#to be fair ive only ever drew two other faces

[alexisnotstraight]

i love working on multiple projects at the same time even tho im supposed to work at things on my real work and not doing digital drawings of gerard way

hopefully ill finish these soon

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 10: Distance

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Man, the vibe between these two fine men is so different. I'm so into it! ALSO have some exciting stuff coming. Gonna try to update both days this weekend, and then setup some... very spicy/fun/dangerous romance stuff? Might add in some "choose your own adventure" style choices before we get to that big choice Lol. ENJOY! Much love.

Part 9 Part 11 Chapter Index

You rested on your side with your head in Kung Lao’s lap, a decision that you’d had no part in making. He held your hand while the monks tended to the wound on your side. You’d pulled more of your stitches than you’d noticed when you and Liu Kang had stopped to examine your wound. You could hear him saying he told you so in your head. You owed him an apology, you supposed. Kung Lao’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand and you were momentarily distracted from the rest of night.

Your exceptionally long awful horrible and terribly confusing but also kind of wonderful night. What a whirlwind.

The way that the monks fretted over you was embarrassing. It had done nothing to ease Kung Lao’s obvious guilt. You were fine! They’d been practicing and it had been an accident. Besides that, you’d had fun with him. You hadn’t wanted him to go easy on you and he hadn’t. You were grateful. Would he ever trust himself in a fight against you again?

After a lengthy discussion out of earshot the monks decided to cauterize the wound to prevent further bleeding since you didn’t seem to be clotting properly on your own. You’d agreed when it had been presented as the only option just to feel like you’d had some say in it. Liu Kang had done the same for your arm the other day and you wished he were there to do it this time too. You’d been spoiled by his magic in comparison.

They’d hooked you up to an IV of fluids to help you recover from the blood loss and set upon the task. It was a painful and miserable process that crippled you from the onset. Kung Lao stroked your hair soothingly and urged you to squeeze his hand. You weren’t sure if he was helping or not, but it was sweet of him to try.

Once the agonizing process ended, the monks suggested you stay for a while so they could keep an eye on you. While they cared for you on and off, Kung Lao talked. He was good at that. He comforted you with distraction and told terrible jokes to try and make you laugh. Eventually silence had fallen, and he had taken to running his fingers through your hair with his eyes closed.

From the way the monks spoke, morning was fast approaching. You hadn’t felt so exhausted and afraid to sleep in years. If everything hadn’t been such a mess, then you would have been impressed. As time passed the pain faded to a near memory. It was only then that you realized that you hadn’t spoken a single word since you’d agreed to have your wound cauterized.

“You don’t have to stay.” If Kung Lao needed you to absolve him of guilt, then you would gladly do so.

“I’m staying.”

“It’s been a long night, Kung Lao. You need rest too.”

“I’m not leaving until you can.”

“You don’t owe me this, Kung Lao. This isn’t your fault.” You turned so that you were rested on your back and Kung Lao helped you settle against his legs. Of all the places you thought you’d end up, head rested in Kung Lao’s lap was not one of them. Boy, you could use a drink.

“Then whose fault is it, exactly? Yours?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know that it’s not my fault, Y/N.”

“Could you tell that to your face?” You reached to poke the underside of his chin. He smiled, as if relieved to see you joking with him again.

“I’m staying. And I’ll make sure you get back to your room.” He poked you right in the chest.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is that I am being perfectly charming and on my best behavior and you’re arguing with me all while using me as a pillow without so much as a thank you. You can’t just use me, Y/N.” He said it in that boyish way, as though he was teasing you for having a crush on him. You definitely had had a crush on him when you were a kid. You didn’t know what you felt about anything anymore.

You laughed and swatted at his hand that rested on your shoulder. It hurt to laugh. “I could be here for a long time. You’re better off not waiting for me. Presumably, you have things to do today and probably got an hour of sleep at most.”

“Well, you’re lucky that I’m curious to see how long it takes before my legs go numb beneath your dainty little head.” He patted your shoulder and so you reached to pat his hand. Just as when you’d been kids there was no arguing with him. He would do what he wanted to do and there was no stopping him no matter how idiotic it was.

“Well, if I fall asleep and drool on you then that’s your fault.”

“I’ve come to terms with this disgusting sounding fate, Y/N. You’ll just owe me.”

“I will not be in your debt, Kung Lao.”

“You already are. I saved you from that fire, remember?”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs!” You closed your eyes.

“I never forget, Y/N.” He whispered, picking up your hand and tracing lines along your palm with his index finger. He then regaled you with a tale of a time where he’d run an errand for Raiden and had dislocated his shoulder, tried to pop it back into place and had done a piss poor job of it. You cringed the whole time, but he had been delighted in disgusting you without you being able to escape. His voice droned on and you almost fell asleep.

Thankfully, a monk came over to you and asked you to sit up. Kung Lao, without being asked, helped you upright. It was remarkable how comfortable he was with touching you. Chen, the monk, was one of the few who you had formed a bond with during your stay in the infirmary. She’d taken to teasing you about your close friendship with Liu Kang and from the look in your eyes, you were certain this moment was only going to make that teasing far worse. You could see it in Chen’s dark eyes. It was coming.

Chen tested your reflexes, took your pulse, and checked on your wound before removing the IV and wrapping the wound tightly. “Alright, Y/N. Everything looks okay. No more bleeding and you’ve finally got some color back. Promise me that you’ll rest. And that you’ll stop bleeding all over our temple?”

“Listen, I didn’t try to bleed on anything!” You assured your friend who looked at you as if to say that was a lie and that if she saw you in the infirmary for a new wound by the end of the day then you wouldn’t hear the end of it. You avoided eye contact. “I’ll rest. I promise.”

Getting to your feet, Kung Lao joined you and offered you an arm to steady you. You swatted it, blushed, and then walked on your own out of the infirmary. Kung Lao’s eyes were on you as you went and then he followed behind you.

“Hey, you’ve got enough color back to blush again. That’s a good sign.” He leaned close enough to your cheek for you to feel his breath and you swatted at him again. For someone you hadn’t seen for years he certainly was comfortable being in your personal space.

“I’m not blushing. And I was fine, even before.”

“Is it so hard to admit that I make you blush a little?” He teased. “And you were definitely not fine. No one’s going to believe you when you say that if you keep lying.”

“I wasn’t lying!”

“It’s okay to be honest about your feelings, Y/N. All of them. Really.” He stopped in front of you, and you stumbled to a stop before him, having to place a hand against his chest to steady yourself. You took a step back and he tilted his head confidently, giving you that smirk that could melt pretty much any heart, you were sure.

“Kung Lao, really?” You rolled your eyes at him, but your heart was definitely fluttering in your chest, betraying you. “Look, I’m going back to my room now. You can go do… whatever it is you do around here, Lao.”

“Right now, I happen to be walking you back to your room.” He shrugged. “Are you feeling weak, Y/N? Do you need me to carry you?” If he hadn’t said it in such a teasing and taunting sort of way, then you probably would have considered it. Your face was hot with embarrassment. He grinned in delight, proud to have thrown you off.

“I think you’re overtired, Kung Lao. You’re clearly not thinking straight.” If he was going to tease you, then you would tease him right back. It was only fair, after all. You stepped a bit closer to him and he cocked a curious eyebrow. You tilted your head back as you drew closer and made to touch his chest but then pulled your hand back at the last second. He was very still. “I can walk just fine.”

You then stepped around him and continued down the hall. He turned to watch you walk away, and your face burned but you talked yourself down quickly. Then he hurried his pace to catch up with you and joined you in your walk. It was quiet after that for the most part, as if you both had plenty to think about. You were tired. Drop dead tired. Even so, you felt far more stable on your feet than you had the rest of that night. The quiet gave you time to think, which you weren’t sure you liked or not. You had way too much to think about.

When you made it to your room, you pushed open the door and thought your bed had never looked more inviting. It wasn’t even a particularly comfortable bed, but you were still looking forward to flopping into it. You turned to find that Kung Lao remained in your doorway, resting against the frame with his arms folded over his chest, admiring you with a smile. He did that a lot- openly admired you. You were going to have to find a way to cope with all this damn blushing.

“You’re up for me staying a bit, right?”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Just a little bit.” Kung Lao walked past you anyway, and you sighed and closed the door behind him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him there it was just that you also really wanted to sleep. Sunlight was peaking over the mountains on the other side of the ravine. Kung Lao dragged the chair from your desk and sat backwards on it. You sat on your bed and held your hand over the gauze on your side. It had a solid heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Kung Lao fiddled with things on your desk, picking up the journal that you and Liu Kang had been working in.

He flipped through the pages and you thought he looked a little sad, but as quickly as you had thought it, it was gone, and he looked bored. He closed the journal and then waved it toward you. “I thought that Liu Kang was just trying to flirt with you when he said study because that’s what I would have done. But you guys really study, huh? Your handwriting is awful by the way, especially for someone with ink arcana.”

“You’re less funny than you think you are. But yes, we actually study.” You were never sure what to do with the offhand flirtatious comments but teasing him in return seemed like the way the go. “You probably don’t remember this since we weren’t in the same class and I was kicked out of school before we got close but… I’m passionate about learning new things. Liu is an excellent and curious teacher. It’s been really nice.” You smiled in memory. It felt like it had been ages since they’d studied, and you missed it. “We’ve grown pretty close since you’ve been gone. I’m grateful to him.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He didn’t even try to hide how he rolled his eyes and you scoffed in disbelief and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Liu Kang is a good friend to have. And so are you when you’re not being defensive.” He stood up and dragged the chair closer to the bed then sat back down. He kicked off his shoes and then placed his feet on the bed. You stared at them disapprovingly and he purposely moved them, so his legs were rested just next to yours, barely not touching you. “It was a lie, you know.”

“Huh? What was? Something Liu said or…?”

“No, definitely not. Liu is an atrocious liar. Me on the other hand? Practiced liar. So yeah, it was me. I lied to you.” He shrugged and then rested his folded arms behind his head. He was avoiding your eyes, something he seemed to do when he felt guilty. When he noticed you looking, he tilted his head, so the hat obstructed your view of his eyes. That was still extremely attractive. “When you first woke up after the fire, I told you that I would visit town because I had become fond of your dojo and your store. That it was a beacon of peace.”

“And that’s a lie? Why would you like about something so trivial?”

“You don’t need to know the reasons.” He shrugged and tilted his gaze back to you. His smile was confident, but his eyes commanded all your attention. They went from playful to serious so quickly it was giving you whiplash. You suddenly felt as if your tongue was blocking your throat and your brain went blank. All that was left to focus on was Kung Lao. “I came to see you.” He pulled his legs back from the bed and leaned closer in his chair, studying your response. It seemed like a harmless lie so why was he telling you this now? “I didn’t know that you were my Y/N but I was still drawn to you. Watching you was what brought me peace when often I struggled finding any.”

“Kung Lao…” This felt like a confession, but what the confession was he hadn’t said. They had a thousand things to talk about and this was where he started? Not the visions? Not the ink? No, his inner turmoil and the peace that you had brought him without knowing.

“If I had known that you were my Y/N then I would have been far more forward with you than I was.” He pulled off his hat and set it next to you on the bed, then rested his hands on either side of the bed next to you. You couldn’t remember him ever flirting with you back then, but you had seen many faces and most of his visits were a blur. You remembered him as harmless and thoughtful. Those were fond memories. You smiled and averted your eyes. “No? Too much?” He smiled that confident smile even against your silence.

“I’m thinking.” You laughed.

“Guy puts it out there and you just stare…”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Kung Lao.”

“Anything would do.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“Ouch.”

“No! No, don’t be like that, Kung Lao.” You laughed and without realizing you’d unconsciously moved closer to him. “Really, I didn’t even consider who you could be back then. You were a strange fellow from out of town who enjoyed sitting in the peace of my dad’s place. Honestly, that feels like a different life now.”

“So, where’s the but?”

“There is none.” You furrowed your brow and his thumb overlapped yours on the bed. “This is a lot, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He considered, but he was studying you, and it made you incredibly uncomfortable. This way his eyes looked you over from head to toe, not to objectify you entirely, but rather to try and gauge what you were really thinking and what happened beyond what you told him. While your eyes apparently spoke in novels to Liu Kang, Kung Lao read your body language like a book you had forbidden him to read. Never in a million years did you think that you’d be in a dilemma where your heart was torn between two men. You’d been in relationships before but most of them had been with men from out of town who you rarely saw and had been short lived. Most of the people living in your hometown that were your age were still afraid of you.

“I don’t know what to say.” You finally decided.

“Because of Liu?”

“Well, I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to say. You say a lot without saying much at all, Kung Lao. I will admit that I think of Liu Kang very fondly. Yet, it is a very strange and emotional thing to see you again after thinking that you were dead- something I would like to talk about eventually, by the way.”

“That’s less important than this right now.” He tapped the bed and spoke very quietly, and you watched his lips form every word.

“I feel selfish, Kung Lao.”

“We are allowed to be selfish at times. You were like that as a kid too. Have some fun with me, Y/N.”

“Wow.” You laughed and as he went to say something else, you pulled your hand back from where his thumb had hooked over yours. His eyes were like big puppy dog eyes. He gave you the shivers and it took everything inside of you not to shake with them.

“Come on. You like me.” He teased.

“Kung Lao, now is not…”

“If this is because of Liu Kang? Trust me, I can change your mind.”

“No, I… excuse me?”

“You were going to say something. Continue.” He leaned just enough back to let you breathe. You were so confused. What did he even mean? You had to think about it. You had to think about a lot of things. He and Liu Kang were family. You didn’t want them to fight because of you. You would sooner turn away from them both. Then there was the nagging truth of everything else.

“I’m afraid.” You confessed and as the words came out, you felt a sudden great weight on your shoulders. “For the first time in so long, I’m afraid. Since back then, Kung Lao.”

“I know you saw things then.” He moistened his lips with his tongue and his lips remained parted for just one second before he sighed and seemed to reconsider. “I asked you if you were a witch once and you got all annoyed at me.”

“In my defense, the other kids called me that and threw shit at me, Kung Lao. I was afraid that I was a witch. That I’d never be normal. Then you died and I grew out of it. Now here you are and here I am and all the things I lost as a kid are back. And I attacked Liu Kang without knowing. I don’t know what to think and then you being so forward and Liu being like he is… I’m overwhelmed. I keep thinking that maybe this is what I’m meant for.”

Kung Lao’s whole demeanor changed from flirtatious to serious and you were grateful for him listening. You hadn’t meant to say all that you’d said. It’d just come out. “No, Y/N. You’re a fighter. I know you are. I always knew that you were even back then. And I knew what was happening to you as a kid, too. Or I guessed it at least. I always thought that it made you even more special. Normal is overrated.” Kung Lao placed a hand to your lips to stop you from talking but quickly pulled it back. “Liu’s tough. I’m sure he was fine. And so am I. We can handle whatever you throw at us, knowing or not. I’m sure he’s up to the challenge.”

“Lao…”

“I will help you fight. I won’t watch you waste away here speaking in nothing but the future.” He placed his hands on either side of you again. “And I’m sorry about your side. I know it was an accident but I’m still sorry for the trouble it caused you.”

“I’m not. I wanted to fight. I didn’t want you to go easy on me. I had fun. I had so much fun, and it was nice not to be treated like something frail.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” He picked up your hand and brought the back of it to his lips where he made very purposeful eye contact with you and placed a soft kiss upon it. Words were lost to you again. He pulled your hand back from his lips but didn’t let go of it. “Do you remember when we were kids and would pretend that we were like those martial artists in the movies your grandma had? I may have been reliving those days a little when we fought. Except we both knew what we were doing and could have given those actors a run for their money.” His attention was paid mostly to your hand and his thumb brushed over the back of it. “You’re still so pale. Even after everything. You weren’t before we fought.”

“Maybe I always will be now.” You finally managed to say something, but it wasn’t any of the things you wanted to say either. That crush you’d had on him as a kid was rearing its ugly head again. It had been the silliest crush. You’d both been so young and understood so little of the truth of life but there it was. You’d credited that memory of him to ruining every relationship you’d ever had. No one could ever be Kung Lao. But there he was. Alive and the memory of his lips against the back of your hand at the forefront of your thoughts.

“Don’t resign to a fate of serving others, Y/N. You’re made for more than that.”

“I’m not resigning to anything but I’m not a fool.”

“Just don’t give up.”

“I’m not. I didn’t mean to sound like I was. Honestly, that all came out of me without meaning to.”

“Like you said: this is overwhelming.” Kung Lao released your hand and with that seemed to release the hold he had over you too. “I should let you rest, Y/N. For now.”

“How very thoughtful of you.” You managed to joke at last and scooted back onto the bed. Kung Lao stood, replaced your chair, and then offered you a short bow.

“Get some rest because the next time I see you, I’m not holding anything back.”

“You’re so much trouble, Kung Lao.”

“You’re welcome.” He left without another word, closing your door behind him. You sunk back into the bed and pulled the blankets over your head with a whine. You were never going to sleep again at this rate. Liu Kang and the wild fiery tension he brought with him and Kung Lao with his nostalgia, teasing you and dripping in romance. You supposed that of all the problems you had, those two were at least fun problems to have even if you swore that they were going to send you into cardiac arrest. You drifted to sleep, more mixed up than you had ever been.

[ace-din-djarin]

for the dinluke kisses thing, prompt 1 PLEASE

Ohhhhh this was fun to write, thank you @captainkappa ! It kind of got away from me but I’m happy with that 🥰

1. Whispering “kiss me” to your lover

It had been nearly two months since Din had left Yavin IV. Two months of Bo-Katan forcing politics down his throat, two months of feeling like little more than a puppet Mand’alor, with the council hand-picked by Bo-Katan pulling the strings. He had had a few challengers for the darksaber, of course, but since he had been informed that he had to give them all a fair fight and not just let them win, none had succeeded in claiming it. So he was stuck missing his child and missing his husband, and longing for their little home on the jungle moon away from all the drama of New Republic politics.

“Why,” Din grumbled for what was likely the fifth time that evening, “do I have to be here?”

Bo-Katan rolled her eyes so hard he was sure she had sprained something. “Because,” she gritted out, “it’s important for New Republican leadership to see Mandalore as a unified people, and having a figurehead like the Mand’alor present makes our claim on our planet that much stronger. Suck it up, Djarin. A few more hours, and then you can go.”

Din tugged at the heavy brocade cape— a deep, dark blue, woven with stars in a shining silver thread that glinted in the light— that Bo-Katan had insisted he wear as a sign of his status. It was too warm in this ballroom, with the press of bodies all around them. Din felt claustrophobic in a way he hadn’t for a long time, ever since his first time donning a helmet. All eyes seemed to be on him; he was too aware of the image his freshly-polished armor, elaborately embroidered cape, and ceremonial sword, in its decorative, painted scabbard, presented to the gathered populace. The only thing that seemed to keep them from approaching him was his detail of four fully-armored, menacingly glowering Mandalorians. Paz, especially, seemed to be doing most of the deflecting, standing at Din’s shoulder with crossed arms and a helmet tilt that promised trouble.

Suddenly, the crowd around Din turned nearly as one to the main entrance, a long staircase lit with lamps along the railings. Mutterings swept through the crowd like a breeze through dry-leafed trees, rippling back to brush up against the Mandalorians’ bulwark.

“It’s probably some pompous asshole,” Paz muttered in Din’s ear. “Want to go get something to drink?”

Din considered it, for about half a second, before turning away from the main staircase and grabbing Paz’s elbow as he started weaving his way towards the bar. Paz’s huff of a laugh crackled over his vocoder as he shouldered his way through the crowd.

Din had already hastily knocked back two shots of Corellian whiskey, turned towards the corner with Paz standing between him and any prying eyes, when Paz suddenly leaned back and punched him in the pauldron. Din barely stopped himself from choking on his third whiskey as he dropped his helmet back down over his chin and whirled around.

“What?”

The crowd around Din was craning their necks towards the other end of the bar, nearly as far away from Din and Paz as possible. The mutterings that had swept the hall before had started up again, though none of the speakers were near enough for Din to hear what they said.

“You may be interested in the man at the end of the bar,” Paz said, helmet tilted close so that Din could hear him over the growing noise. “Trust me.”

Din sighed and turned to see what the fuss about— and immediately started shouldering his way through the crowd, taking full advantage of the power of his armor to inflict pain to sensitive appendages.

The man Paz had pointed out looked up as Din approached, a flat and perfunctory smile frozen on his face, which gave way to a second of pure shock and then a much more genuine and lovely smile, one Din had dreamed about for months now.

“Din.”

Luke’s smile grew wider as Din, with fumbling hands, drew him into a Keldabe kiss. Luke’s hands reached up and he cupped the sides of Din’s helmet, just the way Din was holding his face. “Din,” he breathed again, and Din couldn’t help a soft huff of relieved laughter.

“Cyare, you’re here,” Din murmured, heedless of the beings crowded around them who were hissing to themselves like a nest of vipers.

“Leia wrangled me into it last minute,” Luke said with a laugh. “I almost didn’t come tonight.” He broke out of the Keldabe, moving to grasp Din’s hands in his own. “But I’m so happy I did, Din. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Din said, “Kark, you wouldn’t believe how much.”

“Oh, I bet I have an idea,” Luke said with a small smile. He glanced around at the crowd around them, then back at Din. “Come on,” he said, turning to tug Din out of the throng of people. Din suspected Luke may be using some sort of Force trick to get people to let them pass so easily. Paz threw Din a lazy salute as they passed.

Luke led him out the ballroom doors and down the hall, finally tugging him into a small unlit room, where he turned and immediately wrapped his arms around Din, not appearing to care about the bite of the beskar’s seams against his arms. Din reached up and tugged his helmet off, hardly caring as it slipped from his grasp and hit the carpeted floor with a dull thunk.

“Kiss me,” he breathed, and Luke’s eyes shone as he smiled up at him, moving to do just that.

———

Send me a prompt!

[star-gamerxox]

Daybreaks Birthday/1st Anniversary

So I wanted to start with remaking (sorta) the first drawing I ever did of them, their ref. I also did some adjustments, mostly with daybreak, and changed their pictures to fit my style more now that a lot has changed. When I first drew them, I was still drawing 5-fingered hands. A lot changes in a year.

Im really proud of this except 1 thing… I kinda, sorta, drew Sunrise’s small arm on the wrong side…

KEEP READING FOR MY WRITING, COMIC, AND CREDITS (AND STUFF). I DONT WANNA MAKE THIS POST TOO SUPER LONG SO IM ADDING A CUT TO IT.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of possible death, slight hallucinations (you’ll understand what these are at the end)

Last sentence isn’t the end of the story, If it doesn’t show up, I made a comic to show the ending

“Hey, I know you’re not feeling well but I thought I’d tell you what we did yesterday, that way you can get excited to do it when you’re feeling better!” She smiled at her brother who watched her for a moment but said nothing. He must not have felt like talking.

“We went riding in a hot air balloon yesterday!” Sunrise grabbed her brother's hand with her hand, although she had to pull away to rub her eyes as her other arm, shortened to a nub as always, couldn’t do that for her.

“Papa likes to buy you things when we go out, I bet you noticed them on your dresser,” she giggled and he gave a small nod and managed a smile. His face seemed a bit flushed and she frowned.

“Do you still have a fever?” She stood to feel her brothers forehead, gasping as she nearly tipped over when she lost her balance. She took a step backwards, gasping quietly in shock. She started to shake a bit. Falling over was terrifying for her.

“You okay?” Daybreaks voice sounded like a ghostly whisper. His throat must have hurt him a lot.

“I’m fine Day, don’t worry… do you want anything?” She asked and he shook his head softly. She smiled at him and shifted to sit down next to him, meeting his gaze before sighing.

“How are papa and dad?” He coughed as he whispered those words. She reached out to grab her brothers hand and sighed as she locked eyes with him, her voice shaking.

“Papa doesn’t come home much anymore… he insists that you’re like this because he ‘broke his promise’… Dad had to explain it to me… I was two days old when you nearly died and apparently papa promised you that he’d be a better papa if you were okay… apparently he thinks he broke that promise and that’s why you’re…” she stared at his closed eyes and started to cry. His eyes were closed. They’d been closed for over two years.

“That’s why you’re in a coma!” She had been pretending all that time. Her school counselor said the hallucinations were just how her brain coped with two years of not having her best friend but she just thought she was being petty. She felt selfish. Why could her brain create these moments with her brother but her parents were left to suffer without him.

“Two years Daybreak… why aren’t you awake now? It’s… bubba… you’re fifteen and a half… well not really anymore huh? It’s your sixteenth birthday… you collapsed on my twelfth birthday… it’s not fair.” She balled her hands in his blankets and openly sobbed for a bit.

“Papa is gone and dad is trying so hard to take care of you, me, and help papa with their ‘work’ and finding the cure for papa… but I don’t know what to do anymore. Syntax comes over everyday but I still feel alone.” Her voice cracked. Syntax, Daybreak's best friend from school, was the son of Error and Blue. He had come over everyday since Daybreak went into a coma. He had told Sunrise how his best friend would have gotten pissed at him if he didn’t take care of his little sister while he was gone.

Sunrise was thankful for that. With Syntax around all the time, he had become her best friend too, only having to ‘compete’ with Starbow, her childhood best friend. (Starbow by @seertale)

“Yesterday, while Syntax was changing your IVs, i was talking with Starbow and dad… I jokingly acted like I could raise objects… things actually started to lift… we got all excited until we heard static from your room. Syntax had just glitched out than crashed… I still don’t have magic… papa and dad always say that they much prefer my affliction of the curse compared to yours… I’m just magicless and missing half an arm…. You are partially blind because you nearly died at 18 months, and now are in a coma again…” she hiccuped and leaned her head against his bed.

“Bubba… please wake up… please…” unannounced to her, there was a faint orange glow falling with her tears and a faint glow around her hands as she begged her brother to wake up.

“Sunrise! I made dinner! Come on,” she glanced up, standing to see Syntax at the door. She wiped away her tears as he sighed.

“Come on… let’s eat…” he whispered.

“Give me a minute then I’ll be out…” she whispered, after a moment he nodded and walked back into the main part of the house, she sat back down next to her brother, starting to cry once more and her fingers dug into her brothers blankets, barely realizing that her magic was appearing… and she had no clue what it was about to do.

okay so this project with just above took me about 4, close to 5 hours. But then add about 45 minutes cause i drew all that little whispy ‘magic’ on the line art and I wanted a picture without that… here is said picture without the effects

credits:

Dark Cream belongs to @zu-is-here

dream belongs to Joku

cross belongs to Jaeki

my kiddos belong to me

syntax belongs to me

starbows credits are in the reading

also tagging @turtleduckrabbit because why not, it used to be the hub for dark cream kid stuff, idk if it is as much anymore but still.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 7

Neil x Reader

Chapter 7: Wicked game

(see chapter 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: it’s time to come back to life, and sometimes it involves Neil dragging you to a social event

warnings: 18+, language, alcohol mention (beer is considered alcohol, right?)

author’s note: 3k words. It’s not exactly what I had in mind for that chapter, but they have a mind of their own, as always. 

Almost there.

The song for this part is Stone Sour - Wicked Game (acoustic, live)

Enjoy and let me know what you think, please? All feedback is greatly appreciated.

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas​ @neutron-stars-collision​ @ergunbilge​ @invertedneil​ @wanderedaway​ @i-wanna-b-yours​ @wonderwoman292​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver​ (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

It didn’t matter how many times you saw him do that, the effect the sight had on you was pretty much always the same. Filling your mind with thoughts that were quite counterproductive, one could say.

The veiny patterns covering hands and forearms. The long fingers running through the buttons. The tilted chin, extending the neck, drawing attention to that impossible jawline. The slight pout. The brows drawn together in concentration--

You smacked your tongue and shook your head

“Y’know what, those shirts of yours are so rude, but the way you wear them, the rolled-up sleeves?”

