#〉 SERIES VII ₎ that was leaf one. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

her-satanic-wiles · 1 month

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Dawn Chorus - VII

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.8k.

Reading Time: 28 min.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, blood drinking, corruption kink, drunk sexual content, dubcon (due to drunk sexual content), fear kink, fingering, frottage, graphic injuries, getting drunk, masturbation, mentions of sexual harassment, multiple orgasms, nipple play, PTSD, rape kink, vaginal fingering, virgin kink

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics @howlingco @sirianisrock

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

Copia winced at the sound of Mountain’s screams, the agony in his voice too much to bear. Still, he didn’t look away. He wanted to show that he was there for his loyal ghoul, even if this whole ordeal was his fault in the first place. He couldn’t look away because he wanted Mountain’s pain to be his, and prayed to the Dark One that his ghoul would heal soon, and more painlessly than this. The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, a constant reminder of the unintended consequences of his actions.

The medical staff were doing their best to treat the demon’s burns, using Hellfire to cauterise the would and hope that it would heal his burn, and strengthen him. But, they could only hope, as none of the staff were old enough to remember the last time an angel fell into the hands of the Ministry and had to do this. Hell, even Copia wasn’t old enough to remember that and he was pushing 300.

Copia felt a sense of shame tightening its grasp on his heart like a vice as his mind returned to the terrifying scene of your fall. When you needed your wings the most, they failed you, and he had watched helplessly as you crashed into the ground. He’d been overcome in that little moment by a feeling of dread, a deep-seated terror that seemed determined to swallow him whole.

He had never been one to run from difficulties, but seeing you in pain had touched something deep inside of him, bringing regret and grief that he had long buried to the surface. He carried the heavy burden of ensuring the security and welfare of his fellow demons as the head of the Ministry, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he had let you down when you were most in need. You were in unbearable pain, as was Mountain, and Sister Imperator was breathing down his neck the entire time because he was disappointing her as well. The world was spinning too fast and he just wanted to get off.

Copia felt sorry for you, going over the day’s events in his head in an attempt to find any indication that he could have done more to keep you from falling. Had he been too complacent, too consumed by his own goals to notice his imminent danger? Or had circumstances worked against him, creating a tragic mosaic that was out of his control? Was this infernal intervention to get him to admit to his wrongdoings, and his deep-rooted emotions that he pushed down and down until he could no longer feel them? Perhaps the Dark One was disappointed by him, too.

Copia’s thoughts were plagued by the image of your fall, a constant reminder of your frailty and the harsh turns of events that have the power to break even the most resilient souls. He could still clearly remember the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw you fall from the sky, your elegant shape swishing and tumbling through the air like a leaf caught in a hurricane. His stomach lurched.

In that heart-stopping moment, time seemed to slow to a crawl, each passing second stretching out into an eternity as Copia’s mind raced with a thousand unanswered questions. How had it come to this? What unseen force had conspired to bring you to the brink of disaster? And most importantly, what could he do to save you from the impending doom that threatened to consume you whole?

The weight of guilt settled heavily upon Copia’s shoulders as he confronted the painful truth that lay at the heart of his turmoil. In the business of the medical wing, with Mountain’s cries as background music, and the echoes of your fall still ringing in his ears, he could no longer ignore the role he had played in your suffering.

The regret he felt for his deeds, his brutality, and his selfishness returned to haunt him with every instant that went by. It was like a never-ending wave of shame that was about to swallow him whole. He remembered the way he had kept you trapped, a helpless prisoner in his domain, subjecting you to unspeakable torment and degradation at his hands.

The insight came to him like a tonne of bricks, bringing to light the depths of his own depravity. He had wielded his power over you like a weapon, using your vulnerability to satisfy his own twisted desires and gratify his basest impulses. In his arrogance and pride, he had convinced himself that he held dominion over you, that you were nothing more than a plaything to be used and discarded at his whim.

But Sathanas, he couldn’t ever forget the way you looked on your knees for him, his thumb in your mouth and those big, wide, innocent eyes staring up at him in confusion, hatred and fear. The way the pigment of your lips stretched over his thumb, the feeling of your tongue laving over his skin as you sucked on the appendage, completely oblivious to the way all the blood in his body was gathering at his cock, and his half-full length screaming at him, begging him to push you onto your back, lift your robes and defile you completely. He couldn’t help but think of the sounds you’d make, if you enjoyed it or would want him to stop. How loud would your pleasure make you scream for him? Or would you long for the safety of your cage as he ravaged you not two metres away from it?

Of course, when he finally had you hanging off his cock, it would be consensual. He was a lot of things, but a filthy misogynist wasn’t one of them. That was the thing that separated the Satanic church from their Catholic siblings, and something he prided himself on. If he fucked you, it would be because you wanted him to. It was half of the reason why he spent so long being so kind to you - that whole event in his chamber where you were on your knees taking what he gave you, you didn’t consent. It was likely that you had no idea that you even needed to, meaning you couldn’t give your consent. He’d broken the one rule he told himself to abide by, and the guilt was eating him alive. And while none of his subsequent actions could make him atone for his sins, he would do the most to make sure he got close enough to it.

But the fact that he’d never do that again didn’t stop him from thinking about it all the time, wrapping his hand around his cock in the shower and imagining how you’d feel beneath him. You’d get so wet for him, willingly or otherwise. Those big, wide eyes staring at him as he took you on his chamber floor, using your body for his own pleasure. You would be his vulnerable, little plaything, and you’d come to enjoy the feel of him buried deep inside you eventually, if you didn’t enjoy the first time you spent together.

Those fantasies would remain thoughts he had in the shower, though. And he’d only act on them with your permission further down the road. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d be better than he was before. He swore that. He could and would never hurt you again, no matter how much his mother wanted him to.

Mountain was going to be okay. The nurses worked hard and tirelessly to take away his pain and make him comfortable, but it did mean that he would be out of commission for a short while. Copia couldn’t help but count his blessings at this, now that everything in his life was quiet save for you. And it was to you that his thoughts turned to next.

He made his way back towards his apartments and opened the door slowly, unsure of where you’d be. You were nowhere in the living room, and so he assumed he’d find you in his bedroom - the assumption being correct.

You’d healed, Copia had no doubt that was to do with the fact that you wore your halo for the first time in a long time, and so he didn’t brace himself to see you as the mangled mess you were not one hour ago when you made impact with the ground. But you were curled up in a ball in front of your cage, your wings wrapped around you as though you were holding yourself, comforting yourself like a child who’d been hurt or abandoned by the ones they loved the most.

When Copia saw you curled up on the ground with your wings wrapped around you like a shield, his heart fell. His chest constricted with a twinge of empathy as he saw the anguish carved into your features and the tears still glistening on your cheeks.

He stood motionless in the doorway for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. He wanted to be there for you, to give you some measure of solace, but he was too consumed by the guilt that still weighed heavily on his mind. It was him, after all, who had placed you in this situation, who had caused you to endure unspeakable horrors, and who had caused you to suffer unfathomable pain.

Copia sighed heavily and moved slowly towards you so as not to startle you. He squatted next to you, his hand tentatively hovering over your shoulder before settling it gently. “Angel,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincere worry. “Are you alright?”

He was waiting tensely for your reply, praying beyond prayer that you would let him confide in you, that you would let him feel your suffering and give you the comfort you sorely needed. However, he knew deep down that his regret would always be overshadowed by the weight of his actions and that words could never make up for the harm he had done.

You were silent for a moment, slowly raising your head to meet the Cardinal’s gaze as the significance of his presence began to register. Your eyes scanned his face for any indication of sincerity or regret, a mixture of pain and uncertainty.

“I…” Your voice caught in your throat as a tumultuous storm of emotions whirled around you. When you did finally say, “I do not know,” your voice was hardly audible above a whisper.

Your words carried a heavy weight of vulnerability, a silent cry for empathy and understanding. You wanted to think the Cardinal genuinely cared about you and was sorry for the suffering he had brought upon you. However, uncertainty lurked in the background of your thoughts, muttering flashbacks of past crimes and broken pledges.

The Cardinal’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a reassuring touch in the thick of your unstable feelings. You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his closeness despite the doubts that kept popping into your head.

You were overcome with a hectic mix of emotions following the fall. Your body was in excruciating pain at the time, a never-ending reminder of the blow and the wounds it had caused. Though now healed, you could still feel how your body had snapped and bent with gravity, your teeth numb with the fear that rose in you, and the flashback of falling from grace. However, the most excruciating part turned out to be the emotional turmoil.

As you struggled to accept your vulnerability, anxiety took hold of your heart. Any illusions of invincibility had been shattered by the fall, and you were suddenly very much aware of your own existence. You felt exposed and defenceless, in stark contrast to the confident persona you had previously projected.

You felt torn about the Cardinal’s attempt at consolation. You recognised the sincerity of his concern in his gesture, and you were grateful for it. Knowing that he was concerned for your welfare was comforting, particularly during such vulnerable times.

But his presence also acted as a sharp reminder of your complicated relationship. It was impossible to get rid of the remaining mistrust and anger that had built up over time, even with his best attempts to provide comfort. Anything sincere he did now was clouded by his past deeds, which included taking you captive and causing you pain.

A part of you wanted to give in to his comfort and let yourself be supported by him. However, there was also a part of you that was cautious, unwilling to lower your defences and make yourself more vulnerable. He had slashed deep wounds, and healing would require more than words of consolation.

“The ghoul,” you began, sitting up from your position and looking at the Cardinal with wet eyes, “will he be alright?”

The Cardinal nodded. “Takes a lot more than angel tears to bring down the Mountain.” He smiled half-heartedly. “What happened up there?”

“I do not know… not completely. My muscles cramped and I could not regain strength. It did not matter how hard I tried, I could not get my wings to work again.” You started to cry again. “I beg of thee, please do not put me back in that cage again. I did not mean to hurt others.”

It was almost as though you could hear the Cardinal’s heart shattering at your words. The Cardinal’s face softened, regret and sympathy present in his features. He extended his hand hesitantly, as though he wasn’t sure if it would be accepted or rejected. He softly reassured you, “I won’t put you back in the cage,” his voice full of genuine sorrow. “I promise.”

There was silence for a brief moment, broken only by the sound of your sniffles and the gentle hum of the room’s ventilation system. You found yourself grappling with conflicting emotions, torn between the desire to accept the Cardinal’s comfort and the instinct to maintain your guard.

You were nervous as the Cardinal helped you off the floor, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He fastened your wings firmly to keep you from escaping by tying them together with the same chain he’d used previously. He had plans for you, plans that involved taking you somewhere, and you felt a twinge of uneasiness.

He told you to follow him, and you did, keeping quick steps to make sure you didn’t fall behind, as he walked you through the Ministry’s corridors and down multiple flights of stairs. Your mind began to race when you realised he was taking you to the basement. Your memory flooded with how you were treated and how you felt when you first were taken there, and your heart raced with the fear that it was going to happen again. Your whole body froze, making the Cardinal turn around a few paces in front of you, and study you for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I do not wish to go down there again.” You said quietly.

The Cardinal paused, clearly confused, but when he fully registered your body language, he sighed. “You’ll be fine.” He told you, walking back towards you. “We’re not going all the way down to the bottom.”

“Where will we go?”

“Somewhere you can relax and forget about today.” He tugged at your hand. “Let’s go.”

At the base of the stairs that led to the cellar, you hesitated, but the Cardinal steadily held your arm and led you on. The air was thick with the smell of aged wine, and the stone walls were covered in long shadows by the low light.

“Come on, Angel,” the Cardinal urged, his voice soft yet insistent. “It’ll do you good to relax for a bit.”

With uncertain glances up at him, you twitched nervously behind your wings. Even though you weren’t sure about it, there was a part of you that wanted a little break from your problems.

The scent of aged oak and fermenting grapes filled the air as he guided you down to the wine cellar. The long shadows that the low lighting cast against the stone walls heightened the atmosphere of mystery in the subterranean room.

Shivering from the cold, you let the Cardinal pull you deeper as you sighed, taking in the new surroundings. The walls were lined with rows upon rows of wooden barrels, each one holding priceless liquid gold. Stone archways covered each of the rows, as though they were doorways to entirely different rooms.

The Cardinal moved with purpose, selecting a particular bottle and uncorking it with practiced ease. He poured a generous measure of wine into a crystal glass, sparkling in the orange glow of the candlelight, the rich red liquid glinting as it gathered in the cup.

“Here you go,” he said, offering you the glass with a small smile. “A little something to take the edge off.”

You accepted the glass hesitantly, your fingers trembling slightly as you brought it to your lips. The Cardinal watched you intently, his gaze unwavering as you took a hesitant sip.

The wine was unlike anything you had ever tasted before, the flavour bursting across your tongue in a symphony of sensations. It was warm and velvety, with hints of oak and berries dancing on the palate.

Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself taking another sip, then another, until the glass was empty. A warmth spread through your veins, suffusing you with a sense of contentment you hadn’t felt in ages.

The Cardinal placed the bottle down onto a nearby table, and wandered to a different archway, grabbing a bottle you recognised. It was one of the bottles he’d used the last time he’d drained you. He poured himself a glass as well, taking a long sip before setting the glass down on . He leaned against the wall and gestured for you to sit, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“You alright there, Angel?” He asked, his voice soft with genuine concern. “You seem a bit… tense.”

You nodded slowly, the alcohol already starting to cloud your thoughts. “I’m fine,” you replied, your words slurring slightly. “Just… adjusting, I suppose.”

The Cardinal chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, you’re in good company,” he said, taking another sip of blood.

“Cardinal,” you began once you took another sip of wine, “why have you not told the Sister the truth about my halo? Why have you stopped the second ritual?”

The Cardinal sighed and sat down opposite you. “So many questions.”

“I would appreciate an answer.”

“You ask one, I ask one. Deal?”

You nodded. “Why have you not told the Sister the truth?”

“At first it was because of… because I was drunk. But then, I just didn’t want to.” He took a sip of blood. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

“At the outset, it was by reason of my frailty. But at present… I find myself in doubt. Pray tell, why did you halt the second ritual?”

“As an apology for my actions.” He refused to make eye contact with you. “I violated you once… the second ritual meant I’d have to do it again.”

You knew that, of course, but hearing him admit to it was something else. “What course of action do you intend to pursue?”

“No, it’s my turn to ask you a question. What’s Yhwh’s plan?”

As far as you knew, even angels were in the dark about Yhwh’s plan. You had been raised to believe that everything takes place in accordance with God’s divine plan and to put your trust in His wisdom and guidance. But recent occurrences had called into question this belief.

You have seen the pain and injustice done to His children, the cruelty and deceit committed in His name. It caused you to wonder if God really did have a plan or if He has just let His creations go free, to be determined by human foolishness and the randomness of luck.

You could only speculate as to the details of His plan. Maybe it was putting His children to the test in terms of their faith and courage, challenging them to overcome hardship and grow stronger as a result. Or perhaps it was about pointing them in the direction of righteousness and enlightenment by imparting to them the true meaning of forgiveness and compassion.

You’d not seen much of that forgiveness and compassion. You wondered if it was even there at all.

You cleared your throat. “If I were privy to such knowledge, I would readily disclose it. Alas, it escapes me, for I am not allowed such insight. Only the Ophanims and beings of higher echelons hold such secrets. What about the second ritual - what does it include?”

The Cardinal nodded in understanding, then spoke. “We have to tempt you with the thing you really wanted; we have to make you need it, crave it… do anything for it. We know what you want, we were going to make you beg for it.”

You paused, considering asking a follow up question but remembering he wouldn’t let you.

“Tell me about the angels. This hierarchy you mentioned… what are you?”

“There are 9 levels of divine power, and I am on the ninth level. I am just a regular angel, there is nothing special about me. The closest to the Almighty are the Seraphims, followed by Cherubims, Ophanims, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels… then me.” You let your information soak in before you took another sip of your wine, you could feel the lightheadedness really begin to take effect now. Your entire body felt warm, relaxed, almost limp. It was a fight to stay upright. “What happens when the Sister finds out that you are lying to her?”

“I don’t know exactly - I just know it’s not gonna be good.” The Cardinal’s words were beginning to slur, the effects of your blood clearly taking hold of him as the wine had taken you. “I’d be forced to step down as head of the Church probably, and she’d take control of your interrogation. And she has so many plans for you. She’d be so much worse than me.”

That you didn’t doubt. In such a short time, and with little interactions, you had a feeling she’d take joy in destroying you. And suddenly, you found yourself grateful for the Cardinal.

“I can’t stop thinking about the other day,” the Cardinal began, looking at you directly in your eyes, “what I did to you when I had control of your halo. I know Celestial beings are supposed to be pure, but did you know what I was doing?”

“I knew that it was sexual.” You replied, honestly. “And I saw that you liked it. Why did you stop?”

“Because you didn’t consent. Did you want me to stop?”

You nodded a little. “Then, I did. But now…”

The Cardinal let out a short exhale, “You’re unsure.” He finished his glass and poured you both another. At this point in the night, it was your third glass each.

“Why did you feel the need to exert control over me in that way?” You asked, taking another sip. “Was it just a display of power, or was there something else driving your actions?”

“Something else. I wasn’t in control of myself. My body did what it wanted. And the sight of you, on your knees, eyes wide and unsure. I wanted to make you cry. I wanted to feel you from the inside out.”

The Cardinal’s words were having an effect on you, more than you ever knew could be possible. A weird feeling swept through you as the Cardinal’s words passed over you. It was a stirring of something deeper within you, not fear or disgust as one might expect. There was an irresistible charm to his candour, a rawness that appealed to the primitive urges hidden deep within your celestial essence, even though his confession was unsettling.

You were drawn to his vulnerability in sharing such personal thoughts with you and enthralled by the intensity of his desires. It was as though a curtain had been drawn back to show you a side of the Cardinal you had only ever seen during the shadow of secrecy and darkness. It was odd, but you found yourself drawn to it, drawn to him, in a way that excited and scared you at the same time.

Something inside you sparked at the Cardinal’s admission, an innate desire that throbbed beneath the surface of your celestial body. Something pulled at the very fabric of your being, a sensation unlike anything you had ever felt before—a blending of curiosity and desire. And as you locked eyes with him, there was a silent understanding that grew between you, an acceptance of the unspoken truths that united you in ways you could not have fully imagined.

If he did the same thing to you now - you weren’t confident you’d push him away.

The Cardinal studied you intently, his eyes following the minute changes that danced over your heavenly body. Your essence seemed to pulse with a newfound intensity that reflected his own desires, and he could feel the shift in your energy. You had a hunger in your eyes, a primal longing that expressed so much without saying a word.

The Cardinal felt a rush of excitement and anticipation as soon as he realised that you were sincere about your feelings. It set his senses alight and made his pulse race. He was drawn into the depths of a connection that felt both forbidden and irresistible by the flicker of desire dancing in your eyes. It was a silent invitation that beckoned him closer.

He stood and walked over to you, that same predatory look in his eye that this time, you welcomed. You were going to blame it on the alcohol, but perhaps that would be your first lie.

“Do you like the thought of that, Angel?” He teased, approaching you slowly as if you would run from him at the slightest movement.

You found yourself nodding, unable to stop yourself before you realised the implications of what you’d just confirmed. He stood in front of you, reaching his gloved hand to place it on your chin and allow the leather atop his thumb to graze over your lips a second time.

You swallowed, “Wh-why are you turning m-me into a demon?” You asked, breathlessly, still trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the alcohol running through your veins, and the heat pooling between your legs.

“Because we thought it would make you easier to control.” The Cardinal whispered, dropping his face close to yours. “We didn’t know how to bend you to our will using your halo, so we wanted to drag you to Hell with us. How old are you, Angel?”

“Older than matter.”

“And you’ve been so deprived for so long? Sweet angel, no wonder you’re the way that you are.” His face was now mere centimetres from yours, you could feel his breath fanning above your top lip as he spoke. “You’ve already committed the worst sin imaginable for an angel, haven’t you? Questioning him and being shunned for it.” He put his gloved hands on yours and pulled you off the chair, raising your left one to his lips. “One more sin couldn’t hurt, could it?”

His lips trailed up your arm and ended their journey at the crook of your neck, where he licked and kissed at the sensitive skin. The heat between your legs became unbearable, as your fingertips clutched onto his arms. Your body was fighting against itself, your arms pushing him away, but fingers pulling him towards you. You sighed at the newfound sensitivity, now realising how incredible it felt to have someone there, lavishing you with gentle touches and sin.

This was a sin. You should fight against it, and fight harder.

“It is God’s will that I should be sanctified,” you muttered, breathlessly, recalling the words of the Almighty that you’d remembered, “that I should avoid immorality; that I should learn to control mine own body in a way that is holy and honorable, not in passionate lust like the pagans, who do not know God.”

You felt Copia smile into your neck, his ministrations stopping temporarily. “Matthew 26:41: ‘Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’” You felt the Cardinal’s hands move to your waist and pull you flush against his hard body, something particularly hard poking out from beneath his cassock and hitting against your hip. “All flesh is weak, Angel. Even yours. Can you do it, I wonder? Can you resist me despite your body calling for me?”

You lifted your hand to his hair and tugged it, pulling his head away from you. You looked into his eyes, dark and lustful as they bore into your soul, reading you like an open book so willing to be read. Your mind was screaming at you, yelling at you to push him away. But your hands, of their own free will, grasped onto his neck and pulled him towards you, your lips crashing onto his with such force, it almost hurt.

