#wedding of river song is a very close second though

[zombieweek-g]

Finally finished watching all the Capaldi seasons of Doctor Who

[fe-fictions]

Do you have the story where Robin steals Kellam’s shirts story? I love the way you write especially Kellam he needs more love!

(Another excellent old story that I got to rewrite!! I do love me some Kellam... one of THE beefiest babes in fire emblem U V U )

He really didn’t know what to expect when he managed to drag himself out of bed that morning. Ever since the war ended and you had wed, Kellam found it harder and harder to get up and do anything other than just laze about with you.

But when he lumbered into the kitchen, he did not anticipate seeing you cooking breakfast and humming along happily to some tuneless song…all while wearing nothing but your husband’s tunic.

His legs nearly fell out from under him, a gasp escaping him at the sight. Why did you look so good in that old thing?!

Upon the realization that he was standing there, you paused your tune and looked over your shoulder. Seeing the gobsmacked expression on his face did make you grin, though. You had a feeling he’d be pleasantly surprised to see you in it, but you didn’t think it’d floor him.

“Good morning, dear.”

“R-Robin…what are you…w-what are you wearing?” He barely eeked the words out, gripping the doorframe tight. 

“I’m afraid we desperately need to do laundry. I went to get dressed and realized nearly all my clothes were dirty. I thought we’d have breakfast before we hurried over to the river to get some cleaning done.”

“But you’re w-wearing my tunic- why are you in my clothes?”

“Well, you still have some clean things left.” You said, turning around to face him. You tugged at the fabric that settled dangerously on your chest, crossing your legs while you fiddled with it.

Perhaps it wasn’t so much that you weren’t wearing your own clothes, but the more pressing matter he realizingrealized when the hem brushed just past your hips.

“D-do you really not have any clothes left at all? Even smallclothes?” He pressed, trying to keep his distance so as not to offend your gaze with his growing problem.

You simply shrugged, releasing the shirt from your fingers and leaning back against the counter. “I’m afraid I’m simply all out of clothes to wear, my love. You seem oddly concerned about it…do you find this shirt unflattering on me?”

“N-n-no!! I could never- you look amazing-- I-I mean, you always look amazing!! I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

“What, that your wife might have to borrow a shirt from you every now and then?” You asked innocently, slowly closing the distance between you.

“N-no, I…I just wasn’t expecting it to look so good on you.”

“Oh-ho…there’s that smooth talker I married.” You giggled, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him close. Kellam froze, his arms rigid in the air around you.

You grinned, knowing he was just seconds away fro his resolve breaking. “Who knew you could be such a charmer? If you ask me, I think you wear it better, but…I can also think of a few places it would look best.”

“O-oh? Like where?” He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Considering you were now flush against his chest, there was no doubty ou were fully aware of the effect this new look had on him.

The mischievous grin you donned did sugggest you were conscious of the next words out of your mouth.

“Well…I think it would look better on our bedroom floor.”

Kellam just couldn’t take it a second longer.

He hoisted you over his shoulder, earning a delighted squeal from his troublemaking wife. Breakfast would have to wait.

Right now, he needed to deal with the fact that his wife looked ridiculously hot in his shirt…and that she was very clearly trying to get a rise out of him by wearing it.

Perhaps he should leave bed more often…it seemed you would drag him back anyways, and he did quite prefer your tactics over anything else.

You did need to do laundry though, you confided in him once your morning was thoroughly ejoyed.

He scrubbed with extra vigor, that afternoon.

[zaunrising]

Time is a funny thing.

It was late at night, or perhaps early in the morning. That odd in between time when no one was quite sure if they should be saying good eve, or good morn. It didn’t particularly matter regardless. This, was The Last Drop. Time wasn’t measured in terms of night or day. It wasn’t measured by breakfast and dinner, sun and moon, or even by the normal working hours of the various businesses around it. No, time here was measured by drinks poured, the loudness of conversation, and the music being played. A period with lots of drinks, conversation bustling throughout the club, and hard pounding music might be the high time. Daytime, one might say, or if one preferred the “good” time of the evening. No customers, and boxes getting moved in and out for supplies might have been dusk or dawn. Anything in between? Late at night, or early in the morning, to one degree or another. Time never truly obeyed any conventional rules at The Last Drop. Some conversations stretched throughout an entire day, but only lasted for an hour or two. Some games lasted for a few hours, but stretched nearly out a day entirely.

Time? Inviolable? Tell that to a man who cared. Tell that to a Piltie. Not to the owner of The Last Drop. Not to Silco. Not to one of the most powerful men in the area who ruled his territory as he saw fit.

People created time, and measured it as they saw fit.

Control people, and you create their time.

You, tell them how to measure it.

Outside The Last Drop, time moved as it always did. Obedient to clocks, the sun, the moon, day, night, and human schedules. Silco was not outside The Last Drop however, he was inside, and time shifted.

Late at night, so very late it was near dawn and so in truth it was so very early in the morning. Almost no one else in the club except for a few employees attending to things, and perhaps some minuscule number of patrons. Quiet, peaceful, and for a moment it seemed as still as things could ever be. Leaving his coat in his office, Silco had ended up in the middle of the dance floor with his sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, as he had used to wear them years ago. Head tilted ever so slightly, he could very nearly hear the bustle of a tavern he’d spent time at, so long ago it felt now like another life. One eye closing for a second so brief it seemed more like a blink, Silco’s other eye stared blazing forward, reminding anyone that glanced over of the truth of who Silco was. Silco’s blurred vision rendered near useless with an explosion of orange, and fiery red reminded him that whatever bustle he might be hearing from the past… was, in fact, from another life. A life that had died in a river with a friend standing over him, and a moment of desperation. Two men as close as men could be, both left with scars, and both changing irrevocably as a result.

Sometimes, though, the past could return in some small way. Even if only for a short while.

Struck by sudden impulse, Silco moved forward to the jukebox and punching a quick series of numbers into it flipped to a record few could access. He wasn’t ashamed of it, and couldn’t be bothered to hide it, but it wouldn’t do to have the atmosphere in The Last Drop suddenly shift because of someone hitting the wrong kind of song. A song years old, and one that brought him back to his childhood for a few short minutes. Eyes open, and staring into the past, his lips parted to sing softly along with one particular song as his hands rested on the jukebox.

“Jesse got trapped in a coal mine, digging in the dark black pearl. Jesse got trapped in a coal mine, never did marry his girl. There ain’t no air, and there ain’t no light, and there ain’t no way to make it out alive. His wedding was planned for the 5th of July, but Jesse got trapped in a coal mine and never did marry his girl. Your hands get black and your eyes get burned, your lungs get tired and poor. It draws you in like an opium den, and beckons you back for more.”

The vaunted Eye of Zaun for three minutes and fifty-three seconds stood at a jukebox softly singing along to a song. His voice soft enough few could hear, but the club was quiet enough it could be picked up if someone wanted. A song about, of all things, a miner who never made it back and a woman left to grieve alone. No revolution, no strife, no call for violence. No deep pounding beat to get people dancing, no soft sounds of love for people to smile to, but also no easily ignored background noise this. Just a song about a miner, and loss, and a reminder that sometimes people don’t make it even when they fight as hard as possible. Of course, just because people don’t make it doesn’t mean they aren’t remembered.

Sometimes, Silco wondered how long it took for Jesse to meet his second death.

How long before Jesse was forgotten by all, and died a second final time.

Sometimes he wondered which was more important.

That Jesse had tried as hard as he could to make it back, or that the man had died.

Did the attempt alone grant its own kind of honor, and respect?

Could failure remove all the honor, and respect?

“Down, down on her knees, she cried. My love is somewhere in that mountain.”

As the song faded, Silco’s one good eye blinked, and he pulled himself back into the present. Hitting a button had the jukebox flip to some random record. Silco couldn't care less what played next. One slow steady calm breath as he turned, and pulled his sleeves back down to their normal position, buttoning them properly while heading to the bar.

Time was malleable. Time shifted, and could at times be hard to define. Time, however, always passed, and always moved forward. Not even Silco could change that. Not even in The Last Drop could that be changed. Time moved forward, and so it was time for Silco to return to the present and move with it.

Some, however, might say Silco had never moved with time. Not really. You might say he had been frozen in time during one particular night.

A night on which trusted, perhaps loved, hands had shoved him underwater. Trusted hands tried to kill him, and although he’d never admit it… had.

One man had been lost in pitch black, polluted water.

Another man, seemingly immovable, and unstoppable, had climbed out of that water. Someone that refused to bend, or change with time. Someone that deep within still felt that water drip from him, and that pain in an eye suddenly lost. A man who, even as he climbed out of the water, had kept so much of it with him, he might as well have never left. Time passed, but some moments never quite ended. Some moments kept a person frozen within them, and made it near impossible to step away.

On some nights though, be it for a minute, three minutes, or five minutes, for however long a particular song might last. A frozen moment thawed, and someone else pushed forward.

On some nights… a person might catch a glimpse not of Silco the Industrialist, the revolutionary, the Eye of Zaun. Some nights a person might catch a glimpse of Silco the miner, a man who years ago had fought, and drank, and loved, and worked right alongside everyone else. A man who had died in a river.

A man who still on occasion awoke, and wondered what Zaun was becoming.

A man could stand in another’s boots, on some nights, for as long as a song. After that, however, the owner returned, and a cold gaze turned to anyone who thought to question him or his choice of song a moment earlier. After all, time never stopped, and it never went backwards. At least, not for long.

Not even at The Last Drop.

[bike42]

August 3-7, 2023 Montana for Calvin's Wedding

We left home in the early hours of August 3rd – heading North at first, then West back to Montana – this time a road trip!  We met our friend, Trapper in Maple Grove for lunch.  It had been way too long, and the hours flew by as we caught up.  When I first met JT, he and Trapper were like “brothers from different mothers,” with their own code language and lots of shared history. 

From there, we continued North to Moorhead/Fargo – where we joined brother-in-law Matt for dinner at their house.  My sister had already ventured west with my parents in their VW camper (a different kind of adventure!).  We had a nice dinner, visited with her cat, and enjoyed the evening in their serene backyard oasis.  My brother and two of his daughters (Emma and Georgia) were coming for the night and to transport Matt to MT, but they arrived much later in the evening, and we stayed in a hotel so didn’t see them until we arrived at camp in MT on Saturday.

We drove through the rain, took a few stops in Bismark, Medora and Circle MT.  Once again, we were revisiting memories of our 2012 bike adventure!  We made several stops in Bismark (TJMaxx, Dollar Store, Walmart) in search of cowbells for Jeff’s 29029 volunteer gig but came up short.  The drive from Circle was new territory for us, a two-lane road across the desolate prairie and ranch land of Montana.  Much of the road was under construction and but traffic was light, and it didn’t slow us down much.  With the rain and the mud though, we had a mud-encrusted Audi!

We arrived at our hotel in Grand Falls and found the Montana State Fair happening across the street!  We quickly checked in, then walked over to the fair.  We caught the last half of the rodeo – calf roping, young women riding horses very fast in the barrel races, and the bull riding at the end.  It was all so foreign tome, but I loved the energy of seeing it in person!  It was the second to last day of the fair, so most of the animals in the display barns had been taken home, I was disappointed about that!   But the art and flower arrangement displays were still there so we enjoyed that.

The next morning, we had some time, so we visited the Lewis and Clark Exhibition Center.  It was cool to imagine what the Missouri River looked like in those days!  There was a cool exhibit showing how they devised an 11-day portage around the 5 falls – imagine!!  We also enjoyed talking to an older gentleman that had many period guns and other weapons on display – his private collection.

The rain continued as we drove to Seely Lake (as did the muddy construction).  We grabbed hot drinks at the local coffee shop and then headed around the lake to “Camp Paxson,” our home for the next three nights (an old boy scout camp that’s now part of the National Forest and run by a non-profit).  I felt bad for Calvin and McKinley about the weather, but everyone in attendance was of the “make the best of it” mindset.  We got settled in our rustic cabin – I thought they���d be smaller (not sure why I thought that), and was surprised to find JT and I were sharing a cabin with mom & dad, and San & Matt.  A close family affair!

Saturday night was informal with a lasagna dinner, lots of wine, and Sandra and Matt led campfire stories and songs.  They were dressed in scouting attire, and it was a really fun night!

Sunday morning it was still raining.  Calvin and his friends had erected a tent with a stage and dance floor.  It was dry but sandy in there – we cleaned it up and Sandra led about 10 of us through a morning yoga session.  Then breakfast in the lodge, and free time for hiking, napping, or hanging out until the afternoon wedding.  Jeff and I hiked about 4 miles through a beautiful hemlock forest – incredibly open without much understory.

There was a rush to get ready in the communal bathrooms before the wedding – a different kind of experience.  Most found with the rain and humidity, it was senseless to try to do anything with one’s hair!! 

Like a miracle, the sun came out just before the outdoor wedding and it was a beautiful afternoon and evening.  A thoroughly enjoyable occasion – great band, good dinner, and fun celebration with family.  There were some “wedding crashers” at the end of the night – apparently, they got away with one of the beer barrels.

Monday morning was quieter.  Sandra and Amy and I still did yoga, we had a leisurely breakfast (my dad and my brother made Huckleberry pancakes).  A larger group of us hiked to a nearby waterfall, and then the folks that were left had salads and leftover lasagna for dinner.  Matt, San, JT and I played a fun game of croquet – obstacles like pinecones and tree roots!  Early to bed for me – big week coming up!

[butterflies-dragons]

GRRM has projected his love for medieval tourneys, heraldry, pageantry, knights and chivalry on Sansa Stark

Art credit: Heinrich von Breslau (Codex Manesse, 14. Jahrhundert)

GRRM:

“That whole story (The Hedge Knight) is built around a tournament. I love medieval tournaments, reading about them, writing about them. There's of course some of them in the main books, but this was an opportunity in a time of peace, not war, to look at a medieval tournament with all its pageantry and the jousting and the combat and reveal a little of Westerosi History”.

—In conversation: George R.R. Martin with Dan Jones FULL EVENT- August 2019

SANSA:

"The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord," Jory said as he resumed his seat. "They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King."

Arya could see that her father was not very happy about that. "Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?"

Sansa's eyes had grown wide as the plates. "A tourney," she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. "Will we be permitted to go, Father?"

"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly."

"Oh, please," Sansa said. "I want to see."

Septa Mordane spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend."

Father looked pained. "I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." He saw Arya. "For both of you."

"I don't care about their stupid tourney," Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey.

Sansa lifted her head. "It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya II

Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa’s breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind…and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.

“It is better than the songs,” she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

GRRM:

“Tolkien imitators who came after him, a lot of them created a sort of Disneyland Middle Ages, you know, a sort of Middle Ages like you might see at a Renaissance Faire, but you don't have the dysentery, or the torture, or the leprosy, or the innate sexism, or classism, or racism that was so built into so much of that world for so many centuries, you really have to take, you know, I like the knights in shinning armor, the heraldry and pageantry as much as anyone, but you also have to include the fleas."

— Neuchâtel International Fantastic Film Festival - NIFFF 2014

The novelist is midway through something of a European tour. After his trip to Switzerland, he is due in Scotland for the Edinburgh book festival. It has often been suggested that Ivanhoe (by the Scottish 19th-century novelist Walter Scott) was, alongside the War of the Roses, a major influence on A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones.

Martin was first turned on to Ivanhoe by the 1952 MGM movie starring Robert Taylor, George Sanders and a young Elizabeth Taylor. "I think it was Elizabeth Taylor at the peak of her...," his voice tails off before he clarifies. "She was the most beautiful woman in the world. I think I was nine years old when I saw that movie. How could you not fall in love with her? But the jousting and the pageantry of it made me love that story. Later, in high school, I did read that book. For a modern reader, it's a little tough to get through. The prose is very Victorian and thick but if you fight your way through it, the story is there. It has everything the movie has and more – the heraldry and jousting and the insight into the times. It was an influence in that sense."

—GRRM - Independent - 2014

SANSA:

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."

Joffrey stiffened beside her. "Have a care how you address my betrothed."

