#broken sails ch

[lily-of-thev4lley]

Broken Sails

Prologue: Words we should have never left unsaid

“You want to be a pirate? Seriously?” Shakes said as he swished his legs in the water back and forth.

He enjoyed the tickly feeling of the soft waves playfully lapping at his feet as he sat on the precariously old structure that the habitants of Milnora called a port. Fact that the boy had always found funny, since no other boats ever came to the place.

Skarra turned to him so quickly, that Shakes feared for a moment that his friend might had broken his neck. Though his concern gave pass to amusement when he looked at the indignant expression plastered on the other boy's face.

“Well, of course! And you should know it better than everybody else on this island!” Skarra proudly replied, puffing out his chest. His friend only watched him in silence as his dark eyes shined with poorly hidden glee.

Since meeting him, the boy hadn't stopped proudly voicing his dream whenever he could. It was more than expected for him to do so at any given opportunity, so it wouldn’t come off as a surprise if the whole island knew it at this point.

Skarra huffed and clasped his hands behind his back before walking closer to him, adopting a proud air about him. The rotten planks creaked and moaned under his small weight. “ I really don't understand why it's so difficult for you to believe.” He commented while shaking his shaven head.

Shakes hummed thoughtfully. “Let's see…”, he raised a hand and started to count with his fingers. “You don't know how to drive a boat, you don't know how a compass works— let alone seen one in your life. — you've never used a sword or a gun, the older kids always win when you ‘spar’, you've never met a pirate—

“Alright, alright, I think that's enough—”

“… And you don't even know how to swim!” finished Shakes.

Skarra sighed in defeat and plopped down next to his friend, deciding to not argue any further. “Yeah. Even though you spent all summer trying to teach me. Thanks for helping me, anyways.”

“Don’t even mention it.”

And with that, the two boys fell into a comfortable silence.

The sun was only starting to set, bathing everything its rays touched in a gentle rose-gold. The waves twinkled like little colorful stars moving around in an endless dance as old as time. It was an spectacle like no other and, as always, it seemed to wrap Shakes in a magical trance. The azure depths called to him — no — sang for him as they'd done countless times before, only each time they grew stronger, more eager, more desperate.

And Shakes heard the call, but didn't make any move to follow it.

Instead, he nervously licked his lips, cringing slightly at their chapped texture. From the corner of his eye, he casted a quick glance at his best friend (But could Shakes really call Skarra a friend with the way he couldn't seem to stop thinking about him and his eyes and his hands and his voice?).

Shakes swallowed, trying to push down the bile that had raised to his throat. He palmed his clammy palms on the dusty pants he wore, and sighed.

It was now or never.

“It's just… I have something to tell you.”

“Oh! I have something to tell you, too!”

Shakes tilted his head to the side. “…Oh? You…do?”

Skarra nodded. “Yeah! But you go first.”

“Oh! Uh, don't worry, you can go first.” Shakes quickly stammered, grateful to not be the center of attention anymore.

As the anxiousness left, curiosity filled his mind, for what could be so important that the other boy ‘s face had morphed into such an uncharacteristic expression?. Skarra was frowning deeply; his lips were set into a thin, straight line as his eyes bored into his.

Shakes sucked in a sharp breath as a thought came popped up in his mind.

Could he…?

Shakes was brought out of his thoughts by his friend's voice. “I mean, it's more of a question.” Skarra mumbled thoughtfully, completely unaware of the way the other boy was holding his breath while leaning forward as slowly as he could.

“It doesn't matter, go on…” Shakes softly spurred him on, now breathing in and out to slow down the pounding of his heart, fearful that Skarra might’ve been able to hear it.

“Do you…”, Skarra started, making Shakes suck in a sharp breath.” Do you want to sail with me?”

“…Huh?”

Sharra scratched his head. “Well, I figured that sailing alone would be pretty hard, so why not sail with my best friend on the world?” The boy finished, turning to Shakes with a toothy smile on his face.

Shakes didn't have to think twice. “Yes… Yes! I want to sail with you.”

Skarra laughed and his smile stretched even more, the setting Sun now haloing his figure. “Ha-ha, then let's sail together!”  he said, pumping up a fist in the air.

His good energy was contagious, but a question still nagged at Shakes. “But we don't have a boat?”

“Oh, you're right.” Skarra said as he brought his fist down and a frown settled on his face. His humor change didn't last for too long, for a few seconds of silence later he beamed. “We'll make a boat, and then we'll sail together!”

Shakes could only shake his head and sigh as he smiled fondly at his friend, who had now started to talk about all the things their boat would have and the places they would visit once they finished building it.

Shakes had no doubts that the sea had been there for a long while, and that it would stay there for a while more. There would always be more tomorrows, and they would bring more fun, sunny days to spend with Skarra.

A nice, cool breeze blew over his face, bringing with it a faint melody from the sea. Shakes smiled back at his friend, hoping to convey everything he wanted to tell him in that single gesture.

Yeah. As long as he and Skarra where together, everything would be fine.

hihihi! I hope you enjoyed this little prologue! This fic is loosely based on @cryingstrika 's sharra mermaid au drawings and it's been on the works for a while. I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to have and updates may be slow and the characters may be a bit (or veryxd) ooc

also, english isn't my 1st language<\3

thanks for reading!

[spacecowboyhotch]

Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged (18+ only)!

boundless taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @grogusmum, @ninebluehearts, @mdnigts

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 11 - Run

(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver, 9 - Coffee, 10 - Flight)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

What’s happened to Scotty? Has Virg broken the door or just his shoulder? Has John eaten his own arm in despair? Has EOS accidentally overthrown the government of a medium sized country in her anxiety?

None of these questions will be answered here, as I leave the Tracys within the tender loving care of @sofasurf and her alligators and we quickly check in with somebody else…

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One of the best things about Bez was his relentless enthusiasm about something as simple as her unlocking the front door. She smiled as he treated her to an impromptu drool bath and gradually nudged him down the hallway so she could put down her bags.

“You’ll never guess who I met today, Niebieski… the Commander of International Rescue! … Yes, he did seem nice… No, he didn’t have any treats…Yes it’s possible to be nice and not have treats, you daft creature… You don’t believe me do you?”

Extracting herself she reached up and extracted one of his favourite chews from the top cupboard.

“Give me a minute to get changed, Bez, then we’ll go for a run, ok?”

Receiving only chomping noises by way of reply, she left him to it and went to sort herself out. Grabbing her phone to check the time, it unlocked on the new contact screen and she smiled. He’d given her his personal number, just in case, but had been endearingly awkward as he’d asked her to save it under a pseudonym. Something to do with his brother John, someone called Kyra and security protocols, he was sorry it was such a weird thing to ask. She didn’t mind, she knew exactly what to name to save the number under.

She tapped the word ‘Blue’ and sent a quick message as he’d asked, given he’d not had his own with him.

“Was good to meet you today. Here is my number. I hope you’re doing ok? Estera”

Right. Job done. Next on the list: exercise.

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The wind was bitter as the sun slipped below the horizon and stained the clouds behind which it had been skulking most of the afternoon.

The plus side was it meant nobody else was out this far. They’d have the less well known Jacob’s Ladder beach to themselves while the rest of the dog walkers did a quick circuit of the main seafront. Bez, well insulated from the frigid air, lolloped excitedly down the steep path ahead and she ambled behind, limbs trembling slightly in the aftermath of their clifftop run. The exertion had helped focus her mind, as it always did, while she was actually running. But as soon as she allowed her heart rate to slow, the swirling thoughts returned.

The tide was right out, and it seemed every sea bird in the Westcountry had gathered to scour the shoreline for treats, their figures dark against the reddening sky and their fading shadows reaching many times their height across the sand towards her.

As expected, there were no other dogs on the beach - she unclipped the leash and let Bez hare towards the ocean, driving the gulls into the air in a squawking cloud, the combined sound of their wings like a drum roll in the distance. Usually his unbridled joy would be catching, but today she felt kind of detached, as if she was watching him frolic in a poor quality recording on a broken screen.

The shadows lengthened further.

Suddenly unable to contain all of the Everything building up inside, she let out a yelp and ran across the top of the beach towards the sunset. For a given value of running anyway. The pebbles sucked her legs downwards with every step, her feet slipping and twisting on the uneven surface. The wind whipped across the bay and blasted into her face, hair streaming and coat billowing behind her like a sail. Despite forcing her last scraps of pent up energy into her muscles she made barely any progress and eventually stumbled forwards, landing with a crunch amongst the stones.

She pushed herself on to her knees and paused, dizzy but aware of Bez sprinting back towards her, droplets of seawater flying from his fur.

Then he was there, shoving his soaking wet face into hers, blending the salt of the sea with the salt of her shame.

She’d left him.

The initial delight that he’d survived, that he hadn’t been stabbed to death in the square as she’d imagined was overshadowed by what she now knew his attempt to rescue her had cost him. The stories of the nearby camp were rife in the town. The open secret of the mass grave to the east of it. The horrors inside. Some said it was simple torture. Others had heard from someone who knew someone who had heard tell of twisted medical experiments. People said that when the wind was right, you could hear the desperate screams on the road, over a mile away. Nobody knew the truth of it because nobody came out.

People didn’t survive the camp.

And then there were the dogs. The constant barking as they patrolled the town, barely under the control of the thugs who held the leash. There were dogs at the camp too, she knew that. She recalled watching, helpless, from her window as her neighbour was dragged from his house by the snarling beasts. If he’d even made it to the camp alive, it wouldn’t have been long for him.

People didn’t survive the camp.

Somehow Scott had. She couldn’t quite believe it. It clearly hadn’t left him unscathed though. She covered her face and tried to picture the twinkle in his eyes as he had teased her about the toy in her pocket. The eyes of somebody who was alive and knew laughter. But she couldn’t find them. Instead she saw his wide, frightened eyes watching unknown horrors unfold behind her, in a reality only he could see.

She clenched her fists and yelled her apology to the sky, before pulling her knees to her head and wrapping her arms around her legs as she sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Bez, damp yet radiating warmth, lay against her back and waited.

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[AO3]

[thewildomega]

Finder's Keepers Ch.13

Giving a whimper as pain rippled across your skull you scrunched your eyes closed and brought your hand up to gently rub at the aching spot on the back of your head. Feeling some of your hair stuck together along a large goose egg you again let out a whimper as your head throbbed. Trying to open your eyes you had to blink away the spots but all too soon you were looking up at the sky, the dark clouds rumbling and spinning some in the light of the lightning.

Feeling something under your uneven body you glanced to the side to see none other than the body of your alpha. As another bolt of lightning went off and showed blood dripping down his side you quickly sat up and crawled over to look down at the man you loved. Scanning your eyes over his chest you gasped at the sight of the crater over his left pectoral. Feeling your heart hammer and your breath pick up you looked around to see you both were in a small sail boat and you were surrounded by the dark sea. As it all came back to you, you could not help the agonizing scream that left your throat. 

"NOOOOO! SHANKS!! NOOOO!!" your screamed, gut wrenching guilt clawing at your heart at the knowledge that your baby brother was undoubtfully dead. Sobbing so hard that your whole body shook you cried out and felt the tears pour from your eyes. So much so that it took your longer to notice that it had started to rain and not just a sprinkle either. Sucking in a shaky breath you looked back to your alpha and moved to hesitantly lay your head on his chest, dreading the silence that may meet your ears. Laying your ear flat to his bloody chest you closed your eyes "please." Listening intently you felt your heart sink for a moment but just then a thumping was heard and you could not help from letting out another sob in relief. He was alive, for now. Sitting up you kissed his cheek and took a breath, tears still rolling down your face. He was alive but if the both of you were to stay that way then you couldn't just sit here in the middle of the open sea. Using the next few strikes of lightning to look around in every direction you felt dread take over more and more and even when you did see what you thought was a speck of land in the distance you could not find it to be relieved. It was a long way off and the waves were growing stronger by the second, it would take a miracle to get you both over there but you were not going to give up. Quickly standing to tie the broken sail back up as best you could you looked around until you felt two oars and managed to pull them out from under your massive alpha before sitting down and using all the strength you had to row. 

Biting your lip you pushed yourself on more, glancing behind you to see the island just a little ways off now. Moving both of your heavy feeling arms in the motion you closed your eyes as your palms were set aflame. When the bottom of your boat hit something you glanced back to see you had in fact made it but now came the hard part. Letting go of the oars you jumped into the wet sand, feeling weak as sea water was washed up to your knees. Refusing to give up you grabbed the rope tied to the stern and pulled. Once you had the front up onto the sand you grew to your larger size and grabbed hold of it. "Ahhhh." Pulling it up onto the sand until you were sure it would not be  washed back out you tied the rope to a nearby tree. Looking around the beach with the little sun that was beginning to rise through the clouds. Not seeing anything but rocks and trees you panted and looked back to your mate. Walking over to him you kissed his cheek once more, "I'll be back." 

Forcing yourself away from the safety of your alpha you ran through the trees and bushes, searching high and low for anything. Seeing some cliffs to the right you narrowed your eyes and moved towards them. At first you found nothing but then as you pulled back some ivy grown up one side you found a cave of sorts, though the opening was small it was larger in size, big enough to fit your mate and you inside. With this in mind you hurried back to the beach. 

Starring down at the huge male you took a deep breath and licked your lips. This was going to be difficult but you had no choice. Moving into the boat you pulled him up into a slouched sitting position and turned him more towards the side. Trying to hold him up as you got out you let out a gasp as the boat tipped over with his weight. Quickly catching it on your shoulder before it could fall onto him you let out a scream. Breathing heavily you managed to flip the boat back over after getting him out laying on the sand. Grabbing the bag, pistol and cloak Rocks had given you, you laid them by the tree for now, hiding them under a few bushes. Glancing to the boat and then back to Ed you moved to untie the boat before moving out into the water some, feeling your knees shake as you were overcome with fatigue. Rocking the boat back and forth until the water filled up one side and took it under you let go and allowed it to sink, hiding it from anyone who might come looking. If the navy knew some of the Rocks pirates had escaped then they would no doubt search other nearby islands. While you had no idea how far you and Ed had been pushed out you weren't taking any chances. 

Once that was done you moved back over to the large male and took a deep breath, growing back to your larger size before pushing your arms under his to start pulling him towards the cave you had found. Gritting your teeth you breathed heavily as you strained to pull the man who was much larger than you. Tripping once more you fell backwards and laid there for a moment to catch your breath. "That's it, when you wake up your going on a diet." you spoke. 

By the time the sun was higher in the sky you had him in the cave. Heading back out to get your things you stumbled back to the cave, your body feeling like it was made of lead. Dropping them by his head you blinked your heavy feeling eyes and looked to see him still out. Crawling over to him you touched his cheek and gasped, he felt cold, his skin clammy feeling.  A fire, you needed to make a fire and treat his wound or it was going to get infected. 

As you ran through the forest you were sure that your body was running on pure shock and adrenaline. Finding some sticks, both small and large, pinecones and straw you hurried it all back to the cave before looking around for two stones. Stacking it all up not too far from him you held the stones in your hands and tried to mimic what you had seen Rocks do to start a fire. It took more than a couple of tries and you were past frustrated when a few sparks shot off one of the stones and onto the straw, smoke quickly forming and then small flames. Making sure the fire was going good enough you moved out to grab some more wood quickly as it had started to rain once more and you knew it would not burn wet. Brining it inside you tossed it to the side for later, for now you had to treat Ed's wounds. 

Searching through the bag Rocks had shoved on your shoulders you found a small medical kit, it would last three days at best on someone as big as Ed was. But you would use what you had. As far as your own wounds went, well you would worry about that later. Taking a deep breath you looked down to his wounds and then to the items you had, time to put everything Kureha had taught you to use. 

.....................................

Forcing your heavy eyelids open you stared up at the rock ceiling of the cave you had been in for the last four days or so you thought anyway. Truthfully once you had gotten Ed's wounds sewn up and bandaged the other day you had passed out, your adrenaline wearing off. When you had woken it had been  near dark and the fire was completely out so there was no telling how long you had slept. 

Over these days you had cared for your alpha as best as you could, cleaning and dressing his wounds as well as forcing him to drink some water from the now empty rum bottle Rocks had packed in the bag, the alcohol being used to clean Ed's wounds. Pushing your sore body up from the ground you glanced towards the opening to see it was daylight. Turning your attention back to the large alpha male that was laying beside you, you saw the rising and falling of his chest making you grin softly, he was alive and his wounds looked to be healing. On the second day you had been awake he had given you quite a scare when you had noticed his fever but thankfully there had been a vile of antibiotics in the first aid kit along with a syringe. Now he only seemed to be resting. Still as much as you wanted him to rest and heal you hoped he would soon wake. 

Starting your day like you had the past three you took the bottle to the small spring that was a short walk from your little cave before you cleaned and changed Ed's dressings. Once that was done you made another walk to the spring to get water for him to drink, lifting his head up into your lap and slowly pouring the liquid into his mouth and softly telling him to drink as you messaged his throat to help him along. After your alpha was tended to you went to search for some kind of food, taking the dagger that had also been in the bag. 

This island seemed to have a small village on the further side from where you both were but you had yet to go into it, knowing your alpha would not want you there alone. But you knew if he was not up soon you would have no choice, finding little food on the island. Swallowing down a few blueberries you found you closed your eyes as your stomach yelled at you to feed it. Sighing out you headed back to the cave, picking up new firewood along the way. 

Spending the next few hours singing softly to your alpha as you watched the rain falling outside of the cave you sighed as the song ended. Looking down to the man you loved you stroked your fingers through his hair, attempting to keep the long waves of gold from getting too tangled. "I know you need rest but if you could just wake up for a little bit, enough to assure me that I'm not alone, that I'm not going to loose you too.." biting your lip as it began trembling you swallowed the knot in your throat. "I wouldn't be able to go on if I lost you. I miss you Ed." feeling tears drop to your cheeks you leaned over to place your head on his chest. Your whole body ached, your injuries throbbing but as you listened to the sound of his thumping heart you were able to ignore them and closed your eyes to imagine you were both back on that ship you had hated so much, that you were both just laying in bed and everything was fine. Ed was fine, he was sleeping with you on his chest and Shan.... as the thought of your baby brother came to your head you felt more tears leak from your eyes and all too soon sobs were falling from your mouth, shaking your body and causing your heart to clench painfully in your chest. Curling up into your alpha's side you tried to get as much comfort as you could from his unconscious body. 

Waking sometime during the early morning you blinked your tired eyes open and forced yourself to stand on unsteady legs, too tired to even bother with your shoes but grabbing the bottle on your way out to empty your bladder. Once you had refilled the bottle you turned to go back to your cave when you stopped in your tracks. Looking up the barrel of the riffle that was aimed at you, you saw a man standing there, a marine no doubt seeing as he was dressed in a white uniform. Feeling your heart hammer in your chest, your breathing turned erratic and you swallowed down on nothing but the moisture in your mouth. Seeing four others standing around him all holding swords you saw the one in front smirk.

"Told you there'd be some of Rocks' crew lingerin' about on this shit hole of an island."

"But sir how do you..."

"Just look at her eyes, that one they caught said there was an omega on the ship and here she is." he responded to the one behind him before looking to the female and grinning. "Now honey we can do this the easy way or..."

Without a moments thought you chucked the bottle at the man's head and took off in the opposite direction. Jumping over a log and running as fast as you could you held your side as the sword slash there was set ablaze, no doubt reopening. Hearing a gun go off you cried out as your arm was hit. Stumbling into a tree you continued on, running further away from your alpha no matter how much your instincts were telling him to seek the safety of your alpha. Making it to the edge of the cliff you skidded to a stop as you nearly fell over it. Going to run towards the town you were shoved to the ground hard, the breath getting knocked from you. Going to grow you felt something quickly get slapped on one wrist and then the other. Looking up you saw it was cuffs and knew from the instant fatigue that overcame you they were sea stone. Growling you adempted to still buck the male from on top of you but to no avail. Refusing to give up you thrashed with every ounce of energy you had as you were hauled up and forced to stand. Looking to the male as he came to stand in front of you, blood running down his nose and brow from where you had hit him with the bottle. Seeing him glare at you attempting to intimidate you, you only snarled, barring your teeth at him. 

"Hard way it is then." he huffed before slamming the stock of the riffle into her face, knocking her unconscious. Taking a deep breath he looked to the officer holding her, bring the pirate back to camp, have her strung up and ready for interrogation."

"Interrogation sir?"

"Yes, I intend to locate every piece of filth that drifted away from that island and finally rid the world of the Rocks' pirates." he assured the subordinate before turning and making his way back to camp. 

....................................

Everything was unclear as you tried to flutter your lashes open but only one eye was currently co-operating for you. There was not much you were sure of at the moment, everything blurry and your memory fuzzy but you soon felt the ache throughout your body, the one in your arm and face a new addition to your pervious injuries. Trying to move your arms from where they were being held above you found you couldn't and groaned as you tried to pull free. Blinking your one eye a few times you saw sand below you and lifted your head up to glance around you. Seeing tents as well as two marines walking about you felt your heart hammer. Looking up you saw you were in fact chained to the limb of a tree, your feet just barely touching the ground. Looking about again you searched for any clue as to where you were on the island but it didn't look like anywhere you had been before, you didn't even see the small village near by. Were you on the other side of the island? Ed, had they found Ed? Turning to look around you you saw no other and felt a small sense of relief. But panic soon rose in you again at the voice speaking as a man came walking out of one of the larger tents. 