Neil looked at you through the reflection in the mirror, puzzled. “What about them?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely disrespectful,” you sighed heavily and leaned against the door frame.

Playful lights danced in the blue eyes. “Oh yeah?” he teased, giving himself a final glance-over before turning to you. “And what you’re gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” - you shrugged, crossing your arms - “because you insist on dragging me to a social event.”

The faint resentment ringing in your last words didn’t get lost on Neil.

“So boring of me,” he said as he closed the gap between you, trying to keep a straight face. He put his hands on your waist and smirked. “But maybe after that we can come back here and continue the conversation.”

As you fixed his collar, a shade of smile hid in the corner of your mouth.

“Really wanna listen to me listing all the things that drive me mad about you, huh?” you asked smugly, gliding your fingertips along the delicate stripes of the greyish beige shirt.

Neil’s thumbs brushed over your hip bones as he hummed, “I have a feeling it might lead to a rather pleasant conclusion.”

When you let out an amused scoff, his lips captured the snarky comment that was bound to follow. He pulled you closer and lifted you up, and the next second you were sitting on the edge of a vanity cabinet, breathless from the kiss, tugging at the striped shirt.

A buzz right next to you.

You jumped, startled, and glared at the phone. “Is it too late to tell Matthias the Uber driver that we’re not going anywhere?” you asked without too much hope as you nuzzled your face to Neil’s neck, breathing in his scent, unwilling to let this moment end too quickly.

Neil chuckled and stroked your arms. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun.”

You still didn’t know where he was taking you - he’d assured you that it would be casual, and that was basically all you cared about. He knew you enough, and you trusted his judgement, after all.

“It better be,” you pouted, pulling back, but as soon as you met the bright blue eyes your heart sang in your chest. After spending all that time in the darkness, not sure if you’d ever see his face again, you caught yourself taking an extra second every now and then, just looking at him. How the light played on his features, now soft in the elaborately illuminated hotel bathroom. How his lips curled whenever he found your gaze. How utterly stunning he was.

Smiling gently, you ran your fingers through Neil’s disheveled mane, taming the blonde mess if ever so slightly.

“Let’s not keep Matthias waiting, then,” you sighed and slid off the cabinet.

-------

The afternoon was quite warm for late autumn. As you were arriving at your destination, you watched the sun shining through the scarce leaves left on the trees, adding vibrance to their colours. Too mesmerized to pay attention to the route, you recognized the place only when the car stopped. The training site. You turned to Neil in confusion, but he just wiggled his brows and proceeded to thank the driver and got out of the car. You followed him out and right through the gate of the now-empty paintball outdoor facility which served as a front for the agency’s base, hidden a bit further inside the forest.

“Picking up something on the way?” you asked, matching his pace as you strolled towards the training grounds.

Neil shook his head and smiled mysteriously. “Not really.”

“Alrighty then, keep your secrets,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “Aren’t we a tad overdressed for a little playground fun, though?”

“A rematch?” he pondered and smirked. “Didn’t plan on that, but it’s tempting.”

Indeed. “I’m kinda out of shape, but keep those baggy trousers on and I’m game - wanna beat you fair and square again.”

Neil let out an exasperated huff. “Baggy?! They might be a bit loose but --”

You giggled at his offended expression as he got busy looking down at the target of your remark, ready to defend his fashion choice. Your laughter was enough to stop Neil in his tracks, and when he met your playful gaze, he reached out and drew you into his arms for a tight hug. After a brief moment of perplexity, you eased into his embrace, moved by the force of sudden affection.

When he pulled back, you touched his cheek. “What was that for?” you asked, searching the blue eyes, but finding nothing but joy there.

“Being cheeky.” He scrunched his nose while tapping the tip of yours. “And brilliant,” he added, and for a second you were sure there was something else he wanted to say; instead, he laid a gentle kiss on your lips. “And maybe stalling a minute longer before I’d have to share you with all these people.”

You gaped at him, about to ask what people, but Neil already grabbed your hand and led you around the corner of the building - and you heard them even before you spotted them.

“Oi, there they are!”

“Finally!”

“We’ve just considered sending a rescue party in case you got lost in the woods!”

The unexpected eruption of cheers and greetings made your fight-or-flight reflexes kick in, but as you instinctively took a step back, Neil squeezed your fingers reassuringly.  

A split-second exchange of looks.

All right?

When he saw your tiny nod, he let go of your hand, focusing on the team gathered at the makeshift chillout zone. “Not everyone has your poor sense of directions, Seb,” retorted Neil, flashing his teeth in a grin.

The young man’s protests got drowned in laughter as you approached the group together.

"Luckily not the case with our rogue here,” said Ives, elbowing his way in between other people. He shot you both a disapproving look, toned down by a smile dangling in the corner of his mouth. "Really, roofs? Didn't know you had it in you, mate."

"Me neither,” admitted Neil, going in for a clasp of hands and a brief hug. “When I saw that gap, I was sure that was it. Someone convinced me otherwise."

“The secret is to avoid looking down,” you shrugged, meeting the commander's amused gaze.

"Thanks for bringing our favourite nerd back in one piece." As Ives extended his hand, there was something serious about his expression, mixed with a sense of relief, and you realised he must have been in the response team Neil had called for help.

“My pleasure.” Beaming, you shook his hand. “Thanks for providing backup.” And scraping me off the pavement.

Neil’s gasp was almost theatrical. He smirked and nudged Ives lightly. “Aw, I’m your favourite?”

“Careful, that privilege may be revoked any minute,” grunted Ives in a weak attempt at keeping up appearances, but he couldn’t fool anyone. Now that you had a chance to observe them in the after-hours situation, the bond between the two men was clear as day, and your heart warmed up at the thought.

Waving back at Mahir, you scanned the group for other familiar faces. Wheeler, a couple of people you recognized from the HQ halls, and a bit isolated from the others - the big man himself, manning the barbecue station.

Overwhelmed by the attention you got from the team, you excused yourself and walked up to The Protagonist. You couldn’t help but smile at the confident vibe he radiated with as if he spent every weekend doing nothing but this.

“So dad of you, boss.”

He flopped a sizzling piece of meat to the other side, glancing at you humorlessly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with polite concern.

“Grand, healed up nicely, thank you.” You circled your shoulder and grinned. “Not in a marathon condition, mind you, but that’s not exactly new.”

“That’s good, Neil was worried about you.”

Not sure if it was the lack of eye contact or something else in his presence, but you decided to stop ignoring the gut feeling.

“You don’t like me,” you said, tilting your head. A mere statement of the fact; you weren’t hurt, only curious. “It’s okay, you don’t have to, just been wondering why.”

TP sighed heavily. And when he finally met your gaze, the dark eyes were sad, only deepening your confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Then something cracked and a shiver ran down your spine, because suddenly, in front of you there was a man who’d seen a lot, suffered too much, and cared even more. The weight of it all slumped his shoulders, and for a short while, he seemed almost helpless. Taking a quick look at the hollering group, he sighed again. “It’s not your fault, it’s--“ he hesitated, searching for the right words. As he found them, there was no sign of the vulnerability from a moment earlier. “It’s a stressful business.” He sent you a crooked smile. “And I’m still mad about that watch.”

The lie was obvious. But the things you saw in his eyes made your chest clench painfully, and…did you really want to know?

Besides, that might have been a truce offering, and you weren’t bent on holding a grudge. Not with him, anyway.

“Hey, wasn’t it technically your idea?” you grinned, shrugging off the weird sense of dread.

A smile finally reached the dark irises. “I guess it was,” he admitted and patted you on the arm. “There’s some beer in the mini-fridge, could you --”

“On it.”

When the clank of bottles sealed your peace treaty, you caught Neil’s happy stare. You pointed at the beer in your hand in a question and he nodded, so you grabbed one more and joined him and the others.

That unfortunate mission must have been some sort of rite of passage in these guys’ eyes because out of the blue, you were no longer an outsider. The Cavalry accepted you with open arms as one of their own, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was a nice feeling, though. Like you belonged. You saw some curious glances, but they came from a good place, and even the suspicious voice in your mind gave in under the cordial, jovial energy of the group.

Soon enough, you were joking with a young medic, having a balancing stand-off with Wheeler, or listening to crazy stories from some old operations, until everyone had enough booze in their systems that allowed them to direct some of the questions to you, as well.

“So is Neil a decent locksmith now?”

You puffed out your cheeks in a musing grimace, but when you spotted Neil’s raised brow, you started laughing. “I’d say even more than decent. Honestly? I don’t think there’s much more that I can teach him, he needs to polish his skills in real life now.” Mocking a teary sniff, you added, “They grow up so fast!”

Nobody would know that you did so while actively ignoring a faint sting in your heart.

You refrained from meeting the attentive blue eyes, though. Just in case.

“Oh cool, then what about a little contest?” Seb clapped his hands cheerfully. “You versus Neil, we could time you, and to make it fairer we could put a blindfold on you --” as he stopped for a breath, he realized - with some help from Wheeler’s elbow to his side - the slight faux pas.

But you barely acknowledge a curse and a mumbled apology cutting through the awkward silence, too busy exchanging amused looks and stifled giggles with your student.

“Neil, would you like to explain?” you asked, schooling your features.

He bowed his head as if he was accepting a great honor. “Gladly.” Neil took a deep breath and his eyes lit up. “See, my dear friend, had you known anything about lockpicking, you’d learnt that sometimes it’s easier to do that with, for example, your eyes closed. You need to listen to what the lock has to say because it’s all about feedback--”

You watched as Neil gave a full lecture, citing your own words from what seemed to be a lifetime ago. He did it with passion and understanding of the craft you’d never dreamed to see in someone else, and yet was so familiar when it came to him. Absentmindedly, you placed a hand over your chest, as if it was enough to stop it from bursting.

You couldn’t be more proud.

Neil finished his rant and looked at you, only to be met with all the appreciation and validation in your gaze, and he beamed even wider.

“All right, damn, we can cover Neil’s eyes then,” sighed Seb, a total resignation in his voice sparking a roar of laughter from the group.

----

As much as you enjoyed the energy of the team, your social batteries were getting drained, and you needed a moment for yourself before you could carry on.

Walking right outside of the periphery of light from the garlands, you let your gaze slide across the training equipment, now barely visible in the moonless night. The leaves crumbled under your feet as you smiled at the memories. Maybe one day you would actually complete the full run? You pulled on the sleeves of your sweater, hiding your hands from the cold evening air.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced over your shoulder at Neil, keeping his distance, ready to give you space. With him, it was always in the details he’d picked along the way, effortlessly weaving them into everyday life. “Not at all.”

Neil perked up and joined you in the shadows, inhaling deeply.

“Funny how the scent of the forest changes with the seasons,” he mused and you grinned, turning his way.

“That’s what I call a pick-up line,” you snickered and drew a long breath. “But you’re right, it’s too easy to forget that once you become a permanent city creature.”

He chuckled and lightly rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly, fixing your oversized scarf.

“Yeah.” You brushed your cheek against his fingers, longing for his touch, now that you were somewhat hidden from the prying gazes. “You?”

Neil moved closer and wound one arm around your waist, then cupped your face gently, pressed his forehead to yours, and murmured, “Now I am.”

You hummed happily and slid your hands under his open jacket, resting them at his chest, and closed your eyes. Only then realizing how tense you were, you relaxed in his embrace, savoring his closeness. A steady heartbeat under your palms. The warmth carrying undertones of Neil’s cologne. A featherlike graze of his thumb over your cheek. His nose nudging yours.

But soon enough, you had to break a stolen moment. Trying to stifle a yawn, you hid your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he cooed, biting back a giggle. “That tired?”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled against him on the verge of another yawn.

“Sure you are.” He kissed your temple. “The party’s almost over anyway, judging by decreasing amount of idiotic ideas per hour. Gonna call us a cab soon, all right?”

As you nodded, Neil tightened a hug and reluctantly let you go.

“Be right back, I’ll check if there’s any coffee left,” you said, gesturing towards the tables with beverages.

As your luck would have it, there was just enough for one sip.

A sudden sneer was enough to wake you up, though.

“Hell froze over.”

Mahir walked up to the mini-fridge to grab a beer and you met his mocking stare with furrowed brows.

“Vincent must be chattering his teeth now,” you joked, unsure where the conversation was heading. “Why?”

Mahir scoffed at the remark about your old associate, but he was still studying you closely, confusing you further. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Dude, you’re killing me today,” you sighed, wiping a hand through your face. “Thanks, but what for?”

“You and Neil?”

And when you shot him a puzzled look, he waved his bottle at the place where you stood together a moment before.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, you deadpanned, “Oh.”

Bloody hell.

“I thought you weren’t doing the whole love thing anymore.”

The pulse pounded in your ears, although not loud enough to tune out the sirens blazing in your head.

No.

It came out harder than you felt it. “I’m not.”

No, no, no, no, no.  

Mahir grimaced doubtfully. “Uh-huh.” He looked over your shoulder at the team gathered together in the distance and raised a brow. “Does he know that?”

You couldn’t force yourself to follow his gaze. The panic drained your face of all colour, and that was enough of an answer for your friend.

“I see.” Mahir shook his head, losing the enquiring manner. His features softened as he patted your arm. “Neil’s a good guy.”

Please, no.

“They always are,” you choked out bitterly.

Not again.

“You know what I mean,” insisted Mahir, searching for your eyes.

That the history was not gonna repeat itself?

...or that he didn’t deserve any of it?

“Yeah. Maybe.” You faked a smile. “Excuse me.”

Pushing past him, you went inside the building. You needed to be alone.

Oh, the irony.

Weeks of deliberately avoiding the topic. Tricking yourself into thinking that you can keep it casual. That it didn’t matter that much. That it was nothing but a self-indulgent fling.

You couldn’t breathe.

Lesson learnt, huh?

Barging into one of the restrooms, you got to a sink. Clenching your hands on the cold ceramic, you fought nausea tearing through your body.

Pathetic.

The gasp for air turned into a sob.

...and then everything went quiet.

You raised your eyes to the mirror.

Your reflection was staring back at you with determination.

It was time.

(next chapter ->)

[ushidoux]

okay Mae im here for your event! 💘

my self ship is with Konoha Akinori, im an enfp, and a song ive really been loving lately has been California Friends by the Regrettes. the best compliment i think ive ever gotten is when i was told that people feel safe with me! its simple but im glad i can be that person.

thank you so much and congrats again on your milestone!

Hi!!! You probably forgot you sent this but hopefully it’s a nice pick me up for this lovely Saturday evening. You are lovely and wonderful and I just want to start off by saying that I 100% agree with that compliment. I think what drew me to your page initially was the fact that you were so purely sweet and I felt like your blog was a safe space and that you were warm and kind, but not in an overly soft way where I’d feel like my less kosher thoughts would scare you away. You are so fun to interact with and also to watch from afar and I’m so glad we stumbled upon each other.

As I listen to your song, I’m amused because I can see why you like this, it fits you so much! It’s a very energetic but casual vibe that makes me think of warm summer evenings and those youthful adventures whose nostalgia carries you through life.

Konoha is in love with the way you warm and champion everyone around you and intimidated by the fear that he might not have as much to offer to brighten your day even further, but still there's a draw that is so pure between you two that makes it very clear that he will always be a positive addition to your life.

Tossing a group of strangers in an escape room might be a heavy-handed way to force people to get to know each other, but man it is effective.

“Akinori?”

The young man standing next to you seemed to startle ever so slightly at the sound of your voice, direct despite it being gentle. You had been quietly staring at a padlocked box for more than a few minutes now, and while the rest of your team had split up to gather other clues, you and he had been paired up to figure out this particular puzzle. He hovered closely behind, possibly too close albeit unintentionally, watching you take the lead.

You played with the box in your hands, inspecting it all over while your new partner peered over your shoulder. Finally giving up you pouted, then turned sharply and handed it to him.

“I’m out of ideas. Your thoughts?” You leaned back so that your back pressed against the nearby wall, crossing your arms noncommittally.

You noticed the warm red tone that was reaching his cheeks now as he took in your expectant look, raising an eyebrow in response. He fiddled with the box in his hands for a short while, muttering something under his breath, then looked back up at you to see that you were clearly still waiting to see what he would come up with.

The blush deepened, and he tried harder, looking around the room for a set of keys and eventually just attempting to pry the whole lock off, in response to which you hid a small sly smile on your face.

With the slip of the hand, you’d kept the key tucked under your sleeve, just so you could tease him and not for a second had he been the wiser. This went on for quite a while,, where he wouldn’t admit that he had no idea what he was doing and you let him squirm as the remainder of your team finished their tasks and made their way over.

Not wanting to completely embarrass him, you slipped the key into his hand right before everyone could gather; you could see the surprise in his face before he quickly used it without a word so that you could put your clues together without making so much of a comment.

You escaped the room with about a minute to spare and celebrated with drinks and pizza. Akinori didn’t bring up your taunt, in fact he rarely spoke to you at all for the remainder of the evening, but right when you were about to leave, he flagged you down.

You weren’t sure what to expect, wondering if you had gone a little too far in messing with this cute stranger, but he met your slightly concerned look with a grin.

“Give me time to pick on you, too. It’s only fair.”

He might not have actually teased you on your first date, too busy trying to impress you, but it was fair game thereafter.

[chrysalispen]

iv. never give the heart outright

AO3 link HERE Chapter under cut.

====

The day Aurelia Laskaris left Gridania dawned damp and foggy: as mundane and unremarkable a sendoff as one could possibly wish. The heat wave had relented overnight and the wind with it, and the trees’ leaves hung still and sparkling with droplets of dew. Pale rays of early morning sun filtered through the low-hanging wisps of cloud and collected dust motes and small insects in their wake. The quality of it reminded her of L’haiya’s lace curtains, the way their softness and the delicate patterns and filtered sunbeams had always framed the sitting room windows of her girlhood home.

The driver of the chocobo carriage aimed to set out from the city before full daybreak. Thus she stood in drowsy silence along with half a dozen other passengers set to board, watching the lalafellin teamster as he and the Canopy’s porters secured the larger bags. Barring any unforeseen incidents, the carriage’s route would take them south past Quarrymill, through the marshes near old Amdapor, and south into the high desert of northeastern Thanalan until they reached Ul’dah.

It had taken her all of three days to conclude her affairs: there was, after all, no property for her to sell, nor any anxious relatives to wheedle her into remaining.

Watching the small man loop his handfuls of hempen rope to secure over boxes and bags and other people’s assorted belongings, Aurelia felt a certain twinge of wistfulness that she had not expected. The forest city was not quite home, but it had served as the closest thing she had to one for nearly five years. But it was not enough to keep her. The excitement of the road ahead had not left her, and she faced the morning with bright eyes and a clear mind. The sun was up and so was she.

Keveh’to did not share her optimism, that much was obvious with a mere glance. The Miqo’te stood at her side with an expression one could only describe as pained. His ears lay flat against his fluffy hair, and his fawn-colored bottlebrush tail lashed emphatic and agitated beats against her leg.

“I know I’ve asked you half a dozen times now,” he said quietly, “but are you absolutely certain about this?"

Her answer was the same as it had been each time he had asked:

“As certain as I shall ever be.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Yes, well,” she felt a twinge of annoyance at his pessimism surface at last, “as one recalls, ‘twas you who made the suggestion that I consider further study afield.”

"When you told me you’d give the matter some thought, I didn’t expect you to come back to Miounne’s place the same day with a letter of introduction already scripted and sealed.” His arms folded over his chest and he stared up into the canopy. “E-Sumi-Yan must have had that letter already waiting to give to you, whatever he said.”

“Perhaps. It’s not as though he would have told me if he did.” Aurelia looked down at herself and smoothed the pleats of her skirt yet again. All of it, from head to toe, was new. It felt so odd; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had new clothing. “Thank you again,” she continued, somewhat awkwardly. “For the traveling attire. It's quite fine.”

Keveh’to shrugged. A dull rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck. “It’s Ul’dah,” he said. “They’ll toss you out the gates on your arse if you show up looking like a beggar.”

“Hells below,” she tried to make a jest of it with a soft laugh, “you make it sound as though they’ll have a fashion inspector awaiting my arrival.”

“No. But I’ve known my share of that lot, and ‘tis not unlikely they’ll hit you with a demand for a hefty bribe at least once.”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories from some of the others.”

“And for goodness’ sake, Relia- please do yourself a favor and be careful about the company you keep. No one needs to know about you-know-what.” He tapped his temple with a humorless smile. “Ul’dah is a great deal more cosmopolitan than our humble little forest abode, but even they might balk at that.”

The stare she gave him could best be described as obstinate, with the hard set of her jawline. “...I might be ignorant of many Eorzean customs, but I should like to think I am not that much of a fool.”

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

“Rest assured, I do appreciate the thought.” Still so glum. She frowned at him, “I thought that this decision would have pleased you. You made no secret you were tired of watching me mope about.”

“I- yes. But-”

He opened his mouth, stuttered into empty air, then sighed.

The other passengers milled about them in a somnolent shuffle, muttering to each other and passing bags back and forth. A pair of snowy-haired elezen twins in clothing as new and fine as her own brushed past Aurelia and Keveh’to without sparing a second glance, their identical braids and hair-ribbons stirring in a cool and sluggish breeze from the riverbank. She waited for the pair to pass well out of earshot before she continued, as gently as she could manage:

“This isn’t goodbye forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“They gave me honorary citizenship. I think I’m obligated to at least visit from time to time.” Another jest, one which failed in a like manner as the other to crack his solemn visage. “But I do fully plan on returning once I’ve completed my studies.”

“Right. I understand that. It’s…” His ears swiveled forward, then back, still flattened unhappily against his hair. “...Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, go on.”

“It’s a trifling personal matter. Naught that you should worry about.”

“If you have something to say-”

That stony stoicism faded at last, relaxing into a smile, but it was as sad a smile as she had ever seen Keveh’to Epocan give anyone. “Matter of fact, I did. Once. But I see now that I’ve gone and waited too long,” he said cryptically. “Saying it now won’t change anything, and I wager I’d only feel worse if it did.”

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Truly, I am.”

His smile stretched into a grin. It made him look far more like the man she had come to know, the friend who teased and needled her and let her talk herself into momentous decisions. “You’ve no cause to be sorry for anything, my friend. The fault is mine own if there’s fault to be placed. I’m just being sentimental, I suppose. And, mayhap, a touch selfish.”

“Last call for luggage,” bellowed one of the porters. “If ye don’t bring it up now, ye’ll be carryin’ it yerselves! ‘Tis a long road ahead! Last call for luggage!”

Aurelia looked down at herself, then the bags at her feet. She only had the three pieces: her salvaged field kit, her herbal bag, and the pack which held in it those few trifling personal possessions she owned, including her mother’s memento mori. The field kit’s thick carbonweave strap perched on her shoulder, its tripartite-link imperial insignia long since removed by her own hand (Rhaya Wolndara’s angry reaction to the sight of it had been a valuable lesson in precaution) and its once-hefty weight now considerably lightened with even her most conservative usage of its contents over the years.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with transparently forced cheer, “let’s be about it. This lot won’t load itself.”

“The field kit needs to stay with me,” she drew out of reach when he stretched out a hand to take it from her shoulder. “Too many fragile items. Glass and the like. I’ll not trust it to the vagaries of a draught chocobo.”

“Fair enough.”

He picked up the others and made his way toward the waiting porter as the small collection of passengers began to mill towards the slatted steps. A Highlander man drowsed near the front of the carriage, hand wrapped loosely about a wine bottle and otherwise oblivious to the world. Aurelia double-checked the small leather belt she wore to make sure the letters Miounne and E-Sumi-Yan had penned were intact; a fine mess it would be if she were to lose them on the journey.

“Aurelia!”

The matronly Duskwight proprietress of the Carline Canopy stood head and shoulders over most of the passengers, and she quickly drew their attention as she made her way towards the small gathering with a swift and decisive stride. The Garlean offered her a small smile.

“Good morning to you, Miounne,” she said. “Come to see me off, have you?”

“I certainly have. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving us this morning without breaking your fast, girl,” was Miounne’s brisk reply, though she returned the smile as she held out her hands. In them, she carried a steaming tin cup and a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I set aside one of my eel pies for you. ‘Tis a bit chilly as well, so I thought some hot tea might do you well on the road. Don’t worry about the cup; I have plenty of them.”

Touched by the gesture, Aurelia carefully took the cup and the wrapped pie, one in each hand.

“You didn’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Miounne said, a wry smirk tilting her lips. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But I did. The pie is heavy and should keep your belly full for a day or two. You’ll be changing carriages at the station in Highbridge to the Sunroad trail; you’ll want to get more supplies while you’re there-- make sure you have plenty of fresh water. There’s naught betwixt Drybone and the city save malms of scrubland, and this time of year the water holes will be too low to sustain travelers. I imagine the Calamity will have made the pickings slim for hunting as well.”

Aurelia nodded.

“Once you pass through the city gates, make your way to the Quicksand. That’s where the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild operates; the proprietress’ name is Momodi Modi. I sent word ahead that she’s to expect your arrival within the sennight. All you need to do is give her your name and mine.”

“I... yes. I’ll do that.”

“And please, Aurelia dear- do take care in Ul’dah. It is a very different sort of city from ours. You are a kind woman with the best of intentions and there are those who would…” Miounne hesitated. “...Well. I’ll not fearmonger; I’ll wager you’ve heard enough of that. But I would ask the Twelve to watch over you nonetheless- if that’s all right, of course.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she watched Keveh’to’s back, the way his officer’s overcoat pulled taut across the shoulders as he passed her bags to the porter, then cast her eyes down at Miounne’s parting gifts.

The sight brought back a memory of the last time she had left behind the familiar to set out for the unknown: fresh from her schooling, set to board a train at the capital’s processing center after she had enlisted in the imperial army. No one had accompanied her. Not to give her well wishes or helpful directions, or even to wave their farewells from the platform as the train departed for the tunnels bored beneath the mountains and into the heart of Castrum Pinnaculum. She had gone to the station alone, had left alone, and for the first few weeks of basic training, she had struggled alone.

But she was not alone now. Perhaps she no longer owned a marvel of a garden, or slept in a fine bed, or wore silks, but since coming to Eorzea she had made more friends in this past handful of years than in the previous decade. That had to count for something.

Aurelia stared into the steaming teacup and swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat with considerable effort, then looked at the other woman with glassy blue eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said at last. “And thank you, Miounne. For everything.”

Before the woman could muster a response Aurelia had turned away and hurried towards the lowered carriage steps. She didn’t want to lose her nerve or shed tears, not today, and she still had one more farewell to give.

Keveh’to reached the steps first; he plucked the carbonweave strap from her shoulder and slung it over his own the moment she drew near. “Let me pass that up to you once you’re seated,” he said. “You can’t carry both your breakfast and this great bloody thing onto the carriage.”

She was the last to board. The wooden stair was showing its age and it creaked even under Aurelia’s slight weight as she made her way onto the covered deck. The platinum-headed Elezen twins she had seen earlier sat in the back near the cargo across from the last empty space: the one in blue was wholly absorbed in perusing a tome while the one in red dozed upon their companion’s shoulder. Neither of them paid her any mind as she set her teacup and snugly wrapped meal upon the open seat. Nor did any of the others, for that matter.

Mayhap this part was not so very different from that long ago train ride after all.

Aurelia chuckled aloud, though the sound lacked humor, and turned towards the other end of the carriage at the sound of swift footsteps. Keveh’to had come up behind her to deliver her remaining bag. The half-empty imperial field kit, still large and cumbersome for all it lacked much of the weight it once bore, smacked with a quiet dull thud against his thigh with each step. His expression was unreadable as he set it down at her feet.