"I can answer," Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince's anger. She smiled at the green knight. "Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and councillor to the king, and so I name you."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

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

Petyr had given her a roll of arms to study, so she knew their heraldry if not their faces. The red castle was Redfort, plainly; a short man with a neat grey beard and mild eyes. Lady Anya was the only woman amongst the Lords Declarant, and wore a deep green mantle with the broken wheel of Waynwood picked out in beads of jet. Six silver bells on purple, that was Belmore, pear-bellied and round of shoulder. His beard was a ginger-grey horror sprouting from a multiplicity of chins. Symond Templeton's, by contrast, was black and sharply pointed. A beak of a nose and icy blue eyes made the Knight of Ninestars look like some elegant bird of prey. His doublet displayed nine black stars within a golden saltire. Young Lord Hunter's ermine cloak confused her till she spied the brooch that pinned it, five silver arrows fanned. Alayne would have put his age closer to fifty than to forty. His father had ruled at Longbow Hall for nigh on sixty years, only to die so abruptly that some whispered the new lord had hastened his inheritance. Hunter's cheeks and nose were red as apples, which bespoke a certain fondness for the grape. She made certain to fill his cup as often as he emptied it.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Harry was staring at her. He knows who I am, she realized, and he does not seem pleased to see me. It was only then that she took note of his heraldry. Though his surcoat and horse trappings were patterned in the red-and-white diamonds of House Hardyng, his shield was quartered. The arms of Hardyng and Waynwood were displayed in the first and third quarters, respectively, but in the second and fourth quarters he bore the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky blue and cream. Sweetrobin will not like that.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

GRRM:

Firstly, thanks for that very thorough response on the tournaments and knighthood. Fascinating. In particular given the notes about _Ivanhoe_ and its influence -- I've only witnessed the A&E production of it, although maybe about time I read it. Seems it might be ripe for ideas.

IVANHOE is well worth a read, although the style is very old fashioned, of course. Still it has some fabulous characters and scenes, and so far as I know the definitive portrayal of a medieval tournament, both melee and joust.

It has been filmed three times that I know of. The recent A&E production had some good moments, as did the older Sam Neill version... the CLASSIC version, however, is still MGM's 50s version, starring Robert Taylor, Elizabeth Taylor, and George Sanders. The jousts are wonderful, Liz is radiant, and George Sanders steals the film as Bois-Gilbert. You should definitely rent that one and have a look.

—GRRM - 1999

SANSA:

She loved King's Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

She closed the window, gathered up the fallen papers, and stacked them on the table. One was a list of the competitors. Four-and-sixty knights had been invited to vie for places amongst Lord Robert Arryn's new Brotherhood of Winged Knights, and four and-sixty knights had come to tilt for the right to wear falcon's wings upon their warhelms and guard their lord.

The competitors came from all over the Vale, from the mountain valleys and the coast, from Gulltown and the Bloody Gate, even the Three Sisters. Though a few were promised, only three were wed; the eight victors would be expected to spend the next three years at Lord Robert's side, as his own personal guard (Alayne had suggested seven, like the Kingsguard, but Sweetrobin had insisted that he must have more knights than King Tommen), so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

And they came, Alayne thought proudly. They all came.

It had fallen out just as Petyr said it would, the day the ravens flew. "They're young, eager, hungry for adventure and renown. Lysa would not let them go to war. This is the next best thing. A chance to serve their lord and prove their prowess. They will come. Even Harry the Heir." He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "What a clever daughter you are."

It was clever. The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert's mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave. And no sooner did she tell Petyr her idea than he went out and made it happen.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

GRRM:

Amon Shin in Maine asks, “If you lived in Westeros, which house would you like to be part of, or in which area would you like to live?”

Well, you know, there’s something to be said for being an honorable Stark, but you’re kinda cold all the time and poor and so forth. And you have a lot of land, but there’s not a lot of stuff on it, you know? On the other hand, if you’re a Lannister, you have a nice house and all the gold you want and all of that stuff.  So, there’s a lot to be said for being a Lannister.  I don’t know.  Maybe I could probably see me being a Lannister.  And I would always pay my debts.

—A Dance with Dragons | George R.R. Martin | Talks at Google - July 2011

SANSA:

They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

* * *

Art credit: Loras Tyrell gives Sansa Stark a rose at the Hand’s Tournament by Jonathan Burton.

As you can see, Sansa loves tourneys because GRRM loves tourneys.

During the events that take place in the ASOIAF Books, we find 5 tourneys and Sansa Stark is directly or indirectly linked with all of them:

The Hand's tourney, a tourney in honor of Sansa’s father, Eddard Stark. Sansa was unofficially crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty by the Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell. GRRM wrote this passage as a resemblance to the Great tourney at Harrenhal, hiding hints and reversing colors. 

Tourney on King Joffrey's name day, a tourney in honor of Sansa’s betrothed. Sansa defended and saved Dontos Hollard’s life.

Melee at Bitterbridge, Brienne won the melee and earned a place in Renly’s Kingsguard. Later she swore his allegiance to Sansa’s mother, Catelyn Stark, and made an oath to find Sansa Stark. Brienne also wields Oathkeeper, a sword made of Ice (House Stark ancestral sword).  

Melee at Runestone, this event was organized with the sole intention of knighting Harrold Hardyng, Alayne Stone’s betrothed.

Tourney at the Gates of the Moon to select the members of the Brotherhood of Winged Knights, created and organized by Alayne Stone.

Sansa is also linked with other important tourneys that happened previously to the events of the ASOIAF Books:

Tourney at Ashford Meadows (The Hedge Knight), GRRM wrote the Hedge Knight when he was in the middle of writing A Clash of Kings, and he made sure of link the five initial champions of the Tourney at Ashford Meadows (Baratheon, Lannister, Tyrell, Hardyng & Targaryen) with Sansa’s suitors and betrothed. So Willas Tyrell and Harrold Hardyng are not a coincidence in Sansa’s arc, GRRM had already planned for this since he was writing A Clash of Kings.    

Great tourney at Harrenhal, this tourney was won by Rhaegar Targaryen and as the champion he crowned Lyanna Stark (Sansa’s aunt & Jon Snow’s mother) as his Queen of Love and Beauty. And take note at this very interesting detail: Rhaegar Targaryen wearing an armor adorned with rubies (red) gave Lyanna Stark a crown of winter roses (blue), while Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue) gave Sansa a (red) rose.

Sansa loves knights because GRRM loves knights. Remember that George’s Catholic high school (Marist) football team is called the Royal Knights: 

Sansa loves pageantry because GRRM loves pageantry. Just look at his collection of knights and ladies figurines:

Sansa loves heraldry because GRRM loves heraldry. Take note that GRRM took inspiration from the antagonist of Ivanhoe, Brian de Bois-Guilbert’s sigil, to created House Corbray’s sigil:

Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Gare le Corbeau.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

The youngest man in the party had three ravens on his chest, each clutching a blood-red heart in its talons. His brown hair was shoulder length; one stray lock curled down across his forehead. Ser Lyn Corbray, Alayne thought, with a wary glance at his hard mouth and restless eyes.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

(Not to mention that Sansa loves books because George loves books...)

There you have it, GRRM self inserts in a few of his ASOIAF characters, and Sansa Stark is one of them.

[ow-anteater]

You know I gotta do it to you- do your wonderful platonic Jack + Ana for number. . . let's pick a random one. . . 34!

Kansas City by The New Basement Tapes 

And I love you dear / but just how long / can I keep singing this same old song?

They’ve been here before.

His hands are on the table; blue veins like rivers. Harsh through the grey landscape they traverse. He looks dull - drained. The light here is seldom kind.

Ana have her hands against her rifle. The metal glints and reflects while her skin seems as lifeless as his. Polished bone and drum skin.

“I want to go.” Her eyes stay stubbornly on the barrel, careful and poised.

“Then do.”

She snorts, though not unkindly. Leans back until the chair creaks.

“I don’t think I can.”

The way she smiles makes her look both young and unbearably sad.

Stalemate. Again.

Sometimes he wants to shake her by the shoulders, try to shake loose all her brittle strength and stubborn, righteous resistance. 

The invitation looks so small and important beside the rifle. He too had felt it like a slap across the face, a physical reminder: Fareeha’s getting bigger. He fears she might be at the age to start protesting if he went to ruffle her hair, squawk and cross her arms if any of them kept calling her ‘kid’. Still just such a small thing.

It sits just below his collar bone; the want to yell and demand and flee from all of this. But his hands are just grey and tired, Ana’s eyes are simply flint and seawater and Fareeha’s just a kid with a birthday party five thousand miles away. 

He wishes so desperately he had the ground to insist on her being there. Like the harsh impossibility of himself at Vincent's wedding - pantomiming normalcy - hadn’t stung far worse than any definite loss of old lovers when that invitation arrived. 

He forces the eye-contact between them, just for a second. He nearly revels in how it scratches near the back of his skull; too much, too much, too raw and not nearly enough. They look away in unison in the end.

“She looks good. Healthy.” His voice rasps.

Ana stretches over the table like a cat. The rifle clinks against the tabletop when she pushes it out of the way.

“She does, doesn’t she?”

It’s not a question. 

He waits to speak until the silence has stretched to near unbearable. “How’s Sam?”  That one is barely a question too.

Ana just looks up at him, the tiniest quiver by her lone dimple. She holds the photo like Jack imagines the reverend back in Bloomington still carries the good book. 

“It isn’t fair.” Ana’s voice never waivers. Her mouth quips up. Her crow’s feet are black lines almost as stark as the eye of Horus on her cheek. 

He feels the way his mouth scrunches up, an almost childish frown.

“No. It really isn’t.”

Her thumbs rubs short lines along the edge of the photo. 14, god she’s getting big. 

When she sighs, he tries so hard to ignore the watery sound of it. She puts the photo down again, scratches at her neck and leans back again. He recognizes the way her chest moves, the stubborn fight for control of breathing. 

It’s his turn to lean over the table. His hands may be grey in the light of the life they chose, but she closes hers around them all the same.

“I love you Jack,” she murmurs, eyes glued to their hands. She looks off to the side. “I love all of you, but-”

One of her hands leaves his grip to flutter indecisively just above the table before she lets it fall again.

He’s already nodding, small birdlike movements mostly to himself. His hands feel very far away, the world both distant and loud through this by now almost familiar feeling in his chest. And yet he folds them around hers. Turns her hand in his until the palms up. His thumb traces lines real and imagined through her palm.

“I don’t,” his brows knit, the words feel clumsy and afire in his mouth. The sentence dissolves before he ever really knows where he was planning to go.

“I love you too,” he ends, almost violently blurted out in the quiet. There’s a thousand things he needs to tell her too, but that one shoots out of dark water, bright and clear.

She laughs, a small sputtering thing.

“God, look at us.” She shakes her hand free to wipe a sleeve along her cheek. “‘War heroes’ they say, bah.” 

He laughs too, wet and small and keeps both hands wrapped around her remaining one. Trusts she’ll lean over the table to wipe away the tears for him eventually.

[riversofmars]

Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.

Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2300

Read on AO3 or below

Like The First Time

“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.

The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.

Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.

“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“

The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.

As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“

“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.

“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“

“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.

“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“

The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.

“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.

River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“

“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.

“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except  - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something.  “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“

“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.

“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.

“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.

“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.

“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?

“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.

The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.

Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.

“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.

“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“

“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.

River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“

The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.

Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.

The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.

“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.

[witchersjaskier]

Jaskier who is practically immortal because his soul is always reincarnated whenever he dies. This was supposed to be a curse placed on by a wild mage but obviously Jaskier doesnt consider it that because know he can live on forever with his Witcher ^-^. (Sorry its messy but its 5am and I just saw your post thingy and love your writing so I'm grabbing the post with both my greedy hands and not letting go. ^-^)

The unseen issue of the curse, that the sorcerer probably failed to take into consideration, is that Jaskier doesn’t have to be reborn as a human. There are no rules saying that he has to be a human or even if there were, there are many ways to become immortal.

Jaskier is sometimes hit by those musings when Geralt takes a particularly long time remembering. It’s annoying and always leaves Jaskier exhausted.

He truly loves his gentle giant but Geralt could always be a bit of an asshole and being a Witcher only made it worse. He tries to be understanding, of course, he knows exactly what the boys go through with the trials (that life left many mental scars on him). Still, sometimes it’s hard to withstand all of that with his memories of countless lives spent loving each other.

Jaskier sighs quietly and watches as his love brushes Roach down, noticing the gentle smile on his face, how Geralt’s shoulders are much more relaxed now. He chooses to play an old song of his, from another life, from before the Conjunction, from one of the nights spent in Geralt’s arms.

It makes the Witcher pause for some reason, when before he never recognized any of Jaskier’s songs. He doesn’t stop playing, however, aware that sometimes memories take time.

When the sorcerer cursed him, Jaskier imagines that the point was to make him suffer through countless lives, but the real curse is waiting for Geralt to remember. Still, it’s a small price to pay for literal eternity with his love.

“What’s that song?” the Witcher suddenly asks, turning to look at Jaskier with those gorgeous eyes of his.

Only now Jaskier can understand why Geralt mourned his blue eyes when he lost them to the Trials. Geralt’s eyes are gorgeous, of course, but Jaskier finds himself missing his original blue-green ones. He still loves them though.

“Oh, an old one of mine, not very popular I'm afraid,” Jaskier says playfully. “I don’t play it much, people tend to think I’m making a spell or sometimes. It’s a bit too complicated for the simple folk.”

Even when he made it, back when there used to be a black crown on his head, Jaskier only played it for Geralt and their daughter. He will only ever play it for them.

“Hmm,” comes the response from his big oaf and Jaskier doesn’t hide his smile.

He plays another one, the one he composed for their wedding when Geralt was becoming his Prince Consort and the whole kingdom cried their names. This time, the Witcher sits down and closes his eyes, getting lost in music and Jaskier can almost see him, dressed in royal blue, walking down the aisle in a cape, the most beautiful sight in the universe.

Jaskier’s voice doesn’t shake but just barely, and he plays two more songs before he can’t take it anymore. He sends Geralt a wobbly smile and escapes to the forest, pausing only when he reaches a small river. He gets in, clothes and all and lets the water carry him for a second, calming the fire burning inside of him.

With every cycle, it’s harder and harder to keep going, to stay strong while the love of his countless lives doesn’t remember him. Jaskier tries to be strong but still he cries, his tears mixing with water, sobs shaking his body.

He stays like that for a long while, until the fire in his chest goes down somehow and he can finally focus on this outside of his own pain. That’s when Jaskier hears his darling Witcher running to him.

Immediately, the bard sits up and unsheathes his long claws, senses picking up but Geralt just enters  the small clearing,. Hair messy and eyes wild. They focus on Jaskier immediately and his Witcher lets out a sound of pure relief, unlike anything Jaskier heard of him in this life.

:Jaskier,” Geralt manages to say. It’s different now, somehow, more tender, more desperate, more like…

Jaskier’s head snaps up just as Geralt crosses the distance between them and pulls him into the Witcher’s arms, Geralt’s head hidden in his neck, Jaskier’s clawed hand tangled in his hair.

“Geralt?”

He doesn’t dare to hope but the Witcher is now shaking in his arms and he feels just like he did when they last said their goodbyes, holding each other on the bed as time claimed them.

“I love you,” comes the response. “Love you so much, Jask, I’m sorry-”

He just can’t listen to this anymore, so Jaskier pulls on Geralt’s hair and then kisses him hungrily and oh, it’s like always, slow and passionate and full of pain and the most incredible kiss in all of Jaskier’s lives.

They’re always like that.

“I love you too, dear heart,” he replies through the tears, staring Geralt in the eyes. With his thumb, he gently wipes the tears from his Witcher’s face. “I’m so so happy to see you again.”

“Husband,” is all Geralt replies. “My husband in red.”

Jaskier laughs.

[crazy-loca-blog]

Spicy Newlywed Questions

A/N: Thanks a lot to the lovely @jamespotterthefirst for sending this weekly self-indulgence challenge. Please be advised that this is a 18+ edition of The Newlywed Game, so there might be some triggers if NS*FW topics make you feel uncomfortable. This time, all the answers will be below the cut.

Rating: 18+ (Mature)

Masterlist

~~*~~*~~*~~

Mild

Do you kiss and tell? Have you told your friends about your…"adventures"?

