stretching the fabric. Now she's on his neck, pulling him in.

He loves the way she tastes. Practically devours her lips until he coaxes her into his biting his.

He gasps and that hungry look in her eyes tells him that wants him to sing for her. His eyes are dangerous in response, pulling away only to bury his face in her neck. She shuts her eyes and expects him to bite, to mark her like they do every time, but he's suckling and her skin feels like it's getting more sensitive.

"Ah…!" She bites her lip. She wants him to keep going but she also wants him to do more. Her fingers curl into the back of his neck. Arching her back to the sensations bursting from his ministrations, she hisses before whispering, "bite me."

She can feel the way hot breath pouring out of his nostrils as she says that. You're a dangerous woman, he'd all but said. And with the look he gives her in the periphery, she can't help but feel him saying it with his eyes. He bites down and her back arcs again. Its soft and he's suckling at the same time. She wonders how that would feel on other parts of her body.

When she's curling into him, she gasps as her limbs act without her consent. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and her legs bend and clasp around his waist. She's already off the sofa and hanging off of him entirely.

"Yang…" he breathes. They pull back enough for her to see the manic look in his eyes. There's nothing coy about it. It's just hunger. Need. And after everything they've been through, she knows she wants it too.

He's looking down at her as he settles his breathing and lays her back on the couch. She doesn't let go, only now his weight is on her. As meek as she looks, he has to tell himself that she can take it, but the innuendo sparks dangerous images in his mind. It doesn't help that she's a hot, sweating mess.

She feels him pull a tent in his pants. It's nothing new. She'd even teased him about it now, but it's not out of place here.

Daring herself to look at it, she spies it in the space between their legs. It feels taboo to even bear witness, but in her half-hearted attempt to look away, she instead finds the tear in his shirt just at the collar. She doesn't know if she caused it, somewhere in all the tugging and moaning, it must have happened. In the afternoon sun, it's a clear sight line from his chest to his stomach. Sweat trails down there too and it drives her wild to follow it down.

His hand settles experimentally on her belly.

She looks up at him. His askance stare and bated breath do not need words. She nods.

It trails carefully downwards, delicate even at the shallow scratch of his nails. It feels like he's uncoiling tension bundled in her abs, and every line is a full, happy sigh sung from her lips.

He can't stop staring at his hand as it seems to go on forever over the valley of her stomach. A hand is on his cheek. He meets her eyes and she seems to dare him not to look away from her. Her other hand wraps around his wrist and guides it till snags at the hem of her shorts.

His breathing betrays him. It's practically telegraphing the tremors dancing in his chest. He doesn't want to scare her. The way she jumped back the first time they got this close still sends the wrong kind of shiver down his arm like he might burn her if he tried.

But she isn't afraid. Her eyes are half lidded, her breath staccatos but its even. Her hand tugs at his wrist again.

He undoes the button.

She gasps.

His finger traces the zipper.

She bites her lip.

A hint of panic settles in cause he needs to see what he's doing but he can't look away from her. She has no trouble staring at him herself. It's like she's in a trance and all she's interested in watching is him. So he swallows his fears and kisses her again. Her lips are welcoming but her tongue is a tidal wave that swallows him whole.

It emboldens him. Lets his fingers push passed the zipper and straight over the thin bit of cloth behind it. The fabric is like his own. Nothing special. Plain and normal, and makes him laugh against her lips and she laughs with him.

Her hand pulls his wrist over her crotch. His fingers graze the unshaven hairs down there. Then she lets go of his hand and trusts that he'll figure out the rest.

He does.

His hand is so much larger than her own. That's what she first thinks when his digits span over her southern hairs and inch its way down. He has to pull his chest away from hers to get an angle that doesn't twist his wrist, but she doesn't stop moaning into his mouth.

A heated line draws sidewards from his hands, like her legs are tugging closed along the path his hand into her mound. She welcomes it. There's no alarm bells in her head. She wants to bring him there and trap him

She's okay with this.

And when his fingers smooth over her entrance and finds exactly where to make first contact, her heart's already ramming into the walls of her chest. She wants it. A bite of his lip. Bodies press firmly together. She's already trapped him down there.

She wants it. She wants it. She wants it!

Yang pulls away. He's shocked out of her nethers. His fingers are still wet.

"Yang… I'm – I'm sorry, I –"

She closes into him and shoves his damp hand into his mouth. "How do I taste?" she asks, voice hot on his neck. Inside, she's screaming because it would have been sexier to taste it herself. Then again, she isn't sure she wants that.

"Like you," he breathes against the back of her neck.

She laughs. "What's a girl supposed to take away from that?"

"Because like everything else about you, it makes me want more."

The hammering in her chest has evened out. "I want this. You. All of it."

"Then what happened?"

"Nothing. I'm not scared. I don't even know why I was in the first place anymore."

"Is that what happened? Did it bother you? Not knowing why?"

She doesn't need to answer. Instead she pulls away, kisses his lips, and tells him, "The Aries."

"My car?"

"Yes. Could you go and get the installment cleared and… maybe grab us dinner? Please?" She doesn't want to have to say that she needs a bit more time to figure this out, but he's already kissed her and is at the door.

"Later?" he asks.

She nods, a giddiness worming its way into her cheeks. "Later. I'll be ready when you come home."

He loves that look on her. He'd kiss her again if he didn't have to go.

-0-

Blake gets a call from Yang. She has to pull away from Ren and Nora on the beanbag. She's barely dressed as it is (Nora's slovenly habits are starting to rub off on her) and she isn't sure she's ready to answer any questions Yang might have about what's going on between them.

"Yang?"

"Blake! Uh… did you just get out of bed?"

She glances at her roommates. Nora's waggling her brows and Ren has that tiny smile of his that is somehow far more embarrassing. "Something like that. What about you? Do I even need to ask about the fresh hickey?"

Yang is silent for a moment. "I almost had sex with Jaune."

Her eyes widen hysterically. "Almost? What happened?"