"Well look who is finally awake. About time honey I was starting to worry you'd tapped out before we could have any real fun."

Glaring up at the male as he moved to stand in front of you once again you saw his face now stitched up but with bruises now staining his once handsome face. You tried to look tough, tried to show no fear but he saw right through it as he huffed out a chuckle. 

"Just remember sweetheart you chose to go this route." 

Watching him walk away from you towards a small table that had been set to the side you saw him pour himself a glass of clear liquid that you doubted was water, swallowing it down in one big gulp before he lifted something that made your blood run cold. 

Giving a experimental flick of the cat o nine tails he reeked in the look of terror on the omega's face. "Now I don't suppose you would like to talk about the Rocks' Pirates would you?"

..................................

A violent clenching in his heart caused him to shoot up from where ever he had been laying, his hand flying to his chest which was bandaged. The pain though was not coming from his wound, it was deeper than that, causing his very soul agony. Groaning he squeezed his eyes shut and panted until he could managed to open them. Seeing a darkened room? No not a room the floor and walls and ceiling were made of rock, a cave, he was in a darkened cave. The small bit of sunlight that came in through the entrance showed him a bag and a few items laying about as well as a place were a fire had been kept. Panting he thought on the last memories he had before everything went black. Y/n, his omega he was trying to get to her and he had. He had found her on the beach but she was being attacked and he had killed the bastards but then everything began to spin and went dark. He could hear her calling for him, begging him to stay awake, to get into the boat. After that he could recall nothing. Seeing her shoes on the ground next to him as he knew she had been here which meant she had somehow gotten him in here as well but she was not here now. Where was she? Where was his mate? Groaning as the pain started up once more he knew what that meant, his omega was in trouble, she needed him. Crawling out of the cave he pushed himself to his feet and held onto the cave as he got his footing. Looking out across the land he narrowed his eyes as he looked through the trees for any sign of her. When a agonizing scream cut through the forest from the distance he grit his teeth and growled deeply as he pushed off the cliff towards it as fast as he could. 

[rainydaywhump]

Adrift: Ch. 3

<- Prev

*tosses a bedraggled little rat of a whumpee into your mailbox* I'm baaaaack!

CWs/themes: male caretaker; male whumpee; memory loss; recovery from near-death; open ocean; the author got all of her sailing knowledge from John Flanagan's Brotherband series; severe injuries; past kidnapping/abuse

Jonah's dreams are an exhausted blur of hastily conjured scenes, the type that your brain throws at you when it's too tired to focus on much more than sleep. The few images he can really process are full of blinding sun on water, a battered life raft, and wide, terrified brown eyes...

A sound.

Jonah bolts up from his chair in an instant -- and finds himself locking eyes with the young man struggling to sit up, half covered in bandages, on his bed.

Jonah starts in surprise, but the castaway flinches harder. His eyes are wide, brow creased in fear, shoulders stiff and hands trembling, their grip on the sheets desperate but weak enough that he's barely hanging on.

"Hey," Jonah starts, moving to stand -- but he freezes when the castaway scrambles backwards, only to bump his head on the wall. “Okay. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.”

The man shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Jonah puts his empty palms up for him to see.

"My name is Jonah Westman," he says slowly. He tries for a smile. "I found you in bad shape out in the water, but you're on the mend. How are you feeling?"

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. After a moment, he whispers, "... better."

"That's great," Jonah says encouragingly, and he's about to say more when the boy looks down to examine his bandages. His breath catches at the sight of the gauze wrapped around his wrists.

"What happened to me?"

Jonah assumes he's asking about how he got here. Slowly, he stands up and lowers himself again, this time to the side of the bed.

"I think you were adrift for at least a couple days," he says. "I spotted you and hauled you up -- you were..." He hesitates. "...you were delirious, but I got you fixed up as best as I could. You've got some pretty bad wounds, but they're healing."

What he doesn't say is the thought that's been plaguing him ever since he realized that the castaway was still alive: the odds of my course intercepting his were almost zero. If I hadn't spotted him, no one would've.

Water first, questions later. He helps the stranger drink until he can't anymore.

The boy just stares at him; he's fidgeting with the gauze covering his chest, but he doesn't seem to realize it. Jonah clears his throat. "Can you tell me what you remember before waking up here?" He asks, as gently as he can.

The castaway's face goes blank, but his shoulders tremble. "You don't have to," Jonah adds softly. "It's okay."

The boy looks away and shakes his head, hiding his face in shadow.

Hesitantly, Jonah puts a hand on his shoulder; this earns him a shuddering flinch, but the boy leans back into it before Jonah can pull away.

"My satellite is broken, but as soon as I can get it fixed, I'll radio for help for you. Is that okay?"

A shaky nod. "I -- I'm sorry for causing so much trouble," the castaway whispers.

Jonah blinks. "Trouble? What, the sat? There was a bad storm a few days ago, that's all; and it's only the sat and a bit of the halyard that's broken, and it'll be no trouble to fix it."

"I -- I mean, I -- you went to all this trouble for me, and, and I don't -- you don't even know my name -- I need to repay you, please, tell me how to --

"Your name! That's a great place to start. You're not causing any trouble, man, but it'd be nice to know what to call you," Jonah says with an encouraging smile.

But again, the boy hesitates.

"...I don't know either," he admits.

The words break a dam that's been building up inside him; somehow, in one brief instant, Jonah is holding the boy close while the latter sobs, choking on his tears and shivering despite the blankets and Jonah's grasp. The sailor holds him as tight as he can, what with being aware of his injuries, and the nameless young man clings to him even tighter. "God -- fuck, I don't -- I know who I am, only I don't, I --"

"Deep breaths," Jonah murmurs over his dark curls. "Breathe with me, breathe with me. Let it out...in..."

Several rounds pass. The boy's sobs subside to hiccups; Jonah gently extracts himself and reaches for his water bottle. "Please take some more. You need it."

He's barely finished drinking when the words start spilling from his lips. "I -- I know I was on a boat, a ship, and it was all fine -- I was happy, I think my friends were there -- but then they weren't and I was on another ship, it was, I didn't want to be there but I think -- I think they made me, they..."

He grabbed at his neck and trailed his fingers across the thin layer of gauze protecting the wounds beneath it.

"I don't remember what happened after that," he choked.

"You were kidnapped," Jonah surmised quietly. The boy flinched again.

"Who are you?" He asked, looking away. "You said your name is Jonah...uh..."

"Westman," the sailor supplied. "I'm sailing solo across the Atlantic. Always wanted to."

"Why'd you save me, Jonah? I... I'm," the boy gestured vaguely at his battered body, "I'm useless. Someone's already gotten to me."

...

A hollow, cold cocktail of self-hatred, fear, and hopelessness had been pooling steadily in his gut ever since waking up to see the man sleeping in the chair beside an unfamiliar bed. Said man was looking at him now with an expression that he was too scared to decipher, a change in the sailor's eyes after his nameless self said the truth out loud.

"Why did you save me? I'm useless. Someone's already gotten to me."

He didn't know where he was -- okay, he knew he was on Jonah's sailboat somewhere on the ocean, but he couldn't even tell which ocean. He knew the name of his rescuer whom he'd only met lucidly a few minutes ago, and -- oh good god. Did he even know what he looked like?! He had a fairly clear mental image of his own face, but how could he be sure it was real?

"You're not --" Jonah started to say.

Just as he looked up and said, barely managing to get the word out, "Bathroom."

Jonah blinked. "Oh -- yes, sorry."

He stood to offer him a hand up, and he took it hesitantly. His legs were weak still (he could feel it; he didn't dare look down to see what the damage really was, because he could feel the bandages and creams Jonah must have put on them), and they almost failed completely, but he found his footing just in time. Jonah gave him a questioning look. "I'm fine."

...only to let out a startled yelp when his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

"Yes. Fine, I'm sure," came Jonah's dry voice from above.

"S-sorry," he managed.

"No need for apologies," the sailor said gently. "Here, let me get you."

And all of a sudden, strong arms were lifting him up and the world was righting itself. He gasped in surprise; when he opened his eyes, Jonah was looking away determinedly as he carried him.

RUN! A part of his nervous system screamed, but a slower, more logical part of him reminded it that he was probably safe...or, if he wasn't, that there was nowhere to run to.

"Th-thanks," he managed.

Jonah carefully steered them across the cramped quarters. He set him down in the small bathroom but stayed to let him lean against him, looking for him to lead.

The castaway felt empty, and all he cared about was seeing a mirror anyway, so he let himself slump against Jonah and, taking a breath, looked at his reflection in the small rectangle over the sink.

He breathed a sigh of relief. The face that stared back at him, eyes wide and lips parted, was almost the same as the one in his head: dark skin; curly hair, black save for a strand of out-of-place silver; a smattering of stubborn acne that, he recalled dimly, he could never seem to get rid of. But there were all too many attributes that he didn't remember, things that were surely recent: bruises on his neck and collarbone...peeling, burned skin...red eyes, puffy circles under them...and there on his chest, peeking out from the gauze, something that looked an awful lot like more than a sun burn.

Jonah was saying something beside him, something trivial about if you need privacy or some other odd thing, and he feels himself nod even though privacy is the last thing he wants right now. The edges of his vision dim and Jonah doesn't realize, closing the door behind him with a satisfying click as he steps out into the narrow hallway to give him some space.

And that's the last thing he hears before the world turns upside down.

[deoxys314]

Cosmere Connections in Secret Project 1 (spoilers)

I had the day off yesterday, so I did in fact read SP1 on the first day. I thought I'd put together a post about the connections to other planets and magical mechanics that I noticed, interspersed with some of my theories.

Spoilers for every published Cosmere work.

Let's start with the things on Lumar:

There are 12 different varieties of aethers, which are apparently not the "true" form of them. Instead, they are described as spores.

We know of: Blue/zephyr, crimson/spikes, verdant/vines, black/midnight essence, pink/roseite, yellow/light(/heat)

Each type of aether pours from a moon, which is very close to the planet and apparently they are arranged roughly in the center of a pentagon, so that the planet, while spherical so far as we know, is decorated like a dodecahedron.

These are created in HUGE numbers, enough to form the planet's ocean and sail upon. When not being liquefied, they can even be walked on, if you're bold.

They "activate" when exposed to water, creating a burst of their essence.

I'd hazard a guess that these are somehow related to the 10 essences known on Roshar. The spikes and midnight seem like the odd ones out, and that leaves 10, of which zephyr, heat/fire, vine and stone match up.

When dealing with Midnight Essence, Hoid describes the Luhel Bond. It consumes something physical, water from the human(/spaient being) side, in contrast to the Nahel bond, which is Spiritual.

These bonds apparently have a naming scheme, [syllable]-hel. I had thought that Nahel was someone's name, maybe someone who researched it, but perhaps these names come from somewhere else. Or, maybe several types of bond are catalogued and a consistent naming scheme was come up with by those scholars.

Hoid is there. In fact, he's telling us this story. He sort of cross-cuts so I'll talk about him in other planets. Here, I'll note that despite being cursed, he appears to know a good deal about the aethers. Experience from another planet, or something he picked up bumming locally?

Now references to other planets, in no particular order.

Scadrial:

The roseite essence, at least, responds to iron and steel: they pull and push it. gasp consistency! I would be fascinated to know a: what the other metals to to roseite and b: what reactions the other essences have.

There's a kandra around, just vibing. He's learned how to graft parts of humans onto himself. Presumably any kandra who wanted to learn a high degree of bodily control could do so.

The kandra have apparently been released to . . . wander the cosmere? We hear Sazed released them, so I wonder if Harmony, in line with previous actions realized he couldn't force them to serve him and let them all through the perpendicularity if they wanted, or perhaps Discord just doesn't care about them right now.

Roshar

Hoid is here but we don't see Design so far as I can tell. This could be because Hoid is not on screen terribly much, or the bond could be broken, or maybe, as a lightweaver, Hoid just disguised it.

Big one: the black spores produce Midnight Essence. This is the same name, and apparently the same substance as what is produced by Re-Shephir, the Midnight Mother.

The MM creates ME, as does the spores produced by the black moon. How these two places/entities are related is not known.

The ME on Roshar do not seem to require water. One wonders what sort of bond they have and what they feed on (emotions, so maybe some more Spiritual or Cognitive stuff?)

Threnody

As on Threnody, silver blunts or disables the magic system here, in the form of killing the spores. notably, this works in a ranged manner, and does not tarnish or use up the silver in any way that we see.

Aluminum also blocks the effects of silver.

First of the Sun

Hoid mentions in passing the tale of Linji, who tried to sail around the world with no Aviar. (ch 24)

There are also a few other things which make me think he is telling this story to a First-of-the-Sunnian. (Is there a better demonym for that?) References to ships coming from "your sky" and so on.

Taldain

At some point, someone references a 13th type of spore. Apparently, no one can agree if it's white or black. I read this as being White Sand from the Dayside of Taldain. (ch 23)

Nalthis

The iron soldiers of the Sorceress are Awakened, with some reasonably complex commands. This is already in line with what we've seen from Warbreaker.

The tablets that Fort uses are apparently at least part Awakened, and use Connection and Intent to be supremely useful devices. They are described by Hoid in technological terms ("tablet", "hacked", etc) and I suspect that they bear some relation to our conception of a tablet or high-tech artifact. So far as we know, physics in the cosmere is the same as the real world plus the magic, so there's no theoretical reason anyone couldn't make a semiconductor-based computing device with "mundane" principles. (Though as I said up top, this device is described as at least partly powered by Awakening.) It even recharges with solar power.

Sel

The Sorceress is Riina. We last saw her as one of the members of the IRE trying to fake connection to and take up the shard of Preservation. (Kelsier scared them off the Scadrain sub-astral, good fun.)

She is an Elantrian, and apparently has no issues accessing that power very far from Sel. There was a clunky device doing that in the Cognitive realm when we saw her in Secret History. We don't see any realm but the Physical in this book, so unknown if that is still the method or something more elegant has been devised.

Hey speaking of SH, she's really old! Elantrians don't age much, if at all.

Hoid went to see her to get enough Connection to join/hack into/trick into being an Elantrian himself. Hoid is obviously not from Sel, so there must be some process that is known for inviting someone or making someone into one of them.

She is adept at curses, which can have apparently wide-ranging effects (e.g., transfiguring someone into a rat.) These also take the form of a geas, a compulsion placed upon the subject. In general, they can't talk about the curse or how to reverse it. (It's unknown if that is a general feature of the curses or if Riina must "set" it each time she casts one.)

These curses are probably Selish? They seem to be strongly related to language. Hoid cannot just break the curse, but he can sort of twiddle the requirements to make it easier for the subject to break. Also, the new requirements sort of rhyme with the old.

Anyway, I'll read this book again sometime. Probably later this year as I do my Cosmere re-read. I think this is the farthest along we've ever gotten temporally, so it will probably be last.

What did I miss? Did I get anything wrong? I'd love to discuss.

[kyouka-supremacy]

you never miss about chuuaku can we hear more thoughts about them from you pretty please

Aawwwwww, thank you!!! Here's even more chuuaku thoughts. This is how their relationship would play out in my opinion:

Akutagawa joins the pm, picked up by Dazai. When he joins the pm, Chuuya is... Vaguely sympathetic for him, but not to a particularly great extent really. He's a traumatized kid from the slums, but that doesn't make him any different to like 95% of the other people Chuuya has met in the pm. Chuuya barely spares a thought for him beyond remarking how he's been twice unlucky to be recluted by Dazai of all people. He probably stops a second to wonder whether there was a meaning to Dazai choosing him - because nothing happens by chance with Dazai -, but doesn't waste too much thinking over it because it's useless to try and understand what goes through Dazai's twisted mind anyways. At this point Akutagawa just joined, and is probably not even aware of Chuuya's existence yet.

Akutagawa spends time in the pm under Dazai's training. Chuuya has slowly grown a subtle disliking for him– nothing like outright animosity, but he's annoyed, on one hand, by Akutagawa's ruthless and chaos-ridden way of executing missions, on the other, by how blindly loyal he is to Dazai. He doesn't really dwell on how Dazai is training Akutagawa; it's none of his business, he's in no place to judge how other pm members train their disciples, and it's the mafia, he never expected to find kindness in it to begin with; he'd twist his nose in disapproval whenever he catches a glimpse of what Dazai is doing to his trainee, but it's also like the tenth worst thing he's seen Dazai doing, so he doesn't really think about it.

Akutagawa, on the other end, is fastly growing hostile to Chuuya. He adores Dazai and trusts anything he says, and Dazai is constantly acting like he hates Chuuya– how could it be any different? He's still a child, and a very immature one at that. He's damaging a lot. Not to mention, he can sense Chuuya and Dazai share this connection, this complicity he can only dream to have with Dazai; his antipathy for Chuuya is heightened by jealousy in the partnership he shares with Dazai.

Dazai leaves, and hell breaks loose at the pm. Chuuya and Akutagawa are both left behind, alone and broken. They're hurting like no one can understand– no one except the other. And I don't think they talked about it right away, that year, or the year after that, and I don't think it visibly brought them closer in the immediate; but even then, they must know they're the only ones who can understand each other's pain. Especially on Chuuya's end, who is a little less repressed and a little more emotionally intelligent, this must have been the first time he felt strong sympathy for Akutagawa; because he's going through a lot, and he gets it. He gets what it feels like to be left behind without a warning or a word. He gets how it must have been, if possible, even worse for Akutagawa: because Chuuya loved Dazai, but he also hated him, and their relationship was so complex and infuriating it must have been in part relieving when he left. But Akutagawa loved Dazai blindly and without reservations, and the whole world collapsed upon him when he left, because he was his whole world, and now he's not there anymore. He was just 16.

The ship kind of sails off from there, slowly, gradually. Everyone at the pm expected Akutagawa to leave in the following days. For some reason, he doesn't. Things slowly go back to normal. Years pass, and time heals, I guess. Akutagawa's furious rage through which he would take out his pain gradually morphs in efficiency in carrying out his missions. He has to relearn what it means to have free will, but he's slowly coping. He got a promotion. Overall, he's more mature, and that ends up shrinking the distance between him and Chuuya. At first, it happens casually: waiting together that it stops raining so they can go home after a long mission, and Chuuya initiates conversation. Eventually, they end up spending more time together– at first coincidentally, because of their shared status of high ranking members, and later intentionally. Soon enough, they realize the other was actually so different than the image they had made up of them; and with that unconsciously arises the wish to learn what the other is actually like. And it's gradual and unintentional, untill they get to a point where they've become each other's safe place– they become the person they know isn't going to abandon them. It's kinda sweet :)

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- mentions of drowning

A/N- Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n

Ch-27 ~Wreckages and casualties~

"Just a little farther!” cried Sturmhond.

Anaya held on tight to the Squaller's arm as Tamar made desperate attempts to steady his heart rate. Tolya tried to heal his arm, attempting to fix the arm back in its socket.

The sails dipped. The Hummingbird continued to fall. A loud scraped on the hull could be heard as they continued to fall down.

“Everyone get low and hold on tight!” shouted Sturmhond. But Anaya refused to let go of the squaller, "He'll lose more blood if I let go!" she yelled at the twins. They didn't speak anything and only looked at her with concern. The ship rattled and shook violently.

“Get ready!” Sturmhond roared. At the last second, he hurled himself into the cockpit in a tangle of limbs. He just had time to say, “This is cozy,” before they struck land with a bone shattering jolt.

With a violent jerk, Anaya was suddenly thrown to a side of the railing on her right arm, crashing it hard on the wood.

There was a sudden loud splash, they were skimming across water. Anaya heard a terrible wrenching sound, she managed to look and see that one of the hulls had broken free.

They bounced roughly over the surface. Anaya hit the same arm several times and got it stuck between the railings. Then they suddenly shuddered to a halt.

Before she could have any sense of relief, she felt water coming over her body. She attempted to free her stuck limb but failed. The water began to reach her shoulders and then her mouth and nose. She took deep breaths but the water seeped inside of her. Before she could realize, she was under the water, unable to breathe anymore. She attempted to push the water down, but she failed to make any effect with just one arm. She couldn't hold on any longer and her slowly closed, her breath fading away.

...........................................................................

Alina

Alina had taken a hard knock to the head and had cut open both of her palms, but she seemed to be in one piece. Water was flooding in through the cockpit’s floor. She heard splashing, people calling to one another. She peered around, but Sturmhond was nowhere to be seen.

As they clambered out of the cockpit, the broken ship began to tilt alarmingly. They heard a creaking sigh, and one of the masts gave way, collapsing into the lake beneath the weight of its sails.

They threw themselves into the water, kicking hard as the lake tried to swallow them along with the ship.

One of the crewmen was tangled in the ropes. Mal dove down to help extricate him, and the girl nearly wept with relief when they both broke the surface.

She saw Tolya and Tamar paddling free, followed by the other crewmen. Tolya had the wounded Squaller in tow. Sturmhond swam behind, supporting an unconscious sailor beneath his arm.

Before she could take sigh of relief, she heard Rabeah's voice from somewhere, "Where's Anaya!?" the girl spoke with terror in her voice. 

Alina looked around, but she couldn't see her anywhere. Sturmhond looked at the twins in confusion. 

"She was helping us save Kovu, but we didn't see her after we crashed" Tamar spoke 

She was still on the ship, Alina realized. Before she could comprehend Sturmhond rushed back to the broken ship and the twins followed him.

After a moment, they came back, Tolya and the captain supporting an unconscious Anaya.