Ethan: I like to think that's where we set the limit on what we share about our relationship with our friends. So no.

Casey: Agreed... and yet, here we are publicly talking about our sex life... the hypocrisy...

*Laughs*

Casey: I'd say the closest we are to kiss and tell is when my brother guesses some of our "adventures" and he teases us about them... but we like to keep the mystery and we never confirm or deny anything.

My spouse looks the hottest in ____________.

Both, in unison: Naked!

*Laughs*

Ethan: No, for real. Seeing my wife naked every day is a blessing, but she's also the biggest teaser. Every time we attend some formal event, she makes her purpose to find the perfect dress to make me feel the luckiest man on the planet...

Casey: ...especially because you're the one taking those clothes off as soon as we get home...

Ethan: Exactly *smirks*

Casey: I have to admit there is something about Ethan when he's wearing his workout clothes... or when he's working out... he's lucky that Bryce and Raf are at the gym with him...

Ethan: How can you say something like that and then say that I'm lucky because Lahela and Aveiro are there with me?

Casey: You can always kick them out of the gym and tell them you're going to be busy with me... I'm sure they'll get the message.

What song best describes that night after the country club (1.15)? You know which one…

Casey: Fallin' For You by Colbie Caillat.

Ethan: *surprised* That was fast!

Casey: Yeah... the fact that I never pushed you away doesn't mean that I wasn't a mess about my feelings for you, and you know it. I think that was the moment where I realized that we were no joke and I stopped lying to myself and I just began to admit I was falling for you. What about you?

Ethan: I think Just A Kiss by Lady A summarizes very well how I felt about us at that moment.

Casey: Now... if you really, really want to make this question spicy... I'd say You're Makin' Me High by Toni Braxton *smirks*

Ethan: Should I listen to it?

Casey: At your own risk...

*Ethan listens to the song... Is he blushing?*

Casey: I told you so... *smirks*

Hottest thing my spouse has ever done is ___________. (Doesn’t have to be dirty)

Both, in unison: Existing!

*Laughs*

Ethan: *looking at Casey* Should I tell a dirty one or should I keep it PG?

Casey: *smiles* Whatever you want, babe... I'm fine with it.

Ethan: She made a professional photoshoot not so long ago... nothing explicit, but very suggestive... and whenever she wants to tease me, she sends me just one picture to my phone... all I can say is that I can't wait to find her to go home... or to an on call room... or to a supply closet... or to any of our offices... whatever is closest at the moment.

Casey: You really enjoy those, don't you? *smirks*

Ethan: I like to think we both enjoy them *smirks*

Casey: Oh, believe me, I do! Well, to keep a balance, I'll go with a PG one. Ethan fighting for what he believes in is one of the hottest things he'll do in public. Then in private, only a few people are lucky to see the real him. He goes full protective mode for those he care about, and that's irresistible to me.

Who said “Let’s make out” first? Where was it?

*Casey points at Ethan*

Casey: He didn't say it, but...

Ethan: I couldn't help it, she always looks beautiful, but that day... *sighs*

Casey: He surprised me... I mean, I wanted it to happen, but I didn't expect him to feel the same way about me.

On a scale of 1-10, what would you rate their seduction skills?

Casey: He is a solid 12... he knows exactly what to do... he has never failed, not even once... and it's frustrating...

Ethan: *laughing* Why?

Casey: Because I can't play hard to get...

Ethan: Casey is... *looks at her*

Casey: I know I'm awful at it, so be honest, I won't get mad...

Ethan: She is a 10...

Casey: *surprised* What? I expected like a 5 or a 6...

Ethan: That's exactly why you're a 10... you're not even aware of your power over me... when I tell you I'm not rational when I'm around you... I'm not joking, dear...

What bathing suit does your spouse look the best in?

Ethan: There is this white and brown that she wore during our honeymoon that fits her so well. But she has two that she literally calls the "RIP Ethan" bathing suits. She wears a trikini when we're at the pool with our friends and a very tiny red bikini when she's waiting for me at home by the pool after her shift... because yeah, she's such a teaser...

Casey: Does it work?

Ethan: We tend to disappear for a while when our friends are visiting, so what do you think? *smirks*

Casey: I'm picking this one at random because honestly, when you're wearing a bathing suit I don't care much about what you cover, but more about what you can't cover with it *winks*

~~*~~*~~*~~

XTRA HOT

What’s a surefire way to turn on your spouse?

*Ethan whispers something on Casey's ear*

Casey: *very uncomfortable* This... what he just did... he just knows I'm weak and I can't resist him when he talks to me like that...

*Ethan gives her a knowing look and smirks*

Casey: *even more uncomfortable* And that... that look... can I have some water?

Ethan: When she gives me a very seductive look and bites her lip... I just can't...

Casey: Like this? *She gives him a knowing look while she bites her lip*

Ethan: *very uncomfortable* Next question, please?

Who makes the most noise?

Ethan: *pointing at Casey* She does...

Casey: Guilty as charged... you should feel okay about it, it means you're doing your job perfectly

Ethan: I would never dare to complain... I actually love the effect of your moans on me... *winks*

Who loves foreplay the most?

Both, in unison: Both!

*Laughs*

Ethan: Really... we both love a good foreplay... not only we like trying new and different things, we really like taking our time...

Casey: And when we say "taking our time", it may even mean teasing each other all day... messages, kisses, some subtle touching, you name it...

Ethan: And it only gets better if the other part doesn't expect it... I really enjoy it when you can cut the sexual tension with a knife...

One round or multiple– Which do you prefer?

Both, in unison: Multiple!

*Laughs*

Ethan: Come on... again?

Casey: I think it actually depends... and I know Ethan will agree with me on this, so I think I'm speaking for both of us... it's more about quality than about quantity... we are lucky to have both, but if we must choose one, we'd definitely choose quality.

*Ethan just nods in agreement*

Best night/sex you’ve ever had with your spouse?

*They look at each other for a while*

Casey: I don't know actually... it's not like I have a list of our best times...

Ethan: Me neither... but I can think of a few times...

Casey: Yeah, me too... like our first time...

Ethan: ...after the attack...

Casey: ...that night by the river...

Ethan: ...when we disappeared for two full weeks, and no one knew we were together...

Casey: ...the diagnostics team office...

Ethan: ...the on call room...

Casey: ...that quickie at the museum...

Ethan: ...when we got engaged...

Casey: ...our wedding night...

Ethan: ...when we moved in to our new home...

Casey: ...pool sex... all the time...

Ethan: ...I think we could go on forever...

Casey: Agreed... next question?

Morning or night? What’s your favorite place to have sex in?

Both, in unison: Both!

*Laughs*

Casey:*laughing* Ethan, stop! We can't keep giving the same answers half of the time! This is supposed to be sexy and hot, not funny!

Ethan: *laughing* Don't blame me! Maybe we're just discovering why we work so well... *smiles*

Casey: Well... even though we both like to try different places, I think nothing beats our bed, at night, after our shifts, and when we can have all the time to enjoy ourselves...

Ethan: Agreed... but the early morning shower is a close second...

Casey: It has taken you a while, but I have to admit you're finally beginning to convince me of all the perks of morning sex... especially when it's you who wakes me up. *winks*

Ethan: It's been a real challenge, you're a heavy sleeper, so I feel honored...

Casey: You should...

Who dominates in the bedroom?

Casey: He does, 99% of the time. And who am I kidding, it takes me to cloud nine, so I really enjoy it. But I like to think I dominate the teasing that leads to him to dominate in the bedroom.

Ethan: I had never thought about it that way... that's actually a good answer, dear.

Casey: Thank you, babe.

Casey, what’s your favorite outfit to wear for him? Ethan, what’s your favorite Casey wears?

Casey: What I'm wearing right now... it's both my favorite and Ethan's.

Ethan: Your working clothes? No offense dear, you look really sexy, but I don't think that's my favorite outfit...

Casey: I don't mean this outfit, but actually the one that's under it...

Ethan: Are you wearing the...

Casey: Nope...

Ethan: Then, it's the...

Casey: Not really...

Ethan: You bought a new one that I haven't seen yet...

*Casey gives him a knowing look while she bites her lip*

Ethan: *very uncomfortable* How many questions are left?

What’s your favorite thing your spouse does in bed?

Both, in unison: Oral!

*Laughs*

Casey: *laughing* Shut... up! I can't be serious if we keep doing this! Well, I can proudly say that my husband knows how to use his tongue for more than just talking... and I wonder if he ever thought about becoming a surgeon because his hands are a close second...

Ethan: I can say the same... she's give me the best handjobs and blowjobs of my life, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But when she is on top, things go to a whole new level for me.

Casey: I do enjoy when he is the one on top, so that I can look him in the eyes... and when he takes me against the wall... or against the window... or in the pool... *she begins to blush*

Ethan: *very uncomfortable* Are we done?

Casey: *very uncomfortable* I think so...

Ethan: *whispers on her ear* Your office or mine?

[nicketynic]

between the shadow and the soul (1/1)

Hey fam!! Guess whose laptop is back from four weeks of computer quarantine (a.k.a. two weeks of fix-up and a godawful amount of time in the mail)!! 

This was originally intended for @jonsa-valentine. Originally a ~2,000 word take on a Robb Lives, Jon/Sansa falls in love despite her arranged Southron marriage, this grew and grew as I scribbled endlessly in my notebook. 

Enjoy!!

“Jon, you shouldn’t be here,” Sansa hissed fiercely as her leisurely stroll through a Redwyne vineyard was interrupted by her lover appearing suddenly from behind a vine-covered trellis. Outraged worry quickly replaced startlement as she took in his appearance: tousled, hurried, still clad in riding leathers. The reckless abandon of it all left her furious. “Have you even presented yourself at Redwyne Hall?”

“No,” Jon baldly confessed, shamelessly sidestepping her outrage as he shed his cloak and pulled her close. “I came straight from the harbor.”

Despite herself, Sansa went unresisting into his embrace, twining her arms around his neck and guiding him deeper into the thicket of grapevines. “Luck must be with you, then. Willas and his uncle are spending the day in Ryamsport, otherwise your absence would be noticed immediately.”

“Or a few well-placed silver stags will delay my arrival being announced until near the evening meal,” he countered, leaning in to nuzzle into her neck. 

The rough rasp of his beard and the weathered skin underneath, the calluses on his hands as he entwined them with hers a shock of sensory delight to her system. Pressing her cheek to his and breathing him in, she realized with appreciation that he must have stopped to bathe in Oldtown, lacking as he was the stench of horse and days-old sweat. Beneath an overlay of leather and seasalt instead lingered the fresh, clean scents of pine and snow. Home, her blood and heart and soul all whispered in unison, as she pressed closer and blinked away the prick of tears. 

Gods, she had missed him...missed Winterfell, missed the North. Sansa had gotten everything she was dreamed of, a chivalrous husband and a life full of Southron fancy, but she wanted none of it. She longed instead for evergreen and snow and solemn, long Stark faces. She wished for Jon, the embodiment of everything her heart longed for, everything she knew of comfort and love. 

As kind and chivalrous as Willas Tyrell had proven to be, as well as he continued to treat her, there was nothing she could do to change the truth of her feelings. She and Willas could have been Florian and Jonquil reborn, and still it would have come to no good end. Sansa Stark’s heart belonged to another, given away long before the Highgarden heir had ever cloaked her in green velvet and golden roses. She felt near-forgotten parts of her sparking alive everywhere Jon’s touch lingered, previously gone dormant under long months of Willas’ absent courtesy. Sansa had no true cause to complain as her husband’s attention was cast more upon his hawks, his horses, and his correspondence with a certain Dornish prince, but it was easy for loneliness to take root in the cracks of their relationship, lacking as she was any real bond connecting her to Highgarden. 

Three years without an heir sent plenty a Reacher tongue wagging, but both spouses duly ignored the ensuing gossip. His gaze turned firmly to the south, hers to the north, but they shared a common longing for the approaching summer. Summer brought the tourney season, inspiring the Red Viper and his paramour to journey beyond the Red Mountains. Summer stirred Winterfell’s king to send a trusted proxy to the Reach, protecting the vital grain trade cemented by Sansa’s marriage contract. 

Having expected to see Jon in Oldtown in the role of that proxy, a week out yet as Willas wished to visit with his Redwyne relatives before they were due to attend the celebrations for Old Lord Leyton’s seventieth nameday, it should hardly be a surprise that Sansa should be startled and confused with her former lover’s sudden appearance. 

Either ignorant or ignorable of her inner turmoil, Jon sighed her name, pressing soft, sweet kisses to her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, and her cheek as he raised his head to face her. “Sansa…”

“You’re mad,” she began, stopping when he winced and quickly corrected herself to avoid referencing the Targaryen heritage he found so abhorrent. “You’re foolish to have taken such a risk,” she finished chidingly, though her hands proved traitorous as they played with the hair at his nape and stroked his neck, soothingly away the reprimand. “You truly couldn’t wait for Oldtown?”

The touch grounded him, tempted as he was to take the rebuke as rejection and back away. Instead, he breathed out slowly, meeting her eyes with determination rather than chagrin. “I’m a fool, aye, mayhaps even more a fool than the Ser Florian of your songs. But I beg of you,” He tipped his forehead against hers, holding her gaze imploringly. “Here, in this moment, don’t send me away. I’ve missed you so desperately. I feel as if I’ve been cleaved in half everytime we part ways.”

“Jon…” Lifting onto the tips of her toes brought her lips to his and she let the kiss linger, slow and sweet as the first tentative touch they had shared years ago, the eve before she was due to depart for White Harbor to wed Willas in the Sept of the Snows. A clandestine meeting in the godswood to share a private goodbye had spiralled out of their control, as they surrendered to every forbidden longing overshadowed by her kingly brother’s negotiations with the Reach to get their people through a long winter, Sansa’s hand the bargaining chip key to secure the necessary grain trade. 

For her people, Sansa chose to do her duty, but first sought one last thing for herself. That night, she lay with Jon in the shadow of Winterfell's heart tree, rising again in the hour before dawn hiding away the gentle, fanciful maiden part of her to become the stern, dutiful woman set to marry Highgarden's heir. 

Pulling back at the need for breath, Sansa’s eyes were warm and full as she gazed up at her love. “Jon," she breathed. “Stay with me.”

He kissed her again, fumbling with his clothes as his hands were trembling, joy and desperation coursing through him like a maelstrom. “I’m here,” he whispered shakily against her skin as he kissed her throat, her breast as he loosened her corset and let her dress fall. “I’m here.”

Surrounded by the subtle sweetness of blooming grape clusters (so different from the cloying rose aromas permeating Highgarden, much to Sansa’s relief), they lay together upon the traveling cloak Jon had so carelessly shed. Rich, damp earth was soft beneath his elbows and knees, the sun warm against his backside as he kicked his breeches aside and leaned over her lithe form. His lips were soft as a butterfly’s kiss as he traced the constellations of freckles on her skin, clever fingers finding every secret spot guaranteed to elicit a sigh or moan. Her body sang with pleasure by the time she pulled him close and wrapped her legs around his hips, welcoming him into her body. 

And as he moved above her, she kept her eyes on his face, tracing over his beloved features, his flushed complexion, the wrinkle in his brow as he concentrated on finding the right rhythm to please them both. Committing him to memory, she slowly let down the guard keeping the dreamy maiden at bay, and it was hope and love enveloping her, practicality hidden away, when he began to show signs of his impending peak. Cinching her legs and arms tight around him, she held him fast when he attempted to withdraw, something they would have never dared that night in the godswood. But Sansa knew his visit couldn’t last forever, and she would be so very, very lonely again when he was gone. “Stay with me,” she urged once more against his lips, swallowing his startled yelp in a kiss as he tensed and stilled, finding his release inside her. 

And just like the flourishing vineyard around them, seed took root and slowly began to blossom. 

xx

As magic slowly faded from the world after the calamity of the Second War for the Dawn, the seasons falling into a pattern necessitated new alliances between all the kingdoms involved. Two years of winter would follow every three of summer, so on and so forth until cooperative trade was the key to survival. 