"I needed to sort some things out." Her eyes narrow. "Look, we're gonna meet again in an hour or two, but before then, I need to bounce the last few months with my best friend."

Blakes gives her a good-natured sigh. "Fine," she says with a smile she can't stop, "give me the whole story."

"It all started on the day I was born."

"Yang!"

"I'm… I'm only half joking."

-0-

It's sundown when he gets home. He half expects scented candles, ambient music, thick makeup, and lingerie. But there's none of that. She isn't even in the living room.

"Yang?" he calls out.

His scroll pings.

"Take a shower in the guest room and come meet me in your room, please?" It reads. He takes off his jacket and pulls off his shirt when his scroll pings again. "If you love me, you'll come in only towel. So please love me."

He sprints into the shower.

Minutes later he's mostly dry and standing in his own living room, staring at his bedroom door like it'll fall on him if he even dares to come in to see his probably barely dressed girlfriend.

He knocks.

A moment of silence, but it is quiet enough to hear her take a healthy breath before she gives him a nervous "I'm ready!"

He expects a mountain of nerves. Maybe even another try at the lingerie with a bit of snide confidence beneath a toothy grin. But when he opens the door, he finds a gentle smile sitting up in an igloo of blankets. There's no put-upon anything here. She's not trying to be enticing, or trying to get a rise out of him,

He can only call that look honest.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

The question shocks her into laughter. Cause he's fresh out of the shower and she's been cozy in these sheets for the better part of an hour now. "No, no, I'm plenty warm."

"Could be warmer," he says. He doesn't intend to flirt but it's already out of his mouth and she's matching the nervous, embarrassed smile on his cheeks.

"Maybe. Why don't you come here and find out?"

With the towel wrapped firmly around his waist, he locks the door behind him and crawls onto the bed. He doesn't get any closer though.

Now that he's up close, he can see the silhouette of her bare legs just between the sheets. One of her hands comes out to pull both sides of the sheet together while the other comes to reach for him.

He takes her hand, bare knees touching.

"Hey," he says. And it's goofy, and so like him that it blossoms something in her chest.

"Hey, yourself." She calms her own nerves again and he loves the way the shape of her straightens like she's conquered something again.

He's staring and he knows it but the moonlight is sinking in through the gaps in the blinds and he swears her hair can put gold to shame.

"I've figured out why I was so afraid before," she says.

"Of getting intimate?"

"Yeah…" Her hands are sweating. Her gaze is locked to their hands. "I've already shown you so much of me. I've carved out my deepest fears and fed them to you like I was trying to stuff you full. Cause I didn't like having them in me. Like mom, and us, and Vytal, and now my team… When I'm with you, I already feel exposed. And I'm okay with that. I'm okay with showing you all these sides of me but…"

She looks up at him, and their eyes meet. "I still have secrets." She says it like an apology. "But I'm not about to share my every thought but I find myself speaking my mind around you all the time anyway. I've been open but it's like I can't hide anything from you." She inches closer and her hand on the blankets tightens. "And this? Us? It's like I'm showing you all that's left. I'm no prude. I don't mind showing you a little skin."

He laughs. She doesn't wear much to bed. Not that he does either. "You never really seemed concerned about it, yeah."

"Yeah, but… doing this means I'm giving you something I can't take back or keep for myself. What I'll say or do when we do it will be new secrets and they'll be yours and… I was afraid of that."

Was, she said. He focuses on that.

His fingers run over her knuckles. She fixates on the way his hands are trying to hold her without getting any closer.

"What changed?" he asks.

"You… you showed me that you were just as scared." She remembers the way he was breathing only hours ago, staring down at her like he was scared of hurting her if he kept giving in to what she was offering. "It was like a hundred little things. Adrian, Terra, wanting to ruin your hair like an idiot for me…"

He scratches the back of his head. "I thought I was keeping a brave face on that one."

"Please. I love you but there's no way you were going to be comfortable looking an idiot again no matter how much you say it wasn't going to bother you." She sighs. "It's funny how that made me love you more."

Her smile falls away. "When I was younger, I was used to affection. It was like I had a mom and two dads. They'd dote on me and sing my praises like I could be nothing but spectacular. I couldn't go a day without being smothered by someone's love… Then… Then I lose Summer and dad shuts down. Qrow would try to be there for us and did everything he could while he was around but he always had to go to work. And I kept thinking if I was feeling like this, how did Ruby feel? How much did she feel that she was missing out on? So, I smother her with enough love to make up for everyone else, but every time I did, I was reminded of how much I missing for myself."

"And then we happened and it's not all the making out, or the cuddling, or the hickeys. I was afraid I'd have to give up this apartment cause I was overstaying my welcome, but then you smile at me and… Jaune, do you remember what you said to me that day?"

He's been flush this entire time. "I, uh, no, I don't."

"You told me it was already decided. Like I belonged here and that I never needed to work for it even if I tried my hardest to prove that I did. I didn't need to earn a place here. We were friends and you thought that was already enough."

He squeezes her hand. "It goes both ways, y'know?"

She squeezes back. "Tell me."

"I hated this apartment. When I first got it I thought I'd just bought myself a hole I could hide in while I drown myself." He eyes the walls, and even in the dark he knows where he'd had to plaster over cracks he'd punched into. "And it wasn't like I had anywhere else to go so I couldn't leave. I thought I'd maybe show up at the clubs and find someone else to warm my sheets, but even when I got propositioned, I couldn't dare to drag anyone else into what I'd put myself through."

"Then you showed up and I forgot what those nights even really felt like. It was just you, tearing every sordid, manic page out of my book and putting yourself there instead. It isn't just Terra you replaced it was… everything else. No more cold nights, broken sinks, or empty bottles. Even when things are quiet in the morning, it was nice to remember someone else was there that I had to wake up. It was nice knowing I had to cook for two. It was nice knowing that whenever I had to go out and do something tiring, or frustrating, or stupid… there was always someone waiting for me at home."

He lets go of her and makes for the vanity. A drawer is tugged open. Yang recognizes it as the one Jaune uses to hide the previous tenant's wedding ring box, but that isn't he pulls out of it. It's his flask. He sets there in full view of her. "I haven't needed it in months."