His tongue entered your mouth desperately, leading the kiss despite you initiating it. It was your first, and it had taken your breath away whilst heightening all your other senses. You could feel the way his moustache tickled your upper lip, the ferociousness of his tongue sliding against yours as he gave himself over to the pleasure with no resistence. His gloved hands tightened on your waist, and pushed you against the table, forcing you to sit on top of it and spread your legs, inviting him between them.

That tongue tasted like your blood, and you should feel repulsed by the monster who took what he wanted from your body, now in more ways than one. But the iron tang of your blood on him excited and thrilled you in a way it shouldn’t - in a way that would have you cast into the Abyss with no one looking back.

Your nipples hardened beneath your white robe, and wetness seeped out from between your thighs. Your heart was rushing a million miles per minute, and your lungs could barely keep up. And all the while, the Cardinal’s hands roamed over your body, travelling, gripping, groping, and pulling at your flesh.

He could feel your nipples poking through your robes, the way your hips unknowingly bucked against his hardness, begging for him to ravage you right there. Whimpers had begun to fall from your lips as you lost yourself into the warmth of his body, allowing his own to swallow them and feed him, fuel his desires to have you.

You moaned deliciously when his gloved hand rested on your thigh, pulling the white fabric up to expose your skin, and you truly sounded heavenly when the same thumb that had been in your mouth weeks before, and traced over your lips today, made contact with a sensitive bundle of nerves and you gasped, breaking the kiss and looking into his lustful eyes.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, his voice gravelly and quiet. You shook your head and it earned a chuckle. “So innocent.” His voice was gentle, filled with a condescension that made your stomach flip. “So neglected. Given a body and not shown how to use it. This is called a clitoris.” He kissed you again and put more pressure on your clit, making you moan a little louder. “When I play with it, I can make you sing. I can make you reach a place more divine than Heaven. Does it feel good, Angel?”

“Yes!” You hissed, your eyebrows furrowing upwards and your mouth falling open. Your nostrils flared as your body tried to take in as much oxygen as it could, especially when the Cardinal picked up the pace and continued to rub circles into your flesh.

“You never touched yourself, have you?” He asked. He knew the answer, so he didn’t expect you to respond. “You should. The beauty of this form is that you can give yourself pleasure whenever you want.” He nibbled at your jaw. “However you want.” Your body tensed. “Virgins are so easy to please. So quick to cum.”

Your toes curled, your back arched, your voice screamed out as your nails dug into the thick fabric of his clothes. His fingers kept working the surface, never dipping inside or changing their speed.

“Can you feel it, Angel?” He asked, licking over your top lip. “The pressure building inside you? Feeling like you’re about to burst open?”

“Y-yes!” Your moans were wanton now, unabashed. You didn’t even think to be quiet, this felt too good to think of anything else.

“When you’re ready, let it happen. Let yourself feel it. Let yourself explode.”

“It’s too m-much!” You cried out, hips bucking of their own accord into the Cardinal’s hand.

“Aw,” he feigned sympathy, “I know, baby. Your first orgasm. Don’t look away from me. Look into my eyes when it happens, okay?”

“Okay-ah!”

It didn’t take much more until your whole body spasmed. You didn’t know what the sensation was, and there was a little fear in your eyes as it first began to take hold of you, freezing your body down to your breath and holding you there. The sensitivity on your clit spread everywhere, to your toes, up to your brain. You could practically taste it on your tongue. All the while, you continued to look into your tormentor’s eyes, mouth agape and lungs fighting for air that left your body long ago.

The Cardinal stared at you the whole time, eyes pinned on your face and studying your reaction to your first orgasm, taking untold pleasures from it.

“How was that?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“G-good.” You replied, breathlessly, eyes closing over.

The Cardinal laughed, something small and new. “Don’t rest on me, yet.” You watched him fumble at his crotch and pull himself out from between the buttons of his cassock, but you didn’t get the chance to see… him.

You felt him rub against your folds, the tip stroking against your clit as he rocked back and forth. Both of you hissed at the contact, for you because of your sensitivity, and for him because he was finally getting some pleasure. He was thick, and heavy, and slid against your folds so well you had to grip onto the desk just because your hands needed something to hold.

Every now and then, you could feel the tip at your entrance where he’d pulled back a little too far, and the first time he did it your eyes shot open in panic. “Not in - ah! - not inside! Please! He’ll s-see.”

The Cardinal groaned, pushing forward involuntarily and sighing at the feeling of your wetness coating him. “I won’t.” He reassured you. “I want to, though.”

“You can’t!”

“I know. You th-think he’s watching, Angel?” The Cardinal chuckled as he picked up the pace. “You think your god is watching one of his angels get - fuck! - ruined by a son of Satan?”

You felt your hole clench around nothing. You shouldn’t - but you did.

“Good,” the Cardinal continued, holding onto your hips to help him use you, “let him see. I want him to see what happens when he neglects his creations. When his creations discover themselves. Fuck, you’re so wet!”

Your back arched further, pressing your hips against him more firmly. You leaned back, allowing your shoulders to hit the wall behind you and rest against the brick, as much as your tied wings would allow anyway. He watched your body jiggling as he rubbed against it, wondering how much more you’d do so when he was thrusting in and out of your virgin hole. He thought about how tight you’d be. He knew a virgin being tight was nothing more than misogynistic propaganda, but he couldn’t help but think about it. He watched your tits bounce with each thrust, and stared at the way your nipples continued to poke through the fabric, begging to be teased and bitten.

“Pinch your nipples.” He ordered.

You moved your hands up to where he wanted them and began to rub over the peaks, pinching them between your thumbs and forefingers and moaning loudly at the sensation - feeling your hole clench around nothing again. Everything he was doing to you, everything he got you to do to yourself, felt exquisite. You understood, now, why you’d watch entire civilisations descend into madness and violence just to feel the warmth of another body in the victorious afterglow. You understood why this would be a celebratory act because you felt nothing but pleasure - a high you’d never experienced before, not even up in Heaven serving the almighty.

The thought should scare you. The fact that you were turning to sin, and had done so so easily should have terrified you beyond belief. But you pinched your nipples harder, crying out as the Cardinal’s cock grazed over your clit for the millionth time, about to reach your second orgasm of the night.

The second one was just as powerful as the first, so earth-shatteringly good your toes curled again and you bit your lip so hard, you could taste your own blood. Your whole body tingled under your touch and his, barely registering his groan before you felt something wet on your pubic mound and dripping down your labia onto the table below you. You sat up and looked, finally seeing him in his entirety. The Cardinal had orgasmed, too, except his was much messier. Your body and his was covered in the whiteness that had spewed from him, and while you didn’t know the name, you knew that it was needed to bring life into the world.

The Cardinal was red-faced and panting from the exertion, as were you. Both of you spent and clear headed.

Clear headed.

Your mind began racing, thinking about what you’d just done. When the passion faded, a flood of contradictory thoughts and emotions swept over you along with a wave of clarity. You noticed the Cardinal’s laboured breathing and his conflicted expression of vulnerability and satisfaction. You realised that what you had just shared was more than just physical pleasure; it was an intimate moment between two creatures who had previously been bound by circumstance and desire.

But as the reality of the situation settled in, so did the weight of guilt and uncertainty. You couldn’t ignore the implications of what had transpired in the wine cellar. Despite the intense connection you had felt in the heat of the moment, you knew deep down that this was not how things were meant to be. You were an angel, a child of the Almighty and a being of righteousness, and he was a vampyre—a man of the cloth, sworn to uphold the debauchery of his Satan’s might.

As soon as the Cardinal’s eyes met yours, you could see the same turmoil in them. He was obviously thinking about the consequences of what you had done. Now that the lines between you had been crossed, you had to deal with the fallout.

When you looked at the potential repercussions of your sin, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. How would this affect your relationship with him, which was already tense? What about the Sister, who would be furious after learning everything the Cardinal had revealed to you?

What about your God? How disappointed He’d be if He saw you now, nothing more than a whore for the Devil? Giving yourself so willingly to him despite all of the Almighty’s teachings… letting Lucifer into your heart when you should have cast him out.

But in the middle of all of this chaos, there was also a moment of brief relief from the bonds that had held you captive for so long. For a split second, you had given in to lust and accepted the forbidden fruit of passion.

The Cardinal grabbed a serviette from one of the shelves and cleaned you both up, before straightening himself out again. He watched you, saw your demeanour shift back to the wariness you used to have when he first let you out of the cage. You couldn’t ascertain his thoughts, but he knew you were absolutely regretting what had just transpired between you.

One thing became obvious as you sat there, trying to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions whirling inside of you: the relationship between you and the Cardinal would never be the same. The friendship that had been formed in the wine cellar had changed your lives forever, for better or worse. You had no choice but to wait and see where fate would lead you as you faced the uncertain future that lay ahead.

That morning, as you both made your way into his chamber and he’d removed the restraints from your wings, you willingly crawled into your cage, curled up, and hid yourself from his view. You didn’t get much sleep that day.

Prev./Next

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springdayautumnmoon · 1 year

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My current RPG power rankings

(Disclaimer, I am still a zoomer to this genre don't be mean)

Tiers are ordered for the most part. The higher tiers I'm pretty certain about, but as you go down I put less and less thought into ordering them so don't take them too seriously. Also bear in mind, some of these games I haven't played in several years, especially the ones in the bottom tier. These are being judged based on how I think I'd feel about them today, even if I did enjoy them when I was younger.

S+ TIER (Crystalline perfection):

Xenoblade Chronicles

Super Lesbian Animal RPG

Deltarune (When it's finished, probably)

S TIER (Excellent):

Xenoblade Chronicles 3: Future Redeemed

Xenoblade Chronicles: Future Connected

Fallout New Vegas

Deltarune (as is)

A TIER (Really good):

Xenoblade Chronicles 3

Mother 2

Undertale

Live A Live

Xenosaga Episode 1: Das Fluten Duten

Mother 3

B TIER (Good):

Xenogears

Yakuza 7: I Refuse To Call This Series "Like a Dragon"

Final Fantasy VII

Get in the Car, Loser!

Xenoblade Chronicles 2: Torna the Golden Country

Mother 1

The Elder Scrolls 5: Skyrim

C TIER (Alright):

Xenoblade Chronicles 2

Fallout 3

Fable: The Lost Chapters

D TIER (Boring):

Xenosaga Episode 2: Englisch Ist Mein Lieblingsfach

Pokemon Leaf Green

Fable 2

#to be updated #mother #undertale #deltarune #slarpg #xenoblade #other stuff #xenogears

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angelix133 · 1 year

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El mundo gamer

Durante bastante tiempo ha sido complicado señalar cual fue el primer videojuego, principalmente debido a las múltiples definiciones de este que se han ido estableciendo, pero se puede considerar como primer videojuego el Nought and crosses, también llamado OXO, desarrollado por Alexander S.Douglas en 1952

Los años 80 comenzaron con un fuerte crecimiento en el sector del videojuego alentado por la popularidad de los salones de máquinas recreativas y de las primeras videoconsolas aparecidas durante la década de los 70

En los 90s llegaron entregas como

Resident Evil

DOOM

Half-Life

Super Mario 64

Metal Gear Solid

The Secret of Monkey Island

The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

Silent Hill

Siendo Tetris para la gameboy la mas vendida en su epoca

En el 2000 Sony lanzó la anticipada PlayStation 2 y Sega lanzó otra consola con las mismas características técnicas de la Dreamcast, nada más que venia con un monitor de 14 pulgadas, un teclado, altavoces y los mismos mandos llamados Dreamcast Drivers 2000 Series CX-1.

Microsoft entra en la industria de las consolas creando la Xbox en 2001.

Nintendo lanzó el sucesor de la Nintendo 64, la Gamecube, y la primera Game Boy completamente nueva desde la creación de la compañía, la Game Boy Advance. Sega viendo que no podría competir, especialmente con una nueva máquina como la de Sony, anunció que ya no produciría hardware, convirtiéndose sólo en desarrolladora de software en 2002

algunos eventos de los videojuegos a lo largo de los 2000 a 2009 fueron

04/02/2000- Los Sims salen a la venta

31/01/2001- SEGA abandona el desarrollo hardware

23/11/2004- Sale a la venta World of Warcraft

27/04/2005- Nintendogs consigue un 40/40 en la Famitsu

15/09/2005- Desvelado mando de la Wii

8/05/2006- Sony anuncia que PlayStation 3 valdrá 600 dólares

12/12/2006- Dragon Quest, anunciado para DS

10/07/2008- Apple lanza la App Store

14/07/2008- Final Fantasy XIII, también para la 360

25/03/2009- Los videojuegos, declarados bien cultural por el Congreso

en 2011 salieron Títulos como 'Killzone 3' (PS3), 'Crysis 2' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC), 'Conduit 2' (Wii), 'Rage' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC), 'Dead Island' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC), 'Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC, Wii), 'Resistance 3' (PS3), 'Battlefield 3' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC), 'Gears of War 3' (Xbox 360) y 'Homefront' (PS3, Xbox)

Lanzamientos en 2011

Uncharted 3' (PS3), 'Batman: Arkham City' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC), 'inFamous 2' (PS3), 'Deus Ex: Human Revolution' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC), o 'Assassin's Creed: Revelations' (PS3, Xbox 360, PC)

y el lanzamiento del que hoy en dia es uno de los juegos mas queridos por la comunidad MINECRAFT

2012

ZombiU.

Spec Ops: The Line.

Journey.

Escape Plan.

Far Cry 3.

Mass Effect 3.

Halo 4.

Borderlands 2.

FNAF

2013

Grand Theft Auto V.

Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag.

Pokémon X/Y.

Gone Home.

Animal Crossing: New Leaf.

The Last of Us.

Pikmin 3.

Bioshock Infinite.

2014 lanzamiento del play4 y xbox one que debutaron por todo lo alto este año que termina. La primera siguiendo su tendencia de ser "la consola para jugadores", la segunda con una apuesta más arriesgada pero igual de atractiva unificando juegos con televisión digital y muchas opciones de multimedia

2015 donde call of duty black ops lll fue el juego mas famoso de ese

2017

1.) God of War (PS4, Sony Interactive Entertainment)

2.) Red Dead Redemption 2 (PS4 / Xbox One, Rockstar Games)4). Detroit: Become Human (PS4, Sony Interactive Entertainment)

5.) Marvel's Spider-Man (PS4, Sony Interactive Entertainment)

6.) Battlefield V (PS4 / Xbox One / Windows, Electronic Arts)

7.) Fortnite

2020

Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Plataforma: Nintendo Switch

Astro's Playroom

DOOM Eterna

Final Fantasy VII Remake

Microsoft Flight Simulator

Ori and the Will of the Wisps

The Last of Us Parte II

Valorant

acompañado del lanzamiento del play station 5 y el Xbox series X/S

2023

proximos a estrenarse

Marvel's Spider-Man 2 (PS5)

Super Mario Bros. Wonder (Switch)

Cities: Skylines 2 (PC)

Metal Gear Solid: Master Collection - Volumen 1 (PC, PS5, Switch, Xbox Series X/S)

The Lord of the Rings: Return to Moria (PC, PS5)

Ghostrunner 2 (PC, PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X/S)

Alan Wake 2 (PC, PS5, Xbox Series X/S)

EA Sports UFC 5 (PC, PS5, Xbox Series X/S)

Jusant (PC, PS5, Xbox Series X/S)

ARK: Survival Ascended (PC, PS5, Xbox Series X/S)

Phasmophobia (PS5, Xbox Series X/S)

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redtutel · 5 months

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How Likely is it For Each Pokemon Spin-Off to Come Back? (Part 3)

Part 2 here

Part 4 here

We’re covering Pokémon Snap, Bandai Namco’s contributions to the series, Pinball and its connection to Picross, Puzzle League, and the GOAT itself, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon

Pokémon Snap

The Original Pokemon Snap was made by HAL Laboratory, which never touch the concept since. However, after Bandai Namco built a relationship with the Pokemon Company, they decided to bring back Pokemon Snap, and they even got the blessing from the original game’s producers.

What established this relationship? Well…

Pokken Tournament

Bandai Namco Studios is a large developer and publishers that have multiple games coming out each year. They also recently set up dedicated teams to work on Nintendo games: Studio 2 and Studio S. However, neither team seems to have worked on the Pokemon Games, according to their website, so I’m not sure how much of a factor that’d be.

Both Namco Pokemon games sold decently well, and were well received, and the developers seems to enjoy making them in interviews. I can’t find what director Haruki Suzaki’s been up to, so I assume he’d be free to work on more Pokemon games if he wants to. So I’d say it’s pretty likely that Pokken and Pokemon Snap will return again someday.

Pokémon Pinball

HAL helped with the first Pinball, and Jupiter Corporation worked on both. They also made a ton of games for the Pokemon Mini, which I didn’t think I’d need to mention. These days, Jupiter makes Picross and only Picross. Including

Pokémon Picross

The latest Picross game came out last year, and this year they came out with a game that brought over puzzles from the 3DS games, so they’ve definitely been busy. Their most recent crossover was Picross Lord of the Nazarick in 2019.

Unless another Pinball game developer takes interest, I don’t think new Pokemon Pinball will be happening anytime soon.

I think a new Pokemon Picross is possible though. They don’t make crossovers much, but they do still make a few every now and then

Pokémon Puzzle League

Pokemon Puzzle League and Challenge are crossovers with the Panel De Pon series. Panel De Pon is made by Intelligent Systems, which has been busy with Paper Mario, Warioware and Fire Emblem lately. The most recent game in the series was a mini game within Animal Crossing New Leaf that was added in 2016, but I can’t find a source as to whether or not Intelligent Systems made it. The last game they for sure made was Planet Puzzle League in…2007!

Yeah this series is dead. But as long as Intelligent Systems is around, I think it’s possible a new Puzzle League could be a Z-project. But would it have Pokemon in it? The odds are very slim, but not zero. I’d love to see the Paldean Gym Leaders in a Puzzle League Game. Or even more exciting, Liko Roy and Dot! Or maybe a Pokemon theme as part of Panel De Pon 99

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon

My love for this series rivals the main series, and it even has my favorite game of all time. Anyway, Good Vibes gaming put out a great video on the history of Mystery Dungeon, which goes beyond Pokemon.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon had a game per generation for 4 generations straight! And then another one in Gen VIII! Why did it skip Gen VII? 2017 had Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2, and 2019 had a remaster of Chocobo Mystery Dungeon, so maybe they didn’t have time. The rate of Mystery Dungeon games did go down in the 3DS era, so maybe these games are taking longer to make then they used to.

The latest game in the series came out just this year, with Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island. It also marked a 4 year gap for the series, the longest in its history. So this particular Spike Chunsoft Team has been busy.

But I believe they’re working on a new Mystery Dungeon game as we speak, this series keeps making games at a steady rate. Fingers Crossed they’re working on a Pokemon Mystery Dungeon specifically. I really want one that represents the current generation, but I also really want Explores DX! I’d love to revisit my favorite game of all time in a new way!

Next time, we talk about Creatures Inc.

#Pokemon #Pokémon #my writing #pokémon snap #pokken tournament #Pokémon pinball #Pokémon picross #pokémon mystery dungeon

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icarusavery · 1 year

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I beat Pokémon Generation I (Pokémon Red specifically) for the first time in many, many years over the last week or so. 26 hours of playtime, about 75 Pokémon species caught, and a bit too much grinding and inventory management, and I became the Indigo League Champion. Now I wanna get out some of my thoughts.

---

For context, I started with Gen IV (Diamond) back in 2008 or so, and I've played most games in the mainline series, with the only ones I haven't being Gen V Part 2 (B2W2), Gen VI (XY specifically, I have played Alpha Sapphire), Gen VII Part 1 (SuMo), and Gen IX (ScVi).

Firstly, I wanna comment on my team, because some certain quirks of Gen I - namely the limited selection of Pokémon, the prevalence of certain types and the absence of others (both in the wild and on enemy teams), and the classic Generation I Spaghetti Code - led to me picking some Pokémon I likely wouldn't give a second thought. For instance, in terms of Kanto starters, I've always been a Squirtle fangirl (turtles are one of my favorite animals IRL) but I ended up going with Bulbasaur because of a certain quirk of Gen I's code: high-crit moves basically always crit, so Razor Leaf (normally a 55 base power move that's not worth all that much) suddenly became effectively a 165 base power gatling gun of death that killed basically anything that didn't resist it in one clean shot. Anything that Razor Leaf couldn't take out, Body Slam would clear away with ease (great for all those Psychic-types with glass bones and paper skin.)

I filled out my party with a Gyarados, a Nidoking, and an Alakazam (I used PKSM on 3DS to evolve it into an Alakazam, I don't have a spare 3DS to trade with). The Gyarados was a bitch to train, but it eventually became my coverage champ: with Surf, Ice Beam, Thunderbolt, and Strength, nothing could stand in its way (especially with base 100 Special, which for those who don't know, Special is both your Special Attack and Special Defense.) Nidoking wasn't exactly a powerhouse - its stats are somewhat middling, with only a 75 base Special and a 92 base Attack - but it soon became my best choice for dealing with many of the Pokémon that could take a bit of a beating from my special attackers. As a physical sweeper, it's great, especially once you snag Earthquake from Silph Co. and get a 100 base power (150 with STAB), 100% accurate Ground-type move that annihilates basically anything that doesn't resist or is immune to Ground. With all the Poison-types in Kanto, it was a massive help, and that applies doubly to Alakazam. It doesn't have the insane coverage of Alakazam in Gen II, where it's the reigning Elemental Punch-Out League heavyweight champion, but it does have Psychic, which mops the floor with basically anything that looks at you funny, and with 135 base Special and 120 base Speed, it could reliable OHKO virtually any threat that wasn't just as stronk as it (namely, other Psychic-types).