They gently pushed her down and Rabeah rushed to her side. Tamar had her hands pressed to the Anaya's chest, she was using her power to draw the water from her lungs and drive life back into her heart. The minutes seemed to stretch as she layed motionless on the sand. Then she suddenly gasped. Her eyes fluttered open, and she coughed out the rest of the lake water. Alina took a sigh of relief

Rabeah had a similar reaction as hers. Anaya managed to sit up. She let out a sudden yelp and held her right arm with the other one as she sat up. 

"Are you alright?" Sturmhond asked

"Yeah" she managed in a hoarse voice

"Your arm it-" 

"Is the Squaller alright?" she cut him off and looked around as she stood up with Rabeah's help. 

"I'm alright, thank you for your help" he responded

.......................................................

Anaya

Anaya managed to walk, holding her arm with the other one, the pain had crept up to her shoulder . She listened to the oddly ordinary sounds of early morning, crickets in the grass, birds calling from somewhere in the woods, a frog’s low, tentative croak, she never thought she'd miss them so badly.

Tolya was attending to the injured Squaller, finishing healing his arm. He instructed him to flex his fingers, bend his elbow. Sturmhond came ashore and handed the last sailor into Tamar’s care.

Sturmhond waded back into the water. He stood knee deep in it, contemplating the smooth surface of the lake. Other than a torn-up stretch of earth along the shore, there was no sign that the Hummingbird had ever been.

The uninjured suddenly Squaller turned on Alina. “What happened back there?” she spat. “Kovu was almost killed. We all were!”

“I don’t know,” Alina said, resting her head against her knees.

Mal drew his arm around the girl.

“You don’t know?” she said, incredulously.

By now, everyone's attention had turned to them

“I don’t know,” she repeated, her tone brimming with anger “I didn’t ask to be shoved into the Fold. I’m not the one who went looking for a fight with the Volcra. Why don’t you ask your captain what happened?”

“She’s right,” Sturmhond said, trudging out of the water and up the shore toward them as he stripped off his ruined gloves. “I should have given her more warning, and I shouldn’t have gone after the nest.

Anaya had to admit she was angry as well, yet she had no idea on whom. But her emotions took a sudden change when Sturmhond removed his hat and goggles. She narrowed her eyebrows, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Mal was on his feet in an instant. “What the hell is this?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Sturmhond sighed and ran a hand over his face. He no longer looked like the odd-faced madman.

His chin looked much more in shape. His nose was still slightly crooked, but nothing like the busted lump it had been. His hair was no longer ruddy brown but dark gold, neatly cut to military length, and his strange muddy green eyes were now a clear, bright hazel. He looked completely different. In fact, he looked quite endearing

A/N- Ahhahah sturmhond went back for anaya ahhhh hehehe

[leaderoffestivals]

EnStars x Merc Storia Ch 3 Pt 1: Let the Melodies Resound

Madara: If that’s how it is, that means it’s time for the real deal to take centre stage, riiight?

Yuu: Madara-san?

Madara: It’s the job of an idol to captivate and entertain after aaall! Come, enjoy this idol’s stage to your heart’s content!

Scenario Writer: ? Season: ? Characters: Mikejima Madara, Amagi Hiiro, Shiratori Aira, Ayase Mayoi, Kazehaya Tatsumi (EnStars: MaM & ALKALOID) Merc, Yuu, Rustoa, Segideel, Segideel, Various Villagers, Village Boy (Merc Storia)

Aira: Hello~ there! Please take this flyer~! It’s for the upcoming stage play, “The Prince of The Land of Tears”! It’s an absolute must-see, you know~? I LOOOVE~ ♪

Villager A: Sure! I’ll invite my father and Micchan along to watch too!

Aira: Thank you so much! —Ah, I’m giving these out in order of first come first serve, so please, wait patiently for your turn, okay~?

Villager B: Alright! I heard there’s an ex-soldier performing innit, right? I just wanna know the details, that’s all!

Villager C: Mama, look! There’s a description of all the stage props being used here!

Villager D: Oh my~, you’re right! Ehhh~, they’ve even got instruments that make use of electricity here. I’m so excited to find out what kind of show it’s going to be~!

Tatsumi: Yes, do look forward to a production that has great attention put into every detail.

Rustoa: WOOOW~, you’re terrific, guys! I had such a terrible time when giving out flyers on my very first day. I even went and gave the flyers out in bundles by mistake!

Hiiro: We have experience in this, you see. You can count on us to help with tasks with this, anytime!

Mayoi: Uuu~gh, whereas for me, I’ve always broken down and collapsed whenever it’s time to carry out these activities, so I’m a good-for-nothing who can’t be considered experienced at all…  

Aira: Mayo-san, you make up for that by giving your best in other areas, don’t you~?

Rustoa: You guys seem to have had your share of experiences as well, huh?

Tatsumi: Our group, which we call ALKALOID, didn’t have a path that could be considered smooth sailing from the very start.

We’ve even had to take on jobs of distributing flyers to promote other idols’ Lives as part of our work.

Aira: I never imagined that experience would come in handy in a place like this, though~!

Rustoa: So that’s how it is… … But, is it really all right for me to trouble you guys to distribute flyers for my show on top of giving me instruction, though… …?

Tatsumi: It is fine. We’re helping each other out in times of need. You reached out your hand to all of us when we were in trouble too, didn’t you?

Rustoa: Tatsumi-kun… …

Segideel: FUWAWAA~!

Rustoa: What’s wrong, Segi-san? There’s something going on with that crowd over there—?

Eh, Madara-kun!?

(Blooming World BGM plays)

Madara: Hey everyone, gather around! For those who have already seen the show, come watch it again! And for those of you who’ve yet to see it, do make it a point to come down and watch the stage production, “The Prince of the Land of Tears”!

The travelling tale of a lonely Prince who weeps all the time! What kind of encounters await him on his journeyyy~? You gotta come find out for yourself!

Villager E: Wow~! That’s got me interested! Gimme one of them flyers, won’t ya, laddie?

Villager F: Me too! Me too!

Madara: Excellent~! The start time of the performance is clearly written here too. Please take the time to read it through before the actual show!

Aira: As expected of Mikejima-senpai. His ability to communicate is as outstanding as ever. I should watch and learn from him too—

? ? ?: —Oops! UWAH~! Please pardon me! I tripped over a rock—!

Aira: Ah, no, the fault is mine… …

Eh~? Yuu-kun?

Yuu: Aira?

Aira: Wow~! We haven’t seen each other since yesterday~!

Yuu: That’s right. But, what are you doing here?

Aira: We’re distributing promotional flyers for “The Prince of the Land of Tears”! We can make inquiries with regards to inter-world transfer and help Rustoa-san out at the same time, so we’re killing two birds with one stone, see?

Merc: That’s a brilliant idea!

Yuu: I really wish we could help out too, but we’re on our way to the forest right now to take care of some business.

Tatsumi: Oh my. Is that how it is?

Yuu: Yes. Lately, the monsters in the forest have been behaving agitatedly, as if they’re strangely on edge, for some reason.

Merc: The organiser of the event feels that’s a matter of concern too… … That’s why Yuu-san is on his way to the forest to check things out.

If there’s any trouble with the monsters during the event or its preparation stages, it would cause all parties involved a lot of grief.

Yuu: It’s been fifty years since this event was last held and many people will be sure to attend. I think it would be best if nothing untoward happens.

Aira: It’s been FIFTY YEARS… …? This event must feel pretty special for everyone, huh!

Tatsumi: You’re right.

However, if monsters were to enter the event venue, the event itself would be in jeopardy from the very start.

Mayoi: A—about that… ... Will the two of you be alright on your own, Yuu-san, Merc-san?

Yuu: Eh~?

Mayoi: I’m so sorry! It was never my intention to stick my nose into your business…!

It’s just that, you know… … Just like how it was with us, there’s no telling if your encounters with monsters will be limited to just one, and while you’re using Healing magic, you might get attacked or something… …

Wouldn’t that be an extremely difficult situation for you, no matter how skilled a Healer you are?

Merc: It’s true Yuu-san is a gentle Healer who empathises deeply with the hearts of the monsters, but when it comes to combat, he is pretty crapp—he doesn’t inspire much confidence at all.

Yuu: You were about to say ‘crappy’, weren’t you?

Mayoi: … …

Uh—urm, if that’s the case… …, I’m powerless and have no combat experience, so it’s a certainty I will be absolutely useless in any given situation, but even so—

Would it be possible for me to assist you in any way, Yuu-san?

Yuu: Eh~?

Mayoi: (… … Just like Rustoa-san, Yuu-san and Merc-san both reached out to help us when we were so disoriented and clueless about our situation.

I don’t possess high levels of communication skills like Madara-san, nor do I have physical abilities on par with Hiiro-san… … I’m so exceedingly weak and powerless, but—)

W—what does everyone think?

Tatsumi: That’s a wonderful idea.

Aira: But then, what are we gonna do about the flyers~?

Madara: HA-HA-HAA! I’ve heard the entire story, you knowww!

We have enough people here. It would be wayyy more efficient to divide ourselves into two groups; one to distribute the flyers, and the other to venture into the Forest.

Today’s the first day of flyer distribution so we would need more hands to help with that—

And as for me, I’m all but finished with mine. How about we entrust this place to ALKALOID and Rustoa-san, while I accompany Yuu-san and Merc-san to the forest?

Yuu: Eh, but if it’s like that… … Are you truly fine with this arrangement?

Madara: Umu! I don’t hate physical work at aaall, you know? I would also be very happy if you’d let yourselves depend on Mama!

Yuu: Yes!

Merc: We gladly accept!

Yuu / Merc: MAMA!

Madara: HAHAHA~! That has totally caught on now, huh!

Yuu: And to everyone as well, thank you so much!

Aira: Not at all, don’t worry about it!

Hiiro: Alright then, we’ll focus on distributing flyers here.

Madara: Yes. Please excuse us, but we’ll be leaving this place to you guys.

Yuu: Let’s get along well with each other!

Madara: Got it! The forest is thataway, right? ALRIGHT, LET’S GOOO!

Yuu: —Eh! You’re too fast! PLEASE WAIT FOR US, MADARA-SAAAAN!

—————-To be continued——————-

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Pt 2

Translator’s Notes

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

A STORM OF SWORDS

Summary & Foreshadowing Smorgasbord (Part III)

Love is in the air.

ASOS Part III: UNDER THE CUT

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

ASOS Part I: CLICK

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North

Jon Snow, King in the North

Jon (Aemon?) Snow

Jon the Builder & His Gift

Ahoy Matey! Arya Stark Sails the Ocean Blue

Bran the Broken, King of Westeros

High Septon Rickon?

Pick Your Poison: The Twins Meet Their End in the Mines of Casterly Rock . . . or King's Landing

Tyrion Lannister, (Prisoner?) Hand of the King

In Remembrance: A Look Back at Sandor Clegane's & Ygritte's Greatest Moments

ASOS Part II: CLICK

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

Showdown at the Trident

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Bran the Dragonslayer?

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

ASOS Part IV: CLICK

Chapter Transitions

Previous books:

AGOT Summary & Foreshadowing: CLICK

ACOK Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I & PART II

Stumpy note:

If I didn't give you credit for discovering something or if I missed any foreshadowing, please contact me and I'll rectify that.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone that participated in the reread project. All of you have great observations and comments, I wish I could highlight them all. 🙂

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

Once again, thank you to @ladyofasoiaf for making the manual on all things jonsa. I heavily rely on it when making these posts. :)

Chapter Transitions

Sansa I (ch. 6) -> &lt;-Jon I (ch. 7)

Sansa visits the Queen of Thorns, while Jon has a face-to-face with the King-beyond-the-Wall. The similarities won't stop there.

Thank you, @sxpiosexualx!

Beyond the spiked moat, two dozen men were taking their practice with sword and shield. With the castle so crowded, the outer ward had been given over to guests to raise their tents and pavilions, leaving only the smaller inner yards for training. 

[...]

A fire was crackling in the hearth, and sweet-swelling rushes had been scattered on the floor. Around the long trestle table a dozen women were seated. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Elsewhere two bearded youths in boiled leather were sparring with staffs, leaping at each other over the flames, grunting each time one landed a blow. A dozen women sat nearby in a circle, fletching arrows. - Jon I, ASOS

___

Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Here at least they found defenders; two guards at the flap of the tent, leaning on tall spears with round leather shields strapped to their arms. - Jon I, ASOS

___

Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. "You do me great honor, Your Grace."

"Won't you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"Your Grace?" The king smiled. "That's not a style one often hears from the lips of free folk. I'm Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?" - Jon I, ASOS

___

Pale, elegant Lady Graceford was with child, and Lady Bulwer was a child, no more than eight.

[...]

The old woman called to Butterbumps. "Fool! Give us a song. A long one, I should think. 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' will do nicely." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

A dark young man and a pretty blonde woman were sharing a horn of mead. A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing - Jon I, ASOS

___

"Sansa," Lady Alerie broke in, "you must be very hungry. Shall we have a bite of boar together, and some lemon cakes?" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"Sit, if you like," Rayder said when they were gone. "Are you hungry? Tormund left us two birds at least." - Jon I, ASOS

___

"He will," Sansa lied. "He is very . . . very comely." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Jon had his lie all ready. "The Lord Commander sent me to the Halfhand for seasoning, so he took me on his ranging." - Jon I, ASOS

___

Sansa realized that her mouth was open again. She filled it with a spoon of broth - Sansa I, ASOS

x

He took a long draught of mead to buy time for his answer. - Jon I, ASOS

___

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself. - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa I (ch. 6) -> Jon I (ch. 7)

Sounds like fun!

The Baratheons have always had some queer notions, to be sure. It comes from their Targaryen blood, I should think." She sniffed. "They tried to marry me to a Targaryen once, but I soon put an end to that." - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon II (ch. 15) -> <- Sansa II (ch. 16)

Children, shared beds, men flying eagles, and brand new clothing in back-to-back chapters.

Thank you, @sxpiosexualx!

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?" - Jon II, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

Rangers often shared skins for warmth, but warmth was not all Ygritte wanted, he suspected. After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword. - Jon II, ASOS

x

They spent long afternoons doing needlework and talking over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, played at tiles of an evening, sang together in the castle sept . . . and often one or two of them would be chosen to share Margaery's bed, where they would whisper half the night away. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

"Jon Snow, you know nothing. You don't go in with clothes." - Jon II, ASOS

x

They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They've never seen a battle, they've never seen a man die, they know nothing. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon II, ASOS

x

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II, ASOS

___

Jon turned at the sudden sound of wings. Blue-grey feathers filled his eyes, as sharp talons buried themselves in his face. Red pain lanced through him sudden and fierce as pinions beat round his head. He saw the beak, but there was no time to get a hand up or reach for a weapon. - Jon II, ASOS

x

"Willas has the best birds in the Seven Kingdoms," Margaery said when the two of them were briefly alone. "He flies an eagle sometimes. You will see, Sansa." She took her by the hand and gave it a squeeze. "Sister." - Sansa II, ASOS

___

Jon wheeled and followed Tormund back toward the head of the column, his new cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. It was made of unwashed sheepskins, worn fleece side in, as the wildlings suggested. It kept the snow off well enough, and at night it was good and warm, but he kept his black cloak as well, folded up beneath his saddle. 

[...]

Mance Rayder had not been blind to Rattleshirt's mistrust of the "crow-come-over," so after he had given Jon his new sheepskin cloak he had suggested that he might want to ride with Tormund Giantsbane instead. - Jon II, ASOS

x

"A new gown?" she said, as wary as she was astonished.

[...]

"More lovely than any you have worn, my lady," the old woman promised. She measured Sansa's hips with a length of knotted string. "All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

And so it was that her lord husband cloaked her in the colors of House Lannister whilst standing on the back of a fool. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa VI (ch. 68) -> Jon IX (ch. 69)

Oh boy!

When it was time for the bedding, her knights carried her up to the tower, stripping her as they went and shouting bawdy jests. Tyrion spared me that, Sansa remembered. It would not have been so bad being undressed for a man she loved, by friends who loved them both. - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

You'll know that, when you have a child."

"A child?" said Sansa, uncertainly.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert? - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. - Sansa VI, ASOS

___

I see no reason why you should not be wed as soon as we know that your Lannister husband is dead. A secret wedding, to be sure. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

His account introduces a young maiden, or "wolf girl" as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on. - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

Sansa VI (ch. 68) -> <- Jon IX (ch. 69)

Wind through their hair.

Thank you, @butterflies-dragons!

The wind ran salty fingers through her hair, and Sansa shivered. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

A gust of wind sent icy tendrils wending through his long brown hair. - Jon IX, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon XII (ch. 79) -> <- Sansa VII (ch. 80)

Love and Winterfell. ❤️

Thank you, @esther-dot!

You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"I don't want her here." Her aunt's eyes were shiny with tears. "Why did you bring her to the Vale, Petyr? This isn't her place. She doesn't belong here." - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

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. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer." - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

Sansa felt sorry for her little cousin sometimes, but she could not imagine ever wanting to be his wife. I would sooner be married to Tyrion again. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"A giant," the boy whispered, weeping. "It wasn't me, it was a giant hurt the castle. She killed him! I hate her! She's a bastard and I hate her! I don't want to be leeched!" - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

In the end Halder and Horse had to pull him away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Jon, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"

No. Not enough. Never enough. Jon let his sword drop. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Emmett, are you hurt?" - Jon XII, ASOS

x

It was more than Sansa could stand. "Robert, stop that." Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll's head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow.

[...]

"It was my fault." Sansa showed them the doll's head. "I ripped his doll in two. I never meant to, but . . ."

[...]

A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want?

[...]

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows.

[...]

I will tell her. I will! - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon XII (ch. 79) <- Sansa VII (ch. 80)

Ghostly silent, drifting snowflake. 🐺❄️

When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath, unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here.

Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa and Chett appear to have two things in common: drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

AGOT:

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK:

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS:

Snow was falling. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

Snow was falling on the Eyrie. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

What was wrong with him? He could hardly breathe. Had he gone to sleep? - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? 

[...]

it was so lovely that she held her breath - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him. 

[...]

The snow was drifting in to cover him. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

He got to his knees, and something wet and cold touched his nose. Chett looked up. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks.

[...]

He felt as though he were being attacked by a cloud of pale cold bugs. They settled on his shoulders, on his head, they flew at his nose and his eyes. Cursing, he brushed them off. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

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

[...]

She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. 

[...]

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. 

[...]

The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . .

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. - Prologue, ASOS

vs.

It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

[...]

Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

A Snow Maid with her Snow Knight.

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. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

"What are you doing?"

Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid." - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Garlan Tyrell or Jon Snow?

Thank you, @rose-of-red-lake!

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

"He must be very brave." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"Lord Commander. How may we serve you?"

"With your three best."

Emmett grinned. "Arron. Emrick. Jace."

[...]

"Which one do you want first?" asked Arron.

"All three of you. At once." - Jon VI, ASOS

___

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

x

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

+.+.+

Sansa daydreams of dancing.

Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. How can a monster dance so beautifully? Sansa wondered. She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

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

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?"

"As you say, my lord." She pulled her hand back. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

"Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?" - Sansa III, ASOS

x

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

+.+.+

The Winter Rose.

Sansa is not his rose.

"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

He doesn't remember, Sansa realized, startled. He is only being kind to me, he doesn't remember me or the rose or any of it. She had been so certain that it meant something, that it meant everything. A red rose, not a white. - Sansa I, ASOS

___

Ygritte is not his rose.

Jon sat up. "Ygritte, I never stole you."

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. You know nothing, Jon Snow." - Jon III, ASOS

___

Ygritte doesn't like flowers.

"Men can build a lot higher than this. In Oldtown there's a tower taller than the Wall." He could tell she did not believe him. If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

[...]

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

"What's wrong with flowers?"

"Nothing, for a bee. For bed I want one o' these." Ygritte made to grab the front of his breeches. - Jon V, ASOS

___

But Sansa does.

"Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. - Sansa II, AGOT

___

Sweet-smelling Sansa.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. - Tyrion III, ASOS

x

And then there are the roses. Roses smell so sweet, don't they? Especially when there are so many of them. - Tyrion V, ASOS

___

The Roadside Rose.

"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." - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

The rose and the direwolf.

"I will not have the rose and the direwolf in bed together," declared Lord Tywin. - Tyrion III, ASOS

___

Tywin steals a rose before it blooms. Better a Lannister than a Tyrell, eh?

The Conclave met in Oldtown behind closed doors, Tyrion knew; its deliberations were supposedly a secret. So Varys has little birds in the Citadel too. "I see. So my father decided to nip the rose before it bloomed." He had to chuckle. "Pycelle is a toad. But better a Lannister toad than a Tyrell toad, no?" - Tyrion II, ASOS

___

ACOK: Jon IV (ch. 51) -> <- Sansa IV (ch. 52)

The winter roses had only then come into bloom.

'All I ask is a flower,' Bael answered, 'the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell.'"

"Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious. So the Stark sent to his glass gardens and commanded that the most beautiful o’ the winter roses be plucked for the singer’s payment. And so it was done. But when morning come, the singer had vanished … and so had Lord Brandon’s maiden daughter. - Jon IV, ACOK

x

"The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more."

Sansa had never felt less flowery.  - Sansa IV, ACOK

___

Plucked.

"But not deflowered, one can hope." Young Lord Hunter's bushy mustache hid his mouth entirely.

"Yet," said Lyn Corbray, as if she were not there. "But ripe for plucking soon, I'd say." - Alayne I, AFFC

___

Sansa and Jon don't forget the glass gardens.