“Suppose Mother Miounne already said it so I don’t need to,” he said, “but I will, anyroad. Take care of yourself and be careful who you trust. And if there is trouble and you need to leave for any reason, you always have a home here.”

“Keveh’to-” Before she could finish what she had meant to say his arms had wrapped about her shoulders in a heavy embrace, tail wound around her calf.

“Write to us once in a while, will you?” he muttered in her ear. “Just… just so we know you’re doing alright. Even if it’s something about your alchemy that I- I mean, we don’t understand.”

“Or care about,” Aurelia said wryly. She knew full well that Keveh’to was not asking her to write to Miounne. Her arms tightened about his shoulders in return, just for a brief moment. “...I’ll write as often as I can manage.”

“Good.”

The Miqo’te looked for a moment as though he wanted to say - or do - something more, but instead released her with all haste, tail flickering and ears swiveling with his discomfiture as he went. Aurelia said nothing further as she took a step backward and turned to the seat where her tea and morning meal awaited. It was easy enough to spare him his blushes, to pretend that her focus lay upon how best she might secure her bag under the seat. Once that was done she picked up the teacup and took a thoughtful sip, placing Miounne's eel pie upon her lap. She was too full of nerves to be terribly hungry but that would no doubt change within a bell or two.

His retreat down the narrow steps came just in time for the porter to lift and shutter the low-slung door behind him with a brisk snap. Aurelia felt her eyes prickle and burn but her composure held fast, and when she turned about and lifted her free hand to wave at her friend it was with a bright smile on her face.

Her minder - her friend, now - gave only a half-second’s hesitation before he waved back. At his side, Miounne too lifted her hand in silent farewell.

“Quarrymill!” the driver shouted. “Next stop, Quarrymill!”

Following upon the heels of the teamster’s call came the draught chocobos’ twin kwehs. She braced herself and her teacup a moment before she felt the sharp initial jolt of the carriage’s forward motion. Within seconds it smoothed into a sedate and seamless drift as the wind aether filled the balloons overhead, and they were off down the half-paved cobbles that led to the Blue Badger gate. In moments they would pass out of the city and turn onto the southbound road.

For the final time, Aurelia allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, back over the lip of the carriage and in the direction of the Carline Canopy. Keveh’to, it seemed, had chosen to remain outside the chocobo paddock. He stood stiff and unmoving save for the tail that lashed erratically at the air, his hands shoved into his deep pockets and his mouth turned in a downward bow she could see even from here.

His words drifted across her mind like errant clouds.

I’ve waited too long. Saying it now won’t change anything.

She kept her gaze upon the dwindling figure until the carriage had rounded the bend and that splash of bright yellow was no longer visible through the foliage.

~*~

Watching the commotion below from his perch upon a flight of corrugated metal steps, Nero tol Scaeva knew what was coming next. The cohort’s work had come to a screeching halt and several of the engineers had gathered about to investigate the rear quarter panel of the left leg. None of them seemed to know what orders they were to give or be given if any, and the resulting confusion left them milling aimlessly about like ants puzzling at a stray piece of food someone had dropped on the floor.

Thus it fell to him to restore order, as much as he would rather not: his presence alone would subject him to fearful kowtowing and stammered excuses. He knew he could be a hard man when the situation called for it, but he liked to think he was also a fair one, and even the greenest of the signal corps had no reason to fear his wrath so long as they could explain themselves to his satisfaction. Still, he was a Garlean, and the provincial fear of his countrymen was deeply ingrained into the army's conscripts -- ingrained when it was not beaten.

No help for it, I suppose.

He made his way beneath the iron scaffolding that surrounded the warmachina's exoskeleton at a brisk pace. The clatter of his sollerets upon the metal tiling set an easy and unhurried rhythm as he crossed the open floor until his stride slowed to a full stop mere fulms away. The engineers’ chatter, quiet but idle, dwindled into an anxious silence.

One of the engineers, a tiny Auri woman with her lavender-tinted hair bound in regulation braids, went visibly pale at the sight of his approach but to her credit did not make a show of flinching from him, and even had sufficient courage to offer up a salute as was proper. He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her through the visor of his helm. They stood close enough that he could see how her forearm - still stiffly crossed over her chest - trembled at his proximity.

“Architectus,” he said very calmly.

“Y-yes, my lord?”

“As you were,” she dropped her salute, but her back remained ramrod straight and the tension did not leave her shoulders. He continued as if he had failed to notice, “I mark a number of you performing a very serious study of this warmachina’s leg joint, in lieu of performing your assigned tasks.”

Her swallow was audible even through his helm’s transceiver, but her stone-faced stare did not waver. “Apologies, my lord. There is-”

“I believe I have stated on multiple occasions that we have a schedule to keep, and not a terribly lenient one at that. Perhaps the cohort is in need of a reminder.”

“My lord, please,” the woman blurted, then winced almost immediately, “I am sorry to interrupt. But you see, there’s a problem.”

Shite and swiving hellsfire, if I never hear ‘there’s a problem’ again in my lifetime it will be too soon. Still, unlike sas Junius it was not in Nero’s nature to vent his spleen upon hapless messengers. He released a long-suffering sigh instead - only somewhat dramatized for her benefit - and watched those large ocean-blue eyes break their impasse at the sound. They flickered nervously up at his face, then down, then back out to stare at that fixed point past his waistline.

“Of course there is,” he said aloud.

“My lord?”

His own fault, he surmised, for expecting any other response to his bit of japery. “Never mind. Continue.”

“Yes, my lord. We ran the initial tests using the Vanguard H-1’s specifications, as dictated. The operating system ran as expected upon startup. But when we tried to proceed with full activation... well, we tried to switch over from the H-1 but it caused a power surge and nearly started a fire- as you see here. As it is we’re dead in the water. She won’t power on at all now.”

“I assume our engineering teams ran down their checklists for aught that might have compromised structural integrity, prior to attempting the activation.”

“Just so, my lord. Circuitry, fuel lines, motherboards-- it was all green.” She bit her lip. “If… perhaps we might speak to the quartermaster and requisition another part. Or perhaps a larger-”

“The next step up would be the specs for a low-velocity assault craft,” Nero interrupted dryly. “While I share your readiness to explore all possible options, I think it unwise to blindly run through every single spare part at our disposal hoping for a result. Aside from the obvious risks, ‘tis inefficient. We do not have a great deal of time to make what amounts to an educated guess.”

“I- yes,” she stammered. “I apologize, my lord, I should have thought-”

He waved an impatient hand. She fell silent as instantly as if he had slammed a door shut in her face. “Who is your immediate superior?”

“Valens nan Varro, my lord.”

“Kindly inform him that the activation test has been delayed pending an internal review. We will reschedule after I have spoken with the legatus.”

Now she was staring at her feet, her face pale once again. “...He will be sorely displeased if he discovers we have failed you, my lord. Sorely.”

“Ah, yes. A terrible burden indeed, the primus architectus' personal inconvenience. Unfortunately, we shall all have to bear it,” Nero said briskly. He did not care to argue the matter with a subordinate; such behavior would undermine his authority, and the engineers present were well aware that his word was the final say.

“But-”

“If nan Varro is displeased with the decision and wishes to contest it, then he may take his grievance up with me directly.”

Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, not in relief but defeat. Beneath his helm, Nero raised his brows at the response but said nothing further.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I expect an incident report on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning. Posthaste.”

Her answering salute was stiff and formal, expression as stony and unyielding as a statue’s. Whatever emotion he had spied was carefully hidden now; the wall was back in place. Curious. Irrelevant. He had neither the time nor the wherewithal to waste in wondering after it.

Nero passed her without another word, her fellows hastening to clear a path for him as he approached the enormous back leg. There were scorch marks on the edges of the chassis panel, he noted; exposed copper fibers trailed from the opened casing like wilted ivy creepers. The ends were blackened and a thin line of smoke still curled in slender lines; the smell was acrid and familiar and the castrum's ventilation system would disperse it within a half hour.

One hand hovered just over the scorched plate as he studied the sight, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

Retrofitting Allagan technology was not a precise art, as much as it pained Nero to admit it. Some artifacts worked so readily with Garlean magitek that the process was utterly seamless, as if it had been meant for their hands. Others were far more complex, and thus more time-intensive. The Ultima Weapon had been his longest project to date, and the tribunus laticlavius had to remind himself that the machina had been experimental even to the greatest scientists of its age: a groundbreaking anti-eikon countermeasure that partnered the arcane with the mundane. A seamless blending of aetherology and engineering, borne of man’s ingenuity.

Blended---

Ah.

“My lord?” a timid voice echoed at his back. The engineers were watching him; they had gathered a respectful six fulms away.

“...This is not a public spectacle,” his hand fell away from the plating. “See to this mess. I want the machina checked from top to bottom for aught that could possibly cause further delays. Exposed joints, chassis warping, blown fuses, exposed wires, all of it.”

"My lord, the test-" "Is no longer your priority," his impatience filtered through as a short, barked command. "Attend to your tasks. I will not ask you twice." The gathered cluster of engineers sketched their salutes and scattered like mice, scrambling to obey before any of them could experience the implied consequences for perceived insubordination. Nero watched them in silence for a few beats before taking his leave. He made his way back along the catwalk and up several flights of steps, to one of the administrative bays that oversaw the hangar. Once he was certain of his privacy, he removed his helm with a soft and relieved sigh. It was a mere press of a button after that to open the transceiver link and set it to a specific frequency. Static hissed in the confines of the empty office for one second, two, before the link became stable and there was smooth air and Gaius van Baelsar's gruff baritone:

“State your business.”

“Lord Gaius. Have I interrupted something?”

“Yes, but naught of particular importance. For a small blessing.” The legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion sounded vaguely put out, but not irate. An encouraging sign which meant he was like to be at least somewhat amenable to the discussion Nero wished to have. “I take it you have something you wished to discuss.”

“I do. The activation test failed. I should have an incident report within the next 24 hours that will list the particulars.”

“Again?”

“Indeed. This is why,” Nero took a deep breath, “I should like to request that the Weapon and all hands involved in the project be transferred to the research facility in Agelyss Wyse.” “The Vylbrand coast? That is not exactly shouting distance from Gyr Abania. And there are certain dangers present which make your proposition quite risky.” Refusal to take risks will not garner the results we seek. "With all due respect, my lord, you did not assign me this project with any fond hopes that I would remain complacent,” he could almost feel his commanding officer bristling at his bluntness, “and these failed tests have made it abundantly clear that - as you will recall that I posited, against protest from certain quarters - ceruleum combustion alone will not be sufficient to bring the Weapon back online. Not at full capacity.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will get to that eventually, but first and foremost: I need data. Current data. Simulations and conjectures will only get us so far.” He glanced out the bay window at the massive machina, a dormant monster, each opened claw the size of a juggernaut. “The Weapon was designed to do far more than subdue eikons, and we have merely scratched the surface of its capabilities. But scratching is all we will manage if we remain here.”

Nero managed - only just - to keep the excitement out of his voice. The Black Wolf of Garlemald was a straightforward man, he knew from long years of experience: interested in results, not theories.

“I understand this, but you are also asking to upend our timetable for the sake of a hypothesis.”

“A hypothesis with its foundation in the methods the Allagans used to create and maintain Dalamud- as Lord van Darnus would attest, were he still with us. I think it a safe assumption that the Ultima Weapon operates upon a similar methodology.” Van Baelsar’s only response was a sigh of consternation. Nero continued, “And yes, it would move our overall timetable forward a few weeks. I admit it.”

“Nearly two months,” the legatus said sourly. “You understand that even if I agree to your proposal, it is not something that can be immediately enacted.”

“I would not expect to presume thus, my lord, of course.” There was bureaucracy involved, and the logistics of moving entire teams between castra -- not to mention the machina itself. Well, Solus zos Galvus had not built the Empire in a day, either. “I realize there are protocols to follow. I only ask for consideration-”

“And due consideration will be given, tribunus- in due time. At the very least I must needs contact the Occidens praefectus and discuss the matter. We will speak on this anon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He could afford the wait. In the meantime, there was much yet to be done- and new plans to be made. When the legatus called for him again, as he inevitably would, Nero would be prepared to explain what must be done ere their goals could be met. Allag’s mighty Weapon would awaken from its slumber by his hand, and he would receive his fair due at last. There was no one and nothing now to keep him from reaching forth to take what was rightfully his.

This victory shall be mine and mine alone, he thought. And you, old friend, will be as chaff in the wind. Discarded and forgotten.

Beneath his twin veils of tempered glass and chromed crimson steel, Nero tol Scaeva began to smile.

[dothwrites]

Prompt for destiel where one of them saves the other from a calamity, au or canon/humans or human & angel, but they get severely hurt instead, and other gets to comfort them and help them heal, and they get to confess

---

It’s his fault. 

That’s all Dean can think as he kneels on the grimy floor, slick with Cas’ blood. His fault. 

He was the one who insisted on pressing forward with the hunt, who overrode Cas’ desires to wait. He should have listened. After all, it was just him and Cas, newly human and still a little fragile with it. He should have listened to Cas’ objections, should have listened to the little coil of unease in the pit of his stomach warning him that this was a bad idea, should have, should have, should have. 

It should have only been one demon. 

There had been more. 

The demons had fought with brutal efficiency; within a few seconds, he and Castiel were separated from each other. From far away, Dean had heard the struggles, the snap of electricity that signaled a demon’s death and the grunts from Cas that accompanied the sick, wet sounds of fists striking flesh. At least Cas was still fighting. Dean was less than useless, caught in a chokehold that slowly obstructed his airway. His joints screamed in pain while black and red crowded at the edge of his vision. 

“Dean Winchester.” His name was spoken in a sneer, contempt dripping from the lips of the leader of this little outfit. In a former life, her meatsuit must have been some kind of model--she was all lithe lines and sleek muscle and tall enough to look Dean in the eyes. Her eyes flashed black as her fingers gripped at his chin. Five bright pinpricks of pain blossomed across his cheeks as her nails dug in. Dean grunted, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of crying out. 

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? The whole world, open for the taking, room enough for everyone to spread out now that you killed the man upstairs, and you still couldn’t let us be.” A thin trickle of blood dribbled down Dean’s chin as her nails broke skin. “Well, you should have kept your nose out of it.” 

She drew her hand back, silver glinting as she moved. All Dean saw was the wickedly sharp point of her angel blade. He remembered how it felt, skin and muscle splitting underneath the force of the blow, how easily the blade slid into his body. Looked like he was going to get to experience it again, except this time without the failsafe of the Mark to pull him out again. 

“Dean! Dean!” 

The blade started to plunge down and Dean closed his eyes. They hadn’t had enough time, him and Cas, and now he was leaving Cas to the rest of a mortal life, alone. I’m sorry, Dean thought, tensing in preparation for the inevitable blow. Cas, I’m so sorry...

The blow never hit. Instead, what hit was a dervish, a whirl of blows and snarls and yelps. Somewhere, in the mad scuffle, Dean recognized the shock of dark hair and the flash of Cas’ shirt. Seeing that gave him enough strength to break free of the hold. His own blade slipped into his hand and he plunged it into the gut of the demon who had been holding him. 

He’d had just enough time to feel triumphant before he heard the low grunt of pain. 

He’d known what it was, but he still turned around to confirm. His eyes landed on a nightmare. 

A demon stood tall, blade in hand. Crimson liquid dripped slowly off of the tip of the blade to splash upon the ground. Though it was impossible, Dean would swear that he heard the impact of every drop. A sick, twisted grin spread across the demon’s face as they looked down. 

Castiel staggered backward, hands clutching at his stomach. Already, a dark stain spread across his shirt. Horrified, Dean could only watch as Cas dropped down to one knee, before he finally collapsed to the ground. 

Dean’s still not sure the exact sequence of events. He knows that he charged forward, a pained shout erupting from his throat. He knows that there’s a dead demon. He knows that his fumbling fingers managed to find his phone and call Sam, leaving bloody smears on the screen. 

And he knows that Cas is dying. 

“You stupid son of a bitch, why the hell did you do that?” He won’t cry, not here and not now, but he wants to. Cas moans lowly in pained protest as Dean drags him into his lap. He ignores the sticky warmth leaking into his jeans from the ragged wound in Cas’ stomach the same that he ignores Cas’ eyes squinting shut in agony. He’ll deal with those later, push through those nightmares when Cas isn’t gasping for air right in front of him. Dean lays his hand on Cas’ neck, fingers pressing down on his pulse point. It’s thready and rabbit-fast. 

“You have to ask?” 

“Dammit Cas.” Dean bends down low over Cas’ body, as if he could shield him from the rest of the world. Too little, too late. He’d screwed up and now Cas was paying the price, like always. “You know that I’m not worth it. You know it.” 

“Dean.” Cas’ mouth moves like he wanted to say more, but all that comes out is a dribble of blood, leaking from the corner of his mouth. His hands grasp at Dean, but his grip is so weak that it slides off without ever making an impression. “Dean,” Cas manages to say, breathing in deep and forcing the single syllable of his name out with extreme effort. “I, I--”

“Don’t you say it,” Dean hisses, pressing down hard on Cas’ stomach. The sound of Cas’ agonized cry is enough to twist a knife in his heart, and the feel of warm blood gushing over his hand makes him sick to his stomach, but at least it forces Cas to stop talking. 

“You’re not fucking dying on me,” Dean almost snarls, voice wobbling towards the end. “You hear me, Castiel? Not yet.” 

Cas’ eyes close. He doesn’t respond.

---

Dean watches the skip and jump of the heart monitor and listens to the steady beats. Like a metronome, it counts the beats of Cas’ heart. Each rise and fall, each electronic beep soothes Dean’s rough edges, as it acts as a reminder. Cas is still here. He didn’t lose him. 

Twenty-two stitches. That’s what it had taken to save him. That and some very good surgeons, some impossible luck, and a series of driving maneuvers delivered by one Sam Winchester. Dean would doubt that his brother was capable of such driving, if he hadn’t been in the back seat with him for the full duration.

They’d cut the margin of error so thinly that it was translucent. Minutes, the doctors had said, with the vague whiff of suspicion that came from bringing in a stabbing victim. If traffic had been heavier or if Sam hadn’t been driving quite so fast and furious on the Fury Road...Well, Dean would have another corpse on his hands to burn. Again. 

Dean’s attention is caught by a low groan coming from the direction of the bed. Within seconds, he’s at Cas’ bedside so that he can see the exact moment that Cas’ eyes flutter open. 

He’d been so angry earlier. Furious, that once again, Castiel saw fit to throw himself to the wolves, all for Dean’s sake. He’d been ready to give Cas an earful when he finally woke up (once they discovered that he was going to wake up).  But seeing the hazy, pained look in Cas’ eyes vanish to be replaced with a slow, pleased smile erases all thoughts of rage from Dean’s brain. All it leaves him with is sweet, clear relief. 

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair, as tentatively as though Cas were made of porcelain. “How are you feeling?” 

Cas pauses to consider. “Numb,” he finally rasps. He glances to the side, where the IV stand drips down into various tubes connected to his body. “I assume that there’s a large amount of medication responsible for that?” 

“Yeah, you’re getting the good stuff,” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Cas’ hair. It’s a little gross--Other than a few quick sponge-baths from the nurses, Cas hasn’t bathed and his hair has taken the brunt of that. It’s a little greasy, but Dean couldn’t care less about that. Not when Cas smiles up at him through a grizzled beard. 

“Don’t be angry,” Castiel says. His fingers wrap weakly around Dean’s wrist. “I know that you’re probably furious with me.” 

“Damn right I am. How many times do I have to tell you, I ain’t worth--”

“Stop.” Cas squeezes his wrist. His grip is pathetic enough that it forces Dean into silence more than if Cas had managed his usual bone-bruising force. “Nothing you say will ever convince me that you’re not worth saving. Nothing,” Cas says, as severe as his voice will allow. He strokes over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. His eyes look at something faraway only he can see. “I sometimes think that I was created in order to keep you safe. Please don’t deny me that.” 

And what can you say to that? 

Dean lifts Cas’ knuckles to his face, brushing a gentle kiss over them. “Way to make a guy feel guilty, asshole.” 

Cas smiles wanly. “Whatever it takes.” His voice turns thin and ragged around the edges. Dean knows that it’s not going to be long before he slips back into sleep. 

“But you have to try and stay around.” Dean takes in a deep breath. The words sit on his tongue, ready to taste freedom. “It’s not fair to make me go through this without you. I love you, dumbass, and if you go off and get yourself killed just because you were trying to save me then I’m going to be really pissed at you.” 

They haven’t said it. They’ve kissed, they’ve fucked, hell sometimes they’ve even done what Sam would probably call making love. They live together and they’ve died for the other. But they’ve never said the words. Dean had been convinced that he never would. Cas knew. That was enough for him. Everything else was window dressing. 

But there in the backseat, with Cas’ limp and bleeding body pressed against him, forced to listen to Cas’ pained wheezes, and his hand pressed against Cas’ stomach trying to keep Cas’ blood inside, Dean had been overcome by only thought. 

Cas is going to die and I never told him. 

The thought that Cas could die without knowing exactly how much he’s adored has kept Dean awake for several nights. 

Cas’ eyes are wide as his fingers clench reflexively around Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he finally gets out. He blinks quickly, obviously fighting against impending sleep. “Dean, I--”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean brushes Cas’ hair off of his forehead and leans down to press a kiss against the clammy skin. “Go to sleep.”

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?” Cas’ voice is already slurred, sleep wrapping around him and tugging him deep into oblivion. 

Dean settles onto the edge of Cas’ bed, unwilling to release his hold on Cas until he absolutely has to. Cas murmurs happily, nonsense words that trail off into silence. 

Dean runs his finger down Cas’ cheek, bristly and unshaven. It’s warm to the touch. When he pulls away, Cas almost follows after him, squirming in his sleep until Dean takes his hand in his and laces their fingers together. Only then does Cas subside into peace. 

“Yeah Cas,” Dean says, despite the fact that Cas can’t appreciate his words. “Yeah, I’ll be here.

---

[butterflies-dragons]

Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara

A great deal has already been said about how similar Sansa Stark and Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen are. Here some sources:

Sansa Stark and "Good Queen" Alysanne Targaryen parallels

open thread #1: alysansa

Good Queen Alysanne translates to Good Queen D@ny??

Don't you think that Alysanne has more similarities with Arya than Sansa?

Tidbits from Fire and Blood

More tidbits from Fire and Blood

An Idyll where love conquers all

Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil

Doug Wheatley, we need an explanation!

can I copy your homework?

Lord Commander Burley also renamed Snowgate castle in her honor, as Queensgate

is nourishing

What are you doing George?

Jonquil Darke “the Scarlet Shadow” & Joffrey Dogget “the Red Dog of the Hills”

There is a certain irony in people rejecting any Sansa/Alysanne connection

There’s plenty Sansa and Alysanne parallels and some situations may actually repeat themselves

so sansa and good queen alysanne am i the only that sees it?

What are some parallels/similarities between Sansa and Good Queen Alysanne? Are there any?

More Sansa = Alysanne

Queen Alysanne has a knight named Jonquil and meets Lord Commander Lothor at the wall

Sansa & Alysanne portraits 

Queen Alysanne and her cousin King Jaehaerys

Queen Alysanne/Sansa Stark parallel

Why is it so significant the parallel between Queen Alysanne and Sansa?

Queens

Now I will give you my contribution on the matter, mostly based on what I found in my recent first re-reading of Fire & Blood.  

MERCY

Five of Maegor’s Seven yet survived. Two of those, Ser Olyver Bracken and Ser Raymund Mallery, had played a part in the late king’s fall by turning their cloaks and going over to Jaehaerys, but the boy king observed rightly that in doing so they had broken their vows to defend the king’s life with their own. “I will have no oathbreakers at my court,” he proclaimed. All five Kingsguard were therefore sentenced to death…but at the urging of Princess Alysanne, it was agreed that they might be spared if they would exchange their white cloaks for black by joining the Night’s Watch. Four of the five accepted this clemency and departed for the Wall; along with Ser Olyver and Ser Raymund, the turncloaks, went Ser Jon Tollett and Ser Symond Crayne.

—Fire & Blood

This passage reminds me of Sansa asking mercy for her father Ned and saving Dontos’ life by denying him the mercy of a quick death: 

The king! Sansa blinked back her tears. Joffrey was the king now, she thought. Her gallant prince would never hurt her father, no matter what he might have done. If she went to him and pleaded for mercy, she was certain he'd listen. He had to listen, he loved her, even the queen said so. Joff would need to punish Father, the lords would expect it, but perhaps he could send him back to Winterfell, or exile him to one of the Free Cities across the narrow sea. It would only have to be for a few years. By then she and Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring Father back and grant him a pardon.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish asked.

"No, my lords." Sansa knew better than that. "I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or … or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise …"

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

JOFFREY & THE HOUND

In Fire & Blood we meet a character named Ser Joffrey Doggett, also known as the Red Dog of the Hills. He was a knight from House Doggett, a noble house from the westerlands, vassals of House Lannister. 

During the reign of Maegor I Targaryen, Ser Joffrey Doggett was a member of the Lannisport chapter of the Warrior's Sons, an order of Westerosi knights sworn to the Faith of the Seven.

Ser Joffrey Doggett’s family was burned by the fires of Balerion: 

Then Maegor himself took wing, flying Balerion to the westerlands, where he burned the castles of the Broomes, the Falwells, the Lorches, and the other “pious lords” who had defied his summons. Lastly he descended upon the seat of House Doggett, reducing it to ash. The fires claimed the lives of Ser Joffrey’s father, mother, and young sister, along with their sworn swords, serving men, and chattel. 

—Fire & Blood

The day of his coronation, Jaehaerys I Targaryen appointed Ser Joffrey Doggett a member of the Kingsguard: 

“I rose against your uncle just as you did,” replied the Red Dog of the Hills, defiant.

“You did,” Jaehaerys allowed, “and you fought bravely, no man can deny. The Warrior’s Sons are no more and your vows to them are at an end, but your service need not be. I have a place for you.” And with these words, the young king shocked the court by offering Ser Joffrey a place by his side as a knight of the Kingsguard. A hush fell then, Grand Maester Benifer tells us, and when the Red Dog drew his longsword there were some who feared he might be about to attack the king with it…but instead the knight went to one knee, bowed his head, and laid his blade at Jaehaerys’s feet. It is said that there were tears upon his cheeks.

—Fire & Blood

Much later, Ser Joffrey Doggett flew with Queen Alysanne on her dragon Silverwing:

Even for a dragon, the flight from King’s Landing to Oldtown is a long one. The king and queen stopped twice along the way, once at Bitterbridge and once at Highgarden, resting overnight and taking counsel with their lords. The lords of the council had insisted that they take some protection at the very least. Ser Joffrey Doggett flew with Alysanne, and the Scarlet Shadow, Jonquil Darke, with Jaehaerys, so as to balance the weight each dragon carried.

—Fire & Blood

So here we have a character from the westernlands, vassal of the Lannisters, named Joffrey but also known as a red dog, whose family was burned by dragonfire and later became a member of the Kingsguard of Jaehaerys and also protected Queen Alysanne.  Ser Joffrey Doggett sounds like a combination of Joffrey Lannister and his sworn sword and later Kingsguard Sandor Clegane, the Hound. Both characters closely connected with Sansa Stark.

This is not the first time that GRRM did something like this. In the tale “The Hedge Knight”, part of his book “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms”, GRRM has surrounded the fair maid of the Ashford Tourney, a girl of 13 years old, with a lot of characters that remind us of Sansa’s suitors and other men somehow interested in her.  

And this is not the only time that GRRM did it in Fire & Blood either. Queen Alysanne is surrounded by a lot of characters that remind us of ASOIAF characters that surround Sansa Stark. 