From then on, when the snows melted and spring finally arrived in full bloom, the future Lord and Lady Tyrell began an extended tour around the Reach and surrounding regions, visiting family and popular tourney spots, building relationships and connections. If they crossed paths with Willas’ dear friend Prince Oberyn more often than not, and Sansa was able to enjoy her cousin Jon’s company during his journey to and from Highgarden as King Robb’s envoy, the coincidence was all the happier for all involved. 

Surrounded by the sultry heat of a Southron summer, it was easy for most to forget that Sansa Tyrell was Sansa Stark, Daughter of Winterfell. But the reminder would always arrive when autumn's chill crept in and Lady Sansa's middle began to swell. Babes conceived in summer they may have been, but it was the winter of their birth that left its mark. Edwyn and his storm-grey eyes, little Alya with her Stark coloring; even sweet Minisa and spirited Brynden, fully Tully in looks, were Northern steel through and through when pushed passed their courtesies. 

The years rolled by, marked by passages of joy and pain, contentment and heartache. Seasons changed, politics shifted, children grew, and Sansa and Jon became Lady Tyrell and Lord Snow respectively. 

Just shy of her forty-fifth nameday, Sansa Tyrell leisurely strolled through the Beesbury family gardens, arm-in-arm with her beloved cousin, Lord Snow. Strong on the languid breeze was the thick scent of honeysuckle and the lazy swell of the Honeywine river, as Sansa cast reminiscent glances toward her companion through the fall of her lashes. 

The arm beneath her fingers was firm and muscular as ever, but Jon had grown adorably sheepish about the softening of his middle over the years, the silver shot through his hair and beard, the craggy lines left by hard winters. Sansa herself was well aware of the marks age and children had left, but it was easy to dismiss those insecurities when her mind was full with memories of the night before. 

The humid heat of the summer night had bogged down on them, clinging simply to their skin even as they clung closer to one another. Kisses tasted of warmth and sunlight, lingering gifts from the setting sun they'd made love beneath. Under the pallid luminescence of the night, her lover was a pale, solemn thing, meant for winter moons and cold starlight, but it was summer that gave them their union, and summer that touched the taste of their kisses, southron heat he gladly faced just to touch her once more. Cast with the warm glow of a full-faced summer moon, there was no mistaking the naked adoration and hunger those wintry eyes regarded her with, the same amorous gaze he’d given her at sixteen and twenty and thirty. 

Once more in daylight, they practiced considerably more restraint, but it was with a mellow contentment that they walked together. Sansa was reluctant to break the peaceful silence between them, but they only had so much remaining privacy before duty forced them to part company once more. Houses Tyrell and Florent were now kin through Edwyn's marriage to the lovely and clever Mara, and so when Lord Beesbury wished to host a small tourney to celebrate his daughter’s betrothal to Mara’s brother Rycherd, all related houses happily donated further funds to make it a grander event for all to attend. Honeyholt was consequently buzzing with activity akin to the hives it was named for, and Sansa and Jon finding a private moment had been a miracle unto itself. 

"Have you spoken yet to Brynden?" she inquired softly, watching him thoughtfully as they turned a corner between two appleblossom trees. He winced slightly, and she gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze, remembering how nervous he'd been when they discussed the matter the night before.

Jon heaved a heavy sigh, giving her a sheepish glance. "I have. I addressed the...situation this morning." A small, fond smile curled his lips, almost despite himself given his anxiety. "We were both eager to escape the formalities. It would have been remiss not to bring him along for my morning ride."

Sansa's returning smile was equally as fond and warm. "He favors you more and more every day," are the words she longed to say, but would never dare to do so in such a public setting. Instead, when she spoke aloud, it was to comment, "Bryn would live on horseback if I only allowed him. Wolf blood, I believe Father once called it." My blood. Your blood. Stark blood. He is every bit your son, Jon. 

"But wolf blood or not," she continued gently, "He holds to the Tully words as well as his namesake. How did he respond to your offer?"

Jon sighed, softly and wistfully, resting a hand over the one tucked against his forearm. "He wasn't displeased, at least. I'm not certain the surprise ever wore off by the time we returned to the stable."  He smiled wanly. "He asked for time to think. I suppose a crumbling old castle and a bastard’s name cannot compare to what Highgarden can offer."

"Jon," she sighed, the soft, tender tone to his name as close as she could come to the "my love" she wished to truly express. "You cannot truly believe any of that. A second son of a Reacher house can hardly hope for more than the tourney circuit. No boy with so much North in his heart could ever be happy as a pampered Southron knight." 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Jon's face, and she pressed on. "I've hardly known Robb to be as much a braggart as he was in his letters about the restoration of Wolf's Den. He was so proud to present it to you. To honor you, Jon, in thanks for everything you've given."

"An honor I was hardly worthy of," he murmured darkly, an echo of the guilt and shame he wouldn't be Jon without. As much as he loved her, every time he lay with a married woman, the cousin he was pledged to protect and respect, he felt he violated Robb and her late father's trust in him, rendering his honor a tainted, broken thing he could no longer be proud of. 

“Jon.” Bringing them to a firm stop next to a large flowering bush, grasping his forearms so that he would face her, she held his eyes intently. "You're one of the most honorable men I've ever known. Beyond that, you're kind, loyal, and dutiful to your core. How is that not a legacy Brynden would be proud to inherit?"

xx

At that very moment, however, all thoughts of legacy, inheritance, and choice were driven out of Brynden Tyrell's head when he was knocked hard into the dirt, courtesy of his older brother, whose smirking face appeared into his field of vision along with an extended hand. 

Heaving a sigh, he accepted Edwyn's hand, pulled firmly to his feet with a pat to his shoulder. A broad grin cut through Edwyn’s thick auburn beard, a low chuckle accompanying his teasing. "Didn't I tell you enough when we were boys to keep your shield up? Get distracted again, and I'll-"

"Ring my head like a bell," Brynden finished irritably, all too familiar with the phrase after a childhood of training with his brother. Eight years his senior and gifted with the stocky Tully frame, Edwyn had more often than not pummelled the lesson into him, but given Brynden’s undeniable skill with the blade now that he was nearly grown, he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his brother’s teaching. 

A round of musical laughter and mocking applause from the sidelines drew a glare and a reprimanding side-eye from the brothers. Alya remained unrepentant, smirking and giggling. Perched on a fence post, one knee drawn up to her chin and her free leg swinging back and forth, she appeared more of a restless child than a young woman on the brink of sixteen.  

“Enough, Aly,” Edwyn firmly rebuked, the disapproval in his low tenor difficult to ignore by the younger siblings who so looked up to him. 

Deciding that mocking her twin wasn't worth drawing Edwyn's wrath, she snapped her mouth shut against the slew of creative insults she had planned. Instead, she cocked her head curiously toward Brynden. “What has you so distracted, little brother? Even Sanny would have seen that blow coming.”

Brynden didn’t bother to hold back from glowering at his sister for that particular insult, as Sanny was the family nickname for Sansara, Edwyn and Mara’s three-year-old daughter. “If you must know, Uncle Jon asked me to go riding this morning…”

After finishing his narrative of everything that had happened that morning, Brynden was left faced with his brother’s expression, so thoroughly dumbfounded the younger wasn’t certain how to decipher the mood. Before he could begin to question, a sharp clout landed hard against the back of his head. 

"Seven hells!" he yelped, protectively clutching the throbbing base of his skull as his ears rang and his head spun. He glared at his sister as darkly as capable through the pained pinch of his eyes.

"You're a complete and utter idiot," Alya hissed into his face, apathetic to the damage she'd caused in the face of her fury. “Uncle Jon offered to take you North, give you his name, and make you his heir! You have to think about it?!”

“Taking on a bastard’s name doesn’t require the slightest bit of thought?” Brynden scornfully shot back, immediately shamefaced and regretful before the words had even left his mouth. Alya’s stormy eyes lit with fury, looking ready to strike him all over again, Edwyn the very face of paternal disappointment. 

Opening his mouth to apologize, he was cut off by Alya storming up to him and grabbing a fistful of his hair, jerking his head around and forcing him down until her mouth was level with his ear. "Don't presume to forget the truth of your own origins, Brynden Flowers." The low hiss of her voice was barely audible save for the sheer vehemence of her tone. "Be glad it was love that birthed you, and not the wrong side of some spoiled lordling's bedsheet." 

Warring between shock and offense, Brynden could only stare at his sister, disbelieving that she would ever again dare to give voice to such a poisonous idea. He was so certain they left that ugliness behind years ago, fracturing their relationship in sacrifice to keep their world from crashing down around them. 

They were twelve the night Alya appeared in his bedchamber, exuberant with the breathless excitement of a newly-discovered secret, words rambling together with a speed he struggled to keep up with. But still, that understanding did begin to bloom, as did the chill of fear climbing up his spine. Anxious panic clawed at his insides, nausea settling in as he looked up and recognized the glitter of excitement in his twin’s eyes. 

She was so certain now that she had the answers, to all the questions she hadn’t been able to let go of the older they grew. Why none of them showed a trace of Tyrell save their name, why Father was never unkind but always distant, why Uncle Jon wrote so frequently and remained so affectionate and warm no matter how grown they became, despite only being a second cousin. 

What was there to be excited about, if such a ghastly secret was true? There were as many pricked and ready ears hidden around Highgarden as there were roses, and there were plenty of those sickly pungent blossoms to be found around the castle and surrounding estate. The stain of bastardry aside, forgetting the loss of their inheritance and names, Brynden would fight tooth and nail to never see their mother pay the price for such a revelation. 

How easily had Alya forgotten their lessons, to not realize the consequences of the Faith being so central to the Reach? Was it truly so difficult to remember Cersei Lannister’s disgrace, or Bethany Bracken’s death sentence? Even as the best-case scenario, if discovering he was a childless cuckold didn’t transform the mild-mannered Willas Tyrell into someone unrecognizable, the most they could expect was for Mother to be dismissed back to the North as a adulteress, taking her children with her bearing the name “Snow.” The shame and the ridicule would follow her, blacken her name and reputation, for the rest of her days. Would their kingly uncle welcome her home, or would he be ashamed and turn them away? 

Was it worth ruining all their lives just because Alya needed there to be a reason behind Uncle Jon’s love?

Those fears swirling around his mind, culminating in a maddening mantra for Alya to just shut up and think about what she was doing, Brynden had reached out to roughly grab her arms, give her a harsh, violent shake, and order in a low, guttural growl he couldn’t recognize that she would never, ever say these things again. 

He came back to himself a moment later to find a stricken, betrayed look deep in his twin’s winter eyes. Nausea and horror welled up inside him, as hardened steel replaced the pain and she spat at him, jerking herself away to disappear into the night. 

It was the last time she looked at him with anything lighter than mockery. And mockery it seemed to be now, making a mockery of the sacrifice he made to keep them safe. His nostrils flared, his fists clenched, his mouth opening to respond-

Thud!

Edwyn’s practice sword hit the ground hard as his patience finally snapped, striding forward until his siblings were within arm’s length. Strong hands grabbed the teenagers by the scruffs of their necks, with just enough firmness that wriggling free would be uncomfortable, and whirled them around to face him, stern mien only emphasized by the dark intensity filling his eyes. “Enough! The two of you will stop this incessant squabbling and remember that you are family and pack, or so help me, I will chain you together for the rest of your natural lives.” 

His face softened and he sighed. “You’re not getting anywhere continuing to hide from each other. Speak, and listen. Alya, tell him why it’s important to you that he go north.”

A brief mulish stubbornness appeared in her expression, but Alya’s eyes darted from Edwyn to her twin, vulnerability becoming more apparent the more she made contact with Brynden. “I-my betrothal has been arranged. I’m to marry Wyllam Manderly.”

Wyllam Manderly- heir to White Harbor. Which meant his twin, his other half, was being sent North, separating them for the first time in his life. Unless he accepted Uncle Jon’s offer and went north as well…

Oh. Oh. He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. “Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

Alya’s eyes went as wide as saucers, but before anything more could be discussed, they were all interrupted by the arrival of Edwyn’s squire. 

“My lords, my lady, I’ve been sent to fetch you. Lady Minisa had gone to the birthing bed.”

xx

If there was anything that gave Alya the slightest hope in regards to her future marriage, it was the genuine affection between her older sister and her husband, Ser Samwyle Tarly. Called Little Sam to differentiate him from his father, Samwell, the heir to Horn Hill had been hopelessly besotted with Minisa from the time they were children. It was likely that adoration that led to him indulging Mini’s wish to travel so late in her pregnancy, though thankfully the couple hadn’t traveled far, having been staying in Oldtown to celebrate his sister Maeve’s first child with Lord Hightower. 

Samwyle was a big man, tall and broad, his presence readily felt by all those with him in the corridor as he paced back and forth, Redwyne freckles standing stark against his pale, anxious face. Alya watched as Edwyn approached the nervous father-to-be, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning closer to hopefully reassure and advise. Without the frenetic pacing to keep her attention, Alya found herself shifting restlessly, nothing left to distract her from her racing mind. 

Thoughts bouncing from the danger of Mini being in labor to vague, nervous speculation of one day being married to Wyllam and carrying his children, she found herself most often coming back to the fact that her twin, her other half, thought she hated him. 

Alya knew she was stubborn, that she was prideful, but even she had been able to admit to herself years ago that she had been hasty when it came to her suspicions about their mother and Uncle Jon. Yes, it had been wrong of him to respond the way he did, trying to force silence on the sister he knew valued the freedom of her mind above all else, but these days, needling Brynden was more habit than true antagonism. Calling him “Flowers” had been a childish thing born of her anger, but still, the only thing that could truly stick in her thoughts…

“Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

She winced at the memory and stared blankly ahead, idly counting grains in the wooden table nearby in an effort to distract herself. A shift in the space, a creak from the bench beneath her, and a warm, solid body appeared at her side. Keeping her gaze affixed forward, she sighed, sliding over until they were shoulder-to-shoulder. “I don’t hate you,” she muttered softly. 

The body beside her went slack with relief, shifting closer still until they were hip-to-hip. “I accepted Uncle Jon’s offer,” he offered hesitantly. 

Relief rushed through her, and she let her hand fall onto the bench beside them, close enough to feel the warmth of his. They’d held hands so often as children, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d welcomed such a touch from him.  “And you’ll visit White Harbor often?”

“So much you’ll think me even more of a pest than you do now,’” Brynden replied honestly. He flexed his fingers, letting his pinkie graze against hers. He lowered his voice, muttering quietly. “I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted us safe.”

Alya sighed heavily, giving into her instincts and wearily letting her head fall to his shoulder. Her twin stiffened for only a moment, relaxing beneath her and gladly welcoming her proximity as he had since the womb. “I know. But we’ll all be well, Bryn. Mama will be accompanying me for a time. And Edwyn will be so proud of you, becoming a lord in your own right.” In his heart of hearts, Alya knew if there was any man that Brynden truly considered a father, it was their older brother. Edwyn had seen them through their childhoods with patience and strength, but he had children of his own now. If nothing else, Uncle Jon at least deserved the chance to guide Bryn through the clumsy first steps of adulthood. 

Brynden nodded softly, contemplatively silent rather than brooding. He gently settled his hand on hers and Alya reciprocated, their fingers entwining. There was much more left unsaid between them, so much to discuss and uncover, but for now, two halves were side-by-side. 

xx Feeling helpless as a spectator and uncertain how much of his heart he could truly show, Jon Snow could only watch the similar anxiety and tension carrying on around him. Along with his goodson, he winced as yet another sharp cry from the birthing room filled the air. 

Afternoon had quickly faded into twilight and later still into the hour of the wolf, and Jon had long since sent the twins to bed and his firstborn to tend his own young family. This left Jon as the only one to let the reassuring weight of a father’s hands rest against Little Sam’s shoulders. 

He wondered briefly if the boy bore any resemblance to his father anytime Desmera or Gilly had gone to the birthing bed with Sam’s impressive brood of eight Tarlys and Flowers. Jon and Sam’s friendship had continued over the years despite the distance, but necessity had seen him only sharing in the most monumental milestones of his friend’s life through letters. He looked at Little Sam, saw the near-resemblance to his dear friend save for a few distinct Redwyne features. 

Pushing away the melancholy, Jon forced his mouth into a reassuring smile. “Steady on, lad. Wasn’t your father or brother able to prepare you for this at all?”