There's warmth against her skin. Even back then he said that she couldn't fill the gap of every torment but there it is. Definitive proof that she has. And it isn't just that she's done it, or even that she's done it for months, but also that she hasn't noticed. That the part of him with doubts has quietly slipped away.

And it's the same for her.

When he's back on the bed, she slinks her hands away into the blanket, clutching its two halves.

She's surprised at how easy it is to pull them apart and show him all of her. That doesn't mean it gets any easier with the way he stares at her. Yang has to resist covering up again.

His eyes trace the length of her arms down to her toned, steady legs. Back up to her abs and the swell of her breasts, to the soft coiling of her shoulder blades into her neck. This woman is built like a brick house and he loves every inch of her.

She'd already been staring at most of him before the towel on his waist slips away. The broad stroke of his arms, the wound tightness of his chest, his abs are pulled taut but his navel looks soft and boyish between the strong ridges. His legs are thin but muscled. She never knew she could appreciate the curve of a calf before but his legs help make him tall and it looks like she can dine on its width.

He crawls towards her and she welcomes his look of uncertainty as if it was her own. She falls back onto the sheets, prepared for him. One hand on her belly, the other pressed firmly over her beating chest. He doesn't move in to kiss her. He's stopped and staring somewhere on her breast. She almost cracks a joke about it but his hand comes up suddenly and runs along her skin.

"What happened here?" he asks.

There's the shadow of a scar beneath her left breast. She's surprised he can even see it in the low light. "Accident. I crashed my bike one night when driving home back to Beacon. It was… it wasn't a very good night. Assholes just drove on by and didn't bother checking in. Everyone sees an armed huntress and they think I can everything handle my own. Never mind that I was bleeding and calling out for help."

His eyes narrow. "People in this city suck."

"C'mon, they're not all bad. That boatman's pretty nice."

"Tackle."

"What?"

He snorts. "Yang, that's his name. Tackle. You're telling me we spent two weekends with him and you don't even know his name? You remember the old guy who sells dust? You meet him every month. His name's Shop and he's Tackle's brother."

She's laughing. Mostly from embarrassment. Mostly. "And how do you know this?"

"I talked to him?"

She shakes her head. "Y'know what, nevermind. I'm lying back here naked and you've got me thinking about old men and their equally old brothers."

"But hey, not so nervous anymore, right?"

He's right. It's so much easier to just talk to him. "Yeah. Much better tha-a-anks~! Jaune!"

His head's below her breast, kissing along her scar. He's doing it so softly that it tickles. "J-Jaune! Ha ha! What are you doing?"

"Kissing it better," he says matter-of-factly.

"Quit it! Ha ha! It tickles!"

He pulls his lips off her and leans over her, resting his forehead to hers. "No more bad memories. I'll rip out everything from before and give you something new everyday."

She nudges her nose to his. "Everyday?" she asks softly.

He shrugs but he means it. "I'm exaggerating but I'll try."

She runs a hand down his cheek. "Why do you always gotta do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just… be real with me? Some guys just stop at the sweeping romantic gesture."

"I think I'm incapable of being anything else with you at this point."

"Scary," she teases. "Jaune Arc, ever exposed. How will I ever contain myself?"

"Shut up."

She shakes her head meaningfully, something beautiful dancing behind her eyes. He tells himself it's love. "I can't. Words are all I have when I can't do anything with my hands."

He kisses her knuckle, its strength softening at his touch. "And why don't you?"

He's flush against her. Her knees curl around his waist. "Because I won't be able stop myself if you let me."

"Don't stop," he whispers. "Show me everything."

Her hand braces against the back of his neck.

He sucks on her lower lip. Then he does the same to the other.

She moans and it's raw and animalistic, but it's a symphony in his ear.

-0-

Yang plops onto the sofa next to him. "If this takes any longer, I'm going to tear my hair out."

Jaune takes a sip of his apple juice and eyes her passed the glass. She's been stressing out all afternoon. "I don't think you've failed enough tests to warrant a failing grade. Didn't you pass the exams?"

"I'm not worried about failing." A pause. She doesn't look at him when she admits, "I need to get a B."

His brow creases. "You only need to not fail to be a huntress."

"Yeah, but they don't let you be a teacher or a coach without at least B."

"You wanna be a teacher?"

She scratches her head. "No? Yes. Maybe. Look, I wanna have my options open."

He sits closer. She can feel his warmth on her hip. "Is this cause of what Qrow said yesterday?"

"Mom, actually. We were talking about how she wishes she was home and worrying about cracking an egg right instead of trying to crack open a conspiracy."

She doesn't need to tell him more. "Yang, our kids will still love you if you're not home all the time."

"But I'd like to be home all the time. I hate the idea of being gone for months and… ugh, look at me. Losing my mind on imaginary children."

"You're thinking ahead. It's what a leader does. I like to think it's what a Xiao Long does too."

Yang rubs her arm. "Yeah… leader." With both Weiss and Ruby officially off the campus roster, Yang had been voted as the new leader. It's strange having to trade teammates with JNPR every once in a while to get teams of three, but they're always all together now anyway. Still, the title hangs over her head and she's trying her best.

"You'll get used to it. Leadership isn't a hard class and you'll only officially start taking it next year."

"But sitting in it makes me think a lot. I didn't think a class with no grades could be so stressful… I mean, maintaining team psychology? I didn't think Ruby had to consider our wellbeing all the time, and now that I do, I feel like we all take our leaders for granted."

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "See, this is why we don't talk about Leadership outside of class. You gotta detox. What would you like?"

She tosses her scroll onto the coffee table. "These grades. I get this out of my system, and I can start worrying about everything else."

He claps his hands and gets up. "Okay, bubble bath, massage oil, scented candles, and cake it is."

She gives him a wiry smile. "Thank you…"

"What kind of cake?" he asks when he's sifting through the cupboards in the kitchen. "I can whip up the chiffon and icing real quick if that's what you're after."