APPEARANCE

Before Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, as an old woman at the end of Jaehaerys I reign:

GOOD QUEEN ALYSANNE

Alysanne was the queen, consort, and sister of King Jaehaerys I, the Old King, and like him she lived a long life. Since you pictured him as an old man at the end of his reign, I figure it would be most appropriate to do her the same way, rather than as the young woman she was when Jaehaerys first ascended the Iron Throne.

You might consider Alysanne as the Eleanor of Aquitaine of Westeros, and model her on Katharine Hepburn's portrayal of Eleanor in the film THE LION IN WINTER. Tall and straight, unbowed by time, she had high cheekbones, clear blue eyes. Age left crow's feet around her eyes and laugh lines about her mouth, but her face never lost its strength. She was a fine archer and hunter in her youth, and loved to fly atop her dragon to all the distant parts of the realm. Alysanne was slim of waist and small of breast, with a long neck, a fair complexion, a high forehead. In old age her hair turned white as snow. She wore it in a bun, pulled back and pinned behind her hear.

Her relationship with King Jaehaerys was always very close. She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand, and often wore a slimmer, more feminine version of his crown at court. Beloved by the common people of Westeros, she loved them in return, and was renowned for her charities.

[Source]

Here is Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine in the film THE LION IN WINTER:

Katharine Hepburn‘s was 1.72 m.

After Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, as a girl of 13 years old: 

Though she had only recently turned thirteen, the young princess rose to the challenge brilliantly, all agreed. For seven days and seven nights, she broke her fast with one group of highborn ladies, dined with a second, supped with a third. She showed them the wonders of the Red Keep, sailed with them on Blackwater Bay, and rode with them about the city.

Alysanne Targaryen, the youngest child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, had been little known amongst the lords and ladies of the realm before then. Her childhood had been spent in the shadow of her brothers and her elder sister, Rhaena, and when she was spoken of at all it was as “the little maid” and “the other daughter.” She was little, this was true; slim and slight of frame, Alysanne was oft described as pretty but seldom as beautiful, though she was born of a house renowned for beauty. Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls. No man ever questioned her wits.

Later, it would be said of her that she learned to read before she was weaned, and the court fool would make japes about little Alysanne dribbling mother’s milk on Valyrian scrolls as she tried to read whilst suckling at her wet nurse’s teat. Had she been a boy she would surely have been sent to the Citadel to forge a maester’s chain, Septon Barth would say of her…

(...)

“My little flower,” was how the queen described her. Like Alysanne herself, Daella was small—on her toes, she stood five feet two inches—and there was a childish aspect to her that led everyone who met her to think she was younger than her age. Unlike Alysanne, she was delicate as well, in ways the queen had never been. 

—Fire & Blood

5.2 feet = 1.58 m.

Queen Alysanne’s “semi canon” description matched with Sansa’s a lot. But, from the “semi canon” source to the canon source (Fire & Blood), Queen Alysanne changed from tall (1.72 m) to small (1.58 m).  She kept two features that are very similar to Sansa though:   

Not purple eyes but BLUE EYES

Not silver hair but HONEY-COLORED CURLS 

And these two features are very close to the main features of House Tully: Blue Eyes and Auburn Hair. 

You can google “honey colored hair” and see by yourselves that honey colored is closer to auburn than silver. There are also metas about the matter out there, you can check them out too.   

There is not no mention of high cheekbones in Fire & Blood, but the illustrator of the book, Doug Wheatley, definitely gave Queen Alysanne high cheekbones and a very close resemble to Sophie Turner, the actress that played Sansa Stark in the Series:

This could be a coincidence of course. This is what GRRM has said about book illustrations while promoting Fire & Blood:  

Q: You have a very distinct idea of what the characters look like in your own head, because readers will always take their own?

GRRM: I do have ideas of what the characters look like in my own head but I’m perfectly willing to let the artist do different interpretations… You know, let different artists present their different interpretations of it, I’m fine with that. It’s not photography, so I love the idea of, you know, letting people use their own creativity within limits of course, but I love some of the works, many of the works I’ve bought original is hanging on, you know, on my own walls so…    

In conversation: George R. R. Martin with John Hodgman FULL EVENT 

Drawing Queen Alysanne with a close resemble to Sophie Turner was within the limits, it seems. 

I’m not saying Queen Alysanne and Sansa are identical twins, they don’t have to be, but they share significant physical features. They have differences as well, Alysanne is slim with small breast while Sansa is curvy with a big bosom. 

Queen Alysanne and Sansa also share these traits:

Alysanne was a bright but unremarkable girl; small but never sickly, courteous, biddable, with a sweet smile and a pleasing voice. To the relief of her parents, she displayed none of the timidity that had afflicted her elder sister, Rhaena, as a small child. Neither did she exhibit the willful and stubborn temperament of Rhaena’s daughter Aerea.

—Fire & Blood

This Alysanne’s description matches almost bit by bit these Sansa’s descriptions (including the contrast between Alysanne/Aerea and Sansa/Arya): 

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire. She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a lady of her. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. I think she must be dead too." When she said that, it felt as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest. 

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

Tyrion let them have their byplay; it was all for his benefit, he knew. Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. He felt as though he was back on the bridge of boats, the deck shifting beneath his feet.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

INTELLIGENCE

Fire & Blood remarks Alysanne’s intelligence a lot, she was an avid reader and she could have been a Maester of the Citadel:

No man ever questioned her wits.

Later, it would be said of her that she learned to read before she was weaned, and the court fool would make japes about little Alysanne dribbling mother’s milk on Valyrian scrolls as she tried to read whilst suckling at her wet nurse’s teat. Had she been a boy she would surely have been sent to the Citadel to forge a maester’s chain, Septon Barth would say of her…for that wise man esteemed her even more than her husband, whom he served for so long. That was far in the future, however; in 49 AC, Alysanne was but a girl of thirteen years, yet all the chronicles agree that she made a powerful impression on those who met her.

(...)

It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband).

(...)

“If I had not become queen, I might have liked to be a maester,” she told the Conclave. “I read, I write, I think, I am not afraid of ravens…or a bit of blood. There are other highborn girls who feel the same. Why not admit them to your Citadel? If they cannot keep up, send them home, the way you send home boys who are not clever enough. If you would give the girls a chance, you might be surprised by how many forge a chain.”

(...)

For three days she lost herself in the Citadel’s great library, emerging only to attend lectures on the Valyrian dragon wars, leechcraft, and the gods of the Summer Isles.

(...)

Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library.

—Fire & Blood

Sansa shares Alysanne’s love for reading:

The queen took Sansa's hand in both of hers. "Child, do you know your lettersSansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Jeyne Poole and all her things were gone when Ser Mandon Moore returned Sansa to the high tower of Maegor's Holdfast. No more weeping, she thought gratefully. Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she'd built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

“Do you read well, Alayne?"

"Septa Mordane was good enough to say so."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Here is Arya listing all of Sansa’s artistic talents:

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Arya is also here to tell us that Sansa is good at Heraldry:

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

—A Clash of Kings - Arya VII

Sansa understands songs sung in High Valyrian:

"I'm sore all over," Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg.

"You must be a terrible dancer," Sansa said doubtfully.

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the "Dance of the Dragons," Ned inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

Then the heralds summoned another singer; Collio Quaynis of Tyrosh, who had a vermilion beard and an accent as ludicrous as Symon had promised. Collio began with his version of "The Dance of the Dragons," which was more properly a song for two singers, male and female. Tyrion suffered through it with a double helping of honey-ginger partridge and several cups of wine. A haunting ballad of two dying lovers amidst the Doom of Valyria might have pleased the hall more if Collio had not sung it in High Valyrian, which most of the guests could not speak.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing. Dungeon walls were thick enough to swallow songs and screams alike. But the sky cells had a wall of empty air, so every chord the dead man played flew free to echo off the stony shoulders of the Giant's Lance. And the songs he chose . . . He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

But, apparently, Sansa is bad with numbers...

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Something changed then, because Alayne Stone is doing pretty well as de facto Lady of the Eyrie...

I can continue but this would be too long, so it’s better if I leave you this great post about Sansa’s intelligence: Sansa Smart

And here is GRRM himself talking about Sansa’s wits:  

Up to now Sansa has been a piece, that other people have moved around the board, to achieve her own goals, using her, discarding her, using her for a different purpose: You know, you’re going to marry Joffrey. No, you’re going to marry Loras. You’re going to marry Tyrion. She is beginning to at least try to understand how she can play the Game of Thrones and be not a piece, but a player. With her own goals, and moving other pieces around. And she’s not a warrior like Robb, Jon Snow. She’s not even a wild child like Arya. She can’t fight with swords, axes. She can’t raise armies. But she has her wits! Same as Littlefinger has.

—Game of Thrones Season 4: Episode #8 - A Different Purpose (HBO)

UNDERDOGS

Queen Alysanne Targaryen and Sansa Stark are two examples of “underdogs”:

No one paid attention to Alysanne until she was a maid of thirteen and was left in charge to entertain and charm lords and ladies at court. She grew up in the shadow of her older siblings, she was never expected to be Queen:

Alysanne Targaryen, the youngest child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, had been little known amongst the lords and ladies of the realm before then. Her childhood had been spent in the shadow of her brothers and her elder sister, Rhaena, and when she was spoken of at all it was as “the little maid” and “the other daughter.” 

(...)

We know very little about the childhood of Alysanne Targaryen; as the fifthborn child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, and a female, observers at court found her of less interest than her older siblings who stood higher in the line of succession. From what little has come down to us, Alysanne was a bright but unremarkable girl; small but never sickly, courteous, biddable, with a sweet smile and a pleasing voice. To the relief of her parents, she displayed none of the timidity that had afflicted her elder sister, Rhaena, as a small child. Neither did she exhibit the willful and stubborn temperament of Rhaena’s daughter Aerea.

—Fire & Blood

The same way as Alysanne was described as “unremarkable”, Sansa Stark is often described as “stupid”:

That gorget wasn't fastened proper. You think Gregor didn't notice that? You think Ser Gregor's lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you're empty-headed as a bird for true. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

"Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . . 

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

"Everyone wants to be loved." "I see flowering hasn't made you any brighter," said Cersei. 

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

"He will," Sansa lied. "He is very . . . very comely."

"You said that. You know, child, some say that you are as big a fool as Butterbumps here, and I am starting to believe them. 

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Her heart was broken."

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Snow eddied around them, making their skirts snap noisily. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid empty-headed little girl.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

"Some books. I like the fighting stories. My sister Sansa likes the kissing stories, but those are stupid."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

Sansa as Alysanne was not “remarkable” among her siblings, who often called her stupid, specially Bran and Arya, and was never expected to be the Heir of Winterfell or the Stark at Winterfell. She is the underdog...  

... And GRRM just loves underdogs:

Chris Long: Do you watch sports through that lens (characters developed all the time, unsung heroes/archnemesis of everybody/misunderstood as villains/some heroes are villains in disguise), with your writing background, and your penchant for creating characters, do you look at the characters in sports?  

GRRM: I do. You know, I think America loves the underdog, and we don’t like, except if it happens to be your dynasty, we tend not to like dynasties, you know?

—George RR Martin in The Fish Bowl with Chris Long

WEDDED BUT NOT BEDDED

Alysanne and Sansa flowered and wedded at a similar age. But both remained maidens: 

The princess was three-and-ten years of age, and had recently celebrated her first flowering, so it was thought desirable to see her wed as soon as possible. 

(...)

A modest feast followed the ceremony, and many toasts were drunk to the health of the boy king and his new queen. Afterward Jaehaerys and Alysanne retired to the bedchamber where Aegon the Conqueror had once slept beside his sister Rhaenys, but in view of the bride’s youth there was no bedding ceremony, and the marriage was not consummated.

—Fire & Blood

“How old are you, Sansa?” asked Tyrion, after a moment.

“Thirteen,” she said, “when the moon turns.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“She is old enough to be Lady of Winterfell once her brother is dead. Claim her maidenhood and you will be one step closer to claiming the north. Get her with child, and the prize is all but won. Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside?”

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

Also Alysanne’s determination to marry his King brother Jaehaerys against her own mother's wishes, sounds pretty much like Sansa's stubbornness to marry Joffrey against Ned's orders.

Sansa, in an act of defiance, ran to Cersei and tells her of her father's plans, pleading that she might be allowed to stay and marry Joffrey.

"How well I know that, child," Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. "Why else should you have come to me and told me of your father's plan to send you away from us, if not for love?"

"It was for love," Sansa said in a rush. "Father wouldn't even give me leave to say farewell." She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn't loved Joffrey as much as she did. "He was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry me to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn't listen." The king had been her last hope. The king could command Father to let her stay in King's Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had always frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he would probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him. So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor's Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside. "Please," she finished, "you have to let me marry Joffrey, I'll be ever so good a wife to him, you'll see. I'll be a queen just like you, I promise."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Alysanne ran to Jaehaerys himself and they both elope to Dragonstone:

No record survives of what Alysanne Targaryen said or thought when first she learned that she was to be wed to a youth ten years her senior, whom she scarcely knew and (if rumor can be believed) did not like. We know only what she did. Another girl might have wept or raged or run pleading to her mother. In many a sad song, maidens forced to wed against their will throw themselves from tall towers to their deaths. Princess Alysanne did none of these things. Instead she went directly to Jaehaerys.

The young king was as displeased as his sister at the news. “They will be making wedding plans for me as well, I do not doubt,” he deduced at once. Like his sister, Jaehaerys did not waste time with reproaches, recriminations, or appeals. Instead he acted. Summoning his Kingsguard, he instructed them to sail at once for Dragonstone, where he would meet them shortly. “You have sworn me your swords and your obedience,” he reminded his Seven. “Remember those vows, and speak no word of my departure.”

That night, under cover of darkness, King Jaehaerys and Princess Alysanne mounted their dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing, and departed the Red Keep for the ancient Targaryen citadel below the Dragonmont. Reportedly the first words the young king spoke upon landing were, “I have need of a septon.”

—Fire & Blood

Curiously enough Alysanne’s first betrothed was Orryn Baratheon, just like Sansa’s first betrothed was Joffrey Baratheon.

LIKE IN THE SONGS

Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloping and first wedding had all the element’s of a fairy tale, like the songs Sansa loves to read: 

The Kingsguards as witnesses 

The Kingsguard arrived from King’s Landing by galley a few days later. The following morning, as the sun rose, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the First of His Name, took to wife his sister Alysanne in the great yard at Dragonstone, before the eyes of gods and men and dragons. Septon Oswyck performed the marriage rites; though the old man’s voice was thin and tremulous, no part of the ceremony was neglected. The seven knights of the Kingsguard stood witness to the union, their white cloaks snapping in the wind. 

—Fire & Blood

The Kingsguards fighting against the men that tried to separate the couple

From that day to this, the tale has been a favorite of lovesick maidens and their squires throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and many a bard has sung of the valor of the Kingsguard, seven men in white cloaks who faced down half a hundred. 

—Fire & Blood

This eloping, secret wedding and the Kingsguars involvement reminds me a lot of Lyanna’s “abduction” by Rhaegar and the Kingsguards “protecting” Lyanna in the Tower of Joy...  

A romance unequaled since the days of Florian and Jonquil

“That is how the singers tell the tale, certainly; the swift and sudden marriage of Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil, to hear them sing of it. And in songs, as ever, love conquers all. ”

—Fire & Blood

Florian and Jonquil love story is Sansa’s favorite. 

We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us

“As you command, Mother.” King Jaehaerys pulled his sister closer and put his arm around her. “But do not think that you shall unmake this marriage. We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us.” “Never,” his bride affirmed. “Send me to the ends of the earth and wed me to the King of Mossovy or the Lord of the Grey Waste, Silverwing will always bring me back to Jaehaerys.” And with that she raised herself onto her toes and lifted her face to the king, and he kissed her full upon the lips whilst all looked on.”

—Fire & Blood

An endless honeymoon

“It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband), praying beside Septon Oswyck. They flew together as well, all around the Dragonmont and oft as far as Driftmark.”

—Fire & Blood

A maid observing her love while training

Every morning Jaehaerys trained with them in the castle yard, shouting at them to come at him harder, to press him, harry him, and attack him in every way they knew. From sunrise till noon he worked with them, honing his skills with sword and spear and mace and axe whilst his new queen looked on.”

(…)

“Jaehaerys was oft brusied and bloody by evening, to Alysanne’s distress, but his prowess improved so markedly”

—Fire & Blood

Jaehaerys training with more than one man at the same time reminds me of Garlan Tyrell and Jon Snow because they do the same:

On the edge of the yard, a lone knight with a pair of golden roses on his shield was holding off three foes. Even as they watched, he caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. "Is that your brother?" Sansa asked.

"It is, my lady," said Ser Loras. "Garlan often trains against three men, or even four. In battle it is seldom one against one, he says, so he likes to be prepared."

"He must be very brave."

"He is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

“When Iron Emmett spied him, he raised a hand and combat ceased. “Lord Commander. How may we serve you?”

“With your three best.”

Emmett grinned. “Arron. Emrick. Jace.” . . .

“Which one do you want first?” asked Arron.

“All three of you. At once.”

“Three on one?” Jace was incredulous. “That wouldn’t be fair.” He was one of Conwy’s latest bunch, a cobbler’s son from Fair Isle. Maybe that explained it.

“True. Come here.”

When he did, Jon’s blade slammed him alongside his head, knocking him off his feet. In the blink of an eye the boy had a boot on his chest and a swordpoint at his throat. “War is never fair,” Jon told him. “It’s two on one now, and you’re dead.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

An Idyll

“Queen Alysanne, for her part, was in no haste to return to court. “Here I have you to myself, day and night,” she told Jaehaerys. “When we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you.” For her, these days on Dragonstone were an idyll. “Many years from now when we are old and grey, we shall look back upon these days and smile, remembering how happy we were.”

—Fire & Blood

Sansa Stark is sighing somewhere... 

QUEENS

I found this very interesting detail in Fire & Blood: The Three Queens 

In 50 AC, the realm of Westeros found itself blessed with one king, a Hand, and three queens, as in King Maegor’s day…but whereas Maegor’s queens had been consorts, subservient to his will, living and dying at his whim, each of the queens of the half-century was a power in her own right.

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West.

—Fire & Blood

This passage obviously makes me think in The Three Queens mentioned by Littlefinger in a conversation with Sansa in A Feast for Crows:  

“You would not believe half of what is happening in King’s Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now … it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear.”

“Three queens?” She did not understand.

Nor did Petyr choose to explain. Instead, he smiled and said, “I have brought my sweet girl back a gift.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Thanks to this passage of Fire & Blood about The Three Queens: 

Queen Alyssa, Queen Regent, widow of Aenys

Queen Alysanne, Queen Consort, wife of Jaehaerys (but still a maid)

Queen Rhaena, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned (& Maegor)

We can make the following association with these three ASOIAF characters in a similar position:

Alyssa/Cersei = Regents & Widows

Alysanne/Sansa = Wedded but No Bedded

Rhaena/Margaery = Twice Widows of Aegon/Maegor & Renly/Joffrey

But Fire & Blood has a little surprise in a footnote:

Footnote:

*1.- It should be noted, lest we be charged with omission, that there was a fourth queen in Westeros in 50 AC. The twice-widowed Queen Elinor of House Costayne, who had found King Maegor dead upon the Iron Throne, had departed King’s Landing after Jaehaerys’s ascent. Dressed in the robes of a penitent and accompanied only by a handmaid and one leal man-at-arms, she made her way to the Eyrie in the Vale of Arryn to visit the eldest of her three sons by Ser Theo Bolling, and thence to Highgarden in the Reach, where her second son had been fostered to Lord Tyrell. Once satisfied of their well-being, the former queen reclaimed her youngest boy and repaired to her father’s seat at Three Towers in the Reach, where she declared she would live quietly for the remainder of her life. Fate, and King Jaehaerys, had other plans for her, as we shall relate later. Suffice it to say that Queen Elinor played no role in the events of 50 AC.

—Fire & Blood

The fourth queen was Elinor Costayne, widow, mother of three living sons and one stillborn of Maegor. 

So we can make this final association:

Alyssa/Cersei = Regents & Widows

Alysanne/Sansa = Wedded but Not Bedded

Rhaena/Margaery = Twice Widows of Aegon/Maegor & Renly/Joffrey

Elinor/Daenerys = Widows, Mothers of three living sons: 3 Bolling sons/Drogo-Rhaegal-Viseryon & one twisted and malformed stillborn (unnamed/Rhaego)

Take note how Alysanne is described as “a younger queen” and “maid of thirteen”, because this could be a hint that Sansa Stark is the younger and more beautiful queen of Maggy The Frog prophecy.    

FLORIAN & JONQUIL

Sansa Stark’s favorite love story is the Tale of Florian and Jonquil, and Alysanne Targaryen is heavily associate with that story as well.

As mentioned earlier, Alysanne’s own love story is compared to Florian and Jonquil:

“That is how the singers tell the tale, certainly; the swift and sudden marriage of Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil, to hear them sing of it. And in songs, as ever, love conquers all. ”

—Fire & Blood

The Maidenpool incident

Alysanne suffered an attempt of murder perpetuated by three women at Maidenpool:

The town of Maidenpool was far famed for the sweetwater pool where legend had it that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing during the Age of Heroes. Like thousands of other women before her, Queen Alysanne wished to bathe in Jonquil’s pool, whose waters were said to have amazing healing properties. The lords of Maidenpool had erected a great stone bathhouse around the pool many centuries before, and given it over to an order of holy sisters. No men were allowed to enter the premises, so when the queen slipped into the sacred waters, she was attended only by her ladies-in-waiting, maids, and septas (Edyth and Lyra, who had served beside Septa Ysabel as novices, had both recently sworn their vows to become septas, consecrated in the Faith and devoted to the queen).

The goodness of the little queen, the silence of the Starry Sept, and the exhortations of the Seven Speakers had won over most of the Faithful for Jaehaerys and his Alysanne…but there are always some who will not be moved, and amongst the sisters who tended Jonquil’s Pool were three such women, whose hearts were hard with hate. They told one another that their holy waters would be polluted forever were the queen allowed to bathe in them whilst carrying the king’s “abomination” in her belly. Queen Alysanne had only slipped out of her clothing when they fell upon her with daggers they had concealed within their robes.

Blessedly, the attackers were no warriors, and they had not taken the courage of the queen’s companions into account. Naked and vulnerable, the Wise Women did not hesitate, but stepped between the attackers and their lady. Septa Edyth was slashed across the face, Prudence Celtigar stabbed through the shoulder, whilst Rosamund Ball took a dagger in the belly that, three days later, proved to be the death of her, but none of the murderous blades touched the queen. The shouts and screams of the struggle brought Alysanne’s protectors running, for Ser Joffrey Doggett and Ser Gyles Morrigen had been guarding the entrance to the bathhouse, never dreaming that the danger lurked within.

The Kingsguard made short work of the attackers, slaying two out of hand whilst keeping the third alive for questioning. When encouraged, she revealed that half a dozen others of their order had helped plan the attack, whilst lacking the courage to wield a blade. Lord Mooton hanged the guilty, and might have hanged the innocent as well, save for Queen Alysanne’s intervention.

—Fire & Blood

I find this incident a metaphor of that famous Littlefinger line: "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." Maidenpool was a place where a great love story occurred but for Alysanne was also the place where other women tried to murder her.  She was pregnant of her first child during the attack and later she gave birth a premature baby, Aegon. He died three days after birth. Alysanne blamed her son’s death on the women who attacked her at Maidenpool. Had she been allowed to bathe in the healing waters of Jonquil’s Pool, she would say, Prince Aegon would have lived.

The same ‘disillusionment’ happened when Jaime and Brienne arrived at Maidenpool in ASOIAF and found the pool full of corpses:

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime III

But this awful incident was the cause for Alysanne to take a female knight to protect her. A knight with a very singular name: Jonquil Darke.

FEMALE KNIGHT

Jonquil Darke

With hundreds of knights eager to compete for the honor of serving in the Kingsguard, the combats lasted seven full days. Several of the more colorful competitors became favorites of the smallfolk, who cheered them raucously each time they fought. One such was the Drunken Knight, Ser Willam Stafford, a short, stout, big-bellied man who always appeared so intoxicated that it was a wonder he could stand, let alone fight. The commons named him “the Keg o’ Ale,” and sang “Hail, Hail, Keg o’ Ale” whenever he took the field. Another favorite of the commons was the Bard of Flea Bottom, Tom the Strummer, who mocked his foes with ribald songs before each bout. The slender mystery knight known only as the Serpent in Scarlet also had a great following; when finally defeated and unmasked, “he” proved to be a woman, Jonquil Darke, a bastard daughter of the Lord of Duskendale.

In the end, none of these would earn a white cloak.

—Fire & Blood

Jonquil reminds me a lot of Brienne of Tarth, the True Knight of ASOIAF. Both female knights that competed for a place in the Kingsguard. Jonquil didn’t make it, but Brienne got a place in Renly’s Rainbow Guard. 

After the Maidenpool incident, Alysanne chose Jonquil Darke to be her sworn shield:   

“I need a protector of mine own,” she told His Grace. “Your Seven are leal men and valiant, but they are men, and there are places men cannot go.” The king could not disagree. A raven flew to Duskendale that very night, commanding the new Lord Darklyn to send to court his bastard half-sister, Jonquil Darke, who had thrilled the smallfolk during the War for the White Cloaks as the mystery knight known as the Serpent in Scarlet. Still in scarlet, she arrived at King’s Landing a few days later, and gladly accepted appointment as the queen’s own sworn shield. In time, she would be known about the realm as the Scarlet Shadow, so closely did she guard her lady. 

—Fire & Blood

At this point in ASOIAF, Briene of Tarth is in a quest to find Sansa Stark to fulfill the promises that Jaime Lannister and her did to Catelyn Stark:

“Hear me out, Brienne. Both of us swore oaths concerning Sansa Stark. Cersei means to see that the girl is found and killed, wherever she has gone to ground . . .”

Brienne’s homely face twisted in fury. “If you believe that I would harm my lady’s daughter for a sword, you—”

“Just listen,” he snapped, angered by her assumption. “I want you to find Sansa first, and get her somewhere safe. How else are the two of us going to make good our stupid vows to your precious dead Lady Catelyn?”

The wench blinked. “I . . . I thought . . .”

“I know what you thought.” Suddenly Jaime was sick of the sight of her. She bleats like a bloody sheep. “When Ned Stark died, his greatsword was given to the King’s Justice,” he told her. “But my father felt that such a fine blade was wasted on a mere headsman. He gave Ser Ilyn a new sword, and had Ice melted down and reforged. There was enough metal for two new blades. You’re holding one. So you’ll be defending Ned Stark’s daughter with Ned Stark’s own steel, if that makes any difference to you.”

“Ser, I . . . I owe you an apolo . . .”

He cut her off. “Take the bloody sword and go, before I change my mind. There’s a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. Chase after Steelshanks, search for Sansa, or ride home to your isle of sapphires, it’s naught to me. I don’t want to look at you anymore.”

“Jaime . . .”

“Kingslayer,” he reminded her. “Best use that sword to clean the wax out of your ears, wench. We’re done.”

Stubbornly, she persisted. “Joffrey was your . . .”

“My king. Leave it at that.”

“You say Sansa killed him. Why protect her?”

Because Joff was no more to me than a squirt of seed in Cersei’s cunt. And because he deserved to die. “I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” Jaime smiled thinly. “Besides, kingslayers should band together. Are you ever going to go?”

Her big hand wrapped tight around Oathkeeper. “I will. And I will find the girl and keep her safe. For her lady mother’s sake. And for yours.” She bowed stiffly, whirled, and went.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX

See? Jonquil Darke was Alysanne’s sworn shield as Brienne of Tarh is Sansa’s sworn sword. A sword made of Ice, literally.   