"No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer." She stood, towering over the great white castle. "I can't think how to do the glass roof over the gardens." - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

Glass, Jon mused, might be of use here. Castle Black needs its own glass gardens, like the ones at Winterfell. - Jon VII, ADWD

+.+.+

Tyrion Lannister is a jealous man.

After all his planning, after the sortie and the bridge of ships, after getting his face slashed in two, Tyrion had been eclipsed by a dead man. - Tyrion I, ASOS

x

Tyrion had seen her only yesterday, climbing the serpentine steps with a pail of water. He had watched as a young knight had offered to carry the heavy pail. The way she had touched his arm and smiled for him had tied Tyrion's guts into knots. 

[...]

It doesn't matter, he told himself as he waited for moonrise. Whatever you wear, you're still a dwarf. You'll never be as tall as that knight on the steps, him with his long straight legs and hard stomach and wide manly shoulders. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

"Chataya's?" Tyrion said, annoyed.

"It's good to be a knight. No more looking for the cheaper brothels down the street." Bronn grinned. "Now it's Alayaya and Marei in the same featherbed, with Ser Bronn in the middle."

Tyrion had to bite back his annoyance. Bronn had as much right to bed Alayaya as any other man, but still . . . I never touched her, much as I wanted to, but Bronn could not know that. He should have kept his cock out of her. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

"Young lady," Shae repeated, savoring the words. "You're half right, m'lord. I'm young."

Eighteen, Tyrion thought. Eighteen, and a whore, but quick of wit, nimble as a cat between the sheets, with large dark eyes and fine black hair and a sweet, soft, hungry little mouth . . . and mine! Damn you, eunuch.

"M'lord Varys complimented Chella on her ears and said she must have killed many men to have such a fine necklace," Shae explained. It grated on him to hear her call Varys m'lord in that tone; that was what she called him in their pillow play. - Tyrion I, ACOK

x

He's getting taller, Tyrion realized as Pod stood in his stirrups for a better look. He'll soon tower over me like all the rest. - Tyrion V, ASOS

x

She fiddled nervously with her hair and looked down the table to where Joffrey sat with his Tyrell queen.

Does she wish it were her in Margaery's place? Tyrion frowned. Even a child should have better sense. He turned away, wanting distraction, but everywhere he looked were women, fair fine beautiful happy women who belonged to other men. 

[...]

And there was one woman, sitting almost at the foot of the third table on the left . . . the wife of one of the Fossoways, he thought, and heavy with his child. Her delicate beauty was in no way diminished by her belly, nor was her pleasure in the food and frolics. Tyrion watched as her husband fed her morsels off his plate. They drank from the same cup, and would kiss often and unpredictably. Whenever they did, his hand would gently rest upon her stomach, a tender and protective gesture.

He wondered what Sansa would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Flinch away, most likely. Or be brave and suffer through it, as was her duty. She is nothing if not dutiful, this wife of mine. If he told her that he wished to have her maidenhead tonight, she would suffer that dutifully as well, and weep no more than she had to. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

A man with a few parallels with Petyr Baelish sings a song.

The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed, in a voice that was sweet as a peach, But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own, and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around, and the taste of his blood on his tongue, His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer, and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,

"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, the Dornishman's taken my life, But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!" - Jon I, ASOS

x

Abel rubbed the sleep from his eyes, took up his lute, and launched into "The Dornishman's Wife," whilst one of his washerwomen beat time on her drum. The singer changed the words, though. Instead of tasting a Dornishman's wife, he sang of tasting a northman's daughter. - The Turncloak, ADWD

x

When they break, they break hard, Jon Snow thought as he watched them reel away. The drums had all gone silent. How do you like that music, Mance? How do you like the taste of the Dornishman's wife? - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

But another Bael did.

"Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?" - Jon I, ASOS

+.+.+

A direwolf doesn't like Petyr.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Instead the direwolf leapt forward, snarling.

Ser Ryman's palfrey shied off with a whinny of fear, and Petyr Pimple's reared and threw him. - Catelyn VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Petyr Baelish sounding a lot like Jon Snow at a Winterfell feast.

Thank you, @kadarakey!

Petyr tried to kiss your mother, only she pushed him away. She laughed at him. He looked so wounded I thought my heart would burst, and afterward he drank until he passed out at the table. Uncle Brynden carried him up to bed before my father could find him like that. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

The Sun.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog and @that-plo-koon!

Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. - Arya II, AGOT

x

The arms of Tarth were quartered rose and azure, and bore a yellow sun and crescent moon. - Brienne II, AFFC

x

When he thought of his daughters, he would have wept gladly, but the tears would not come. Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and his rage froze hard inside him.

When he kept very still, his leg did not hurt so much, so he did his best to lie unmoving. For how long he could not say. There was no sun and no moon. - Eddard XV, AGOT

x

The wine was very fine; an Arbor vintage, she thought. It tasted of oak and fruit and hot summer nights, the flavors blossoming in her mouth like flowers opening to the sun. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

x

"You cannot come with me," Jon said, cupping the wolf's head in his hands and looking deep into those eyes. "You have to go to Castle Black. Do you understand? Castle Black. Can you find it? The way home? Just follow the ice, east and east, into the sun, and you'll find it. - Jon III, ASOS

x

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"Snow," the moon insisted.

The white wolf ran from it, racing toward the cave of night where the sun had hidden, his breath frosting in the air. - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

Jon and Tyrion use shoddy substitutes for the sun. Who's the sun?

"Not necessary, but some find it pleasant. What of love?"

"When the sun has set, no candle can replace it."

"Is that from a song?" Tyrion cocked his head, smiling. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

His dusky woman was enough to satisfy his appetites until he could reach Meereen and claim his queen. No man had need of candles when the sun awaited him. - Victarion I, ADWD

___

Bronn laughed, and Tyrion had to smile. "Into the tent, Shae, if you would be so kind." He lifted the flap and held it for her. Inside, he knelt to light a candle. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

A single candle lit the gloom, spicing the air with the scent of jasmine.

[...]

"Shae," he groaned, "it is not safe."

For a time she said nothing at all. Tyrion tried to speak of other things, but he met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he'd once walked in the north. Gods be good, he thought wearily as he watched the candle burn down and begin to gutter, how could I let this happen again, after Tysha? Am I as great a fool as my father thinks?

[...]

When the candle burned out, Tyrion disentangled himself and lit another. - Tyrion II, ASOS

x

All the sweet innocence of the world was in her voice. Innocence? Fool, she's a whore, all she knows of men is the bit between their legs. Fool, fool. "Better you than me." Tyrion sat. "We have a long day before us, both of us. You shouldn't have blown out that taper. How are we to find our clothing?" - Tyrion VII

___

Ygritte had brought a torch, but there was no other light. She stood beside a little waterfall that fell from a cleft in the rock down into a wide dark pool. The orange and yellow flames shone against the pale green water.

[…]

Smiling, she set the torch carefully in a notch of rock, and came toward him. "There's naught to eat in the dark but flesh," she whispered, biting at his neck.

[…]

The light was shifting all about her, Jon noticed suddenly. He looked around. "We had best go up. The torch is almost done."

[…]

"What?" he prompted, as the torch began to gutter.

[…]

By the time the torch burned out, Jon Snow no longer cared. – Jon III, ASOS

+.+.+

Ygritte or Sansa Stark?

Sounds familiar.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well. - Jon II, ASOS

___

Tears would fill her eyes.

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, so learn well the words of my song. For when I am gone the singing will fade, and the silence shall last long and long.

There were tears on Ygritte's cheeks when the song ended. – Jon II, ASOS

x

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. -Jon III, ASOS

x

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. - Arya VIII, ASOS

___

Those easy Tully smiles.

She bit his neck and he nuzzled hers, burying his nose in her thick red hair. Lucky, he thought, she is lucky, fire-kissed. - Jon III, ASOS

x

Ygritte had been pretty in her own way, with her red hair kissed by fire, but it was her smile that made her face come alive. - Jon III, ADWD

x

Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. - Arya I, AGOT

___

Half fish, you say?

Ygritte punched his arm. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. I'm half a fish, I'll have you know." - Jon V, ASOS

___

Jon imagines a girl that does not exist . . . or does she?

He could tell she did not believe him. If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us. - Jon V, ASOS

x

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. - Jon VI, ASOS

x

When his eyelids fluttered open, he was wrapped in thick wool and floating. He could not seem to move, but that did not matter. For a time he dreamed that Ygritte was with him, tending him with gentle hands. Finally he closed his eyes and slept. - Jon VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Ygritte and Jon have a conversation about Sansa Stark.

"And what if they do? I'd sooner be stolen by a strong man than be given t' some weakling by my father."

"You say that, but how can you know? What if you were stolen by someone you hated?"

"He'd have t' be quick and cunning and brave t' steal me. So his sons would be strong and smart as well. Why would I hate such a man as that?"

"Maybe he never washes, so he smells as rank as a bear."

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

[...]

Jon caught her wrist. "What if the man who stole you drank too much?" he insisted. "What if he was brutal or cruel?" He tightened his grip to make a point. "What if he was stronger than you, and liked to beat you bloody?" - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon lays with his kin, avoids answering a question, and contemplates whether Arya was ever truly his sister.

"She [Ygritte] even claimed we were kin. She told me a story . . ." - Jon VII, ACOK

x

She punched him. "That's vile. Would you bed your sister?"

"Longspear's not your brother." - Jon III, ASOS

x

Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III, ASOS

+.+.+

Wedding bells for Sansa and her cousin.

How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

A moody bastard, pretending to be Arya's brother, almost sleeps with his sister.

"Why did you say that?" Arya hopped to her feet. "You're not my brother."

"That's right," he said angrily. "I'm too bloody lowborn to be kin to m'lady high."

Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. "That's not the way I meant it."

"Yes it is." He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. "Go away. I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I'll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her." - Arya V, ASOS

+.+.+

Targaryens lusting for their sisters.

Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roofed keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king's mistress. - Bran II, ASOS

x

Why shouldn't I marry Cersei openly and share her bed every night? The dragons always married their sisters. - Jaime III, ASOS

x

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want. We'll have our own wedding feast, and make another son in place of Joffrey." - Jaime VII ASOS

x

She pulled her hands away. "You are talking madness again. Would you have us ripped apart, as Mother did that time she caught us playing? Tommen would lose the throne, Myrcella her marriage . . . I want to be your wife, we belong to each other, but it can never be, Jaime. We are brother and sister."

"The Targaryens . . ."

"We are not Targaryens!" - Jaime IX, ASOS

+.+.+

Mance or Jon? Mance deserts for a cloak.

"You will have heard stories of my desertion, I have no doubt."

"Some say it was for a crown. Some say for a woman. Others that you had the wildling blood."

[...]

"It was for this."

"A cloak?" - Jon I, ASOS

x

+.+.+

Fertility and Children

The Tyrells have their sights set on Sansa.

"The Tyrells can trace their descent back to Garth Greenhand," was the best she could manage at short notice.

The Queen of Thorns snorted. "So can the Florents, the Rowans, the Oakhearts, and half the other noble houses of the south. Garth liked to plant his seed in fertile ground, they say. I shouldn't wonder that more than his hands were green." - Sansa I, ASOS

___

Three girls, with three different eggs.

An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. "Break it, my lady," he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. "Catch them!" Butterbumps exclaimed. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." - Daenerys III, AGOT

x

Dany gazed at her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand years ago they had been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks. They could not make a dragon. - Daenerys VI, AGOT

x

To break her fast the queen sent to the kitchens for two boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, and a pot of honey. But when she cracked the first egg and found a bloody half-formed chick inside, her stomach roiled. - Cersei III, AFFC

___

Dornish eggs, and a bat in Sansa's stomach.

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. - Sansa IV, ASOS

___

Sons, and daughters.

Should you ever have a son, Sansa, beat him frequently so he learns to mind you. I only had the one boy and I hardly beat him at all, so now he pays more heed to Butterbumps than he does to me. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

You'll know that, when you have a child."

"A child?" said Sansa, uncertainly.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?" - Jon II, ASOS

___

She added a third.

She pushed two of her snowballs together, added a third - Sansa VII, ASOS

___

Pearls.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

"The pearls symbolize fertility. The more pearls Your Worship wears, the more healthy children she will bear." - Daenerys VI, ADWD

x

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

He showed them how each face bore the sigil of one of the great houses: ruby lion, emerald rose, onyx stag, silver trout, blue jade falcon, opal sun, and pearl direwolf. - Sansa IV, ASOS

x

The bodice was decorated with freshwater pearls, though. The cloak will cover them. The cloak was a deep green, with a large hood. She slipped the dress over her head, and donned the cloak, though she left the hood down for the moment. - Sansa V, ASOS

ACOK: Sansa VII (ch. 62) <- Daenerys V (ch. 63)

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

She was breaking her fast on a bowl of cold shrimp-and-persimmon soup when Irri brought her a Qartheen gown, an airy confection of ivory samite patterned with seed pearls. "Take it away," Dany said. "The docks are no place for lady's finery." - Daenerys V, ACOK

___

Jeyne Westerling or Sansa Stark?

Queen. Yes, this pretty little girl is a queen, I must remember that. She was pretty, undeniably, with her chestnut curls and heart-shaped face, and that shy smile. Slender, but with good hips, Catelyn noted. She should have no trouble bearing children, at least. - Catelyn II, ASOS

x

And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne. - Alayne I, ASOS

x

"Your bosom will be as lovely as the queen's," the old woman said as she looped her string around Sansa's chest. "You should not hide it so."

The comment made her blush. Yet the last time she'd gone riding, she could not lace her jerkin all the way to the top, and the stableboy gaped at her as he helped her mount. Sometimes she caught grown men looking at her chest as well, and some of her tunics were so tight she could scarce breathe in them. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"Jeyne," she called after, "there's one more thing Robb needs from you, though he may not know it yet himself. A king must have an heir."

The girl smiled at that. "My mother says the same. She makes a posset for me, herbs and milk and ale, to help make me fertile. I drink it every morning. I told Robb I'm sure to give him twins. An Eddard and a Brandon. He liked that, I think. We . . . we try most every day, my lady. Sometimes twice or more." The girl blushed very prettily. "I'll be with child soon, I promise. I pray to our Mother Above, every night." - Catelyn III, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. - Arya I, AGOT

x

The girl did seem to have a good heart, just as Robb had said. And good hips, which might be more important. - Catelyn III, ASOS

x

Lady Tanda had been fleeing as well. "You have a good heart, my lady," she said to Sansa. - Sansa V, ASOS

___

Don't worry about Roslin, the mother was plenty fertile.

When she told him of Edmure's concerns about Lady Roslin's fertility, he chuckled. "Your lord brother need have no fear, Lady Catelyn. She's small, I'll grant you, and narrow in the hips, but her mother was the same, and Lady Bethany gave Lord Walder a child every year."

"How many lived past infancy?" she asked bluntly.

"Five." He ticked them off on fingers plump as sausages. - Catelyn VI, ASOS

___

For the one hundredth time: Mance or Jon?

The boy did not have a name yet, no more than Gilly's did. That was the wildling way. Not even Mance Rayder's son would get a name till his third year, it would seem, though Sam had heard the brothers calling him "the little prince" and "born-in-battle." - Samwell IV, ASOS

___

But what do they want?

He watched the child nurse at Gilly's breast, and then he watched Jon watch. Jon is smiling. A sad smile, still, but definitely a smile of sorts. Sam was glad to see it. It is the first time I've seen him smile since I got back. - Samwell IV, ASOS

x

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. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

I don't want any Lannister, she wanted to say. I want Willas, I want Highgarden and the puppies and the barge, and sons named Eddard and Bran and Rickon. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Her Florian.

Sansa smoothed down her skirts and sat. "I think . . . fools, my lady? You mean . . . the sort in motley?"

"Feathers, in this case. What did you imagine I was speaking of? My son? Or these lovely ladies? No, don't blush, with your hair it makes you look like a pomegranate. All men are fools, if truth be told, but the ones in motley are more amusing than ones with crowns. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

"A fool and a knight?" said Jonquil. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Sweet lady," said Florian, "all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned." - The Hedge Knight

x

The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup. - Jaime III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa hears a dreadful song, and looks to the wrong people for help.

"I CALLED FOR A KNIGHT, BUT YOU'RE A BEAR! A BEAR! A BEAR! ALL BLACK AND BROWN AND COVERED WITH HAIR!" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Would he command his Kingsguard to strip her naked once again? The last time he had done that his uncle Tyrion had stopped him, but the Imp could not save her now. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

No one can save me but my Florian. Ser Dontos had promised he would help her escape, but not until the night of Joffrey's wedding. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

I wish the Hound were here. The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she'd been wise. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

The words came tumbling out of her. "Yes. I will. I would like that more than anything. To wed Ser Loras, to love him . . ."

"Loras?" Lady Olenna sounded annoyed. "Don't be foolish, child. Kingsguard never wed. Didn't they teach you anything in Winterfell? We were speaking of my grandson Willas. He is a bit old for you, to be sure, but a dear boy for all that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to Highgarden besides." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Thankfully the dreadful song ends, and the cheese finally arrives.

Thank you, @karynlibrarian and @minitafan!

x

Tyrion broke off a nibble of the cheese. It was sharp indeed, and veined with wine; very choice. "Whoever the king names will not have an easy time stepping into your armor, I can tell. Lord Mormont faces the same problem."

Lord Janos looked puzzled. - Tyrion II, ACOK

+.+.+

A little bear cub.

Tormund gave a shrug, as if to say he would never understand such madness. "Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. - Jon II, ASOS

x

"I do. Lysa has no cause for complaint." He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jonnel (One-Eye) Stark, son of Lynara Stark, married to Sansa Stark.

Thank you, @occupyvenus!

"A blind boy, must be. Who ever heard of a king without ears? Why, his crown would fall straight down to his neck! Har!" - Jon I, ASOS

x

He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. "My eye," he said in sudden panic, raising a hand to his face.

"It's only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some."

His face was throbbing. Tormund stood over them bellowing, he saw from his right eye as he rubbed blood from his left. 

[...]

Ygritte said, "Orell tried to take his eye out."

"It was him I asked. Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies."

Styr the Magnar drew a long knife. "The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two."

"Would you like to keep your eye, Jon?" asked the King-beyond-the-Wall. - Jon II, ASOS

x

Were there twenty or twenty thousand? In the dark there was no way��to tell. This is a battle of blind men, but Mance has a few thousand more of them than we do. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

Pyp turned aside to retch, and Jon found himself envying Maester Aemon his blindness. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

"Aye," Slynt said. "A blind man with a chain about his neck, who does he think he is?"

Aemon Targaryen, Jon thought, a king's son and a king's brother and a king who might have been. But he said nothing. - Jon X, ASOS

x

The first time he had seen the Wall he had been younger than Devan, serving aboard the Cobblecat under Roro Uhoris, a Tyroshi known up and down the narrow sea as the Blind Bastard, though he was neither blind nor baseborn.  - Davos V, ASOS

+.+.+

Two Hearts that Beat as One: Jon and Sansa are forced into unwanted marriages.

Thank you, @esther-dot!

Mance nodded. "Good. You'll go with Jarl and Styr on the morrow, then. Both of you. Far be it from me to separate two hearts that beat as one." - Jon II, ASOS

x

Two hearts that beat as one. Mance Rayder's mocking words rang bitter in his head. Jon had seldom felt so confused. - Jon III, ASOS

___

"Here in the sight of gods and men," he said, "I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

She had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

If Tyrion did it, they will think I was part of it as well, she realized with a start of fear. How not? They were man and wife, and Joff had killed her father and mocked her with her brother's death. One flesh, one heart, one soul. - Sansa V, ASOS

+.+.+

It doesn't compare to kissing a king.

They spent long afternoons doing needlework and talking over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, played at tiles of an evening, sang together in the castle sept . . . and often one or two of them would be chosen to share Margaery's bed, where they would whisper half the night away. Alla had a lovely voice, and when coaxed would play the woodharp and sing songs of chivalry and lost loves. Megga couldn't sing, but she was mad to be kissed. She and Alla played a kissing game sometimes, she confessed, but it wasn't the same as kissing a man, much less a king. - Sansa II, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa keeps hearing stories about favors.

As for Elinor, she was promised to a young squire, a son of Lord Ambrose; they would be wed as soon as he won his spurs. He had worn her favor in the Battle of the Blackwater, where he'd slain a Myrish crossbowman and a Mullendore man-at-arms. "Alyn said her favor made him fearless," said Megga. "He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn't that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men." Elinor told her to hush, but looked pleased all the same. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

Your mother did not deserve him. She would not even give him her favor to wear when he fought Brandon Stark. I would have given him my favor. I gave him everything. He is mine now. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

A Girl in Grey.

The Liddle took out a knife and whittled at a stick. "When there was a Stark in Winterfell, a maiden girl could walk the kingsroad in her name-day gown and still go unmolested, and travelers could find fire, bread, and salt at many an inn and holdfast. But the nights are colder now, and doors are closed. There's squids in the wolfswood, and flayed men ride the kingsroad asking after strangers." - Bran II, ASOS

x

"No. I mean, yes." He blushed. "The colors. Our arms are purple and white chequy, my lady. With gold coins. In the checks. Purple and white. Both." He studied her feet.