“Aemon tried his best, but Father was too embarrassed.” Jon’s lips twitched into a more genuine grin, both at Sam’s expense and the reminder that “the little monster” had grown into the happy and respected Ser Aemon Flowers. 

Jon nodded sagely. “Fortunately there’s none of that shyness between old friends. It gets easier as time goes on, according to your father. Meanwhile, I’m here with you, and we’ll be strong for our Minisa. Why don’t you tell me what you two have planned once you’re able to take the babe back to Oldtown?”

The next hour passed peacefully with Little Sam’s hopes, dreams of his son or daughter growing up with Maeve’s little Lyonel, Aemon’s Hern and Flora, and Edwyn’s sweet Sansara  Samwyle’s happy voice died out as Minisa’s cries reached a crescendo, attention fixated on the door for a short eternity before the oak hinges creaked open, and Sansa stepped out into the corridor, relief mingling with fatigue in her expression. 

“It’s done. You have a son, Samwyle. Congratulations.”

“A boy.” Little Sam was euphoric and glowing in his joy. “May I go see them?”

“Of course. Minisa’s expecting you.”

The clandestine couple watched as the exuberant young man all but bound for the room, disappearing behind the door. In the sudden silence, Sansa looked back at her lover, something impossibly soft lingering in her eyes. 

“The birth was long and hard. I’m in need of freshening up. Will you escort me back to my guest chamber, Cousin?”

“I’d be delighted, my lady.”

Safely barred behind another closed door, Sansa’s lips stole his breath, soft hands linking around his neck to kiss him deeply, joy and life and love thrumming through every connection they shared. Jon made a soft sound of satisfaction in his throat, arms locking around her as they shared again deep, heated kisses. Nimble fingers slipping beneath the folds of his tunic, she flattened her palm just over his pounding heart, thinking fondly of the deep, unconditional love she knew resided there. 

Their caresses slowed, lips parting at the need for breath, and Sansa reached up to cup his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the ages lines around the curve of his mouth. “He’s beautiful, my love. I can’t wait for you to see him. I’m to bring you back once father and son have had their time, and Mini sends her poor husband to bed.”

Torn between elation and indecision, Jon hesitated. “A male cousin in the birthing room? Sansa, are you certain?”

“Yes. You weren’t able to meet Sansara until she was nearly a year old- you deserve to meet this child. Besides, Minisa insists upon it. She’s eager for you to meet your new namesake.”

As his eyes widened, she chuckled and stole one last kiss, a gentle peck to the gaping slack of his mouth. “Come now. Your daughter and grandson await you.”

As Jon watched his daughter hold her newborn son, her lovely face awash with a new mother’s love and tenderness, he felt a pang for a past he hadn’t been present for. He thought perhaps some of it was restored to him in this moment, for it must have looked similar to when Sansa held their children for the first time after bringing them into the world. 

Propriety checked at the door, there was no earthly force that could keep Jon back from sweeping over to the bed, leaning down to embrace his daughter and pressing a tender kiss to her brow. Minisa hummed with content, arms twining around his shoulders to return his embrace. She bussed a kiss to his bearded cheek, and when she whispered a soft, nonchalant truth sotto voce into his ear, he found himself passed panic or recrimination. Crystal blue eyes met his calmly, steadily, nothing but love and trust to be found in their depths. 

“Come hold your grandson,” she told him simply. No accusation, just a simple, short acknowledgment. 

Then there was hardly time to think on it further as Sansa placed little Jon Tarly in his arms, letting him carefully cradle the babe against him. He looked down at the tiny face with reverence and felt his heart swell with more love than he ever felt possible. Just like all those years ago, when somehow Sansa managed to work her way into his heart, giving so much and asking nothing in return, filling all the empty spaces inside him until she was a part of everything he was. How could he ever feel empty again, carrying memories like this one with him for the rest of his days?

[tinyboxxtink]

"Caught In The Storm" *Part 10* (Epilogue)

Alright I'll be honest, I think the "Short ending" has to end where it did.

This epilogue is for the second ending, or the "True" Ending as I'd like to call it. I hope you all have enjoyed this as much as I did writing it!

Idk if I should admit this but I totally didn't mean for the story to line up with the song as much as it did, it just turned into a happy accident!

I'll be honest I think this MIGHT be my new favorite. I love all of my babies the same though. Mostly.

Please PLEASE let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for any future writings/drabble!

And my requests are now REOPENED!

--------

A Year Later

It was your very first sold out concert in Madison Square Garden, the cheers were deafening. People lined the streets even from outside of the gates, just trying to get a glimpse of the show.

You looked out from behind the curtain, your hands were shaking. Actually your whole body was shaking, the nerves were overwhelming.

Suddenly, two warm arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into their body. You lifted your head to see your husband smiling back at you.

"You are going to rock the house, baby,"

"Rock the house?" You giggled. "Why don't you just say 'raise the roof' there, old man river?"

"Owww, below the belt there hermosa," He held his stomach as if you had just punched him.

"I'm sorry, I'm just--"

"Nervous, I got that," He cut you off.

"Do you think they'll love me, Raffi?" You whispered, looking into his eyes with anxiety.

"They ALREADY love you, carino. Do you know how much people paid for these tickets?" He chuckled.

"But none of them love you as much as I do," He added as he pulled you into a kiss.

"Eh, debatable," You smirked, thinking about Tumblr stans. He just rolled his eyes in response.

"Five minutes, Mrs. Barba," A crew member called to you, you nodded in response.

"What?" You asked, referring to his now huge grin.

"I'll never get tired of hearing that, Mrs. Barba," He pulled you into a bunch of tiny kisses.

"Alright MR. Barba," You ruffled his hair and nuzzled his neck. "I'll see you after,"

He kissed you again and made his way back into the venue to take his seat.

-------

It was about the end of the night, and you were ready for the closing song.

"Alright guys, I just wanna say THANK YOU to all of you who came out tonight, you've made this one of the happiest nights of my life!" You grinned, getting screaming and cheering in response.

"I'm gonna leave you guys with the song that started it all, the song YOU GUYS made #1 around THE WORLD!!" You grinned, hardly believing you could say those words out loud.

"And," You walked over to the side of the stage you knew your family was sitting. "I'd like to dedicate it to my amazing family-- especially my husband, Mr. Rafael Barba,"

You bit your lip with a smile as you looked into his eyes. He still made you blush like a little school girl, he probably always would.

Cheers erupted as the music started, people holding "BARBA 4EVER!!" and "RAFA <3 Y/N!" signs waved them wildly.

You waved and smiled as you began to sing:

You can push me away

I can take it

I can make you a promise

and break it

We know the way it goes by now

You thought about how many times Rafael had pushed you away, how long it took you to get where you were.

Running off just to see

if I chase you

I pretend I know how

to replace you

still we get tangled up somehow

How long it felt like you chased him, how many times you tried to move on from him, it never worked.

Hear it thunder

and I wonder

How long can I hang on

I'm caught in the storm

I'm caught in the rain

I'm caught in the rush

that hides this pain

I'm ready to drown

but it's coming down

but I feel so alive

Did you sing this song to him almost two years ago, knowing this would happen?

Just let me go

Just walk away

If you love someone

you never let them stay

caught in the storm

Rafael watched you singing on stage, thinking about the first time you sang this song to him. Well, to all of the squad. The whole time he was actually thinking how beautiful you had looked on that stage, how you belonged up there. How you were born for the stage. Pretty much the exact same thing he was feeling right now, except now you were his.

As the bars on the Bowery are closing

you arrive at the door standing frozen

you say you thought you'd find me here

He thought back to how he had seen you in that bar with Nathan, how he should have just stomped in there and punched him in the face. But he didn’t, and it had just kicked you both further down the road to lead you here.

Tell me how I begin

to forget you

when you keep coming back

and I let you

Love me until you disappear

He thought about the million times he had tried to pull you from his mind, from his heart. He thought about the lists you made of reasons that you shouldn’t be together, and how in the end none of it mattered.

I'm caught in the storm

I'm caught in the rain

I'm caught in the rush

that hides this pain

I'm ready to drown

but it's coming down

but I feel so alive

Just let me go

Just walk away

You both looked at each other as you sang, knowing the storm you both had gone through to get to this moment. Happy and together-- forever.

If you love someone

you never let them stay

caught in the storm

You thought back to your wedding day, when it had been appropriately raining; the day Rafael had come and finally proved his love to not only you, but literally the world.

Let me wash away

you can find me after the flood

let me wash away

The “flood” that followed had been a media frenzy, your wedding had been broadcast around the world, after all. Debates spread over whether or not you were a heartless bitch for dumping Nathan on a livestream, or if it was crazy romantic the way your true love came in and swept you off your feet like a movie.

caught in the storm

caught in the rain

caught in the rush

that hides this pain

You looked at your family who were also taking up the front row; they were beaming at you. You thought back to this exact moment almost two years ago, when you were in that tiny club on that little stage, with just Kelsey on the piano.

And with the last line, you looked into your husband’s eyes. You both were thinking the same thing; this line, these words are what started it all. And they rang truer than the day you had first sung them to him, because you had both stayed in the storm, and came out the other side.

If you love someone

you find a way to stay

caught in the storm

[feralnumberfive]

The Rewatch Academy: Episode 1 of Season 1

"We Only See Each Other At Weddings and Funerals”

I am in no way a good analyst so my little analysis and speculations probably sound a bit goofy or pretty wild and probably mean nothing at all. Everything I put into this post about each episode is purely what I noticed or thought, whether it's funny or serious. I will be making jokes, so please just leave it at that (in no way am I trying to make fun of an actor and or character!) I am also in no way saying I noticed this stuff first. This is just what I noticed while rewatching these episodes

☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂

1x01 | 1x02 | 1x03 | 1x04 |

☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂

☂️ In the Pilot script, it has a woman giving birth to a baby boy in Poland in 1984 (potentially Five or maybe even Luther??) 

☂️ “Picture Book” is an absolute bop and no one can tell me otherwise

☂️ What if someone saw this parade of carriages and noticed that there were seven? Later Reginald announces that he adopted 6 kids, so I wonder if anyone saw the carriages earlier and heard Reginald's announcement and became confused

☂️ The concert hall in the Pilot script is in New York, which I assume is safe to assume in NYC. The script also mentions later that Diego drops the monocle in the Hudson River

☂️ The Pilot script originally had Allison in LA, and Klaus in Amsterdam (which he was supposed to be levitating in that scene)

☂️ Diego was originally supposed to be pretty brutal and violent

☂️ I am a huge POTO fan so having a medley of the songs from the musical is so awesome to hear. The first time I watched this episode and heard the violin starting to play, I was like “Huh, this really sounds like POTO” and then I realized it was! It gave me chills and still does to this day overtime I watch this scene

☂️ The dark and mysterious tones of POTO really matches the vibes of TUA well. It’s just so good, especially as a way to introduce Vanya. The first song Vanya plays is “Phantom of the Opera” which is a nice symbolism when introducing the Hargreeves Siblings. The song itself is Christine discovering who her true Angel of Music is, a strange masked man that everyone knows well but they truly don’t know who he really is, like with the Umbrellas and their separate personalities and struggles as actual human beings and not just as the superheroes the public knows them as. It also plays while showing Diego, who is a mysterious masked figure at that point. 

☂️ “Angel of Music” is basically Christine asking her angel to guide her, which is ironic that it plays while Klaus is getting out of a place that guides him down the right path, knowing that he’s immediately going to go do drugs again and to go down the “wrong” path

☂️ I wonder if the voice in Luther’s spacesuit as he receives his message is an automated voice or his robot named “Ben” like in the comics. I doubt it’s the latter, but who knows

☂️ Okay, here’s another POTO thing. Diego picks up his knife and wipes the blood off of it and tells the family “Your family is safe now” right as the start of “Think of Me” plays. The first lyrics of the song are “Think of me, think of me fondly” which can be seen as Diego wants the family to truly view him as a hero that saved them

☂️ Aaaand here’s another! Again, while “Think of Me” is playing, one of the parts in the song where Raoul sings “Long ago, it seems so long ago, how young and innocent we were” plays while the paparazzi begins questioning Allison about her father and siblings

☂️ Okay okay, last POTO thing. I especially love that "Music of the Night" plays when Klaus wakes up in the ambulance at night. It's so awesome! Especially since the song is basically about giving into your darkest desires, which Klaus clearly did

 ☂️ Goddamn is the music in the show amazing, and I’m not just talking about all of the fun lyrical songs! Jeff Russo you get a thumbs up from me

☂️ Ta-da! Here’s some portraits that are shown of the siblings with Reginald when they were young that are shown in the show

☂️ Even the first person Vanya sees when she arrives home doesn’t greet her/welcome her back 

☂️ Emmy and Elliot really played that awkward hug and greeting between Allison and Vanya well. You can feel the awkward tension (hey sisters)

☂️ According to the pilot script, Diego wears his mask practically all the time like in the comics

☂️ Luther was literally supposed to have a gorilla body in the pilot script

☂️ “Oh, YoU gOt BiG, lUtHeR”

☂️ Godddd the song playing while Vanya looks at the books on the shelf in including her own is 👌

☂️ Ah, there’s a book called “Lunar Living”

☂️ It might just be me, but it seems like the light shining onto Five’s portrait is ever so slightly askew

☂️ Vanya leaving the lights on and sandwiches for Five reminds me of someone leaving food outside for a stray cat

☂️ Five was originally supposed to be gone for over 22 years in the pilot script

☂️ I wonder at what point in each of the siblings’ lives did they realize, or at least they thought, their brother wouldn’t be coming home 

☂️ Babies 

☂️ There’s so many ape and monkey pictures and diagrams around Reginald’s office. Foreshadowing for Luther?

☂️ I love Klaus’s theme. It’s heard in almost every episode https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJa9H8SY4wQ&list=OLAK5uy_k2NJivpu0PIwxrOmPVrqN4umBZaahOGWI&index=6

☂️ Why does Reginald have two pictures of himself featuring aircraft? In one of them he’s outside a private jet and the other is him inside a cockpit

☂️ I must say that the dialogue in the pilot script definitely closely mirrors the dialogue of the comics 

☂️ “Told me I should be careful who to trust” 👀

☂️ Something behind Elliot is moving

☂️ I was hoping for this to be a gazelle of some sort above Five’s portrait, but It’s an Gemsbok. However, the Gemsbok is an antelope and all gazelles are antelopes

☂️ “The Walker” playing during the bank robbery scene is 👌👌

☂️ Luther is ready to throw hands

☂️ These robbers really decided to rob a bank at 10:05 am?

☂️ I just love Five popping out of nowhere criss-cross applesauce 

☂️ Something that hasn’t been explained/fully shown is Five’s ability to teleport objects. He teleported the gun out of the guy’s hand and replaced it with a stapler

☂️ Five’s teleportation noise reminds me of something going really fast, like an aircraft breaking the sound barrier. It’s almost like a mini sonic boom, but not as loud

☂️ Okay so I’ve noticed this in most of the episodes, but I don’t think when Five teleports he makes an actual noise. I’ll point this out more as we continue through the episodes. At the bank scene when Five is on the counter, it appears that the first time he teleports the bank robber whips around when Five speaks. The second time the robber turns to Five simply because he doesn’t know where he went and he’s searching for the threat

☂️ “That’s one badass stApler”

☂️ When Ben asks if he has to go into the Vault, he looks at Klaus for reassurance even though Luther is the one speaking to him

☂️ Five was still pretty cocky back in his youth. They, or more like Ben, have more bad guys to take care of and he’s just chilling with his hands in his pockets and leaning back/slouching like he’s bored. His tone with the robber also proves that and the way he just happily bounds out of the bank

☂️ Sir, why are you looking at the camera

☂️ Luther’s little wave to the reporters when the Umbrellas come out of the bank is cute

☂️ The pilot script didn’t include a flashback of a bank robbery, but instead to the Umbrellas training when they were younger. There’s too much to screenshot to I’ll summarize it.