Later, when Alysanne visited the North for the first time, she met another “female knight”, a wildling girl:

Manderly also staged a small tourney in the queen’s honor, to show the prowess of his knights. One of the fighters (though no knight) was revealed to be a woman, a wildling girl who had been captured by rangers north of the Wall and given to one of Lord Manderly’s household knights to foster. Delighted by the girl’s daring, Alysanne summoned her own sworn shield, Jonquil Darke, and the wildling and the Scarlet Shadow dueled spear against sword whilst the northmen roared in approval.

—Fire & Blood

It would be no surprise if Sansa meets another female knight or warrior during her return to the North, a wildling spearwife, or a Mormont woman, or her wild faceless assassin sister Arya Stark.   

To finish with Jonquil Darke, take note that her name and surname are also references to Dontos Hollard, another character that acted as Sansa’s knight. Sansa called Dontos “Her Florian” and House Hollard was once sworn to House Darklyn of Duskendale, that are related to House Darke.

Also take a look at this color refrences:

Jonquil Darke was also known as the Serpent in Scarlet and the Scarlet Shadow.

Ser Joffrey Doggett was also known as the Red Dog of the Hills. 

Ser Dontos Hollard was also called Dontos the Red.

Only Brienne of Tarth breaks this pattern, because she was called Brienne the Blue, during his days as member of Renly’s Rainbow Guard. Wanna know who was the Red in Renly’s Rainbow Guard? It was Ser Robar Royce, son of Yhon Bronze Royce and brother of Waymar Royce, Sansa’s first crush.

But my point with all this Red/Scarlet colored references is that red is a color hugely associated with Sansa Stark, because of the red of her hair and the red of the weirwood tree. 

THE VISENYA AND THE RHAENYS 

During a discussion between King Jaehaerys I and his older sister Rhaena, these words were exchanged: 

“And Silverwing?” asked Rhaena. “Our sister—”

“—had no part in this. I will not put her at risk.”

The Queen in the East smiled then. “She is Rhaenys, and I am Visenya. I have never thought otherwise.”

—Fire & Blood

Rhaena compared Jaehaerys with Aegon the Conqueror, herself with Queen Visenya and Alysanne with Queen Rhaenys. 

This is part of a dichotomy that GRRM work with a lot: the Lady Woman Vs the Warrior Woman. A pattern that started with the Stark Sisters, and is replicated a lot in Fire & Blood with several Targaryen Sisters. Here some examples:

Visenya and Rhaenys

Rhaena and Alysanne

Aerea and Rhaella

Baela and Rhaena  

Rhaena was not exactly like Visenya and Alysanne was not exactly Rhaenys, but Rhaenys and Alysanne certainly shared a lot of similarities:

Rhaenys

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister [Visenya] was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores.”

(...)

Queen Rhaenys was a great patron to the bards and singers of the Seven Kingdoms, showering gold and gifts on those who pleased her. Though Queen Visenya thought her sister frivolous, there was a wisdom in this that went beyond a simple love of music. For the singers of the realm, in their eagerness to win the favor of the queen, composed many a song in praise of House Targaryen and King Aegon, and then went forth and sang those songs in every keep and castle and village green from the Dornish Marches to the Wall. Thus was the Conquest made glorious to the simple people, whilst Aegon the Dragon himself became a hero king.

Queen Rhaenys also took a great interest in the smallfolk, and had a special love for women and children. Once, when she was holding court in the Aegonfort, a man was brought before her for beating his wife to death. The woman’s brothers wanted him punished, but the husband argued that he was within his lawful rights, since he had found his wife abed with another man. The right of a husband to chastise an erring wife was well established throughout the Seven Kingdoms (save in Dorne). The husband further pointed out that the rod he had used to beat his wife was no thicker than his thumb, and even produced the rod in evidence. When the queen asked him how many times he had struck his wife, however, the husband could not answer, but the dead woman’s brothers insisted there had been a hundred blows.

Queen Rhaenys consulted with her maesters and septons, then rendered her decision. An adulterous wife gave offense to the Seven, who had created women to be faithful and obedient to their husbands, and therefore must be chastised. As god has but seven faces, however, the punishment should consist of only six blows (for the seventh blow would be for the Stranger, and the Stranger is the face of death). Thus the first six blows the man had struck had been lawful…but the remaining ninety-four had been an offense against gods and men, and must be punished in kind. From that day forth, the “rule of six” became a part of the common law, along with the “rule of thumb.” (The husband was taken to the foot of the Hill of Rhaenys, where he was given ninety-four blows by the dead woman’s brothers, using rods of lawful size.)

—Fire & Blood

Alysanne

Queen Alysanne looked back on the short-lived glories of her father’s court fondly, however, and made it her purpose to make the Red Keep glitter as it never had before, buying tapestries and carpets from Free Cities and commissioning murals, statuary, and tilework to decorate the castle’s halls and chambers. At her command, men from the City Watch combed Flea Bottom until they found Tom the Strummer, whose mocking songs had amused king and commons alike during the War for the White Cloaks. Alysanne made him the court singer, the first of many who would hold that office in the decades to come. She brought in a harpist from Oldtown, a company of mummers from Braavos, dancers from Lys, and gave the Red Keep its first fool, a fat man called the Goodwife who dressed as a woman and was never seen without his wooden “children,” a pair of cleverly carved puppets who said ribald, shocking things.

(...)

The king’s first progress was meant to be a modest one, commencing with the crownlands north of King’s Landing and proceeding only as far as the Vale of Arryn. Jaehaerys wanted Alysanne with him, but as Her Grace was with child, he was concerned that their journeys not be too taxing. They began with Stokeworth and Rosby, then moved north along the coast to Duskendale. There, whilst the king viewed Lord Darklyn’s boatyards and enjoyed an afternoon of fishing, the queen held the first of her women’s courts, which were to become an important part of every royal progress to come. Only women and girls were welcome at these audiences; highborn or low, they were encouraged to come forward and share their fears, concerns, and hopes with the young queen.

(...)

Men oft speak today of Queen Alysanne’s laws, but this usage is sloppy and incorrect. Her Grace had no power to enact laws, issue decrees, make proclamations, or pass sentences. It is a mistake to speak of her as we might speak of the Conqueror’s queens, Rhaenys and Visenya. The young queen did, however, wield enormous influence over King Jaehaerys, and when she spoke, he listened…as he did upon their return from the Vale of Arryn.

It was the plight of widows throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the women’s courts had made Alysanne aware of. In times of peace especially, it was not uncommon for a man to outlive the wife of his youth, for young men most oft perish upon the battlefield, young women in the birthing bed. Be they of noble birth or humble, men left bereft suchwise would oft after a time take second wives, whose presence in the household was resented by the children of the first wife. Where no bonds of affection existed, upon the man’s own death his heirs could and did expel the widow from the home, reducing her to penury; in the case of lords, the heirs might simply strip away the widow’s prerogatives, incomes, and servants, reducing her to little more than a boarder.

To rectify these ills, King Jaehaerys in 52 AC promulgated the Widow’s Law, reaffirming the right of the eldest son (or eldest daughter, where there was no son) to inherit, but requiring said heirs to maintain surviving widows in the same condition they had enjoyed before their husband’s death. A lord’s widow, be she a second, third, or later wife, could no longer be driven from his castle, nor deprived of her servants, clothing, and income. The same law, however, also forbade men from disinheriting their children by a first wife in order to bestow their lands, seat, or property upon a later wife or her own children.

(...)

Alysanne remained in the Red Keep, presiding over council meetings in the king’s absence, and holding audience from a velvet seat at the base of the Iron Throne.

(...)

“I see no honor in any of this. I knew such things happened hundreds of years ago, I confess it, but I never dreamed that the custom endured so strongly to this day. Mayhaps I did not want to know. I closed my eyes, but that poor girl in Mole’s Town opened them. The right of the first night! Your Grace, my lords, it is time we put an end to this. I beg you.”

(...)

And so it came to pass that the second of what the smallfolk named Queen Alysanne’s Laws was enacted: the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night. Henceforth, it was decreed, a bride’s maidenhead would belong only to her husband, whether joined before a septon or a heart tree, and any man, be he lord or peasant, who took her on her wedding night or any other night would be guilty of the crime of rape.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see, we can easily associate Sansa Stark with these shared similarities between Queen Rhaenys and Queen Alysanne.

SINGERS AND KNIGHTS 

Queen Alysanne was fond of singers and gallant knights, just like Sansa:

Three of the brothers had been singers before taking the black, and they took turns playing for Her Grace at night, regaling her with ballads, war songs, and bawdy barracks tunes. 

—Fire & Blood

Ser Simon Dondarrion

Though his castle was small and modest compared to the great halls of the realm, Lord Dondarrion was a splendid host and his son Simon played the high harp as well as he jousted, and entertained the royal couple by night with sad songs of star-crossed lovers and the fall of kings. So taken with him was the queen that the party lingered longer at Blackhaven than they had intended.

(...)

But the champion’s laurels went to the gallant and handsome Ser Simon Dondarrion of Blackhaven, who won the love of the commons and queen alike when he crowned Princess Daenerys as his queen of love and beauty.

—Fire & Blood

A young and handsome noble man that played the high harp as well as he jousted sounds like Sansa Stark’s ideal man. 

Also, the name Simon and the surname Dondarrion are very subtle references of Jon Snow, an idea that I’m developing in an unfinished meta. 

Ser Ryam Redwyne

Queen Alysanne knew in person to the famous knight Ser Ryam Redwyne: 

It was a time for celebration and celebrate they did, with a tourney at King’s Landing on the anniversary of the king’s coronation. Princess Daenerys and the Princes Aemon and Baelon shared the royal box with their mother and father, and reveled in the cheers of the crowd. On the field, the highlight of the competition was the brilliance of Ser Ryam Redwyne, the youngest son of Lord Manfryd Redwyne of the Arbor, Jaehaerys’s lord admiral and master of ships. In successive tilts, Ser Ryam unhorsed Ronnal Baratheon, Arthor Oakheart, Simon Dondarrion, Harys Hogg (Harry the Ham, to the commons), and two Kingsguard knights, Lorence Roxton and Lucamore Strong. When the young gallant trotted up to the royal box and crowned Good Queen Alysanne as his queen of love and beauty, the commons roared their approval.

—Fire & Blood

Later, Ser Ryam Redwyne served as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Viserys I Targaryen.

In Sansa’s case, while having a nightmare of the riot of King's Landing, Sansa wished to be saved by Ser Ryam Redwyne Florian the Fool, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but none appear:

That night Sansa dreamed of the riot again. The mob surged around her, shrieking, a maddened beast with a thousand faces. Everywhere she turned she saw faces twisted into monstrous inhuman masks. She wept and told them she had never done them hurt, yet they dragged her from her horse all the same. "No," she cried, "no, please, don't, don't," but no one paid her any heed. She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

The only man that effectively, but unbeknownst for her, had fulfilled Sansa’s wishes for a hero, was Jon Snow: 

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

“You are refusing to obey my order?” “You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering. […] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—” […] “—and hang him,” Jon finished. […] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.” […] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.” “Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw. […] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …” No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended. “Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

WATER AND BREAD FOR THE SMALLFOLK

Alysanne procured clean water for the people of Kingslanding:

Queen Alysanne served each of them a tankard of river water at the next council meeting, and dared them to drink of it. The water went undrunk, but the wells and pipes were soon approved. Construction would require more than a dozen years, but in the end “the queen’s fountains” provided clean water for Kingslanders for many generations to come.

—Fire & Blood

Sansa made Joffrey gave some money to a poor woman with a death baby:  

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag. The coin bounced off the child and rolled away, under the legs of the gold cloaks and into the crowd, where a dozen men began to fight for it. The mother never once blinked. Her skinny arms were trembling from the dead weight of her son.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

But the people was hungry and wanted bread: 

From both sides of the street, the crowd surged against the spear shafts while the gold cloaks struggled to hold the line. Stones and dung and fouler things whistled overhead. “Feed us!” a woman shrieked. “Bread!” boomed a man behind her. “We want bread, bastard!”

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

Bread that Sansa would have given them, If she had it:

Tyrion called to her. “Are you hurt, Lady Sansa?” Blood was trickling down Sansa’s brow from a deep gash on her scalp. “They . . . they were throwing things . . . rocks and filth, eggs . . . I tried to tell them, I had no bread to give them”. 

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

In the Show they translated this Sansa’s line of dialogue to this one: “I would have given them bread if I had it.”  

Sansa, like Queen Alysanne, knew that love was a surer route to people’s loyalty than fear: 

“The night’s first traitors,” the queen said, “but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning.” As they left, she turned to Sansa. “Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

"I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

THE NORTH

Did you know that in the ASOIAF Books, Queen Alysanne is mostly mentioned in Stark POVs? Yes, she is. Queen Alysanne is mentioned by Jon, Bran, Catelyn and Sansa. You can also count Samwell Tarly in this list, because he is now a Black Brother of the Night’s Watch and Jon’s best friend. 

Jon, Bran and Samwell mention Good Queen Alysanne’s visit to the North and the Wall.

In Catelyn’s and Sansa’s case, they heard singers singing the song “Alysanne”, that according to Sansa is a sad song.  

Winterfell

In Winterfell Good Queen Alysanne met Lord Alaric Stark. A man that reminds me a lot of Stannis Baratheon:  

Alaric Stark

Alaric Stark was best left in Winterfell; a stubborn man by all reports, stern and hard-handed and unforgiving, he would make for an uncomfortable presence at the council table.  

(...)

Lord Alaric had a flinty reputation; a hard man, people said, stern and unforgiving, tight-fisted almost to the point of being niggardly, humorless, joyless, cold. Even Theomore Manderly, who was his bannerman, had not disagreed; Stark was well respected in the North, he said, but not loved. Lord Manderly’s fool had put it elsewise. “Methinks Lord Alaric has not moved his bowels since he was twelve.”

(...)

Her reception at Winterfell did nothing to disabuse the queen’s fears as to what she might expect from House Stark. Even before dismounting to bend the knee, Lord Alaric looked askance at Her Grace’s clothing and said, “I hope you brought something warmer than that.” He then proceeded to declare that he did not want her dragon inside his walls. “I’ve not seen Harrenhal, but I know what happened there.” Her knights and ladies he would receive when they got here, “and the king too, if he can find the way,” but they should not overstay their welcome. “This is the North, and winter is coming. We cannot feed a thousand men for long.” When the queen assured him that only a tenth that number would be coming, Lord Alaric grunted and said, “That’s good. Fewer would be even better.” As had been feared, he was plainly unhappy that King Jaehaerys had not deigned to accompany her, and confessed to being uncertain how to entertain a queen. “If you are expecting balls and masques and dances, you have come to the wrong place.”

—Fire & Blood

Stannis Baratheon

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

—A Game of Thrones - Bran II

"Oh, a shred, surely," Littlefinger replied negligently. "Hear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. He'll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt he'll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won't love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter's head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm's End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard XIII

A king's first duty is to defend the realm, and Mance attacked it. His Grace is not like to forget that. My father used to say that Stannis Baratheon was a just man. No one has ever said he was forgiving." 

—A Feast for Crows - Samwell I

"A boy he may be, my lord, but … King Robert was well loved, and most men still accept that Tommen is his son. The more they see of Lord Stannis the less they love him, and fewer still are fond of Lady Melisandre with her fires and this grim red god of hers. They complain."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

At this point in ASOIAF, Stannis is in the North trying to take Winterfell from the Boltons. And as Queen Alysanne melted all the ice of Lord Alaric Stark, I think Sansa could do the same with Stannis Baratheon.  Sansa would easily befriend Princess Shireen as well:    

Even a lord as stern and flinty as Alaric Stark found himself helpless before Queen Alysanne’s stubborn charm.

(...)

The longer the queen stayed, the more Lord Alaric warmed to her, and in time Alysanne came to realize that not everything that was said of him was true. He was careful with his coin, but not niggardly; he was not humorless at all, though his humor had an edge to it, sharp as a knife; his sons and daughter and the people of Winterfell seemed to love him well enough. Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library. He even deigned to approach Silverwing, though warily. The women of Winterfell were taken by the queen’s charms as well, once they grew to know her; Her Grace became particularly close with Lord Alaric’s daughter, Alarra. 

—Fire & Blood

Night’s Watch

Alysanne then decided to visit the Night’s Watch:

In the North, Queen Alysanne grew restless with waiting, and decided to take her leave of Winterfell for a time and visit the men of the Night’s Watch at Castle Black.

—Fire & Blood

Once at Castle Black she met the Lord Commander: 

Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Lothor Burley, assembled eight hundred of his finest men to receive her. That night the black brothers feasted the queen on mammoth meat, washed down with mead and stout.

—Fire & Blood

Lothor Burley sounds pretty much like Lothor Brune, another of Sansa’s protector.

Curiously enough, Queen Alysanne had this exchange with Lord Commander Burley:

Burley was apologetic for the quality of the food and drink presented to the queen, and the rudeness of the accommodations at Castle Black. “We do what we can, Your Grace,” the Lord Commander explained, “but our beds are hard, our halls are cold, and our food—”

“—is nourishing,” the queen finished. “And that is all that I require. It will please me to eat as you do.”

—Fire & Blood

This exchange is very similar to the one between Sansa Stark and “Lord Commander” Edd Tollet during Season 6 of the Show:

Edd Tollet: Sorry about the food. It’s not what we’re known for. 

Sansa Stark: That’s alright. There are more important things. 

From Snowgate to Queensgate  

Queen Alysanne left her mark in the Night’s Watch forever: 

Above all else, a queen must know how to listen,” Alysanne Targaryen often said. At Castle Black, she proved those words. She listened, she heard, and she won the eternal devotion of the men of the Night’s Watch by her actions. She understood the need for a castle between Snowgate and Icemark, she told Lord Burley, but the Nightfort was crumbling, overlarge, and surely ruinous to heat. The Watch should abandon it, she said, and build a smaller castle farther to the east. Lord Burley could not disagree…but the Night’s Watch lacked the coin to build new castles, he said. Alysanne had anticipated that objection. She would pay for the castle herself, she told the Lord Commander, and pledged her jewels to cover the cost. “I have a good many jewels,” she said.

It would take eight years to raise the new castle, which would bear the name of Deep Lake. Outside its main hall, a statue of Alysanne Targaryen stands to this very day. The Nightfort was abandoned even before Deep Lake was completed, as the queen had wished. Lord Commander Burley also renamed Snowgate castle in her honor, as Queensgate.

—Fire & Blood

This is an action that Sansa could easily replicate as Queen in the North. House Stark was always a friend of the Night’s Watch. And as Queen in the North Sansa would probably have statues to honor her all along the North.

Also the “Snow” gate becoming the “Queen” gate gives me a lot of Jon and Sansa romantic vibes.

A New Gift 

Queen Alysanne proposed a New Gift: 

Lord Stark and King Jaehaerys would never be fast friends; the shade of Walton Stark remained between them to the end. It was only through Queen Alysanne’s good offices that they ever found accord. The queen had visited Brandon’s Gift, the lands south of the Wall that Brandon the Builder had granted to the Watch for their support and sustenance. “It is not enough,” she told the king. “The soil is thin and stony, the hills unpopulated. The Watch lacks for coin, and when winter comes they will lack for food as well.” The answer she proposed was a New Gift, a further strip of land south of Brandon’s Gift.

The notion did not please Lord Alaric; though a strong friend to the Night’s Watch, he knew that the lords who presently held the lands in question would object to them being given away without their leave. “I have no doubt that you can persuade them, Lord Alaric,” the queen said. And finally, charmed by her as ever, Alaric Stark agreed that, aye, he could. And so it came to pass that the size of the Gift was doubled with a stroke.

—Fire & Blood

Jon remembers Ned Stark’s wishes for the New Gift:

Your brothers will not like it, no more than your father's lords, but I mean to allow the wildlings through the Wall . . . those who will swear me their fealty, pledge to keep the king's peace and the king's laws, and take the Lord of Light as their god. Even the giants, if those great knees of theirs can bend. I will settle them on the Gift, once I have wrested it away from your new Lord Commander. When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe." He looked at Jon. "Would you agree?"

"My father dreamed of resettling the Gift," Jon admitted. "He and my uncle Benjen used to talk of it." He never thought of settling it with wildlings, though . . . but he never rode with wildlings, either. He did not fool himself; the free folk would make for unruly subjects and dangerous neighbors. Yet when he weighed Ygritte's red hair against the cold blue eyes of the wights, the choice was easy. "I agree."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

This is something Sansa would do as Queen in the North, to fulfill Ned’s wishes, either with the wildlings or northern people, or both.

Also, take note how Jon is always choosing the redhead girl over a threat to the realm and humanity... After all, Jon is the shield that guards the realms of men.    

The Wall and Beyond

Finally, to finish the North section, we have that Queen Alysanne’s reaction to the Wall and the lands beyond, is very similar to the reaction Jon Snow imagines Sansa would have to that sight:  

Her first sight of the Wall from above took Alysanne’s breath away, Her Grace would later tell the king.

—Fire & Blood

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

And this passage about Alysanne ride atop the Wall from Snowgate to the Nightfort and the descending to the ruinous castle, reminds me a lot of Sansa’s descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon:  

Lord Commander Burley himself took the queen into the haunted forest (with a hundred rangers riding escort). When Alysanne expressed the wish to see some of the other forts along the Wall, the First Ranger Benton Glover led her west atop the Wall, past Snowgate to the Nightfort, where they made their descent and spent the night. The ride, the queen decided, was as breathtaking a journey as she had ever experienced, “as exhilarating as it was cold, though the wind up there blows so strongly that I feared it was about to sweep us off the Wall.” The Nightfort itself she found grim and sinister. “It is so huge the men seem dwarfed by it, like mice in a ruined hall,” she told Jaehaerys, “and there is a darkness there…a taste in the air…I was so glad to leave that place.”

—Fire & Blood

"Ser Sweetrobin," Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghostwolf, big as mountains.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

I HOPE MY HUSBAND FALLS OFF HIS HORSE

This is just a funny parallel:

What do those “highborn ladies do whilst their lords are out deflowering maidens? Do they sew? Sing? Pray? Were it me, I might pray my lord husband fell off his horse and broke his neck coming home.” 

—Fire & Blood

Those lords Alysanne was referring to sounds very much like Harry the Heir: 

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Sassy Queens!

A FEMALE RULER

A ruler needs a good head and a true heart. A cock is not essential. —Alysanne Targaryen

Queen Alysanne wanted a female Targaryen ruler. She really wanted it. She tried. She failed.    

This is a bit hypocrite tho... Since Alyssa, Jaehaerys and Alysanne herself wronged Rhaena and her claim to the throne, but still...

You could argue Jaehaerys and Alysanne ruled together, but despite the great influence and counsel of Queen Alysanne, she was not the ruler. Jaehaerys was. Alysanne was only the Queen consort.

Alysanne wished for her daughter Daenerys to be Queen, but Jaehaerys wanted a male heir to succeed him on the throne, so he chose his son Aemon:

“She is so clever, she will be reading to me before long,” she told the king. “She is going to be a great queen, I know it.”

(...)

Jaehaerys loved all three children fiercely, but from the moment Aemon was born, the king began to speak of him as his heir, to Queen Alysanne’s displeasure. “Daenerys is older,” she would remind His Grace. “She is first in line; she should be queen.” The king would never disagree, except to say, “She shall be queen, when she and Aemon marry. They will rule together, just as we have.” But Benifer could see that the king’s words did not entirely please the queen, as he noted in his letters.

—Fire & Blood

Alysanne also wished for her granddaughter Rhaenys to be Queen, she was the only child of the heir to the throne, Prince Aemon, but Jaehaerys wanted a male heir to succeed him on the throne, so he named Prince Baelon, Aemon’s younger brother, the Prince of Dragonstone:

Baelon, a seasoned knight of thirty-five, was better suited for rule than the eighteen-year-old Princess Rhaenys or her unborn babe (who might or might not be a boy, whereas Prince Baelon had already sired two healthy sons, Viserys and Daemon). The love of the commons for Baelon the Brave was also cited.

(...)

The most prominent dissenter was Good Queen Alysanne, who had helped her husband rule the Seven Kingdoms for many years, and now saw her son’s daughter being passed over because of her sex. “A ruler needs a good head and a true heart,” she famously told the king. “A cock is not essential.”

(...)

The queen died of a wasting illness in 100 AC, at the age of four-and-sixty, still insisting that her granddaughter Rhaenys and her children had been unfairly cheated of their rights. 

Sansa Stark has a lot of Queen foreshadowing and imagery around her and she could be the one female ruler to defeat patriarchy in ASOIAF.  

SARA SNOW

Let me tell you about a northern girl, the mysterious bastard girl from Winterfell, a wolf girl called Sara Snow:

But we turn to Mushroom to find the tales other chronicles omit, nor does he fail us now. His account introduces a young maiden, or “wolf girl” as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on.

This makes for a charming story, to be sure, but as with many of Mushroom’s fables, it seems to partake more of a fool’s fevered imaginings than of historical truth. Jacaerys Velaryon had been betrothed to his cousin Baela since he was four and she was two, and from all we know of his character, it seems most unlikely that he would break such a solemn agreement to protect the uncertain virtue of some half-wild, unwashed northern bastard. If indeed there ever lived a Sara Snow, and if indeed the Prince of Dragonstone perchanced to dally with her, that is no more than other princes have done in the past, and will do on the morrow, but to talk of marriage is preposterous.

(Mushroom also claims that Vermax left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell, which is equally absurd. Whilst it is true that determining the sex of a living dragon is a nigh on impossible task, no other source mentions Vermax producing so much as a single egg, so it must be assumed that he was male. Septon Barth’s speculation that the dragons change sex at need, being “as mutable as flame,” is too ludicrous to consider.)

This we do know: Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling. Like many such pacts, it was to be sealed with a marriage. Lord Cregan’s son, Rickon, was a year old. Prince Jacaerys was as yet unmarried and childless, but it was assumed that he would sire children of his own once his mother sat the Iron Throne. Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

—Fire & Blood

How is Sara Snow connected with Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark?

At this point in ASOIAF, Sansa Stark is under the disguise of Alayne Stone, a bastard girl, like Sara Snow.  Both young maidens, and both were called wolf girls: 

The green knight laughed again. "Barristan the Old, you mean. Don't flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already." He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

And regarding Queen Alysanne, Sara Snow is linked with her through their husbands. 

According to Mushroom, Sara Snow married a Targaryen Prince in secret. And who was this Targaryen Prince? It was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the older son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was a Targaryen Prince with brown hair (Like Jon Snow). He was probable a bastard (Like Jon Snow) son of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Harwin Strong, called Breakbones.

Curiously enough, Jacaerys Velaryon supposed father, Laenor Velaryon wanted to name him Joffrey (Like Sansa’s first betrothed Joffrey Baratheon, also a bastard).

Jacaerys is a traditional Velaryon name. House Velaryon is of Valyrian descent, and its members often have Valyrian features, such as silver hair, purple eyes, and pale skin. But as I said before, Jacaerys had brown hair, like Jon Snow.

Also, Jacaerys sounds like the Velaryon version of Jaehaerys. The short for Jacaerys was Jace. 

Sara Snow and Jacaerys Velaryon married in secret like Alysanne and Jaehaerys. 

Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloped because their mother planned to marry Alysanne with Orryn Baratheon (This is also parallel with Rhaegar and Lyanna).  

Jacaerys Velaryon was already betrothed with his cousin Baela Targaryen. Jacaerys Velaryon broke that vow to marry Sara Snow in secret.

These two couples Sara Snow & Jacaerys Velaryon and Alysanne and Jaehaerys Targaryen are two similar versions of Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen Prince with a Stark maiden or, in Alysanne case, a maiden that reminds us of a Stark one. All three secret marriages that broke a previous betrothal.