For my HMployee, I picked up that traded Farfetch'd, since it could learn Fly and Cut. Surf and Strength went to Gyarados and Nidoking (Nidoking only getting the latter owing to its meager Special) while Flash went to a Pokémon I raised for a bit but eventually boxed, my Butterfree. Butterfree was honestly a Pokémon I had no idea would be as useful as it was, but damn if it didn't get the job done. I also decided to raise a Geodude for a short while (though ultimately dropped it, Rock-Ground wasn't that essential for me) and caught a Dugtrio basically just to use for Lt. Surge before boxing it. My Hall of Fame team also included a Moltres, but all he did was die a couple times so I could revive another Pokémon I wanted instead, and he Fire Blasted Blue's Exeggutor to death, which was pretty pog of him.

There were also a lot of Pokémon whose designs I found myself enjoying in Gen I a lot more than I remember, even if they never made it into my team. Grimer's adorable, even if I think Muk is just a straight downgrade and so I never want to evolve Grimer. Gen I Pikachu honestly looks way better than he ever did once they slimmed down his previously football-shaped body. Even Gen I Electrode looks (marginally) better, thanks to him having more defined eyeballs instead of just having some pinpricks.

---

Now that my team comp is out of the way, let's talk about gameplay. It's basically just what you'd expect from Pokémon, just a little bit less. No abilities, no held items, no genders, no Special Defense, and moves are still divided into physical and special categories based on their type rather than the individual move. The battle system still works about how you'd expect, albeit with some considerable jank, and it's still a fun experience overall. I did find myself seriously underleveled by endgame - my lv48 Venusaur was my highest leveled Pokémon compared to Blue's lv65 Charizard - but it never felt like I was out of my league. The challenge mostly ranged from "piss easy" to "fairly easy" to "below average" and only got a bit braintaxing once I hit Victory Road, barring a few one-off encounters, like a Rocket grunt in Silph Co. with a lv28 Hypno that did my shit in for a bit owing to some nasty curse from RNGiratina. The early game was the worst part - having to grind for a few hours in Viridian Forest just to get my Pokémon in a state where I could reasonably fight Brock. Other than that, no part of the game felt overly grindy or annoying.

The main problem was mostly dungeon design - I'm glad this game even has dungeons, unlike some others (cough gen viii cough) but they're often a bit undercooked, most of them reusing the same cave tileset (literally five of thirteen dungeons, and four of the ten required dungeons use the same cave tileset, and they're also generally the longest dungeons outside of the eleven-story megadungeon that is Silph Co.), and the main "challenge" in basically all of them is just some variety of "do a maze" - many of them relying on teleporter puzzles to work (and good god do those teleporters get annoying.) Other than that, the ride is a mostly smooth one, though I do wish the game was a bit better at telling you where to go next. It's not impossible to figure things out and the game does often point you in a direction to go at least, but more than once did I finish up an objective and then go "okay, well now what?"

---

Gen I does have some considerable problems outside of dungeon design, sadly, and most of them are related to quality-of-life features. Your inventory is almost comically small - a mere 20 items. Organizing it is a Sisyphean task, owing to its complete lack of any kind of tabs and the wonky item swap controls, but worse than that is the hilarious bad PC inventory. You can store items in your PC if they don't fit in your bag, but 1). you need to have space in your bag to pick up an item, it can't go straight to the PC, and 2). you only have 50 spaces in your PC. Given you can't get rid of old, useless Key Items like the S.S. Ticket or the Secret Key, this basically means you're shit out of luck for collecting things like TMs or whatnot. It's a use-it-or-lose-it kinda game, and you're constantly having to get rid of old items to fit new ones.

There's also a distinct lack of polish in Gen I compared to future titles. Beyond the graphics being a bit… primitive (poor Gen I Geodude, he's not doing great), there's a lot of little things that add up. There's no descriptions of moves or even a way to see their power and accuracy in-game, forcing you to have a guide open to check basic information like that. HMs don't activate when you interact with a relevant object, but instead require you to go and select the HM from your party menu. A lot of little things like that really do detract from the experience and make it feel very janky compared to what it could be.

I'll also say that Kanto is certainly not my favorite region. It's not got a lot that's particularly interesting about it - especially in terms of unique landmarks. The aesthetic of every town is damn near identical - liking owing to hardware limitations - and no route really stood out as unique, unless you want to count Viridian Forest. The Pokémon in the region are also often pretty bland, including Rattata, Pidgey, and Venomoth, but this applies especially to evolved forms. Frequently an evolved form is just "the previous form, but bigger" (see: Poliwhirl into Poliwrath, Mankey into Primeape, Grimer into Muk, the whole damn Pidgey line), or it's just "add another thingy" (see: Doduo into Dodrio, Koffing into Weezing, Magnemite into Magneton, Diglett into Dugtrio - though I actually really like that last one.) The worst offender is probably Electrode - I really like Voltorb, it's a neat take on an RPG mimic, but Electrode is by far one of the laziest designs in the whole damn series.

---

All that said, I still had fun with Pokémon Red. It's a fun experience that, while certainly janky as all hell, has a certain charm to it that future Pokémon games don't quite have. That's not to say it's better than future games, oh God no - I'd still rather play RSE or ORAS or USUM over this - but for what it's worth, it's a good time.

On a scale of 0 to 10, 0 being "actively harmful to society," 1 being "basically unplayable," 5 being "completely middle of the road, neither good nor bad," and 10 being "as close to perfect as possible," I'd give it a 6.5/10, maybe a 7 if I'm in a good mood. It's worth your time, just don't be surprised if it's a bit dated or clunky.

#pokemon #pokemon red #pokemon gen 1 #pokemon gen i #kanto #avery reviews a thing

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royalpain16 · 2 years

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QUEEN MARY’S COUNTY OF SURREY TIARA

05.15.2022 by THECOURTJEWELLER

Our May survey on the jewels that belonged to May of Teck—better known to history as Queen Mary—continues today with another wedding gift that was dismantled to make two spectacular royal tiaras.

When Princess Victoria Mary of Teck married Prince George, Duke of York in July 1893, she received a haul of wedding gift jewelry that was certainly fit for a future queen consort. Among the gifts displayed at White Lodge, her parents’ home in Richmond, was this stylized diamond floral fringe tiara. On Monday, July 3, the Earl and Countess of Lovelace had presented the tiara to Princess May and her parents at a garden party held at White Lodge. Lord Lovelace was the Lord-Lieutenant of Surrey, and the gift was offered on behalf of the people of the county (and notably, he was also the widower of Ada Lovelace, the famous computer programmer and daughter of Lord Byron).

During the presentation, the Evening Standard reported that the Duke of Teck told Lord Lovelace that the gift was “an additional testimony to the good feeling shown by the people of Surrey to members of his family.” The Duchess of Teck added that “she hoped she might add her thanks to the people of Surrey on behalf of her daughter, who would still often be seen among them.” (I find it interesting that the Duchess spoke on May’s behalf when May was standing right beside them, holding the new diamond tiara in her hands.)

Funds for the tiara (pictured above as part of an illustrated list of the wedding presents) had been collected from Surrey residents by subscription, with Lovelace’s second wife, Jane, helping to organize the effort. Contemporary newspaper reports described the tiara as designed “in the Empire style. The centre is formed of a tapering upright, two and three-quarter inches in length, with scroll sides, holding large single diamonds, and supported by a fleur-de-lis base surmounting a band of single diamonds. On each side of the centre there is an upright ray, with three important single brilliant. The same design is repeated in gradations throughout, and has an unusually graceful effort, whether worn as a tiara or as a necklace. The gift, which cost £1,200, contains over 300 brilliants, many of large size.”

Mary wore the tiara setting of the piece for a famous series of portraits taken in London by W. & D. Downey in March 1901. The photographs were taken ahead of Mary and George’s eight-month tour of the Empire, visiting all corners of the globe following the accession of King Edward VII. In the images, May still wears a dark dress and gloves, as the court was still in mourning for Queen Victoria. Indeed, an entire wardrobe of black clothing was made for her to wear on the tour.

Here’s one more photograph from the March 1901 session, showing off the design details of May’s gown quite nicely. You’ll also spot a diamond leaf brooch pinned to her bodice, and a diamond floral bracelet on her right wrist. I believe the diamond flower was later reset as part of a new pearl bracelet, now worn by the Queen.

With the dark ensemble, she wore diamonds and pearls, including the County of Surrey Tiara. Other jewels worn in this portrait session include her eleven-row pearl choker necklace, with its distinctive diamond spacer sections, and the Kapurthala Stomacher, a grand diamond ornament given to her as a wedding present by the Maharajah of Karpurthala. The choker necklace is now worn by the Duchess of Gloucester, while the stomacher was redesigned and now belongs to the Queen.

After Queen Victoria’s death in 1901, George and May had held the rather clunky title of Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York. At the end of their imperial tour in November 1901, King Edward VII offered his thanks by upgrading them to the title of Prince and Princess of Wales. The new Princess of Wales wore the necklace setting of the Surrey Tiara a few months later during her father-in-law’s 1902 coronation festivities.

In this portrait from the time of the coronation, she pairs the Surrey Necklace with two new-to-her jewels: the Love Trophy Collar (made by Garrard in 1901) and the Boucheron Loop Tiara (made in 1902 using diamonds that had been given to her by De Beers during the imperial tour). The Love Trophy Collar is still in the Buckingham Palace Vaults today, but the Boucheron Loop Tiara was later broken up (to make the Delhi Durbar Tiara).

Eventually, May decided to have the County of Surrey Tiara dismantled as well. In 1913, the piece was broken apart, and the diamonds were used to construct and improve other jewels. Thirteen of the largest diamonds from the Surrey Tiara, for example, were used to replace the upright pearls which had once sat atop the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland Tiara (worn here by the Queen in 2004).

#tiaras #queen mary #queen elizabeth ii #county of surrey tiara #boucheron loop tiara #girls if great britian and Ireland tiara

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januaryembrs · 3 years

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AD ASTRA - CHAPTER SEVEN

CHPT VII. THE PROTECTORS

Description: Tatooine proves as unforgiving as you remember it as Mando is betrayed by his temporary Bounty Hunter companion.

Length: 5.5k

main masterlist

AD ASTRA MASTERLIST

Din Djarin x Jedi!reader series. Friends to lovers, (Somewhat) slowburn, female!reader, JEDI!READER, possible smut, jealous!mando, reader has problematic childhood, fluff, saviour complex!mando, canon star wars characters mentioned, Obi wan x padawan!reader, dad!obi wan, general star wars bloodshed etc

Chapter Triggers - Blood, needles, stitching of wounds, death of Toro Callican, tough childhood, lost family, use of blaster/g*n.

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA

“To the stars through hardships”

The following day was spent finishing up the final adjustments to the Razor Crest, double and even triple-checking that everything was in order so you didn't have to return back to this maker-forsaken planet any time soon. Peli Motto was surprisingly caring, and damn was she sassy for her older age, but you would wholeheartedly admit you hated the feeling of the gritty Tatooine air and the woman alone couldn’t compel you to stay any longer than you had to.

Satisfied the job was complete, you spent the rest of the morning playing sabacc with the pit droids who were quaking like a leaf the second they had seen you sit down to play, thinking you'd been as unfriendly as Mando had been. Luckily, you were not and instead sipped a glass of water greedily and entertained the child bouncing on your knee.

He thumbed, well clawed, over your cards as you held them in front of him. You smiled, showing him the values of each one and letting him pretend he had a say in which one you put down, receiving a happy babble from the baby when he thought he was playing himself.

By the time it had reached mid-day you realised the child was getting antsy, choosing to try and chew up the deck you held out to him instead of merely stroking them gently as he had been doing before. You sat, confused by his sudden change in attitude when the kid's mood took a turn for the worst and he began squealing, bottom lip quivering pitifully.

"What is it, kid? I changed you about an hour ago." You received no response obviously, "How about we play a game, huh? Do you want to play a different game?"

"Maybe he's hungry" Peli offered, though the tone she'd said it in meant that she already knew that was the case and she didn't want you to feel dumb for not realising it yourself.

"Hungry? I already fed him twice today" You said incredulously, confused as to why this kid was so ravenous suddenly.

"Kid of his age should probably eat around four or five times a day I'd say," Peli replied, collecting the wet cards up from his needy, barely-toothed mouth.

"Five times? Kriffing hell, kid. Where do you put it all?" You asked, picking the child up and resting him on your hip the way that felt unnatural to you, but it was how Peli had shown you. You stood from the table, ready to take the kid aboard the ship where you had kept some leftover broth. The mechanic spent the free morning explaining to you some basic meals suitable for a kid at his stage of development. You didn't even realise there were things children of his size should never eat in case they were to choke on them. You knew that kids were a handful, but you hadn't bet on so many do's and don'ts with the little monsters.

"How about it huh? You want some food?" At the sound of a meal, the child quietened down, his cries becoming a low whimper as he snuggled into your neck to watch you prepare his meal for him. You could feel something wet dripping down your collar bone, and you weren't sure whether it was tears or drool or even snot from the menace's tantrum, but you figured it was best you didn't know. As much as that thought grossed you out, you were just happy you had been able to satiate the child's needs. You heated the leftover stew over the small makeshift hob the Mandalorian had in the hull of his ship, feeling the child's sniffles simmer down as the meaty smell met his button nose and instead he began chittering happily, realising he was about to be fed.

You laughed as his mood swung around, taking the food off the heat and allowing it to cool down before you handed it to the child. Peli had nearly had a heart attack when you had almost given him a piping bowl of the freshly made broth last night, scolding you for nearly burning the child's little grabby hands in the mixture.

You waited a moment, setting the kid up on a crate and tucking a piece of cloth Peli had suggested you fashion into a bib inside his brown robes. you watched him squeal happily as the bowl was placed in front of him. You had to hold it yourself due to how big it was and hand him the tiniest spoon you could find, though it was still much too oversized for the poor boy.

You watched him practically dive into the food, chuckling at how hungry he indeed had been and thankful you had Peli's guidance to keep you from burning the excited child. Mando would have killed you himself if you had.

The child had finished his meal in less than five minutes flat, sitting back contently and burping. You laughed, wiping the remnants from his giggling mouth and standing to wash up the cutlery you'd used. You had never thought you would enjoy the domestic side of life, being much too wrapped up in self-pity and fear for the past few rotations to even comprehend having children or a husband (or even wife for that matter). Settling down wasn't really an option for you since day one. The Jedi teaching was instilled into you that attachment and the strong emotions that came with it had the potential to lead down a dark path, and you'd witnessed it yourself in the angry yellow orbs Anakin had glared at you with the day he mercilessly killed the younglings. Every single one except you.

"The Emperor has big plans for you, Y/N," You still heard his empty voice echoing in your head, and the thought made you shudder.

If only it were possible to bury away awful memories like those. But instead, ones like that had been haunting your brain since you were a young girl.

You were mid-reminiscing when you heard a small creaking sound coming from behind you, assuming it was just the child trying to get down from the crate you had set him on. But something was wrong. Something felt wrong.

And then the feeling of the force signature was back, only stronger. Invading every single one of your senses as though you were standing right in front of the man himself. Your nose was filled with his familiar smell of the soap Anakin always used alongside a more natural sweaty undertone he carried after a long day of training or fighting, a scent you hadn’t known since you were seven years old. Some part of him was there with you, for what reason you weren't sure.

But before you had any chance to question it further, the sharp frame of a blaster collided with your temple and you felt your vision blank for a moment, before it came back in a single flicker and died out like a broken light. The last thing you heard was the kid screaming, sending a sick feeling to your gut before your consciousness was completely stolen from you altogether.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Din stalked his way into Peli's workshop, part of him hopeful that you had been able to take care of this Toro Calican guy who had double-crossed him, but his heart sank when he saw the area empty. That only worried him. He saw the older mechanic in a set of cuffs by the entrance to his ship, eyes wide at his arrival. But before he could ask her what exactly had happened Toro came strolling down the ramp, the child in one arm and a blaster in the other. Not only did the sight of the kid now in his grasp scare him, but the fact you were at the charge end of the weapon, hands raised in surrender and a trickle of dried blood leading down your cheek raised red flags in his head, and his leathered hands curled into fists at the sight.

"Took you long enough, Mando." The man smiled devilishly, and Din watched you scoff at his words, "Looks like I'm calling the shots now, huh, partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em or this pretty lady a' yours is gonna get real messy,"

The Mandalorian hesitated, thinking over his few options carefully. He guessed the only reason you hadn't taken the guy out already was that he had the child and one small mistake could be fatal for the innocent little guy. He stared at your solemn face briefly, wondering if you were okay seeing you was clearly wounded, before lowering his weapon and throwing it on the sandy floor.

Toro pushed a set of handcuffs into your palm and shoved the blaster in your back to gesture towards the beskar clad man.

You said nothing. You were thinking of all the ways you would have slaughtered the man behind your were it not for the child being in his hands. You couldn't be stupid and reckless, not when his life depended on it.

"Cuff him," He ordered, raising the blaster towards the Mandalorian as you did as you were told, walking over to stand behind him so you could reach his own surrendering hands. There were questions you needed answering like who the hell was this guy, and why was he picking a fight with you. Instead, you said nothing. You could say nothing, not right now at least, and raised your hands to grasp his wrists gently, cuffs ready to lock around him. "You're a Guild traitor, Mando. And I'm willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape."

You almost growled in anger when you saw the stranger waving his weapon towards the child's face, were it not for the fact you noticed a flash charge in Mando's hand, clearly there for you to see.

Bingo. You were glad the man under the suit was as smart as he was buff. You could have kissed that cold helmet out of gratitude for his quick thinking. You didn't, but you very well could have. Instead, you reached up and gently slipped it out of his palm as a way of telling him you understood the plan.

"Fennec was right. Bringing you in won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary." Toro's finger inched towards the trigger meaning you had no time left to waste. You squeezed your eyes shut to be sure you didn't damage them in such a short range and detonated the flash.

The assailant grunted, covering his eyes at the sudden blinding light but shooting in the general direction he'd seen Mando standing. By the time the glare had simmered down to a low lustre, his two captives were nowhere to be seen, leaving Toro Calican reeling back in fright.

He knew he was absolutely kriffed.

He caught a glimpse of Beskar to his right, but he was much too late. Mando had shot him dead in the chest, leaving his body to fall off the ramp with the kid still in hand. The child made a noise of fright, seeing the ground coming fast and hard, but was gladly surprised when he felt two arms snatching him out of the bad man's grasp.

The child looked up at his saviour, giggling and throwing his arms around happily when he saw the eyes that had been watching over him for the past few days while his other carer was gone.

"Hey, little guy," You spoke affectionately and he simply chittered in response. You hadn't thought you'd grow so attached to the young Jedi, much too afraid of what his powers meant for you than anything else, but seeing that bastard waving a blaster in his face had worried you infinitely.

Peli came up behind you, also cooing and shushing the child as Mando checked over Toro's body, looting anything of value.

"You need to get that head of yours looked at, missy," The curly-haired woman said, stroking the child's ears gently. The trail of blood had mostly dried up at this point, but the gash where the blaster had connected with your temple looked red and angry.

"I'll see if the kid’s okay first," You said, your eyes not leaving the child's sweet smile directed at you, "And that hunk of Beskar too, I guess," You said, pointing over your shoulder at Mando.

"So I take it you didn't get paid?" Peli asked, somewhat dejectedly as the Mandalorian came strolling over as if on cue, you immediately handing the child to the comfort of his arms. His gaze was locked on the nasty cut on your head, and he was left racking his brain if he had any Bacta-shots in the small medkit on board the crest. His annoyance at your irresponsibility the day before was long forgotten. He would have been a hypocrite for chewing your out about trusting a stranger to watch the child seeing as the man he had trusted nearly killed all four of you.

The burly man pulled out a pouch of credits that he had unremorsefully snatched from Toro's body, tipping out the contents into the mechanic's wrinkled hands. Her eyes widened comically; this was much more than it would have cost him for the repairs, especially since you had helped with a significant amount of the work.

"Will this cover me?" Din asked, and you sensed a teasing tone to his words. It was hard to spot at first, what with his few words and lack of expression, but over the past two months you had known him, you'd grown to be able to see the subtle wit in his humour.

"Yeah, yeah this should cover you," Peli nodded, a little stunned for what to say, before turning to you and smiling smally, "I'll see you three around then. You better get that stubborn head of hers fixed up, mister," The woman patted you on the back, neither of you really being the type to hug but you understood the intent behind it anyway. Your odd trio made your way up the ramp, turning around and catching Peli's somewhat sad gaze. You waved to her, a grin plastered on your face.

Perhaps not all of Tatooine was bad after all, you mused as the door shut on the sandy planet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"Would you quit being such a baby?" Din chastised as you winced at the sharpness of the needle against your temple, "I'm nearly finished now,"

"I probably am a baby compared to you, old man," You gasped as one particular bolt of pain shot through your, gritting your teeth tightly. Truthfully, you were used to the tough love treatment from Shenzi, but it didn't make the process any less painful. You cursed Mando for forgetting to buy more bacta pouches, particularly for a man of his profession, but there was little you could do now except bite your teeth together to prevent the hisses of pain escaping any more.