"There's a tale behind those coins," said Tyrion. "No doubt Pod will confide it to your toes one day. Just now we are expected at the Queen's Ballroom, however. Shall we?" - Sansa IV, ASOS

x

Arya XII, ASOS -> <- Tyrion IX, ASOS

"There's frost above us and snow in the high passes," the village elder said. "If you don't freeze or starve, the shadowcats will get you, or the cave bears. There's the clans as well. The Burned Men are fearless since Timett One-Eye came back from the war. And half a year ago, Gunthor son of Gurn led the Stone Crows down on a village not eight miles from here. They took every woman and every scrap of grain, and killed half the men. They have steel now, good swords and mail hauberks, and they watch the high road—the Stone Crows, the Milk Snakes, the Sons of the Mist, all of them. Might be you'd take a few with you, but in the end they'd kill you and make off with your daughter." - Arya XII, ASOS

x

He could send Podrick Payne questing after Shagga, he supposed, but there were so many hiding places in the deep of the kingswood that outlaws often evaded capture for decades. And Pod sometimes has difficulty finding the kitchens when I sent him down for cheese. Timett son of Timett would likely be back in the Mountains of the Moon by now.  - Tyrion IX, ASOS

x

A groom led a fine grey mare out the stable door. On her back was mounted a skinny hollow-eyed girl wrapped in a heavy cloak. Grey, it was, like the dress beneath it, and trimmed with white satin. The clasp that pinned it to her breast was wrought in the shape of a wolf's head with slitted opal eyes. The girl's long brown hair blew wild in the wind. She had a pretty face, he thought, but her eyes were sad and wary. - Jaime IX, ASOS

+.+.+

The Wall defends Jon and Sansa.

"I hate this Wall," she said in a low angry voice. "Can you feel how cold it is?"

"It's made of ice," Jon pointed out.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. This wall is made o' blood."

Nor had it drunk its fill. By sunset, two of the Thenns had fallen from the ladder to their deaths, but they were the last. It was near midnight before Jon reached the top. The stars were out again, and Ygritte was trembling from the climb. "I almost fell," she said, with tears in her eyes. "Twice. Thrice. The Wall was trying t' shake me off, I could feel it." One of the tears broke free and trickled slowly down her cheek. - Jon IV, ASOS

x

He had always had a yen to see the Titan of Braavos. Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

"I am your husband. You can take off your armor now." - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Cold courtesy.

Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

x

Jon Snow sat up suddenly, and the three men froze at the sound of the slosh. "My lords," he said with cold courtesy. - Jon XII, ASOS

+.+.+

The Wall is yours, Jon.

The Wall is mine, Jon reminded himself whenever he felt his strength flagging. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

 The Wall is mine, he reminded himself. - Jon IX, ASOS

x

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon and Sansa are left in charge, and reassure terrified people during a battle.

Thank you, @aegor-bamfsteel!

He looked around the ring of firelit faces. "I need two bows and two spears to help me hold the tunnel if they break the gate." More than ten stepped forward, and the smith picked his four. "Jon, you have the Wall till I return."

For a moment Jon thought he had misheard. It had sounded as if Noye were leaving him in command. "My lord?"

"Lord? I'm a blacksmith. I said, the Wall is yours."

There are older men, Jon wanted to say, better men. I am still as green as summer grass. I'm wounded, and I stand accused of desertion. His mouth had gone bone dry. "Aye," he managed. [...] "The Wall will stop them," Jon heard himself say. He turned and said it again, louder. "The Wall will stop them. The Wall defends itself." Hollow words, but he needed to say them, almost as much as his brothers needed to hear them. "Mance wants to unman us with his numbers. Does he think we're stupid?" He was shouting now, his leg forgotten, and every man was listening. "The chariots, the horsemen, all those fools on foot . . . what are they going to do to us up here? Any of you ever see a mammoth climb a wall?" He laughed, and Pyp and Owen and half a dozen more laughed with him. "They're nothing, they're less use than our straw brothers here, they can't reach us, they can't hurt us, and they don't frighten us, do they?" - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

"Oh, gods," an old woman wailed. "We're lost, the battle's lost, she's running." Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. "Don't be afraid," she told them loudly. "The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There's thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . ."

[...]

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. "Joffrey's come back to the castle. He's not hurt. They're still fighting, that's all I know, they're fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon." The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. "Moon Boy, make us laugh."

[...]

Sansa went to Ser Lancel and knelt beside him. His wound was bleeding afresh where the queen had struck him. "Madness," he gasped. "Gods, the Imp was right, was right . . ."

"Help him," Sansa commanded two of the serving men. One just looked at her and ran, flagon and all. Other servants were leaving the hall as well, but she could not help that. Together, Sansa and the serving man got the wounded knight back on his feet. "Take him to Maester Frenken." - Sansa VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Jon the Gargoyle.

Thank you, @dontbipanicjonsa and @minitafan!

When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

"What gargoyle?" Sansa did not understand. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

He raised his eyes to gaze up at the walls. In place of merlons, a thousand grotesques and gargoyles looked down on him, each different from all the others; wyverns, griffins, demons, manticores, minotaurs, basilisks, hellhounds, cockatrices, and a thousand queerer creatures sprouted from the castle's battlements as if they'd grown there. - Davos V, ASOS

x

Ser Garlan laughed. "I was a plump little boy, I fear, and we do have an uncle called Garth the Gross. So Willas struck first, though not before threatening me with Garlan the Greensick, Garlan the Galling, and Garlan the Gargoyle." - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Again he had the answer. "It's been snowing on your castle, my lady," he pointed out. "What do the gargoyles look like when they're covered with snow?" - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Tyrion, the Targaryen groom.

Thank you, @butterflies-dragons!

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions' heads. - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa, the Targaryen wedding guest.

Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Laughing despite everything.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

It was so sweet and silly that Sansa had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again, if only for a little while. 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. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here. Ygritte had been fond of Longspear Ryk. He hoped he found some joy with Tormund's Munda. Someone needed to find some joy somewhere. - Jon X, ASOS

+.+.+

A shy maid on her wedding night.

Her hands trembled as she began fumbling at her clothes. She had ten thumbs instead of fingers, and all of them were broken. Yet somehow she managed the laces and buttons, and her cloak and gown and girdle and undersilk slid to the floor, until finally she was stepping out of her smallclothes. Gooseprickles covered her arms and legs. She kept her eyes on the floor, too shy to look at him, but when she was done she glanced up and found him staring. There was hunger in his green eye, it seemed to her, and fury in the black. Sansa did not know which scared her more. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Qhorin came and stood over him as the first flame rose up flickering from the shavings of bark and dead dry pine needles. "As shy as a maid on her wedding night," the big ranger said in a soft voice, "and near as fair. Sometimes a man forgets how pretty a fire can be."

He was not a man you'd expect to speak of maids and wedding nights. So far as Jon knew, Qhorin had spent his whole life in the Watch. Did he ever love a maid or have a wedding? He could not ask. Instead he fanned the fire. When the blaze was all acrackle, he peeled off his stiff gloves to warm his hands, and sighed, wondering if ever a kiss had felt as good. - Jon VIII, ACOK

+.+.+

Two imprisoned husbands? Quickly after Tyrion is arrested, Jon Snow joins him.

"Hush, you'll be the death of us. I did nothing. Come, we must away, they'll search for you. Your husband's been arrested."

"Tyrion?" she said, shocked.

"Do you have another husband? The Imp, the dwarf uncle, she thinks he did it." He grabbed her hand and pulled at her. "This way, we must away, quickly now, have no fear." - Sansa V, ASOS

x

Slynt purpled. "Murder? You insolent pup. King Robert was not even cold when Lord Eddard moved against his son." He rose to his feet; a shorter man than Mormont, but thick about the chest and arms, with a gut to match. A small gold spear tipped with red enamel pinned his cloak at the shoulder. "Your father died by the sword, but he was highborn, a King's Hand. For you, a noose will serve. Ser Alliser, take this turncloak to an ice cell." - Jon IX, ASOS

+.+.+

A dragon knight shows up all over Sansa's chapter.

They continued down the serpentine and across a small sunken courtyard. Ser Dontos shoved open a heavy door and lit a taper. They were inside a long gallery. Along the walls stood empty suits of armor, dark and dusty, their helms crested with rows of scales that continued down their backs. As they hurried past, the taper's light made the shadows of each scale stretch and twist. The hollow knights are turning into dragons, she thought. - Sansa V, ASOS

___

Sansa dared not look down. She kept her eyes on the face of the cliff, making certain of each step before reaching for the next. The stone was rough and cold. Sometimes she could feel her fingers slipping, and the handholds were not as evenly spaced as she would have liked. The bells would not stop ringing. Before she was halfway down her arms were trembling and she knew that she was going to fall. 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. - Sansa V, ASOS

x

One step and then another, Jon told himself. One step and then another, and I will not fall. [...]

One step and then another, he resumed when the gale subsided. One step and then another, and I will not fall. [...]

One step and then another, he thought, clinging tight. [...]

Don't look down. Keep your weight above your feet. Don't look down. Look at the rock in front of you. There's a good handhold, yes. Don't look down. I can catch a breath on that ledge there, all I need to do is reach it. Never look down. - Jon VI, ACOK

+.+.+

A ghostly shape appears at the hint of dawn.

The eastern sky was vague with the first hint of dawn when Sansa finally saw a ghostly shape in the darkness ahead - Sansa V, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon and Sansa are drowning.

Thank you, @minitafan!

Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Longclaw seemed heavier than lead in his hand, too heavy to lift. The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown. - Jon V, ASOS

x

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Sam, Gilly, and weird sister thoughts while sleeping.

He liked sleeping next to her. It made him remember times long past, when he had shared a huge bed at Horn Hill with two of his sisters. - Samwell III, ASOS

x

When the feast was done he went up to sleep; not to the lord's bedchamber where his mother and father lived but to the room he had once shared with his sisters. Only instead of his sisters it was Gilly waiting in the huge soft bed, wearing nothing but a big shaggy fur, milk leaking from her breasts. - Samwell III, ASOS

+.+.+

The blood of Winterfell.

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. - Jon VI, ASOS

x

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Sons and daughters of Winterfell.

Lord Commander Mormont made you his steward. You are a son of Winterfell, a nephew of Benjen Stark. It must be you or no one. The Wall is yours, Jon Snow. - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

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. - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Stone and Snow are north of the Neck.

Lord Redwyne laughed. "What is there north of the Neck that any sane man would want? If Greyjoy will trade swords and sails for stone and snow, I say do it, and count ourselves lucky." - Tyrion III, ASOS

+.+.+

I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you.

It was not as though he was the first man ever to keep a concubine. Sansa's own oh-so-honorable father had given her a bastard brother. - Tyrion VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon and Ygritte open and close like their foils.

Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—

His hand froze. "A girl." - Jon VI, ACOK

x

"I never meant to steal you," he said. "I never knew you were a girl until my knife was at your throat." - Jon III, ASOS

x

"Just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing." He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel. - Sansa IV, ACOK

___

"Oh." Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighed, dying. - Jon VII

x

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps. - Sansa VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Prince Aemon keeps following Sansa around the story.

ASOS: Jon XII (ch. 79) -> Sansa VII (ch. 80)

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." - Jon XII, ASOS

x

"Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me." - Sansa III, AGOT

x

The gift of a sword, even a sword as fine as Longclaw, did not make him a Mormont. Nor was he Aemon Targaryen. - Jon IX, AGOT

x

AGOT: Sansa IV (ch. 51) -> Jon VII (ch. 52)

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. - Sansa IV, AGOT

x

ACOK: Jon VI (ch. 51) <- Sansa IV (ch. 52) -> Jon VII (ch. 53)

She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

"No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be very long now." - Sansa V, ACOK

+.+.+

The theme of wanton behaviour suddenly explodes for two characters who have never exhibited wanton behaviour.

He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. - Jon X, ASOS

x

Where are you going? Are you afraid? Such wanton behavior must be punished, but I will not be hard on you. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

"So you admit it now? It was you, just as I thought. You are as wanton as your mother." - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Most succumb to their baser selves.

"I have heard that in the Sunset Kingdoms men take solemn vows to keep chaste and father no children, but live only for their duty. Is it not so?"

"It is," Arstan said, when the question was put. "There are many such orders. The maesters of the Citadel, the septons and septas who serve the Seven, the silent sisters of the dead, the Kingsguard and the Night's Watch . . ."

"Poor things," growled the slaver, after the translation. "Men were not made to live thus. Their days are a torment of temptation, any fool must see, and no doubt most succumb to their baser selves. Not so our Unsullied. They are wed to their swords in a way that your Sworn Brothers cannot hope to match. No woman can ever tempt them, nor any man." - Daenerys II, ASOS

+.+.+

Cinderella, her evil step-mother, and the glass slipper. Where's Prince Charming?

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Up in the gallery the musicians took up their pipes and horns and fiddles again, and began to play "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown." - Catelyn VII, ASOS

x

They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Lysa threw herself into Littlefinger's arms, sobbing. As they hugged, Sansa crawled from the Moon Door on hands and knees and wrapped her arms around the nearest pillar. She could feel her heart pounding. There was snow in her hair and her right shoe was missing. It must have fallen. She shuddered, and hugged the pillar tighter. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together. - Daenerys I, ADWD

x

One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon's cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod. - Daenerys X, ADWD

+.+.+

Will it be a Dornish princess for Aegon, and a northern girl for Aemon? Double ouch.

"Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl." - Daenerys IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa and Jon are all alone in bed.

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone. - Jon V, ASOS

x

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

Her lord husband was not beside her, but she was used to that. Tyrion was a bad sleeper and often rose before the dawn. - Sansa IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Loopholes.

"By the High Septon or a Council of Faith. Our present High Septon is a trained seal who barks prettily on command. Moon Boy is more like to annul my marriage than he is." - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

Robb's fingers brushed the pommel of his sword. "If I could I'd take his ugly head off. Sansa would be a widow then, and free. There's no other way that I can see. They made her speak the vows before a septon and don a crimson cloak." - Catelyn IV, ASOS

x

I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest? Not that Jaime was truly concerned about that fat fraud, or the gods he claimed to serve. - Jaime I, ASOS

x

"You gave her to him?" she cried, dismayed. "You swore an oath to Lady Catelyn . . ."

"With a sword at my throat, but never mind. Lady Catelyn's dead. I could not give her back her daughters even if I had them. And the girl my father sent with Steelshanks was not Arya Stark." - Jaime IX, ASOS

x

"Vows made at sword point are not valid," the maester argued. - Bran V, ACOK

x

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

x

Jaime sighed. "Then let them wed. It will be years before Tommen is old enough to consummate the marriage. And until he does, the union can always be set aside. Give Tyrell his wedding and send him off to play at war." - Jaime I, AFFC

x

"The monster has tied us a thorny knot," the old knight told Maester Luwin. "Like it or no, Lady Hornwood was his wife. He made her say the vows before both septon and heart tree, and bedded her that very night before witnesses. She signed a will naming him as heir and fixed her seal to it." - Bran V, ACOK

x

Septon Cellador cleared his throat. "Lord Slynt," he said, "this boy refused to swear his vows properly in the sept, but went beyond the Wall to say his words before a heart tree. His father's gods, he said, but they are wildling gods as well."

"They are the gods of the north, Septon." Maester Aemon was courteous, but firm. - Jon IX, ASOS

x

(A vow sworn in a sept . . .)

"Jon." Melisandre was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. "R'hllor is the only true god. A vow sworn to a tree has no more power than one sworn to your shoes. Open your heart and let the light of the Lord come in. Burn these weirwoods, and accept Winterfell as a gift of the Lord of Light." - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

Her claim.

"The girl's happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark." - Tyrion III, ASOS

x

The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"How can I lose men I do not have? I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face." Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters.

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

Tyrion wants Winterfell and Sansa. Jon wants Winterfell and . . .

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. - Jon XI, ASOS

x

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.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. - Jon XII, ASOS

+.+.+

Count on Jon and Sansa to always forget someone.

Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now. - Sansa IV, ASOS

+.+.+

They have the look.

"I see it now," the Lady Lysa said, as she set the core aside. "You look so much like Catelyn."

"It's kind of you to say so."

"It was not meant as flattery. If truth be told, you look too much like Catelyn. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

Stannis snorted. "I know Janos Slynt. And I knew Ned Stark as well. Your father was no friend of mine, but only a fool would doubt his honor or his honesty. You have his look." - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

He's no Loras, but I don't think she'll be disappointed.

She could never hold a picture of Willas long in her head, though; her imaginings kept turning him back into Ser Loras, young and graceful and beautiful. You must not think of him like that, she told herself. Or else he may see the disappointment in your eyes when you meet, and how could he marry you then, knowing it was his brother you loved? - Sansa II, ASOS

x

She remembered her own childish disappointment, the first time she had laid eyes on Eddard Stark. She had pictured him as a younger version of his brother Brandon, but that was wrong. Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. - Catelyn V, ASOS

+.+.+

Throwaway lines that make us smile.

Dress warmly, Ser Dontos had told her, and dress dark. She had no blacks, so she chose a dress of thick brown wool. - Sansa V, ASOS

+.+.+

Shades of Jon.

"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." - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

"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." - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon hears a familiar song.

Thank you, @minitafan!

Yet still the drums beat on, the trebuchets shuddered and thumped, and the sound of skinpipes came wafting through the night like the songs of strange fierce birds. Septon Cellador began to sing as well, his voice tremulous and thick with wine.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy - Jon VIII, ASOS

x

"Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don’t kill me, she wanted to scream, please don’t. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy - Sansa VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Arya's sister catches a crow.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

The crows were there too, screaming at the wolves and filling the air with feathers. Their blood was hotter, and one of her sisters had snapped at one as it took flight and caught it by the wing. It made her want a crow herself. She wanted to taste the blood, to hear the bones crunch between her teeth, to fill her belly with warm flesh instead of cold. She was hungry and the meat was all around, but she knew she could not eat. - Arya XII, ASOS

+.+.+

Alayne Stone or Jon Snow?

"I have no gallant knights in my service, Alayne. Such a tale would draw unwanted questions as a corpse draws crows. It is rude to pry into the origins of a man's natural children, however." He cocked his head. "So, who are you?"

"Alayne . . . Stone, would it be?" When he nodded, she said, "But who is my mother?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Samwell Tarly or Sansa Stark?

Sobbing, he took another step. The snow swirled down around him. [...]

Sobbing, he took another step. The crust was broken where he set his feet, otherwise he did not think he could have moved at all. [...]

Sobbing, he took another step. - Samwell I, ASOS

x

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. - Sansa V, ASOS

___

Maslyn screamed for mercy. Why had he suddenly remembered that? It was nothing he wanted to remember. The man had stumbled backward, dropping his sword, pleading, yielding, even yanking off his thick black glove and thrusting it up before him as if it were a gauntlet. He was still shrieking for quarter as the wight lifted him in the air by the throat and near ripped the head off him. The dead have no mercy left in them, and the Others . . . no, I mustn't think of that, don't think, don't remember, just walk, just walk, just walk.

[...]

Why must he remember the fight at the Fist? He didn't want to remember. Not that. He tried to make himself remember his mother, or his little sister Talla, or that girl Gilly at Craster's Keep. - Samwell I, ASOS

x

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. - Sansa II, ACOK

___

Sam knew a hundred songs, but when he tried to think of one he couldn't. The words had all gone from his head. He sobbed again and said, "I don't know any songs, Grenn. I did know some, but now I don't." - Samwell I, ASOS

x

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. - Sansa VII, ACOK

___

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell's birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was. But he grew ill at the sight of blood, and wept to see even a chicken slaughtered. - Jon IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Remembering Robb.

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

He remembered Robb as he had last seen him, standing in the yard with snow melting in his auburn hair. - Jon IX, AGOT

+.+.+

Jon's better at sums.

Thank you, @trins-trins!

She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. - Jon XII, ASOS

x

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

x

"Matthar, to the rangers. Dareon, to the stewards. Todder, to the rangers. Jon, to the stewards."

The stewards! For a moment Jon could not believe what he had heard. - Jon VI, AGOT

+.+.+

Oh no, does Willas have a bad leg?

"Willas has a bad leg but a good heart," said Margaery. "He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa." - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Suddenly he was too weary to stand, and his leg was agony from knee to groin. He fumbled for his crutch. - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Ashford alert: Willas was supposed to be another Leo.

The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too tender an age, just as he did with the other two. He wanted another Leo Longthorn, and made himself a cripple. - Tyrion V, ASOS

+.+.+

Here we go again! A plot device does her best Sansa Stark impression.

Val looked at him with pale grey eyes. "He always climbed too fast." She was as fair as he'd remembered, slender, full-breasted, graceful even at rest, with high sharp cheekbones and a thick braid of honey-colored hair that fell to her waist. - Jon X, ASOS

x

Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue - Jon XI, ADWD

vs.

Worse, she was beautiful. - Arya I, AGOT

x

"Your bosom will be as lovely as the queen's," the old woman said as she looped her string around Sansa's chest. "You should not hide it so." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief." - Alayne I, TWOW

x

Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones - Arya I, AGOT

x

"OH, SWEET SHE WAS, AND PURE, AND FAIR! THE MAID WITH HONEY IN HER HAIR!" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

___

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. - Jon XI, ADWD

vs.

She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift, and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool. Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.

[...]

He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

ASOS: PART IV

Touch me.

Chapter Transitions

+.+.+

[gobblewanker]

The Mystery and The Isosceles

Ch 14: He's Gone; We're Safe

Also on AO3

Ford was a man of many talents, in his years away from everything he’d mastered languages, weapons, codebreaking, and a plethora of other skills. But if there was one thing he still wasn’t good at, it was processing emotions. That was natural. The only feelings he’d needed for thirty years were hate and vengeance. Anything else was a distraction from the goal but now…

But now Bill was dead.