-Luther bench-presses over 500 lbs

-Diego has been holding his breath for about six hours and he flips Reginald off

-Klaus levitates stuff

-Allison is slacking off and when Reginald tells her to continue her training she simply rumors him that she doesn’t have to

-Ben is fighting guards and Reginald calls him “Number Six” to which Vanya, who isn’t supposed to be down there, corrects him that his name is Ben and reminds Reginald that they have names

- Five very quickly and quite brutally rips off the heads and limbs of training dummies, snaps their necks, and stabs them. He is referred to as “A ruthless little war machine.” Reginald calls him “Perfect”

☂️ The pilot script implies that Reginald had alien life mounted on the walls of his office

☂️ There wasn’t a dance scene in the pilot script

☂️ Not to get super into detail about this, but Luther’s room is filled with a lots of models and paintings of aircraft, mainly from WWII. Almost all of them are of Allied aircraft, and more specifially Commonwealth aircraft, like the RCAF. So this could be more of a clue to the Umbrellas living in Canada

☂️ Diego giving that Wildebeest head the stink eye aways makes me laugh

☂️ Klaus is dancing with Reggie’s urn in a Waltz fashion, so maybe he’s just doing that or it’s the ballroom dancing lessons they received as children peeing through

☂️ I love Diego’s dancing skills

☂️ Fuck you Five for ruining their dance party

☂️ Honestly Five’s portal is pretty powerful. Here’s a description of it from the pilot script

☂️ I like that when Luther tells everyone to get behind him and Diego copies him with “Yeah, get behind us” Luther lets his brother use himself as a shield instead be pulling the “I’m the leader, I’m the strongest” card

☂️ When Luther and Diego are shielding their siblings, Diego has his arm stretched out to guard Vanya

☂️ In the pilot script Five’s body is smoking when he comes out of the portal

☂️ What if when Five fell out of the portal he got knocked out so he just laid face down on the ground unconscious aksdhfjsafhd

☂️ “So are we gonna talk about what just happened?” No bitch, let him make his sammie first

☂️ Diego and Klaus had some sort of bet on Five’s time traveling in the pilot script

☂️ Here’s another example of Five’s teleportation possibly not making noise. When he teleports around while his siblings are questioning him, it looks like they only look at him when he appears and not when they hear a noise

☂️ Five in the pilot script is actually 62

☂️ “What part of the future do you not understand?”

☂️ I like that Five styled his hair to the exact style it was when he was actually young, but eventually gets looser throughout the season

☂️ Five is so oddly calm when talking to Vanya in front of his portrait

☂️ “Well, there are worse things that can happen.” “You mean like what happened to Ben?” Yeah there’s also an apocalypse on the way lol

☂️ Five actually got a hug in the pilot script! 

☂️ An ironic moment from the pilot script considering that Five is an assassin and has killed tons of people but this siblings don’t know that

☂️ When Diego is talking about their names and numbers in the courtyard, Five sighs, which I’m sure he’s just bored/has better places to be and is annoyed, but I’d like to view it as “Shit, I don’t even have a name”

☂️ Funny tidbit from the pilot script during the funeral scene “Whatever the hell you are”

☂️ Diego talks about how he assumed Reginald sent Luther to the moon because he couldn’t stand the sight of him, so he must be talking about Luther being like a “failed” leader or something? Like he couldn’t keep the team/his siblings together? Diego doesn’t know about his ape-like body so he’s not thinking about that.....

☂️ I love that Klaus reaches his arm out to guard Five, and that Five simply glares at him and bats his arm away

☂️ When Luther broke Ben’s statue, I can just imagine Ben yelling at Klaus “Seriously? Klaus, why didn’t you stop them?”

☂️ So I’m sure this is just a continuation error, but you can’t see Five walking away in the shot of Ben’s statue hitting the ground. Considering that he had just left, he should still be visible in the background. Again, probably a continuation error or maybe he even teleported inside

☂️ A detail I love about Luther is that his fingernails are dark due to the gorilla DNA

☂️ The bank robbery scene in the pilot script is after the funeral. Not much was changed for the actual first episode, just a few different scenes. Also the Umbrellas were described as gods

☂️ Vanya drawing the tattoo on her wrist hurts my heart

☂️ “Together, you will stand against the reign of evil” gives me chills 

☂️ “This is your home and always will be” is great foreshadowing to S3, and hurts my heart when I think about how it is in fact no longer their home

☂️ When I first watched this episode and saw Pogo watching Vanya I knew something was pretty sus

☂️ Just some gold dialogue from the pilot script during the scene of Five, Allison, and Klaus in the kid area and Five is complaining about coffee (but in the pilot script everyone but Vanya is there)

☂️ “An entire square block. Forty-two bedrooms, 19 bathrooms” goddamn the Academy is HUGE. Also 42 is just one away from being 43 👀

☂️ “I know how to do everything.” Yeah, like survive an apocalypse and professionally kill people :]

☂️ I’ve pointed this out before, but the license plate on the car that Five takes to Griddy’s says HERMES, which is the license plate of his car in the comics

☂️ The exit sign in the background is only half lit up to where it says EX and if my memory serves me correctly that’s the door Vanya and Leonard enter the Academy through in episode 6

☂️ Diego telling Klaus to lean back is like “Ugh I don’t want him with me, but safety first”

☂️ I love that they added his feral chimpanzee smile from the pilot script into he show

☂️ “You won’t be going home.” Cocky smartass strikes again. Not to mention he smiles when he says that. He also says this to the men before he kills them in the pilot script

☂️ Before I even knew about TUA, I had heard of the “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” scene and looked it up. I remember thinking “Wow, that kid is scary.” Now I think “Wow, that old man is scary.”

☂️ I love the little salute he does before he blinks away, and the way his basically just plays with these men like a cat playing with its prey. He knows he’s going to kill them, but he wants to have fun doing so

☂️ Five had some fancy moves in the pilot script

☂️ Five teleporting his tie around the man’s neck is another example of him teleporting an object. Can we see more of this actually happen in S3 please?? I also love the fact that he takes it off the man’s body and puts it back on

☂️ The way he calmly, or tiredly, snaps the man’s neck is chilling to see from a child’s body. This was also included in the pilot script *chanting* Feral Five, Feral Five, Feral Fi-

☂️ It’s honestly such a cool and iconic scene on the show. It truly shows that Five is fully capable of handling himself, and is/was great at his job

☂️ Having the city at night in the background of Diego dropping the monocle is really pretty

☂️ I really like the way they revealed Ben. Having watched both season and now watching this scene again is a bit awkward when Ben doesn’t talk. He’s probably just tired of Klaus 

☂️ “The world ends in eight days, and I have no idea how to stop it.” This line combined with the music and the previous scene of Five in the apocalypse is powerful and chilling and I love it

☂️ I love that they have The Umbrella Academy theme playing during the credits in both seasons

-------

Feel free to comment or reblog with things you have noticed too!

[inscribeddiatribes]

Peter Parker Fluff Alphabet

—

Aged up Peter (18+)

Warnings: Mention of danger.

A/N: This is my fourth work for my first follower milestone/ birthday celebration! The template is by @wonderwxlls (I think they deactivated though). Hope you enjoy!

—

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Peter is the sappy type, so he’d definitely find your personality, laugh, and smile attractive. To him, seeing you happy just hits different.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

It’s kind of 50/50 with him. Peter loves children and is amazing with him, but he realizes that there’s a lot of danger associated with his lifestyle after seeing what happened with Tony and Morgan. At the beginning of his superhero career, he was adamant about keeping his title, but as the years pass by he starts to realize that he shouldn’t have to sacrifice his personal dreams for a risky (and thankless at times) job.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Peter can be very clingy. He’ll curl over you and hold you close. Cuddling with you under a blanket or two is one of Peter’s favorite ways to spend the day.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

He’s usually a man of routine when it comes to dates because he doesn’t have a lot of faith in his date planning skills. The options are usually a restaurant that him and May frequent, an ice cream shop, Delmar’s, or the park. However, he’s extremely charming and really tries to woo you.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

You are my glue. Peter’s the one with the webs, but to him it feels like you’re the glue that’s holding him to together.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He knew he was in love with you when he revealed to you that he was Spider-Man after a mission and you cared about whether or not he was safe, rather than just behaving like a fan.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Peter’s extremely gentle most of the time because he realizes that he has super strength. However, he can sometimes get really excited and hug you a bit too hard. He’s always apologetic and sad after though.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He’ll gently grip your hand and will occasionally smile at you to show his appreciation.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

He thought you were attractive, and after talking to you he realized that you had a good personality to match. Instant crush basically.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Peter doesn’t really get jealous, but he does get insecure. He believes that you can do a lot better than him, so you may need to occasionally reassure him that you want him, not the others.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You initiated it. Peter was dazed by it, but ended up kissing you back. Peter loves giving you kisses, but they’re usually little pecks because he’s too shy to ask for anything more.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Peter said it first. He’s very in tune with his emotions and is quick to express them, so he’d immediately want to let you know how he felt because he may not get another chance to.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

It was your second date and Peter decided to take you to buy ice cream. He was so nervous that he ended up almost stumbling into a tree. It had made you laugh so hard that you snorted. It’s somewhat embarrassing to both of you, but he loves it anyway because it involves making you happy.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Even after graduation and getting a job, Peter is kind of broke. So, he may save up to buy you something nice, but he tends to spoil you with affection and attention.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Blue. Peter finds your personality very refreshing and relaxing. He instantly thinks of you whenever the sky is clear.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Baby and Angel. Peter’s far too shy to call you any or them in public, but he almost never uses your real name when in private.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

A vintage train set that May had gifted him. While Peter isn’t necessarily interested in trains, it reminds him of his Uncle Ben’s train collections.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Peter will either watch movies, cuddle with you, or show you his current LEGO projects.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Going out to eat with you and May never fails to cheer him up. With you by his side and May cracking cringy jokes, it’s hard for him not to feel better.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Anything. Peter is extremely talkative and can nervously ramble at times. He can jump from talking about cartoons to the meaning of life in 0.5 seconds. Your conversations with him will always be interesting.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Movie nights with you. Peter loves watching “classic” movies, so he gets really excited when he gets to show you some of his favorites.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Peter tends to show off his intelligence. At times he may fear that you’ll think he’s too nerdy, but he believes that his intelligence is one of his best qualities.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Peter would definitely not propose until you were done with college. He knew that marriage would be extremely difficult to balance along with school. After you’ve both started to settle down, he’d seriously consider proposing.

Peter would probably take you to a private place to propose because he’d get nervous doing it in public. A heartfelt speech with plenty of tears before kneeling down to present you with his Aunt May’s ring (Like she gave him in Spider-Man 3).

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough - Marvin Gaye

“Listen baby, ain't no mountain high. Ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough baby. If you need me call me no matter where you are. No matter how far don't worry baby. Just call my name I'll be there in a hurry. You don't have to worry”

No matter what, Peter will always be there for you. His faithfulness and loyalty knows no bounds.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Peter has fantasized about a life with you since he first realized that he had a crush on you. He’d never bring it up in the beginning because he didn’t want to mess things up and the whole Spider-Man secret.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Peter would want a pet that would be able to keep up with him and play, so probably a dog.

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Masterlist

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I don’t own these characters, songs, or lyrics, nor did I create any of them. This work is strictly for fair use/ entertainment purposes. No money has been received from this work.

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[capybaraonabicycle]

A Family Wedding-Part 1

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

I wrote a little story inspired by ‘The Wedding of River Song’ by @elsaistherelifeonmars​ about one of the guests at the Doctor’s and River’s wedding

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some swearing, I think?

Summary: Since her resurrection, between all the running and adventuring and seeing new worlds, Jenny has been looking for her dad all over the universe. It is quite difficult to track down a time-traveller and until now she’s run from one dead-end to the other. Luckily, the Doctor has decided to get married during her timeline and she can’t miss that, can she?

Words: ~2000

AO3

She wasn’t strictly on the invite list. But she had been so sure, he’d be happy she showed up. Had put on her best dress and parked her space shuttle next to the restaurant on Darillium. Well, neither of the two items were actually hers, she was ‘borrowing’ them. But no one needed to know, and she didn’t think he would mind either.

So, here she was, trying to understand why she was fidgeting nervously. She had never fidgeted before, hell, she couldn’t remember ever being nervous. Even when that bullet had shot towards him and she had jumped in between, shielding him with her body, she hadn’t been nervous. And this should be so much less frightening. He would be happy to see her, of course, he would. And his spouse would like her as well and if they didn’t, what was it to her? She was here for her dad.

Maybe she was nervous because it had taken her so long to track him down. For a man this celebrated and feared across the universe, the Doctor was surprisingly hard to find. At least if you worked on your own and couldn’t ask UNIT for help because you had accidentally blown up one of their laboratories during your first visit of the headquarters. But his wedding had been the talk of the universe and even though the location was supposed to be secret, there was always someone you could get to spill. In her case it had been a handsome face in a red robot suit who apparently had worked at the restaurant before.

And now she was staring up the front of the building, her fingers playing with the satin bow on her dress. It was a beautiful gown, dark green, knee long with a cute petticoat, that she had found in a little shop in New New New York. None of the accountants had even noticed her being in the shop, let alone how she took the dress with her when she left. A smile played on her lips as she stroked down the skirt.

Would she recognise him? she wondered, when she finally could convince her legs to take her into the bustling interior of the restaurant, silently closing the door behind her. Of course, she had heard of the Doctor’s many faces, but she had only seen the one. Apparently at one point he had had an enormous chin, another time he had had eyebrows that would send armies fleeing. She still had to chuckle silently at that image. Her dad, the soldier who refused to be one with eyebrows that were their own army. Would it be one of the two she would see getting married today? Or would it be the face she knew?

In any case it wasn’t difficult finding the wedding, she just had to follow the clutter of excited voices. And only a few steps into the restaurant past the empty reception she saw the legendary blue box, parked between an abundance of wedding decorations. Someone had even fasted a little heart shape to one of the TARDIS windows. It read River & The Doctor and she had to smile at the cursive letters. She was actually here, she had found him.

Well, she hadn’t found him yet, she corrected herself, when she rounded the TARDIS, coming face to face with a huge crowd of wedding guests. None of them seemed familiar at first glance, which was not a surprise. A little unnerving maybe, but she wasn’t one to shy away. She’d just have to find someone to help her out. What was that woman’s name again? Right, Donna. Donna was bound to be here, she would be able to help her.

“Excuse me, Miss, but this wedding is invite-only” a voice startled her.

She looked to her left and saw a short, bald man, staring at her in a way that he probably considered intimidating.

“Do you have an invite?” he asked, taking a few steps towards her and effectively moving himself between her and the party.

“Yes, of course” she lied, flashing him the sweet smile that got her out of trouble half of the time.

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” he said, pulling out a very long list from his pocket, “What’s your name?”

“Donna” she said, automatically, hoping he wouldn’t know any better, and she could go on and look for her dad.

The little man shot her a mocking glance, and she cursed her luck.

“No, it’s not” he stated, “You’re not Donna.”

“No, I’m not” she admitted, “But I’m here with her. My name’s Jenny.”

Now he smiled a small, tight-lipped smile.

“I do have a Jenny on my list” he mused, “However, you’re not her either. And you’re not here with Donna.”

“Listen, I really am” she pleaded. Of course, she could just go past him, he wasn’t really a match for her. But causing a scene was the last thing she wanted to do right now. “And I promise you, the Doctor will want me to attend. Just please, get him or get Donna, they will understand.”

The man tilted his head curiously.

“You’re surprisingly misinformed” he said. He even sounded a little amused. “So, if you came here with malintent, I don’t think you’ll get very far.”

“I really just want to attend the wedding” she promised, “And I’m sure, the Doctor will want me to. Honestly, if you could just tell him…”

She trailed off because she finally had caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd. A dark-haired woman who was seating guests a little to her right. It took her a while to remember her name, but then she couldn’t help giving a small, triumphant shout.

“Martha!” she called, loud enough that it carried over the chatter of the guests and made the woman turn her head. Jenny waved at her, a little too excited perhaps. “Martha Jones!”

“Well, at least that’s someone who’s actually here” the bald man mumbled, turning around to face the Doctor’s friend.

“Do you know this woman?” he asked Martha, who had left the crowd of guests to stroll over, “She said her name was ‘Jenny’ and that she came with Donna.”