"I'm only a couple of years older than you, wise-ass," The cold man responded somewhat teasingly, wiping a small trickle of blood from your cheek, much more gently than you would have expected from such a heavy-handed guy, "I'm done now anyway,"

You stood, inspecting his handy work in the mirror across from you in the refresher. You had been sitting in the small cubicle for the past twenty minutes, bickering like children about his technique as a medic. He only knew enough to get by, but he too was used to a lack of sympathy when it came to scrapes and pains and thus didn't have much for you back.

"Hmm. Not too bad. Could have tried to avoid the hairline though, gramps," Mando huffed, throwing the bloodied rag he'd been using to clean your wound at your face, making you snicker at his theatrics.

"You're on your own next time, baby," Din hadn't even realised what he'd said until it slipped out, trying to tease you for the fact you were behaving quite childishly and instead giving you an affectionate pet name. He was relieved for the fact you laughed it off, tending to the child who had been staring at the two of you in wonderment, but it still didn't quell the sudden shyness he had felt.

He didn't know what about you had sunken itself deep into his flesh, but he had noticed himself much more playful and light-hearted than he used to be before you happened. Then again, when he was alone on the Razor he didn't have much to be particularly giddy about. Before you and the kid, his life had simply been about providing for his covert, one bounty at a time.

You made him laugh more than he had in a long time and for that alone he was grateful, but he found himself looking forward to your friendly quips towards one another, the way you would tease him like a child though he knew you could snap him in two given the chance.

"How about you, sweetheart? That beskar hold up or do I need to play nurse droid too?" You teased, sliding down off the crate you were using as a seat and collecting your nightclothes, fully intent on passing out in your makeshift bed and leaving him to sort it out himself. Still, you found yourself waiting for his reply, wanting to make sure he actually wasn't injured and needed your help.

"Nope," Mando replied shortly, holding the child out to you as he whined and grabbed his hands out for your, the child himself more than ready for bed. Being held hostage was tiring work for a little green fella like him, "Kid wants you though, you'd think he'd have got tired of you by now."

That was one thing he'd noticed in the few hours you’d been back on the crest, the way you held the child, tending to his every little cry and coo over third meal you had made together for yourselves and the kid. You looked very out of place and uncertain of your actions as you did, but the kid seemed to quieten down quicker than usual as though you had understood his problem. You had seemed very disconnected up until this point, leaving him to do most of the care work which he hadn't minded. If anything, it reminded him of being back in the covert. Mandalorians were ruthless hunters and killers, but their main priority in the covert was each playing their own role in raising the foundlings, Din having done so himself ever since he was a boy.

He wasn't complaining. Actually, he thought the sight was sweet of you actually taking an interest in the child.

He had tried pushing down the thoughts that had immediately sprung to his tired, touch-starved mind when he realised you looked so exquisite holding a child. Yes, the kind of thoughts that fuelled naughty holo-films or the thing that had him turning a shy cheek to you when he had called you baby not ten seconds ago.

You took the little boy from him, holding him out at arms' length to see his big, round eyes stare at you tiredly. He cried out impatiently, making you chuckle and bring his head to rest on your shoulder, remembering Peli's advice that a short temper usually meant tiredness.

"You tired, squirt?" You asked affectionately, smiling when you heard no reply and instead felt the boy's head fall limply on your shoulder.

"I think that's a yes," Din teased, speaking as quietly as his vocoder would allow. He watched you smile toothily, stroking the child's head gently, "You seem different with him." He noted though he was thinking about how his heart warmed to see you be so affectionate, something he hadn't seen in the time he'd known you. You would throw around pet names jokingly, as would he, but you were quite wooden when it came to physical affection. Though, who was he to talk? He wasn't exactly the most welcoming of men, quite literally being wrapped in a thick metal wall, all day every day.

"Well, the little bugger's grown on me." You smiled at the man behind the visor, feeling oddly vulnerable that he was staring at you so intensely, probably waiting for you to make a mistake and to drop his child or something, you thought cynically.

"Do you remember much about your family?" Din didn't know where he had gotten the balls to ask you such a personal question, knowing how touchy of a subject it was for both of you. It had just slipped out, part of him beginning to wonder if this was how it was going to be for a while. Just the two of you and the baby, traversing the galaxy with mischief usually following.

In all honesty, you were probably one of the only people Din felt comfortable doing so with. Part of you understood each other in a way no one else had. Even Omera, as much as Din had wanted to drop everything and stay with the gorgeous Sorganese woman, living in peace drinking spotchka for the rest of his natural life, hadn't fully accepted what his creed meant to him. But you did. He had always been holding his breath around Omera, his obvious amorous gaze on the woman meaning he was much too afraid to say the wrong thing, much too delicate with her as he would be with a lace glove.

It was different with you, who was now thinking over his words solemnly. He felt like he could be himself around you, as though he could say exactly what came to his mind and you would have been thinking the same thing.

"Bits and pieces. I was taken in by my father when I was very young so I never knew my birth parents. But he was good to me. He worked as a tutor of sorts on Coruscant, and so I attended school there where he could keep a close eye on me," You went quiet for a moment as you thought about the half-lie you'd told, "How about you?"

"I knew my parents before they passed, but it all changed when the Mandalorians found me," The man started, looking at the floor as he recounted his time growing up on Nevarro, "As children, we didn't need to wear helmets and so we shared rooms with each other, got taught the ways of the Mandalore until we were old enough to swear by the creed. After that, we were assigned a cabur, a protector, who taught us how to fight properly." You didn't have the heart to tell him you already knew the way they were raised from all the times you pestered Shenzi about it, and that you had meant more about him in particular. But you found solace in hearing him speak about something so tender to him, so you didn't mock. Instead, you nodded quietly waiting to see if he had more to say. It was a rare occasion you heard his deep voice talk so much with no teasing tone either and you found it soothing.

"So we're this kid's caburs then, huh?" You hadn't bothered to soften your accent when speaking the Mando'an word, once again being well versed in the culture from the teachings of the cold, midnight haired woman you had formerly known. Din looked at you for a moment, thinking over your words with a new heat in his chest hearing you describe yourselves that way.

"Yes, I suppose we are," He replied shortly, letting that be an end to the conversation as the kid was well into the land of nod by this point. You smiled at the thought softly, thinking how perfect the word rolled around in your mouth. You, by far, weren't ready to label yourself the child's mother, not sure whether Mando would even like you to do so or if you would ever be that, and so the thought of settling for a protector or guardian suited you well.

You went to sleep that night in your little quarters you’d fashioned out of a cupboard near the cockpit, knowing the child was tucked up into his hammock fast asleep, with Mando probably the same knowing how long a day he'd had. You couldn't help but smile to yourself when you realised for the first time in years you weren't alone anymore. You were a protector, a companion. A Cabur.

You had found a purpose with your little tribe of three. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・

I might do a chapter next or in the future as a prequel or chapter about little headcanons/scenes from living with obi wan and then shenzi so you get an idea of what their relationship is like in more detail, how do we feel about that? Would anyone actually be interested in reading that? More will be revealed in the following chapters but I was just thinking in case anyone wanted any gaps filling in?

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years

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VALERIE - Part VII. (Harry Styles)

wow, its crazy we are on part 7 already! not much left of the story! thank you for the kind words on the previous post, i really need the encouraging, i’ve been having some rough days lately and they always make me smile, so please, if you enjoy this part, make sure to lik/reblog/leave a comment or basically do ANYTHING! please!

word count: 5.8k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Staying up until six am was definitely one of your worst decisions, especially at a house with kids who do not know boundaries and do everything as they please.

You growl in irritation when you hear muffled screaming from outside. Can’t a girl just sleep in?!

“Mmm,” you groan, burying your face further into the pillow.

“Harry! Harry!” Margaret’s bossy voice echoes out in the hallway and your eyes immediately snap open.

Sitting up you realize that you’re still in Harry’s room, more specifically in Harry’s bed, but he is not there next to you anymore, however Margaret’s footsteps are getting threateningly close. She can’t find you in Harry’s bed, she has such a big mouth, your whole family will talk about it in no time and that just can’t happen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you mumble in panic, jumping out of the bed and before you could process the running shower’s sound, you run into the bathroom and shut the door closed right before Margaret barges into Harry’s room. You even lock the door, knowing well she is nosy enough to come in there as well.

“Harry! Good morning!” her voice comes from the other side of the door and you rest your forehead against it huffing. That was close.

“Good morning to you too, princess!”

Harry’s voice comes from right behind you and it sends a shiver down your spine as your eyes widen. You didn’t even think that he might be in here, and apparently, he was. Turning around you find yourself standing almost toe to toe with a very much naked Harry who probably just got out of the shower. Your lips part first at the sight of him, then you suck them into your mouth, not even daring to move.

“Come and play with us!” Margaret demands. Harry’s green eyes burn into you intently, even when he answers your niece.

“Will be out to play with you in a minute. Go and grab the cards while I finish in here,” he calls out and for a few seconds you forget to breathe, trying your best to keep your eyes up on his face.

His skin glistens in the light, still damp from the shower, droplets are running down his tattoo-covered chest and arms while his wet hair is falling into his forehead. He is surely a spectacular sight so early in the morning and you almost hate how your body reacts to him without your consent.

Margaret’s little footsteps move over to the door before she runs out and you hear the door shutting, but the two of you still stand at the same spot. His arm reaches past you and you suck on your breath even though he doesn’t even touch you. Calmly he grabs the towel that was hanging on the door beside the door and he comfortably wraps it around his waist, eyes still burning down on you.

“I don’t mind you watching, but I think she is gone, so…” A small smirk is hiding in the corners of his mouth as he watches you snap out of your trance.

“I, uhh--yeah. I’ll just… go. See you l-later I guess,” you stutter finally turning around and walking out of the bathroom, Harry’s soft chuckle following you.

You make your way out of his room quite fast and sprint back to yours. Once the door is shut and locked behind you, back pressed to it you slide down to the floor in desperate need to take a few deep breaths.

There’s no use to try and convince yourself you don’t find Harry attractive. That would be absolute bullshit, because then you wouldn’t have slept with him years ago in the first place. What frightens you however is that your newly funded friendship with him is taking away the hatred that kept you away from him all these years and you are starting to see him in a completely different light. And that cannot happen, not when you think your life is changing for the better.

You have Marcus now. You have a balanced, healthy relationship with a guy who seems to be the perfect fit for you. There’s no need to ruin everything because your stupid crush on Harry is making a comeback.

“Get your shit together,” you tell yourself pushing yourself up from the floor, shaking your limbs out a little. You have an entire day ahead of you spent partly with Harry, you can’t lose your mind.

***

The weather is oddly warm, so following breakfast almost everyone moves outside to the backyard to soak the late december sunshine in. Aunt Teresa and your mom are taking a look at the little flower pots at the corner of the terrace, taking guesses what kind of plants will push out from the ground once spring comes. The kids are running around playing tag, making the best out of the huge backyard and endless possibilities of outside games while you sit with Lily and Jeremy, Valerie in your arms, feeling a little tired after her breakfast. Rosa put her into an overall and a fluffy hat, only her sweet little face is out, a hint of blush tinting her cheeks.

From the corner of your eyes you see Harry walk out and he stops next to you, squatting down so he can take a look at Val.

“Hey there, Princess,” he grins widely and Valerie starts babbling to him, as if she was having a whole conversation with him while he hums along, pretending to understand every word.

If you are being honest, seeing him for the first time at breakfast after your bathroom encounter, especially with that smug smirk playing on his pink lips, you needed a few moments to get your thoughts straight, but luckily, Harry didn’t tease you about it, not even for a second, so soon enough your nerves settled and you were able to feel comfortable around him again.

Valerie reaches out for him and he looks into your eyes asking for permission to take her from you.

“All yours,” you smile letting him lift her up from your arms and holding her in a sitting position he leaves to slowly walk around the backyard and show her the many wonders of nature around us.

“He is so good with kids,” Lily speaks up and tearing your eyes away from Harry, you see that she is looking in his way too.

“He is,” you nod turning back in his direction. He is showing her a dried out, brown leaf and she is watching him twirl it around in his hands as if it was one of the seven wonders.

“I’m glad Rosa chose him to be the godfather. I’m sure he and Valerie will be best friends. And she has you too,” Lily smiles at you. “You two are the perfect godparents.”

You just smile at her shyly before turning your gaze back to Harry. He catches you watching and murmurs something into Valerie’s ear before taking her little hand and making her wave in your way. Chuckling you wave back and mentally you not how you want to remember this picture forever.

After lunch you help Teresa and Etta wash the dishes while Jeremy, Lily, Joe and Harry settle for a round of scrabble at the dining table. When you’re done in the kitchen you join them, pulling a chair next to Harry you take a look at his letters.

“I have absolutely no idea what to do,” he sighs, fingers tapping on the edge of the table.

“You have a word, and you could make it go through the triple,” you tell him, Joe and Jeremy looking up at you with a mixture of shock and anger.

“Hey, no help from outside!” Joe points at you, but you just chuckle taking Harry’s letters into your hands.

“Is it your turn?” you ask him before you’d put them down to the board. Harry nods and curiously watches you put his letters connecting to a T that was already there.

“Crottle?” Harry asks reading out the word once you are finished, the E ending up on the tile that triples the score of the word.

“I’m 99 percent sure it’s not a word,” Jeremy huffs, clearly annoyed Harry just took the lead with your word.

“It is,” you smile proudly, leaning back in your seat.

“And what does that mean?” Joe chimes in.

“It’s a kind of lichen. In Scotland they use it to dye wool. Look it up, I’m telling the truth,” you chuckle seeing the doubtful looks.

“It is, look,” Lily tells him, handing her phone over, she probably just searched for it. Jeremy reads it then hands her back her phone, mumbling something under his breath before adding the scores to Harry’s column.

“How do you know this word?” Harry asks with a soft chuckle, but you just shrug your shoulders, folding your arms on your chest.

“I don’t know. Probably heard it somewhere.”

“Clever,” he smiles and as he turns back to the board his hand reaches over and gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh above your knee.

It’s such a short and insignificant action, doesn’t even last longer than just a second before his hand moves back to the table, but you find yourself thinking about how his touch felt even minutes later, when it’s his turn again. This time he has an idea of his own, luckily you don’t have to help him, because if he asked you to, you couldn’t have come up with anything, mind still stuck on that one touch.

Before dinner the kids find a few huge bags full of fallen leaves that must have been collected through the fall and they are quick to make a big mess, gathering the leaves into one enormous pile and they start jumping into it, no matter how many times their parents tell them to stop making such a mess. They just keep telling them that they’ll clean it up.

“I used to love doing that,” you smile at them, sitting outside on the veranda. Harry turns to you grinning.

“Why don’t you join them?”

“What?” you chuckle. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Stop being so lame! Come on, I’ll jump in with you,” he offers and standing up he holds out a hand for you, but you just shake your head.

“I’ll pass.”

Harry rolls his eyes and you really think he’ll just move on, but the next thing you know is that he throws you over his shoulder, running down to the pile of leaves as you scream from the top of your lungs, demanding to be let go.

“Oh, I’ll let you go, don’t worry!” he chuckles and you already know you stand no chance against him. His strong arm is curled around your thighs too tight, there’s no way you can escape.

“Harry! Please don’t thro--Fuck!” you scream when with one swift and elegant move he throws you off his shoulder, tossing you right into the middle of the pile, leaves flying everywhere as the pile swallows your body.

You instantly hear the kids' laughter and when you push the leaves out of your face you stare up at a grinning Harry who is very much satisfied with the work he just did.

“Very funny and mature,” you grimace, but can’t hide the smile that tugs on your lips.

“It is. Come on,” he chuckles holding out a hand with the intention of helping you out of the pile, but you have a better plan.

Getting a strong grip of his hand you pull on him forcefully, hoping you have enough strength to pull him out of his balance and bring him down into the pile beside you.

Luckily, your plan works out. He wasn’t expecting your revenge, so he easily loses balance once you pull on him, making him fly straight into the pile next to you, leaves rustling under his body, making an even bigger mess than it was before.

“Hah! I bet you did not expect this!” you scoff once his head pops out from under the dry leaves. He shoots you a murderous look before launching right at you and soon enough a whole fight blossoms where the two of you are constantly throwing handfuls of leaves at each other, trying to bury the other into the pile.

“Okay, okay, stop!” you shriek when your hair is full of crumbles and you’ve been rolling around for quite a while. Harry is kneeling beside you, hands full of leaves, ready to attack any moment.

“I only stop if you say that you’ll never plot anything against me and that I’m your one and only true king.”

“What?” you snort. “I’m not saying that!” Harry is quick to throw one handful of leaves right into your face making you scream again. “Alright! Alright! I will never plot anything against you!” you hold your hands up, trying to stop him from throwing the other bunch from his hand.

“And?”

“And…” You look at him, holding your laughter back as he patiently waits for you to finish. “And you are my one and only true king.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose before finally throwing the leaves away. He holds a hand out for you, but you stare at it hesitantly.

“Don’t be such a baby, I’m not gonna do anything,” he rolls his eyes, but you see the hidden smile on his lips. At last you take his hand and he helps out get op from the ground. Your pants and hoodie is filled with dirt stains and crumbles, it’s gonna take a while to get them out of your hair as well.

“You two are worse than the kids!” Lily laughs as you and Harry basically do a walk of shame, getting inside the house all dirty and muddy.

“All his fault!” you say, holding your hands up innocently.

“Uh-huh, no one believes that,” Harry snorts.

“Since I look like this because of you, I’m gonna take a shower in your bathroom. I need the luxury to wash this all off myself,” you state walking down the hallway.

“Only after I’m done in there.”

“Hey!” you snap pointing a finger at him. “The least you can do is to let me go first!”

“You have to beat me, Love,” he smirks and the two of you launch at the same time.

You knew you’d stand no chance, since you have to get all your stuff in your room before running into his, but you still tried. Holding your towels and showering and hair products to your chest you barge into his room, only to find it completely empty, the bathroom door closed.

“Ah, fuck you!” you call out with a frustrated growl, but just as you are about to leave, the door opens and Harry peeks out.

“It’s cute you thought you could beat me,” he chuckles walking out and holding the door open for you. Walking past him you stick your tongue out at him before you shut the door behind you and after a moment of hesitation you lock it.

It feels great to wash the dirt off yourself and when you step out of the shower you feel like a new person. You wrap your hair up into one of the towels before curling the other one around your body. Gathering your things you hold everything to your chest tightly, this way holding the towel as well as you walk out of the bathroom.

Harry is lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone when his eyes snap over to you. He doesn’t shy away from taking a long look at your uncovered legs as you walk around the bed heading to the door.

“The bathroom is all yours, thanks for the chance,” you smile shyly.

“So you’re not staying to wash my back? Not a nice way to treat your king!” he teases you, but you just roll your eyes at him before walking out of his room and shutting his door.

Even though you know it was just a joke, your mind wanders over to the scene where the two of you shower together, hands touching and feeling up each other. You suck on your breath, shaking your head, trying to get rid of the thought as you lock yourself up in your own room while Harry is probably over at his bathroom, just getting under the hot water.

***

After dinner you all gather in the sunroom, wrapped in fluffy blankets, drinking tea or hot chocolate, Aunt Monica of yourse scotch, and you start opening gifts one by one, watching everyone’s reaction.

Of course, the kids go first, tearing their presents’ wrapping apart as they reveal all the new toys. Dolls, board games, books and video games, they are truly spoiled, but with such a big family they can always expect some pretty cool gifts. Then it’s the adults’ turn. Sitting on the sofas and armchairs, you hand around the boxes and watch each other get surprised.

Your mom and dad have bought you a beautiful gold ring, one you’ve been talking about for ages after the first time you saw it at a shop. Rosa and Steven ordered a bunch of books from your Amazon wishlist and framed a montage of you and Val, it was truly a sweet gesture.

From your cousins and aunts you get some clothes and gift cards to your favorite places, just what you’ve been needing.

“These ones are the last,” Rosa smiles up holding two not too big gifts, an excited smile pulling on her lips. “They are from Valerie, to her amazing godparents.”

She hands one to you and one to Harry and you place it carefully on your lap. Exchanging a look with Harry the two of you start opening the wrapping paper at the same time. As soon as the glittery paper is gone you can’t help the smile that pulls on your lips. Seems like Rosa had a thing with framing pictures this year, because you are looking down at a photo of you, Valerie and Harry from a few weeks ago.

It was taken in their backyard and you’re holding her in your arms, smiling widely as Valerie is giggling happily at her mother behind the camera. Harry is standing close to you, one arm around your shoulders, his other hand holding Val’s tiny hand. He is hunching down a little to lessen the height difference between the two of you, a genuine smile plastered across his handsome face.

“Thank you,” you breathe out feeling a little sentimental about the photo. Seeing the three of you so happy and carefree in one picture reminds you how much things have changed since Valerie’s arrival. She really is the reason why you and Harry are now… friends. Yes, you definitely see him as a friend now instead of an enemy.

Gift opening ends and you all just stay there in the sunroom, talking and laughing, but your eyes wander over to Harry, because there is one gift left that hasn’t been opened. You bought it quite randomly and you don’t even consider it a real Christmas gift, but you’ll give it to him anyway. Later, when it’s gonna be just the two of you.

“You know, if someone showed me this picture a few months ago I would have told them it must be photoshopped,” Harry chuckles sitting down next to you. The kids have whined long enough to play one round of UNO where everyone plays. You were the second one to get rid of all your cards, Harry following you in the next round so now you are left out of the game that is seemingly taken very seriously by everyone. Loser has to clean up all the wrapping paper, so no one shies away from throwing in their best cards.

Harry is holding the framed photo in his hands, he got the exact same one, but in a darker colored frame.

“Crazy, right?” you chuckle. “I think it’s our first photo together since the wedding,” you say thinking about it.