She picks her scroll back up and thumbs through her messages. She goes through a backlog from Ruby. She met up with Weiss a few days back and the photo of them together (and Oscar getting along with Whitley in back) always manages to curl a smile into her. Among the images sent, she finds another with Weiss alone in her room. Neptune's not allowed to get close just yet but she's wearing the aquamarine necklace her got her for the proposal.

"I'm thinking Red Velvet," she calls out to him. "Maybe you can experiment again? I'd love to help you try."

"Nah, not this time. I couldn't get the red velvet to mix right even with Ren's help. I'll need to pick a lesson with mom when we get to Clove so I can get it down."

She gets an image from Blake. She's having afternoon tea with her parents. Ren and Nora are with her. Ren seems right at home with Kali, and Nora seems to have gotten Ghira to laugh. Somewhere in the background, Sun's teasing Ilia about someone on her scroll. She's turned a shade of pink, which does nothing to hide her blush. Looks like Sun managed to find her a girlfriend after all.

"We can do a different cake then," she tells Jaune.

"It's okay, I'll just order again." He already has his scroll up. "But we're getting three little boxes. I'm not letting you engorge the whole thing again."

She snorts. "You can't stop me from snacking."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yang, one of these days I'm gonna have to buy a padlock for the fridge."

"Like a padlock would stop me."

His hand slaps the counter. "Okay, no bubble bath, and no massage then."

"Fine. Little cakes. But you know I can just order more, right? It's a joint account after all." It was her mother's idea to help them balance finances between them. It managed to get Helia Arc to talk to Raven. They get along. Yang doesn't know what do with that.

"Please don't do anything crazy with the account. It's the last installment for the car."

"Which I'm helping you pay for. I deserve a treat."

Jaune stops what he's doing and just stares at her. She's not normally this difficult. Or difficult at all, for that matter. "Yang, are you messing with me?"

She peeks back gives him a sheepish grin from behind the couch. "Yes? C'mon, you know I love you. You like eating them with me anyway. You need to get your head out of the rain too." Because their new tub is big enough for two, the massage is always the kind with a happy ending, and she's pretty sure the scented candles are just a silent joke between them at this point.

He comes around to sit next to her again. "I'm not the one worrying about her grades."

"And I'm not the one stressing about his car," she counters. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Leaning back into the cushions, he loses any desire to argue. "I took good care of it…"

"I know you did, so it's not your fault. Just you wait. The mechanic will be back with a message for you any minute now to tell you it was a nothing issue and they can fix it in an afternoon."

She's on her inbox with Jaune now. They hardly send messages anymore since they're together all the time so instead they send each other the pictures they take so they always both have copies. They had a mission at the ruins of Glenn, a dinner date by the docks, drew on Ren's face while he slept, spent an afternoon hanging photos off strings on the ceiling, visited Cardin in the hospital (he's got a cool scar along his arm and neck now), took a hike in the woods, and there's a dozen more photos of them cozying up in the apartment. These have just been in the last month, too. With summer coming, they'll have enough photos to hide entire ceiling at the dorm.

Jaune leans over. "Why am I Hummingbird in your contacts? I thought I was Vomit Boy."

She snickers. "Well, you know how Blake's books have all those fancy words for sex? Like the word vagina is somehow too crass for 'erotica'."

He squints. "I already don't like where this is going."

"So we got to talking and she mentions how, in her latest book, the vagina substitute is flower, and what comes out is nectar."

Jaune buries his head in his hands. "Oh my god, Yang…"

"And with the amount of time you spend down there…"

"Yang!"

"Did you know that hummingbirds can consume up to eight times their weight in nectar? Those are rookie numbers. They should probably take notes from you."

He grabs her face and presses his forehead to hers, manic eyes meeting hers. "I love you, but if you have an off switch, you have to tell me."

She looks down and up at him again. She points to her lips. "They're right here, lover boy."

He pulls back and looks between her lips and the coy look in her eyes. "I… no." He huffs and crosses his arms. "Not doing it."

This throws her for a loop. "What? Why?"

He glances back at her. She wants it just as much. Now he's the one being coy. "Cause this is funny."

"Fine. Why don't I send Blake a few of these little facts. She's started writing and I'm sure she could use some our juicy details."

"Yang, no."

She's already typing down on her scroll. Jaune crashes into her and they fall back onto the arm rest. For a moment they struggle as Jaune tries to reach for her scroll until Yang decides to slip the device into the back of her sweater. If he goes for it, he'll reach have to reach in closer and their faces are already close enough as it is.

"And it's gone!" she cheers. "I mean, feel free to try for it again but there's enemy territory down here."

He thumbs over her cheeks. "Fine. You win." He says with a chortle. "I swear, Yang, you're impossible."

"And yet you have me anyway."

Their lips press together warmly, making them meld together into a host of mewls and hushed laughter.

Their scrolls ping. They go completely ignored.

-END-

And that’s it! I hope you liked it! There’s a sequel coming down the pipeline but for now I have a major Dragonslayer story to work on elsewhere on my ff.net and ao3 accounts. Maybe I’ll post a link here to it when it comes out.

That said, thank you to everyone who gave this story their love. I would not have made it this far without your support. Thank you. :’)

[lingthusiasm]

Transcript Lingthusiasm Episode 56: Not NOT a negation episode

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm Episode 56: Not NOT a negation episode. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the Episode 56 show notes page.

[Music]

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Gretchen McCulloch.

Lauren: I’m Lauren Gawne. Today we’re getting enthusiastic about negation!

Gretchen: Or “We’re not getting unenthusiastic about negation,” if you will.

Lauren: “We’re not NOT getting enthusiastic about negation.” But first, we just want to say thanks to everyone who became a patron or was already a patron and came to our April liveshow that was part of LingFest.

Gretchen: It was really fun to get to see and hear from you all in the chat and on social media. This show has been edited and put up on our Patreon bonus feed. If you want to listen to it in audio only like a normal podcast, you can listen to it on Patreon if you didn’t catch it live. We’d also like to thank everybody who came to LingFest in general. All of the great events that people put on were really fun! It was really great to see all of the community around that.