Curiously enough, Cregan Stark (Sara Snow’s brother) and Jacaerys Velaryon  signed “the Pact of Ice and Fire”, a pact sealed with a marriage, a marriage between the Stark Heir (Cregan’s son) with a Velaryon/Targaryen Princess (Jacaerys’ daughter).  

Under the terms of the pact, Jacaerys’ firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

That pact never happened because Jacaerys Velaryon died childless.

Mushroom said that Vermax (Jacaerys’ dragon) left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell. This could have meant that Sara Snow (Jacaerys’ wife) was already pregnant with Jacaerys’ first child and if that child were a girl, she must have married her cousin Rickon Stark. But that never happened.

What did happen was that Jon Snow, the son of a Targaryen Prince with a Stark Maiden, was raised at Winterfell, next to his cousin Sansa Stark, older daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, with whom he can fulfill the “the Pact of Ice and Fire”. 

Rhaegar himself probably tried to fulfill “the Pact of Ice and Fire” with Lyanna Stark. And Jon Snow would be the fruit of that fulfillment, a son of Ice and Fire. 

Here you can read more about Jace & Sara.

ALYSANNE “BLACK ALY” BLACKWOOD

Alysanne Blackwood, also known as Black Aly, is not very similar to Queen Alysanne or Sansa Stark. She was a woman more like Arya Stark. In summary: Not a Lady.

But Alysanne Blackwood became the second wife of Lord Cregan Stark, wich made her Lady Stark, Lady Alysanne Stark.

RICKON STARK

Lord Cregan Stark had a son with his first wife Arra Norrey, a boy named Rickon Stark. And little Rickon sang for the new Lady Stark:

The wedding itself was said to be splendid, however; Black Aly and her wolf pledged their troth before the heart tree in Winterfell’s icy godswood. At the feast afterward, four-year-old Rickon, Lord Cregan’s son by his first wife, sang a song for his new stepmother.

—Fire & Blood

This will probably never happen, but imagine our little Rickon Stark singing for his sister-mother Sansa Stark... But our beloved Rickon is a wild wolf pup so he would probably howl instead of sing, after all: 

“The Starks know no music but the howling of wolves.” —A Game of Thrones - Catelyn V

SANSARA TARLY

If you thought that all this similar/linked names are just a coincidence, that Sara Snow has nothing to do with Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark, now let me tell you about “more coincidences”, let me tell you about Sansara Tarly.

In Fire & Blood, during the searching for King Aegon III second wife, we meet a character named Sansara Tarly:

Perhaps the boldest letter came from the irrepressible Lady Samantha of Oldtown, who declared that her sister Sansara (of House Tarly) “is spirited and strong, and has read more books than half the maesters in the Citadel” whilst her good-sister Bethany (of House Hightower) was “very beautiful, with smooth soft skin and lustrous hair and the sweetest manner,” though also “lazy and somewhat stupid, truth be told, though some men seem to like that in a wife.” She concluded by suggesting that perhaps King Aegon should marry both of them, “one to rule beside him, as Queen Alysanne did King Jaehaerys, and one to bed and breed.” 

—Fire & Blood

Sansara is literally a combination of Sansa and Sara.

Sansara is from House Tarly, and our beloved Samwell Tarly is, what I call, a Male!Sansa:

Yes, it’s just amazing how similar Sansa Stark and Samwell Tarly are. They have a lot of common interests and they sure would be the best of friends:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

And during a few passages in the ASOIAF Books you can read how Samwell prays to the Mother: “Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy.”, just like Sansa. 

It is said that Sansara Tarly “has read more books than half the maesters in the Citadel”. This is a direct connection to Queen Alysanne, another book lover that could have been a Maester of the Citadel; and also to Samwell Tarly who is actually studying at the Citadel to become a Maester (Thanks to Jon Snow). Another book lover? Yes, Sansa Stark.     

Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara

What an interesting chain of names George, all of them connected, so subtle of you:  

SANSA’S bastard name is ALAYNE  

ALAYNE can be formed removing a letter S and one letter N from ALYSANNE    

SARA was called WOLF GIRL like SANSA

SARA is a bastard like ALAYNE 

SARA married in secret with JACAERYS just like ALYSANNE married in secret with JAEHAERYS (Also JACAERYS = JAEHAERYS) 

ALYSANNE “Black Aly” Blackwood married Lord Cregan Stark and became LADY STARK, LADY ALYSANNE STARK 

SANSARA is a combination of SANSA and SARA

SANSARA is from House Tarly, like Samwell Tarly who is a Male!Sansa

SANSARA is as cultured and well read as ALYSANNE (Also like Samwell and Sansa) 

GRRM chooses the names of his characters very carefully. For example, here is what he has said about the Stark Sisters’ Names:     

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

After all of this, if GRRM decides to name a next character of the ASOIAF Universe: ‘ALYSANSA’, I would not be surprised.  

I rest my case.  

[shhh-no-ones-home]

green looks good on you  vinny mauro x reader

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Request from @gardenjungle : "If you are taking requests, I would LOVE if you could do an imagine where the reader has a ton in common with Chris (likes hockey and Harry Potter, is a vegan, etc...) so they’re super close, and Vinny is super upset about it because he likes her sooo much and “Chris gets all the girls” ??? Vinny gets no love and you’re one of the only people who writes about him often. I’d also love if you could get a little sexy action in there"

Ngl this is like 1600+ words and i wrote it in like twenty minutes and loved every minute of it. i really hope you like it! i didnt end up adding anything ‘sexy’ but its pretty gratifying to say the least lol.

Song: gold by sleeping with sirens

tag list: @musicsexandpizza69 @svintsandghosts @alilpunkrock @cynic-spirit @theoneandonlykymberlee @ryansitkowskiswifey @joeybarber @thisplace-ishaunted

+++++++++

i rocked back into the couch, laughing at what chris had said. he was sat next to me, very comfortably, as we chatted amongst ourselves. we had been very close friends for a very long time and i was over the moon that he'd invited me to travel with them for this tour as the videographer. not only did i get to expand my portfolio but i also got to connect with my best friend and his band.

"okay but do you remember that one fall at the orchard when you tripped on that apple and ended up face first in the dirt?"

he laughed out and i sent him a shocked expression.

"i thought we agreed to never bring that up!"

i protested, the other guys around us sort of laughing along, them only half paying attention as they played a new video game. their focus was above our heads.

"but it was hilarious. i looked up for a split second and BAM! there you went."

he said loudly, being a little more expressive at the 'bam.' i shook my head at him.

"okay then, if we are ratting each other out about stupid shit weve done,what about that one time you got your hand stuck in the Christmas tree ties on your dads car?"

i said matter-of-factly. his eyes got wide.

"hey! that was an accident and you know it. we couldve taken my whole arm off!"

he said in his defense.

"i thought it was hilarious."

i said sternly back, smiling widely at him. he stuck his tongue out at me, a notion i gladly mirrored. then he grabbed me around the shoulders, pulling me to him. i screamed at the sudden motion, looking to vinny and rick who were sitting across from us for some guidance but they were to into the game.

"you two are too much."

ricky laughed out, looking at ryan for a second as he walked by. chris pulled me closer before licking a stripe up my face.

"ew!"

i said pulling away from him and wiping his saliva off of my face.

"asshole!"

i said, grabbing his face and blowing raspberries into his cheek. he laughed incredulously, pushing me away from him.

"youre nasty."

he said mimicking my notion and wiping his face. i punched his arm lightly before swinging my legs into his lap, him holding them there and looking down at me endearingly.

"so are you."

i said back, shaking my head at him, nose scrunched.

"you know you love me."

he said, bringing his face closer to mine.

"well yeah."

i said back, squinting at him.

"i think im done for tonight."

vinny said suddenly, pausing the game. ricky sent him a look like 'wtf?' and watched him stand.

"im gonna go get some air."

he said and we all watched him walk off the bus.

"that was weird right?"

i asked and they all nodded. i had a good few chances to talk to vinny since tour had started and he seemed like a really cool guy. someone id be lucky to call a close friend by the time tour was over if not something more. part of me felt bad, like chris and i really where too much for him to handle in that moment. but this was how we always were. we practically survived our teens years together, losing touch for a bit but inevitably going back to the way things where when we found each other back.

"you guys mind if i go out there too?"

i asked and they all sort of shrugged at me, chris letting my legs go so i could stand. as i did i leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

"dont miss me while im gone."

i joked and he rolled his eyes at me.

"of course not."

i laughed a little bit as i descended down the stairs, pushing the door open and seeing vinny leaning against the bus.

"you okay?"

i asked softly, walking to him and rubbing my hands together. i had sort of forgotten how cold it had got. it was late fall after all but the bus was so warm and inviting i didnt even think about grabbing a jacket before leaving. i half shivered as i walked closer, his face being illuminated by the street lights outside the venue.

"uh yeah, everything's great."

he said a little condescendingly, kicking his foot into the gravel under him.

"im sorry if we were too much, i guess when we get together we have a tendency to overshare and its not for everyone. but i suppose thats what you get when youre comfortable with someone the way we are."

i tried to defend to him and he let out a short sigh-laugh.

"its no big deal, you guys really like each other. its cool."

i smiled.

"yeah, hes my best friend."

vinny nodded once.

"how long have you guys been together? i dont recall him ever talking about you before."

i drew my brows.

"together?"

i asked and he seemed just as confused as i was.

"look i get it, chris gets all the girls, being the front man and all."

he seemed a little jealous.

"but i dont think he ever mentioned you before tour started and then one day he told us about some girl coming on to film us. but clearly you guys are close so do you have like a, i dont know, like a open relationship type thing?"

i laughed a little bit.

"you think chris and i are dating?"

he half shrugged.

"well yeah, its kinda obvious."

i shook my head and took his hand in mine.

"vinny i can assure you that chris and i are just friends. if anything hes like the brother i never asked for nor wanted but got anyways. but life just does that sometimes."

he looked down at our connected hands and let go of me promptly.

"i guess it just doesnt seem like that."

he said a little hurt. i sighed and leaned against the bus next to him.

"it would be kind of weird to bring it up to him but i like someone else in this band, if you wanted to know."

i said, looking at him a little hopeful he was picking up what i was putting down.

"oh."

he said sadly. i sighed, i guess not.

"yeah, hes super cool, and nice, and ive really enjoyed connecting with him."

i shivered as the wind blew and he finally looked over at me.

"are you cold?"

he asked, ignoring what i had just said. i nodded a little bit, crossing my arms over my chest.

"just a little bit but i ll be fine."

he shook his head at me.

"no way, here."

he said taking his jacket off. at least he had long sleeves on. he placed his jacket over my shoulders, pulling it together in the front.

"thanks vin."

i said as we both returned to our positions against the bus.

"would your new dream guy do that?"

he half joked, i could still hear the venom in his voice. he was absolutely jealous. i thought it was funny because now he was jealous of himself.

"actually yeah."

he scoffed, hiking his foot up on the side of the bus.

"great."

he said looking away from me. i stepped closer and nudged him.

"he would because he just did."

he looked at me and drew his brows together.

"wait you mean?"

he asked, his face turning to that of shock. i nodded.

"god, yes. vin ive had a crush on you since i got here."

i laughed out.

"i didnt think you would like me back and then i realized just now that that was utter bullshit."

he half smiled.

"and whys that?"

he asked a little cocky.

"you were jealous of chris and that has only happened to me a handful of times in my life. once in highschool when my boyfriend said he would break up with me if i didnt stop hanging out with him. once when i graduated college and my then boyfriend accused me of sleeping with him. and right now."

he looked down a little ashamed.

"yeah i guess that wasnt fair of me to do. i just figured since you guys hit it off so fast that you were into him."

i laughed a little bit.

"dont get me wrong i love him with my whole being, but seeing someone go through puberty just does something to your vision of them ya know?"

i asked and he laughed back, nodding.

"okay, well if you really are into me, would it be stepping to far to ask you out?"

he said hopefully and i grinned widely at him.

"i would love that vin."

he sent me a tired smile in the dim street lights.

"may i also be so bold as to ask if i could kiss you?"

i let out a nervous laugh. i was really gonna let that happen huh? i nodded.

"id like that a lot vin."

he stepped closer to me slowly, placing his hand gently against my cheek, running his thumb over it. his hands were rough and calloused from playing the drums so long but i didnt mind. it kind of felt nice. he looked deep into my eyes before leaning down and capturing my lips in his. all of a sudden it felt like home, like this was it, the thing id wanted for so long and never found. his other hand made its way to my waist as he deepend the kiss. i sighed into him, practically melting against his mouth like chocolate left outside in the sun on a hot day. when he pulled away he rested his forehead against mine and smiled like an idiot, one i gladly returned.

"fucking finally."

i heard from behind me, the bus door clicking closed. both of us turned to look, seeing ricky and chris standing there grinning from ear to ear. i had a mad blush splayed across my face now and was thankful that the light was behind me so it would be harder to see.

"how long have you been standing there?"

i demanded, walking to chris and punching his arm. he laughed in pain as he rubbed his arm.

"long enough to see the sparks fly."

he teased, pushing me back. i rolled my eyes at him.

"get your ass back in the bus."

i said opening the door and escorting him back inside. he made kissy noises at me as rick followed him up the stairs. i shook my head and turned around, jumping a little bit at vinnys presence behind me.

"rick had kind of been waiting for that for a while."

he said, looking up at the now closed door. i raised a a brow.

"oh?"

i asked and he sent me a bashful smile, scratching the back of his neck lightly.

"ive been crushing over you for a while too. and being jealous of chris just as long, rick's been pushing me to say something. i guess it just took one last little push."

he shamefully laughed out.

"at least now we're on the same page."

i said before standing on my tip toes and bringing him down to kiss me again, both of his hands going to my waist.

"now come on, im still cold and the bus is much warmer."

i joked and he nodded along.

"agreed."

[cypris-thalsian]

The Gift: Part IV

[ Part I, Part II, Part III, Written with @thalsianiii​ ]

All through the morning pack up, Cypris had remained quiet. The rest did seem to help, though the night prior had done little to settle her nerves. She did as she had any other time she'd felt knocked back, picked herself up and pushed forward, steeling herself for whatever was to come. While it had usually been instinct to carry such thoughts solely on her own shoulders, she didn't let herself withdraw from Percival's help and comfort. If she was loosing herself, she'd fight it with her chin raised and shoulders squared. 

Much like she had on the flight to the Swamp, she held firm to Percival on the last leg of the journey to Stranglethorn. Perhaps a touch tighter in an effort to keep herself grounded in mid air. It wouldn't be until they neared Booty Bay, that ever so often a body may have been seen laying splayed out along the road leading to the port town. 

The planks of the harbor itself seemed to be far less bustling than it's usual. A few hands scurried about moving just enough to keep a few of the businesses going. Even the ships had taken to setting anchor just off shore rather than drawing too close.

As promised, Percival had woken up just a bit earlier to go picking mushrooms and foraging for swamp clams. All of which were tucked away in a pack so that he could get to 'cooking' once they made it to Booty Bay.

His concern for Cypris never wavered. Too much was going wrong at once for it all to be coincidence. All he could think was that it was those damned Loa of her playing some kind of trick.

Upon their arrival it was clear something was wrong here, too.

"What on Azeroth..." Percival mumbled on the back of their dragonhawk as they circled around.

"Never seen the port this quiet... and so many dead bodies strewn about on the way over...What's going on?"

Lifting her cheek from his back, Cy looked out over the Bay as further confusion stemmed from Percival. Spying the bodies and hushed overtone of the port, her brows furrowed with her own loss for an explanation. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Looking out towards the sea she tried to see the flags of the ships, or any added clues on board. The ships were just as quiet, some seemingly preparing to depart or erring on the side of caution. Shifting where she sat on the back of the dragonhawk, she tried to see towards Lairn's shop but there was little telling information to be had beyond a pair of windows boarded up. 

"Shall we find out?" It was then a scream came from one of the inn balconies, a woman ran outward in an attempt to escape a shambling ghoul in the form of what appeared to be a lost sailor decaying and dripping it's disease.

"Good ide-" Percival was cut off before he could finish his statement. Starburn hovered at his command of the reins rather than go in for a landing at the roost.

"Undead? Inside the bay?" he remarked with mild confusion.

"If it weren't for the corpses outside I'd think it was a rogue necromancer causing a ruckus. This is odd."

He veered the Dragonhawk towards a higher rooftop. It seemed the safer option to make landfall before dismounting sending her away to the relative safety of the skies and trees.

"Where's Lairn's shop? Does it look like she's alright?" he asked.

"I suppose it's still possible.. certainly a point to hit with all the ships in and out... I'd heard of forsaken ships along the coast a few years back, this doesn't look like their handy work." 

Cypris held firm, looking over for anything she might have missed. In the disarray of it all, only a closer look would truly remedy the lack of information. "Almost wish we'd stayed home between last night and now this..." She huffed. 

"Her windows are boarded. I don't see her though. She's tough.." The last came as more of a reassurance to herself than any real explanation. The dwarven woman had seen and lived through her fair share of the world's troubles, given as much hell as she took. But even dwarves slowed with age. The thought of something perchance happening to the old bat, churned a twist of guilt to the fire-starter's stomach.

"I'm wishing the same thing..." he huffed. With a wave of his hand across his face, Percival conjured forth his battle mask.

"Well whatever's happening, we won't leave the old girl to tangle with ghouls and gheists alone," he decided with a confident tone. The last thing he needed was his wife to feel any more emotional pain than she already had these past few days.

He made a series of gestures with his hands before pressing both palms against the roof they stood on. A pair of black gates appeared and his trusty Felstalkers crawled out.

"You two, devour any undead you come across. But leave the civilians alone. This is still amicable territory for us." he instructed before sending them off and turned back to Cypris.

"Hopefully the locals won't mind a little off brand backup," he said with a nod, "Let's go see to Lairn."

Settling her footing to the roof, just as Percival called forth his mask, she drew her daggers. While he summoned the stalkers, she took the tandem of surveying the nearby surroundings. 

The woman that was screaming from her balcony had backed herself to the ledge and found herself pinned struggling to knock back the creature's assault. Those that remained out of doors, didn't make a move to help, knowing it was too late as stains of crimson poured down the planks. Below where dead and ghouls lingered in the water, a few spots along the edges the once blue waters were stained red in the wash of the waves. Just beyond the clouds of blood lurked the sharks called in for a meal to chum. 

Just below the walkway seemed clear, but there was little telling what lie just beneath the couple's feet. A man made his way passed to one of the huts with a pail of red paint, marking the door with a large 'X'. As the stalkers drew near on their run passed, he quickly shuddered back against the rail, spilling out a bit of the paint along the stained boards. On closer inspection a small handful of the huts had the mark, stirring Cy's attention to Lairn's door, finding it remained unmarked. 

"The dead are slow... not that I need to tell you.." She'd started to explain the plan before remembering just who she was talking to. It was enough to stir a familiar grin to her cheeks, the one that came when there was potential trouble to be dealt with. It was nearly enough to chase the exhaustion from her eyes, but not quite.

Taking a few steps back, Cy gave a running jump to make it to the next roof. She was aiming to hop along to a more stable rail that would hold well enough to see her to the foot path leading to Lairn's shop. The thudding of her leather boots not quiet enough to hide her steps from the lingering souls below. 

Hitting the planks of the pathway a man stepped out, his eyes sunken, sweat beading his brow but not quite gone. "Please..." Came his whimpered call for help, "You've got to help us." He slowly started outward, hand reaching out.

Percival lacked the speed and grace of his lover. Even so, he did his best to jump along with her. Stumbling a few times, making far more racket than hers did.

"Slow, and weak," he added between jumps.

The 'X' marked doors caught his attention, along with the man who was painting them. It was as if a plague had gripped the city. Gears in Percival's head slowly starting to piece things together.

The man reaching for his wife was enough to stir him into an almost irrational state. He rushed up and grabbed the man by the wrist before it could get any closer to Cypris. Not that he didn't have faith that she could handle one decrepit sick man. But after her latest weaknesses, he was on guard more than usual.

"What's happening here? Why are the dead invading?" he asked the sickly leper.

"A plague... just like before..." was all he could manage to utter before he began to fall to a fit of hacking coughs.

Percival's head turned to look at his wife. She didn't need to see his face to know the gravity of expression painting his features behind the mask.

Cy had squared her step, ready to meet the man with her blade if need be. She'd been of similar mind to ask the question that Percival pushed forward to ask first. It was the answer that followed along with the hacking near Percival that had her usually sunny tones paling. "Kill him." She said simply. "Unless you think he has more answers..."

She'd felt the gravity, she'd been in Stormwind or nearby when the last outbreak had spilled through the lands. Giving a shake of her head at the memories, worry for the elder dwarf swelled, but also that of the Ava.  "Might explain the quiet last night. No patrols, that place is a breeding ground for this..."

Whether it was her nerves of the moment or something else all together, Cy started to step back with another churn of her stomach. "I've got to... Got to... Lai..." Her hand dropped one of her daggers to grip at the railing just as she turned and purged the remnants of breakfast on the landing below.

Cypris had barely gotten the kill request out of her lips before Percival did exactly that. He heard about the last plague that the south experienced, but he hadn't witnessed anything like this since the Third War. Even so, he knew all to well how bad it could get. Without hesitation, Felfire crawled up the mans arm and ran rampant along his figure until he crippled down into a hump of burning meat. Such potent fire would leave little more than ash and bone fragments by the time it was done.

"You'd be right. Suppose we were fortunate not to be caught... looks like something was on our side after all." he huffed.

His demeanor shifted when Cypris found herself growing ill. They had just deciphered the potential return of the Plague of Undeath and now she was growing sick.

"Cypris!" he shouted as he rushed to her side.

Panic was festering in his stomach, a feeling he could not afford now.

"Can you walk?" he asked, a hand placed on her back as she retched.

"We'll get you to Lairn immediately."

The hand shifted from the rail to Percival's arm, both for support to keep herself upright and to give a reassuring squeeze to his arm. When she'd given up all that she could, the back of her other arm raked across her lips before sheathing her blade. "I'm fine. I can walk... I can walk.."

She took a pair of deep breaths but found it to be a mistake with the smell of newly burnt remains along with the ill in the air. Holding firm a moment more until she knew her feet were steady under her, she eventually reached down taking up the dropped dagger. 

Mustering up a wry smile, one close to the one she'd had before the announcement of the plague had shaken her nerves, "I'm a fire-starter. I don't get sick." A laugh followed, but she knew full well with her exhaustion the last weeks combined with the upset of the past days, her idea of that reality might have changed. 

"There's no mark on her door." She noted, remaining close to the warlock rather than making an effort to rely on her own abilities.

If it weren't for the mask, Cypris would see Percival smile in response to her quip. A smile that wouldn't quite reach his eyes.

"If you're sure," he said with a nod. He looked around for a suitable path to make it to Lairn's unmarked door. It only made sense that the man from earlier was making doors that held sick or dead inside. Lairn being something of a healer, it was little surprise she might be safe.

"Alright, let's go," he agreed, keeping close to Cypris so she could lean on him as she needed. His free arm dripped with Felfire and cursed words were resting on the tip of his tongue. Anything, living or dead, that crossed their path in this moment would meet a swift end if he had anything to say about it.

A silent, psychic command called forth one of the rampaging Felstalkers to act as their guard dog. He was sparing no expense on his wife's safety today.

She felt the touch of his smile, but the sound of his voice let her know it was as faltered as her own. They both failed at presenting a strong face for the other when their nerves and concerns could be felt so deeply within. Mulling her lips, Cy worked to get the taste from her mouth, using it as a distraction as they pushed through the pathway. 

Most were afraid to leave their homes, the ones who had considered it before had likely seen the aftermath of the man who dared to ask the pair for help. The closer they came to Lairn's door, the sound of a steady thudding could be heard along with the unintelligible growly moan of another sailor long dead. 

The figure, having managed to wedge itself along the side path of the Elder dwarf's home, was repeatedly pressing forward in it's blind effort to feed on what lay within the hut. The sound of steps on the planks, however turned its attention towards the trio. As it turned, flesh of it's middle caught at a half driven nail, spilling out sun aged infection down it's front to the planks of the path. 

A sneer curled at Cy's nose, as she grumbled, "Fuck..."

A bolt of fel was sent careening towards the freshly undead sailors head. Probably enough to incapacitate a simple zombie. But Percival took no chances. The hound was released to gnaw on and devour any and all of the risen sailor.

If nothing else, the Felstalkers of the Burning Crusade were incredible assets at cleaning up corpses. The two of them would be good and fat by the end of the day.

Once the simple zombie was dealt with, Percival escorted Cypris to Lairn's front door and banged on it a good three times.

"Lairn! Open the damned door before I burn it down!" he called out. He was usually much more polite when it came to Cypris's adopted grammy. But he had no patience left for niceties anymore.

[greennightspider]

Secrets VI: Mothers in Law (Final Chapter)

Summary: Hvitserk is usually the quiet, mischievous brother. No one really knows what he does, or where he is half of the time, he’s usually an enigma. So what if the reason why….was not an it, but a who?

Secrets, Secrets II, Secrets III, Secrets IV, Secrets V

Hvitserk x Rumena (Mena for short) (OC)

The morning sun awoke Rumena with its gentle rays, and the feel of Hvitserk kissing up her legs was also a welcome pronouncement. “Morning.” She purred, to which Hvitserk returned her smile. “Good morning.”

Hvitserk continued his journey, kissing up Mena’s leg and her thigh. As he came close to her sex Rumena caressed his face, running her fingers through his hair. “Such a treat, and so early.” She sighed, moving her hips further down, so that Hvitserk’s arms came to circle under her thighs.

In truth, Hvitserk was still jaded from the previous day’s events, the thought of his brothers laying a hand on his woman-

Yes. His woman.

He sank his mouth into her sex hearing her broken moan, and lifted her hips so that his hands could cup her supple ass. Her warmth was always so inviting, her moans always so tempting, the way she would buck her hips begging for more.

Hvitserk’s possessiveness was getting the better of him, rocking her his to meet the rhythm of his inflections on her clit, making her squeal. He would be damned if any of this brothers tried to take Rumena away from him.

She brought shivers down his spine with the way her thighs spasmed around his ears, only able to hear her muffled cries of his name. He loved the way she tangled her fingers in his hair and rolled his head into her when she was close, Hvitserk making sure never to let up until he felt her cream on his tongue her orgasmic cries music to his ears. Yes, he loved their excursions, but it was more than that.

The way he wanted to take care of her, the way he looked forward every day to seeing her welcome him home. Hvitserk knew the night before, and the way Mena looked at him and kissed him with such fervour drew him over the edge.

He knew his heart belonged to her forever.

He drew himself up to her flushed face, covering them both in the bedfurs once more, trying to gather the courage to confess what he now knew. “Rumena, I-“

“Knock knock!”

The pair looked at each other quizzically, but before they could answer the door flung wide open, the first prince of Kattegat himself strolling in. “Morning little brother.” 

“Bjorn what the hell are you doing here again!” Hvitserk hissed, trying to make sure that Rumena was covered up. A cautious Ubbe followed in tow, trying to avert his eyes from the obviously dishevelled girl.

“And where’s the snake-y one.” Rumena said boldly.

Bjorn turned on his heels and cocked his head. “Snakey one?”

“The minx means me.” Ivar strode in, the final person in the party, making no effort to stab his crutch into the floorboards menacingly. Rumena noted now that at full height Ivar stood almost taller than Hvitserk, the youngest prince taking his place near the table to lean on.

“Oh! She doesn’t know who we are. Bad Hvitty.” Bjorn chuckled. “I am Bjorn son of Lagertha and Ragnar Lothbrok. That is Ubbe,” he then nodded in the direction of the snakey one.  “And the grumpy one is Ivar.”