Harry nods realizing you’re right. You had one photo taken at the wedding. When Rosa and Steven were having their first dance they asked everyone else to join them at the end and Harry was quick to ask if you wanted to dance with him. Naturally, you said yes, so you slow danced, not even noticing that the photographer snapped the moment when your cheeks were pressed together, your arms hugging his neck as he held you close by your waist.

You still have that photo saved on your phone, though it brought you quite some pain when you first saw it, the memories from that morning flooding back to you ruthlessly when you scrolled through the pictures a few weeks later.

“It was time we had a new one,” he smiles at you and that smile means a lot to you. It shows that your newly funded friendship is just as important to him as it is to you. It’s nice to know he is not just acting so Rosa wouldn’t worry about the two of you. You successfully overcome that stage by now.

It’s nearing midnight when the party dies down and everyone slowly starts to return to their rooms. You do the same, using Harry’s bathroom to shower without even asking him. He just chuckles when you walk in. He is already in his night clothes, scrolling through his phone.

When you’re done you’re walking past his bed, but before you leave you stop at the door.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” his eyes move up to you.

“I have something for you.” Harry looks at you a little puzzled, but you don’t go into details, just go back to your room.

Just as you were expecting, he follows you and by the time you throw your dirty clothes into your suitcase he is standing at the door. You grab the little box and sit on your bed gesturing to him to do the same. Curiously eyeing you, he closes the door and joins you, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“I got you a Christmas present,” you tell him smirking in excitement, and you see his face completely fall.

“Fuck, Y/N, I didn’t know you would, so I didn’t get you anything. If I would have known--”

“Shush, it’s not even a real gift. Just a little something that reminded me of you.”

You hold out your hand, palm facing up as the box sits in the middle. Harry hesitantly glances down at it, back at you and then his eyes settle on the box as he slowly takes it. You watch his fingers work on it, gently opening the little paper box that you didn’t even wrap.

The little silvery keychain slides out into his palm and he examines it with furrowed eyebrows, reading the two words it forms.

“For fuck’s sake,” he chuckles shaking his head when he finally realizes what it says, holding his gift up that reads ‘twerk it’ and it even lights up if he switches it on at the back.

“I just saw it and it screamed for you, I couldn’t not buy it,” you laugh, enjoying the scene a tad bit too much. It’s a subtle reference to the night in the bar when the two of you sang together at the karaoke machine and Harry swore he did not twerk in the middle of the performance, but you remember it clearly, no need to deny. You’ve been teasing him with it since then constantly and thought it would be funny to take it a step further.

“I’m… speechless,” he chuckles, carefully sliding it back into the box. “I’ll put it to my keys. I’ll always know which one is mine,” he shakes his head.

He stays in your room and the two of you are quick to start chatting about anything and everything. Harry tells you about Christmases at his family and you think how fun it all sounds, wishing you could go with him tomorrow.

“When are you leaving in the morning?” you ask. The two of you are now comfortable in bed, an unspoken agreement has been settled that you’re sleeping together again. Deep down you were hoping for it to happen again, but you weren’t sure how it would stand with Harry, you thought he only agreed to it last night because you both were drunk. But when he slid under your covers when he was in the middle of a story you smiled, knowing he won’t be leaving tonight.

“Um, I have to leave before seven. My flight is at eleven and I need to get my stuff from my place before I head to the airport,” he sighs, fidgeting with the pillowcase as you are both lying on your sides facing each other. “Do you have a lift back home?”

“Yeah, already talked to Aunt Monica,” you nod into the pillow.

Harry lets out a yawn and buries his head deeper into the pillow, making himself comfortable. His eyes flutter closed and you use this chance to take a good look at his peaceful features. He truly is a beautiful man, no doubt about that. You wonder if he realizes that about himself too, or he thinks otherwise.

Reaching to the nightstand you turn the lamp off, bringing darkness over the room and turning back to face Harry you try to relax and fall asleep, but it’s not really working. There are too many thoughts whirling around in your mind and quite a few questions you want to ask him.

“Harry?” you whisper, hoping he hasn’t fallen asleep.

“I still think you have a good ass, if that’s what you want to ask,” he mumbles keeping his eyes closed. You let out a chuckle.

“It’s not.” You see his eyes open as he glances at you waiting for you to tell him what’s on your mind. “Why were you such an asshole that morning?”

Out of everything you’d ever wanted to ask, this is the most burning question you’ve been dying to find an answer to since day one. Now, after such a wonderful time spent around each other your confusion about his actions just grew way bigger and you just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. This side of him you got to see during the holidays is nowhere near the one that kicked you out of his room in the morning, but a lot like the one you first met the night before. The switch between these two sides was so fast and unexpected, you couldn’t wrap your head around it, not even years later.

His jaw clenches and he stays silent for quite a while, you start to think he won’t even answer, but then he speaks up.

“I… don’t know. I panicked.”

“From what? Me?”

“I just…” Sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth he bites into it harshly before letting go of it. “This is how it has always been. This is what I always do.”

“With other girls?” you ask and he nods.

“But I do realize that I was an asshole. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ve never felt more humiliated.” Your voice dies at the end as you feel your throat closing up. Even after all these years you still remember clearly how his words made you feel.

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” he breathes out and reaching out he quickly pulls you into his embrace. You bury your face into his chest without a second thought as you try to swallow your tears. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

“You could have just told me you didn’t want anything serious. It wouldn’t have been that painful than being treated like a slut,” you mumble, his hands soothingly caressing your arm over his stomach and your back.

There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

It’s the last thing that’s spoken. Once you have gotten it all off your chest, you feel relief and calmness coming over you as Harry keeps gently stroking your skin. Sleep comes to you faster and easier than ever.

It’s bright outside when you turn around in bed, arm reaching out, expecting to find Harry lying next to you, but it’s just the empty mattress. Taking a deep breath you open your eyes and realize that you in fact are alone in your bed. Checking the time on your phone you see that it’s already past nine, meaning that Harry might even be at the airport by now. Pulling your knees up to your chest you stare down at the side of the bed where Harry slept. You can’t help, but feel disappointed he didn’t even say goodbye, but he probably just didn’t want to wake you up.

You shuffle over to his room and it stands empty. Sitting down to the edge of the bed you stare out the window, an unsettling feeling boiling inside you as you think about Harry flying away from the country. It’s silly, you know he is just going to see his family, but selfishly you wish he stayed there with you the whole time and the two of you went back home together.

Walking back to your room you see that you have a new text. It’s from Harry. Opening it you see that he just sent you a video. It’s nothing else, but his hand as he locks his home’s door, turning the key twice, his keychains and other keys jingling in his hold and that’s when you see the gift he got from you yesterday. You can’t push your smile down.

“Have fun at home! X” you write him quickly, and he is quick to like the message, no reply.

It’s a whole blur between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, you spend time with Marcus, clean up your apartment for the new year like you usually do, get some work done between the holidays and go furniture shopping with Rosa and Steven. In just a blink of an eye you are getting ready to head out to this lowkey party Marcus invited you to tag along for New Year’s Eve. You didn’t really have plans, you usually did something spontaneous with one of your friends or colleagues. Last year you were with Rosa and Steve. She was already heavily pregnant so it was a rather quiet evening, you were in bed by one am.

It seems like this year is gonna be a little more excited, but you are just not that thrilled to celebrate, if you’re being honest, but you go anyway.

It really is just a small gathering with food and drinks in a nice apartment downtown. Everyone seems nice and Marcus makes sure to include you in every conversation so you don’t feel like a stranger.

When the clock strikes midnight he pulls you close and kisses you softly as everyone cheers and glasses a clinking around you. Soon enough the phone calls and texts start flowing in and everyone seems caught up in all the well wishes as the first minutes of the new year pass by.

Harry’s name is the last one to pop up on your screen, but he is calling you instead of just shooting you a text. Excusing yourself you step out to the balcony so you can hear him.

“Hey,” you breathe out answering the call.

“Happy New Year!” he cheers, some chatter coming from somewhere behind him and you wonder who he is celebrating with.

“Happy New Year,” you smile wrapping your free arm around your figure. You should have brought your coat with you. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, but no one wants to do karaoke, I have the lamest friends,” he tells you chuckling and you let out a laugh.

“Should have invited me too.”

“Definitely,” he huffs. “That way my face could have been the first thing you saw in the new year!” he jokes and you laugh letting your head fall back.

“I truly missed out on that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, shame.” You hear someone call out his name and he shouts back a quick reply. “I gotta go, but happy new year again, Y/N,” he softly says into the phone, his voice sweet like honey.

“Happy new year, Harry,” you smile before the line cuts off.

Your gaze wanders over to the bright city lights ahead you and a thought runs over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

Why did you enjoy this short conversation with Harry way more than the kiss you shared with Marcus at midnight?

***

You watched your sister and her new husband slow dance in awe. The bright shine in her eyes was something you were sure you’d never forget. You’ve seen the fill up with tears so many times, you wished you’d only see her like this for the rest of her life.

After the second half of the song couples started joining them on the dancefloor, including your parents and cousins with their spouses. A soft sigh escaped your lips that you wouldn’t share this feeling with them, but then a hand appeared in your sight.

“Want to dance?”

Harry was smiling down at you with so much charm, you felt a little stunned at first, just staring up at him with parted lips before you realized that he was waiting for your answer.

Sliding your hand into his, you tried to ignore how the warms of his palm made you shudder and after you stood up he walked you right to the dance floor, the two of you turning to face each other. It took a few seconds to figure out where your hands went, but eventually it all came together and you started dancing, chests pressed together and you were very aware of his hand on your waist. You’d had a few champagnes by now and you could definitely feel your cheeks heating up from being so close to him.

“I have to tell you this is my first time slow dancing with a guy,” you admitted biting into your bottom lip. Harry turned his head a little so he could look into your eyes.

“Really? What about school dances?”

“I was… I never had a proper date at them. Usually went with my friends.”

Harry’s eyes lingered over your gaze and for a heart beat, they wandered down to your lips before his green orbs returned to your eyes. You felt his hand squeeze your waist gently as a smile tugged on his lips.

“It’s an honor to be the first one.”

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yes7erdays-archive · 10 months

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tag drop

#〉 INBOX ₎ keen to move on.#〉 ABOUT ₎ i worry that love is violence.#〉 APPEARANCE ₎ a mystery wrapped in an enigma.#〉 AESTHETIC ₎ every inch a queen.#〉 MUSIC ₎ the whispering of the stars.#〉 MUSINGS ₎ i saw the world from the stars' point of view and it looked unbearably lonely.#〉 MANNERISMS ₎ is there a word for screaming genius that sounds modest and a tiny bit sexy?#〉 SERIES VII ₎ that was leaf one.#〉 SERIES VIII ₎ never met a sentence she didn't want to interrupt.#〉 SERIES IX ₎ when it is dark enough you can see the stars.#〉 ARC ₎ first as a tragedy; second as a farce.#〉 GOVERNESS ₎ it's smaller on the outside.#〉 OSWIN ₎ i'm not a dalek.#〉 TIME LADY ₎ death upon her eyes.#〉 POST-CANON ₎ she made devastation look like riches.#〉 BG3 ₎ influenced by literature and poetry.#〉 STAR TREK ₎ i'm from blackpool. i work in outerspace.#〉 INTERACTIONS ₎ missing some primal instinct. self defense or self preservation.#〉 CLARA && TWELVE ₎ duty of care.#〉 CLARA && ELEVEN ₎ hello there stranger.#〉 MIRCARSTEIN ₎ i kiss you ⸻ across hundreds of thousands of years.#〉 XIIDOCTOR ₎ the secret to love ⸻ secrets and trust.#〉 CHLOEVLINDER ₎ a morning without you is a dwindled dawn.#〉 TEMPESTCS ₎ i love you with a touch of tragedy and quite madly.

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butterflies-dragons · 3 years

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Lúthien and Sansa

Art credit: Lúthien by Aerankai and Sansa by denvertakespics

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

Summary:

1. Beauty

2. Flowery names

3. From dusk to dawn

4. Little birds: nightingales

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

6. Big cats and big dogs

7. Bat and wolf imagery

8. Singing and dancing

9. Other parallels

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

1. Beauty

Ah, Lúthien! Ah, Lúthien,

more fair than any child of Men!

Oh, loveliest maid of Elvenesse,

what madness doth thee now possess?

Ah, lissom limbs and shadowy hair

and chaplet of white snowdrops there;

oh, starry diadem and bright

soft hands beneath the pale moonlight!

She left his arms and slipped away

just at the breaking of the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lúthien inherited her beauty from her mother Melian:

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

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

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

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

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

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

2. Flowery names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sansa is also a flowery name:

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

—GRRM about The Stark Sisters’ Names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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

3. From dusk to dawn

Lúthien is also called Tinúviel:

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

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

Tinúviel literally means "Daughter of Twilight".

Beren first saw Lúthien dancing and singing in the twilight:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

More about Sansa and the dawn here.

4. Little birds: nightingales

Tinúviel is also a term to refer to the nightingale:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More about Sansa and the nightingale here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran II

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

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

"Do all the birds have singers in them?"

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

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

5. Big birds: eagles and falcons

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

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

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

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Beren and Lúthien were rescued by great eagles:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Sansa also wishes to have falcon's wings:

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

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

6. Big cats and big dogs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

And who was Balerion the black tomcat?

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art credit: "Luthien and Huan" by Elena Kukanova

But because Huan, like Ghost, is mute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

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

7. Bat and wolf imagery

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

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

And then the giant bat rode upon the werewolf:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now there he laid

before their feet, as dark as shade,

two grisly shapes that he had won

from that tall isle in Sirion:

a wolfhame huge—its savage fell

was long and matted, dark the spell

that drenched the dreadful coat and skin;

the werewolf cloak of Draugluin;

the other was a batlike garb

with mighty fingered wings, a barb

like iron nail at each joint’s end—

such wings as their dark cloud extend

against the moon, when in the sky

from Deadly Nightshade screeching fly

Thû’s messengers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What wife?"

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

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

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

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

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

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

8. Singing and dancing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

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

—A Feast for Crows - Arya II

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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

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

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

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

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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

9. Other parallels

9.1. Beautiful hair

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Lúthien wore fragrant flowers in her beautiful black hair:

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

of elvenflowers in elven-dell.

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

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

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

Behind closed doors

they sat, while Beren told his tale

of Doriath; and words him fail

recalling Lúthien dancing fair

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

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

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

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

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

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

9.2. Radiant

Lúthien is often described as radiant:

[...] and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

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

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

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

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

Sansa is described as radiant by Jon:

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

9.3. Skinchanging

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

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

Sansa is a skinchanger as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

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

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

Now tell me, what is that if not skinchanging?

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

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

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

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

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

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

9.4. Hades and Persephone imagery

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

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

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

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

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

These quotes exempt me from further explanation:

The wind of winter winds his horn;

the misty veil is rent and torn.

The wind dies; the starry choirs

leap in the silent sky to fires

whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer

through domes of frozen crystal clear.

A sparkle through the darkling trees,

a piercing glint of light he sees,

and there she dances all alone

upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white

caught all the rays of frosted light.

She shone with cold and wintry flame,

as dancing down the hill she came,

and passed his watchful silent gaze,

a glimmer as of stars ablaze.

And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,

and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,

shrilled as she wayward passed along.

A frozen brook to bubbling song

awoke and laughed; but Beren stood

still bound enchanted in the wood.

Her starlight faded and the night

closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.

Thereafter on a hillock green

he saw far off the elven-sheen

of shining limb and jewel bright

often and oft on moonlit night;

and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,

and soft she sang as once before.

Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,

and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.

A night there was when winter died;

then all alone she sang and cried

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon as Hades:

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

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

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

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

And in A Dance with Dragons, Jon actually died.

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

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

Sansa as Persephone:

Persephone and Sansa are renowned beauties.

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

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

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

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

Sansa is deeply associated with flowers, thus with spring.

Sansa rejected the pomegranate from Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.

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

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

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

Read more about it here:

Some thoughts on Sansa and Jon, by Tze

The Pomegranate Imagery - Jonsa, ASOS.

Sansa as Persephone

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

9.5. Daeron the minstrel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.6. Foes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10. Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Singing

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

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

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

Dancing

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X.

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

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

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

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

“Anon?” teased Jon.

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

“My lady should dance with her husband.”

—Jon, A Dance With Dragons

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

Later he had the following thought:

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

Bat and wolf imagery

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

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

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

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

Hades and Persephone imagery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beauty and the Beast imagery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Endless lineage

As was mentioned before, the union of Beren and Lúthien was the first between a mortal Man and an Elven maid.

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

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

Aragorn and Arwen were first cousins many times removed and both descend of Beren and Lúthien.

In the case of Jon and Sansa, both are deeply connected to the continuity of the Stark bloodline.

I extensively wrote about Jon and Sansa and their connections to Winterfell in this post: i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my. Among these connections, here are the most noteworthy:

“The snow fell and the castle rose”

GRRM has directly associated Jon Snow and Sansa’s snow castle.

Jon and Sansa share the dream of rebuilding Winterfell, their ancestral home and seat of House Stark. This shared dream is beautifully represented by Sansa building a scale model of Winterfell out of “snow”.

What do I want with snowballs? She looked at her sad little arsenal. There’s no one to throw them at. She let the one she was making drop from her hand. I could build a snow knight instead, she thought. Or even…

[…] The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top…

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

“Drink this.” Grenn held a cup to his lips. Jon drank. His head was full of wolves and eagles, the sound of his brothers’ laughter. The faces above him began to blur and fade. They can’t be dead. Theon would never do that. And Winterfell … grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones … how could Winterfell be gone?

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

There is also the fact that Jon is heavily associated with “snow” while Sansa is heavily associated with “stone.”

Winterfell is a grey “stone” castle that is cloaked by white “snow,” like a perfect marriage.

Jon and the Wall represent the “shield that guards the realms of men.” Sansa feels stronger within the “walls” of Winterfell.

All of these images allude to the protection of a marriage, since when a groom “cloaks” his bride, it is said that he takes her under his protection.

“The blood of Winterfell”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called, or call themselves, “the blood of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was raw. He looked at them all helplessly. “She yielded herself to me.” “Then you must do what needs be done,” Qhorin Halfhand said. “You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night’s Watch.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

“What if Lord Nestor values honor more than profit?” Petyr put his arm around her. “What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?” I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This phrasing “the blood of Winterfell” implies blood lineage of House Stark, and Jon and Sansa both dream of having children that would bear the names of their siblings: Robb, Bran, Rickon and Arya.

Willas would be Lord of Highgarden and she would be his lady. She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell, Jon and Sansa not only can rebuild the castle but the Stark family.

“Children of the Mountain”

Among all the Stark children, Jon and Sansa are the only ones that are called "children of the mountain".

Soon they were high enough so that looking down was best not considered. There was nothing below but yawning blackness, nothing above but moon and stars. “The mountain is your mother,” Stonesnake had told him during an easier climb a few days past. “Cling to her, press your face up against her teats, and she won’t drop you.” Jon had made a joke of it, saying how he’d always wondered who his mother was, but never thought to find her in the Frostfangs. It did not seem nearly so amusing now. One step and then another, he thought, clinging tight.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

“You’re mistaken. I never fall.” Mya’s hair had tumbled across her cheek, hiding one eye. “Almost, I said. I saw you. Weren’t you afraid? “Mya shook her head. “I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I’m flying. We’re both laughing, laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.” She pushed her hair back. “Then one day he wasn’t. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Coincidentally in reference to two snowy mountains, the Frostfangs beyond the Wall and the mountains at the Eyrie.

The word Winterfell could mean “wintry mountain(s)” A snowy mountain is basically “stone” covered by “snow”, like a perfect marriage.

This is connected with the motif of rebuilding Winterfell and the Stark family.

You can read more about this subject (Beren and Lúthien as inspiration for Jon and Sansa) in this series of metas written by @fedonciadale back in 2018:

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 1 - the meeting

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 2 - Beren’s oath and first failure

Tolkien and GRRM - The tale of Beren and Luthien and the allusions to Jonsa - part 3 - Beren’s and Luthien’s get the Silmaril

Tolkien and GRRM - Aragorn and Arwen

11. Bonus: from real life to fiction

Lúthien was largely inspired from Edith Bratt (Tolkien's wife) and when she died, Tolkien asked his son Christopher to include Lúthien in her gravestone, as he considered her "my Lúthien."

In on of his letters (Nº 340), Tolkien said: "I never called Edith 'Lúthien' – but she was the source of the story that in time became the chief pan of the Silmarillion. It was first conceived in a small woodland glade filled with hemlocks at Roos in Yorkshire (where I was for a brief time in command of an outpost of the Humber Garrison in 1917, and she was able to live with me for a while). In those days her hair was raven, her skin clear, her eyes brighter than you have seen them, and she could sing – and dance. But the story has gone crooked, & I am left, and I cannot plead before the inexorable Mandos."

In the movie Tolkien (2019) the film recreates this scene, as you can see in this gifset.

In the same way, I believe that GRRM took inspiration from his wife Parris McBride, certain real life events and traits, and gave those to two of his heroines, Brienne and Sansa.

When Martin and McBride met, at a convention in Nashville in 1975, she told him that one of his stories, “A Song for Lya,” had made her cry. The gathering was in the free-spirited mode of the times—in an autobiographical essay, Martin notes that, when this conversation took place, they were both naked. (He does not elaborate.) He was, however, engaged to someone else. McBride went to work for a travelling circus for a while. By the time he moved to Santa Fe, in 1979, she was waiting tables in Portland, Oregon. They’d kept in touch, and after his marriage broke up they began what McBride calls a “fannish romance,” meeting at conventions and exchanging letters. In 1981, he persuaded her to move to New Mexico.