Lauren: LingFest came on the back of LingComm21, which was our conference for people doing LingComm, which was also a lovely experience. Thanks to everyone who participated in one or both of those events.

[Music]

Gretchen: “There is nothing to be suspicious about here.”

Lauren: “That’s good because I absolutely did not eat the whole secret stash of chocolate while you weren’t looking.”

Gretchen: “And I definitely didn’t spill water everywhere.”

Lauren: “I totally have not adopted a pet dinosaur.”

Gretchen: “The moon is absolutely in its usual position. No one has blown it up – especially not me.”

Lauren: I am quite dubious, and I’m just gonna wait until I can definitely check that by looking at the moon.

Gretchen: I am also a little bit worried about the status of your dinosaur or dinosaur-free lifestyle.

Lauren: I don’t have a pet dinosaur. I was very clear. No dinosaur.

Gretchen: But if you haven’t had a pet dinosaur the entire time I’ve known you, why are you bringing it up today?

Lauren: Every day I have not had a pet dinosaur, and yet, bringing it up today somehow makes it feel relevant in a way a bit like we talked about in our episode on Gricean maxims where you only talk about things because they are relevant.

Gretchen: Just like I have not been blowing up the moon every single day of my life –

Lauren: Thankfully.

Gretchen: – yet somehow, when I start saying it like that, it also reminds me of a feature of the podcast Welcome to Night Vale, which is a delightfully surreal podcast. There’s this bit in Episode 8 that I wrote about back in 2013 when I was first listening to Welcome to Night Vale that also uses negation in a very similar sort of way. Here’s the quote, “We’re receiving word from the City Council that there was absolutely not a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular this weekend at Radon Canyon – there never was a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular ever near Night Vale. ‘Pink Floyd is not even a thing,’ said the Council in a statement,” and at the same time, you’re left with this impression that –

Lauren: That’s a lot of denying.

Gretchen: Yeah. It’s sort of “Methinks thou dost protest too much,” like, “Why are you protesting so much?” Surely, every day, near my house, there is not a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular, and yet no one has felt obliged to inform me of this.

Lauren: It’s because the only times we talk about something not happening is because the absence of something is relevant. Language takes a default positive talking about things that are here or do exist. It’s the lack of something that gets overtly marked in the grammar of languages.

Gretchen: Right. It’s also the lack of something brings in this presupposition that the lack of something is a relevant thing to talk about or that it could have been expected but hasn’t happened. If I say something like, “I haven’t eaten dinner yet today,” that’s not ontologically weird, philosophically weird, in the same way “I don’t have a pet dinosaur” is weird. Because it is still an open question on any given day whether or not I’ve had dinner. Or if I say, “I don’t have a cat,” that is an open question that reasonable people sometimes do have cats, and so it could be reasonably relevant that I might or might not have a cat in the way that it’s not reasonably relevant that I might or might not have a pet dinosaur.

Lauren: This shows up in the grammar where the default is positive. You don’t add anything to a sentence, usually, to indicate that something’s positive. You have to add something to the grammar to show that it’s negative.

Gretchen: If you look at the World Atlas of Linguistic Structures, which is a great set of maps that is available on the internet for free for you to look at, they have over 1,000 languages on their negation map. They have a bunch of different ways that languages can indicate negation, whether you add a different word or whether you change something about the verb or whether you add two things or other things like that. In over 1,000 languages, all of them have something you add to make the sentence negative – not, for example, something you take away.

Lauren: You get to this point with language as a consistent feature of language where the absence of something or the negation of something is indicated by adding something to the grammar whether that’s a word or a morpheme that affixes to a word.

Gretchen: Which is philosophically weird when you think about it, right, because why is the presence of something indicated with the version of the sentence that has less in it, and the absence of something is indicated by the version of the sentence that has more in it.

Lauren: I think it definitely goes back to the initial examples we used where actually talking about the absence of something only happens when absence is relevant because there is not a dinosaur in my house every day, but I absolutely don’t need to point out every day all the things that are not in my house.

Gretchen: You don’t have any zebras either?

Lauren: I just start the day by rattling them off.

Gretchen: Listing every single animal that’s not in my house every day before I do anything else.

Lauren: We tend to only talk about the absence of something when it’s relevant. This is part of why negation is an additive thing to the grammar. We think about the positive version of the utterance as somehow being more default.

Gretchen: It’s actually kind of similar to how we think about numbers. Like, “one” and “two” and “three” were invented a long time before the number “zero” was invented. Even though before you have one of something, you have zero of it, but it wasn’t being commented on in a numerical way. It might’ve been being commented on in a negative way because languages do have negation, but it wasn’t being commented on as “I have zero dinosaurs.”

Lauren: Why negation is something that’s kept mathematicians and philosophers and people doing logic and linguists entertained, and many other people entertained, for such a long time and why we’re giving it its own whole episode.

Gretchen: “We’re not NOT doing a negation episode.”

Lauren: Alongside the strong consistency of having some kind of additional marking to indicate negation, the use of particular gestures to indicate negation seems to be one of the more consistent things that languages do across families.

Gretchen: I love it when you have a gesture tie-in.

Lauren: For a couple of centuries, people have grappled with the fact that shaking the head to indicate “no” is incredibly prevalent across languages – and way more prevalent and consistent than nodding is to indicate “yes.”

Gretchen: Oh! That’s interesting.

Lauren: The generally agreed-upon theory is that shaking your head to indicate “no” starts really early when infants are refusing food because it’s something you have an imperative to do.

Gretchen: “No, don’t want this food. No!”

Lauren: Even Charles Darwin wrote a book that, I think, it was just gonna be a chapter of On the Origin of Species, and he just got way into it looking at gestures looking across humans and other animals and different languages and was like, “The head shake for ‘no’ is really consistent.” How people indicate “yes” is less consistent, and it just seems to be “do something that isn’t ‘no’,” whereas “no” seems to be the starting point.