“Again why are you here.” Hvitserk growled.

“We’re here because mother sent for you.” Ubbe sighed. “She heard, and now she wants to meet her.”

“Why is it any of her business.” Hvitserk scoffed.

“Well, technically she did come aboard a slave boat, as none of us remember her being on any other ship.” Ivar said. “So as a slave-“

“I am not a slave.” Mena stated, feeling Hvitserk’s arm pull protectively behind her back.

Bjorn interrupted. “That is not for you to decide, err-”

“My name is Rumena.”

“Slave or not, as a newcomer you need to be presented to the regent of this place, Rumena.” Ubbe folded his arms, finally daring a look at the girl. “You are a foreigner, a stranger here. And if you want to be accepted in this place, this is your chance.”

Rumena steeled a look at Hvitserk, who was still glaring at his brothers. But Rumena knew the older one had spoken the truth. Turning back to his brothers, she squeezed Hvitserk’s hand.

“We will come then.”

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It was hard not to feel the stares of everyone as she walked through the town. Some looked at her with disdain, others with curiosity, as to why such a being would be escorted by the princes of Kattegat. The only thing that kept her going was Hvitserk’s hand in hers, squeezing her reassuringly. She took comfort in Hvitserk, but was unsure what defence they had against a queen.

The doors of the hall were already open, and as she entered Mena marveled at the furs that covered the throne. And of course, the woman who sat upon it. Even sitting down Rumena could tell that she was quite tall, her features very angular. She was wearing a dark blue dress that contrasted with her firey hair, her wrists slender as they peeked out of the long embroidered sleeves.

She definitely looked regal. And Rumena was starting to realize how significant her relationship with Hvitserk might be.

Aslaug peered at the girl who entered alongside her son, her expression revealing neither disdain nor approval.

“What is your name, slave.”

“I am not a slave- your Highness.” Rumena said, slightly bowing.

Aslaug tipped her head ever so slightly to the right. “That is not what I asked.”

Rumena gulped, thequeen’s piercing glare icier than the winter’s chill. “Rumena.”

“And is it true, Rumena, that you came here from the raids on a slave boat, only to escape and attempt to find favour in my son’s arms?”

“No!” Rumena shouted, but the crowd had already begun to murmur. Her fists started to shake, knowing that the word of a foreigner might not have any weight here at all.

“That is a lie.” Rumena felt Hvitserk’s presence as he stood shoulder to shoulder with her, staring down his mother and his queen with no remorse.

“The ship that you were aboard belonged to King Harald. Therefore any and all slaves

aboard that ship were his property.” Aslaug smiled coldly at her son. “So as it stands, she is property of a King of a neighbouring land.”

“That is not fair!” Hvitserk barked.

“Well it is not like we have anyone here to vouch for the truth of your story.” Aslaug said bluntly.

“Yes there is.”

A soft but strong voice came from the entrance of the hall, revealing a quirky but very well-known couple, a pair that were known to be companions of Ragnar himself.

“Helga.” Rumena almost cried in relief seeing her friend.

“We will vouch for them. Wont we Floki?” Helga smiled at her husband, who giggled in return.

“Yes we will.” Floki gazed mischeviously at the throne before going into a curtsy. “Your highness.”

“As do I.”

Rumena saw the queen’s jaw instantly clench, as all turned to see who was in the doorway. The crowd instantly made way for the newcomer.

Lagertha (and an out of breath Bjorn) made their way through the hall towards the throne.

“Who is that?” Mena whispered.

“My stepmother and Bjorn’s mother.” Hvitserk whispered back. “It is a long story.”

“Welcome, Earl Ingstad.” Aslaug stood and clasped her hands. “What an unexpected surprise.” She smiled, although her voice made Rumena shiver.

Lagertha returned the gaze. “I came on the behest of my son, to told me of these two and their plight.” She nooded at Rumena and Hvitserk.

“Well I cannot see how it is any business of yours.” Aslaug laughed.

“Actually it is.” Lagertha cut off her chuckle sharply, taking one step towards the throne, her eyes lingering on the empty one beside. “You see, the residence in which Hvitserk and this girl have lived is within the borders of Hedeby.” Lagertha’s smile instantly faded. “Which makes it my business.”

Aslaug’s smile faded too, her bony fingers clenching the throne.

“As such,” Lagertha continued, turning around and walking back to the couple. “It is within my right and power, to deem this girl a free woman, as she always has been.”

She then  “If King Harald has any quam about a missing ‘slave’ that he never knew about to begin with, then he can answer to me.”

Rumena’s mouth dropped open at her smile, as did Hvtiserk’s, looking to Bjorn for some explanation, but his older brother just shrugged with his hands folded.

Lagertha spun around with a smug tug in her smile. “Does that suit you?”

“Are you done here then?” Aslaug maintained her poise, trying not to let her contempt show for the Earl.

Lagertha paused, before turning to Hvitserk. “I would also like to make a proposition to your son Hvitserk. That he become my personal messenger and an ambassador of Hedeby.” Gasps were heard all across the hall at that.

“Of course, having such an intermediary, will mean that I would not have to come myself.” Lagertha propositioned, knowing that Aslaug would rather see her counterpart as little as possible.

“I accept.” Hvitserk nodded hastily, stepping forward. “If it pleases the queen.”

Aslaug’s fingers thrummed on the armrests of the throne. She had hoped to be able to marry Hvitserk off to a neighbouring kingdoms’ daughter, or at least someone highborn. And she hated the idea of Lagertha outshining her in her own kingdom. But then she sighed, exasperated. “Do what you want.” She waved her arm dismissively at the gathering. The queen had neither the time nor energy to fight this battle.

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

“How did your mother know about this?” Hvitserk whispered to his brother lowly.

“Ah well, I may or may not have owed her a visit. And when I told her it would be a chance to one-up your mother, well she was one her horse halfway here.” Bjorn laughed.

“Brother, I don’t know how to thank you.” Hvitserk shook his head.

Bjorn scoffed, shrugging his shoulders before putting his arms around both Rumena and Hvitserk. “It is the least we can do after giving your woman such a scare. Especially when the snakey one doesn’t apologize.”

Lagertha smiled at the trio. “You know you two are welcome in Hedeby any time.”

Rumena took a chance and smiled at the older woman. “Thank you very much.” She then turned to Hvitserk, grabbed his face and kissed him with all of her might, a couple of villagers whistling at the sight.

She felt Hvitserk’s strong arms encircle her as she pulled back. “I love you, Viseka.”

Hvitserk’s shock turned into a grin as he picked her up and whipped her around. “I love you too Rumena!” He shouted, not caring who heard or what they thought. All that mattered was her.

“Earl Ingstad!” Hvitserk called out, Lagertha turning quizzically to him.

Hvitserk then held Rumena’s face in his hands. “I would like us to be married.” He grinned. “If Rumena accepts.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!” Rumena cried, pulling him into her arms once more.

“Always yes.”

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[thran-duils]

Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 4)

Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 4) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 2,139 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence 

Author’s Note: I have reset my tag list. If you want to be added back, please DM or send me an ask!

Chap 3 || Chap 5 || Masterpost  || Fanfic masterpost

“What the actual fuck?” Dean demanded, gripping the steering wheel furiously.

The three of you had been quiet after getting the people safely home. You were all trying to process what had happened. As soon as you had gotten back to the car and sat inside without the car on, no one moving, the floodgate opened.

In a fluid motion, he turned, throwing his arm over the back of the seat in order to see Sam in the passenger side and you in the back. Mostly to see you. Sam looked at you as well.

Defensively, you threw your hands up in defeat at their piercing stares. “I don’t know!”

“He sure as hell seems to have taken a liking to you,” Dean retorted.

“What are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Y/N.”

Sam cut in, “I think the question is, what is his deal? What does he want?”

“Apparently a fan of Y/N,” Dean responded. “And killing innocent people for entertainment!”

“How did he even know we would come? This is far from Vermont,” Sam asked.

Closing your eyes in frustration, you leaned your head back on the seat with a sigh. Of course it was too good to be true that a normal, well spoken man would have interest in you. Why had you not been more concerned when you met him at the café? There were red lights all over the place, the biggest one being that he happened to be in Lawrence of all the cities he could choose in the country and happened to be at that café at that exact moment.

“What?” Dean asked after a pause. “What are you thinking about?”

Seems you would need to divulge that you had had contact.

Opening your eyes again, you leveled them with a stare. “We are pretty close to home. Only a few hours away.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, Sam venturing, “And? And how would he know that?”

Adjusting uncomfortably under their scrutinizing gaze, you cleared your throat. “He, uh…” you paused, the words getting stuck in your throat as the guilt crept in. How could you have been so relaxed about that meeting? “I ran into him at the coffee shop on the corner of Crescent and Fifth.”

“What? When?” Sam asked, genuine concern lacing his tone.

You shrugged, “A couple weeks ago at most. It was when I brought home lunch from Sopranos. We just bumped into each other – almost collided, really. He recognized me, apologized for almost running me over, and bought me something to eat.

The words were rolling out of you now.

“We ate, had some small talk, where he told me he was a journey salesman which is why he was in Lawrence –”

“And you believed that?” Dean interjected. “Y/N… Jesus. He followed you from freaking Vermont back to Kansas!”

“I’m quite aware. It is painfully obvious now. But he admitted to me that he procures and sells supernatural artifacts. Which is why he hadn’t been as surprised about the banshee as a normal person should or would be. And he is not looking for something in Lawrence. My first thought when he mentioned artifacts was the bunker; if he was trying to use us to find it. But he didn’t seem to know. He was talking about Topeka, Ottawa… and somewhere else.”

“Anyway, Lawrence is central to all three of the places. And when eh explained it like that, it made enough sense. Then, Sam called shortly after. I excused myself, we exchanged numbers –”

“He has your phone number?” Sam interrupted.

You admitted, blushing, “Yes.”

“Jesus,” Dean swore again.

“Well, at that moment, I didn’t know he was off his rocker!”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Dean quipped.

“Alright,” Sam cut in or tried to because Dean pressed on.

“No, not alright. You know what?” He reached his arm toward you. “Give me your phone if you have his number.” You shook your head immediately and he rose his brows. “You don’t have his number?”

“I do.”

“Then why can’t I call it?”

“Do we really want to be antagonizing this guy, Dean?” Sam asked, staring Dean down. Dean tried to argue but Sam held his ground. “It’s not smart. Now, if he doesn’t seem to know about the bunker – and even if he did, he can’t get in – that seems to be all the more reason to not reach out to him. If you do, that could give him the wrong idea.”

“The asshole already has the wrong idea!”

“How do we not now he won’t follow us home?” you asked. “I mean, it’s dark. We won’t be able to identify what a car looks like behind us if one starts trailing us.”

Dean exhaled annoyed at the thought of that.

Sam suggested, “Let’s get a hotel then. Not towards Lawrence, let’s go further out. And we can take turns keeping watch. If Dean drives, I’ll sleep until we get there and then he can rest while I stay up. And then Y/N can get up to relieve me.”

Shaking his head, Dean muttered, “I don’t like this.”

“We don’t really have a choice given our situation.”

Silence filled the space, Sam’s words sinking in. What he suggested was smart and would ensure the group of you would feel more safe than potentially leading Castiel back to the bunker.

Suddenly Dean turned back around to face the steering wheel and threw the key in the ignition. “Fine. But anymore contact and I’m calling the bastard. Antagonistic or not.”

<> <> <>

Groggy, it was almost impossible to open your eyes. The room was a blur; bright but blurry. You did not believe you were at home, it did not feel like home. Your eyelids were so heavy, your body felt like cement. Why were you so tired?

There were voices, hovering around you. You could not make out the majority of what was being said, only catching words like ‘blood’, ‘damage’.

Darkness crept in again, flooding from the outside in. You did not hear anything anymore.

<> <> <>

When you came to next, your vision was still unfocused. Your body felt heavy still, weighted down by…

You focused on the IV drip as it came into focus, hooked up into your right arm. Weighted down by medicine.

A voice drew your attention to your left. Mustering much more effort than it should require, you turned your head to the source.

Through your haze of sleep and medication, you still startled at seeing Castiel sitting there by your bed. He was staring at you with concern, leaning forward towards you, his large hand resting on yours.

You tried to jerk away from him but your moment was sluggish, although you were becoming alert much more quickly at this turn of events. Where were you? Why was he here? Where were Sam and Dean?

This had to be a dream. Why else would he be here? Next to your bed? But this was not your bed. Where were you? You thought again frantically. It looked like a hospital room. You racked your brain, trying to remember.

“Y/N,” Castiel tried again, drawing you from your frightened thoughts. “How are you feeling? It looks like the doctors got you stitched up alright and have your pain controlled.”

Stitched?

It came back.

You were in West Virginia or at least you had been. The Wendigo. It had gotten you cornered and slashed your thigh. You did not remember much after that besides Sam and Dean carrying you to the Impala.

“Y/N?”

“What… what are you doing here?”

“I do not know if that –”

“What,” you repeated with more force, trying to scoot away. “Are you doing here?”

You quickly took note that the door was closed. You had to have a call button to ring for help.

Castiel tsked you, ‘Now, now. Do not go getting yourself worked up. You have been through enough and you need to rest with minimal – preferably no – stress. I am not here to hurt you.”

“I don’t know that!”

“You are just going to have to trust me.”

“How can I? You killed innocent people to lure me in for a ‘game’.”

Holding up a finger, Castiel corrected, “To be fair, I did not kill the people that lured you in. That was my friend.” He paused and added, “I did kill two people as a safety net, yes. I new you were not going to fail and I did not want my friend losing his temper if he was not given the two more hearts as promised. I killed those two people for your safety. I will kill for you. But, then again, I do like killing.”

“You are not helping your case,” you told him coolly.

You had found the call button remote underneath the blanket. Your fingers closed in around it.

Lips tight, Castiel leaned away from you in order to reach your bed side table. He picked up a cup and held it out to you. You saw it was ice chips but refrained from accepting the offer.

Shoulders slumping ever so, Castiel sighed. Lowering his arm, he placed the cup back on the beside table, ‘I suppose I am just going to have to earn your trust.” The call button was not responding, your anxiety beginning to rise. “Y/N, as I have expressed, I am enamored with you. The light in your eyes, your quick wit. You also have a very lovely smile which is an extra bonus in the package for me.”

“I would love for you to join me. I think my experience and yours as well, we would make a formidable team. Now, I understand we do not want to be making any rash decisions. I am open to giving you time to consider, I really would like it to be a sound decision. It is always so much more practical when we come to the table together, both willing.”

“I would be disappointed if you turned me down. But I think if you take the time to really consider it, you will see how magnificent this agreement would be for both of us. Freedom to travel and discover riches and have adventure. Together.”

Leaning forward again, he told you, “So, really, kitten, hurting you is the furthest thing from my mind.”

He went quiet, gauging your reaction.

You had to say something.

“Thank you for considering that time is needed.”

He smiled, pleased at your appreciation. “Of course, of course. I do not want to rush a good thing. You deserve time.”

Looking to the door, he sighed, “Now, I suspect those two brutes you have around will be coming back. That blonde one, Dean, can put food away but even his stomach must have its limits. I should make myself scarce.” Standing from the chair, his hand brushed yours. “I am glad I stopped by to check in on you, kitten. I am relieved you are doing alright.”

He made it halfway to the door before turning back to you. His gaze fell to your concealed hand holding the call remote. “by the way, I would ask them to plug that back in for you. I do apologize but I needed some uninterrupted time with you to share my admiration. Please forgive me. I will be in touch.”

With that, he swung the door open and strolled out.

Your eyes were glued to the doorway, afraid he would return. He swore he did not want to hurt you but… unease still crept. If anything, it sounded like he was developing an unhealthy attraction.

Sam and Dean’s voices reached you before you saw them. You pushed yourself up to a sitting position in anticipation.

As soon as they walked in, they saw the fear in your expression.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked alarmed.

“Castiel,” you said hoarsely.

“What?” Sam demanded. “Here?”

You nodded and Dean’s face set in stone before he made a beeline for the hall, searching.

“Dean, he’s gone. It’s been a few since he left,” you called after him, leaning forward in the bed. You winced at the tug on your stitches.

He came back into the room and you recalled the last ten minutes, stumbling through what he had said. When you got done, Sam meant to sit in the chairs next to your bed but stopped suddenly. He picked up a small box that was adorned with a lace bow. His jaw set when he read the tab.

“It’s for you.”

You opened it warily. Inside was a diamond bracelet. Balking at it, you held it up and whispered, “Is… is this real? This must be worth a fortune.”

Dean snapped, “Are we all still against calling this asshole and setting things straight?”

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass 

[bxthharmon]

White Butterflies, pt ii. || Hvitserk Lothbrok x Reader

Words: 2209

Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of murder, violence

Summary: Bad luck comes in threes, then disaster

A/N: Quarantine means i’m writing so much lmao, enjoy!

i | ii | iii | iv | v

This story doesn’t follow the plot, so you don’t have to know the story to understand it.

You sat in front of a mirror, plaiting your hair carefully, but losing the plait halfway through. You picked the strands of your hair up again, and began to plait, weaving the strands together until once again, you lost the plait. Frustrated, you let your hands drop into your lap, glaring at yourself in the mirror.

“You need to be more patient.” Hvitserk explained, having watched you fail the plait numerous times, “Keep practicing though, you’ll get it.” 

You turned to face him, “Do them for me?” You asked, and he grinned, taking your hair in his hands, plaiting and weaving the strands away from your face. “I look more and more like a viking every day,” you joked, “though it wouldn’t be without you.” you stood up, face to face with him, and he kissed your cheek, “Hvitserk, there’s no one around, you don’t have to pretend.”

He drew back, eyebrows pulled into a light frown, “Pretend?” he whispered, he looked away. “But of course, no? Of course this is pretending - you can’t love me, I am a heathen, a savage. My Princess, how could you deal with such a person?”

“That’s not how I meant it,” you felt your throat stick, and your eyes begin to fill with tears, “The people at my old court, they-”

“They what?” he walked towards the door.

“Hvitserk,” you called, and he paused, “I have never met a couple who truly loved each other until I came here, and my parents… they hated each other, my father had mistresses and slaves, my mother was bitter.” He faced you, and you were inches apart, “My mother told me that I should expect nothing from this, that my only job would be to give you sons. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“Y/N,” your mother grabbed your chin and pulled it up to look at her, harsh and unlovingly, her face tight and angry, “Do not cry in public. Do not cry in front of anyone you do not trust completely. Do not make us look weak.”

You wiped your eyes, “Mother, will it be terrible?”

“I tried, with your father. I was young, your age, and I was naive. I expected too much, and I can see that you do too.” she closed her eyes for a second, but when they opened again, she was stony-faced, “Give him sons, and you will manage. That is your one job, a son and our enmity will be truly over. You could at least be civil with him, but don’t hope too much, you’ve seen his… kind. You won’t love him, but you will love your children, that’s the one thing I know to be true.”

“Mother?” your eyes were dry now, but you felt more hopeless than you had ever felt, “What if they hurt me?”

“Y/N,” she drew your face up again, “You are a princess here, and you will be a princess there as well. They cannot hurt you without facing unimaginable consequences - from us, but also from God, and I’m sure from their false ones too. You are Princess Y/N, and you have brought peace to our nations, so don’t ever think you don’t have power.”

You stood at the end of the boardwalks, the sea stretched out before you, people passing past you, bringing supplies and food and furs. You looked at the people of your future nation, and at your fiance. You looked at your castle, at your brothers and father at the other end of the boardwalk. “Goodbye, Mother.”

“I doubt I’ll ever see you again, so I suppose I should say this; you will be missed.”

“You were scared of me then, when you first arrived,” he said, “are you still scared of me?”

You couldn’t answer that.

He picked up the first thing he saw and threw it straight at the mirror behind you. You shielded yourself as shards of glass fell over you, and watched as the floor below you mingled glass and blood and tears. You looked up at your husband, who stood, in shock of his own actions. You were dazed, but you heard him leave the tent, leaving you sitting in the broken glass.

*

The ointment on your back had stung, but it wasn’t so bad as the cut on your arm. The glass had impaled itself into your right forearm, and it had taken twenty minutes for the healer to stop it from bleeding. The bandage had been wound tight around your arm, and you couldn’t grip anything properly due to the way it had been wrapped. The thrall had had to redo your braids to get the glass out, but when she had redone them they had been different, but you didn’t ask her to redo them. The braiding this morning seemed so trivial to you now, you would never be a true viking. You had dressed well for supper, which apparently was going to be a big deal, but you were wondering what it would take for you to get out of it.

As you walked down the market street, you realised you had no friends, or allies, in the town. You knew no one who you could talk to, or who you could pass time with. After noon had long passed, so you wandered back down the coast, towards the docks, and then on to Floki’s home. When he saw your approach, he walked to you, curious, but restrained, he greeted you.

“Princess,” he said, with an air of mocking, “How can I help?”

“I just,” you looked at your feet, “I don’t know anyone here, and I thought you could offer me company.” 

“Well,” he said, “I am busy, but I’m also not allowed to refuse. My company shall be you watching me build a boat.”

“As long as it means I’m not alone.” you sighed.

You watched carefully as the boat began to take a resemblance to the boat, the process intriguing and foreign to anything you had ever seen, but as the sun set, a slave came to find you, calling you back for the feast. You followed her path, but stopped when the hall came into view.

“Princess Y/N?” she walked back to you, “are you okay? You look pale.”

You gathered yourself, Do not cry in public, “Of course, just a little tired, is all.” 

“You were not at the feast.” Theo said, sitting down beside you, and you looked at him from your bed.

“I was not.” You agreed, sitting up, “I feel ill, and Mother told my servants I was not to come, it would look bad in front of the Lords.”

“It was terrible without you,” he grinned, “Arthur threw a fit because he got insulted by this little twelve year old girl. He was insufferable the whole time, and Geoffrey’s betrothed insulted the family.”

“Why does this always happen while I am not there to see it?” You wondered, and Theo rolled his eyes.

“You’re the only one who Arthur won’t insult, and everyone likes you.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” you laughed, “It’s because when it’s just you boys, no one can keep you in check.”

“You make us sound bad,” Theo laughed with you. “Come on, Geoffrey’s getting married next week and you need to be well enough. Let’s get you to the Doctor.”

You could almost feel how Hvitserk and his brothers were staring at the bandage. For the first time since you’d arrived, you felt no need to pretend - anyone could see how your relationship really was, it was plain by the cloth around your arm. Bjorn, on your other side, looked like he wanted to talk to you.

“Prince Bjorn, how are you fairing?” you asked, a fake smile adorning your face.

“I am well, but how are you?” he asked, and you decided he was kinder than his brothers.

“I am as well as I can be.” You lied, you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“But, how are you and my brother?” he eyed the bandage.

You blinked, knowing that he would never have gotten away with such a question in your old home, but also knowing that this was a very different place. “I must be the happiest newly wed ever.” You glanced at your arm, and he swallowed.

“Listen,” he whispered, and you could feel Hvitserk staring at the back of your head, “I’ll talk to him. It’s not okay that he took his temper out… like that. I don’t know how your old culture felt about it, but here, it is a crime to do such a thing.”

“I think we both know how different our cultures were.” you reminded him, turning back to your meal. Back home, no one would have noticed, or if they did, it would be improper to do anything about it. “Bjorn, don’t do anything, it’s fine.” 

You reached for the salt, but your inability to grip meant that it tipped, spilling onto the wooden surface of the table. The small crystals spilt over the edge, and you tried to tidy it up, so no to hassle the servants, but realised that no one had even noticed. You looked up, and Ubbe was staring at you across the table. You smiled politely, and tried to continue, but he stopped you.

“You don’t need to clear it up,” he chuckled, “we have servants for that.”

“My mother always believed that spilling salt meant bad luck,” you explained, “it’s a weird superstition, but she was never wrong about stuff like that.”

“Your mother was a very suspicious person,” Ivar interrupted, “No?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” you nodded, “My family don’t always have the best of luck.”

The room was silent, watching the conversation. You felt Hvitserk touch your hand, but you pulled it away. “And how do you mean that?” Ivar inquired.

“When there’s an opportunity for power, my family are the kind of people to take it.” you said, holding his gaze, “It’s not a habit that results in long lives. We have a habit of mysteriously disappearing or falling fatally ill.”

“And…” Ivar swirled his ale in his cup, “Would you say it iss worth it?”

Was getting poisoned worth the success of your family? “Absolutely.” you smiled, “After all, it was my family’s ways that brought our families together, was it not?” You stood up, and looked around the room, at the Ragnarssons, Torvi, the thralls and friends of the Lothbroks. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

You were interrupted by the sound of the hall’s doors bursting open, revealing two soldiers. “King Ivar,” the first said, “a body was found, hanging from a tree outside the town - it looked like one of the thralls.”

Bjorn stood up, “Hanged?”

“Yes, Prince Bjorn,” said the second, “but there was a symbol, the mark of a-”

“Red deer?” You asked, and the soldier nodded. You saw everyone in the room, once again, focussed on you. Hvitserk stood, and put his hand on your arm.

“Y/N,” he frowns, “What do you know?”

A red deer - the sigil of your family. A warning. This could mean only one thing - the truce made by your political marriage was over.

“Have you had any contact with my family, any plans against them?” you asked, and the Lothbroks all looked uncomfortable, shifty. They were sharing glances. They were terrible actors, you decided.

“We haven’t spoken to them, no.” Ivar said, but you could see, plainly, they were hiding something.

“Ivar,” you walked around the table to him, “Maybe not so much in your culture, but in mine, spies are sent to enemy camps all the time, so I’ll ask again, are you planning anything that might cause enmity between our families?”

“No.”

*

You sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands as Hvitserk busied himself with the fire in front of you. You had come up with a few reasons as to the warning, but none seemed to add up, each suggestion contradicted by the facts known to you. You sighed loudly, and watched Hvitserk poke the fire with a stick, causing sparks to fly out, the embers scattering around the floor. You looked at the man, and thought of your mother, and how she told you of her naive attempts to charm your father. You had come to Kattegat with a similar naivety, the difference being your wariness of the culture and Gods. My mother found herself in an unhappy marriage, you thought, but I’ll be damned if I do the same.

“Hvitserk?” you muttered, and he came and sat in front of you.

“Yes, my love?” he said, softly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I was naive, but I don’t want to end up like my parents.”

“How do you mean?” he tilted his head so he could see you better, and you took your hands away from your face, propping your elbows on your knees and leaning towards him.

“I want us to be happy,” you said, and he smiled lightly, “and I know you do too, you said so while you were drunk.” you took his face in your hands, “So let's try to be happy, okay?”

“Okay, my love.”

*

If you want to be tagged, let me know :)

Tag(s):

@soleil-dor

[gumnut-logic]

Johnny Snapshots

@onereyofstarlight​  Okay, let’s face it, I live in the land of the Virg and John is one of the hardest for me to tackle (the other being Alan who I do a disservice to on a regular basis). So I don’t read much John focussed fic. Not that I don’t love the boi, it’s just...oooh, look a bright shiny Virg! :D

So in order to get Johnny fluff for you, I only really have my pile of Virg-focussed fic to play with, though I can recommend reading stuff from @the-lady-razorsharp​ and @willow-salix​ cos they claim Johnny as their boi and write lots of stuff focussed on their space noodle :D

While looking for my previous post in my archives, I came across a snippet of John from one of my fics and got the idea of little Johnny Snapshots. So, here from amongst all my Virg fic, have a little Johnny Nutty-style.

Note: Snapshots from all sorts of fic, looking for fluff, spoilers for everything, several AUs, several ships, pretty much potluck and lots of description of the Johnny :D And while I’ve included links to the fics, the fics themselves are likely Virgil focussed and there may not be much more of John in them than is already here. You’ve probably read some of these before, too.