The New Yorker - April 11, 2011 Issue

And about they both being naked when they met, he later elaborates:

I met Parris for the first time at the 1975 Kublakhan in Nashville. A bunch of us were having a party in the women’s sauna and she walked in. I came to immediate attention.

Parris | George R.R. Martin

This naked encounter is compared by fans to this Jaime and Brienne passage:

She jerked to her feet as if he’d struck her, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of the thick blonde bush at the juncture of her thighs as she climbed out. She was much hairier than his sister. Absurdly, he felt his cock stir beneath the bathwater. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersei. He averted his eyes, troubled by his body’s response.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime V

We can even draw some parallels between Beren and Lúthien and Jaime and Brienne.

Like Lúthien, Brienne dances, but she dances with her sword. While Jaime, like Beren, lost a hand.

The possibility that GRRM may have used his wife Parris McBride as inspiration for Brienne and Sansa, makes a lot of sense if we consider that, according to GRRM himself, Brienne is Sansa with a sword.

But it is the mention of Parris crying while reading “A Song for Lya”, a bittersweet ending story with a radiant auburn haired beauty, what reminds me very much of Sansa.

Sansa is fond of sweet and sad songs, of bittersweet tales and stories, and she is often moved to tears by their sadness and beauty:

Sansa listened raptly while the king’s high harper sang songs of chivalry [...]

—A Clash of Kings - Bran III

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [...]

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Lady Ashara was my aunt. I never knew her, though. She threw herself into the sea from atop the Palestone Sword before I was born.”

“Why would she do that?” said Arya, startled.

[…] "Why did she jump in the sea, though?"

"Her heart was broken."

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

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

Sansa is often moved to tears at the presence of beauty, as Jon's fond memories of her tell us:

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

So, in a similar way that Edith inspired Lúthien, I believe Parris inspired Brienne and Sansa.

It is evident that his first encounter with Parris deeply impacted GRRM, so much that he took certain real life events and certain traits of his wife and gave those to two of the heroines of his magnum opus. Particularly Sansa, since she is a main character and the princess of the story, that shares parallels with powerful women from History and with important characters of classic fantasy sagas, like Tolkien's Lúthien in this case.

There you have it. Sansa is the Lúthien figure in the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire.

I'm sure there are more parallels between Lúthien and Sansa, I'm not an expert in the LOTR books, the only book I read so far is the one I used to write this post: Beren and Lúthien (2017), so maybe I will be revisiting this post in the future with more findings.

#sansa stark #lúthien tinúviel #jonsa #beren x lúthien #asoiaf #lotr #grrm #grr martin #jrr tolkien

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sage-nebula · 4 years

Note

the pokemon company be like *thinly-veiled misogyny*

To be honest, the sexism isn’t even really thinly-veiled if you think about it. Like off the top of my head:

— Professor Juniper was our first female professor, and it took until Gen V to get her. But whereas all the other professors got to stand on their own without needing anyone else, Professor Juniper had to have her father come in to provide answers to various plot occurrences that she didn’t know. IIRC, she also inherited her practice from him, which was also something that the male professors before and after didn’t have to contend with. It’s a miracle that this was averted with Professors Magnolia and Sonia in Gen VIII, both of whom are women.

— Speaking of female professors being screwed over, in Gen VII we’re introduced to Professor Burnet, whose practice specifically focuses on ultra wormholes and disturbances in space-time (which makes sense since she was previously working on the Dream Radar). Given how much of the plot concerns ultra wormholes, you would think that she would be the main professor of the story, or at least play a big part. But you’re wrong! Instead she’s only in one mandatory scene, and then is basically never heard from again. Meanwhile, Kukui shows up all the goddamn time even though his goal (to create a League) is literally meaningless in the scope of the overall plot. (And even that could have been cool if it had delved into the socio-political ramifications of what overthrowing Alola’s current system of government for another one would mean, but now is not the time to get into the failings of Gen VII’s plot. I’ve gone through that enough times.)

— Back to Gen V for a second, we’re also given two rivals in the first of the Unova games: Bianca and Cheren. While Cheren, the male rival, is taken seriously and has it talked up over and over how great of a battler he is, Bianca has her Munna stolen from her halfway through the story and spends the rest of the game talking down on herself and ultimately deciding that her father was right and she really is not cut out to be a Pokémon Trainer. Keep in mind that Bianca was the first mandatory female rival in the games, because while May could be a rival in Gen III if you played as Brendan, if you chose to play as her, both rivals (Brendan and Wally) were male. So on that note, our rivals so far look like:

Gen I: Blue Oak (male)

Gen II: Silver (male)

Gen III: Wally (male), optional May (female), optional Brendan (male)

Gen IV: Barry (male)

Gen V: Cheren (male), Bianca (female), Hugh (male)

Gen VI: Shauna (female), Tierno (male), Trevor (male), optional Serena (female), optional Calem (male)

Gen VII: Hau (male), Gladion (male)

Gen: Hop (male), Bede (male), Marnie (female)

So, let’s see. We only have two mandatory female rivals (Bianca and Marnie), as well as two optional female rivals (May and Serena). Meanwhile, we have twelve mandatory male rivals, as well as two optional male rivals (Brendan and Calem). To cap this off, while the mandatory male rivals (outside of the useless Kalos ones) are always treated as strong, competent battlers who have important roles in the story, our two mandatory female rivals, well . . .

Bianca: See above

Marnie: Gets battled a whole grand total of two times and has basically zero impact on the plot despite the fact that her brother is the only Gym Leader who didn’t give into Rose’s vision for how Galar should operate and use Dynamax evolution

And even when it comes to the optional ones, since Brendan is treated as the default MC by TPCi, that means May is the one who gives up training to go be a professor like her dad. (Which is the exact thing they basically did to Bianca in Gen V, except she studies under Juniper instead.) Serena at least keeps battling if she’s the rival, but jeez.

So to say there’s definite gender inequality where the rivals are concerned is a bit of an understatement.

— Moving away from the rivals, let’s talk about villains! We didn’t get a female villain until Gen VII with Lusamine, and even then she wasn’t allowed to stay a villain because I guess Game Freak doesn’t want to accept the fact that women can be evil, too. Moreover, all of Lusamine’s achievements come from the men in her life, and all of her motivations revolve around her husband. To spell it out:

- She inherited the Aether Foundation from her grandfather / father, without having founded it herself like we’re at first led to believe.

- Her husband Mohn was the one who discovered how the ultra wormholes work, not her. IIRC, he was also the primary researcher behind Type: Null’s creation.

- The reason why she does what she does is because she’s looking for her missing husband Mohn, with an added dash of “women just go crazy (and abuse their children) without their husbands!!1!!!” thrown in for flavor.

Compare this to Giovanni, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus, Ghetsis, Colress, Lysandre, and now Chairman Rose, all of whom formed their own organizations (Giovanni inheriting his from his mother is anime only and does not pertain to the games at all) and had their own goals and desires, versus relying on someone else for those goals and desires. And as if Lusamine not being allowed to form her own organization and have her own goals for her own sake wasn’t bad enough, they then had to go and make it even worse in USUM by turning her into a damsel in distress in the Rainbow Rocket plot, depicting her as not only less capable as the male villains, but also less capable than her male subordinate. Gag me.

— On that note, Oleana is sorely underappreciated by basically everyone except the Twilight Wings writers considering she’s the only reason anything Rose did got done, yet got none of the credit for herself. Damn shame.

— Stepping away from the games for a moment, Generations was a hot mess in terms of sexism. First of all, they only ever used the male MCs, pretending that the female ones didn’t exist at all, even in cases where the female MCs are vastly more popular (e.g. May, Dawn, Hilda). Second, most of the episodes focused on male characters from the series, and the ones that didn’t were either there so they could disrespect the best character in the series by not giving her the episode she deserved (Zinnia), or were told from the point of view of a male character despite that it was supposed to be a female character’s story (Emma). And lastly, there was whatever the fuck that mess with Cheryl was. It was animated in a way that made it look like an anime not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen. Like honestly, what the hell.

— Leaf has been consistently and constantly disrespected all over the franchise. Despite there allegedly being four trainers who left from Pallet Town (counting Ash) in the anime, Leaf has never been seen or mentioned even once throughout the two decades that anime has been running. They had an opportunity to show her in at least a cameo form in the 20th anniversary movie, but they chose not to do that either, adding yet another disappointment from that movie to the list. She had no appearances in Origins, no appearances in Generations, they didn’t do what they should have done in HGSS by making her the rival atop Mt Silver if you chose to play as Lyra, she wasn’t a skin for Pokémon Trainer in Super Smash Bros. until Ultimate, I’m pretty sure they never made an Amiibo for her either, they replaced her with her Special counterpart in LGPE and her characterization absolutely bonkers to boot, and back to Masters, SS Leaf doesn’t have the Main Character designation for the theme skills that SS Red has, and is also routinely left out of any story bits that feature Red or Blue. It’s a miracle she was even included in the Battling Legends event or whatever it was. As far as TPCi seems to be considered, Kanto only has one main character and that’s Red.

— Oh and speaking of Iris, they gave her the Gym Leader theme designation instead of the Champion designation, instead choosing to act like Alder is Unova’s only Champion when he, no offense, didn’t really fucking do anything in Gen V. :’) We hate to see it.

— In the current run of the anime, the two boys (Ash and Gou) have gotten to go around and have adventures for ~50 episodes while the girl (Koharu) has had to stay home and go to school. You can argue, “She wanted that!” all you want, but you have to remember that she only wants what the writers tell her to want, and the writers said the boys get to have adventures while the girls stay home. She finally has an Eevee and will presumably go on adventures now, but we’ll have to wait and see. And don’t get me wrong, I like Journeys and I love Gou as a character, but it is absolutely a Choice to not have a female lead present in the adventures at all and it’s one that the writers deliberately made for whatever reason.

— On that note, let’s look at Ash’s female companions, shall we?

Misty: A Gym Leader who has a vague goal (water pokémon master) and is largely out of focus during her run as a primary companion. She had no rivals or in-series (as in, concrete ones she could accomplish before leaving the main cast) goals of her own.

May: A coordinator. Does have rivals and has a story, which is nice, but battling isn’t her focus.

Dawn: Another coordinator. Even more focus than May (she was written as a deuteragonist), but also not primarily focused on battling.

Iris: A battler (her Gym Leader / Champion Status is written out) who actually does get decent focus and a cool arc surrounding her connection to dragons.

Serena: A performer, which is a girls-only career path that doesn’t have battling in it at all, unlike contests. Does have a goal, but much of her character is written around her crush for Ash and at the end of the series she says that he is her goal.

Lillie, Lana, Mallow: Honestly I didn’t watch enough of SM to have an opinion on how these three were handled outside of hating how Lusamine didn’t get to be a villain in the anime either.

Koharu: See above, she’s only just now getting to be involved with things.

Now, don’t get me wrong: There’s nothing wrong with being a coordinator (and we do see male coordinators too, such as Drew and Harley), and I think that both May and Dawn are wonderful characters. But it does make me feel some kind of way that the female characters were often given the “girly” sidequest while the male main character got to go for the Gym badges, especially since AG and DP went on for a good chunk of years. None of the ladies so far have been treated as badly as Serena was (that performer stuff is just nasty, I’m not sorry), but again, it’s a deliberate choice and something to think about, especially since I feel the only reason they didn’t go that route with Iris is because of her Gym Leader / Champion status in the games.

I could probably think of more examples of the casual sexism in the series if I thought about it, but this is just from the top of my head. As you can see, there is a lot. All of this being said, and I’m putting major emphasis on this since I don’t want anyone to get it twisted—

I love Pokémon with my entire heart, flaws and all. It has been my hyperfixation for 22 years and that is not going to change any time soon. So DO NOT even dare suggest that I hate Pokémon, or shouldn’t play it, or anything like that. I will be playing Pokémon on my deathbed and nothing and no one will stop me.

But that being said, I criticize because I care. Because I wish it would do better. Pokémon is for everyone. It’s for boys, girls, nonbinary folks, and people all over the gender spectrum. But the treatment of its female characters and the abundance of favoritism shown toward the male characters leaves a lot to be desired (though at least girls are at the table, whereas trans folk are relegated to background NPCs and nonbinary folk are nowhere to be seen :/). I think Pokémon can get better—Magnolia and Sonia felt like a proper apology for how Juniper in particular was shafted, not to mention Burnet—but it’s got a long way to go.

(And also, yes, you’ve understood this right. Twilight Wings is the only anime series to not fuck up at all when it comes to sexism. You go, Twilight Wings. Four for you, Twilight Wings.)

#pokemon critical #pokemon criticism #pokemon negative #let me know if I should use any other tags #long post for ts #stabbymattress #the treatment of Ash's female companions from best to worst has been:#Dawn - May - Iris - Misty - Koharu - Serena #and the Alola girls somewhere in the middle ig I honestly didn't watch enough of that series to know

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curly-bangtan · 5 years

Text

A Drop of Heaven IV: Unravelling

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Yoongi x reader, Seokjin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: mentions of blood drinking, depression and suicidal thoughts, slightly gruesome, probably a lot of confusion, plot heavy chapter

Word count: 11.1k

A/N: I’m not sure if it’s just me but I feel like my writing style for this series has kind of shifted, so apologies if you don’t like the change. Thank you for being so patient with this update, I know it took forever, but I hope it was worth the wait! ❤︎

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

They say that humans are immensely adaptable creatures. In the face of a drastic change, when thrust into a foreign environment, we possess a biological plasticity that allows us to mould into our novelle surroundings, no matter how alien. All for the purpose of survival. Humans are resilient. Humans survive.

You have survived, and you keep on surviving.

A week has passed. Almost in a flash, yet also agonisingly slowly. But in your memory, all the feeding has merged into a blur. Every time a pair of fangs sink into you, you’ve come to switch off your mind completely. You don’t recall where your consciousness has travelled to, you just remember floating in a cold darkness. Stagnant. Void.

On Thursday, broken and hanging on by a thread, you were tossed to Hoseok. The flash of craze in his eyes, despite your gaping wounds that took longer to heal than it should have, even after drinking Yoongi’s blood, managed to instill a droplet of fear in you. But only just.

Because after Yoongi, you no longer know fear.

Still, Hoseok’s insanity is something you’ve never seen before, a wildness exacerbated by the centuries he has lived.

Hoseok looks at you like a brand new toy. When he touches you, you can feel the tremble of excitement beneath his skin. Sometimes, you wonder if he is the worst one of them all, even worse than Yoongi. Because you at least know what the others are thinking. With Hoseok, he speaks to you as if you’ve been acquainted for years, asks how you fare as if he doesn’t know of your suffering. He smiles at you like he means it, and you know he is genuinely happy to see you, but not for the reason you hope for.

“You seem sad…” He had said, staring at you intently as he brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of your face. “Yoongi hurt you?”

Your eyes were transfixed on one spot of the colourful wallpaper of his Feed Room. Your head barely nodded.

You didn’t see his mouth quirk up in amusement, but you could sense it. Hoseok was prodding you, like a zoo animal. Testing your temperament, seeing how broken you are. And you were too tired, too drained to put on a show like the circus monkey he wanted.

“No worries, Y/N, it won’t hurt with me, I promise.” The ghost of his lips traced your shoulder. “We will have so much fun together.” His long fingers prickle your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. “Just relax and smile for me.”

It had hurt, at least very briefly before you could shut it out. Out of everyone, Hoseok has the least control. He never knows when to stop. Though he wasn’t bleeding you dry just yet, it visibly took him his entire mental strength to cease his drinking. And once he stopped, he began laughing maniacally.

“Sweet Satan, we’re in for a ride.” He kissed around the puncture wound at your collarbone where blood was weeping out of you. You didn’t move or make a sound.

The sire bond hadn’t surfaced at all. But it didn’t need to in order for you to ignore the pain; you’ve grown so accustomed to it by now that you hardly even blink, sire bond or no. You’re afraid of yourself, the lifeless husk you’re becoming.

The scariest aspect of Hoseok is perhaps how quickly he changes his mood after feeding. His ability to act as if he hadn’t just ripped into you, taking your around the house and telling you stories of his adventurous life while you eat, is uncanny. And when you fail to put on a smile for him, because how could you, his eyes would darken, jaw tighten.

“Isn’t that just hilarious? Can you believe I did that back then?” He would ask, and you’re not sure why your entertainment brings him validation.

But for self-preservation, you have learnt to giggle like you’re enjoying yourself and say cheerily, “I know right! That sounds wild!”

And Hoseok would nod madly, giddy from your approval, acting blind to your ingenuity as if he hadn’t forced the response he wanted out of you.

That was your Thursday.

Jimin was a salve, a soothing balm over your hidden wounds.

You no longer care whether his affection towards you is genuine. Beggars can’t be choosers, you’ll take any kindness where it is doled. It’s funny because, amidst suffering, amidst torture, you are able to resist the floods of tears that should be completely justified in your predicament. Yet as soon as someone shows the remotest care towards you, you feel the ocean pushing against your brick walls, threatening to rupture the dam.

It wretched your heart how tender Jimin was with you. You had almost broken down in his arms when he brushed over the skin where Yoongi and Hoseok had torn into. Your wounds are invisible. Vampire blood hides your cuts under fresh new skin, but doesn’t truly heal them. Yet Jimin had managed to sense your scars nonetheless.

He kissed them softly. You knew he wanted to kiss your mouth too, yet he didn’t. Is this what respect feels like?

Thus, you were completely willing when he fed on you. His preferred feeding spot is the inside of your thighs. When his cold breath arrived there, you could have sworn you felt something flutter in your core.

You had wanted him. You’re embarrassed to admit but you want him. Completely on your own accord, as the sire bond had also failed to lock in place with him too. You wondered if it was the damage Yoongi had done…

But then Saturday came, and the moment Taehyung’s fangs touched your flesh, you were swept away.

At first, it felt like drowning, as you struggled against the formidable waves that would not let you resurface. But then you calmed, a serenity took hold of you, and you began floating in the most soothing, clear blue water. The water healed you, almost, as you just drifted there on your back, watching the star-splatted night sky.

Taehyung swam up beside you, those sharp fangs of his never withdrawn, a wolfish yet reassuring smile, telling you it’s okay, everything will be okay, I can make you feel good.

And he did make you feel good.

The one thing you crave the most in this world is affection, you’ve come to learn. With Yoongi, you had wanted to feel something so badly, something other the numb wreckage of your mind you had trapped yourself in. Except he had made you feel worse, worthless, self-loathing just like him. With Hoseok, you were a broken doll, smile when expected to, laughing when required. You weren’t a person. With Jimin, you had been too grateful for his tenderness to function, unable to comprehend how, for once in the longest time, someone is treating you as if they care about you.

With Taehyung, you grew desperate to cling onto this intimacy.

It was like a drug, flooding your mind with peace and euphoria, drinking him in as much as he is drinking you. His kisses felt unhealthily good, and they tricked you into thinking that you’re worthy of someone like Taehyung, someone so beautiful, so intoxicating. He fucked you like he was making love to you, but also not. It came as waves - his sweetness, then his ferality.

You couldn’t get enough of it. You know it’s no good to feel so attached, when he probably sees you as no more than an object, his meal, but you couldn’t help it. You were just so desperate for that feeling of being desired.

He promised to make you feel good, make you forget, and that he did.

You hadn’t known what to expect from Jungkook. As you sat, waiting, on the bed of his Feed Room on Sunday, you pondered Jin’s words of his past.

He was a bright star once, before this curse. And even after, he had fed on humans once. The curiosity gnawed at your brain, pleading to find out what had happened.

Jungkook never showed up.

And so you slept the day and night away, replenishing your health with soup that Seokjin delivered, until you woke up and the cycle continued once more.

You watch the round dewdrop roll off the viridescent green leaf, and splatter onto the cold white tile. The greenhouse has soon become one of your favourite places to pass time. The walls of that manor are suffocating.

The faint sound of a piano whispers into your ears. You shut your eyes, appreciating the beauty of the pieces as it plays flawlessly. You wonder who is pouring out their emotions to the ebony and ivory sisters.

The glass of the greenhouse is fogged by the dawn dew, shielding you from the world outside and those who wish to take from you. Almost smiling, you pace around the kingdom of plants, enjoying the tranquility. Today is Thursday; Hoseok allows you to do as you please after he feeds on you; though it could be of his genuine good intent, you suspect it’s to instill you with a false sense of freedom. Let the dog out of its cage, let her roam their land, so the bitch never seeks to leave the house.

The thought of escaping had crossed your mind a profusion of occurrences the past week. Though, at this very moment, you don’t think there is much purpose in leaving anymore. Here, you at least are provided food and shelter, and maybe one or two friends whose friendship comes with a price. It’s not living in here, you’re merely surviving. But you’re surviving nonetheless. Compared to out there, where you’d be left to fend for yourself, constantly fleeing from seven vampires who you’re eternally bonded to.

You’ve thought about killing yourself too. A coward’s way out, but hey, you’d rather be a coward than a blood bag for the rest of your life. But when you had snuck into the kitchen last night after Yoongi’s heartless torment and raised a knife to your chest, an invisible force had pushed against your arms, freezing them in place and preventing them from taking action.

The sireship is so cruel. It humanises the vampires who captured you, makes you empathise with them, and forbids you from harming yourself.