Gretchen: Hmm. That’s interesting.

Lauren: You have this really consistent pattern with head shaking, and you also have these families of gestural tendencies across languages where people use some kind of away motion for negation with their hands.

Gretchen: Like, “Oh, no, I can’t.” I’m doing some sort of sweeping away from my shoulders.

Lauren: A pushing away or a sweeping away or a throwing away are all part of this family that have been looked at across languages. I’ve just published a paper in a journal, Semiotica, about this flicking away, rolling away, gesture that you get in Syuba narratives when people are talking about the absence or the lack of something in a story. All of these types of away negation seem to also tap into this human conceptualisation of negation as something pushed away from or held away from the body – “away” and negation seems to fit together in our –

Gretchen: “It’s not near me.” That actually ties into this idea that the affirmative, the positive, the non-negative form is the default because if you’re pushing it away from your body that implies that it was near your body in the first place.

Lauren: We have a very bodily lived experience of existing and things being here or not being here. Although, that is a good point. I’ve been just talking about the positive, but there is a technical linguist term for “not negative” which is “affirmative” – probably should mention that.

Gretchen: I feel like people have encountered “affirmative” in a very robot voice, you know, [imitates computer voice] “Affirmative. Destroy all the humans” – or something like that.

Lauren: It’s one of those times where you’re like, “Oh, good. A technical term that’s already part of my vocabulary.” That’s a win.

Gretchen: It’s interesting because you could imagine a language where the default beginning is actually negative and, instead, you add something to make it affirmative.

Lauren: This is a hard-to-wrap-your-head-around constructed language experiment.

Gretchen: None of the languages in WALS do this, apparently, but you have English, which has “I don’t have a pet dino,” which is the negative, and “I have a pet dino,” which is the affirmative. English Prime, which is what linguists do when they’re trying to make up a language that is very similar to English but different except one thing so we don’t have to make up new words the whole way through, where you could say something like, “I have a pet dino,” meaning “I don’t have one” because that’s the default form of the sentence, and then if you have like, “I AFF have a pet dino,” which means “I do have one,” where the “AFF” is a fake word that means “affirmative.” That’s just not a thing you see grammatically.

Lauren: I have learnt many languages, I have encountered complex grammars of many languages, and this actually hurts my brain to conceptualise as a way of speaking. In English we have a variety of ways of expressing negation in the grammar. We have separate words like “no” or “not” that we can use to make a whole sentence negative, or we also have affixes that we can use to make a particular word negative. “Unenthusiastic” would be an example from the top of the show – or “unhappy,” “unexciting,” “uninteresting,” “hopeless.” There’re a variety of strategies that English has to do negating; it’s not just one particular thing.

Gretchen: The word formation side of negation often brings up the question of the fossilised words that English has in its vocabulary that look like they have a negative part to them, but we don’t have the positive version of them anymore. You have things like, “ruthless” or “feckless” or “unkempt,” but we don’t have like, “ruthful” or “feckful” or “kempt.”

Lauren: “Kempt.” Yes.

Gretchen: There’s a great poem about this which we can link to. What’s interesting is that I’ve actually been – this is a shameless bragging moment here – I was reading an advance copy of Arika Okrent’s upcoming book.

Lauren: I will be jealous of this on behalf of everyone because Arika Okrent wrote an amazing book about conlanging called In the Land of Invented Languages probably a decade ago now and has a new book about English grammar and its wonderful weirdnesses coming out in the middle of 2021.

Gretchen: Her book is called Highly Irregular. It’s coming out on July 1st, 2021. She makes this really interesting point in the advance copy which is, “We joke about the missing flipsides of ‘hapless,’ ‘ruthless,’ and ��feckless,’ but not what we should be able to form but don’t from ‘bashful,’ ‘grateful,’ and ‘wistful.’”

Lauren: Huh! I feel like this is a reaction I have when I read Arika’s work a lot. I’m just like, “Ah, yeah. I hadn’t thought about that before.

Gretchen: There’s no “bashless,” “grateless,” or “wistless,” even though it feels natural that there should be a missing positive form of forms that have a negative. We don’t have the same reaction of the missing negative form of things that have a positive, which also gets into that positive-as-default form.

Lauren: These things always seem so consistent on the surface. Then you look at how people actually use them and what gets actively used and what becomes fossils, and you realise that applying negation is a little more complicated.

Gretchen: Then on the flipside of affirmative is no negation at all. There’s also this thing of like, “What if you have extra negation? What if you wanna make something even more emphatically negated?” “I absolutely did not get a baby dinosaur. Nope. No siree. Nah-uh. Didn’t happen.”

Lauren: Some languages can put in more than one negating word to really emphasise that something is negated, which is a strategy you might be familiar with as “double negation,” which occurs in about 10% of the world’s languages.

Gretchen: This is the strategy that I’m really familiar with in French because that’s the default way of doing negation. In formal, written French you have at least two negative words. Sometimes, you can put in more. The default way of doing that is a “ne” before the verb and a “pas” after the verb. Sometimes the “pas” can change into something else. So, “ne VERB pas” is “not,” but if you have “ne VERB personne,” that’s “no one,” or “ne VERB rien,” that’s “nothing.” Even if I just want to say, like, “I did not receive a baby dinosaur,” it would be, “Je n'ai pas reçu un dinosaure,” which is “dinosaur” in French, in case that wasn’t clear. You have the “ne” and the “pas” there. Although, in spoken French, a lot of times the “ne” gets dropped, and so you just have the “pas” indicating negation.

Lauren: The “ne” is the older part, right?

Gretchen: Yeah. English actually, historically, had a second negative particle that was before the verb. If you have “I cannot,” it was more something like, “I ne cannot.” They were both there and then the earlier one gets dropped. This happens sometimes you get negatives reinforcing each other and then “Oh, now we don’t need this one.”

Lauren: If we revisited those 120 languages with double negation in the WALS map in a century – because languages are constantly changing and moving around in their grammar some of them might’ve dropped one of those negative elements and gone back to being a single negation language, and some languages might add a second one and become a language that has double negation. French is kind of in the middle of doing that at the moment.