Martha was halfway through a confused shake of her head, when she stopped, her eyes flying open.

“No!” she breathed, “You are kidding me!”

Jenny felt her smile spreading and gave a little wave. It was no surprise it had taken Martha a moment to recognise her, all dressed up for the wedding.

“I’m not kidding you” she grinned, very pleased with the stunned look on Martha’s face.

“You’re not actually here, are you?” Martha asked, coming closer and very carefully poking Jenny’s arm as if she couldn’t believe she was real.

“’Course I am” Jenny beamed, “I couldn’t miss my dad’s wedding after all.”

______

Nardole, as the bouncer was called, had let her leave with Martha after all, even though he seemed more than confused. Maybe it hadn’t helped that her and Martha had simultaneously tried to explain the situation to him, reconstructing a story that was well in the past for both of them and that involved things like progenation machines, fishlike aliens and a war of seven days that lasted for generations. Now Martha was pulling her along excitedly.

“We’ve got to get you to the Doctor” she said, “We thought you died!”

“Yeah, so did I” Jenny chuckled, following her through the rows of seated guests, “But then I woke up.”

“Curious, you don’t seem to have regenerated” Martha said, smiling quizzically at her, “Must be something else that has brought you back… The Doctor has regenerated though, you know, that’s why Nardole didn’t believe you.”

She seemed, like she wanted to explain more, but a hush had fallen over the crowd and she stopped herself. Jenny noticed that they were the last ones standing and some guests were shooting them annoyed glances, while an elderly man in the fourth row was waving at them to come to him.

“Oops” Martha said, quickly changing their course and steering Jenny towards the man.

“You’ll meet the Doctor later” she promised in a low voice, while they sat down next to a young man who immediately took Martha’s hand, offering his other to Jenny.

“Hi” he whispered, “I’m Mickey.”

“Jenny” she introduced herself, taking his hand.

“My husband” Martha explained.

“And I’m Wilf” the elderly man added. He was sat on Mickey’s other side and clutching a veil.

“It’s my granddaughter Donna’s” he explained with a sad smile, when he caught her staring, “From her wedding. Now it’s a bit like she’s here, too.”

Jenny felt her heart break at his sad demeanour and the memory of Donna Noble. What had happened to her?

“Donna’s safe, she just can’t be here today” was the last thing Martha managed to whisper in a too tense voice, only slightly reassuring her.

Then the ceremony began. The giant crowd fell silent, staring expectantly at the TARDIS. Only the beautiful melody of the singing towers was filling the air now, a melancholic but festive tune. According to everything Jenny knew about her dad, it fitted him perfectly. Where was he, by the way? She wanted to turn towards the front where he surely had to be waiting. After all, that was where Martha had been leading her.

But then the door of the TARDIS opened, and she couldn’t avert her gaze anymore. A woman stepped out of the box who was nothing short of stunning. Her curls were wild even though a flowery hairdo tried to keep them in line and her smile was youthful and ancient at the same time. On her arm was a man, apparently younger than her, so normally Jenny would have considered him to be her son. But she had been born and raised in mere seconds herself, so he could very well be her dad.

“That is my dad’s fiancée?” she breathed, and she heard Martha chuckling.

“That is River Song” she agreed.

“Wouldn’t think the Doctor of all people would make such a catch, right?” Mickey snickered, but Wilf shushed him.

Like all the other guests Jenny trailed River with her eyes down the whole length of the aisle.

‘That’s my dad’s spouse’ she thought. She tried to figure out how that made her feel and was surprised when the only emotion she found was pride. Pride and delight, that her dad was marrying a woman who seemed so happy to be here, so sure in herself and the fact that she was marrying him.

River and her companion passed them and finally Jenny could avert her eyes and look for her dad. There were three people at the front: the officiant, then a woman in a long dress who was holding a little box, so she had to be the ring-bearer or the best person or something similar, and…a petite blonde in a tux. Who was looking at River the exact same way River had been looking at the front before.

Jenny’s jaw dropped.

“That’s my…” she started, stopping herself shortly to get the words right, “...mum?”

That explained at least why Nardole hadn’t believed she was close to the Doctor. When she had been misgendering her until now.

“The one and only” Martha said as River reached the front, taking the woman’s hands in hers. In both their eyes tears were glimmering and Jenny felt herself getting emotional as well.

“I have a mum” she repeated, stunned, a slow smile spreading across her face when the officiant commenced the ceremony.

Martha took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know River that well” she murmured, “But if I’m not terrible mistaken, you’ll have two mums now.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) This will probably get 3 more parts soon, we’ll see. I at least want Jenny to meet her mums and possibly a couple other people...

[moonlights-inkwell]

Someone You’re Not.

Summary: You know so much about him, but really you know nothing. You don’t even know his real name.

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,947

A/N: I mentioned how Jaskier told the reader his real name in my last fic and then decided I just had to write this. I guess this is a series now.

Warnings: Drinking, Canon compliant violence, smut, unprotected sex.

For the amount of time you and the pretty bard spent together, you could safely say you knew very little about him. Well, very little might be an exaggeration. Jaskier is exceptionally open and spends so much time talking, and usually about himself, that it would be impossible to not pick up a thing or two. You know in all certainty that his favourite colour is periwinkle, that he spent a good few years studying in Oxenfurt Academy, and how immediately when you decide to stay in an inn or tavern he needs to have a bath with a very specific lavender oil.   You know the way he fingers the frets of his lute even when he doesn't play, just to have something to do with his hands, how he brightens up at even the most minute of praise and how his smile makes you swear he cannot be human because human men can't possibly be this beautiful. You know the feeling of his lips against yours and his hand on yours, but you really know nothing at all. No idea of where he grew up, if he has siblings. You don't even know his name.

It seems slightly sinister when I think of it like that, you consider as you swirl your tankard of ale, sat across from the centre of the tavern floor where he's singing for the clientele songs of Geralt's success in slaying a selkiemore not two hours before. The drunken celebration of the town people, clapping and shouting a familiar chorus of Toss A Coin To Your Witcher over Jaskier's new song, feels worlds apart from the comfortable quiet of the table you share with the white haired man- connected with these grinning locals but only through the bard's song and proximity. He's beaming, eyes glittering, and mouth turned up in the widest smile as he drinks up the praise and adulation. He looks like a child in front of a baker's shop and always does as he performs, your own lips turn up in an appreciative smile as you watch him bound around like an overly excited puppy, plucking the strings of his lute. After travelling together for... you don’t even know how long- time is almost an incomprehensible concept while traveling with the Witcher- and being in your relationship as of two winters ago, you don't even know what his given name is. Something about that strikes you as unfair. Stage Names are all well and good for Bards, needing something that can be cried out easily by an adoring audience like the one in front of you now but he’s more than just a bard to you. No matter where you go, he always charms anyone who listens to him sing. It makes sense. When you met him, working in a tiny tavern in a tiny town not far from Toussaint, you fell in love as soon as you heard him sing. Were anyone ever to ask about your first meeting you would have claimed that you felt his grip on your heart intensify when you saw him smile. Gave up on a job, friends, a life to blindly follow him in his travels with his Witcher friend, all for the sake of that smile, that voice, those eyes. Like a siren, he sang his song and into his hold came your heart. It sounds oh so very romantic- as Jaskier has said time and time again when trying to put the “tale of our love" to music- but it’s not quite true. His voice was beautiful, his eyes wild, his voice like a call to the wild, but that wasn’t what made you leave everything behind; you left because of how sweetly he spoke to you after his show, ignored the rest of the tavern to sit at the bar talking avidly to you until long after you should have closed, and how beautiful his personality was. It sounds far more romantic to say it was love at first sight, first song, than love at first conversation, love at first offer of freedom.

No matter the venue, you watch him pour his soul out into his performances and sustain himself on the praise it earns him, be it these little pubs or wedding banquets. He's like a fae or a puppy, the way he can just lap up positivity and turn it, alchemy like, into song and show. You assume the only person who hasn't fallen in love with the Bard's songs is the person he spends most of his time singing about. The Witcher is never impressed, preferring the quiet of his meditation over the hustle and bustle of a lively performance. You don't entirely blame him. Jaskier is a joy to watch performing, and his voice is like nothing you’ve known in your life; but you travel with him, and Geralt has travelled with him long before you entered their traveling party, it takes the wonder out of him sometimes, when reminded that the same man singing was only this morning composing an annoying little ditty about how Geralt smelled and needed to bathe and how you ought to smile more. Geralt makes a noise of annoyance at all the noise, and you attempt to hide your enjoyment by taking a deep gulp of your beer, only to gag and cringe at the taste. It’s disgusting.

Ale always tastes vile, always has and always will. In your younger years you drank it with friends without complaint so as not to be laughed at, though your male friends had always laughed anyway. Having worked in a tavern meant that it was the convenient to drink and serve during the busiest working hours, in spite of how disgusting it is to you. Even now, you find yourself drinking it to keep up an appearance of stoicism to impress Geralt, determined not to have him believe you delicate and useless in contracts, but even now you couldn’t make yourself like it, or even find it tolerable. If your white-haired companion notices the way your face scrunches up after taking a swig, he says nothing. In your disgust at your drink, you hadn't noticed that the songs have ended and the crowd quieted down, until you feel the press of lips against the curvature of your neck and your bard settling himself beside you, which only serves to draw a shocked squeak from you. He smiles at you with a playful wink, resting his lute on the table,  

“Well, what did the two of you think of my triumphant performance?” He asks proudly, which results in a noncommittal grunt from Geralt. He’s never been much of a conversationalist, and never has much time for the songs either, so you find yourself filling in the silence with your own enthusiastic praise.  

“It was fantastic. You know it was fantastic, Jask.” You coo to him, resting your cheek on his shoulder and watching his chest puff up with pride. “Especially seeing as you only wrote it today.” In return for the compliment, the Bard presses a kiss into your hair. You pull back and smile proudly, resting a hand on his thigh as you take another swig of the beer. The look on your face must have been undeniable as you find Jaskier gently prying it from your hand after noticing your grimace,

“Gods, Dear Heart. Don't dare drink that, it tastes of piss.” He says playfully, leaning in close to gently wipe the ale that had sloshed over your bottom lip in the sudden movement. Dear Heart. As much as you've never been one to use aliases or fake names, Jaskier uses pet names so often they might as well be your true name.  

Dear Heart, Dove, Love, My Breath, Darling Muse, My Moon and Stars; you lose track of the number of sweet names he uses for you. They’re always romantic and lyrical, the kind of terms that would sound stilted coming from anyone but him. He says them like they’re meaningful, and had taken time to construct, even more so than the time it took your parents to name you. At first you had worried that he used them because he's forgotten your name, but you know that it’s just his way. He pairs them with sweet kisses to the back of your hand, or a hand at your hip, using your true name only when annoyed or worried. He likes titles. He still calls Geralt by every pseudonym he can think of much to the ire of the other man.  

“If it gets me drunk then it's fine.” You reply quickly, cheeks flushed at the feeling of his calloused thumb against the sensitive skin of your mouth, trying not to breathe in deeply and to fight off the urge to brush your tongue across the pad. No matter how many times he touches you, however chaste the contact is, you find yourself blushing like the first time. With a melodramatic gasp, the bard pulls back his thumb to stare at you like you had grown a second head.  

“You do understand you're supposed to enjoy what you’re drinking, not just what it does to you, right?” He says, as if he's the authority on drinking, his tone of voice telling you that there's nothing you can say to dissuade him. “I’ll fetch you some of the wine I like. I can promise it tastes better than that.” And with that he smiles and pushes the thumb into his mouth, cringing as the beer touches his tongue. “Gods, I was right. You stay there, don’t touch that, I’ll be back.”  

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier's proclamation and grunts for your attention before he gestures towards the door, got to his feet and walked off to bed. Despite what Jaskier's song would have the people believe, it had not been as easy a fight as either of you had anticipated. Geralt had been slammed into the river bank so many times you thought he would have broken a bone or more, and a rapid movement had seen you sent crashing into a tree and less than useless for an hour or two. He's had a spree of bad luck as of late. You almost feel bad that he has to see you and Jaskier interact with each other like this since his latest tryst with Yennifer ended as poorly as it ever does. The Witcher’s absence sees you return to your earlier thoughts about the Bard's name, or your lack of knowledge of his real name. It shouldn’t matter, and truly it doesn't matter to you, but as you watch him try and navigate his way through the crowd of people around the bar, you find yourself trying to think of what his real name could be. He's no Erik, and certainly you can’t imagine him as an Aleksander or Kacper, but you can't quite imagine a name for him but Jaskier. It suits him. Dandelion’s are bright, beautiful and misunderstood, and so is he. Were you honest with yourself, you have no idea why he's here with you. If his accent and clothes weren’t already loaded with coin and privilege, him saying things like ‘you should enjoy what you drink' just solidifies in your mind that he doesn't belong with you and Geralt. Enjoying what you drink means affording a drink that tastes so good it justifies paying for it, and you can barely justify paying for even ale when it gets you drunk. He's like a rare and beautiful songbird, sweet sounding and brightly coloured and strange to find lingering in places where they don’t belong, like with a Witcher and a girl with such little self-preservation that she'll fight monsters, such as yourself. The sight of Your Dandelion returning to the table with two jugs of wine removes every thought from your mind entirely.  

“Here, Dear Heart. You'll like the taste much more, I swear.” He says with a wide grin, still riding on the high of his triumphant performance, pockets full of coin and head filled with applause. He looks beautiful like this. The two jugs are placed in the space between your hands and his, surrounded on one side by his lute. He reaches out timidly and rests the tips of his fingers on your palm, which lets you slide your palm under his and squeeze it gently. You sip the wine without a second thought and he, in turn, takes a deep gulp. It tastes of tart cherries, cloves and how Jaskier's lips taste when he kisses you in the midnight hours, you find yourself smiling as you pull it away from your mouth, the deep red staining your mouth. He’s right. You do like the taste.  

“It’s beautiful.”  

“I told you as much, Dove. It’s delicious, the night is young, and we have coin. So drink.”

/////////

Once the two of you have reached a delicious sort of drunkenness that can only come with the coins from a successful contract, performance, and spending them on more than five jugs of the sweetest tasting wine you have ever drank, you find yourself pressed against the door on the inside of the room you're sharing with your Dandelion. His lips, chapped but soft, are pressed against your own, tongue dipping into your mouth as if still seeking out any wine that might linger still, making your fingers curl into the blue satin of his doublet and your tongue to timidly lap at his. Nights like this, where you aren’t sleeping in the open or five feet away from Geralt and Roach, are rarer than you would like but the scarcity makes you treasure them more. They feel like a gift. Nights where the two of you can just take time with one another, not just steal quick moments of pleasure when you can be sure you're alone. You wouldn’t give up this life for anything on the continent but if you could sleep in a real building more often you would do it in a heartbeat, just for moments like this, where a knee slots between your own and his lips dart down from your own to the hollow of your throat, to suck bruises the colour of wine against your skin, drawing desperate sighs from kiss swollen lips. Your hips rut against his knee to try to relieve the pressure and wetness gathering between your legs, and a warm hand rests on your hip, guiding you to move quicker still.  

“You’re so beautiful.” Even in moments like this, he can’t keep himself from talking. At this point, it must be a universal constant: the sun will rise each morning, fish live in water, ale tastes disgusting, and Jaskier is still talking. Warm breath fans against your skin as he speaks, as much to himself as to you. “So beautiful like this, Dear Heart. Blooming. Like a flower. You are fucking beautiful.” His tone is reverent and makes your heart ache for him to take from you, anything and everything he needs. He makes you feel so much more than what you are, and in return you groan weakly and pull his head back by his hair to slam your lips into his once more. He mutters something against your mouth that sounds a little like your name, then pries you from the door and against his chest, knee still between your thighs, and begins to stumble blindly towards the bed. Fingers splay across your chest, somewhere between groping at your chest and trying to undo the lacing keeping it tied together, in return you push the doublet off of him and let it fall to the floor without a thought. It’s easy to forget how well built your bard is when he spends so much time around Geralt, but now with a hand pressed against firm muscle beneath a thick thatch of hair you’re reminded that he is so much more than someone pretty with a lute. The brunette pulls back from you with a heavy sigh which turns to a throaty chuckle as you chase after his mouth to continue the kiss. When your eyes finally open to see why he isn’t kissing you, you catch sight of blown out pupils, with only a thin ring of ocean blue surrounding it, roaming along your face and body hungrily.  