Ford groaned quietly as he lifted a hand to drag across his face. His muscles ached from the earlier overexertion. The deck had been mostly cleared of the remnants of battle by now; Ford sat leaned against the main mast where the sail once again hung properly. There was no sour smell of sulphur and black powder to accost his senses, just seaspray and wind. There was hardly a speck of blood left on the scrubbed decks. There was almost nothing to tell of the ordeal that had taken place, but it had happened. It was real.

Bill was dead. 

Somehow, Ford had no idea how to feel about that.

Well, of course he knew what he should be feeling—relief, satisfaction, maybe even repulsion at the sheer graphic nature of it all—and there were definitely shades of that. But mostly he just felt upset. It was supposed to be him who finally put the demon down. It was supposed to be his vengeance for himself and everyone like him. For everyone who'd been taken and tortured and killed. It was his revenge. It was his duty to all those who came before. And he'd failed.

He'd been preparing to face Bill for decades. He'd known that eventually he would. It was inevitable. Every action he’d taken was in pursuit of that. And yet, once it had finally come down to it, he'd been unprepared. He hadn’t raised a finger to defend himself, much less attack. He'd been scared and pathetic, and everyone knew. Stan had rescued him. Stan had ended Bill. And he’d-

Well, he’d been utterly useless. Not only that, he’d gotten so completely lost to the memories as to lash out at Stan. Stan didn’t deserve that, he was a shortsighted idiot, but he didn’t deserve his own brother hurting him. And if Ford couldn’t even interact with another grown man without hurting him because of some irrational flashback, how the hell was he supposed to take care of Dipper and Mabel? He wanted the children off the ship. He wanted them safe and happy, living honest lives back on land. But if he couldn’t be sure they’d be safe with him, then what was he supposed to do with them? They weren’t safe on the ship and they wouldn’t be safe with him. What was he supposed to do?

Above all else, Ford felt angry. Angry at Bill for destroying him so completely. Angry at Stan for robbing him of revenge. Angry and disgusted with himself for being such a pathetic fucking mess. He was angry. Angry and sick and ashamed.

He couldn't even trust himself. Bill had destroyed him. Broken him into pieces that Ford—despite his best efforts—couldn't fit back together properly. All the pieces had come back wrong leaving him askew. He felt wrong, he felt disgusted. It was as if some horrible parasite was squirming around inside of his soul. His skin crawled, he swore he could still feel Bill looking at him. But Bill was dead. Bill was gone.

Bill was gone, so why didn’t it feel like it?

Ford pushed himself up and whistled for his bird. The seagull clumsily glided from the rigging to flump down on Ford's outstretched hand. Why he still insisted on getting so high up when he could hardly fly Ford didn’t know, but far be it from him to admonish. Just so long as the bird came when called.

“Thank you, Stan.” Ford muttered absently. “I might… I might require some support.”

The bird tilted his head questioningly, before his eyes narrowed in understanding and he nodded resolutely. Scratching the arm of Ford’s jacket he clambered up onto his shoulder with clumsy flipper-feet.

Ford headed back inside the darkened ship, taking a lantern off the wall to light his way down the cramped creaking stairs. He passed the children on their way back towards their cabin, but couldn’t bring himself to speak to them. Both looked at him warily. Of course they would. Of course they’d be wary, of course they wouldn’t want him anywhere near them. Of course they’d be scared. They’d read his journal, they'd seen him break. 

Quickening his pace until he arrived at the lower decks almost out of breath, Ford paused at the bottom of the stairs. It was dark, no natural light could reach so far below decks, his lantern cast long looming shadows that watched him from all sides. The walls were close and the smell of death hung in the air. The bird on his shoulder cooed nervously and buried his face in his hair making noises uncomfortably similar to a distressed child. Still, he showed no signs of leaving. Ford was infinitely grateful for that as he walked further into the room feeling his stomach sink.

The cramped space had been hastily converted into a medical office. There were crates of bandages and medicines, a desk with tools, a table hastily refashioned for operations, and above it all hung an oil lamp that Ford wasted little time in lighting. He placed his lantern down on the bloodied table as if moving through a haze, never taking his eyes off of the far corner.

He wasn’t sure who’d bothered to throw a sheet over the body. Fiddleford, probably. Maybe out of some obligate ‘respect for the dead’ that was in no way earned but still given. Maybe because the man just couldn’t stomach looking at Bill either.

Every step closer made Ford feel more and more viscerally unwell.

It was like a dark cloud hung over the remains. All the malice and cruelty that had practically radiated from Bill when he was alive still clung to the sheet-covered body, and Ford swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He tried to swallow the primal terror of being alone in a room with Bill. Bill couldn’t do anything to him this time, he furiously reminded himself as he got down on shaky knees. Bill couldn’t touch him, Bill couldn’t see him, Bill couldn’t do anything, he repeated like a mantra to steady his hand as he reached for the fabric.

Soon as he touched the body, however, his hand recoiled and he flinched back with a hiss. The bird squawked anxiously, hopping off his shoulder and hiding himself behind Ford. Ford swore quietly. He should be better than this. He should be able to face Bill again—but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to pull the sheet back and look at that awful inhuman face ever again.

But he had to. Had to prove to himself that it was true.

Moving quickly to not give himself another chance to hesitate, Ford grabbed the corner and yanked the fabric down. He immediately gagged.

The motion kicked up more of the horrible stench into the room. Burnt hair and the sharp smell of alcohol hit him like a wave. The former was new, but the latter he’d had more than his share of. The face was charred, but still horribly recognizable. The cheeks were pulled back as if in a wild grin, the formerly blue eye was shrivelled into its socket and the skin around it was cracked and flaked like paint. The gold prosthetic eye stared up at him with terrifying familiarity, and while it was mostly intact, the uttermost layers had just begun melting off. The drops of gold were frozen on his cheek like tears, burned and fused into the skin. His gold teeth were melted and solidified together in a rigid grimach. A few drops had escaped past what remained of his lips.

Ford shuddered, his breathing picking up as he fought down the memory of Bill drooling through grinning teeth as he cut deep slits into his skin and clawed at his face.

Moses, even confronting the dead body felt impossibly daunting. What was wrong with him? He was stronger than this. He should be, he had to be. Ford forced himself to pull the sheet down further. His fingers struggled to grasp the flimsy fabric, his hand shook and he pressed the other over his nose and mouth to keep from retching. The smell was so overpowering it was like he could taste charred skin in the back of his throat. The chest and arms were burned worse than the face had been, likely as the thick layers of clothing had given the flames more to feed off of. But Ford could still make out a few scars and bruises. He felt as if there should be more of them.

He didn’t want to see more. He didn’t want to see any of it, but he needed to prove to himself it really was Bill. He had to prove to himself that the monster really was gone. Steeling himself, Ford let go of the sheet. It was enough. It was more than enough.

The stairs leading down into the cramped space creaked and Ford startled. He stayed seated on the floor next to the body though, frozen to the spot. Half out of being too shaken to move, and half out of his rational mind reminding him that—at least for the moment—he wasn’t in enemy territory. The light of a lantern came bobbing down the stairs.

“Now whatinne-” Fiddleford corrected his glasses as he set his feet on the bottom of the stairs. “Stanferd? Whatcha- Oh.”

Ford looked between Fiddleford and Bill’s body, swallowing hard.

“I… I was just-...”

Fiddleford regarded him carefully from where he stood, before placing his lantern next to Ford’s on the table and approaching. His steps were almost as hesitant as Ford’s earlier had been. Ford looked back towards Bill.

“I’m sorry, this was idiotic of me, I know. I just had to make sure that-... that…”

“Yes well, ah… I understand ya know. ‘S hard to believe, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

Fiddleford stepped close enough to put a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder before moving away again to start looking through the cabinets and crates.

“What are you looking for?” Ford asked numbly, still not looking up. He wasn’t looking at the body anymore either though. Not really. He was more or less just staring at nothing.

“Bandages, poultices, that sorta thing. Ah was trying to take a look at yer brother’s injuries but the man’s stubborn as a mule.” Fiddleford complained, but there was some fondness in his voice. “Still, do us good to get a proper ship’s surgeon ah reckon.”

“Ah. I see.” Ford chewed his lip, feeling something like guilt nagging at him. “Is he doing okay? Stan.”

“Wish I could reassure ya, but medicine ain’t my strong suit. Still, I’ve got a few home-remedies from back at the farm, and nothing seems to keep that man down fer long. Ain’t the first time I’ve had ta patch him up.”

Ford nodded. Maybe he should go check on Stan too. Directly or indirectly, Ford was the reason he’d gotten hurt after all. He was about to do just that, when something caught his attention and Ford felt the blood go cold in his veins.

“Wait-” Ford gasped. Fiddleford was at his side in seconds.

“Stanferd? Stanferd what’s wrong?”

Ford ignored his friend’s concerned tone. His focus was back at Bill’s awful burned body, his hands were hovering over his chest, but he refused to touch him. Instead he just searched frantically with his eyes.

“He-” Ford remembered thirty years ago with mounting dread. He was one of very few people who’d spent significant time close to Bill—far longer and far closer than he’d wanted to—and gotten out of it alive. He knew what Bill looked like. He knew what Bill was supposed to look like, and there had definitely been something off, hadn’t there? “He has a scar. A deep one, across his throat. I didn’t notice when we were fighting, it’s under his shirt, it- I can’t find it-”

“Ford, calm down.” Fiddleford sent a fleeting glance at Bill’s body then very pointedly pulled the sheet back over it. Ford reached over to pull it back off, but Fiddleford caught his hands and held them gently but firmly between his own. “Ford- Stanferd, look at me! Look at me, please.”

Ford fought back control over his breathing. If he wanted to, he could pull his hand’s loose, but he allowed Fiddleford to keep hold. It was grounding, familiar, and Fiddleford had never flinched away from his six-fingered hands like most people. He still didn’t. He’d taken his hands unflinchingly.

“Ford, ya hear me?”

Ford nodded.

“Good. Now, you listen to me.” He spoke kindly, but with authority. Ford had the sneaking suspicion it was the same voice he would have used with Tate when they were younger. Had Tate survived Bill’s attack? How many people hadn’t- “Ford, no, yer getting caught up in yer own head again, stop that. Just breathe. Just listen to me, alright?”

Ford took a deep breath before nodding again.

“It’s okay. We’re alright, yer alright.”

“But the scar-”

“Don’t think like that, that’s what he wants you to do. The scar probably ain’t visible under all them there burns. He’s in a bad way, you saw that. We both did. The man’s barely recognizable.”

“I recognize him. I spent way more time with him than-”

“Ford, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Ford did. Fiddleford’s eyes were kind and set in determination. 

“You went through hell an’ back Stanferd. None of us are denying that, you were there, you saw ‘im. But look at us both. We’re old, he might not’ve looked it, but so was he. Years change people. Scars fade.”

“They don’t disappear.”

“No. They don’t. But they fade, and he was burnt. There probably ain’t much to be found anymore. ‘S the trauma speaking. You have every right to be traumatised after what you went through, but it’s still yer head bein mean to ya. Don’t let it be.”

“I’m not traumatised.” Ford hissed between clenched teeth. Maybe Fiddleford was right, maybe the scar just wasn’t visible. He collected himself and folded his hands back in his lap.

“Okay.” Fiddleford sighed. “Okay, I… Okay. I’m going to get back to making my rounds checking on the injured crew, then but-... Look, ‘s not yer fault. Okay? Even if you are traumatised. I’d be. I am. I think we all are.” Fiddleford got back up, collecting the medical supplies as well as the torch and heading back towards the stairs. He turned before leaving though, looking back at Ford one last time. “But it’s over now. Alright? He can’t hurt us.”

Ford nodded silently, somehow finding that hard to believe.

Despite the gnawing anxiety, Ford eventually made his way to the cabin Stan had shown him earlier. But sleep was anything but restful.

Ford awoke alone in his cabin to a voice calling his name from outside the window. It was familiar, but so raspy and echoey that he couldn’t possibly place it. The only problem was that there shouldn’t be anything outside, except for endless stretches of water in all directions.

Merfolk, maybe?

Cautiously, Ford pushed himself up from his warm bed and approached the window. It was cold, why was his cabin cold? They were in the tropics, weren’t they? Subtropics, maybe, but it should still be plenty warm. He kept the blanket around him as he shivered, he could see his own breath form billowy clouds. Outside his window there was an endless pitch black sea. Just like he knew there’d be. The sky was dark above, no stars, but a large yellow full moon glanced at him knowingly. The voice reached his ears again: ‘Ford’. The wispy rasp floated up from—

From the water.

Ford looked down, leaning far out the window. He almost fell as his heart jumped into his throat and the lingering cold gripped his lungs. Bill. Bill’s badly burned body floated face up in the dark waters, staring at him. The gold eye and his sharp, sharp, grin were all that was visible: All that wasn’t burnt beyond recognition. Bill's sharp voice kept whispering his name over and over as he stood frozen.

Suddenly hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him back inside the cabin. Ford’s yelp of alarm turned into a choking gasp as he came face to face with Bill. Intact, this time, and smiling viciously. Ford pushed against him furiously, his hands were no longer wrinkled and covered in age spots, the hair that fell into his eyes as he frantically shook his head was brown. The blanket around his shoulders wasn’t there anymore; replaced by a garish golden yellow jacket that smelled like death. Bill released him with a sharp barking laugh and Ford fell backwards onto the floor of the cabin. Bill’s cabin—Bill’s cabin aboard The Isosceles. The floor was covered in blood, his head spun, his clothes were torn and everything hurt.

“No, no no no!” Ford screamed. His voice came out smoother—younger—but cracked and broken and breathlessly terrified. “No! This isn’t real! This- this was over! This was over thirty years ago!”

“Aww, really?” Bill cooed through his sharp joyful grin. “But I missed you! Didn’t you miss me? Admit it! You missed me.”

Bill’s back was turned to the eye-shaped stained glass window. The same window through which the image of a port on fire would forever be burned into Ford’s mind. Bill approached him, steps light and expression amused. Ford didn’t think, he got onto his feet and ran. He threw open the door of the cabin and bolted outside. He could smell smoke, he could see burning outside the window. He didn’t want to see it—not again, never again.

The hallway darkened in front of him. The walls closed in. Smoke filled his lungs as he coughed and hacked. There was blood on his tongue. There was blood everywhere. Bill materialised out of the darkness in front of him and Ford wasn’t quick enough to stop before crashing against his chest. Bill didn’t budge. He caught Ford’s hands and pulled him close. He didn’t look formidable, Ford should be able to pull loose, but he couldn’t. Bill held his wrists tightly, his nails digging into the skin.

“Let me go! Please- let me go! Not again-!”

Bill laughed at him, it was sharp and cruel. The smoke swirled. Ford heard the crackling of fire just seconds before it broke through the ship’s walls and engulfed them. Bill’s face burned and sizzled. His hands turned skeletal, but didn’t let go. Ford felt the fire lick at his own body, and it hurt. It was like a swarm of tiny creatures eating at him. He smelled burning hair and alcohol.

“I’m coming for you. I’m coming for you. I’m coming for you-” Bill mocked in a sing-song voice through the flames.

Ford shot up in bed, a scream on his lips.

The seagull on his bedpost shot up with a startled squawk. Ford threw the cover off himself and pushed as far against the headboard as he could, taking several quick gulping breaths. The cabin was warm, and the heat made Ford choke on his next gasp for air. He scrambled out of bed and ran for the door. Fresh air, he needed fresh air. The bird made to follow him, but Ford slammed the door and ignored the loud worried squawking.

Ford practically ran up and out on deck. He paused, stumbling slightly as his head spun and ears rang from the sudden burst of adrenaline and activity. Then he made a beeline for the taffrail and leaned over it, hugging himself as he shook. His eyes were squeezed shut, he startled when he realised that, opening them and scanning the water's surface. But no, there was nothing there. Bill was dead, Bill was lying covered by a sheet in the depths of the ship. He was gone. Ford was safe.

He repeated the words to himself like a mantra—‘Bill is dead, you are safe’—until the shaking finally subsided and Ford began to be able to breathe normally again.

Fuck, that nightmare had felt real. It had felt so much more real than any dream should. He’d heard Bill’s voice, he’d smelled the smoke, he’d felt the fire burning him. He swore he’d really felt it. It was so much worse than any nightmare he’d ever had. So much more real and cohesive than something made from his own exhausted mind should ever be. What the hell was that? Was he losing it?

A demonstrative cough shook Ford out of his defensive huddle against the railing. He turned sharply to look, and came face to face with Stan sat on the stairs leading up to the wheel. Stan was slouched, sitting halfway up and looking at Ford with a conflicted expression.

“How long have you been there?” Ford demanded. He tried for an angry tone, but his voice cracked halfway through. His heart was still hammering inside his chest.

“‘Bout half an hour? Couldn’t get comfy enough to sleep.” Stan shrugged.

Ford noticed the bandages under his sleep-shirt and turquoise striped trousers. The one at his shoulder caught his attention specifically, and Ford shrunk in on himself.

“Ah.”

“Nightmares?” Stan asked evenly.

Ford rolled his eyes, drawing a hand over his face in exasperation. He should probably be ashamed to have been seen so worked up. But after the battle against The Isosceles, he could hardly sink lower now could he? 

“Whatever gave it away?”

“You ran up to deck in the middle of the night like the devil himself was on your tail. ‘Sides, you’re all jittery. You used to get all jittery when you woke up from nightmares as a kid.”

Ford didn’t answer. He looked back over the water again, running a hand through his hair. Stan fell equally silent, and for several moments both brothers seemed content to just let the air hang between them. Out of nowhere, Stan held a bottle out towards Ford who raised an eyebrow in return.

“Ya look like you need it.”

“Is that the stuff you lit Bill on fire with?”

Stan blinked, apparently caught off guard. He turned the bottle in his hand and looked at the label.

“Ah, shit. Is that ‘in bad taste’ now too?”

Ford snatched the bottle out of his hands and took a swig. It was warm in his gullet, and that made him flinch. But he took another mouthful anyway and sat down one step below Stan. It was easier that way. Neither of them had to look at the other.

“I’m sorry about your shoulder.” Ford said. “Does it hurt?”

“Eh, Fidds is pretty decent with first aid. I’ve had way worse.”

“I’m sorry for that too.”

“Not your fault, Pa was the asshole.” Stan nudged Ford with a foot and reached his hand down. Ford passed the bottle back. “Right now I’m honestly more worried about you. Ford… What happened to you out there? You used to be… Well, not like this.”

“It’s complicated. Last time we saw each other we were—what—seventeen? Things change. I’m not exactly happy with the way you turned out either.”

“Why not?”

Ford’s breath caught again, and when he continued his voice was rougher.

“Really? You really don’t understand why I’m so upset at what you’ve done to yourself?”

“Okay, yeah, Bill was a pirate captain and what he did to you was absolute fucking bullshit. I’ve done none of the things he did except steal from rich assholes who had it coming.”

“We’re practically strangers. How am I supposed to know that’s the truth?”

“You…” Stan shifted uncomfortably. “You could start by actually talking to me, you know. Like I’m not some-... Some stranger. Or a threat.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ford didn’t know. They hadn’t seen each other in decades. He didn’t think Stan had done anything nearly as bad as Bill—okay, that one he was actually pretty certain of—but there was no way to know.

“About what?”

Stan paused for a long while. Then he sighed, suddenly sounding every single one of his almost sixty years.

“Look, I know Bill hurt you, but… Hell, can we talk about that? I mean, yeah I’d already fucked up before that but that was where things really went down the drain didn’t they? If Bill hadn’t taken you, neither of us would be where we are right now. And for whatever little my word is apparently worth to you, I swear I hate him just as much as you do. You weren’t the only one he hurt, and I would never be like him.”

The nightmare rose unbidden to Ford’s mind again and he cringed in on himself. He opened his hand demonstratively and a few seconds later Stan passed the bottle back to him.

“Bill… Bill ruined my life.”

“I know.”

“I went with him because if I hadn’t he would have killed everyone I cared about. I tried to save my friends, but all I did was make him angry enough to come for my home instead. It was my fault. If I hadn’t tried to trick him, Gravity Falls would have never been targeted.”

He remembered it so clearly. Most of what Bill had done to him was a muddled blur—partially because he didn’t want to remember and partially because he’d been so weak and tired that it all got fuzzy—but that first night he remembered. He remembered hands in his hair and a hissing voice in his ear, he remembered shackles on his wrists, he remembered fire dancing outside the window and screaming voices carried on the wind.

“Okay.” Stan answered and his voice sounded exasperated. “You do realise that’s bullshit, don’t you? Hell, Sixer, you're smarter than this. Bill destroyed Gravity Fall, not you. You wanted to save lives, he wanted to end them.”

“Perhaps. But it was still my shortsightedness that made him attack.” Ford sighed. Of course Stan refused to see the truth. Of course he refused to accept that Ford carried part of the blame. He’d always been loyal to a fault. It was reassuring in a way, to see that part of Stan remained. He was still himself in that regard. But he was still frustratingly wrong. “And then you decided the best way to ‘help’ was to turn my home into a safe haven for the exact same kind of people who had destroyed it.”

“I did what I had to do.” Stan’s voice instantly became defensive. “But that doesn’t matter, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

“Why?” Ford snapped back angrily. “Why is it always about me?”