On deeper thought, you wouldn’t have been able to kill yourself that way anyway. The moment your blood is spilled, in a house full of vampires, at least one of them is bound to smell it right away. They would have healed you before the pain could kick in - their way of sweeping everything under the rug nowadays - and you would’ve been back to the start. Except worse, as they would then know of your intention.

You crouch down beside a rose bush, petting its velvet white petals between your fingers. Flowers are beautiful yet fickles things, but roses have thorns. They lure people in with their beauty, but if anyone tries to pluck them off and keep one for themselves, they get cut. Your fingers travel down its stem to where a thorn is staring enticingly back at you.

You push the pad of your finger into its prick, hard. You don’t feel a thing. Not even as a bead of crimson oozes from the cut. It’s chilling.

Then you sense a presence behind you. When you turn, your eyes meet with those of Namjoon. Watering pot in one hand, he watches you, brows furrowed at your previous act.

“What are you doing?” There’s a hesitancy in his voice, almost as if he doesn’t recognise you.

“Admiring the roses.”

You no longer speak to Namjoon in that defying tone of yours. He was right, there’s no use in challenging him, trying to topple his superiority complex. It only took a week to tame you into a docile creature. You’re ashamed.

“No, I mean why did you purposely touch the thorns like that?” Still frowning, he stomps over, water in his gardening can sloshing about. As he sinks down beside you, his air of intimidation infiltrates your peaceful bubble.

“I… I don’t know, I just wanted to know what it feels like.” You mumble. Setting the pot aside, Namjoon snatches your finger and brings it close to his face for examination.

“Well, it was obviously going to cut you.” He hisses. When his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your blood is vastly tempting him.

“I know.” You pull your finger away, not that you don’t trust his self control, but because his touch was beginning to scald. The bond was trying to take hold of you despite it not being the day where you belong to him, and you hate how drawn you are to him because of it.

Spinning away, you stand and begin pacing towards the door. Your moment of peace has been disturbed, there’s no point in staying here anymore. But then you hear him call after you, “W-Wait.” The vulnerable expression that greets you when you look back takes you by surprise. “Um… You spend an awful lot of time in here nowadays… How come?”

You hadn’t been aware that Namjoon notices your growing presence in the greenhouse, not since you have never come across him here before. “I like it in here, I feel safe. Why, am I not allowed?” Your question lacks the challenging impudence it should have, more like a young girl asking her father for permission. You’re disappointed in yourself at how quickly you’ve deflated, even at the obnoxious Namjoon. Yet, you’ve lost your drive at standing your ground, you’ve got no fight left.

“N-No!” He is quick to dispute, standing up from his crouch as well. “I just meant… Nevermind.” His voice trails weakly to a tense silence. You watch his eyes flicker up at yours rather nervously, trying to decipher his intention. Then he speaks again, “I’ve just seen you here quite a few times… I enjoy being here myself; I find tending to my plants right before the sun rises fully a therapeutic pastime.”

His admission strikes you. You would never imagine a man as demanding, efficient and severe as Namjoon to enjoy a hobby as mundane as gardening. You’re not sure what to make of it to be honest, nor can you understand why he’s speaking to you so… conversationally. Is this his attempt at making peace with you?

“Well, you’ve tended to them very well, they’re beautiful. I enjoy being here too.” You guess you should accept his decency. He had been rather distant on Monday, leaving you to your own devices, only feeding on you once and hardly speaking a word. His contrasting moods are confusing.

Namjoon’s lips purse, brows raise ever so slightly, as if surprised by your kind response. His eyes flicker to your finger again. The tiny cut has yet to dry, fresh blood still leaking from the open wound despite its miniscule size. You should probably have some food; your body is frail, especially after Yoongi yesterday.

“I’m going to leave you to it, sir.” You nod courteously, but freeze as the name you address him as slips out of you. No, it was drawn out of you from the bond. It doesn’t take a second for heat to rush to your face in embarrassment. Namjoon noticeably stiffens. Gulps.

The coil within you is starting to wind. It tightens around your chest like thorned vines, piercing into your heart the more you try to wriggle free.

You know he feels it too.

But before he can take a step towards you, as you sense he intends to, you’re turning around and speeding out of the greenhouse. And it’s not until you’re within the confines of Hoseok’s Feed Room that you feel the liberty to breathe again, Namjoon’s sire bond reluctantly waning into the background.

You could tell something was off about Hoseok straight away when he entered the room. There were multiple telltale signs.

One: He was stumbling over his feet, tripping over to the bed in a drunken manner as he navigated the room. His words were slurred, hardly coherent sentences at all. His wine red hair in disarray.

Two: He smelled noticeably different. Though you’ve not spent more than two days as his feed, Hoseok has a clear distinct smell, most notable from the other vampires. He smells clean, sweet even; it’s the one thing you can’t help but indulge in about him. Yet even to your human nose, he had a weird, doggish musk to him as he approached you.

Three: From his rogue smile dribbled drying blood. And no, it wasn’t a mere droplet of crimson, he was drenched in blood, chin to toes. Despite the gore you’ve witnessed, it was still a chilling sight.

And four: Though his eyes were half shut, you briefly saw the way they flashed beneath his lids. Only half conscious, the other half gone and crazed, though full of purpose - purpose to get to you.

You catch him in open arms as he falls onto you, the mattress dipping at the sudden crash of his weight. “Hoseok, what happened?” Your voice harbours more concern than you would like to show, and you don’t know why you care at all.

His face presses against the crook of your neck, his lips stretching into a smile at your presence, right over your pulse. His hands wander to your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You recoil from his forwardness, but with nowhere to back away to except further into the bed. You try to ignore how pleasant the tip of his nose feels as it rubs against your skin.

“Missed you…” Hoseok mumbles, still grinning widely, mouth travelling to your jaw where his warm breath tickles. His breath should be cold; the heat tells you that the feeding of whoever’s blood this was recent.

You can’t help but feel flustered at his sudden touchiness. Of all vampires here, save for Jungkook, you would say you’ve been the least… intimate with Hoseok. It has never been your dynamic. It was always him flinging you around like a puppy shredding its new stuffed toy then chewing on the spilled cotton. So this is… new.

“Why are you acting like this?” You ask again, trying to pry his arms off your torso but to no avail.

“Sweetness…” He mutters unintelligibly, and you shudder as his teeth grazes your ear, an involuntarily sensual tingle following.

“H-Hoseok…” Your breath hitches, his proximity growing more and more unignorable. So you grab his face, cheeks cupped in one hand, and shake him for good measure. His closing lids flash open like gradually awakening from slumber, yet still not recovered from his daze. “What happened to you?”

“Werewolves.”

An icy cold settles in your bones. Werewolves. There are such things as werewolves as well. Vampires, witches and werewolves. What other creatures of horror are plaguing your world that you don’t know of? That explains that muttish stench he carries. The blood he’s soaked in… Is it his or theirs? You think you feel slightly sick.

Brushing his hair out of his face, you point his drooping head at you again. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those stupid mutts… picking a fight… Taehyung, Jungkook and I had to put them in their place.” Hoseok begins peeling himself off you, and finally your body is no longer crushed under his. Your hands around him fall to your side idly as you watch him stumble off the bed and head towards the door, though he doesn’t make it two steps before tumbling onto his knees. You hurry after him to catch his upper body before he falls completely onto the ground.

His shoulders in your grip, you try to examine him for any wounds, and though there are some tears in his clothes, the skin underneath has been healed clean. So why? “Hoseok, look at me.” Your voice is urgent, authoritative, it almost has the life it once had to it. His eyes lock onto yours, this time permanently without closing. They’re blank, the amber green murky with an unreadable shroud. “What’s wrong with you? You need to tell me.”

So with obvious effort, he grunts out, “Werewolf blood makes us… It’s like… wine to us. Too much and our mind is” hiccup “inebriated.”

Oh. You let out a sigh of relief.

Hoseok is drunk on werewolf blood.

Though, you’re not sure why you’re relieved that he’s alright. Surely you should be wishing for the opposite.

With tremendous endeavour, you drag him up onto his feet and walk him to the ensuite bathroom, huffing as you sit him down on the edge of the lavish bathtub that every Feed bathroom contains but you have yet to use. Hoseok is uncooperative, trying for detours on the bed, attempting to hop onto the sink. With the knowledge of his intoxicated state now, he appears like a little child, an innocently fascinated smile constantly plastered on his face, too easily impressed by even his own reflection in the mirror. For you, it’s a contrasting sight. Though he has always possessed a child-like temperament in his playfulness and love to goof at silly things, his usual underlying insanity is nowhere to be found right now.

It makes his company more soothing knowing that his mind absolves of any ulterior motive.

You don’t know why you’ve taken it upon you to do so, but you rummage around to find a clean towel. Glancing at the mirror as you twist the faucet to dampen the towel, you try not to notice how you scarcely recognise yourself anymore.

Hoseok groans at the wet coldness you press onto his chin, the dried crusted blood once again watering into a river of rusty brown-red. His fingers fly up to catch yours, trying to pry the scrubbing towel off his face. “Mmmm.” He whines in protest, shut eyes frowning. You ignore his brewing tantrum, towel travelling down to absorb the red stains of his neck, though you clean with more gentleness now.

He isn’t so bad like this, you guess.

Still, the more you try to understand him, the more you lose yourself in the maze that is his psyche. The more you think you can predict him, the more he comes out with an unexpected complexity that adds another layer to his mask. Who is Hoseok? The entertainer, the mood maker, always seeking to please his guests? The little boy who wishes not to be tamed? The spoilt brat whose greed grows with the more he has? Who is he really?

You straighten and regard his state. Head drooping sluggishly, fingers fidgeting at anything in his reach, you realise a cold towel isn’t going to help him. You’re all too familiar from the nights your uncle stumbled back, the reek of alcohol finding you before he enters the room, to know that this state of inebriation needs to be conquered before he falls asleep, lest you wish to face an ill-tempered brute the next day.

“Hoseok.” You tap his jaw lightly, rousing him, and he looks at you with surprising focus that makes you cower a little. “You should shower.”

He blinks sleepily, and you think he doesn’t comprehend at first, but then he takes your hand in his and stands up. As he does, his face zooms dangerously close to yours, pointy tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from brushing your lips. Your heart jumps. There’s a lag in your brain before you know to step back.

“Come with me, then.”

It’s evident that his whole demeanour has shifted. Gone is the childish giddiness he had. In its place: a solemn gravity, seemingly out of nowhere, his lips pressed into a taut line, jaw tense, a pinning glare possessing you unwaveringly. Even his voice has dropped deeper, forgoing its tangy cheer.

It takes more than a second for what he means to sink in. He wants you to join his shower.

“W-What? No!” You yank your hand from his, heat blooming across your cheeks.

At this point, you’re no prude, intimacy has been breached with several if not most of these vampires you share a roof with. Yet your dynamic and circumstance with each of them differs greatly. With Yoongi, it is a release of mutual resentment; Taehyung, it’s a seductive dance to pleasure you both; Namjoon, a reluctant magnetisation that you wish not to dwell on; Seokjin, a confusion of emotions and desperation; Jimin, a soft gentle healing. There has always been a sexual implication hinting at the back of your mind with these five, and with some, you’ve acted upon it. But never with Hoseok.

Because Hoseok has been too much of an enigma. Never once showing that type of attraction towards you, only a fascination that sits on the borderline of lunacy. Always just - ogling at you like you’re a show pony, marveling at the taste of your blood as if it’s a drug. And the confusion he inoculates when he acts as your friend, like he genuinely enjoys your company. Too baffling.

But right now, this very evening, something stirs in your stomach. A new sensation as another layer of him is peeled back to reveal yet another persona. A man desiring affection?

He looks at you for a while, as if he wants to say something. The absence of the smile that usually stalks his lips every moment of the day is throwing you off. You think he’s going to push further but he doesn’t, he simply tilts his head and says, “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Legs still rather wobbly, he makes his way, hand on the gold marble of the sink to balance his wavering weight, towards the shower. Standing there, stupefied at his sudden change, you don’t realise that he does not intend on waiting for you to leave before striping until he tears his blood-drenched shirt off crudely. Buttons fly towards the wall, scattering about in little clinks.

Faint scar-like marks dart across his back like a violent painting.

You’re transfixed. The light lines are not ridged, merely running smoothly on the surface of his skin. Some look like claw marks, some bite marks seemingly from an animal. Those werewolves he mentioned? Some look fresh, while others older.

But that doesn’t make sense. Why does he, a vampire with supernatural healing, have scars?

“So do you want to join or not?” He slurs, face half turned towards you, yet eyes trained low. His profile is striking.

“I- No. Um. I’m going to bed. Bye.” Your eyes immediately fall to the ground. Still incredibly flustered, you spin around and head back to your room, mentally trying to shake off the image of his scar-inflicted back.

At the door, you pause, back still facing him, and ask, “Will you be fine alone?”

You hear the whirl of his belt being pulled out, blood continuing to roar in your ears.

“I’ve been alone all these centuries - I think I’ll be fine.”

That’s not what you meant, but when you hear his zipper, you hurry to shut the door behind you, pondering the sourness of his reply.

His shower is quick, the water sounds stop not too long after you climb into bed. Though, Hoseok stays in the bathroom for a period of time before coming out. You debated going in to check in on him incase he has fallen unconscious or something of that sort, whatever werewolf blood does to vampires. But you weren’t sure if he would be dressed, so you stay tucked under the covers in a small huddle, quietly trying to dissect his character in your head.

The door eventually opens, though it doesn’t swing open as Hoseok normally does to announce his entry. He’s still in that odd sombre mood.

Lying on your side, curled up into a small lump, your back is facing him. Eyes shut yet wide awake, you hear a drop of water hit the floor every few seconds. You can’t resist the urge to look up, to see whether he has washed away the blood and intoxication.

But at the sight of his naked body, manhood only covered by the towel hanging loosely around his waist, you nearly roll off. Though his skin is mostly dry, there is still a lustre glossed over his unearthly sculpted body. The room is dark, his silhouette cast by the bathroom lights behind him. Despite the poor vision, you are mesmerised by the ridges of his abdomen, chiseled so perfectly that you wonder how they feel like beneath your touch. A defined V is carved on his pelvis, pointing down to a devilish place you’re glad the darkness doesn’t allow you to see.

You catch sight of his hand that is bunching up the towel loosen, just in time for you to swing back down into your foetal position away from him before you hear the cloth drop carelessly.

Is he purposely trying to tizzy you?

Your eyes close firmly as he paces to the dresser, and they stay that firmly closed while you hear him dress, hear the bathroom lights click off.

You jolt when you feel the pressure on the other side of that mattress, your knees curling up tighter, inconspicuously inching further away. To your relief, as he climbs into bed, he keeps his distance, doesn’t reach for you like you were scared he would.

The silence hums loudly, rhythmed by his shallow breaths. Is he finally sober?

No sound. Not a word. For Hoseok, that’s worrying.

Damn yourself, why do you care? “Are you feeling better?” You almost bite your tongue as you ask, cursing your inability to keep to yourself. At least you don’t turn to face him.

Silence, still. Steady breaths.

You begin to wonder if he fell asleep the second his back sunk onto the mattress. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

But then you hear the lightest sigh. “Feeling less drunk, but head still pounding. Dizzy.”

You’re unaccustomed to the deepness of his voice, wondering where its usual loud annoying cheeriness has strayed off to. You don’t want to say you miss it, you certainly don’t. You just… grew so used to it.

This version of Hoseok is too human. It’s uncanny.

Despite laying there in silence, it doesn’t feel silent at all. The tension is blaringly loud in the air, almost a physical pressure pushing up against you, goading you to do something. Turn around and face him. Let him feed on you to replenish. But no, he’s fed a lot today already. Your collar still feels sore. Find another vampire and ask them to cure him. But at this time of day, where the sun is already almost completely uncovered, they should all be asleep. Then at least talk to him, something, before he resumes back to his normal self that you have to cower from.

“What are those scars on your back?”

Your voice startles him. Though you can’t see well, you notice him jolt. Was that too much to ask? Too personal? And honestly, do you actually want to know the truth to your question or would you sleep much sounder without it?

He doesn’t answer.

Instant regret. You count your breaths, shut your eyes and try not to be hyper-aware of short the distance of an arm’s length actually is between your back and his side.

You shouldn’t have asked that. Of course it would be a sensitive topic. What else could explain the literal scars on his back that have failed to heal even with his supernatural abilities?

There is a line drawn between you and Hoseok. There are boundaries, though some particularly vague and hazy, between you and each vampire, but the line is especially distinct with him. You have to remember, you can’t act the same as you do with Seokjin or Taehyung with someone like Hoseok or Yoongi. He’s not your friend. None of them are your friends, really. Hoseok, one of the least of all.

Who knows what psychological trigger you’ve switched on by asking such question? Curiosity did kill the cat afterall.

“They…” It’s your turn to jounce, his response unexpected. “I don’t know, I guess there’s a limit to what my abilities can heal, and to be honest, I like the look of them anyway. I think there’s a word for it, but my mind isn’t working properly… M-something. Ma- You know, the opposite of sadism.”

You know.

“Masochism…?”

“Yeah, that. Masochism.”

The room goes quiet after he mutters the last syllable of a word you would never anticipate to be his answer. Hoseok is a masochist? He enjoys pain inflicted onto him? If it were even possible for your blood to go colder, you feel a chill spear through your veins.

Fuck, these vampires are dark. And you thought you were morbid…

“Why…?” So Hoseok is at the opposite of the spectrum from Yoongi. You vaguely understand Yoongi, how he lashes out due to self hatred. It’s a cycle of pushing people away due to fear of intimacy from his loneliness, and as a result feeling more alone. He likes to inflict pain because that way, he can convince himself that he’s an unlovable monster, and pretend that he is choosing to be alone. But with Hoseok, you cannot fathom how or why he enjoys pain. How could anyone? “If you don’t mind me asking…”

You’re tempted to turn, eye contact is human nature, but you don’t think you can stomach it. There is an inexplicable weight, an intensity bestowed. You feel as though you’re sinking in quicksand, a slow agonising submergence, swallowed up by the burden you’re seeking to know about but can’t resist.

“It’s so boring, living like this.” He mumbles. You hear him rustle around to get comfortable, or maybe to inch closer to you. “We’ve been alive for more than two thousand years. Life begins to get rather insipid, nothing really... stimulates me anymore. Yeah, fight with demons, get wasted on werewolf blood, sure, pretty fun.” Hiccup. “But after so many years, you start to not really feel anything anymore.”

Truthfully, you think you get it. You get his inertia, the lack of anything exciting him about life.

“Like yeah, I know how you see me. I’m this over-the-top, dramatic class clown caricature, so you probably won’t believe me when I tell you about how bored I actually am. But I am.” hiccup

“So pain is your remedy?”

“I guess, yeah, pain is my remedy. You know that feeling when your skin gets cut, that rush of cold that infiltrates you?” Unfortunately, all too well. “It’s pretty exciting. There’s no feeling like it.” hiccup “It’s just so refreshing, to be able to feel somewhat mortal. Get torn apart a little, because I know I’ll stitch back up together anyway. It’s the only thing that brings me thrill nowadays. Before we found you.”

“What if you don’t?” Vampires are immortal, but not invincible afterall.

“Then I guess I don’t.”

Hoseok says it with a finality, as if death is no big ordeal to him. If it happens, it happens. He’s not self-destructive perse, you know he isn’t actively looking to die. He just wants to feel something. Like you.

Yeah, you think you get it…

Despite the difference in the sufferings you’ve been exposed to, monotony breeds insensitivity to most stimulants of life. Food tastes blander, colours duller, sense of self starts to ebb away. Hoseok had been a cheerful man before becoming a vampire, one requiring extravaganza in his life, flamboyance, because his life was a show, the embodiment of entertainment. How long did that take to crumble? For him to grow out of parties and parades because he realised that they could no longer fill that void?

The fall from a life of exhilaration to one where you were only passing time is tragic. He puts on a show to convince himself that he’s having fun, imposes it on everyone around him.

You’re beginning to dissect the animus of Hoseok, what truly underlies his insanity.

It’s disconcerting, how much he’s opening up when he isn’t sober. He has kept this in for a while, you can guess.

“Hey…” He slurs sleepily, though you hear his purpose, a sort of determination to stay away and say one last thing. And finally, you turn.

In this darkness, you hardly see a thing more than the shadows cast around him. You can’t see his facial expression, and you think it’s perhaps a good thing; you don’t wish for it to confuse you more. What throws you off is the heat emitted from his body. Vampires are cold creatures, warmth absent in their touch. You try not to think about the werewolf blood still coursing through his veins to keep him warm, how it makes it feel as though a human lays beside you rather than the monster in actuality.

“Yes?”

Your reply falls flat. As your vision adjusts to the pitch black, you are hyper aware of the stillness of the night that encases you.

“I…”

He.

It’s silent. So silent you can hear the thrumming of your chest.

“Yes?” You repeat, egging him on. His hesitancy has a depressive tone to it, it is somehow so genuine, rather than for dramatic effect like one would expect from him.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words shoot into you like bullets of chaos and disarray, their shells ricocheting. Your ear rings as if deafened by an explosion. Maybe this is a dream. You can’t tell these days anymore.

“I’m sorry for everything.” He sounds throaty, still dragging his words as he tries to grapple at sobriety but fails. He also sounds like he means what he’s saying, like he feels terribly guilty.

You don’t understand.

“What do you mean… Why…?” Your eyes drop to the distance between you, fixing on the shadow of a crease you can barely make out.