Gretchen: This process in linguistic research is called “negative concord” rather than “double negation” because it’s not just two of them necessarily. A language that has negative concord can continue stacking negative elements like “nothing” and “no one” and all of these on top. Like, “I didn’t give nothing to no one,” that’s totally the expected way of saying it in French.

Lauren: It’s interesting that that gloss works as the expected form in French because it is totally grammatically viable for some dialects of English, but it’s often stigmatised as being not acceptable or not part of standard English.

Gretchen: The thing that drives me up the wall about the logic for doing that is that the logic for stigmatising it is quote-unquote “two negatives form a positive,” but what this logic doesn’t realise is that it’s extremely spurious logic. It’s a misuse of how logic works.

Lauren: Do you wanna unpack that for us? Because I personally find joy in the fact that language is more interesting than logic, but if people have encountered this argument, where does it fall down for you?

Gretchen: First of all, languages like French exist.

Lauren: I do wonder how much more milage double negation or negative concord in English would get if we called it the “French negation.”

Gretchen: Right! “Oh, it’s like French toast!” Everyone likes things that are French. The “French toast” negation style. There were plenty of early logicians who were French who were surely not making this argument that doesn’t even work for their language in the only way that they were doing things in Descartes’s time.

Lauren: Language is not just numbers.

Gretchen: Also, in English, nobody is confused about the difference between “I didn’t give nothing to nobody” and “I’m not NOT excited.” Those both use multiple negations. In one of them, the negation is trying cancel out the negation, and in the other one, it’s reinforcing the negation. We do know what people mean. It’s not actually confusing.

Lauren: In fact, we can throw even more negation into the way that we speak, and people cope with it really fine.

Gretchen: The other thing is, is that – I don’t wanna get completely linguist on the logicians, but languages have been around for a lot longer than logic has.

Lauren: True.

Gretchen: Formal logic has existed for, I dunno, what, Aristotle? So, a couple thousand years, if we’re gonna be generous. Language has been around for somewhere in the tens of thousands of years. We’re not even sure whether it’s tens or hundreds of thousands because we literally don’t have records. Just several orders of magnitude longer than logic has existed, language has been around. If we think that roughly 10% of languages have negative concord now, probably some fraction of languages have always had negative concord because it’s a thing that people could do. It’s a bit rich for logic, this young interloper, to come into language, which has been doing just fine this entire time, and be like, “Sorry, you need to redo your entire system because I don’t like it.” Who are you? It’s so young.

Lauren: With that in mind, should we try squeezing even more negation into a sentence? Because we can do better than just double negatives for negative concord.

Gretchen: Yes. This is where we can do one of my favourite examples which is the Mean Girls approach to negation.

Lauren: Okay, not what I expected to be your favourite example, but let’s go.

Gretchen: I mean, look, any excuse to have a Mean Girls reference. That’s the “She doesn’t even go here” type of negation. When you have several bits in a sentence that are actually negative, you could still take one out, and that’s what makes the logical argument superficially appealing because you could get rid of someone, they’re just reinforcing each other. But in this case, you have “She doesn’t even go here,” and if you try to make that positive – “She does even go here.”

Lauren: “She even goes here.” I’m taking out the “n’t” – “She does even go here.” It doesn’t work for me.

Gretchen: Or you could do it with a different stress like, “She EVEN goes here.”

Lauren: Or I guess the affirmative form of this would just be “She goes here.” The “even” doesn’t turn up at all.

Gretchen: The “even” there is doing something interesting. It’s reinforcing the negation without itself being negative per se in isolation – just sort of not being around at all – without the negative there to help it.

Lauren: I guess it would be like a sentence like, “I don’t like ice cream at all,” which apart from being a fake fact –

Gretchen: [Laughs] Would you say, “I like ice cream at all”?

Lauren: I would just say, “I like ice cream.” The “at all” doesn’t need to be there at all.

Gretchen: Or the “I didn’t eat a crumb of cake,” which you can say, “I ate a crumb of cake,” but it’s not quite the opposite of “I didn’t eat a crumb of cake.”

Lauren: It’s a little bit too literal in the affirmative version.

Gretchen: Or something like, “I didn’t touch a drop of water.”

Lauren: “I touched a drop of water,” I just boop it with my ear.

Gretchen: Just going through the rain booping rain drops.

Lauren: That one absolutely does not work when you keep “a drop of water” in there. That construction only works for me in the negative even though a lot of the words in it that are adding to the negation aren’t necessarily negative in their structure.

Gretchen: Exactly. It’s saying, “I didn’t touch even the smallest amount of water” is what that’s doing there. And there’s that “even” again. Coincidentally, this is also something that Arika Okrent talks about in her book Highly Irregular, which is coming out. It’s not only a book about negation, I promise. I was just thinking about negation because I knew we were doing this episode when I was reading it.

Lauren: Also, as you can tell from the examples, negation is where grammar starts to get particularly interesting, so it’s unsurprisingly that a book like Highly Irregular would have a couple of stories about negation in it.

Gretchen: Yeah, because there’re interesting things to say there. Arika Okrent has this great section which talks about things like “even” and “any” and “at all” and “a drop of” which are called “negative polarity items,” if you want a technical term for it.

Lauren: This is a technical term that I know but hadn’t really thought about until we started putting the show together. I guess that by “items” they just mean things that are words or multiple words because “a crumb of” isn’t a word. We can’t just call them “negative polarity words.”

Gretchen: Some of them are individual words like “any” or “yet” or “even” or “either.” Some of them are longer phrases like “at all” or “a thing” or “an iota,” “a drop.” You can get verbs like “budge.”

Lauren: In a sentence like?

Gretchen: Like, “The boulder won’t budge.” You don’t say, “The bolder will budge.”

Lauren: Hmm. I guess some of these are like, “Huh.” Sorry. I’m just gonna take a moment to consult my intuitions there because, yeah, I guess not.