“Always about you? Oh yeah, because nobody ever mentions my mistakes! Moses, Ford, did we even grow up in the same port!?”

“Fine!” Ford snapped back, throwing his hands up. “Fine, it doesn’t matter!”

And there was that same familiar old stubbornness. Apparently, Stan had never lost it either.

“Bill did-” Ford began, but his voice caught in his throat. “Bill- when I was trapped with him aboard his ship Bill-... He… I…”

Bill’s hands holding him down, cutting, burning, beating—trapped, can’t escape, can’t run—

‘I’ll let you die’

‘I get to do whatever I want’

‘Our little secret.’

Ford fell silent again. Where was he even going with this? What was even the point of this, why should he be opening up when Stan was stubbornly refusing?

“It’s okay, you don't have to say anything.” Stan spoke again, quietly and uncharacteristically gently. His gruff voice was impossibly gentle. “I… I kinda know.”

Ford’s head shot up.

“What?”

“Bill.” Stan spat the name. “He talked about it. All the fucking time, liked how furious it made me. Bastard thought it was funny.”

Ford swallowed hard. Suddenly everything felt very far away. The wooden steps under him, the sky above, the sound of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship… None of them felt real. Nothing felt real except the realisation.

Bill told. Of course he did. Why, of all things, did he feel betrayed? Betrayal required there to have been trust at some point. Of course Bill told. Anything to make it hurt more.

Stan knew. Stan knew so much more than Ford had ever wanted anyone to. Stan had spoken to Bill, Stan had read his journal, Stan had seen him cornered by Bill on deck. Stan knew. Stan knew about every weak, pathetic moment in Ford's life and none of it had been Ford's to tell. None of it had been up to him to share. All of it had been laid bare without his permission. The familiar sickly shame pooled in his chest.

"Ford-" Stan began carefully when Ford didn't answer. He stood up to move closer, but lost his balance and tripped over his own feet. Ford reacted fast despite his mind being a mess, rising to catch his twin and steady him before Stan could break his neck falling down the stairs.

It was first when they were face to face that Ford noticed how pale Stan was.

“Stan!” Ford exclaimed angrily, shaking his brother’s shoulders. “Why aren’t you resting indoors? you look terrible.”

“Oh, give it a break, Six. I’m fine.” Stan pushed Ford’s hands off, swaying on his feet as he did so.

“Bullshit.” Stan’s face was pale in the moonlight. When Ford had caught him he could feel the heat of a fever through his clothes. There were dark rings under his eyes and sweat on his brow. “Seriously? You expect me to speak honestly about the worst experience of my life when you won’t even acknowledge you look dead on your feet!”

“I’m fine.” Stan growled. “I’ve had worse. Besides, the rest of the crew needs me to stay strong.”

Ford wavered on his feet, hands clenched into fists at his side. Hypocrite. Stupid, stubborn, hypocrite.

“Fine!” Ford hissed back, turning a heel and marching back into the ship. “Fine. Don’t come crying when you collapse from exhaustion.”

“Why do you even care!” Stan yelled at his back. “Why do you even care if you can’t stand being around me anymore?”

“Maybe I shouldn't!” Ford slammed the door shut behind him. He staggered and fell against the wall as soon as he was out of sight.

Bill was gone. Bill was gone. Everything was supposed to be okay now, so why was his head still so messed up?

[ambrossart]

Paper Men: Ch. 28 *PREVIEW*

Someone’s finally coming back to school... 👀

“See? Bitch!”

Christie’s words sailed down the hallway and struck Evelyn on the back of the head, making her stop mid-stride. A gasp gathered in her chest as the hallway seemed to close in around her. Student faces blurred together. Sounds became muffled, all but the thunderous beating of her heart. I wasn’t being a bitch, Evelyn thought, unaware of the students who gave her curious glances as they passed. I said hi, didn’t I? What more do you want from me? Should I have gone up to you and shaken your hand? Said, “Oh my god, congratulations, I’m so thrilled for you two”? Because I am, I really am, I just…

(Bitch!)

Guilt and shame mixed uneasily in Evelyn’s stomach. It made her feel nauseous. Made her want to walk back over to them and apologize profusely like an embarrassed little girl at a grownup’s dinner party. Oh please, oh please, don’t be mad! I’m sorry if I came off a little rude earlier. I’m just having a bad day, that’s all. Please don’t take it personally, Christie. Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top? I’d really like for us to be friends.

Yes.

Friends. 

That’s what I do. I make nice. I make friends. I make lemonade from lemons and turn rain clouds into rainbows. 

Well, I’m not in the mood for rainbows, Evelyn thought, and kept walking. Anger simmered inside her stomach now, and she made no effort to cool it down. I have enough lemonade, I have enough friends, and I’m not gonna apologize to Christie Gibson! Why should I? I didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who bombarded me in the hallway, smelling like Vic’s bedroom, casually tossing around Mrs. Criss’s first name like they’re best friends. I’ve known Mrs. Criss my whole life, and she’d never let me call her ‘Tabby’… not that I’ve ever really asked…

Evelyn opened her locker, hung her backpack on the hook, and absentmindedly began gathering her textbooks one by one: English, psychology, world history…

So Christie wants to talk about Vic, huh? What could she possibly have to say to me about Vic? What, does she need gift ideas for Christmas? Buy him a bong or something, I don’t know… Evelyn shoved her biology book into her bag and paused for a moment, lost in thought. She returned in a near-daze and, forgetting herself, pulled out the same book and put it back on the shelf. Oh, then she calls out to me in the hallway while she’s with him, so I’d have to SEE them together. What the hell was that about, huh? Did she wanna gloat over her victory or something? Was she trying to get me to admit I’m jealous? Okay, fine, I’m jealous. I’m very, very jealous!

All Evelyn ever got from Victor Criss was cold distance and doors slammed in her face. Secret notes. Broken promises. He’d draw her in and then push her way. Get her hopes up only to smash them to itty bitty pieces. No matter how hard she tried, he refused to let her get close to him. And now, after wasting ten years of her life, she had to accept that this was as close as she was ever going to get: this friendship with a little asterisk next to it. They were friends, sure, but only when no one else was around. It wasn’t fair.

Vic was with her—in front of everybody, and he didn’t even seem embarrassed by it. How could he do that with her but not with me?

Probably for the same reason Christie Gibson won the student council vote.

Because Christie was cool and Evelyn wasn’t. Christie listened to rock music, dyed her hair fun colors, and had a butterfly tattoo on her lower back. Evelyn wore knit sweaters and could hardly name a current song on the radio (she listened to Olivia Newton-John from time to time, but nobody would be very impressed by that). Yeah, Christie Gibson was the fun, laid-back rocker chick. She probably spent her nights going to parties and concerts. Evelyn, meanwhile, spent her nights studying and doing arts and crafts on her bedroom floor… making dozens of paper flowers for a sign that nobody cared about.

(You know you’re quite the artist) 

Isn’t that what Patrick Hockstetter had said? Yeah, he had. Last night, he was mesmerized by a tiny white daisy. It was such an insignificant little thing, yet he stared at it like it was something special, like Evelyn had somehow made a real daisy bloom in the palm of her hand. It seemed strange for her to be thinking of that now.

Stranger still was the smile that came to her face when she did. 

It vanished a second later, and Evelyn started mindlessly unloading her backpack again. 

Everyone thinks I’m annoying. Just Little Miss Busybody. I’m not cool like Christie Gibson. I’m not sexy like Manda Bosch. I’m just… just—

A long, slender finger poked Evelyn’s shoulder twice, jolting her from her thoughts. She jumped away from it, startled. Her stack of books went leaning, leaning... leaning way too far! A dreadful moan emerged from her throat. She tried to correct the lean, failed, and clutched the two bottommost books to her chest while the rest went tumbling to the floor. 

Her disheartened sigh crashed against a boy’s rabbity cry of panic: 

“Oh, great,” Evelyn said. 

“Oh, God!” said the boy. 

They dropped to their knees at the same time, hands bumping as they reached for Evelyn’s psychology book. The boy made a whimpering noise and recoiled from her with a snap of his wrist. Evelyn followed his fleeing hand and saw it bury itself in a small nest of copper-red curls.

“I’m so sorry, Evelyn! I don’t know what I was thinking, sneaking up on you like that. My mom always gets mad at me when I creep up on her in the kitchen, but I just can’t help it. See, I used to make too much noise when I walked, and she would yell at me to stop dragging my feet, so I overcorrected and now I make too little noise. I didn’t think that was possible, but someone how I managed. God, I’m so hopeless.” 

Evelyn blinked her eyes in disbelief. Soft blue eyes blinked back at her. 

“Denny!” 

Denny Booker responded with a frog-like croak, as if surprised by his own name. “Oh, uh… hi.” 

Overcome with emotion, Evelyn put down her books and wrapped her arms around Denny’s scrawny shoulders, hugging him tightly just as she had in his kitchen the Wednesday before. Denny’s face flushed with heat. As soon as their bodies made contact, his back went rigid as a plank and his skinny arms flattened against his sides. 

“Sorry, I don’t really know how to hug girls,” Denny admitted once they parted. “See, I don’t… I don’t really know where to put my hands, if that makes sense. I’m always worried I’m gonna touch something I’m not supposed to.” 

Like what? Evelyn almost asked, but she figured that would’ve only embarrassed him more. 

Instead, she said, “It’s fine, Denny. I’m just glad you’re back. You are back, right?” 

She stood, brushing loose specks of dirt off her stockings. 

“Yeah… well, kinda,” Denny said, and got up, too. He wore his backpack with both straps and kept fidgeting with the loose ends. “I just came today to drop off my homework assignments. Tomorrow’s my first real day back. Oh, here, your books.” 

Denny bent down, picked up Evelyn’s scattered books, and handed them to her with a sweet, unaffected smile. Evelyn thanked him sincerely and put them away in her locker.

“So—” Evelyn began.

“Hey, it’s the Book Man!” a distant voice hollered.  

They spotted Scott Kellerman at the other end of the hallway. He had been strolling casually through the freshmen locker area and was now jogging toward them. Smiling, of course. Skelly was always smiling. He stopped briefly to give another one of his friends a high five. “Toodles, my good dude,” Skelly said to him. Then he rushed over to Denny and tackled him with a giant bear hug.

“What’s up, buddy?” Skelly drew back and slapped his hands onto Denny’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Look at you, all rosy-cheeked and gorgeous! How you doin’, man?”

“I’m… I’m good,” Denny replied. “Hap-happy to be back.”   

“Shit, dude, you had us all freaked out in homeroom. People thought you were dying or something. As for me, I was getting ready to start sending around the ole donation jar like we did for J-Bird that one time. You remember that? ‘Help, my brother needs a new kidney!’ Nobody donated, though. Bummer. I guess they don’t care about pot-bellied pigs in this town, not even a cute one like J-Bird.” 

“Oh…” Denny frowned. “Well, I’m sorry for scaring everyone.” 

Skelly just laughed his usual carefree laugh. “Hey, no worries, dude. We’re just glad to have you back. Wait, you are back, right?” 

Denny nodded. “Tomorrow. I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Sweetness!” Skelly said, and laughed again. “Well, hey, I gotta go, man. Got a client waiting for me.” He sauntered away while humming an upbeat tune he made up on the spot. “Adios, mis amigos. That’s Spanish, if you didn’t already know. My teacher taught it to me today. That’s right, dudes, I’m one step closer to being bilingual, baby!” He fired off two gunshots with his fingers before disappearing around the corner. 

A moment of silence passed. Then Evelyn turned to Denny and said, “Did he just say he’s meeting a client?” 

“Oh right, yeah… Skelly’s got a little side business.” 

“A side business? Wow…” Imagine that, Scott Kellerman was a fifteen-year-old entrepreneur. Evelyn was very impressed, and a little confused. “So does he, like, make stuff?”

“More like grows it.” 

To clarify what he meant, Denny pressed his thumb and index finger together and touched them briefly to his lips. Miss Quaver, the home economics teacher, came strutting out of her classroom. Denny panicked and pretended to have an itch on his face.

“Hello, children,” Miss Quaver said to them with a smile. “Nice to see you back, Denny.”

“Hi, Miss Quaver,” Denny said, a faint blush tickling his cheeks. 

When she was gone, he and Evelyn collapsed into a fit of giggles that left Evelyn in tears and Denny coughing up phlegm. This made Denny terribly embarrassed. He wiped his mouth with his sweater sleeve and apologized. Evelyn, now snorting like a pig, told him not to worry about it.

“Wow,” she said afterward, while dabbing her eyes dry. “How did I not figure that out sooner?” 

Denny shrugged and had to clear his throat one more time. “You’re just wonderfully naive, I guess.” 

They shared another chuckle over that. Evelyn’s shoulders bounced as she laughed. Denny, being more careful this time, kept his hand cupped shyly over his mouth. 

Then he said, “So, wait, why was Skelly dressed like a surfer?”

“Oh, because it’s spirit week,” Evelyn told him. “He’s a Beach Boy.” 

“Right,” Denny said. “Yeah, I guess that explains your outfit, too.” 

“Yeah…” 

Evelyn tucked her chin into her chest and shuffled back a step, wincing as she felt that familiar sting of self-consciousness. Oh, why had Denny returned to school on Decade Day of all days? If he had waited until tomorrow, he would have seen Evelyn dressed in comfy cotton pajamas instead of this hideously short dress that made her look like a damn streetwalker. She braced herself for another searing hot stare, but from Denny Booker, all she felt was the most genuine warmth. His blue eyes were clear and kind.

“You look really nice,” he said, and that was all. “Oh, I have your biology notes!” 

Denny shrugged out of his backpack’s left shoulder strap and pulled Evelyn’s notebook out of the main zipper compartment. “You take really good notes,” he said before handing it to her. 

“Well, I do pride myself on my note-taking,” Evelyn joked. “I’m glad you found them useful.” 

She put her notebook away. When she turned back, Denny was rubbing the back of his neck and wearing a frown. 

“Hey,” he went on quietly, “I want to apologize for the way I acted when you came to visit me last week. I’m honestly really embarrassed about the whole thing. You probably thought I was having a total meltdown or something.” 

Evelyn shook her head. “No, I didn’t think that at all. And you don’t have to apologize, Denny, not for any of it. You were going through a lot that day.” 

Denny flashed a doubtful but grateful smile. “I found my dog, by the way.” 

“Really? That’s great!” 

“Yeah, we got a call from one of our neighbors this morning. He said Mandy Fazio found her sniffing around the junkyard last night and was wondering who she belonged to. I have no idea what she was doing all the way over there, but we took her to the vet, and she’s perfectly fine, so… I dunno, I guess it was just one of those strange coincidences, just like you said.”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said.

A strange coincidence, indeed. 

I questioned Patrick about this last night. Now, all of a sudden—

Denny’s face paled, and he drew back with fright. “Uhh… I have to go now.” 

“Huh? Why, Denny? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just, uhh…” Denny dragged his fingers through his curls. His hairline was damp with sweat and now it was trickling down his forehead. “I just remembered that I need to pick up something from the office, and I… I need to head over there before they, uh, close for the day. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Evelyn.” 

Denny went running down the hallway… in the opposite direction of the office. 

Weird, Evelyn thought as she watched him go, her chest tightening with worry. I hope he’ll be okay to return tomorrow.

She stared down the hallway for a moment longer, wondering what had set Denny off this time. Her answer came in the form of slow, plodding footsteps. She turned around and saw Patrick Hockstetter walking up to her with a lazy stride.

“What’s his problem?” Patrick asked, seemingly unaware.

Seemingly.

[isabelcor3]

Fate Of Journeys

Ch 3: A Start

Tw: swearing (if there are any tws I’ve missed, do tell me :D)

Summary: “PHILLL TAKE GOOD CARE OF HENRY FOR ME!” “Will do mate!” “Stay safe my lovelies and write often.” The voice of Kristin and Phil echo in Tommy’s head as the ship sails through the big, blue ocean.

Wilbur woke up in the under chambers of the boat. He sat up in his hammock to see Techno and Tommy asleep on the huge bed. He smiles as he reminisces about the night before and the all the fun. Wilbur got up, changed, and went up the stairs to the deck. The morning sun blinded him and he shielded his eyes with his arm. The city was already bustling with people going to work or the market. He looked upon the clean decks of the ship. That afternoon they were sailing. He also couldn’t believe. Wilbur began going through the boat and its supplies. He made sure they had everything they needed and that the ship was fit for sailing. He checked the sails and the mast. Just as he was finished checking the last sail. He heard laughter and and Tommy’s wheeze. He smiled and hopped down to see Techno and Tommy walking up to the deck, Tommy cracking jokes and wheezing while techno laughs a little and rolls his eyes. “Morning tech and Tom!” “Ayup Will,” Tommy says and waves for will to come over. “Now I’m starving, you have money, get me breakfast.” Tommy smirks at Wilbur knowing he can’t do shit. “Ugh fine. You coming too,” Wilbur nods at Techno. “Mhm.” Tech grabs his cloak and crown and pushes a plank that connects the boat to the dock. —- “Mast looking good,” Wilbur shouted from the deck. “Yes everything is looking splendid.” Techno jumps down and lands on his feet. “Don’t be doing those things, you’re starting to be like Tom.” “AY I FUCKING HEARD THAT,” Tommy shouted from the cabin areas. The brisk breeze blew through — Tommy laughed as he stuffed more pancakes into his mouth. Wilbur was entertaining Tommy and Techno with stories that happened during the month that they were holed up in the castle. Techno smiled as Wilbur continued his storytelling. Tommy put the last piece of pancake in his mouth and drank the last sip of his coffee. Techno places some money on the table and they walk out. They pass by stalls in the market with food and clothing. Shopkeepers yelling prices and customers negotiating can be heard all around. People wave and children run around them. The sun blazes overhead and the breeze runs by peacefully. “So we need to make sure the deck is clean and that there’s no problems or broken things. Tommy will check the food supply and clothing supply, I’ll make sure everything’s in place and clean, and Techno, you make sure nothing is broken.” “Ay ya captain,” Techno says and salutes Will. “Willll that’s boring shit. Let me help techno pleaseeeeee,” Tommy begs. “I’m not falling for the puppy eyes Tommy. What’s said is said.” “Damn it! You never let me have any fun. And don’t use the age excuse cause I am 18 now.” Tommy pouted as walked with Will and Techno, who continued discussing about routes and areas to stop at.

—- “Mast looking good,” Wilbur shouted from the deck. “Yes everything is looking splendid.” Techno jumps down and lands on his feet. “Don’t be doing those things, you’re starting to be like Tom.” “AY I FUCKING HEARD THAT,” Tommy shouted from the cabin areas. The brisk breeze blew through the deck as the sun was near the setting time. “We need to find a place to dock for the night.” Tech scoffed. “That’s absurd will. We’ve been only out for a day and we were fine last night sailing in the dark.” “Well yes I know that….but from what the captain is saying,” Wilbur states as he puts on a captain’s hat, “there’s a storm brewing where we would be if don’t dock. Captain orders to dock.” “Ok fine but why the hell are you talking in the third person?” “Never mind that…. Crew we need to dock as there’s a storm nearby. Find the closet port and we’ll dock there.” Techno’s voice is heard by all without needing to raise his voice and the crew began making preparations. Tommy was looking for the nearest port on the map that Dadza had supplied him with. Wilbur and Techno gathered near and they all peered at the map. “It would be so cool if we docked at Asena. They got the hugest fucking beers and the women are fineeee.” “Tommy we aren’t going drinking.” “Why the fuck not?” “I feel Priva is the best since they do have a more open area to get to the Uso seas.” “But it’s boring there. They’ve only got books and books and books.” “It wouldn’t help to actually learn something new Tommy. “I already know everything cause I’m me.” “You’re daft as hell.” “No I’m not. I’m Tommy and that means I’m smart and the best.” Will tried to keep his eyes open as he steered the ship while Techno and Tommy argued about where to dock. He was way too tired but it was his duty. “Will be careful,” Techno warns as the sky darkens and the waves get choppier. “I am, don’t worry.” Wilbur maneuvers the ship as the rain starts to fall. The boat began rocking as the winds picked up. Will tried to steady the ship and sail to Priva but the waves were too strong. “WILL BE CAREFUL,” Techno shouts as another wave almost turns the boat over. “I’M TRYING!” “Hold on…what’s that.” Tommy says as he points to the distance. Will’s eyes widen. “HOLD ON FOR DEAR LIFE AND PRAY WE DON’T DIE!” That was the last thing Techno and Tommy heard before they heard sounds of splintering wood and the feel of boat ramming into rocks.

[drustvar]

Ch. 6: Fracture

Broken things come to pass at the docks.

WC: 3,497 A/N: A lot of how Rosie acts in this chapter was inspired by 'Pearl', and tbh I kind of wish I had pushed that a little further but oh well. She'll get more unhinged as the story progresses, don't worry :) Ao3 Link in reblog|| Full text available under read more.

Julian walked a few steps ahead of Rosie, a tall, black silhouette against the pale sand. Rosie watched him, the tension in his shoulders had been building all day, and seemed ready to crash over both of them. He stopped at the rotting wood of the pier, hands in his pockets as the moon reflected brightly off his boots. The only thing that broke the silence was  the constant sound of waves crashing against the shore. He stared out at the sea for a while, and she followed his gaze. The water was as black as the sky above, infinite and unknowable. Julian took a deep breath before he finally spoke.

“Feel that breeze. A nice night for sailing, don’t you think?” 

“Never sailed before.” 