I hope you enjoy anyway :D

-o-o-o-

A ghost drifted on the breeze.

White as an angel, pale as the moonlight sculpting his form, his next youngest brother rode the air currents above the island.

The only word to describe John was elegant. Airborne porcelain, he circled. Midnight starlight cascaded through Virgil’s mind. Expressions of sorrow draped in calm, warmed by an amber light, the steady core of his star-loving brother.

Virgil watched mesmerised as his turns became tighter and tighter, closer to the ground. A great arch of white feathers and he landed gently, barely disturbing the sand beneath his bare feet.

He was gleaming in the moonlight from toe to hooded gaze. Ever so pale skin, free to be bare to the elements with the absence of the sun, his only clothing was a cut off pair of jeans so faded they were more white than blue.

Only his hair had colour, flame caught in just the right flash of light.

Decision

-o-o-o-

When he woke, the sun was making for the horizon, the whole island cast in gold.

“Hey, Virgil.”

The soft melodious voice of his space borne brother was lacking its usual transmission static and it was a pleasant surprise to roll over and find John sitting on a lounger beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

First question of any brother to any injured brother, of course. “Good, actually.” And he was. Relaxed, pain at a minimum, a gorgeous sunset in preparation, and... “Great to see you down here.” Virgil didn’t admit it often, but he did miss his middle brother. Didn’t really like him so far out of reach. But John loved it, so it was what it was. Didn’t mean Virgil couldn’t be happy to see him when he could. “What brings you to this little planet?”

The sun was sculpting John’s pale features and white shirt in almost molten gold, merging his skin with his copper hair. The odd thought of some kind of Greek god fluttered through the back of Virgil’s mind. He shook himself mentally. What the hell?

V.T. Green

-o-o-o-

John appreciates a fine meal. Of the five brothers, he is the one who will know about the wine. He’ll know which region it came from, what it should be eaten with and which year grew the plant it was made from. This, of course, means he is the most likely culprit to steal Scott’s boutique beers out of the fridge…to the point that one of the first signs of the middle brother being back on Earth is the sudden missing bottles from said refrigerator.

Virgil thinks it is hilarious.

Scott’s worried his brother is a secret alcoholic and keeps monitoring his intake.

Alan keeps messing with Scott’s head by pinching extra bottles to ‘up John’s intake’.

Gordon messes with everyone by refilling the bottles with apple juice.

But yes, John is the one to appreciate a good meal, most likely because he has to eat all that space crap eighty percent of the time.

Food, Tracy style

-o-o-o-

A sigh. “Um....never have I ever...er...been arrested?” Surely, they hadn’t done that?

“Are you kidding me?” Gordon, glugged down some more drink. “That’s an easy one. Paris. The Louvre.”

What?

Scott raised his hand holding his glass. “Gordon.” As if that explained everything. He swallowed heavily.

Alan snorted, rolled and fell face first onto the carpet.

Gordon laughed. “Hey, bro. Time to take another drink. Remember the teddy bear at the fair?”

“Crap.” Alan grabbed his glass and toasted the air. “Gordon.” Apparently, it did explain everything.

“Gordon.” Kayo said it like a zombie and swallowed some more alcohol. Ridley just stared at her, but was distracted as apparently not-so-asleep John attempted to locate his glass by pawing blindly at the carpet with one hand. His mumbled “Gordon.” Was almost muffled as Ridley tried to grab his arm.

“Lawn flamingo.” Virgil attempted to bring the drink to his mouth, but missed and threw it over his shoulder instead. “Oops.”

Em blinked.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling this game. Off to bed with the lot of you. I have the strongest feeling that I should have taken Grandma’s advice and gone to bed early myself.”

There were many a muttered groan, mostly of ‘Awww’ and her name, but the brothers mostly stumbled to their feet. Kayo had to drag Virgil off of Em. The man was heavy.

Ridley smiled at her as she manhandled her space noodle off into their rooms. John was muttering something about ‘Gordon’s fault...didn’t want to do that in a book store.’ Penny helped Alan to his rooms, all the time shooting glares at Gordon.

“What?” The aquanaut looked non-plussed. “What did I do?”

“Gordon, go look after your brother.” Scott’s voice was firm. He still hadn’t relaxed.

Em sighed, grabbed his arm and, activating her hoverjets, pulled him up. “C’mon, Commander, time for bed.”

“Em.” And suddenly she was in his arms.

“Flyboy, your blood alcohol content can be detected from space.”

“Space!” John’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Not today, spaceman, you’d miss TB5 and end up on Mars.” Ridley was obviously being very patient.

“Not Mars. Wrong trejacktory.” A closing door shut off the rest of the mumbled maths that followed.

Never Have I Ever

-o-o-o-

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil’s ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn’t understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn’t smart, just his interests lay in different areas. 

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil’s patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn’t a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn’t happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

The House

-o-o-o-

Unfortunately, distracted, he didn’t see brother number three and collided with him, nearly sending both of them to the floor.

“Oh, god, sorry…J-“ His hands met soft silk and he looked up, this time truly focussing on his tall brother.

Oh my god.

He must truly have some kind of sibling radar because there was no way in hell he could have recognised his brother otherwise.

“John?”

“Hey, Virgil.”

And yes, that was a smirk on that face.

He eyed the man from bottom to top. High heeled boots in shiny black leather. Black tights! High cut, buttoned up, deep blue coat sequined in an elaborate filigree with almost ankle length tails. The ends of his sleeves flared out like flowers over leather gloves. And a white silk cravat wrapped his throat with about ten layers of frills.

But all that didn’t live up to the hair. Oh, god, the hair. Gone was the familiar red, replaced with a fountain of silver white, springing in strands from the top of his head like a spray of leafless weeping willow, long enough to reach his chest.

Virgil stared. “Are you wearing makeup?”

The smirk widened and, yes, there was some kind of lip gloss to go with the elaborate eyeshadow arching into his brows.

Blink. “Wh-who are you?”

“Why, my dear child,” and John tapped him on the head with his ornamental riding crop. “I’m the Goblin King.”

Another blink. “Who?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing a goblin who looked quite like that.

And the more familiar John rolled his eyes. “A friend of mine advised me that this would be easier if I made myself completely unrecognisable. She is a fan of old movies, so I picked one.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “She?”

“She.”

“Okay.” He eyed his brother again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A Warm Rain Halloween (wip)

-o-o-o-

It had been three days. His brother was now hooked up to several IVs and other invasive support mechanisms, his unconscious body needing assistance to survive. The usually agile, calm and kind man now lay pale, his hair unkempt and limp, eyes bruised smudges on his lifeless face, hands wrapped in copious bandages.

Virgil reached over and ran his fingers through that blond and red hair, attempting to straighten it out, forcing the flick to behave itself.

“C’mon, John, speak to me.” Virgil’s voice was little above a whisper. “I can’t do this without you.” And the statement was suddenly true. Spoken without thought, Virgil realised that through everything that had happened to him in the last few months, John had been there, even when Virgil was too terrified to see him, John had stood strong while his brother dragged him through the mud. He had done everything in his power, everything, to support Virgil. “God, don’t let a faulty circuit be your epitaph, you are worth so much more than that. So much more.”

He needed his brother’s dry wit. He needed his calm voice. He needed him.

Virgil let his head drop to the bed.

Please.

Father

-o-o-o-

John hated crowds, especially those involving the press. Scott went out of his way to make sure he wasn’t exposed to them, but his brother wasn’t available right now.

Head down, no eye contact. “No comment.”

“No comment.”

They crowded in on him and he grit his teeth.

A sharp crack and a yelp. A squawk and the clattering of plastic on concrete. A scream and a flash of light. John looked up to find holocams falling like rain. One close to him simply stopped and dropped. Another sparked, spun and dove at the nearest reporter. She screamed and ran.

The holocam chased her.

Oh.

The crowd began to disperse in erratic squeals and yelps of fear. John took advantage and dashed through to the doors of the hospital. Behind him, the elevator fired its thrusters, adding to the confusion, and launched towards orbit.

“Eos, you are dangerous.”

“Yes, John, and don’t you forget it.” The amusement in her voice had him smiling.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Dirt

-o-o-o-

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

The Prince Who Would Not be King

-o-o-o-

If the quiet lifestyle is more your thing, you may wish to upgrade to John Tracy. ‘Up’ is the keyword here as he resides twenty-two thousand miles up, in orbit, in fact. Yes, John is the original space Tracy. Fully adapted to the cold and dark beyond our atmosphere, he does indeed adore the quiet life.

However, before we tempt you any further, it should be noted that John is the only Tracy brother who is a parent. A single parent at that. Inadvertent though her existence is, Eos is recognised as John’s daughter and she presents a number of unique challenges, the least of which is what she will do to your bank accounts if you upset her. Yes, if you are looking for bankruptcy, offending Eos is a fantastic way to achieve your goal.

In summary, don’t piss off the kid.

Having said that, should she approve of your existence, Eos is quite capable of enhancing that existence should she so choose. In any case, John’s daughter is a great conversationalist, even if she has locked you in the bathroom.

John himself sports arguably the most stunning eyes of all the five brothers. Alan, please be quite and Scott, sit down.

A unique pair of turquoise irises that contrast exquisitely with his copper hair makes for a stunning date to have on your arm. The only downside is that arm may need to be handcuffed to yours if you intend on going anywhere involving more than six people at a time.

Our space Tracy is not a social being. Despite communication as a profession, John Tracy has been heard to wish to only speak to others from space. This may include you. Please keep your phone charged at all times.

It should also be noted that if your phone battery is dead and John wishes to contact you, he may hack an appliance as mundane as your toaster. Communicating via the temperature controls in the shower has been reported. Virgil was not impressed.

John is one of the taller Tracys. Unlike Scott, however, heels may not be needed as ninety-five percent of the time John is in space, so if you are planning to get to know him, you’re going to be in space too. Just float up to look him in those gorgeous eyes.

A fan of spaceball and Star Trek, John is your traditional loveable geek. Be aware that his neighbour knows this and you may want to lock all the airlocks in case she comes knocking for a cup of sugar.

John is definitely a good investment and comes with a space station to boot. You will be able to spend many hours stargazing both at the universe and those irises.

Plus One Tracy

-o-o-o-

 Oh, I do have a couple of John focussed fics. The fluffiest is Bagel.

[takadasaiko]

Love Me Twice: Chapter Three

FFN II AO3

Chapter Summary: Red discovers that Tom is missing and tracks him down to St Regis while Tom looks for any answers he can find.

-----

Chapter Three

No one met him at the door. Not Benny, the guard who was always looking for his first chance to grab a morning smoke or Lomay who you could set a clock by the last weeks. Reddington risked a glance back at Dembe only to find the younger man brushing past him and taking the lead. It was clear something was off, even if he didn't have his gun drawn yet.

That changed for both of them as soon as they rounded into the hallway to see a figure laid out, white sheet covering him. They moved with a synchronicity that spoke of their years working together, Red clearing the rest of the hall and pressing the up button on the elevator at the other end before moving past to where Dembe had his cell phone pressed to his ear. "Dr Lomay isn't answering and Dr Chen's phone rolls straight to voicemail."

"Elizabeth," Reddington breathed, her name rolling off his tongue with no small amount of desperation in it. If she'd been saved only to lose her here, he didn't think he could bear it. Not again.

Dembe cleared the stairwell, Red following at his heels, and then to the second floor hallway once they reached it. It was there that any restraint dissipated and the Concierge of Crime tore past him with the single goal of reaching Elizabeth's room. The door stood slightly ajar, movement barely visible, and he swung into the room with his gun raised. Melissa Lomay let out a startled sound and dropped the bag of fluids she'd been replacing on Elizabeth's IV rack.

Reddington instantly lowered his weapon. "Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"I've been a little busy," the doctor snapped, reaching to check the bag. Once she was convinced it was undamaged, she continued replacing the depleted one.

"What happened?"

She shot him a look, but answered. "Best I can tell Mr Keen finally had enough of the secrets."

"What?"

"He's gone. Daniel has a concussion from where Keen attacked him in the stairwell and Benny, as I'm sure you saw, is dead. His gun is missing."

"And Elizabeth?"

"Slept through it all."

Red finally loosed a breath, but turned a sharp glare on the doctor half a second later. "He was supposed to be sedated."

"He was. Steadily. Apparently he found a way around that on top of the typical limitations of someone with injuries like his. It was a move of a desperate man. We warned you that what you were attempting with Andrei was -"

"Yes, you've said as much," Reddington grumbled, waving her off. That was neither here nor there at this point. The key was finding Tom before he hurt himself further. Red had seen the blood stains against the wall like a man trying to keep himself on his feet as he stumbled towards the door. He just hadn't known it was Elizabeth's husband that had left them there.

"I have the footage," Dembe said from behind and Red turned. He hadn't even heard him leave.

He took the offered tablet and watched the four squares of recorded footage. Tom making his way down the hall from his room to Elizabeth's and then out again just a handful of moments later. The second box showed him exiting into the hallway below and the third box showing him stumbling into the street just outside of the building, a phone pressed to his ear. Chen's, Reddington suspected. It was likely in pieces now and impossible to trace. The last box showed a steady stream of the back alley, Tom never making it around that way.

"Get this footage to Glen. Have him trace Tom's path."

"Of course."

"If we don't find him soon, we won't find him at all."

                                                       --------

He thought he remembered someone ushering him into a car. Someone greeting him by name, hands on him to guide him, and then stretches of nothing. He thought he might have woken up here and there, but it was all interwoven with shadows of faces he couldn't quite see and voices he couldn't quite hear. There was one that was a little louder, a little more clear, and she called his name even if it wasn't Jacob. Somehow he knew it was his name, but even she faded eventually.

By the time Jacob's eyes slid open again, the sound of medical equipment all around, the dreams were gone. He knew he'd had them, but they were lost to the fog of his mind. Everything was by the time he pried his eyes open again.

"Welcome back, Mr Phelps."

"Hank," Jacob croaked, his throat dry and scratchy as he looked up at a familiar face. Hank Rogers had been over St Regis' medical facilities since before even Jacob had arrived years before. The man had patched him up more times than he could remember and if his surroundings were anything to go by he'd done it yet again. "What happened?"

There was a moment of hesitation and a flash of uncertainty. "You called for… an extraction. Do you remember what happened?"

Jacob grimaced and forced himself to think through the pain medication. "I woke up in this building."

"A hospital?"

"Sort of. Not public. I think they told me I'd been working a job, but I can't remember. Everything's fuzzy." He turned blue eyes to meet a set of dark brown. "Was I working a job? Hell, Bud's gonna kill me. How bad did I botch it?"

Hank's bushy brows drew together and the corners of his lips dipped low in a frown. "Let's worry about getting you well before we worry about… that, shall we?"

The door behind him slid open and Jacob struggled to see who was making their way in.

"He needs to rest," Hank greeted the person and finally shifted enough for Jacob to see Gina Zanetakos.

"How is he?"

"Confused, just like you said," the doctor murmured very softly, but not so much that Jacob couldn't make the words out.

"I'm right here," he grumbled and Gina's gaze snapped to meet his.

"What happened?" Her tone was strange. Cautious. Like she was waiting for him to take the lead so she knew which direction to lean.

"I don't know."

"You said you lost time."

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"I don't know."

"There's a lot you don't know."

"Gina," Hank snapped softly and turned his attention back to Jacob. "What year is it?"

A memory flashed through the fog. "The doctors that were holding me kept asking me the same thing."

Gina crossed her arms across her chest, impatience written in every line of her pretty features. "Did you give them an answer or jerk them around too?"

"'08," Jacob growled, matching her level of irritation, but just like that hers vanished and was replaced with surprise.

"2008?"

"No. Nineteen. Of course two-thousand."

"Jacob, look at me," Hank instructed, but as Jacob did he didn't like the older man's expression. "It's 2017. December."

Even with the firm mattress of the bed beneath him, Jacob felt his world shift. "What?"

"Two-thousand-seventeen," Gina stressed. Hank shot her a warning look.

"No. No… that's not…"

"It's alright," Hank promised, his voice soothing. "We did a pretty thorough exam when you came in, but we'll get to the bottom of this." He reached over to one of the many machines off to the side and Jacob heard a familiar woosh. Great. He'd made it out, made it back to St Regis, but nothing had changed. No answers and medication. Apparently that was everyone's answer to everything, he thought bitterly as he slipped under again.

                                                      --------

"You said there was no sign of head trauma," Gina growled as she blew through the door to her office. McCready's old office. The one she'd taken over after she'd put a bullet in his chest to save Jacob's life. Thankless bastard.

"We're still running tests," Rogers said, his tone holding a calculated level of patience. "Right now he needs rest. If he's staying, that is."

Gina turned and shot him an irritated look. "Find out what happened, how much time he's lost, and if he'll get it back." There was a stretch of silence and she could practically feel the disapproval rolling off of him even if the doctor kept his expression even. He would have made a fair operative if that had been the path he had chosen. He was also one of the only people left on the St Regis campus that survived her restructuring after she had taken McCready's place. He had earned it and he'd proven loyal, but he'd always been much more loyal to the individual operatives in his care than the institute on whole. "What?"

"May I speak freely?"

"Won't you anyway?"

A soft sound might have been a chuckle if not for the frown that had finally broken through. "I see what you're thinking."

"Do you now?"

"And I know how close you two were. I'm sure you've missed him -" she snorted at the statement and he shot her a pointed look - "even if you won't admit it. But Jacob made his choice, even if you and I are the only ones left here that remember it."

"A choice The Major put a price on his head for. Are you suggesting I finish it?"

"I'm suggesting you get word to his wife."

"She's a fed."

"She's his wife. Not a mark, not a job. A woman that, of all people, Jacob Phelps broke ranks for. She must be special."

Gina's gaze swept over him, taking every inch of his expression in. He was good. Careful. He didn't push on things unless he felt it down to his soul. On most days she found a strange sort of respect in that. Not today.

She leaned in, her words enunciated as she spoke. "I don't care."

"And if he remembers?"

"Find out if he will."

"And if he doesn't, what? You'll just keep him here?"

She shrugged, idly picking up a paperweight from her desk. "If he doesn't, he'll make us a lot of money just like he did before."

                                                      --------

Glen Carter was one of the more obnoxious individuals that Red had ever come across. The man riled him up for sport, jerking him around with his pathological lies and wild excuses, but in the end he was still the most talented tracker that Reddington knew.

He had uncovered footage of a man that had parked a block down from the building that Red had been using to keep the Keens safely hidden away. The man had gotten out and moved out of the camera's line of sight, but when he returned he was supporting a familiar figure all the way to the passenger's side.

The camera had only caught one usable angle of their mystery man, Glen had argued, and that's why it had taken time. Even so, nearly two weeks after Tom had managed his messy escape - and Reddington had moved Elizabeth, not willing to risk underestimating him again - Glen had found the location of the man that had picked him up. Not Tom himself, but it was a start.

Brimley was sitting in a chair outside of a closed door when Reddington arrived, breathing deeply from his oxygen tank, and his focus on the task was absolute.

"Has he given you a location yet?"

Brimley took one more long breath before removing the mask from his nose and mouth. "Took some work, but training only takes ya so far. Hit just the right nerve and he sang like my Aunt Myrtle's yellow canary."

"And?" Red pressed, an uncomfortable feeling tightening his chest at the look he received.

"He's ready for you. Switch is on the right."

Reddington gave him a brief, terse nod before moving into the room. It was quiet inside - eerily so - and pitch black so that the light from outside the door flooded in like a tidal wave, leaving the hunched figure in the corner curling in on himself a little more. Reddington reached over without looking, and even he had to wince as the lights snapped on at top voltage.

Their man - Eric Sneider seemed to be the final consensus, though the man appeared to have his pick of names he chose from on a regular basis - yelped at the sudden illumination. It was a wonder. Teddy had had him five hours at the most. How he did it, Red would never know.

Nor did he care right then.

He moved towards the trembling man, his steps slow and deliberate, and he made sure that the legs of the metal chair scraped loudly across the concrete floor as he pulled it towards him and took a seat. "Mr Sneider. Do you know who I am?"

The man finally uncurled just a little from his ball of fear to turn wide, red-rimmed eyes on him. His jaw dropped a little. "You're Raymond Reddington," he managed, a sense of awe in his tone.

"Yes."

"What do you want with me?"

"Tom Keen."

"I… I don't know who that is."

Red tilted his head to the side, considering. No. He wouldn't, would he. "Jacob Phelps then."

Sneider flinched back. "I don't—"

"I would think long and hard before lying to me, Mr Sneider."

"I can't. She'll kill me if I talk. "

"And I'll kill you if you don't, though I'd say I pose the more immediate threat," Red said as he pulled his gun from the holster and placed it on his knee.

"He… called in an extraction."

"Who did he contact? Who sent you?"

"St Regis." The confession was small, whispered and trembling. Reddington sat for a long moment. It made sense. Tom had asked for a phone and wanted to contact the Major several times after the failed memory procedure. And why wouldn't he? His mind was trapped back in 2008. A time long before he'd left the organization. Long before he'd considered it an option.

"That's it. I swear," Sneider half sobbed and Reddington turned his nose up.

"You're going to put me in touch with the person that gave you the order to come for him."

He held the other man's gaze for a long moment before he received a slow nod of confirmation.

                                                      --------

He was going stir crazy. After being drugged into a stupor and held hostage only to break out and make his way back, Hank had all but locked him in the medical ward and demanded bed rest. Jacob had complied, grumbling the whole way, and he certainly would never admit to feeling better for it. The pain had lessened, his strength was coming back in spurts, and even the knife wound in his side that he'd managed to reopen in his escape was finally starting to show real signs of healing. It was slow going - much slower than he was accustomed to - but Hank had reminded him that the body at thirty-three didn't bounce back quite as quickly as one did at twenty-three. Even if he didn't remember getting to those limits, he'd have to respect them if he was going to make a full recovery.

They still didn't know why he was missing time. Hank had put him through a gauntlet of tests and no head trauma was evident. The stab wounds and gunshot to the shoulder seemed to be the worst of it, but hardly explained anything. What was worse, Hank seemed hesitant to give him any details about what he was missing. Jobs taken, injuries dealt out. Jacob has scars from injuries he couldn't remember, and each time he tried to ask the old surgeon about it Hank sidestepped the answer.

That led him to where he was.

Bud's office door stood large and imposing. Operatives didn't just invite themselves over to it, or at least normal operatives. Jacob has never been normal and he'd never been good at waiting for answers. He wrapped his knuckles against the door hard.

There was a stretch of silence before shuffling and finally the door was opened by an irritated Gina from the other side. She stared at him, surprised, and Jacob was pretty sure he had at least one answer. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"What are you doing here? Rogers said you should—"

"Rest. Yeah. Been doing alot of that. You gonna let me in or leave me hanging in the hallway?"

Gina's lips twitched down but she stepped back, clearing the way for him to enter. The room was different. Same desk - damn thing was so large that it might have been more trouble than it was worth to move - but other than that there was nothing left of Bud. From the books to the type of liquor set up on the shelf. He'd been gone a while.

"How long?"

She knew what he was asking. "Best anyone can guess, a couple years."

"How?"

Gina shrugged, turning back to her desk and the files that were piled there. "We don't know. The body has never been found. I went with him for an op he wanted to oversee himself, but he never showed at the rendezvous. There was nothing after that."

"Bud wouldn't have gone down without a fight."

"One he must have lost. It was bound to happen. He had several close calls towards the end. Reddington, the Germans…" She was watching him now, almost like she expected it to jog a memory. Jacob has nothing and she turned back to her paperwork. "Bastard left me to clean everything up."

"Why didn't I help?"

"You do. You will. You've always belonged in the field."

"So do you."

"I've done alright here." She paused, that honey brown gaze sweeping him up and down. "Sit."

"That obvious?" Jacob chuckled, sliding into one of the plusher seats in the room. The walk over to her office had tired him out more than he cared to admit. "I need some answers, Gina."

"I don't know what happened to your memories."

"But you know what job I was working. Maybe if I could retrace my steps I could—"

"Why?"

Jacob blinked hard. "Because I've lost ten years."

"And you may never get them back. Best we can hope for is to get you back to work - back to normal - and who knows? Maybe something will click back into place."

There was something in her tone, in the way she brushed it off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Gina had always barreled ahead. She preferred it to looking back and it was one of the reasons they'd worked so well together for so many years, but it was all those years that he'd known her that made him think something was off.

She stood, drawing his attention, and he knew the look she was wearing. That little half smile and the way she held his gaze. She leaned down, hands on either armrest so that she pinned him into his spot in the chair, and she pressed her lips against his. Like her words, there was something strange about the kiss, but his need to feel something that was familiar won out and he reached up to pull her in deeper. He felt her smile into the kiss, settling down into his lap with one arm shaking behind him.

A loud, sharp ringtone shattered the moment and she let out a frustrated growl as she stood back to her feet. "I have to get that. There's an op in Hong Kong that we need to go well."

"You owe me some stories," Jacob said, his voice rough.

"As soon as I finish with this."

It was a dismissal if he had ever heard one, but as Jacob eased himself out of the chair and towards the door, he focused on the fact that he'd received at least one answer. The others would come… or they wouldn't. At least he'd made it home.

                                                      --------

The phone rang again and again, leaving Reddington to shoot his terrified hostage an exasperated look. If he'd been foolish enough to give him the wrong number, no one would be happy by the end of this.

Then it connected, but no one said a word. Well, she had learned her craft from Bill McCready, and the man had always been a fan of having more information than he gave away. Ah well. Reddington had found confidence often made up for what he lacked in concrete information.

"Gina. Raymond Reddington. I hear you found someone I'm looking for."

There was another bout of silence before a snort that might have been a laugh. "So that's where Sneider went."

"It is."

He could almost hear her lean back against some oversized desk and do everything she could to show a man that couldn't see her just how unruffled she really was. "What do you want?"

"A truce."

"I'm not at war with you."

"No, but your former employer was deeply in my debt. So often when a parent dies the children are saddled with all the promises that they couldn't fulfill."

"I'm doing just fine."

"So I hear. Old and new ops alike flourishing and intel coming in from all over the world, I'd imagine, but you and I both know that you will makethe operative of your choosing if I hire them."

"And in return you want Jacob?" she chuckled. "The highest earning operative that this organization has ever had… for what? One job? Anyone can see it's a bad business deal."

Red felt the small muscles in his cheek twitch with irritation. "You may try to make this about the money, Gina, but we are both well aware that it's not. It's the same reason that you took the fall for him in the Angel Station assassination, the same reason you hired him on when he came running to you after Bill put out a burn notice, and the same reason you put a bullet in McCready just a few weeks later: you can't let him go."

"He came back."

"Because he can't remember what he has here."

"And you think you can fix that? Give your pet fed her precious Tom Keen back?"

"I have the resources. The connections to give him a chance. If you truly care for him, Gina, you'll give me the chance to try."

There was a long, tense moment before: "He's made his choice."

And that was it. The line went dead and Reddington was left holding the phone, the truth oppressively heavy in the air around him. Tom was gone. Even with all of his resources, he needed Gina's help now that the younger man was hidden behind St Regis' wall of protection and she had made it clear that he wouldn't get that help.

"What are you going to tell Elizabeth when she wakes up?" Dembe asked softly from behind as Reddington snapped the flip phone shut with more force than was warranted.

"The truth," he breathed after a moment. "Her husband is dead."

                                                      --------

TBC

Notes: And so it's set. We're about to jump ahead to present day (aka, just after the S7 finale) in the next chapter and things are about to start ramping up. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story. Please feel free to drop a comment and let me know :D

Next Time: An op pits Jacob against an old enemy, but when a client will only take the best, Gina volunteers him for the job.