“Jask,” Your voice comes out a pathetic whine, which makes him chuckle once more, deft fingers tugging your chemise over your head only to then bunch it up and toss away from you, like prolonged contact would make it catch fire.  

“Yes, Dear Heart...” He replies quickly, voice husky and verging on a growl.  

“I want you...”  

“And you have me.” He cradles a hand against his chest for a second or two, before pulling you closer once more, turning and pushing you onto the bed. “And I have you. And will for as long as you’ll have me.” As long as you’ll have me. He says it every time you’re intimate, anything from him simply pressing his fingers inside of you to bedding each other, it's only as long as you’ll have him.  I'd have you till the day I die, you think to yourself as you land on the mattress, I’ll want you till the day I die.  

“Then have me.”  

The smirk he gives you is feral as he climbs over you, knees sinking into the blanket on either side of your hips, lips pressing into your neck once more then travelling downwards. Without your chemise to keep you warm, the blushed flesh of your nipples hardened in the cold air which hadn't gone unnoticed by your lover, who slides his hands to your chest once more to gently massage your mounds while mouthing down the valley between them and towards your trousers.  

“Oh, Muse, do not worry.” He says reassuringly, pulling his hands back from your skin to the fabric at your waist. “I’ll have you. And Gods, how you'll sing for me.”  

////////

Like all nights that involve Jaskier, drinking, and privacy, you find yourself held down against the soft mattress; one of his hands cradling your cheek, while skilled fingers pump in-and-out of you at an almost agonisingly quick pace. Slick, wet, slapping sounds echo through the room, coupled with reassuring coos from him and your own gasps and sighs. The candle, dimly lit and resting on the table closest to the bed, gave out just enough light for you to stare adoringly up at him- cast in golden light like a god amongst men. He was right. Sing for him, you did, moaning loudly into his mouth as he kisses you sweetly. It's the bard in him, that sees him treat your body like an instrument to encourage noises from, your moans the tune and his sweet nothings the lyrics. Its the most beautiful song of his, you can't help but think, one that you would gladly sing every day for the rest of your lives, a song that’s lyrics consist of a call and response between the two of you,  

“Yes, Dear Heart. Sing for me, my girl.” Or “Sweet thing, you’re so bloody gorgeous.” Which is followed by your own faltering mutters of,  

“Jask... there. Oh. I'll...” and “Dandelion... please. Please.”  

The two fingers inside you curl and rub against that spot that makes your gasp grow louder still, a hand suddenly grasping his forearm tightly to anchor yourself once more.  Buried to the start of his signet ring, he grins, twists his fingers once and then pulls them out of you. Glistening digits are pulled up to his mouth and sucked on while he maintains eye contact with you, rocking backwards to rest on his knees. He's spent an hour with his mouth and fingers working your cunt to orgasm over, and over, and over again, yet the simple sight of him sucking your essence from his fingers is enough to make you flush, as if struck with the perversion of the situation all at once. Darkened eyes, framed by darker lashes rake down your body hungrily, such a hunger that any insecurity you might have felt about being so exposed is gone at once.

“You taste so sweet.” It makes you sound like a pie or tart to be spoken about like that, but you can’t help but be flattered. He says it every time he works you to completion on his tongue, and while you argued the first time or two, you've grown to believe him. Or so you say, just so you can avoid his emphatic lectures about your beauty and how he would kill or die for you to see yourself as he does. The wine has made you brave, though, letting you question him  

“I... I do?” There is an unmistakable quiver in your voice that turns Jaskier's grin wolfish. You'd almost be afraid of the look he gives you were it not for the softness in his eyes. You know his answer. It’s always the same. The swipe of his index finger across the sensitive skin of your slit, circling your clit once, twice, before pulling back and pushing it into his mouth with a loud moan, almost certainly for your benefit. He’s a performer by nature and by trade, and the level of confidence he exudes as he smirks down at you is comparable only to the confidence he has when he sings. Moving down to cage you to the bed, nose touching nose, lips near touching, his member rubs against the wetness gathering at your thighs making you gasp, feeling like you’re being touched too much and too little all at once.

“I’ve never tasted anything so sweet in my entire life.” He sounds so sincere. You know that words are his occupation, and that he’s had many lovers before you, but he speaks with such a sincerity that makes you feel like the only person to have ever existed in his eyes. It’s enough to make your throat tighten and eyes well with overly sentimental tears, so you quickly shut your eyes and press your lips against his, tongue tracing the seam of his mouth, until it opens and your tongue dips within. He tastes of sweet cherry wine, something that can only be described as Jaskier and some thing you can only assume is the taste of yourself. You should feel ashamed, a voice in the back of your mind says weakly, at such a wanton display, licking your own taste from the mouth of a lover who's taken to holding you with such a gentleness you'd swear you were made of glass, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Lustful acts behind closed doors is hardly the end of the world and Jaskier isn’t one to judge, especially if the appreciative noises he’s making into your mouth is anything to go by, and if description of what happens find itself in his next song then even still you won’t care, save for the blush it'll bring to your face and the wink that will inevitably come as he sings. It won’t be the first time. Adjusting your legs to better accommodate him between them, his member rubs against your slit, but he keeps his touch chaste, holding your face gently before breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.  

“May I?” It’s obvious what he means, but still you tilt your head as if oblivious.  

“May you what?” The playful tone of voice brings from him a near exasperated sigh, coupled with the softest smile you can imagine. He doesn't need to ask, never does, especially when he's had you crying out for him for hours now, but he does and always does. It’s sweet that he wants to ensure that you always want it, but you love teasing him.

“Please may I make love to you, Dear Heart?” The candle flickers as he says that, and for a brief second, you're dipped into pitch blackness, before the light returns once more. Make love. It’s such a pretty term, so much sweeter than calling it fucking, makes you feel loved- even if he’s never said that he does. Cheeks tinged a deep red, you nod quickly.  

“Please do.” The earnest desire in your voice is hard to hide sober, so you don't even attempt it drunk, instead opting to dedicate yourself to more fruitful pursuits like wrapping a hand around his cock and rubbing up the length quickly. The gasp that slips from his lips is musical and makes you smile, but it slips as his hand rises to grab your wrist, stilling the movement and pinning it gently to the bed.  

“As much as I love you doing that, if you keep it up, I won't be able to last.” Your heart swells a little with pride, and your mouth turns up in a small smug smirk. You understand all at once why he smirks at your moans.  

“I don’t recall saying I want you to last.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, making his eyes narrow into cat-like slits.  

“I want to make you cum on my cock. And I don’t see a way of doing that if I don’t last.” He nips at your ear, then presses a kiss to the space behind it as he pushes into you. No matter how many times he beds you, it feels like the first... especially after multiple climaxes. He's thick. You moan loudly into his mouth as he pushes himself to the hilt inside of you, and the earlier stimulation makes him feel bigger still, every inch and vein feeling massive. It’s hard to articulate how good he makes you feel in this moment, filling you and brushing his nose against the curve of your jaw, so you moan out incoherently.  

He's leaned over you, with hair far beyond tousled and hanging over his face, pupils blown out so wide you can barely make out the thin blue ring around them, and lips made plump and pink from kissing. He's beautiful, almost painfully so, covered in a thin sheen of sweat which reflected the flickering candlelight. You don’t feel worthy of the attention he lavishes on you, but it's not something you would have ever vocalised, for fear of one of his long, verbose rants about how much he adores you, loves you most ardently.  

“Jaskier-" You moan softly into his mouth as he kisses you chastely, which causes the corners of his lips to turn up into a satisfied smile. He always smiles like that when you moan, proud like each noise is a medal or triumph. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you tell yourself you should be embarrassed by how vocal you’re being, but you also know you would make a million noises just to make him smile. You couldn’t have been silent if you tried anyway.

“Julian.” He replies, hips bucking back slightly only to push back into you. What? Julian? Your eyes widen then narrow in confusion, the combination of that and the pleasure of the thrust causes you to let out a moan, tinged with confusion. He chuckles once more, but less self-assured this time. He seems to have realised that saying a name that isn’t yours, while inside you, was not likely to go down well. “It’s my name. My... name.” He becomes shy for a second, leaning back onto his knees so that he’s no longer draped over you with his body, member pulled out until only the tip remained inside of you. You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring up at him, his face childish looking in a sort of guilt you've never seen before. “I was... I was hoping you could-"  

“Julian.” You cut him off, reaching out to brush your fingers across his chest and threading through the shag on his chest. Julian. Your mind replays the name over and over again, and it's wonderful. A real name. It suits him, but it’s not Jaskier. It's not the name you know him by. Julian is a real name for a real man who would have real responsibilities, not a beautiful foppish bard who follows adventures and travels around the continent without a second thought like your Dandelion. “Julian, Jaskier, Dear Heart, Dandelion, Buttercup... It’s all the same to me.” It isn't though. Maybe to him it is, but you’re struck by how... insecure he looks now. Jaskier is never insecure, occasionally cruel and more often than not jealous, but insecure? Not your Jaskier.  

Somewhere in your mind, back, far beyond the thought of sex and satisfaction that is taking you over, you think about those names that you call him. Dear Heart, Dandelion, Buttercup, Jaskier. All of them are the same wild, beautiful, charming man. This Julian, still beautiful and charming, is afraid; you don’t like that look on him. You like his stupid, over-excited grin, and so you lean up and peck his lips.  

“It's all the same to me, Julian.” You repeat with a soothing smile. “As long as you’re mine, I really don’t mind what I call you.”

Ocean-blue eyes light up with a bright grin, and with a drunken laugh he pins you down once more, face buried in the crook of your neck at the same time that his hips snapped against yours, which draws a loud moan of each other’s names in unison.

“Oh, Dear Heart.” Jaskier, Julian, whispers sweetly against your skin and you swear in that moment that had he asked you to pull down the moon and the stars, you would have immediately done it.  

“Julian.” You moan out, clinging onto his back as his thrusts continue at a near brutal pace.  

“My Dearest...” He moans, mouthing at your collar and throat, one hand holding your thigh to his hip and the other holding onto your hand like someone will steal you away from him at any moment. The changed position makes you feel fuller still, each and every thrust bringing stars to your vision until, with a shaking gasp, you feel yourself overwhelmed by the oh so familiar feeling of your own completion washing over you once more. Julian, no Jaskier, continues his frenzied pumping into you, talented fingers working at your sensitive pearl, just on the right side of painfully pleasant. Any thought you had had even a second beforehand melded into an incoherent mess of the same few words,  

“Good. Oh fuck, Jask. So fucking good.” Then, while your mind was overtaken by the lust and wine, you whine out a weak, “Julian.”  

At that he stills, with a painful sounding whimper, and you feel the sensation of warm release flooding into your cunt. Eyes snapping open, you catch the sight of him leaning over you once more. For a moment of silence, a reprieve from the moans, gasps and wet slap of skin on skin that had filled the air, he remains leaned over you, forehead pressed to your collarbone before dropping down and collapsing on top of you. Absentmindedly, you reach up to card your fingers through his damp hair. He has so much fucking hair, you consider lazily and smile.  

“You'll be the death of me, Dear Heart.” It’s muffled, and a little hard to make out, but you hear him clear as day; it makes you smile, the image of him dying mid shag. He peaks up at you from beneath those long eyelashes and repeats it, peppering kisses along the goose-pimpled flesh of your chest and the top of your breasts, making you giggle. It was a bad idea to laugh, as it encourages him in his journey of kisses, hands moving up to tickle you while using his body weight to hold you in place.

“Gods, Dandelion. Get off of me.” You cackle, trying to buck him off without much luck. “You weigh a tonne!”  

“Are you calling me fat, Darling?” He sounds incredulous and insulted, but the wide grin on his face proves that he’s anything but. Rising slowly, he rests over you on one elbow and cups your cheek, pulling you into a sweet but deep kiss while he delicately pulls himself from within you. The loss makes you whimper under your breath, eyes slipping shut once more, and Jaskier breaks the kiss momentarily to watch transfixed for a second as some of his seed drips from you. You blush under his gaze, as you always do when he looks at you in this way. Skilful fingers scoop up some of his own seed, mixed with your essence, and push it back inside you, the sensation drawing a loud moan from you once more. Mouths pressing together once more, the mattress dips beside you, and you pull back once more to smile,

“I cannot believe you just called me fat.”  

“I would never!”  

“I weigh a tonne? That’s what you said.” His tone is matter of fact and you lean in and press a playful kiss to the tip of his nose.  

“A tonne of muscle and talent?” You offer, and he smirks, grasping you by the hips and all but flinging you on your side.  

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love. Now sleep.” He says with a sigh and swats playfully at your bottom, pulling the sheets around the two of you. He never makes demands of you, so his light comments like sleep carries far more weight than they should. The blanket, combined with him curling himself around you, head between your shoulders, makes it too warm for you to fall immediately asleep; but you find yourself drifting into the warm, incomprehensible space between sleep and awake.  

“Julian, eh?” Your voice is little more than a croak, yet it’s enough to make him huff out a short laugh with a squeeze of your hip.  

“Yes. Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz. I. I thought you should know.”  His confidence has faltered once more and instinctively you place a hand atop of his and squeeze it. “...I realised earlier I hadn't told you.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz.” You repeat, testing how the name feels in your mouth. “I like it.” He nods tiredly, and you curl up into a ball, rolling onto your side to let him take his usual sleeping position, forehead between your shoulders. “...but I like Jaskier more.”  

“Same here.” He mutters tiredly and presses a kiss to your spine. “But if anyone is to call me that, I'd rather it be you.”

“...thank you, Jaskier.”  

“For what, Dear Heart?” He asks and lifts his head, resting his jaw on your shoulder.  

“Telling me? Letting me know?” In this tired headspace you're finding it harder and harder to keep any thoughts out of your mouth. “I don’t know. I appreciate you telling me more about you. You’re just so... private. I worry I barely even know you sometimes.” Voice dipping into a near whisper, sleep begins to overtake you, eyes slipping shut.  

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, My Muse.” He whispers, the last thing you hear before falling asleep. Once you're asleep, he smiles, pressing a kiss behind your ear before returning his head to your back, “Anything you want to know from my past. My future is already yours; you may as well have what I was as well as what I might be.” Your rhythmic breathing causes his eyes to droop once more. “...I love you.” Before that confession can give him reason for concern, sleep engulfs him, bringing him to dreams of your future together.  

[izayoichan]

“Yeah, it's a wedding thing, the two getting married dance alone at first, then others come and dance as well.”

He hopes Acharya thought if it was the type of dance he thought about, and not what Vy called dance. He smiled at his dad when he picked up Fannar, then he looked at Vy. 

“It's time for a dance indeed”

He takes Vy's hand, taking him over to the dance floor that their location has, the song they had agreed on having playing from the stereo. 

“Oh…”

Chris smiles and kisses Hayle, putting Fannar in his lap. Having recognized the song, disappearing for the shortest of seconds, then he comes back with a guitar in his hand, taking a taller chair pulling it close to their dance area, Madelene noticing him, quickly lowering the music from the stereo as Chris's starts to play the song instead. Hayden pulls Vy close, starting to sing the song along with his dad as they dance. Vy chirps happily when he hears Hayden sing and sings with him also letting him lead the dance.

“True, very true. I have a feeling it will be bad for their parents a while..but they will eventually understand.”

Kieran smiles as they watch the two dance.

“And yes, I think for them one will be enough, for our dancers though... I foresee one more star in their lives, that way, releasing the first will be easier. Or perhaps two... It's a grey area still.”

River smiles, just watching people join them dance. Fannar happily snuggled up in his grandfather's lap.

“Yes. It won't be easy, but it will fix a lot of problems and it will cure sickness.”

Jael smiles and gets up, watching as they dance to the end of the music.

“If you excuse me, my friend. I wish to dance with a nebula.”

He smiles walking over to Acharya who frowns at him, clearly thinking he is there for something else.

“Is it time?” “I think there is still time for one dance and for cake stealing”

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