“I’m just-” Hoseok tosses onto his side to look at you. You stare at that shadow harder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“But wh-”

“Every time I look at you, I just want to, I don’t know, shake you. No, not you. Shake myself, or my brothers. I want to shatter some glass, sprint at a wall, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what I’m saying. But yeah, every time I look at you, I just feel so fucking bad, man. I’ve- I guess I’ve been pretty good at keeping the guilt at bay all these centuries - we kind of have to, or we wouldn’t have survived two thousand years. But like, when I look at you, I can’t forget how much you’ve suffered. That kind of damage scars you forever. I can fucking see that you’re a shell of a person.”

Your throat constricts. You hate this feeling. Not that people have ever pitied you before, seeing as there was no witness of your uncle’s abuse, there was no one to feel sorry for you. But right now, you get it. That wash of humiliation from the small satisfaction you gain from someone pitying you, someone acknowledging how bad you have it, all the shit you’ve been through. It makes you sick.

Yes, you’re damaged. Good that he knows. Good that it tears apart his conscience. You’re glad that it makes him feel horrible.

Then why? You want to ask him. But you know he’s not finished with his piece.

“I see that you try to hide how fucking empty you are when you’re with me, try to act like you’re enjoying my company and actually find my jokes funny. I guess that’s why I keep trying to make you laugh. I know I’m annoying as fuck. Hell, I would hate me if I were anyone but me. But, I don’t know, I just want to stir some reaction from you, make you feel less hollow. I know it fucking sucks for you here, and I want to make it suck less, you know?”

A shiver fires down your spine. You have never thought about it like that.

Drunk words, sober thoughts. Or so the saying goes.

All this time, you thought that Hoseok views you as some sort of dancing monkey, forcing you to perform tricks for him, smiling, laughing, stroking his ego.

But the truth is, he wants to spark some life back into you. His jokes, his stories, his antics. They have been for you, not him.

Your throat trembles.

“All that shit with your uncle, God, it was brutal, even for me. It was the fact that you couldn’t escape from it. You were living through hell for how many years? All because of us. And now you’re stuck here with us, have to continue to endure. It just doesn’t stop for you, does it? And I know it makes no sense coming from me. Especially from me, I guess. You know, I really wish I could control myself. But that sensation that overtakes our minds, I wish I could describe it to you, it’s fucking insane. Your blood tastes like a drug to me, I don’t know, heroin or something. Except it doesn’t kill me, it kills you.” His voice is drifting, quieter, duller, slower. Like he’s mumbling without knowing he’s speaking out loud. The words just keep tumbling out.

Glancing up, you see that his eyes are shut, chest rising heavily, on the brink of sleep. You want him to fall asleep. You don’t want to keep listening. Because it sickens you knowing that buried under all those masks is an emotionally empathetic person, hardly the maniac you thought him to be. Because it would be so much easier if he was that, so much easier to hate your tormentor and see him as a monster.

But actually, he isn’t. He senses your pain, holds remorse for his actions.

You hate it. You hate it.

Just let me believe that you’re pyschopathic.

“Anyway... what I was saying is that…” His head droops to the other side. Sleep will siege him soon, you’re glad to know. “I know I’m a hypocrite. Namjoon would give me hell if he heard me sympathising with the Feed, but I truly mean no malicious intent towards you... This is just the way things are for us…” His breathing slows, deepens. Words only just more than a slur of syllables. You lay there, clutching your fists, waiting for it to be over, but only for you to lie awake and ponder this revelation for hours. “I wish… I wish it didn’t have to be you... after all that you went through. But I guess you only went through that because of what you are… Hurting you was the only way to protect you...”

You don’t even hear it at first, silently contemplating his words. But then the last bit sinks in.

“Wait, wait, what?” You break your silence. Hoseok has stopped making sense, you shouldn’t expect more from a drunken vampire, but he had been making sense before. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean what?” He mumbles and rolls away, but you grab his sleeve and prevent him from turning and entering a realm of dreams.

“What you said in the end. About how… I don’t know... I went through that shit because of what I am. What do you mean? And hurting me was the only way to protect me.” Your blood has gone icy. You don’t want to be left with nothing but those words and your endless imagination of what they could possibly mean for the next few hours.

“You know, the spell…”

Spell.

“What spell?” But his eyes are completely closed, hardly a stir at your question to indicate he heard you at all. His sleeve bunches up under your fist, you gently rattle his face. “Hoseok, what spell? What are you talking about?”

He tries to shake you off, frowning in annoyance at your disturbance. “You know. That spell, the one to keep you safe.”

“Keep talking about the spell, Hoseok. Please. Safe from what?” You continue to shake him, stomach tying into knots. What spell?

“Safe from us, whatever Creatures of the Night your blood attracts.” Vexed, he grabs your wrist, eyes half opening, and shoves them away. “The spell the angels put, remember?”

“I don’t remember. Tell me about the spell, what was it?” You hear the urgency, the degrading desperation in your voice, but you need to know. You need to. What fucking spell to keep you safe?

“It’s complicated. Some twisted magic? You know that car accident with your parents? That was some Hell’s magic, when the demons started to find you... Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires. They would’ve taken you if the angels hadn’t been watching closely and intervened. Then they, the angels I mean, decided to shield your aura, you know, your angel aura. The thing that lets the supernatural know that you have angel blood? It’s a distinctive scent for us, and I’m guessing other creatures too. It attracts demons and whatnots and helps them hunt you. It’s like a beacon of light. So they had to suppress your aura. And the only way to suppress angel aura is to suppress the angel themselves. Make them suffer, endure tremendous pain, dull their virtues, make them lose the will to live, et cetera. That way you don’t ‘shine’ anymore, and we won’t be able to find you. So I guess they did some sort of spell, or whatever heavenly magic, on your uncle so that his mind was warped and unconsciously fixated on hurting you... It’s fucking dark and twisted, especially for angels... To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. That’s what irks me... Don’t know why but it just makes me feel so fucking bad…”

Something churns violently in your stomach. And you would have thrown up if you had eaten much previously.

None of it makes sense. Or maybe it’s starting to make too much sense.

You can’t believe it. You fucking can’t believe it.

You let Hoseok drift off to sleep, the weight of his body falling limp. You let go of his face.

You just can’t. Fucking. Believe it.

There’s no way this is true. He’s drunk. He has made up some story in his head. There’s no way.

Because there’s simply no way that the past few years of your endless torture has been a gift from the angels, a path paved for you to endure. To shield you. To save you.

In what sick universe…

You scramble off the bed and rush into the bathroom, ignoring the loud pads of your feet against the cold wooden floor. Your fingers tremble as you turn the light switch on and slam the door behind you with your back. For a moment, all you hear is the ocean of your roaring blood.

That’s why that night your parent died had felt so strange, so off, your disagreement with your parents so out of the blue. That’s why there was a storm. That’s why a car drove into you and killed your parents. That’s why your grandmother died so shortly after despite normally having great health. That’s why there was a sudden change in your uncle’s demeanour, as if a switch had been flipped in him. That’s why he had locked you in the basement, broke your legs routinely to stop you from escaping, beat you and your sister without reason.

It was demons and Creatures of the Night and a so-called “protection” ploy from angels.

You want to scream. As your back slides down the door, you want to scream at the top of your lungs. The amalgamation of emotions is tearing you apart, piece by piece.

This is it, the tipping point, the loss of your sanity.

His words play over and over again in your head, a drunken confession that he probably did not realise the meaning of in his state.

To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it.

Like a prayer.

Panting hysterically, you feel your mind shattering into a million shards. You can’t comprehend it. You don’t want to. You don’t want to know that the pain you felt, day after day, for what felt like an eternity had been a plot. A fucking spell. You don’t want to know. You don’t want to. You don’t want. You don’t. You.

You. Can’t. Do. This.

01:01. The crash. The beatings. The death of your sister.

It’s possible that you are crying, shaking, but you’re not aware.

And after crumbling on the bathroom floor, for minutes, maybe hours, you make your decision.

You run.

The sun is still out.

That means they can’t come out yet. They can’t come after you. They’re probably still asleep, unbeknownst of your escape.

The house had been eerily quiet as you snuck out. And as soon as you stepped foot outside the front door, you had felt it.

The incredible weight holding you down. Like the manor itself was shackled to your ankles. Walking away felt like trudging through mud, dragging this boggling heaviness with you. Every sire bond that has formed was shrieking in your head, wailing, begging for you to stop leaving.

It was purely your willpower and determination that gave you the strength to overcome the supernatural ties that tethered you to those vampires. You had to ignore how much your limbs were aching, how much your heart was straining. You just had to run away. Keep going and don’t look back. It was melting your brain into a puddle, but your mind had been in ruins anyway.

You didn’t know where you were going, the forest faced every side of the house, but you just kept going, as far from them as possible. If you ran down one direction, you were bound to meet an end at some point, find civilisation.

There is no plan. No plan as you fled the walls of those wretched vampires. You just knew you couldn’t stay, couldn’t continue living like that with the knowledge that was spilled onto you. There’s no way you could have pretend not to know and face those vampires, let them drain your blood when they had been part of the reason behind all your suffering.

Fuck the Heavens and the Hells. Fuck the angels, the demons, the vampires, werewolves, witches, all the damnable fucking supernatural.

Angel blood in your veins. A fucking curse.

Every bone in your body is starting to hurt, lungs growing weaker every gasping breath. You keep running, ignoring the overbearing ache and faint voices in your head chanting sorrysorrysorry.

Sorry, child, we’re sorry.

The sun has set. It is dark. And you are still running through the forest, no inkling at all of how far you’ve gone and how far is left until you find your rescuer.

The night is eerie, enveloping you in a fog of oblivion, no perception of anything beyond this forest. Howling can be heard from a distance, or what you hope to be a distance. You’re hanging on by a thread, but only just. You don’t know how much longer you will last, you just know that you’ve passed the point of no return now. They would have been searching for you since the daylight began to dwindle. They are on their way.

There had been so many instances where you had just stopped, panting, and stared at your own two feet, wondering what the fuck you’re doing. Because where are you running to? Who is going to believe you when you tell them about the fucking vampires looking for you? Who is going to care about some crazy girl?

What is the point in running? Living, even?

But an instinct within you, the one sparked by this revelation, didn’t allow your legs to stop. The whole world is against you. The whole fucking world. Creatures of the Night are hunting you, the angels have abandoned you to a cruel spell, your family is rotting six feet under. No one is going to fight for you, except yourself.

You are a survivor.

Energy waning from the lack of food and the sparing gulps of water you had salvaged from a brooke, the only thing fuelling you is your adrenaline. At this time of night, your vision is no more than dark silhouettes of trees and rocks. Your limbs are numb. The only thing telling you that you haven’t stopped moving is the constant crunch of leaves beneath your feet, crisply ringing. Keep going. Just keep running.

Where are you?

You hear a voice, his voice. No, you don’t hear it, you sense it. You feel his worry, his fear.

Where did you go? Please.

They can’t possibly be near. Even with vampire speed, there’s no way that can catch up with you so quickly when you’ve been gone for hours.

Please.

The pleading makes your heart lurch. You stop, heaving over your knees.

Guilt. It’s the guilt. Why do you feel guilty for leaving? No, you don’t feel guilty, the bond is making you feel it. It’s trying to manipulate you.

I can’t lose you…

But that’s definitely his voice, his inner thoughts. Seokjin is afraid, panicked, in a frenzy to look for you. Genuine concern.

Maybe you should go back. What are you even doing anyway? Where are you going? There’s no purpose.

It also dawns on you that they will pick up on your scent right away. Even if they don’t find you tonight, everywhere you go, they will find you eventually. They had found you even though your aura had been muffled by your uncle’s abuse. They somehow found you. They are always going to find you.

Maybe you should give up. Just submit to them for the rest of your eternity. Either way, you would be suffering, the angels will see to that. Just give up.

Your fists tighten on your knees. It’s freezing cold; your clothes shredded by sharp grappling branches, the midnight breeze percolates pass the futile material and assails your skin. Thoughts racing at an uninterpretable speed, your lost purpose becomes blaringly apparent.

It’s not so bad in there.

Please be okay. Please come back. Don’t go.

They kind of care about you, in their own warped sense of what caring is. Right? They almost love you, some of them. Right? Right? Right? Right? Right?

I miss you. I’m coming for you. I love you.

Right?

Please be okay.

“SHUT UP!” You sob out loud. In the distance, your outburst scare away a flock of sleeping birds, their wings flapping in synchrony to your heartbeat. “Please just shut up.” As tears erupt like a dam, your slam your hands to your ears to shield you from the sound. But of course, it doesn’t stop. It isn’t a sound. It’s a feeling. It’s the sire bond telling your mind his emotions. “Shut up. Stop making this harder for me. Shut up.”

Falling onto your knees, you simply break. Every fibre of your mind is peeling away, your entity flaking into dust. The cold stings your damp cheeks, trickling down to your neck where you remember so vividly the feeling of their fangs.

They almost love you, some of them.

That’s good enough, right?

That’s better than… nothing.

More birds shriek into the silence of the night, so loud that you hear them clearly despite your covered ears.

Are they here? Already?

You keep crying, soil eating your crumpled frame.

And because of your sobs, your firmly shut eyes, your covered ears, you don’t hear the footsteps approach you until you sense a looming presence behind.

Here.

Which one is it?

Slowly, every inch of you trembling, you turn.

A shocked man stares at you in wide eyes. Some sort of camper or hiker judging by his attire.

Not here.

“Oh my god. Please help me. Please help me.” You crawl over to his feet, ignoring the protest of your exhaustion and your pitiful position. “Sir, please help.” Your luck has turned. Finally. You’re going to be okay. Finally. The tears fall harder.

“W-what happened? Are you hurt? Lost?” Gradually processing the dirt covered girl collapsed and crying at his feet, the man bends down and examines you in concern.

“Yes, please, just take me somewhere safe. Please, they’re going to find me.” The wash of relief almost overwhelms you to unconsciousness.

“You need to tell me what happened, little girl. You’re in shock. Who’s going to find you?”

In the dark, you can’t see well, but something in his eyes makes you trusting of him. It’s the genuine worry and care. What a normal man is supposed to look like. You’re saved. You’re finally saved.

“We have no time, just take me… take me to the police.” Your shaking hand grips at his fleece in desperation. You don’t know what you can tell him or the police, you don’t know anything more powerful than vampires than can protect you from them, but you can think about that later. You just need to go now.

“Okay, okay. Let me carry you.”

No. Child, no.

This time, it isn’t Seokjin’s voice. Someone else, like that faint chanting you occasionally hear.

“Thank you.” You shift into a position that better enables the man to reach under your legs. Behind him, you see a pack of black dogs, creeping warily towards you, sniffing. “Are those your dogs?”

“Yes, don’t worry, they are clever boys.”

When his palm touches the underside of your thigh, ice pierces into your skin.

No. Not him. Not safe.

You know that ice. You know that inhuman lack of body heat.

As he hoists you up, you nudge him away and roll back onto the ground. “Wait.” Moonlight illuminating part of his face, you survey his pale skin, his devilishly good looks. His brows pinch in confusion, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

Not human.

You glance over at the dogs again. Sleek black coat, long sharp ears, crimson eyes. Where their legs should meet the ground are misty shadows, like ghosts.

Not dogs.

The man’s lips quirk up. His camper’s attire dissipates like dust to reveal a black suit underneath.

You run.

Twigs snap beneath your feet as you sprint as fast as your calves allow, away from whatever they are. Your chest aches from fatigue, ankles screaming for you to stop. As you run, you ignore the branches reaching out to scratch your cheek, your arms. You hardly even feel the cuts against the twisting feeling of dread in your gut.

Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires.

Looking back, you see the man stood rooted where he is. He isn’t coming after you, but the smirk he wears is enough to tell you not to stop. But not long later, you realise why he isn’t chasing.

Growls, howls of excitement, absolute beastly noises erupt from left and right. The hounds are running at an astounding speed beside you, their pelts pitch black despite the moonlight that they should reflect. Jaws open, they pant at you wildly as they hunt you. Zigzagging between the trees to create a misleading path, you try to create as much distance from them as possible. But they’re quick things. Clever boys.

Soon, they are narrowing in on you, until the pack is an arrowhead surrounding you. The closest hound snaps his jaw at your ankle, barely missing you. The loud crunch from the collision of its canines as he shuts his jaw, you know your foot would have been gone if you had been one second slower. You don’t have time to yelp. You focus on running ahead, slipping between boulders and following your instinct for directions.

Where are you? You hear Seokjin once again.

I’m here! You try to scream down the bond. Save me.

You don’t know why. You don’t know why you are asking for help from the very ones you had been running from in the first place. But you just know that, whatever is hunting you, your fate would be much worse with them.

I’m coming. His utter distraught is gone, replaced by a calm composed determination instilled by the awaited reply from you at last. And you know at this moment that it was a mistake to flee. Seokjin at the very least, regardless of everyone else, would never harm you, would always look after you. Why did you leave? Why had you acted upon your deranged irrationality? We’re looking for you. Don’t worry.

Relief. Because that is a promise. And you trust him.

But now the guilt of fleeing from them kicks in. What the bond had made you feel every step you took, that ripping sensation as if you’re tearing apart something substantial, you can imagine being a mammoth’s weight worse for them with their heightened senses.

Something is chasing me. Please help me. I’m sorry.

His fear returns, this time a formidable wave wiping his away short-lived relief. What is chasing you?

Dogs, big black dogs. There was also this man.

Bloody hellhounds and a Drude demon. Shit.

You have no idea what those creatures are but you can tell by the explosion of terror in Seokjin that it’s some of the worse you could encounter.

Distracted by his disclosure, you misplace your foot on an uneven log and topple down, the bark you crash onto scraping fire against your skin. Pain explodes at the back of your skull where it hits something severe. You don’t see beyond a sea of pulsing black.

Then something rips into your leg. You don’t know if you are screaming.

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Tiny stars dance around the deep blue sky. They look pretty.

You think you hear something growling, whimpering maybe.

What is that leaking from you so briskly? Blood? Hmm.

Darkness.

You hear voices? Yes, voices. Unintelligibly arguing. But if you shut your eyes again and stop shifting on the ground, they could pass off as background music.

Then the volume grows. Fighting. Grunting. More Growling. More whimpering.

But you feel safe. You don’t know why but you feel safe. That’s how you know you’ve lost your mind for good. There are virtual flames burning around you, warmth licking at your broken body. Nothing can get past the flames. Nothing can hurt you. This phantom fire is shielding you.

You heart is burning too, fighting. Someone’s sireship is fuelling you, feeding you, forcing life back into you.

When you open your eyes, when a vaguely familiar face appears, hovering over you, obstructing your view of the towering treetops and wavering constellations. You can’t quite put of your finger on his name, but you know you’re safe.

His eyes are big, full of concern and trouble, his hair long, black, wavy but tucked behind his ears. A black liquid is splattered across him, some on his beautiful face that is taut in vexation.

You don’t protest when he carries you in strong sturdy arms, lifelessly flopping against his chest.

He is warm. Fire. Safe.

And then he is zooming past the trees, so fast the wind tickles at you violently, your limp body jostling. Though half unconscious, your eyes don’t leave him, studying his angular jaw, the round crook of his nose.

J…

A droplet of black liquid rolls off his chin and splats onto your arm. It tingles like weak acid, faintly sour, an unearthly sensation.

Your heavy lids seal you back into the darkness.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the softness around and under you. Arms from beneath you draw away, leaving your weight to sink into the bed. Your eyes stay shut.

Warmth is pressed onto your lips, gently, careful as if one hard prod would shatter you. Your throat knows to swallow the stream flowing into your mouth, its taste unfamiliar, but safe.

Warm. And safe.

Almost immediately, you feel its effects catapult into your system. Skin everywhere begins to sew back together, bones like toppled buildings building brick by brick, the chaos in your mind whispered to sleep. That protective fire around you blazing.

Still, you don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to. You can’t face them.

“Troublesome little shit.” He pushes the hair out of your face, touch possessing a surprising delicacy that contradicts his insult and completely entangles your preconceived conception of him. But his voice… So soothing like honey. Not what you expected.

You train your breath to be steadily slow, eyes to be unmoving under your closed lids, hoping to pass off as asleep. The silence creaks, followed by a rustle of bedding. Then you feel the heat of his breath stroke the tiny hairs on your forehead. You suppress a flinch. But he presses his lips onto your skin, so tenderly you almost open your eyes to see if it’s really Jungkook.

“Please don’t leave again.”

And then he’s gone.

❦

@taexxxiiaa @serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh @unatempesta-dipensieri @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @queerloser17 @linyi-lovbts @somewhereinthestarss @xxqueenwxtchxx @whitefeatheredwyvern @embrace-themagic @brokencrownqueen @i-dont-even-know-fck @bangtandimples @kalkeegan @beetaeass @confessionsofascientist @chimycthulhu @hisunshiine @shooklier @livetay84 @runlikeabuffalo @nanna022 @berryjam17 @thelouhvre @bluemooncnblue @enigmaticlove-03 @lanu-la @bangtanfancamp @brbkpop @jiminisnotavirginrecs @samariakeeper @goodnightbug @dont-touch-me-fwit @tastelessfoolsbts @queensavage1245 @laced-brds @ultraanonymousey @ashchats @godzillagirl-14 @lustremyg @animeshins @it-is-dana @itsavakent @strawberrym0chii @namchimtae @smoljams@brightenn @btsxdoll @d-noona @show-respect-to-your-queen @fyeebangtan@for-hobi @lx-leeta @thesoftuglies

❦

19/01/2020

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