He shook his head and his gaze dropped, staring down the end of the dock. “Rosie, listen…we, uh. We really need to talk.” “You’ve been saying that all day,” she shifted the bag on her shoulder. Even though it was mostly empty, it felt like a prisoner’s weight. 

“Ah, I have, haven’t I? I suppose I was enjoying myself too much to take the plunge.” 

“What’s wrong? Please, just tell me.” 

“Oh, lots of things,” he grimaced. “Too many to count. Give me a number, and I’ll tell you it’s too low.”

She crossed her arms. “Julian.”

He sighed and looked away. “I���ve done the calculations. Thought of every possibility. Run through the scenario over and over in my head…Rosie,” he reached for her hand, but couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “There’s only one way I can see this whole thing playing out. And it’s not a happy ending, trust me.”

“I dunnae understand what you mean,” she said. She did understand, but she didn’t want to.

“Isn’t it better to cut things off at the pass? To spare you the trouble of a tragic ending?” He still wouldn’t look at her, just stared out at the sea, as if debating on jumping in and sinking.

Rosie thought back to that morning, how waking up without Julian beside her had filled her chest with an empty ache, how worried she’d been about him. How she had felt so sure that the very worst had happened to him, and that she hadn't been there to prevent it. “When you left this morning, you weren’t going to come back, were you?” She spoke quietly; as if not asking could stop it from being true. “I, ah, no… Well, I wasn’t thinking clearly," his words were clumsy and rushed. "But I would never, I could never have just left you. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Want to leave, that is.” He finally met her eyes. She’d never seen someone look more sorry. “But, I just don’t see how else this can go.” He dropped down to sit on the edge of the pier, his long legs dangling over the water. His boots skimmed the surface, sending tiny ripples through the dark.  “What do you mean by that?” She sank down next to him. Their shoulders brushed, and her heart ached at how eagerly he leaned against her. He just shook his head before he pointed to an island in the distance, a small shadow on the horizon. “See that island? It’s called the Lazaret. It’s where the city sent their infected, during the height of the plague. A perfect monument to my failures. Always visible from the shore, always reminding the city of how much it suffered.” 

She had heard stories of the Lazaret. How when the city had run out of space to quarantine the sick, the doctors were ordered to send them to the island’s crematoriums. The sick and the dying disposed of by their city like trash. “Every death, every body burnt in those pits is another mark against me. More than I could ever count…” he trailed off, his eyes never leaving the island. “I don’t want to drag this out, Rosie. This, whatever it was. Whatever it could have been. It has to end.”  “But I don’t understand. I thought you liked me.” The lump in her throat made her voice come out harsher than she'd meant.  “I do like you. That’s why it has to be this way. That’s why this has to end now before it's too late and I wind up hurting you.” “That’s stupid. You aren’t like that, you wouldn’t hurt me-” He laughed, sharp and pained. “Oh, Rosie. Dear Rosie, you’re too kind. I will absolutely hurt you. It’s only a matter of time. It’s what I do, you know. It’s what I’ve always done. I’ll be the first to admit my faults, and of that there are many. I end up losing myself,” he sighed again, trying to maintain some form of composure. “Or maybe this is the real me. Someone who hurts. A failure. I don’t know if I killed the Count, but I know I could have. I know I have that kind of darkness inside me. Even if you say that it would have done the world a favor, it was still a life. Someone must have loved him, it must have destroyed somebody. And isn’t that enough to damn me?” “No.” She wanted to scream, he was talking too fast for her to keep up. ‘I don’t care what you’ve done!’ She thought. ‘All I care about is us. What makes him think he’ll hurt me? If all of this is connected to his past, then where do I come in? All I want…all I need is to know is how he feels about me.’ She leaned back and sighed heavily. “So that’s it?  We just go our separate ways? You don’t want me enough to try to keep from self-destructing?” “Dear, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his voice was much quieter. “I’m breaking us up. Plain and simple.” “Breaking up?” Rosie laughed sharply, trying to sound unbothered. “Since when were we together?” ‘Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s me who hurts you,’ she thought as she tried to ignore the faint stinging at the corner of her eyes. ‘I could say that you’re nothing to me, even if that would be the biggest lie I’d ever told.’ “Ah, yes you have a point. Not really a breakup, is it? We never—we never really had anything to start with. Just a night or two stolen from time.” He swallowed hard, visibly tense.  “But, do I want you…do I want you? God, that’s a hard question to answer. I want you to be safe. I want you to stay out of this whole mess, I want…” he shook his head and stared down at the water below them. “ Well, it doesn’t matter what I want.”  “That isn’t an answer,” she said as her nails dug into her palms.

“Tenacious, aren’t you? It’s one of the things I like about you. No matter what happens, you keep forging on. You’re like this great, bright light, drawing me towards you. I just can’t help myself. If I was a stronger man…if I wasn’t so weak. But I just can’t stay away from you.” ‘Then let me be strong for you. I can be strong for both of us ,’ she thought. 

Julian bit his bottom lip, looking defeated. He barely looked at her as he spoke again. “ I'm torn in two between what I wish could be and what I know will be; of course I want you. I know it’s only been a short time, but I feel like I’ve known you for years. Is it because you put me at ease? That’s hard to do, you know. I want to be around you. I-I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re right beside me. That’s the problem.” He slowly met her eyes as she put a hand over his. “I wish I was strong enough to break the cycle, like you said...but I'm just not. It doesn't matter what my heart wants, I've learned that by now.” He tried to give her a smile before he craned his neck to stare up at the moon. “If I think about it, I can see the path our story would take. So why,” he slumped over, trying to hide himself in the hunch of his shoulders. “If I walk away from you now, will I stay away? If I drop my guard, will I find myself walking right back to you? That’s what makes me selfish. Because whatever we could have, whatever possibilities…They’ll only lead to ruin. That’s the kind of man I am.” “We have but one life,” she said. “Why not be a little selfish?” “I can’t,” he shook his head. “There’s just no future for us that doesn’t end in pain for you.” “How can you be so sure? What future do you want, then?” She wished she had told him how much she hated riddles.  “I’ve told you. It doesn’t matter what I want.” “Have you given thought to what I might want?” She hissed. “Can’t you see anything else? Can’t you think of anything else? Is everything a miserable tragedy to you?” 

“Tragedy’s what I’m best at, Rosie. I’m the star of my own one-man play.” She wanted to slap him. “It’s what will happen. In this world, we don’t get what we want. Why waste time imagining something you can’t ever have? I don’t dare hope. It just makes it hurt more when you don’t get it.” 

“Couldn’t you try? For me?” Julian laughed, but there was no mirth to it. He just stared at the dark horizon. “What do you want to hear from me, Rosie? That I want a future? That I—that I want to live? That I want something with you?” “It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” He got to his feet and started to pace, the old pier creaking underneath his boots. She brushed her thumb over the face of her amulet as she watched him. “Oh, I can see it when I close my eyes,” he said. “Warm laughter, light hearts. Never a dull night. Days spent with friends. Pasha never having a reason to cry again…Things we’ll never have. So it goes.” He stared out at the sea, his back to her. “But you’ll survive, Rosie. You were fine before I got here. You’ll be fine after I’ve left. You’re strong like that. Stronger than I am, that’s for sure.” Rosie sighed, feeling as though she had swallowed gravel as she got to her feet.  “Right. Well, I can see you’ve made your decision.” She brushed her skirt off,  and tried to avoid looking at him. “Be a gentleman and walk me home.”  ||

Everything was dark and quiet when they stopped on the porch. The quiet rustling of the garden in the night breeze was the only thing breaking up the awkward, tense silence between them. “Well, here we are,” Julian said, a note of finality in his voice. “At your shop. Uh, end of the line.” Rosie just stared at him. She didn’t want to speak, she knew if she did her voice would break after the first word. “When I came to Vesuvia, I was seeking answers. Finding you, that was a rare treat,” he reached out, his hand hovered over her shoulder, as if he was unsure if he was still allowed to touch her. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, trying to commit the feeling of his grip to memory.

“Regardless of what we are to each other, regardless of…whatever this was,” she said. “I’ve still got your back. If you need something, anything , find me.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss on each side of her face, lips lingering just a second longer against her skin.

“Thank you, my dear. The time we spent together, however brief, mattered to me. I won’t forget it.”

“Stay safe. If not for me, for Pasha.” She turned away, pressing her hand to the door. “As you wish,” he murmured. With a whirl of his cape he was gone, footsteps fading away into a faint echo. Rosie slammed her fist into the door. The tears that had remained hidden started to roll down her cheeks as she stomped inside, the door slamming shut behind her. She swore as she threw her bag onto the counter. It was then that she noticed the shop smelled of cinnamon, and all the lanterns were lit, giving off a warm glow. She wiped hurriedly at her eyes as soft footsteps approached.

“Rosie?” Asra smiled warmly as he slid over the railing of the stairs. “When did you get home?” She tried to steady her breathing, and hoped that her mascara hadn’t run too much. “This morning. I was going to go up to the Palace to check on you, but Faust said you weren’t there.” “Oh she did, did she?” Rosie tried to smile, but her grin more closely resembled a snarl. Faust ducked back under the folds of her master’s sash. 

“What’s wrong?” She winced. Of course Asra immediately knew. But she had never been a subtle person.

“It’s nothing. Everything’s fine,” picked up her bag and hung it up, trying to avoid his eyes. “Did you have fun on your little trip? Doing whatever it is you do?” She hadn’t meant for the last of her words to sound so bitter. 

“Rosie?” Asra rested his hand over hers. She finally met his eyes. The color purple had never felt so comforting.

“It’s nothing, really. Oh, where would I even begin?” She started straightening the disturbed items on the counter, desperate to keep her hands busy. “It’s nothing. I find a river full of poison, I fall in the canal, and Julian breaks up with me. Which is silly, foolish even, to think we had somethin’ goin’-”

“Woah, slow down!” Asra grabbed her arm. His hand on her arm was warm, and she found she could breathe again. “What…what was that last part?”

“Which ‘last’ part?” She laughed. “The part where I’m a fool of a woman or the part where Julian left me?” 

“I…he did? You two were…?”

“Yes, no, oh…I dunnae even know.” She shook her head as Asra offered her his mug of tea. “I mean, we slept together -oh!” Asra had started to choke on his drink. “I didn’t mean like that! I meant how you and I share a bed, that’s all!” 

Asra coughed and wiped his mouth. “Let’s go upstairs and talk. I made that tea you like, you look like you could use it.” He took her hand and led the way, thumb brushing absentmindedly over her knuckles. Rosie leaned against him, grateful for his support. “I dunnae know what’s going on with him,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I dunnae want him to face this mess alone.” She sighed and flopped down on the oversized floor cushions. Faust curled around the hot mug Asra set down in front of her, the snake’s tongue flicking out curiously.

“No, I’m not mad at you, little lady.” Rosie said as she patted the snake’s coils. “Even if you did snitch on me.” 

“So, what happened? From the beginning.” Asra settled next to her, putting his arm around her as she leaned against him again. She hadn’t expected the story to spill out as easily as it did. Granted there were moments she omitted, but Asra had no reason to know about those. He sighed quietly after she had finished, his thumb running absentmindedly over the rim of his mug.

“That sure sounds like Ilya. And he took all day to end it? And you say you don’t even know if you were really together?” 

She shrugged, twisting the hem of her skirt. “It’s all foolishness, I suppose. Just a stupid little fling I got too into.” “Ilya,” Asra’s tone was one she’d seldom heard before. “The only thing he loves more than drama is his own suffering, and he’s determined to chase both.” 

“What am I to do?”

He squeezed her hand gently. “What do you want to do?" 

“I want to protect him,” she said quietly. “I want to show him that he’s not as terrible as he thinks.” “I can’t stop you,” he said as he scooped up their empty mugs. “I just want you to be careful. Who knows, maybe you can shake him from his ouroboros of self flagellation.” Rosie said nothing, just listened to the sound of water and ceramic clinking as Asra washed up. “Who knows? Stranger things have happened. Just please, don’t hurt yourself in the process.” 

Again she said nothing, just slowly pulled a folded piece of cloth out of her pocket. She opened it and stared down at its contents: a small lock of auburn hair, cut when Julian had slept. “Have you eaten? I’ll make dinner,” Asra fell silent as he saw what she held in her hands. “You’re not planning on cursing him, are you? Remember the last one…” 

She laughed and shook her head. ‘ You already took care of that, didn’t you ?’ She thought, remembering what Julian had said about the glowing mark on his throat. She wasn’t convinced it was Asra’s handiwork, but she couldn’t help but wonder. “I did not curse the last one,” she said as she started to rummage through a nearby chest. “There’s no magic involved in dumping a bag of termites outside of someone’s house. Can you get me our jar of black salt?” 

“Of course. I’ll get candles, too.”

‘ Let’s see, myrrh for protection. Clover for luck, borage for spell power… ’ Rosie ran through a list of reagents as she dug through the chest and cabinets. ‘ Rose quartz for… ’ she shook her head and slammed the box that held the small pink crystals shut. ‘ Citrine for hope. Bloodstone for courage. ’

“So,” Asra sat across from her, the candles lit and the reagents laid out on the coffee table. “What do you have in mind?” “Taglock,” she said as she poured a layer of black salt into a bottle. “If he doesn’t want me around to physically protect him, the least I can do is offer my magic.” “Taglocks are…they can be difficult. They take a lot of energy and a lot of focus. Are you sure?” 

She nodded as she added the crushed herbs. He watched her while she worked, never saying a word, though his eyes were full of concern. The soft glow of the candles gave her pale hair an ethereal halo as she sealed the vessel shut with wax. “Here goes,” she murmured as she tightly gripped the bottle. Magic started to crackle over her fingers, and the ring of gold in her eyes started to glow. As worried as he was, Asra couldn’t help but feel proud of how far her magic had come. But his pride turned to horror as glowing, teal colored cracks began to appear in her hands, the spell bottle rattling violently. She wasn’t just extending her energy, she was pouring out all of it. “Rosie?” She didn’t hear him. The glowing  cracks in her hands started to widen. “Rosie, stop!” Asra knocked the bottle out of her hands. It smashed on the floor, sending broken glass and smoke everywhere. She stared open mouthed at the smoldering remains, the taglock destroyed. 

“I’m sorry, I-” “What the hell, Asra?!” She rounded on him. “I’m sorry! But you were using so much power, you were going to hurt yourself,” he tried to take her hand and show her the still-glowing welts, but she shook him off. She swore and kicked the coffee table out of the way. Asra followed close behind her as she stomped back downstairs. “Rosie,” he said in a quiet voice. She ignored him as she pulled a hefty moonshine jug out of a cabinet and drank deeply. “I really didn’t mean to. I was scared you were going to be hurt.” She glared at him as she took another swig and leaned against the sink. 

“We could try again, some other form of protective-” “Wouldn’t much matter now. The link to him is destroyed. Doubt I’ll be able to get another.” “But-” “Doesn’t even like magic. Makes him all antsy. Cannae just give him a sachet and say ‘please hang onto these magic plants so you dunnae get drawn an’ quartered’, can I?” “You could,” he said gently. She snorted and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should have known… I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight.” 

Asra sighed, hurt and guilt in his eyes as he turned away and retreated upstairs. Rosie finished the last of her drink before curling up into a tight ball on the couch. She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it until her voice was hoarse, staring at the wall until she fell into a fitful sleep. She had a sinking feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better. 

[catierambles]

Pirate’s Bride Ch.2

Pairing: Pirate!Captain Syverson x Jennifer Wyatt (OFC)

WC 1151

Warnings: some historical mentions of the slave trade, and not nice treatment of women

@liecastillo @summersong69

It was night and he was taking his dinner in his cabin, boots up on the chair in front of him as he picked at the meat with his fingers, not wanting to give her the opportunity of a knife. She sat across the cabin in the window, knees up and her arms around her legs. They had left the ship burning in the open ocean and she hadn’t left his cabin after he put her there while they went about their duties.

“The Lady have a name?” He asked and she gave him a look, but was silent, turning back to look out the window. “Ye must be hungry. Why don’t ye have seat with me and eat some?”

“I’d rather starve.” She said not looking at him.

“The Lady speaks.” He said, amused, “And aye, that’s the other option.” There was a long silence as he just stared at her and she made an obvious effort to ignore him. “So, what were ye doin’ in the Captain’s cabin? Ye his bedwarmer?” She looked at him then, an angry set on her brow.

“Excuse me?” She asked and his boots hit the floor as he got up from the chair, wiping his fingers on his pants.

“Ye heard me.” He said and she watched him closely as he crossed the room, leaning against the wall with his arm up against the wood, looking down at her. “Were ye his whore?”

“No.” She said evenly, “If you must know, he was taking me to my wedding.” She looked out the window again.

“A wedding?” He asked, his amusement rising. “Well, my congratulations to ye, Lady, but I don’t think ye’ll make the ceremony.”

“Apparently.”

“Ye don’t seem to be broken up about it none.” He noted, “The fancy lad not twix yer britches well enough?”

“Don’t be crude.” She said, “It was a business arrangement, nothing more.”

“A business arrangement?” He asked, his amusement switching over to confusion. “Ye’ll have to explain that one to me.” She just sighed.

“My father is a merchant,” She started, “The marriage was arranged between me and the son of another merchant. When the son takes over his father's business, both grow.”

“And ye had no say in this?”

“No.” She said simply, “It was the son’s idea.”

“Ye ever meet the lad?” He asked but she shook her head. “So let me get this clear, ye were bargained off like cattle to some merchant’s son ye’ve never met in the name of business?” She nodded. “Huh. Well, that’s a fucked up situation if I ever heard one.”

“Don’t be naive.” She said, “It happens all the time.”

“Don’t make it right, lass.” He said, “Sounds like this fancy lad,” He said it with a hint of disdain, “Was looking for some doll he could put on a shelf, parade around in front of his fancy buddies, and take down to fuck so ye’d push out a few heirs.” She didn’t say anything, still looking out the window. “The way I see it, ye’re better off where ye are now.”

“With what reasoning?” She asked, looking up at him.

“At least here with me, ye’d actually be able to live yer own damn life the way ye please it.” He said and walked away, going back to his dinner. “And I think ye’ll find me much more agreeable than that bastard.”

“Hope springs eternal for you doesn’t it.”

“I like to keep a sunny disposition.” He said with a smile and she looked away from him again.

“And what about your crew?” She asked, “Will I be finding them “agreeable”?”

“Me crew is me crew, I make no excuses for them.” Syverson said, “But I did tell them that if any of them touched ye, they’d lose the hand.”

“And why would you do that?”

“I don’t suffer a man that forces himself on a woman.” He said, “And if they say anything untoward towards ye, let me know and I’ll take the tongue as well.”

“Aren’t you a charmer.”

“Listen,” He said, “I may be a lyin’, cheatin’, murderous bastard, but ye’ll come to no harm with me. Ye have my word.”

“And what about those you transport?” She asked, looking at him. “It’s not just merchant goods that get sailed across these oceans.”

“I don’t run people, if that what ye’re gettin’ at.” He said, a hard set to his blue eyes, “People are people, not cargo.” She simply gave a sound, her eyes flicking up and down as she looked him over before turning back to the window.

“Jennifer.” She said after a long moment. “Jennifer Wyatt.”

“Eh?”

“You asked my name.” She said, looking at him again. “I’m giving it to you.” He got up from his chair again and she watched him just as closely as before as he crossed the room, holding out his hand.

“Captain Jacke Syverson.” He said and she hesitated but put her hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he turned it, bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips to the back, keeping his eyes on hers. He allowed her to pull her hand from his, noticing how she didn’t wipe it against her dress. “Tell me, Jennifer, yer dear old dad gonna send men after ye? If he thinks ye’re still alive, that is.”

“If only to finish the deal.” She said, “But given the reputation those in your…profession have, he might just call the whole thing off. Damaged goods.”

“Likin’ him more and more.” He said sarcastically, “Not Daddy’s Little Girl, then?”

“My father doesn’t…approve of some of the choices I’ve made in my life. Or my behavior.”

“I’m guessin’ the way ye handle a pistol and a blade.”

“You guess correctly.”

“Well, ye’d fit in just fine here. Granted ye can take care of yerself.”

“My little performance on the ship didn’t prove that to you?”

“Proved ye can pull a blade, not that ye know how to use it. Besides, ye had a pistol on me and ye hesitated.” He leaned into her slightly, “Hesitation will get ye killed in this life.”

“Noted. I’ll do better next time.”

“Ye better.” He said, “Because there won’t be another after that, and I won’t always be around to pull yer arse out the fire.”

“Where am I sleeping?” She asked after a moment.

“In here, with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alternative is with the crew, but ye’ll find I’m a much better bedfellow.” She unfolded herself from the window, rising to her full height and looking up at him.

“Where do ye think yer goin’, lass?”

“To eat.” She said, “I’m hungry.”

“Thought ye said ye’d rather starve.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Aye, woman’s prerogative.” He said and watched her as she brushed past him, catching the gentle smell of her hair. It was going to be a long night.

[wheatisstillwheat]

are you just a fair weather friend or an omen of calamity what fate do you hold to your breast and does anything fly with you beyond rack and ruin? still I’ll stand unafraid I’ll sail close to the wind ‘cause I know this is it now it’s sink or swim when you’re pinned by the arrow and I’m hung out to dry I’ll borrow your broken wings and together we’ll learn how to fly

- dreadnaught, Patron

sneak-peek at for this gift, I do feel blessed ch. 16!! out before new years if all goes to plan :)

happy holidays to all who celebrate