Gretchen: I might be able to say, “budge over,” or something to a person. Then you have whole phrases like, “breathe a word,” “hold a candle,” “sleep a wink,” “lift a finger.”

Lauren: “I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

Gretchen: “Couldn’t sleep a wink.” “I could sleep a wink.” [Laughter] “I could lift a finger.”

Lauren: When you put them into the affirmative, they don’t work. It also shows why they’re just called “negative polarity” rather than “negation” because they bring this negative sense with them, but they are not doing grammatical negating themselves. There’s no “no” or “not” or “un-” in there.

Gretchen: That’s what distinguishes them from something like, “no one,” “nowhere,” “nothing,” which are themselves already negative words. If you think about the polarity of a phrase as like, I guess, if you go away from the equator – let’s say you go north for negation because they both begin with N. As you head towards the North Pole, your negative polarity gets higher.

Lauren: As someone who lives on a continent that is often called the “antipodes” because we are on the opposite side of the world from the Northern Hemisphere, I appreciate that you’re putting north as your deficit for negation. Thank you.

Gretchen: It just, I dunno, acronyms – they’re nice.

Lauren: N for “north,” N for “negation.” Negative polarity items are just sending you in that direction without necessarily being negative themselves.

Gretchen: What’s interesting about them is that although they’re called “negative polarity items” because of this canonical contrast where you say, “There aren’t any here,” versus “There are any here,” which is weird because it doesn’t have the negation, there are also some other contexts where you can say stuff like this. You can say negative polarity items in questions often. “Do you see any?” Or in if-clauses.

Lauren: And if-clauses are famous for not existing quite in our reality. That’s one of the things they’re doing.

Gretchen: “If you make a peep, you’ll get in trouble.” The “if” part of that, you know, somehow that works for negative polarity. And also contexts with words like “without” or “doubt” or “surprise” or “regret.” That’s something like, “I regret lifting a finger to help.” You’re not gonna say, “I lifted a finger to help,” because that one’s weird, but as soon as you regret lifting a finger, somehow that one works fairly well.

Lauren: So, they’re not just doing straight up negating, there’s something more complicated happening there.

Gretchen: This is something that’s still an active area of research to figure out exactly what all the contexts are because some of the negative polarity items work better in some contexts than others, so there can be a bit of fuzziness around the borders for which ones work when. The theories for the reasons behind those conditions can get fairly complicated. It’s interesting to have this observation of like, here’s this whole class of words. You knew about nouns and verbs, but negative polarity items, they’ve been there this whole time, and yet you didn’t realise they had this unifying characteristic of them.

Lauren: There might be some times when something that’s listed as a negative polarity item actually works in the affirmative for some people and why intuition checking becomes a big part of thinking about this because I’ve definitely met some people who can use “anymore,” which I can only use in negative like, “I don’t have a dinosaur anymore.”

Gretchen: Oh no! What happened to it?

Lauren: But there are some English speakers who can use “anymore” in a positive sentence. Whenever I hear it, I’m like, “Oh, that works for you,” but I literally can’t even come up with an example in my head because it doesn’t work in my variety of English.

Gretchen: I have a fun story about positive “anymore,” which is, I didn’t have it growing up. I encountered it in grad school in this very like, “Did you know that in some varieties of English people have positive ‘anymore’?” I was reading the examples and being told these examples. It’s something like, “Cake is expensive anymore.”

Lauren: Alas.

Gretchen: Where it means “nowadays.”

Lauren: I can totally understand it functioning when you use it in a sentence like that. It’s not like my brain can’t process the meaning at all. It’s just not something I would say.

Gretchen: I actually went to a linguistics conference, and I went to a workshop by a linguist who had positive “anymore.” The first time I heard him say it in the wild, I was like, “Oh, this is this thing that I read about in the books.” Three days later, I’d heard this linguist on enough occasions say enough tokens of positive “anymore” that I’m like, “Yeah, it’s grammatical for me now.” I acquired it in this week in 2012.

Lauren: Amazing.

Gretchen: Sometimes, the only reason you don’t have positive “anymore” is because you only have negative evidence to suggest that it doesn’t exist.

Lauren: I just haven’t been exposed to it.

Gretchen: Then I have probably, I dunno, probably less than a dozen tokens of positive evidence in this naturalistic setting from this linguist who didn’t realise that he was grammatically teaching me to use positive “anymore.” He thought he was doing a workshop on a perfectly unrelated topic, and yet I walked out of that being like, “Yeah, it’s grammatical for me,” and it has been ever since.

Lauren: You are an inspiration for lifelong grammatical acquisition.

Gretchen: Right! Because I was an adult. It was great.

Lauren: You called it “positive anymore.” So, the fact that we have negative polarity items, can I intuit that there are also positive polarity items?

Gretchen: Yeah. There aren’t as many, but one of them is–

Lauren: Interesting. Again, this obsession with marking negation.

Gretchen: We mark negation a lot more. But one of them is “somewhat.” You can say, “I liked that cake somewhat.”

Lauren: We’re definitely not moving as close to the positive pole with the “somewhat” there.

Gretchen: “I didn’t like that cake somewhat” is just kind of ugh for a lot of people.

Lauren: That doesn’t work for me.

Gretchen: There’re a few positive polarity items as well that move people further towards the South Pole, if you will.

Lauren: I like that talking about positive polarity items has moved us full circle through negation and back into thinking about negation and thinking about negative structures and affirmative structures as all part of this larger, more complicated system of ways that we have of expressing that things exist or they don’t exist and how we go about talking about that.

[Music]

Lauren: For more Lingthusiasm and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, SoundCloud, YouTube, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @Lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get IPA scarves, esoteric symbol socks, and other Lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I tweet and blog as Superlinguo.

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Lauren: Lingthusiasm is produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne, our Senior Producer is Claire Gawne, our editorial producer is Sarah Dopierala, and our music is “Ancient City” by The Triangles.

Gretchen: Stay lingthusiastic! Don’t stay unlingthusiastic!

[Music]

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